by Renee Wildes
“But why am I here?” She indicated the room. “In the family quarters, in a room next to yours, rather than some distant guest suite? Why do they call me ‘lady’ and gift me with gowns and jewels?”
“You came with naught of your own. You cannot go without.” The memory of her “without” was burned permanently into his dreams. “The clothing and jewels are to help you blend into the household, of a rank as to accord you proper respect.”
“But why am I roomed next to you?” Dara persisted. “I’m no lady, I’m not your wife, nor am I some fancy lightskirt accorded easy access—”
“What?” Anger boiled. “Is that what you think, that I’d take advantage of your predicament, that you’d ‘repay’ my aid?” He wanted to shake her, and gripped the back of the rocking chair instead.
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “What else is a peasant abducted by a prince supposed to think? I have naught else to repay you with.”
“First of all, I am not a mercenary to be paid at all,” he growled. “Was I to leave you to burn?”
Loren reached out to take her hand—anything more would only reinforce her fears—and turned her to face him. “You were placed next to the only person you know here. My family was concerned you would be uncomfortable enough without being isolated. If you prefer, I can request you be moved immediately to the best guest chamber in the palace. It is in an entirely separate wing.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I apologize if I offended—”
Loren shook his head and cupped her cheek with his hand. “I should apologize for offending you. It was not my intention to give you pause for concern. I forgot how adjoining rooms are viewed in your world. I do not deny the attraction betwixt us, but I assure you I shall never take advantage of my position.”
“Who will be at this dinner?” Dara took as deep a breath as she was able and gave him a tentative, hopeful glance. “Sirona?”
Loren let her change the subject. “Aye. Sirona and Falak, Deane and Paulette—”
Her spirits drooped. “Oh, joy.” She tugged at her long sleeves.
He ignored that. “Father, Brannan, Granther and Granna.”
“She didn’t even let me keep one blade.”
“Do you always go to dinner armed?”
“I’m armed even in my sleep, warrior. I’ll never be helpless again.” A shadow crossed her face. Fear darkened her eyes.
He hated that fear. Loren pulled her toward him. She trembled but fought to hide it. “Dara, you are safe now. Jalad cannot reach you here. You can handle anything. You are strong, courageous and as beautiful as anyone.” Loren trailed a finger down her cheek. He knew touching her was a mistake, but her skin was so soft… “You shall be fine. I shall be there the entire time.”
She rested her cheek on his chest. “I’d eat in my room. I don’t know anything about royal protocols. I’d not embarrass you, Loren, but I might.”
He reached under her chin and tilted her face up so her worried gaze met his. “You could never embarrass me, Dara.” Another mistake, Lady knew, but this close, Loren needed to kiss her like he needed his next breath. Just for reassurance, he told himself. By the way her eyes darkened, she wanted it too. He leaned in, absorbing her warmth, her scent. Her eyes closed and her lips parted, and he was lost. His own eyes closed the moment his lips touched hers.
He meant to keep it light, consoling. It stayed that way for but a moment afore she melted against him and pulled him closer. She could rail against it all she wanted, but her body did not lie. So soft, so sweet. Her heat fueled his. All thoughts of chivalry flew straight out the window. He stroked his tongue across her lower lip, and after a startled moment she opened her mouth under his. The rush hit him hard.
A knock sounded at the door. Dara jerked herself from his arms. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed. He cursed the interloper’s appalling sense of timing. Sirona. He would know that laughing presence anywhere. Granna Lorelei had sent someone to bring them along. “What?”
Sirona opened the door and peeked in. Loren glowered at her, trying to get his breathing under control. Her eyes twinkled at him with mischief and not a hint of remorse. “You hold up supper. I am famished and they shall not let me begin without you, so move.”
Loren willed his body to behave. “We know the way.”
“And you were in such haste to get there.”
“Sirona, this is Dara. Dara, my cousin Sirona.”
Sirona smiled. “You look amazing, Dara. Those colors suit you. Come on.” She held open the door for them while they stepped out into the hallway.
Loren offered Sirona his hand, and she laid hers atop his. He offered Dara his other arm human-style and she tucked her free hand around it. He pulled her closer.
Sirona watched without comment.
The three of them went down the winding marble staircase, past the doorway to the main hall, to a rear doorway guarded by a houseman. “Good evening, Kennet,” Loren greeted him.
Kennet stared at Dara for a long moment.
Loren cleared his throat. “If you would, Kennet?”
Kennet flushed. “Welcome back, my lord.” He opened the double doors with an extra flourish. “His Royal Highness, Loren ta Cedric, Comtessa Sirona te Zanzhara and Lady Dara Khan Androcles.”
Dara flinched at the word “lady”. Stars, if she did not believe it, Deane would be all over it.
Everyone at the table rose as Loren escorted the women in. At the head of the table, Cedric inclined his head. Deane was to his left, with Paulette next to her husband. Cloud-free and dry, Pari stood at the foot of the table, with Lorelei at his right and Brannan aside her. Falak stood to Pari’s left.
Sirona took her place aside her husband. Loren moved to Cedric’s right, his place as right hand, leaving a space betwixt himself and Sirona for Dara.
With everyone in place, Cedric motioned them to sit.
Pages poured wine. An acolyte in white plucked at a harp in the corner. The table glittered with crystal and silver.
Cedric raised his glass. “A toast. To Lady Dara, for rescuing Loren and bringing him home safe and sound. My gratitude and welcome.”
“So the hero returns.” Deane sneered. “Welcome, little brother.”
“He was showing Dara a bit of the palace,” Sirona lied with sheer innocence on her face.
Deane stared at Dara. “I bet you were.” Beneath the gleaming heir’s crown, his gaze raked her with burning insolence.
Loren clenched his jaw. The heir’s crown told Deane of the lie; fortunately it did not divulge the real truth. Dara leaned into Loren’s free arm, her cheeks scalded. He reeled in his temper as bowls of broth were presented.
“Are you comfortable, Lady Dara?” Paulette inquired.
“The room is lovely, thank you.” Dara stared at the pink flowers floating in her bowl.
“I knocked on the Starlight Suite door,” Paulette said. “That is our best guest chamber. Imagine my surprise when you were not there. Where have they put you, child?” She sipped her soup, flower petals and all.
Dara followed suit.
“She is next to me,” Loren growled at his sister-in-law.
Paulette’s eyes were pure ice above her sapphire necklace. “What would Lady Alani say if she knew you had your human sensuri right next door?”
Loren’s hand tightened around the stem of the wine glass until his knuckles whitened. The crystal shattered, spilling wine all over the tablecloth.
Dara flinched.
A servant hastened to clean up the mess; another brought a fresh glass.
“That is quite enough.” Lorelei glared at Paulette. “Thou shalt address Lady Dara with the proper respect, or leave this room immediately.”
Dara raised her chin. “I learned long ago I have no control over others’ thoughts. Some prejudge regardless of evidence. As long as I know the truth of my own life, then I have naught to hide.” She shrugged.
Loren knew what that show of proud nonchalance cost her. Whatever, whoever she
was, she did not carry herself as a mere peasant. Her bearing was a lady’s, and that was how his family would treat her.
“Your lady’s maid must meet the staff,” Paulette stated. “My girl Gwynne would be happy to show her around.”
“I left my lady’s maid behind.”
Paulette’s eyes widened. “The two of you traveled here unchaperoned?”
“The trip was far too dangerous. We escaped with our lives and the clothes on our backs.”
“Well, that shall not do,” Paulette said. “I have a girl I can spare. Prys is a wonder with hair. I wager she could even do something elegant with yours.”
Heat poured off Dara in waves—anger, not embarrassment.
“Is there something amiss with my maiding skills, youngling?” Lorelei inquired with sweet venom.
“Not at all, madam. But I would not think you had the time. My thought was for you.”
“I am sure that was thy sole intent. Anything else would be foolish.”
“Dara does not need one of your little spies tattling to you every time she sneezes,” Sirona added. “My girl Veona has a younger sister should suit.”
“Verdeen?” Paulette looked scandalized. “She is a complete hoyden. She has no respect for her betters.”
Dara bristled at that last word.
“She tells the truth and says what she thinks,” Sirona told Dara. “And she is wonderful at massage.”
“She sounds perfect.” Dara hid her anxiety well. She caught Loren’s eye.
He nodded. She relaxed.
Sirona smiled. “I shall bring her in the morning, Dara.”
“Lady Dara is a renowned healer among her people.” Lorelei changed the topic.
“Not a very ladylike pursuit,” Paulette observed. “What if you caught some vile disfiguring disease?” She shuddered.
“In my land, it’s not enough to be ornamental. Paintings are pretty, but they serve no purpose save collecting dust. It’s our duty to help those in need.”
Brannan leaned forward. “I have an interest in healing as well, Lady Dara. Mayhaps I could show you our House of Healing. We could compare notes on different treatments.”
“Are you implying human medicine is superior to ours?” Deane raised an eyebrow as pages traded salads for the empty bowls and poured more wine.
“Not superior, not inferior, just different.” Brannan’s face was all earnestness. “All healers know not everyone responds to the same treatment in the same way. What works for one might not work on another.”
Dara flashed him a genuine smile. “True. I would enjoy speaking further on this subject, Prince Brannan.”
Loren watched Brannan’s ears turn pink.
“Consider it done.” Brannan looked at Loren. “We need your assistance as well. There are some wounds beyond the physical.”
“I am but newly healed myself, but would be happy to help if I can.” Dark emotions born of pain and despair hovered around the House of Healing. They were brutally hard on an empath, but if he could lighten someone’s burden, as Lady’s champion it was the least he could do.
Deane stared at Loren. “Why did you need a healer?”
“I rode to the aid of a friend and was wounded. Not only did Dara help heal me but defended me against corpse-robbers. She fights with the skill of a ranger.”
Paulette sniffed. “Well, that is much more ladylike.”
Dara speared the greenery on her plate.
Cedric inclined his head toward her. “My thanks, vertenya.”
“What man would not appreciate a woman who can handle his weapon with skill?” Deane asked.
Falak sputtered and began coughing. Sirona poked him in the ribs with her spoon. Hard.
Lorelei frowned at her eldest grandson. “I find this turn of conversation inappropriate for the dinner table.” The lights dimmed for a moment. “I suggest a change of topic.”
“Like the weather?” Falak teased.
Pari laughed the hardest of all.
***
The rest of the endless dinner passed uneventfully. Dara yearned to be away from Deane’s lustful gaze and Paulette’s nastiness. She should’ve eaten in her rooms. Loren’s homecoming shouldn’t have been wasted defending her.
Finally the dessert plates were removed and Cedric stood. “I am sure thou art much wearied by thy long journey,” he said to Dara. “I believe we shalt call it an evening. There wilt be time enough to exchange tales on the morrow.”
“Thank you, Sire.” Dara stood and turned to Sirona. “I look forward to meeting Verdeen. Thank you.”
Loren also rose. “If you would excuse us.”
Dara preceded him out of the dining room. As soon as the door shut behind them, she sagged against the wall. “What’s a sensuri?”
“Exactly what you suspect.” He placed his hands on her trembling shoulders. “I apologize. Paulette has ever been so.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “And Deane is a boor.”
She leaned against him, taking comfort from his warmth, his strength. “Such a lovely couple.”
“I suggest a walk in the gardens.” Loren dropped a quick kiss on the back of her neck. “I need some fresh air and moonlight to clear my head.”
She wished his lips had lingered just a moment more. Frowning at her wayward thoughts, she tried to distract herself. “Good idea not to have been armed.”
He chuckled. “They do not allow weapons in ministry meetings for much the same reason.” He stepped around her and offered an arm. “Shall we?”
They walked in silence through a series of corridors and rooms until Loren led her through a small unassuming door into paradise. Dara stared at the profusion of night-blooming flowers and colorful mage-lit fountains. She couldn’t have dreamt up a more romantic setting for lovers. “Why would anyone plant a garden just seen at night?”
“Being king means many sleepless nights. Granna wanted a place of peace and perspective. Would you sit or walk?”
The scent of the flowers was almost cloying, and Dara noticed their soporific effect. “Walk,” she answered, shaking off the creeping lethargy. “What are these flowers? I won’t be drugged.”
“Be at ease. They have a relaxing effect but shall not affect your mind nor bring you to harm. Trust me.”
Dara did. Now when had that started? She sat down on a bench and willed herself to relax. Willed the world away. Peace. Sanctuary. Moonlight poured over them. Loren’s silvery hair shimmered pale blue from the nearest lit fountain. She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the fountains and the scents of the flowers wash over her. Loren sat aside her and pulled her closer. She relaxed against the warmth of his body, hearing his heart beat beneath her ear. His clean masculine scent wove through the lesser scents of distant flowers. His was a familiar presence—she felt complete when he was with her, safe and comforted within his arms.
Such strong arms. Her savior, her anchor.
She snuggled closer, feeling oddly boneless. She loved his scent. She’d never had time to appreciate it afore. Now, in the magical stillness of the garden, it did odd things to her stomach, made her tingle in secret places. She almost felt the brush of his lips on the side of her neck, and quivered with the memory. What was it about him that made him so different from other men? Always afore men had left her indifferent. But not Loren. One touch, one kiss and she yearned to rub against him like a kitten. She wished this moment could go on forever. Purring, she nuzzled his neck.
“Dara?” Her name on his lips was the merest whisper.
She dragged open her eyes to look at him. His green eyes gleamed teal, dark with a heat that made her quiver with unspoken yearning. Loren slid a hand up her arm to curl his fingers behind her neck, caressing her skin with barely there tenderness. She leaned in closer, unable to stop herself. When he dipped his head to brush her lips with his, she met him more than halfway.
The kiss started out gentle, coaxing, as Loren worshipped her lips. But heat rose quickly, and Dara found herself growing
needy, impatient. With a whimper, she opened her mouth under his, stroking her tongue across his lower lip. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer.
Loren’s kiss turned hot, aggressive. His arms tightened around her as his tongue stroked hers. Dara shook with need, and tension coiled deep within her. His lips moved to her ear, raining a trail of fire down the side of her neck. Eagerly, she tilted her head to the side. His fingers brushed the side of her breast, and she gasped as her nipple pebbled against her gown. Her body awakened with a need all its own. “Loren!”
She barely recognized the breathy whisper as her own voice. Loren shuddered, cupping her breast in his hand. Dara choked as his thumb circled her nipple, sending darts of almost painful pleasure deep into her. His touch made her reel, and she clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into the plush velvet of his shirt. A twinge of unease, uncertainty, shot through the haze of new passion. Her body protested, reveling in the shivers aroused by his touch.
Loren stopped, pulled back, forcing her to look at him. His face was flushed with passion, and his eyes glittered. “Easy,” he soothed, rubbing a hand up and down her back as if she were a nervous horse. “Do not be afraid. I know this is new for you. If you would stop, I shall.”
She didn’t want to, that was the problem. A part of her was all for dragging him off to somewhere more private—a part of herself she’d not known existed. Who was this creature of passion and fire that consumed every rational thought in a blaze of heat and need? She didn’t recognize herself—and that scared her.
Loren took a deep breath. “I feel your fear. What if we just walk about for a bit?” He rose, stiffly, and pulled her to her feet.
Dara bit her lip and fidgeted. She looked everywhere but at him.
“Hey.” He placed a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. “You are beautiful, Dara. It is easy to get carried away under the moonlight, but I would never force you, or hurt you. Always you can trust me.”
She knew that, but had a sinking feeling it was herself she couldn’t trust. Rather than dwell on her own unexpected weakness, she changed the subject. “The party’s tomorrow night?”