by Brenna Lyons
She met his eyes and nodded, stepping away. Ro reached for her, but she evaded him.
“I do not understand,” he managed. He had to give her ease. It was selfish to accept such pleasure without sating her needs.
Deliya smiled weakly. “You had use of me, Ro. I would wager that you have not climaxed so hard or fast in quite some time.”
He groaned at the truth of it. “Come to my bed,” he pleaded, knowing now that Deliya had no intention of it.
She ignored his plea. “You reached your pleasure with no risk of pregnancy.” She started to turn, then paused. “Ro?”
“Yes?” he asked, suddenly drained.
“Never insinuate that I have given less that I have taken of a man, no matter what else we engaged in.” She left before he could form an answer.
Ro strode to the bath and spun the handle, muttering curses. It wasn’t enough for Deliya to please him so selflessly. He wanted to feel her moving against him, to feel and hear her climax. But, those were things she had no intention of giving him.
He peeled off his clothing and sank into the bath. It was time to wash away the proof of his failure.
CHAPTER NINE
Deliya shut the door and ambled across the room miserably, glad that Laril left to attend to other duties. The scent of Ro’s climax taunted her. Walking away from him had been nearly impossible. Every cell in her body screamed at her to go back to him. Deliya cursed her weakness. There was more to the gift than sex.
She groaned, heading for the tub Laril had drawn for her and peeling off her remaining armor and clothing. Deliya stared at the drying slick of Ro’s seed on her hand, her mouth watering to taste him, but her battered nerves would not stand that much.
If she tasted the musk, she’d go to him, and the tradition would be broken. Ro was not a man to place himself so completely in her hands, and that was one tradition that Deliya would not forego. She would not for Loric, and she would not for Ro.
Still, if Ro were willing— Deliya groaned, visions of her riding his body to both their pleasure making her already wet body throb for him.
She leaned back against the wall, dipping the fingers coated in Ro’s fluids in the well of her own. Deliya massaged her hard nipples as she often had since Loric’s death, but it was no longer Loric’s face behind her closed eyelids.
Her fingers became Ro’s, touching her, his mouth tasting her. Deliya arched her back, offering herself to him. The fingers inside her were his cock, thrusting madly toward a shattering release, and her body pulsed in time with those thrusts.
Deliya swallowed her cry of release as she would in reality. Her body spasmed around her fingers, her knees shaking beneath her. She gulped in the air, trying to ground herself. Deliya sank into the still-hot Lizor bath wearily.
She had to leave this place before she lost herself and her traditions to Ro. While Deliya might use him to meet several of her needs, she could never take him as true mate and bind her soul to him. Now she had to convince her soul of that.
*
Ro smiled as Deliya strode into the dining hall. Her head was held high, but she was stiff, as if discomfited somehow. The silin dress she wore would have reached the knees of any other woman within the walls, but it was almost a hand-length shorter on Deliya, a fact that set his groin to attention again.
The room stilled as she crossed to the place set for her, and Deliya darkened. Ro sighed. The reaction of his people was not helping to put her at ease. She had been correct. She was an oddity in this new world, and her guards had not prepared her for it.
Deliya nodded to him and took the cup of implin wine slowly. She wasted no time. “What are my options?” she asked.
Ro met her eyes, and her blush deepened. He didn’t need to remind her of her first option, but it seemed that coming to his bed was not to her liking as an option.
“You will stay here until planting season comes again.”
She swallowed a mouthful of the wine, staring at a spot somewhere above her plate of food. “Here?” Her voice was sure if the timing hesitant.
“Yes. It is the safest place for you.”
Deliya met his eyes, her expression one of challenge.
Ro motioned for peace. The last thing he needed was another reminder of her Len-be-damned status. “You have no army. Shortly, you will not even have Jurel’s ignorance of your existence to protect you. By now, one of the men we blocked with the fire has reported seeing you. Your armor is — difficult to miss.”
“Why would Jurel care? I am one lone survivor.”
He scrubbed at his face, wondering how much he should tell her. “Your mother killed Jurin. She balked Jurel at every turn. It would please him to take the last victory your mother stole from him.”
Deliya’s eyes misted with unshed tears. “How could you know this?”
“When my troops reached Gidlore, there were a few priestesses still clinging to life. They did not survive long. Only long enough to curse us for failing them.” They did curse us, even as we tried in vain to save them.
“My mother?” she asked weakly.
“I placed her body on the pyre myself.” Visions of Gidlore stole Ro’s appetite. He pushed his plate away and drank deeply from his cup. “We lost Gidlore to Jurel a few months later.”
Ro cut Leiana’s body from the green stone floor of the sanctuary where it was tied down, wrapping his cloak around her unclothed form. He tried not to see what had been done to her, what he had been too late to stop.
Like many of the priestesses, Leiana had been used by the Lengar. Like the other priestesses, she had borne up in an unholy silence that captured Lengar whispered of in horror before their executions, even years later. Many of them talked about Leiana.
She had stolen Jurel’s confidence, if only momentarily. Leiana took his body silently then she took his blade in the same stillness that unnerved the Lengar leader.
“She had been the last to fall,” he whispered, “but she fell nobly.
“Ro?” Deliya asked.
He took another drink of the golden liquid. “Yes?”
“What happens when planting season comes again?”
“I will give you workers and soldiers, planting fields — a safe place to rebuild what was stolen from you.”
“Is that possible?” she asked sadly.
Ro sighed. “As much as I can give you, I will.”
Deliya looked to him hopefully. “I have your vow on that?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She smiled a stunning smile and sipped her wine.
Ro watched her in wonder, trying desperately to understand what he’d done so right. He would give anything to see that smile again.
*
Deliya mixed the herbs carefully, still smiling to herself. It would take several weeks for the teas to do their work, but when they did, Ro would live to his vow.
The soldiers and workers were generous. The land and home were beyond anything she dared pray for, but there was one thing Deliya lacked — an heir. When the time was right, Ro would provide her with her heir. If her herbs worked as they should, the child would be female, a true heir.
She sobered, remembering Ro’s opinion of her traditions. She would be using him, as Ro accused, but he had vowed to return what was taken from her. “What is a mother without a people to look after?” she whispered brokenly.
*
Caj 28th, Ti 10-459
“What campaign is this?” Donic asked curiously, spying the papers scattered across Ro’s desk. He picked up an order for troop transfer, whistling at the numbers. “Ten dozen from Lind. Six dozen from Caran. So, this is what you have been up to this last week. I smell a battle.” He smiled a feral grin.
“Yes. You do,” Ro admitted. He tried to concentrate on the map in front of him, knowing there was a closer battle than the one Donic anticipated, the one about to take place in this office.
“Who are the unlucky Lengar?”
“The ones residing at Gidlore.
”
Donic’s smile disappeared. “She’s bewitched you,” he exploded. “Our plans—”
“Have changed,” he warned. “I do not deny that I am doing this for Deliya.” Ro raised a hand to still Donic’s outburst before it could begin. “She has not requested this.”
“Ro—” Donic pushed a hand through his unruly mop of black curls. “What do you hope to gain?”
Ro stared at the map, trying desperately to put his wishes into words that Donic would respect.
“If this is about Mother Leiana—”
“No,” Ro assured him, fairly certain that it wasn’t. “Deliya only knows that her mother fell in battle. That is all she needs to know. Am I understood?”
It couldn’t hurt to warn Donic in advance this time. What Ro saw in the sanctuary was not widely known. It was unlikely that anyone else would tell her. Deliya had suffered enough, and if she decided to revenge her mother— Ro shuddered at the thought of placing Deliya’s body on the pyre.
“You want her,” Donic growled. “Not as a mistress. You want heirs by her.”
Ro didn’t deny it. Donic wasn’t blind. “Her traditions do not allow that,” he replied simply.
“What do you intend?”
“To return what is lost to her and keep it for her this time.”
Donic dropped into a chair, looking stunned. “You love her. You must to go to these lengths for her.”
“All the better reason to see her to her land quickly,” Ro snapped, annoyed at the truth of it.
“Does she know?”
“Does it matter? Her traditions are all she has left. Should I force the issue and steal that from her?”
“Then there is a chance,” Donic began hopefully.
“No. There is not.”
Donic’s jaw tightened.
“This is not your concern, Donic. If I keep my distance until she leaves me, I will see this through.” If I touch her again, I cannot promise my control.
*
Wend 8th, Ti 10-459
Deliya watched the troops amassing outside the wall nervously. Their timing was bad, she decided miserably. The herbs should be effective now, but Ro would be leaving for a battle.
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. Perhaps the troops were not leaving until the morning. A night might be enough. If Ro’s lust for her was strong enough and the herbs did their job, Deliya could have her heir by morning.
Deliya went to the corridor, smoothing her dress over her thighs self-consciously. She had chosen this dress carefully, one of the shorter dresses she’d worn before Ro’s clothier had made longer ones for her.
She cursed her lack of experience with men. Loric pursued her. There was no need to invite more. Her teasing was a personal matter between them.
Deliya had only her observations of the household servants to learn from. Leiana and Vela had never taught her to invite a man’s attention. Fion’s Children did not play at games like that. A woman offered, and a man answered with his choice. It was all very civilized.
But, Ro was Magden. According to Deliya’s observations, the Magden played seduction games that were foreign to her. She sighed. It seemed games would be necessary with Ro.
Three weeks ago, Deliya would have offered herself without games, but something had changed in those three weeks. Ro avoided her, brushing off her touch. He didn’t call her by name. Rather, he used her titles as if they were something loathsome to him.
Deliya grimaced. She’d alienated him with her refusal. Ro’s interest had cooled. Deliya hoped it was still possible to invite the interest that once was.
She smiled, striding across the room with a sway in her hips much like the one Laril used when she sought a man to warm her bed. Ro glanced at her, his eyes sliding over her then moving back to the general beside him.
The general’s eyes lingered longer, an appreciative smile curving his lips. Deliya ignored him, concentrating on Ro. She didn’t want this strange general. Though his rank would indicate strong stock, Deliya would not chance her heir to an unknown quantity.
She pushed away the thought that it was more than that. Ro was attentive, and his touch scattered her senses. Such a man was worthy to challenge her. Ro must challenge her properly, or Deliya could not proceed to the production of an heir.
“Ro,” she called softly. “I must speak with you.”
“This is not a good time,” Ro informed her without meeting her eyes. He glanced at the general and followed the other man’s line of sight to Deliya. Ro scowled. “You should go,” he decided coldly. “My men ride into battle this afternoon. They do not need distractions — Priestess.”
The general darkened and looked away.
Deliya’s stomach sank. This afternoon? There was no time to accomplish her task before he left. “Will you be long?” she asked, attempting to mask her upset.
Ro met her eyes, stilling, his look unreadable.
Donic grasped her elbow gently and turned Deliya away. “This way, Priestess,” he growled in a voice that brooked no argument.
Deliya glanced back to Ro in confusion, but he was deep in conversation with the general. She sighed, letting Donic lead her back to her room.
He released her, standing in the doorway. “I suggest you stay here until Ro is gone.”
“Why?” she challenged.
“You are a distraction.” Donic turned to leave.
“Surely one general with a moment of inattention will not undermine—”
He turned on her, furious. “Not the generals,” he snapped, “though that is dangerous enough. Ro needs his head in the battle to come.” Donic ran his eyes down her body with a sneer. “Whatever your game, it is unwelcome. I will not permit Ro to fall in battle because of it.”
Donic left, slamming the door behind him.
Deliya stared after him for a long moment, sinking to the bed. “Unwelcome,” she whispered. Then there was no chance of what she wished.
There are ways, her mind argued. Dolgen— Deliya’s breath hitched. Did she dare go that far to get what he vowed? And how would she arrange it?
CHAPTER TEN
Wend 24th, Ti 10-459
Deliya stilled at the top of the stairs, her smile fading at the sight of the bloody bandage on Ro’s upper arm. She tore down the stairs, intent on rendering any aid she could.
Donic met her halfway, stopping her bodily. “Away,” he whispered fiercely. “A Magden king does not show weakness.”
“I am a healer,” she protested.
He turned Deliya and half-dragged her up the stairs and toward her room. “One of the surgeons will attend to him after the men are attended to.”
“After—”
“The men come first,” he snapped. “It is our way.”
“But I can help.”
“No. You can do nothing helpful,” he spat. Donic opened the door to her room and waved Deliya inside.
She hesitated.
“I will force you inside and post a guard,” he warned.
Deliya stepped into the room. “How have I offended you so grievously, Donic?” she asked hopelessly.
“You upset years of battle plans and caused a battle the likes of which I have never seen before. I hope never to again.”
“I what? What madness is this?”
Donic glared at her. “Congratulations, Priestess. Ro has returned Gidlore to you.”
Deliya had to concentrate to force her lungs to function and her heart to beat.
“Now, will you remain here or must I post a guard to make you keep your distance?”
“Stay,” she managed in a strangled voice. The door closed between them, while Deliya stood frozen in shock.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t seem to order her unruly thoughts. Ro never mentioned his intent to restore her own lands to her. He kept it well hidden from her, as if he was afraid he would fail her and didn’t want to raise her hopes.
Deliya moved to the small table next to her bed and started to load her pack
slowly, listening to the sound of Ro entering his rooms and sending away Donic with a fluttering in her stomach. She owed it to Ro to tend his wound. Yes. She owed him that much. He had been injured while capturing Gidlore for her.
She sighed. Deliya would heal Ro, and she would use a mug of the tea — and no more unless he requested it. If Ro didn’t want her, Deliya would concede defeat. She owed him that much for the kindness he’d shown her.
Deliya peeked into the hall, breathing a sigh of relief that there was no guard on Ro’s door. She hoisted her pack and balanced a tray of other supplies on her hand, supplies she had arranged with a very different approach in mind.
*
Ro looked up in surprise, as Deliya entered his room without knocking. “Priestess?” he asked uncertainly, reminding himself to keep the distance between them he’d created.
The sight of Deliya on the stairs had nearly broken him, as the sight of her before he left had nearly broken him. If it weren’t for Donic, Ro might have forsaken his vow not to pursue her. Deliya enflamed him. She seemed unaware of how she affected him. For his sanity, it had to remain that way.
She bowed her head slightly. “I would offer my services as a healer, Ro.”
His heart stuttered at the idea of Deliya laying hands on him again. It would not be wise. “I require no healing,” he replied brusquely.
Deliya stiffened. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have succumbed to infection from a similar injury. I have heard your servants speak of it.”
Ro darkened, wondering which of his servants would be the target of his ire for this interference. “At a battle site,” he admitted. His habit of letting his men seek treatment first had not always been a wise one.
She strode to the bed, placing a tray on the table beside him and setting a pack next to his hip. Deliya handed him a steaming mug. “Drink this.”
Ro stared into the pink liquid dubiously. Donic would lock him in shackles for even considering drinking a concoction that could be a sweet-tasting poison.