His fingers grasped her chin and her eyes widened as he forced her to look at him.
“Irina, why do you speak to me so, treat me so, when you so clearly understand the possible consequences of that behavior?” he asked softly. “Do you believe that my attraction to you would—”
A slap shattered the air and Irina fought to keep the wince off her face as both her palm and her wounds stung with the effort. Kirill pressed his lips together but didn’t speak. She leaned closer so their faces were only inches apart.
“I have no delusions about our relationship,” she said slowly. “I know that you could and would have me killed if it would benefit you to do so. And you’re right, I do fear you and what you might do to me if the fancy strikes you. However, I have lived with that threat of violence, with that incessant fear, for nearly my entire life. And do you know what it has taught me?”
“Do tell.”
“Fear can change you if you let it. Even a proud, strong woman can become a whimpering mess if her fear overwhelms her. Terror reaches inside you and twists your mind, colors your decisions, and limits your options. If I’m going to live my life under the constant threat of death, then I’m going to live it on my terms. And when I do die, I want people to remember me as I am, not as whatever creature my fear wants to turn me into.” Her throat constricted as she thought of her father and what her life might have been like if Serafina hadn’t taken him from her. She straightened her spine. “My circumstances have taken certain choices from me. I’ll be damned if I let fear take any more…even if it’s such a simple choice as smacking a man who’s treated me as a means to his own ends instead of the lady he thinks his father should treat me as.”
For several long minutes, Kirill just stood there, staring at her. His blue eyes flickered from side to side as if he were trying to examine every line of her face, every clue that might tell him how serious she was. Irina just stood there and let him search, patient and quiet.
Serafina had asked her a similar question once. Right after Irina’s father’s suspicious death, Serafina had actually tried to raise Irina as her own. She’d lectured her on politics, taught her self defense and the use of various weapons, educated her on different creatures and their customs. At first, Irina had learned eagerly, grateful for the parental devotion Serafina seemed to lavish on her. Then as she’d grown older, Serafina had started to look at her with different eyes. It wasn’t until one of the vila had told Irina of her stepmother’s magic mirror and its prophecies that Irina had understood the change in Serafina’s attitude. The mirror had apparently implicated Irina in a prophecy, hinting that she would be the one to reach some lofty goal that Serafina sought for herself. Serafina had grown colder, taking delight only in tormenting Irina, especially when she could frighten her stepdaughter.
Those had been dark days, followed by even darker nights. But Serafina had made a mistake. Irina had learned so much, been exposed to so much of the world. She’d had time to think of who she wanted to be, what she wanted to be, and when Serafina started slamming doors in her face, Irina had fought that much harder to find windows to open. She’d been terrified, yes, but she had been even more determined. Determined to have a life, to live her life. And, eventually, determined to avenge her father’s death on the false woman who had so badly deceived them both.
Finally, Kirill narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Irina? More than anything else in life, what do you desire?”
“Vengeance.”
Kirill’s eyebrows vanished into his hairline. “Vengeance? Not freedom for the villagers, or money for the poor?” He waved a hand in the air. “No world peace?”
Thoughts of her father filled Irina’s mind, freshened by her earlier remembrance of Serafina and the sorceress’s years of deceit about her husband’s death. “Do I get more than one answer?”
“No.”
“Then the answer is vengeance.”
Kirill shook his head, looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. Curiosity burned in his gaze. “Vengeance for what?”
Irina crossed her arms, gritting her teeth momentarily against the discomfort. “If I don’t get more than one answer, you don’t get more than one question.” She smirked and leaned in. “That’s logic.”
The laugh that burst from Kirill startled Irina and she dropped her arms, then scrambled to hold up her bodice as it drooped dangerously close to revealing her breasts for the second time that night. Kirill continued to laugh, a deep hearty sound from somewhere deep inside him and Irina found herself smiling with him. As his laughter faded, he shook his head.
“Irina, I have never met anyone quite like you,” he admitted finally. He smiled. “I am pleased I saved your life.”
“And I am impressed that you managed to make a compliment into a reminder of my debt to you,” Irina said bemusedly.
Kirill’s smiled widened, flashing fang. “That is why I will be king someday.”
Irina rolled her eyes as he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. She fumbling to hold her dress up with her other hand. The bodice was growing looser and looser the more she moved about with no lacing.
“If I had my way, there would be no king.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Kirill said, patting her hand.
A flash of anger sizzled along Irina’s nerves. “Don’t be condescending to me. It’s all fine and well for you to want to be king, and lord over all the people of Dacia while sitting on your comfy throne and eating giant feasts that should by all rights feed twenty people. But as one of your subjects, I can promise you that I don’t care whose ass is parked on that fancy chair. One king is like any other king.”
“Have you ever heard of Midguard?”
Despite herself, Irina shivered. “Of course. It’s a wilderness full of madmen and women who spend their days roving the seas and pillaging ships and villages. Everyone has been warned not to stray too far from the five kingdoms for fear of falling prey to those people.”
“It is not a wilderness. It is a ruined kingdom. There was once a king of Midguard, but he was a lazy man. He did as you suggest kings do, just sat on his throne and enjoyed the benefits of being king without offering any services to his people in return. His people would come to him for law and order, but unless his tithes were short, the king didn’t care. The people started to mete out their own justice. Neighbor stole from neighbor, the strong taking over the weak. As long as they continued to send money to the king, they were left alone. Only eventually, the thieves grew so wealthy and so powerful, that they no longer feared even the king’s guards. They stopped tithing.”
A chill shivered over Irina’s skin as her mind provided pictures to go along with Kirill’s words. Serafina had told her a little of Midguard, but mostly it was about how to avoid them and how to bargain with them if you were captured. She’d never really mentioned anything about the history of the place.
“As you must know, there is no longer a king of Midguard. It is chaos, a wilderness as you said. That is what happens when there is no king—or a weak king.”
“You don’t know that that would happen here,” Irina objected, thinking of all the people she knew.
“You’re telling me that there is no one in the kingdom that would take advantage if my family did not hear complaints and send guards to settle disputes and drag criminals off to the dungeons?”
Against her will, Irina thought of a few individuals who would leap at that sort of freedom. She pursed her lips and Kirill nodded.
“Exactly. And those people would push others into defending themselves, and things would escalate. How long do you think it would take before Dacia became nothing more than another abomination like Midguard?”
Irina fell silent. Her mind worked to turn over what Kirill had said and though she hated to admit it, there was a kernel of wisdom in his words. She’d have to think it over before she could argue the point properly.
He led her to an open door and Irina froze when she looked into t
he room, swathed in rich purple and silver. Windows stretched nearly from floor to ceiling, offering a gorgeous view of the stars and moon. It was Kirill’s personal chambers. She recognized it from her previous visit. Anger gushed through her and she crossed her arms.
“You are beyond arrogant if you think I’m sleeping with you.”
Kirill raised an eyebrow. “You prefer to sleep in a room that has not specifically been spelled to keep out my father?”
Irina paused, her mind flashing back to the unpleasant monarch. The king was obviously aware of Kirill’s aspirations and it would not be a stretch for him to assume Irina was part of Kirill’s plan. Unease rippled over her nerves.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally, the words chafing her vocal chords. “Thank you for lending me your room.” She shifted from foot to foot, trying to think of a polite way to phrase her next question. Kirill, damn his eyes, watched her as if he knew full well what she wanted to ask, but was going to let her suffer through it. Irina cleared her throat and forced herself to meet his eyes. “Where will you sleep?”
Chapter 10
Oh, how tempting it was to torment her. Even with all the treason he had on his plate, Kirill could think of little else that would be so satisfying as leading Irina to believe he intended to share a bed with her.
It was a ridiculous thought, truth be told. Kirill died at dawn, his body going cold and still. It was his weakest point, and he certainly didn’t trust this woman to the extent that he would let her see him in such a state. The only way to prevent his daily “death” would be to bond with a human, a sort of “marriage.” Then his sleep would be just that, instead of the corpse-like state he experienced now. He straightened his spine. And he certainly had no intention of bonding in such a way with Irina.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and tucked into bed, shall we?”
He relished the way her jaw tensed and her eyes flashed. She wanted to smack him again, he could practically feel the sting of her palm on his cheek. It was almost disturbing how a part of him wished she would. He would love an excuse to grab her again, and hold her still so he could properly chastise her for her blatant disrespect…
“Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s not going to happen.”
Kirill tried to keep his surprise off his face even as his body tensed slightly. It wasn’t like him to let his thoughts run away with him, not when someone else was present. He forced his mouth into a smile.
“I am thinking only of your welfare,” he said smoothly. He took her arm, gently leading her into his room and pulling a velvet cord to summon his manservant. Within minutes, the man appeared in the doorway. “Have a bath prepared, Demyan,” he said over his shoulder to his servant.
A curl of Demyan’s black hair fell into his eye as he nodded, but he barely seemed to notice. He kept his arms at his sides as he bowed slightly. “At once, Your Highness.”
Kirill nudged Irina toward the dressing screen. “Go and undress, the bath will be ready shortly.”
“If you think I’m going to parade around your chambers naked, then you’re not just undead, you’re brain dead.”
Amusement brought a small smile to Kirill’s face and he chuckled. “As much as I would enjoy overseeing your…bedtime preparations, I’m afraid I must take my leave. The servants will provide you with dressings for your wounds and a nightgown. My personal healer will be up to check on you as well. If you require my presence, just pull the velvet cord and tell Demyan that you wish to see me. He will pass along your message.”
If he wasn’t watching her so carefully, Kirill might have missed the flash of disappointment in Irina’s eyes. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly and it made her gown dip tantalizingly close to revealing her beautiful pale breasts once again…
Kirill swept out of the room without another word, perturbed by how difficult it was to tear himself away from Irina. She was growing to be quite a distraction, and that was unacceptable.
The entire way down to his secret room, Kirill reminded himself of his goals. Irina’s help with the troll king had been invaluable, he had yet another ally in the upcoming coup against his father. After locking the door securely behind him, Kirill strode over to a pile of scrolls and removed the one that outlined the troll king and the strengths his people offered as allies. Kirill grasped the scroll and moved to the wall on the east side of the room, affixing it to one of the screws buried in the stone. He examined the line of his allies and nodded to himself. Things were progressing on schedule.
A flash of red caught his eye and Kirill walked over to another table. Prince Etienne gazed up at him from a portrait Kirill had managed to acquire from Sanguenay. Portraits of the other princes also littered the tabletop, along with history books and every scroll Kirill had been able to find that even mentioned the other royal families. A stack of papers sat in the middle of the table, drawings of the legendary World Tree mocking him with its vague prophecies and whispers of the great kingdom lying just out of Kirill’s reach. It was only two more days until the next full moon, when he would go to the tree once again.
A knock at his door made Kirill snap his head up. He bolted to the door, knowing that Demyan would not have interrupted him if it was not important.
His chest tightened when he opened the door and revealed a panicked Demyan. The man’s usual calm brown eyes were bright with concern, an expression Kirill rarely saw on his servant’s face.
“Your Highness,” Demyan gasped. “It’s the young lady. She’s collapsed!”
“Lockdown the castle!” Kirill snarled.
In seconds, Kirill had bolted from the room, trusting Demyan to lock the door behind him. He poured every ounce of his strength into his mad dash for his chambers, flowing like dark light down the zigzagging hallways and exploding into the room.
Irina lay on the floor, clothed in a delicate cotton nightgown. Her wet locks lay in dark tendrils around her head, the water leaking onto the thick red rug. Kirill fell to his knees beside her, putting a hand to her forehead. He frowned when he noticed the pearl encrusted comb buried in her hair. When he attempted to brush it away, it stuck with a stomach turning insistence.
“This comb has been pushed into her flesh,” he said, not bothering to hide the outrage in his voice. He very carefully parted her hair, trying to see the extent of the damage. “You have already sent for the healer, yes?”
“Yes, Sire, Klement will be here shortly,” Demyan said. “And Isai as well.”
Kirill nodded his satisfaction. “Good. The wizard may be of help.” The scent of blood was so strong it made Kirill’s head spin and his mouth water. He knew that even small head wounds bled badly, so it didn’t necessarily mean the wound was critical. Still, he didn’t like the stillness of Irina’s body. It just didn’t make any sense, Irina wasn’t human. Why did it seem she was so vulnerable?
“Your Highness, may I examine her?”
The healer’s voice was calm and almost musical despite his advanced age. His grey hair and wrinkled face spoke to his experience, one of the reasons Kirill had chosen him for his personal physician. He wore a simple green robe without any special adornments. The clinking sound that always seemed to follow him betrayed the presence of all the vials he always carried on his person, forever prepared for whatever injuries might need seeing to. Kirill nodded, but didn’t move. “The comb has pierced her flesh.”
Klement knelt on the other side of Irina, gently probing around where the comb met Irina’s skull. Kirill looked up to see him frown then gasped when the healer gently pulled the comb from Irina’s head.
“There is swelling around the wound, more than there should be.” The healer reached into his cloak and pulled out a bag. He rooted through it and found a small, blue glass bottle. Kirill wrinkled his nose at the smell of whatever the liquid was as Klement poured it onto a bandage and pressed it to Irina’s head.
“Let me see the comb,” an imperious voice commanded.
Kirill spared a glance at the wizard, I
sai, as he swept into the room with his usual commanding stride. His blue eyes glowed slightly with power, combining with his golden locks to give him a more beautiful appearance than anyone with his temper had a right to. His golden robes were line with red velvet and embroidered with silver. He was a garish sight, but he never failed to draw attention. The man had ego enough for an entire royal family, but he was also one of the greatest wizards in the five kingdoms.
Kirill picked up the comb from the floor and handed it to Isai. Then he turned his attention back to Irina. Her pale face had grown even whiter, taking on an almost silver glow. Her red lips stood out like blood on freshly fallen snow and her black lashes swept down over her cheeks like a raven’s midnight feathers.
“I should not have left her alone.”
Demyan slowly knelt beside Kirill. “Your Highness?”
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