A guard opened the door. He was loyal to Father, but did not know the reason for his current duty. He had not been warned, or else he had not been well informed. If he had, he would never have opened the door. Father fed her drunks and wanderers, and other men who would not be missed, but as Princess looked at the guard, she was taken by his strength and his beauty. He would feed her well.
She smiled. Her smile was irresistible, she knew. “I cannot sleep,” she whispered, “and I don’t want to disturb the others. Can I step into the hall and talk to you for a while? I’m so lonely.”
Princess knew what the guard saw. A small, young female, pretty to a fault, too overtly sensuous for her age. When she caught his eyes with hers she knew he was lost. In her blue eyes he saw no threat. None at all.
“Of course,” he said, and he opened the door wider for her. He glanced behind her and saw that she’d been telling the truth. Her sisters were asleep.
Princess stepped into the hallway, glancing to her right and then to her left. No one else was wandering the hallways on this level of the palace at the moment, though there were more demons in rooms off other hallways. They were close by, imprisoned as she had been imprisoned. But she wasn’t imprisoned now. She was free. Almost free.
It occurred to her that she could run after she fed. Down the hall, down the stairs, into the night. No one would stop her, and it would be morning before anyone realized she had gone. But then what? Her opportunities for power were here, in her Father’s hands. It would be foolish to escape now.
“Why can’t you sleep?” the guard asked, once the door was gently closed behind her. They were alone in the long hallway. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“I did,” she said. “I dreamed that there were fiery red eyes floating above my head, and the person behind those eyes wanted me dead.”
“That is scary,” he admitted. “But it was just a dream.”
“Was it?” She took a step closer to him. “Can you be sure? There’s magic all around us. Some of that magic is dark. What if...” She batted her lashes. “What if some dark witch is trying to kill me?”
The guard laid a hand on her shoulder, an offered comfort. “Minister Volker has gone to great lengths to protect you and your sisters from those who would do you harm, though I am not of a high enough rank to be told the details of your situation. But I am here to protect you, and you have nothing to fear.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she said, and then she laid her head on his chest and sighed. For a moment the sentinel held his breath. He was confused, conflicted. And he wanted her, even though he knew he should not.
For a moment Princess wondered if she would ever be able to lie with a man. A kiss was all it took to empty a man of his essence, but if she took him into her body, if she were to lie beneath him... perhaps, one day, but she suspected she would never know that particular pleasure. Her body was poison inside. Perhaps she would be forever a virgin. A virginal demon; a woman and not a woman.
“My lady, you should not...” The sentinel choked on his words.
Princess lifted her head and looked up at him. He saw a vulnerable, confused, desirable girl. She saw beauty and power and nourishment. “Would you kiss me? I feel so alone here, so lost.”
“I should not,” he protested without conviction.
“Just a kiss. A kiss will make me feel so much better.” Princess looked him in the eye and captured him. The guard was physically superior, but his mind was malleable. And he was already hers.
Her lips met his, and for a moment—a very short moment—it was nothing more than a kiss. It was pleasurable, stirring. And then it began. She felt his essence pouring into her, filling her mouth and her throat and then her entire being. He felt it, too, but he was powerless to move away. The strength was all hers now. She had the power; she was in control. Her tongue thrust into his mouth as she attempted to lick away all he had.
Princess closed her eyes because she did not wish to see such a handsome man waste away to nothing. She didn’t want to watch him shrivel and shrink. There was nothing to be done for what she felt of his decline, but she did not wish to see. Soon they sank—together—to the floor, as he could no longer stand. His lips were dry, and he no longer fought. He did not have the strength to fight. When the last of his life force left his body she broke the connection, opened her eyes, and watched him turn to dust and bones.
She stood, and with her hands brushed away the dust that clung to her nightgown. She felt so much better, so much stronger! It was a shame the sentinel had to die, but there was nothing to be done for it. His sacrifice would serve them all well.
She suspected that before Lyssa Tempest and her man died, many more sentinels would be called upon to make the same sacrifice. It would take a lot of power to do what had to be done.
***
Blade turned away from Lyssa. He had not been able to talk her into returning to bed unaccompanied. When he’d tried to order her to bed she’d stubbornly lain down on the floor beside him and refused to move. When he’d scooted away, she’d scooted with him. When he sat up, she sat up, too, and leaned into him. He’d finally decided that if she was going to insist on sleeping with him, they might as well do it in a bed. He could resist her. He could sleep with her without indulging in a husband’s pleasure.
Resisting her wouldn’t be easy, but...
It didn’t help when they settled down into the bed and she pressed her chest against his back, wrapping an arm around him, fitting her body to his. If he hadn’t felt her body trembling he would have shaken her off, but doing so would be a waste of time, he convinced himself. She would follow; she would not let go. She was truly scared.
So was he. The words she’d spoken with so much fear and confidence scared him to his bones. Together we are more.
He didn’t want to be more, didn’t need to be more. His life was simple; his goal was simple. The end was in sight, and he could not allow Lyssa to distract him from it.
“I don’t understand why you felt the need to put on pants before coming to bed,” she whispered. “You would be more comfortable naked, I’m sure, since that is how you usually sleep.”
“It seemed like the thing to do.”
She apparently could not let the matter go. Did she ever let anything go? From his limited experience, he would have to say no.
“I have seen you naked several times, and we have fucked more than once, so—”
“Lyssa!”
“I know it is a vulgar word, but you have heard me say it before, so I don’t understand why I should demur now.”
“Go to sleep,” he said gruffly.
She sighed. “I will try, but it won’t be easy.”
Easy? Was anything to do with Lyssa ever easy?
She didn’t drift off to sleep, and neither did he. She squirmed, moved about as if trying to get comfortable while holding onto him. Every motion, no matter how small, brought her closer, rubbed her skin again his, made him want her more. Perhaps if he slept she would follow, but his mind was spinning. Tension shot through his entire body, until he felt as if his nerves were on fire. Sleep was not coming. At the moment he felt as if he would never sleep again.
He should not have married her. He should have ignored her cries for help and let Gnarly Red have her. She would be another man’s problem then.
No. The idea of any man hurting her made his chest tight. The thought of another man having her in his bed was... impossible. But he could have—and should have —refused her marriage proposal and escorted her home. She was not a part of his plan; he could not afford to care about her. He couldn’t even afford to like her, not if she was going to get in the way of a plan four years in the making.
After a while she whispered, her breath warm against his back, her lips right there, “How did you get the scar on your chest?”
“It doesn’t matter. Go to sleep.”
“I can’t. I feel like a clock that’s been too tightly wound.”
Bla
de groaned. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was hard more often than not these days. As if he didn’t throb when she told him what she wanted—directly or not so directly. He knew how to unwind her clock, but every time he was inside her he felt himself shift a little bit. Lyssa said she was changing, and though he could never tell her so, she was not alone. She made him question everything... and that was a risk he could not take. He had to remain focused on revenge. No, not revenge, justice. Justice for Runa, at any cost.
More. He could not afford to be more than he was. Could not afford to push his plans back. His hate faded when he was with Lyssa, when she smiled at him, when she chattered on about nothing. Life threatened to become more.
She squirmed, shifted, pressed her body against his while her arm encircled him and her gentle hand brushed against his bare chest. Since she’d asked about the scar Volker had given him, she apparently wanted to touch it. Caress it with the soft tips of her fingers.
Finally he rolled over, threw her onto her back and glared down at her. He could barely see her face, but he knew exactly what she would look like at this moment. Hopeful, lips parted, green eyes dancing. So pretty and soft and... kind.
He could not be kind to her in return. If kindness was what she wanted, she should have married someone else. “I know how to make you be still.” He threw the coverlet to the end of the bed and with rough hands pulled the hem of her nightdress up. She assisted, lifting her hips, wiggling to position herself and open her thighs. She thought he was going to give her exactly what she wanted, but she was wrong.
“There’s more than one way to ease your suffering, wife,” he said as he placed one hand between her legs.
“I didn’t say I was suff—oh!” Her hips lurched as he found the nub at her entrance and circled his thumb there.
“Don’t talk, just lie there and feel.”
“It does feel...” She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. Her hips moved in a gentle rhythm against his hand, and her breathing changed. She sighed and moaned and made small, maddening noises deep in her throat. Had she really been a virgin a week ago? Was she really, truly his wife?
No, he could not let his mind go there, could not pretend that this marriage was real. The rhythm of her hips grew faster, harder. He thrust two fingers inside her and she crested, huskily calling his name as her body spasmed. And then she drifted into the mattress with a satisfied sigh.
“That was... lovely, and very unexpected, I must say. But... but what about you?”
Blade removed his hand from her before saying, as coldly as possible, “I don’t want you.”
Another woman would have cried or kicked him out of the bed. Another woman would have railed at him for being so cruel. But Lyssa didn’t hesitate. She simply reached out and placed a hand on his painfully hard length as she whispered, “Liar.”
He turned his back to her, ignoring his wife once more. Or trying to. She snuggled against his back again and even placed a gentle kiss on his spine. And right before she fell asleep she whispered once more, “Such a liar.”
***
Hagan was an early riser, Blade knew, so he didn’t hesitate to knock on the man’s door just after the sun rose. Lyssa was preparing breakfast. He didn’t have much time, but he did need a word with Hagan. Alone.
The older man admitted Blade into the house himself, as he often did. Wearing a bright red dressing gown, his hair uncombed, Hagan was not prepared for visitors but he was wide awake. In the dining room, he offered Blade tea. Blade declined, as they both sat at the table.
They were alone, no Lyssa or servants present, so Blade spoke plainly.
“It was Miron Volker who killed Runa.”
Hagan’s hands shook and he set his teacup down too hard. He was obviously unprepared for such a conversation. “Minister Volker?”
“Yes.”
“Are you... sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! I saw him kill her, and I looked him in the eye when he tried to kill me. I didn’t know his name, then, but now I do.”
Hagan shook his head. “You can’t possibly think to get away with...”
“No,” Blade said in a lowered voice. “I won’t get away with it. I won’t escape.”
“There has to be another way...”
“There is not.”
Hagan’s cook, a youngish woman with wild red hair, walked into the dining room carrying a tray of sweet rolls and jam. When she saw Blade she started a bit, surprised to see such an early visitor, then she placed the tray on the able and said, “I’ll be right back with another plate and more rolls. Eggs will be ready shortly.”
“I won’t be eating,” Blade said.
Hagan waved the cook away with an impatient hand, and she went.
“You have a wife, now,” Hagan whispered. “You cannot throw your life away!”
Blade did not argue that Lyssa was not a true wife. He could not even say that he didn’t care. He whispered, too, in case the cook had her ear pressed to the other side of the dining room door. “When I die, will you let her stay here? She will need a home.” She would need a friend even more than a cozy cottage, he suspected.
“Of course she can stay, but there is no need. Together we can find another way to see this done.”
If there was another way, he would have thought of it already. “No. There is no other way.”
“Emperor Jahn...”
“Will not hang one of his own ministers for killing one of the Isen Demon’s daughters,” Blade finished, his voice sharp.
Hagan paled. “The timing of Runa’s birth... I cannot say I never wondered. I did hope I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”
No one else would care. No one else would see that Volker was punished. “Lyssa.” Blade said simply. “Take care of her.”
Hagan nodded, once. It was enough.
***
Blade had thought about leaving her, Lyssa knew. Even when he’d shown her pleasure and denied himself, he had thought of simply walking away. He said nothing to that effect; his actions and words when others were present had not changed. To her friends and family, he appeared to be a loving husband. All of her friends and more than a few acquaintances had stopped by the shop to meet him, and she could tell that they were envious. After all, Blade was handsome and attentive, a dream husband—at least outwardly. He was the man who had broken the curse, who had survived marriage to Terrible Tempest. He did not show his intentions to the world, but Lyssa knew that for a while now he had considered leaving her without offering a word of explanation.
But he hadn’t left. She scared him—she knew that, too—but she didn’t scare him enough to give up his goal.
Blade thought death was all he had to offer the world, that once he had avenged his sister his life would be over. Pointless. Worthless. Without meaning. He was wrong. Unfortunately, he did not believe her.
Her husband was a hard worker and a determined man; to all eyes the man she had been waiting for all these years. She knew what others did not; that he had settled into the job with her father only to patiently wait for another opportunity to access the palace. She spent every frustrating day trying to think of a way to stop him.
Edine, who had been a wife for three years now, had offered to show Lyssa how to prepare a few of her husband’s favorite foods. That devoted husband’s mother was currently watching the children for a few hours so Edine could spend some time with her oldest friend. Lyssa had worried a bit about leaving Blade and her father alone at the store, but business was slow this late in the afternoon, and besides... the two men got along very well. That would not be the case if Cyrus Tempest knew the truth about his son-in-law, but as he did not, all would be well. For a while.
Lyssa had seen Edine several times since her marriage to Blade, but they had not been on their own. There were always children or a husband or a father around. With the window opened and the doors closed, they were on their own now in the cottage Edine shared with her husband and two young children. Edine
wasted no time. She smiled widely and asked, “How do you like being married?”
“It’s very nice.” Lyssa twisted her hands just a little, flexed her fingers and shifted her feet. She hated to lie, especially to a friend, and here she was, trapped in an enormous lie! But being married was very nice. That much was the truth.
Edine’s smile faded. “Nice? Blade is so handsome, and strong. Surely you can come up with a word better than nice to describe him. Is he an attentive husband? A good kisser? How is he in bed?”
“Oh, you want to know about the fucking.”
Edine actually drew back a bit. “Lyssa Tempest! I mean, Lyssa Renshaw! Such language.”
“I know it is a vulgar word, but...”
“Very vulgar.”
“Well, what do you call it?”
“Sinmora didn’t prepare you for marriage at all,” Edine said in a disapproving tone. “You cannot cook, and you don’t even know that what you said is entirely unacceptable for a lady.”
“I’m not a lady. I’m a shopkeeper’s daughter and a shopkeeper’s wife.” And perhaps a witch, though she kept that thought to herself. “Sinmora said it was a husband’s place to instruct a wife. She never did go into details about what that instruction might include. Or what it might be called.”
“Yin will, on occasion, call it a poke. A word I detest, by the way.”
“I can understand why.” Lyssa wrinkled her nose.
“He thinks it’s roguish and charming, but he’s mistaken.” Edine lifted her eyebrows in an expression that spoke of loving exasperation. “My mother calls it my wifely duty, which doesn’t seem any better than a poke. It has never felt much like a duty to me,” she added in a lowered voice.
Nor to me. “Well, if I can’t say... that word, what should I call it?”
Edine smiled. “I like to call it making love.”
Making love. She liked that, though it wasn’t entirely accurate where she and Blade were concerned. He didn’t love her. “Many people who are not in love share their bodies.”
“Then it’s a poke, or what you said, but when a man and woman are truly in love, the act is simply not the same.”
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