Chapter 2 #2
Deadly silence ensued—no whispered voices—not even from the wood sprites now. The cavalry officer tossed her braid aside and stared at her clothes. “Is this what they send to fight their battles now?”
She glared at him, matching his scowl. He considered her turtleneck a form-fitting shirt that accentuated her feminine figure.
“It’s female—that’s for certain.” Then his eyes dropped to study her brass-buckled belt.
His black bushy brows furrowed, and he ran his ruddy finger over the inscribed letters etched into her oval buckle.
His lips mouthed the letters in silence, then the armored men standing nearby parted briefly. The gray-haired man stared at her.
“I cannot read these strange symbols. What does it call her, Carissian?”
Carissian peered into Tashama’s eyes, and though she fought to turn her head from his stare, she found she was unable to do so.
“Dallas.” A whisper of a smile touched his lips. “But my saying so amuses her.”
Tashama struggled to clear her mind. He explored her thoughts as if fingers touched the most sensitive parts of her body.
He arched his brows in response. “She’s very clever—this one. Take her to his lordship at once.”
“A Karthlander female? What would Prince Aleron want with the likes of her?”
Carissian’s stern look made the warrior grunt in response. He grabbed Tashama’s wrist, then yanked her toward his closest mounted cavalry officer. Tashama cried out when he lifted her off her feet with a sudden jerk of her arm.
“Careful, Oshon. Be careful with this one.” Carissian vanished.
“Sorcerers—they’ll undo our realm!” Oshon yelled, jumped into the leather of his saddle, then waved his men toward the direction of the royal city.
Within the hour, the cavalry rode into the marbled city of Banf.
Tashama assumed the rest of the men dismounted to take care of more pleasurable business, while Oshon rode straight with his captive, her, to Prince Aleron’s palace.
Golden spires, fifteen in number, reached for the clear blue skies while white marble walls connecting the towers shimmered in the sunlight.
Tashama studied the steel gates as they opened, then glanced up at the wall walk.
Guards roamed about on top of the wall, though several peered down at her to see the prisoner.
She was led into the inner courtyard, where pages hurried to take the men’s mounts.
The cavalry officer dumped her onto the grassy grounds.
Before she could recover from her unceremonious dismount, he jumped down beside her and yanked her to her feet. She fought crying out this time. She would not allow them to think of her as weak.
The two men hurried her into the palace, and she reached up to tuck a loose curl back into her braid, unraveling from the blue ribbon that once bound it. She studied a royal guard’s shining gold trappings when he saluted Oshon with his spear.
When she caught sight of his leering gaze, she quickened her pace to her escort’s surprise, and they hurried to catch up to her.
Her rubber-soled shoes made nary a sound on the polished ivory floors.
Still, the clicking of the metal-edged boots of Oshon and his officer echoed off the peach-tinted, variegated-marble walls, making their arrival all the more pronounced.
Young girls in flowing gowns of opalescent sheers covering opaque satins in vibrant blues, burgundy, purples, and golds fluttered up and down the cris-crossing hallways like butterflies flitting in a marble garden.
They stopped only briefly to stare at the oddly dressed prisoner escorted through their residence, then floated away.
The sweet-scented, jasmine-like waters they wore drifted in the air with their departure.
Male servants walked toward her, wearing white satin robes nearly touching the floor like garments worn by the early senators of Rome.
They did not wear trousers like her own people did. She would never have thought… She shook her head. She never realized everything would be so different in Maldovia.
They seemed a pleasant enough people, except for this Oshon, leader of the cavalry and a total brute.
But if they learned she ruled the people that were their enemy, or would when she set things right, how would the Maldovians then treat her?
Torture her for tactical secrets? Use her to ransom her kingdom?
She shuddered at the notion. For now, her best defense was to keep her lips sealed tight.
When Tashama and her escort arrived at the entrance of the throne room, the royal guard bowed low to Oshon. “Prince Aleron is expecting you in his chambers.”
“Surely he wouldn’t wish for me to bring this to him there.” He lifted Tashama’s cut arm slightly.
“Carissian is already there and has advised His Highness concerning the prisoner. They’re expecting you at once.”
Oshon grumbled his displeasure, then pulled Tashama down the next corridor. When they arrived at Aleron’s apartments, a man greeted Oshon and turned to Tashama. “I’m Acholuria, the prince’s personal guard.” He motioned for them to enter.
Satin pillows in a rainbow of colors were piled high in a corner of the room, and a long wooden desk rested against the opposite wall.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her sense of fear and frustration.
Level-headedness was what she needed to see her through.
How, Balthazar, am I to get myself out of this?
“Well, what have we here?” a broad-shouldered man asked, stalking into the room. His deep, dark voice drew her in, though she fought the feeling, and she avoided looking at him, innately fearful of what she might see.
He’s your enemy, Tashama. Remember that.
“Prince Aleron,” Acholuria announced. “Bow before His Highness,” he ordered Tashama.
If he were in her palace, he would bow to her, so she had no problem doing so before him in his own palace.
She curtseyed the way she remembered to do when she was young.
It surprised her to find her memories slowly returning, but it felt odd to curtsey in a pair of jeans and not a gown.
She felt like she was in a medieval movie script; she was an extra who had forgotten to dress properly for her role in the film.
The prince sat down on the edge of his desk, then flipped his gold-trimmed, royal-blue, satin cape off his shoulders while he dangled his bare legs over the side.
Her eyes roved over the short cut of his tunic, hiked up some. Muscular legs, like a runner might have, spread apart, and she couldn’t help but eye the shadows centered between his legs underneath the tunic. What did men wear under their tunics? Codpieces? Or just some kind of a wrap?
Or like the Highlanders of Earth world, who went commando, did they wear nothing at all? Having spent way too much time considering the matter, she found lifting her gaze from the forbidden area proved harder than she imagined.
His lips smiled almost imperceptibly. Conceited bastard.
She studied his dark hair and eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and her legs felt like they’d turned to boneless mush.
He was the one from her dreams. He was the ruler of Maldovia?
Her heart thumped hard. How could he be the one whose lips tantalized her so? She studied his perfectly muscled arms. Not muscle-bound like bodybuilders, but just developed enough to hold her tight.
Knowing he was not the one for her, she couldn’t understand why she wanted him to wrap his arms around her and squeeze so hard she would lose her breath.
She…his enemy? What would he want with the likes of her?
Did she only imagine he desired her as well?
She was disgusted with herself for feeling any wanton desire for her enemy.
You have gotten me into a fine pickle here, Bal… She glanced over at Carissian when he walked into the room. Ballerina…figure that one out, oh seer of naught. You were trying to read my thoughts from the prince’s… She glanced into the other room. Bedchamber.
Her brows lifted slightly, then her gaze shifted to the prince. How could she possibly find a mate and lead her people to victory here? She should never have left Texas.
Carissian cleared his throat. “She’s curious about your bedchamber.”
The prince’s lips curved up maliciously.
“Oft you have told me I need to take a love slave, to work off some of the pent-up frustrations I have over this everlasting war.” He stood up from the desk, then walked over to her.
“The lady I met with earlier, who requested my blissful attentions, did not meet with my expectations. But this wench…”
His love slave! If he even thought for one moment that she would go along with such an absurd notion…
He touched her hair, but she swung her hand to slap his away.
Instantly, he caught her wrist. Her heartbeat thundered out of control, and the palms of her hands grew sweaty.
The heat of his grip sent electrical charges swirling through her veins at hyper-speed.
Resenting his controlling her, she tried to break free, but a devilish smile elevated his lips and reflected in his dark eyes.
“She needs to be stripped of her clothes and scrubbed clean first. I wish to consider her further. I couldn’t bed someone as unkempt as this.
” He stared at the skin around her eyes, then turned to face Carissian, his voice changing instantly from amusement to barely contained anger.
“The area around her eyes is darkened like a raccoon’s.
I thought it was merely dirt, but it appears she has been injured. Did my men do this to the woman?”
“Nay, sire,” Carissian said quickly. “We found her like that, watching us from the woods near the lake.”
“She looks similar to the one…” Aleron quit speaking and shook his head.
“Karthlander women all look the same,” Oshon growled from the threshold.
Tashama swallowed, her throat feeling as parched as if she’d crossed the Arizona desert without a drop of water to drink. Had the prince shared the same dreams with her? Did he recognize her from them?
“What do you think, Carissian?” He touched her cheek.
She meant to swat away his hand, but he seized her free wrist and raised a brow. Clenching her teeth, she fought the urge to tell him to go to hell.
“I think, sire, you will find the siren a deadly advisory in bed, or otherwise. My advice to you is to select a genteel lady from our staff. Send this one to your castle in the south, under strictest guard.”
“Clean her up.” Aleron released her and folded his arms. “I haven’t had a good battle for a fortnight. We will see who the victor will be.”
Carissian spoke to Aleron in private, though Tashama read the words on his lips. “And if she is the witch of your dreams, sire?”
Aleron glanced back at her. “Then she’ll earn her pay for keeping me awake one more night.”