Chapter Two #4
“I’ll ask for a meeting with him and see what I can learn.
” Rain leaned back in his seat and sipped the warm keflee.
“For now, let’s focus on finding a way to convince these other lords that the Eld still pose a threat—or at the very least make an alliance with the Fey seem more lucrative than one with the Eld. ”
Sunlight filtering through her closed eyelids filled Queen Annoura’s gaze with a wash of red, like a sea of watery blood.
She peeled one eye open, then groaned against the stabbing light and dragged a pillow over her face.
Gods’ mercy, she ached all over. From the tips of her toes to the crown of her head, every muscle, every sinew, every inch of skin felt sore and raw.
A rumbling snore sounded in her ear, and she turned her head just enough to find her husband Dorian sprawled out beside her, naked, one arm and leg flung possessively across her.
She glanced down and found her own body spread-eagled with vulgar abandon atop the tangled bedsheets.
Had the servants come in and seen her like this?
Celieria’s queen, naked and flung open like a starfish, bared to any gawking fool?
Grabbing one edge of the silk sheet, she pulled it over herself and hissed as even that slight pressure irritated raw, whisker-burned skin.
Good gods, what a night.
How had something as tediously banal as a palace dinner gone so wrong?
Her hands clenched in fists around the bedsheets as the memories flooded back, clear and sharp as glass.
The palace dinner. Dorian’s unexpected and very unwelcome coup in convincing Great Lords Barrial and Morvel to offer marriage ties between one of their sons and Ellysetta Baristani’s young sisters.
Rain Tairen Soul squiring his common-born mate around the palace as if she were the Queen of Queens.
The affront had been too much. Annoura’s simmering resentment had bubbled over, and her desire to put the woodcarver’s daughter in her place had turned to bitter determination.
A whispered word in a trusted ear ensured that a never-ending flow of heady blue wine poured into the girl’s glass and a special brew of intensely potent keflee found its way into her cup.
Get the girl drunk, ply her with the overwhelming aphrodisiacal effects of the keflee, and watch her make an unmitigated fool of herself before the heads of every noble House in Celieria: that had been Annoura’s plan.
Only it hadn’t worked out the way she’d intended.
Rather than Ellysetta Baristani humiliating herself before the court, every other person in the banquet hall had done so in her stead.
Celieria’s most powerful nobles had fallen upon each other like ravening wolves.
Lords and ladies, Great Lords, even she and Dorian—all helpless to resist the driving sexual hunger.
“Spirit weave,” Dorian had gasped into her ear as their hands had reached helplessly for each other.
It was only thanks to Dorian’s Fey blood that he’d been able to withstand the call of the magic long enough to get them to the privacy of his bedchamber—but even so, he hadn’t been able to counter the weave or reduce its power.
He, like she, had been a puppet dancing to the magic’s capricious command.
They’d made love with fevered intensity for more than seven bells.
Orgasm after orgasm, each one more shattering than the last. Every climax followed by an even deeper, more insistent burn.
Annoura’s throat closed up tight at the memory of it, and her heart pounded like a mallet in a chest that felt as if heavy stones were squeezing all the air from her lungs.
As a princess of the Capellan royal House, she’d been sternly reared to assume command of any situation and never relinquish it.
Yet last night, with a single weave of magic, the Fey had robbed her of every last illusion of control.
She’d been powerless. Enslaved. Dominated and controlled by the magical will of another.
She sat up and drew her knees to her chest. Helplessness was not a feeling she understood, nor one she knew how to deal with.
Behind her, Dorian stirred. She felt the mattress shift as he moved, felt his hand touch her hip, his fingers curl possessively around her waist.
“Annoura?” His voice was raspy, thick with sleep. “Come back to bed, kem’san.”
She flinched at the Fey endearment and cast a glance over her shoulder. “Come back to bed?” she echoed in disbelief. “Surely you cannot want more mating after last night?”
He chuckled wryly and peeled open an eye. “Doubt I could summon the energy even if I did, my love. I just like the feel of you in my arms. It’s been too long since we woke together.” His hand stroked her waist, his thumb tracing a line up her spine.
Despite her aching soreness, she felt the nascent tingle of desire bloom in the wake of his hand.
She’d never been able to deny him. Not from the first moment they’d met.
Her eyes had locked with his, and from that moment on, she’d wanted him—his kiss, his love, his hands upon her, the joy of his smile making her feel as if she could fly.
Now, for the first time in her life, an ugly thought crept in. Had Dorian been working Fey magic on her all these years?
The possibility couldn’t be ignored. Powerful Fey blood ran in his veins.
Ten generations ago, his ancestor Dorian the First had wed Marikah vol Serranis, sister of the shei’dalin Marissya and twin of Gaelen vel Serranis, the murderous dahl’reisen known as the Dark Lord.
That marriage had introduced powerful Fey magic into the royal Celierian bloodline.
Even now, diluted by ten generations, Dorian’s Fey heritage ensured he would live a life three times that of a normal Celierian.
He was exceedingly healthy—common mortal ailments had never afflicted him—and he could weave Air and Spirit, though according to him he possessed less than a tenth the mastery of his magical kin.
Until now, she’d always believed him, always thought her devotion and desire were just natural by-products of her love for him.
But after last night, she had to wonder which feelings were her own and which were the result of Fey influence.
Dear gods, could she have been enslaved by Dorian’s magic and never even known it?
“Come back, kem’sharra, let me hold you a while longer.”
She flinched away from his hand and rose from the bed. The long platinum mass of her hair tumbled down her back to just above her buttocks.
“Annoura?”
“The day is already half gone. The court will be wondering why we have not yet put in an appearance.” She stepped over the haphazard pile of discarded clothes she and Dorian had ripped from each other’s bodies last night and reached for the silk dressing robe her maid left out for her each evening.
Annoura slid her arms into the sleeves. The thin silk helped make her feel less naked, less vulnerable. More herself.
She tugged the belt into a knot at her waist and turned to face her husband. He was propped up on one elbow, frowning at her.
“You need to think about what you’re going to do now, Dorian,” she said, pleased to hear the familiar sound of command back in her voice. “You cannot let this pass unpunished.”
He sat up, his frown deepening. “What are you talking about?”
“The Tairen Soul’s weave last night. He broke the terms of the Fey-Celierian alliance. He manipulated our minds and our bodies with his magic. You must make an example of him.”
“Rain didn’t spin that weave,” he said. “It was the girl, Ellysetta Baristani.”
Annoura stared in shock. “But she’s Celierian!”
“So am I, my dear. So is Teleos. That doesn’t mean we can’t weave magic.”
She caught herself before asking him if he’d ever woven magic on her. “Then you must make an example of her. She is still your subject, after all.”
“What purpose would that serve save to anger the Fey? The terms of the alliance don’t prohibit one Celierian from spinning a weave on another.
” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
“Besides, I’m quite sure the girl didn’t know what she was doing.
She’s a complete innocent. You have only to look at her to see it shining from her.
I will not mortify that poor child by holding her up to the retribution and ridicule of the court for something she did after we got her drunk on too much wine. ”
Annoura went stiff. “We got her drunk?” Had Dorian overheard her quiet command to her steward? Worse, did he know about the frightfully potent keflee?
“We were the hosts last evening, Annoura. The condition of the guests dining at our table is our responsibility.”
He didn’t know. Relief at his ignorance warred with outrage over his indifference. She glared. “That’s it? You’re just going to let this pass?”
He looked surprised. “Why would I not? What harm, really, was done to anyone?” His mouth curved in a slow smile.
“You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy at least some of last night.
And I can promise you there were at least half a dozen older lords who’d probably pay the girl a king’s ransom to .
. . er . . . invigorate them that way again.
” His smile became a roguish grin, but the expression faded quickly when she didn’t respond in kind.
“Come now, my dear, you’re being entirely too tight-laced about this. It was an accident.”
“It was dangerous, Dorian! If she can do that, what else might she do?”
His face hardened. “The answer is no, Annoura. You will not attempt to punish the girl. If I know the Fey, they will find a way to accept responsibility for what happened so that any blame falls on them, rather than her.” He stalked around the bed to the crumpled pile of last night’s clothes and yanked on his wrinkled breeches.
“And that, my dear, should make you very happy, considering your numerous attempts to discredit them.”
“Dorian!” She gaped at him in disbelief.
How had he turned this around and made her out to be the villain?
No matter what she’d done to foment last night’s weave, she was a victim of it!
Her will had been usurped. Her pride and dignity trampled.
The queen of Celieria had been enslaved by magic—and her husband the king would do nothing to avenge her!
He saw it all as some humorous joke, some titillating farce.
Dorian tugged his full white silk tunic over his head, leaving the neckline gaping open to show faintly bronzed skin and the dark hairs sprinkled across his chest. He left the rest of his clothes where they lay.
“Last night was a pleasure beyond words—at least for me. I regret you don’t share the sentiment.
I will take my leave of you.” He bowed with perfect, studied grace. It felt like a slap across her face.
“Dorian.” Despite herself, she took a step towards him, one hand extended in supplication, but he was already walking out.
When the door shut behind him, her hand curled into a shaking fist. The Fey. Always, when he was asked to choose between the Fey and his own wife, he chose them. Never her.
The betrayal bit deep. She’d turned her back on her own family for him.
She’d been raised for the sole purpose of wedding a royal husband and directing the strength of his kingdom to further the power of Capellas.
Only she hadn’t done that. She’d loved Dorian too much to see him become a pawn of her parents.
She’d established her seat of power in his court, to be sure, but she’d used every ounce of her will to make Celieria strong enough never to need or fall prey to Capellan might.
Thanks to her, Celieria now led the world instead of Capellas—and her parents had never forgiven her.
All she’d ever wanted in return was for Dorian to extend the same loyalty and devotion to her, but now she finally realized he never would. For Dorian, the Fey would always come first.
With that realization, the love she’d always felt for him died a little, and a cold, stony seed of resentment took root in her heart.
Fear and betrayal hardened to anger and new determination.
Dorian might cling to the old ways and hug close his childish trust in the Fey, but she would not.
Annoura of Celieria, born a princess of Capellas, now the most powerful queen in all the world, would not allow the Fey and their cursed magic to lead Celieria about on a leash.
The Eld had offered an alternative—economic and military supremacy that did not include the Fey. More importantly, they possessed magic strong enough to thwart even Fey weaves should Dorian’s immortal kin object to Celieria’s independence.
While Dorian would do everything he could to see the Eld trade agreement defeated, Annoura was going to make sure that it passed.