Chapter 7 Oleg #2
“Listen, my friend.” He checked his reflection one last time, teasing a fiery finger over a line of stubble on his neck to trim his beard.
Then he turned to Mika. “I am being very patient with all this. I could crush the Poshani with my finger, and yet I do not do this because of friendship and how they have embraced my wife. I could stamp out Ivan and raze this very city if I summoned my druzhina to muster their people. Am I lying to you?”
Mika’s voice was steady. “No, Knyaz.”
“And yet I am being patient. I am being… diplomatic.”
His boyar’s eyes were resigned. “Yes, Knyaz.”
“Therefore, I am going to dance the first dance of this night with your empress, though I cannot call her my queen in public yet. And we will let the chattering vampires gossip as they will.” He checked the line of his cuffs.
“It will elevate Tatyana in public, and perhaps it will cause others to believe I am being magnanimous with a young vampire who has irritated me in the past while simultaneously staking a claim on a previous favorite of the Fire King’s court. ”
Mika’s eyes brightened. “You could be correct. I had not considered that.”
Oleg walked over and patted Mika’s cheek. “Or perhaps they will simply think that I want to fuck an ethereally beautiful woman who challenges me. Either way, I do not care.”
Mika sighed. “Yes, Knyaz.”
Oleg strode toward the door. “I like it when you’re so agreeable, Mika. You should do it more often.”
She was as beautiful as he had expected, dressed in a gown made of ruby silk draped from shoulder to shoulder, which framed her pert breasts. Her skirt brushed the floor, and the traditional Poshani headdress she wore echoed her clan’s Persian influences while still being utterly unique.
Bright silver thread held beads and jewels along the border of her gown, and she and Kezia wore matching gold headpieces that were not crowns—the Poshani did not have royalty—but were made of woven gold and held a single large jewel at the forehead.
Kezia wore a citrine, and Tatyana wore a ruby.
Oleg tried not to stare, but it was difficult.
He stood along the walls of the ballroom, hanging back as the Báthory clan performed their traditional grand dance and music filled the hall from the orchestra on the far side of the room.
Scanning the gathering of so many powerful immortals, Oleg knew it was essential to create a strategy for the evening.
He sent his amnis out, probing for any intrusive sensations of power, but he felt nothing.
So far the immortals at the summit were on their best behavior.
He leaned over and spoke to Mika. “It’s nice to have these events. Humans have forgotten their history. So few of them entertain properly anymore.”
“Humans always forget their history,” Mika said. “It has always been so. They remember grudges but not their history.”
“Hmm.” He kept glancing at Tatyana, whose attention was being occupied by Kezia. The two Poshani terrin, dark Kezia with her fiery brown eyes and olive skin and pale Tatyana with her ice-blue eyes, as different as two women could be but so clearly in tune with each other.
It pleased Oleg to see it.
“Do you think Kezia is trying to convince her to not dance with me?” Oleg asked.
“Probably.” Mika’s voice was grudging. “But at this point—”
“I wrote my name at the top of her dance card at the beginning of the week when she was… occupied.” Oleg kept his voice low, conscious of the many prying ears around them. “Kezia has no say in the matter.”
Dance cards were still popular among vampires and were often used as bargaining chips. Though their use in human circles was obsolete, vampires loved the formality.
Oleg saw the small jeweled book hanging at Tatyana’s wrist and knew his status was secure.
“I wrote your name in two others,” Mika said. “I negotiated your second dance with Alina as a social buffer after Tatyana.”
Oleg nodded. “Wise.”
“Your next two dances are with Takhmina Rasulova and the Austrian woman.”
He frowned. “Karoline?”
“No, the other one. Karoline was a little too eager. Her sire requested that you dance with Marina Starhemberg.”
“Her second daughter?”
Mika nodded. “I thought twice about it, but I believe Gisele is positioning Marina to be her second. A dance with you would be a sign of her position over her sister.”
Gisele Starhemberg was a very old immortal duchess from an even older house who had taken over after her own sire disappeared from public life with little fanfare. The Austrian leader was frank, efficient, and forward thinking. Oleg wouldn’t mind a greater alliance with her.
“A wise move,” he told Mika. “Any other commitments?”
“No, Knyaz.” Mika patted Oleg’s shoulder. “The rest of them, you will have to fend off yourself.”
Oleg chuckled. “Ah yes, the battlefield of the ballroom. More treacherous than any other field and just as riddled with traps.”
His brother Pavel, irritable as always but mellowed by the delightful music, walked over to join them. “Ivan has arrived outside.”
“Of course he is late,” Oleg said. “How impolite.”
Oleg’s least favorite brother made his entrance into the ballroom accompanied by the crashing sound of cymbals as the orchestra finished their set and the vampires watching the dancers all began to clap.
His brother was dressed in jet-black pants and a blood-red kaftan, the colors of Truvor the Red. With each step, Ivan sent out a faint echo of amnis on the cold marble floor, a showy display of elemental power since Ivan’s affinity was for stone and rock.
Many of the vampires in attendance turned to look, and all of them noticed him.
Mika whispered, “That arrogant—”
“Brother.” Oleg interrupted Mika before someone overheard him. There were too many watching. Oleg turned to Ivan and lifted his chin, daring his brother to ignore the summons.
Wisely, Ivan did not. He walked over in full view of the assembly and bowed deeply to Oleg.
Mika was at his right hand, and Pavel stood on his left side.
“Knyaz,” Ivan said. “Greetings on this festive night.”
Ivan had brought four vampires with him, pushing the guest list as Oleg had known he would.
“Ivan Sokholov, how are you and your men?” Oleg allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up.
“Looking forward to the dancing.” Ivan smiled. “I have secured a dance with the delightful new terrin of the Poshani.”
Oleg felt fire burning in his gut at the thought of Ivan touching the hem of Tatyana’s dress, much less dancing with her. “Is that wise? After the… incident, I mean.”
Ivan’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I think it is necessary. I believe she’s the impediment to the shipping problem. Radu and Kezia can be brought around to my thinking.”
Mika asked, “So you are hoping to lure the Poshani back to your territory?”
“Something like that.”
“I wish you luck,” Mika said, somehow knowing that if Oleg spoke, there would be fire coming from his very mouth.
“Luck?” Ivan shrugged. “I do not need luck to charm a woman.”
The entire room was silent, waiting with a frisson of anticipation as richly dressed couples positioned themselves in a large circle on the dance floor and the orchestra played the tremulous opening notes to Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Flowers.”
A grand waltz to start a grand event.
Oleg looked into the eyes of his wife. He could feel many eyes on them as he and Tatyana stood in position, facing each other.
Her gaze never wavered from his. “Lord Oleg.”
“Lady Tatyana. Thank you for honoring me with the first waltz of the evening.”
“A mutual honor to symbolize our shared alliance and history of friendship. You may call me simply Tatyana le Tala,” his wife replied coolly. “I am neither a lady nor a queen but a servant of my people.”
“I am corrected in the most delicate way.” Oleg bowed his head before he stepped forward to take her hand. “Tatyana le Tala.”
His energy came to life the moment he touched her. He folded Tatyana’s right hand delicately but firmly with his left and placed his other hand at the small of her back, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her spine underneath the fluid silk dress.
The French horns blew the opening notes of the waltz, and Oleg and Tatyana took their first steps.
“I believe you were a dancer when you were young,” Oleg said.
“I was. The last time I danced this waltz, I was a schoolgirl.” Her gaze never wavered from his. “Long ago.”
There was no way they could speak privately; the other couples were too close. Oleg was forced to speak to Tatyana as if they were standing in an audience with two hundred strangers. Which they were.
“Not so long for our kind.” Trilling flutes and swelling violins guided their steps around the room. “For what is a century to an immortal?”
Her lips pursed ever so slightly. “True.”
She wore silk gloves the color of sparkling champagne, and her left hand rested delicately on his shoulder.
He remembered the last time her hand had been on his shoulder.
She had been naked, riding his cock with her head thrown back in pleasure as steam lifted from her heated skin and her fingers dug into his flesh.
The corner of Oleg’s mouth turned up at the memory.
He led Tatyana around the wood-paneled floor, sweeping music filling the air around them as the ballroom was suffused with elemental power. He felt the heady energy of the wind vampires, the warm presence of the earth, and the cool kiss of water as he spun his mate around the room.
“You look stunning tonight,” he said. “Tatyana le Tala. The most beautiful woman in the room.”
Her eyes went wide at the generous compliment. “You mean to flatter me, Lord Oleg. Surely I am not.”
“Admittedly, I have not inspected every woman here, but of course I was referring to the manner of your dress,” he countered smoothly. “The artisans and couturiers of the Eastern Poshani are without equal.”
Though her mouth remained in a beautiful but firm line, her eyes danced a little bit. “Then I must compliment the artisans of the Kievan Rus as well, for the design of your coat and boots are a credit to your people.”
He inclined his head slightly. “I will pass your compliments to them.”
“As I will to mine.”
“Is your dance card full this evening?” Oleg asked.
“Quite.” Her smile held a hint of irritation. “My social secretary has been very busy the past week.”
“Then I am flattered that you have reserved the first waltz for me.”
Oleg didn’t waste another word, staring into her eyes and imagining a night when he could claim every dance, every moment. When he could parade her through the streets of Saint Petersburg, Vienna, Budapest, and Kyiv.
He would drape her in the jewels of his empire, and she would be worshipped by every immortal who saw her. And Oleg would be the vampire at her side, fire to her ice.
“Oleg,” she whispered, glancing at their joined hands.
His hand had burned through her silk glove, the blue fire rippling over his fingers as he held her hand in his. Her element met his, and steam rose from where their palms met, but Oleg could not bring himself to pull away.
The orchestra started their finale, picking up the pace as the immortal dancers whirled in a kaleidoscope of silk and jewels. Electric energy filled the ballroom.
And Oleg and Tatyana were in the center of it all, the burning lord and his icy partner. He could feel eyes on them, but still, he could not break away.
And when the last swell of strings died and the crowd began their applause, Oleg stood with Tatyana in the center of it all, a cloud of steam still dancing around them.