Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (22 page)

The culmination of the following day was a ball that had been arranged to take place at the castle. His aches from the jousts were making their presence known, and were making Kavrazel decidedly uncomfortable, but he badly wanted to see the treat that Shinu had planned to dress Lyssia in, the treat that Shinu had been taunting him with for days. Tired and hurting as he was, he would not have been anywhere else than in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by a mass of people, most of whom he knew only by reputation or title. It was a much more sophisticated group than the crowd that had populated the arena, but they were just as taken with small fripperies. They exclaimed over the marble floors and crystal chandeliers, they cooed over the musicians, and the sweet wines and appetising morsels being paraded to tempt and revive.

To tell the truth, he would rather have been anywhere that was private and quiet and occupied by only Lyssia and himself, but he was a king and he had duties, and this was the next best alternative to his fantasy.

He had touted the notion of meeting Lyssia at her room and escorting her to the ball, but Shinu - gentle Shinu, comforting father to all blood slaves - had been almost violently adamant in his insistence that he be the one to escort Lyssia to the ball. He did not plan to stay, he had no expectation of being her partner, but like a proud parent, he wanted to be the one to present her at the event. Kavrazel would not have denied him such a request in all eternity.

Kavrazel was chatting to Otal when the musicians ceased their melodic interlude, on a flat note that suggested they had not planned to finish at that moment. He turned first to the corner in which the musicians were stationed, thinking that perhaps something was amiss with their arrangements, but even as he did so they began to play again, a delicate fanfare of entry. Knowing what that might mean, he turned his eyes to the doors.

Lyssia could not have disappointed him, such a thing was not possible, but the vision presented to him was beyond any expectations he might have had. She was a phantasm, a spectre from his wildest fantasies come to life. She was an ethereal spirit, waiting to be claimed.

Shinu had dressed in his most formal clothes, and looked as though he might have been perfectly at ease within the gathering. Kavrazel determined that he would insist his Blood Father stay, but first, he needed to transfer Lyssia from Shinu's arm to his own. She was a vision, perfection, and so wickedly tempting that he considered slinging her over Korost's withers and riding away into forever. As much as Shinu had made of the dress, there was hardly anything to it. The garment left her neck and arms bare; it clung indecently to her chest, stomach and hips, and then flared out about her legs until it brushed the floor, but it was gauzy and transparent, as if smoke or shadow shaded her skin. Embroidery and clusters of small gems were the only things protecting her modesty, and Kavrazel wasn't sure the decoration was performing its function nearly well enough.

The crowd, silenced by the signal from the musicians, began to part. Lyssia wore no crown, but they treated her as an important dignitary. She still wore her collar; it flashed in the reflected candlelight from the chandeliers. The dress did nothing to hide it, and as delicate and elegant as it was, its meaning was still plain. Her hair could not disguise it; Shinu had twisted the silken mass into complicated curls that left Lyssia's slender neck enticingly exposed.

Kavrazel didn't realise that he had been staring quite so hard at Lyssia, until those green eyes were shuttered by dark lashes as they dropped to the floor. He saw then the flush that illuminated her golden skin, and then he caught Shinu's chuckle. That was when he realised his jaw was slack. He shut his open mouth with a snap.

"Your Majesty." Kavrazel barely heard Shinu's words, uttered with barely concealed laughter. He was too caught up in the emerald eyes that had lifted once more.

"I'm not sure," Kavrazel muttered, low enough that only Shinu and Lyssia would be able to hear, "whether to have you knighted or flogged."

When Lyssia's reddened lips pulled into a smile, causing her eyes to flash with sparks of humour, he decided that he should definitely reward Shinu, perhaps after having him flogged for dressing such an exquisite creature in something so immodest.

"I await your mercy, Sire."

Shinu was on the verge of outright hysterics now. He patted Lyssia's hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. He unfurled it and held it out to Kavrazel, who blindly took it in his own clumsy fingers. The warmth of her soft skin seemed to flow from that innocent touch to other, decidedly less innocent places. Dancing with her, putting his hands on her body, which was so very nearly bare to his touch, and maintaining decorum in a room full of people, would be a trial the like of which he had never faced.

"Join us, please." Finally Kavrazel was able to tear his eyes from Lyssia and give Shinu the proper amount of attention.

"Sire..."

"I insist." Kavrazel inclined his head towards Lyssia. "You have worked so hard, you should reap the rewards of your efforts."

"Indeed, your Majesty. Thank you." Shinu dropped into a deep bow, and then backed away several steps, before melting into the crowd, which had now tired of the intrigue of the spectacle and was beginning to resume the festivities with growing volume, aided by the musicians who had rediscovered their ability to pluck strings, blow flutes, and beat drums.

"My lady," Kavrazel made a shallow bow of his own. "May I have this dance."

Still holding his hand, Lyssia dropped into a deep curtsey which brought wicked thoughts to Kavrazel's mind. "Of course, my Lord." Her throaty chuckle made his already stiffened cock jerk in his trews, making him monumentally glad that he had chosen to wear a long frock coat, as it concealed his discomfort and shame.

He gave a sharp tug on her hand as she straightened, using more force than was strictly necessary. The gesture caused her to stumble, directly into the protective and sheltering circle of his arms, enabling him to pull her tight against his body. Any humorous quip he might have been about to make died on his lips at the feel of Lyssia's lush curves pressed against him. Any bravado disappeared as her eyes widened and her midnight pupils almost obscured the jewel like irises. All mischief fled at the breathless gasp that fell from her parted, rosy lips. To save himself, and Lyssia, any further embarrassment, Kavrazel took the steps that would whirl them into a dizzying waltz.

Chapter Twenty-One

If the coliseum had been a rowdy theatre of jarring violence, the ballroom was a mystical tryst on a moonlit night, filled with grace and beauty. The large windows had been left uncovered, allowing the silver rays of the full moon to mingle with the golden glow of the thousands of candles refracted through the prisms of ten times as many crystals.

Lyssia could barely catch her breath anymore. The outfits twirling around the room were fantastical; still, the number of compliments that she had received was outrageous. The tunes that the musicians had played were etched into her memory. She had danced and danced and danced, even though her heart had been fit to burst with excitement from simply standing in the doorway and observing the sophisticated madness. She didn't think she'd stopped laughing or smiling for more than a handful of moments together, and through it all, Kavrazel had not once left her side. If anyone had wanted to converse with him, he had kept her with him, his arm slung around her waist in a deceptively casual pose. And when they had danced, and oh how they had danced - for he had not allowed anyone, not even Girogis or Shinu, to claim her for a turn - his arms had been her guide and her anchor.

She had idly wondered what someone else in her position might think, not as another slave, but someone obviously so coveted by their partner. She was not overly worried about Kavrazel's jealousy, although she knew that monster simmered within him. On this night she had been glad of it. Nothing in her life, not even the time she had spent in the Vuthroan court, had prepared her for such a regal gathering.

But now she felt like an insubstantial bubble about to burst, like a rainbow just after the sun's rays were brightest. Another moment in the glittering whirlwind would be another moment too much. She and Kavrazel were currently taking a pause from dancing and mingling. They were standing at the edge of the crowd, simply observing everyone else as they enjoyed the spectacle.

Lyssia felt the brush of air at her ear, a moment before the almost-touch of Kavrazel's lips. "I think, perhaps, my lady, that it's time for you to rest," he murmured.

Lyssia turned and looked into his concerned eyes, which were still lit with the revelry of the night. "Yes, perhaps it is time for me to go."

She was disappointed at the thought of the magical night ending, but the finality would occur whether she was present for it or not. The night was not an illusion, all the people in the room had their own homes to go to, their own beds to clamber into, their own sore feet to tend. Still, she tried to keep her smile bright as she made to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Kavrazel asked.

"To bed." Lyssia replied, wondering if the king was quite in his right mind, or if she wasn't hallucinating with exhaustion.

"Not alone." At her sudden intake of breath Kavrazel clarified, "I will escort you. I don't want you wandering around alone with so many strangers present."

For a moment, a tremor of something sudden and undeniable had surged through her, erasing all traces of tiredness and thoughts of sleep. The brief flash was crushed under the weight of disappointment borne of the king's civility. Lyssia dropped her eyes as she dropped into the briefest of curtseys. "Of course. Thank you."

She felt Kavrazel stiffen in attitude, but ascribed it to the way that he had straightened to peer over the heads of the crowd; it was not a great deal of effort for him, he was taller than almost everyone. She saw him jerk a nod in the direction of the door, and assumed it was likely to be Girogis that he was silently conversing with.

The crowd was still a happy melee. Duty had been done, and all that was required now was enjoyment of the carnival. The king did not need to make a dramatic exit, or announce his absence. He simply slipped from the room, by her side with her arm tucked over his, unseen, unheeded, and undeterred. Lyssia was glad of the anonymity of their departure; she didn't think she had the fortitude for the dance of a thousand goodbyes.

She knew that Girogis was following them, such a consummate guard would not leave his friend, his king, unprotected, but she could not see him. When she and Kavrazel came to the main corridor on one of the upper floors from which most of the bedrooms were accessed, she stopped walking, She could hear Girogis' heavy steps, but he was still out of sight. She had to speak now, or lose her nerve. She knew she would not be able to sleep if she allowed the rotten feeling of disappointment to be the culmination to such a wondrous night.

Her words tumbled out in a hectic rush, before Kavrazel's look of concern and confusion could become an actual enquiry. "Will you rest with me, my Lord? I... I don't want to be... alone." Even as she made the request, she wasn't precisely sure of her own meaning, except that she knew she didn't want the night, or rather the companionship, the feeling of intimacy, to end.

The look that shaded Kavrazel's eyes was not anger, but it burned with the same heat. "Yes. Forever, yes."

He turned on his heel and began to walk quickly along the corridor. Lyssia had to trot to keep up, and would have tripped if Shinu had been less merciful in his choice of footwear to accompany her outfit. The king no longer had her arm tucked into the crook of his elbow. His fingers were twined tightly around hers, to the point of discomfort. His path diverted from the one she had expected him to take, the one that would have led to her rooms, and she knew that instead he was leading them to his chambers. A frisson of excitement thrilled through her from her scalp to her toes.

She hadn't visited Kavrazel's private rooms before, she had never had reason to. If she had been asked, she would not have known where they were, and she certainly hadn't expected them to be on one of the uppermost floors of the castle. Girogis had not caught up to them before Kavrazel was unlocking the carved wooden door and ushering her through the portal. She thought she might have caught the thump of Girogis' heavy footsteps before Kavrazel turned the key in the lock, sealing them into the room with a solid series of clicks, but that was not the case.

While Kavrazel ensured their privacy, Lyssia took a second to quickly assess her surroundings. It was immediately apparent that the king occupied a suite of rooms that was larger than most of the single dwellings she had seen in the countryside. The lower floor was mostly a large parlour, with sofas and chairs covered in ancient leather the shade of old blood. There were doors that she supposed led to smaller rooms, and likely a water closet, but they were closed and inscrutable.

She was surprised by how vibrant the room was. Numerous shelves lined much of the available space on the walls, and were filled with hundreds of books; it was almost a private library. There were framed pieces of art created in every shade imaginable, and various hunting trophies, which had all been tastefully mounted. There were polished weapons on the walls, which caught the light of the candles fixed into sconces and candelabras, lit by some invisible servant prior to their arrival. She could tell the blades were not dull, but doubted that they had been displayed for more than sentimental reasons, she was safe in this place.

"You can explore until your heart's content another time." Kavrazel caught her fingers again, but his grip was far less urgent. "You're wilting like a flower in a drought. Come."

With that bald command, he led her in the direction of the twisting, carved staircase that connected the lower floor to the one above.

His bedroom was yet more secluded, a refuge within a sanctuary. The windows were truncated by the eaves of the castle, and were only half-sized. They increased the dim effect of the room, but were perfect for enabling a restful sleep, despite the fingers of the silver dawn creeping around the heavy, crimson velvet drapes. All the furnishings were shades of gold and scarlet, and all the fabrics were plush and sumptuous. The overall effect banished the dense shadowy corners created by the black stones of the walls and created something that felt luxurious, but cosy.

"Would you like some refreshment?" Kavrazel motioned to a bottle that probably contained wine, and a bowl of shiny fruits that sat atop a chest of drawers.

"No, thank you," Lyssia replied, even though her voice rasped in her throat. She felt snared by the heat of Kavrazel's gaze, almost immobilised by his intensity. The effort was akin to wading through quicksand, but she managed to make her body turn. She forced her arms to move, and brushed away the few curls that had come loose from their tethers to rest against her neck. She revealed the line of smoky jewels, carved to form buttons, which ran the length of her spine. "Could you? She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the king had not moved. "I can't reach them all."

"Face the wall." His voice was harsh and hoarse, but she did as he commanded. A heartbeat later she felt the searing brand of his fingertips. One set rested at her hip, a five-pointed brand, the others traced the curve of her spine with the lightest of touches, from the nape of her neck down and down, to the point at which the embroidery had become opaque to hide the upper swell of her buttocks. She had been scandalised by the dress when Shinu had first presented it. Whilst it was just a formless sheath in the Blood Father's arms, there seemed no way for such a garment to be anything less than completely indecent. She had changed her mind as soon as she had tried it on. She had thoroughly enjoyed the expressions of covetousness and desire that Kavrazel had revealed when he had seen her in the new creations she had worn recently. They were so different from her slave robes, and she had wanted to astound him, so she had swallowed any misgivings or reticence about the ephemeral dress.

The king's breath was hot against her skin, so much of which was exposed. She thought he might say something, but he didn't. The tugging of his fingers at the buttons was a delightful torment. She dropped her arms to her sides; the pretence of needing to move her hair was no longer required. The air was cool against her skin when Kavrazel finally brushed the pieces of flimsy material apart. Moreso when he pushed the dress from her shoulders, skimming the garment down her arms, until it pooled in a glittering heap at her feet.

She heard, as well as felt, his sharp inhale. Evidently he hadn't been expecting her to be naked under the dress, but realistically there had been no way that undergarments would remain unseen underneath such sheer material.

She could feel him, a burning statue behind her. For many heartbeats, neither of them moved, then the king's fingers began to retrace their earlier path, running the length of her spine, from nape to tailbone, over and over, so lightly and hypnotically that Lyssia began to wonder if she hadn't fallen into a trance. She knew she wasn't dreaming when his fingers, just the first finger on each hand, as insubstantial as feathers, traced the generous curve of the underside of her breasts. She should have been trembling, but she knew that the king intended for her to remain still as he tortured her with gentleness, so she fought to remain motionless.

His almost-touch followed her contours, idly wandering to her nipples, which were painfully stiff. She stifled a cry. He had hardly touched her, but she was tingling, full to the brim of sensation; any contact was agonisingly wonderful. Then his lips were at her neck, just grazing the pulse that threatened to beat free like a trapped bird.

She did cry out, she was helpless not to, when he took the step that pressed the length of his body against hers; it was too much after the torturous stimulation. He wrapped his arms innocently around her ribs, holding her tight, encasing her. The touch was not sexual, except that she was naked, and he was not.

Lyssia didn't think she could passively endure much more of his toying, not without screaming. She leant her head back and tilted her chin, seeking a kiss, which the king granted immediately, as if his trade were wishes and magic.

At first the kiss was thorough, but not hard; it was a simple tasting of each other. It changed with a low growl that rumbled from deep within the king's chest, a growl that became louder and deeper as he cupped her breasts, hefting their weight in his palms. His thumbs rubbed cruelly over their stiff peaks, and then she was spinning, breathlessly, as he turned her around.

The kiss continued, and now it felt like a demand, like a claiming. Lyssia reached up to twine her arms about Kavrazel's neck, as much to steady herself as to remain as close as possible to the solid strength of his body. His rough palms swept possessively over her shoulders and ribs, down over her hips and around her arse. He squeezed both buttocks firmly, but not so hard that he pained her. She could tell from the rigid muscle trapped in clothing and pressed against her stomach that it cost him much to be so restrained.

They parted, only a little, only enough to gasp for breath.