Bride by Command (17 page)

As they reached the tavern door, Maril returned to them with a scowl on his face. “Some drunkard attempted to molest one of the”—he glanced sheepishly at Morgana—“one of the, uh,
ladies
who resides in the palace. A sentinel was nearby and tried to stop him, and took a knife to the gut for his trouble.”

Morgana felt the blood drain from her face. She went cold all over, and inside, deep inside where she had been warm for weeks, a sliver of ice formed. “Jahn,” she whispered, “was it Jahn?”

“Oh, no, My Lady,” Maril said confidently. “Surely not.”

“Then who was it?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but . . .”

“Then you cannot be certain it was not my husband!”

Iann stammered. “My Lady, I assure you it could not be . . .”

“How?” she asked sharply. “How can you be sure?”

The men looked at one another with puzzled expressions, and more than one shrug was used in an attempt at silent communication.

Morgana entered the tavern and sat on the first bench she came to, feeling as if her knees would buckle beneath her. Her stomach was in knots, and the chill remained—though it did not grow to a dangerous level. She fought to keep the coldness which terrified her buried deep.

She would not survive without Jahn. In her mind she saw him walking through their door after a long day in the palace. She could feel his arms around her, hear his laughter, taste the sharp saltiness of his skin. She felt the loss of the children she would never bear if some senseless act of violence had taken him from her; she felt the loss of her newfound happiness, and realized exactly what this sharp pain meant. The truth was unexpected and horrible.

She loved Jahn. What other name could one put to such a heartwrenching reaction to the possibility of loss? What else was she to call the certainty that she could not exist without him? If she were widowed, there were other husbands to be had, if she so desired, but she did not want another husband. She wanted Jahn. She could not lose him.

Morgana looked at Maril. “Bring him to me or take me there.”

“My Lady?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I must see my husband,” she said staunchly. “Here or in the palace,” she added. “I don’t care where, but I must see him
now.
”

It was Iann who backed toward the tavern door. The place was deserted but for the five of them at this time of day. Even the tavern owner was absent. “I will fetch your husband for you, My Lady,” Iann said. “You look a mite peaked to be up and about at the moment.”

“Hurry,” she ordered, and then she added a softer, oddly wrenching “Please.”

 

 

KRISTO
entered the house without knocking and moved silently through the large and lavishly furnished rooms. Long ago he had learned to move upon any landscape without making a sound, even one as unnatural as this. Though it was no longer necessary, he continued to wear the oversize robe and the hood which concealed him. He enjoyed the anonymity of his chosen costume; he liked the reaction he caused upon first sight.

Lady Rikka was here, he knew it. She was so energized with hatred that she was always easy to locate in his mind; easy to read and understand. Even though they did not always agree on the way they might have all they wanted, he could not have asked for a better partner in his endeavor.

He slipped into a narrow hallway and followed the highly trained senses which told him Rikka was in the back parlor she so preferred. This house always smelled of musky oils, and the windows were rarely opened more than a crack, even on a mild and sunny day like today. Like him, the lady who had once been empress belonged in darkness; she thrived upon shadow.

When he opened the door to the back parlor, he found the woman he had come to see peering through the narrow opening in thickly opulent draperies. Elegant as always, she was dressed in an elaborate but drab and dark gray gown which hugged her appealing figure. She was waiting for someone. Not him, though. She would not be happy to see him, he imagined. Even those who needed and relied upon him were not entirely comfortable in his presence, not even their man in the palace, a skittish man Kristo had met with just two nights ago.

That traitor had his agenda. Everyone involved in the scheme had his individual plan and desire. What they had in common was that what they desired would begin with the emperor’s downfall.

Rikka needed him, just as she needed their man in the palace and the mercenaries and assassins she had purchased, but she did not like him. Why should she? Why should anyone? Kristo had never wasted time trying to earn the affections of others.

He walked closer to Rikka, soundless as always. Even the movement of his loose robe was without the gentlest swish or snap. When he was upon her, he whispered, “Who are you waiting for?”

Rikka jumped and spun around, as he had known she would, gasping for air in surprise. “You frightened me,” she said, a pale hand placed over a cold heart.

“I do apologize.”

She scoffed at that, knowing him too well.

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Gyl,” she said.

Her lover Gyl, the weak and infatuated wizard who had thus far kept Lady Rikka from falling entirely into darkness.

“I have news,” Kristo said, pushing his hood so that it fell limply to his back. Rikka had seen his face before; she did not seem to mind looking upon it.

Many women who did not know Kristo found his face pleasing. It was almost entirely unlined, in spite of his years, and the features were equal in proportion. His eyes were a striking gray, and his hair was a healthy chestnut which leaned to red in the sun. With the magic which ruled his life and his heart he could maintain the illusion of youth. What mattered in this life but illusion?

Youthful or not, he did not have a pleasant smile. A genuine smile was something no human could properly feign, so he did not bother to attempt to do so unless he was truly amused. Still, those who did not look too closely might think him handsome.

His touch always gave him away, though, proving that, appearance aside, he was not pleasant at all.

“Lady Danya is with us,” he said. “She fell as easily as I knew she would.”

“And the other?” Rikka asked anxiously.

“Gone, for the moment.” A frown crossed his face. He would find her, eventually, but it was annoying that Lady Morgana had altered his plans with her disappearance. “I will locate her before it’s too late.”

“You still prefer her to Danya,” Rikka said.

“I do.”

“Why?”

She did not need to know his secrets, she did not need to understand his deepest desires. He doubted he knew all of hers, after all. “Morgana has a strength the other does not. We can use that strength very well, when the time comes.”

“If you find her.”

“When I find her.”

Rikka fidgeted, working her fingers. “I don’t care which one it is, as long as this plan works.”

“It will work,” Kristo said confidently. “Sebestyen’s sons will be disgraced and then dead, and you and I will be in the palace, ruling from behind the skirts of a woman we own and a babe who will wear the crown for as long as we deem proper.”

Rikka shook her head. “So much could go wrong before we find ourselves there.”

“Nothing will go wrong.”

“You can’t know that. Even you don’t see
everything
that is to be.”

Kristo grabbed her chin and made her look him in the eye. She did not flinch at his cold touch the way other women did.

Lady Rikka, former empress, had almost been lost. There had been a time, not so long ago, that she’d been on the verge of letting her pain go and building a new life with the pathetic magician who loved her in spite of all her faults. Kristo had fed her hate. He had stoked the fire of her rage with maddening patience, and she was almost entirely his, now. As long as she had doubts about what was to be, there was a chance she would fall to Gyl’s side and give up her plans for vengeance. A small chance, but one he did not wish to take.

Even if he did not have plans of his own, he would crave the chaos Rikka’s vengeance would bring.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, his words emotionless.

Rikka’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I’m expecting Gyl.”

Kristo lifted his hands and glanced around the small parlor. “He is not here now, and I am needful.”

She did not capitulate easily; she never did. “I told you the last time you were here, we can’t continue to . . .”

“You’ve said those very words more often than I can recall, but you never mean them. I give you something your boring magician cannot, and you crave me. Don’t deny that craving, Rikka, not when you know I see inside you so well.” Kristo unfastened the ties at the throat of his robe and whipped the garment over his head. Beneath it, he wore nothing.

Rikka would deny him for a moment or two, as she always did, but she truly liked his body, lean and tough as it was. She even liked the chill he offered her, though she had never admitted as much aloud. Not yet, at least.

“Put your robe on!” she demanded.

Kristo smiled. “No. I will remain naked”—he looked down—“and aroused until you give me what I want.”

She sighed as if put upon, even as her heartbeat increased in speed and her cheeks flushed. “Put on your clothes and we’ll adjourn to one of the bedchambers.”

“No. I want you here and now. I am not a patient man, as you know well.”

“No, you are not at all patient.” Rikka glanced at his penis and the flush of her cheeks deepened. She was so entranced and lustful she practically licked her lips. “Fine!” she snapped, gathering handfuls of dark fabric and carefully lifting the volumes of fabric that made up her skirt. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“No,” Kristo said sharply. “If I wanted nothing more than a quick, mindless poke, I would’ve paid one of the many loose or bribable women I passed on my journey here. I have waited for you, and I want this done properly. I wish to see all of you, every inch. Now, Rikka. Naked.”

He saw the tremble his command aroused, and he knew it was not fear that made her shake. The coldness that repulsed other women appealed to Rikka. The darkness that made other women shudder aroused her. She undressed as quickly as was possible, given the complicated nature of her gown. There were buttons and ties and ornaments. He might’ve helped her to speed things along, but he much preferred watching. As she removed her clothing, she cast an occasional glance toward the door he had closed behind him or the window she had been looking out of. Kristo knew where her mind had taken her, and he did not want her distracted.

“Your Gyl has been delayed and will be late,” he said impatiently. “Stop dithering.”

Rikka met his gaze, foolishly trusting his word. She stripped the last of her fine garments away, shaking in anticipation and craving what only he could give her. Yes, she was almost entirely his.

When she had done as he asked and removed all of her clothing, casting her dark gown to the floor without care and kicking her slippers aside, he instructed her to sit on the edge of the desk where she wrote genteel notes and venomous poems and plans of revenge. A sliver of sun shot across her body, which was slender and attractive, if not as firm and perfect as Lady Danya’s. Kristo did not care about physical perfection; inside, Rikka was perfect for him. Soon she would be as dark and as lost as he. Already she teetered on the edge of a darkness so deep it could not be cast aside.

“Touch me,” he demanded, and she took his hard length and stroked with hot hands.

“It is like ice,” she whispered.

“You are like fire,” he countered, parting her thighs and poking her with two cold fingers. She gasped and jerked toward him.

“There will be a full moon tonight,” he said as he teased her. “And on the next full moon, one lunar cycle away, we will see the beginnings of what we most desire.”

She sighed, her satisfaction brought about by a combination of his words and his touch.

“The twins will fall,” he whispered. “And you will be there to see it.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“From their graves, Sebestyen and Liane will scream in horror. They will know the peace of afterlife no more.”

Rikka smiled. Yes, she was almost as dark as he was.

“You want me very badly, don’t you?” he asked. “Not only for my help in your endeavor but also for my body, which is unlike any other.”

“No,” she said, writhing against him in a gentle rhythm. “I succumb to you only because you command it and I need your assistance to have my revenge.”

“Lies,” he said. “Speak the truth, Rikka. Deep within, you desire that which only I can give you.” He teased her with his fingers and she responded. He lowered his head and kissed her breasts with cold lips; he ran an icy tongue across her heated, pebbled nipples. “I see so much, you cannot hide. You should know that by now. Lie to the world if you must, but tell me the truth now, Rikka. Tell me what you want. Tell me in real words that have not been made pretty. Tell me, Rikka, or you cannot have it.”

He stood tall and she looked him in the eyes, bolder than any woman had ever been. “Fine, you vile bastard. I want your icy cock inside me.”

“Why?”

She did not answer, but licked her lips and stroked his length with hot fingers. Her body trembled. Rikka had become a woman who took little pleasure in life, other than her need for revenge. Perhaps she saw her desire for him as a weakness. Perhaps it was.

“Why?” he asked again.

Her answer came pouring out in a quick, breathless voice. “I have never experienced anything like it. I have never experienced any release to compare to the orgasm that shakes me when I have your cold body deep inside mine. The sensations are beyond pain or pleasure, beyond ordinary sexual relations, beyond anything I have ever known or imagined. Sometimes when you fuck me, I think you will melt or I will freeze, but it’s not like that, it’s not like that at all.”