Iron Crowned (9 page)

“I thought the crown didn’t have power in and of itself,” I said suspiciously.

“It doesn’t—but if she possessed it, others would believe she was the daughter to fear. Right now, you carry that honor. I’d like to keep it that way. You can’t go with such a dangerous companion.”

“Your Majesty—” attempted Masthera again.

“Enough,” said Dorian, standing up. “It’s late. The discussion is over, and I want to go to bed. You’re dismissed.”

Masthera looked upset but didn’t contradict her lord. After a brief curtsey to each of us, she scurried away. We left as well, staying silent as we walked through the halls, past stationed guards.
As soon as we were alone in Dorian’s room, I turned on him.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve! Don’t ever talk to me like that in front of someone—like you’ve got the power around here. We’re equals in this, remember?”

He smiled and took off his cloak and shirt. “Of course we are. And equals sometimes trade power. When it comes to you making foolish choices,
I
wield the power.”

“When it comes to making foolish choices, I—never mind. Look, if there’s a chance to end this with as little bloodshed as possible, I want it.”

“As do I.” He stood before me and ran a gentle finger along the side of my neck. “But not at the cost of your life or reputation. Find a better option, and you can go.” He moved his hands down and caught the edges of my shirt, carefully lifting it over my head without disturbing the bandages.

“There you go again,” I growled. “Acting like you control this.”

“I do. Just as I control this.” He grabbed hold of my waist and jerked me to him, his lips crushing mine in a fierce kiss, one that left me gasping when I managed to pull back.

“You don’t control anything,” I said. Yet, that kiss and his closeness made me ache with arousal. Maybe it was my anger or the residual adrenaline from all my fights today. Maybe it was just relief at seeing him, no matter how much he annoyed me now. Whenever I returned from battle, sex was his way of truly confirming I was alive and safe. Today,
I shared that. He was alive. I wanted him, and he knew it.

“You see?” His lips moved to my neck, and I felt the edge of his teeth. “I’ve got the power here … and you like that …”

“I … that is …” Forming coherent words was difficult for obvious reasons. His mouth was too distracting, as was the rest of his touch.

He moved his lips up near my ear, his hands cupping my breasts. I pushed down his pants, feeling how hard he was as my hands slid over him. “I know you, Eugenie. I know what you want … and here? You want me in control. Really, those wounds you insist on keeping are all that are stopping me from throwing you against the wall or the bed.”

The rest of our clothes fell off, piece by piece, while we still attempted some sort of debate. “Guess you’re not as in control as you think,” I said. We were pressed together, bare skin against bare skin. We managed to stay wrapped up with each other as we moved toward the bed.

His hands slid up over my breasts, lingering briefly on my nipples. Then—again avoiding any wounded areas—he gripped my shoulders, and I expected him to throw me onto the bed anyway. Instead, he pushed me down onto my knees, so that my back was barely an inch from the bed, and he stood right in front of me. The tip of his huge swelling erection was right against my lips, just like the last time we’d been together, save that I’d been on my back then.

“I still have the control. I can make you do all
sorts of things,” he murmured. “Now, are you going to do this on your own? Or will I have to make you?”

There was no coercion needed. I parted my lips and took him into my mouth. Just like the last time we’d had sex, he felt so large and long that I could barely fit him as I sucked and slid my lips along that shaft. He realized I was holding back and tsked disapproval.

“You can do better than that.” His hands were tangled in my hair, and he pulled my head closer, forcing more of him into me, more than I thought I could take as I felt him touch the back of my throat. “More …” he breathed. “Take more … or I’ll make you….”

I increased my speed and intensity as I took him into my mouth over and over. It was as much as I could do, and he knew it, but that didn’t matter. This was a game, a game of power. Deciding where I went and who I fought? No. He couldn’t do that. But here? He could play master.

“Still not good enough,” he said. He took over from me, and just as he had last time, he thrust into my mouth as steadily and hard as he might have my thighs. His hold on my hair tipped my face up and made me look into his eyes, just as I was forced to take as much of him into my mouth as he chose.

“I wish we’d done this downstairs. Should have taken you … the instant you walked into the room …” He still had that smooth, controlling tone to his voice, but it was cracking a little as the pleasure of this began to take over. “I wish the
whole court could see this. You’re so beautiful … so beautiful with your mouth full of me … more beautiful still when I pour my seed into you …”

I shivered, making a small groan of desire. He was pumping harder now, almost uncomfortably so for me, yet it was giving me a thrill of my own.

“That was … what you … wanted, wasn’t it? Last time?” His voice was low and strained, his whole body suddenly tensing. “This?”

He came, and warm liquid exploded in my mouth. Although he slowed, he still continued sliding in and out as he released himself into me. Then, he pulled out, finishing his orgasm and spilling onto my lips and breasts. I coughed slightly, and he slid a finger across my lips.

“Swallow,” he hissed. “Swallow it all.”

I did, surprised that he’d been able to come so much both in my mouth and on me. The finger toying with my lip slid along my face and down to my breasts, rubbing in his semen. When his finger returned to my lips, I knew what he wanted. I took it into my mouth and licked his finger, sucking on it until there was nothing left.

Smiling he helped me up to the bed and laid me down on my side, where he continued massaging my sticky breasts.

“Wasteful,” he said at last. I knew what a big concession it was for him to forgo intercourse. “Wasteful, but enjoyable.”

“Seeing as this was what I wanted, maybe I had the power here after all,” I teased.

“Hush, woman,” he chastised good-naturedly. He shifted me again, so that my head rested on
his chest. His hand slid down my body, his fingers moving between my thighs as deftly as they had under the table. He groaned when he felt how wet I was. “Wasteful, I say.”

I laughed, shifting up to kiss him. “I’ve told you before, it doesn’t—ah …”

Taunting thoughts faded away, and soon all that consumed me was his fingers stroking me harder and faster. He brought his lips back to mine so that we were locked in a kiss when I came. Agonizing pleasure radiated through my body at his touch, and my cries were swallowed into that kiss. He released me only when my shaking stopped and breathing calmed, again letting me rest against his chest. One hand stroked my hair while the one that had just got me off moved to rest on my bare lower back.

We both sighed in contentment, and I closed my eyes, exhaustion from the day’s battles finally catching up with me. I was nearly asleep—and thought he was too—when quiet words brought me back to consciousness.

“Masthera
is
right. The crown could solve a lot of problems.”

Yes, I was definitely awake now. “I thought you didn’t believe that.”

“Oh, no. I believe it could end this war. I believe it would make Katrice cower in fear.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to risk you. I couldn’t cope with losing you.”

My heart tightened at his words. I didn’t know what to say and simply brushed my lips against his chest.

“And you’re both right,” he continued. “That if I can’t … if I can’t go with you, then a half-human companion is the ideal choice.”

Now
I was really surprised. I lifted my head, hardly believing what I’d heard. “So, what are you saying? I should take Jasmine after all?”

“No. That’s still a horrible idea. But not
quite
as horrible as this one.” He gave another sigh, one that seemed to cause him pain. “You should bring the kitsune.”

I propped myself up so that I could look Dorian in the face. Even in dim lighting, I could see he was serious.

“Who, Kiyo?” I asked in astonishment.

“No, the other annoying kitsune in your life.”

“Why would you … why would you suggest something like that?”

“Excellent question,” he murmured. His brow furrowed in thought, then relaxed into resignation. “Because his human blood would protect him and—my personal opinions of him aside—he
is
a good asset in a fight. Most importantly, he would have no interest in the crown. Nor would it be of any use to him.”

Every one of those things was true. But there was one obvious problem. “Kiyo wouldn’t help me. Not anymore. Jasmine would be more willing—if only for a chance to escape.” The argument that Kiyo and I had had in the mountains was still fresh in my head.

This brought a smile to Dorian’s lips, and he
trailed his fingertips down my arm. “You doubt your own charms. The kitsune will help you, if you ask him nicely. He’s not over you as much as you think. And he too would jump at the chance at some foolhardy way to end this war.”

“Foolhardy … You’ve gone back and forth on the usefulness of the crown yourself. And now you’re willing to—” I almost said “allow” but recalled my earlier words. Dorian didn’t dictate my life. “—accept me going off with my ex-boyfriend?”

“This is an acceptable solution. Still dangerous … but I believe you two could manage it. And I trust you,” Dorian said simply. “As you trust me.”

I stared down into his eyes, dark in the flickering torchlight, though the striking shape of his face and fair skin glowed like a masterpiece in marble. “I do trust you.”

He smiled again. “Good. We’ll make plans in the morning. But for now …” The smile gave way to a yawn. “I need sleep. This has been a long day.”

It was true. He’d been part of an epic battle and then made love—or whatever you wanted to classify that kinky shit as—like a pro. My day had been pretty busy too, to say the least. I put my head down, wrapping back against him, and soon slept in spite of the shocking suggestion he’d just made.

When we woke, however, the crown became our immediate breakfast topic. We’d opted for private dining at a small table in the sitting room adjacent to his bedroom. After hearing about my traipsing about in his too-long robe, he’d had my own made for these slumber parties: white velvet
with gold embroidery. It was a bit more elaborate than I would have preferred but felt nice against my bare skin. The wounds certainly appreciated loose clothing too.

“Invite him to your castle,” said Dorian. Fully rested, he’d shifted completely into cunning mode, barely touching the elaborate spread of pastries and meats his servants had set before us. “The gods know he won’t come here.”

“Or Tucson,” I suggested after swallowing a gentry version of a cinnamon roll. Maybe I could get Tim the recipe. “He’d probably come to my house there.”

Dorian considered. “No. Get him to this world, to your domain, so that you can leave as soon as possible. Above all, you must not—under any circumstances—allow him to go back to Maiwenn and consult her on this.”

I swallowed another bite and smiled. “You think she’d be jealous?”

“That’s the least of our reasons.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Remember—she fears you. Us. She wouldn’t see this as an end to the war. She’d see it as you scrambling for power. And, who knows? The kitsune might have no use for the crown himself, but she could coax him into bringing it to her.”

“She’s not vying for power, last I knew. Besides—it’s winning the crown that’s the big deal, right? If it was just given to her, no one would respect her for it. If it can even be given … I thought it returns home when it’s away from its victor.”

Dorian didn’t respond right away. “True. But
then that would still keep the crown from you. And we mustn’t forget she might simply talk him out of it because of simple concern for his life.” Dorian’s tone implied this was a petty concern. “No, don’t give him a chance to talk to her. Invite him to you and ask—beg, if need be—for his help. Stress whatever urgent reason will work. A need to end the war. Make up some ultimatum from the ghost.”

I set the roll down and tapped my water glass absentmindedly. This was all starting to make me feel strange. “There’s a lot of conniving here.”

“There always is in politics. In war. In love, even. But this can help us—more than you can imagine. We must put our faith in the old adage that the ends justify the means.”

I sighed. “Okay, then. I’ll do it. When?”

“As soon as possible. Katrice is regrouping. We can take advantage of that.” That smooth, calculating air faded. “Though I hate to lose you.”

“Hey.” I reached across the table and laid my hand over his. “Don’t think of it as ‘losing’ me. It’s just like I’m going to Tucson for a few days.”

He grimaced. “Except your petty human job doesn’t carry such risks. Fetches aside. I
do
wish you’d let my healers take care of those wounds before you go.”

The stitched-up cut itched, though the rest weren’t bothering me. I tested the range of motion on my left arm. It was stiff but moved. “Let your healers keep working here. Maybe I’ll have Shaya fix it up.” She didn’t possess the skill of a bona fide healer but could do some quick patches.

Dorian didn’t like that but let the matter go. We finished breakfast, rehashing what little he knew about the path to the Iron Crown. I shed my robe for my normal clothes, after first having one of his servants clean and re-bandage my back. My mother would be proud, seeing me follow doctor’s orders.

We didn’t know where Kiyo was exactly, here or the human world, but Dorian sent a messenger to Maiwenn’s court, inviting him to mine. No one from our lands would be welcomed with open arms in her territory, but she’d allow a messenger through and hopefully let us know if he wasn’t currently in the Otherworld. I also sent Volusian to Tim and Lara, warning I’d be gone for a while and to cancel all my appointments. Lara wouldn’t like that, but I had a feeling it would be the least of her worries when faced with Volusian for the first time.

When the time for me to leave came, Dorian couldn’t hide his conflicted feelings. The part of him always striving for advantage and control wanted that crown. The part of him that loved me worried about what I was walking into.

“It’ll be okay,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m Storm King’s daughter, remember? This’ll be cake. And hey, if that ghost’s lying, I’ll be back tonight.”

“I don’t know if I’d prefer that or not,” he mused. He rested his hand behind my neck and gave me a long, lingering kiss. “Be careful, Eugenie. Fight hard, but be careful. And take this.”
From a hidden pocket in his cloak, he produced something glittering and handed it to me.

I held it up. It was a ring, hanging on a fine chain. Both were made of gold. A diamond flanked by sapphires sat prominently on the ring, which was fashioned to look like a circle of leaves.

“Is this magic?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Just something to remember me by. Just something to think about.”

I eyed him carefully. Marriage happened among the gentry, though not as often as among humans. Considering our divorce rate, maybe that was smart. They didn’t give engagement rings like humans did, but he’d know my world’s custom. This ring suddenly made me uneasy.

“It’s a thing of beauty,” he said, seeing my reaction. “For someone beautiful. I knew you wouldn’t wear it on your finger, so keep it on the chain.”

I nodded. Sometimes a gift was just a gift—particularly when someone was afraid his beloved might get killed soon. I kissed him again. “Thank you.”

I’d come alone via the human world, so he sent an escort back to the Thorn Land with me. No one except Dorian and Masthera knew what I was going to do, but the group could sense something big was about to go down. Tension crackled around us as we traveled. Like so many, these soldiers considered Dorian and me a powerhouse. They could hardly wait to see what would happen next.

Kiyo wasn’t waiting for me in the Thorn Land, not that I’d expected results that quickly.
No refusal had come from Maiwenn either, which I took as a good sign.

“What are you and my lord planning?” asked Rurik when he saw me. “You’ve got
that look
.”

“What look is that?” I asked curiously. He reminded me of Tim.

“The look that says you’re planning something.”

I rolled my eyes. “Eloquent as ever, Rurik.”

“Should I assemble fighters?” he asked, shrugging off my comment. Shaya joined us then, scrolls in her arms.

“No. I do this alone. Well, not exactly. Kiyo’s coming with me. I hope. He should be showing up here today.” I spoke more confidently than I felt. Despite Dorian’s certainties, I still wasn’t sure whether Kiyo would help or not. Rurik and Shaya exchanged glances. “Stop that,” I told them. “It’s perfectly platonic. Dorian suggested it.”

Rurik looked like he still had a few things to say about it, but Shaya interrupted. “The Linden King wrote back. He won’t join with us—but he also won’t fight against us.”

“Not the best news, not the worst. We’ll see if he comes crawling when his power’s in dispute.” The words came out with more venom than I expected. Rurik seemed to approve. Shaya leafed through more papers.

“Caria, the Laurel Queen, would like to meet with you and discuss the war, however.”

I knew nothing about that land. “Have we even contacted her?”

“No,” said Shaya, giving me a meaningful look. “But her kingdom borders the Linden Land.”

“Ah.” I smiled. My comment to Ranelle that others would be eyeing her king’s land as his power faded was true. In refusing my offer to defend against that, they’d allowed someone else to solicit me for the other side of that future dispute. “He’ll regret his neutrality later. See if Caria’ll meet with Dorian while I’m gone.” Dorian would understand the situation perfectly.

I figured this was it and started to leave. “There’s one more thing,” added Shaya, twisting a black braid in that nervous habit of hers. “Girard would like to see you.”

Her unease had made me think something bad was coming, but Girard was one of the few people who rarely delivered bad news. If anything, he usually delivered gifts, always coming up with some marvelous new piece of craftsmanship. Some pieces—like Dorian’s sword and Jasmine’s chains—I’d commissioned specifically. Sometimes, however, inspiration struck the artist, and he’d present some intricately worked necklace or diadem that I felt certain was beyond human skill. He could even touch iron in very small amounts.

“I’m sure he’s made something great, but I’m not in the mood today,” I told her. “I want to see Jasmine.”

“He’s not here to display work. He wants to introduce you to his sister.” She looked at me expectantly and seemed surprised by my lack of reaction. “You’ve never heard of her? Imanuelle de la Colline?”

I shook my head. “Should I have?”

Shaya shrugged. “Maybe not. But I think you’ll find her … interesting. It’ll only take a minute.”

It was true I was in a hurry, but Shaya’s attitude intrigued me. We went to Girard’s workshop, rooms I’d given to him on the castle’s outer edge in case his work ever set something on fire. He was bent over a table, fingers magically working a bundle of metal and jewels.

“Another crown?” I asked with amusement. They seemed to be his favorite thing to make.

Girard looked up, startled, and bowed. “No, Your Majesty. It’s something Lord Rurik has requested. If you’d like another crown—”

I waved him silent. “No, no. God knows I have plenty. Hardly seems like Rurik’s style, though.”

Girard didn’t comment. Client confidentiality, I supposed. Turning, he pointed off toward the side of his workshop, and I gaped. A woman stood there, and somehow I hadn’t noticed her upon entering—which seemed impossible. She and her brother shared the same dark skin and black hair, as well as a taste for bright clothing. The dress she wore was a stunning teal silk, cut shorter than most gentry dresses. Something about it gave me the impression she wore it for utility, not sexiness.

“Your Majesty,” she said, sweeping me a curtsey. Also like Girard, a faintly French-sounding accent laced her words.

“This is my sister, Imanuelle,” he said. Like Shaya, he seemed to expect me to know who his sister was.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I told her. When no one
said anything, I shifted restlessly, impatient to go. Seeing this, Imanuelle strode forward, her steps graceful and liquid.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “I’ve come to offer my services to you, should you like to hire me.”

I glanced at the other faces, seeking more information, but received none. “What do you do?” I asked. “Do you work metal like Girard?”

A mischievous smile crossed Imanuelle’s face. She had caught on that I really didn’t know who she was and appeared to enjoy that. “No. My talents are of … a different nature.”

I saw a slight gesture of her hand, and then suddenly, the teal silk dress turned yellow. A moment later, it changed form altogether, turning into a flowing velvet gown. Then, she wasn’t Imanuelle at all. A clone of Shaya stood before me. After letting that sink in, Imanuelle returned to her original form. She bowed, as though having just performed a stage show.

“I’m an illusionist,” she said. “I can make people see things that aren’t there. Most importantly, I can make myself look like anything I choose.”

It was one of the cooler gentry powers, but I didn’t entirely see how it’d be useful for me. “So I can finally be in two places at once?” I joked.

That brought another smile. “I suppose … but I’ve honed other skills to accompany these. Ones many monarchs find useful. I … get rid of problems.”

Apparently guessing my confusion, Shaya sighed and dropped her usual formality. “You’re better off not dancing around the subject. My
queen prefers directness.” She turned to me. “Imanuelle is an assassin, Your Majesty.”

Imanuelle’s smile tightened a little. I think she preferred her more flowery description. “That’s an ugly word for a formidable skill set.”

It took me a moment to catch on. “So, you’re here to—Wait. You think I’m going to hire you to, what, assassinate Katrice?”