Authors: Inez Kelley
Argot stared. “Damn, thought you’d at least cough.”
“Do you eat as well?” Jana asked.
“I can, but as long as I return to the Earth, my magic and this body are replenished.”
Argot’s scarred hand reached for Jana’s fingers. He murmured something low that dipped her head. Excusing herself, Jana rose and Argot followed her to the door. They lingered, their voices hushed and private.
“What’d you want to know about the heartmate bonds?” Batu’s question tore him from watching them.
“Everything. I believe the threat to your life is somehow connected to the bond. It must be broken. I need to understand more to do that.”
Batu frowned into his mug. “Broken? If you break it, will I feel differently for Feena? I mean, the marks are supposedly a secondary thing but I won’t need her less, will I?”
Darach drew a deep breath. “The mark is secondary? Why?”
“I loved her first. The mark appeared later.”
“I do not understand. Love? What is that?”
The mug made a sharp crack on the tabletop. “You don’t know love? But Mama says your realm is pure love, pure peace. How can you not know it?”
“Perhaps it is the word which confuses me. My world has no language for the atmosphere that cradles us. It simply is.”
“The Segur bonding marks are...well, it’s just a scar on my chest really. Nothing huge or ugly, just a straight line over my heart. Every male Segur gets them when they find their mate. Our parents knew we were destined but never told us. I’m grateful for that. I think it would’ve been odd to know growing up that Feena was my bondmate. I always thought of her as a little sister. Then one day, I looked up and realized she was more.”
“More? I do not understand.”
“I fell in love. Feena is the reason my heart beats. Without her, I existed, but I never felt alive until I loved her.” He looked into the snapping fire. “I don’t want to lose that, Darach. Will that fade if you break my bond?”
“No. What is will remain. Only the future will change.”
Batu blew a harsh breath. “Thank God. What about children? The burning in my blood gets stronger every night. It means my body wants to create a child. Right now, I can never give a baby to any woman except Feena. Not that I want it any other way but still, it’s best to know. Will that change?”
“What is will remain. Jana’s success would affect only those of future generations.”
In the doorway, Argot’s head dipped to Jana’s and Darach bolted straight in his chair. His grip on the mug tightened. “Why is he biting her?”
Batu turned to look, then chuckled while refilling Darach’s small glass. “He’s kissing her.”
“Kissing? Why?”
“He likes her. Kissing is what a man does to a woman he likes. Sometimes it is sweet and means very little. Other times, it means the man cares about her a great deal. Argot loves her.”
The image of Argot’s headless corpse flashed in Darach’s mind. His teeth began to sharpen but he forced the shifting under control. Decapitating Jana’s mate would not further his goal, even if it did give him satisfaction. He swallowed the whiskey then looked to the prince. “You kiss Feena?”
“Every chance I get.” The prince grinned. “You look like a full-grown man. It’s hard to remember you don’t understand these things.”
“If I have offended, I apologize.”
Batu waved his concern away. “I’m not offended. I can’t imagine leaving everything I know behind and trying to do what you’re doing. The way I understand it, you didn’t have to answer Mama’s call but you did. So I should be thanking you, not laughing because you don’t understand something.”
“I came to her call, yes, but I stayed for Jana. She draws me.”
He glanced back at the couple by the door and an itch began in his belly. He could not prevent the sour lick in his words. The itch erupted into a clawing sensation and his bear growled.
“She belongs to me.” Once the words had passed his lips, he wished to snatch them from the air. “As long as I remain in this world.”
Batu smirked. “Watch that hide of yours, Darach, or you’ll end up a rug. Argot’s not going to let any man take Jana from him.”
“I am not a man.”
Batu fixed him with a shrewd smile. “No, you’re not. This just might get interesting.”
* * *
“I know you don’t feel for me what I do for you.” Argot shuffled his feet on the rug. “But I hope you have some fondness for me.”
“I do.” She was very fond of Argot. She had just dreamed of love.
“I thought maybe you’d prefer to wait a full season or so, give the castle time to recover from the royal wedding before we...we marry.”
The stiffness in her mouth fell away and she grinned in honest relief. “That sounds wonderful.”
His eyes were hazel—brown and green and gold all at the same time. They sparkled with happiness, softening his rugged face. He dug into the coin pouch at his waist. Gleaming in the firelight, the silver ring seemed tiny, almost a plaything in his huge palm, but the stones were real. Four small diamonds at the points held an oval turquoise that was an exact color match to her pendant.
“I tried to find a match to your necklace. This is as close as I could get.”
Jitters exploded in her stomach. A betrothal gift shouldn’t have surprised her. It was custom, although a ring was somewhat unusual. But his attention to detail only solidified in her mind that she’d made the right choice. A dream was nice but reality was better. Argot was reality.
Her hands didn’t even tremble as Argot slid the ring on her finger. The fit was faultless. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
He cupped her elbow and lowered his head. She forced herself not to jerk, not to pull away as he brushed her lips with his. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar. She returned the light peck, rising to her toes and placing her hand on his chest.
Hard fingers stroked her cheek with the softest of touches. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make you a happy wife.”
Jana pressed her hand to his, holding it to her cheek. “We’ll have a good marriage.”
She kept her gait calm as she walked back to her father’s suite, knowing Argot watched her. It wasn’t until she was in her chambers with the door latched did she give in to the shaking that gripped her. Somehow she doubted bridal jitters began so long before the wedding but she pushed the thought from her mind. Argot was her future.
Chapter Four
Warric’s breathing slowed and his muscles softened under her caress. Kya threaded her fingers through the back of his hair, the rhythmic motion soothing him.
“Is your headache any better?”
Warric pushed up to his elbows, then leaned down to drop a kiss on her mouth. “Yes. You always make it better.”
The unbleached linen of her pillow seemed pale next to her dark brown hair. He loved it spread loose like this, fanned about her head like a cloud. It drew attention to her pert little nose so he placed a kiss there as well.
“I don’t like that they’re coming so often. Talk to the healer. Maybe she could help you.”
His head was shaking before she finished. “Been to three. Nothing works but you. You take the pain away.”
“Then maybe you should tuck me inside your pouch and smuggle me into that school. I could be your personal medicine.” She nuzzled below his ear. Draping her arms around his neck, she sighed. “I’ve missed you. Two months is too long. How long can you stay this time?”
Warric lifted himself from her embrace, settling beside her. “I’m not going back.”
“You’re not?” Her cheeks rounded in joy and she scooted next to him, tucking the sheet around them both. “You’re home for good?”
“Yep. I mean, I’m sure Papa’ll have work for me. The title comes with responsibilities, so I expect he’ll have me doing some diplomatic things, but for the most part I’m home.”
Sweet, warm breath skated across his chest as she cuddled close. Her hair always smelled of lemons. She used the juice in her soap and he’d sent her a dozen fancy smooth-milled pale yellow cakes. He sent her soap, not diamonds, but she acted as if each small block were made of gold. Kya was different.
He looked into the open rafters of her bedchamber. The roof was wood, not thatch, and the walls sturdy stone. A single chimney made entirely of river rock was an expense she’d protested but he’d stood firm.
The small but cozy house was all she would allow. He’d wanted to buy her a manor home, install her there as a lady with a half dozen servants to see to her needs, but she wouldn’t have it. Every single thing she did, she took pride in, from the small garden out back to the curtains she’d sewn for the windows. Kya asked nothing of him except that he enjoy her company.
He supposed, by definition, she was his mistress but that title didn’t suit. She was the owner of the White Stag, yet worked alongside her girls as a barmaid, washed glasses with the kitchen help, tended bar when needed. She baked the best bread he’d ever tasted and could put the castle seamstress to shame.
A grin lifted his lips. Kya was merely Kya and she was his. And he was hers, if he wanted to examine it. She’d never asked if there were other women at Endicort. He could have half a dozen other women if he wanted. He wanted no woman other than her.
His stomach made a noise and she angled her head up, an adorable quirk to her mouth. “You’re hungry. I’ve some sliced beef in the chill box and some bread I baked this morning.”
“Sounds good,” he murmured, running his palm up her smooth back. She started to rise but he caught her hand. “You stay. I’ll get it and bring it back. Ale?”
She scrunched her nose. “There’s a jug if you like but the cider is fine for me. Or buttermilk, whichever you grab.”
Long lean arms stretched high above her head, rounding her full breasts beneath the sheet. He thought quickly about staying in bed and postponing their dinner but then his stomach growled. He needed food if he was going to make love with her again, and he was certainly going to do that.
Not bothering with his tunic or leggings, he strode out to the small kitchen nude. The fireplace cut into the center wall heated both this room and the bedchamber, and he took time to add several logs from the niche. Once it was again roaring, he crossed the wooden floor to the square box along the outside wall. A block of slowly melting ice had dripped a puddle along the slanted bottom. The outside drain hole let the weak moonlight through to a tiny point of white on a block of cheese. He snagged a basket off the block table and filled it with bread and beef, a wedge of the cheese and a small bowl of butter.
Yellow and red apples filled a larger bowl next to her stove and a sack of flour sat ready. His grabbed three apples while his mouth watered. When Kya baked, he would stuff himself full of whatever pastry she made. She laughed that no one ate as much apple pie as he did. He only ate hers. She knew exactly how he liked it, with the apples chunked, not sliced, and more nutmeg than cinnamon.
A dull throb began behind his eyes and he paused to rub the ache away before snagging the milk. He carried his bounty back to the bedchamber, bumping the door with his hip.
“Dinner is served, milady.”
Kya giggled. “Prince of the Land of Eldwyn serving as a butler—a completely naked butler. I think the king would be shocked.”
Warric bit into an apple, held it in his mouth as he sliced the bread. Once he had several slices, he finished biting the apple and chewed. “Nah, Papa’s steward is ugly as a hound’s ass. I, however, have been described as dashing.”
“Dashing? I see. And what other words have been used to describe you?”
Warric pretended to think hard. “
Dashing
is the most common, of course, but I have heard a few people use the term
magnificent
.”
Her chin quivered before a snorted laugh broke free. “You’re terrible.”
“
Terrible
, that’s another I’ve heard. Usually from my father and it accompanies his very loud and very regal yell. Batu’s his heir and I make it my personal mission to make sure he thanks God for that every day.”
“You enjoy tormenting them both.”
“Someone has to. That palace can get awfully boring. It’s why I grew the goatee. Papa hates it, says it makes me look evil.”
“No, not evil, just wickedly handsome.” She angled up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And I like the beard. It tickles.”
He wanted to tickle her in more ways than one but first he needed food. The thick bread crust tore between his teeth. The beef was lean and spiced with black pepper. It played well against the hearty bread and creamy butter. His chewing slowed. Tonight the crown had served salmon with mint butter and swan with cranberry stuffing. He couldn’t even name all the vegetables and pastries served. His tastes were far more simple.
A stray smudge of butter lined Kya’s lip and he leaned close, licking it away. Her skin gave sweetness to the spread. She wrapped a thin sliver of beef around a bit of cheese and fed him, teasing for several attempts before letting him catch the bite. Their entire bed-served dinner followed a similar playful route.
When she reclined back and rubbed her tummy, he smiled. He liked seeing her well fed. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed a meal so much.
“Kya.” He stroked her leg through the blanket. “May I stay tonight?”
He never assumed but always hoped. Occasionally she said no, usually if she had to be up at daybreak for some errand or the other. But most times she said yes. A naughty little light glimmered in her eye. “I’d hoped you would but won’t your father expect you there? If your brother’s life is being threatened, I’d imagine he’d want you close to home as well.”
Warric shrugged. “I’d rather be here with you.”
“You’re too good to me, Warric.”
“I like being good to you.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “I like being bad to you even more.”
“Well, I like that as well.” She laughed, circling his neck. He dipped his head to kiss her but she stiffened. “Wait, I nearly forgot. I have something for you.”
She scrambled from the bed, tucking the coverlet around her breasts. It trailed along the plank flooring like a train. Warric propped on the headboard and chuckled. “Your gown is getting dusty, milady.”
“Nonsense, I swept just this morning,” she called with her head tucked inside the wardrobe. She crawled back on the bed and handed him a small lump wrapped in faded linen. “It isn’t much but, well, I tried hard. I think it turned out well.”
His birthday was months away. Curious, he unwrapped the material, then stared. Perhaps twice the size of his money pouch, the leather pocket had fine stitches nearly invisible to the eye, and an ornate
W
decorated the flap. Two dozen tiny rivets dotted along the initial, giving it a masculine grace.
He flipped back the top and his mouth opened. Four separate compartments were lined in cotton, each in a different color—black, tan, green and red. He could see no seams yet the lining fitted snuggly against the bottom. It was beautiful in its functional simplicity.
“For your spell herbs. You’re forever complaining when the packets spill and mix together.” Kya shrugged, a pretty pinkness spreading along her cheeks. “I thought this might help keep them separate.”
“Why?”
“The black liner is for those things that might stain. The tan, well, some of those things in your pouch are pale. The green is f—”
“No, why are you giving me this?”
“You’ve given me so much and I...I just wanted to. I like the idea of you carrying a little bit of me with you.”
“You made it yourself?”
She nodded. “The leather was tough to sew. I went through four needles but I wanted it to be sturdy. I made a little mistake on the bottom. If you look close enough you can see where I had to take about a dozen stitches out and rewor—”
His kiss silenced her. Last birthday, his father had given him the finest saddle gold could buy. His mother had given him an ornate boot knife honed to a deadly edge. Batu had given him a book, a tale of magic throughout Eldwyn’s history. They all were wonderful and nice but not a one of them meant half as much as this bit of leather and cotton. Kya put her time, her heart, into each tiny stitch. She knew him, knew what he needed, and set about to make it
just
because he needed it.
He tried to say thank-you but his mouth was too busy tasting hers. She settled across his chest, dipping her tongue time and again against his. He rolled her beneath him, never taking his mouth from hers.
A thump followed by fast crackling forced his lips from hers and they both looked toward the fireplace. A huge log had rolled free from the blaze, the top of it in flames.
“Uh-oh.” He jumped from the bed and grabbed the edges not yet burning. He tucked it back into the pit and made sure it was secure, prodding it firmly into place with the iron poker.
“When did you get your butt painted?”
Cold slithered up his spine. Damn, he’d forgotten all about the marks. “Uh, a few weeks ago, I guess.”
“You guess? You don’t know when someone took a needle to your rump?” Her laugh was light but his back never lost its stiffness.
The mantel was a rough length of log, the bark sheared away but the edges left raw and knotted. He crossed his arms on it, burying his head. Searing heat assaulted the front of his thighs and his head began to pound. The mark on his left buttock was easy to not think about but when he did think of it, and all it implied, it chilled his blood to sluggish ice. The mark on the right frightened him even more.
Her laughter faded away. “Warric, what’s wrong?”
So soft, so pleading, her voice tugged at him. He’d never lied to her, never wanted to but this, could she understand this? He certainly didn’t. Swallowing his trepidation, he sucked in a bracing breath and went back to bed.
Kya’s dark eyes were wide. She grasped his hands. “Tell me.”
“Do you remember any stories of the Skullmen?”
She blinked. “Some. The High Captain killed the last band two summers before I was born, but my father told me about them. I know they were criminals who were bought before their death sentences could be carried out. Then Marchen released them to terrorize the entire country. Why?”
“Did he tell you about their leader?”
She shook her head and her hair swayed along her shoulders. He fisted the thick length, dragged his fingers through it. “The leader, he had marks painted along his skin, wards to protect him against magic.”
“So you emulated him?”
“Maybe,” he murmured. He forced his gaze to hers. “I don’t remember getting them. I woke one morning with my ass on fire. I thought for a minute I’d gotten blind-drunk and sat on a pin cushion, but I looked in the mirror and saw it. It’s a cat’s eye in a triangle.”
“So it’s for protection? Against what?”
“My mother.”
“Your mother? The queen? Why?”
Warric pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the pain to ease. “I know you’ve heard the legends about her being a spell and coming here to guard my father when he was a baby, about how she could be a huge black jaguar or a wisp of smoke. Kya, those are all true.”
Color blanched from her cheeks. He steeled himself for her fear, her ridicule, her gentle claims that she believed him while her eyes called him crazy. None of that happened.
“Well, that actually makes a lot of sense, if you think about it. You’re her son. Your magic is stronger than nearly anyone’s. And the king marrying a woman with no lands, no family? It’s completely understandable if they’d known each other all his life. But why would you need protection from your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not remember dropping your breeches and letting someone jab needles in your ass then rub charcoal paste into it?”
Raking a hand through his hair, he forced the rest out. “When the headaches...when the pain gets too bad, I black out. I’ve lost hours, days a time or two. I wake in a strange place occasionally and have no idea how I got there. I’ve had friends tell me of conversations we’ve had, arguments, one fistfight, but I never remember any of it.”
Forcing a knot from his throat, he dared look at her. “I don’t remember most of this past week. I got home yesterday but I left Endicort six days before. And tonight, I woke up in a barn out near the east of Thistlemount with my ass killing me. I’d hoped I was just thrown from my horse and landed on some rocks but I wasn’t. Kya, the second mark, the bear claw? I got it today. Somewhere. I don’t know where. And I don’t know why.”
Something darted across her face. “When you’re hurting, your eyes change.”