Authors: Patricia A. Knight
“What are you getting out of this, Charise?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “The same as everyone else, I suppose, Ari. A trade advantage and the ability to look at myself in the mirror.”
“As honest as ever, Charise. At least I know where I stand with you.”
He gave a discreet hand signal.
“
If you need to communicate with me, it would be better to go through my aide de camp, Visconte DeLorion. I believe you met him.”
Charise gave a snort.
“I could not say I 'met' him. He told me his name. I heard his voice.” She rolled her eyes. “I have no conception what the man looks like, though he got a very good look at my bare ass.”
“
We will remedy that. If you will turn around, Charise.”
As she turned, C
harise Lockwood gave a humorless bark of laughter. Not ten feet away from her, a tall, blond-headed male relaxed against the lattice walls.
“
Please let me introduce Visconte Doral Celestia Agentio DeLorion, my attaché.”
“Once again, ma'am,”
Doral straightened and bowed slightly. “I apologize if I frightened you last night.” With the slightest of smiles, he added, “And you have a very nice ass.”
Lockwood gave a snort of disbelief.
Eyeing the lethal looking Verdantian, Charise shot Ari a sardonic glance. “While he resembles some angelically benign being, I know he does more than straighten your uniforms and keep your water decanter filled.”
Ari
chuckled wryly. “Yes, my attaché has many diverse talents.”
“
High Lord, it might be useful if Fleet Captain Ardain joined us,” murmured Doral.
Ari
turned a smile of inquiry at Charise. Her eyebrows rose. The corner of her mouth lifted.
“
By all means, Visconte,” she agreed dryly.
Leaning
her head out a doorway, she spoke in a slightly louder voice. “Mic, they know you are here. You might as well come join our little chat session.”
A fortyish, well-built male
of distinguished features, salt-and-pepper hair and an air of confident command entered through the pagoda's archway.
“
Darling, I must ask if we do this on a regular basis, we do so somewhat later in the day. I am rarely at my best at daybreak.” He extended his hand to Ari. “Fleet Captain Micheol Justin Ardain of Admiral Charise Lockwood's flagship, the
Stalwart
. I hear only good things about you, Conte, from my commanders in the field and from my lovely girl, here.”
Charise choked and glared at her lover.
“Mic, some respect, please!”
Grinning,
Ari shook Captain Ardain's hand. “If Charise has chosen you, I trust you completely. Captain Ardain, this is my aide, Visconte DeLorion. Anything you would tell me, you can tell him.”
Fleet Captain Ardain carefully scrutinized Doral through narrowed eyes.
The visconte returned his steady gaze with cool self-possession.
“
Don't suppose you care to share with me how you slipped through our perimeter and house security? Twice.” His voice betrayed his irritation.
Doral’s response was an enigmatic smile.
“Didn't think so,” Captain Ardain muttered. “I am going to have to overhaul our entire security plan. Damn you.”
“
Well, gentlemen, now we know each other…” Charise addressed Ari. “I will send word if I learn anything of interest. Otherwise, we wait.”
* * * * *
Raegill II provided a warm, caressing breeze tinted with floral and herbal smells. The three moons hung close on the horizon, providing a spectacular display against the black velvet of the night. Visconte DeLorion was unaware of any of it. He waited for Ari but now his entire concentration centered on the figure stalking Admiral Lockwood as she returned from the joint session with the commanders of the LFP forces stationed on Verdantia. The twisting walkway meandered through formal gardens with many opportunities for ambush—a possibility that had him moving closer and closer to Ari’s former lover. Her bodyguard was disgracefully inattentive, but if the stalker was whom he thought, her bodyguard was no match fully prepared. Oestral would take him out effortlessly.
Doral
watched the killer position himself in a protected grotto, waiting for his prey to walk into his arms. As silent as the mist that rose from the warm ground, Doral slipped behind trees and lush plantings until he could reach out and touch the hired killer.
He
slipped his stiletto down from its wrist sheath into his palm. Aligning himself with a tree just off the mercenary’s shoulder, he rolled around the trunk, confronted him face to face—and drove his needle-tipped blade between his victim’s ribs.
“
DeLorion,” the mercenary grunted softly as the stiletto penetrated his heart.
“
Oestral.” Doral caught him as he slumped then lowered him silently to the ground. Blood bubbled from Oestral’s lips.
“
Should have warned me about you. He could have kept the money.”
“
Who is ‘he’, Oestral?”
A rasping, gurgling laugh escaped
. “Herrimon.” Then he went limp. Doral looked up quickly, then slipped back into the dark shadows, unseen.
“
Rogers! Get over here.” Lockwood’s voice barked. “There’s a man down on the path. I think he’s wounded.”
Hidden,
Doral watched as her guard examined the mercenary’s body.
“
He is dead, ma’am. One stab to the heart.”
Lockwood knelt down and examined the body carefully.
“No other mark on him. The body is still warm. What was he doing here?” She patted him down and took a specialized micro pulsar, a fine gauge garrote and razor-edged throwing crescents from his inner pockets. “These are assassins’ weapons.” She straightened back on her heels, scanned the surrounding shadows intently for long moments, then stood.
“
Rogers, go get help and then get this scene cleaned up.”
“
With due respect, ma’am, I don’t want to leave you alone. Captain Justain would have my liver for breakfast.”
“
It’s quite all right, Rogers. I am not alone.” She turned and spoke to the impenetrable darkness. “Am I, Visconte?”
Doral
glided out of the shadows. “Your guard is useless,” he said as the man jerked his plasma disrupter up in a belated attempt to cover him.
“
Yes,” she mused. “Oh, stand down, Rogers,” she said over her subordinate’s protests. “I suspect thanks are in order.”
Doral inclined his head slightly.
“If you ever leave him, will you work for me?”
“
I will never leave him.”
“
No. But I had to ask.” Doral faded back into the darkness as she turned to address her bodyguard. “Rogers, do
something
useful. Go get help and move this body before we attract unwanted attention.”
He could hear
the gravel crunch as she turned back. Her exasperated, “Damn Verdantian wraith,” followed him as he slipped unobserved back through the shadows to Ari.
One month
later:
Fleur's leather-soled sandals slid on the stone floors as she pounded across courtyards and down hallways in an undignified sprint. “Sari! Camilla! Sari! Camilla! Come quickly! Help me change! He will be here within the hour.”
Oh Sweet Goddess, why now of all times, did the L’anziano require my presence!
Fleur was frantic.
She had suffered seemingly endless days impatiently awaiting Ari’s return. Now when his arrival was imminent and it was critical she look her best for him, the
L’anziano
wanted to discuss details of her coronation.
Extricating herself from the consultation by the simple expedient of standing up and leaving, she flew down the palace halls, hair and gown flying,
shouting for her attendants, dignity abandoned. Fleur dismissed the amused chuckles that broke out amongst the elders as the door closed behind her rapidly departing back.
Careening around the corner, she burst through her apartment doors, colliding with Sari.
“Sweet Goddess, my pet! Take care with your old nurse.”
Camilla started laughing.
“As if that mite of a thing could knock you over, sister.”
“
He's coming. He's coming! Look at me! I need a bath, a scented bath. Send in my hairdresser. Pull my gold, no, the sapphire gown,” Fleur gasped, out of breath after her sprint from the High Enclave.
“
Sweet love, it is under control. We laid out an exquisite gown for you. Your hairdresser is at hand. Your bath is waiting.” Sari’s eyes sparkled with laughter as she hugged Fleur, petting her hair. “Come, undress. Take your bath. We will attend your every wish.”
Excited anticipation thrummed through Fleur, tinged with a degree of apprehension. What if after
all this time away, Ari had second thoughts?
He is a very proud and dominant male. It is not as if he is marrying a normal woman with a normal life
.
What if his ego cannot cope as my consort?
He will take on an enormous task.
Even I, trained from birth, struggle with it
.
A
nd then there was her ability to satisfy him on the most basic level—in their bed. She had met some of his former lovers.
I wish I could hate them. I can’t. They are lovely women, intelligent, kind.
She had never before felt so young and inexperienced.
I'm not going there. I'll make myself insane.
She
entered the dim, steamy bathing chamber looking forward to soaking in the luxurious heated pool. It was too large to be considered a tub. Its heated waters were an indulgence she had used often this last month. Noting the dim lights and the banks of candles creating a soothing and sensual atmosphere she smiled and mentally thanked Sari. The air was laden with moisture and the spicy smell of sandalwood and bergamot, not her usual scent but she didn't mind. It smelled like Ari.
Pausing briefly to drop her robe and slippers, she moved around the ornate screen surrounding most of the bathing pool. It was a beautiful piece of artwork and created an intimate, private setting around the pool.
Her eyes flooded with overwhelming surprise and joy. She stood, mute, glorious in her candle-lit nudity and gazed on her heart's desire.
“By the Goddess, you are even more beautiful than my erotic memories supplied.”
Submerged up to his chest in sandalwood scented water, leaning back languorously against the pool's edge, Ari’s half-closed eyes devoured her.
“Come to me, my Princess. If I leave this bath, I'll take you on the stone floor.” Ari smiled in sensual threat. “I am somewhat impatient.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh goddess, Ari—you—it's really you. You're really here…” She moved like a sleepwalker toward the steps. Descending them slowly, never taking her eyes off her warlord, she slipped through the water toward him.
Extending her hand, she caressed his face. “Oh, Ari, how I ached for you. It's really you
, isn't it? I am not imagining…?”
Wrapping his arm around her waist
, he pulled her to him. His mouth moved to hers and paused, a warm breath away from covering her moist lips.
“Please, kiss me,” she whispered.
His tongue ran along her lower lip. He sucked it into his mouth before covering both her lips in a lingering exploration of soft pressure. She met his tongue and lips with her own, a low moan trapped in her throat. Any awareness of the outside world slipped away from her. She only knew his warm lips, his gentle, probing tongue, his hand on her neck pressing her into him. She gave up all of herself to that kiss, to the first time he had ever kissed her mouth. When he broke away, they both pulled in hard, rapid breaths.
Covering the
delicate hand now clutching the nape of his neck with his own large palm, he slid her hand down his torso, wrapping her palm around his rigid cock. “I feel real, don't I?”
She
squeezed his firm flesh, delighting in his sharply inhaled breath. “Yes.”
“By the gods, I need you
now
.” Grasping her by the waist, he placed her on his lap, his rigid member rising up between them like a stone column, sliding between her feminine lips and rubbing her clit. “Say yes. I am desperate to be inside you.”
“Yes.
” She nibbled up his neck. “Yes.” She rained soft kisses over his strong jaw line. “Yes.” She kissed her way to his lips. “Yes.” Reaching down, she opened herself to him.
“Oh gods! Fleur,”
he groaned.
Rising and positioning herself over him,
she worked her center on his unyielding shaft. Pulsing up and down gently, not as wet as his girth required for an easy entry, she pushed his thickness just past the constricted entrance of her hot core.