Tangles and Temptation (4 page)

Eris sighed as he stared after his queen. Vasilis Amyntas brought his attention back with a snap.

“Fight.” The king’s eyes were shadowed with wariness. “As much as I love the diversion of women and the sport of battle, I do not relish the idea of a conflict between my warriors. A woman could cause all matters of chaos. I have a city to keep well protected. This matter had best be sorted as soon as possible.” He strode forward and declared with authority, “I command your participation in the challenge the female has extended.”

He raised his hand for silence as Sappho made to interrupt and continued, “Sappho, I do not take it as a sign of confidence that you continue to rage against this challenge. Eris seems happy enough to indulge. Were I a betting man, I would see that as a sign of confidence in his own prowess. Are you afraid to meet the challenge, Sappho?”

Sappho’s reddened under the direct insult to his manhood. “I fear no man, sire, brother or otherwise.”

Vasilis Amyntas nodded in satisfaction. “I would see this matter dealt with in a speedy fashion. I expect both my gladiators in fine fighting form before the end of this season. There is rumor of a strange plague that ague the surrounding cities. The time draws near.” His voice lowered. “My instinct points toward Cronus, our immortal enemy, beginning his mischief once again. I would remind you both that you are gladiators first and foremost. Family, friends,
lovers
all come second to your duty. Argos will not fall. The House of Andromeda will stand strong.”

Eris sucked in his breath at the mention of the rival’s name. He knew his duty, and he would not fail. He had pledged his life to the safekeeping of their city, and no one and nothing would stand in his way. The king nodded once again in satisfaction, and Eris knew Sappho’s face mirrored his own earnest, fierce expression.

Before he could dismiss them, the king inquired, “I would have the name of this disarming female.”

Both men answered at once, “Kyra.”

“The strength of our voices relates clearly your conviction. Despite your contrary words, you each intended to win this woman.” The king laughed. “This Kyra is about to have an experience unparalleled by any other in her life. I know not whether I envy her or pity her.

SAGA Dy’o

Kyra picked at the platter laid before her. The meal was appetizing enough, freshly roasted meat and poultry with succulent greens and fruit slices, but the company at her table left much to be desired. For one thing, she sat at a table occupied by the most virile, manly men she had ever seen. As much as she enjoyed perusing a fine masculine specimen, this was simply
too
much. All around her, magnificently toned muscles bulged and generously hard tendons flexed. Being seated at a massive table overflowing with male dominance ignited her blood and dampened the seat of her undergarments cradling her pulsing womanhood. But her dilemma did not end there.

Seated directly opposite her was Eris, perched negligently on his tripod stool. He seemed to be more interested in studying her than sampling his meal. She found no compunction in returning the favor. She studied his forehead. It was smooth and wide. His eyebrows, thick and dark, shadowed his eyes. Her eyes trailed down the side of his face. His angular jaw, bristled from the beginnings of stubble, ended with a strong jaw. A tiny cleft, cut ever so slightly to the right, softened the harsh features. His lips were full. They appeared soft and deliciously kissable. The corners turned up. Her gaze shot to his eyes. They bore into her, devouring her, full of meaning—and
promise
. Without uttering a single word it issued his demand—
he wanted her
.

Kyra shifted her damp bottom and with great difficulty turned her attention away. Her eyes fell on the one who posed added tension, Sappho, seated farther down the table. He did much the opposite of his brother and ignored her completely. He also did little to hide his sour expression. He did not like her appearance here. He did not like her appearance in public
at all.
Kyra sighed. There was nothing she could do about that. The queen had ordered. They had to obey and dance to this tune she dictated.

Finally it was the companion directly beside her that irked her the most, the very dictator herself. Vasiliki Akantha was proving to be a rather crude, bordering on the verge of vulgar, conversationalist.

“So, dear, you say you have no recollection of your past. I believe my slave has given you a thorough tour of the palace and the surrounding gardens. Does nothing seem familiar to you? Nothing has stirred your memory?” The queen munched enthusiastically on her meat, proof that she had a ravenous appetite. Kyra swallowed. From the rumor floating among the slaves, the queen’s ravenous appetite was not restricted to food. Furthermore, the slaves had whispered that her appetite was not limited to males. Judging from the way she kept perusing Kyra, with a look akin to hunger, Kyra surmised the rumors to be correct. Unfortunately, Kyra had no attraction to those of her own gender, much less one who appeared so frighteningly bloodthirsty.

Kyra opted on the side of caution. “I thank you generously for the aid you have extended me. Your home is glorious, but unfortunately nothing here stirs memories within my blank mind. I was only able to confirm that this is not my realm. The speech differs greatly from mine. Mayhap time shall prove the antidote in making my mind more productive.”

Vasiliki Akantha dropped the chunk of meat she had been savoring on her platter and reached for the vassal. She splashed wine into her goblet liberally and drank deep, but her eyes never left Kyra. Suddenly her eyes narrowed in speculation. “Mayhap it is not time that you require but stimulation. Oft times I find stimulation of the body aids the mind like nothing else can. Vigor provided by a virile partner can set the heart racing and blood pumping and thus speeds the processing in the mind.”

The king, seated on the high chair reserved for his lofty rank, chuckled from his position at the head of the table. “My wife, shall we not contain our conversation to more current matters, matters pertaining to
all
our company.”

His wife ignored his attempt to redirect the conversation and inquired, “I am sure you do not mind my forthrightness, Kyra. After all, I have heard you possess the very same quality within you.”

Kyra choked on the wine she had just sipped but recovered herself quickly. “You are correct. I am forthright. However, I believe everything has a
time
and a
place
. And right now I believe I shall commend you on this excellent fare.” Eris smiled behind his goblet before lifting it slightly in silent salute. For no explained reason, Kyra felt her pleasure at his admiration.

The queen, however, was not impressed, nor was she dissuaded. Her voice rang out clearly, halting the deep hum of male conversation around the table. “Time and place are indeed important commodities, however, for one who has welcomed
both
the snake and the scorpion to her bed, pitting them against each other, I would not expect you to be quite so
bashful
.”

This time it was Sappho who choked while Eris continued to smirk. In fact, he seemed to take pride in the outrageous statement. Flustering under the weight of the stares suddenly directed at her, Kyra waited. None of the mentioned men uttered a word. Finally she accepted they would not come to her aid and cleared her throat. “Indeed, what you say is true but only in part. I find no shame in seeking my pleasure. However, I do not seek to strain a brotherhood. I do not see this as a competition but rather as an opportunity for the gaining of pleasure and mayhap a lifetime memory for
all
parties involved.” She gulped down her wine and continued before the queen could intervene, “I also believe that the pleasure gained is
strictly
for the parties involved. Action, I have found, is vastly more inspired and stimulating that words. Therefore I prefer to speak less and indulge more. Speaking, after all, would stimulate only the imagination whereas simply acting would stimulate the body
and
, as you have pointed out, the mind.”

Before the queen could utter another word, Kyra intentionally leaned forward and addressed the king, “Sire, I must admit I am vastly surprised, as well as impressed, by your hospitality. I would not have expected you to allow your soldiers to dine with you. It is most admirable that you treat the men who guard your life and hearth with respect equivalent to princes.”

The king puffed out his chest in pride. He slammed a fist hard on the table, causing the glass and stoneware to clatter and cutlery to rattle. “That is because they are nothing less than princes. Andromeda bred her own gladiators. They were true princes. These warriors who follow in their stead need not be born of my loins to earn the same honor. They are the princes of Agros. They are the Gladiators of the House of Andromeda.”

As one, the hall suddenly broke out in a loud cheer, “Long live the Gladiators of the House of Andromeda.”

Kyra settled back in her seat with a smug smile. She had successfully diverted the uncomfortable conversation without being overly rude. But she did not like the expression that had crossed over the queen’s face. Her mouth had turned down, her face crestfallen. Kyra analyzed the king’s words carefully. The queen seemed to be affected the precise moment the king had mentioned offsprings of his loins. Kyra eyed Vasiliki Akantha beneath lowered lashes. There had been no mention of children. She suddenly felt a hollow pity for the woman beside her. She was a queen. She had hundreds to do her bidding. But she was nonetheless a woman. And what woman did not wish for a child to call her own. Kyra suddenly understood the queen’s preoccupation with sexual liaisons and brash nature. Much like the forming of a scab, she had formulated a hardened protective layer and sought to protect a soft inner wound.

* * * *

Eris turned his horse toward the rising sun. He had set out early this morning, finding no respite in sleep. His body was tense, restless. The horse nickered and whinnied under his ministrations. Eris pulled hard on the mane, curbing its own restlessness while stamping his mark of dominance. The horse would never relax, not with him as its burden. For some reason horses panicked at his approach, almost as though they sensed the snake that slumbered within him. Riding a horse was thoroughly harassing. He had to take time to calm the beast enough to allow his seating and thereafter spend the entire duration of that seating controlling the beast that would flee and paw the air in fear given half the chance. Eris sighed. He longed to allow the beast beneath him the freedom to roam, but that would only result in finding himself facedown in the dirt. He yanked the mane once more as he felt the horse’s flanks bunch. He cursed vulgarly beneath his breath. As least he did not need to direct his concentration toward his surroundings.

The plantations stretched out endlessly before him, rye and wheat, maize and barley. An ocean of tan and yellow swayed and dipped around him. This was his territory, his to rule, to protect. But he did not need his eyes or ears to detect any threat. He relied on the reptile upon his chest. The marking would burn and sting to high Hades while its head would come up in anticipation of a battle should any threat be detected. Each day he took this journey, at sunrise and sunset. He knew the lands as well as he knew the back of his own hand. Each dip and valley, every plain and crest, was etched in his memory. Nothing would thread through these fields without his knowledge, without his permission. For now all remained still. The snake lay in slumber. Eris allowed his mind to drift.

Last night for the first time he had turned aside the attentions of his slave-mistress. Last night for the first time since reaching manhood, he had not plunged into the softness of a woman and emptied his hot seed. That heated seed now sat heavy in his under belly, raging for release. His loins ached for the thrusting and plundering he had denied himself. His mind taunted him ceaselessly. This torture was the making of none other than his own. His mind drifted to the object of his distraction last night. It once again replayed the same distressing, nagging uncertainties and questions.

Kyra, at the dining table, was a different Kyra from the one he had encountered in the bedroom. She had been well-mannered and demure. Strangely, watching her as she ate daintily but knowing within her lay a beast that could devour him in the privacy of a chamber excited him beyond measure. She was a woman of differing facets. Most surprising of all was the fact that she possessed wit and astute wisdom.

Without anyone being the wiser, she had accomplished two rather daring feats at the dining table. She had counterattacked the overbearing queen, and she had maintained her respect despite the disparaging remarks being made against her. Her ability to twist words and ply them as one would a weapon was most admirable. She turned phrases as easily as he would swing his scythe, and she spouted ambiguity, challenging the mind to read between the lines of her conversations as freely as he maneuvered his uniquely designed sickle in equally deceptive, challenging motions. But what had been the rotted trout that he had been forced to swallow was the admission to himself that she was no common
harlot
.

This horrific reminder to himself brought back thoughts of his brother. Sappho had alleged that he had found Kyra first. He had done just that. His brother had seen the true nature of her from the onset, whereas he had been blinded by her curvaceous body and deafened by her outlandishly wicked tongue. He had seen only the surface, one she had purposely chosen to portray, while Sappho had seen deeper. It irked him to no end to admit his error. But the facts could not be denied—Sappho had not just found her first, he had discovered what was truly her.