Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series (30 page)

It had finally happened. She’d come home.

35

H
is flesh moved against hers deliciously. Vitala shivered with delight and burrowed into the sheets, dragging the emperor with her. He kissed his way down her neck, toward her breasts, and she stiffened in anticipation—she was so sensitive there. Her back would arch, and he would have no mercy as he drove her to greater heights of pleasure.

“Lucien,” she whispered.

“Mm?” he grunted.

He found her nipple. She hissed, muscles contracting. “I think it’s time to try again.”

“Try what?” He tongued her some more, grinning at her response.

“You in me.”

He rolled off her, his playfulness gone, and propped himself on his side. He stroked her cheek, looking her in the eye. “Are you sure you’re ready? You only just got back. And we’d have to wait for the fertility wards to wear off before you could get pregnant, anyway.”

“But I’m a wardbreaker.” She relaxed her mind and located the tinge of purple swirling through Lucien’s body. She followed it to the contact point and, with a tweak of her mind, released it, sending the magic back into the Rift. She found her own ward and did the same. “There. You’re ready now, and so am I.”

“You didn’t
do
anything.”

“I did. You just can’t see it.” He looked impressed, but Vitala shivered in fear. Releasing the wards was the easy part.

He pulled her close, stroking her back in a way that was more soothing than erotic. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I have an idea,” he said.

“What’s your idea?”

“Well—the episode you told me about, with the young soldier. What position were you in when he made love to you? Was it you on the bottom and him on top, face-to-face?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s the position we were in when you had your event.”

“Yes.”

“So I thought maybe if we try another position, we might avoid the problem.”

Vitala blinked. She’d never thought of that before. “What position did you have in mind?”

“Do you have a favorite?”

She winced with embarrassment. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried any other.”

He stifled a laugh. “You Riorcans are so conservative. Well, a from-behind position might be our best bet, at least in the beginning. That way you won’t see my face, so there won’t be a visible trigger. I’ll show you what I mean. Don’t panic; I’m not going to do anything.” He rolled her onto her side and positioned himself behind her, grasping her around the shoulders. “You see?”

It felt strange to have Lucien behind her for something so intimate. “I don’t know. I want to see you.” She turned in his arms and stroked the stubble on his chin.

“It’s better than you think. A lot of women love this position—you get deep penetration. And my hands are free, so I can do this.” He fondled her breasts.

“I want to see you,” she insisted. “At least this first time. Is that possible?”

“Well, we could try putting you on top.” He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, positioning her arms and legs. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

She swallowed, tamping down her fear. It was very different from what she’d done with the young soldier. “Let’s try this.”

He lifted her a little and placed his erection directly beneath her. She needed only lower herself onto him. She did so partially, supporting herself with her hands, and he slipped halfway inside her. She jumped, a little startled. “Gods.”

“
Gods
is right,” he gasped.

She lowered herself the rest of the way, until she was essentially sitting on him. She swallowed, waiting for the madness to take her, but nothing happened. “Lucien, it’s working,” she said, jubilant. Then she realized it felt good, him being in her.

“Yes.” His voice was tight. “Now when you’re ready, just move. In your own time—no rush.” He reached for her face, framed it in his hands, and drew her downward for a kiss.

She leaned over him, brushing her nipples against his chest. He tasted clean and masculine. His hands roamed along her back and shoulders, and she relaxed, simply enjoying the sensations: Lucien loving her, kissing her, filling her.

She discovered she was moving. She’d made no conscious decision to move, and yet it was happening, anyway, her body responding to the sensations in a way that women’s bodies had responded since the gods had whispered the first breath of life into them. She experimented, trying one form of movement and then another, until she found one that made her dizzy with pleasure.

Lucien’s breath quickened and she watched him, loving the way his face contracted. He was moving now too, his rhythm matching and accentuating hers. He reached between them and touched her, finding the little nub that always sent her pleasure skyward, and she moved, delirious, until their bodies convulsed, one after the other. They rolled over and lay in each other’s arms, side by side, still joined, their sweat mingled together.

I may have conceived Kjall’s heir, s
he realized. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible. And if not? Well, she’d be doing this again. Many, many times. And maybe that other position was worth trying too.

She lay on the bed boneless, devoid of energy, but inwardly she was exultant. Lucien had been right. Her problem
was
fixable. Well, maybe not fixable, but it could be worked around.

“You are a brilliant, brilliant man,” she murmured.

“Mmph,” he said sleepily. “At the moment, I haven’t a single coherent thought in my head.”

She kissed him. “I don’t think I fully appreciated the benefits of marrying such a clever fellow.”

“And to think, if the Obsidian Circle hadn’t sent you to kill me, we never would have met. At least, not for very long.” He closed his eyes. “Wake me in half an hour and I’ll show you some more positions.”

She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder. “Just remember, you’re not out of danger yet. If you break your promises to Riorca, I’ll still kill you.”

His eyes cracked open. “Keep talking dirty to me, and I may not need that half hour.” He propped himself on an elbow and stroked her cheek. “So, what will you do to me if I keep my promises?”

“Make you a very happy man.”

He wrapped his arms around her and grinned. “Now,
that’s
what I want to hear.”

Read on for a look at the next book in

Amy Raby’s Hearts and Thrones series

SPY’S HONOR

Available from Signet Eclipse in October 2013.

T
he guards dragged open the double doors, and Rhianne swept into her cousin’s sitting room. “Is the council over? I need your fifteen tetrals.”

Lucien whirled on his wooden leg, jumpy as a winter partridge. He wore his imperial garments, the silk syrtos and the thin, jeweled loros that marked him as the son and heir of the Kjallan Emperor. His dress suggested he’d only just returned from the council or was about to head out again, since he never wore the loros in his private chambers except to receive important visitors. Rhianne could not blame him. As the emperor’s niece, she possessed a similar garment and found its weight onerous. Lucien, whose left leg had been amputated below the knee and who walked with the aid of a crutch, probably liked it even less.

He glanced at the door. “This is a bad time.”

She could see that it was. Lucien had neither retreated to his Caturanga board for a war game nor settled on one of the many chairs and couches in his finely appointed sitting room to read one of Cinna’s treatises on battle tactics. He seemed to be standing in the middle of the room, waiting to receive someone, and the someone he’d been waiting for had not been her. She glanced back at the door, but aside from the guards, she and Lucien were alone. “I only need the tetrals. Hand them over and I’ll go. We can talk later.”

Lucien frowned. “This business with the money—it has to stop.”

Rhianne straightened her shoulders. He’d never balked over this before. “But we agreed to it. Fifteen tetrals from each of us. And besides—”

“There are more important things going on right now.” Lucien’s eyes went anxiously to the door. “And I can’t afford to upset him any more than I already have.”

“Who? His Royal Unreasonableness?”

Lucien grimaced. “We should stop calling him that.”

Rhianne smiled sadly. Lucien was trying so hard to grow up, and he seemed to forget sometimes that she, three years senior to his tender age of seventeen, already had. And she wasn’t leaving without her tetrals. “How am I supposed to come up with the full amount if you don’t kick in your share? When you’ve got an obligation to somebody, you don’t walk out on that obligation because something else came up—”

“It’s not just me,” snapped Lucien. “Your name came up at the council meeting.”

“Mine?” She couldn’t imagine why. It was a war council, and why should anyone, in the context of talking about the war with Mosar, bring up the emperor’s niece? She was royal, but from a side branch of the family with a somewhat questionable pedigree. She wasn’t important the way Lucien was.

“Well,” thundered a voice from the doorway, “if it isn’t our yapping dog from the War Council.”

Rhianne, recognizing the deep tones of her uncle, the emperor, sank into a welcome curtsy. She glanced at Lucien long enough to see him steel his face and bow to his father.

“Emperor,” said Lucien coolly.

Now she understood why Lucien was off-color. He and Florian were about to have a fight, and in these frequent and unavoidable conflicts, Lucien, the subordinate figure, always came off worse. She ought to have left when Lucien had told her to. “I’m sorry to intrude,” she said. “I’ll leave you to your privacy.”

“No, no,” said Florian, his eyes on Lucien. Though the emperor and his heir were cut from the same cloth, the resemblance one noted on first glance was superficial. They shared the same black hair, black eyes, and aquiline profile, but Florian was broader and taller by several inches. Florian reminded Rhianne of an eagle with his sharp eyes, craggy nose, and severe face. His elder sons had looked like stamped woodcut copies of him, but Lucien and his sister, the two youngest, with their slighter builds and finer features, resembled their late mother. Lucien was handsomer and smarter than his father, but Florian had never forgiven him for losing his leg to a trio of Riorcan assassins or for becoming his only choice of heir when the assassins had also murdered Lucien’s elder brothers. “Stay,” continued Florian. “I should like to hear your opinion. I should like to know what you think of a son and heir who openly criticizes his father’s strategic decisions in a Council of War.”

Rhianne winced. “Well, without knowing the particulars—”

“Father,” Lucien broke in, “it is a
private
council, and its purpose is the discussion of strategy. If the council members cannot speak their minds—”

Emperor Florian backhanded him hard across the face. Lucien cried out, and his crutch clattered to the ground. Bodyguards, both Florian’s and Lucien’s, stiffened, ready for action, but nobody touched the pair. “The
Legati
are there to speak their minds,” hissed Florian. “
You
are there as a courtesy.
Your
purpose on the council is to agree enthusiastically with everything I say. Is that clear?”

Lucien nodded. Limping on his wooden leg, he recovered his crutch and straightened his syrtos. His hand moved instinctively to his face, a protective gesture, but then dropped back to his side. Florian tolerated nothing he could interpret as a sign of weakness.

“Rhianne understands. Don’t you, my dear?” said Florian. “We have enemies, and to protect ourselves, we must present a united front. Family solidarity. Isn’t that right?”

“Absolutely,” said Rhianne. “But when Lucien led White Eagle battalion in Riorca, he was regarded as a brilliant military tactician. If the War Council isn’t the right place for his ideas to be heard, perhaps they should be heard somewhere?”

Florian laughed. “You were right the first time when you said you needed to know the particulars. This idea of your cousin’s was practically treason. He wants us to call off the war with Mosar.”

Rhianne turned to Lucien, who grimaced without meeting her eyes.

“I don’t call that brilliance. I call it cowardice,” said Florian, turning to Lucien. “And I will not hear it from you again. Is that clear?”

Lucien nodded.

“Speaking of family, it’s time to expand it,” said Florian. “Rhianne, you shall marry.”

A shiver crept up her spine. Marry? Most of the men were away at war. She hadn’t met anyone she desired to marry. And then there were practical considerations. Marrying would almost certainly take her away from the Imperial Palace, and then who would deliver the tetrals? Certainly not Lucien, the way he’d been talking. “Well, I . . . I haven’t met anyone yet.”

Emperor Florian waved his hand. “I have a husband in mind for you: Augustan Ceres, commander of our forces at Mosar. When he finishes the military operation, I plan to offer him the governorship of the island, and you shall be his bride.”

“I’m to be a war prize?” She glanced sidelong at Lucien, whose eyes were downcast. He’d already known.

“Not a war prize. A governor’s wife!” said Florian. “You’ve always wanted to travel to foreign lands. Now you shall, to Mosar.”

“I’ve never met Augustan.”

“Easily remedied,” said Florian. “I shall summon him back to Kjall long enough for a brief engagement before he returns to the front.”

“And if I don’t like him?”

“You will,” said Florian.

Rhianne supposed if she didn’t, he’d smack her like he had Lucien until she changed her mind.

“Now, if you’ll run along, I have a few more things to discuss with your cousin,” said Florian.

Rhianne walked numbly toward the door.

“One moment,” called Lucien, swinging rapidly toward her on his crutch and wooden leg. When he reached her, he whispered, “We’ll talk later,” and slipped something into the inside pocket of her syrtos. She could tell by the clinking sound that it was the fifteen tetrals.