Bride by Command (18 page)

“No, it is not,” he said softly, raising one hand to grasp a warm and giving breast. She writhed and gasped in response. “So, you truly do want me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes closed as she moved her hips closer to him.

“You need me, don’t you, Rikka? You need something no one but I can give you.”

“Dammit, Kristo, do it!” she commanded.

Kristo smiled as he guided himself into her intense heat. She gasped in sheer delight, she rocked against him, and while he watched that place where they came together, marveling at the sight of his body joining with hers, he grabbed her head and turned it toward the door, where her lover stood watching, gape-mouthed and white-faced, as he had been for several minutes.

“Oh,” Rikka said, trying for a fraction of a second to scoot away from Kristo, to uncouple and undo what had been done.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto him, hard. When he was buried deep inside her, she did not fight to get away. Instead she moaned and pushed her hips toward his. She surrendered.

“Tell your old friend Gyl that you do not need him anymore,” Kristo whispered.

“I . . . I . . .” Rikka muttered helplessly.

“Tell him he has been replaced, in all ways.”

“I can’t,” Rikka whispered.

“Look at him,” Kristo commanded. “Look your poor Gyl in the eye and tell him there is nothing left of the woman he once loved. Nothing left,” he whispered. “Nothing at all.”

Rikka turned her head, and for a moment she looked almost lost. She was aching and confused.

Kristo moved gently in and out of the woman before him. “We don’t need him,” he whispered, his words so soft they were for her alone. “Those who hurt you will be punished, and only I can give you what you want. Vengeance will be ours. Blood will be ours. No one will ever again treat you as if you are less than nothing, and if they dare, we will cut them down as we will cut down the seed of those who abused you.” He was moving faster now, and so was she. He pounded against and into her, and she gasped in pleasure. Gyl was all but forgotten, and Kristo knew he had won when Rikka looked toward the doorway without cowering. Her confusion was gone.

“Go,” she said breathlessly, her eyelids heavy with desire and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. She was beautiful at that moment, perhaps as beautiful as she had ever been. “I don’t need you anymore.”

Gyl remained silent and motionless, stunned beyond words at the sight he had found upon his return to this house he’d called home for a very long time. The first sign of life was a tear which ran rapidly down one cheek.

“Do you really wish to
watch
?” Rikka asked harshly. “Fine, then,” she said breathlessly, as her completion drew near. “Watch, if you must.”

She shattered, crying out and grasping Kristo with hot arms as she pressed herself against him so he was deeper, so his chill touched a hot part of her he had not touched until now. She grasped his hair and held on as she shook violently, as she whimpered and shattered, beyond all control. Soon she went limp but Kristo continued to move in and out with an almost tranquil rhythm. Completion never came quickly for him. More often than not he didn’t finish at all, but he liked the heat, now and then. He craved that heat the way other men craved release.

Flushed and sated, Rikka glanced toward the doorway where Gyl had so recently stood. The man she had once called lover was gone.

“You won’t see Gyl again,” Kristo said evenly. “He’s gone from your life. I see that truth very clearly.”

Rikka’s voice was cold as she said, “Just as well. I should’ve ridded myself of him years ago. He was weak, much weaker than you and I.”

This dark and evil woman Kristo had shaped from a sad girl into the monster she was today was now entirely his. She would do anything for her revenge; she would do anything to bring the chaos he craved. With that knowledge Kristo passed beyond an edge he so rarely found, and he discovered unparalleled release inside the woman who would help him bring a country and its people to ruin.

 

 

JAHN
kept his head down as he rushed toward the tavern and Morgana. Iann insisted that she was quite upset at the news of violence in the palace and had commanded that someone fetch her husband. The sentinels were not in an enviable situation. They were obliged to obey Morgana’s commands without letting her know that she was—or soon would be—empress. They had to protect and obey her without allowing her to realize just how diligently they pursued that calling.

The excitement had been nothing of concern, to be honest, though one sentinel had been wounded. The wound was not a serious one, thank goodness. One of Melusina’s admirers had attempted to accost her as she’d left the palace, and she’d screamed. Melusina had quite a scream, when it suited her, and she was not happy these days. She and Anrid were feeling put upon and ignored. He needed to get them both out of the palace before he moved Morgana in, but he couldn’t very well put them out on the streets. No, they needed husbands who would care for them properly. Unfortunately, neither was inclined to take a husband.

Jahn stepped into the tavern and Morgana was there, watching the door and waiting for him. She all but threw herself into his arms, clutching at him desperately while she fought to regain her breath. She did not cry, but seemed to be on the verge of tears. He hated tears. Didn’t all men? Nothing made him feel more helpless.

“You’re cold,” he said, leading Morgana toward the stairway while his sentinels watched silently.

“I know,” Morgana whispered. “What would I do without you to warm me?”

With his arm around her, he led her up the stairway. “You will never have to know.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they only stirred Morgana up more. “How can you be so sure of that? What if the palace is attacked? What if you’re killed protecting the emperor?” She snorted as he guided her into their room. “Why should he have your protection? Isn’t he capable of protecting himself? Useless excuse for a . . .” She stopped and took a deep breath. “What if we have children? What would I do if something happened to you? Your life for his would be a poor trade. You’re worth a hundred of Emperor Jahn!”

“How can you be so sure of that? You’ve never met the man.”

Morgana looked him in the eye, and he could see the fear there. She cared more than she’d intended when they’d begun this marriage. So did he, to be honest.

“No, but I know you, Jahn,” she said, her voice somewhat calmer. “You’re smart and dedicated, and you’re capable of making your livelihood in many ways. Soldiering is a dangerous profession, and there are so many profitable trades you could take up. Will you always be a sentinel?”

“No,” he answered honestly.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Good,” she whispered. Finally, a hint of a smile teased her lips. “I’m going to help,” she said.

“Help with what?” Jahn asked, immediately suspicious.

“If I can earn a bit of coin myself, then you’ll be able to leave your position in the palace all the sooner.”

He did not like the sound of that. “And how do you intend to do this?”

“Beauty,” she said, the word slowly and easily falling from fine lips. “It’s all I know, after all. Hair, skin, fragrance. I will have to start small, with a few well-chosen consultations, but in time I should be able to build quite a clientele.” She touched his cheek with loving fingers. “Every woman wishes to be more beautiful, and I can help.”

“I don’t like this idea at all,” Jahn said in a lowered voice.

“Why not?”

He could not very well tell her that it was unheard of for an empress to seek employment. “I want you here, at all times, waiting for my return.”

“That’s silly,” she said.

“It is not. And when there are children . . .”

“We can deal with that when the time comes,” she argued. “Until then, my efforts will only make life more comfortable for our family.” She leaned into him, no longer chilled, no longer shaking.

“You were a lady of privilege who wanted for nothing when I met you, and now you speak of seeking employment,” Jahn said, only slightly testy. “You have been pampered all your life, and now you speak of pampering others. I don’t like it.” He could not say so, but even though their life here was a lie, it wounded his pride that his wife should want for anything.

And Morgana was his wife, in every way. Contest aside, there could be no other empress but this one. If he could do it without causing a diplomatic nightmare, he would call the contest to an end today and declare this woman his wife. He wanted everyone to know.

“There is something else I should tell you,” Morgana said, and a note of trepidation in her voice warned him. “You won’t like it either, I imagine, but I can only be honest with you.”

He did wish she would not speak so often of honesty . . .

She looked him in the eye. “I love you. It was not my intention,” she added quickly. “I truly did believe, for a while, that friendship and lust would be enough. But my mother was right. Love is worth waiting for. I know it’s not what you planned or wanted, but it has come to pass that I do love you. If I doubted my feelings at all, when I thought you might be dead or wounded, I could doubt no more. I love you, and . . .”

“Ana . . .”

“Don’t try to argue with me. We can still be soldiers fighting through life together; we can still have the friendship and physical compatibility that brought us together. There’s just this little . . . complication.”

“Ana . . .”

“I know it’s not what we planned, and you might be a bit upset with me, but I couldn’t go on without telling you . . .”

Jahn laid a silencing finger over her mouth. “Ana,” he began once again, “stop blathering. I love you, too.”

She sighed, and it was as if she emitted a rush of warmth that cut through him. “So, what are we going to do?”

Jahn picked Morgana up and took the two steps that separated them from the bed. He dropped her onto the mattress, where she bounced and laughed. “We’re going to do what people in love do, and we’re going to do it well and often.”

And the truth could wait awhile longer.

WHEN
she’d taken up residence in the palace six days earlier, Danya had been upset that she’d not been immediately introduced to the emperor. With effort, she had decided to push her displeasure aside. Soon enough she would meet and charm the man who was destined to be her husband. In a matter of a one short month she would be empress, no matter how high the price might be.

Until then she would smile as best she could and graciously accept the welcome of ministers and deputies and their wives. So far she sensed they did not really like her at all, but were cordial to her just in case she did win the emperor’s contest.

On a couple of occasions she had seen the emperor very briefly, but he did not seem interested in meeting her. He didn’t care about getting to know her. She was no different from the other women who graced his dining hall or his gardens. It wasn’t easy to contain her ire and her anxiousness. She was particularly unhappy when someone appeared at a function in a gown too much like her own, or when someone dared to mention the others who might be empress. Her life here should be perfect, it should be without pain or challenge. And yet it was not.

Living constantly on edge did not agree with Danya, who had never been one to hold her tongue. She had, on one occasion, told a general’s daughter that her lavender gown made her look plump and sallow, and she’d sent back a stew that tasted as if someone had pissed it in—she told the serving girl as much—and then insisted upon a plate of properly cooked quail while those around her ate the offending stew. She had only told the truth, as she’d seen it. Of course the general’s daughter had friends in the palace and they turned against her, as did the insulted cook and a few serving girls who thought she was too demanding and ungrateful.

Danya convinced herself that she did not care what others thought, and when an opportunity to be blunt came along, she usually took it. Criticizing someone’s clothing or hairstyle or food seemed such a small matter, given all that was happening in her life. Sometimes it made her feel better to let out the anger that was building up inside her. Without an outlet of some sort she would explode! When she was empress, the palace residents would all be cordial to her, whether they liked her or not.

She had settled into her lovely suite of rooms, where she kept a personal distance from the servants who saw to all her needs and where she cried each night when she was alone and the rooms were dark. Deputy Rainer’s handkerchief was put to good use. A few of the maids and house-keepers had attempted to be friendly in those early days, but Danya quickly cut them down and put them in their place. She could have no friends here; to befriend her was dangerous.

Danya memorized names of other palace residents and visitors, and tried to discern who might be an ally and who might be a foe. Very quickly she put them all into the category of foe, at least for now, which gave her more freedom to allow her tongue free rein. No one here could be her friend, not now, not ever.

Deputy Minister Rainer kept his distance, and she was glad of it. Now and then she caught him watching her from a distance when they dined in the same large hall or when there was a social gathering to which they both had been invited, but she never acknowledged him and he did not approach. What good could come of it? He saw too much; he knew her too well. He already knew too many of her secrets, and that could be dangerous. If it was in her power, she would send him away as she had sent Fai back home, but it was not in her power to be rid of him. Not yet.

Day and night Danya waited anxiously for the hooded man to reveal himself as he most certainly would, sooner or later. On the twisting stairwell she walked every day; in a crowded room of strangers where she grew ever distant; in her chambers. Alone or in a crowd, she felt safe nowhere, at no time. She waited for his instructions, whatever they might be. She dreamed of a child, her child, and wondered if he was truly safe in the hands of those who would align themselves with one such as the hooded man. Did they feed him well and teach him songs and stories? Did they tuck him in each night and keep him safe from harm? God in heaven, had the hooded man’s cold breath ever touched her son?