Bride by Command (19 page)

Preparing for yet another torturous meal with yet more strangers, Danya sat before a mirror in her chambers. She looked older than she had before leaving home, as if the touch of the hooded man’s cold breath had stolen years from her life. No, it was not his breath that had stolen color from her cheeks and years from her life. The terrible promise she had made sucked the life from her body. A promise of darkness, a promise of death, a promise of betrayal.

Help from the hooded man and his people aside, no emperor would choose a woman who looked so pale and haggard as his bride. Danya closed her eyes and dipped her head. She breathed deeply and thought of her son, a sweet little boy called Ethyn, a child she did not know. She thought of having him here with her, when her promise to the hooded man was done. She willed herself to be beautiful, to be alluring, to be perfect so that no man could resist her, not even an emperor who had many women to choose from.

When she lifted her head and looked again, it did seem that she was prettier than before. She attempted a smile, which frightened her, as it was all teeth and no joy.

There was more than one way into a man’s heart, she knew. Deputy Rainer had done as she’d asked and sent a dressmaker to her almost immediately. Danya had insisted that the bodices of her new gowns be cut low to show attributes other than her smile and her rosy cheeks. She’d had a number of frocks made since coming here, and all were cut to show her body to best advantage. The colors were bright, the waists were small, and the necklines were low and tight, so that an abundance of pale, soft flesh was pushed up and out. If she had to seduce the emperor before the First Night of the Summer Festival, and then insist that since he had ruined her, he was obliged to marry her, she would do so. Ennis, snake that he was, had taught her to please a man. He had shown her tricks she could do with her mouth and her tongue, he had taught her to bring him to the edge and back again, insisting all the while that he loved her. Her body was her only weapon, and she would use it if she had to.

If she was going to sell herself body and soul, she might as well look like the whore she had become. Thinking herself still too pale, Danya reached for a container of rouge to brighten her cheeks.

This was war, after all, and her son’s life was the prize.

 

 

MORGANA
was shocked by how quickly and completely her business venture succeeded. Iann’s wife was well pleased at the results of her consultation, and she recommended Morgana to a friend. Word spread, and in the past four days the tavern had been busy morning and early afternoon with Morgana’s business. She’d thought the tavern owner would be annoyed with her, but he wouldn’t even accept payment when she offered him a percentage of what she earned. True, it might be difficult to decide how to divide the length of lace or the pretty vase she’d accepted in lieu of coins, but much of what she took in came in the form of silver and gold. Instead of being grateful, the tavern owner simply growled and threw up his hands in what seemed to be despair, though his words were always kind enough. Like Jahn’s friends, the owner of the tavern was wonderfully accommodating.

Most of the problems presented to her were simple enough to solve. A specially formulated lotion for dry hands or feet; a potion concocted of ingredients from the kitchen for a woman’s newly discovered wrinkles; an oil or a treatment for the hair. Her mother’s teachings all came back to her as she solved one problem after another.

Though she had found no solution for the poor woman with the warts. That concern was beyond her capabilities.

The two ladies who entered the tavern on this particularly warm and lovely afternoon did not look at all like Morgana’s usual clientele. Their gowns were made of much finer fabrics than she had seen thus far, and they were also cut shockingly low. Morgana was certain she had never seen breasts displayed in such a blatant and voluptuous way. One woman’s bosom seemed to be about to spill over the top of her gown; the other’s looked more likely to burst forth in an explosion of flesh that would very likely take out someone’s eye, if they happened to be standing too close. Their hairstyles were lavishly complicated, and they both wore too much rouge and a heavy application of dark eyeliner.

Morgana could not help but notice that the women had a different sort of effect on Jahn’s friends than had the other women who’d visited. Iann paled considerably, and the others put their heads together and whispered in what appeared to be excitement and concern. It was probably the profusion of breasts that excited them. Men were quite sensitive in that regard.

“This is ridiculous,” the fair-haired woman with spillage whispered loudly.

“We have to do something!” the dark-haired woman who looked burstable responded. “He wants to marry us off!” She looked at Morgana with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Are you Ana Devlyn?” she asked.

“I am,” Morgana responded. “And you are?”

“Anrid,” the darker woman said crisply, not bothering with a last name.

“I’m Melusina,” the pouting blonde added.

“I’ve heard you can work wonders with beauty creams and hair tonics and such.” Anrid lifted her chin, almost as if daring Morgana to agree that she might need such things as beauty creams and tonics.

“I know a bit about such matters,” Morgana answered. “Is there anything in particular you are concerned about?” She knew what she would do to these two unfortunately clad women if given a free hand, but she couldn’t be sure what they wanted, and she did not wish to insult them. Bad taste aside, they obviously came from a well-to-do family. Those fabrics were quite expensive, and their shoes were remarkable. Were the jewels there real? Bejeweled shoes were not the norm, not in the world in which a sentinel’s wife lived. Someone wanted to marry them off. A father, perhaps? A beleaguered brother?

“Make us irresistible again,” Melusina said.

“To whom do you wish to be irresistible?” Morgana asked.

Both women looked at her as if she were daft. Finally Anrid said, “You have not been in Arthes long, I take it.”

“A few weeks,” Morgana admitted.

“Well, Melusina and I are the emperor’s favorites.”

“His favorite . . .” Morgana began.

“His favorite
companions,
” Melusina supplied delicately, and then she stuck out her lower lip. “At least we were, until he decided to take a bride. Now he’s determined to be proper even though he’s not yet married. He does not call for us anymore. As far as we can tell, he’s saving himself for his wedding night, as if he were a simpering virgin.”

Morgana didn’t argue that she saw nothing wrong with that. In fact, her estimation of the emperor rose a bit—and at the same time it plummeted. These crude, painted women were his favorites?

Anrid added, “He has even suggested to one of his advisers that we marry and move out of the palace. Can you imagine?”

“How can he resist these?” Melusina wailed, grabbing her breasts and hefting them in her hands as if they were melons at the market. “How can he wish to give them away to another man?” She shook her large breasts with each heated word, as if for emphasis.

Morgana was very glad that she didn’t have to worry about the emperor’s loose women and whether or not they remained in the palace after he chose a bride. He wouldn’t be the first emperor to keep a wife as well as women intended solely for pleasure. She was so relieved that she did not have to concern herself with such unpleasant matters! Refusing to participate in his ridiculous contest was the best decision she’d ever made—for many reasons. “I have found marriage not to be so terrible,” Morgana said with absolute honesty.

“You have not had the privilege of living in the palace as one of the emperor’s favorite playthings,” Anrid said hotly, “so your situation can hardly be compared to ours.” She sighed. “We were adored, and now he wants to cast us off. He will likely choose old men for us to marry—old, doddering, wealthy men who will squeeze our boobs too hard and never be able to play all night and into the morning, as the emperor used to do.”

Morgana looked at the women’s faces, trying to see beyond the unnatural color and the profusion of breasts. “You could choose your own husbands, I imagine,” she said. Both women were very attractive. Some might even call them beautiful, but dressed and made up as they were, it was difficult to tell. Not all men would be pleased to take the emperor’s castoffs, but there were those who might find it an honor.

“We would rather woo the emperor back into our beds,” Melusina said.

Morgana did not care if the emperor kept lovers or not. It was wrong, but he was not
her
emperor, after all. “Are you willing to allow me to make considerable changes to your appearance?”

“Yes,” both women said in unison.

“Will you trust me?”

“We’ll try anything,” Anrid said desperately.

Morgana nodded, and the women stepped forward.

“Devlyn,” Melusina said in an offhand manner, “that is your man’s name?”

“Yes,” Morgana answered, holding her breath.

Both women shrugged their shoulders, and Anrid said, “Never heard of him.”

Morgana let out a long, relieved breath. Thank God!

 

 

THREE
weeks and three days remained until the First Night of the Summer Festival when Jahn received word that Lady Verity of Mirham had died in a horrible riding accident while on her way to the palace to be considered. He could not help but be dismayed. If he had not put this ridiculous contest into motion, then Lady Verity would still be alive. On top of everything else, he now had an innocent woman’s death on his head.

Why could he not have met Morgana in some normal way? Perhaps General Hydd, who had suggested her, could’ve invited Morgana and her father to court, where she could be presented. Would their feelings have grown as rapidly in that situation as they had in the workings of a lie? Would he still have his empress? He could not know—would never know. And still he mourned Lady Verity and cursed his foolishness.

Jahn dismissed the deputy minister who delivered the bad news, and did his best to return to business. His days were caught up in endless details. A drought in the Southern Province was already causing problems with the crops there. A land dispute to the north was getting out of hand. Settlers near the mountains to the north swore the shape-shifting Caradon and Anwyn were trying to force them away from land which had always been sacred and untouched.

General Hydd wanted to send soldiers north to handle both problems. Then again, the minister of defense was always ready for a fight. Jahn preferred diplomacy, which his general had declared a waste of time.

Father Braen had insisted upon having time with the emperor on this afternoon, so that plans for the wedding ceremony could be made. Everyone had his own ideas about what, how, and who . . . and none of them asked the emperor what he wanted. Jahn didn’t think it was because they didn’t care, but rather because they felt so strongly about their own opinions. There could be no other way.

As soon as Father Braen left, Blane burst into the room.

“My Lord,” Blane said, bowing deeply and then casting a glance back to make sure they were alone. “It seems that your wife has two new clients on this afternoon.”

Jahn grimaced. “She has new clients every afternoon, does she not?”

“Yes, but these clients are”—Blane stopped and swallowed hard—“Melusina and Anrid.”

All his other concerns faded as for one terrible moment Jahn saw his neat plan, his marriage, his
life
falling apart before his eyes.

 

 

RIKKA
felt oddly calm as that time which she had so longed for drew closer. Gyl was gone, and days after his departure she found she was incapable of mourning the loss of what she’d once known with him. He had been a weakness, and with Kristo’s help she’d finally rid herself of him, as she’d always known she must.

Kristo shared her bed when it suited him, and she found completion in his arms to be sharp and wonderful and sensational . . . and entirely devoid of emotion. What he offered her was physical release without the complication of an emotional component; he gave her pleasure without the demands of love. He did not ask her to change who she was or what she wanted, as Gyl had done. She liked it, more than she’d thought she would. Gyl’s demands had been draining, and had become more so in the past few years as he’d attempted to change her, to make her release her anger. The anger within her was so much a part of who she had become, she not only didn’t want to let it go—she was incapable of living without it.

After that one episode in her parlor, when Gyl had watched, Kristo did not find completion himself, not one time. Instead he examined her like a hawk as she enjoyed his cold touch, he studied her responses and seemed pleased when she found release—but not pleased enough to give anything of himself in return.

She didn’t care. What he did to her felt good, it made the long days of waiting a little less long. He amused her; he distracted her; he entertained her as she waited for the right time to travel to the palace to see the end to the scheme she had planned and executed. That time was coming soon.

Cold bastard or not, Kristo was going to deliver to Rikka the revenge she had longed for since the day she’d crawled out of Level Thirteen.

When Kristo joined her in the parlor on a rainy afternoon, Rikka wondered what sort of mood he would be in today. He’d spent hours in meditation lately, trying to locate the missing bridal candidate with his formidable magical powers. She was somewhat shocked that he had not yet been able to do so. Kristo saw so many secrets in his powerful mind—he knew so much of what had been and what was yet to be. And yet, he could not find one small, insignificant girl.

Thank goodness the other one was already theirs. Rikka didn’t know why Kristo preferred Lady Morgana, and she didn’t care. Lady Danya had proven to be quite malleable. She would do well enough.