Taken by Storm (ROMANTIC REALMS COLLECTION) (2 page)

“Too long, Tahj…or should I call you Your Highness?”

Tahj laughed. “Oh, and am I, then, to call you Captain?” He snorted. Tahj had given his cohort the title of captain in his army a few years back. “Just Tahj will do. You are too much of a brother to me for it to be otherwise.” He flung an arm around the taller man’s shoulders. “Why are you back here?” he teased. “Missed all of the Avistad beauties, did you?”

“Well, assuredly yes. But that is not why I am here.” His open face clouded. “Actually, Tahj, the reason I have come is rather serious.”

Tahj couldn’t have been more surprised. Something serious, from Radeem? Responsibility seemed to have matured him. “You seem troubled. Come in. Sit down.” The two men grabbed the only chairs in the small parlor. Of the same dark, ornately carved wood as the bedside table, the chairs were high-backed and hard, with red, satiny, cushioned seats. A small round table separated the chairs, but the men were still almost knee-to-knee as each leaned forward to speak to the other.

Radeem glanced around. “You are certain no one is listening?” Tahj nodded solemnly. “It is bad, Tahj.”

Tahj put a hand on Radeem’s shoulder. “Tell me.”

“It is about Kadeesh,” his friend added hesitantly.

Tahj felt a lump rise in his throat, but nodded again in silence.

“I think he may have been murdered.”

“What?”

Now he had begun,
it seemed Radeem could not wait to tell his childhood friend all he knew. “He was not killed on the battlefield, like Lord Boltar said. Kadeesh was found in his bed in the morning, his throat slit

Tahj knew he should be shocked, but he didn’t feel all that surprised. He had known Kadeesh was too good of a swordsman to be killed by an untrained peasant, as reported. “How do you know this?”

“There is talk among the troops.” Seeming to anticipate Tahj’s objection to talk not being proof, he held up a hand, continuing, “But there is more. I’m afraid not only did Lord Boltar assassinate your brother, but he may also be preparing to overthrow your father. A friend of mine, a soldier, reported to me he was approached by two men and asked about his loyalties to the crown, and, although he swore his allegiance, he got the feeling it wasn’t really the answer they were looking for. He told me they seemed disappointed rather than reassured. I asked him to describe the two men for me, and I am certain they were Boltar’s men.” Radeem stopped to study Tahj. “But you don’t seem all that surprised by what I have to say.”

Tahj rose so suddenly Radeem almost tipped back in his chair, but Tahj barely noticed. Standing behind his own chair, Tahj gripped the back as he spoke. “I’ve had my suspicions.” He raised his hand to stop Radeem’s interruption. “Nothing solid, mind you, it’s just… I was afraid my own dislike for the man was coloring my thinking, but maybe I was right after all.” He gazed off for a moment but then returned to his explanation. “He seems to undermine me at every turn. Every order, he questions; every mistake, he scrutinizes.” Tahj threw up his hands, gesturing with each statement as he began to pace behind his chair. “And lately he almost seems vulture-like, as if he were waiting to swoop down and peck the eyes out of my father’s corpse.”

Radeem stood, too, his brow uncharacteristically furrowed. “I’m afraid we may have underestimated Boltar. His following may already be too strong. You know…” He hesitated. “…the rationing your father ordered was not a very popular move.”

“Yes, but a necessary one all the same,” Tahj argued. “Those people in the North were starving.” The decision had cost his father many of his wealthy friends, friends who saw the rationing as simply money out of their pockets. And it was a decision that had made Tahj proud. “The floods washed away most of their wheat and barley crops along with many vineyards—”

Radeem put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You don’t have to convince me. I’ve always known your father to be a fair and intelligent man. But there are those who like to complain, and the rationing certainly gave them fodder to do so.” The captain lifted his hands innocently. “That’s all I am saying.” Tahj nodded his understanding. Radeem paused, calculating. “I’m going to hang around here for a few months, keep my eye on things. I don’t trust Boltar, and I want to be here if anything goes awry. Besides,” he added, perhaps trying to lighten the moment, “there are those Avistad beauties you spoke of…” He let his voice trail off with a wide grin.

Tahj smiled and punched his friend lightly in the stomach. “You’re all talk. I know you’re quite pleased with that beautiful new wife of yours.”

Radeem paused, as if considering. “You’re right, I suppose,” he returned with a sigh. “But I’d at least like to know I could find myself another wife, if I so desired. I haven’t had a girl cast her eye in my direction in many a moon, my friend.” He tapped his somewhat rotund stomach petulantly.

“Ohh, what a shame,” Tahj commented, his voice dripping sarcasm. His smile spread. “Seriously, it is good to have you back, Radeem.” Tahj took his friend’s hand and placed his other hand on the captain’s broad shoulder.

“It is good to be back,” Radeem consented. “Now, I’m going to go spruce up for dinner. Maybe I can seduce some willing servant girl.” He winked and headed for the door.

Tahj halted at the doorway. “You haven’t changed a bit. Remember the time we snuck into that sultan’s tent and you bedded about half his harem before he caught on?”

Radeem’s eyes sparked, his laughter loud and robust. “Now
those
were the days.” He sighed. “Still, I wouldn’t change a thing. I do love my Aara.” He shook his head. “I’ve turned into an old married sap. I never thought it would happen.”

“Me, either,” Tahj retorted mildly.

Radeem smiled. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Shortly, my friend.”

Tahj closed the door on Radeem and turned to stroll back to his bed, absorbed in thought.

* * *

Lord Boltar watched Prince Tahj enter his quarters and rubbed his hands together wickedly. He loathed the prince. He’d seen the boy as a toddler running naked through the castle. How could anybody be expected to take orders from someone after seeing that? And, damn it all, if Prince Tahj hadn’t turned out to be a fairly competent commander on top of it. That fact alone had him grinding his teeth at night.

And before Prince Tahj it was Kadeesh. Kadeesh, well-proportioned, good-looking, and with an air of authority, even as a young lad; unlike Tahj, who spent most of his childhood playing games in his nursemaid’s shadow. Kadeesh was a natural-born leader, and the King sensed it from the start. But royal blood ran through your fingers just as easily as peasant’s blood, Boltar thought with a laugh. Kadeesh was no longer a problem. What people failed to remember was that Boltar, too, was once a prominent man around the palace. Before the king met and married his wife, it was Boltar he turned to for advice, Boltar whom he left in charge during his sometimes lengthy absences.

But, as soon as Kadeesh could walk, it seemed, Boltar’s position in the palace diminished. It was infuriating. Boltar’s father had been the grand vizier before him, and his father’s father before that. In fact, somewhere in the past one of his family members had been second in line for the throne, and no one in the family had ever forgotten it. No, never forgotten. Boltar could still remember his father’s deep bass voice reminding people time and again, “We’re from royal blood, you know.” Even as a young lad, Boltar was told someday the throne would belong to his family again.

But as it was, here he sat, keeping books while Prince Tahj went out to collect the tributes, which had been the Grand Vizier’s duty in years past. Now, not only was he stuck behind
in the palace, but he was also expected to manipulate numbers instead of people. It really wasn’t his strongest skill, and it certainly didn’t give him the rush of power he got when he was out dealing with the troops.

Boltar turned with disgust and headed away from Tahj’s doors, still stewing. He hadn’t gone far when his sharp eyes caught sight of a figure through the arched openings to his right, striding down the hall on the other side of the courtyard, facing the opposite direction. Radeem, he thought, sucking in a hissing breath. What would he be doing here? Boltar snuck behind a column and watched as the younger man met an intersecting crosswalk and changed direction
. Radeem ambled through the courtyard which was sparsely covered with grass, the expanse broken up with tall, willowy trees and ornamental fountains, and approached the prince’s rooms. One of the Grand Vizier’s spies had warned him the captain had been asking a lot of questions lately. Was Radeem here to warn the prince?

Perhaps it was time to act. He’d planned on just a few more weeks to let the poison he gave the king do its work, but perhaps it was time, after all. It was just as well the current reign end in blood, rather than a quiet death. Besides being personally satisfying, it would also serve to establish Boltar as someone to be reckoned with. As Boltar thought about it, his pulse began to quicken. Nothing got his blood pounding faster than the rush of power he felt when torturing or killing someone. He turned, and as his heels clicked down the tile hallway, he ticked the next steps off in his mind.

CHAPTER TWO

Tahj wondered if he had time for a nap before dinner. His head was swimming from all Radeem had told him. Could Lord Boltar really be planning something so evil? He unstrapped the scimitar from his side and set it across the bedside table, then ran a hand fondly along its length. It had been his father’s weapon. The king gave it to Tahj on his eighteenth birthday, telling his son he no longer felt the need to wear a sword as he was always in the castle, surrounded by friends, advisors, and guards. He entrusted it to Tahj and told him never to use it in anger.

Tahj drew his sword from its scabbard with a sad smile, laying it across his knees to examine it. The sword was beautifully and intricately engraved with the family crest and intertwining vines which ran the length of the blade; he never tired of looking at it. He wondered now if he could live up to the trust his father put in him when he gave Tahj the weapon. Lately he could feel a darkness gathering around him, and he knew eventually he’d be called to act on it. He didn’t relish the thought. Wearily, he bent to remove his boots, but as he did, he caught sight of what appeared to be a pair of slippered feet poking out from around the corner of the bed.

Blinking in surprise, Tahj rose slowly and stepped around the corner of his bed, curiosity piqued. He found a girl spilled out on the mostly white, llama-skin rug in front of the fireplace. He gaped, frozen in shock. A low fire burned to fight off the chill from the drafty palace, and, in its flickering light, the girl lay on her side, absolutely still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Her hands were clasped over her head in what appeared to be an awkward position, and her glossy black hair was splashed across her face, hiding it from view. The hair was mussed, with bouncy, loose curls so lush it brought to his mind a prize-winning horse’s mane.

Tahj was stunned to find someone in his private quarters. His gaze darted around, checking if anything else was amiss, but, besides the girl lying at his feet, the room seemed to be untouched. She wore an airy, one-piece jumpsuit which was a swirl of color. At her shoulder was a sweep of vivid pink, edged in lighter pink, which faded into purple, and then, in turn, bled into a thousand shades of blue which seemed to capture the myriad of colors of the sky at dusk. Tahj squatted down beside her in a relaxed stance, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands between his legs. He paused, listening for a second to the soothing sound of her breathing. He let his gaze flow over the outline of the girl, from her impossibly tiny waist, over the subtle yet sumptuous curve of her hips, and finally to those wonderful, slippered feet that had first drawn him to her. She was tiny, this one, he mused, although she appeared long, stretched out as she was in front of his fireplace like a lazy cat.

He reached out to touch her shoulder gently, but she didn’t stir. He was filled with a strange desire to see more of her and carefully moved to brush the hair back from her face, surprised by the warmth of the smooth skin there. To his utter amazement, he saw the girl was gagged, with a bright new bruise purpling her cheek where a diagonal cut along her cheekbone oozed.

She woke with a start, screaming in terror, though the cries were muffled by the scarf tied in her mouth. She shrunk away from him, curling up defensively, her dark, almond-shaped eyes wide with fear. She brought her arms down, and now he could see they were tied at the wrist, the bindings hidden by the long, flowing sleeves of her outfit.

His own heart racing, Tahj tried to calm her. “Shhh-shhh-shhh-shhh,” he murmured sympathetically. “I won’t hurt you.”

So this was what Boltar had meant as a gift—a servant girl they had captured on some unauthorized raid into the desert and brought back against her will. Of course the grand vizier would find it humorous, as all the men teased Tahj about his lack of female company. Though surrounded by men who would bed any number of women on a given night, Tahj was still a virgin.

The girl shook the hair out of her face angrily, still screaming, near hysterics as he tried to comfort her, tears flicking out of her eyes in all directions. She was stunningly beautiful, with even, caramel-colored skin, high cheekbones, and a voluptuous mouth. Realizing he was gaping at her, he dropped his gaze, but not before noticing the light smudges of dirt on her right cheekbone and the beginnings of bruising on her right temple.

“It’s okay,” he continued desperately. “I won’t hurt you. No one is going to hurt you anymore.”

Tahj was overwhelmed with pity for the girl. She pushed away from him and managed to somehow get into an upright position. Her feet bound, she was still able to scoot away until her back thumped into a heavy wooden trunk at the foot of the bed, knees bent in front of her. She glared at him, eyes wild, seeming shaken equally by fear and anger. Again Tahj made a move toward her, and she jerked away.

“I only wish to untie you.” He spoke with kindness, gazing steadily into her eyes, even though doing so had a strange effect on him, making
him
feel like the frightened hare. Each time she cowered, he felt a jab of guilt. Slowly he reached out again, and this time the girl stilled, watching him warily. He moved his hands inch by inch until they were poised on either side of her face, ready to remove the gag. She flinched and looked away as he drew near, her body tense. He froze for a moment, again chastised by her actions, closing his eyes to wipe away the image of her pain. With a heartfelt sigh he opened them again, gazing into her eyes and whispering as softly and reassuringly as he could, as if to gentle an unbroken stallion, “You’ll be fine, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

She observed him out of the corner
s of her eyes, which were wet with tears and darker than any eyes he’d seen before. Still, there was a light in them, a fire of passion that could not be denied, as if the vibrant life within was barely contained. Ignoring the slight thrill that ran through him when he brushed her velvety skin, as well as the way her silky hair made his gut clutch as it slid over his knuckles when he reached behind her neck, he tried to loosen the knot on the gag. It was tied so tightly he was shocked she wasn’t choking on it.

“I can’t get it. It’s too tight,” he said after a while. “Can you turn your head a little?” As Tahj got closer to examine the knot, he was captured by her perfume, which reminded him of the exotic fruits travelers would sometimes bring to the castle from faraway places. Since she was turned the other way, he closed his eyes for just a second to enjoy the fragrance of it as he inhaled. He shook his head, laughing at himself, and concentrated on untying her, but, the more furiously he worked at the knot, the angrier he became. How could someone do this to another person? Not to mention a smaller, more vulnerable one?

After several minutes, when the knot gave way to his prying fingers, he snapped the scarf back in anger. He instantly felt bad for doing so, as the girl jumped and her gaze flew to him in fear. He remained still, purposefully relaxing his features. Seeming to determine he was not an immediate threat, the girl began to work her mouth, which was no doubt sore from being stretched, though still watching him. “What’s your name?” Tahj asked kindly.

She eyed him but remained silent. Of course she wouldn’t speak to him; she wouldn’t trust him any more than she trusted the men who did this to her. Tahj moved to release her hands from their ties, but she again pulled away, shrinking back against the bed. “I only want to help you,” Tahj murmured with a sigh. He touched her wrists. “I’m just going to untie you.”

At that moment, someone began to pound on the outer door. “Tahj! Tahj!” Without waiting for an answer, Radeem barge into the front room.

Recognizing his friend’s voice and the breathless urgency in it, Tahj jumped to his feet. With one last glance down at the girl, he turned and met Radeem in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” Radeem cried in relief. Tahj was alarmed to see his friend’s sword was drawn. “Something’s wrong. I heard screams and shouts, and it seems like all hell is breaking loose.”

Without waiting for further explanation, Tahj grabbed his sword and bolted through the door with Radeem. He was nearly out of his apartment when he remembered the girl. “Wait.” He returned to his bedroom while Radeem stood with his mouth hanging open.

Finding the girl in the same position, Tahj bent to talk to her. “I’ll be back to free you later. Stay here. You’ll be safest here.” On impulse he touched the side of her face and then drew away before she could form a reply.

He grabbed Radeem’s arm as he passed through the doorway, and they took off at a dead run in the direction of the throne room. As they passed through its arched entryway and weaved through pillars they saw a horrific sight. Strewn on the few stairs to the throne lay several of his father’s closest ministers, like kindling dropped in flight. Many lay face down. But one in particular lay face up, haphazardly draped across the steps, his head near the bottom, eyes wide open but not seeing, blood dripping eerily down the steps from his body and pooling below. The room was filled with a foreboding silence and permeated with the faintly metallic odor of blood.

“My father!” Tahj cried in a panic.

He took off again, this time angling past the corpses to a doorway hidden off to one side behind a curtain. He drew the golden, velvet drape back and took the few short steps down in one leap. Radeem followed, his face ashen, his breathing coming hard now. The hallway before them was totally enclosed, with no outside windows
. It was brightly lit as wall sconces lined either side, set about a foot-and-a-half apart all the way down the forty-foot length. The walls were of the same chalky white as the rest of the palace, and the tiles were the color of sand. At the end it took an abrupt ninety-degree, right-hand turn.

Tahj sped toward the section of the palace containing his parents’ bedroom, willing his feet to take him faster. As he slid around the corner, he caught sight of a trail of bloody footprints leading away from him. Tahj’s stomach dropped, a coldness sweeping along his spine and up his neck, where the hair stood on end. He could hear Radeem’s voice behind him asking him to wait, but he ignored it. Lifting his head, Tahj could see the door to the inner chamber splintered and cracked open a few inches. He stumbled forward several paces just as he heard Radeem rounding the corner behind him. Radeem’s footsteps stopped, but the sound of his panting filled the hallway.

“No,” Tahj breathed, freezing in place. A short set of stairs led to the door, similar to the ones in the throne room, and tall pillars flanked it, spreading out wider as they descended the stairs. Tahj saw, as he lurched forward, that one of the pillars was smeared with blood and could just make out behind it the body of a guard who had given his life to defend those within. The other guard’s pointy helmet lay at the bottom of the stairs, but he wouldn’t need it anymore. His decapitated head could be seen a few feet beyond.

“Wait!” Radeem called, staggering forward, still breathless. He put a hand on Tahj’s shoulder to detain him, but Tahj shrugged him off, reeling toward the end of the hall.

Stepping over the guards’ bodies, he climbed the stairs and slammed through the door, causing a section of it to fall to the ground. Tahj’s heart stopped when he saw his father’s legs hanging off of the right side of the enormous bed, which was sheathed in a white, filmy fabric. Heavier curtains, which were drawn back and tied to the footboard, blocked the rest of his view. Tahj moved slowly now, as if wading through honey, afraid to see what he knew to be the king’s lifeless body. He made a wide circle around the end of the bed and brought a hand to his stomach to fight back the wave of nausea that overtook him.

Radeem rushed in the door, but then held back.
If the blood splattered everywhere  hadn’t alerted him, the complete silence would have. When he caught Tahj’s eye, and no doubt saw the horror on his face, Radeem seemed to understand they were too late, lowering his weapon and dropping his head. But a second later his head jerked up, as did his sword, and he advanced toward a green-and-gold pleated curtain along the wall to the left of the bed. “Tahj!”

The sound of his name awakened Tahj from his stupor and he came around the foot of the bed. Holding his sword aloft in his right hand, Radeem used his left to yank open the curtain. For a split second, Radeem seemed to be at a loss, but then his gaze was drawn down. Hearing his
friend’s soft curse, Tahj stepped around Radeem to find his mother at his feet. She must have crawled across the floor toward them from where the soldiers had found her in the inner chamber. The rustling of the curtain was caused by her shaking hand as she used the curtain to pull her more upright.

With a cry, Tahj fell to his knees. All along he had been concerned for his father’s safety, knowing he would be the prime target, but he had never dreamt anything could happen to his mother. As close as he and his father were, Tahj and his mother were much closer. They had consoled each other after Kadeesh’s death while the king remained in denial. And even before, when Tahj was only a small child, when his father spent all of his time and energy on training Kadeesh, he and his mother
had been nearly constant companions.

Tahj gently turned his mother over and gave another strangled cry as he saw her clasping a wound above her abdomen, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood. In despair, he sat down, pulling her partially onto his lap.

“Mother, oh, Mother!”

Radeem looked away.

The queen sputtered softly, “Shh, shh, shh. It’s fine, Tahj.” She closed her eyes, her skin uncharacteristically pale. Blood saturated her jade green gown, but, even with her elaborate headdress askew, she was the picture of elegance.