Richelle Mead Dark Swan Bundle: Storm Born, Thorn Queen, Iron Crowned & Shadow Heir (39 page)

I stared at her. “What do you mean? I think I handled that well, considering that woman's endless chattering.”

“Don't let her surface fool you. She's shrewder than you think. And powerful. Unfortunately, her son is not.”

“Leith? What do you mean? Magically?”

She nodded. “His magic is almost nonexistent. He won't be able to inherit her kingdom.”

“Whoa…” Considering how long gentry lived, I'd never thought much about inheritance issues. “But he seemed pretty competent. Very intelligent.”

“He is. Extremely so. He's an inventor of sorts. He's created things that have revolutionized their kingdom—and the others, slowly. He most recently created tools to print text in books the way your people do. It'll save a fortune in scribes.”

“Like a printing press? Wow.” Who knew? Leith was like a fairy version of Gutenberg. Cool. Maybe the Otherworld was well on its way to the Industrial Revolution. “And that doesn't count for anything with ruling?”

“No.” Shaya didn't sound sympathetic in the least. Magical strength was the greatest measure of a gentry's worth, which is why my bastard father had been held in such high regard. Those who believed I would match him one day regarded me similarly. “Ingenuity alone is not enough to inherit the throne or bind the land. However, his odds might improve if he had a powerful consort.”

I suddenly tripped on my own feet when I caught her meaning. “What, you mean me?”

“By their estimation, you're a good match. Powerful, already ruling a kingdom. Your human blood and ability to conceive makes you extremely attractive, your role in the prophecy doubly so.”

“Christ. You people are nuts.”

She seemed to be enjoying my dismay. “Like I said, Katrice is shrewd. She wasn't lying when she said she wanted to meet you. She's probably planned this for a while. You inviting Leith to visit fulfilled her dreams. Just wait, he'll come soon.”

“How come you guys have no concept of ‘just friends' around here? Why is every guy I meet a potential mate? Leith was nice enough and cute, but I mean…come on.”

I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised, really. The gentry had much looser sexual mores than humans—as a few couples in the room's corners were currently demonstrating—so they probably treated everything as a possible romantic encounter. Considering the wights' less-than-romantic bid for my affections earlier, I should have been grateful for Leith's more civilized courtship. Still, I found it all wearying.

Shaya introduced me to a number of other nobles that afternoon. Most blurred together. I simply smiled and nodded a lot, fantasizing about being home in bed with Kiyo. Near the end of the party, one new person actually caught my attention.

The first interesting thing was just how dark his skin was—a rarity in the otherwise Caucasian gentry of this portion of the Otherworld. His black hair hung around his face in a shower of tiny braids, perfectly setting off the burgundy satin cloak around him. He bowed low over my hand, sweeping his cloak away with a flourish.

“Your majesty,” he said with a faint French accent. “It is an honor and a privilege. The stories of your beauty do not do you justice. I am Girard de la Colline.”

I accepted his hand kiss with astonishment. “You must be from very far away.”

The Otherworld mirrored my own world in geography. The residents here, near Arizona, spoke variations of American English. I wondered idly if those who ruled now had supplanted an American Indian version of the gentry.

“Such a journey is well worth it to be in your presence, but sometime, if you like, I would be honored to tell you stories of my homeland. Its beauty is enough to make a man weep, though I'm given to understand that the terrible beauty of your own kingdom can make men weep as well—for different reasons.”

I laughed. “I suppose so. Those who respect it can survive it; those who don't…well, don't.”

“It sounds just like its queen.” He inclined his head. “I also have a small talent with metalwork, if you would ever like anything crafted. I live in the Rowan Land now but would happily take a commission if you require one.”

I thanked him for the offer and said I'd think about it. When we left him, I turned to Shaya. “I liked him. But let me guess—he wants to woo me and father my child, too?”

“Oh, he wouldn't be opposed to it, but that's not his short-term goal. He really is quite a gifted artisan—he's even got a little human blood in his ancestry, which lets him somewhat touch iron. But a man like him…well, he's a courtier. He hangs around nobility and tries to find connections that might help him rule a kingdom of his own one day.”

“Which, my dear Shaya, is a very kind way of saying he is a schmoozing bottom-feeder who will do anything to further his own political aspirations. I will agree with you on his artistic talents, however. Why, we should have him make our good friend the Thorn Queen here a proper crown and solidify her title.”

That smooth, laconic voice sliced my heart in two, and I froze. Turning around slowly, I met a pair of long-lashed green eyes flecked with gold and hazel, all framed by a sweep of long, fiery hair that rivaled the trees of autumn in his kingdom.

Dorian, King of the Oak Land.

“Your majesty,” exclaimed Shaya happily, giving him a low curtsey. “How are you? How is your domain?”

Dorian smiled and lightly chucked her chin. “Are you afraid my household has fallen apart without you? I confess, it does run a bit less smoothly than before, but we endure what we must. I have no doubts your new mistress has more need of your services than I, so I shall suffer longer for her sake.”

He gave me a pointed look. I said nothing. Shaya glanced between the two of us, her happy mien turning nervous. “If you'll excuse me, your majesties, I'm going to find some refreshment. I'll return momentarily.”

I sincerely doubted that, but she departed too quickly for me to protest. I wanted to follow her but was now trapped.

A bit of his showmanship dimmed, but the wit and lazy amusement that constantly cloaked Dorian remained. He always behaved as though he were on a stage, both in his mannerisms and his melodramatic—and often wry—commentary. I guess as a king he kind of was on stage during his life.

“Well, Eugenie, here we are.” Dorian carelessly smoothed down the black velvet of his robe. Gold and red patterns danced around the hems. “You are a vision of sublime beauty, as always.”

“Oh come on,” I exclaimed. “Not from you, of all people. I'm the most shoddily dressed person in this room.”

“No. I saw a scullery maid dressed nearly as badly. A crown really would go a long way to establish your standing. But, barring that, your dress is actually lovely and well-made, even if plain. Wait and watch: you'll see women wearing copies of it soon. The fact that you can still draw eyes while wearing it is a testament to your beauty and presence. You achieve what most of these trumped-up, painted women cannot, no matter how many layers of heavy, rich fabric cover them up.”

I gestured toward his robe. “You're covered up in a fair amount of heavy, rich fabric yourself.”

The edges of his lips curled up. “If they bother you, I can remove as many of these layers as you like.”

I rolled my eyes, but the damage was done. With those few words, I once again saw his naked body, smooth and perfect in the moonlight, hovering over mine as I lay bound to his bed. It had been one night, one night only, but it was a night I'd had little luck in forgetting for the last three months. Seeing Dorian stirred it all up again, filling me with confusion over the way my body had responded to such domination.

Long before that night, Dorian had been one of my first allies in the Otherworld. He'd supported Storm King—and would have loved to knock me up—but had stood firm against any notion of rape. He'd wanted me of my own free will. In the end, he'd helped me defeat Aeson and had shown me the fundamentals of using magic.

“Did you give Maiwenn something?” I asked abruptly, steering us elsewhere.

He scrutinized me a moment before answering. “Yes, of course. What was it? Ah. Yes. Bolts of lovely cloth that I'm sure she can do…something…lovely with. My steward picked it out. A paltry present compared to yours, or so I hear.” His eyes tracked across the room to where Maiwenn and Kiyo laughed with some woman I didn't recognize. “Look at them. Their child will be something to see, don't you think? They make a very striking couple. I should commission a painter to do a family portrait once the baby arrives. Something they can all treasure for years to come.”

I stiffened. “That's why you wanted to talk to me, huh? You haven't changed, Dorian, and I'm not going to stay here and play if you're just going to try to bait me. I didn't want to talk to you anyway.”

Dorian gave a long-suffering sigh. “You always think so little of me, Eugenie. I wished to speak with you because I wanted to know how you've been. I've missed you. How do you like being a queen? Your land hasn't perished…yet…so I'm taking that as a good sign.”

Still irked by the Kiyo jibe, I fixed him with a glare. “I didn't want to be a queen at all. It's
your
fault I've gotten into this. If you hadn't tricked me into claiming the land, I'd be in Tucson right now and away from all of this.” The sting of what he'd done, binding me to the Thorn Land, still itched within me. I wasn't sure if I could ever forgive him for that.

“Not true. You'd still be here, moping around while your lover receives gifts for his child, just as you are right now. And men like the young Rowan prince would still solicit you because whatever other titles come and go, you will always be Storm King's daughter.”

“I don't really want to be that either.”

He spread his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness. “That I cannot change. All I can do with that is help you to develop the powers you inherited, but you've already refused my aid there.”

I looked away. “I don't need your help.” Aside from the grudge I held against him, I couldn't shake the feeling that more of his “help” would result in me in his bed again.

He took a step toward me. “Have you been teaching yourself?”

I didn't answer.

“You have been, haven't you? Or trying to, at least. Odd, considering I distinctly recall you saying you were satisfied with the level of magic you'd reached through my training.” He smiled. “How is that going? Perhaps you'd like my help again?”

I jerked my head back toward him. Too much at this party had ground me down already, and his serpent's tongue was the point that threatened to break me. “No. I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help, okay? I'm happy with what I'm teaching myself. If I advance, fine. If I don't, fine. It doesn't matter to me.”

He laughed, a soft and deadly sound that poured over me like honey. “Eugenie, Eugenie. You may lie to other people, you may lie to your kitsune, and you may even lie to yourself. But
do not
lie to me. I was the one who first taught you to control your magic. I've seen how you crave it, how you glow with the rush of that power. I know how it makes you feel because I've felt it too. I can see in those lovely violet eyes of yours how passionately you want to tap more of that magic. It's consuming you.”

“As usual,” I said in a low voice that matched his own, “you're imagining more than is actually there.”

“And you, as usual, are denying what
is
there, not to mention your own nature. You are what you are, Eugenie, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can begin doing great things.”

“This conversation is done,” I snapped, turning away.

Dorian's hand closed around my wrist, and he pulled me toward him with an unexpected harshness. I don't think he'd meant to do it quite so hard. I let out a small gasp as those fingers tightened against my skin. I wasn't trapped by any stretch of the imagination, but for half a moment, I could believe I was. The painful restraint on my wrist sent shockwaves of heat through my body, and the scent of cinnamon drifted around me, standing this close to him. My breathing had grown heavy, and I willed it to slow down.

He hadn't expected that reaction. A slight widening of his eyes showed rarely expressed surprise. Leaning his face toward mine, his thumb stroked the skin on my arm while the rest of the fingers maintained their hold.

“Just like old times, hmm? It seems you haven't entirely lost your taste for restraint. Yet, like everything else, I'm sure you deny yourself that as well.”

“You think so?” I asked nastily. “You should try fucking Kiyo. Lots of restraint there.”

Amusement lit his face, contrasting with the dark desire in his eyes. “Since I'm presuming you don't mean you finally bought him a leash, let me say simply that there is a big difference between allowing an animal to ravage you and allowing yourself to be ravaged. One is common. The other is art. It is planned. Crafted, even. Only capable of being done by a master.” His next words came out so conversationally, we might as well have been discussing the weather. “As it is, I've been planning out what I'd like to do the next time we make love. I think I want you to lie on your stomach, with your hands bound to the front of the bed. We'll have to shift your hips up a bit, put you on your knees just a little, but otherwise you'll stay prostrate, almost like you're bowing in humble obeisance as I kneel behind you and take you.” He paused. “Unless you have other suggestions?”