Chapter Two
BY
the time darkness fell, Jahn felt a bit sorry for his “wife” and a touch guilty about his role in this charade. Just a touch. Haughty as she attempted to be, the pretty and fragile blonde could not hide the fact that she was scared. He had never intended for this journey to be a nightmare for her. Just a lesson, of sorts, a test so that she could appreciate all she’d been offered, after she had a taste of an alternative life.
So, when Blane made his excuses, retreating to the woods to give them a moment of needed privacy, Jahn presented himself to Lady Morgana. She sat by the fire with her knees drawn up and her delicate chin resting on one of those knees. Her face looked paler than usual against the light blue of her dress and the firelight; her eyes had gone impossibly wide. She stared into the fire as if haunted by something she saw in the flames. Now and then she’d rock back and forth. That could not be a good sign.
“Just so you’ll know,” he said without emotion, “I do not expect to consummate this marriage during the journey.”
She glanced up, her suddenly narrowed eyes displaying suspicion. “And why is that?” she asked coldly.
He smiled down at her. “With Blane around, it would be awkward.” He considered making a joke about the other poor sentinel being jealous of the great size of his cock, but decided against it. The girl really was frightened, and perverse nature aside, he did not consider himself a spiteful man. “Besides, we should get to know one another first. It’s not
necessary
that we get acquainted before making this marriage real, mind you. Many a couple has started their marital life together as total strangers. But as a gift to you, my bride, I will be patient.”
Morgana narrowed her eyes. “We are not truly married until this godforsaken union is consummated, so please refrain from calling me your bride.”
“Are you trying to change my mind about waiting?”
“No, just pointing out that you’re going to have to stop calling me wife.” She wrinkled her nose. “I am not your wife, I did not choose to be your wife, and every time you say the word I feel as if a million tiny irritating bugs are racing through my veins.” For emphasis, he supposed, she shuddered.
She sounded as if she did not care for the binding state of marriage any more than he did. In his experience, all women longed for the bond and the security of marriage. They wanted someone to take care of them. Was Lady Morgana like him? Did she crave her freedom more than she longed for the tight bonds of a forever union and the security of marriage? That such a pretty and obviously pampered woman would turn her back on the acceptable and normally desired institution of marriage—as Morgana certainly had even before he’d come along—made her more interesting. He very much wanted to know why.
“Then what should I call you?” Jahn lowered himself to the ground, careful not to sit too close to the skittish woman.
“Lady Morgana,” she said sharply. “Or even better, call me nothing at all.” The statement would’ve been quite cutting if her lower lip hadn’t trembled.
“You may call me Jahn,” he said, “or Sentinel Devlyn, if you prefer.”
“Jahn is the emperor’s name.”
“It is common enough, and the only given name I have. If the emperor does not wish to share the name with me, he can choose one of his many others. Nechtyn has a nice ring, don’t you think?” He had always thought that was the worst of the many names he’d been given at birth.
Lady Morgana turned her head and looked at him without fear. “You seem very confident that we will remain married, but I must tell you, you’re very much mistaken. My stepfather might be angry with me now, and perhaps with some good reason, but I know he will change his mind and come for me, probably very soon. Maybe even tonight.”
“I doubt that.” Poor Ramsden would not dare to defy his emperor—though he had made Jahn promise that Morgana would not be mistreated in any way. Jahn knew very well what that meant, though the words had not been so blunt. Lady Morgana was to remain untouched.
“When he does come, will you let me go? Will you release me from this ridiculous, ill-advised, peasant union?” For the first time, there was a touch of hope in her voice, and even by firelight he saw the renewal of optimism in her eyes.
Jahn nodded. “If your father comes for you . . .”
“Stepfather,” she corrected.
“If your
stepfather
comes for you and you wish to go, I will not attempt to stop you. We can call the marriage undone, and I will find another to take your place. Sooner or later.”
She breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m not such a bad person, you know,” he said softly.
“I’m sure you’re very pleasant, when you’re not kidnapping unwilling brides.”
“I did not kidnap you; you were given to me. On more than one occasion I’ve been told I’m quite charming, so I can imagine that eventually you will be willing enough.”
Her spine straightened. “I will not,” she said softly but with determination.
Jahn ignored her, smiling slightly as he leaned back on his hands. “I will call you Ana,” he said. “Lady Morgana is too much of a mouthful. It’s intimidating. Ana sounds like the name of a woman who is always sweet and easy and agreeable. It is the name of a woman who might give me many fat and healthy babies. Sons, of course, though I suppose after five or six boys I might agree to a daughter or two.”
He expected an argument, as he had given her plenty of reason to disagree, but instead the lady said, in an emotionless voice, “My mother used to call me Ana, when she was feeling well and I had pleased her, or when she was just having a happy day.”
“Then you will not mind if I do the same,” he said.
“Until my stepfather comes to fetch me, you can call me whatever you like. I don’t care.”
As the days passed and Ramsden did not come for her, how would she react? Would she grow angry or despondent? Would she accept the situation she found herself in?
Jahn was of a mind that Lady Morgana should be humbled, that she should find some appreciation for her pampered situation, but he did not want her to be afraid. Her eyes and the way she stared into the fire spoke of fear even now, after he had told her he had no marital expectations of her at the moment. He had given Ramsden his word that there would be no taking advantage of this situation, so he had no choice. He couldn’t very well tell Morgana that, however. It would ruin the game.
“I take good care of what is mine,” he said in a lowered voice.
“I am not yours,” she replied hotly.
She had been frightened enough for one night. “For now you are, like it or not, and while I call you wife, while you are in my care, no harm will come to you. You will not go hungry, and no man or beast will hurt you in any way.”
She looked at him, perhaps less afraid than before. “What an odd man you are.”
“Odd?”
“You do not know me at all, you have no valid reason to want me as your wife, and yet it is entirely thanks to you that we are here. You have offered me time, so I must assume that your interest is not entirely prurient, and now you offer what can only be called protection.” Her brow furrowed. “Many men have wanted to take me as their bride, but all for the same reason.”
“Your beauty?” he asked with a smile. “Or was it your abundant tenderness of personality and good cheer that called them to you?”
She did not take the bait. “It was my stepfather’s land and the fact that he has no children of his own that called to them. Has it called to you, also? Do you wish to return to my home and take your place as next in line as master of the house?”
Maybe she was not so different from him, after all. To have lifelong bonds formed strictly for land or power or riches was somewhat sad. It was disillusioning, even to the most hard-hearted.
“I swear to you, Ana, I have no such desires,” Jahn said honestly. “In fact, I can promise you that we will never live on the land you have just left behind, and I have no desire to be master of your stepfather’s house. Arthes is my home, and it shall remain so.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
Since becoming emperor, Jahn had always realized that his choice of a life mate would be influenced by his position. Love and affection were not necessary; they might even become burdensome. Add to that the fact that he had always been easily bored where women were concerned, and the idea of such a shallow union intended to be for a lifetime was horrifying. This lovely lady’s situation was no different from his own.
“Believe or not, it’s the truth. I might not always embrace the truth, but I am not a stranger to it, either. I did not choose you for your stepfather’s land, that I promise.”
She relaxed a bit, and when Blane returned from the forest, their conversation died a natural death. Already Jahn was regretting his impulsive decision to bring her along in this way, but it was too late to turn back. Much too late.
RIKKA
clapped her hands in girlish glee, though her girlish years were long gone. There were gentle wrinkles on her hands, and when she looked into a mirror these days, she saw evidence of the years that had passed so quickly and harshly. She was not yet fifty-five, but the need for vengeance she carried within her made her look older. Her hair, at least, remained beautiful. It had turned a soft, pearllike white years ago, and remained abundant and healthy.
“I’ve waited so long for the right opportunity, and this is it, I can feel the rightness in my bones. The girl the emperor chooses will be my way back into the palace, and once there, I can bring them all down.” Not quickly. If she’d simply wanted to kill the emperor and his brother, she could’ve found a way to have it done long ago. No, death was not enough. They should suffer for what their father and their damned mother had done. They should know the pain Rikka herself had suffered. Not just pain, but heartache and humiliation.
Gyl, her friend, servant, wizard, and lover, did not seem so pleased. “I don’t understand why you are so certain the emperor will choose a bride who will grant you access to the palace.”
“I have my ways, you know that, darling.” She gave him a tight smile.
He was not convinced. “Yes, you do have your ways, and so do I. But there are six chosen women, so we have heard, and there is no way to know that the new empress will be vulnerable to your charms, magical or otherwise.”
Tempted as she was to tell him everything . . . she could not. “There are two girls among the six who will suit my plans well. Both are beautiful and born of an impressive bloodline, and both have secrets which make them vulnerable.” Rikka looked away from Gyl’s accusing eyes, hoping he would not see that she had secrets of her own. “Either of them will do. I have already made arrangements which will make the emperor’s choice much easier.” Eliminating the competition might not be subtle, but she refused to fail. Her plan was simple and foolproof. One of the two chosen girls would become empress. That girl would bear a child—the child of the emperor or of any other man, it did not matter—and when it was done, the empress would kill the emperor and, as mother of the heir, she would take control. With Rikka at her side, of course.
“How do you know the chosen one will do what you want?” Gyl asked, his voice too sharp for one who claimed to care for her. “Not everyone is willing to do anything for power.”
“Blackmail is a wonderful thing,” Rikka said calmly. “The two I have chosen both have secrets which will make them eminently agreeable to anything I suggest.” Anything at all.
Gyl grabbed her by the shoulders, then took her chin in one large hand and forced her to look him in the eye. He was only two years younger than she, yet he looked a decade younger. His hair remained more brown than gray, though his temples were touched with bright silver. His eyes were bright and the same clear gray she had always known, and his face was only barely lined. It wasn’t magic that added youth to his face, she knew, but his annoying lack of anger at what life had given him. In truth, his magical abilities were minimal. He was talented with simple potions and had on occasion created a charmed amulet or two, but he was more man than wizard. More lover than seer. There were more powerful magicians of worth in her life, but she would never find one more loyal than her Gyl.
Since being rescued from Level Thirteen, Rikka had called this well-designed and comfortable house in the forest of the Western Province home. She possessed riches and lands inherited from her father, and they were more than enough to see to all her needs. All but one.
“It is not too late,” Gyl said in a gentle voice. “Let this madness end now. Cancel your orders and let the brothers be.”
“I can’t,” she responded. “It’s too late. Plans have been set into motion.” As soon as her contacts in the palace had informed Rikka of the emperor’s contest, it had been too late.
It was not fair that the sons of that bastard Sebestyen and his harlot should live in the palace and be happy when she could do neither. Rikka knew to her bones that she could not survive if the emperor and his brother continued to exist in such a charmed and effortless way. Their father and mother had made her suffer, and though she could not touch Sebestyen and Liane in death, she could and would destroy what they had made. Their sons. Their legacy.
“I love you,” Gyl said, as he had so often in years past. “It’s not too late for us. Forget your revenge and marry me. We’ll move far away from Columbyana and everything here that hurts you, and we will begin again.” He had been asking her to be his wife for almost twenty years. Her answer was always the same.
“I can’t.”
“You can.” Gyl’s hands dropped. “But you won’t. When the twins are dead and you’ve had your revenge, then will you allow yourself some happiness?”
“Seeing them suffer and die will be happiness, love.”
His spine straightened and his lips thinned. Gyl loved her, and he did as she asked, most of the time, but he did not care for her plan for revenge. There were moments when she was certain he did not believe she deserved her vengeance.