“Assuming you could prevent yourself from making it sexual, I don’t see why that would be a problem,” Irina countered. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course, based on your complete inability to keep your hands to yourself, I can see how that might prove difficult.”
Her words sparked something in Kirill’s mind and he tilted his head, considering her anew. “You know, now that you mention it, I do seem to have somewhat of a hard time resisting your…allure.” He tapped his chin, briefly letting his mind flutter back over the kisses he’d shared with Irina, the desire that seemed to consume him when he got too close to her warm flesh. Kirill was not a chaste man by any stretch, but he couldn’t recall the last time he hadn’t turned his sexual needs to politically advantageous couplings.
“Tell me, Irina, why is it that I feel so drawn to you?”
There.
A flash of something in her eyes, a faint blush on her cheeks.
Kirill leaned forward, his gaze boring into hers. “What are you, Irina?
A siren?
A rusalka?
A nymph?
Don’t be
shy,
I think you’ll find I’m quite…open-minded.”
Irina pressed back against her seat, shrinking away from him as he leaned even closer. Her movement loosened her gown and the bodice dipped lower, whispering against her flesh. Kirill didn’t fight his attention as it dropped to the tantalizing hint of her breasts, barely visible in the shadow of the gaping material. He drew in a breath, taking in her scent. Blood tickled his nose and he frowned even as his fangs ached to slide from their sheaths.
He raised a hand to pull her dress farther away, locking his gaze on her face when he heard her sharp intake of breath. Her hand was already in the air, no doubt about to sail into his cheek for another resounding slap.
“Irina, you’re bleeding,” he said quietly.
Her hand twitched and then she dropped it to her stomach. Her delicate features screwed up into a wince as she brushed a hand over her stomach. “Oh, bloody hell.”
All intentions of teasing gone, Kirill gently eased the bodice away from her chest. She tensed as her breasts were bared to the cool air of the carriage, but Kirill kept his motions respectful. He’d been so caught up in his own
victory,
he hadn’t thought to check the extent of Irina’s injuries. It was a grievous oversight for someone who wanted to be king someday.
Anger tightened his mouth as he noticed several welts across Irina’s stomach, at least one of them bleeding and another on the verge of doing so.
“Irina, who did this to
you
?” he asked quietly, cursing himself for not asking her sooner. He had little hope that she would be able to offer any helpful information. After all, female trolls were renowned for their magic and he had a hard time believing one would have been so foolish as to attack a guest of her king while wearing her true form. Still, the question should have been asked.
“She was a troll, that’s all I know.”
“Why would a troll have anything against you?”
Pain flared on Irina’s face and she looked away. “People don’t always need a reason.”
There was a story behind that simple truth, but Kirill knew now was not the time for more questions. He gently raised her bodice, and returned to his seat, pausing only to speak quietly to his driver through the window. He remained silent for the duration of the ride, contemplating his companion. He was still curious about what manner of creature she was, but it didn’t matter too much. The compulsion he felt to touch her wasn’t strong, and he didn’t feel any desire to submit to her will or any such thing. As the undead, there were very few creatures
who
could seriously bespell him, regardless.
Irina startled when they pulled up in front of the castle. “Why are we here? Aren’t you taking me home?”
“Is that what you consider the dwarves’ cottage?” he asked her, his interest sparked.
“Your home?
What about your family?” He frowned as it occurred to him he hadn’t made many inquiries about Irina after he saved her life and dropped her with the dwarves.
At least not beyond her reputation with other factions.
“Where did you live before I found you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Irina said quietly. “I can’t go back.”
Kirill considered her words and made a mental note to look into it further after he reestablished the treaty with the goblins. “Well, you will stay with me tonight. My physician will attend to your injuries.”
Before she could object, he raised a hand. “I will send word to your dwarf friends, so they will not worry about you.”
“You think sending one of your messengers to tell them I’ll be staying the night with the vampire prince will soothe their worries?”
Kirill paused. He leaned toward the window again and spoke softly. A moment later the carriage started moving. “We’ll stop by and you can tell them yourself.”
“I smell blood.”
Irina squeaked and clapped a hand to her chest to keep her heart from leaping out. Fortunately, it also held up the drooping bodice of her dress as she stumbled back toward the castle wall. A muscled chest met her back instead of cold stone, as Kirill stepped up behind her.
“Father, was that completely necessary?” Kirill snapped.
A man stepped out from the shadows. His reddish brown hair fell to his shoulders, providing a perfect compliment to his goatee and mustache. Sharp brown eyes peered from a face that had just begun to wrinkle before his death. He was dressed in enough finery to make any thief drool, dripping with gold and jewels and covered in fabric designed for intimidation instead of comfort. It was astonishing that the man could move as silently as he had wearing all that treasure.
Irina reached through the slit in her skirt to grasp the knife sheathed to her thigh. King or not, the man had scared the daylights out of her and she’d been in no mood to be messed with to start. Now that her fear was receding, she was weighing how badly she wanted to stab something against how much trouble she’d be in for injuring a king. She glanced back at Kirill, wondering if he’d save her from the executioner.
Kirill must have read her thoughts because he quickly stepped in front of her. She frowned. He was the one who’d pissed her off in the first place. Maybe she should stab him? Her traitorous mind filled with thoughts of his mouth on hers and his hands dancing over her wounds with a touch as light as a butterfly’s kiss. Her cheeks flushed. Maybe she wouldn’t stab him…yet.
“The smell is getting stronger,” the king continued, his eyes now firmly resting on Irina. He seemed to take in her disheveled clothes with an unnecessary amount of amusement. “My boy, have you brought your food home with you? Surely you could have been a bit
more gentle
?” He sniffed the air. “Is there any reason you felt the need to finish eating in our home?”
“The
leshii
take it, Father, could you at least feign some manners? She is my guest, and you will by the gods show her some respect.”
“Or you’ll what?”
The humor that had been dancing in the king’s eye vanished, replaced by the faint beginnings of real anger. Irina’s heart pounded as she watched the king stare down his son without a trace of parental warmth. She opened her mouth to tell Kirill he needn’t bother. She’d been spoken to in much cruder terms and it wasn’t worth getting injured over.
“You reek of trolls, Kirill.” The king turned his grey-eyed gaze to her and Irina gritted her teeth against the bite of fear along her spine. “As does
your…
guest. Tell me, how is that alliance coming?”
“Why don’t you ask the troll king? I’m afraid I’m too busy to give you a lesson in politics tonight.”
Kirill wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her down the corridor, his anger apparent in the tension singing in his body and the quick steps that drew them farther and farther away from the king’s cold presence. Irina untangled her hand from the slit of her dress, trying not to dislodge the dagger. If she didn’t let it go soon, she’d be tempted to turn and hurl it down the hallway, good sense be damned.
“Thank you so much for bringing me to your lovely home, Your Highness,” she muttered. “To think I could be back in that little cottage being cared for by men who speak to me with kindness and pretty words instead of a drafty hallway being insulted by a king.”
“Do not concern
yourself
with my father,” Kirill growled. “He is far too arrogant to believe I have any chance of succeeding in taking the throne from him.”
“I’m not sure how that’s supposed to be comforting? And thank you so much for making this conversation about you and your paternal issues.”
Kirill turned a corner and stopped abruptly. Irina grunted as the sudden stop made her flex her stomach muscles, agitating her wounds. The welts burned as they rubbed against her dress and she gritted her teeth, debating whether it would hurt worse to let the dress rub, or try to suck her stomach away from it. Frustrated and needing a distraction, she turned to glare at Kirill. The strange look on his face made her hold the barb ready on the tip of her tongue.
“Irina,” he asked slowly. “I know I frighten you on occasion. I can hear your
heartbeat,
I’ve tasted fear in your blood.”
Irina scowled as she fought not to squirm. His words slid over her, coaxing her to remember the feel of his lips against her neck, the sensation of his fangs sliding into her flesh. Before she could gather her wits to object, he raised a hand.
“I know you fear me,” he continued, “and yet you continue to snap at me and insult me. You’ve even struck me—more than once, I might add.”
“So?” Irina grumbled. She looked away, studying a tapestry on the wall to try and take her mind off the prince staring at her with far too much intensity.
His fingers grasped her chin and her eyes widened as he forced her to look at him.
“Irina, why do you speak to me so,
treat
me so, when you so clearly understand the possible consequences of that behavior?” he asked softly. “Do you believe that my attraction to you would—
”
A slap shattered the air and Irina fought to keep the wince off her face as both her palm and her wounds stung with the effort. Kirill pressed his lips together but didn’t speak. She leaned closer so their faces were only inches apart.
“I have no delusions about our relationship,” she said slowly. “I know that you could and would have me killed if it would benefit you to do so. And you’re
right,
I do fear you and what you might do to me if the fancy strikes you. However, I have lived with that threat of violence, with that incessant fear, for nearly my entire life. And do you know what it has taught me?”
“Do tell.”
“Fear can change you if you let it. Even a proud, strong woman can become a whimpering mess if her fear overwhelms her. Terror reaches inside you and twists your mind, colors your decisions, and limits your options. If I’m going to live my life under the constant threat of death, then I’m going to live it on
my
terms. And when I do die, I want people to remember me as I am, not as whatever creature my fear wants to turn me into.” Her throat constricted as she thought of her father and what her life might have been like if Serafina hadn’t taken him from her. She straightened her spine. “My circumstances have taken certain choices from me. I’ll be damned if I let fear take any more…even if it’s such a simple choice as smacking a man who’s treated me as a means to his own ends instead of the lady he thinks his father should treat me as.”
For several long minutes, Kirill just stood there, staring at her. His blue eyes flickered from side to side as if he were trying to examine every line of her face, every clue that might tell him how serious she was. Irina just stood there and let him search, patient and quiet.
Serafina had asked her a similar question once. Right after Irina’s father’s suspicious death, Serafina had actually tried to raise Irina as her own. She’d lectured her on politics, taught her self defense and the use of various weapons,
educated
her on different creatures and their customs. At first, Irina had learned eagerly, grateful for the parental devotion Serafina seemed to lavish on her. Then as she’d grown older, Serafina had started to look at her with different eyes. It wasn’t until one of the
vila
had told Irina of her stepmother’s magic mirror and its prophecies that Irina had understood the change in Serafina’s attitude. The mirror had apparently implicated Irina in a prophecy, hinting that she would be the one to reach some lofty goal that Serafina sought for
herself
. Serafina had grown colder, taking delight only in tormenting Irina, especially when she could frighten her stepdaughter.
Those had been dark days, followed by even darker nights. But Serafina had made a mistake. Irina had learned so much, been exposed to so much of the world. She’d had time to think of who she wanted to be, what she wanted to be, and when Serafina started slamming doors in her face, Irina had fought that much harder to find windows to open. She’d been terrified, yes, but she had been even more determined.
Determined to have a life, to live her life.
And, eventually, determined to avenge her father’s death on the false woman who had so badly deceived them both.
Finally, Kirill narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Irina? More than anything else in life, what do you desire?”
“Vengeance.”
Kirill’s eyebrows vanished into his hairline.
“Vengeance?
Not freedom for the villagers, or money for the poor?” He waved a hand in the air. “No world peace?”
Thoughts of her father filled Irina’s mind, freshened by her earlier remembrance of Serafina and the sorceress’s years of deceit about her husband’s death. “Do I get more than one answer?”
“No.”
“Then the answer is vengeance.”
Kirill shook his head, looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. Curiosity burned in his gaze.
“Vengeance for what?”
Irina crossed her arms, gritting her teeth momentarily against the discomfort. “If I don’t get more than one answer, you don’t get more than one question.” She smirked and leaned in. “That’s logic.”
The laugh that burst from Kirill startled Irina and she dropped her arms,
then
scrambled to hold up her bodice as it drooped dangerously close to revealing her breasts for the second time that night. Kirill continued to laugh, a deep hearty sound from somewhere deep inside him and Irina found herself smiling with him. As his laughter faded, he shook his head.
“Irina, I have never met anyone quite like you,” he admitted finally. He smiled. “I am pleased I saved your life.”
“And I am impressed that you managed to make a compliment into a reminder of my debt to you,” Irina said bemusedly.
Kirill’s smiled widened, flashing fang. “That is why I will be king someday.”
Irina rolled her eyes as he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. She fumbling to hold her
dress
up with her other hand. The bodice was growing looser and looser the more she moved about with no lacing.
“If I had my way, there would be no king.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Kirill said, patting her hand.
A flash of anger sizzled along Irina’s nerves. “Don’t be condescending to me. It’s all fine and well for you to want to be king, and lord over all the people of
Dacia
while sitting on your comfy throne and eating giant feasts that should by all rights feed twenty people. But as one of your subjects, I can promise you that I don’t care whose ass is parked on that fancy chair. One king is like any other king.”
“Have you ever heard of
Midguard
?”
Despite herself, Irina shivered.
“Of course.
It’s a wilderness full of madmen and women who spend their days roving the seas and pillaging ships and villages. Everyone has been warned not to stray too far from the five kingdoms for fear of falling prey to those people.”
“It is not a wilderness. It is a ruined kingdom. There was once a king of
Midguard
, but he was a lazy man. He did as you suggest kings do, just sat on his throne and enjoyed the benefits of being king without offering any services to his people in return. His people would come to him for law and order, but unless his tithes were short, the king didn’t care. The people started to mete out their own justice. Neighbor stole from neighbor, the strong taking over the weak. As long as they continued to send money to the king, they were left alone. Only eventually, the thieves grew so wealthy and so powerful, that they no longer feared even the king’s guards. They stopped tithing.”
A chill shivered over Irina’s skin as her mind provided pictures to go along with Kirill’s words. Serafina had told her a little of
Midguard
, but mostly it was about how to avoid them and how to bargain with them if you were captured. She’d never really mentioned anything about the history of the place.
“As you must know, there is no longer a king of
Midguard
. It is chaos, a wilderness as you said. That is what happens when there is no king—or a weak king.”
“You don’t know that that would happen here,” Irina objected, thinking of all the people she knew.
“You’re telling me that there is no one in the kingdom that would take advantage if my family did not hear complaints and send guards to settle disputes and drag criminals off to the dungeons?”