Chain of Kisses (4 page)

Chapter Six

That night I watched my mother stride across the ballroom at the head of an entourage of diplomats, courtiers, and royal bodyguards. It took all my discipline and training to keep the sick dread off my face. I felt a hand close comfortingly over my arm, and I looked around to see Arles give me a nod of encouragement. I smiled at him, surprised and oddly warmed, though he still held that damned leash in his hand.

Zeralda came to a stop before me and flicked her fingers. Instantly the courtiers melted away and the bodyguards fell back to a discreet distance, where they eyed the crowd with the intensity of career paranoids. Behind us, the four men of Arles’s Imperial Guard did the same.

“Hello, Mother,” I said, studying her cautiously. Zerelda appeared not one day older than she’d been when I’d run away. A tiny woman who barely came up to my shoulder, her features were as fine and delicate as a Fairy queen’s under a cascade of red curls bound in a complex arrangement of braids and gemstone clips. The ethereal effect was enhanced by her gown, which fluttered around her body in sheer, pale blue petals, shimmering softly in the golden ballroom light.

I felt like a bear next to her, faintly ridiculous in the peacock blue gown that swirled to mid-thigh and bared my long arms even as it displayed my abundant cleavage. Between my height, my breasts, and the muscle I’d built for hand-to-hand combat, nobody would ever mistake me for a Fairy.

“Gisel… oh, my love…” To my astonishment, Zerelda pulled me into her arms, hugging me close despite our awkward difference in height. Her voice broke with genuine emotion. “I feared I’d never see you again. I thought you dead.”

Astonished, I put my arms around her and tentatively returned her hug. “Ah… I’m sorry I worried you.”
I didn’t know you’d care
.

She pulled back to meet my gaze. There was vulnerability in those striking, blue-violet eyes, astonishing in a woman who’d always been so utterly self-controlled. “I sent agents out when you vanished. They searched for years, but they could find no sign of you.”

“I was aboard the
Valkyrie Quest
under an assumed name,” I told her. “I became a mercenary.”

“So Ragnar tells me. “ She added dryly, “Apparently I need to hire away a few of his spies.” She squeezed my shoulders. “I am glad you’re home, Gisel. I have missed you so.”

“And I’ve missed you,” I told her, a sense of unreality stealing over me. Where was the hard-eyed queen who’d palmed me off on a series of nannies -- when, that is, she wasn’t chewing me out for dishonoring my House?

Zerelda sighed. “If you missed me, I doubt it was very much. I made so many mistakes with you, my dear. I was so angry when you ran away -- at first. Then when it began to seem that I’d lost you forever, I started to think about everything I’d done wrong. I can’t blame you for fleeing.” She shot Arles a hard look. “Especially after what you saw the night before you were to marry
him
.”

Arles stared back at her, impassive. Behind him, his bodyguards watched hers, hands light on the hilt of their swords.

“No, I am the one who was wrong,” I told her. “Running was the act of a coward. My thoughtlessness could have destroyed Swanhilde. We’re fortunate that the emperor elected to hold to the treaty and defend us from the Fafnar.” I took her small hands in mine. They felt fragile and cold. “I am so very sorry, Mother.”

“What else were you to do? I drove you away with my demands. And you could have so easily died…”

I squeezed her hands, seeking to warm them. “Mother, you did not drive me away.”

Zerelda shrugged. “I gave you no reason to stay, either.” She looked down at our linked hands. Her thumb touched the jeweled manacle around one wrist, turned it back and forth so that the thin chains clinked softly. “Do you want me to free you from him?” Though she did not look up, the queen spoke in a low, deadly voice that told me she meant every word. “I vow to do whatever it takes. Even if it means war.”

My jaw dropped as I stared at her bent head. My gaze flew to Arles, who stood so tense and still he might have been cast in bronze. His face was expressionless, but anger flashed hot in his eyes.

“No, Mother,” I told her hoarsely. “I have made an agreement with the prince, and I mean to keep it.”

He relaxed fractionally.

She looked up, examined me as if she’d never seen me before. Perhaps she hadn’t. “You love him.”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

A muscle flexed in her jaw, and she turned that look on Arles for a long, long moment. The anger drained from her eyes, and she sighed. “Then do as your heart demands. I want only your happiness.” My mother squared her shoulders and gave me a smile that looked a trace tense. “Seek me out tomorrow. We will speak more of this in private.”

With that, Queen Zerelda walked away, royal pride in every stride.

As I watched her entourage close in around her, I noticed a crowd of Torrean nobles hovering nearby, accompanied by the usual cambot swarm. Isa stood among them, her face white, her fists clenched at her sides. She shot me a killing look and stalked off.

“Come,” Arles said in my ear, and offered his arm. “I want to speak to you somewhere a bit more private.”

I hesitated, wondering why he was dispensing with the leash, then folded my hand into the crook of his elbow and let him guide me across the gleaming ballroom floor. His bodyguards surrounded us like wary wolves.

The orchestra played the first notes of the “Stellar Waltz,” and dancers began to circle the dance floor in a colorful, shimmer-silk blur, whirling in stately circles.

We escaped down a corridor, boots ringing on the faux marble. Arles stopped to touch a spot on one wall, and a door slid soundlessly open. I hadn’t even known it was there, for it was camouflaged by a vidfield that made it look just like the wall around it. We all slipped inside, and the captain of Arles’s bodyguard closed it behind us, frustrating a dozen cambots who weren’t quite fast enough to make it through.

“That’s better,” Arles said in satisfaction, turning to usher me down the narrow corridor. “The thing I hate most about being home is those damned cambots. I can’t go to the head without a swarm of them checking to see if I wipe my ass.”

I laughed. “Gods, yes. It’s maddening.”

Trailed by his guards, we rounded one corner, then another, before Arles opened a door into darkness. He led the way out into a moonlit corner of the palace garden. The only sound was the soft patter of water and the plaintive
churrr-churr
of night birds calling for mates. I glanced up, past the leafy trees that screened this section of the garden. Stars spread across the sky in a bright bloom of light, and Tor’s two moons rode the sky, a fat, full moon in the east, a smaller one in the west.

“Beautiful night,” I murmured, and gave Arles a smile. “Very romantic.”

He didn’t smile back. “Yes.”

I frowned at him as he turned toward the captain of his guard. “Dolph, give us a little privacy, please.”

Nodding, the big guard -- he was fully as tall as Arles -- pivoted to his three fellow agents and gestured. They faded into the surrounding leafy shadows with such skill, I wouldn’t have known they were there had I not seen them go.

Arles drew me over to a bench and tugged me down to sit. I eyed him warily, not sure I liked the grim line of his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“This is not working.”

My heart seemed to crash through the pit of my stomach. “What isn’t?”

“Making a thrall of you.” He looked away from me, staring across the moonlit garden. “I release you from our bargain. You may return to Swanhilde with your mother or go back to the
Valkyrie
, as it suits you.”

I stared at him, stunned. “But… why? You told Ragnar…”

“That was before I watched the cambots orbit you and your mother during your reunion.” He frowned, flexing one big hand on his knee.

“So? When she wants privacy, she activates a jamming field. Any vid the ‘bots shot wouldn’t be useable.”

“As we all do. But watching those ‘bots brought home to me that my father is right. I have no business using you to resolve my political problems. I can handle my foes myself. I don’t need to drag you through the muck to do it. Not that politics was ever my real reason for any of this.”

I shook my head, bewildered. He’d been so adamant about keeping me only a few hours before, despite Ragnar’s obvious disapproval. “I don’t understand.”

Arles took my hands in his and met my gaze, his green eyes almost painfully naked with honesty. “I took you captive because I wanted you. Actually, that’s not strong enough -- I
craved
you. I wanted to make love to you, talk to you, be with you. But my pride would not let me simply seek you out. What kind of man would go crawling to the woman who jilted him? So I seized on Torrean politics as an excuse for your capture.”

Now my heart was in my throat, catapulted there by hope. “What are you saying?”

He hunched over my hands, his expression troubled. “I thought only of myself --
my
needs,
my
foes,
my
throne. I never really considered how you would suffer.” Shaking his head, he added, “No, your mother was right. None of this was your fault. I can no longer pretend it is.”

The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. “Arles, I don’t care why you took me. I only want to be with you. I meant what I said -- I love you.”

“As I love you.” He said the words without hesitating.

For an instant, joy blazed incandescent in my brain.

Then he spoke again. “But what I told Ragnar is still true. I won’t plunge the Empire into chaos for our happiness. Too many innocents would suffer -- including you. You’d become a target for my enemies if it comes to civil war, and…”

“I do
not
need your protection!” I shot to my feet, fisting my hands as rage flooded in to replace my aching devastation. I started pacing, trying to regain control of my temper. “I’m a mercenary, Arles. I killed a Fafnar warrior with an
axe
, for Odin’s sake. I may have played submissive for you, but that does not mean I will allow myself to be victimized. Any foe of yours will regret fucking with me.”

He rocked back and studied me in wary surprise. “Yes, you’ve got a formidable reputation, but Torrean politics…”

“… are considerably more civilized than the wars I’ve fought.” I raked frustrated hands through my hair, my chains clinking. “Arles, I’ve killed enemies with my bare hands. I held Galon in my arms as he died, and comforted him despite my grief. And then I got up, hunted down his killer, and avenged him, though that damned reptile almost gutted me. I’ve spent years doing whatever it took to keep my people alive and win wars for those who hired us. I would be an asset to you, you bloody fool.”

The prince stared at me as if stunned by my fury. “I have no doubt of that, but…”

“Oh, give it up, Arles.” My sister strolled from the shadows. “You’re going to make her your princess, and everyone knows it.”

He frowned at her. “This is a private conversation, Isa. Go back to the ballroom.”

“You’re not emperor yet, Arles. You can’t order me to do a damned thing.” She sauntered over to face me. “So you’re going to be Empress of Tor.”

I stepped back warily, instincts howling at the feverish glitter in her moonlit eyes. “And you’ll be queen of Swanhilde.”

“Of course. I’m the oldest, raised to rule. I spent hours at our mother’s side, learning all the boring bullshit she cared to teach me. While you…” She curled a lip. “You played combat games with the handsome prince. The girl everyone loved.
Empress
Gisel.
He should have been mine
!”

The stiletto dropped from her elegant sleeve to fill her hand in a length of gleaming steel. She lunged, driving it at my chest.

Chapter Seven

I had no idea she was so fast.

But Galon had spent years teaching me to fight. I swept up my manacled wrists to wrap the chain around the knife, dragging it out of her hand and into mine as I pivoted aside. I slammed my elbow into her chin, sending her staggering backward. My elbow jangled viciously.

Isa shook off the impact. “You bitch,” she snarled, and barreled toward me.

For a moment I was tempted to use the knife I’d just taken away from her. But I couldn’t bring myself to hurt my sister, so I hooked one foot between hers and tripped her. She fell right into the bench, her head hitting the silacaslate seat with a thunk. I winced. My sister tumbled limply backward, out cold.

“Gisel…” Arles broke off.

The prince was on his feet, but he stopped in mid-step, an expression of disbelief on his face. He looked down at the bloody blade protruding from his chest, mouthed a curse and dropped to his knees.

Behind Arles, the captain of his bodyguard jerked the sword from the prince’s chest and flicked the gore from the blade. He smiled in demonic satisfaction and raised his weapon over Arles’s head.

I flung myself into a roundhouse kick that cracked into the assassin’s chin. Something snapped, sharp as a breaking stick. His body spun from the force of the blow to collapse in a boneless pile, his head twisted on his broken neck.

I knelt beside the prince. Blood soaked his dress uniform from the wound that pierced the left side of his chest. “Arles!”

“Missed his stroke… the traitorous fuck,” my lover panted, rolling over onto his belly as he clawed his attacker’s fallen sword into his hand. “Hit the lung, missed the heart.” Arles pushed himself onto hands and knees, still holding the weapon. Sweat gleamed on his white face. He coughed, his breath bubbling wetly.

Oh, not good
.

“Where the hell… are the rest of my guards?”

“Here, my Prince.” Two more agents streaked out of the dark, swords lifted. I leaped to meet the first, ignoring my manacles, the knife held in a fighter’s easy grip.

The traitor parried my blade and swung his own at my head. I threw out both arms, snapping the chain tight between them, deflecting the blade. We spun apart and began to circle.

“Damn it, Gisel, get out of here!” Arles reeled to his feet, one hand clamped to his wounded chest, the other gripping the sword. He bared his teeth and charged the remaining guard before he could skewer me from behind. The man spun away to meet him.

Even badly wounded, Arles had the strength of the gene-sculpted warrior he was. You’d never know he was hurt as we engaged the traitors, blades ringing in the relentless rhythm of attack and parry. Sweat rolled down my arms and thighs as I labored to keep my opponent from gutting me with his longer blade.

Arles growled like a leopard, ignoring the blood rolling down his side. His foe charged him, and he spun aside, striking even as he whirled. His blade chopped into the traitor’s chest as if he were slicing soft cream. Choking on a scream, the assassin collapsed.

My opponent’s gaze flicked toward them, and I saw my opening. I lunged inside his guard and slashed my blade across his throat. Blood sprayed hot across my face. He reeled back from my attack, clutching his throat as he stared at me in betrayal. His knees gave under him, and he toppled, eyes going empty and fixed.

“Where’s the fourth guard?” I growled, spinning to stand back to back with Arles.

“That’s a very good question.” Together, we scanned the darkness.

Voices rose in shouts, and we tensed, staring toward the rustling bushes and listening to the click of running boots on the silicaslate path.

“Arles!” Ragnar shouted, emerging from the bushes with a crowd of agents. One of them was the missing bodyguard, who’d evidently gone for help.

“We seem to have traitors in our midst,” Arles growled, not lowering his weapon as he glared at the agents. “Evidently Isa has bought at least some of them off.”

“Again?” Ragnar swore so viciously, I knew he was thinking of his dead wife, who’d also been attacked by her own bodyguards. She, however, had died. “I thought our security practices were supposed to catch traitors!”

“Yes, well, apparently they didn’t work.” Arles swayed, going ghost-pale. “Oh.”

I hooked one arm around his waist, bracing him against my side. “Your Excellency, the prince is hurt. One of the guards ran him through.”

The emperor’s eyes widened before he rapped out an order. “Doctor Cavo, get your ass up here!”

The guards parted to allow a man in court garb to step through, towing a trauma unit. “I’m here, Sire.”

Arles lowered his weapon and sat down on the bench to let the doctor treat his wound, though he kept a wary eye on the agents. They appeared not to notice as two of them slapped forcecuffs on Isa, who still lay unconscious in the grass. The others fanned out to search the gardens.

Ragnar and I watched as the doctor coaxed Arles to lie down on the bench so the trauma unit could treat him. The device moved to hover a centimeter from his wounded ribs, humming and chirping as it coaxed the bleeding to stop so he could be transported to surgery.

I was vaguely aware that cambots circled us like gnats, but they were the least of my worries. I was terrified I was about to lose Arles.

The prince ignored both the doctor and the cameras in favor of briefing his father on the attack. “Gisel saved my life,” he told the emperor. “They’d have finished me if she hadn’t helped fight them off.” Arles’s vivid gaze flicked to me. “Wearing manacles and armed with nothing more than a knife. She killed the one who stabbed me before he could take my head.”

Ragnar glanced at me, brows lifted. “My spies were right. You
can
fight, can’t you?”

“That’s not all she can do,” Arles said, reaching past the doctor to grab one of my manacles. He pressed his thumb to a gemstone, and the collar and chains fell away with a musical rattle. I stared at him, startled. “To hell with the politics, my enemies, and my pride. Marry me, Gisel.”

“What?” I gaped at him helplessly. “But…”

“When Isa went for you with that knife, I felt my heart stop.” He ran his thumb over the thin flesh of my wrist, tracing the fine blue vein there. I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. “You are everything I have ever wanted, everything I love. Life without you wouldn’t be living at all.” Staring into my eyes, he breathed, “Please, Gisel, please. Marry me.”

And I said the only thing I could say. “Yes.”