Demon Lover (13 page)

“Highness?”

“Change your clothes first.”

Karnak laughed and went on his way.

“So,” Svartan murmured, taking Brea back from Gwyneth without a word of permission. It spoke volumes that the infant didn’t protest being held by a strange man. “What do you think of tribunals? Do you believe it will work?”

“I believe it does, in some countries.”

“Does it in yours?”

“We don’t really have one. Midas has a council of sorts, but it just approves everything he proclaims.”

“Then who speaks for the people?” he demanded.

“No one. Unless they have a benevolent lord.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s the impression I got. Are the people happy?”

“Most of them…not really. And yet it doesn’t take much to improve their lives…”

She found herself telling him of the minor changes she’d managed to make in her months as queen, and the differences it had made to the hard lives of so many. But it didn’t bear comparison with his huge endeavors, and she hastily said so.

However, when she dared to meet them, his eyes didn’t condemn her. In fact, they were unexpectedly warm. “You must tell me,” he said, “if anything strikes you about my kingdom. It is too easy to lose perspective, and I would value your thoughts.”

“You would?” She scanned his expression for evidence of mockery but found none.

“I would.” A smile flickered and was gone. “Is that so hard to believe? Did Midas not admire your reforming zeal?”

“Actually,” she said in a rush, “I found it best that he didn’t know. He is not…a man of the people.”

“Am I? Hybrid and tradition-wrecker as I am?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. Then, “In the sense that you care for your people, yes you are.” And that was the truth. His difference, his arrogant belief that he was right and his opponents wrong, didn’t matter beside that one all-important fact. He deserved to be king. Even she could see that.

What he didn’t deserve was to bury Brea and herself underground for the rest of their lives, even if he did offer Brea all the royal power which Midas would never bestow on his daughter, a mere female.

Chapter Twelve

Although she was loath to admit it, Gwyneth’s day was unexpectedly fascinating. As well as glimpses into Svartan’s profound and tortured mind, she was granted a new view of his strange but far from unlovely country. She was shown local beauty spots that yesterday would have appalled her, yet today, through his eyes and his people’s, she could see they had indeed their own weird and spectacular beauty.

In the afternoon, he returned her to his palace and went off without explanation. After she’d fed and changed Brea, she was served lunch, during which Agnet asked permission to bring in her own children, and the two women watched them play. Agnet’s older children were good with the babies, and particularly careful with Brea, so Gwyneth’s anxiety soon faded into comfort.

Only as the dinner hour again approached did her nervousness resurface. Svartan had given her no clue as to when he would choose his next night of sexual torture, but it was clear from last night that he liked to surprise her. He might just do it again by declaring for tonight. Whichever night he chose, she had to be ready.

And so, in privacy, while Brea lay on her bed and gurgled and played with a borrowed rattle, she tore her old petticoat up into strong, thick strips, and thought carefully about their next encounter. There was no way she’d give up control this time.

However, planning her moves in detail made her uncomfortably hot. Her body couldn’t forget the pleasure he’d induced in her before, and the thought of having his naked body at her command couldn’t but arouse her. She had to speak to herself sternly as she changed her gown for dinner, because if she couldn’t control her body in his absence, she didn’t have much chance in his very physical, naked presence. Oh, but she could so easily imagine sliding onto his long, hard cock…

Stop! It’s he who’s to come, not you!

She actually jumped when the knock sounded on her door. Fearing Svartan himself, she smoothed down her hair and held her head high before giving a casual instruction to enter.

It was merely Agnet, however, and with a servant, not even Karnak this time, to conduct her to the dining room. As if she couldn’t remember where to find it. Every room, every passage of this house that she’d ever been in or glimpsed, was etched in her memory.

Her heart hammered as she followed the servant down stone steps and corridors. Tonight’s dinner was likely to be even more of a trial than last night’s since she was to face company as well as Svartan, and she had no idea how he would behave toward her, whether he would command her to his chamber in their presence or not.

The servant threw open the dining room door, and Gwyneth was treated to the rare sight of Svartan laughing out loud, his head thrown back in unrestrained humor. Something turned over in her stomach, an ache, an unspecific longing she had no name for. But as she entered the room, Svartan, Karnak and a woman turned toward her, and the laughter died in Svartan’s face.

He came toward her, civilly bowing as he had last night and introduced her to the Karnak’s wife, who was called Guzel. As plump and calm as her husband was thin and lively, Guzel had friendly, intelligent eyes and a mouth full of perceptive questions that narrowly avoided vulgar nosiness. Gwyneth gave her the benefit of the doubt because, like Karnak, Guzel made her laugh. In fact, the evening flew by in witty and entertaining conversation that encompassed many subjects to which she could contribute, including the literature of her own land.

“You have such books here?” she said once in surprise.

“Many,” said Karnak, amused. “In fact, right…”

“We have yet to know many things about each other,” Svartan interrupted, and when her gaze connected with his, he added softly, “Have we not?”

Heat flushed through her. His meaning was obvious, and what was worse, its significance was unlikely to be lost on Guzel or Karnak.

“Clearly,” she said coldly. Svartan sat back in his chair, regarding her with a faint smile on his mocking, predatory lips. His mood appeared to have swung, or perhaps he’d just stopped pretending to be the genial host. Either way, for all his face gave away, he might as well still have worn the cowled hood.

“Let’s change that,” he suggested. “Ask me anything you want to know.”

His provoking gaze and taunting voice both challenged her to ask what she really wanted to know.
What will make you come?

Well, that was one game she wouldn’t play in public.

“What I want to know right now,” she said evenly, “is when it would be polite to retire for the night. I’m very tired, and my daughter is likely to wake soon.”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Guzel’s eyebrows fly up in her husband’s direction. Svartan’s expression, however, remained impassive. Only the faintest tightening of one finger around the stem of his glass gave away that her words might have bothered him.

He pushed the glass away and stood in one abrupt yet fluid movement.

“Whenever you wish. I shall escort you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said in sudden panic.

“Nevertheless,” said Svartan, striding to the door.

“Is the party over?” said Karnak brightly. “Good night, my lady, Highness…”

Gwyneth barely managed a civil goodnight to the couple she had come to like before she swept past Svartan and out the door into the stone passage. Looking neither to right nor left, she sailed ahead of him with her head held high and her most forbidding expression plastered to her face. It hid the deep sense of panic rising up from her toes to consume her.

He was going to choose tonight. His teasing guaranteed it. The fact that he came with her removed all doubt. She could do no more than make it plain she didn’t want their tryst to be tonight and hope her aversion put him off. Despite her vague thoughts and plans, she truly wasn’t ready for this. And yet a traitorous trickle of excitement was seeping from her pussy. The image of his finely toned, pale, naked body danced before her eyes.

She walked even faster, and yet by the time she reached her bedchamber door, he was right beside her.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she glared at him. “It seems I have to point out to you that I will not indulge in any sexual congress in front of my daughter. Our business will not be contracted in this chamber.”

He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

Once again, her sails were deprived of wind. An instant longer, she hesitated, waiting for him to command her to his chamber instead. Then she laid her hand on the door latch.

“I have a request,” said Svartan.

Her eyes closed.
This is it. Fetch the bindings and dredge your imagination. You could be out of here by morning.

“Very well,” she said as steadily as she could
.

“Gwyneth,” he reproved, his voice unexpectedly soft. “Have you learned nothing from me yet? You haven’t even heard my request and yet you’re agreeing to it. Again.”

“I agreed to it last night,” she whispered. And angry, frightened and uncertain as she was, she couldn’t prevent the upsurge of excitement that tightened her nipples and danced in her stomach.

He said, “You agreed to a deal last night. This is a request which you are at perfect liberty to reject.”

She turned her surprised gaze up to his face, searching his eyes. “You’re mocking me.”

“No.” He stirred. “That is, I was teasing you a little, downstairs, just to see what you would do. I have my answer to that. I just want to ask you…” He took a quick breath. “…if I might say goodnight to Brea.”

Gwyneth closed her lips. Her refusal was already forming there, and yet some half-embarrassed seriousness in his face kept the words at bay. He wanted this. It was nothing to do with Gwyneth or with dominance games. It was about Brea.

“Very well,” she said abruptly and, lifting the latch, she strode into the room.

Agnet arose from the nursing chair with alacrity, coming swiftly toward them. “She’s still asleep,” she murmured. “Good as gold.”

“Thank you, Agnet.”

Agnet bobbed a curtsey and a smile at them both and departed. God knew what she thought of her king being here.

Gwyneth stood by the cradle, regarding her sleeping daughter. Milk began to drip from her aching breasts. Although she didn’t hear him move, Svartan appeared at the other side of the cradle. Slowly, Gwyneth lifted her gaze from the baby to her captor.

As before, there was a faint smile on his lips, a softened expression in his eyes as he watched the child sleep. He reached out his hand and, lighter than a butterfly wing, he brushed one finger against her soft, silken cheek. His smile quirked and he withdrew his hand.

Already, he’d shown Brea more affection than Midas had since her birth. Without warning, he glanced up and caught her staring. For an instant, neither moved. Then Brea heaved a huge sigh that shook her entire body and she yawned and stretched. Her face began to crumple, emitting a couple of small whimpers that were the prelude to full scale yelling.

“What’s the matter with her?” Svartan asked in alarm.

Gwyneth laughed. “She’s hungry.” She bent and lifted her, which staved off the bellow, though only for an instant.

“So you’ll feed her and then retire? Will she sleep till morning?”

“Yes. And I hope so.”

Svartan nodded. “Is there anything you need? A drink, perhaps?”

She glanced at the glass and jug of water by the nursing chair. “Thank you. But it seems Agnet thinks of everything.”

“Of course,” he said, turning away. “Good night.”

Gwyneth almost called him back, though why and for what she didn’t know. In any case, the impatience of the baby distracted her, and by the time he shut the door, she was already seated in the chair with the baby firmly latched to her breast. But she found herself gazing at the closed door in baffled wonder. For some reason, she felt ridiculously touched.

Ragnorak returned to the dining room in the expectation of having it to himself to get drunk in. However, Karnak sat at the table once more, swirling wine around his glass. Ragnorak poured himself a fresh one and knocked it back, after which he refilled the glass and began to pace the room.

“I see,” said Karnak.

“What do you see?” Ragnorak flung over his shoulder.

“I see you haven’t a clue what you’re doing with that girl.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing with that girl. Who, incidentally, was once queen of her own world and will one day be queen of mine.”

There was a short silence. Then Karnak said flatly, “Not if you bewilder her with your ill-natured mood swings or treat her courtship as if it was one of your wretched games.”

Ragnorak threw himself into a chair and forced his head back against the emerald-seamed wall with an audible thump. “It’s how I began it. It’s how I have to finish it.”

“Will it be worth it to have the child now if you don’t have the mother?”

Ragnorak let the smile twist his lips. “There’s the rub, my friend. I can’t have one without the other. I’ve made another deal and I may have to let them both go. Or live with her in the hell of never touching her. Would that be worse? To avoid it, I have to win her as well as the bet.”

He regarded his old friend for a few moments, then drank the rest of his wine and set down the glass. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

Karnak gave a lopsided smile. “Oh, I don’t know. You fascinate her and infuriate her. Perhaps that’s a beginning. Certainly, she’s not indifferent to you. If you want my opinion of her—and in fact, even if you don’t—I think she’s a strong, honest, passionate and fun woman who is worthy of rather more than abduction and tricky deals.”

“I know it. I’ve always known it. I’m too…driven. I need to make it right.”

“There is one other slight impediment. Your queen is already married to a different king.”

“She divorced him.”

Karnak blinked. “Did you force her to do that too?”

“Oh, no. She knows she should never have married him. He’s a greedy, materialistic and utterly self-centered moron.” He lifted his wine glass and thrust it commandingly in Karnak’s direction. “He is also, of course, my loving half-brother.”