Fiery Fate (10 page)

“This is the father of my bride and king of D’Naath, Fraynor.” Her father nodded and also shook Braedon’s hand.

“I welcome you to Greenbriar.”

Once again, he stared at her. Surely he didn’t think she was Solara. If so, she would have to correct that misconception immediately. She was not destined to marry this man.

If she had her way, she would marry no man that she did not choose for herself.

Open your mouth and say something, Trista, before your father or Garick does. It would have to be now or she would have made the trip for nothing.

Slipping her hand from her father’s, she stepped boldly in front of him, trying to quell the shaking of her legs.

Braedon frowned as she stood before him and looked her up and down, assessing her from head to foot. Heat that had nothing to do with the sun had her flapping her wings to create a cooling breeze.

She tried a polite smile, but his facial expression did not change.

Did the man know how to smile? Maybe he was completely toothless. A grim line sealed his lips together.

Where was her voice? She swallowed and tried to speak, but no sound came out. If she did not say something soon, all would be lost.

“Braedon of Greenbriar, I am Trista, faerie princess of D’Naath and younger sister of your betrothed, Solara. I wish to speak.” Her voice quaked and squeaked, but she pressed on. The last thing she wanted was for her father or Garick to stop her.

Braedon arched a brow, then nodded. “State your piece.” Breathing a sigh of relief that he had given her permission to continue, she nodded, wiping the sweat from her palms onto her shift.

“Trista,” her father warned under his breath. She ignored him.

You can do this, Trista. Remember, it is for Solara.

“I am here to ask for release for Solara. It is my right as kin to request that you choose another bride, and that Solara be released from her betrothal to you.”

“Trista!”

She winced at the sound of her father’s booming voice, refusing to turn around and see what she knew would be his very angry face.

Braedon’s lips curled upward. She supposed that was as much of a smile as he was capable of. Surely the stories of his grumbling personality were not true. No one could have as sour a disposition as he had been rumored to have.

He crossed his arms and regarded her. “So, your sister does not wish to marry me.” It was not a question, yet she answered anyway. “No, she does not.” Garick reached for her arm. “Trista, be silent!”

Braedon held up his hand. “Let her speak freely.”

The hand gripping her arm loosened. For a moment she was afraid Garick was going to toss her onto the back of her horse and drag her out of the castle. She knew she was going to be in deep trouble with both her father and Garick when they left, but if this worked, her sister would be free to choose her own man.

“Trista, tell me. Did your sister send you here to inform me that she did not wish to marry me?” If she told him the truth, he could still ask for Solara to hear the words from her directly. She hated lying, but it was the only way. “Yes.”

“May I speak, Braedon?” her father interrupted.

“Yes.”

“It is vital you marry a D’Naath princess. Our lands are bound to be joined by custom and law, which can only be done with the marriage of a faerie princess and the king of Greenbriar. In joining, we have strength against the armies of wizards bound to take over our lands. I ask that you reconsider this foolishness spouted by my daughter and allow us to bring Solara to you.”

“I am aware of the protocol, Fraynor. I am also aware that your daughter Solara has every right to beg release from our betrothal contract. And it appears that through Trista she has exercised that right.” Braedon rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. Trista wondered if he did that while thinking. His mouth was generous, and she had a fleeting image of tugging on his lip with her teeth.

Shocked at the direction of her mind, she inhaled sharply and forced her mind to stay clear of such thoughts.

“Are all your daughters betrothed, Fraynor?”

“Nay. Trista here was betrothed to the King of Boreo, who as I’m sure you know suffered an untimely death several years ago.”

“Ah yes, I had heard that.”

Trista frowned. Something was amiss here, something she hadn’t considered when she’d concocted her plan.

“It is true I am to marry a princess of D’Naath. Since one princess has invoked the right of refusal, perhaps I will take this one.”

Trista’s heart dropped to her stomach when Braedon pointed at her.

“No!” she cried, then clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes, mortified at her own outburst.

“Trista!” her father hissed in her ear. “Enough of your talk. I think you have spoken enough. It is my turn now.”

Before she could turn and beseech her father not to take Braedon’s suggestion seriously, he grasped her by the elbow and propelled her forward. She stumbled into the arms of the king.

He wrapped his arms around her to hold her upright, his body as solid as the trunk of the tall oaks in D’Naath’s forest. Afraid to even look at his face, she gazed into his chest.

That is, until he tipped her chin upward with his finger. His blues eyes mesmerized her, made her forget things she should not forget, and made her all too aware of things she should not be thinking of.

“Aye, this one will do. After all, one bride is as good as another. Trista, princess of D’Naath, I claim you for my betrothed. We will marry in one month, allowing us time to get to know one another and for arrangements to be made.”

She waited, holding her breath, for her father to deny the request.

Instead, he said, “You are most kind to accept my daughter Trista. I am honored to betroth her to you.” Despite the warmth of the morning, a cold dread filled her body.

This could not be happening.

In less than a day, she was left behind while her father and Garick returned to Winterland. Her father left her strict instructions to do nothing to upset Braedon, then reinforced his warning by telling her that because of what she had done, she had sealed her own fate. The kingdom of D’Naath depended on her marrying him. She could not refuse to marry Braedon as he had already asked for her and her father had accepted.

She was stuck, trapped in a web of her own weaving.

This had not gone at all the way she had planned.

“Really, Noele, could you not have someone else perform these tasks?” Solara beseeched her sister, who rested on the mauve-colored chaise in her chambers. Elise and Mina sat with her, all of them gaping up at Solara.

Noele shook her head. “I trust no one to handle things but you. Is there some problem?” Yes, but not one she could discuss with her sister. “No, no problem. It’s just that…” Just what? That she could not handle one more day of having Roarke underfoot? That he was like the devil’s temptation, one that she could not resist?

Only this time the devil was doing the resisting. Not once in the past two days had he done anything to encourage her. Nor had they been alone. Roarke had made sure they either remained in public or that one of his guards accompanied them.

Really, she was much smaller than him. She could hardly pounce on and ravage him without his consent.

It was quite insulting, the more she thought about it.

“It’s just that what?”

“It’s Roarke.”

She ignored the gawking stares of Elise and Mina and looked away from them, embarrassed that she had even brought up the subject.

“What is wrong with Roarke?”

“Nothing is wrong with him. Everything is wrong with him. I don’t know. He treats me like a child, as if I couldn’t make an intelligent decision if the very survival of the world depended upon it. Really, Noele, he is insufferable.”

“Perhaps you care for him, and that is why it upsets you to be so close to him.” Solara whirled at Elise’s statement, dumbfounded as to how to respond. Elise smiled innocently, her golden eyes sparkling with warmth.

Leave it to Elise to state the obvious. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“I do not care for him. Perhaps you could take over my duties, Elise?”

“I need Elise to help me elsewhere,” Noele interrupted. “Besides, neither she nor Mina are old enough or experienced enough to run a castle.”

The twins were merely two years younger than her. And yet Noele was right. They hadn’t yet been trained. She, at least, had received basic instructions on the daily goings on. And she had to admit that the past few days she had learned much under Roarke’s tutelage.

What she wanted to learn from Roarke, he would not give her. Her training in the fine art of lovemaking would have to come from Braedon of Greenbriar, a thought which turned her stomach. She had never met the king, and the thought of anyone but Roarke touching her sent shudders of revulsion down her spine.

“Come, sit with us while I read to Noele,” Mina said. “Really, Solara, you complain too much. Your time here is limited as it is. Surely you can bear up under whatever perceived torture Roarke bestows upon you.”

And leave it to Mina to be insulting. “I am not tortured by him. I am merely perturbed at his attitude.” Mina fluttered her copper wings and stood, peering out the window at the guards training below.

“Roarke is a male. They are annoying. One must learn to deal with that, I suppose.” Noele laughed, color rising to her cheeks. For the first time in days Solara saw her sister smile. Perhaps the torture would not last much longer. Once Noele was past the sickly days of early pregnancy, she would want to take over her duties again, thereby freeing Solara from Roarke’s scrutiny.

“And speaking of duties, shouldn’t you be seeking out Roarke to see what he has planned for you today?” Noele asked, setting down the needlepoint she’d been working on.

She’d sooner conjure up some magic and turn him to stone. “Yes, I suppose I should.” Noele stood and reached for her hands, squeezing them gently. “You may think you handle your troubles alone, sister, but remember that we are linked. I feel what you feel, I know what you know.

Destiny will find a way. Be patient.”

Noele may think she knew everything, but Solara had kept her thoughts and actions where Roarke was concerned locked up inside herself.

After she left Noele’s chambers, Solara thought about what her sister had said. Destiny, fate, it was all a ridiculous notion. Her life was set in stone and could not be changed. Even if it could, the elvin warrior she wanted would never suffer dishonor to follow his heart. He was too steeped in ritual, in how things had always been done, to even consider the notion that perhaps there was another way.

Well, he might not choose her, but by the stars she would make certain he knew exactly what he was giving up.

It was time to put her plan into action.

* * * * *

Next he had to find Solara.

A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he searched the hall and courtyard for her. Clearly, she had been avoiding him since that night in the falconry.

Not that he blamed her. He had acted stupidly, nearly taking what was not his to take. No doubt she was confused by his abrupt change in attitude again.

If confusion reigned anywhere, it was deep within himself. He wanted Solara to the point of distraction, yet honor and duty forbade him from having her. The struggle he battled within himself was one he shared with her. And that was not fair. To her, or to himself. So he vowed to keep his distance, instruct her in her duties and go about his business instead of sniffing around her like a dog scenting a bitch in heat.

’Twas the most difficult thing he’d had to do. Every waking moment of his day was spent wanting her, aching for her. Walking around with throbbing cock and balls was more than a bit distracting, and yet such was his typical day.

Perhaps tonight in his chambers, he’d stroke his shaft and obtain release. Surely that would abate some of his pain. Already, thoughts of what he could do with Solara if she were his entered his mind. Yes, tonight, he would let his imagination run free, envision all the wicked things he wanted to do to the faerie princess, and release the tension threatening to explode.

But right now, he had to force back the hardening of his shaft and search out the elusive faerie. He found Isolde in the hall and she told him that she had last seen Solara heading toward the gardens.

The late afternoon sun beat down on his body, making him wish he could strip off his clothing. Instead, he wiped the sweat from his brow and weaved his way into the gardens.

She was not near the flowers, so he ventured further into the secluded recesses. Here, herbs and vegetables were grown, far away from where most of the castle inhabitants could be found. Tucked away here, they were safe from trampling along the well-used walkways. The seedlings were protected in the shrub-covered enclosure.

The sound of her voice emanated from the back row of plants. A lilting, faerie song escaped her lips, its notes melodic and haunting.

She had a beautiful voice, her song resonating with the poetry of unrequited love. Ignoring the stirrings of the music, he meant to call to her, then stopped dead when he spotted her.

On her knees in front of the herb seedlings, she bent over and reached outward for a weed. She had discarded her overdress. Her scarlet hair was unbound and willowing behind her in the slight breeze.

Clad only in a flimsy shift, one strap spilled over her left shoulder, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of a creamy breast.

A rush of lust tightened his breeches as he hardened painfully. A haze of near madness filled his blood and he realized a desire to toss her onto her back and slake his arousal within her hot cunt.

He shuddered at the vision and fought for control. Wanting to catch her attention so he could state his business and make his exit, he was loath to do so for fear she would see his erection pressing tight against his breeches.

She must have heard him, because she looked up, capturing his gaze. She held the flowering weed in her hand, and lifted it to her nose, her eyes drifting partly closed as she inhaled its sweet fragrance. Then she had the audacity to smile at him! A wickedly sensual upward curving of her lips that made him think of hot nights and long, silken limbs wrapped around his back.