Jeweled (5 page)

She parted her thighs to allow him the access he sought and he pushed two fingers deep inside her cunt. Slowly, he thrust in and out. It did not excite her at all, but she let out a low moan anyway.

His eyes flicked possessively down her body. “Don’t wear the dress. It’s ugly.”

Then he turned and walked away.

The door opened to reveal Roane, framed by the decadent lush-ness of his royal apartment. He wore a purple silk robe and nothing else. Ordinarily that would have offended her. Far too presumptuous. But this was
Roane Edaeii
. He ushered her in and gave her about thirty seconds to note the sitting area with its high-backed chairs, the massive fireplace along one wall, and the equally massive four-poster bed opposite it before he set his lips to her shoulder and moved up.

She closed her eyes and faked a moan. His lips were dry and she wasn’t in the mood for sex right now, but there was no way she could muck up this opportunity. This was everything she’d dreamed of since she’d been old enough to have such mature dreams—it was more.

Roane would be how she would survive. In this palace, he was her lifeline. She was lucky to have one, no matter what she’d have to give up to secure it.

His hands slipped her gown off her shoulders, down to her waist, and pushed it so it puddled on the floor at her feet. Beneath the gown she wore only a silky pair of underwear. She had a dancer’s body, but her breasts were above average large. Too large to go without a brassiere, really.

His broad hand was strong on her back, almost cruel. It made her shiver, but not with desire. Desire was something she’d felt remotely from others, but never experienced herself. This was business. A performance. Survival. Just like everything else. She steeled herself as he skated his fingers down the arch of her back to her still-sore jewel. He pushed at the skin surrounding it and she fought a swift intake of breath from the pain.

“Yes, I can make a nice, simple design around this jewel,” he murmured. His hand slipped down lower and his mouth neared her ear. “After that you can pay the fee for my kindness.”

She gave a light, trilling laugh, the one she’d practiced so many times with so many different people at Court. “A price I’m more than willing to pay.”

Steadying herself, she turned, giving him a full view of her bare breasts. Fluttering her eyelashes, she purred, “Where is the tattoo gun?”

First things first. She wanted that valuable mark before she sacrificed her body.

His gaze had settled unswervingly on her breasts and nipples, which, luckily, had pebbled in the cool air of the room. He licked his lips. “Perhaps we should—”

She leaned back, out of his way and smiled. “Oh, I think it’s better to wait a bit. Don’t you? Get business out of the way, and then get to the pleasure.”

Anger crossed his face for a moment and then was gone. She’d taken a risk there. One did not deny the heir to the throne anything he wanted
when
he wanted it. Yet she sensed her show of will would excite him a little—give him something to punish her for later.

His eyes went heavy and half hooded. He made a low, sweeping bow, the front of his robe falling open to reveal a nice chest, the chest of a man used to swordplay. “Whatever my lady wishes, so long as my lady understands the cost has just gone up.”

Of course it had. She was happy to pay it.

He sought a small silver tattoo gun from a drawer and guided her to a small table near the bed. Then he dropped his gaze to her panties. “Off. Lean forward. Hands on table.”

She hesitated, foolishly wanting to hold on to that last piece of covering. Then she did as he requested, rear facing him, slightly bent over.

Silence.

“Roane?” She turned to look behind her.

“Just admiring the view.” The whirring, buzzing sound of the tattoo gun began. “Hold still. If you move I can’t be held accountable for the result.”

He held a hand to her waist and set the thin, cold nozzle of the tattoo gun to her back. She braced herself, fingers gripping the smooth lip of the table. The needle bit into her skin like a thousand stinging bees. She bit into her lower lip until she tasted blood, and closed her eyes. She didn’t even care what sort of pattern he marked her with. It only mattered that he was marking her.

Two minutes passed like two years and the tattoo took far longer than a paltry two minutes, but finally he was done. “Stay there,” he commanded her after he’d turned the tattoo gun off and set it on the table beside her.

Her back aching, she eyed the small silver device. The gun was powered by elusian crystal, the mined mineral that also gave energy to the lights in Belai. Elusian crystal was not cheap and Roane had just burned through a lot of it on her behalf. Clearly she was doing something right.

He returned with a small black mirror in his hand and then led her to a floor-to-ceiling mirror not far away that stood by a small table holding a vase of lilies. She took the small mirror from him and angled it so she could see the reflection of her lower back. Her eyebrows rose. For such an artless lout Roane was actually quite an impressive artist. Beautiful multicolored swoops and swirls lined either side of her sapphire jewel. She’d been worried he’d mar her body for life with some tactless scrawling brand, but this was beautiful.

“I love it.” She smiled as she handed the mirror back to him.

He took the mirror with his gaze centered on her breasts and tossed it to the side. It hit the marble floor with a crash and shattered. With a lascivious grin, he yanked her toward him and squeezed one of her breasts until she winced. Sweet Joshui, how could anyone stand to lie with this manhandler?

He turned her to face the mirror and she forced a small smile to her lips. Her reflection quickly showed the expression on her face that he would want to see—soft, desirous, hardly able to wait for his hands on her.

For a moment she considered reaching out and stealing emotion from someone else nearby, maybe a little calmness or happiness,
anything
to curb the edge of lust in his eyes just a little. But she stopped herself. If Roane figured out she was manipulating his emotions, she’d be done for.

His hands came up and cupped her breasts, squeezing again. Did he really think women liked that? Poor man probably never had a woman in his bed with enough courage to set him straight. She certainly wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

“Pretty.” His gaze skated down her body and then back up. “I’ve always thought so.”

“As I have always thought you handsome.” She tried to turn toward him, but he caught her almost cruelly and forced her to stand still.

“I have wanted to fuck you for years now.” One of his hands landed between her legs, fingers seeking her clit, which was safely buried deep inside her golden curls, not at all aroused. He poked at it, sending jolts of pain through her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Now you have your chance.”

He stared at her blond thatch of curls as though seeing heaven for the first time. Well, she was glad she could impress him. He certainly didn’t impress her, but she supposed he was in a position to not have to care about that. Enviable.

He pushed her roughly facedown onto the table, sending the vase of lilies crashing to the floor. She stared at the broken clay of the vase and the slowly spreading pool of water on the marble while he fumbled to get his cock free.

With his knee he spread her thighs wide, exposing her. Then he pushed his hand down on the back of her neck, making her go onto her tiptoes and involuntarily lift her hips. Clearly he intended to take her like she was some farm animal in the mud. She closed her eyes and let him fumble with the head of his cock at her dry entrance. This would hurt, but hopefully it would be over quickly. He found her entrance and pushed the crown of his shaft inside, ready to ram the entire length into her.

She bore down, prepared to endure when a clamor came from the hallway. Shouting. Fighting. All of it growing louder and louder.

Roane backed away from her. “What the bloody hell is that racket?”

She rolled her eyes at the interruption. Now this would take longer. Sweet Joshui damn it all!

He was pulling on his robe and striding toward the door as she straightened and turned. Flinging open the door, she could see people running and screaming down the corridor. What was going on? Roane strode into the melee without a backward glance.

“Bloody hell,” she echoed, retrieving her dress and shoes. More agitated and put out than alarmed, she dressed as she walked to the open door.

Her eyes widened as she registered the oddness of the scene. There were peasants in the palace. Peasants! And they were wielding weapons . . . attacking the nobles.
Blessed Joshui!
They were killing the nobles! They were overrunning the palace!

An uprising.

Revolt.

Revolution?

It couldn’t be. Her eyes couldn’t accept what she was seeing.

A man swung a scythe at her head and she yelped, closing the door quickly and locking it. The scythe hit the door frame on the outside with a chunk and immediately several peasants began turning the doorknob and banging to be let in. The heavy door held firm on its gold hinges, but she wasn’t going to wait until they figured out a way in. They wanted her head!

She stared at the shaking door, the angry cries of the men and women on the other side ringing in her ears. They hated her. They wanted to kill her.

Why? What had she done to them?

She ran for the recesses of Roane’s chamber, grabbing a heavy elusian crystal candlestick from his bed that she could use as a weapon. At the back of his bedroom, she found another door, this one leading into the servants’ hallway.

Opening it a crack and finding few people beyond, she slipped out and began to hurry down the corridor. She had no idea where she was going, but surely the Imperial Guard would put this horrid rabble down soon. Really! The nerve of these unwashed farmers daring to darken the hallowed halls of Belai! Attacking the Royal Family? The J’Edaeii? The nobles? They would be properly punished, she had no doubt.

“Evangeline.” Someone grabbed her elbow and whipped her around.

She found herself staring at Anatol. His hair was bound in the back, throwing his angular face into sharp relief.

His gaze shifted to the candlestick still gripped in her hand. “We have to get out of Belai now.”

Yanking her elbow away from his grip, she yelled over the din. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Imperial Guard will have this put down in no time.”

He gripped her again, shook her. “No. They’ve lost control. It’s over.” He gestured to the ornate hallway. “
This
is done with. Haven’t you been keeping up with the news?” Someone screamed at the end of the corridor and a cluster of rabble started toward them. He yanked her down the corridor. “We need to get out of here. They’re rounding up all the royal family, nobles, and J’Edaeii they can catch, even the adepts.”

She dragged her feet. “For what?”

“Nothing good.”

Some sort of iron weapon flew over her head, almost removing it from her shoulders, and she stopped dragging her feet. Maybe she could follow Anatol for the time being. Surely he was wrong about the state of Belai in the long term, but the short term looked a little ominous.

Gripping Anatol’s hand, she fled down the twisting halls and narrow staircases of the palace. Foul smelling, badly dressed rabble attacked the nobles at every turn. A balding woman with bad teeth grabbed her arm and she yanked it away and pushed her, making the hag fall back. A hulking man with an axe tried to block their path, but she whacked him over the head with her candlestick and he fell to the floor, head bleeding. Another man grabbed her arm, but one of the guards—a few of them still fighting futilely for control of the place—put a sword through his stomach.

They burst out of the palace and into the winter cold gardens. The sunlight blinded her. Even here there was chaos, bloodshed, and violence. It seemed so at odds with the manicured foliage and neat pebbled pathways. All she wanted was to get away.

Now running blindly, her impractical shoes long gone, she plunged through a hedge behind Anatol. She had no idea where she was—visiting the palace gardens had never been high on her list of things to do—so she followed Anatol, who seemed more than passingly familiar with the natural environment outside Belai’s walls.

They finally lurched and stumbled past the gates of Belai and onto the backstreets of Milzyr. The rabble was busy rioting in the streets.

Lady Alyssa’s beautiful ebony and silver carriage had been tipped over on the cobblestone, the horses gone. Blood made a dark brown smear on the street leading away from the door.

The rioters threw rocks at the storefronts of the high quality dress shops and hatmakers, making off with the items within. A man was pulling off the gown of a noblewoman half a block away, cackling loudly while she screamed.