The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (11 page)

   "You have returned the ladies as well, I see," said Mor'ded to his son.

   "Of course," answered Dominic as if there had been no doubt of it.

   The king opened his mouth to say something and Mor'ded shushed him, his cold black eyes focused on his son's face. "And they are all unharmed?"

   "As you see." Dominic put his arm around Lady Agnes, who gave him a beatific smile.

   "But what of your wife? For surely she is the reason you charged out to rescue them, leaving the king behind and defenseless."

   Cassandra frowned. Something lay beneath this conversation. Some threat or insinuation, for the king had hardly been left defenseless. The general had taken only a few of his troops with him, leaving the bulk of his force to guard the king. She glanced over at Sir Robert—who had distracted the king from his miff of being shushed with a tray of sweetmeats, but whose sharp eyes stayed riveted on the elven lord and his son.

   He sensed something as well. Cass hoped she would have an opportunity to ask him about it. Perhaps he could figure it out.

   Dominic did not respond to the accusation that he had left the king defenseless. "Breden sought to trick us. To take what is ours because we took what is his." He raised one elegant brow. "I disabused him of the notion he could best you in a game."

   "And your wife? Where is she?"

   Dominic shrugged. "With one of my men. She is back in our possession—what else matters?"

   And then Mor'ded threw back his long thick hair and laughed, truly an evil sound. Cass wished he would refrain from it, even though it broke the tension in the room. Sir Robert blinked and collapsed into his chair with a frown. The Imperial Lord turned back to the king. "My court was so eager to meet you that several of them journeyed to Devizes for the privilege. Shall I introduce you to them? Lord Somers, in particular, wishes to know what color hose you deem fit for the winter season."

   The king lifted his chin and gave a regal nod, holding out his beringed fingers to Lord Somers.

   Lady Cassandra felt a sympathetic hand fall on her shoulder and looked up into the thin face of Lady Verney. The other woman's eyes shone with indignant shame for her and Cass suddenly felt very small. A very insignificant personage, by her husband's own words.

   Cassandra gave her new friend a false smile and then faded backward into the shadows of the inn, finding the staircase and her room with little trouble. A servant waited in her room and she directed the young girl to fetch her dinner, for she refused to go back downstairs and subject herself to further humiliation in front of Sir Robert.

   She fumed while she ate, attacking her dinner with the cutlery, cursing her husband by the only means at her disposal. By using the words she'd heard him use. She decided that she had finished with trying to please her husband. Indeed, she would now demand he show her at least a little respect.

   By the time the frivolity in the main room had quieted, Cassandra had changed her mind. Dominic had not come to her room. Surely he would not choose that viper over her? She then decided she wouldn't scold him. She would perform a love dance for him instead, proving that Lady Agnes's charms were no match for her own.

   By the time she fell asleep, quite alone in the large bed, she'd gone back to cursing him, the gold rose on her finger clenched into a tight bud.

Seven

With Mor'ded accompanying them back to Firehame Palace, Dominic had no difficulty ignoring Cassandra. His father had tested his feelings for the girl back at the inn, and fortunately he'd disabused the man of the notion that he'd so fallen in love with his new wife he'd rushed to her rescue.

   Although he couldn't be sure of that himself. And it worried Dominic that it might have had nothing to do with who had won Breden's game; that he had indeed rushed off to the rescue because he might have become fond of the girl. And when he saw her standing in that filthy room, rage had near overwhelmed him. The thought that another man had even touched her…

   And yet something else nagged at him. Cassandra's story of how the two men had fought each other didn't quite add up to the condition of the dead bodies. She'd been lying and it made him suspicious, gave him another reason to keep her at arm's length. There was more to his wife than it appeared.

   Dominic noted the redness of Cassandra's eyes as they journeyed, the way Aggie gloated over her. But he refused to pity her and kept his mistress at his side like a shield—although he couldn't seem to stomach her in his bed. She pouted about it but continued to share his tent.

   Cassandra slept with the other ladies. At least his wife now had the friendship of Lady Verney to comfort her. His estimation of the tall woman's sensibilities rose considerably.

   And Mor'ded no longer watched Cassandra and Dominic with calculating eyes.

   Of course, with the king's retinue in tow, it took twice as long to return to the palace, and Dominic spent a weary day getting the new court settled into their home. And a long evening getting drunk enough at the fete that night to drown his anger at Cassandra's near brush with death. Fortunately she did not attend the celebration, and Mor'ded taunted the king so mercilessly that Dominic did manage to stay distracted.

   Sometime during the night he must have made his way up the stairs of the dragon's tower and passed out on the hard flagstone, for he woke the next morning with an aching back and a pounding head. He sat up and then immediately folded over, covering his face with his hands.

   "Egads, the sun is too bright this morn."

   A huff of breath that might have been mistaken for laughter if it hadn't come from a dragon.

   Dominic slowly dropped his hands and cracked his eyes open. Ador seemed to swallow the sunlight with his black scales, his even darker wings. A fine stream of smoke seeped from his left nostril to catch the breeze and drift over the side of the tower wall.

   "I have brought home my prize. The king now resides in Firehame."

   Ador didn't even blink. The dragon probably knew everything that went on in Firehame and didn't need Dominic to tell him. But he had only the dragon to confide in for many years and spoke from habit, nothing more. Ador had never betrayed any of Dominic's secrets but the dragon also rarely spoke. The general certainly hadn't expected a response.

   "It won't work, you know," said Ador.

   His voice sounded like rock scraping over stone. Dominic winced. "Of course it will," he replied. "I have earned my father's respect at last. We will no longer be so at odds with one another."

   "I don't speak of mad elven lords, human. I speak of your wife."

   Dominic lifted his head in surprise and met those red-striated eyes. For a moment his fear for her made him unable to speak. For if his father's thoughts were alien to him, Ador's were indecipherable. That either of them took too much notice of Cassandra gave him pause. Ador had spoken of a change in the wind, and indeed, it appeared the dragon, at least, had shown a great deal by breaking his near silence after so many years.

   But Dominic could not help but take advantage of it. He'd won many a battle by gaining as much knowledge as he could from the most unlikely sources. "And what do you know of her?"

   Ador rose, his claws scraping new gouges into the flagstone, his wings unfolding to stretch to aweinspiring proportions. He blocked the sun, casting Dominic in the shade of his shadow. The general had long ago become accustomed to the sheer size of the beast, but betimes it still took his breath away.

   "I know hiding your affection for her won't work for very long."

   Those veined wings stroked the air, plastering Dominic's bedraggled shirt to his chest, throwing his coat open and slapping his hair against his face. He narrowed his eyes again against the force of the dragon's tempest. Although he would deny it to Mor'ded with his last breath, he did not attempt to dispute Ador's words. "How do I stop from caring for her?"

   "You cannot." The dragon leaped atop the wall, each leg straddling a merlon, claws gripping the red stone.

   Dominic rose when Ador launched into flight, bracing his feet against the buffet of wind. The dragon had a simple way of ending a conversation. The general watched the beast circle the tower a few times, admiring the beauty of the dragon's scales glimmering in the sun, the majesty of his wings as they moved smoothly among the currents. Ah, how he longed to ride the beast but Ador had never offered, and Dominic would never ask.

   "I will stop from caring for her," he muttered as the dragon dwindled from his sight. "I must," he sighed, turning and making his way back down the tower stairs. "It's the only way I can protect her."

   So he avoided returning to his apartments to say farewell to his new wife before leaving the palace to check on the borders of Firehame. Dominic knew the other Imperial Lords would eventually test their defenses. With the king in residence, every sovereignty in England would now conspire to attack them. Their only reprieve was the harvest. Most of the soldiers had returned to their homes to bring in the crops. The elven lords wouldn't risk starvation of their people for the game, for they needed strength of numbers to win.

   The fighting wouldn't begin in earnest until the new snow.

* * *

After several weeks Dominic returned to Firehame Palace, satisfied that for the moment, at least, they could withstand any small skirmishes a bored Imperial Lord would send against them. And confident he now had firm control over the growing affection he'd felt toward his new wife. He wanted to bed her, indeed, but he no longer felt the burning desire to possess her that had overwhelmed him on their journey to Devizes. His anger that she might have come to harm when she'd been captured had completely faded. Ador's words be damned. He had enough elven blood to prove the dragon wrong.

   The general wearily dismounted in the main courtyard, accustomed himself to the warmth of the flame-covered walls, and entered the hall. He passed the blue withdrawing room, surprised to see that his father held court within, apparently in benign humor today, for the blue room had been designed with healing magic. Watered blue silk covered the walls, blue puddles of carpets littered the floors, and magical ornaments of blue glass and silver created a calming effect. Dominic stood for a moment, idly slapping his hat against his thigh, studying the scene before him.

   Mor'ded sat in a velvet chair with a high enough back to look like a throne, the king to his left in a seat with legs short enough to require that he look up at the Imperial Lord. The king's advisor, Sir Robert, sat at a table next to an open window, yellow flame occasionally flickering around the sill. The king's two mistresses sat at his side, the skinny one laughing at something Lady Agnes had said. The blonde beauty had wasted no time in ingratiating herself with the royal court.

   Mor'ded looked up, his cold black eyes fastening on him immediately. "So the champion has returned. What's your report on our borders?"

   Dominic stepped into the room amid a round of admiring sighs. He'd been on the road for days, dust covered his hair and cloak, and he needed a bath. And still he could feel their lust like a palpable thing. He ignored it as he strode to his father's throne, tucked his hat under his arm, and bowed.

   "I'm satisfied to report that our borders are secure, my lord. His Majesty will be safe within your realm."

   "Naturally," Mor'ded said with a nod, although Dominic saw a flicker of boredom in those dark eyes. And boredom made an Imperial Lord doubly dangerous.

   "There are reports of unrest in the city, however," added Dominic.

   Mor'ded leaned forward. "Such as?"

   "Rumors that children are being hidden from the upcoming trials."

   The court gasped in unison, causing several blue vases to erupt in a shower of blue powder. Those sitting closest to the ornaments breathed in deeply, their faces relaxing into dreamy smiles.

   "Ignorant peasants," snapped the plumper of the king's mistresses, popping a chocolate into her mouth. "Who would not want their child to go to fabled Elfhame?"

   "Who, indeed?" said Mor'ded, a twist to his lips. "If we had not been given the task of finding worthy humans to populate our homeland, we would return in a trice. A land of sweet rivers and lush forests. Trees laden with fruit so delectable to the palate that no human could imagine the ecstasy of a single bite. Peasants become kings in Elfhame, wear robes woven of soft
narish and spun gold. Who would dare deny hi
s child the right to be a chosen one?"

   "Yes, indeed," interjected Sir Robert. "Why would anyone be so foolish, General Raikes?" The man's negligent pose seemed at odds with the intensity of his gaze as he waited for Dominic to answer.

   The general shrugged. "I do not pretend to understand. It seems some people care for their children and do not want to be parted from them, however much it may benefit the child." He turned back to his father, his face impassive. "Shall I dispatch some spies to find these families?"

   "No." Mor'ded gracefully settled back into his chair, rolled his black scepter excitedly. "I think I shall handle this myself. You are dismissed."

   Dominic bowed, turned to the king and nodded, and attempted to leave the room.

   Aggie waylaid him first, her perfume rolling over him like a cloud, her delicate feet sinking into a puddle of blue carpet that appeared to ripple about her skirts. "You will come to the ball tonight, will you not? It is in honor of the king's return and the costumes promise to be grand."

   He lifted a brow.

   "Oh, I know you don't care a fig about that, but I assure you
my
costume will delight you. Will you come?"

   Dominic didn't know how he could get out of it without insulting the king, so he nodded and strode toward the door.

   Viscount Rothermere hesitantly touched his arm, then quickly snatched it back as if he'd been burned when Dominic turned to him. "Pardon me, General. But your wife—"

   "Yes? Speak up, man! What about her?"

   "Err, um, yes. No offense, sir, but she has been upsetting the servants."

   Dominic gave his lordship a cold glance and took a step to pass the man, and another insolent fool stepped up to him.

   "I daresay, sir, since you don't employ servants yourself, you can't imagine how… difficult they can make one's life."

   "Then perhaps you should accustom yourself to doing without them."

Dominic took another step.

   "Devil a bit," said Lord Blevin. "Just look at my wig, man! Tangled! And my new velvet coat. Spots!"

   A small mob of disheveled-looking men now surrounded him. Dominic crossed his arms over his chest. He had known Cassandra would cause a stir by hiring those slaves, but he didn't give a damn about the nobles' vanity… or the servants who felt their orderly universe had been threatened by the invasion of slaves into their territory.

   "My biscuits have been burned every morning," said another courtier. "Now, General, you must take your wife to task. It's a man's duty, after all."

   Orange flame sprouted on Dominic's hands and he idly played with it as he waited until the fools ran out of bluster, until the room quieted, including the king and his courtiers. Orange fire was cooler than red but could burn just as easily. All eyes had riveted on the fire in his palms, watching with fascination as he tossed it about like a juggler, his hands showing no sign of being burned by the flame. When he could hear the sound of his own soft breath, he squelched the blaze and said, very slowly, "What my wife does is no concern of mine. You mistake me, gentlemen, for someone who gives a damn."

   He took a step and the astonished courtiers hastily cleared a path out of his way. He heard his father's laughter behind him, the soft clap of his hands as he applauded his son's deportment. The sky-painted ceiling above them suddenly shivered, and a rain of blue vapor fell, the calming magic swirling around the assemblage. Dominic waved a wisp of it off his nose and strode out of the room without a backward glance.

   Perhaps it had been fortuitous that Mor'ded had held court in the blue room today.

   He trod up the carpeted stairs to his new apartments, feeling the start of a smile on his lips and then banishing it. The woman was a nuisance. He should chastise her for causing him difficulty with the court and annoying him. He did not particularly care to see her again. He returned to his apartments only because he needed a bath and a change of clothing.

   Dominic's footsteps became swifter and lighter as he neared the door to his rooms. He threw open the double doors with a bit too much force.

   His apartments had grown even more cluttered in his absence.

   He made his way through the parlor and the sitting room, noting the lace-edged pillows and thick carpets and elaborate wall hangings. By the time he reached the bedroom, he could no longer continue the catalog of frippery; it simply boggled the mind. His apartments now looked as ostentatious as the king's.

   She sat in front of a mirrored table in a carved chair painted with climbing roses, a young girl dressing her brown hair and an even younger one holding a patchbox up to her face.

   "But, my lady," said the younger one, "ye shall put us to shame if ye don't wear at least one."

   His wife smiled. "Now, Gwen, I've already agreed to the rouge, so you must be content with that. I'll not have those spots on my face—they look like bugs."