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 his 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."
The girl giggled. "So they do. But what if I cuts them into shapes? Per'aps a star right near yer cheek? Won't that look grand?"
His wife's soft brown eyes met his in the reflection of her mirror. "I'm not sure. What do you think, sir?"
Dominic could do naught but stare. She looked lovely in her dressing gown of pale satin, her hair woven into an intricate design that layered in strands of champagne pearls and gold ribbons. Her loosely belted gown revealed the swell of her breasts and the brocade fabric of her stays.
She continued to gaze at him, a smile playing about the corners of her lovely mouth. Dominic had had enough experience with women to know she should have greeted him with pique, if not downright hostility. He had dismissed her person as unimportant to the king, had not slept with her since she'd been captured in Devizes, and had left for weeks with nary a farewell.
Any other woman would have thrown something at him, hoping for some kind of emotional response. Women had always tried to goad him into some acknowledgment of their feelings. Dominic had become quite adept at dodging glassware.
Cassandra worried him. And he'd vowed not to let her affect him in any way.
"I don't care. I need a bath."
Her delicate face collapsed into a frown. "Of course, how thoughtless of me. I'd heard you've been riding the borders for days, making sure our people are protected." She turned to her two helpers. "May, dear, I believe my hair holds enough pearls; you may stop now."
The slave pulled her fingers out of his wife's silken hair, the girl's hazel eyes still fixed upon Dominic. The younger girl stared at him in terrified fascination as well. A swarm of flies could make their way into such open mouths.
Except for their hazel eyes, they could have been his sisters, with their silver hair and flawless complexions. He couldn't tell which elven lord they might be descended from because of the mix of color in their eyes, nor could he recall which battle had brought them here as slaves. But obviously no one had paid their ransom to return them home.
"You have dressed them as fine as any noble's servants," said Dominic. "No wonder the court is in a huff."
"Does your father care?"
"No more than I."
"Then it doesn't signify. Gwen, fetch the kettles off the fire and pour them in the bath. My husband eschews fashion and likes to soak, do you not?"
He nodded, wondering how long she'd stared at his wooden tub before she had figured out what he did with it. The two girls disappeared behind an oriental silk screen painted with red-plumed birds. That hadn't been there before either. He hadn't needed a privacy screen.
Dominic began to undress. By the time the slaves reappeared, he'd stripped down to his breeches.
"Does he need our help bathing, my ladyship?" asked the younger one with a terrified warble in her voice.
"Gwen," replied Cass before Dominic could reply, "remember what we discussed?"
They both blinked at her then rounded their eyes to him and with a quick curtsy, they disappeared.
Dominic shed his breeches. "I take it you told them you completely disregarded my wishes by hiring servants who will only be a nuisance to me?"
Her gaze ran up and down his body with appreciation. "Don't be odious, Dominic," she replied a bit breathlessly. "Why frighten them any more than they already are?"
He liked the sound of his name on her lips. He liked the cheeky way she spoke to him, as if, unlike the rest of the court, she didn't fear him a whit. Indeed, he found that instead of being annoyed by having his routine interrupted by a new wife and servants, he rather… enjoyed the attention.
When he stepped behind the screen and saw the steaming tub, the cake soap laid out neatly atop thick drying cloths, and rose petals floating atop the water, he decided he could get used to this. "You'll make me soft," he mumbled.
"Pardon, sir?"
Dominic lowered himself into the tub and closed his eyes in rapture. "I said," he replied, raising his voice, "that I need my back washed."
A moment of silence and then her dainty face peeked around the screen. "But I thought you liked to do for yourself."
"I've changed my mind."
Her eyes closed for a moment, and her lips moved as though she whispered a prayer. Then she gingerly walked over to the tub, grasped the soap with a trembling hand and dunked it in the water.
Dominic smiled and leaned forward. The first touch of the soap sliding across his skin made his member swell. "I've been weeks without a woman."
He heard her swallow. "Indeed, I am most surprised, sir."
"How so?"
"I assumed you had more than one mistress scattered about the sovereignty."
"If that were so, it wouldn't matter now. It seems I must save myself to get you with child."
"How… disagreeable for you." She dunked the soap and slapped it across his back, rubbing vigorously.
"Mm. I assume you want a child as quickly as possible, madam?"
"Naturally."
"Then take off your clothes."
The soap plopped into the water. "I… I cannot muss my hair. It took May hours to weave it."
"Faith, woman, I shan't touch a hair on your head."
For a moment he could hear nothing but the crackle of the fire.
And then she rounded the tub to face him, hands on hips, brown eyes flashing. "I have tried to make myself agreeable to you, sir. I have done my best to please you. And yet you still treat me with little respect, ordering me about as if I were some lackey. I care naught for your feeling but I demand at least a little consideration."
Ah, so Lady Cassandra did not scream and throw things, she silently simmered to a boil. Interesting.
Dominic studied the controlled rage on her face, and his admiration for her grew. But what could he say? That he could not afford to show her any consideration because it might lead to an affection that could be her doom? That he did it to protect her?
But even if he trusted her enough to confide in her, he would not risk getting any closer to her by exchanging secrets, for therein lay disaster. No, he would hold himself as aloof from his wife as he did with everyone, no matter what Ador had said. For Lady Cassandra was a danger to him. As soon as he got her with child, he would avoid her like the plague.
So Dominic ignored his wife's words and slowly stood, revealing the firmness of his arousal. The water sluiced down his skin, dripping over the muscles in his chest and the ripples in his abdomen. Elven blood made him physically perfect and he knew that with a crook of his finger, no woman could refuse him.
Lady Cassandra's brown eyes widened, and she turned her face away and then just as quickly spun back around to stare at him, her eyes glazing as they traveled over every softly ridged curve, every glowing inch of his skin. Her feet stayed rooted to the floor, but her upper body swayed toward him at an almost perilous angle.
Dominic held out his hand.
Cassandra's fingers twitched. And then she spun again, disappearing behind the screen. He heard the bedroom door slam.
Dominic stared at the empty space where she had stood, utterly bewildered. A woman had never rejected him before, much less run away from the sight of him. He stood there for a long moment, not quite knowing how to react, while the water dried on his skin.
And then a wicked smile spread across his face, an expression his father would heartily approve of. So the wench had tossed him a challenge, had she? The thought so inflamed him he felt hard-pressed not to shout a battle cry.
She would see who could hold out the longest. Her resistance would fall long before he allowed his to.
* * *
Dominic's resolve lasted until he glimpsed her at the ball.
He had dressed more carefully than he ever had before in his life. He chose all black to suit his mood, in the style of his uniform. But this outfit had been crafted of velvet, from his coat to his waistcoat to his breeches. He wore new cuffed boots, polished to a high sheen, and a dress sword lay at his hip, the sheath and pommel encrusted with diamonds. He left his hair loose to flow down his back and shoulders, the silvery white a stark contrast to his black attire.
When he strode purposefully into the ballroom, his fur-trimmed velvet cape fluttered behind him like the wings of some predatory bird.
His father had outdone himself this time with his display of power, whether to impress the king or the nobles visiting from other sovereignties, Dominic couldn't be sure. White fire formed columns of glittering swirls of harmless flame. The mellow warmth of yellow fire danced atop the ceiling, creating starbursts that splintered every few seconds, scattering harmless embers onto the heads of the crowd, falling on shoulders and wigs to sparkle like diamonds.
A glowing carpet of red lava made a path through the throng and Dominic stepped upon it, hoping the soles of his boots wouldn't melt. But his father had tempered the heat in the same way Dominic could temper the fire magic he summoned. Yet it seemed that the rest of the nobles didn't care to test the path, for he trod it alone.
As he made his way to the dais where Mor'ded and the king sat, conversation stopped around him. He felt desire emanate from the crowd as hot as any flame. Women sighed and men murmured in admiration, and that wicked smile formed on his lips again. Several young girls swooned.
But the general did not look for her in the crowd. Not yet.
He bowed to his father when he reached the dais. The Imperial Lord sat ensconced in his golden throne, the king in a smaller one a step below him. Yellow fire dulled to gold shimmered in a curtain behind the dais like a waterfall of unimaginable wealth.
Mor'ded wore red satin, the skirt of his coat stiffened with whalebone to flare out dramatically over his seat. His black eyes studied Dominic with cold calculation. "You have dressed with care this evening. Do you honor the king, or is there some other reason for such a dashing display?"
Dominic erased the smile from his face, turned, and bowed to the king. But carefully, making sure his head did not dip lower than the obeisance he had bestowed on his father. "My salutations, Your Majesty."
The king gave him a regal nod, his brow beaded with perspiration. The room felt cool despite Father's magic, and Dominic thought the king would soon become accustomed to the suggestion of heat. Surely it would be a relief from the foul dampness of Breden's sovereignty.
Several of the king's highest ranked courtiers stood to his left, although Dominic noticed that Sir Robert appeared to be missing this evening. The original court of Firehame stood on Mor'ded's right, a division that might soon create problems if the elven lord wasn't careful.
Although knowing his father, Mor'ded had probably instigated the division. If it started to annoy instead of entertain him, he would call in Dominic to take care of it.
The general sighed.
"Good," pronounced King George, drawing Dominic's attention back to him. The king's protruding eyes surveyed Dominic's costume with enthusiasm. "Good for man who won the king to boast of it with a soldier costume. Fur is a nice touch, but you should wear shoes. High-heeled, yes?"
The general nodded politely, his face rigid enough to hide his contempt for the subject of heels.
"And your wife?" continued the king. "I still have not met this woman. She has not yet recovered from her ordeal?"
Dominic couldn't fathom why the man wanted to exchange pleasantries with him. It would take him some time to accidentally run into his wife and he itched to get started. He stole a glance at his father, noting the interest that still shone in those cold eyes. Did the man guess Dominic had dressed to entice Cassandra?
Father's courtiers leaned forward to hear his reply.
"My pardon, Your Majesty, but I don't really concern myself over my wife's health."
The old man's face twisted in confusion and his courtiers gasped in outrage. But his father's court nodded their heads, as if they'd expected no less from the elven bastard, and threw superior looks at His Majesty's court.
"Come now," said Mor'ded, his black eyes almost twinkling. "You want the chit to bear you a healthy child, don't you?"
"That is your desire, sir. Not mine."
The Imperial Lord laughed, relaxing back into his throne.
"I do not understand," mumbled the king.
"Ah well," replied Mor'ded. "No doubt you're used to Breden's bastards, Your Majesty, who are weak with human blood. My champion has an elven heart."
He said it with pride and despite himself, Dominic felt a thrill of pleasure course through him. And a sense of relief that Mor'ded did not suspect his… possessiveness of his wife.
With impeccable timing, Lady Agnes chose that moment to materialize at his side. Dominic bowed. "If you will excuse me?"
The king gave him a regal nod, his face betraying a hint of his fear of Dominic. Mor'ded dismissed him with a negligent wave of his hand, his face already stiff with boredom, his gaze roving the crowd, looking for another distraction.
Dominic led Agnes among the dancers, as far from the dais as possible. He would have to be even more careful this evening. He'd had every intention of pretending to ignore his wife while dancing with every other woman in the room, reminding her that he could have his choice of bed partners. That she should be honored that he shared his bed with her. Then he would have centered his attention upon her, and she would have melted in his arms…
But now he could not afford to be seen showing the slightest interest in Lady Cassandra. He would have to wait out the entire evening until she returned to their room in order to charm her. And once he got her behind the privacy of the bed curtains…
As they clasped hands, Aggie looked up at him, her beautiful lips twisted in a pout. "You haven't commented on my costume, sir."
Dominic blinked, lowering his head. He'd forgotten about her.
"Indeed," he muttered, raking her with his gaze. She looked like a flame, the color of her dress shifting from yellow to red, triangles of cloth floating about her neck and shoulders, lapping at her skin like true fire. "Very nice."
"Nice? I'll have you know that this cloth came all the way from Dreamhame. It's been woven with an illusion of your magic and cost me—well! You can at least offer me a better compliment than that, sir."
"It suits you."
"Hmph. The Duke of Claridge offered me a much bolder compliment. He said—"
They slid sideways in the pattern of the dance. "I care naught what other men say to you. And don't expect such flattery from me."
Agnes rolled her eyes. "I'm quite aware you haven't a romantic notion in your head. But you could at least try, Dominic."
His lip twitched. Perhaps she was right. He bowed and she curtsied. "You must know you're the most desirable woman in the room. I chose to dance with you, didn't I?"
She flung back her head and laughed, drawing several envious gazes their way. "La! Be grateful for the amount of elven blood that runs through my veins, General. For otherwise I would have despaired of you long ago."
Dominic took her hands again, chafing at the mincing steps of the dance, remembering the one he'd performed at his wedding. An old elven dance, his father had called it. He only knew he'd followed his wife in a rhythm that had set his blood afire.
Aggie laughed again, bringing his attention back to her perfect face. He appreciated the distraction she always provided him. The way she never took offense to anything he said. She was as arrogant and vain as he appeared to be. And he hoped that others thought him as shallow of feeling.
They turned direction and he glimpsed another couple across the floor, almost losing his footing in surprise. Agnes widened her eyes at him in shock. The elven did not stumble.
"It cannot be," he said as he held her hand high and they minced steps to and fro.
She followed the direction of his gaze. "What do you mean?"
"The elven lords don't often leave their sovereignties. What would an Imperial Lady be doing here?"
Aggie snorted. "You aren't speaking of your wife, are you?"
"My wife?"
"Well, that's who you're staring at. And she doesn't look anything like an Imperial Lady."
Dominic stilled, hiding his surprise with an excessive force of will, staring over the heads of the other dancers at Cassandra. She wore a dress of honey gold, with jewels sewn into the cloth that winked with her every movement. Gold chains encircled her slim throat and elegant wrists. Her hair had been caught up at the sides and left to spill across her back, layered with pearls and ribbons as he'd seen it earlier this evening, but her little slave must have talked her into powdering her hair for a silvery white layer covered the warm brown.
With the silver hair of the elven she could easily pass for an Imperial Lady, the fine bones of her face more pronounced, the perfection of her skin accented by the color.
He preferred the warm brown of her hair, though. It made her look more human.
Agnes caught his hand and towed him back into the pattern of the dance. "Egads, Dominic, have a care—"
"Who is he?"
"Who is—oh, the handsome gentleman dancing with Lady Cassandra." She licked her red lips as she stared at the golden-haired man. "He's just returned to court. Something about caring for his sick mother… but apparently she recovered. Charming man, that one. Beautiful too, despite his rugged human features. If he held more than one tiny manor in the country, I might even be tempted—"
"His name, Aggie."
She tittered. "I do believe you're jealous! Look at the way your jaw has tightened. But have no fear, darling, I would never prefer him over you."
Dominic caught the inflection in her voice, the way she swept her eyes over Cassandra with an accusatory look. Indeed, his wife appeared to be captivated by her partner, often breaking into laughter, their faces pulling too close together as if they exchanged private confidences. The man treated her with too much easy familiarity.
The general took eight steps instead of four, flustering a few dancers as they tried to adjust their positions to accommodate him. But it brought him closer to Cassandra and her partner. Yes, the other man gazed at his wife with adoring eyes. With a yearning that spoke of more than admiration. The fellow looked half in love with her.
"Name," choked Dominic, his fingers squeezing Agnes's.
"Ouch. Althorp. Viscount Thomas Althorp. Why is it so important to you?"
The general twisted his lips and closed the distance between his wife and that fellow. This time the other dancers dared grumble a complaint at him for interrupting the stately flow, but one glance and they lapsed into silence, quickly reforming their ranks.
Lady Cassandra's eyes widened and that Althorp fellow followed her gaze, wincing when he met Dominic's glare.
Aggie tugged on his arm. "I know what you're thinking; but don't do it."
Dominic looked down his nose at her. She scowled.
"If you call him out, you will make a scene," she huffed. "And all because of injured pride."
He nodded slowly, taking up Aggie's hands again to resume their pattern, catching glimpses of Cassandra's worried face. He appreciated his mistress more than ever. She'd stopped him from doing something extremely foolish, but she had it wrong. Pride did not prompt this sudden urge to run his blade through the viscount's flesh. Some other wicked emotion raged inside him, something he'd never felt before.
Fortunately his father had left his dais, pursuing some lady or retiring in boredom, he knew naught. But calling out another man for dancing with his wife would eventually reach Mor'ded's ears. And the elven were not prone to jealousy.
But his all-too-human heart appeared to be.
With a speed only his elven physique could manage, he'd dropped Aggie's hand and caught up his wife's. Althorp appeared to be a wise fellow, at least. He stood only for a second before snatching up the hand of Lady Agnes and leading her instead.
None of the other dancers appeared to notice the switch.
"What are you doing?" hissed Cassandra.
"Dancing with my wife."
"You could have waited for the next round, sir."
He raised a silver brow. "Why should I? Who is he to you?"
They parted. He bowed, she curtsied. Unfortunately, it gave his wife time to gather her composure. "He is an old friend of the family. That is all."
She lied. Dominic lowered his hand a bit in order for her to grasp it for the dance. The only reason he could think for her to lie was that the man had meant more to her than she wanted to reveal. Perhaps he still did.
It had not occurred to him before this that she might have had a previous relationship with any man other than her father. Mor'ded had been assured the school that boarded her was very exclusive. Very secluded. And he knew her to be a maid when he'd bedded her.
Yet why did his body fill with rage? Why did his fingers itch to summon fire?
This went beyond her role as one of his possessions. This trod into dangerous territory. He could not truly be jealous. His human heart could not be that weak.
And yet still the rage consumed him and Dominic found he could barely control it. He suppressed the urge to strangle her admirer, to sweep his wife up into his arms and carry her from the room.
Instead he bowed over her hand. "I suggest that you retire, my lady. I fear you have the headache."
Her brown eyes widened with confusion. "I have never felt better in my life, sir."
"How long do you think that will last if I challenge your Lord Althorp to a duel?"
"Whatever for?"
"For daring to touch what is mine."
She stared at him for a moment. The tune had ended and people started to watch them. "You would, wouldn't you?"
Dominic's mouth twitched.
The clever girl swept the back of her hand up to her forehead and swayed. The general caught her in his arms. Lady Agnes hurried over. "She will be fine," snapped Dominic. "She is overcome with exertion."
Aggie raised a doubtful brow.
Viscount Althorp, his golden hair glittering in the glow of the fire-washed ceiling, had the temerity to cock a grin. "Perhaps the general has already produced the child that his father so desires."
Dominic faced the shorter man, his face frozen, his voice quite calm and pitched so only the fop could hear. "Come near her again and I will kill you."
Cassandra stiffened in his arms. A flicker of something shadowed Viscount Althorp's pale eyes, but only for a moment, the smooth libertine quickly reappearing. "As you wish, General Raikes."
And Dominic swept his wife from the room—if not quite in the manner he had originally planned. He ignored the concerned queries from the nobles, knowing Althorp would have spread the word about his lady's supposed condition soon enough. Although the falsehood would be revealed in time.
He stopped for no one, including her two little slaves as they met them at the door. He ordered them to their rooms, tossed his wife on the mattress, and slammed the bedroom door.
"Pray tell me what has brought on this fit?" asked Lady Cassandra.
"Be quiet. You will make your headache worse."
She frowned but said no more as he pulled the ties from the curtains surrounding the bed, blocking off the glow of the fire in the grate.
He pulled her into his arms and she allowed it, although her body felt stiff as a tree. Dominic placed his mouth very close to her ear and whispered, "How do you know that man?"
"I told you—" He caught her face and brought her lips to his ear. "Why must I whisper?"
Dominic turned her head and breathed in her ear. "It is… a precaution."
She stilled for a moment and he could feel her mind working. Then he felt her soft lips at his ear again. "Spies?"
How would she guess such a thing? He had sensed his innocent wife hid a part of herself from him and now he felt certain of it. Dominic clasped her hand, the pad of his index finger finding the carved rose of her ring, the petals twisted in a tight bud.
He turned her head with his other hand. "You hired the servants who listen through keyholes. Answer my question."
"May and Gwen would never do such a thing."
She was probably right. But he never dropped his reserve within the palace walls, and his questions would not be those of an unfeeling elven lord's bastard.
"We shall argue in whispers?" she finally said in the taut silence.
This time she turned her own ear to his mouth and waited for him to speak. "So it seems."
"I told you, Thomas is an old friend of the family."
"You lie. He was too familiar with your person."
She caught her breath, as if she could feel his sudden rage. "He would come visit me at school sometimes."
Dominic waited, his finger stroking the still-tight bud of her ring.
"When I was very young, I thought I might be in love with him."
This sounded like truth and the slight unfurling of the rose ring confirmed it. He waited again.
His wife huffed. "He asked me to run away with him but I refused."
"Why?"
"Because you were—you are my destiny."
Despite his intentions for her to reveal something damning, he could not deny she spoke the truth, for the petals of the rose blossomed beneath his touch. Faith, he hadn't expected such an answer. He'd expected another lie—perhaps that she was in love with him, perhaps that she admired his features so much she wanted to be with him. He'd even hoped she might reveal the true reason she had married him.
But. Destiny. That was a powerful thing.
His rage faded as quickly as it had come.
"Now it's my turn," she softly whispered. "Tell me of Mongrel."
Dominic started. "How do you know of my dog?"
"Cook told me—nay, do not be angry. She sought only to comfort me with a bit of knowledge about the stranger I married."
He ran a hand over his forehead. Cook had known him since he was a lad, and although they treated each other with indifference, he'd always suspected that the redhead had a softer heart than she revealed. And Mongrel… just the name brought a memory of shared warmth and unquestioning loyalty. Words flowed from his mouth without thought. "The stable master tried to drown the runt, but he had more will to live than anyone credited. I found him on the bank of the Thames, weary and half-dead, and could only admire his spirit. I nursed him back to health and he shadowed me from that day on, until he died…"
The vision of fire blackening fur and the sound of Mongrel whining in agony brought Dominic back to himself. But too late. For his wife held his cheek in one soft hand, and the sound of her sigh held too much empathy. "I'm so sorry. You must have loved him so."
Dominic jerked away from her touch. This unpredictable creature had managed to warm his human heart, and he feared he'd revealed too much to her. Ador might be right. If he continued to spend time with her he might not be able to prevent himself from falling under her spell. Even now he felt… he felt… No, he would not admit it, even to himself. For if his father discovered the truth of his feelings…
He leaped from the bed as if she had the power to burn him and stormed from the room, heading for Ador's tower. The general took the stairs two at a time, not pausing for breath until he burst onto the tower roof.
The dragon snorted a noxious stream of smoke in his direction.
Dominic coughed.
Ador snorted again.
Dominic paced the length of that large black body, his hands curling into fists. "Damn. Damn. What do I do? How could I have let this happen?" He looked up at the star-sprinkled sky. "I cannot care for her! I don't have the power to protect her! Yet I find myself drawn to her again and again. The scent of her hair, the touch of her hand, those warm brown eyes fixed upon mine. I want to tell her all my secrets… and therein lies disaster. For my selfish need will only imperil her life."
The dragon stretched one black leathery wing, the tip of it grazing the general's shoulder, propelling him head over heels across the stone floor. Dominic flipped to his feet, shaking the hair from his face.
"When you were a child," Ador rumbled, "you forged a connection to the black scepter."
Dominic felt like he might still be tumbling. What was the dragon talking about? Yes, he'd touched the magical talisman, a forbidden thing he'd never mentioned to anyone. And whenever he'd looked at the scepter after that, he'd felt… odd. But he'd never even mentioned this to Ador.
"What does that mean?"
Ador opened his scaly lids, his eyes gleaming in the night, seeming to wash Dominic with a haze of their red color. "We were created from the scepters and still retain a link to them. They are more powerful than you humans have guessed and they have a will of their own."
The general struggled to grasp the dragon's words. "Are you saying the scepters are somehow alive?"
"Not like you and I. But aware, elven lord's son. And likely to destroy anyone who dares to wield them who is not of full elven blood. And yet it allowed you to touch it."
"Why?"
The red light faded as the dragon closed his eyes. "I don't know why it chose to protect you or to hide your growing magic of black fire from the mad elf."
Dominic stilled. It couldn't be. He'd thought he'd imagined the black fire magic within him. Thought it wishful thinking. A fantasy to stop his father's torture. "But… damn you! Do you mean to tell me I have had enough magic to be sent to Elfhame and—"
Ador snorted, a burst of red flame that washed the stones an ugly pink. "You foolish bastard. Do you really believe that's where the madman sends those who threaten his reign?"
Dominic's anger turned cold and his mind began to work at a frightening speed, the way it did on the battlefield when faced with a new strategy from his enemy. "If I believe these confidences you're suddenly willing to share with me… then I can see how it would be easier for the elven lords to have the children brought to them for the trials, to weed out any half-breeds who may have inherited enough power to threaten the Imperial Lords' sovereignty. That's if I believe what you're telling me."
If the talisman indeed had some kind of awareness—some power greater than his father's—it made sense, for he'd touched the scepter before his first trial. Magical gifts revealed themselves at puberty, but they could grow over time. The reason that his father kept his nobles close. But anyone possessing the higher gifts—like that of black fire—would be sent to Elfhame. But such children were rare; perhaps one in a thousand of those possessing elven blood were born with the powers to become a chosen one.
The general closed his eyes, unwilling to believe this but trying to remember. Had he touched the scepter through sheer accident or had he been impelled to do so? Damn, he did not like this feeling of being a pawn in some game he did not understand. He slowly opened his lids and narrowed his eyes at the black snout and unreadable features of the dragon. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because soon—ah but not yet—your powers will grow strong enough to challenge the madman, and you need to know the truth." Ador yawned, as if he hadn't voiced words that could change lives. "That is, if you survive long enough. But if you manage it and succeed in the coming battle, the scepter is one step closer to returning home… although it will be long and long before the gate to Elfhame can truly be opened."
Ah. Dominic caught a glimmer of understanding. So the dragon thought to use his human weakness just as his father did. Ador offered him the bait that Dominic did indeed have the power to protect Cassandra. But to what purpose? How could he discern the truth?
"Prove it."
"You humans are tiresome, half-elven or no," responded Ador, eyes still closed. "Very well, then. Your powers have at least grown strong enough to dispel the wards on Mor'ded's supposed door to Elfhame. The mad elf leaves the palace on the morrow. Go see for yourself."
Dominic rubbed his brow. Could it be possible Ador spoke the truth? The thought that he might have the power to protect Cassandra filled him with a savage elation. But it was tempered by the worry of what he might find behind that heavy oak door. It made him wish his wife had never awakened his human feelings again, and he stood for a time, staring at the stars in the cold night sky.
Ador finally succumbed to sleep, his rumbling snores shivering the stones beneath Dominic's boots.