The Fire Lord's Lover Part 10

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 sc.r.a.ping 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 Ca.s.sandra 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 sc.r.a.ping 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 d.a.m.ned. 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 pa.s.sed 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 gla.s.s 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 l.u.s.t 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 impa.s.sive. "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 a.s.sure 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 lords.h.i.+p a cold glance and took a step to pa.s.s 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 Ca.s.sandra would cause a stir by hiring those slaves, but he didn't give a d.a.m.n about the n.o.bles' 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 bl.u.s.ter, 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 d.a.m.n."

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 s.h.i.+vered, and a rain of blue vapor fell, the calming magic swirling around the a.s.semblage. 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 banis.h.i.+ng 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 gla.s.sware.

Ca.s.sandra 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 n.o.ble'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 fas.h.i.+on 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 ladys.h.i.+p?" asked the younger one with a terrified warble in her voice.

"Gwen," replied Ca.s.s 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 a.s.sumed 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 a.s.sume 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 flas.h.i.+ng. "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 Ca.s.sandra did not scream and throw things, she silently simmered to a boil. Interesting.