The Road You Chose
"I didn't tell you to come in."
"I know. I only thought you might need my help, and I couldn't stop myself."
Irid, dressed to the hilt for the celebration, came toward him on light, careful steps. Kazan had already undone every intricate knot of his upper garment. At the heavy drift of her perfume, he lifted his eyes.
Beneath the long white cloth spilled over both shoulders, the deep cleft of Irid's breasts and the soft curve beneath them lay bare. Clad in the ancient dress of Ashatra, she met his eyes in the mirror with a bewitching smile, then stepped behind him and drew the loosened garment from his shoulders. Kazan accepted her attendance without a word.
She stroked the solid shoulders freed of their long sleeves, a touch like a massage, and as she finished unfastening his belt her hands settled, as if it were nothing, along the hard line of his waist. She folded what she had taken off, lifted the king's night robe, and let her gaze travel once over his body.
Tempered by battle after battle, he was sheathed in hard muscle, imposing in every line. The finer muscles along his shoulders and back shifted with a sensual life at the slightest movement. Irid's eyes lingered longest on his right arm. The dark crimson pattern covering that powerful limb was known as the mark of favor from the god of wind and death. If only I could hold this man. She burned to throw her arms around the broad back before her and press her skin to his. How sweet it would be if he turned, caught her up, and carried her to the bed. But Kazan only looked at her through the mirror.
"If you're going to dress me, do it quickly. I'm wasting time."
She had no choice. She lifted the night robe and put it on him, and the beautiful body that had held her spellbound vanished at once beneath ivory cloth. Irid ached with the loss of it, but Kazan tied the cloth sash without a moment's hesitation. When he turned from the mirror, ready at last, her heart lurched, and she caught his arm.
"Wait, Kazan."
Regret crashed over her the instant the name left her mouth, but it was already too late. Called by his given name, the king made no effort to hide his displeasure.
"…"
"Are you drunk? Or have you lost your mind?"
"I—I'm sorry. Lord Sindar."
His red eyes felt mercilessly cold. Irid dropped her gaze in a rush, her eyes skittering, and the moment his arm slipped free of her hand something surged up and she blurted it out.
"Even so, I'm not like the others."
"How are you any different?"
"I was still your comrade-in-arms. In the civil war I was allowed to say your name, and I was the only one who could put my hands on you. I was closer to you than anyone!"
It was a plea torn out of her like a cry, but Kazan answered without so much as a blink.
"That was because you were the mercenary company's healer. The royal house has a Royal Physician of its own now."
"But—"
"Your skill was useful enough on a battlefield. It falls short of a royal physician's, Irid."
"I don't want to be some doctor!"
"Then what is it you want?"
Queen. To be your queen. Irid longed to shout it, but she could not make her mouth obey. As if he already knew the obvious answer, the king's downward gaze was as sharp and cold as a whetted blade. When she only trembled at the lips, Kazan turned lightly aside.
"For the sake of old ties, I'll let today's discourtesy pass. But never enter my rooms again without leave. You're shaming even your father."
"Are you going to Mano Palace?"
Irid asked. Kazan left without an answer. There was no lingering in his stride. Left alone, she ran to the balcony and looked down the corridor that joined the Main Palace to Mano Palace.
In the night robe she herself had put on him, the king was going to that woman.
Mano is a jewel the color of a clear sunset.
Elona stared at the red mosaic covering one wall of the bedchamber. Set with true agate, it formed ring upon ring, like the growth rings of a tree, and the delicate gradation, paling toward the edges, was meant for sunlight. She was rubbing her swollen, tear-stung eyes and looking up at the sun fixed in the wall when a voice came without warning.
"Do you like it?"
Elona flinched and turned. Kazan stood in the doorway, watching her. The door closed without a sound, and she swallowed quietly.
He's come to punish me. Instinct drew her tight. She turned her back on the mosaic to face him, and Kazan came forward, his gaze steady on blue eyes full of wariness and fear.
"A mosaic of Zahira, god of fire and wisdom. Mano Palace stands where his temple used to be."
"A temple... you aren't supposed to tear one down, are you?"
"There's no reason not to."
Elona edged back, trying to keep clear of him as he approached, but there was nowhere to go. The moment her body met the table against the wall and she faltered, Kazan stopped before the mosaic. Looking at the sunset-colored stones, his eyes were a deeper red.
"A temple is only a building. Tear it down, and you raise another. What matters more lies elsewhere."
"Something more important..."
"Whether a god has any right to a sanctuary at all. A god who failed to protect the faithful has no claim to a place on the earth. In Ashatra, weakness is a sin. Gods and men alike. No exceptions."
The moment he spoke the word, Kazan's eyes turned to her. Elona could not move, as if that gaze had bound her. He was a predator who might devour her whenever the whim took him, and she was frail prey driven into a corner. He watched her a moment longer, then spoke.
"You skipped your meal."
"Yes..."
"Why? It was a celebration. The food can't have been bad."
"The smell was too strong. I couldn't swallow any of it."
The execution in the middle of the banquet was still vivid in Elona's mind. Because of it, the instant she caught the reek of meat and the tang of blood worked into the dishes, she gagged. Hunger forgotten, she wanted only to escape the wretched memory.
Kazan heard her and pressed no further. Instead he took one step closer.
"No matter. What you have to do hasn't changed."
His large right hand closed around her narrow waist. Elona lowered her eyes in despair. The night is about to begin. If her heart had its way, she would have struck his hand aside. She hated loveless sex, and worse, each time their bodies met, the tender memories were painted over. The man before her seemed a demon come to kill the twenty-year-old Kazan who still lived inside her.
She closed her eyes, and his lips touched the nape of her neck. A soft, wet sound—he drew lightly at the skin—spread through the quiet, indecent. A moan she could not hold back slipped from her parted lips.
"Ah... nnh..."
Wherever his mouth traveled, from nape to earlobe, her skin bloomed with the marks of kisses. Her mind going blank, she thought in desolation, With what heart am I supposed to face him? Kazan had said he loathed her. As if to prove it, he took her roughly every night. And still she could not believe him.
Could loathing alone carry them into each other's arms, night after night? If nothing remained but hatred, he need only have put a blade through her as well, the way he would through Antonio, and been done.
Or perhaps—just perhaps—some faint affection lingered, enough to leave her alive.
Then Kazan, who had been ravaging the white of her nape as he pleased, lifted his head. Elona opened her eyes a little and found his red gaze wet with heat, melancholy in them as it had been when he was young. The memory struck her, and on impulse she said it.
"I heard you were a prince of Ashatra."
Kazan went still. The hand that had been parting her clothes stopped, and he looked down at her. Eyes gone cold fixed on Elona.
"Who told you?"
"Lady Irid..."
He gave a short, scornful breath, as if he had expected as much.
"That woman said more than she should. Then again, it's hardly a secret here. Nothing to be done."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
A thin resentment colored Elona's voice. She spoke desperately, meaning every word.
"I know. I was a princess in nothing but name. I had no power at all. But if you had told even me that you were a prince, maybe we could have chosen another road..."
"Another road."
Scorn touched the face that cut her short. He asked it again, his voice mocking himself.
"If you had known I was a prince, would you have run away with me? Or that night, would you have come running to the dungeon to save my life? I wonder, Elona. You know what?"
For an instant the wounded face she had seen in a dream rose and was gone. The man before her wore a look like the desert's blank indifference, as if every contour of the heart had long since weathered away.
"Prince or not, you could have done both. But you were the one who sent me to my death. That is the road you chose."