Heir to the Shadows (The Black Jewels #2)(92)
Author: Anne Bishop

"And how would that help me?" Jorval demanded again.

"Just as the son follows the advice of the father, so the father follows the advice of his friend—who just happens to be the only source for the tonic that keeps the Lady so hungry for the son’s attentions that she’ll agree to anything."

"Ah." Jorval stroked his chin. "Aahhh."

"And if, for some reason, the High Lord or some other member of the family"—the flicker of fear in Jorval’s eyes told her he’d already had a close brush with Lucivar Yaslana’s temper—"should react badly, well, finding another hot, handsome boy would be easy enough, but finding strong, intelligent men to guide the Realm …" Hekatah spread her hands and shrugged.

Jorval considered her words for several minutes. Hekatah waited patiently. As much as he might want the hot sexual fantasy, Jorval wanted power—or the illusion of power— much more.

"Lady Angelline will be coming to Little Terreille in two weeks. And I do have a … friend . . . with a suitable offspring. However, getting Lady Angelline to agree to the marriage . . ."

Hekatah called in a small bottle and set it on the table. "Lady Angelline is well-known for her compassion and her healing abilities. If, by some terrible accident, a child were injured, I’m sure she could be prevailed upon to do the healing. If the injuries were life threatening, the power expended for a full healing would leave her physically and mentally exhausted. Then, if someone she trusted were to offer her a relaxing glass of wine, she would probably be too tired to test it. The wedding would, regrettably, have to be a small, quiet affair that would take place shortly afterward. Between the fatigue and this brew mixed with the wine, she would be compliant anything to say what she was told to say and sign what she was told to sign.

"The young couple would stay at the wedding feast for a short time before retreating to their room to consummate the marriage."

Jorval’s nostrils flared. "I see."

Hekatah called in a second bottle. "The proper dose of this aphrodisiac, slipped into her wine during the wedding toast, will make her hungry for her new husband." Jorval licked his lips.

"The next morning, the second dose must be given. This is very important because her hunger must be strong enough to override the High Lord’s desire for an interview with her husband. By the time she’s ready to release the boy from his conjugal duties, the High Lord won’t be able to deny or object to the attachment without looking like a tyrant or a jealous fool." Hekatah paused, not pleased with the way Jorval was eyeing those bottles. "And the wise man guiding this affair will never be suspected—unless he calls attention to himself."

With visible effort, Jorval put his fantasies aside. He carefully vanished the bottles. "I’ll be in touch."

"There’s no need," Hekatah said a little too quickly. "Knowing I could help is enough. I’ll let you know where, and when, to pick up the next supply of the aphrodisiac." Jorval bowed and left.

Hekatah sat back, exhausted. Jorval was ignorant of, or chose to ignore, the common courtesies. He’d brought no refreshment and had offered none. Probably thought he was too important. And he was, damn him. Right now he was too important to her plans for her to insist on the amenities. However, once the little bitch was sufficiently cut off from Saetan, she would be able to eliminate Jorval.

Two weeks. That would give her enough time to complete the rest of her plan and set the trap that would, with luck, get rid of a half-breed Eyrien Warlord Prince as well.

2 / Kaeleer

Something felt wrong.

Lucivar set the armload of wood into the box by the kitchen hearth.

Very wrong.

Straightening up, he made a sweeping psychic probe of the area, using Luthvian’s house as the center point.

Nothing. But the feeling didn’t go away.

Preoccupied with the nagging uneasiness, he didn’t move when Roxie entered the kitchen, didn’t really notice the light in her eyes or the way her walk changed as she came toward him.

He’d spent the past two days doing chores for Luthvian while dodging Roxie’s amorous advances. Two days was about all he and Luthvian could manage together, and they only managed that because she was busy with her students most of the day, and he left right after dinner to spend the night in a mountain clearing.

"You’re so strong," Roxie said, running her hands over his chest.

Not again. Not again.

Normally he wouldn’t have allowed a woman to touch him like that. Normally he would have considered that tone of voice an invitation to an intimate introduction to his fist.

So why was he afraid? Why were his nerves buzzing?

Sever it this time. Break the link for good. No. Can’t. Won’t be able to reach him if. . .

Roxie’s arms wound around Lucivar’s neck. She rubbed her br**sts against his chest. "I haven’t had a Warlord Prince yet."

Where was the fear coming from?

You can’t have this body. This body is promised to him.

Roxie pressed against him. She playfully nipped his neck. He set his hands on her hips, holding her still while he concentrated on finding the source of that wasp-angry buzzing.

No. Not again.

It was coming from the Ring of Honor Jaenelle had given him. The buzzing, the fear, the cold rage building under the fear. Those weren’t his feelings washing through him, but hers.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Hers.

"I see you’ve changed your tune," Luthvian said tartly as she entered the kitchen.

Cold, cold rage. If it wasn’t banked quickly . . .

"I have to go," Lucivar said absently. He felt the pull of arms around his neck and automatically shoved the body away from him.

Luthvian started swearing.

Ignoring her, he turned toward the door and wondered for a moment why Roxie was lying in a heap on the kitchen floor.

"You have to service me!" Roxie shouted, pushing herself into a sitting position. "You got me aroused. You have to service me."

Spinning around, Lucivar snapped a leg off a kitchen chair and tossed it into Roxie’s lap. "Use that." He headed out the door.

I won’t allow this. I will not submit to this.

"Lucivar!"

Snarling, he tried to shake off Luthvian’s hand. "I have to go. Cat’s in trouble."

Luthvian’s hand tightened. "You’re sure, aren’t you? You sense her well enough that you’re sure."

"Yes!" He didn’t want to hit her. He didn’t want to hurt her. But if she didn’t let him go …

The hand on his arm trembled. "You’ll send word to me? You’ll let me know if … if she needs help?"