The Sorceress of Belmair

3

“MY SON IS WHERE?” Lara, Domina of Terah, said.

It was afternoon in the desert palace of Shunnar. The private garden of the prince was hot, and the heady fragrance of damask roses hung heavy in the air. Along a wall decorated by a stand of tall hollyhocks in reds, pinks, yellows, peach and lavender, several small green birds hovered over the blossoms, their tiny wings beating furiously as their long beaks sipped nectar from the flowers. The garden’s fountain tinkled soothingly, the sunlight giving the arc of spray from it a rainbow appearance.

“Dillon is now the king of Belmair,” Kaliq said quietly.

“Why is my son king of a nebulous world of which I know less than nothing?” Lara demanded of him. “I recall my mother mentioning it briefly many years ago. She said the magic kingdoms call the great sky the Cosmos, and that there were other worlds within it, and the star we call Belmair was one. I could hardly conceive it then. And now you tell me my son is no longer in our world? That he is there?”

“Dillon was needed, and it was his fate to be there,” Kaliq said. “The dragon needed him, Lara, my love.”

“The dragon?” Her voice had risen at least a full octave. “What dragon?”

“The Great Dragon of Belmair, Nidhug,” Kaliq replied. “You must calm yourself, my love, for all is well. Dillon is exactly where he should be at this time.”

“You had no right to steal my son and send him to some other world in this Cosmos of yours!” Lara cried. “Why, at least, did you not tell me first? I have always trusted you, Kaliq. Why did you feel it was necessary to do this without speaking to me beforehand? You know how much I love Dillon.” Her beautiful green eyes were filling with tears. “Will I ever see him again?” Her voice had begun to quaver just slightly.

Kaliq put his arms about her. She was, he thought sadly to himself, as beautiful, as vulnerable, as compelling as she had ever been despite the fact that her oldest children were grown, and her younger children half-grown. “Of course you will see Dillon again. I will take you to Belmair anytime you want to go, Lara, my love.”

For a brief moment she was content to be in his arms, but then she shook him off angrily, stepping back, looking up into his handsome face. “My son! He is my son! You have overstepped your bounds, Kaliq. How dare you make a decision like this for Dillon without even consulting me first. He is my son!” she repeated.

Kaliq drew a long breath, and then letting it out he said, “And he is my son, too, Lara. I cannot fathom that in your faerie arrogance you have believed all these years that his incredible talents and his wondrous powers came just from you. The child of a faerie woman and a mere mortal man could not have gained the wisdom and skills that Dillon showed from his earliest childhood.”

She had been standing, and now she sat down heavily upon a marble bench near the fountain. “I was the child of a faerie woman and a mortal man,” she said.

“Your father had faerie blood in him, too, Lara. You know that even if he did not,” Kaliq reminded her.

“You said you could not give me a child,” Lara reminded him weakly.

“I lied,” Kaliq told her bluntly. “We Shadow Princes can reproduce whenever we choose to, although we do not do so often anymore. There is no real need for it given our longevity. Now and again one of us will spawn a child. We give our lovers female children as a rule. But I wanted a son.”

“Why did you not tell me?” Lara said.

“Because you were very young then, and while I realized that you were in love with me, I could not keep you. Remember, I know much of your destiny, Lara, my love. You were not meant to remain your life long here in Shunnar. Think of what you have accomplished since you left here all those years ago. You have lifted a curse from Terah, set the powers of darkness against itself, begun a peaceful revolution in Hetar. You have rescued a people from certain extinction and fought successfully in two wars. You have birthed five children. None of it would have been possible had you remained in Shunnar. Think of me as selfish if you will, but I wanted my son born of your loins.”

“How was it possible?” Lara asked. “I was with Vartan for months before I loved him enough to give him a child. Tell me what magic you worked upon me?”

“You were in love with me,” Kaliq began. “I was able therefore to plant my seed within you. The magic involved was that my seed would only bloom when you were ready to give another your love and a child. Vartan, like me, had dark hair and blue eyes. It was a simple thing to have people believe Dillon resembled Vartan because of that. But have you not noticed that recently his eyes became the bright blue of the Shadows?”

“You are not selfish,” Lara said angrily. “You are arrogant, Kaliq!”

“No more so than you are, my love,” he told her, a small smile touching the corners of his sensuous mouth. “We belonging to the magic kingdoms have a tendency to be so.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his, holding it just tightly enough so she could not snatch it back as she immediately attempted to do. “Do not be angry with me, Lara.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t be angry at you, Kaliq?” Lara said furiously. “Why did you not tell me this years ago? After Vartan died at least? You are no better than Kol, the Twilight Lord, secreting your seed within me.”

“I did not tell you because I wanted you to continue to believe that Dillon was Vartan’s son. Dillon needed to believe it, too, because he needed the normalcy that being the son of a mortal man gave him. He needed to know in those early years that he was Fiacre, that he belonged where he was, especially when you were away so often. And as Vartan’s son he held the responsibility for his sister Anoush when you were not with them. Oh, Noss and Liam had physical custody of the children, but Dillon felt Anoush was his charge despite that because she was his blood. As it was Dillon showed his talents from an early age, and the Fiacre were uncomfortable with those talents as they were with you and your magic. They tolerated Dillon because he was their martyred leader’s son. Would they have done so had they known he was in truth my son?”

Lara sighed. “No,” she admitted, “they would not have.”

“You have protected Dillon in your way over the years. I have protected him in my way. And do not dare to compare me with Kol! My love for you has always been a pure love. His was not. He would have kept you a prisoner in the Dark Lands had he had the power to do so. I allowed you to go free to live out your destiny.”

“I have wounded you,” Lara said softly. “I did not think such a thing was possible, Kaliq. You still love me.” She freed her hand from his.

“I have never stopped loving you, Lara,” the prince admitted.

“Does it please your cold faerie heart to know that, my love?” he taunted her.

The green eyes met his. “Aye, it does,” she said cruelly.

The prince laughed aloud. “Faerie witch,” he said in a fond tone.

“Does Dillon know the truth of his parentage?” Lara asked.

“I told him before I took him to Belmair,” the prince said. “Do you know he told me that he has suspected it these last few years?” Kaliq shook his head. “He is an amazing young man, my love.”

Lara nodded. “He is,” she agreed.

“Do not be angry with me that you must share him,” Kaliq said.

Now it was Lara who laughed. “You are the most devious man I know,” she told him. “Charming, but devious, and I think, utterly ruthless. Why did our son have to go to this Belmair? As I recall, my mother said it was a peaceful and prosperous place.”

“Peaceful, aye. But they have a mystery that unless solved will destroy them,” Kaliq said. And then he began to tell Lara the story of Belmair, and its connection with Hetar. How aeons before the divisive among the Belmairans had been exiled to Hetar so that Belmair could retain its peaceful ways. How Hetar had lost that knowledge of its history over the ensuing centuries. “They are much like the Hetarians, except they are peaceful and have no great passion for acquisition. They live according to ages-old traditions and laws. Their kings have always been chosen by the Great Dragon, who is Belmair’s protector. They are not always hereditary.”

“But why did this dragon choose Dillon?” Lara wanted to know. “Why a young sorcerer from Hetar?”

“Because the daughter of the old king is a sorceress of much skill. She has not Dillon’s talents for magic, but she is strong enough to work with him.”

“And why would she?” Then suddenly Lara shrieked, and jumped up. “You have mated them, haven’t you? Not only have you taken my son from me, you have given him to another woman! Tell me why I should not kill you, Kaliq?” Lara demanded.

“Well,” he replied, struggling not to laugh at her, for he knew she would never forgive him for it, “you cannot kill me. And yes, they are married. It is the tradition on Belmair that if an old king has an unmarried daughter, the new king must take her as his wife. They must be joined physically for the succession to be official. And the dragon and I stood witness to the event. Dillon is king of Belmair now, and Cinnia is his queen.”

Lara sat back down. “There should be something I can do to punish you,” she muttered darkly. Then, “Will he be happy with her? Please tell me he will be happy.”

Kaliq took Lara’s hand again, and then he told her of what had happened when the joining of Dillon and Cinnia had reached its culmination. “They will love one another eventually,” he said. “But first they will need to reach an understanding, for Cinnia is proud of her abilities and has no real idea of how much more powerful Dillon is. When she learns it, her pride will be hurt, and it will take her a while to accept the knowledge.”

“Is she a fool then not to realize a Shadow Prince’s son is stronger that the piddling magic her dragon taught her?” Lara queried him.

“Cinnia, like all Belmairans, has lived an insular life,” Kaliq explained. “She knows little of other worlds. She has no idea that Nidhug’s own powers are limited. Cinnia is known as the sorceress of Belmair, Lara. She is considered powerful among her own people. There is little magic in Belmair but for Nidhug and Cinnia’s.”

“What of its faerie population?” Lara asked.

“The Belmairans do not speak of faeries,” Kaliq replied slowly.

“I do not think that there are any in Belmair.”

“Every world has faeries,” Lara said. “They are a part of its creation.”

“If they exist there, then they are secret creatures,” Kaliq responded, “for I have never heard of any. Perhaps faeries existed in Belmair at one time, but they no longer do. It is not a large world, Lara, and it only consists of four islands in a great sea. There is more water than land mass to Belmair.”

“When can I see my…our son? You said you would take me there, Kaliq.”

“Let him have a little time to acclimate himself,” the prince suggested. Then, changing the subject, he asked her, “Will you tell Magnus the truth of Dillon’s blood?”

“Certainly not!” Lara exclaimed, and she laughed. “My poor husband is jealous enough of you as it is. I have finally after all these years managed to allay his fears. I did not even tell him I was coming here when you called to me. I left him sleeping in our bed, and I had best get back soon else he awakens and finds me gone.”

“Changes are coming,” Kaliq said to her as she arose and prepared to return to her own home.

“I know,” Lara told him. “I sense it, but not yet, Kaliq. I have time.” Then with a twist of her wrist and hand she left him in a puff of pale mauve smoke.

The Shadow Prince remained seated within his garden. He wondered how Dillon was doing. He had left him almost two days ago now. He almost withstood the urge to use his magic to check on his son. Dillon was a man grown, and he had to find his own way. Still Kaliq could not resist taking a small peek. Reaching into his white robe he drew forth a small crystal globe. “Show me my son,” he commanded it. The globe darkened, and then as it lightened Kaliq saw Dillon in a library with Cinnia. They were obviously engaged in a heated exchange. He wished he might hear them, but it was enough to see Dillon. “Cease,” he told the crystal, and it instantly cleared.

CINNIA SHIVERED suddenly, and shook off the sensation.

“What is it?” Dillon asked her, seeing her body shake momentarily.

“Nothing. Just briefly I felt as if someone was watching us,” Cinnia said. “And then it was gone. My father’s death, our marriage. It has all made me very nervous.”

“If you sensed someone watching, then someone was,” Dillon told her.

At once she was fascinated. “Teach me that kind of magic,” she said to him. “Nidhug never has. I just know potions, shape-shifting, simple spells, but nothing like being able to watch others. That is a valuable tool to have.”

“We would need a crystal sphere or a reflecting bowl,” Dillon said, “and I have neither. My father saw my wardrobe and the like was transferred from my rooms at Shunnar, but I shall have to ask for the rest when I see him again,” he told her.

“Oh.” Cinnia was disappointed.

He had lied, but he was in no mood to get into another argument with her. She was the most argumentative female he had ever encountered. She questioned his every move, and while Cinnia was a passable sorceress, and there were no other in Belmair according to Nidhug, she was not mature enough in his opinion to be given access to greater knowledge at this time.

“What are you contemplating, my lord?” she asked him. “Your brow has quite furrowed. That is something I have now learned about you so that I know when you think seriously,” Cinnia told him.

“I am considering how best to approach the problem of the missing females,” he told her. “Magic is obviously involved here, Cinnia. Now the question is just what kind of magic? And why are these females being stolen away and some returned when they are ancient? And why can they not remember where they have been, and are most distressed to find themselves old?”

Cinnia shrugged. “If the answers to those questions were known I should not need a powerful sorcerer for a husband,” she said.

“Who possesses magic in Belmair besides Nidhug and you?” he questioned her.

“Magic has never been an attraction for Belmairans,” Cinnia answered him. “Those who count themselves among the scholars are more interested in the history of our land. In the Academy, which is near the castle, they argue the points of our history day and night. The rest of our citizens are farmers, fishermen, artisans and merchants,” she told him. “I am useless to you, I fear.”

“Nay, you have been a great help to me. At some time, somewhere, here in Belmair, there was magic, Cinnia. I will go and speak to the members of the Academy to learn more about the history of this world in which we live. I shall be back in time for dinner, and tonight I shall expect you to share your bed with me.”

“I was quite worn after the joining,” she replied. “I am still tired, my lord.”

“What is it, Cinnia?” he asked in a gentle voice. “You may speak freely. You are my wife. Did you not enjoy the joining?”

“I did not feel in control of myself,” she told him candidly.

“Lovers are never in control of themselves, Cinnia,” Dillon said, reaching out across the rectangular table where they were sitting to take her hand in his. Turning the hand up, he kissed the palm, and then the sensitive inside of her wrist.

Cinnia colored. “There!” she exclaimed. “It is happening again. You touch me, kiss me and I am not myself. I am confused by it.”

“It is the same for me, as well,” he told her. “I feel the softness of your skin beneath my lips, breathe the scent of moonflowers that surrounds you, and I am lost, Cinnia. Each of us, the individual, the I becomes we, a single unit.”

“But I have never felt like this before!” she wailed at him. “I am…” She hesitated, but then she burst out, “Afraid! I don’t want to lose myself to you, to any man.”

“We do not lose our singleness just because we make love,” he told her. “We blend and combine our passions, Cinnia.” Then raising her hand up again, he kissed the back of it and pressed it briefly to his cheek. “I must go now,” he said, and standing up, he hurried from the library. Finding a servant he asked the way to the Academy.

“I will take you there myself, Your Majesty,” the servant said, and he led Dillon outside, over the drawbridge and down a short gravel path to a porticoed building. “There is the Academy,” the servant told him, pointing. Then he returned the way he had come, leaving Dillon standing before the building.

After a moment Dillon walked forward, and opening the door to the building he stepped inside. He was in a large foyer, and before him was a desk with an elderly man seated behind it. He stepped forward, and the man seeing him arose and bowed.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “Welcome! I am Byrd, the head librarian. How may I serve you?”

“I am seeking the history of magic in Belmair,” Dillon said. “Do you have someone well versed in the subject?”

Byrd thought. And he thought. Finally he said, “That would be Prentice. He concerns himself only with the obsolete in our history. He isn’t particularly well thought of that he would waste his time on the outmoded. Are you sure I couldn’t offer you another scholar? One who is more up-to-date in his thinking and his knowledge, Your Majesty.”

“Nay, I will need to see Prentice,” Dillon replied.

“Very well, I shall send for him,” Byrd said.

“Nay, I will go to him,” Dillon answered. “Where is he?”

Byrd reached into his black robes and drew forth a miniature life glass attached to a golden chain. He peered closely at it, and finally said, “At this time of day, Your Majesty, in fact at any time of day or night, Prentice can be found in his chambers, which are situated in the lower level of the building. He has no need for light or air it seems. Page!” he called, and a young boy came from the corner bowing before the two men.

“Take His Majesty to Prentice,” Byrd told the page.

“Thank you,” Dillon said.

“It has been a pleasure to serve Your Majesty. It is rare for the king to take an interest in us and what we do. I am honored, and I will tell the scholars of your visit,” Byrd replied, bowing again before returning to his place behind the desk.

Dillon followed the young page from the chamber, and down one, two, and finally a third flight of stairs. The first flight had been marble. The second was stone. The last wood. Down a dimly lit corridor they walked, and finally the page stopped before a wood door with a rounded top. He rapped upon the door several times before it was flung open by a tall, gaunt man with a shock of graying red hair. The page jumped back, frightened, and with a small cry turned and dashed back down the corridor to the stairs.

“Well?” the man in the door demanded. “What do you want?”

“Information,” Dillon said, amused. “You are Prentice, I assume.”

“If it has to do with our ancient past, come in. If it doesn’t then go back from wherever you came,” Prentice said bluntly.

Dillon bent to step through the doorway and into the scholar’s chambers. He heard the door close behind him. “I want the history of magic in Belmair,” he said, turning back around to face the scholar.

“Who are you?” Prentice demanded to know.

“Your king. My name is Dillon, and before you ask, nay, I am not of Belmair. I was born on Hetar. My father is Kaliq of the Shadows, and my mother, Lara, a faerie woman, Domina of Terah. And now, Master Prentice, I should like some answers.”

“So old Fflergant is dead,” the scholar said. “He was a good king, but dull as mud. You’ve married the daughter, Cinnia? She’s a sorceress, you know.”

“I have wed Cinnia. I’m a sorcerer,” Dillon replied. “Nidhug believes that by combining our powers we may be able to learn why the women are disappearing from your world before none are left and Belmair ceases to exist.”

Prentice nodded. “Of course you are right, Your Majesty. Magic will be involved somehow. Sit down! Sit down! I would make you some tea, but I seem to have broken all my cups.” He shrugged. “No matter.” He sat down opposite Dillon.

“Tea, appear. Here.” Dillon said, and at once a tray with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits appeared upon the table between them.

Prentice chuckled. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t suppose you could conjure up any wood for my hearth. They are supposed to bring it to me, but seldom remember.”

Dillon made a small gesture with his hand, and the wood basket was filled to overflowing. Then he pointed a single finger at the little hearth, and a fire sprang up.

“Now that’s a fine, practical magic to have,” Prentice said as he picked up the mug of tea and reached for a sugar-frosted biscuit.

“Your wood basket will never empty no matter how much wood you use,” Dillon told him. “Nor will your fire go out. Consider that a small payment in return for your knowledge.”

“I don’t suppose you could include the tea trick, too,” Prentice said hopefully.

Dillon chuckled. “From now on when you wish tea just tell the mug to fill itself, and it will,” he said to the scholar. “Now, tell me of magic here in Belmair.”

“It’s been centuries since anyone except the dragon has practiced magic,” Prentice said. “Once that wasn’t so, but somewhere along the line the magic was lost to us.”

“Were there any magic folk here in Belmair?” Dillon asked.

“Faeries? Pixies? Gnomes? Every world has magic folk of its own.”

“I seem to recall hearing of magic folk somewhere in our distant past, but it is not at my fingertips. Still I have the best ancient histories here in my rooms. I could seek out the knowledge that you need, Majesty. It might take a while,” he said, a languid hand waving at the shelves of books all about the room. “But I will find what it is you need to know.”

“Then do so, my friend,” Dillon told the scholar. “The rulers of Belmair have waited for over a hundred years. I can wait a little bit longer to learn what I need to know. Can you tell me about the Hetarian exiles?”

“Ah, now there I am quite conversant,” Prentice said eagerly.

“Speak, but condense it for me,” Dillon told the scholar.

“The official history taught to all the children is that those cast out of Belmair were dissidents who fought tradition and wished to make changes. Well, that is true, but there is much more to it. The old king was in his last hours. He had twin sons. Each wished to rule in their father’s place. But the dragon, in an effort to prevent these brothers from killing each other over the kingship, chose a young man from another of our aristocratic families. One of the twins accepted the dragon’s decision and swore his allegiance to the new king. But the other brother would not. Instead he attempted to change the structure of our government. When he could not he attacked the castle with his adherents. There was no other option but to banish them. We do not fight each other here in Belmair. We follow the traditions and customs of our ancestors for they are good customs and traditions. We do not want change.”

“And yet you have gotten change,” Dillon said. “I am not Belmairan born.”

“But the dragon is our tradition, and it is the dragon’s decision who will be king,” the scholar said. “The dragon chose you. And even I comprehend why someone from another of the worlds in the Cosmos was chosen. There was no one here in Belmair. It was that simple. And you could end up being Belmair’s last king if the problem of our lack of children isn’t solved soon, and quickly.”

“I agree,” Dillon said. Finishing the last of the tea in his mug he stood up. “I will leave you to your work, scholar Prentice. I will come now and again without warning. Do not be frightened if I suddenly appear as I am now leaving you.” Then Dillon moved into the shadows of the chamber, and was gone.

“Most convenient,” Prentice said to himself, and he set to work seeking out the books he would need for his research. Let the others among his kind mock his fascination with the past. With luck, his knowledge, coupled with the sorcerer’s skills, would save them all, the scholar thought almost smugly.

DILLON HAD REAPPEARED within his own rooms. He sat down in a chair by his fireplace and began to consider other alternatives available. What if all the young women left in Belmair were gathered into a single place upon each of the world’s islands? It would certainly be easy to protect them if they were in one place. But it would also make them vulnerable to capture. Until he knew exactly what he was dealing with, or who, Dillon realized they could do nothing. Why were these women being taken? And why were only some of them being returned rather than all of them? King of Belmair, he thought wryly. His father had certainly not set him to an easy task. But then he had been becoming a little too complacent in his life, and a bit smug in his talents of late, Dillon admitted to himself. Being given this problem to solve would be a test of all he had learned over his years at Shunnar. Was he really as good a sorcerer as he believed himself to be? Well, he decided, he was certainly more powerful than his wife.

Cinnia. She was both a problem and a delight to him. She was intelligent. Of that Dillon had no doubt. But she was also prideful and stubborn. She was known as the sorceress of Belmair, but then Belmairans were not a complex people. Their descendants on Hetar were far more sophisticated. Still, they sprang from the same root stock.

Cinnia, however, was not like the women he had known. She did not seem to be in the least interested in taking pleasures with him. She had accepted the joining, but after that she held him at bay. His mother was a woman of great passion, and his sisters would follow her lead. The oldest of his sisters, Anoush, had already had at least two lovers, but she was not yet quite ready to wed. Cinnia had exhibited great passion in the joining, but since then she had been cold and distant toward him. He didn’t understand.

He was handsome. Skilled. Patient. Lustful. What more did a woman want in a lover?

He had been given a serving man, one Ferrex by name. Ferrex was neither old, nor young. He was almost as tall as Dillon; quite dignified with a totally bald pate and dark gray eyes. Now he came silently into the room, waiting patiently for his master to notice him. As Dillon seemed quite deep in thought Ferrex finally murmured, “My lord.”

The younger man looked up. “Ah, Ferrex, I have strayed from my schedule, haven’t I? Have I missed anything that I should not have?”

“Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty, but I did not hear you come in,” Ferrex said.

“More often than not I travel by magic,” Dillon explained. “It is more direct. You will not hear me come in unless I call for you. I was at the Academy speaking with Prentice, the scholar on ancient Belmair. I need to know more of your world before I can even begin to solve the problem of the missing women.”

“My niece was taken several years ago,” Ferrex said. “My sister sent her to pick berries and watercress for the meal. She never returned, and no trace of her was ever found. She was just fifteen.”

“Here on Belmair isle?” Dillon asked his servant.

“Nay, on Beldane,” Ferrex answered him.

“This is happening on all the four islands?” Dillon queried the man.

“Aye, Your Majesty. None have been spared,” Ferrex replied.

“Did you want something?” Dillon said.

“The young queen was wondering if you planned to join her for the evening meal,” Ferrex said quietly.

Dillon turned his head, and saw the sun was low on the horizon. “I did not realize how late it was,” he admitted. “Aye, go and tell Her Majesty I will join her shortly.”

“I will send your page, Your Majesty,” Ferrex said. “Then I will return to see you properly garbed for the evening.” He bowed himself from the room.

Dillon smiled to himself. With Ferrex in his employ, the king of Belmair would never appear not at his best. And when he had finally bathed and dressed, Dillon had to admit that he looked the part he suddenly found himself playing. He descended to the Great Hall in a fine ruby-colored silk robe with a keyhole neckline and wide sleeves, the turned-back cuffs of which were embroidered in red crystals and tiny black beads.

“I thought you had gone,” Cinnia greeted him.

“Where would I go?” he asked her, accepting a goblet of rich red wine.

“Back to Hetar, perhaps?” she said.

“You are an odd creature,” he told her. “One moment you are pleasant, the next you are as sour as an old woman, and you refuse to take pleasures with me.”

“You Hetarians go on much about taking pleasures all the time,” Cinnia answered him. “Why is it so important to you? The night should be for sleeping and restoring one’s energies, my lord. Not for adding to your exhaustion.”

“Taking pleasures is very relaxing,” Dillon said to her, surprised. “And pleasures are not necessarily confined to the nighttime hours. They can be taken at anytime and in anyplace. I have made love in a garden beneath the noonday sun, and in a desert oasis with only the stars for light, as well as in my bed.”

Cinnia wrinkled her nose. “Have I not said I do not wish to hear about your other women, my lord? It is not a subject that is of interest to me, nor are your exploits. But as I do not wish you to be discontent in Belmair for we need your magic, let us set a time each week for us to take pleasures together. If your lusts need to be released more frequently then you have my permission to take a concubine for your pleasures.”

“Nay, Cinnia, only you will serve my lusts, and you will do so when and where I desire it,” Dillon told her.

“How dare you order me about!” Cinnia cried out angrily.

“Dare?” He laughed briefly. “May I remind you, Cinnia, that I am the king of Belmair. And you are its queen only because I permit you to be. I think perhaps the time has come for me to teach you that lesson so you will not forget it again.” Reaching out he yanked her into his arms and kissed her hard. “Soften your lips,” he commanded her, and then he kissed her again. This time the kiss was slow and hot.

Her heart was beating wildly, but she wasn’t going to let this foreigner they had made her marry control her. Cinnia bit the lips kissing hers.

“Ouch!” Dillon yelped, surprised that she would fight back. But then taking her by her arm he dragged her across the hall, sat down upon a chair and yanked her down across his lap, pulling up her silk skirts as he did. His big hand descended to make contact with her bare flesh as he licked the blood from his lips.

Cinnia squealed furiously. “Stop that at once, you brute!” she commanded him.

Dillon began to spank her in earnest. “Did no one ever bother to teach you manners, you vicious little bitch?” he demanded. Eight. Nine. Ten.

“I hate you!” Cinnia yelled, and she struggled to escape his grasp.

“Your behavior and attitude haven’t exactly warmed my heart, either,” he growled at her. His hand continued to smack at her round bottom. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

“I’ll never take pleasures with you again, you beast!” she threatened.

“Oh, yes, you will,” Dillon replied. Twenty! “I’m going to teach you how to be a woman, Cinnia.” He dumped her onto the hall floor, and stood up. “Anytime. Anyplace.” He quickly pulled her up. “Here. Now!”

Cinnia suddenly found herself being drawn down into his lap, and onto his manhood. She gasped with surprise to find herself very wet and ready for him. How could this be? He had been violent with her, and not at all a lover. She moaned low as her burning buttocks made contact with his bare thighs, and she felt him inside her fully sheathed. “The servants!” she cried softly.

“Will learn to be discreet,” he said as softly. “Now ride me, my queen, and ride me hard. If you do not give me pleasures, Cinnia, I will move us to the high board, and take you there until you do,” he threatened her. “I will lay your naked body upon that polished wood and make you scream for all in the castle to hear. Now, ride me!”

Cinnia began to cry. “I don’t know how!” she sobbed.

“Move yourself up and down upon my rod, my queen,” he told her, and when she began to comply he encouraged her, “That’s it, Cinnia. Now faster, and yet faster!”

She jogged up and down upon his manhood, her pace growing quicker with each passing moment. He held her gently about the waist, encouraging her onward. Her eyes closed and she grew languid as in spite of herself Cinnia began to enjoy the conjunction between them. His hardness felt so good. He probed her deeply and suddenly something within her responded. “Oh, yes!” she cried low. “Yes!”

Dillon smiled to himself. He had found her magic center. Every woman had one. It was just a matter of finding it. He helped her to help him work it, and very quickly Cinnia was whimpering as the pleasures began to flood her. “That’s it, my queen,” he murmured in her ear, and he kissed her mouth in a long and lingering kiss. This time she did not bite him. And then he felt the quivers within her beginning to rise up to overwhelm her. He allowed her the moment, and when she fell forward on his shoulder he gently lifted her off of his turgid manhood cradling her against his silk-covered chest. It would quiet itself shortly, and he was not at all ready to give up pleasures. The night was young. “Are you ready to eat now?” he asked her casually.

“You are a horrible man,” Cinnia murmured, her eyes still closed.

“When we have finished our meal I will show you some other places a man and a woman may take pleasures together,” he purred in her ear.

She wanted to stand up, but she knew that right now she couldn’t. How was it possible that he could make her feel this way? But it felt so right nestling against him.

Finally Cinnia thought she might stand up. “I’m ready now,” she told him, and arose from his lap wobbling just slightly. She felt his hand beneath her elbow and while she wanted to tell him she was perfectly capable of walking by herself, Cinnia didn’t dare because she knew it wasn’t true, and worse, so did he.

He seated her at their high board and took his place next to her. And then as if by magic the servants began entering the hall with the steaming bowls and platters with their meal. If any of them had seen or heard what had just transpired between their master and their mistress, they showed no evidence of it. Dillon filled his plate with raw oysters, prawns, ham and meat pie. Cinnia took prawns, capon and an artichoke. There was bread, butter and cheese, which they shared.

“The hall is too big for just the two of us,” Dillon noted. “Is there a smaller chamber we might use?”

“My father always ate in the Great Hall,” Cinnia said.

“I am not your father,” Dillon responded. “The hall is a grand place for entertaining, but you and I need a more intimate place to dine when we are alone.”

“It is tradition…” she began.

“Some traditions need to be changed. It is ridiculous for two people to eat in a hall built for great feasts. And it makes extra work for the servants who have to trot the length of this hall simply to bring us a platter or bowl so we may take a bit of food.” Dillon looked out over the hall to where the servants stood attentively awaiting an order.

“Who is steward here?” he asked.

A plump, short man stepped forward. “I am, Your Majesty. My name is Britto.” He bowed politely. “How may I serve Your Majesty?”

“Is there a smaller chamber where the queen and I may eat when we are alone?” Dillon asked the steward.

Britto’s brow furrowed in thought. Say no. The steward heard Cinnia’s voice in his head, for a quick look in her direction told him she had not spoken aloud. Say no! came the command again. “Your Majesty, I regret we have no other accommodation for your meals,” Britto said apologetically.

“You are certain, Britto?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I am certain,” the stewart said nervously.

“Then there is nothing else for it but that I make the Great Hall smaller when it is just the two of us,” Dillon replied calmly. “Hall, small,” he said. And suddenly the chamber walls seemed to move in, and the length of the room shrank by three-quarters.

Britto’s eyes grew wide with his surprise, and the waiting servants murmured anxiously as they suddenly found themselves in a considerably smaller space.

“What have you done?” Cinnia demanded to know.

“It’s a simple charm,” Dillon told her. “When we leave the hall it will return to its original size. But if it is just the two of us, or we have fewer than ten guests, the hall will retain a lesser proportion. Your precious tradition is preserved, Cinnia.” He looked down at the steward, who still stood before the high board. “And in future, Britto, you will accept my orders over those of the queen. Do you understand?” Dillon picked up his wine cup and drank deeply.

Britto swallowed hard. “I heard her, Your Majesty. Plain as day, I did, but she never opened her mouth,” the steward said, looking distressed.

Dillon laughed. “I’m surprised all of Belmair didn’t hear her she was shouting at you so loud, Britto. Your mistress is a prankster, are you not, my queen?” He caught Cinnia’s hand up, and kissed it. “She will not do it again, however, will you, my pet? It really is not kind to frighten our good servants.”

“I am sorry I startled you, Britto,” Cinnia said, extricating her hand from her husband’s. She glared at Dillon. “How did you know?” she murmured at him as the servants now returned to their duties and began clearing the high board of the dishes.

“Speaking silently comes naturally to me,” he told her. “That is one of the ways my mother first knew of my talents. Certainly you didn’t think I wouldn’t hear you?”

“Why did the dragon pick you?” Cinnia responded with her own question.

“Because she needs a sorcerer with true strength, and I am he,” Dillon replied. “You simply do not have the skills to overcome whatever magic is at work in Belmair. I do. But I will need your help. The dragon would not have taught you magic if you could not be of help to me. You must stop being angry at me, Cinnia, because I am king. You could not rule by those traditions that you seem to hold so dear. And you will never lose your fear of taking pleasures with me until you stop being afraid of losing yourself to our passion, for there is great passion between us. You are my wife. I want no other woman.”

“How can you say that and mean it?” Cinnia said. “Until several days ago I knew nothing of you. But within moments of our meeting we were wed. And after that we were joined, to legitimize your selection by the dragon as this world’s king. You know nothing of me.” Was he, she wondered, the one she had sometimes felt watching her? A feeling had come upon her at times in the last few years that she was being spied upon. Nay, it could not be Dillon spying. The feeling was not the same and he had not been aware of her existence in years past.

“But I do know you,” Dillon continued. “You are beautiful, which is obvious to all who look upon you. You are intelligent, and perhaps a bit too proud. You are kind, for I saw how gently you spoke with your father in the hour before his death. You have manners. And you have magic about you, for ’twas not only I who created that spectacular effect that was the result of our joining, Cinnia.”

“It didn’t happen before we ate,” Cinnia answered him. “And of course I am proud. I was born royal.”

“It didn’t happen earlier because we were angry with one another. We were not making love. We were making war,” Dillon told her. “When I make love to you, my queen, you will experience passion again as you did at the joining. As for pride I recognize it easily. My grandmother has the same prideful bearing that you do. She was born a queen, and she never lets you forget it. Now, the table is cleared. I believe that we have some unfinished business.” He stood, drawing her up with him. “Come!”

“I don’t know you,” Cinnia said as he led her out of the hall and upstairs to their apartments where their servants were awaiting them.

“What would you like to know?” he asked her. “You can see that I am handsome,” he teased her.

“And vain!” she shot back. “You told me you are twenty-two to my seventeen. You have siblings. How many? Are they brothers or sisters? I’ll tell you what I do know. You seem kind. And your brow gets wrinkly when you concentrate on something. And I know that your magic is far greater than mine. But you could teach me.”

“I have three sisters and a brother,” he told her. “Anoush is the oldest. She is your age. Zagiri is thirteen. The twins—Taj is the boy, and his sister, Marzina—are nine. My little brother is my stepfather’s heir. On Hetar it is believed I am the son of the martyred Fiacre clan chief, Vartan. Anoush is his daughter. As for teaching you my magic, Cinnia, eventually I will share some of my knowledge with you, but right now you are not mature enough, and your temper is much to quick to be entrusted with too much power.” His hand touched the door to their apartments, and it sprang open for him. “We will bathe first,” he said to her. “Together.” Ferrex and Cinnia’s serving woman, Anke, hurried forward. “Prepare the bath,” Dillon said. “Anke, take your mistress, and when she has disrobed bring her to the bath chamber.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Anke said. Like Ferrex she was neither old nor young. She was of medium height with a sweet face, slightly plump with pretty brown eyes and brown hair she wore in two thick braids woven about her head.

“Do not dally, Anke,” the young king said.

“No, Your Majesty, I won’t,” Anke answered, and she led her mistress away.

“He wants us to bathe together,” Cinnia said to her servant. “Is that not shocking, Anke? I shall not do it. Lock the bedchamber door.”

“Nay, mistress, I will not argue with my master in a matter so insignificant,” Anke told Cinnia. “Lovers like to bathe together, and it is time you became lovers. He is the king, and he is your husband. That is not likely to change. This is a good way for you to become better acquainted with one another. You have not lain with him since the joining. You will cause gossip if you continue to behave like a skittish doe with her first buck.”

“In the hall before the meal…” Cinnia began.

“He took you for a little joggity-jog,” Anke said. “I know.”

“You know?” The girl’s cheeks grew red.

“As soon as the servant entering the hall saw she withdrew, and warned the others not to disturb you,” Anke said in matter-of-fact tones. “She heard your cries as he was spanking you, and hurried to aid you, but saw you needed nothing, and did not require any rescue,” Anke finished. “He’s a fine man, mistress, and should give you great pleasures if you will let him.” She quickly drw off Cinnia’s silk gown and chemise. Then sitting her mistress down, she brushed her long black hair out and pinned it up. “Come along now,” she said, leading Cinnia brisky from her chamber to the bath chamber.

“I’ll leave you a night garment on the chair by the fire so it may warm. You may want it later, mistress. Ah, here we are!” Anke flung open the door to the bath chamber. Warm, moist steam billowed out into the small corridor. “I bid you good-night, mistress!”

Gently the serving woman pushed Cinnia through into the room and shut the door behind her quietly.

Cinnia stood silently for a long moment. The door behind her opened again, and turning she saw Dillon step through. Oh my! Cinnia thought as she looked at him naked. The joining had been such a tumultuous affair she really had not gotten a good look at him. She saw now that he had a big body, but it was proportioned properly.

Broad chest. Narrow hips. Long, shapely legs. He turned briefly to shut the door behind him. His buttocks were lovely. Nicely rounded, firm, and she had the most incredible urge to fondle them with her hands. Cinnia’s cheeks grew warm with her lascivious thoughts; and when he turned back to her he grinned. Her cheeks grew hotter. Could he know what she had been thinking? It was untenable! “Stop that!” she commanded him. “It is not polite to intrude upon others thoughts, my lord.”

He walked across the room and, reaching her, smiled down into her eyes. “I want to hear you call me by name, Cinnia.”

“You are the most arrogant man I have ever met, Dillon,” she answered.

He grinned again. “I probably am,” he agreed. “The result of my exalted pedigree, my queen. Now, let us bathe each other.”

The bathing chamber consisted of several small rooms. In the first two indentations in the shape of shells had been imprinted into the marble floor. A gold spigot, fashioned like an openmouthed fish, sprang from the wall bordering each of these recesses in the floor. Faintly scented lukewarm water poured from them. Next to each shelf was a small table upon which rested a large sea sponge and a round, flat dish of thickened soft soap bearing the same fragrance as the water.

She found herself quickly over her shyness regarding their nudity. She stole a quick look at his maleness. She was hardly familiar with the masculine body, but she doubted his manhood would be called insufficient by any standards. And if she was to admit it to herself he had indeed given her pleasure in the joining. It was that that most disturbed her. They were barely acquainted and she had enjoyed it. What did that say about her? Belmairans did not have the easy morals of Hetarians. Cinnia stepped into the shell.

“Now it is your brow that furrows,” Dillon said to her, and he directed the spigot head to wet her body.

“Are you invading my thoughts?” she said sharply.

“You asked me not to, and so I am not,” Dillon answered her. “I would know what troubles you, Cinnia. Can you put it into easy words, or would you prefer I seek those words for myself, my queen?” He dipped the sponge into the soap, and began to lather it over her shoulders and back.

She was silent a long minute, and then she said, “I liked what happened between us in the joining, Dillon. But what kind of a woman does that make me?”

“A passionate one, for which I am delighted,” he told her quietly.

“I reacted like an easy Hetarian woman. They were always different that way than we were. Swift to indulge their senses without a care for anyone or anything else,” Cinnia told him unhappily. “I didn’t know you, and yet I enjoyed the passions we shared in the joining. Nay, I reveled in it.”

“How many brides know the men with whom they are matched?” Dillon asked her. “It is rare in my world that women wed men they know well and love. Women in my world marry for many reasons, but love is rarely among them. Respect and love come afterward. Is it any different here in Belmair? And if a bridegroom is skilled and gentle, should his bride not gain pleasures with him? Why should her wedding night be one of fear and loathing, Cinnia? Why should she not have her passions stoked and brought to sweet fulfillment? Who would ever tell you such a terrible thing?” He swirled the sponge over her adorable buttocks, and squatted down to wash her thighs and shapely legs. Then he stood again and helped her to rinse the soap from her body.

When Cinnia turned to face him her pretty cheeks were pink. But Dillon tipped her small oval face up to his and tenderly kissed her lips. “No one told me anything,” she managed to whisper against his mouth. “Oh, I knew the basics of what must be between a man and a woman. Nidhug was emphatic that I learn such things. But we Belmairans are an old and honored race. Passion such as you engendered in me is unknown to us, Dillon.”

“Nay, it isn’t,” he told her. “It simply isn’t considered good manners in Belmair to discuss it, my queen. Enjoy it, aye! But discuss it? Nay! Would you like to do my back now?” Handing her the sponge he turned his back to her.

Taking the sponge from him, Cinnia rinsed it, and then dipping it into the soap she began to wash his broad back and shoulders. He was tall, and so it became necessary for her to stand upon her tiptoes. She laved the sponge across and down his body, and when she had finished she rinsed him as he had her, and Dillon turned about to face her.