Hers to Command Page 12

  Ari held Doral’s gaze steadily. He could feel the slight smile tipping his lips. “You understand me perfectly, Visconte DeLorion. I do not want you as my subordinate. I want you as my equal. I want you in my bed.”

  Doral frowned. “And Her Royal Highness? Where does she fit in?”

  Ari chose his words with care. “Doral, the L’anziano raised a fascinating possibility. Would you be willing to remain in Sylvan Mintoth in a much more—elevated—capacity? Say, that of Segundo Signore? As my and Her Royal Highness’ partner?”

  The two blades Doral had been holding rang as they fell to the floor.

  “What?”

  “I said Segundo Signore.”

  Incredulous, Doral gawked at him.

  I have never seen him do something so awkward, how very amusing.

  “Doral, the L’anziano think your genetic profile completes the perfect Tetriarch, only the second of its kind to occur in over 450 years. I would fill the Primo Signore position. Her Royal Highness would act as Prima Signora. If L’anziano are right, think what we could accomplish. Undoubtedly, there would be a period of learning how to work together. And you would take on a very heavy burden of leadership.” Ari caught Doral’s eyes. Ari knew his desire could be plainly read. “But you would have me and Fleur. Of course, we will not know it will work until we try. Are you willing?”

  Ari waited while Doral worked out the stunning implications.

  Doral’s eyes overflowed with speculation. “The sigil towers. The potential exists to empower all the sigil towers, planet-wide.” The visconte’s quiet voice was controlled. “We could halt Herrimon’s occupation. We could defend ourselves from anyone.”

  “Yes!”

  “I would be intimate with you and the princess?” Doral asked.

  Ari nodded silently. He couldn’t stop the crooked smile twisting his lips.

  Letting his head fall back, Doral closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He exhaled a long, slow, soft breath. “Yes, I am willing to try, High Lord.”

  Not the enthusiastic response I had hoped for, but I’ll take it. Ari raised his hand and brushed Doral's blond hair away from where it had fallen into his eyes. “You and I must wait until your discharge papers come through. But that doesn't preclude you and Her Royal Highness becoming better acquainted.”

  Doral flashed a sharp look toward him. “How much better?”

  “The two of you should set your own limits. I will work with whatever you decide.” He crossed his arms and continued soberly. “For this Tetriarch to succeed, the three of us must be intimate with each other. We must function as one.” He smiled wryly. “You will have to talk. I will have to share.”

  Doral grunted softly and looked at him in consideration. “You enjoy a bond with her that is rare. I don't want to damage that.”

  “You won't. She knows I am hers. I know she is mine. No matter what develops between the three of us, that will never change. You will belong to both of us as I hope we will belong to you.”

  The visconte stood, hands on his slim hips, blindly looking at the floor.

  Ari crossed his arms and ran his gaze freely over Doral's magnificent body. “I confess it will be a relief not to continually fight my attraction to you. I suspect my carnal fascination for you and the princess is on a genetic level, possibly part of this Tetriarch thing.”

  “You feel it too?” Doral laughed under his breath. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

  “Well, let's stop fighting a losing battle. I think our energies are demanded elsewhere. Oh, one other thing, Doral, it is ‘Ari’, or 'you bastard' if you are really incensed.”

  Doral flashed a rare, extraordinary smile and inclined his head.

  Ari was helpless not to return it. By the gods, man, how can I resist you? “In light of these circumstances, your term of service will be shortened. I expect the paperwork to formalize your discharge will be some days in coming.” Ari frowned. “Not sure of the procedure exactly, but there will be something of a public announcement.”

  Bending over and picking up one of the blades, Ari examined it, slid it into the scabbard on his belt, then eyed the piece still on the floor. “Let’s make sure Truillo gets his blade back, but diplomatically, please.”

  “I will gladly handle that for you, Ari.” Doral gave a small bow. Once again, his rare and beautiful smile appeared.

  * * * * *

  “My Lady, if I may have a word, please.” Camilla put down the tray of breakfast delicacies on a low table in the royal apartments and faced Fleur.

  Looking up from her reading, Fleur smiled. “Of course, Camilla.” Camilla twisted her apron into a tighter and tighter knot.

  “Oh m’Lady, about the visconte, well, oh, m’Lady, just please be careful.” Fleur blinked at her puzzled.

  “What do you mean, Camilla? Careful how?”

  “I have heard fearsome things about him, m’Lady, that he loses control, and, ah, and…”

  “And?” Fleur prompted.

  “He was Lady Allegra Contradina’s beast. She was a perverted, sadistic assassin. It is commonly known he served her well. Oh, my Lady, I am afraid for you.”

  “Oh, Camilla.” Fleur rose and moved to where her attendant stood, almost cringing with embarrassment and concern. “I am sure what you heard was greatly exaggerated.”

  Camilla shook her head vehemently. “No, ma’am, I…” she trailed off as Ari walked into the room.

  “Come look at this, Fleur,” Ari invited. “It is the funniest little book of sayings. I found it in the library when I was looking for books on our history. I think you will find it amusing.” He sat on the low chaise and patted the cushion next to him expectantly.

  Casting one more look at Camilla, Fleur joined Ari. Laughing together at the quaint little witticisms, heads bent together over the small book, she and Ari spent several pleasant minutes as Camilla and Sari set a small table with breakfast for three people. The aromatic smell of hot kaffé and warm panis filled the sunlit room.

  Finally putting the little book aside, Fleur paused, then confessed, “I really don’t know how to go on, Ari. I am supposed to get to know Doral, but what are we going to talk about? I find this very awkward.”

  “Fleur, I am certain Doral feels exactly the same way. Social ‘chit-chat’ is not exactly his forte.” Ari laughed. “By the gods, that’s an understatement. So, I have arranged lessons for you.”

  “Lessons? What sort of lessons?”

  “Where Doral excels and you don’t.” He laughed at the puzzlement on her face. “Self-defense, my sweet girl. Self-defense.”

  A sharp rap came at the door to their apartments. “Eric, if it is Doral, send him in,” she called.

  Ari’s junior officer slipped through the door and moved into the room. “Ari,” he nodded. “Your Highness.” He bowed deeply.

  She sprang up from the chaise and bounced toward him. “No bowing, and it’s Fleur. I am nothing like my father. Do you feel as awkward as I do? I am sure you must. But maybe you have had so many lovers it doesn’t matter? I have never felt my inexperience so keenly. Such a strange position to be in, don’t you think?”

  Doral tried to keep up with her spritely barrage of words. “Sorry, ah, yes—awkward, well some lovers, but it always matters, I suppose, ah, strange, yes…” He trailed off helplessly and cast a beseeching look toward Ari.

  “She is a little nervous, Doral,” Ari said, choking on his amusement.

  As her heart slowed its frenetic thumping, she took a breath. This fearsome assassin is as ill at ease as I am. The thought disarmed her. As quickly as it came, her nervousness vanished. She walked up to him, took his hand and looked up, and up. I knew you were tall… and well built… and handsome… but, oh my.

  “I am nervous.” She grinned. “Have I been slotted into the ‘hopeless nit’ category already?”

  His stiff posture relaxed and a slight smile pulled at his lips. “Never, my Lady.”

  “Shall we begin again?”

&nb
sp; “I would like that.” His blue eyes twinkled at her.

  She smiled and pulled him over to the table, now abundantly covered with delectable pastries, meats, and fruit. “Sit, please, Doral. Ari and I are going to discuss the morning’s agenda with our parliamentary leaders. We need to determine the best way to return our citizens now in the prison camps to their homes. I am sure you have some thoughts on the matter. I would welcome them.”

  She was delighted when he relaxed and entered freely into their conversation. Camilla’s warning was forgotten.

  She spent the rest of the day with Doral and found him amazingly well informed. Accompanying her on her many meetings with various governing entities, he sat quietly, observing. Many times, his mere presence was enough to shorten an tedious interlude listening to some pompous windbag. Any speaker prosing on, fascinated with the sound of his own voice, faltered and discovered a reason to leave when on the receiving end of a concentrated and unblinking stare from Doral’s ice-blue eyes. Fleur had underestimated her warlord’s fearsome assassin. It seemed many of her counselors could not escape him fast enough.

  Gently supporting her arm, Doral escorted her to the Great Hall, where she spent most afternoons hearing the complaints and petitions of the public. When her bodyguard opened the hall’s heavy doors, she heard sibilant whispers of “cold-hearted monster,” or “DeTano’s killer” as those assembled in the hall recognized her escort.

  His face impassive, he walked her the length of the hall, up three shallow steps and handed her gently into the large carved chair. Nodding at her guard, he took up a position behind her. Fleur motioned to the first merchant to step up onto the dais.

  “Ah, yes, your Royal Highness, I am Signore Bertollo, I am a baker on Signal Street and I supply…” The man trailed off with his eyes fixed on a spot behind her.

  “Yes, Signore Bertollo,” she prompted.

  “Ah, ahem, yes, ah, you see…” He stuttered to a stop, blinking.

  She turned completely around in her chair to see what so disconcerted the man. There was nothing behind her except Doral. Oh, goddess, surely not. He cannot have that fearsome a reputation.

  Doral bowed slightly. “Your Highness, if you will excuse me, there are certain matters that I need to attend to. I will return to escort you to the training rooms after your audiences are over.”

  “Of course, Visconte DeLorion. I should be finished here by three of-the-clock.” She smiled as he nodded. Had she been blind, she would have known the moment he exited the hall. The fall of each booted foot could be counted as he descended the three steps, walked the length of the Great Hall, opened the entrance doors and exited. The low thunk and click of the doors signaled the start of a low buzz of conversation replacing the echoing silence.

  Returning to face the baker, she let out a small sigh. I had no idea.

  “Continue, please, Signore Bertollo.”

  “Your Highness, if you remember…”

  At the end of the afternoon’s session, she found the visconte waiting patiently outside the Great Hall, seated on one of the long benches lining the portico. He relaxed with legs extended, crossed at his booted ankles, the lone occupant of a bench that would hold forty. Twenty feet away, the thirty or so petitioners still waiting were wedged onto seating meant for half that number.

  Her chest developed a heavy ache in the general area of her heart. Her throat felt suspiciously thick. She wondered if Doral really had “matters to attend to” or if he just wished the common people to feel relaxed in her presence. She wondered how long he had been sitting there patiently enduring the ostracism of those citizens he had risked his life daily to save.

  Doral stood, his face brightening at her approach. “Your Highness.” He bowed. “Would you like to begin your self-defense instruction?”

  “Yes, Doral. Thank you.” She smiled and arm-in-arm they walked to the training rooms. While Doral never volunteered any information, he willingly shared his amazing knowledge about a vast array of subjects when she asked. Their initial awkwardness never again reared its head. Fleur discovered a soft spot developing in her heart for Verdantia’s handsome spy-master.

  Now she waited for him in a small training room after the first of her lessons in self-defense. He is remarkably astute. I can actually perform the blocks and throws. He has adjusted them for my small stature. Her thoughts lingered on the feeling of his masculine frame pressing into hers as he moved her body through the proper alignments of hand, foot and torso. It will not be hard to have sex with him. I agree with Ari. I find nothing about him distasteful.

  “My Lady,” he acknowledged as he entered the training room in a fresh set of clothing. “The evening advances; may I escort you to your apartments?”

  “Please, Doral. I am in need of a long hot soak. Muscles are making themselves known in places I was not aware I had muscles.”

  He smiled at her complaint and held out his arm. “Madam.”

  She placed her arm around his, resting her hand on his wrist. “Your manners are beautiful, Visconte. Someone taught you well.”

  “Mother would have been glad to hear that. I think she despaired of me—often. I wish she were alive to see her lessons bear fruit.”

  “I am sorry, Doral. I didn’t mean to raise a painful subject.”

  “No, my Lady.” He patted her arm. “Most have lost those they loved. To avoid speaking of them is to cut out a part of life that holds cherished memories.”

  “Yes. I have many memories about my father that would surprise people if I shared them. He was not the tyrant most thought him.”

  “My Lady.” His nod indicated her apartments and he stopped and released her arm.

  “Will you join me again for breakfast, Doral?”

  “If it would please you, my Lady.”

  “It would please me very much and I wish you would call me, Fleur.” She smiled up at him. He wore an appraising look on his face that had her heart thumping faster. She became very aware of his stunning good looks and physical size.

  He leaned down slowly, holding her gaze. He is going to kiss me. She licked her lips nervously. I want him to kiss me. His eyes tracked her tongue. His lips neared hers. She closed her eyes, tilted her head and walked into him. His warm breath caressed her cheek. She opened her mouth slightly, eagerly anticipating his kiss—on my cheek? No! No! She opened her eyes suddenly and watched him pull back. She couldn’t miss the bulge in the front of his trousers.

  “Good night, Fleur.” He nodded, turned and walked down the hall.

  No! No! Come back! Oh, confound it all! She flounced into her empty apartments and scoffed at the artfully laid night table with two goblets for wine, two plates of sliced fruits and the carefully turned back bed. Well, there’s always tomorrow.

  The following day was just as lovely. She had a wonderful time with Doral. She found him a charming, attentive companion. His dry sense of humor ambushed her frequently, leaving her helpless with laughter while he gazed at her soberly, only the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Though reticent, he readily conversed with her when she brought up a subject and once again put her through a thorough workout on the basics of self-defense, carefully tailored to her size and ability.

  And once again, with exquisite courtesy, he walked her back to the royal apartments as dusk fell.

  “I enjoyed your company today, Doral. I am beginning to see why Ari values you so highly.”

  “You are too kind, my Lady. I am happy that my poor skills entertained you.”

  “Doral, I don’t think any of your skills are poor,” she laughed. “But, then, I haven’t sampled all of them.”

  The smile on his face made her blood race. With a look of intent, he leaned over. Finally! He will kiss me and we’ll… Her cheek felt the warmth of his lips, then he pulled back.

  “Good night, my Lady.”

  Nooo!

  * * * * *

  Councilman Herrimon paced his office, regularly wiping perspiration from his brow.
“Major General, I want your divisions battle ready and transferred to the surface of Verdantia as soon as possible. How much time do you think you will need?”

  “Sir, I should think an NT ten-day would be adequate to muster, have the men field-equipped and transferred to the surface.”

  Herrimon stuttered to an agitated stop. “A ten-day! Why so long?”

  The major general maintained his stance as if Herrimon were a reviewing general. “Sir, we are talking two divisions—six battalions, upwards of ten thousand men. We need at least that long to stage and transfer them to the planet’s surface.”

  “Just get it done, Major General.” Herrimon handed him a thick packet of papers from his desk. “These are your orders. You will march on Sylvan Mintoth and bring that city under my control. The details are spelled out in your orders. I doubt you will have any resistance. This is the last thing they are expecting.”

  Herrimon drummed his fingers on the desktop. “And Major General, I will be exceedingly unhappy if Queen Constante manages to survive your occupation.”

  At the surprised grunt of the mercenary leader, Herrimon examined him closely. “Do you have a problem with that Major General?”

  “No, sir. No problem.”

  “That will be all, Major General.”

  * * * * *

  “I feel like Elder Patricio.” Ari laughed, reining Grey over to walk beside Fleur's gentle, brown and white spotted mare, Sprite. The day was a lovely example of spring and the pair had taken a break from intense sessions with the High Enclave to ride while Doral was fitted for the new uniform he would wear at Fleur's coronation the next day.

  “How so, my love?”

  “You and Doral. Is there an impediment to having sex with him?”

  She choked. “No. He is a gorgeous man, immensely desirable.” Fleur flashed a glance at Ari before looking forward again. “I don't need to tell you that.” She paused and continued softly, “It is very good of you to step aside and give us these last three days to get to know each other. I find him charming and easy to be with. But…” She squirmed in her saddle.