Taming the King Read online

  The voice came from somewhere in the air, and she gazed around, a prickling of fear icing her spine. “Did you hear that?” she murmured to Henri.

  He broke off staring at Marquisa’s boobs and said, “Heard what?”

  “Oh nothing.” Violet nibbled at her food and stared at the window. Maybe she had everything wrong. Maybe Marquisa would be the perfect mate for Henri, after all, her own cousin had begged him to marry someone who looked just like her.

  “That’s not true.” The voice, louder now, lifted the hair on the back of her neck. She spun around, but no one was there.

  “What is it, dear?” Henri patted her hand.

  She wished they were alone in the room so she could leap into his arms and clutch him tightly. He made her feel so safe and secure.

  Dinner dragged on, and the voice didn’t reappear. Violet ate hardly anything, although the cook had really outdone himself with fresh asparagus, tender quail stuffed with grapes, and for dessert, apricot mousse with rose petals. The wine sparkled in crystal glasses and the silverware clinked softly against the plates, but Violet hardly noticed. Marquisa’s presence distracted her, along with the fact that you could never break a deathbed promise. King Henri, the man she’d started to fall head-over-heels in love with, would have to marry Marquisa.

  Could Queen Mabb, the Fairy Queen, be implicated in all this? She frowned. Queen Mabb stayed out of human affairs as much as possible, but her cousin, Summer Willow, had been one of Mabb’s favorites. When she’d become human to marry King Henri, Mabb had sent a sumptuous wedding gift—six perfectly matched white fairy horses for Henri’s stables.

  Then Summer Willow had died in childbirth, and the horses had vanished, Henri had gone mad with grief, and Queen Mabb had declared a day of mourning. And she, Fairnight Winter Violet Frost, had taken care of the tiny baby girl, loving her and protecting her until she could be happily married and her job done. She hadn’t counted on falling in love with the baby’s father.

  All those years she could have run off and had fun, she’d stayed by the palace caring for Lily, and peeking into Henri’s chambers, where he sat, head bowed in sorrow. How she’d longed to comfort him! And now when she could finally give him back his smile, what happened? Her sneaking, conniving, tricky cousin Marquisa had shown up, lured, no doubt, with the thought of becoming a queen.

  She set her spoon down and clenched her hands in her lap. No, Mabb had no hand in this. She would have showed up along with Marquisa. So whose voice could it be? Could it be Puck? Hardly likely—he’d been banished for another of his silly tricks years ago, and no one had heard from him since. He had to be lurking somewhere though. “Puck?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  No answer came, and she sighed. What had started as almost a game between her and Henri had become far more serious than she’d ever imagined. Maybe she should just give up and let Marquisa have him, after all, she’d spent enough years of her life tied down to castle and princess…she could be free now!

  No! No, she could never be free. She glanced at the man next to her and a warm, fuzzy feeling grew in her chest. Henri, with his steel-blue eyes, dark, reddish-blond hair and high coloring. He had never lowered his arms and stopped ruling his kingdom. Even in the depths of his despair he’d taken care of the myriad problems that beset his rule, never shirking, never giving any sign that he, Henri King of Bavars, wanted to be free of his responsibility, even if just to mourn his wife. Well, if he could do it, so could she.

  “See, not such a frivolous fairy after all.” The voice whispered in her ear, and she started, but at that moment Queen Daisy clapped her hands and no one noticed.

  “Let us retire to the salon. Geoffrey has prepared the table, and we shall now contact your dear wife, King Henri. Come.” The Queen of Erenoth trotted off and they followed, walking through the wide hallway that led from the dining room to the salon. On either side of the hallway, tall, multi-paned windows showed the moonlit gardens. Then they arrived in the salon, a cozy room lit by a fireplace. On one table there sat a tray with a silver teapot and china cups. But on another table, a crystal ball glittered balefully.

  “It’s not magic,” said Queen Daisy, as if reading Violet’s mind. “It just helps me focus. Come, sit down, everyone. We shall hold hands and think of dear Summer Willow. You know, I met her at your wedding,” she said to King Henri. “Such a lovely woman. The news of her death devastated us, really.”

  King Henri held Violet’s hand on his right, and on his left, he held Marquisa’s cold, narrow hand. She in turn held the King of Erenoth’s hand, who held his wife’s hand, who completed the circle holding Violet’s hand. As soon as they had all joined hands, a sort of tingle ran from one hand to the other.

  “Hello, dear friends.” The voice came from above them, and Henri jumped.

  “Summer?” he called, his voice breaking. Emotions crashed through him, as images flooded his mind. The first time he saw her, standing in the Fairy Court as he’d gone to pay his respects to Queen Mabb. Their courting, so lusty, so vibrant, as she gave her body to him, and then her heart. And then her decision to become mortal and marry him, which had taken his breath away. He’d been so young then, so full of life and hope.

  Tears gathered in his eyes but he could not blink them away. In the middle of the table, surrounding the crystal ball, a soft mist grew. In it, he saw himself as a very young man, holding Summer’s hand, walking through a secluded birch grove. As was her habit, as soon as they could be alone, Summer took her clothes off and offered him her body. In this scene, her advanced pregnancy gave her an irresistible, awkward grace. He remembered that day, for it was their last day of complete happiness.

  The scene shifted and Summer lay in the bed, her face drenched with sweat, her hair plastered to her head. But still so beautiful to his eyes. And in her arms lay a tiny baby.

  “I’m sleepy, will you take her for a while?” she asked. And Henri saw himself step forward and take the child. A pang shot through him as he remembered holding the soft bundle and the baby’s milky, sweet, kitten scent. He left the room and it darkened as evening stole across the land and shadows lengthened. Then someone stepped inside. A gasp went around the table as they all recognized Marquisa. She walked to the bed and looked down. In her hand, she held a glass of what looked like fresh water.

  Marquisa uttered a cry and tried to flee, but Henri held her tight on one side, and the King of Erenoth held her firmly in place as well. “The circle must not be broken,” said Queen Daisy in a tranquil voice.

  “It’s not true,” sputtered Marquisa, but no one heeded her. They all stared at the image in the mist.

  In the image, Marquisa smiled and bent over Summer Willow. “Are you thirsty dear? Have some water, it will refresh you.”

  “Thank you, Marquisa.” Summer Willow sat up and drank the water. “Have you seen my daughter?”

  “Oh yes, a dear little thing, isn’t she?” Marquisa went to the window and drew the curtains closed. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Was it very hard becoming mortal?”

  Summer Willow shook her head, then grimaced. “Not until now. The birth took a great deal out of me, and I’m not as strong as before.” She gave a little cry. “I think something is wrong, it has started to hurt again. Will you go fetch Henri?”

  “Why certainly. I’ll be glad to go get Henri.” Marquisa took the glass of water and left the room.

  For a while nothing happened, except Summer Willow lay moaning softly. Then she uttered a plaintive cry and seemed to sink deeper into the pillow. Her face grew waxen. After a minute, the door opened again, and Marquisa slipped back inside. She took Summer’s hand and then dropped it. “Goodbye, Summer,” she said. Speaking the harsh, guttural words of a spell, she waved her hands, and her body shimmered and melted into the still figure on the bed.

  “A ghost speaker,” breathed Queen Daisy. “So that’s how she did it.”

  Henri had no idea what she spoke of. All he felt was bitter sorrow and a r
age so fearsome he knew he was crushing Marquisa’s hand, but she said not a word. Her fear was a palpable thing hanging over the table.

  Now, in the image, people came into the room and saw the queen. They cried out, and someone ran to get King Henri. He rushed into the room and fell to his knees by the bed, his face twisted in shock and fear. “Summer, speak to me!” he cried.

  “I’m dying,” the body in the bed whispered. “The birth was too hard. Promise me something, Henri. Promise.”

  “I will, of course I will.”

  “Promise you’ll marry only someone who looks exactly like me.” Her voice faded away. “Promise.”

  “I will never marry again.” His voice broke, and Henri, recalling the moment, closed his eyes.

  “No, you must marry again, but only with someone who looks just like me.” She sighed.

  Henri, his heart broken, said, “I promise.”

  He’d said it. Then the scene flickered and vanished. Only the crystal ball remained.

  Marquisa yanked her hand free and stood. “It’s all a lie,” she spat, “A lie!”

  “I don’t think so.” The King of Erenoth stood. “Guards!” he called.

  “No one can hold me against my will! Your mortal chains cannot touch me.” She darted to the window. Then as a gust of wind blew it open, she changed into a crow and spread her wings. But before she could go anywhere, a huge owl swept into the room and seized her in its claws.

  Instantly, she turned back into herself, but the owl changed too, and became Queen Mabb. The fairy queen wore an expression of fury, and Marquisa quailed and covered her face.

  Henri’s head spun as he beheld the scene. Queen Mabb was the eldest of all the fairy folk. She stood tall, despite her age, and her beauty was unmarred by her fury. Marquisa squirmed to escape and let out a high wail. The urge to grab his sword and skewer Marquisa nearly overwhelmed him, but he stayed his hand and waited to see what would happen.

  The fairy queen held Marquisa at arm’s length. Her lips twisted in rage. “How dare you poison Summer Willow?” Her voice shattered all the crystal on the table.

  “Who told you?” Marquisa struggled but to no avail, and suddenly a silvery voice laughed in the air.

  “’Tis I, Puck! I saw the séance and flew to fetch Queen Mabb.” A small fairy lad appeared right in the middle of the table. He was dressed in yellow and green, his hair a riot of curls, his mulberry eyes dark with anger. “I told Queen Mabb and she has come to punish you.”

  He turned to Violet, his eyes crinkling in mirth. “I frightened you tonight, didn’t I? But I had to stay hidden. Mabb told me that if I screwed this up, I’d be banished for good. I’ve been spying on Marquisa for ages. Mabb suspected something foul, but could never prove it.” He hopped off the table and shook Henri’s hand. “Pleased to meet you at last, King Henri.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Master Puck.” Henri stared, bemused, at the sprite. Puck seemed made of quicksilver and willow branches. To Mabb he said, “What will happen now? Am I still bound by a promise?”

  Mabb shook her head. “No, I release you and bless your forthcoming marriage with the Lady Violet.” She bestowed a gentle smile upon him. “You deserve happiness, King Henri, for your heart is steadfast. Violet has proven her worth by watching over your daughter all these years and never wavering in her task. I am proud of both of you.

  “I will come to the wedding, so be prepared to receive the Fairy Court. Now I must go. Marquisa has committed a terrible crime and we will punish her as we see fit. Farewell, King and Queen of Erenoth.”

  With a mighty clap of thunder, Queen Mabb, Puck, and Marquisa vanished.

  * * * * *

  Violet stood very still. Her heart should be rejoicing, for Queen Mabb had officially given them her blessings. But only sorrow filled her. Her body ached with it. Her beloved Summer Willow had been poisoned. Why had she left her alone that day? If only she’d have stayed, she would have saved her. A tear wandered down her cheek.

  “What’s this? A fairy tear?” Henri took her chin in his hand and with the utmost tenderness, wiped it away. “Don’t you think I feel as badly as you? I know what you think, and I suffer the same guilt.” He hesitated a minute then said with a sigh, “’Twas fate that took her away from us, and fate will set things right. I have you now, Lady Violet, and I love you with all my heart. Summer Willow taught me how to love, you see, and I’ll never forget that lesson.”

  Violet let him put his arms around her and she snuggled against his broad chest. “I love you too, Henri, King of Bavars, though it means giving up my immortality and binding myself to you, I do so with great joy.”

  “May your union be blessed,” cried Queen Daisy, her hands clasped at her bosom. “I have rarely seen such a handsome couple,” she added.

  “When shall the wedding take place?” asked the King of Erenoth, striding forward to shake hands.

  “In one month’s time, at the summer solstice, come to Bavars and prepare for a fete like you’ve never seen,” said Henri.

  “With the Fairy Court and Queen Mabb, I can hardly wait!” The plump queen of Erenoth gave a sharp cry. “We have to decide what to wear! Good night, dear Violet and Henri. We shall see you tomorrow before you leave!” And with that, she hustled out of the room, her husband trotting at her heels.

  Henri touched Violet lightly on the cheek. “Shall we retire to our room, my Lady?”

  “Yes.” Violet waved her arm and transported them to their room. “Shall we continue where we left off?” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  Henri nodded, an answering smile on his lips. Violet looked down at him, and the feeling that had been growing in her belly made her close her eyes tightly, but it wasn’t pain, unless sharp desire can be called pain. With a shiver, she slipped out of her dress, letting it slide down her body in a cool waterfall of silk.

  “After tonight, we must wait until our wedding to make love again. I will leave you and go to the Fairy Court to prepare my trousseau, and you must post the banns and ready the kingdom.” Violet couldn’t keep her hands off him, and as she spoke she lifted his tunic over his head, pulled his tights off, and splayed her hands over his broad chest and flat stomach. The sight of his cock sent a rush of wetness to her cunt, and already her body flushed with desire. A tightness, like a coil being wound, grew in her belly.

  Henri must have known what she felt. His hands skimmed over her thighs and grasped her rounded hips, and he pulled her close in one fluid motion. His mouth sought Violet’s, his hands roamed over her body, caressing and molding himself to her. His breath grew harsher and deepened.

  “One month until the wedding is too long,” he murmured. “I will miss making love to you, I miss the taste of you, the feel of you, and the…oh, by Eros, I can’t talk anymore.”

  “Then don’t speak.”

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed. With one hand he pulled the covers down, and then he deposited her gently on the pristine sheets. His eyes darkened as he looked at her, and they grew hooded with desire. “So lovely,” he whispered.

  He settled himself on the bed next to her, the bed dipping with his weight. Her heart started pounding as he touched a finger gently to each of her nipples, then he lowered his head and pulled one into his mouth, sucking until it grew hard. Tingling flowed from her nipple to her womb, making it ache, and she reached for his cock.

  “No,” he said gruffly, his mouth still full of nipple. “You are my slave now. I order you to lie back and not move. In fact, conjure some silk ties and I shall fasten your hands and feet to the bedposts.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” she gasped and obeyed. King Henri tied her so that her arms and legs splayed wide but she could not move, being held down with silken bonds. This had been the test she’d feared most of all, but now that she lay tied up, it didn’t frighten her so much.

  “Are you all right?” Henri pushed a lock of her hair from her face, his eyes questioning.

  “I trust you.” A
s the words left her lips she knew them to be true. With Henri, she would never feel captive, no matter how many silken bonds she had. Instead, she felt a wicked heat growing in her belly and her cunt twitched in eagerness.

  She gasped again when he rose on his elbows then kissed a burning trail down her belly to her pussy. She spread her thighs further and he pressed his mouth to her sex, his agile tongue darting into her damp folds, exciting her even more. Her clit throbbed and grew so hard she thought it would burst, and her cunt wept, begging him to fill it. He did, with his fingers and tongue, and Violet thrashed her head back and forth upon the pillow, hardly knowing where she was or what she did.

  “Please, take me!” she found herself begging. She pulled against the ties but could not move.

  He chuckled and gave a tender nip to her clit. “Conjure me some magical toys, so that I may watch as I penetrate you.”

  “All right.” She closed her eyes and brought forth a glass rod shaped like large, graduating beads. Then she called forth a vial of scented oil, and a long golden feather.

  “The beaded rod is most interesting, my Lady,” said Henri, picking it up and rubbing it suggestively. His voice, she noticed, deepened when he got aroused and his eyes grew heavy-lidded. Her own eyelids felt heavy and her mouth had gotten soft, so that when Henri leaned over and kissed her she thought she would melt into his lips. A spasm shook her and she moaned.

  He put the rod down and took the feather. “Close your eyes,” he said. She did, and she felt him draw the feather down the side of her face, across her collarbones and to the very tips of her nipples. Then he tickled her beneath the arms, down her sides, and across her belly, drawing the feather back and forth.

  Then she felt the tip of the feather sliding between her legs and along the insides of her thighs. He drew it slowly down one leg then up the other. When he got to her cunt he slid the feather between her labia until it rested against her clit and there he left it, moving it just the slightest bit.

  Violet could hardly breathe. Her whole body seemed concentrated on the soft bit of feather resting on her clit. Then she felt something warm pool on her belly. The scent of sweet oranges filled the air as Henri poured the oil onto her body.