The Shadow Queen

information of a sort not available to me. How is this so, my wife?” Reaching out, he took her thin hand in his, his fingers tightening about her fingers.

“Let me go, Jonah,” she said in a suddenly hard voice. She pulled her hand from his rough grasp. “You know of my secret heritage,” she reminded him. “That I descend from Ulla, and the great sorcerer, Usi.”

He nodded.

“When our son began to sicken I reached out to any who would aid me,” Vilia told her husband. “A Darkling-her name is Ciarda-answered my call. On my death Egon will grow strong again, and fulfill the destiny meant for him as a mighty conqueror. Ciarda has a sister among the faerie post who brings her information from Terah, which is how I know the things I do. She gave me a miniature of Princess Zagiri, to show you, Jonah.” Vilia reached beneath her coverlet and drew out the small oval, which she handed to her husband. “Isn’t she lovely?”

Jonah stared at the heart-shaped face with its fair skin and soft, rosy cheeks. The girl’s mouth was lush. Seeing it, he considered the many uses those lips could have. Her eyes were green edged in dark gold lashes. Her hair was a mass of luxuriant golden curls that tumbled over her shoulders. He stared, mesmerized by her beauty. And then before his eyes the small miniature began to change, darkening first, and then growing light once again to show him an entirely different view of the painting’s subject.

Jonah’s mouth fell open with surprise as the picture now revealed the completely naked form of the Terahn princess. Her breasts were small but full with dainty coral-pink nipples. The figure in the miniature frame lifted one of those breasts as if holding it out to him while her other hand moved down her torso to rest suggestively at the smooth junction mounding between her shapely thighs. He licked his lips anticipating what it would be like to have the girl beneath him moaning with her need.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Vilia remarked once again. “She would be worth a fight, wouldn’t she, Jonah? If Terah will not give her to you then you must take her.”

“If Egon grows strong again with your sacrifice, Vilia, then why do I need a young wife to give me more children?” he asked her.

“I have told you that your offspring will be bargaining chips not just to solidify your power, but their brother’s, as well. His best allies will be his kinsmen and-women.”

“Has the Darkling fixed the time of your death?” Jonah asked Vilia. His mind was filled with lustful thoughts of the girl in the miniature. He couldn’t keep his eyes from it, and now the golden beauty was spreading her nether lips open with her fingers to reveal to him her hidden treasures. Her love bud was swollen, and pearly with her juices. The picture was so real that he could almost sense the taste of her on his tongue. Jonah had to turn away, for his lust was close to boiling over. The manhood beneath his robes was swollen and throbbing. He wanted Zagiri as he had never wanted another woman. And he would have her! Nothing, not even the faerie woman, would stand in his way.

“I cannot let go of my tenuous hold on life until I am certain that you will take this Terahn princess for your wife, Jonah,” Vilia answered him. “Bring her to Hetar. Let me see her, and I will be satisfied, but you must not delay, for our son grows weaker with every passing day. We will send your miniature to Terah, and ask once again for Princess Zagiri. If they refuse us then you will take her by force. Who are these Terahns that they dare to deny the Lord High Ruler of Hetar?” Vilia held out her hand. “Give me back the princess’s miniature.”

“Nay,” Jonah replied. “I would keep it.”

She laughed. The Darkling Ciarda had told Vilia that the picture held an enchantment that would make Jonah lust after Zagiri of Terah. And the miniature they would send secretly to the innocent girl would also be enchanted. Zagiri would fall in love with Jonah in spite of herself. She would want him, too, and would become his loyal minion. And the faerie woman Lara would have no choice but to ally with Hetar then. Jonah would be safe against the Hierarch if indeed he actually existed. I will die happy, Vilia told herself. Jonah and Egon will be safe. And Terah will be ripe for the plucking when my son is old enough to take it. Did not my cousin Kol promise me that night on the Dream Plain that Egon would be a great conqueror? “Aye, keep your miniature,” she told her husband. “It will keep your appetite whetted for the girl, won’t it, Jonah?” And Vilia laughed weakly. Then she closed her eyes, listening as he retreated from her bedchamber and closed the door behind him.

He shoved the small magical painting into the pocket of his robes. A young serving wench was sweeping the carpet in the dimly lit corridor. Striding up to her he said in a harsh voice, “Lift your gown, wench, put your palms against the wall and bend over for me.” She did not argue or even speak but obeyed his rough commands instantly. Jonah was grateful that Vilia had taught their servants total obedience. Pulling up his robe, he directed his aching manhood, thrusting into the serving girl, pumping her hard as he imagined her to be Zagiri of Terah. He pushed deeper and deeper. The girl moaned as she shared pleasures with him. Finally satisfied he released his juices, withdrew from the servant and, pulling down his robes, hurried off down the hallway.

The encounter had taken the edge off of his lusts for now. Jonah was surprised by his reaction to the painting of the young princess. He had always been a careful man. A man who retained complete charge over himself, and those about him. But seeing the girl’s beautiful face, and then her even more beautiful body, a body that was obviously filled with passion, he had found himself helpless to his own lusts. He had to regain control of himself again. He would not be like his predecessor, Gaius Prospero, who had found himself ensorcelled by a young and beautiful wife, and lost all of his abilities to rule in his desire to be with her. Nay! This beautiful, royal young wife would bring him prestige among the magnates of Hetar, and the people. He would convince them all that his marriage to Princess Zagiri of Terah would be the beginning of a new and prosperous era for Hetar. He would miss Vilia. But her sacrifice would not be in vain.

Once again the Lord High Ruler of Hetar applied to the young Dominus of Terah for his sister Zagiri’s hand. Taking Vilia’s advice, he told the Dominus that his sister would be known as the First Lady of Hetar, a title created especially for her. She would have a home in The City, and a villa in the Outlands on the sea. She would have vineyards, horses and cattle that would be hers. And all the slaves and servants she desired. He would treat her with respect and honor.

“If this came from any other man,” Lara said, “I should seriously consider it, but not Jonah. The man is wickedness personified. His persistence disturbs me.”

“He has sent a miniature of himself,” Ampyx said, holding it out to his mistress.

She looked at it. “He does not flatter himself,” she noted. “I will give him that. Dispose of it, and send the Lord High Ruler a final refusal. Be less diplomatic this time, Ampyx,” Lara instructed him. “Polite, but firm.”

“I will attend to it, Domina,” Ampyx replied, taking the miniature and bowing himself from her library. In his own small chamber the first secretary set the miniature down on his writing table and wrote the Lord High Ruler of Hetar. Then, calling an undersecretary to him, he dispatched the missive not noticing that the miniature had disappeared from his large writing table.

ZAGIRI AWOKE THE FOLLOWING morning to find the miniature upon her pillow. Picking it up, she gazed into the dark eyes of the man pictured, and an odd feeling she could not put a name to overcame her. He could not be called handsome. His long face was perhaps a bit too severe, but there was a distinguished air about him. “Who are you?” she wondered aloud, and turned the miniature over. Jonah, Lord High Ruler of Hetar were the words inscribed upon the reverse of the little painting.

Surprised, Zagiri turned the oval in her hand back again to look upon his face. His dark eyes compelled her and when his thin lips twitched with a small amused smile Zagiri gasped with surprise, dropping the miniature in her hand. It fell toward the floor of the chamber, and then jumped back up directly into her palm again. Her fingers closed about it as if to protect it from further misadventure.

Suddenly the picture went dark, and when it grew light once more it pictured the dark-eyed man upon a large bed making love to a golden-haired girl Zagiri recognized as herself. She could not turn away from the tableau playing out before her eyes. The man was slender, but well muscled. His male member was quite large. He reached out to caress the breast of the naked girl and Zagiri could feel that hand caressing her breast. His mouth closed over a nipple, and Zagiri felt the tug of his lips, the swipe of his tongue as he licked the warm flesh of her bosom. She sighed with pleasure as those lips touched hers. She felt the pressure of them, the heat of them. Oh, it was wonderful! She had been kissed before, but never quite like this. A little moan escaped her, and, startled, she turned away from the miniature. When she looked back again it was his face she saw.

Had she imagined that erotic scene? Of course she had! Pictures of people didn’t become alive. Zagiri laughed weakly. How had the miniature gotten into her bedchamber, and upon her pillow? She somehow knew her mother