His clean, earthy scent of sandalwood made her frantic with need. How could she reach him? Naughty ideas filled her mind, like straddling his lap and planting wet kisses all over his face and neck. Though sexually innocent, Clarysa had learned everything she needed to know about pleasing men from conversations with Lionel. Meeting Stellan increased her eagerness to experiment.
In a fit of impulsiveness, she rested a hand on his thigh. It felt muscular and firm. She gave the hard flesh the barest of squeezes.
He grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?” Suspicion laced his tone.
His response flummoxed her. Stellan wasn’t reacting the way most men did to a young maiden’s charms. “Just…I don’t know…exploring?”
Gently, he removed her hand. “This isn’t the time.”
Staring into his troubled, yet mesmerizing eyes, Clarysa searched for any flicker of mutual attraction that would contradict his words. Nothing surfaced–no emotion at all. Had she misjudged? In the garden at the wedding, when they first met, his expression had been so gentle and yearning. It was as though he had wanted to kiss her.
Perhaps she had misremembered. Maybe there wasn’t any attraction on his part. Was she too mundane–too unexceptional–for this dashing sorcerer? Probably.
He glanced away. Clarysa noticed a flush inching up his neck.
Idiot! You’re making him uncomfortable. No wonder he’s not interested. Chagrined, she left his side and poured them both wine. It seemed she would have to settle for conversation, but even that promised intrigue. She posed a question that had burned in her ever since she learned his identity. “Stellan, why is it always snowing in your land?”
The sorcerer looked at her, relief chasing away any lingering discomfort. He folded his hands on his lap. “Ah, the age-old favorite query. It’s an ancient curse, if the rumors are to be believed. I don’t know if it’s entirely true, but I can tell you what I know.”
Clarysa nodded, glad her question had eased the tension.
“As you’re probably aware, snowstorms have plagued the area for several hundred years, almost since the castle first appeared. From what I’ve been told, a powerful king built Vandeborg. I couldn’t tell you his name, however, because there were no records to be found. Stern but fair, he ruled over a fair number of subjects and commanded a moderate army.”
“Was he married?”
“Yes, but he fell in love with a commoner. She was a servant, or a serving girl in a tavern… Something like that. They carried on a torrid affair. Naturally, the Queen discovered the betrayal.”
Clarysa gasped. “What did she do?”
“According to the tale, she sought out a sorcerer–probably one of my ancestors–and ordered a curse put on the King and his lover. I don’t know how the curse affected the woman, but the King was cast into a deep sleep and placed in an unbreakable glass casket. It was placed in the middle of the throne room.”
“How eerie,” she whispered.
“Hmm, yes, I suppose. However, the sorcerer took pity on the King, and included a loophole in the incantation.” Stellan paused and took a draught of wine. “At each full moon, the King’s doppelganger could walk the land for an entire night. It’s rumored he spends the time searching for his lost love, for only her kiss can break the cruel magick.”
“But why is there so much snow?”
Stellan grinned. “The sorcerer’s personal touch. It’s a way to protect the King as he lays in the casket.”
“Oh,” she said, and fell silent for a few moments. “Then how did you know about the casket?”
“I found it.”
Clarysa perked up. “Truly? When?”
“The day I first arrived there.”
She stared at him, openmouthed. “Is it still in the throne room?”
“No. I moved it to a chamber deep within the castle.”
“What do you think happened to his love?”
Stellan shrugged. “The Queen ordered her execution, most likely. If this king does rise up as the legends say, it would be highly unlikely he knows. His spirit will wander the lands forever, searching for someone who is no longer alive.”
“Oh, how awful.”
A slight chill by way of a breeze brought with it a moment of silence.
Clarysa gave him a sympathetic look. “What a desolate and sad place your kingdom is. Why don’t you leave?”
“And go where? I…can’t return to my homeland.”
His sharp tone startled her. She bit her lip. “My apologies. I didn’t know.”
Stellan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Besides, the location is very strategic for hunting down Pestilence.”
Clarysa tapped Stellan’s boot to get his attention, for he was staring off into space. “I should like to visit your kingdom some time. With your permission, of course!”
“I don’t think it’ll be much to your liking.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Stellan eyed her for a moment. “You have my permission, but it’s a moot point. Your father would never allow it.”
“Oh dear, you’re right.” Clarysa cocked her head. “I’ll think of something!”
Stellan leaned forward, his expression serious. “Well, if you ever do travel there, you must never take the path through Dungeon Forest. Do you understand me? Never!”
A shiver ran through her. He’s awfully intense about it. “Why not?”
“I know it was originally the quickest route between Aldebaran and Vandeborg, but now it’s dangerously enchanted. There are sabrewolves and other deadly creatures. Few people have passed through that forest and lived.”
“But you have! You’ve made it through.”
Stellan shrugged noncommittally. “Just promise me you’ll never go there.”
Clarysa nodded. “I promise.” Then an idea occurred to her. “I know! Why don’t you come on the next hunt? I’ll…I’ll be hunting, too.”
“That can be arranged,” he murmured.
“Wonderful,” Clarysa breathed.
“Are you two having fun yet? Or should I be asking if you’re both decent?”
They turned to see Lionel strolling toward them. Clarysa jumped up to greet him, only to be met with his arm wrapping loosely about her neck. She shrieked in mock fear.
Lionel easily kept her wriggling form at bay. “Stellan, if this wench gives you any trouble, any at
