Red flushes Javier’s cheeks as it hasn’t done since he was a boy. “They are, Sacha especially, ambitious, Mother. And I’m their prince. If-” He’s stumbling now, eager embarrassment making for tongue-tangled frustration. “If events should move forward, and I know Sacha dreams they might, then he might earn himself a title or lands separate from his father’s. How could I tell him no? And Marius-” Now colour truly curdles his face, ugly contrast with his ginger hair. “Beatrice was his,” he says dully. “I owe him something.”
“You’re his prince,” Sandalia says mildly. “You owe him nothing. Rodrigo reminds me that I have never seen war, Jav. Neither have you. Perhaps you should wait to see it before you consign your dearest friends to their glory. Besides, winter comes on and there will be no dramatics during the cold months. It’ll be spring again before the ice breaks and the world moves forward again.”
BELINDA PRIMROSE / BEATRICE IRVINE
19 October 1587 Lutetia, Gallin A gong and a whimper of dismay awakened Belinda, sunlight filtering through tangled lashes and turning her vision to red in the moment she became aware. The bell sounded a second time, and so did the whimper, the latter bringing a lazy smile to Belinda’s lips. She slid a hand across the sheets, encountering a curve of flesh and following it upward to find the sloppy spill of a breast. The nipple reacted as she plucked it, hardening and earning another whimper, more bewildered and shy than the first. Belinda rolled closer, setting lips and teeth to the girl’s breast, eyes still closed with lazy satisfaction, and slipped her hand down the girl’s body, sifting her fingers through rough curls. Dismay squeaked in the girl’s throat and Belinda lifted her mouth to speak even as her fingers delved inside the young woman, seeking a moisture that had not left her in the night.
“Is it different in daylight, Nina? You seemed eager under the stars. Is it frightening now? Is it wrong?” The need for domination had left her while she slept, content filling her mind as the pool of witchpower within her replenished itself. But an edge remained, though whether it was power demanding more or simply the irresistible toy in her bed, Belinda was both uncertain and uncaring. Her dark-haired parlour maid lay bound ankle and wrist, wide open for teasing and taking, far too sweet to ignore.
A cruelty that had left her had deliberately chosen to keep Nina spread through the night, a kerchief shoved into her mouth and tied so the girl’s crying wouldn’t disturb Belinda’s sleep. Nina’s hair was still damp with tears, pincurls slick and delicate as they stood away from her temples, and marks reddened the sides of her mouth where she was gagged. Viciousness was gone, but Nina’s helplessness woke pulsing hunger in Belinda’s veins, strong enough to kill any impulse to release the girl. “Shall I stop, lovely child?” Her thumb worked a quick hard circle between Nina’s thighs, sending a shudder of confusion through her body. The protest she’d begun was swallowed, eyes wide and uncertain. Belinda chortled, rolling her weight on top of the young woman, who exhaled sharply through her gag.
The bell sounded a third time, sparking irritation. Belinda flounced off the bed, knowing full well she behaved like a spoilt child, and snatched up a dressing robe to run down the stairs in. Being left to answer the door herself was certainly her own fault, with Nina occupied as she was.
Marius, a high-collared cravat not quite hiding bruised tooth marks on his neck, stood outside the door with eyes dark and haunted. “Beatrice…”
Belinda caught him by the sleeve and pulled him inside, molding herself against him as the door closed behind him. “Did you sleep? Your eyes, my lord…”
“I could not.” His voice was hoarse and Belinda smiled against his chest, then turned a sweet gaze on him as he clutched her upper arms. “I shouldn’t be here, but I cannot think for desiring you, Beatrice. What have you done to me?”
“Young lust, m’sieur. Young love. This is its taste.” Belinda loosened his grip on her by lifting her hands to touch his collar. “I was cruel. You must forgive me, please.”
He hissed, jerking his head, though his pulse leapt as she touched the marks she’d left. “Did you find a girl to sate your need, my sweet?” Her own heartbeat rose too quickly, surprising her with the dark playfulness in the question. She’d thought her power replenished, with no need to take more, but the impulse to tease the young merchant rode her heavily, pressing her beyond good sense back into passion. Good sense: she clawed at the memory of it, aware of how quickly it had fled her the night before, and feeling it falter again as Marius shook his head with another quick hard motion. Laughter and desire, so tied together she could fight neither, spilled through her, and Belinda stepped back, taking his hands. “Then let me help you.”
Hope flared in his eyes, so bright it made her laugh again, breathless. She shifted her shoulders, letting her dressing robe fall loose, so that only her arms, pressed to mound her breasts as she drew Marius with her, kept it in place. His gaze dropped to the soft flesh she displayed, arrested by it. “Lady Beatrice.” His voice was thick, tongue clumsy with desire. “I would not have imagined you so…” He swallowed, unable to find the word.
Belinda wet her lips, walking carefully up the stairs, each step taken backward so Marius kept his eyes on her body. “So wanton, my lord?” Her own voice was hoarse, more artifice than desire, hiding laughter instead of showing need. “I said my husband was old, not well suited for pleasing a young woman. I did not say he was… unimaginative. He had a young wife, and certain…desires to play out.” Laying the blame on a man who’d never existed, making him cruel and hard and creative, made it too easy to blur the line between herself and the role she played. Too easy, but necessary: Beatrice should never have Belinda’s expertise, not without an excuse that a young man, half in love with the idea of rescuing a lonely widow, could accept. “Let me show you how I can ease your need.”
She knocked her bedroom door open with her hip as she spoke, Marius fixated on her until Nina’s shrill scream broke through the gag as a pathetic, high sound. She twisted on the bed, hands knotted, hips raised as she struggled against her bonds and only tightened them with her efforts. A blush scarred Marius’s cheeks, his gaze torn between Belinda and the writhing, bound girl on the bed. “You have admired her, have you not?” Belinda whispered. “She has known a man’s touch before. Take your pleasure from her, and think of me.”
Nina screamed again, bucking and flinging herself against the bed. Marius flinched, his colour still high, and spoke with no conviction: “She does not want me.”
Belinda released his hands, letting her robe flutter around her as she went to the bed. “She will,” she promised, confidence burning inside her. More than confidence: a drive to prove herself, to explore, to control; all things lying outside Belinda’s sense of self, lying beyond her long-imposed stillness. There were reasons to draw back, reasons that seemed far away and faded behind a wall of golden fire. It was without hesitation that Belinda sat at Nina’s side, stroking her hand down the younger woman’s belly as she repeated, “She will.”
Nina shrieked again, spitting a curse that spilled new tears from her eyes and turned to dry sobs inside a breath. Belinda leaned down, kissing tears away and touching Nina’s breasts. She could taste her servant’s thoughts if she wanted to, helpless repetitions of resignation struggling with the need to defend her own honour, discomfort at the erotic potential of her mistress’s touch, a horrifying acquiescence that hungered for more. “Nina.” Belinda whispered the name, taking her hands away and shifting to sit at the head of the bed, lifting Nina’s head into her lap. “Are you afraid, Nina?”
The girl nodded, dying hope coming into her eyes, into her thoughts. Perhaps her mistress would let her go from the nightmare she’d been brought into in the dark hours, if she admitted to her fear. Belinda’s soft smile made that hope blossom and Nina twisted, not in rebellion this time, but in supplication. Love me, protect me, save me, I’ll do anything spun through the desperate action and Belinda’s own body tightened with desire. “Do you want him to fuck you, Nina?”
Belinda felt hot tears spill along her own temples, felt the tension in Nina’s neck as the girl shook her head frantically. Another smile curved Belinda’s lips, offering another shard of cruel hope to her serving girl. Power sang through her, encouraging, dominating, and Belinda leaned closer to whisper against Nina’s ear. “Do you feel any desire now, Nina?”
Nina shook her head again, coldness in her body and thoughts telling Belinda the answer was true. The witchpower needed no gathering: it was there, golden and heavy, exploring the nuances of Nina’s emotions. It heated and shot a throb of need into Nina along thin tendrils of connection, so sharp and unexpected that even Belinda gasped with it, uncertain if it had been her own choice to fill Nina with aching want. Belinda knew that aspect of desire all too well, memories of a lifetime’s training at learned arousal in a submissive position rising,
