The Queens of Merab 3 Temair’s Aire Page 5

  When he came back to himself, she was still wrapped around him, stroking his face, his hair, pressing kisses along his cheekbone.

  “You are mine, Lord Aire,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his chest as she settled in to cuddle.

  He stroked a thumb along the dark wing of her brow and allowed himself a little smile, remembering the streaks of gray that now marked her eyes. He was most definitely hers.

  * * *

  Nabal knew he had no logical excuse for being in the hallway outside Zevan’s chamber, but then, he wasn’t used to having to explain himself to the likes of the princess’s hired thugs.

  He was on his third pass by the chamber when the princess herself emerged, and he jerked back around the corner and out of sight. She was a round little thing, and not nearly as biddable as he’d hoped, but right now there was a sensual pout to her waspish little mouth that made him imagine how it would look wrapped around his dick.

  One of her guards quirked an eyebrow toward the chamber, and the little slut laughed out loud. “Oh, yes,” she answered his unspoken question. “He’s most certainly the one.”

  Oh, no, Nabal thought as he stomped off in the direction of his aunt’s sitting room. Zevan was most certainly not the one. Not if he had any say in the matter.

  Chapter Six

  Sick of the oppressive silence in the Aerie, Miach and Dathan decided to take a tour of the inner city of Aire. Its placement among the jagged cliff-tops didn’t lend itself to an agricultural society. Instead, the city had a rough, minimalist feel that might have had some appeal if the faces of the citizens hadn’t been as cold as the temperature.

  The aire was still chilly, but the wind had finally died down enough that Dathan wasn’t quite as frozen as he’d been in the Aerie. The sun tried to peek through the heavy cloud cover, but did little to add any warmth or brightness to the land.

  Damn, but this was a miserable place. He longed for the warmth of Rayne. He cast a sideways glance at his fellow Consort who, of course, refused to willingly share his warmth. His attraction to the warrior was getting stronger by the day. Hell, by the hour. It was only strengthened by their mutual bond with the princess. The closer Dathan was to Temair, the more he wanted to be with Miach, too.

  He suspected Miach was finally beginning to admit, if only to himself, that he returned at least a little of that attraction. Alas, the warrior was too stubborn to admit as much to Dathan. It was enough to drive him crazy. Every flicker in those hell-black eyes went straight to his dick, and he knew damned well that Miach felt it, too. But Dathan had made a promise to his wife -- and to himself -- and he planned on keeping that vow until the time when Miach worked up the balls to take what he offered.

  For now, Dathan dragged his cold, hungry gaze off the Fyre Lord and observed the buildings and people around them.

  They were on foot, accompanied by two of Temair’s personal guard, and two of the Aerie guards. Miach had protested that they didn’t need babysitters, but the head of the Aerie guard had looked hunted and insisted, and rather than cause a scene Miach had grudgingly agreed to let others join them.

  The Aerie was cleverly constructed on the face and jagged tips of the highest cliff in the Aire Land’s mountain range, which meant a sharp descent on roughly carved stairs if one wished to visit the city. Upon entering the stone gates, their group slowed, observing the shops as they came into view. The buildings were as rough and bland as the stone used to build them, but were quite busy, with men, women and children going about their business.

  He pointed to what was obviously a local drinking spot. “Let’s have a drink. I hear the Aire liquor is quite potent, even compared to your Fyre brandy.”

  As usual, Miach merely grunted, but since he turned toward the tavern, Dathan assumed he was in agreement and they all headed to the pub. Dathan opened the door and heard Miach direct the guards to wait outside. He was grateful the Fyre Lord was so fierce; the Aire guards started to balk but with one scalding look, Miach stopped them in their tracks so that Dathan and Miach entered the pub alone.

  Dathan sought out the empty table nearest to the fyre and held his hands out toward the blaze, rubbing them together to try and restore some heat. Miach rolled his eyes and sent a pointed glance to the bar.

  A male of medium height limped quickly over to them. “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” He had very short, very light gray hair, and Dathan remembered something the Lady Alta had said about darker hair indicating more powerful magic.

  “Yes, your best ale,” Dathan said easily because, teasing aside, he knew better than to indulge in anything stronger in such uncertain territory. The server bobbed his head quickly and hurried off without ever meeting Dathan’s eyes.

  Dathan was casting his gaze around, amused but not surprised to note that Miach was doing the same, when a crash followed by the sharp sound of flesh against flesh echoed through the room. Dathan’s attention instantly jumped to the source of the sudden disturbance. The man who’d gone to get their drinks was standing before a young, beautiful woman, a dark red splotch on one cheek where he’d obviously been struck, hard. Dathan watched in astonishment as the woman brought her hand back again.

  “You fool! You are truly useless. I should send you to my sister. I’m sure she could whip you into shape. She’s much sterner than I am, and it is obvious you didn’t learn your lesson the last time.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Drea. Please, I beg you, let me stay here with you.”

  Dathan’s stomach churned with disgust and distress as he watched the sneer distort the lovely woman’s face, and the abasement of her servant.

  “Fine,” she finally huffed. “You may stay for now, but I’ll expect you to remember the mercy I showed you today.” She held out her hand and the man grabbed it, pressing a small kiss to her first finger which bore a large Aire gem.

  “Thank you, Mistress.” Dathan frowned, unable to understand why the man was determined to stay with a woman who treated him no better than a rodent she found under her feet.

  A deep growl next to him drew his attention away from the ugly scene, and over to Miach. The Fyre Lord’s pale face was rigid with fury as his eyes narrowed on the woman who’d retreated to a comfortable chaise near the fyre.

  “I do not like what I am seeing in this place.” Eyes crackling with inner fyre, tone silky with menace, Miach was a dangerous temptation, and if the situation hadn’t been so disturbing, Dathan might just have given in to that temptation after all.

  “I agree, Consort. But I’m afraid that if we interfere, we’ll just make things worse for the poor wretch.” Miach frowned, but he didn’t disagree. “I think the only thing we can do is relate what we’ve seen to Temair. Perhaps she can convince Lady Alta to intervene.” Not that he believed the Aire Lady would. After witnessing her castigation of that poor faceless male at the Aerie -- a situation he realized he’d never shared with his wife or the Consort -- Dathan suspected Lady Alta would be more likely to applaud the abusive woman than to punish her.

  “I fear you’re right.” Miach sent another scathing look toward the Lady-Innkeeper, who sipped daintily at a steaming mug. “There is something more foul in this land than the fucking dreary weather. Come, I’ve lost my desire to drink in this place.”

  The warrior didn’t bother waiting for Dathan as he stood and stalked out the door, his anger sending tendrils of heat through the cold interior of the pub in his wake. Dathan quickly followed.

  Outside he heard Miach attempting to dismiss the guards.

  “My Lord Fyre, we cannot leave you to your own devices,” one of the Aire guards was saying. The young woman was built for fighting, and dressed for it, too; her body covered only in thin breeches, tunic and leather vest. Her companion, a male guard with a haunted face, stayed silent, but his eyes flicked anxiously between his partner and the First Consort.

  “You aren’t about to tell me what I can or can’t do, are you?” Miach’s voice was all silk
y menace again, and the female guard shivered even as she looked pissed. “I am First Consort to the future Queen, and thus only subject to her directions.” He turned on his heel and walked away further into town, leaving the Aire guards speechless behind them, while the royal guards looked on in amusement.

  Dathan had to move fast to catch up with him. With each step they took, each street they passed, the set of the First Consort’s jaw became more rigid, the slashes of angry color on his cheekbones darker.

  Finally, Dathan couldn’t stand the silence. “Miach, what is wrong with you?”

  Miach turned his fiery gaze on him. “What’s wrong with me? Are you blind, man? Take a look at what’s going on around you.”

  As he’d hurried along beside Miach, he’d only spared the minimum attention for their surroundings. Now, Dathan turned his attention back to the buildings lining either side of the street. As they moved slowly down the lane one thing became starkly clear, the men of this land walked around with fear plastered on their faces. None would look at the Consorts as they passed by. Once Dathan caught sight of a man with a bruised face; another man was locked tightly in a wooden stockade. Dathan felt bile rise as the details of the city were seared into his brain.

  The men here were being mistreated, abused. Out in the open, as though it was perfectly natural to humiliate and berate another human being.

  He stopped Miach from walking any further into town with a light but unbreakable hold. Dathan himself was ready to commit murder; he didn’t trust what the warrior would end up doing if he came to his breaking point. “Let’s go back to the Aerie, Consort. We need to let the Crown Princess know exactly what is happening in her Queendom.”

  * * *

  Miach didn’t want to run back to his wife. He wanted to gather up all the broken men around them and unleash cleansing fyre on the whole fucking Aerie. He knew Dathan was right, he’d even caught the Rayne Lord’s distinction that they should inform the Crown Princess, not their wife, but he was still pissed as hell and wanted to incinerate something. Or, failing that, to punch something. Repeatedly. Until it bled.

  This was the reason he’d sympathized with the rebels. It was one of the reasons why he’d chosen the life of a warrior instead of marriage. He’d heard enough rumors, had witnessed harsh looks, and knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t be happy married.

  He still didn’t think he’d survive marriage to anyone but Temair. She was different from any other woman he’d ever met. She wore her compassion and her heart on her face. She was kind and loving, but she was also wise and more ready every day to take her place as Queen of Emetra.

  Today all the feelings he’d put away when he married the princess came flooding back, filling him with impotent rage. He stalked off toward the Aerie, desperate to burn off some of the rage. He needed to practice the Fyeria, he needed to be buried in his wife’s purifying depths, he needed something, anything to stop feeling so fucking helpless.

  Dathan was trying to keep up with his stride, but Miach was like a whirlwind thundering across the water. He didn’t want to have a conversation with the Rayne Lord, didn’t want to look into those too-knowing blue eyes and try to ignore the hard, lanky body hidden by layers of down and rough cotton. No, he needed to spar with Darmon and release the anger that was burning him inside and out.

  Dathan ducked in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and halting him. There was a surprising amount of strength in the Rayne Lord’s arms, and it sent a lurching flutter through Miach’s stomach. He stilled, telling himself it was anger making his voice rough, not the feel of those long fingers digging into his shoulders.

  “Let go of me, Lord Rayne. I’m not in the mood for your touchy-feely wisdom.”

  Dathan shook his head, slanted blue eyes glowing in that mesmerizing, unnerving way. Instead of loosening his hold, Dathan moved in on Miach, pressing his body against him, and pressing his lips with a firm, inescapable caress. Miach was utterly stunned, too shocked to move, let alone react.

  Dathan continued his assault on Miach’s mouth, pressing full, smooth lips against Miach’s, teasing with a scrape of teeth until Miach opened for him, and Dathan’s tongue slipped tentatively inside.

  Miach thought he should be pushing the other man away, not bringing his own hands up to clutch Dathan’s forearms. He should be pulling back, instead of sliding his tongue along the Rayne’s Lord own rayne-sweet one. His cock shouldn’t be hard and throbbing, yearning to know what it would feel like to have Dathan’s wicked tongue glide along his balls.

  The thought brought him out of his daze, and he used his grip on Dathan’s arms to push the Rayne Lord away from him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  The smug bastard crossed his arms and gave a small smile. “I thought it was fairly obvious.”

  “I’ve told you more than once that I am not interested in fucking you.” But the words felt false leaving his mouth. While the kiss had been brief and incendiary, Miach felt something pass between them on a level far more than just physical.

  “Kissing you wasn’t about fucking, Consort.” Dathan’s smile warmed, became less smug, almost serene. “I saw the look on your face back there. I recognize pain when I see it, Miach. Seeing that… it affected me, too.” The Rayne Lord shook his head, sending the heavy fringe of his hair into his eyes. “I wasn’t making a move this time, Miach. I was offering you comfort, understanding, hell, I don’t know what to call it. All I know is that I couldn’t stand to see that look on your face. I prefer you surly, even angry, rather than how you looked back there.”

  Miach opened his mouth, only to close it without speaking. What was he supposed to counter with? For once he really believed Dathan wasn’t trying to piss him off with sexual innuendo. No, his fellow Consort was offering solace, a comforting embrace. The family that Temair kept insisting they become. Miach felt a small pang near the vicinity of his heart. He didn’t know what disturbed him more, the desire to grab on to that comfort and hold it deep inside, or the fact that he could still feel the imprint of Dathan’s mouth on his own, and he wanted more of that, too.

  “Don’t do that again, water boy.” It was a struggle not to pull the man back in, to press against his body. Especially when the bastard gave that catlike smile, his blue eyes glowing. “Not unless you want a fyre ball shoved down your throat.” He forced himself to let go, to step back.

  “Not until I’m invited, First Consort,” Dathan agreed. Miach refused to smile as Dathan made a showy bow. “Come on,” he continued, heading back toward the stairs leading to the Aerie. “We need to get back and inform our beautiful wife of what we found.”

  Dathan made a little “after you” wave, and Miach moved past him. He was filled with so many uncomfortable feelings and desires he could hardly think straight, but now was not the fucking time to get caught up in them. Getting to Temair and trying to help the men of the Aerie was the only priority he’d allow himself to have for now.

  Chapter Seven

  Temair paced back and forth in front of the familiar window in the sitting room of their suite before stopping to face her two Consorts. “Are you certain?”

  Their description of their visit to the city below had left her feeling sick and filled with guilt. Guilt that she hadn’t known. Guilt that she hadn’t done anything. Guilt that she was furious her mother had allowed things in the Aerie to deteriorate so far through her neglect.

  Miach approached her, placing his hands on her shoulders, sending soothing heat into her skin, but even he could not warm the chill she felt in her bones.

  “Yes, Spark. The abuse is real, and seems to be the way of things here in Aire.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Nuriel said, grief filling her musical voice. “Why would any woman want to do that?”

  Temair forced back tears and let her anger swell. “This can’t go on any longer. No wonder the men of Emetra want a rebellion.”

  “You need to confront Alta and find out if this is her phil
osophy,” Sorcha commented from her spot by the fyre. Temair knew her foster sister was correct, but she also knew she needed to tread carefully with the Aire Lady. She did not trust her, and until she had claimed Zevan as her Consort, she would rather not alienate the woman. After, though, when she was sure Zevan was safely bonded to her, she would take care of Alta and what she allowed to happen within her borders.

  “You’re right, Sorcha. At dinner tonight I will claim Zevan, and insist on an immediate bonding ceremony. And then I will demand an accounting for what we have observed here. I will not tolerate the abuse of any of our citizens, be they male or female. It will stop.”

  As she thought again of the scenes Dathan had described as Miach looked on in silent fury, Temair wanted to choke the Lady Aire. She also wanted to ask her mother why these things were allowed to happen to her subjects. Temair knew the answer already, though. Her mother loved Emetra and all the people of the four elements, but she had become obsessed with conceiving another child to the point that she lost sight of anything else.

  For that very reason, Temair knew she wasn’t going to tell her mother what she’d found. Not until they were sure that this pregnancy would come to term. The conditions at the Aerie would fill her mother with too much guilt and stress, and Temair was determined not to do or say anything that would jeopardize this child’s healthy birth.

  “Come, let’s go to dinner.” She accepted Miach’s arm and allowed him to escort her from the room, but was too upset to accept her Consorts’ or her foster sisters’ comfort. This land was hers, and it would be up to her alone to right this wrong.

  * * *

  Sitric leaned back against the frigid stone wall of a rarely used passage into the guest chambers. Zevan had once taken him on a tour of the Aerie, pointing out all the hiding places and forgotten passageways, and Sitric had taken to using them to listen in on the conversations of not only the Queen-to-be and her Consorts, but also to Nuriel of the Beasts, and Sorcha of the Mystery.