Her King's Command Page 8

  The smell of burning skin caught Dom's attention. He kneeled in front of her and stared into her face.

  "Look at me," he whispered. "The flame is cold. It has no substance. It is a ghost. Turn your hand and hold it. Bring it to rise higher, as a beacon for that which you summon. Good girl. More."

  Shannon locked eyes with him, unblinking as the flame rose through the back of her hand and beyond her palm. "They come," she whispered. "I can feel the horses returning. Did I do it?"

  "Yes, you did it. Do not look away from me. Watch," Dom whispered, placing both hands on either side of the flame sizzling upon her palm. He formed a cup, and scooped the flame from her. He held the flame from their bodies, lifted it towards the sky, then turned around and tossed it upon the pile of wood for the cook-fire. The sticks and logs erupted into crackling flames just as the horses arrived. The guardsmen quickly unsaddled and hobbled them, thanking Dom multiple times.

  Shannon's mouth fell open as she heard her companion being addressed as royalty. "Mother of the gods, you are King Domitri d'Gavril," she whispered.

  "I am he."

  "Yours is the face that haunts my dreams." Her face paled to the color of the full moon.

  "I tried to see you from afar. I was blocked, presumably due to your gift," he said.

  "Why did you deceive me?" Shannon asked, her voice heavy with disappointment.

  "I had to know that I could trust you."

  "Trust me? In what manner? How is it that you feel you could trust anyone after a handful of days?"

  "I am able to sense things."

  "You led me to believe that my future husband did not care enough to come and escort me. You treated me like a common peasant. You spanked me!" Shannon grew angry and crossed her arms. "You spanked me!"

  Dom reached for her hands and unraveled her arms before kissing both palms. "I did what I needed to do. I needed to know you to be true before I revealed myself to you. I have enemies, those who wish to kill me. Like you, I face death if I'm captured by those who do not support me. Does it hurt?"

  Shannon looked at her blistered hand and scraped palms. "Not as much as my heart right now. Your deceit pains me more greatly than my wounds."

  "Does that mean that you have started developing some affection towards me?"

  "Never. It is the discovery that I have been a mere pawn in His Highness's game of chess."

  "That is untrue. As for your affection towards me, you lie. Poorly." He held her gaze.

  "I will never forgive your lies."

  "I did not lie to you. I simply did not tell you all. Fear drives you to try to control your destiny. You must learn to surrender to the fear and allow life to guide you."

  "Surrender will make me weak," Shannon murmured. "Weakness is death."

  "No, my darling. Giving in to fear is death. If you cannot surrender to your fear, then surrender to me."

  "I cannot. I do not know you."

  "You will learn. Shannon? You did well. I am very pleased with your conjuring. You have remarkable talent and simply need some direction. I will provide that guidance."

  His praise caught her by surprise. "Thank you, Your Grace," Shannon forced out, as she lowered her face.

  "The only time I am king to you is when we are before the people." He placed her burned hand on his chest after kissing the tips of her fingers. "Say my name, Shannon."

  "Moarte?"

  "Moarte is Romanian for death. I will never be Moarte to you again. My name."

  "Domitri?"

  "Dom." He kissed her burned palm. The injury faded from view.

  Shannon gasped and touched her palm. "How did you do that?"

  "The same way you summon nature. I give in to my heart."

  CHAPTER 7

  "There is no need for us to rush our journey. Instead of finding an inn, we shall camp here tonight, under the stars and the full moon. Take a hunting party out and gather food. Four of you are to stay and finish preparing the camp," Dom called to his men. After the hunting party had left, Dom continued to bark out more orders from his place next to Shannon. His hand remained on her injured leg to comfort her. "I am going to help prepare the meal while you rest your leg."

  "Are you able to heal my knee like you did my hand? Or my bottom?" Shannon asked, rubbing her calf.

  "Healing is not my primary gift. I can only heal small injuries at this time. As for your bottom, you were paddled as a lesson and must suffer the consequences."

  "What is your primary gift?" Shannon asked, blushing as several men chuckled at his comment.

  He began to prepare the stew. "I can speak into people's hearts and convince them to do my bidding. Some call it persuasion, others say it is manipulation."

  "Do you attempt to persuade all you meet in order for you to get your way?" Shannon grimaced as she kneeled while tossing some twigs into the flames.

  "No. As a promise to my father, I only persuade my enemies," Dom said quietly.

  "Then why do you act unhappy? That sort of gift can prevent a war." When he did not answer, Shannon asked, "Dom? What type of bidding do you demand upon them?"

  "The type that sends an Ottoman army of five thousand walking off the side of a cliff," he said despondently.

  Shannon's mouth hung open in disbelief of his admission. Terror rose within her and she stood, pointing at him. "The rumors about you are true! You are a murderer. A cowardly, blood-lusting murderer!" she shrieked.

  She gasped as the sharp edge of the Guard Captain's heavy sword touched her throat. "You are never to speak to our king in such a manner, woman! Bow before him and beg his forgiveness, lest I strike your blasphemous head right off your shoulders."

  "No!" Dom shouted. "Do not harm her! Keep your distance and drop your weapons!" he commanded, as the other men raced forward with their swords drawn.

  Shannon keened. The trees shivered as the sound of her unholy wail wove through the branches and around her attacker. The soldier fell to the ground, clutching his head while the others looked on helplessly.

  "Release him, Shannon," Dom said gently. "He means no harm to you. He is my Right Hand, and is sworn to protect me. Sir Jorje is ignorant of the way in which you are accustomed to expressing your anger. He acted out of honor."

  "Honor?" Shannon hissed, touching her throat where the sword had been. She pulled her fingers away to look at the thin line of blood. "If he meant no harm to me, then he would not be lying there, bleeding from his ears."

  "Had he meant you harm without the intent to honor me, then he would be dead. Release him."

  Shannon waved her hand, turning her head to look at the man writhing on the ground. As the other three knights raced to his aid, she limped silently into the thick woods. She could sense Dom following her with his eyes, but did not hear him call for her.

  Deeper into the forest she wandered, unafraid of the beasts of the woods or the oncoming darkness. The sun began to set, its rays piercing through the thickets and leaving behind a subtle glow on the edges of the leaves. Shannon sat upon a large rock in a clearing, and rubbed her throbbing knee. She looked up to the sky as the first stars began to twinkle above her, and allowed the peacefulness of the place to calm her heart.

  Guilt riddled her heart once again. Her words to Dom had been cruel. He had done what was necessary to save his people and so many others that would otherwise have been mercilessly slaughtered by a rampaging, enemy army. She had never borne witness to a battle, but knew that no one would be spared, not even the little ones. The sisters had tried to teach her not to judge others against the actions she would have chosen for herself. They had taught that different people have different reasoning, and that wisdom came when one was open to listen and learn. She had not shown wisdom, nor had she given Dom the courtesy of listening. She condemned him for his gifts, yet all the while he had openly accepted her abilities. She was a fool. A shameful, ignorant fool.

  The howl of a lone wolf sounded through the rustling trees as the moonlight rose to shine upon the clea
ring. Shannon closed her eyes and lifted her palm to the sky. A tiny flame appeared in her hand as though she had captured a star. The pain in her knee and the soreness of her bottom forgotten, Shannon stood, and began to dance to the sound of nature, the spirits and soft, plaintive music coming from the depths of the earth and traveling up through her soul and out though her lips.

  She began to sing, surrendering to the sounds around her and the natural rhythm of life. Back and forth, she moved in intoxicating self-expression, spinning and twirling upon the damp forest floor and carrying the flame in her palm like a faery lantern. The moon illuminated her face and she drew hope from its gentle beams. So lost was she in her trance, Shannon did not hear the sound of footsteps approaching her.

  She gasped as his hands clasped hers, extinguishing the flame she had been carefully guarding. He began to lead, moving with her in the exquisite dance under the canopy of stars. Their bodies entwined, and then separated, as they gave way to spontaneous movement. They danced as one, until their lips sealed together, and they froze as though stopped by time.

  "I beg your forgiveness," Shannon whispered, as his sensual mouth probed her soft lips. "The things I said to you were cruel and uncalled for."

  "I am as you say," Dom whispered back. "Justification does not make murder any less than what it is."

  "I was wrong to judge you for using your gift to save your country. I would have probably done the same if I felt my people were in danger."

  "You are passionate and outspoken. I admire these qualities," Dom said, his mouth finding the soft, trembling patch under her throat. "You will make a fine queen."

  "I doubt those words. I cause too much strife."

  "Then I will correct you and you will learn to cause less," Dom said simply.

  "The promise of correction is not at all appealing to me," Shannon moaned, throwing her head back as his tongue traced the swollen tops of her bosom.

  "Nay, punishment is not appealing, but pain can be. I enjoy the delivery of pain," Dom said huskily, nipping the exposed mound of her breast. "I also enjoy the giving of pleasure."

  "Can pain really be appealing?"

  "If mixed with pleasure, very much so. I have a dark side that enjoys indulging in such activities."

  "Will it repulse me?"

  "I think not," Dom whispered, nipping her neck and holding her as she crumpled in his arms.

  She purred at the sensation. "Your men loathe me."

  "My men will do what I tell them." His hands stroked down her side and along her hip. "None will raise a sword to you again."

  "I fear they will turn on me when you are not around."

  "They will not. I do ask that you try to control your temper, though. They are still men, and their loyalty to my family is embedded in their blood. They would much rather see a switch brought to your bottom than a sword to your throat, so I ask that you not tempt them."

  "You would permit them to beat me?" Shannon looked appalled.

  "I would not stop them if the circumstance arose," Dom said firmly. "They would only lay waste to your backside, and only with good reason. Do not give any of them reason."

  "Am I to expect this brutal treatment for the remainder of my life?"

  "Should you continue in your mischief, yes." Dom smiled, kissing her knuckles. "Let us return to camp. The hunting party brought down a deer, and there is venison roasting on a spit as we speak."

  Shannon felt her mouth water. It had been decades since she had tasted venison. She nodded, taking his proffered hand, and slowly followed him several feet before he scooped her into his powerful arms.

  "I will carry you. Not because your knee is injured or your bottom hurts," Dom nibbled upon her ear, "but because I do not want you spiriting yourself again into the night."

  The scent of garlic, salted pork fat, and fragrant bundles of fresh rosemary filled the air as the meat sizzled and sputtered over the over flame. A hearty stew of turnips, parsnips, potatoes and carrots simmered over a second cook-fire. The men took turns turning the spit and stirring the pot, all the while laughing heartily as they spoke of the rare forest feast they were about to consume. Ale was passed around, and each drank deeply as they watched the mesmerizing flames jump and crackle under the dripping fat.

  "Ale, Sire?" one soldier offered, as Dom approached.

  "Aye, that will quench my thirst. One for my lady as well."

  The man nodded, clearly avoiding meeting Shannon's gaze. She looked around the fire. None of the men acknowledged her.

  "Give time for damage to be undone," Dom whispered in her ear. He lifted his goblet to her lips. "To your health, my fair druid. Drink to cool your blood in the middle of a sweltering night."

  Shannon sipped and wrinkled her nose. She hated tepid ale. She called upon the elements, and smiled as the men gasped over the sudden frost lining their cups. "Cool ale for a warm evening is much more refreshing, yes?"

  "You are filled with surprises, my beauty. Please, allow me to serve you."

  Shannon sat in silent wonder as the King of Moldavia, the terror of the Slavic nations, sliced the tender roasted meat on her platter and poured thick stew atop of it. He placed it upon a stump and bowed his head.

  "Your meal awaits, my lady."

  "Your Grace," she coughed out, confused by his behavior. "A king should not be serving one such as me."

  "Who declares it wrong for a king to serve his lady?" Dom asked. He leaned into her to whisper. "If I can take it upon myself to spank her, I can certainly meet her more tender needs, can I not?"

  Shannon gulped, nodding. He sat next to her and sliced a piece of meat, stabbed it with his knife, and brought it to her lips. "Eat. You will need the strength later, to deal with your discipline."

  Shannon felt her stomach turn. How could he show so much kindness, yet still consider punishing her?

  "Why must that be?"

  "Do you forget your behavior so quickly?" Dom ask with amusement. "Do you not remember the tantrum you threw? The pelting of pinecones? The childish stomping away?"

  "Yes, but…"

  "I am not going to punish you for the injury done to my captain. That was in your own defense. Nor will I discipline you for the words spoken to me. Those were said out of fear. I am a fair and just man," Dom said firmly, "and I do not distribute chastisement lightly. You have earned yourself a thorough strapping, and you shall receive it once your backside recovers from the discipline you received this morning. Do not deny it. The tenderness upon which you sit tells all."

  Shannon bent her face to the ground in shame. Her confusion grew as he folded her in his arms and kissed the side of her face. He lifted another morsel to her mouth, and she delicately bit down upon it.

  "Good, yes?"

  "Mmm, I have never tasted anything that surpasses this," Shannon admitted. The meat was tender, moist, and bursting with the flavors of roasted garlic and crispy rosemary. "The last time I had venison was when your father brought home a deer. Mother was so angry."

  Dom offered her another bite. "Why would she be angry?"

  "She was one with nature. The creatures of the wild were never brought to her table as food. I remember them arguing about it." Shannon suddenly giggled. "Mother lost."

  "My father was never one to lose an argument," Dom chuckled, slicing another piece of meat from the chunk. "He and I used to fight constantly."

  "You did? About what?" Shannon asked, accepting a gravy covered tuber.

  "The color of the sky. The taste of the river. The number of beans in a bowl." Dom laughed. "I never have been able to accept anything as it is presented. He enjoyed those arguments, though. He said it forced him to consider the world through another person's eyes."

  "Yes," Shannon sipped her ale, "he did the same with Mother. Many times she spilled a pot of water over his head out of frustration."

  "I would say that many times she found her bottom upended across his knee as well. Ah, I assume from your giggles that you know this to be true."


  "Yes," Shannon snickered. "I also know that they enjoyed one another afterwards. That was when I would go into the swamp and pretend to be in a place far away from home."

  "Does it feel as you imagined? Being far away from your home?"

  "No. It feels—lonely. Except for the moon, nothing is the same."

  "Few things in life remain the same, dear lady. I did notice that you handled the flame without burning your hand tonight," Dom said, kissing her palm. "You have great power if you will allow yourself to touch it."

  "That power frightens me. Mother used to tell me that there is but a single strand of a spider's web that separates what is good from evil. She feared that the closer I came to touching the banshee's curse, the closer I would come to wickedness. She taught me to keen and to heal with herbs, but discouraged seeking out the powers of the elements."

  "What powers would they be?" Dom leaned on his side, tracing a blade of grass along the length of her skirt.

  "I can touch liquids in any form. I am able to change their essence from steam to ice, transfer them from one spot to another, and direct their movement. If there is moisture in the wind or rain in the clouds, I can stir the liquid around me and form a small storm. I am not certain of how I do this, but when I alter the temperature and the movement of the air within clouds, I can sometimes produce lightening in small amounts. I cannot reach far, however."

  "What else can you do?"

  "My touch can make pain in others go away, but does not heal. And my cry," Shannon bit her lip, "it is that of banshee."

  "Is that what the cloister tried hardest to teach you to control?"