One thing was certain: Keeping her at a wise distance was going to be exceedingly difficult.

Her hands clutched at him. Her power sparked across his skin, driving all rational thought from his mind. There was only wave upon wave of hot pleasure, driving need, sensation and instinct and the feel of his body pumping rhythmically into hers, pushing them both higher and higher. Her volatile heat gripped him tight, burning, scorching. Her hands urged him on. She sobbed his name on a keening cry that broke into a scream as the climax swept over them both.

Later, when he could breathe without gasping and see more than flickering stars in a field of blackness, he bent over her limp body as she drifted back to sleep, and whispered in her ear, “I am no oathbreaker either, wife. I will honor my vows.”

CHAPTER 12

Allies and Enemies

When Khamsin woke again, full daylight was streaming through her bedchamber windows, and Wynter was gone.

She laid her hand on the empty sheets. They were cool to the touch. Her body was aching and sore in more places than she’d ever known existed, but already the need for him was rising again. Her fingers smoothed over the indentation in the pillow beside hers and plucked a long, silvery white strand of Wynter’s hair from the linen. She brushed the strand across her lips, remembering the feel of his silken hair sliding over her as his body surged against hers. She wished he’d stayed. She wished she’d woken, as she had so many times in the night, to find him there beside her, his eyes intent, his magnificent body stretched out on the sheets, naked and inviting.

A knock sounded at the bedroom door, and the door swung open. Bella entered, carrying a thick robe draped over one arm.

Khamsin tucked the strand of Wynter’s hair beneath her pillow and sat up, dragging the linen top sheet free to wrap around her body. She sniffed the air. A warm, delicate aroma had wafted into the room. “Is that jasmine tea?”

The maid gave a smile. “Mistress Greenleaf said it was your favorite. There’s a pot steeping on the hearth. Will you rise, or shall I bring you a cup here?”

“I’ll get up.” Khamsin smothered a yawn and stretched. “What time is it?”

“Half ten, ma’am.”

“What? Half past ten?” Kham leapt from the bed. “Why didn’t you wake me? What about Vinca and the tour of the palace?”

“The king left word that you were not to be disturbed. Mistress Vinca has rescheduled your tour of the palace for this afternoon. Lady Firkin has arranged a luncheon for you with the ladies of the court before that. Mistress Narsk delivered a new gown for the luncheon a few moments ago.” Bella held the robe open for Khamsin, who swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. As Khamsin thrust her arms into the robe’s sleeves, Bella added, “And Lady Villani is waiting in the parlor. She said she needed to speak with you. Shall I tell her to come back later?”

Khamsin froze. “Lady Villani?” What could Reika Villani possibly want? Khamsin put a hand to her tangled hair. She looked a mess: bed-rumpled, her lips still swollen from Wynter’s passionate kisses, faint marks on her neck where he’d nipped at her skin. Reika Villani would take one look at her and know how Khamsin had spent her night. Kham’s eyes narrowed. “No,” she said slowly. “Thank you, Bella, but I’ll see her now.” She tightened the robe’s sash. “I would like a hot bath though when I return, and a little something to eat. I didn’t have much of an appetite last night, but now I’m famished.”

She opened the door to the parlor and stepped through. Reika Villani was standing near the hearth, looking out the bank of windows across the valley far below. She turned at the sound of the opening door. Her gown and hair were as pale, elegant, and perfect as they had been last night, her face a confection of graceful features dominated by big, heavily lashed blue eyes that narrowed as she took in Khamsin’s rumpled appearance.

“Your Grace.” Reika curtsied in a smooth, unhurried motion.

“Lady Villani,” Kham murmured in reply. How odd her new title sounded after a lifetime of being just “Storm,” “dearly,” or “girl.” “You caught me just rising from bed. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She smoothed a hand across her rumpled hair and gave what she hoped looked like an embarrassed smile. Reika’s lips tightened, and Khamsin turned to reach for the teapot in order to hide the flash of triumph she feared might show in her eyes. Those years of watching from the shadows had not gone to waste. She understood the manipulations and maneuverings of court ladies, and even though she’d never participated in their intrigues before, she had claws of her own and was not averse to using them.

Last night, she’d been too weary from travel, too unsettled by the strangeness of her new environment, and taken aback by Wynter’s apparent obliviousness to what Kham considered Reika Villani’s blatant drawing of battle lines. This morning, she was none of those things. Hours of incendiary passion and the memory of Wynter’s voice whispering that he, too, would honor his vows left her feeling far more secure in her new position and determined to put Reika Villani firmly into hers.

“My maid has prepared a pot of jasmine tea,” she said, pouring the fragrant liquid into a warmed porcelain cup. “Shall I pour you a cup?”

“Thank you, but no, Your Grace,” Reika demurred. “I’m not very fond of tea.”

Kham blew on her drink to cool it. The first sip made her reach for the sugar. Bella had steeped it so long it had gone bitter. She sipped again, then added more sugar and turned back to her elegant guest, who was watching her intently.