Though she intended to make certain Keegan spent most of his time with her and not in the west. His mother would go back there, as she would not be needed here.
Oh aye, Shana thought, she would see Tarryn sent back to the valley. She wouldn’t tolerate vying for attention with Keegan’s hawkeyed mother.
“I have a thirst for you.” She murmured it as she pressed against him. “And wine.” She laughed when she said it. “A cup of wine, then you. And you can enchant me, Loren of the Wise.”
He waved his arm, turned his hand—right, then left.
The door—always locked by his spell, as was all the cottage— opened.
“Pour the wine, mo chroí, and I’ll settle the horses. I want nothing more in my life than to enchant you.”
She walked inside, then moved elf fast to pour the wine, to add two drops—only two—of the sleeping potion she had in her pocket to his.
He would sleep minutes only, but she only needed minutes.
She glanced up at the loft that was his workshop, imagined it in her head from the memories of times he’d spun spells for her, or made her a pretty bauble.
Harmless things, of course, small things. Though he had considerable powers. And for the larger things, the less harmless, he kept a cupboard locked with another spell.
Only his hand could open it—and since she’d professed to love him, had pouted prettily that he didn’t love her enough to allow her to open the cupboard, her hand could do so now as well.
Taking love, to her mind, forged the keenest of weapons.
When he came in, she sent a beckoning look over her shoulder and strolled, with the wine, to his bedchamber.
She gave a little shiver. “Would you light the fire, mo leannán?”
He flicked his fingers, set the fire blazing. As he continued toward her, she shook her head. “Oh no, my golden god, I would have you disrobe.” She sipped from the cup in her right hand. “I would see what’s mine.”
When he simply snapped his fingers to send his clothes to the floor, she laughed. “I like what I see. Into the bed with you, as I will have you do my bidding.”
He stretched on the bed, one with posts tipped in gold, one she knew was thick and soft, as he liked fine things as she did.
“I’m your slave, now and always,” he told her.
She sipped more wine as she walked to the side of the bed. She set down her wine, handed him his. “Would you battle all my foes?” she asked as she took down her hair.
“Battle and defeat them, first to last.”
“And drape me in silks and satins and jewels?”
“All you want, and more.”
“Drink your wine, my slave, so I can soon taste it on your lips, your tongue.”
As he did, she unhooked her dress, let it fall so he could see she wore nothing but herself under it.
“Shana. You are a vision, a dream. And so wicked.”
She laughed, tossed back her hair. “You will lie still now, so I can have my way, so I can take my pleasure first while you wait.”
She crawled onto the bed, slid up him very slowly. With her eyes on him she used her tongue, her teeth, felt him ripple, pulse, strain for control.
“Wait and see.” She trailed her fingers up his sides. “See there is so much more we can do in a bed than …” She paused, her lips a breath from his. “Sleep.”
And with that word, and the two drops of potion, he slept.
She lifted the chain with the key from around his neck, raced from the room, up to the loft in a blur. Heart hammering, she laid her hand on the first of a trio of stars carved into the cupboard. Then to the first of the two moons, and last to smallest of a group of seven planets.
And when she fit the key in the lock, the doors opened for her.
She knew what she needed—she’d wheedled the spell out of him once when he’d been pliable from sex.
She gathered everything quickly—quickly, quickly. Such small amounts, she held certain he wouldn’t notice the difference.
She closed and locked the cupboard again, sped down to put everything in the bag waiting in the pocket of her discarded skirt.
Thrilled, excited now at the thought of what she would do, what she would gain, she lay over him again.
“Wake,” she whispered, and as he did, crushed her mouth to his.
His head spun, his mind clouded. His limbs felt oddly weak.
Then she rose up, straddled him, took him into her.
And nothing else existed for him.
More than an hour later, pleased, utterly relaxed, Shana rode back to the castle. Oh aye, she would absolutely keep Loren for her lover once she had her rightful place in Talamh.
And at the Welcoming, she’d give him all her attention so Keegan would suffer—surely suffer—believing he meant nothing to her any longer.
And when all was done, the taoiseach would kneel at her feet and beg her to belong to him. He would give her everything she wanted; she would take everything she deserved.
She gazed at the busy village, at the gardens, the castle, and her heart swelled with the knowledge all would soon belong to her.
In the happiest of moods, she rode to the stables, and though she’d been taught to tend to her own horse, she passed him off to one of the boys there. After all, she needed all the time she had left to ready herself for the evening.
She tossed her hood back as she went inside and, fingering the bag in her pocket, crossed the grand entryway.
“Good lady!” One of the men who did—whatever they did— around the castle called out to her. “The taoiseach sent for you. Wishes to speak to you on your return.”
“Does he then? And where is he?”
“He’s in the Map Room, but—”
She just waved a hand, walked on. Beyond the Justice Hall, beyond the library, near the council room—where she would one day sit—the Map Room stood two stories high, with its maps of every known world, even the cities in them, or the jungles, the villages, and the seas, rolled on tall cases.
In the center of the room stood a large round table where those maps could be studied. Smaller tables lined walls where scholars and travelers could sit to update maps as needed.
Worlds, she thought, still riding on her happy mood, surely possessed of pretty things. When she was in charge, travelers would, by law, bring her some pretty thing for the privilege of using a portal.
Keegan stood at the large table now with several others. Shana recognized the elf who’d spoken at the Judgment, she knew Brian— Sidhe, dragon rider—the twins who were scouts, one of Morena’s brothers, and Tarryn, of course, who in Shana’s opinion held far too much power for a mere mother.
Keegan rolled up a map as she came to the archway.
“Thanks to you all,” he said. “I’ll see you all at the Welcome.”
As they left, he walked over, poured himself a half tankard of ale. “If you’d close the door, Shana.”
“Of course.” Her pulse jumped. Maybe he’d come to his senses, and she wouldn’t have to use what she held in her pocket.
“I speak to you now, first as taoiseach, and must tell you of my great disappointment in your behavior.”
“Mine?” Her chin snapped up.
“And I speak to you second as one who thought of you as a friend, and must tell you of my anger you would use that friendship against another.”
She looked him straight in the eye, and the distress in her own was genuine. It masked a rage rising into her throat, but was genuine. “I don’t know what you mean, what you think I’ve done, but you hurt me.” That rage, barely suppressed, made her voice quiver. “You hurt me, Keegan, and insult me by scolding me like a schoolmaster.”