He shrugged and turned his back on her, replacing the empty cups on the desk. “As you wish. I was under the impression you wanted that slave collar off. I must have been mistaken.”
He waited with his back to her. She was silent for a very long time.
“You could have said that’s what you were planning.”
“And miss seeing you squirm like that?” he asked with a grin as he turned back to her. “I don’t think so. So, shall we start again? Untie your shirt. I can’t get to the thing with you bundled up like that.”
“Just give me the keys and I’ll do it myself.”
“No. And for being so uncooperative now you’re going to have to say please.”
“You are the most unbelievable bastard.”
“I know.”
She stepped around the brazier and the cushions, unlacing the shirt as she went. By the time she reached him the shirt was open far enough to expose the collar and a tantalising glimpse of pale throat – and not a thing more.
“There! Just take the damned thing off!”
“Say please.”
“Please!” Her eyes burned with fury.
Getting that much out of her was something of an achievement, so Damin decided not to push his luck. She might still try to gouge his eyes out, just on principal.
He took her hand and pulled her closer, then slid his fingers under the collar. Lernen had only shown him once how the catch worked, and he wasn’t at all certain he could find it. The jeweller who had designed the collars was a craftsman and they were manufactured to prevent a clever slave finding the means for their emancipation. Adrina closed her eyes rather than meet his. It was very distracting, holding her so close. He could feel her hot breath on his face, smell the faint perfume of the soap she used to wash her hair.
He found the catch and heard it open with a faint snick. Adrina heard it too. She opened her eyes, a little surprised to find herself so close to him. She looked up, met his eyes.
Later, Damin couldn’t say who moved first. One moment she was staring at him with those impressive green eyes. The next he was kissing her and she was kissing him back. The collar tumbled forgotten to the floor. It was almost as if she wanted to devour him. He cursed the layers of winter clothing they both wore as she tore at the lacing on his shirt. There was no logic to this, no rational thought.
“This is insane,” Adrina gasped between kisses, as she fumbled with the buckle on his sword belt. “I hate you.”
The sword belt dropped to the floor with a clatter. “I hate you too.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she added as she pulled the shirt over his head.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he promised as her shirt fell away, exposing her glorious pale breasts. They fell onto the scattered cushions beside the brazier. Adrina landed astride him. Her hair had come loose and it fell about them in an ebony wave that cut off the rest of the tent so that it was only Adrina that he could see. It was only Adrina that he wanted to see, in any case.
“Damin?”
He pulled her down and kissed her, but she pulled back impatiently.
“Damin!”
“You’re not going to ask me to be gentle, are you?”
She smiled wickedly. “No. I only want one thing from you, my Lord.”
“Name it, your Highness.”
Her smile faded, replaced with a look of unexpected savagery. “Make me forget Cratyn.”
The request did not surprise him nearly as much as her vehemence. But he understood it. “Say please.”
“Go to hell.”
He laughed softly and drew her down again. Before long it was doubtful if either of them could recall their own names, let alone the name of Adrina’s husband.
Chapter 49
“You did what?”
Tarja wondered if he’d mis-heard the warlord. He glanced across at Damin and feared he hadn’t.
They were supposed to be riding out to inspect the border troops, but Tarja realised now that Damin’s suggestion had merely been a ruse. He wanted to break the news to Tarja out of the hearing of the rest of the camp. The Hythrun was looking rather shamefaced with all of the things that had gone wrong in the past few days, this was one complication they could have done without.
“You heard me.”
“Founders, Damin, she’s the wife of the Karien Crown Prince!”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I thought you couldn’t stand her?”
“I can’t. Look, it’s... complicated. It’s hard to explain.”
“Well you’d better think of something,” Tarja warned. “I imagine Jenga’s going to want a fairly detailed explanation when she complains that you raped her.”
“I never raped her!” Damin declared, offended by the very suggestion. “Her Serene Highness was a very willing participant, I can assure you.”
Tarja shook his head doubtfully. “Even so, when she’s had time to think about it, she might change her mind. Just because you didn’t throw her on the ground and tear her clothes off, doesn’t mean she won’t claim you did.”
“Perhaps I should get in first,” Damin suggested with a grin. “She was the one tearing at my clothes, after all.”
“Be serious!”
The Warlord sighed and reined his stallion in. He studied the snow dotted plain for a moment before turning to Tarja. Their breath frosted in the early morning light. The sun had risen over the rim of the Jagged Mountains, but the day was overcast, threatening more snow.
“Is Jenga planning to surrender?”
Tarja shrugged. “I wish I knew. He’s torn between duty and reason at present.”
“I have to leave, Tarja.”
“I expected as much,” he agreed without rancour. “It’s the Defenders who are being ordered to surrender, not the Hythrun.”
“I’d have to go in any case,” Damin told him. “Hablet’s planning to invade Hythria. I need to be in Krakandar.”
“Adrina told you that?”
He nodded. “She confirmed it, but I’ve suspected that was his ultimate goal ever since I first heard of the Karien-Fardohnyan Treaty. If the Defenders surrender to Karien, there’ll be nothing stopping him.”
“Did Adrina tell you this before or after she tore your clothes off?”
Damin looked at him and smiled sourly. “I deserved that, I suppose. But I’m the Hythrun Heir, Tarja. I can’t sit here minding your border while the Fardohnyans pour over mine.”
“I understand, and so will Jenga.”
“I didn’t doubt that, Tarja, but are you going to be so understanding when I tell you Adrina is coming with me?”
In light of the Warlord’s recent admission, the news did not surprise him. However, that didn’t make it any more palatable.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Damin. If we surrender to Karien, the first thing they’ll do is demand her return. And if we don’t surrender, she’ll make a very useful hostage.”
“I won’t allow you to return her to Karien, Tarja.”
“You slept with her once, Damin. I hardly think that warrants throwing her over your saddle and riding off into the sunset with her.”
Damin grinned. “Poetic as it may seem, Tarja, my reasons are far more pragmatic. Should Adrina and Cratyn have a child, it would have a claim on both the Karien and Fardohnyan thrones. I don’t intend to let that happen.”
“As opposed to a child with a claim on both the Fardohnyan and Hythrun thrones,” he pointed out. “Or had that minor detail escaped you?”
Damin looked so surprised that Tarja realised that he probably hadn’t considered that possibility.
“It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing, Damin. A child who can unite Karien and Fardohnya is a threat, I’ll grant you that, but a child who could bring Hythria and Fardohnya together is even worse. The Kariens will hunt you down like a criminal. I can’t even begin to guess what the other Hythrun Warlords will do when they discover you’ve run off with Hablet’s daughter.”