“I am sorry if the cloth is not to your liking.” Free of her burden, Rhoslyn bowed her head. “You may beat me if you wish.”
Jane caught the layer of fear in her voice. “Beat you? Rhoslyn, I’m not going to beat you. Ever.”
The girl continued as if she hadn’t heard a word Jane had said. “I thought you would prefer something durable, rather than enticing. And your sister was quite eager to reach you, so I did not have much time to pack your things. I am not complaining,” she rushed to add. “I simply wished to explain why there are not many robes to choose from, and why I did not bring your very best.”
“You did great, I swear. I love the gown. Love it. See?” She dressed and twirled. “I’ve never felt lovelier.”
Rhoslyn offered her a genuine smile. “I am glad, princess. Oh. And I am happy to tell you that I brought your book.”
Jane paused, her heart suddenly thumping. “Really? Where is it?”
The girl crossed to the other side of the tent. Slowly, Jane realized, and with care. “Hey. Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself carrying those buckets?” Great. Something else to feel guilty about.
Rhoslyn stiffened, stumbling over her own feet, before continuing on. “I am fine, princess.” She hunched over another trunk, dug inside and lifted the leather-bound tome.
Jane gasped with horror. As the girl had bent over, her hair had fallen forward and Jane had caught sight of bruising on her neck. Black and blue and clearly spreading farther down. “What happened to your back?” This time, her tone was firm, unyielding, demanding an answer.
Rhoslyn’s thin arm shook as she held out the book. “I allowed you to be abducted by the slave. I was punished. As I deserved.”
Whipped, then. Laila hadn’t given the girl time to pack properly, but she’d damn sure made time to use the cat-o’-nine-tails. Jane claimed the offered item, hating Laila a little more. “That wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped him. Hell, you weren’t even there.”
No reply was forthcoming.
She sighed. “I’m headed to my sister’s tent. While I’m gone, I want you to soak in the tub. If you want. If you don’t, don’t. Then, I want you to rest. Do not wait up for me. And that’s an order.”
Eyes wide with surprise, Rhoslyn gave another nod.
Jane stepped outside. Overhead, the sun was setting, muted and a deep purple. And yet, it still managed to burn her newly sensitive skin, making her itch all over again. Now wasn’t the time to consider what that meant, either.
Laila’s tent was a mere ten steps away. At the entrance, Jane stopped and squared her shoulders. You can do this. The sound of laughter and music wafted toward her as she brushed past the flap. She scouted her new surroundings, trying to take everything in at once. To the right, Laila was perched on a hastily constructed dais. Lounging, of course, and eating pastries. There was an empty seat beside her.
Six naked men slow danced in the center. They were tall, leanly muscled and oiled to a glossy shine. Two blonds, two redheads and two with dark hair. Math at its finest. Hands roamed, and bodies bumped and grinded. Each man had an erection, but Jane doubted they liked what they were doing. Their eyes were glazed and lifeless. Were they bespelled?
To the left was a band. Well, the Delfina version of a band. A naked harpist, a naked violinist and a naked vocalist. Jane was sensing a theme. And, well, shit. This had the makings of an orgy. Participation had better not be mandatory. Her body belonged to Nicolai, and no one else.
“Odette,” Laila called, catching sight of her. “Thank you for coming.”
What ulterior motive do you have? Jane wondered as she closed the distance between them. No way the princess had thrown this little shindig together out of the goodness of her heart. Fact: she didn’t have a heart.
Jane eased into her chair and stretched out. “My…pleasure.” Something about the princess was off, she immediately realized. No, not off. Different. Yes, that was a better word. She pulsed with power, stronger than before. Had she cast some sort of spell on herself? Could witches even do that?
Wasn’t like Jane could ask. She was supposed to be a witch herself.
Laila waved her hand over the tray of pastries. “Have anything you like.”
Hmm, sugar. Her stomach twisted with hunger. How many hours had passed since she’d had that delicious chicken salad? The same number of hours that had passed since the princess had killed that innocent woman. Goodbye, appetite. “I’m fine.”
“You must drink.” Laila clapped. “Fix my sister a goblet of wine.”
The servant behind their chairs jumped to obey, and seconds later, Jane was holding a bejeweled, golden goblet. Rather than refuse it, she held on. Drinking the wine was out of the question, though. She needed her wits. All of her wits.
If an opportunity presented itself, she was going to deliver her care package tonight. Poison? A stabbing? Whatever method she picked, she would have to be careful. She couldn’t win against the princess’s magical abilities. Especially since she had no idea what the girl could do.
“Now,” Laila purred. “Enjoy.”
For over an hour, the men danced and Laila watched, eating and drinking. Jane watched her, studying her like a lab rat. Soon the princess was giggling and throwing grapes at the men. When the giggles subsided, she became aroused. Unabashedly, she moved her hand underneath her robe and rubbed herself between her legs.
“Touch his chest,” the princess called huskily. “Yes, like that. Now lick his nipples. Oh, good boy. That’s the way.” With her free hands, she cupped one of her breasts.
Jane blushed. She’d nailed the happenings of the night like most of these slaves were probably going to nail Laila. Any minute now, and every single one of them would be orgying.
Oh, gross. She’d just turned the word orgy into a verb.
She was just about to excuse herself when the tent flap lifted. A new man, a slave, entered, and he was as naked as the others. He, too, was tall and oiled, though he was lean and lanky. Jane didn’t recognize him, and yet, her eyes ate him up. Her heart sped up, her blood heated. Her skin tingled deliciously.
He had hair so pale it was like falling snow. His eyes were as black as a stormy night, and thickly lined with kohl. He was probably five-ten, his shoulders a little narrow, and his belly flat, almost concave. His skin was bronzed to a mochalike shimmer.
There was an almost feminine sense of gentleness about him. A gentleness that didn’t seem to fit the hard gleam of his eyes, as if it were a winter coat that belonged to someone else.
Like Jane had done, he paused in the doorway to take everything in. Anger flared his nostrils. Hate wafted from him, then desire. True desire, overshadowing everything else. He sniffed, gaze panning, then locking on her. He was striding forward a second later. Then he stilled, catching himself.
Breath caught in Jane’s throat. She might not recognize that face and body, but she recognized that purposeful, powerful stride. Nicolai. He was projecting someone else’s image, she knew it.
He was here. He was alive, healthy and whole, she thought, giddy with the knowledge. She should have been upset. He was ruining her plan, putting himself in danger. And yet, she reacted to his nearness…needed him. His body, his blood.
Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d just contemplated. She wanted to drink…his blood?
Oh, yes, she thought, her gaze zeroing in on his vein. She could see the slight fluttering there and wanted to sink her teeth in. Teeth. Was she…? She ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. They felt the same, no fangs having sprouted unexpectedly. A wave of disappointment hit her.
She hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate such an idea because she hadn’t wanted to face that very sense of disappointment.