“I prefer you this way.”
“You don’t think they’d recognize me?”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled her neck again. “No. I think they’ll be distracted,” his hand slipped to her breast, “and unable to even look at your face.”
She let him feel her breasts before telling him, “You know those aren’t real, right?”
“They’re real enough. Their reaction certainly is.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Her nipples were hard, her breath was coming faster, and her breasts were rising and falling in a way that seemed to absolutely fascinate Bael.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly, “are you wearing anything under that skirt?”
“I-” Kett began, but his fingers brushed her stomach, making her shiver. She found herself whispering, “Why don’t you find out?”
He looked up, grinning, and started gathering folds of embellished fabric.
“Just don’t tear anything,” Kett said. “I need this costume.”
“I won’t even take it off,” Bael promised, and disappointment swept through Kett.
Disappointment that fled when he dropped to his knees, stuck his head under her skirt and licked up the inside of her thigh, past the leather straps holding a knife to her thigh.
“No underwear,” he said, his breath hot against her pussy lips.
“I hadn’t gotten around to it,” Kett breathed, trying to keep steady on her feet.
She needn’t have bothered. Bael wrapped his arms around her legs, holding her steady, and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue burrowed between her folds, seeking out all the places she was most sensitive and licking them relentlessly until she came with a gasp, shuddering and nearly falling.
It was all over in a few minutes, Bael’s tongue so expert that she didn’t need any more. He rose to his feet, leaned her back against the heavy pole supporting the tent and kissed her.
He still had her skirts bunched up around her thighs. His hand slipped between and caressed her wet folds.
“Yes,” Kett murmured, her eyes closed, floating on a sea of bliss, and she heard a rustle of clothing before Bael’s thick cock was pressing at her entrance. “Yes,” she said again, opening her eyes, and he pushed inside.
“I love you,” he told her as he began to thrust. “I love fucking you. I love you.”
When they went outside, Lya and Dark kept their eyes averted, both of them hiding smiles.
Striker leered. “Made the tent shake,” he said.
“I know,” Kett replied smugly. She slipped her arm around Bael’s neck, kissed him softly and sighed. “Time to get to work.”
The Maharaja’s palace looked like a child’s drawing of a castle onto which someone had dumped a lot of cake decorations. Every wall, turret and curved roof glistened with colored tiles, jewels and gaudy adornments. In the shimmering heat and ever-present clouds of dust and sand, it looked like a mirage. Or perhaps a hallucination caused by eating moldy dodo meat.
“Tasteful,” Kett murmured, shielding her eyes against the gaudiness.
“Even Nuala’s not that bad,” Lya agreed.
Bael snorted. He was in Var’s body, a magnificent black stallion, his muscles bunching between Kett’s thighs as she rode him. Beside her sat Lya on a borrowed munta and Dark on Colonel Darson’s mount. Striker was nowhere to be seen-which in no way meant he wasn’t around.
Dark’s regal bearing, his kelfish slave and youthful courtesan were enough to convince the guards of the Maharaja’s palace that they should be admitted.
Inside, Var was taken to the stables, making Kett’s stomach constrict even though she knew he’d be fine, and the rest of the party was led through a series of small courtyards and piazzas, green with plants and trees, but never quite escaping the ever-present sand blowing on the breeze. Fountains tinkled. Somewhere, someone played music.
Eventually they were taken to a grand, high-ceilinged room where kelfs operated ceiling fans and a man lounged on a throne, watching a girl play the sitar terribly badly. He was the Maharaja, and she his beloved only daughter.
Kett winced. She didn’t want to kill the daughter. Hell, she didn’t really want to kill the Maharaja, but justice was justice, and he’d broken the terms of their friendship by betraying her to a man who wanted to kill her.
“Your Serene Highness, may I present the High Lord Talvéan,” Lya said, her eyes cast deferentially low.
“Hukm, Maharaja,” Dark said in perfect Pradeshi, with a regal nod. “It’s good of you to receive me.”
They exchanged pleasantries while Kett took note of as many details about the room as she could. The dozen or so kelfs. The tall doors, guarded not by kelfs but by men with curved swords. The high windows, letting in shafts of light in which dust motes danced. The handmaidens swarming around the princess.
She couldn’t see Albhar anywhere.
“And who is this charming young woman?” asked the Maharaja.
Kett kept her eyes averted as Dark drew her forward. In truth she wanted to laugh, because here was an immensely powerful, sexual, magnetic man with his arm around her bare waist, and his touch felt about as enjoyable as a pelvic exam.
“She is,” Dark paused for exactly the right length of time, “a very dear friend of mine.”
The Maharaja’s smile widened. “I see,” he said. “Well, you must be in need of rest and refreshment after your journey. Please, follow the kelfs to the guest quarters.”
Every inch of the palace interior was as embellished as the outside. By the time they shut the door on the giant guest suite, Kett was starting to feel dizzy from the mad, bright patterns. The suite was just as heavily decorated, with large open windows and a monkey on a perch. It screeched when it saw them, and Kett frowned at it.
“That went well,” Lya said, giving Kett a look. “‘Very dear friend’.”
“Shut up. How the hell did Chance wear this stuff all the time when she was a courtesan?” Kett asked, hitching up the low bodice of her outfit.
“She didn’t wear it for long,” Dark said, in a tone that didn’t invite discussion. “Do you think you can track this Albhar?”
“Dunno, but I can,” said Bael, materializing behind them. The monkey scampered onto his shoulder and Kett realized it was Var. “He has plenty of pet monkeys. I can find Albhar, change into something bigger and fly him out.”
“No,” Kett said. “If it was that simple, we’d have flown in and wouldn’t have had to piss about with costumes.”
“I like your costume,” he said, with a look that reminded her how much he’d liked it earlier.
Kett felt her cheeks burn but went on, “He has guards on the roof. That’s why Lya is going with you-and taking this.” She pointed down.
They all looked at the carpet.
“To roll him up in and carry him out,” Kett explained. “Can Var be a donkey?”
“I’ve repeatedly been told so,” Bael said, straight-faced.
“Funny. We’ll meet you back at the-”
The doors to the suite suddenly flew open, and all four of them whirled around.
“My dear boy!” Albhar cried. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
His eyes said otherwise. As did the contingent of armed men behind him.
“Albhar,” Bael said, smiling just as easily as his former mentor. “Good to see you. That dragon dragged me away when it took the shapeshifter.”
“Did it?” Albhar asked, without quite enough sympathy on his face. “And where is the shapeshifter now?”
Kett realized she was still wearing her disguise. “A shapeshifter!” she squeaked. “How exciting!”
Albhar cast her an irritated look. “It’s very dangerous,” he said. “It killed-”
“No one,” Bael said softly, and Albhar’s attention whipped back to him.
“Ah. I know you don’t believe me, but-”
“That’s because it’s not true,” Bael said.
“Your father believed a kelf-”
“Didn’t kill her. She died in her own stupid ritual. The same stupid ritual you’ve been researching for so many years.”