Forbidden
Page 21

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“Come, come …” Cleo fluttered at Docia with quick hands, urging her up from the seat she had been in while Miu and Cleo had fussed over her every detail, from dress to makeup to the prettily styled and perfectly natural-looking wig that lay in a balanced frame around her face in place of the choppy, lopsided mess underneath. “We have no doubt held up dinner. The household awaits.”
Cleo held her elbow not only as a guide, she realized, but for support as she helped her down the grand staircase. Docia had known better than to brave a heel higher than an inch this soon out from her ordeal, and she had indulged in a skirt as long as Cleo’s because it hid a world of sins, rather like makeup and wigs. Of course, she could only guess at the effectiveness of Miu’s dressing skills, since she couldn’t bear to look into a mirror again. Besides, she wouldn’t be able to see herself anyway.
The long-sleeved creation of violet silk she wore was conservative in concealment, but less so in the cling factor. It was a bit bolder than she might have chosen for herself normally, but apparently other forces within her were not as shy as she might be.
And she kind of liked that. She kind of liked these flashes of confidence and bravery inside that caused her to dare things she would not normally dare. Life, she had come to realize, was much too short for empty fears. What if she had died that day on the bridge, having never been brave enough to indulge in such a dress? Never brave enough to indulge in her own beauty? Never confident enough to flick a significant finger at the rest of the world and say, “Screw you if you don’t like it!”
And that was the confidence that was strengthening her spine, the thoughts that were in her head, as she walked side by side down the stairs in the shadow of what she considered an eclipsing beauty … and as a result ended up feeling not that eclipsed at all.
They entered the dining area, a vast echoing room made of stone from floor to ceiling but warmed by sumptuous fabrics on the windows, elegant artwork in the tapestries hanging on every wall, and two fireplaces set side by side on the far end. Not to mention lush velvet cushions on the chairs, just as in the meditation room. There were servants standing at the ready at either end of the table, carts with silver dome-covered plates of all sizes.
And suddenly she was hungry. She hadn’t been for days, something about almost being killed having taken her lust for food right out of her. A girl was pouring wine, and smells began to make their way over her. From all directions. Cleo hurried to a seat, leaving only one with a setting in front of it at midpoint of the table between Asikri and Ram. On the opposite side sat Cleo and another man and woman she didn’t recognize. But it was the man at the head of the table who drew her most immediate interest. Mainly because he spoke to her in a rich, lulling sort of voice.
“Welcome, Docia, to my house. I am domini of this house and marshal of all Bodywalkers in this area.”
“Ah. The law,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Now that’s something I know a lot about.”
“The true law is the pharaoh’s law, but in his absence the house dominis act in his stead and in good faith of his wishes. An easy enough task since many of our laws have followed us for many generations.”
“No need for modernization?” she found herself asking. She felt Ram stiffen a little beside her. It was hard to miss, since he was a wall of muscle and energy. And heat. He seemed to radiate heat. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he almost reached out to touch her, as a parent might do when warning a child to mind itself in church. Then he seemed to second-guess himself. Well, she was queen, after all, wasn’t she? Did it really matter if she stepped in it? Still, she wasn’t trying to offend anyone, leaving a mess for Hatshepsut to clean up when she became strong enough to chime in with advice and a sense of these ancient laws they followed. Not to mention etiquette.
“There is always a need for modernization in all things. Some things more than others,” he added a bit grimly. Now that she was sure was full of weight and meaning. She hadn’t been reborn just yesterday, after all.
“So give me an example of something you think needs modernizing. Maybe I can give your queen a poke and a nudge in the right direction if she ever decides to show up.”
She could have heard a pin drop, if not for the sound of plates being set to rest in front of them.
“I hope you don’t mind, you missed appetizers. But you’ll find the entrées more than satisfying,” her host said smoothly, his dark green eyes assessing her as he spoke. She supposed he was trying to take her measure. He wasn’t like Asikri, built and ominous and seething with discontent, and he wasn’t like Ram, solid and stoic, firmly serious about life and its tasks. This fellow seemed more relaxed than that. She had a suspicion that he had something of a sense of humor. He was also leanly built, like an athlete, and so tall that he must have been gangly and awkward as a teenager. But there was nothing awkward about him now. She wondered who he had once been before his Blending.
“I’m sorry. This is rude of me. I am Kasimir. Or Henry, as you like. I respond to both. And have you met Felicity or Dixon?”
“You prefer your … more current names?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t rude to separate the entities within them.
“Usually the name we are introduced by is the name we prefer,” Felicity said shortly, picking up her wineglass and giving Docia the eye. “Well, she doesn’t look very much like a queen now, does she?”
“Felicity!” Kasimir said sharply. “I will not tolerate rudeness at my table. And I remind you it is unwise to insult her. Her memory will remain very much intact even when Hatshepsut awakens within her.”
Felicity looked duly unimpressed. “There are those who believe her time is finally at an end,” she said almost snidely. “After all, how many generations can a man spend with the same boring little creature before he feels the itch to try something new on for a change?” She leaned forward and smiled. “Nothing is ever guaranteed, dear.”
There was the sound of a fist hitting the table, silverware and Felicity jumping … and Docia admitted she did as well. Ram leaned forward, an exhale of breath leaving him, such a simple sound but somehow so dark and threatening at the same time.
“If there is ever a guarantee in this world,” he said, his voice low and dark, “it is the love that Menes has and will always have for Hatshepsut. Call anything else into question if you must, but never doubt that!”
Silence ticked by. Well, almost silence. The ticking came from a large, ornate set of mantel clocks, twins, each set above the fireplace below it.
And just like that, her newfound appetite disappeared.
“Wait a minute,” she said, her voice barely a rasp. “Wait … just wait …”
For the first time she heard, really heard, the one little condition to this whole being queen business that had so far been escaping her.
That there was a king out there somewhere and she was expected to …
“Holy spitballs, are you saying I’m going to be part of an arranged marriage?” She was instantly on her feet, because she absolutely could not remain in her seat a second longer. She didn’t care what the soothing presence inside her was trying to say or make her feel, and she didn’t care that Ram was equally soothing, or at least trying to be. She suddenly felt trapped between the two men who had brought her there … between what they wanted from her and what she had always wanted from herself. Ram was on his feet beside her, and after a visible hesitation, he reached out to capture her hands in his, bringing them to the solid strength of his chest until, when she stilled, she could feel the deep rhythm of his heart beating.
“Arranged marriages are a thing of the past, Docia. We would never insist you enter a union you do not voluntarily wish to enter. We are only speaking from experience. When Menes is reborn, he will come to find you, and you … it is very likely you will feel as Hatshepsut has always felt toward him. But if you don’t, that will be accepted.”
“If you don’t, you won’t be queen of anything,” Felicity mused, picking up her wineglass and giving the liquid inside of it a swirl. She sniffed at it gently. “Or … hmm … we’ve never quite had it happen, that Hatshepsut and Menes were not simply mad about each other. So, either you are no queen, or you can resign yourself to the idea that you’re about to meet your soul mate.”
“Felicity, shut up,” Asikri growled suddenly, the silent giant abruptly coming to life. “She’s barely three days into the Blending. Are you determined to scare her into something stupid like resistance? And to what end? Do you think maybe Menes would turn his eye to you? Not just any queen will do for him. This you know, and if you read up on Bodywalker law, you would recall that Menes and Hatshepsut are co-rulers. Each of them a ruler in their own right, with or without their heartfelt connection. If they choose other mates, those mates would be consorts.” He picked up his fork and stabbed at his food, the metal scraping irritably against the china underneath it. “Now can we all shut up, please, and eat our dinner?”
He added something under his breath, and she suspected it was a complaint about whining … or perhaps a complaint about the ways of women in general. But Docia couldn’t tell. She couldn’t tell if it was women that irritated him … or just everything.
However, his words comforted her a great deal. It was preconceived that she would fall in love with this Menes when he decided to arrive, but it was not a requirement. Still, there was something in the remaining uneasiness of Ram and even the more laid-back Kasimir that kept her from fully relaxing as she sat back down to her meal. Ram followed suit after he had helped push in her chair, and beneath the fall of the tablecloth he reached out to squeeze her hand. She didn’t know exactly what he was trying to convey, other than strength and comfort, but she felt a great deal more than that. She felt that keen, sparkling warmth he seemed to exude in constant waves. She felt, as she always did, very aware of his pure presence and energy as he sat beside her.
After dinner, as they were milling about the room, she came to the conclusion that everything that had transpired was definitely the side effect of brain damage. In the next instant, she rejected the thought. If this wasn’t real, then that meant Ram wasn’t real.
Ram.
Docia could feel his eyes on her, like a sensual weight that made her belly feel heavy and her br**sts swell with a strange readying response. Something about the way he was looking at her, the hunger burning like a low, fierce light in his eyes, made her want to curve her spine, swing out her hip in soft invitation, her shoulder rounding up as she turned her head and touched her chin to it and looked at him with a coyness she hadn’t realized herself capable of.
The low light in his eyes flared wildly, and Docia caught her breath. Somehow, by pure feminine instinct, she knew it was taking a tremendous amount of willpower on his part not to cross over to her, to hold back from dragging her into his strong arms and up against his hard, capable body.
She recalled his kiss. Remembered the way his mouth had dominated her, his lungs stealing her breath away and taking it for his own. She became breathless once again just thinking about it. She knew he was thinking about it, too. There was a wild, primitive sense of satisfaction when she saw his hand curl into a solid, resistant fist. Yet another sign that he was using all he had to keep himself rooted to the spot he stood in, forcing himself to continue his conversation, though it must have been stilted because Cleo looked over, following the direction of his fierce gaze and finding Docia on the other end. The dark-haired beauty cocked her head curiously, then reached out to touch Ram, an attempt to draw his attention back to her.
It worked. He looked away and Docia felt as though she had been released from his hold. But suddenly the absence of his regard made her feel strangely empty. Her heartbeat quickened and she tried to push the feeling away or bury it deep inside herself. It smacked too much of neediness, and she wouldn’t let herself fall victim to that desperate emotional crutch. She had seen it destroy too many women who had invested their all into the men they were attracted to.
Yes. She was attracted to him, she acknowledged with an inner nod. Very much so. As though by admitting it to herself she could lessen the power of it, lessen the craving in her belly for things she wasn’t even sure she understood. After all, she’d never felt anything like this before. Her love life to date had been … well, uninspiring, to say the least. But with one smoldering look across the room, she felt more heat and more excitement where Ram was concerned than she’d ever felt while actually in bed with others. Perhaps that was why the all-powerful and mighty orgasm had proven to be so elusive to her.
She blushed as she thought that, looking down at the floor. Regardless of the thousands of reasons why entertaining her attraction to Ram was a bad idea, that lone reason was enough to keep her shut down, and for a moment she was grateful for the cold, dousing effect of it.