Thorn Queen. Richelle Mead

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СКАЧАТЬ sincerely doubted that, but she departed too quickly for me to protest. I wanted to follow her but was now trapped.

      A bit of his showmanship dimmed, but the wit and lazy amusement that constantly cloaked Dorian remained. He always behaved as though he were on a stage, both in his mannerisms and his melodramatic—and often wry—commentary. I guess as a king he kind of was on stage during his life.

      “Well, Eugenie, here we are.” Dorian carelessly smoothed down the black velvet of his robe. Gold and red patterns danced around the hems. “You are a vision of sublime beauty, as always.”

      “Oh come on,” I exclaimed. “Not from you, of all people. I’m the most shoddily dressed person in this room.”

      “No. I saw a scullery maid dressed nearly as badly. A crown really would go a long way to establish your standing. But, barring that, your dress is actually lovely and well-made, even if plain. Wait and watch: you’ll see women wearing copies of it soon. The fact that you can still draw eyes while wearing it is a testament to your beauty and presence. You achieve what most of these trumped-up, painted women cannot, no matter how many layers of heavy, rich fabric cover them up.”

      I gestured toward his robe. “You’re covered up in a fair amount of heavy, rich fabric yourself.”

      The edges of his lips curled up. “If they bother you, I can remove as many of these layers as you like.”

      I rolled my eyes, but the damage was done. With those few words, I once again saw his naked body, smooth and perfect in the moonlight, hovering over mine as I lay bound to his bed. It had been one night, one night only, but it was a night I’d had little luck in forgetting for the last three months. Seeing Dorian stirred it all up again, filling me with confusion over the way my body had responded to such domination.

      Long before that night, Dorian had been one of my first allies in the Otherworld. He’d supported Storm King—and would have loved to knock me up—but had stood firm against any notion of rape. He’d wanted me of my own free will. In the end, he’d helped me defeat Aeson and had shown me the fundamentals of using magic.

      “Did you give Maiwenn something?” I asked abruptly, steering us elsewhere.

      He scrutinized me a moment before answering. “Yes, of course. What was it? Ah. Yes. Bolts of lovely cloth that I’m sure she can do…something…lovely with. My steward picked it out. A paltry present compared to yours, or so I hear.” His eyes tracked across the room to where Maiwenn and Kiyo laughed with some woman I didn’t recognize. “Look at them. Their child will be something to see, don’t you think? They make a very striking couple. I should commission a painter to do a family portrait once the baby arrives. Something they can all treasure for years to come.”

      I stiffened. “That’s why you wanted to talk to me, huh? You haven’t changed, Dorian, and I’m not going to stay here and play if you’re just going to try to bait me. I didn’t want to talk to you anyway.”

      Dorian gave a long-suffering sigh. “You always think so little of me, Eugenie. I wished to speak with you because I wanted to know how you’ve been. I’ve missed you. How do you like being a queen? Your land hasn’t perished…yet…so I’m taking that as a good sign.”

      Still irked by the Kiyo jibe, I fixed him with a glare. “I didn’t want to be a queen at all. It’s your fault I’ve gotten into this. If you hadn’t tricked me into claiming the land, I’d be in Tucson right now and away from all of this.” The sting of what he’d done, binding me to the Thorn Land, still itched within me. I wasn’t sure if I could ever forgive him for that.

      “Not true. You’d still be here, moping around while your lover receives gifts for his child, just as you are right now. And men like the young Rowan prince would still solicit you because whatever other titles come and go, you will always be Storm King’s daughter.”

      “I don’t really want to be that either.”

      He spread his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness. “That I cannot change. All I can do with that is help you to develop the powers you inherited, but you’ve already refused my aid there.”

      I looked away. “I don’t need your help.” Aside from the grudge I held against him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that more of his “help” would result in me in his bed again.

      He took a step toward me. “Have you been teaching yourself?”

      I didn’t answer.

      “You have been, haven’t you? Or trying to, at least. Odd, considering I distinctly recall you saying you were satisfied with the level of magic you’d reached through my training.” He smiled. “How is that going? Perhaps you’d like my help again?”

      I jerked my head back toward him. Too much at this party had ground me down already, and his serpent’s tongue was the point that threatened to break me. “No. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help, okay? I’m happy with what I’m teaching myself. If I advance, fine. If I don’t, fine. It doesn’t matter to me.”

      He laughed, a soft and deadly sound that poured over me like honey. “Eugenie, Eugenie. You may lie to other people, you may lie to your kitsune, and you may even lie to yourself. But do not lie to me. I was the one who first taught you to control your magic. I’ve seen how you crave it, how you glow with the rush of that power. I know how it makes you feel because I’ve felt it too. I can see in those lovely violet eyes of yours how passionately you want to tap more of that magic. It’s consuming you.”

      “As usual,” I said in a low voice that matched his own, “you’re imagining more than is actually there.”

      “And you, as usual, are denying what is there, not to mention your own nature. You are what you are, Eugenie, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can begin doing great things.”

      “This conversation is done,” I snapped, turning away.

      Dorian’s hand closed around my wrist, and he pulled me toward him with an unexpected harshness. I don’t think he’d meant to do it quite so hard. I let out a small gasp as those fingers tightened against my skin. I wasn’t trapped by any stretch of the imagination, but for half a moment, I could believe I was. The painful restraint on my wrist sent shockwaves of heat through my body, and the scent of cinnamon drifted around me, standing this close to him. My breathing had grown heavy, and I willed it to slow down.

      He hadn’t expected that reaction. A slight widening of his eyes showed rarely expressed surprise. Leaning his face toward mine, his thumb stroked the skin on my arm while the rest of the fingers maintained their hold.

      “Just like old times, hmm? It seems you haven’t entirely lost your taste for restraint. Yet, like everything else, I’m sure you deny yourself that as well.”

      “You think so?” I asked nastily. “You should try fucking Kiyo. Lots of restraint there.”

      Amusement lit his face, contrasting with the dark desire in his eyes. “Since I’m presuming you don’t mean you finally bought him a leash, let me say simply that there is a big difference between allowing an animal to ravage you and allowing yourself to be ravaged. One is common. The other is art. It is planned. Crafted, even. Only capable of being done by a master.” His next words came out so conversationally, we might as well have been discussing the weather. “As it is, I’ve been planning out what I’d like to do the next time we make love. СКАЧАТЬ