The captain arched one demonic brow. “Aye. I’ve a ship. Where is it you’re looking to go, Goodman Fist?”

“King’s Point.”

“No one sails to the Point these days. There’s a war on, haven’t you heard?”

“Well then, what’s the closest village with an open port before the Point? Take me there. I’ll pay extra if we can leave tonight.”

“Leave me.” Annoura commanded in a cold, emotionless tone.

Her Ladies-in-Waiting instantly obeyed, dropping deep curtsies as they backed out of what had been the king’s bedchamber. Since destroying her own bedchamber, Annoura had taken to sleeping in Dorian’s. The decision had been a matter of convenience at first, but she realized almost immediately that being here, among his things, soothed her as very little else could these days.

Annoura rose from the dressing table and crossed the room to Dorian’s bed. She felt closer to him here. One of his robes lay on the coverlet. She wrapped herself in it and crawled into his bed, laying her head on his pillow. His scent surrounded her, almost as if he were here, holding her in his arms. Hugging that illusion close, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

As she had every night since his death, Annoura dreamed of Dorian. Not the cold and distant Dorian he’d been their last weeks together, but the Dorian as he’d been when they first met. Dazzling. Seductive. Devoted. The most intensely passionate man she’d ever met. With hazel eyes that could glow like stars and a mouth that drove her mad when he whispered kisses across her skin.

Tonight, like the other nights since his death, she dreamed they were back in the secluded garden terrace in Capellas, where they’d shared their first kiss. The lilac trees were blooming, as they’d been that day so long ago. Dorian stood on the terrace’s stone pavers, older than he had been on the day of their first kiss, but still a dark, lustrous jewel, framed by the lilac’s soft hues. The wind ruffled his hair and blew the hem of his rich velvet surcoat about him. He held out a hand, his hazel eyes full of love, and spoke her name. “Annoura.”

“Dorian.” She reached for him and nearly wept when the warmth of his hand closed about hers and the familiar heat of his mouth possessed her lips. Unlike the day of their first kiss, the dream Dorian didn’t simply kiss her and declare his love. Instead, he bore her down upon a bed of soft lilacs, and cool, intoxicating fragrance enveloped her with dizzying sweetness.

Dorian’s hands smoothed burning paths down her body. She arched against him, calling his name, pleading with him to join his body with hers. Fearful that, like every other night, the dream Dorian would once again drive her to a frenzy of need, then evaporate, leaving her empty and aching and sobbing into her pillow.

Tonight, however, as her need reached its peak and the Dorian of her dreams started to fade and pull away from her, she clung to him, weeping and pleading for him not to go. “Please, dearling, don’t go! Stay with me. I’ll do anything, only please don’t go. Don’t go!”

“Anything, Annoura?” he asked. “Will you give yourself to me, heart and soul, willingly and without reservation? Will you surrender everything you are to me? “

Annoura hesitated. Something in Dorian’s voice didn’t sound right, and for a moment she could swear his hazel eyes had turned dark—almost black.

Her hesitation must have convinced him she was insincere, because he started to fade again. She could feel him growing insubstantial in her hands, dissolving like mist.

“Wait!” she cried. If she let him go, she would wake and find herself alone again. And the pain of that aloneness was more than she could bear. She’d do anything to keep him with her, even just as a dream. “Yes. Yes, of course. Anything, Dorian. Only don’t leave me.”

His hand caressed her face. “Then say it, dearest. You must say the words, so I can stay with you.”

She didn’t know the words he meant, but suddenly they were there, on her tongue, tumbling past her lips. “I surrender myself to you without reservation. My body and soul are yours to command.” The moment she said the words, it was like some bubble of pressure burst inside her, and she drew a sobbing breath. “Now please, Dorian, please stay with me. Please.”

Dorian smiled. “Of course, darling.” He bent to claim her mouth in a deep and passionate kiss.

As he did, a sudden, piercing coldness stabbed Annoura’s heart. She cried out in surprise, and began to struggle against him. Her eyes opened in sudden fear, and her mouth opened to scream.

In the bedchamber of the late King Dorian X, Kolis Manza blew another puff of somulus powder into the waking queen’s face. Instantly, the scream died silent in her throat, and her beautiful blue eyes went hazy once more. Her naked, struggling body went lax and pliable against his.

“I’m here, darling,” he whispered reassuringly. “I’ll never leave you again.” His tongue thrust deep into her mouth as his sex plunged deep into her body.

And on the satiny, alabaster skin of Annoura’s left breast, the shadow of Kolis Manza’s first Mark lay like a bruise over her heart.

Elvia ~ Navahele

In the heart of Elvia’s ancient Deep Woods, the Sentinel tree called Grandfather, a colossal arboreal giant planted in the Time Before Memory, spread his branches wide across the mossy glens and misty silver pools of the great Elvish city of Navahele. Far, far beneath the surface of Grandfather’s island, burrowed into the heartwood of his mile-deep taproot, the Elf king Galad Hawksheart floated in the phosphorescent blue glow of his Mirror pool. Long strands of golden hair floated about his face and shoulders. The cream-colored fabric of his full leggings floated, too, transparent and weightless in the water of the pool. His eyes were closed, their piercing green vision turned inward, as his mind and his soul traveled through the complex webs of the Dance, seeking answers, revelation. Understanding.