Kolis made his way towards the back of the palace, where the grand ballroom opened to marble terraces overlooking sprawling, immaculately groomed gardens and fountains. King Dorian and Queen Annoura were hosting a luncheon to introduce their son's soon-to-be betrothed to the lords and ladies of the court.

A large white canopy had been erected on the lawn to keep the warm summer sun from overheating Annoura's noble guests. Snowy linen tablecloths fluttered in the slight breeze. Long serving tables offered an abundance of culinary delights: plum-stuffed hummingbirds artfully arranged in fields of candied flowers, roast peacock displayed in a fan of brilliant feathers, spit-roasted boar served on a bed of sautéed greens, iced fruits, and tiny vegetable sandwiches. A small string orchestra played beneath a blue-and-cream-striped canopy.

Annoura sat on a gilt chair beneath the largest canopy next to Prince Dorian and his future bride, Lady Nadela. The shei'dalin, robed and veiled in unrelieved scarlet, was seated nearby, with her black-leather-clad Fey quintet behind her. Dorian and Lord v'En Solande stood some distance away in a smaller, less festive gathering of lords that included Teleos, Clovis, Nin, and Fann. Kolis had no doubt what they were discussing.

He caught a nearby page and handed him a folded, sealed note. "Deliver this-discreetly, mind you-to Lady Montevero, that lady in blue standing near the queen." He tossed the boy a gold coin for his troubles and headed back into the palace to a small reading library to wait.

A quarter bell later, the library door inched open and Jiarine slipped inside, locking the door behind her. Sky-blue sapphires and diamonds glittered at her throat and wrists, accenting the pretty blush in her cheeks and the soft powder-blue silk of her gown.

"That blue suits you, my sweet." The color lent a deceptive air of innocence to a woman who was anything but. He dragged her to him and tsked over the bruises on her throat hidden by carefully applied layers of powder. "Those buffoons at the dinner were careless with you. You should have insisted on better manners. But then, I know you didn't mind, did you, pet?" He smiled and stroked a finger along her jaw as the color in her cheeks deepened.

She yanked her face away and scowled at him. "You didn't tell me what that Feraz spell would do," she accused. "Why didn't you warn me?”

He lifted a brow, but let her impertinence pass. There would be time enough later to teach Jiarine the expected subservience of an umagi. "My dear, I didn't know. The talis doesn't cause a specific reaction; it only enhances its target's emotions and rouses a magical response. If she'd been cold, the room might well have ended up coated in ice.”

"You left me. You left me there to them.”

"I don't favor men. Especially not foul, drooling bogrots like Lord Bevel. Not even while existing in your sweet body." His hand trailed down her throat and followed the low scoop of her gown's neckline. Her br**sts swelled against the bodice's narrow bands of fabric. He saw the hint of another bruise disappearing beneath the fabric and knew those marks on her throat weren't the only ones she bore.

"Who had you, Jiarine? Give me their names." His hands stroked across her bodice in feather-light, teasing brushes.

She shuddered and closed her eyes.

"Their names, pet. Bevel I know. Who else, hmm?" He knew her well enough to know there'd been more than one.

"Purcel." The admission grated its way past clenched teeth.

"Purcel?" Kolis chuckled. "You're a stronger lure than I suspected. The man's a walking corpse. I doubt he's been able to raise more than a finger in a decade." His mind raced through reams of data he'd committed to memory long ago. Purcel's estates were rich with iron and coal, and his foundries placed him second only to Lord Clovis as Celieria's greatest producer of steel. Vadim Maur would be pleased to gain such a conquest. "Who else?”

Kolis's hand slid into her bodice and lifted one breast free. The creamy skin, porcelain-fine and pale as milk, was marred by dark, finger-sized bruises and curved lines that looked like teeth marks. Her nipple was tight and pebbled. He brushed his thumb across it and watched her flesh jump in response. "Who gave you these little bites?" He bent his head and traced one of the bite marks with the tip of his tongue.

She gasped and grabbed his shoulders. "Ponsonney.”

"Ah ... yes, I've heard that about him. Did he show you his walking stick?" He licked her nipple and grazed it with his teeth. She rewarded him with a sudden wave of heat and the musky-sweet scent of her arousal.

"Yes," she gasped.

"Did he use it on you?" He raised her skirts and ran his hand up over the silk of her stockings, past the beribboned garters to the soft, bare skin of her inner thighs. Her hips jumped forward.

"Yes." Her voice was tight and choked.

"And did you like it?" Wetness soaked his hand as he stroked her. She rose up to the tips of her toes in an unconscious move to give him better access. Her hips began a familiar rhythmic grind against his hand.

"Yes!”

Kolis smiled and worked her with his hand and mouth, enjoying the eager way she responded to his touch and the scattered images and remembered sensations from the other night that filtered from her mind to his. She'd let them use her in every way a man could use a woman, and she'd reveled in it, begged them for it, wept and pleaded for their hands, their mouths, their cocks inside her. He bit down on her nipple at the same time as his thumb pressed hard on the small bud of straining flesh until she cried out and came in a sudden, jerking rush.