Pleiades and Ventura. Though neither country had won the war, both sides had lost thousands upon thousands of its inhabitants and many heroes had been born upon the battlefields.
“Ah, Your Grace, that is a very elegant rendering of Lord Konan Krull,” Marbas, one of Clea’s ladies-in-waiting proclaimed as she came to view the progress her princess had made on the tapestry.
“Aye, but he is a handsome man, is he not?” Clea asked with a heartfelt sigh. “So tall and brave and does he not sit his destrier well?”
“Who is that warrior?” Marbas asked. She pointed to a young man holding two soldiers at bay with his mighty sword.
“Lord Leksi Helios, son of Sirius. He, too, is quite the chevalier, eh?”
“Very handsome, Your Grace, but not as wickedly beautiful as the Lord High Commander.”
“Nor as brutal as Krull,” Clea commented as she adjusted the tapestry stand to alleviate the ache in her shoulders. “Though I am told he is the very gentlest of lovers with his wife, the Lady Isabell.”
“Oh, to be the mate of such gallant men,” Marbas said with a heavy sigh.
“You will find a husband one day, Mari. Have no fear of it.”
Clea had run out of yarn for her needle so she sat back in her chair and picked up a skein. Her eyesight was fading as she grew older and the condition that caused her eyes to water constantly made her squint, thus deepening the creases in her face.
“When you are queen, do you think you could find me a mate who is as handsome as Lord Krull?” Marbas asked.
Her mistress laughed. “I doubt me there are any men quite as handsome as that one, but I will do my best to find you one who will be a good husband to you and…” She lowered her voice. “A very skilled lover!”
Marbas blushed and ducked her head.
“Milady, might Lord Nergal have a moment of your time?” Sariel, another of the ladies-in-waiting asked.
Clea looked up to find one of her father’s toadies standing poised in the doorway. She frowned deeply for the man was one she loathed. “Aye, Lord Nergal?” she ground out.
“His Majesty has issued an order that you are to remain in your quarters for the coming week,” Lord Nergal stated.
Laying her hands in her lap, Clea stared at her father’s Chief of the Secret Police and consigned him to the very depths of the Abyss. Each time she was forced to look upon Nergal, she felt queasiness in the pit of her stomach.
“May I ask why I am being relegated once more to my quarters and not allowed the freedom of the keep, Lord Nergal?”
Though his extraordinarily striking features turned the heads of beautiful women who were not aware of his despicable proclivities, Nergal preferred the company of less comely females with whom he felt he did not have to compete. With the Princess, he felt superior, and his manner and tone suggested as much. Despite the fact she was of royal heritage and in direct line to the throne of Pleiades, he did not feel she was due even a modicum of respect since her father showed her none, himself.
“If he had wanted you to know, he would have given me permission to tell you,” Nergal snapped.
“And, naturally, you would have been overjoyed to give me his reason, wouldn’t you, Lord Nergal?” Clea returned.
“Keep yourself to your quarters, woman, and do not question the motives of your king. Best you keep to female things like that hideous tapestry you seem too unskilled to complete,” Lord Nergal said.
The women around Clea gasped at the man’s audacity and looked to their lady, expecting her to chastise the offender. But Clea picked up her tapestry needle and thread, and kept silent.
“You,” Nergal said with a grunt, pointing at Marbas. “Come to my quarters at half-past the hour.” He turned and started to walk away but Clea’s voice stopped him.
“She is suffering from the pox, Lord Nergal. Do you still wish her to come to your bed?”
Lord Nergal turned around and glared at the king’s daughter. His
“Ah, Your Grace, that is a very elegant rendering of Lord Konan Krull,” Marbas, one of Clea’s ladies-in-waiting proclaimed as she came to view the progress her princess had made on the tapestry.
“Aye, but he is a handsome man, is he not?” Clea asked with a heartfelt sigh. “So tall and brave and does he not sit his destrier well?”
“Who is that warrior?” Marbas asked. She pointed to a young man holding two soldiers at bay with his mighty sword.
“Lord Leksi Helios, son of Sirius. He, too, is quite the chevalier, eh?”
“Very handsome, Your Grace, but not as wickedly beautiful as the Lord High Commander.”
“Nor as brutal as Krull,” Clea commented as she adjusted the tapestry stand to alleviate the ache in her shoulders. “Though I am told he is the very gentlest of lovers with his wife, the Lady Isabell.”
“Oh, to be the mate of such gallant men,” Marbas said with a heavy sigh.
“You will find a husband one day, Mari. Have no fear of it.”
Clea had run out of yarn for her needle so she sat back in her chair and picked up a skein. Her eyesight was fading as she grew older and the condition that caused her eyes to water constantly made her squint, thus deepening the creases in her face.
“When you are queen, do you think you could find me a mate who is as handsome as Lord Krull?” Marbas asked.
Her mistress laughed. “I doubt me there are any men quite as handsome as that one, but I will do my best to find you one who will be a good husband to you and…” She lowered her voice. “A very skilled lover!”
Marbas blushed and ducked her head.
“Milady, might Lord Nergal have a moment of your time?” Sariel, another of the ladies-in-waiting asked.
Clea looked up to find one of her father’s toadies standing poised in the doorway. She frowned deeply for the man was one she loathed. “Aye, Lord Nergal?” she ground out.
“His Majesty has issued an order that you are to remain in your quarters for the coming week,” Lord Nergal stated.
Laying her hands in her lap, Clea stared at her father’s Chief of the Secret Police and consigned him to the very depths of the Abyss. Each time she was forced to look upon Nergal, she felt queasiness in the pit of her stomach.
“May I ask why I am being relegated once more to my quarters and not allowed the freedom of the keep, Lord Nergal?”
Though his extraordinarily striking features turned the heads of beautiful women who were not aware of his despicable proclivities, Nergal preferred the company of less comely females with whom he felt he did not have to compete. With the Princess, he felt superior, and his manner and tone suggested as much. Despite the fact she was of royal heritage and in direct line to the throne of Pleiades, he did not feel she was due even a modicum of respect since her father showed her none, himself.
“If he had wanted you to know, he would have given me permission to tell you,” Nergal snapped.
“And, naturally, you would have been overjoyed to give me his reason, wouldn’t you, Lord Nergal?” Clea returned.
“Keep yourself to your quarters, woman, and do not question the motives of your king. Best you keep to female things like that hideous tapestry you seem too unskilled to complete,” Lord Nergal said.
The women around Clea gasped at the man’s audacity and looked to their lady, expecting her to chastise the offender. But Clea picked up her tapestry needle and thread, and kept silent.
“You,” Nergal said with a grunt, pointing at Marbas. “Come to my quarters at half-past the hour.” He turned and started to walk away but Clea’s voice stopped him.
“She is suffering from the pox, Lord Nergal. Do you still wish her to come to your bed?”
Lord Nergal turned around and glared at the king’s daughter. His
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