Then he was there, his strong hands drawing her up against his chest, his arms enfolding her. His cape swirled about her, hiding her from the hundreds of prying eyes surrounding them. She leaned into his strength, pressing her hot face against his throat. Her arms linked around his waist and clung tight, as his head bent to her and his lips rained searing kisses and a storm of passionate Feyan words in her hair.
“You are mine.”
The fierce claim sent another bout of shudders rippling through her. All she could do was cling to him and whisper brokenly, “Yes. Yes.”
Rain’s head shot up in savage triumph. “She is mine,” he growled, his narrowed gaze spearing the onlookers with naked threat, a lethal promise of death to anyone fool enough to try to take Ellysetta Baristani from him.
The scorching heat of the Tairen Soul’s desire for his mate was palpable, and his primitive claiming of her raised the temperature of the room several degrees higher. In the gallery, breathless, corseted ladies swooned by the dozens. On the dais, the king swallowed and ran a finger under the suddenly too-tight neck of his tunic, while the queen shifted restlessly on her throne and fanned her face, muttering, “Good sweet Lord of Light.”
King Dorian cleared his throat. “It would indeed seem that you and Mistress Baristani are in accord on the subject, My Lord Feyreisen, and this court has heard all it needs to hear.” His face settled into a stern expression and he leveled a hard gaze on the butcher’s son. “Den Brodson, you claimed the girl by marking her without her consent or knowledge, and when the king of the Fey also claimed her, you filed a petition in the hopes that our court administrators would not yet have heard the name of Ellysetta Baristani and would make your claim binding before anyone was the wiser. You sought to deny the Tairen Soul his truemate through legal maneuvering.”
Den opened his mouth to object, but the king’s hand slashed up in a curt gesture that silenced the objection before Den gave it voice.
“If Ellysetta Baristani were being claimed by the Feyreisen against her will—if he threatened her in any way—then I might very well refuse the Fey king his mate and face the consequences of that decision, whatever those might be. But you, Den Brodson, not the Tairen Soul, are the one who has molested the girl, claimed her against her will, threatened her family, and tried to manipulatethis court in order to force her to your will. I will not—now or ever—plunge Celieria into war in order to support the questionable claim of an unquestionable bully.”
“She is mine!” Den shouted. “She bears my mark. Everything she says is being manipulated by these Fey sorcerers, and you are falling prey to their magic!”
“Goodman Brodson, you will be silent!” The king gripped the arms of his throne and glared at the butcher’s son. “As my queen correctly noted earlier, the betrothal agreement is between Master Baristani and your father. You have no say in the matter. Your father has accepted payment in lieu of your bride. The betrothal is dissolved. The Baristanis are free of all obligations—material or honorable—entailed by the agreement or the circumstances leading up to it. Ellysetta Baristani may bear your mark, but she is no longer yours to claim. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear, Your Majesty!” Gothar replied quickly, grabbing his son up in his arms and clamping one huge hand over the younger man’s mouth. “Very clear! Thank you for your time and patience. Den won’t be bothering these people.”
“See that he does not,” the king warned. Then he took a deep breath and leaned back in his throne. “In light of the obviously strong feelings this case has... er... aroused”—a weak, dazed laughter rippled through the audience—“I call a one-bell recess to allow passions to cool.” He nodded and the steward’s gavel cracked out the call for dismissal. The king immediately rose to his feet and thrust out an imperious hand to his queen. “Annoura, you will attend me.”
The queen eyed the passion-dark eyes of her husband, the flaring nostrils, the ruddy color of his face, and took his hand, allowing him to drag her off her throne and into the privacy of the antechambers beyond.
Only a few paces away, Ellie’s Fey protectors watched the throne room empty with astonishing quickness, the majority of observers leaving by twos with flushed faces and dazed eyes. Thefew dozen who remained were mostly women who stayed behind to ogle the Fey Tairen Soul and his Celierian truemate.
“Any bets on the number of Celierian babies born in nine months’ time?” Kiel vel Tomar murmured dryly as he watched the rush of departing couples.
Rowan vel Arquinas ran a hand through his black hair and shook his thighs to ease the tightness of his leathers. “And I thought the keflee thing was stimulating.” Beside him his younger brother Adrial gave a bark of laughter that he tried to disguise with a fit of coughing.
Kieran grinned and obligingly thumped him on the back. “What do you think, Bel?”
“She is a fine mate for our king,” Belliard replied in a distracted voice. The watchful eyes of Ellysetta’s blood-sworn champion were focused on the enraged face of Den Brodson as his father dragged him from the courtroom.
“Bel?” Losing his grin, Kieran followed the older Fey’s gaze. “You think the little sausage still hopes to make trouble? Surely even he would not be so stupid.”
“Not stupid, no. He was wise enough to see in our Feyreisa what these other Celierian fools did not. What even she does not see in herself.” Belliard fingered one of the red-handled Fey’cha sheathed in his crisscrossed chest straps. “A man who has laid claim to such wealth will not let it slip from his hands without a fight.”
Chapter Seven
As the courtroom emptied, Sol cleared his throat to gain the attention of the infamous Fey holding Ellysetta. “My Lord Feyreisen? Er... Your Majesty?”
Lavender eyes snapped open, bright and fierce. Sol felt his knees tremble, but he stood his ground. “I am Sol Baristani, sir, the father of that young woman you’re holding so closely. It would make me quite a bit happier if you would release her.”
“Sol...” Lauriana muttered a barely audible warning.
“Ah, the father.” Anger skated across the Tairen Soul’s face. “The man who would sell myshei’tanito therultshartwith the filthy, roving mouth and disrespectful hands.”
Sol drew in a sharp breath. “Despite what you obviously believe, I love my daughter. I urge you not to cast judgment when you know nothing of me or the reasons for my actions.”
“Papa?” Ellie emerged from the folds of the Tairen Soul’s cloak. Her hair was mussed. A few of her curls had won freedom from their confinement and now dangled in springy ringlets from their anchor pins. Her green eyes were heavy-lidded and slumberous, though as she glanced from Sol to Rain, her gaze sharpened considerably. “My Lord Feyreisen?”
The Tairen Soul’s expression relaxed, and he reached out to wind one loose flame-colored coil around his index finger. He rubbed the curl with his thumb, a tender expression warming his eyes. “I would never bring nor allow harm to myshei’tani’sfamily,” he announced, and his fingers set to work on the intimate taskof putting Ellysetta’s escaped curls back in order. “To do so would be to harm her. You may speak your mind, Master Baristani, without fear of reprisal.” He tucked the last ringlet in place and secured it with a pin.
The Tairen Soul’s knuckle lightly caressed Ellie’s cheek while his gaze met and held Sol’s. Sol understood. The boundaries had just been established. Though Sol was Ellie’s father, the Tairen Soul was her mate and he claimed the right to protect and guide her.
Sol expelled a weary breath. “Den Brodson isn’t the husband I would have chosen for Ellie, but once he marked her—with or without her consent—she would have been shunned here in Celieria had I not signed the betrothal. I made what I considered to be the right decision under the circumstances, to protect both Ellie and the rest of my family.”
