not doing it well.»
«Yes, how dare you!» She instinctively grabbed her sword and suddenly realized that it was useless. There is no blood in the veins of a disembodied spirit, so the wondrous blade cannot be turned against it either.
«Did you at least check to see if all those you recruited would answer your call?» He continued to lecture her. «What if they can’t keep their word – the spirits and the fairies and the dragons? They’re all tricky. You expect them to rescue you from the first danger on the battlefield.»
«I’ll prove it when I march,» Rhianon observed recently, noting that the tiny creatures even accompanied her on her walks and often on her hunts. Dwarves appeared under her horse’s feet every now and then, escorting her, and pixies flew overhead. When she hunted with the royal retinue, she knew that she could lure the magical creatures from the thicket and they would bring a doe, weasel, or deer to her themselves. They obeyed her as they did their lord. What alarmed Rhianon most of all was that her instincts had become like Madael’s. Once she had shot a doe with a bow, she felt a strange thirst. Even before the huntsmen had begun gutting the carcass, she wanted to put the flask under the trickle of blood, or press her lips to the wound. What if she had done it in front of everyone? Madael could, unashamedly on the battlefield, drink the blood of the wounded if he wanted to. He was surrounded by those who understood him. And she had to have the decency to avoid the bonfire herself. Vivian, who had joined the hunters, looked at her suspiciously enough. He was good himself. Rhianon only managed to spot one small dragon in the thicket, but it was quite active, not inebriated. He was beyond Vivian’s control. If it got out of hiding it could have torn apart their entire small squad, but when it spotted Rhianon it only quickly tilted its head and hurried to hide.
Rhianon was about to mentally warn Vivian not to stare at her so stunned, but the smell of flayed game was so irritating to her sense of smell that she couldn’t think of anything else. The smell of blood became a lure. She wanted to put the goblet under the scarlet stream and in place of the slit throat of the doe, she imagined Manfred’s throat.
Soon it would not be a fantasy, but a reality. For some reason Conrad came to her mind first. Pulling out the dagger with which to finish the animal, Rhianon imagined the prince’s throat. He had encroached on her, he deserved to die. Even Madael would decide exactly as she did.
Warrior-Lover
Douglas woke up suddenly. He felt as if someone was there. Someone he had been waiting for a long time.
As soon as he managed to doze off. He hadn’t been able to sleep for a long time. Suddenly sleep enmeshed his consciousness like a spider’s web. The young man didn’t even have time to control his magical defenses. He shook his hand carelessly through his tangled hair, dyed with special solutions to a searing black color. Before, an effort of thought would have been enough to tidy it, but now he was using his hands instead of his charms like a normal man. The whole thing felt more like an obsession.
Good thing all his captive supernatural beings hadn’t scattered while he slept. Douglas glanced around anxiously and was suddenly dumbfounded. Standing before the window open into the night was him… the one he must have been waiting for forever. A scarlet cloak fluttered behind his winged back. It wasn’t hard to guess how the guest had entered his tower. Why would he need a window, though? He could probably pass through walls, seep through cracks with air or flowing water, or burst into flames. He was everywhere, and everything was under his control. Just now the wind was blowing nearby, but it didn’t penetrate the open window. The net for the stars stretched beneath him remained unbroken.
A handsome, muscular hand clutched his sword, but Douglas knew that his guest would not challenge him to a duel. He was here for something else.
The young man could barely catch his breath. How long and hopelessly he had dreamed of this moment. And now the miracle had happened. It was a frightening miracle. The sight of the angelic beauty made his blood run cold.
He was not afraid of going blind at the sight of angelic features. It had not already happened to him. So it would not happen to him again. But the chiseled profile, framed by golden strands, made him feel a kind of morbid admiration. There he was, Dennitsa. He’s right there. Incarnate. Douglas, try as he might, had never been able to make sense of the complex structure of supernatural bodies. It was almost incomprehensible. Even now it was difficult to determine where ether ended and matter began. The guest seemed to him quite tangible and material and at the same time incommensurably more powerful than a physical being could be. Even the wings that fluttered slightly behind him seemed so powerful. One swing of them could knock a man to the ground.
Douglas swallowed hard. Why did he hesitate, the fool? He had waited all his life for this moment, and he did not dream of waiting. Right in front of him in his tower isolated from the world stands the very man he has so ardently dreamed of. Perhaps he is only here for a moment before his inevitable disappearance. So he should take advantage of that moment.
He could ask for something. Instinctively he could almost sense that his guest was waiting for it and even ready to respond. Douglas’s lips went numb. It was so hard to believe in the long-awaited moment. Already seeing the immortal warrior here was an indescribable reward.
«Don’t be afraid!» the angel moved toward him, smoothly and not at all menacingly, but Douglas pressed himself against the wall in fright. Bookshelves of books fluttered and caged creatures whirled behind him, sending a charming smile across his pale lips. He reached forward and touched Douglas’s hair with long slender fingers. The young warlock was dazed. The sensation was unspeakable. Here almost ethereal yet unspeakably strong hands slid over his strands, winding them as if to tie them into a net. Shining blue eyes in a halo of golden lashes look inside him. They were seductive pale lips quite close at hand. Dennitsa himself… Douglas had many horrible or noble names swirling on his tongue that were worth calling him: Lucifer, Masemma, Beelzebub…
«You know my name!» The golden voice came through as if through him. «The one I prefer.»
«Yes,» Douglas nodded uneasily. He saw his dream so close, and at the same time he was suddenly stung by a sharp sense of disappointment. Was this what he’d been dreaming of lately? If so, he was very close to him. So why was Douglas suddenly looking for different feminine features in his face? Rhianon’s. Why couldn’t she come to him now? Why had Mastema come instead of her? After all, Douglas had been dreaming of nothing but her lately.
It had taken him some time to realize that the beautiful angel had not come to him with an offer of intimacy.
«Does your king want me in his army?» His pale lips curved into a sneer that sent a chill down his spine. It was a statement, not a question, and yet Douglas nodded.
«It is a curious suggestion…»
Even Douglas’ captive creatures in the cages and corners of the tower chuckled, recognizing the sneer in Dennitsa’s tone. Douglas, on the other hand, did not know where to put his eyes.
«I promised…»
«I know it,» the angel interrupted him. «You don’t think there’s anything I don’t know.»
«Well…» The young man felt like a fool. His idol had deliberately dragged him through the mud, chiding him for his naivety. «I think nothing escapes your attention, Monsignor.»
«Monsignor,» the beautiful pale lips sneered again. Douglas noticed that the mocking grin bloomed
