with another, when it would be so much simpler to have her here with us.”
He nodded, amazed at the depth of her understanding.
“You must make the wedding a great public entertainment. To take a Pleasure Woman, buy her freedom and then wed her will but cap your return to popularity, husband. I shall welcome her before the masses, and we will provide a celebratory feast for all in the City,” Vilia said. “At the end of the evening I shall lead her myself to the bridal chamber, and we shall offer gifts to all the children who are born nine months to the day of your wedding to Anora.”
Gaius Prospero had been astounded by Vilia’s cooperation and her clever suggestions. He had rewarded her by putting her on her back then and there and using her lustily. He would never divorce Vilia now, he decided. She was a perfect first wife—and far too valuable an ally.
Vilia had been true to her word, arranging a great public celebration of his marriage to Anora to welcome this new wife. The Master of the Merchants had never known such utter bliss in his home life. The two women even conspired to entertain his lusts together now and again. He was amazed, and more than pleased by their cooperation. He had gold. His lustful desires were constantly and well satisfied. There was nothing left for him to desire but complete power, and it was now within his reach.
His clever plan to assassinate Vartan of the Fiacre had been genius. He had learned of the jealousy harbored against the Lord of the Fiacre by his younger brother. The brother was, if his spies were to be believed, unfit to rule. He was a young man filled with a sense of his own importance, which was based on naught. The Master of the Merchants secretly contacted Adon’s ambitious wife, Elin, having first sent her a faeriepost to arrange a meeting place with her in the Outlands. He had flattered and cajoled her until the stupid creature had been convinced to do his bidding. She, in turn, persuaded Adon that the lordship of the Fiacre should be his and not his brother’s. She prevailed upon her husband to do Gaius Prospero’s will, assuring him that he would be both rewarded and supported by this powerful man. And then she gave her husband the dagger with the poisoned tip that he was to use to accomplish his task. When he hesitated, Elin nagged Adon until finally he acceded to her wishes.
Now with Vartan dead, Gaius Prospero’s first order of business when spring came again would be to invade the Outlands once more. Vartan and Lara had been the heart of the Outlands’ resistance. With the Lord of the Fiacre dead and his wife driven away by Adon, the Outlands would fall into Hetar’s hands. Oh, there had been a message to the High Council that an Outlands lord named Rendor was now their council head, but this fellow, whoever he was, would not have Vartan’s influence. And he would be the first of the lords to be executed when Hetar claimed the Outlands.
In the meantime, it but remained for Hetar’s High Council to make Gaius Prospero their emperor once the winter recess was over. Emperor Gaius I—he liked the sound of it, the Master of the Merchants considered with a cold smile. Once, long ago in its very distant past, Hetar had been ruled by a line of emperors. It had been one land then, and not divided into the four provinces. It would be one land again, and the Forest Lords, the Shadow Princes of the desert, the Coastal Kings, and the Midlands governor, Squire Dareh, would pledge him fealty and do homage to him. The Crusader Knights would be his personal army, and the Mercenaries would fight under them and police the land for their emperor. And they would all obey his will, for what Gaius Prospero desired was for the good of Hetar. The emperor would be Hetar incarnate.
The touch of a gentle hand on his sleeve startled him.
“What?” he demanded.
“It is late,” the lady Vilia said. “Your guest has gone, Gaius, and yet here you sit while your two wives eagerly await your coming. Anora says you must be punished for your neglect of us. She says your bottom must be whipped most thoroughly, Gaius. Come.” She drew him up, and led him from the dining chamber.
Gaius Prospero’s heart began to thump with excitement. He had first been drawn to Anora because of her skills at punishment, and she had taught Vilia some of her art.
“Will you both beat me?” he asked hopefully. He loved it when together they plied their custom-made whips on his bare flesh. Each of the dozen thin strands of leather flowing from the carved wood handle was tied with several knots. The knots bit into his tender skin, arousing him greatly.
“Yes,” Vilia said to his delight. “You are deserving of both of us tonight, Gaius. I hope you will be up to the task ahead,” she murmured with distinct meaning.
Gaius Prospero’s breath was already coming in short bursts as his emotions were hotly kindled. Could his life be any better? he thought happily. Everything was happening as he had planned it. Vartan was dead. He would soon be emperor. And tomorrow, Arcas would return to the coast to do battle with his own father over the beautiful Lara, who would then be forced to seek refuge elsewhere. Arcas was doing his bidding, and he did not even realize it.
And while the Master of the Merchants gloated with the success of his schemes, Arcas lay awake in his bed in the Council Quarter considering all that Gaius Prospero had said that evening. Alone, his emotions cooling, he considered that the wily Gaius could very well have been baiting him. He was a very manipulative man who did nothing not to his own advantage. Arcas’s father, Archeron, was an elder. Surely he was not truly interested in Lara as a lover. Yet Lara’s faerie magic could possibly convince Archeron that he did love her. Was his father potent enough to create another son? Would Lara’s faerie heart give him that son? Arcas tossed restlessly. The dawn could not come quick enough.
In the years since the Winter War the Shadow Princes had made an arrangement using their own magic that allowed the diplomats from the other provinces to go and come from the City immediately. Times had changed, and these representatives could no longer spend long days of travel between their own homes and the City. Each of the council members was assigned a time, and then transported to his own province on the assigned day. The last to go were the Shadow Princes, and the transport was closed by the final traveler. This prevented misuse of the Shadow Princes’ magic.
Arcas and his fellow king, Balasi, arrived shortly after dawn. They would enter the transport together, but each would reappear in their own home. With a nod of thanks to the Shadow Prince in charge Arcas stepped within the conveyance, and a moment later found himself in his father’s Great Hall. He nodded pleasantly to the servants sweeping the hall. “Good morning,” he said.
“Welcome home, my lord king,” they chorused.
“Where is my father?”
“It is his custom of late to break his fast with the lady Lara, my lord king,” a servant answered. “You will find him in her apartments in the guest wing.”
So, Arcas thought, irritated, he eats the morning meal with her. Is that after he has spent a night of passion in her arms? He hurried to the part of the palace to which he had been directed. An attentive servant flung open the door to the apartment. Arcas followed the sound of laughter through the chamber and out onto the terrace.
“Arcas!” His father arose from the table smiling, and embraced him warmly.
“Father,” he said, but his eyes rested upon Lara. She was even more beautiful, if such a thing was possible. He returned his father’s embrace, then releasing him said, “Greetings, widow of Vartan.” He quickly caught her hand and kissed it.
Lara withdrew her fingers from his grasp. “Welcome home, King Arcas,” she replied. “I know how very much your father has been awaiting your return.”
“Sit down! Sit down!” Archeron invited his son. “Eat! If I know you, Arcas,
