Sorcerer's Bride (Blue Moon Rising Book 2) by Blair Bancroft

Author:Blair Bancroft [Bancroft, Blair]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2017-01-06T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

M’lani punched up her lace-edged pillow, rolled from her left side to her right, then back again. She squeezed her eyes shut, wrinkling her nose, as she made a determined effort to direct her thoughts toward L’ira, K’kadi, the rebellion . . . Anything but Jason Mondragon. Her husband.

Useless, all useless. What would she have done if her father hadn’t sent him away? Stood frozen to the floor staring at Jagan in horror? Run screaming from the room?

Pok, dimi and fyd! M’lani scowled. What satisfying oaths the Regs had, though she suspected fyd should never so much as flick through the thoughts of a princess. She had just married her childhood tormentor, her sister’s betrothed, B’aela Flammia’s lover. Psyclid’s Sorcerer Prime, who could call up dragons and monsters, and likely had a soul so dark he might even make the Emperor quake in his boots.

She thought she’d known what she was doing when she so blithely volunteered to wed the Sorcerer Prime, but truthfully she must have been mad, naively innocent, or just plain stupid. This was Jagan, a man who practiced magic with a cool head and no visible sign of a heart. A man to be feared as he seemed to see the world through a veil of magic that made him indifferent to normal human values.

Through the years her feelings for Jagan had undergone many transformations—from adoration and hero worship to sheer terror after the Medusa incident, then back to girlish, if a bit tremulous, admiration for a handsome and dynamic young man with great power. This stage was soon followed by the more mature, and hurtful, reflection that Jagan had not only taken a mistress, he was destined to wed her older sister. Like the sun whose brilliant rays sent rainbows sparkling off Crystalia’s towers, the Sorcerer Prime was totally out of reach long before he and his followers ran off to Hell Nine. M’lani Orlondami and Jagan Mondragon, separated forever.

Yet now . . . they were husband and wife. Legally married in front of her entire family by Psyclid’s high priestess, her groom immediately banished back to the Archeron Embassy.

And how did she really feel about that?

The harsh truth . . . Disappointment bubbled up through what she had assured herself was only relief. The Jagan she’d seen since his return—particularly the Jagan who visited her bedchamber in the wee hours of the night—was an intriguing mix of the arrogant sorcerer, indifferent to all but his magic, and the Jagan who occasionally made an effort to understand other people, to empathize with their problems. His temper frayed less easily lately, and he seemed to be making an effort to adjust to the responsibility of leading the fight to free Psyclid from the Regs.

Personally, however . . .

His bed had scarcely cooled since B’aela’s departure.

And how much of the visceral reaction she felt when they touched could be attributed to echoes of childish hero worship combined with awe for his skills? Or perhaps what she felt was not desire for Jagan as a man but only a desire to have what had been destined for L’ira.

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