The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) by Karen Azinger

Author:Karen Azinger [Azinger, Karen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kiralynn Epics
Published: 2012-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

33

Bryce

Bryce crouched in the gray void of his prison, peering through the keyhole of light. He watched as the Mordant took the woman. A tumble of long blond hair framed a heart-shaped face, so achingly beautiful. His gaze roved across her, feasting on every detail. Her blue eyes looked eager, her curves tantalizing beneath diaphanous silk. She leaned forward, her silken shoulder straps giving way. The woman laughed, her nipples swelling to his touch. His touch! Yet Bryce felt nothing, locked within his prison, reduced to a voyeur of his own body.

“Come, my Lord.” She tugged at the Mordant’s hand, pulling him toward a massive bed. “Let me please you.”

Her words came to Bryce like an echo through a tunnel.

A sheath of pale silk slipped from her hips. Naked in the candlelight, she offered a beguiling glimpse of ecstasy. “Come to bed, my Lord, and together we shall make a son.”

The Mordant laughed, a throaty rumble. “Is that what you think I want?”

She rubbed against him like a cat, marking him with her scent, pulling him down onto a sea of pillows. “Of course, my Lord, for a son is a man’s immortality.”

He rolled on top, pinning her beneath his weight. “Children are the weakness of mortals.”

She gave him a playful pout. “But all kings need a son.”

“I need no sons.” He caught her wrists, pinning them to the bed. “But I’ll take your pleasures.” And then he took her, hard and triumphant, reveling in each thrust. “I am my own legacy.” He pounded each phrase home. “My own past…my own present…my own future.”

Shuddering, Bryce pulled away; tortured by an intimacy he could only watch. Writhing within his prison, he felt both repelled and attracted to the keyhole. The narrow glimpse of life let him eavesdrop on the Mordant, but it was a sterile view, without taste or smell, or touch. How he longed for a single touch, a single caress. The keyhole kept him sane, a gift from the gods, yet sometimes it seemed a cruel curse, leaving him parched for life. Nights were the worst, a torture to endure. The Mordant kept a harem of lovers, a bevy of concubines, taking a different one every night, yet Bryce had never known a woman. Closing the keyhole, he succumbed to the gray void, a ball of misery locked away from the world.

Later, much later, he felt the Mordant stir. He’d grown attuned to the moods of his jailor. Sensing a keen interest, something much more than sexual, Bryce dared a glimpse of the world.

Night cloaked the royal bedchamber, the candles melted to stubs. Naked, the woman lay sprawled across the bed, lost to sleep, her blond hair tussled across the pillow. The Mordant shrugged a black robe over his shoulders. Barefoot, he prowled the marble corridors.

Bryce kept vigil, spying through the keyhole. There had to be a reason the gods gifted him with this view, some way he could make a difference. Perhaps the Mordant hid a weakness, a key to unlock the harlequin’s ruin.

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