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Untouched Queen By Royal Command
Kelly Hunter
He must choose a queen…But will his desire outweigh his duty?King Augustus is shocked when his country delivers him a courtesan. The only way to set her free is to marry someone else! But Sera’s surprising innocence and undisguised yearning for him is temptation itself, pushing Augustus’s legendary self-control to the limits. Because Augustus knows that if he dares give in to his attraction he won’t rest until Sera becomes his queen!


He must choose a queen…
But will his desire outweigh his duty?
King Augustus is shocked when his country delivers him a courtesan. The only way to set her free is to marry someone else! But Sera’s surprising innocence and undisguised yearning for him is temptation itself, pushing Augustus’s legendary self-control to the limits. Because Augustus knows that if he dares give in to his attraction, he won’t rest until Sera becomes his queen!
Feel the heat in this tale of innocence and desire!
KELLY HUNTER has always had a weakness for fairy tales, fantasy worlds and losing herself in a good book. She has two children, avoids cooking and cleaning and, despite the best efforts of her family, is no sports fan. Kelly is, however, a keen gardener and has a fondness for roses. Kelly was born in Australia and has travelled extensively. Although she enjoys living and working in different parts of the world, she still calls Australia home.
Also by Kelly Hunter (#u884fe883-dc6a-582f-af1e-f7a4119c70a0)
Claimed by a King miniseries
Shock Heir for the Crown Prince
Convenient Bride for the King
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Untouched Queen by Royal Command
Kelly Hunter


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08743-8
UNTOUCHED QUEEN BY ROYAL COMMAND
© 2019 Kelly Hunter
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover (#u5fef1558-6648-5406-ba35-d8f947eabc7b)
Back Cover Text (#u6bf3ddb3-97c5-57d2-8713-3cd20198e421)
About the Author (#u3047edd9-9ae2-5f57-8502-bcb78871d8d6)
Booklist (#u55901d73-28df-5d9d-b660-85d2396ad5d1)
Title Page (#u972b3122-9111-5f5e-9410-fb7558564b08)
Copyright (#u897f359b-a8e8-597a-b7f4-3614f19cbe00)
PROLOGUE (#u256d98ce-e117-4686-a21c-a9157b401070)
CHAPTER ONE (#u18a7b608-0fc7-55b1-b891-c1e5ac7156f7)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue5bbd638-f9bf-5808-afa3-81ac6a5b1e6c)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#u884fe883-dc6a-582f-af1e-f7a4119c70a0)
Augustus
THEY WEREN’T SUPPOSED to be in this part of the palace. Fourteen-year-old Augustus, Crown Prince of Arun, had been looking for the round room with the domed glass roof for at least six years. He could see that roof from the helicopter every time they flew in or out, but he’d never been able to find the room and no adult had ever been willing to help him out.
His father said that those quarters had been mothballed over a hundred years ago.
His mother said it was out of bounds because the roof was unsafe.
Didn’t stop him and his sister looking for it, even if they never had much luck. It was like a treasure hunt.
They wouldn’t have found it this time either, without the help of a map.
The floor was made of moon-coloured marble, and so too were the columns and archways surrounding the central room. The remaining furniture had been covered with dusty drapes that had probably once been white. Above all, it felt warm in a way that the main castle living areas were never warm.
‘Why do we not live in this part of the palace?’ asked his sister from somewhere not far behind him. She’d taken to opening every door of every room that circled the main area. ‘These look like bedrooms. I could live here.’
‘You want fifty bedrooms all to yourself?’
‘I want to curl up like a cat in the sunlight. Show me one other place in the palace where you can do that.’
‘Mother would kill you if you took to lounging about in the sun. You’d lose your milky-white complexion.’
‘Augustus, I don’t have a milky-white complexion—no matter what our mother might want. I have black hair, black eyes and olive skin—just like you and Father do. My skin likes the sun. It needs the sun, it craves the sun. Oh, wow.’ She’d disappeared through another marble archway and her voice echoed faintly. ‘Indoor pool.’
‘What?’ He backtracked and headed for the archway, bumping into his sister, who was backing up fast.
‘Something rustled in the corner,’ she muttered by way of explanation.
‘Still want to live here?’ He couldn’t decide whether the hole in the ground was big enough to be called a pool or small enough to be called a bath. All he knew was that he’d never seen mosaic floor tiles with such elaborate patterns before, and he’d never seen exactly that shade of blue.
‘I still want to look around,’ his sister offered. ‘But you can go first.’
He rolled his eyes, even as pride demanded he take the lead. He’d been born to rule a country one day, after all. A rustling sound would not defeat him. He swaggered past his sister and turned to the right. There was a sink for washing hands carved into the wall beside the archway, and taps that gleamed with a dull silver glow. He reached for one and, with some effort, got it to turn but there was no water. Not a gurgle, a splutter or even the clank of old pipes.
‘What is this place? What are all these stone benches and alcoves for?’ his sister asked as she followed him into the room. She kept a wary eye on the shadowy corners but eventually turned her attention to other parts of the room.
It was an old map of the palace that had guided them here. That and a history teacher who preferred giving his two royal students books to read so that he could then nap his way through afternoon lessons. Their loss. And sometimes their freedom. If they got caught in here, he could probably even spin it that they were continuing their history lesson hands-on.
‘Maybe it was built for a company of warrior knights who slept in the rooms and came here to bathe. They could have practised sword-fighting in the round room,’ his sister suggested.
‘Maybe.’
Kings had ruled from this palace stronghold for centuries. It was why the place looked so formidable from the outside and had relatively few creature comforts on the inside, no matter how many generations of royals had tried to make it more liveable. There was something about it that resisted softening. Except for in here. There was something soft and strangely beautiful about this part of the palace. Augustus plucked at a scrap of golden silk hanging from a peg on a wall and watched it fall in rotting pieces to the floor. ‘Did knights wear embroidered silk bathrobes?’
His sister glanced over and gasped. ‘Did you just destroy that?’
‘No, I moved it. Time destroyed it.’ Rational argument was his friend.
‘Can I have some?’
Without waiting for permission, she scooped the rotting cloth from the floor, bunched it in her hand and began to rub at a nearby tile.
‘It’s going to take a little more than that to get this place clean.’
‘I just want to see the pictures,’ his sister grumbled, and then, ‘Oh.’ She stopped cleaning.
He looked, and…oh. ‘Congratulations. You found the ancient tile porn.’
‘It’s art, you moron.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I wish we could see better in here,’ his sister said.
‘For that we would need electricity. Or burning torches for all the holders in the walls.’ He closed his eyes and a picture came to mind, clear as day. Not knights and warriors living in this part of the palace and bathing in this room, but women, bound in service to the reigning King.
Augustus had never read about any of his ancestors having a harem, but then, as their eighty-year-old history teacher was fond of telling them, not all facts made it into their history books. ‘So, bedrooms, communal bathing room, big gathering room…what else?’
There were more rooms leading from the centre dome. An ancient kitchen, storage rooms with bare shelves, larger rooms with fireplaces, smaller rooms with candle stubs still sitting in carved-out hollows in the walls. They found chests of drawers and sideboards beneath heavy canvas cloth, long mirrors that his sister swore made her look thinner, and even an old hairbrush.
‘I don’t think people even know this stuff is here,’ Moriana said as she put the brush gently back into place. ‘I don’t know why they’re ignoring it. Some of it’s really old. Museum-old. The back of this brush looks like ivory, inlaid with silver, and it’s just been abandoned. Maybe we should bring the history prof down here. He’d have a ball.’
‘No.’ His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. ‘This is a private place. He doesn’t get to come here.’
Moriana glanced at him warily but made no comment as they left the side room they’d been exploring.
All doorways and arches led back to the main room. It was like a mini town square—or town circle. He looked up at the almost magical glass ceiling. ‘Maybe our forefathers studied the stars from here. Mapped them.’ Perhaps he could come back one night and do the same. And if he took another look at those naked people tiles in the room with the empty pool, so be it. Even future kings had to get their information from somewhere. ‘Maybe they hung a big telescope from the ropes up there and moved it around. Maybe if they climbed the stairs over there…’ He gestured towards the stairs that ran halfway up the wall and ended in a stone landing with not a railing in sight. ‘Maybe they had pulleys and ropes that shifted stuff. Maybe this was a place for astronomers.’
‘Augustus, that’s a circus trapeze.’
‘You think they kept a circus in here?’
‘I think this is a harem.’
So much for his innocent little sister not guessing what this place had once been. ‘I’m going up the stairs. Coming?’
Moriana followed him. She didn’t always agree with him but she could always be counted on to be there for him at the pointy end of things. It didn’t help that their mother praised Augustus to the skies for his sharp mind and impeccable self-control, and never failed to criticise Moriana’s emotional excesses. As far as Augustus could tell, he was just as fiery as his sister, maybe more so. He was just better at turning hot temper into icy, impenetrable regard.
A king must always put the needs of his people before his own desires.
His father’s words. Words to live by. Words to rule by.
A king must never lose control.
Words to be ruled by, whether he wanted to be ruled by them or not.
They made it to the ledge and he made his sister sit rather than stand. He sat too, his back to the wall as he looked up to the roof and then down at the intricately patterned marble floor.
‘I feel like a bird in a cage,’ said Moriana. ‘Wonder what the women who once lived here felt like?’
‘Sounds about right.’ He wasn’t a woman but he knew what being trapped by duty felt like.
‘We could practise our archery from up here.’ Moriana made fists out in front of her and drew back one arm as if pulling back an imaginary arrow. ‘Set up targets down below. Pfft. Practise our aim.’
‘Bloodthirsty. I like it.’ Bottled-up anger had to go somewhere. He could use this place at other times too. Get away from the eyes that watched and judged his every move. ‘Swear to me you won’t tell anyone that we’ve been here.’
‘I swear.’ Her eyes gleamed.
‘And that you won’t come here by yourself.’
‘Why not? You’re going to.’
Sometimes his sister was a mind-reader.
‘What are you going to do here all by yourself?’ she wanted to know.
Roar. Weep. Let everything out that he felt compelled to keep in. ‘Don’t you ever want to be some place where no one’s watching and judging your every move? Sit in the sun if you want to sit in the sun. Lose your temper and finally say all those things you want to say, even if no one’s listening. Especially because no one’s listening.’ Strip back the layers of caution and restraint he clothed himself in and see what was underneath. Even if it was all selfish and ugly and wrong. ‘I need somewhere to go where I’m free to be myself. This could be that place.’
His sister brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The gaze she turned on him was troubled. ‘We shouldn’t have to hide our real selves from everyone, Augustus. I know we’re figureheads but surely we can let some people see what’s underneath.’
‘Yeah, well.’ He thought back to the hour-long lecture on selfishness he’d received for daring to tell his father that he didn’t want to attend yet another state funeral for a king he’d never met. ‘You’re not me.’

Sera
Sera wasn’t supposed to leave the house when her mother’s guest was visiting. Stay in the back room, keep quiet, don’t ever be seen. Those were the rules and seven-year-old Sera knew better than to break them. Three times a week, maybe four, the visitor would come to her mother’s front door and afterwards there might be food for the table and wine for her mother, although these days there was more wine and less food. Her mother was sick and the wine was like medicine, and her sweet, soft-spoken mother smelled sour now and the visitor never stayed long.
Sera’s stomach grumbled as she went to the door between the living room and the rest of the once grand house and put her ear to it. If she got to the bakery before closing time there might be a loaf of bread left and the baker would give it to her for half price, and a sweet bun to go with it. The bread wasn’t always fresh but the sweet treat was always free and once there’d even been eggs. The baker always said, ‘And wish your mother a good day from me’. Her mother always smiled and said the baker was a Good Man.
Her mother had gone to school with him and they’d played together as children, long before her mother had gone away to learn and train and become something more.
Sera didn’t know what her mother meant by more; all she knew was that there weren’t many things left in their house to sell and her mother was sick all the time now and didn’t laugh any more unless there was wine and then she would laugh at nothing at all. Whatever her mother had once been: a dancer, a lady, someone who could make Sera’s nightmares go away at the touch of her hand…she wasn’t that same person any more.
Every kid in the neighbourhood knew what she was now, including Sera.
Her mother was a whore.
There was no noise coming from the other room. No talking, no laughter, no…other. Surely the visitor would be gone by now? The light was fading outside. The baker would close his shop soon and there would be no chance of bread at all.
She heard a thud, as if someone had bumped into furniture, followed by the tinkle of breaking glass. Her mother had dropped wine glasses before and it was Sera’s job to pick up the pieces and try to make her mother sit down instead of dancing around and leaving sticky bloody footprints on the old wooden floor, and all the time telling Sera she was such a good, good girl.
Some of those footprints were still there. Stuck in the wood with no rugs to cover them.
The rugs had all been sold.
No sound at all as Sera inched the door open and put her eye to the crack, and her mother was kneeling and picking up glass, and most importantly she was alone. Sera pushed the door open and was halfway across the room before she saw the other person standing in front of the stone-cold fireplace. She stopped, frozen. Not the man but still a visitor: a woman dressed in fine clothes and it was hard to look away from her. She reminded Sera of what her mother had once been: all smooth and beautiful lines, with clear eyes and a smile that made her feel warm.
Sera looked towards her mother for direction now that the rule had been broken, not daring to speak, not daring to move, even though there was still glass on the floor that her mother had missed.
‘We don’t need you,’ her mother said, standing up and then looking away. ‘Go home.’
Home where?
‘My neighbour’s girl,’ her mother told the visitor. ‘She cleans here.’
‘Then you’d best let her do it.’
‘I can do it.’ Her mother stared coldly at the other woman before turning back to Sera. ‘Go. Come back tomorrow.’
‘Wait,’ said the visitor, and Sera stood, torn, while the visitor came closer and put a gentle hand to Sera’s face and turned it towards the light. ‘She’s yours.’
‘No, I—’
‘Don’t lie. She’s yours.’
Her mother said nothing.
‘You broke the rules,’ the older woman said.
Sera whispered, ‘I’m sorry…’
At the same time her mother said, ‘I fell in love.’
And then her mother laughed harshly and it turned into a sob, and the older woman straightened and turned towards the sound.
‘You didn’t have to leave,’ the older woman said gently. ‘There are ways—’
‘No.’
‘You’re one of us. We would have taken care of you.’
Her mother shook her head. No and no. ‘Ended us both.’
‘Hidden you both,’ said the older woman. ‘Do you really think you’re the first courtesan to ever fall in love and beget a child?’
Sera bent to the task of picking up glass shards from the floor, trying to make herself as small as she could, trying to make them forget she was there so she could hear them talk more, never mind that she didn’t understand what half the words meant.
‘How did you find us?’ her mother asked.
‘Serendipity.’ Another word Sera didn’t know. ‘I was passing through the town and stopped at the bakery for a sourdough loaf,’ the older woman said with a faint smile. ‘Mainly because in all the world there’s none as good as the ones they make there. The baker’s boy remembered me. He’s the baker now, as I expect you know, and he mentioned you. We talked. I mean you no harm. I want to help.’
‘You can’t. I’m beyond help now.’
‘Then let me help your daughter.’
‘How? By training her to serve and love others and never ask for anything in return? I will never choose that life for my daughter.’
‘You liked it well enough once.’
‘I was a fool.’
‘And are you still a fool? What do you think will happen to the child once you poison your body with drink and starve yourself to death? Who will care for her, put a roof over her head and food in her mouth, educate her and give her a sense of self-worth?’
Mama looked close to crying. ‘Not you.’
‘I don’t see many choices left to you.’ The woman glanced around the room. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve already sold everything of value. Any jewellery left?’
‘No.’ Sera could hardly hear her mother’s answer.
‘Does the house belong to you?’
‘No.’
‘How long have you been ill?’
‘A year. Maybe more. I’m not—it’s not—catching. It’s cancer.’
The older woman bowed her head. ‘And how much longer do you think you can last, selling your favours to the lowest bidder? How long before he looks towards the girl and wants her instead of you? Yuna, please. I can give you a home again. Treatment if there’s treatment to be had. Comfort and clothing befitting your status and hers. Complete discretion when it comes to whose child she is—don’t think I don’t know.’
‘He won’t want her.’
‘You’re right, he won’t. But I do. The Order of the Kite will always look after its own. From the fiercest hawk to the fallen sparrow. How can you not know this?’
A tear slipped beneath her mother’s closed lashes. ‘I thought I’d be better off away from it all. For a while it was good. It can be good again.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ The older woman crossed to her mother and took hold of her hands. ‘Let me help you.’
‘Promise me she won’t be trained as a courtesan,’ her mother begged. ‘Lianthe, please.’
‘I promise to give her the same choice I gave you.’
‘You’ll dazzle her.’
‘You’ll counter that.’ The older woman drew Sera’s mother towards the couch, not letting go of her hands, even after they were both seated. Sera edged closer, scared of letting the hem of the woman’s gown get in the puddle of wine on the floor, and loving the sweet, clean smell that surrounded her. The woman smiled. ‘Leave it, child. Come, let me look at you.’
Sera withstood the other woman’s gaze for as long as she could. Stand tall, chin up, don’t fidget. Her mother’s words ringing in her mind. No need to look like a street urchin.
Fidget, fidget, beneath the woman’s quiet gaze.
‘My name’s Lianthe,’ the woman said finally. ‘And I want you and your mother to come to my home in the mountains so that I can take care of you both until your mother is well again. Would you like that?’
‘Would there be visitors for Mama?’
‘What kind of visitors?’
‘The man.’
Her mother and the lady shared a long glance.
‘He would not visit. I would be taking you too far away for that.’
‘Would there be wine for her?’ Because wine was important. ‘Wine’s like medicine.’
‘Then there will be wine until we find better medicine. Tell me, child, are you hungry?’
So, so hungry but she’d learned long ago that sometimes it was better to say nothing than to give the wrong answer. Her stomach grumbled the answer for her anyway.
‘When did you last eat?’ the lady asked next.
Same question. Trick question. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Sera asked anxiously. There was tea in the cupboard and Mama always offered visitors a drink. Tea was a warm drink. She knew how to make it and what cups to use. There was a tray. ‘I could bring you some tea.’
The lady looked towards her mother as if she’d done something wrong. Something far worse than forgetting to lock the door or not turn off the bedroom lamp at night. ‘Yuna, what are you doing? You’re already training her in the ways of self-sacrifice and denial. It’s too soon for that. You know it is.’
Another tear slipped silently down her mother’s face. Lianthe’s gaze hardened.
‘And now she looks to you for guidance and approval. Yuna, you must see what you’re doing here. This isn’t freedom. This isn’t childhood as it’s meant to be lived. This is abuse and, of all the things we taught you, no member of the Order ever taught you that.’
‘He’s not to know,’ her mother said raggedly. ‘He’s not to take her.’
‘He will never know. This I promise.’
‘She’s not to be sent anywhere near him.’
‘You have my word.’
‘She gets to choose. If she doesn’t want to be a companion, you set her up to succeed elsewhere.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Sera?’ Her mother asked her name as a question but Sera stayed quiet and paid attention because she didn’t yet know what the question was. ‘Should we go to the mountains with the Lady Lianthe? Would you like that?’
Away from here and the baker who was a Good Man and the kids who called her names and the men who looked at her with eyes that burned hot and hungry. Away from the fear that her mother would one day go to sleep on a belly full of wine and never wake up. ‘Would there be food? And someone to take care of us?’
Her mother buried her face in her hands.
‘Yes, there will be food and people who will care for you both,’ the Lady Lianthe said. ‘Sera. Is that your name?’
Sera nodded.
‘Pretty name.’ The woman’s smile wrapped around her like a blanket. ‘Pretty girl.’

CHAPTER ONE (#u884fe883-dc6a-582f-af1e-f7a4119c70a0)
SHE WAS A gift from her people to the King of Arun. An unwanted gift if the King’s expression spoke true, but one he couldn’t refuse. Not without breaking the laws of his country and severing seven centuries of tradition between his people and hers. Sera observed him through a veil of lashes and the protection afforded by her hooded travelling cloak. He could not refuse her.
Although he seemed to be considering it.
She was a courtesan, born, bred and shaped for the King’s entertainment. Pledged into service at the age of seven in return for the finest food, shelter and an education second to none. Chosen for the beauty she possessed and the quickness of her mind. Taught to serve, to soothe, and how to dance, fight and dress. One for every King of Arun and only one. A possession to be treasured.
She stood before him, ready to serve. She wasn’t unwilling. She’d already received far more from the bargain than she’d ever given and if it was time to pay up, so be it.
He was a handsome man if a tall, lean frame, firm lips, a stern jaw and wayward dark hair appealed—which it did. He had a reputation for fair and thoughtful leadership.
She definitely wasn’t unwilling.
He looked relaxed as his gaze swept over her party. Two warriors stood to attention either side of her and another watched her back. The Lady Lianthe, elder spokeswoman for the High Reaches, preceded her. A party of five—with her in the centre, protected—they faced the Arunian King, who stood beside a tall leather chair in a room too cold and bleak for general living.
The old courtier who had guided them to the reception room finally spoke. ‘Your Majesty, the Lady Lianthe, elder stateswoman of the High Reaches. And party.’
He knew who they were for they’d applied for this audience days ago. His office had been sent a copy of the accord. Sera wondered whether he’d spent the past two days poring over old diaries and history books in an effort to understand what none of his forefathers had seen fit to teach him.
He had a softness for women, this King, for all that he had taken no wife. He’d held his mother in high regard when she was alive, although she’d been dead now for many years. He held his recently married sister, Queen Consort of Liesendaach, in high esteem still. His name had been linked to several eligible women, although nothing had ever come of it.
‘So it’s time,’ he said, and Sera almost smiled. She’d studied his speeches and knew that voice well. The cultured baritone weight of it and the occasional icy edge that could burn deeper than flame. There was no ice in it yet.
Lianthe rose from her curtsey and inclined her head. ‘Your Majesty, as per the accord afforded our people by the Crown in the year thirteen twelve—’
‘I don’t want her.’
Lianthe’s composure never wavered. They’d practised for this moment and every variation of it. At the King’s interruption, the elder stateswoman merely started again. ‘As per the accord, and in the event the King of Arun remains unmarried into his majority, the people of the High Reaches shall provide unto him a concubine of noble birth—’
‘I cannot accept.’
‘A concubine of noble birth, charged with attending the King’s needs and demands until such time as he acquires a wife and produces an heir. Thereafter, and at the King’s discretion—’
‘She cannot stay here.’ Finally, the ice had entered his voice. Not that it would do him any good. The people of the High Reaches had a duty to fulfil.
‘Thereafter, and at the King’s discretion, she shall be released from service, gifted her weight in gold and returned to her people.’
There it was, the accord read in full, a concubine presented and a duty discharged. Sera watched, from within the shadows her travelling hood afforded her, as Lianthe clasped her bony hands in front of her and tried to look less irritated and more accommodating.
‘The accord stands, Your Majesty,’ Lianthe reminded him quietly. ‘It has never been dissolved.’
The King’s black gaze swept from the older woman to rest broodingly on Sera’s cloaked form. She could feel the weight of his regard and the displeasure in it. ‘Lady Lianthe, with all due respect to the people of the High Reaches, I have no intention of being bound by this arrangement. Concubines have no place here. Not in this day and age.’
‘With all due respect, you know nothing of concubines.’ Fact and reprimand all rolled into one. ‘By all means petition the court, your parliament and the church. Many have tried. All have failed. We can wait. Meanwhile, we all do what we must. Your Majesty, it is my duty and honour to present to you the Lady Sera Boreas, daughter of Yuna, Courtesan of the High Reaches and valued member of the Order of the Kite. Our gift to you.’ Lianthe paused delicately. ‘In your time of need.’
Sera hid her smile and sank to the floor in a curtsey, her head lowered and her cloak pooling around her like a black stain. Lianthe was not amused by their welcome, that much was clear to anyone with ears. This new King knew nothing of the role Sera might occupy if given the chance. What she could do for him. How best he might harness her skills. He didn’t want her.
More fool him.
He didn’t bid her to rise so she stayed down until he did. Cold, this grey stone hall with its too-righteous King. Pettiness did not become him.
‘Up,’ he said finally and Sera risked a glance at Lianthe as she rose. The older woman’s eyes flashed silver and her lips thinned.
‘Your Majesty, you appear to be mistaking the Lady Sera for a pet.’
‘Probably because you insist on giving her away as if she is one,’ he countered drily. ‘I’ve read the housing requirements traditionally afforded the concubines of the north. I do hope you can supply your own eunuchs. I’m afraid I don’t have any to hand.’ His gaze swept over the warriors of the High Reaches and they stared back, eyes hard and unmoving. ‘No eunuchs accompany you at the moment, I’d wager,’ he said quietly.
He wasn’t wrong. ‘I can make do without if you can, Your Majesty.’ Sera let warm amusement coat her voice. ‘However, I do look forward to occupying the living quarters traditionally offered the concubines from the north. I’ve read a lot about the space.’
‘Is there a face to match that honeyed voice?’ he asked, after a pause that spanned a measured breath or four.
She raised her hands and pushed her travelling hood from her face. His eyes narrowed. Reluctant amusement teased at his lips. ‘You might want to lead with that face, next time,’ he said.
Sera had not been chosen for her plainness of form. ‘As long as it pleases you, Your Majesty.’
‘I’m sure it pleases everyone.’ There might just be a sense of humour in there somewhere. ‘Lady Sera, how exactly do you expect to be of use to me?’
‘It depends what you need.’
‘I need you gone.’
‘Ah.’ The man was decidedly single-minded. Sera inclined her head in tacit agreement. ‘In that case you need a wife, Your Majesty. Would you like me to find you one?’
* * *
Augustus, King of Arun, was no stranger to the machinations of women, but he’d never—in all his years—encountered women like these. One cloaked in a rich, regal red, her beauty still a force to be reckoned with, never mind her elder status. The other cloaked in deepest black from the neck down, her every feature perfect and her eyes a clear and bitter grey. Neither woman seemed at all perturbed by his displeasure or by the words spilling from their lips.
He was used to having people around who did his bidding, but he called them employees, not servants, and there were rules and guidelines governing what he expected of them and what they could expect from him.
There were no clear rules for this.
He and his aides had spent the last two days in the palace record rooms, scouring the stacks for anything that mentioned the concubines of the High Reaches and the laws governing them. So far, he’d found plenty of information about their grace, beauty and unrivalled manners. So far, he’d found nothing to help him get rid of them.
A concubine of the High Reaches was a gift to be unwrapped with the care one might afford a poisoned chalice, one of his ancestor Kings had written. Not exactly reassuring.
‘These living quarters you’ve read about…’ He shook his head and allowed a frown. ‘They’ve been mothballed for over a hundred and twenty years.’ As children, he and his sister had been fascinated by the huge round room with the ribbed glass ceiling. Right up until his mother had caught them in there one day, staging a mock aerial war on a dozen vicious pumpkins. She’d had that place locked down so fast and put a guard detail on the passageway into it and that had been the end of his secret retreat. ‘There’s no modern heating, no electricity, and the water that used to run into the pools there has long since been diverted. The space is not fit for use.’
‘The people of the High Reaches are not without resources,’ said the elder stateswoman regally. ‘It would be our honour to restore the living area to its former glory.’
They had an answer for everything. ‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ he warned and looked towards his executive secretary. ‘Let all bear witness that the terms of the accord have been satisfied. Let it also be recorded that my intention is to see the Lady Sera honourably discharged from her duty as quickly as possible. I’ll find my own wife in my own good time and have no need of a concubine.’ He was only thirty. Wasn’t as if he was that remiss when it came to begetting an heir and securing the throne. His sister could rule if it ever came to that. Her children could rule, although her husband, Theo, would doubtless object. Neighbouring Liesendaach needed an heir too, perhaps even more so than Arun did. He nodded towards his secretary. ‘Show them the hospitality they’ve requested.’
If the abandoned round room didn’t make them flinch, nothing would.
The guards bowed and the women curtseyed, all of it effortlessly choreographed as they turned and swept from the room, leaving only silence behind. Silence and the lingering scent of violets.
* * *
Sera waited just outside the door for Lianthe to fall into step with her. Two guards and their guide up ahead and another guard behind them, a familiar routine in an unfamiliar place.
‘That could have gone better,’ Sera murmured.
‘Insolent whelp,’ said the older woman with enough bite to make the stone walls crumble.
‘Me?’
‘Him. No wonder he isn’t wed.’
The King’s secretary coughed, up ahead.
‘Yes, it’s extremely damp down here,’ offered Lianthe. ‘Although I dare say the rats enjoy it.’
‘We’re taking a short cut, milady. Largely unused,’ the man offered. ‘As for the rooms issued for the Lady Sera’s use, I know not what to say. You’ll find no comfort there. The palace has many other suites available for guests. You have but to ask for different quarters and they’ll be provided.’
He opened a door and there was sunshine and a small walled courtyard stuffed with large pots of neatly kept kitchen herbs. Whoever tended this garden knew what they were about. Another door on the other side of the little courtyard plunged them into dankness once more before the corridor widened enough to allow for half a dozen people to walk comfortably side by side. At the end of the corridor stood a pair of huge doors wrought in black wood with iron hinges. Two thick wooden beams barred the door closed.
The old guide stood aside and looked to the High Reaches guards. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
‘Very welcoming,’ murmured Sera as the guards pushed against the bindings and ancient wood and metal groaned. ‘Perhaps some plinths and flowers either side might brighten this entrance hall? Discreet lighting. Scented roses.’
With another strangled cough from their guide, the bars slid to the side and the doors were pushed open. A soaring glass-domed space the size of a cathedral apse greeted them, encircled by grey marble columns and shadowy alcoves. What furniture remained lay shrouded beneath dust sheets and if rugs had once graced the vast expanse of grey stone floor they certainly weren’t in evidence now. Dust motes danced in the air at the disturbance from the opening of the doors, and was that a dovecote in one of the alcoves or a postbox for fifty? Another alcove contained the bathing pool, empty but for dirt, but the plumbing had worked once and would work again—it was her job to see to it. There were faded frescoes on the walls and a second floor with a cloistered walkway that looked down on the central area. Chandeliers still hung in place, struggling to shine beneath decades of dust. There was even a circus trapeze roped carelessly to a tiny balcony set one floor above the rest. Illustrations in the journals of the courtesans of old had not done the place justice.
‘Well, now.’ Sera sent a fleeting smile in Lianthe’s direction. ‘Nothing like a challenge.’
The older woman nodded and turned to their guide. ‘Can you offer us cleaners?’ The man looked unsure. ‘No? Then we shall invite our own, and tradespeople too. I suppose we should thank the monarchy for preserving the space in all its historical glory. At least there are no rats.’
‘And I think I know why.’ Sera stared up at the domed glass ceiling to where several lumpy shapes sat, nestled into the framework. ‘Are they owls?’
Lianthe looked up and smiled. ‘Why, yes. A good omen, don’t you think? Would you like to keep them?’
‘Depends on the rats.’ Call her difficult but if the rats were gone Sera was all for providing alternative living space—and hunting options—for the raptors. ‘We may need the assistance of a falconer. I don’t suppose King Augustus keeps one of those any more either?’
‘No, Lady Sera. But King Casimir of Byzenmaach does,’ said their guide.
‘Ah, yes.’ Lianthe nodded. ‘The falconers of Byzenmaach are men of legend and steeped in the old ways. Tomas-the-Tongue-Tied is head falconer there these days is he not? How is the boy?’
‘Grown, milady, although still somewhat tongue-tied,’ said the old guide and won a rare smile from Lianthe. ‘But ever devoted to his winged beasts. If you need him here, we can get him here.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Sera. Eyes on the prize, or, in this case, the speedy removal of hunting birds from her future living quarters. ‘Let’s aim for that. Unless by “Don’t get too comfortable” King Augustus meant for me to sleep with the wildlife? Perhaps I should go back and ask.’
‘You must definitely ask,’ said Lianthe.
It was decided. Sera shed her travelling cloak and watched the old courtier blink and then raise his hand as if to shade his eyes from the glare. Granted her dainty six-inch heels were a burnt orange colour and her slimline ankle-length trousers were only one shade darker, but her tunic was a meek ivory chiffon and the gold metal bustier beneath it covered far more than usual and ran all the way up and around her neck.
‘Something wrong?’ she asked the old guide.
‘Headache,’ he said, and touched two fingers to his temple.
‘I know massage techniques for that,’ she began. ‘Very effective. Would you like me to—’
‘No, milady. No! You just…’ He waved his arm in the air ineffectually. ‘Go and see Augustus. The King. King Augustus.’
‘I know who you mean,’ she said gently, sharing a concerned glance with Lianthe. ‘Are you quite well? I’d offer you a seat if I could find one. Or a drink. Would you like me to call for water?’
‘No, milady. I’m quite recovered.’
But he still looked painfully pinched and long-suffering. ‘Is it the jewels? Because the bustier isn’t quite my normal attire. It’s part of the courtesan’s chest.’
‘It certainly seems that way, milady. I must confess, I wasn’t expecting the bejewelled wrist and ankle cuffs either.’
Ah. ‘Well, they are very beautiful. And surprisingly light given all the bronze and amber inlays and gold filigree. There are chains to go with them,’ she said.
‘Of course there are.’ The man’s fingers went to massage his temple again.
‘Will I find the King in the same place we left him?’ asked Sera, because sometimes it paid to be practical.
‘He may be back in his office by now. Two doors to the left of the room you met him in. The outer area houses the secretary’s desk. The secretary’s not there because that would be me and I am here. The inner room is his, and the door to it may or may not be open. Either way, knock.’
Sera found the King exactly where the old courtier said he would be; the door through to his office was open and she paused to check her posture before knocking gently on the door frame. He lifted his gaze from the papers on the big black table in front of him and blinked. And blinked again.
She curtseyed again, all but kissing the floor, because this man was her King and protocol demanded it.
‘Up,’ he said, with a slight tinge of weariness. ‘What is it?’
Not Come in, so she stayed in the doorway. ‘I want to invite Tomas the Byzenmaach falconer to call on me.’
‘Tired of me already?’ He arched an eyebrow, even as he studied her intently, starting with her shoes and seeming to get stuck in the general vicinity of her chest. The golden bustier was quite arresting but not the most comfortable item of clothing she owned. ‘That was quick.’
‘I need him here so he can remove the raptors from my quarters.’
‘Raptors as in dinosaurs? Because it’s been that kind of day.’
‘Raptors as in owls.’
‘I’m almost disappointed,’ he said, and there was humour in him, sharp and slippery. ‘What is that you’re wearing, exactly? Apart from the clothes. Which I appreciate, by the way. Clothes are useful. You’ll get cold here if you don’t wear more of them.’
‘You mean the jewellery? Your secretary seemed very taken by it as well. It’s ceremonial, for the most part, although practical too.’
‘Practical?’
‘D-rings and everything.’ She held up one wrist and showed him the loop and then pointed to another where the bustier came together at the back of her neck. ‘So do I have your permission to call in the falconer?’
‘Is this a plea for different living quarters? Because I’m being as clear as I can be here. I don’t want to give you any quarters, but, given that I must, you are welcome to more suitable living arrangements than the ones you have requested. I would not deny you that.’
‘It’s not a plea for new quarters.’ He tested her patience, this King with the giant stick up his rear. ‘And, yes, you’re being very clear. Perhaps I should be equally clear.’ Save herself a few meetings with him in the process. ‘I want your permission to clean and ready my living quarters for use. I will call in experts, when necessary. I will see the courtesan’s lodgings restored and it will cost you and the palace nothing. I will take all care to preserve the history of the rooms—more care than you or your people would. I will submit names, on a daily basis, of each and every craftsperson or cleaning person that I bring in. By your leave, and provided I have free rein to do so, I can have those rooms fit to live in within a week. Do I have your permission?’
‘You argue like a politician. All fine words, sketchy rationale and promises you’ll never keep.’
‘I’ll keep this promise, Your Majesty. Consider this a test if you need a reason to say yes.’
‘And when you leave again? What happens to all these home improvements then?’
‘I expect the next courtesan will benefit from them.’
‘Sera.’ He spoke quietly but with an authority that ran bone-deep, and it got to her in a way the authority of her teachers never had. ‘There’s not going to be another courtesan delivered to a King of Arun. This I promise.’
‘Then turn the place into a museum,’ she snapped, defiant in the face of extinction. ‘You don’t value me. I get it. You don’t need my help, you don’t want my help, and you don’t understand the backing you’ve just been blessed with. So be it. Meanwhile, we’re both bound by tradition and moreover I have dues to pay. Do I have your permission to engage the help I need to make my living quarters habitable?’
‘And here I thought courtesans were meant to be compliant.’
‘I am compliant.’ She could be so meekly compliant his head would spin. ‘I can be whatever you want me to be. All I need is direction.’
His face did not betray his thoughts. Not by the flicker of an eye or the twitching of a muscle.
‘You have my permission to make your living quarters habitable,’ he said finally. ‘And Sera?’
She waited.
‘Don’t ever walk the halls of my palace in your ancient slave uniform again.’
* * *
The King’s secretary had gone by the time Sera arrived back in the quarters she’d claimed as her own. She held her head high as she entered, never mind that the chill in the air and the ice in the King’s eyes had turned her skin to gooseflesh. She wouldn’t cry, she never had—not even at her mother’s funeral—but the gigantic task of readying this space for use and earning Augustus of Arun’s trust, and, yes, finding him a wife, was daunting enough to make her smile falter and her shoulders droop as she stared around at her new home.
Lianthe and the guards had already begun pulling covers off the furnishings and for that she would be grateful. She wasn’t alone in this. Other people had faith in her abilities.
‘I’ve already sent for cleaning equipment and linens,’ Lianthe said when she saw her. ‘Did you find him again?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘He’s a funny guy. He’s also hard as nails underneath, doesn’t like not getting his own way and he’s going to be hell on my sense of self-worth.’
‘We knew this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. I’m sure you’ll come to a greater understanding of each other eventually.’
‘I’m glad someone’s sure,’ she murmured.
‘And what did he have to say about securing a falconer to help get rid of our feathered friends?’
‘Oh, that?’ She’d forgotten about that. ‘He said yes.’

CHAPTER TWO (#u884fe883-dc6a-582f-af1e-f7a4119c70a0)
SIX DAYS LATER, Augustus was no closer to a solution when it came to removing his unwanted gift from the palace. He’d kept his distance, stuck to his routine and tried to stay immune to the whispers of the staff as word got around that the palace’s pleasure rooms were being refurbished. Ladies Sera and Lianthe had engaged cleaning staff and craftspeople to help with the repairs. Stonemasons had been brought in. Electricity had been restored. Structural engineers had been and gone, proclaiming the glass-domed roof still fit for purpose, with only minor repair required.
Tomas the falconer had come for the owls and brought King Casimir of Byzenmaach’s sister Claudia with him. Apparently Sera and Claudia had gone to school together. Sera had prepared a lavish dinner for them that had gone on for hours. They’d caught up on each other’s lives. Swapped stories. Augustus had been invited.
He hadn’t attended.
Whispers turned into rumours, each one more fanciful than the rest.
The Lady Sera was a sorceress, a witch, an enchantress and his apparent downfall. Her eyes were, variously, the softest dove-grey and as kind as an angel’s or as bleak as the winter sky and hard as stone. She and her guards danced with swords beneath the dome, and splattered reflected sunlight across the walls with uncanny precision, so the cleaners said. She’d had the trapeze taken down only to replace it with another, and this time the trapeze fluttered with silks that fell to the floor, his secretary told him.
Silks she climbed up and down as if they were steps.
Yesterday, a convoy of heavily guarded trucks had arrived from the north and requested entry, sending palace security into a spin and Augustus into a rare temper. Don’t get too comfortable, he’d said. He would find a way to undo this, he’d said. They knew he was working on it. They had no need for deliveries full of priceless artworks only ever revealed when a courtesan of the High Reaches was in residence at the palace.
Even the palace walls were buzzing.
Augustus’s father, former King and still an advisor to the throne, had been no help. He’d been married with two young children by the time he’d reached thirty and no courtesan of the High Reaches had ever come to him. There was no precedent for getting rid of one that didn’t directly relate to the rules of the accord. A courtesan, once bestowed, could be removed once a wife and heir had been secured and not before. She could be sent elsewhere at the King’s bidding but would still retain full ownership…no, not ownership, access…full access to her quarters in the palace.
She had the right to refuse entrance to all but him. She had the right to entertain there but the guest list had to be approved by him. He’d asked for more details when it came to Sera Boreas’s background and education and an information file had landed on his desk this morning. She’d studied philosophy, politics and economics at Oxford. She’d taken music lessons in St Petersburg. Dance lessons with members of the National Ballet company of China. Learned martial arts from the monks of the High Reaches. Her origins were shrouded in mystery. Her mother had kept the company of high ranking politicians and dignitaries the world over. Her mother had been a companion, a facilitator, often providing neutral ground where those from opposing political persuasions could meet. Lianthe of the High Reaches might just be her grandmother but that had yet to be verified. The more he read, the less real she became to him.
For all her contacts and endless qualifications, he still didn’t know what she did except in the vaguest terms.
In the last year alone, and as the youngest representative of the Order of the Kite, she’d graced the dining tables of dozens of world leaders and people of influence. Her reach was truly astonishing.
And he was currently keeping her in the equivalent of his basement.
He needed to talk with her at the very least.
And damn but he needed another woman’s opinion.
And then his intercom flashed.
‘Your sister’s on the phone,’ his well-worn secretary said.
‘Put her through,’ he murmured. Problem solved.
‘Augustus, I know you’re pining for me, but did you seriously buy a cat?’
‘I—what?’ Not exactly where his head had been at. Augustus scowled, and not just because his sister’s recent marriage had left his palace without a social organiser and him with no clue as to how to find a replacement equally dedicated to the role. ‘Who told you that? Theo?’
‘He told me I needed to phone you because he’d heard rumours you were all lonely and had acquired a pet. He also mentioned something about a cat. Is it fluffy? Does it pounce? Has it conquered cucumbers yet?’
Theo, King of Liesendaach and neighbouring monarch, was Moriana’s new husband. Theo, King of sly manoeuvres, knew exactly what kind of cat Augustus had bought. ‘Moriana, let’s get something clear. I am not a lonely cat king. I bought a catamaran. An oceangoing, racing catamaran.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Figures. In that case, I have no idea why Theo was so insistent I phone you this morning. We’ve just returned from visiting Cas and Ana in the Byzenmaach mountains and, by the way, I will never tire of the views from that stronghold. More to the point, I got on well with Cas’s new bride and his newfound daughter. There’s hope for me yet. They did ask me why they hadn’t received an invite to your Winter Solstice ball. Strangely, I haven’t received my invitation yet either. I left very comprehensive instructions.’
Moriana was the Queen of Checklists. He had no doubt there would be a binder full of colour-coded instructions sitting on a table somewhere. ‘Why isn’t Marguerite on top of this?’ his sister scolded.
‘She didn’t work out.’
Silence from his sister, the kind of silence that meant she was valiantly trying to keep her opinions to herself. He gave it three, two, one…
‘Augustus, you can’t keep firing social secretaries after they’ve been in the role for two weeks!’
‘I can if they’re selling palace information to the press,’ he said grimly.
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. Oh. There’s a new assistant starting Monday. Meanwhile, what do you know about the Order of the Kite?’
‘You mean the courtesans?’
‘So you do know something about them.’
‘I know they existed centuries ago. They were kept in our round room. Like pets.’ Moriana paused, and Augustus waited for her to put Theo’s comment about him having a pet together with his question and come up with a clue, but she didn’t. ‘There are some costumes in the collection here that were reputedly worn by them.’ Moriana was warming to her theme. ‘Gorgeous things. I wouldn’t call them gowns exactly—more like adventurous bedwear. The leather one came with a collection of whips.’
‘Whips.’ No guesses needed as to how some of those courtesans of old acquired their exalted levels of influence. Augustus put two fingers to his temple and closed his eyes, a habit he’d picked up from his secretary, or maybe the old man had picked it up from him. ‘So what else do you know about them? Anything from this day and age?’
‘These days they’re the stuff of legend. There’s a children’s book in the nursery about them, assuming it’s still there. Seven-year-old girl, clever and pretty, gets ripped from the arms of her unloving family and taken to a palace in the sky to learn how to dance and fight and be a spy. Then she meets a King from the Lower Reaches and spies for him and he falls in love with her and they live happily ever after. Ignore the bit where she poisons his barren wife. You should never believe everything you read.’
‘Does this book have a name?’
‘The King’s Assassin. It was one of my favourites. Why?’
No one had ever read it to him. ‘I currently have the Lady Sera Boreas, daughter of Yuna, Order of the Kite, staying in the round room. She arrived last week, as a gift from the people of the High Reaches.’
Silence from Moriana the Red, whose temper, once roused, was also the stuff of legend, and then, ‘Say that again?’
‘There is a courtesan here in the palace and at my service. Yesterday, six truckloads of priceless antiquities turned up. They belong to the Order of the Kite and can only be seen when a courtesan is in residence here. Now do I have your attention?’
‘Did you say priceless antiquities?’
‘Focus, Moriana. There is a pet concubine in the round room. No—did you just squeal? Don’t squeal. Invite her to stay with you. Keep her. Show her the whips. No! Don’t show her the whips. I take that back. But find out what she’s doing here. Can you do that?’
‘Does she have books?’ his sister asked. ‘I bet she has history books with her as well. Do you know what this means?’
It probably meant Moriana was about to try and organise an exhibition of antiquities native to courtesans. ‘It means I have a problem that I don’t know how to solve yet. What exactly am I supposed to do with this woman?’
‘Is she beautiful? They were reputedly all rare beauties.’
‘That bit’s true.’
‘Is she smart?’
‘I would say so, yes. Also cunning and completely unfathomable.’ Keeping her distance and rousing his curiosity, making her presence felt all the more keenly by the simple act of staying out of his way. ‘I need you to come here and see what she wants. Befriend her. Gain her confidence. Tell me what she wants.’
‘I can be there in a week.’
‘I meant today,’ he countered.
‘Can’t. I have a luncheon at twelve, a charity meeting at two, hospital tour at three and then I’m having a private dinner with my beloved husband who I’ve barely seen all week.’
‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’ll send the helicopter for you.’
‘Or you could talk to her yourself and find out exactly what this woman can do for you. Can she act as a social secretary, for example? Can she organise the Winter Solstice ball? Courtesans of old were muses, strategists, women of great influence. Think Madame de Pompadour or Theodora from the Byzantine empire. She might be one of those. Give her something to do. Apart from you, obviously.’
‘She is not doing me,’ he ground out.
‘Has she offered?’
She’d arrived wearing a collar and manacles, amongst other things. She’d called herself a courtesan and then she’d ignored him. ‘Who the hell knows?’
‘Do you—okay, you know what? Never mind, because there are some things sisters simply shouldn’t know. Give her the Winter Solstice ball to oversee. I’m serious. Put her to work. See if she truly wants to be of use to you.’
‘I’d rather she left.’
‘But why? You need a social secretary who wants to do a good job and isn’t inclined to sell us out. Talk to her. See what she wants from her role and from you. Your goals might align.’
‘What if she doesn’t want to be here at all?’
‘Then you’ll work together to find a way out of this. But not before I’ve seen all the art and persuaded her to let us photograph and document it, where possible. I can’t wait to see it.’
Augustus sighed. Theo really was a bad influence on his sister, who’d once dutifully dedicated herself to serving the Arunian monarchy. These days she shone a light on the already glittering Liesendaach crown and Augustus sorely missed her attention. He did need someone to replace his sister. Someone with a personal stake in taking on the role and making it their own. A wife…he’d been thinking of it. Not doing anything about it, mind, but thinking that soon he would start looking in earnest. Meanwhile, he had a…courtesan…at his disposal. Whatever that meant. Maybe they could renegotiate her job description.
‘All right.’ There was nothing else for it. ‘I’ll talk to her.’
* * *
It took until mid-afternoon before Augustus made his way to the round room in search of the elusive Sera of the High Reaches. Ignoring her presence and hoping she’d miraculously go away wasn’t working for him. Answers on how best to get rid of her were not forthcoming. Moriana thought she might be of use to him and he trusted his sister’s judgement in most things. Sera’s CV would make any power broker salivate. To have those kind of contacts at his disposal…
And yet he wasn’t the type to share power and he didn’t trust her motivations one little bit.
So here he was, foul of temper and distinctly lacking in patience as he stood at the closed doors to the round room and eyed the profusion of damask roses and soft greenery with distaste, even as the scent of them conjured memories of cloistered gardens and all things feminine. His mother had enjoyed overseeing the floral arrangements throughout the palace, but she’d not have allowed this flat-out challenge to grim austerity. This tease to stop and sniff and feast the eyes on such unrepentantly fleeting beauty.
With one last scathing glare, Augustus stood firm against the temptation to lean forward and let the scent of the roses envelop him. Instead, he pulled the dangling cord that would announce his arrival at the doors. He heard the faint chime of bells and then nothing. Ten seconds later, he reached for the cord again, and then the door opened and the roses were forgotten.
Never mind the creamy skin and the perfection of her lips, the delicate curve of her cheekbones, the raven-black hair that fell in a thick plait to her waist or those eyes that glistened dove-grey. Today his courtesan wore low-slung loose trousers and a cropped fitted top that clung to her curves like a greedy lover’s hand. She was lean and lithe in all the right places, and generously voluptuous in others.
It was a body designed to bring a man to his knees and keep him there for eternity.
She stepped back and dropped her gaze demurely, even as she opened the door wider and sank to the floor in a curtsey, and he might have felt a heel for causing such an action except that she moved like a dancer, fluid and graceful, and he wanted to watch her do it all over again.
‘Don’t do that.’ It was a curt reminder, mostly to himself, that she shouldn’t be on her knees in front of him. It gave him too many ideas, all of them sexual.
‘My mistake.’ She rose as gracefully as she’d gone down in the first place. ‘Welcome, Your Majesty. Please forgive my appearance. I wasn’t expecting company.’
‘What were you doing?’ Her skin glowed with a faint sheen of exertion.
‘Forms,’ she said. ‘Martial arts patterns.’
‘Don’t stop on my account.’
‘I can do them any time,’ she murmured. ‘I’d rather have company.’
He looked around, taking in the now spotless round room, its stone walls and floors covered in tapestries and carpets, oil paintings and silver-edged mirrors. A huge round sofa had been placed in the centre of the room, beneath the domed glass ceiling. The seats faced inwards and there were openings at all four points of the compass. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘The tradespeople and artisans have gone and the Lady Lianthe with them. My guards are currently in a meeting with your guards about how best to utilise their services, given that standing outside a door that no one ever knocks on is a waste of their time and expertise. The maids have been and gone. There is only me.’
Holding her own in a round room built for hundreds to gather in and bedrooms enough for fifty. ‘It’s you I’ve come to see.’
She turned her back on him and led him towards the sofa at the centre of the room. It was leather and studded and looked comfortably soft with age. Pillows and throws had been placed on it at intervals, and the circular floor tapestry framed by the sofa had a stained-glass quality about it, with different scenes to look at depending on where a person sat. ‘What is that?’
‘On the floor?’
He nodded.
‘It’s a communication device. Each scene depicts an action: a need or desire, if you will. In older times a visitor to this place—or even another courtesan—would approach this area and in choosing where to sit would telegraph their needs. Those needs would be seen to.’
‘Just like that?’
‘So they say.’
‘And is that the way it’s going to work for me?’
‘Why don’t you sit somewhere and see?’
‘Maybe I will.’ Maybe he wouldn’t. Better all round if he didn’t engage, no matter how fascinating the history she brought with her. ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of you.’
‘I know that, Your Majesty.’ She glanced towards the tapestry. ‘Take your time looking at it. Even if you don’t plan to use it as directed it’s an amazing piece of artistry. I’ll make tea.’
He watched as she walked away from him, tracking every curve as if it would somehow allow him to see inside her skin. Only once she had withdrawn from sight did he turn his attention back to the mood-gauging tapestry on the floor in front of him. He’d never seen such a thing.
Some of the panels were easy enough to figure out. There was an orgy scene, with bodies entwined in the throes of ecstasy. A gentler scene in which a man reclined while a woman read to him. Another scene depicted people eating from a table covered in delicacies. A bathing scene. A sword-fighting scene. Another showing a reclining man being entertained by dancers holding fans. A dozen men and women stood around a table, deep in sombre discussion. A sleeping couple filled another panel. With every step another mood or need satisfied. A man lashed to a wooden X, his back a mass of welts as he writhed beneath the whip. A beautiful woman holding that whip, her expression one of complete control and focus. Punishment delivered, but not in anger, and the man on the cross looked…grateful.

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