I realize these images are coming in and don't have relevance to the chapters, but as this is my first story with illustrations to go with it, I hope to be forgiven. 

As it stands, I remember we almost didn't get the color illustration up in time. Well, same thing this month too ☺

​Anyway... Cynthia said this about the pose she chose and why:

If I could make it blink, I would. Neon sign beware. As long as I keep repeating beware I think I'll be okay. 

But we finally get to meet Bowden. I can't help but think I broke one of the "rules" to writing which is Do Not have two people talk about a third that's not in the room. It's FORBIDDEN! What can I say other than...I write Taboo. Have you seen my author tag line? Dirty Stories Revolving Around Social Taboo's? Yes? No? I even have stickers and send my fans a couple on request.
☻
Now if you are just coming in...

The last incline to the city revealed the flags and towers first. Red and black colors waved in the wind, replacing the blue and gold I’d remembered in my youth, reminding me this was not the same city I’d grown up in.

As we labored upward, the hill revealed the rest of the castle, the town and the wall that protected them. A shroud of Randisar grime covered the city of colors. Twenty years had gone by and though I wasn’t expecting ruins, I was shocked at how the spiral towers no longer sparkled in their pearled splendor. The gleaming palace once inspired hope and sanctuary for future scholars, the talented, and great drinkers with tall tales. Whether you were accomplished in the arts, mathematics, philosophy, theater or magic you resided here. Philosophers grouped together in taverns and conspired about nature and the world. Actors, singers and dancers delighted audiences nightly. Mathematicians executed theories and created inventions beyond imagination. The best of Quenarre had to offer was found here. But from the looks of it, not anymore.

Reserving hope to see the very last of Rouelle’s splendors was saved for last. Once you reached the apex of the hill, the fields leading to the palace use to cut their way through wild flowers. You could find every color ever found in nature here. Blue, purple, orange, red, gold, even green flowers could be found. Painters often popped up their heads and waved from their task of gathering their pallet needs. Hardly any mixing of colors were needed for dying clothes. Look hard enough and the right flower offered itself directly from this field.

Traversing the path leading up to the hill, my heart longed to see those wild flowers. I urged my horse forward and rode to the top of the hill. My stomach flipped over and my heart sunk. The fields were gone. Cows now trampled the land in front of the capital. Dirty, smelly bovine. One bored-looking sow raised her head continuing to chew her cud and looked at me.

“Dauphine,” My cousin offered my name as a condolence. Truly, it was the death of a once fine city. I painted a smile pretending everything was all right. Detrien knew better but everyone else didn’t.

“It’s fine,” I said in light manner. “Let’s entertain a city, shall we?”

My cousin didn’t smile back. He nodded and took the lead in front. The road to the palace was empty and the gates were closed.

“How do we get in?” I’d not expected the front gates to be closed. Foolish of me to think everything would be the same and we could stroll in. The three story gates of the city cracked open. Instead of inviting and open as they’d always been, they were now imposing.

Torg answered with distaste, “Through the front. Mind you, the gates are meant to keep people in, not out.”

After enduring the smell of cows down the overrun path, we traveled single file inside the gate. People running around in the streets, much like the cows outside, seemingly with no manners or organization, scrambled to get from one place to another. The houses that use to line the streets were no longer there. Huts and a market replaced all the civility of the roads.

A line of guards stopped us. One more hurdle to get around. It’d been twenty years since the Randish took control. But if they suspected a Rouellean came back to claim power, or the former king’s niece come to rescue a sorcerer, than my neck was as good as severed.

“Name?” A bored voice asked. On the ground a man in dirty plains-clothing holding quill and parchment wasn’t even looking at me. I could have told him my name was David and he’d not think about it.

“Dauphine.” We’d decided mixing truth with the lies. It gave more credibility. The man scribbled, and I didn’t correct him when he spelled my name with a double f. Never looking up the porter asked my cousin the same question.

“Detrien.” My cousin said with that voice that could stun a crying baby to silence.

The man paused mid “t” and looked up. The quill in his hand trembled. “Guards!”

I panicked. Keeping my face neutral, I resisted the urge to whirl on Detrien and scream for him to run. Pretending nothing was wrong, I breathed in deep retaining a slight smile. I glanced back. The gates had closed. My mind furiously thought while my body prepared for action. I would fight, I’d not be taken. Oh, Chartan, I am so sorry.  

The man took off his hat and his voice rattled as much as the paper in his hand, “Saint Detrien, welcome back. Will you be performing?” There was more to the question, but the man’s prudence stopped him from asking. I could tell in the way of his manner and the clipped off question that he wasn’t asking his full question.

Detrien gave the man a flourish with a hand. “I am! I must see if time permits me to sing other than for Bishop Aldo.”

Two burly armored guards approached Detrien and saluted. The porter replaced his hat and ordered the guards, “Protect Saint Detrien and his company to the main halls.”

The guards bowed and one of them called for others. Detrien squeezed my hand and winked. “Easy as stroking a cat.”

I let out my tension. “You could have told me you were known here.”

“Didn’t I mention I’d been back to Rouelle?”

He had in passing. “You are a brute for torturing me so.”

He chuckled and for that brief moment I was home.

“The problem is getting out of here alive.” Detrien scanned the crowd. “Any moment they’ll recognize me and we’ll be the middle of a crush.”

A line of twenty guards surrounded our party and we walked forward. The rogues had covered their faces the moment they realized they might come under scrutiny. With this many people they didn’t know, the men were edgy. Torg remained in front and scanned the crowd keeping his hand over the pommel of his dagger. The others hunched over, trying to melt in the backs of their horses. But how the people remained focused on Detrien the rogues would be remembered as packs over a handful of horses.

Once people saw my cousin, the whisper mill began and jittering energy consumed the streets. It grew into a frenzy to take a gander at the singer. People pushed at each other, following our small caravan, staring. I was sure the guards were the only thing preventing dirty faced admirers mobbing Detrien. My cousin stayed the course, chin lifted, eyes straight, hands loose and shoulders relaxed. He gave the people no eye contact, which for him was unusual. He loved people, loved talking with them. Our walks would become strolls because Detrien couldn’t help but entertain friends and passers-by.

“Don’t stare at them,” Detrien said. “They’re likely to rush the guards if you do.”

But I could not help looking at them. The drab clothing they wore and their scrambling reminded me of rats in the streets. The stench of too many bodies in one place overwhelming. The further we rode, the worse it got. The guards lowered their pikes as they walked beside us, giving us a path. A construction I’d never seen, a wall around the palace, came into view. During my time nothing separated the people from the monarchy.

I saw a boy of maybe fifteen years of age climb the seven-foot wall and crouch on top watching Detrien with soulful eyes. He was as filthy as the grown-ups but with his innocence still intact. He looked at Detrien as if he were a god. I heard someone yell for the boy to get down and from the opposite side of the wall I saw the butt end of a pike strike the boy’s head.

I gasped and clutched my steeds mane watching the boy fall and then disappear behind a crowd of people. “The boy!” 

“Dauphine.” Detrien clutched my hand. “Ride.”

“But the boy.”

Detrien shook his head, “It’s too late for him.”

My heart reeled back at the malice in his voice. He blamed these people for the crimes of their regime. Perhaps my cousin burned for the destruction of the Randish more than I believed.

Once past the wall the palace was more civil. The gate closed and I halt my steed. Turning to the guard next to me I said, “Sir, please, a good Catholic would check on that boy even if he deserved reprimand.”

The guard turned his steely gaze to me and we locked eyes.

Detrien sighed and walked his steed closer to mine. “Good sir, please check on him. She’ll turn that gaze to me and I’ll have no choice but to walk out there myself and do it.”

The guard slid his gaze to my cousin and nodded. “Of course, Saint Detrien.” And the guard turned and went back out the gates.

“Thank you.” I murmured. “I don’t think my charms work much on Randish guards.”

Detrien spurt out a laugh. “Oh, trust me, it took all his training to stand there. He just needed permission to go do as you asked.”

“He could have told you no, couldn’t he?” I smiled. Thinking the guard had every right to deny my request. But, after all, men were men. They didn’t want to admit weakness. Especially to a woman.

We dismounted and Detrien patted my cheek. “My dear, don’t be nervous, it doesn’t suit you.”

He was telling me not to ruin my cover. He was right. But this idea of mine could get everyone killed. How were we to make a quick escape with those people out there if we were found out? Most of my espionage endeavors held only myself responsible. In Xaxyia I was able to protect those who gathered rumors. Politics were my navigational waters of choice. But here…this place…these people were ruled over, not guided. This was civilization. It was a jail.

Inside, the marble floors and pillars made from mother-of-pearl remained but red curtains covered the tall three story windows. Without light filtering through, the splendor of colors bouncing off the mother-of-pearl diminished. The Randish didn’t believe in joy, they believed in chastity. Instead of giving beauty to the world, they hid it.

The great halls opened to a chamber in which countrymen used to conduct business and create connections. Now rows of pews faced the back of the room.

“Welcome to the worship room.” Detrien gestured. Only I knew the joke—presenting me to these rooms when I knew the layout better than him.
A robed man with a funny hat sitting on a throne happened to be the only bright color in the room. We were brought before the bishop who smiled and stood holding out a limp wrist, exposing his bishop’s ring to Detrien. The rogues and I stayed behind the group of soldiers while my cousin climbed the short row of stairs.

My heart clenched in pain watching Detrien, of the lesser Rouellean court, kneel to this Randish bishop and kissed his ring. In respect to my cousin, I closed my eyes from the humility he endured.

“Saint Detrien,” the bishop hugged my cousin. “I wasn’t expecting you for some months.”

“Ahh, bishop,” my cousin returned the hug. “I cannot stay away from you or the people for very long.”

From Detrien’s back, coal eyes shaded in crow’s feet glanced down at me and the rogues. The two men above us broke apart with the bishop pointing a limp finger at me. “And who might this young lady be?”

Detrien hopped down the stairs, wrapped an arm around my waist and took my hand in his. “This, my dear bishop, is my cousin, Dauphine.”

My stomach dropped. The bishop eyed me, trying to place where he’d seen me before. I bowed and smiled, playing the shy spinster.  

“Ah,” The bishop nodded. “Another singer?”

“No, your grace, but give her any musical instrument, even one she hasn’t seen, and within fifteen minutes she becomes an accoutrement to my voice.” Detrien bowed and I was getting sick of his continual subservience to this Randish pork-chop.

“Come here, child.” The bishop waved me closer. His long facial features resembled that of a mule. A man that could be mistaken as slow except for those eyes. The intelligence and malice happened to be a deadly combination. In all my experience, I’d never seen a man more sexually repressed than this one. Bishop Aldo hid it well but his lust burned cold, twisted—sadist. If this man stepped foot in my brothel he’d be thrown out immediately, and it had nothing to do with his Randish heritage. Those who hurt or would hurt my girls were not welcome. Those eyes left no doubt this man would bear down on any he could with as much pain and he could dish out. I went closer, bowed and remained standing for the bishop’s inspection.

Behind the bishop’s head a flash of white caught my attention. The man in front of me did not frighten me so much as make me angry at his existence. But the face beyond the bishop, buried deep in the shadows, terrified me. When his features came into focus his expression became clear. Fury. Chartan LeBeau watched us from obscurity up high and exposed only his face and only to me. The others were too low to see him. He was up in the rafters above everyone. His face taut with strain, his lips peeled back in anger, his burning eyes punched a hole in my heart. I could hear him thinking, I will kill you myself if he doesn’t. The blood drained from my face and I stepped back. I’d lied to him and now my heart faltered because of it.

In front of me, the bishop smirked just enough to let out the evil within. He’d thought it was him I was terrified of. Good, I could use that to my favor. “So you can play any instrument?”

I bowed, “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Show me.” He snapped his fingers and two men brought out a long box that I guessed was a clavichord. I’d played one before, but Bishop Aldo didn’t have to know that. The instrument adorned forty-four wooden keys and laid flat on a square table. The clavichord, if it were a man, would be a thin, tall reedy banker with spectacles and a high pitched voice with enough bass attached to be a pleasant listen. The only problem—the clavichord’s voice wouldn’t carry far.

Taking the instruments attributes in account, I reminded myself that hitting the keys harder did not make the clavichord louder—it changed the note of the key. So if my fingers landed the key soft, I would get “f” sharp. If I hit the key hard, I would hear a “g” note. This was a peculiar instrument that was a joy to master. A woman must have invented it, for how could any but a woman build something based on strokes and applied pressure.

Touching the keys, I feigned first contact with the instrument. Searching for the “c” note, I hit it a few times and listened as the note changed the harder I pressed. Doing the same to my other hand, I began to exercise my fingers to the keys. Within a minute, I was playing Thus passes the glory of the world.

After he recognized the song, Detrien accompanied me with his voice and our duo became a holy power. In years past, we would play for hours to honor my uncle in this very room and he never tired of our music. When we stopped, the illusion of being in a time long ago passed and the bishop clapped his appreciation. “She is good.” The bishop turned his eyes over the rogues. “And them?”

Detrien swept a grand gesture over them. “They each have their own entertainment value.”

“Such as?” The bishop slid that malignant gaze to my cousin.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil their talents before the show.”

The bishop smiled in wry satisfaction. “Tomorrow then. For now, I’ll let you rest.”

“Much appreciated, Your Grace.” Detrien bowed. “We will camp outside the city walls near the field.”

“Nonsense, a Saint and his company should stay here, in the palace.”

Detrien pressed a hand to his heart. “Your Grace, I am honored.”

He knew as well as I did the bishop wanted to watch us under lock and key. It would also mean that we’d have less leeway to sneak around. But when the bishop drifted a malignant eye over me, the pit of my stomach tried hiding below my knees. Bishop Aldo waved us off and the same guards that brought us here escorted us down the hall. We were silent until it grew uncomfortable. It might look suspicious if we didn’t speak.

“That went well, I think.” I slipped my hand into Detrien’s.

He gripped my hand like he wasn’t going to let go. The force of it made me look up at him. All the color of his face drained away. He was terrified. He turned those clear blue eyes to me. “Stay close to me when you can.”

We came to a fork in the hall that separated the east and west wings. The head commander of the soldiers spoke. “The lady Dauphine will go to the west wing, the rest of you shall come with us.”

Detrien protested, “But she is my cousin.”

“She is a woman. Ladies to the west. Men to the east.”

Of course, Catholics and their gender restrictions. “I’ll be fine cousin.”

Detrien’s eyes went wild but he kept his mouth shut. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my lips to his ear in a kiss. He snatched me, holding me tight, his distress and the desperate plea in his eyes begged forgiveness. He’d seen the way the bishop looked at me and picked up on how the bishop liked his bedroom entertainment. I whispered in his ear, “Saint Beauty watches over me.” Code for LeBeau is here. I hoped he understood. 

Detrien relaxed and pulled back. His smirk was an unmistakable triumph. I took a breath and went with the two guards down the hall while Detrian and the rogues headed the opposite direction. We climbed the stairs to the second-floor apartments. The floor used for our unexpected guests during my uncle’s reign. At least that hadn’t changed since my hasty departure twenty years ago.

Everything else cried its wear and tear under soldier’s footsteps. These halls were heavily patrolled, scuff marks on the marble floor proved it. The curtains were drawn in every window preventing the natural light to shine on the seashell pillars. Mounted candelabrums lit the way not giving the columns a tenth of the splendor they could give. It was sickening how the Randish professed being in the light, when they blocked the sun from their lives.

The room they introduced me to happened to be one of my favorites. But the royal purple furniture, curtains and rugs were replaced with a drab gray. The only thing that remained were essentials. But essentials to the Randish was not the same as essentials to a Rouellean.

A four poster bed devoid of its curtains, one table, one hard-seat chair, one chest reaching the height of my waist and with only four drawers and of course, heavy drapes over the windows.

No rugs, no sitting chairs, no pictures on the walls, pottery, books or sculptures resting on night stands. Only two candles produced just enough light to see your hand waving in front of you. The first thing I did was open the curtains to watch the sun set over the hill.

Renewed after the show of colors, I sighed and decided to check if they left the tub and toilet. Otherwise, the grime from travel would never come off. Peeking, afraid to see what they’d done to the bathroom, a wave of relief washed the anxiety away. They must have run water during our introduction to the bishop. Steam rose out the tub. Hot water already drawn and waiting, I removed my clothes and climbed inside. The water settled at a perfect temperature. Too hot at first, but after becoming adjusted, relaxed my muscles and my mind. This would be my only time to rest.

We had a plan, and weren’t so foolish to think we’d have time or the privacy to formulate the details here, so early on we decided to improvise when we got here. Because I knew the layout best, I would find where they kept Bowden. Detrien would distract the bishop with his signing, while the rogues snuck Bowden out. Simple.

By the time I slipped out of the bath, my fingers were pale prunes—and my dress was gone. A white knee-length chemise placed on the bed was the only covering. Not that I ever had a problem being nude, but the hairs along my spine stood straight out. I felt eyes upon me and not the welcome kind. I put on the chemise and heard a knock at the door.

“Come.” I said.

A meek woman dressed in white and black scurried in. “Good evening. His Grace thought you might like fresh clothes.”

She kept her eyes down and her shoulders hunched. Many a woman who didn’t know her power came to me in such a fashion. If this one entered my halls, I’d have her flaunting confidence, strutting her shoulders back with a lifted chin and having every man crossing her path falling for her attentions in three months.

“Thank you, my dear. What is your name?”

“Margerite.” She bowed.

Inwardly I blanched at the black garment she held but kept my voice pleasant. “I am Dauphine. Pleasure to meet you.”

She blushed, chancing a glance at me. “You’re very pretty.”

“Thank you.” I beamed.

She frowned and bowed. “I’ll try to make you as unflattering as I can.”

That comment had me reeling back. I didn’t know what to say so I let her go on with her work. The corset laced in back and Margerite did a fine job of tightening the laces. She kept trying to hide my feminine mounds with the chemise but the girls and the cloth were uncooperative. Cleavage abounded and I’d never tried to hide them. When she started pinning my hair for the third time, the poor thing was frustrated to tears.

“Margerite, you’re doing a more than adequate job, why are you upset?”

“Oh, miss, you seem like such a decent woman, why did you have to come here?”

“What’s wrong with coming here?”

She clamped her lips together and darted her eyes to the walls, then shook her head.

“Margerite?” I placed a hand over hers, but she pulled away. “Dinner is in half-an-hour, is there anything else you need?” She stared at the floor.

Trying to catch her eye, I sighed. She did not hide her secrets well. Her submissive behavior was not natural. Her inner fire had been tapped down by physical abuse. My heart burned for her predicament, whatever the details. “No. Thank you Margerite.”

She bowed and scurried away, the pit of my stomach hoping her obscure warning would go without punishment. Painting on a meek expression and body language, I would play the docile imp to the bishops lustful sadist and traveled with my guard escort to the dining room.

In my time the dining hall was filled with intimate round tables where groups of people could sit a carry a moderate level of conversation or walk to their friends. Now, a long opulent table inconvenient to talking, but to those four people around you, spanned the great dining room. The bishop sat at the end with Detrien on his left. On the bishops right, a squirrel of a man complete with puffed cheeks and small claw-like fingers grabbed for the butter and bread in front of him.

To my relief and dismay, I sat away from the bishop, but also, far from my cousin, who was animated in conversation but gave me a wink as I entered the room. The rogues all sat in a statuesque fashion, able to remain still for long periods of time with the exception of Gustave. The boy hadn’t mastered the art of melting into the shadows of plain sight and jigged in the confinement of his chair. He smiled at me bringing a hand up from under the table to wave at me.

Roy snatched the boy’s wrist and craned his hand down. Gustave winced and lowered his head. The older sailor whispering an irritation at the boy. Whatever Roy said, quieted Gustave for the next five minutes. The acoustics of the room was not built to carry voices, and the fact I could hear Detrien and the bishop all the way down the table was attributed to the silence of Chartan’s men.

The bishop seemed not to notice me as I slipped in the chair beside Torg. The barkeep leaned over to me and turned his head toward me, “The man next to the bishop is Philippe, keeper of keys.”

Torg leaned back melting in his chair. Inclining my head I met Gustave’s brown eyes. He smiled, broke off an offered chunk of bread, swallowed it whole and looked to Philippe. His nonchalant motions were communication. He was going to swallow Philippe’s keys, but I had to tell him which one.

The rest of the dinner we ate while listening to Detrien tell stories and conversing with the bishop. It seemed his grace had forgotten all about me.

The church bells tolled eight and Bishop Aldo stood. “Time for evening mass.” He turned to Detrien. “Will you be joining us?”

“I would like to…” Detrien stood and bowed. “But I ask that my men give their prayers while in bed. Singing is not as taxing as their physical performances, and I want them at their best tomorrow.”

The bishop nodded and looked my way. “And you lady Dauphine?”

I tried to blush the best I could and looked down. “I must decline, for I am just a woman and the road here was very taxing.”

The bishop nodded. “Very well, but I should see you in the pews tomorrow morning.”

Nodding furiously, I said, “Oh, yes.” Knowing full well I’d be searching this palace most the night and probably sleep during the two hour service.

Without fuss, the bishop took his crosier staff and walked out the dining room with Detrien behind him. My cousin gave me a warning look and proceeded out of the room.

My two guards walked me to my room and I’d thought about seduction, but knowing Chartan was here and watching naturally tampered down my abilities. Thinking about LeBeau was going to put a damper on my business exploits. My desire to seduce them, as I would have on nights before Chartan, seemed unappealing. That, and I didn’t want to mess around with these two, I needed to find Bowden.

I opted for climbing out the window and coming back in through the secret tunnels. Unless the Randish were shown, they’d never find the hidden passageways. I’d only known after drawing it out of one of the architects who put them in. I smiled at the memory. My first introduction to what a man would say to get a woman’s lips around his cock.

I waited for a little while, hoping Margerite would come to help me out of this dress. Sneaking around, climbing down walls and general scheming of this sort was better off without a dress snagging on tree bark, door hinges and drawers. I’d wear my pantaloons and chemise, a much better combination climbing out of windows.

Without knocking, Bishop Aldo entered in his full white and gold regalia complete with staff. My breath caught and my first thought was—we’ve been made.

“Dauphine,” My name came out a curse on his lips. With all my being I knew I was locked in a room with a deranged man who wanted to harm me for the pleasure of it.

“Bishop! Are you not leading mass?”

“Deacon Ricardo leads the flock tonight.” His eyes honed in on my frame with the force of a bird-of-prey moving towards me but never veering that predators gaze from my body. “I felt you deserved my full concentration.”

I shook, backing away. “Thank you, bishop, but why would I need your attention? Surely you are needed elsewhere?”

“I knew you would be the perfect specimen when you first walked through those doors.”

Remembering what Margerite said I countered, “I am not perfect your grace, I do have flaws.”

“I doubt that. A woman with such skin, a beautiful face, I see what you think of your beauty, your conceit. You believe yourself flawless, but I’ll make sure to make concession.”

I didn’t know what he meant, but I didn’t want to find out.

“Come,” the bishop held out an elbow for me to take. “I want to show you what I’d like to do to you. I sensed your need for discipline, and I will administer it, but first I want to show you.”

He wanted me thoroughly terrified of him. Men such as Bishop Aldo reveled in fear and pain. Maybe I could talk my way out of this. Other options were not available. I took his elbow and he led me out the room. Several guards, hardened men, surrounded us down to the south wing. The dungeons were below.

“It is unfortunate you didn’t arrive earlier in life.” Bishop Aldo cradled my hand as a lover. “But, by the time you leave here, you will know God and your place.”

Like a good little disciple—like Margerite.

The halls were empty besides our small caravan. Footsteps echoed down an intersecting hall. I prayed it was Detrien, Torg, LeBeau. No one was coming to my aid. They were making their own plans. Philipe bowed to his grace as we approached and cast a dirty smile to me. Dirty was the perfect word for Philipe. Tan skinned, weathered hands, and eyes too large for his face, like a squirrel. Philipe was much like the bishop in that he liked giving pain, but his manor professed violence. He’d thought his pristine cock could cleanse the evil from a woman. I was not afraid of rape, but this man reeked of past women he’d forced.

We turned and went down a set of stairs I dread, but also needed to go. The passageway to the dungeon sent a chill down my spine. Everything here remained the same, though I’d only seen this stairwell once. Bowden could be down here. A small receiving area to the left of the stairs held rings on the walls and ceiling. A place to string up prisoners before they went through the small door guarded by two Randish soldiers.

Philipe reached inside his shirt and produced a ring of three keys. My eyes followed the keepers fingers when he chose the round ended key.

The hallway was too narrow and the bishop herded me through. Ten steps forward and the hall opened into the basement below the entire south wing. Black mold crept up the walls turning into a dark green as it climbed. Chains attached to the walls, some dripping dark ooze, tables stained with dark red, sharp points on manacles, tools in rows on shelves and in disheveled boxes. All torture devices.

Panic rose in my chest. I would feel pain here. The guards remained at the opening, but the bishop and I followed Philipe to a stone table. The table was occupied by a naked man who had already been tortured.

A long row of stitches stretched down his stomach. His legs and arms were swathed in gauze that did little to stop the blood from oozing. But his face contorted in a silent scream. His eyes unseeing, unblinking. His facial hair clumped in brown mattes. But I recognized Bowden even as unkempt and riddled with stitches. The court mage had always been a lithe, spare man with features resembling that of the elven nations but now he looked strained of life-force. His young face and white hair matted with grime. His eyes stared up and I doubted he could see anyone. At least not those around him. He looked as a fossil does from some archaeologists dig—frozen in time. 

“Well, has he said anything?” The bishop waved a hand over Bowden.

“No.” Philipe smiled in glee. “He just screams.”

I closed my eyes knowing Bowden couldn’t speak. Landon said he’d spelled himself not to say anything hence this state of conscious unconsciousness.

“He needs to talk Philipe.” I could hear the or he needs to be dead in the bishop’s voice.

“Open your eyes, Dauphine, you need to see what happens to infidel who work their magics.”

Philipe picked up a blade thin as my finger and cut the stitches along with healing skin down Bowden’s abdomen.

I clasped my mouth with both hands.

Bowden started screaming, lightning passed over his body sending Philipe across the room against one of the support pillars. Then Bowden’s head lolled to the side and his shallow breaths stopped.

“Philipe!” The bishop said.

“I’m fine.” Philipe stood and dusted himself off.

The bishop stepped up to the stone slab, closed his eyes and held his hands over Bowden’s face. Faint gold light radiated from Bishop Aldo’s palms and Bowden started coughing and moaned.

Pulling back, Bishop Aldo let his protégé resume control of torturing the mage.

“You think that’s funny half-breed?” Philipe loomed over my friend and I remained helpless to save either one of us.

Bowden turned his face to Philipe but still remained silent.

“That’s right, I know what you are.” Philipe brought his knife over Bowden’s cheek. “I’ve dissected a few elves in my time. Your heart is on your right side, but your blood circulates the same as a humans. Tell me, what lineage do you get your freak ears from? Did your father fuck your mother?”

“Philipe, language!” The bishop pointed. “There is a lady present.”

Philipe scowled at the bishop but didn’t speak to his grace directly. “Hear that abomination? He wants me to go easy on you for the lady.” Philipe stuck the knife inside the slit where Bowden stomach was open. Bowden screamed but this time there was no lightning.

“Stop!” The plea left my lips before I could think.

Bowden thrashed, trying to bend his head backwards, trying to see who cried for him.

“Stop, please.” I said.

“Hear that? The lady wants me to stop. Why don’t you tell me what I want to know so we can accommodate her.” Philipe’s dirty smile sent shivers down my spine.

Bowden went still and remained quiet.

Philipe went into a rage, “No you don’t freak! Stay with me.” Philipe started slapping Bowden’s face. Whatever it took I wanted them to stop.
Bishop Aldo put a hand over my shoulder. “There now child, I think you get the point of why you’re down here.”

“What?” I tried pulling away but his clawed talons for fingers gripped me tight.

“I don’t want this to happen to you, Dauphine. I want to help drive the evil from your body before we have to resort to this,” Bishop Aldo waved a hand to Bowden.

Instead of pulling back, I yanked myself forward, away from the bishop’s hold. “I don’t have evil in my body!” You sadistic fuck.

“Now Dauphine, denial will only prolong your punishment.” The bishop strode forward and pushed me back the way we came.

I looked at Bowden willing him to hear my mental conviction, we will save you friend—hold on.

As we left I heard shrill laughter and Philipe yelling, “Are you crying freak? Are you crying? They must be giving you too much water if you can cry…”

I was going to hyperventilate, but my exterior had never molded itself so hard in profound calm. I wanted to turn around and stab Bishop Aldo in the heart, then string Philipe up to the rings on the holding walls we passed and shred his skin in thin slices. I would feed him to the Randish people outside.

Fierce satisfaction of imagining people dancing with strips of arm, cooking parts of leg, chewing on his dick’s foreskin courtesy of Philipe, keeper of the keys. I thought of nothing else while the bishop and twelve guards escorted me back to my guest room.

When we got to the door, the bishop said, “Guards tie her, face down, to the bed.”

I did not struggle, protest or show fear as they stretched me to the four winds of each post. My arms and legs splayed out, I was helpless, but I would not cry.

“Leave us.” The bishop said and everyone was out the room except me and this monster. The bishop knelt on the bed and unlaced my corset. When the strings lay across the mattress, he tore the chemise in half, exposing my back. Skin exposed his hands wandered over my shoulders like oil over vinegar.

“We must drive the lust out of you, my dear.” The bishop rolled his hand under me and groped my breast. “Or every man here will be driven to madness with your beauty.” His thumb flicked my nipple until the pink flesh puckered and grew hard. I grit my teeth hating him all the more. He pulled away and I looked over as he unscrewed the top half of his staff off. After setting the ornate part on the table, he held a sword length stick in his hand. His eyes possessed eagerness of a sadists addiction to giving pain. “I will draw the devil out in you and banish it to hell!”

Metal over my flesh and bone felt as if he took the wind from my lungs. I could not breath. He struck again with the metal pole and started chanting. Again and again my back was struck. My ribs were bruised, my shoulders felt broken, my skin raw and I knew I was bleeding, even from the blunt pole. I cried out into my pillow and was answered by harder strikes. Finally I passed out from the pain.

Due to circumstances out of my control...like, Cynthia's life being hectic and the fact that she wanted to improve on this sketch and then me pulling her off this project to do another smaller project, nearly didn't allow us time to have a full color illustration! I'd thought I'd only have a sketch of what would become, but Cynthia worked really hard to get this up in time.

These illustrations are in depth and she puts in a lot of effort in each one.  

I gave her a few scenes to choose from for this illustration and she chose what you see! In fact here are her words to me:

About the illustration of Chartan and Dauphine, I'm sending you the sketch now! I went for this particular moment:

'He stepped closer to me, leaned down to my ear and whispered. “I know who you are Lady Dauphine of Quenarre, noble princess of the house Rouelle. I escorted you to safety here before the overtaking of our King. Do not chuff me off.”'

I believe it was an interesting moment to show the tension between them, also this seductive but also provocative side of Chartan and a key moment where Dauphine finally realizes how serious Chartan's visit is.

And now the illustration is so. Happy reading!

If you are completely lost, and this is your first time here, you might want to start from the beginning. I suggest clicking on "The King's Thief" under the CATEGORIES on the right hand side of the screen. Or clicking the button below to start at the beginning. For the rest of you...bombs away!

This is a FREE internet story for my fans. This chapter is the continuation of a story called "The King's Thief". Click the button above for more details. 

No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted without written prior permission from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, incidents and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

If you find any grammar, spelling or punctuation errors, please let know via the comments!! I may not get to them right away, but I will get to them. Thank you!

The wild landscape of my home country helped me endure riding a horse that was beautiful but maintained a gait that was something to be desired. His hooves slammed the ground even while walking, which jostled me back and forth, chaffing my rear. He was no Carnival but he kept up with the rest and I didn’t fault him for his poor breeding. He was a testament to the ravaged people of Quenarre. Therefore, I was grateful for the mount on the long journey.

Dean and Torg rode in front, Gustave and Detrien on either side of me. The other fifteen soldiers followed Roy, who was behind me, on the main road to Rouelle. The path rolled over hills flourishing with yellow and purple flowers. Mountains ahead. The sea to our backs. It was the beautiful land I’d grown up seeing. Except for the Randish caravans that tore up the road, it was home. 

Torg broke from his usual silence and slid his horse between Gustave and me. “We’ve come this far, what’s the next phase of your plan?”

Detrien answered, “It’s genius, but a fairly simple one.”

I patted my steed who seemed to have a bit of a problem with Torg’s mount. The two pinning their ears at each other, a clear sign to back off, but their fussing didn’t go beyond facial expressions.

“How do we ride through the front gates and live?” The bartender said.

“Tell me, Torg, what special talents do you have other than serving drinks that can wipe a mustache off a woman?”

He laughed and I reveled in the sound. Torg’s hadn’t made merry in some time by the sound of his unused vocals. I loved making men laugh, if they got too serious, they became drab bores.  

Dean raised a fist for us to stop, then pointed to the tall grass to the side of the road. Everyone rushed in the direction he pointed an my horse followed.

“Wait, again?”

“Shhhh…” Torg pressed a finger to his lips. “Randish caravan.”

“We can’t keep ducking them.”

“Yes we can. That’s what we do.” Gustave jumped off his horse and started pulling his mount down. All the horses, including mine, were trained to lay in the grass and hide.

“If they see us, our plan will be exposed.”

I looked to Detrien who shrugged.

“Ah, no.” I said. “This is only going to work if we are noticed.”

Again I received a look that I now interpreted as…but Chartan taught us this way. “As much as it goes against your nature, my plan includes not hiding. We want to be noticed, we want to be known.”

Torg gave the “lay down” cue to my horse who obliged. We went down and I stepped off my ride. “This will take forever to get to Bowden.”

“It’s the fastest way.”

“No, it’s the fastest way not to be seen.” I walked toward the main road.

“Lady Dauphine, what are you doing? Get back here!” All the men whispered but only Torg ran after me. At the edge of the horizon I saw a Randish stagecoach peeking over the horizon. “Damn it Lady Dauphine!” Torg said.

“Have you decided what your specialty is?”

“Uh, bartender?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, we’re halfway there and you can’t think of a fake occupation?”

Torg stammered.

“Never mind, you’re new specialty is jokes.”

“What?”

“Jokes, my good man, telling jokes.” I waved at the caravan and Torg stared at me as the carriage approached.

“I’m willing to bet,” I said. “That they won’t even stop.”

“You don’t know the Randish.” Torg gave me a scowl.

Sure enough, the coach stopped and one of the passengers stuck his head out. “My good man, good lady, is there trouble?”

“Oh, thank you sir, but no. My band and I…”

“Band?” The man looked startled.

“Yes, my entertainers.” I waved to the others behind me. “We’re taking a rest from a weary walk.”

“Entertainers?” He said shocked. “I haven’t seen rovers here in years.”

“Oh! We will have little competition then!” I said.

“What type of entertainment do you perform?”

I smiled as innocence herself. “I’m just the musician,” I pointed to Torg. “He’s the joke teller.”

The man smiled at Torg, “Go then, tell me one.”

Torg scowled at me then cleared his throat. In his rough serious voice he said, “A man comes home from work to find his wife sliding down the banister. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks. She answers, ‘Warming up your dinner’.”

The man howled, slapped the window and tossed Torg a copper. “I hope you have some the Cardinal won’t be-head you for.”

Torg grimaced. “Unlawful’s all I got.”

The man didn’t seem to hear Torg. “Well, if you’re all right then, I’ll be off.”

“Thank you sir.” I bowed.

The man knocked on the upper panel twice and the driver set the horses in motion. When the carriage was gone Torg scowled at me.

“What? He liked your joke.”

“And now we have people that will know about us.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Why?”

“Because now we’ll be expected.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I sighed. “Don’t you see? Word will spread there are entertainers on their way.”

“It’s dangerous. The Cardinal is suspicious.”

“Then he’ll be caught off guard. He’s expecting rogues.”

We went back to the horses. “Get up. No more delays. We ride to Rouelle.”

The men coaxed their horses up and remounted. I gave them all until the vestiges of daylight to figure out what they wanted to “be” before I told them what they were. After the rays of sun no longer adorned us, we set a simple camp. Most the men ate, tended their horses and rolled blankets for a night under the stars. Despite their protests, I started a fire. After rounds of jerky, a handful of nuts and enough water to clear our throats from road wear I pointed to Roy and asked, “What’s your entertainment value?”

Roy waggled his eyebrows and said, “Plenty under the sheets.”

I looked at the weathered blond sailor. He was the type that always smiled even when he thought you weren’t looking. Skin stretched across a wide face and intelligent eyes. His beard started red at the roots and bleached from sun at the ends. His hair never had a chance to be anything but blonde and it was obvious he never wore a hat. He looked my age, but wrinkles around his eyes told me he was much older. He was charming and handsome and owned the confidence of an older, wiser man. I flashed a sultry smile and said, “Then you’ll have no problem arousing my interest.”

His smile grew wide. “I would but for Chartan.”

I wanted to say, “Forget Chartan,” but the words wouldn’t come. Even the seductress’ heart inside me leaped at his name. Instead I cleared my throat.

“Careful lad,” Torg said. “She’s about to assign an occupation to ya.”

“He can juggle.” Dean offered, and I turned my eye to the dark haired, blue eyed soldier. His wife was a lucky woman. Not only was Dean the right kind of beautiful it was tempered with enough rugged edge to prevent a dismissal from others as just another pretty face. Though I’m sure men did misjudge his skill in fighting. But, as a lover he was true to his wife.

“What else can Roy do?” I asked Dean.

Roy lifted a hand to my ear then snapped two fingers. He showed me a coin and rolled it between his fingers. He pressed the coin in my palm and it felt of real gold. Roy then closed my hand and released me. When I opened my hand, the coin was gone. I grumbled and the men laughed. “Chartan must’ve taught you that.” I rubbed my chest in remembrance of a coin pouch in my bosom.

“Or maybe I taught Chartan,” Roy grinned as if he knew something I didn’t.

“So magician and juggler, what about you Dean?” I turned my attention to predatory blue eyes.

Gustave clapped his hands together in amusement. “Show her Dean!”

A sideways smirk my way and Dean stood up, grabbed one of the burning sticks from the fire and examined it. A good sized flame held the end of the branch in its grip. Dean took a sip from his flask, raised the branch above his head and blew on the flame. Fire exploded into the night air. He waved his fire wand in an arc, then closed his mouth around the firelit tip and pulled out a crispy but unlit branch. He let us examine it, showing us the fire was completely out. Once satisfied, he then spit out flame onto the branch making it catch fire again. Gustave clapped and Dean bowed to him.

Detrien clasped his hands together and flicked his nose with his thumb. He struck his, I could make you filthy rich pose.

“Oh, you dare not lure him away from LeBeau,” I said to my cousin.

Detrien preened, “He’s not going to be a soldier forever.”

I shook my head.

“If you think that impressive,” Dean said. “You haven’t seen what Gustave can do.”

Turning to the boy, I expressed my interest through eye contact and sultry positioning. Show some cleavage to a man and it makes them happy every time. Happy enough to make them reveal tidbits. Some tidbits are worth more than others, but Gustave blushed and wouldn’t meet my eye.

“Come Gustave,” Dean waved a hand and Roy offered a coin to the boy. Gustave smiled in coy appreciation, “Only if I can keep it.”

Roy flipped the gold to the boy. Gustave snatched the disc out of the air and bit into it.

I laughed, “No trust between rogues.”

“Just making sure its solid.” Gustave narrowed his eyes at Roy. “I can’t always work with pliable material.”

Roy shrugged, “It was paper.”

“You almost choked me.”

“Let it go,” Torg looked from Roy to Gustave.

Chartan’s first mate sighed and turned to me. He waved the coin in his hand and placed it in my palm. “So you know it’s real.”

Weighing the item, I knew gold when I felt it in my hand. Gustave took the coin, put it in his mouth and swallowed. The boy came closer and opened his mouth, lifting his tongue so I could see he wasn’t hiding the coin.

“Is this a trick I have to wait a few days for?” I teased.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Gustave then got on all fours and breathed heavily. I could tell he was working muscles inside his body. The boy started an awful retching and I grew concerned. Dean held out a hand and shook his head. “Give him a moment.”

Gustave coughed twice and from his mouth into his hand fell the coin. Dumbfounded, I sat there while he presented his prize with an innocent smile. I couldn’t believe it. “You can swallow things and bring them back up?”

He nodded. “Just about anything,” He glanced to Roy, “the stiffer the material, the easier it is to cough up.”

“Keys?” Detrien gapped at the boy. “Can you swallow and bring up keys?”

Gustave turned his bright smile to Detrien. “My specialty.”

“Blades?” Detrien asked with a pointed determination that I knew some plan was forming in his head.

Gustave’s smile faded, “I have before…but I’d rather not if I can help it.”

My cousin nodded once with solemn propriety.

“Well, Gustave, that’s something we may want to keep to ourselves, what can you show the public?” I smoothed my skirt trying to keep it nice for future presentation.

He shrugged, “I can juggle, throw knives, dance, climb anything, acrobatics, oh, I can bend myself in half.” Gustave brought that bright smile back. The boy was incorrigibly hopeful.

“I fanned myself.” Gustave you are going to make some woman very happy.
Dean scratched his nose and focused his attention on my cousin. “What can you do?”

Both Detrien and I were stunned. How could they not know? But then my entertaining cousin grinned and stood. “Please gentlemen and lady…” He bowed to each of us in turn. “Get comfortable, sit, find a place to relax and lend me your ears.” He then looked to me and asked in that smooth voice, “Any requests?”

I thought and chose, “La mer”.

Detrien flashed his famous devil-may-care smile. “The sea it is…” and he started signing. Detrien could shame the beauty of swans with a voice on par with angels. He could teach anyone how to better their own signing performance but most important of all, he could send men and women alike in a trance with his voice.

Even the hardened warriors—Torg, Dean and Roy were not immune to my cousin’s song. Living with him, I could pull away, but this night I allowed him to lull me into his world. Detrien expressed more meaning with his hands for emphasis, as real entertainers do to make the show riveting.

​Tears streamed from Roy’s eyes and the other men from camp drew near. The song was over too soon and the last note faded as Detrien held his stance in reverence for the last note. There was no clapping—no one wanted escape from the dream, no loud noises to break them away from the melancholy. Instead, the fire crackled, my cousin sat and leaned against me while all but the first watch drifted to sleep.

Thank you so much reading! 
The next installment will be up August 10th, 2017. 
Until next time
Hugs ~ Stephy

P.S. Below is the rough sketch I *almost* had to use in place of the color illustration. Color really puts the mood in the scene, don't you think?

The illustration was created by Cynthia Hlady and depicts Lady Dauphine as she comes near the port of Chardogne.
​
In this episode, my love of horses (having been a dressage trainer for a decade) shines in this chapter. I sometimes can't help but bring in four legged characters in my story. But they are pinnacle to the plot, no matter what small role they play. Carnival was the only one who could get his rider to and from the distance. Of course, Carnival is modeled after the Arabian stallions. His dinner plate sized hooves are key to his success. ~ Happy reading!

If you are completely lost, and this is your first time here, you might want to start from the beginning. I suggest clicking on "The King's Thief" under the CATEGORIES on the right hand side of the screen. Or clicking the button below to start at the beginning. For the rest of you...bombs away!

Hidden by shadows I smiled in ruthless satisfaction at the cardinal of Cadia. The man who took my home, my heritage and my life did not even know I was standing within twenty feet of his secluded tower. Throwing a dagger into his throat would be so easy, so gratifying that I might give up having sex with Dauphine for one night for the chance to kill this bastard.

My weapon burned to get out from its sheath. Thoughts of Bowden stayed my hand. Killing the Cardinal would only put another bulbous bastard on the throne and force me to leave before I knew Bowden’s whereabouts. It was as if the sorcerer were not here. I’d come to glean any information about him straight from the Cardinal. Stealth and patience taught me I could listen without being heard and see without been identified.

The door to the Cardinal’s bedchamber opened and in came his man-servant, Pistacio, a tall, thin man with no skill other than as a manipulator for the Cardinal.

“The crows bring news.” Pistacio’s nasal voice made me wince.

“Give me the short version. It’s time for evening prayer.” The Cardinal continued to take off his rings and other jewelry. I noted a particular gold chain my long since dead king owned. Maybe strangulation would be more satisfying.

“The sorcerer wasn’t the one we’ve been looking for. But they’ve begun testing.” Pistacio said.

“What? Why? I ordered them all extinct.”

“They want to explore the possibility that they can be scientifically explained.”

“Nonsense!” The Cardinal slapped at his table rattling the jewelry. “They are freaks of nature that go against God! None of them shall live.” Cardinal lowered his voice to a mumble. “That land is infested with sorcerers.”

Where the hell was Bowden? If not here, where?

“Your holiness, he was working with others, we at least need their whereabouts.”

“Fine, fine. But if they haven’t gotten the information by the time they receive our bird, tell them to get rid of him.”

Hearing all I needed, I hopped up and through the tower window. Checking to make sure they heard nothing I jumped out the three story tower. Skidding down the wall using the bottom of my boots to slow my decent, the ground came fast. I tucked and rolled letting the force of my fall propel me to my feet. Once on the ground, I used the shadows to get to the carrier birds. I’d wait for Pistacio’s letter and intercept it. 

On my way to the airy, I saw one of my gray cloaks riding a bay horse. Even under the cover of darkness, the fool came riding into town plain as day even so brash as to stable his mount. They knew better than to be seen or leave evidence such as livstock. Something was horribly wrong. I told them to stay on board the St. Maria but, through example, I'd taught them it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. I still didn’t like being disobeyed.

Slipping around the corner, the wall and I became one. I listened to the gray cloak and the stable hand bargaining but couldn’t recognize the voice. The horse was covered in dry sweat. So he’d come in a hurry, but had enough time to cool down. The gray cloak turned, wobbled and placed a palm against the wall to help him remain upright. Before he got to the corner, I grabbed him, covering his mouth. Being a fellow rogue, he remained quiet but struggled to get free. He was either drunk or exhausted with his wild swings.

Whispering our secret code, I said, “Is there honor among thieves?”

Hearing my voice the gray cloak sagged in my arms. I let go of his mouth for him to speak.

“Only among ourselves.”

“Landon!” I recognized his voice and let him go.

He warily turned around as if his legs were numb. “Bowden isn’t here.”

With dry humor, I said, “I’ve gathered that much.”

“I tried to catch you in Chardogne.” He unhooked a water skin and took gulps of liquid.

“Did Dauphine make it before you left?”

Separating from the spout he heaved in air. “Yes.”

She must have arrived sooner than I thought. Good she must be near halfway back. “Did she leave for Xaxyia?”

Landon gave me a confused look and drank more. I waited for his answer, perturbed at having my questions analyzed.

“I left as soon as she arrived.” Landon took in more air. “I don’t know if she stayed.”

“No matter. Where’s Bowden?”

“Roulle.” Landon reached for the wall. His legs stumbled behind him.

“Good man.” There was no time to spare, I had to delay that messenger bird and then travel as fast as I could over a span of five-hundred miles. I went to charge forward.

Landon grabbed my cloak and pulled me back. “Take Detrien’s horse.”

Narrowing my eyes I had make sure I heard correctly. “What?”

“Detrien’s horse—Carnival, take him.”

“How did you come across—” Damn you Detrien. “He’s in Chardogne?”

Landon nodded his head.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. But he would go back with Dauphine. “I have my own horse, and he’s fresh.”

Landon still had a hold of me as I tried to pull him off. “No! You don’t understand!”

“Shhhh! Keep your voice down.”

“I left Chardogne yesterday morning.”

Not many things confound me, but this puzzle did. “You’re telling me you rode over seven hundred miles in a day and a half?”

“Yes.” Landon said.

“How many horses died to bring you here?” I looked at the rider and thought if Landon didn’t get rest he might faint from exhaustion.

Landon widened his eyes and shook his head. “Just Carnival.”

The battle snort of a stallion ready to defend his mare sounded around the corner. Commotion from stable-hands shouting. Landon let go of me and we glanced around the corner.

“That’s him!” Landon’s voice shook in fear. “That’s Carnival.”

A dark horse, small but fierce was giving the stable hands what for. The steed turned his head and his eyes whispered intelligence. Five minutes had passed, but for the steed to regain his breath and enough energy to fight? I marveled at his nobility. “That horse took you from Chardogne to here?”

“That’s not a horse, it’s a demon.” Landon leaned against the wall in a daze. “We passed an imperial express coach, Chartan. Passed it. He dove in the forest and got back on the road after we were out of its sight like he knew over-running it was against the law.”

Not only was passing an imperial express coach a crime, but they were the fastest transportation West of the Great Rift effectively being a law that couldn’t be broken.

Landon hobbled back to the stable hand. As soon as he approached Carnival settled. The stable hand was all too happy to hand back the horse. Landon whispered in the beasts ear and Carnival tilted his head and eyed me. The beast lifted his regal head in the air and pranced to me dragging a staggering Landon. It looked like the horse was holding the man up with his reins.   

Taking the horse, I looked straight into Landon’s eyes and I willed him to understand, “You’ve done well, but before you rest I need your blade.”

Landon nodded. “Anything for you.”

“When it’s time to rest, find your ami on St. Maria. They’re drifting in Lago Del Paolo. First, you must prevent the messenger bird from going to Roulle. This is important. It’s a matter of Bowden’s life.”

Landon pulled himself up. “Yes. I won’t fail him or you again.”

I took hold of his chin. “Don’t. Don’t say you won’t make another mistake. Don’t be afraid to fail. Perfection is a fool’s errand. Just fix it.”

The hopeless defeat in his eyes faded into determination. Landon nodded. “Take Carnival, just return him to Detrien or there’ll be a price on my head.”

Clever Detrien. He was always full of entertaining surprises. “Detrien threatened you with the assassins from Xaxyia.” A wicked smirk escaped my lips. “Have you ever met the assassins Guild master?”

Landon shook his head. “No.”

I laughed and jumped up on Carnival. “Yes you have.”

Turning the steed North to Roulle, I didn’t have time to see Landon’s face as Carnival leaped into a dead run.

Landon had one thing right, Carnival was not a horse, he was the wind.

Thank you for indulging me by reading chapter 8 of "The King's Thief"!
The next update should be July 13th, 2017!
Until next time ~ Happy reading!
♥ ~ Stephy

If you are completely lost, and this is your first time here, you might want to start from the beginning. I suggest clicking on "The King's Thief" under the CATEGORIES on the right hand side of the screen. Or clicking the button below.

​Improvisation was key to my success as a courtesan which was so desperately needed. Usually, docks held the sounds of bells, men shouting, rolling barrels, crates being filled and emptied. When we sailed into Chardogne the whole port held its breath. Even the breeze dared not whisper. Discreet in their hopeful curiosity, the men still worked but with a lack of detail or the hurry that accompanies ports. The Rogues Gambit drifted into a guillotine.

Gustave positioned me upon the Forecastle Deck, letting the men at the docks see me first, to know the would-be-queen Chartan promised them, arrived. They were my people. Tall, noble, beautiful but also broken. I met as many eyes as I could reach and willed my returning devotion to be infused inside each pair of eyes. Their hope closed around my neck and squeezed.

Under the guise of sailors and merchants, I saw fugitives, outlaws, foundlings, refugees, forgotten, and displaced souls. Each my people. Holding my breath, I let them stare and take what they needed from me; whether it was resentment or reverie, endurance or resistance, perseverance or indifference. I stood for them to accept or deny.

No one whispered, uttered or gossiped and when The Rogues Gambit anchored, Gustave took me by hand and escorted me down into the docks. Walking slow past the men lined in attention, their faces dirty, the buildings they inhabited just as unclean, I was ushered into a pub. All was silent and waiting my approach inside as well.

The bar keep wiped down the counter, ignoring our approach. I looked to the boy escorting me down what seemed an aisle for a bride. But this church held cobwebs, not bells.

Bar keep held the perfume of a man who worked around a distillery, but never partook in the wares. He also dressed to double as security wearing only a sweat stained shirt with rolled up sleeves and a scowl of a man who’d loved and lost. “What do ya?”

“Torg, this is Lady Dauphine.” Gustave gave a grand gesture, but the importance of my arrival hadn’t phased the thirty-something man behind the bar.

“Yeah?” Torg scrutinized my features. “What’ll do ya Lady Dauphine.”

​Smiling, I closed my palms together and brought my hands to my lips. Torg became my anchor. He was the type of no-nonsense man I needed right now when so many eyes declared me savior. Yes, I commanded a legion of women, but this was different. In Xaxyia I could cloth, feed and teach a girl how to navigate men. I could collect information and even use it to my advantage. But, here I was expected to resurrect an entire empire—and with what? My good looks? I took a breath. I’d built an empire with exactly that before. I could do it again—if I wanted to. 
 
“The inspector will be here soon,” Gustave kept his voice a low hush. “I need to keep her in the back.”

“You can tell a lot from a lass by what she drinks.” Torg worried a spot on the bar with his cloth.

Chartan’s first mate gripped my elbow. “We don’t have time—”

“Gustave, if your inspector finds me hidden, ramifications will be worse.” I turned to Torg. “I remember this shack. Dirty now as it was then. I believe your father named one of the spiders that lived in the corner there.” I pointed. “Does your storeroom still have a lecherous reputation?”

A ghost couldn’t make Torg’s face turn more white. But the bar keep recovered and blinked.

“Viognier, please.” I said.

The bar keep broke in a wide smile that receded his hair line. “I’d figure you for the red wine type.”

“Red wine is sweet and this is a dry occasion.”

Torg nodded his head and as quick as he was to smile, his frown returned. “Alas, I have no Viognier.”

“Wines from Condrieu are shipped directly to Cadia.” Gustave said.

Randish tongues reaping the hard won, exclusive grapes of the Toulon Valley didn’t surprise me. But my reaction to the knowledge still cut. “Anything you have Torg, don’t be kind to my palate.”

“Yes ma’am.” The bar keep handed me a scotch that went down burning.

“This inspector…” I tapped the glass for another.

Torg filled it. “Randish tax collector and spy that comes everyday.”

That’s when the men in the room exploded and the small tavern transformed from silence into uncontrollable jibberish. I could scarcely make out the complaints but the meaning was clear. Repression. Not only of money, but of mind and religion. Every man in the room expected me to do something about it. Their demands, my responsibility, the weight of their burdens choked the air from my lungs. Gustave turned his back to me and started yelling at them.

Torg clasp my hand. “Come.” He lifted a section of the bar top and I slipped in the back. The bar keep led me down a hallway to a trap door. We descended a flight of stairs into a dark cellar full of barrels. The bars stock. Torg rolled a cask aside and opened another floor door. Another flight of stairs down and I was in a cozy room with a fire place and sitting furniture. This was one of the places Chartan stashed Detrien and I during our escape while the Randish took control of our capital.

“Cousin!” Detrien bolted from a chair towards me.

Smiling I held out my hands in greeting, but as soon as he was within striking distance, I punched his arm.

“Owww!” Detrien stumbled back holding his shoulder.

“That’s for double-dealing with Chartan, commandeering my time from my duties and sequestering me on that ship.”

Torg burst out with a hearty laugh. “Perhaps you are a rogue after all, entertainer!”

Detrien glared at me. His voice muffled through his hands. “And I thought you were having fun.”

“How did you get here so fast? Even if you left when I did, you still had to ride over eight hundred miles.”

“Which should tell you my urgency to see you.”

His deep voice soothed my wrath and knowing I could never stay angry with Detrien, I let out my anger with a sigh. “You rode Carnival?”

Detrien adjusted his arm, working out the pain of my punch. “I swear that horse is the demon from Khazaria. I think he was trying to kill me with his stamina.”

His chapped thighs gave me a little consolation. But I could use Detrien to help save Bowden. “Well, cousin, since your here…”

Another man stepped from the shadows and maintained a less than reachable striking distance from me. Covered in a grey cloak I could not tell his dress or station. His face held none of the grime of a working man, but his weathered skin claimed he was outside most the day. His steel expression and those eyes told me his story. Behind the stern look, regret filmed over the glint of intelligence. A dagger shaped the line of his cloak. He stood just beyond the shadows ready to slither into them to avoid danger. A rogue. Much like Chartan’s men he left with on the St. Maria.

Torg stepped up to my side, apparently unhappy about seeing the man.

I straightened, reaching up to my full height of five feet eight inches. “You are Landon.” The man who stayed behind for Bowden.

The man stepped back looking at me with wary eyes and said nothing.

“What are you doing here?” Torg said.

Landon appraised Torg and through the rogues expression I ascertained this already small room would become much smaller. “Where’s Chartan?”

“Cleaning your mess.” I answered.

“Already claiming command?” Landon glared at me sweeping his eyes over my person. “Whatever Chartan has put in your head, you are still a hay-penny whore.”

Torg rushed forward and landed a blow to the rogues gut.

Landon bent forward and coughed his way to the ground.

“Damn lightweight.” Torg said. “Don’t have any tolerance to you at all.”

“Torg! Back up!” I saw the blade and knew Landon’s tactic.

The bar keep jumped out of Landon’s arc then stepped forward and landed another blow to the rogues cheek.

Detrien tackled me in a vice grip and started shoving me up the stairs. “Go!”

Landon ducked under Torg, grabbed Detrien by the collar and pulled both of us down from the ladder. Landon straddled me, holding the knife to my throat. “Where’s Chartan?”

The rogue was a desperate combination of the need to prove himself loyal to LeBeau and deep sorrow of loss. Information of Chartan’s whereabouts could jeopardize my lover and Bowden, but if I didn’t give the man an answer, he was likely to tear down the town looking for one. He also held a blade threatening to kill me. “He went to save Bowden.”

Landon relaxed his grip, the despair of failure weighing his shoulders. “So he’s in Rouelle.”

“Rouelle?” I gasped, Chartan was going to the wrong place! “No he went to Cadia.”

Landon snapped his grip back in place. “Cadia? Why?”

“Cadia is where they take prisoners.”

“Prisoners? No, Bowden isn’t a prisoner, he’s their science experiment.”

I couldn’t understand what he meant. “Science experiment?”

Landon looked past me, through me, staring into a place in time. “They are cutting him open and making him use his power to see how…how his magic works from the inside.”

Torg and Detrien both ripped Landon off me. But the fight had been leeched out of all of them.

“Detrien, Chartan needs to be told, I need Carnival.”

“I’ll go.” Landon said.

“You’ll need Carnival.” Detrien’s grave expression proved he loved his horse even if he called the steed names. “But understand this. Xaxyia doesn’t have an assassin’s guild, but if it did, the guild master, hypothetically, would owe me a favor. If you don’t bring Carnival back to me whole and sound, I would, if it existed, have every member of that guild searching for you.”

Landon listened and took Detrien to his “hypothetical” word. Even I held my breath at my cousins threat. I’d never seen him less than jovial. But Detrien was right. The not so hypothetical assassins guild in Xaxyia were some of my favorite clients and they owed favors to us both. Finally, Landon nodded. “Thank you.”

The rogue left with Torg, leaving me alone with my cousin.

“You gave Carnival to him out of guilt.”

Detrien shrugged and smiled. “I was supposed to stay in Xaxyia, but I went against Chartan’s suggestion.”

“You think this makes up for it?”

“That’s the least of our problems. Bowden—he’s still alive?”

My plan would stay the same, just the town had changed. This time in my favor. I was closer the Roulle than Chartan and he’d have to go over a mountain or swing around them. Rouelle was a clear path from Chardogne. “Up for the rescue of a friend?”

Detrien bowed with a flourish. “Anything for my queen.”

​I shook my head in disgust. “You too, Detrien?”

​The fire light of the room cast an eerie mood. I did not feel the warmth of its heat but with all the men surrounding there was no need. Detrien on my right, Gustave on my left, Torg, Dean, Roy and two other men from the Rogue’s Gambit plus another five from upstairs and this cozy little hideaway became a package dozen of testosterone. With little o’ me in the middle and Chartan’s makeshift quilt world map I told them the first leg of my plan.

“We march from here to Rouelle. It is two hundred and sixty-two miles.”

Torg cursed under his breath. “Will we make it before they kill him?”

“We will.” Detrien my ever optimist was the only one who didn’t have doubts.

“Let’s not think in terms of defeat just yet.” I looked to all the men. “If we travel by foot it will take us five or six days. Three by horse.”

“I’ll get us horses then.” Dean said. The man was hardly an idle hand with the patience of an ant.

“Good. How many are going?” I said. Putting Dean to work was better than asking him to wait. Otherwise, he would likely use his anger for destructive energies.

“Twenty.” Torg nodded to Dean and the man was off.

“Once we get there, how are we to get in?” Gustave tapped at Roulle on the map.

“Oh, that,” I smiled. “Through the front gate.”

Everyone, except Detrien, gaped. Their eyes suggested I asked them to hang themselves. Rogues. No imagination.

“Who put her in charge of this operation?” A voice from the back said.

“You did.” I looked around the room. “All of you did.”

Torg nodded once as if the matter was settled.

The man, in yet another grey cloak, stepped forward. Chartan must be head of the thieves guild and gives them all grey cloaks for rogues in training. "That’s not good enough. Why should we follow you?"

I leaned back, clasp my hands in front of me and smiled. "I don't care if you do. If you decide not to follow me in retrieving Bowden and LeBeau out of Randish hands, that is your choice."

I went back to the board.

The man looked around at all his fellows. "You all are fools for blindly following the whore."

Gustave reached for his sword and snarled. "Don't ever let Chartan hear you call her that."

I stayed his hand. “Apparently, you don’t know the difference between a whore and a courtesan. If you did, you might be asking to trade secrets instead of questioning my plan.”

The man scoffed and turned to the stairs. Torg made a move to intercept the man.

"Let him go." I studied the map.

The man climbed the wrung of stairs and was out of the room. I flicked my eyes to Gustave. "It would not be prudent to allow my plans to reach Randish ears."

Gustave snapped his head up to where the rogue went. "I'll handle it."

I stayed Gustave once more. "Please, don't leave permanent damage. I just want to make sure he’s not a spy."

The boy grunted and climbed the stairs out of my sight.

“There is a small town here, at the base of the mountain.” I pointed on the map. “We can refuel supplies there.”

“No my lady, that town isn’t there any longer.” Roy said. Nostalgia and sadness expressed on his face. It had to be his home town.

“My apologies.” Our eyes met. His lip firmed and he nodded.

A wave of hopelessness gripped me. Detrien slid his hand into mine and squeezed. My beloved country suffered such loss. “Oh, then are there any towns convenient to restock?”

“No.” Torg said. “We’re rogues out of necessity.”

Plastering a smile I said, “Not anymore. For at least the next week, you are my company of entertainers.”
I rolled up the map—it would take more time to gather supplies and we could talk on the way there. For now, we needed horses, food, water and shelters. “Let’s get the first phase started. We’ll plan this out soon as we get closer.”

To my surprise, the rest of the men gathered their belongings and made way up the stairs. I expected them to demand a plan, to have to know what was going on. I’d waited on more of a challenge.

When they left I turned to Detrien, “I expected more of a fight.”

Detrien rubbed my arms and smiled. “Ah, Dauphine, men like that just want to fix what ails you.”

“So I haven’t lost my touch?” I quirked my head to the side.

He laughed. “You know you haven’t. You’re the best courtesan there ever was.”

“Still the one that left wasn’t convinced.”

“You can’t please everybody.” Detrien sighed.

“Yes you can.” I smirked, hearing Detrien’s thought--you can’t bed every man—especially those that don’t find a woman’s charms desirable. But there was only one man I wanted and he was seven hundred miles away.

Next installments should be June 8th!

Until then...happy reading!

​♥ ~ Stephy

This commissioned art was done by Cynthia Hlady, one of the artists I use to help me visualize my characters. It's important to me that I have something original because while the pinterest board is filled with inspirations, those people, places and creatures are not my characters. My characters have traits taken from those inspirations, but my characters become something else. Hence, my love of commissioning art. 

​The portrait makes me think of Chartan looking out to the port of Chardogne, searching for Lady Dauphine in one of the boats. His eyes forlorn, longing, wishing he could go on this mission with her. But before I spoil more of the story, let's get to chapter 6, shall we?

If you are completely lost, and this is your first time here, you might want to start from the beginning. I suggest clicking on "The King's Thief" under the CATEGORIES on the right hand side of the screen. Or clicking the button below. 

Sorry, I have not inserted buttons to forward to the next chapter of the story. I know. I'm a bastard like that. But I figure if it was a problem, you'd tell me in the comments or something. So until I get a nasty gram, you can search for it in the categories section. Enjoy!

This is my inspiration for Lady Dauphine. She's regal, beautiful, and has a strength about her so needed in a queen or courtesan. 

I have a map of the world in which I could share with you, but alas, the map is not mine to share. As I mentioned, the story was fashioned for a friend who was building a game around a world built in his head.

It was a RPG that he and a friend started and yet never finished. But the game lives on in this small pocket of the internet and I didn't want the story to be left behind along with the game. It was just too good for that. 

So, read on for Chapter 5 of The King's Thief.

After six days of sheer boredom or maybe fear of my mischievous endeavors, Chartan took to entertaining me himself. His form of entertainment was sitting me in his room playing a warped version of chess on the poorly concealed map of Inestra. The rules were the same, but we could only move across civilized settlings instead of squares. Knights were interesting, and rooks tended to feel like castles sometimes but it worked.

My pieces were spread across Penticio and Maralon in the Southeast while his pieces attacked from Valron and Quenarre above from Northwest. It was his move. He chose to slide a pawn to some forest in Maralon.

“That’s cheating—there is no city there.” 

The intense focus of his mood quelled my objections. Holding my breath, I was afraid the excitement he invoked would show.

“There is a small town there. It’s called Aelad.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s there. You should get to know your countryside.”

Being alone with him rattled every nerve. My composure claimed mutiny and jumped over-board days ago. I couldn’t concentrate except for the deceit I’d planned with Dean and Roy.

“You should get to know my countryside.” I smiled.

His stare was bland and peculiarly unmoved. Normally, I’d pass by and forget such a rebuff. But Chartan was a different story. His impression of me was important. It changed my actions. The knowledge perturbed me. “Still think a courtesan makes a good queen?”

More silent staring was his response.

I let out my breath and looked at the quilt “board”.

“I can understand your reticent to going back.” His rough rum voice could charm the skin off a snake.

“Reticent?” That was a laugh. “Everyone I knew—died. All I loved is gone. I can’t go back there with the memories…”

“Ah, guilt. Why you and not them?”

His words pricked my heart. I turned away forcing the truth back before its waves crashed over and spilled from my eyes. Damn him.

A gentle hand cupped my chin and turned my face to his. “No. Let me see this. It fuels my purpose.” His tenderness broke me.

Streams etched crevasses down my cheeks.

In his words and through the windows of his soul, Chartan, his motivations, his loyalty, his fierce love for Quenarre became clear. My tears, a king’s wish, a countries cry all drove Chartan to rebuild, piece together, claw behind shadows to reconstruct our lost people. I’d known all this time, deep down, and for that he was the only man I’d ever loved. A man that would only see me as that eighteen year old frightened child that would be his queen.

As my tears came down I could see his hate build inside. Chartan was not made of stone. He felt, and greatly so, for all of Quenarre. The wrath I saw could take down regimes. That’s what Chartan meant when he said I would rule. One man against all of Randisar. My flat out refusal he called “reticence” bruised a little.

A pounding at the door made me jump out of my chair.

“What?” Chartan yelled.

“Get out here, your men need leading.” Dean yelled from the other side.

Knowing my cue, I stepped far from the bed.

Chartan ripped the door open.

Dean flew in with Roy right behind. The two large men bum rushed their captain and lifted him off the ground. Chartan twisted in his struggle, nearly making his two subordinates drop him. Dean and Roy threw him on the bed. My two pawns pinned Chartan’s wrists to the posts and began their swift knot work.

“What is this?” Chartan thrashed his legs. Which is why I took advantage of his stunned reaction and sat on his hips.

“Relax.” Roy grunted and finished his knot. “It’s nothing you can’t get out of in two minutes.”

Still Chartan struggled with his bonds but his wrists were firmly tied to the posts. Roy and Dean stepped back looking dubious about their rope work.

“It might hold till we reach the door.” Dean smirked in satisfaction.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” I swept past them and sat by the bed. “He’s been hard to pin down.”

They both laughed.

“I can’t imagine you having any trouble keeping him in one place, but it is Chartan.” Roy grabbed the thief’s boot closest to him and pulled them off.

“Gustave!” Chartan yelled.

Dean laughed, grabbed Chartan’s boot closest to him and pulled. “Gustave isn't coming.”

Chartan sneered and started thrashing. I clenched my knees to ride the bull and set my hands on his chest. “Stop.”

A wild animal looked back at me.

“You won’t hurt him, we agreed.” Dean said on his way out the door.

“I keep my promises.” I said keeping an eye on Chartan. “Thank you, both.”

“Your welcome, your majesty.” Roy answered.

When the door closed, I sneered at it. Your majesty indeed.

A deep rumbling vibrated in my hands. Chartan chuckled. He was calm but I didn’t underestimate him. Already he twisted his arms, working the ropes. “What did you promise them in return?”

I’ll never tell. “How does it feel to be forced into a place you don’t want to go? Tied, bound and helpless?” I unbuttoned his trousers and slipped a hand under his shirt.

“I wouldn’t know.” His rough rum voice quivered in my stomach.

Knowing this game was a race of clothes vs. how fast a thief could slip out of his bonds, I stripped off his pants. A glorious cock hardened all the way up and hid under his shirt. I pounced on him, took the end of the shirt and ripped in half.

Finally, Chartan naked.

“I hope you plan on replacing that.” He eyed his shirt.

I ran my hands down the length of his stomach. He was magnificent. I’d waited a lifetime to play with him.

“Still see me as a little girl?”

Chartan lifted his knees and threw me forward. Face to face, I enveloped his lips. Ravenous for Chartan my tongue dug deep trying to taste all of him. He returned my smoldering passion—slow, thoughtful and sparse. He wasn’t running a marathon as I was, he would take his time.  

A hand pushed the back of my head and drew me closer. Damn he’d gotten free already. I wanted the top spot, but I’d have to fight for it now. Breaking free from his mouth I adjusted my dress so I could maneuver us skin-to-skin. But his upright legs were in the way. He rolled us over. With only one hand free he stopped short of pinning me down. Without the support of his other arm, I was able to force him on his back.

His infuriating smile said this was a fun game. 

Laying my torso on his, I hooked my feet around his lower legs and pushed out. His knees went down and I sat up sliding my slickness along his cock.

“Dauphine,” he whispered. “You need not do this for what you want.”

“This is what I want.”

“Accept your place as queen and I will turn this ship around back to Xaxyia.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ask, as queen, and it’s yours.”

Grabbing hold of his hard length, I slipped his cock inside me.

Two arms wrapped around me and Chartan started rocking us at a maddening slow rate. My usual control perished. I wanted him to come. I wanted him to crash over the rocks of endless ecstasy. I tried quickening the pace. He gripped both hips and lifted me up preventing me from grinding on him. Slowly in, slowly out while he held me in the air.

His face strained in concentration, his body tense. He was working me over as I did clients. I knew and still couldn’t stop from giving in. To let the pleasure encase me. To hand him my heart. I, the ocean, and he, the moon, rocking waves of pleasure in an endless cycle. Waning, waxing. Pressure started to build. I lifted my head to the the sky. Holding me up with the head of his cock barley inside, he paused.

My eyes flew open. I looked down with a fierce intensity telling him to continue. He smirked back up at me. Letting all the weight in my knees go I hoped to drop on top on him. But he was strong enough to hold me in a torture unfulfilled.

I growled.

He laughed and let me slide down his cock, separating my insides in a slow controlled pace that he set.

“Faster.” I demanded.

Flipping me on my back, Chartan stabbed his cock inside and held there. I cried out. He slowly pulled out. Then stabbed back inside. Repeating this anticipation of how far he would pull out and how fast he would drive in.

“No, no, no, no.”

His chuckle filled my ear.

I pushed him over and got back on top, but again he grabbed my hips and prevented me from rutting on him. He sat up and took me to my back again, this time pumping hard, fast and using his entire length.

Relief.

Then he started his torture again. Hanging me at the edge of begging.

“Say what I want to hear.” He whispered.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, clinging to him I said, “No.”

He pumped once—hard. “Say it.”

I whimpered.

Clenching my inner walls hard when he drove in I bit down on his shoulder. He cupped a hand to the back of my head and pulled me closer.

“Dauphine.” He cried. “Say it.”

Finally a chink in the armor.

Last episode, I mentioned I might be able to get a creation of my main characters drawn to show you, but that didn't happen. I dropped the ball. 

But what I do have is inspirations to the physical traits of these characters.

One of which I have to direct you to pinterest because even though I'm not allowed to download, alter or pass-on the incredible artwork that was the actual inspiration for Chartan LeBeau, I can pin it pinterest. Go figure. 

This lovely woman is the inspiration for Lady Dauphine. I love her refine features, dark hair, regal essence with the hint of sensuality that pulled me in.

She looks like she's ready to tell you a secrete and has many to keep. That, in essence is Lady Dauphine. You'd never guess her to be a refugee.

The model, I believe, is Barbara Mori. She's a gorgeous actress that has starred in Hispanic films. Thought I'd mention that in case you were wondering.

I think she makes a fine Lady Dauphine and so I've kept her as such in my pinterest board.

For those who've just joined us, you can find Chapter 1 of the King's Thief by clicking the button below.

If you click on the "The King's Thief" category on the right of the screen, you'll get all the chapters from most recent to first in that order. In any case, chapter 4 is below! Happy reading! 

After shutting the door I contemplated the nerve of men. They think they can just spirit a woman away because it’s within their plans. Treated as cattle. Pushed to this side and that. I was not beef to shove around, I was Rouelle…

I stopped my thought before it formed shape and started anew. I, Dauphine, was guild master of the courtesans. That’s why I needed to go back to Xaxyia.

A young man—impressionably young—bounded down the stairway. His spiffed out knackers, shirt and coat hung on him as a newly found skin. He’d seen battle yet knew not the charms of a woman. His smile genuine, but his step slipped at the last wrung of stairs. Catching himself by my arm his eyes flew open at righting himself and the poor child went on one knee.

“M’Lady, forgive me.” His breathless wonder put a smile on my face.

“What is your name slippery one?”

His cheeks turned abashed. This one would be my chess piece soon. “Gustave. M’Lady have I hurt you?”
Making him rise to his feet I tittered. “Women aren’t paper Mache, my dear boy, we can handle a bit of crushing.”

Gustave turned an interesting shade of purple. “I wanted to show you your quarters M’Lady.”
Mr. Embarrassment-and-nerves offered me an arm and I made sure to brush my—assets—down his offered limb as we walked down the narrow hallway.

He swallowed, several times before turning and opening a door for me to step inside.
It was the first mate’s cabin. Whoever decorated poured love and effort to make me feel like…a queen. I could not be angry with Gustave. Chartan was to blame, pure and simple, for any misgivings put in their heads.

I forced a smile. “Thank you. It’s lovely.” And it was.

Red linen falling from the ceiling mimicked my quarters in Xaxyia. A rope mattress bed covered with a duck down comforter sat under a sprawl of the linen. A gorgeous wood table complete with metal fastened ink bottle sat on the other side. Gustave opened a tall, mirrored chest door. Four of my most valuable gowns hung inside. I imagined squeezing Chartan’s neck. He’d even stolen my clothes for the ride. Complete with shoes and all my toiletries no less.

Gustave’s face fell. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s wonderful, dear one, but I cannot take your room.”

Piercing blue eyes looking into mine. His soul came up to the fore front seemingly so that I could physically touch it. “Yes, M’Lady. It’s your room. You can and you will take it.”

Another male trying to force his will upon me. The boat must be full of them. But Gustave was so incredibly sweet, his eyes full of a need to please, I could not refuse.

“Then I shall but on one condition.”

“Anything M’Lady.” The boy jostled from foot-to-foot.

“You…” I smiled with a seductive pause. “…taking me on a tour of this fine vessel.”

He smiled in relief. He hadn’t realized how dangerous my proposition of meeting Chartan’s men could be.

The bridge held the most beautiful view—men of every shade and stature worked on the decks. Some didn’t have shirts on which I found rather delicious. The coast-line of Penticio could make a girl use to being considered royalty. If not for the fact of our destination, I’d enjoy myself much more.

Gustave knew every part of the ship as if he’d been on it for years. The boy chatted about every rope and pole. Each had a story. But he was still clumsy with the stairs as if he’d just learned to wear shoes. We were having a good gossip about the Rogues Gambit until Chartan ruined it all.

“Roy! Dean! What did I warn you?” Chartan yelled from the cabin stairs.

Roy, the blond with more muscles a man had any right to develop, grabbed his shirt from the side and shoved it back on.

“Oh poot.” I whispered.

“What now?” Dean yelled back.

Chartan grabbed a shirt from the ropes and tossed it over to Dean. “We have polite company, dress like it.”
Dean winked at me. “Oh, she doesn’t care.”

I blew a kiss to Dean, the soldier who missed his wife but refused to break his monogamy. He turned red from his face down to his chest. When speaking to them, I’d realized these men weren’t solitary sailors. They were Chartan’s handpicked loyalists. Some single, like Gustave, but good honest men. Chartan thought them safe from my charms.

“All the same.” Chartan glared at me from the deck. “Keep yourself respectable.”

I smiled innocence. “I’ll do my best.”

That got a chuckle from the men.  

Chartan kept himself in control, I’ll give him that. If he was still angry I couldn’t tell. Infuriating when a man can hide so well under his mask you can’t please him. My stomach quaked and my hands could not to ease their desire to touch him. I didn’t stop them, and when Chartan approached, my fingers slipped under his coat. While in his arms I memorized the smell of gentleman musk, soap and salt that created Chartan de perfume. 

“I was never able to thank you that night you saved Detrien.”

Chartan lifted an eyebrow. “But you’re not thanking me for saving you.”

My anger bloomed immediate. “It should have been Uncle you sequestered away.” I kept my voice low and stepped aside before the man undermined all control.

“He would not have it.” Chartan whispered.

I baulked, my fury smoldering. Gritting my teeth I could not remain silent, though I spoke low enough so only Chartan could hear. “Since when did The Four ever do as the king asked.” And there it was. A secret I’d kept hidden from the world even beyond my king’s death. 

“The Four?” Chartan pretended ignorance.

“Oh don’t bother. The king’s secret advisor's—The Four—warrior, sorcerer, priest and rogue.” I spat the words under my breath. “None of you got along but Uncle would have listened if you’d advised him to leave. Then it would be him here instead of me.”

Chartan stepped behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist. His lips touched my ear. “And you have known about The Four for how long?”

My laughter mingled with tears. “Since I was seventeen.”

I could feel his smile. “I would have killed any with the knowledge at the time. Can you not see what a powerful queen you’d make?”

“Espionage does not make a queen.”

Chartan rubbed his nose in my hair. “You are perfect.”

“True. But perfect doesn’t make a queen either.”

Chartan threw his head back and laughed.

There wasn’t a pair of eyes that didn’t turn in wide-eyed disbelief at the sound. Dean especially stood shocked. Then all eyes roamed over me. Chartan didn’t laugh much—or maybe not at all. Flutters of excitement rose in my stomach.

Chartan looked to Gustave. “Has she tried seducing you, yet?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled with the devil’s mischief. “Seven times so far.”

Guiles pup. I’d successfully seduced him the first time. He was already mine and didn’t know it.
A deep rumble vibrated along my back. Chartan’s laughter called fish to air. He tightened his hold, draping himself over me, intoxicating me with his scent. Effectively telling all the men to stay back. But I knew his game. Claiming me—or pretending to—so that the others wouldn’t be tempted by my certain persuasions. But he was too late. My plan was already in place.

The more insufferable the woman,the more unattractive. But I found Lady Dauphine’s tantrum amusing. She was intriguing. I wanted to watch this fascinating creature more. Talent such as hers had me guessing about her clever antics. Dauphine played the game well, yet she retained her compassion.

Twenty years ago I’d urged her to flight with me, on the run from the Randish. At eighteen years of age, she’d been calm, collected. Her stoicism was refreshing. Deep warmth and kindness still radiated from her, even if she did sell her body to every bidder.

Having a whore as a queen might not sit well with the men, but, if spun as a goad against the Randish…yes, it could work. Look at what they’ve done—what they’ve forced our nobility to suffer at their hands. Never shall our women circumvent themselves to survive.

The troops would call to arms.

I knew that when we arrived, the men would fall in love with her, she wouldn’t have to say a word. Truth of it was Dauphine held the only right to be monarchy. Detrien? There were too many discrepancies—though he would’ve been less trouble, he wasn’t suited as king. Dauphine, however, she’d been groomed and possessed the finesse, the grace and inveiglement of a great queen.

Surrounded by comforts of a captain’s cabin I poured myself a glass of wine. Time to evaluate. A quilt patched as an unmarked map of Quenarre lay over my captain’s desk. A red patch for the Randish occupancy that once was Quennare. A black blotch for Maralon. A green chunk for Valron and so on.

I hadn’t forgotten the other nations but they were added as needed. Chess pieces sprawled in strategic locale on the cloth map. The white rook resembling Detrien stayed in Xaxyia. He’d remain my eyes and ears while covering for Dauphine. I slid the white queen piece from Xaxyia to the port of Chardogne, ever closer to the black king representing his holiness’ throne in Cadia. Seeing the opposing pieces so close gave me a thrill only peril could provide. But for the first time, I didn’t want the feeling. Dauphine would be too close for me to take chances.

A knock and Dauphine’s voice on the other side of the door stayed any future calculations.

“Chartan LeBeau!”

I swung open the entry a there stood Dauphine poised as a Lady for verbal war. My glorious smile seemed less effective on her than other women.

“May I come in?”

My smile widened. “Yes, M’Lady.”

Stepping back, I acknowledged my future queen and bowed. I stayed down waiting for her reverence, which would allow me to straighten. Until she gave me leave to rise, I'd remain proper--as any subject would his queen.

“No.” Her one word rejection conveyed an apathy that could only come from hate so cold it numbed all decency. “I am not a queen. I am a whore.”

Those words scalded a heart I’d thought long since calloused to it’s core. No more could I strike a woman than I could an infant, but I wanted to beat her to sense. It had not mattered what she had done to survive. She could fuck his holiness himself and I’d never think less of her.

“You are not a queen. You are my queen. Soon you will be all of Quennare’s queen.” I remained bowed.

It was a contest of will. She’d soon find I would not rise. Not when it was a point of contention. She had to accept her place and start acting as Rouelle Royalty. It would not due for her to deny her affiliation of her home country. If she won this belligerency, the battle would never end. I had eleven, maybe twelve days, before she’d be presented to the men who’d battle on her behalf.

She skirted around me and looked around. I remained bent over but kept my peripheral sight trained on her.

The first thing she noticed were the chess pieces upon the map. My baldric, slug over the chair, held her attention next. She unsheathed the sword, admired the steel and made sure I was watching.

“So, traveling to Chardogne are we?” She eyed my throat with malice intention. “You have troops in Canfren, Voorhaden, Skald, Diesen, and Nouene. Dietrien is to stay in Xaxyia, you have a spy in Santa Briara. What’s your next move?”  She returned my sword to its sheath and took a closer look at the chess pieces upon the unmarked map.

"This bishop here,” She tapped the piece atop Lazar Sa a’s Tower. “Could only be the great Lazar SA A’S. Oh, I’m sorry, the great and powerful Lazar SA A’S.” Her impression of the sorcerer almost broke my stoicism. Almost. “Be careful Chartan. He might find offense in being just a bishop. Does he owe you a favor? What did you steal for him, theif?”

Holding my grunt while she dismantled my plot proved difficult. Dauphine was not just clever, she was intelligent. A perfect queen.

"But the other...” She tapped the head of the other bishop piece over Rouelle. “Must have been a court sorcerer. Bowden perhaps?"

Decades of training prevented any outward slip. If I were a lesser man, she could probably devise more.

"Is he alive?" She whispered. Bowden meant something to her. So many had been ripped away from her life. Closing my eyes was all I could do to prevent her divining more of my plans. I could not jeapordize Bowden's scheme. He was in enough danger as it was.

Dauphine picked up the queen piece from the map and set it aside on the table. “But, you can leave me out of it.”

Her skirt tickled my face as she went by and slammed the door. A draw. She hadn’t acknowledged her status but I hadn’t let it go.

Taking the queen piece, I put it back on the unmarked map.

​Perhaps she needed stronger coercion. That could be arranged.

The story will continue in two weeks. I would be encouraged to write faster if comments were left below :) How fast I finish this is up to you! But I will finish it. As always, please be advised this is a first draft and grammar errors do occur during the process. If you see a blaring correction that needs to be fixed, let me know. This has not been edited yet.

Until next week! Happy reading!

♥ Stephy

So this is about it!

​Our year is coming to a close. We've had quite the times, haven't we?

I haven't published one of my books since 2014, but I've stock-piled a few and I'm planning on getting them out in 2017. 

It's time to dust off some old manuscripts and do the final edits. I've been excited to publish a lot of other authors books and now it's time for my own. 

So while we merrily stroll through to next year, plan a few New Year Resolutions and make goals for 2017 lets remember the achievements of 2016.

Of course, I've got a new excerpt for you. Another of the stories I plan on releasing. So click the see more button for the excerpt!

Below is 3K words of a 28K word ditty. I did this for a friend who was creating their own RPG. I did all my research on the world, how the world works, and created these characters from that world. It was fun and interesting but the RPG has been put on hold--indefinately. Since that's the case, I'm free to spew my story out to the world! Mwahhahah! Of course there will be misspellings and edits needed. It's a first draft. I'm waivering between the title "The King's Thief" and "Rogues Gambit". I'm liking King's Thief best. Let me know what you think in the comments!

Seducing a man is harder than one might think. Especially if that man is Chartan LeBeau.

I didn’t know why the King of Thieves returned to Xaxyia after twenty years, but I’d recognized him the moment his doe-skin, silver-tipped boots stepped into my hall.

Already he was gathering attention from my girls. Being the good courtesans that they were, each woman tried to attend him.

A small sense of satisfaction rippled up my chest when he rebuffed them all and headed straight for me.
I wondered if he remembered the night he whisked me away, by my uncle’s command, saving me from death. It was the last time I ever saw the King of Quenarre, my uncle.  Chartan and Detrien were the sole secret keepers of my true origins. Detrien Batiste being a fellow Guild Master, head of the Entertainers Guild, and my cousin would never tell. Chartan, well, it would behoove him to have saved me from the battle of Quenarre only to turn me into the authorities.

Still, Chartan was dangerous. Yet I stayed in my chair, frozen by the beauty of him. Long legs, a perfect bulge to go with his “vee” shaped torso hidden behind a rogue's cape. If you looked carefully, you’d find his riches within his tailor. Clothing of soft fineness but not audacious gold. Chartan was a subtle gentleman that allowed his presence persuade you of his importance. Not like the rest of the dolts chasing my courtesans walking through my halls.  The King of Thieves flaunted nothing and outclassed Peace-maker Harold with his gaudy emerald ring matching the huge round emeralds on his doublet.

Though not born from nobility, Chartan knew how to command royalty through his walk, subdue arguments with the language of silent intimidation, and keep the affections of a master seducer even after two decades. He should have been a military commander, but for one reason or another he chose to remain a thief. A thief that caught the eye of a king…and this former Quenarre noblewoman.

I smiled to calm the flutter in my heart and stood to greet him. “Dear Sir, thank you for coming to Courtesan’s guild. How can we pleasure you?”

His eyes were hidden but his lips curved down slightly at my informal greeting. Coming to a full halt he bowed. Then his smooth accent had my thighs clench together. “Lady Dauphine, may we speak in private?”

My stomach detached from my belly and came rushing to my throat. But my smile grew wider, hard as it was to keep it. “I’m sorry my dear, but I don’t take new customers.”
​
Chartan scanned the room. “I have something of import to discuss with you, I’m not interested in your services.”

I laughed. “That’s the tactic you wish to take. I assure you we are all discreet here. Perhaps you would like to speak to Lady Glen?” He’d better not. Straining to keep from shaking I pointed to Lady Glen as she passed by. Hearing her name she immediately came over.

Chartan waved her away. “No, this is for you only.”

“Oh, I bet it is.” I sat, showing I was not some pithy girl to shove around.

He stepped closer to me, leaned down to my ear and whispered. “I know who you are Lady Dauphine of Quenarre, noble princess of the house Rouelle. I escorted you to safety here before the overtaking of our King (name here). Do not chuff me off.”

It was not the first time I’d been threatened, nor would it be the last. But it was the ultimate impendent. He would not get away with blackmail. Nor would he see me panic. I kept my heart slow and retorted, “Then you will expose yourself.”

He stood and chuckled.

My nose flared and I looked up at him. His waist was at the perfect height to unbutton his pants and bring him to his knees, the way a woman who knows what she’s doing can. Our eyes locked and damn if I was going to give in to him. That infuriating half quirk of a smile. That arrogance. His scent beating at my control.

A pouch appeared in his hand and he let the contents clink before he placed the money bag between my cleavage. “That should be sufficient to avoid unpleasant speculation.”

He stepped back and motioned his hand to indicate he would follow. I was not a horse to lead. Nor a slave to his whims. But, the side of me that wanted him in my bed snuck reason and excuses to take him to my chambers. Really, what choice did I have with what he threatened?  

Painting on my nonchalant smile, I played demure host and did as he bade. Passing my guards I gave them the signal to interrupt us in two minutes.

Luca nodded. He understood.

Down the corridor a ways Chartan’s smooth voice resumed battering against the stronghold of my heart. “How much time do I have before your guards crash it?”

I turned up the spiral stairs and said nothing.

“I’m guessing a few minutes.” He said. “You’ll hear what I have to say.”

I wanted to grit my teeth. Damn thief.

Several of my girls were hard at work pleasuring their clients. You couldn’t pass a door without hearing the particulars of a client’s needs. The sound of a slap on flesh halted my motion. I listened at the door where it came from. If a man was being too harsh with any my women I wouldn’t have him back. Another slap. My hand rested on the door knob.

“You like that, hun? You like being ruffed up?” The woman’s muffled voice belonged to Lady Andrea.

“Yes.” Responded a breathy male voice. “Please, again.”

Slap.

Apparently, Duke Undore found his pleasure from women on top giving him pain. Good to know.
I smiled, backed away and continued on. At the second floor I turned into the hallway and reached for the key I hid under my sleeve.

“Stop.” Chartan halt in the middle of the hallway.

“You’ve been a larcenist too long, LeBeau.” Showing him the key, I hoped he held no dangerous value in the chunk of metal. I continued down and stopped in front of door number two-ten where I played with clients and teased secrets from their souls.

Chartan hesitated. “Give me the key.” 

A genuine smile parted my lips. He took me seriously. He understood the lengths I would go in order to protect my identity. If I was pointed out as a Rouellean it wouldn’t be long before the Theocracy of the Randish would spill my blood.

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips in defiance.

Chartan took the key and inserted it into the lock. He opened the door and stepped back.

Trying to going forward Chartan threw his arm out and waggled a finger at me. His touch was my exquisite pleasure.

“Not yet my courtesan.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Heart tearing itself apart knowing what I had to do, my inner most desire pleaded with me to take him to my bosom and show him he did not need all these precautions, not with me. But it would be a lie.

He freed a dagger from inside his cape and pushed the door wide open with the tip. He looked inside, up then down and finally through the crack of the door.

I sighed in feign disgust but he had every right to be suspicious.

“Have a lot of enemies?” I said.

He went inside, quiet as a stalking cat, and swept the room.

While he was preoccupied with his security check I closed the door—slowly. Reaching under my sleeves, I grabbed my throwing sticks, one for each hand. Thin, with three edges, shaped almost like a dowel I positioned to turn and deploy.

My movement swift, my aim true I lopped the weapons at Chartan’s heart.

The thief deflected one and caught the other. Then slammed me against the wall. The point of my own dagger scrapping against my chin.

Despite me trying to kill him, Chartan’s smile was hearty and his eyes sparkled to life. “My King was right.”

“About what?”

“You are truly the right choice.”

“For what?”

“To regain the crown and return Quenarre to it’s glory.”

His words stung. Quenarre, my beloved home, the land that stole my life. “I’ll never return to that place.”

“You will return and you will rule.”

My guards pounded the door open and rushed in.

Chartan flew backwards, hopped in the air, folded himself forward while sailing through the open window—backward. His flight took a blink of an eye and then he was gone before the guards were down the hall.  
My personal security, Luca, eyed me up and down, checking for any harm that may have come to me. “My Lady?”

“I’m fine.”

“We’ll chase after him.” Luca peered out the window.

“Don’t contemplate jumping after LeBeau.” If Luca did catch up to Chartan I’d lose a guard. “Besides, he paid for my time.”

I reached for the bag of coin Chartan lusciously shoved down my corset.

It wasn’t there. I reached further in. Nothing. 

My blood boiled. “Chartan!” I slammed the window down.

LeBeau was a mile away by now but his chuckle rang in my ears. He would not win. I would never go back to Quenarre. As for his blackmail threat…if he wanted to fight in the game of espionage, he’d found a formidable opponent.

Detrien’s black hair framed my forehead, our heads together as we sat across from one another in the enclosed coach, whispering secrets. My cousin, fellow Quenarrean survivor, and only confidant was a boon to my wounded ego. After failing to destroy our latest threat, Chartan, I bade his company.

“He escaped out the window, backwards?” Detrien’s melodic voice soothed many a woman, including me. But I was wise to his seductions having taught him everything he knows. 

“He didn’t just escape, he flowed like water. The bastard took his money with him.”

Detrien pulled his head back and laughed. Even the deep sound of his mirth was a caress of music. “This is serious, Detrien!”

Raising a hand to his mouth, as if that would disguise the huge smile, he regained the stature of the Entertainers Guildmaster. “He has you in quiet the tissy.”

“He’ll have both our heads in the bastille if he’s allowed to live.”

Detrien raised a dark brow. “You think the man saved us twenty years ago only to kill us now?”

That gave me pause.

Detrien sat back in the booth of his side and examined me. “He does have you in a quandry, doesn’t he. Come now, give it up. What does he have over you?”

“Death isn’t enough?”

“This isn’t your first round of epionage.” Detrien pursed those lushious lips. I’d taught my cousin certain facial expressions that caused women to melt before him and offer their hearts—and their secrets.

“That doesn’t work on me Detrien.” I shot him a haughty glance.

“I guess I’m not Chartan.”

I wanted to slap him on the chest. But it would give too much away. Playing the icy seductress I mimiced Detrien and leaned back.

He smiled in a way that told me he was on to me.

Outside the carriage, sea-side bells rang. I pulled the window skirts back to have a look. Barrels of fish, ship nets, the street market lay before me.

I turned to Detrien to ask where he’d taken us, but my tongue held at the mornful saddness in my cousins eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I sat back.

His eyes remained far away. “Have you seen it, after…”

“Quenarre? No, I’m not going back.”

His single chuckle, a brief outburst escaping his nose, sent a chill up my spine.

“I have.” He said.

Smoothing over my skirts I asked, “When?”

The entertainer in Detrien took over. “I don’t think I should tell you.”

Keeping my expression bland, I went for the real question. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not going to tell you that, either.”

“Stop the coach.”

Detrien’s smile widened. “No.”

I knocked twice on the wood panel near the driver.

My cousin sighed. “We’re going to see my surprise.”

A face over the driver’s side peered in and Detrien waved the man off.

“I don’t like surprises,” I wanted to grit my teeth, but smiled instead. “You know that.”

“All right,” Detrien sighed in an actor’s dramatic fashion. “I bought a ship.”

“You?” I snorted. “Bought a ship? What for?”

“You never know when we’ll have to entertain the Randish.”

My cousin knew all my hot spots, had pushed them in our youth so I could practice control of my responses. It was effort, not hitting him in the face for that comment. The Randish now occupied the city I loved. They had killed my uncle and king, my parents, my friends. All I had left of Quanarre was Detrien.
“Promise me you won’t go back there.”

“Darling, there is nothing to go back to.”

A spike of guilt tore into my stomach. Both wanting and not wanting to know I kept my mouth shut. The weakness of asking versus baring the guilt of not knowing about Quenarre warred inside the core of who I was, where I came from, and my birthright.

The clip-clop of horse hooves slowed to a halt and the coach stopped.

“We’re here!” Detrien bounded out of the cabin, rocking the springs side-to-side. Excited as an actor at curtain call, Detrien hopped down and held the door for my appearance.  

The fish market wasn’t high society, but many a ship captain were entertained in my halls. Many of those men held the faint smell of fish and salt. The odor was pleasant in moderation, but concentrated like it was now could overwhelm. 

Saliors and dock workers hauled baskets, carried crates, or rolled barrels. I enjoyed watching men work, but never admired them. My girls were trained to make their nights worth wanting to toil and labor and spend their wages worth inside the city walls so their days weren’t meaningless.

I wrapped my hand around Detrien’s arm but stopped at the lead horse.

Dark, small but fast, Carnival was Detrien’s lucky prize after gambling with the Sultan of Tarkesh. The horse was one of the fastest I’d ever seen and unique from our tall thoroughbreds. Despite his size, Carnival’s stamina went beyond even the most fit of any horse I’d seen.

“Hello, dear.” I patted the dark hair of Carnival’s nose. “Thank you for the ride. Smooth as ever.”

Carnival shoved his head into my hand and used it as a scratching post.

Detrien eyed me. “Do none of the men satisfy you? After my horse now?”

“Cousin! Have cooth. I am admiring your beast with no sexual intent I assure you.”

Detrien laughed and I allowed him to lead me through the mean aisle of working men.

A solicitous whistle from the docks had me searching for my admirer.

“It could be for me.” Detrien feigned offense at my expectation.

I laughed and patted him on the hand.

“You sure are pretty.” A tall man with smudged dirt across his face and too short clothes stood by the side.
I stopped and craned my neck up to meet his gorgeous blue eyes. My evaluation pegged him as born poor, working poor, die poor. Knowledge of the streets and hunger clashed within his eyes. Desperate, but not dishonorable. Strong but not one to overpower. There was a kindness behind the mean expression. He held no secrets. Honest men were rare. Hard work should be rewarded.

“Thank you.” I reached up and cupped his face.

Shocked at my intimacy he stood frozen.

“You should come to our halls. Speak to Mai, she’ll get you cleaned up. Tell her Lady Dauphine sent you.”

I moved my hand down and discreetly placed a token in his palm and whispered, “Don’t lose it. Give it to Mai.”

With just my words, Mai would scoff, but with the token she’d take him seriously and I’d meant what I’d said—not in reaction to his complement, but in knowing that there are no coincidences. This man of an honest nature was placed here for a reason.  

I removed my hand before the lad crumpled. His eyes started glazing over and I wasn’t sure if he heard what I said.

Detrien moved us forward before the worker could respond.

Shouts of congratulatory, and whistles commenced behind me.

“Mia will sell his clothes as rags to get her money’s worth.” Detrien smirked.

“If he’s too dumb to let that happen, he’ll deserve it. But if it’s Mia he goes to, he’ll purchase better clothes for the next time he sees her so she can get her monies worth.”

Detrien laughed. “Well here she is.”

My cousin presented a very large cutter with blue and white stripped sails.  

“Rogues gambit.” I read the name of the ship. “Someone likes to play échecs.”

We strode up the pier to a crew hard at work ready to sail. Suspicious of my cousin I smiled, sweetening him up for information. “Planning on sailing off soon?”

“Welcome, Lady Dauphine.” Chartan sauntered across the deck in those soft-skinned boots.

I’d been had—by my own cousin. I shot a look of pure hate at Detrien and pushed him aside to run. He grabbed and held me.

“Dauphine, you have to go with him. You must reclaim our home.”

“No! I’m not going back there!” I tried to get free and met resistance.

Detrien wrapped his arms around me, encasing me in his grip.

“Let me go.”

“At least see it before you stubbornly shove all reason aside.” Detrien whispered in my ear.

I jabbed with my elbow, connecting to Detrien’s ribs.

“Oomph.” He let go and I started to run.

Chartan spun me around and held me with the force of his gaze. Within his eyes I could see a hallway with a thousand doors. So many secrets lay behind them, more than I could get him to divulge in a lifetime. Beautiful and deadly secrets, including mine, under a lock and key so tight I wondered if he’d forgotten they were tucked away in the rooms of his mind.

“Ma’am? Do you need help?” The honest stranger I’d given my token to walked half-way up the plank.
Chartan gripped me firm with one hand and using my body as a wall to hide his other hand, pulled out a dagger. It was a warning to me. Chartan banked on killing the man.

“No!” I said to Chartan and broke free of his grip. I turned to the strangers eyes once more. “No. I’m fine.” I gave him my best smile.

“You sure?” The stranger glared at Chartan. The honest man probably was prepared for a brawl, but Chartan was prepared to kill him.

“I’m sure. Everything’s all right. Please don’t let my outburst distract you.”

The stranger gave a frustrated sigh but backed down the pier.

Chartan replaced the dagger in its sheath. “Floats up!”

The anchor clicked in ascent. Men pulled ropes and lifted the bumpers. The pier was lifted and stowed and the boat cast-off.

Detrien waved from the dock. “Smooth sailing!”

I smiled at him mouthing, “You will pay for this.”

Chartan leaned against the railing. “You stayed on board to save that stranger.”

“Descent men aren’t abundant.”

We stood there, Chartan waiting to see what I would do.

The port was becoming harder to identify.

“So your plan is to take me to Quenarre.”

“You are proof.”

“Of what?”

“That the Rouelle family still lives.”

I smirked. If he thought he was taking me to the city of my family’s name sake, he was sorely mistaken.

I'll be sure to continue this one, so let me know if you see edits needed in the comments!! I'd be grateful!

Until next time!

​♥ ~ Stephy