On Azrael's Wings

D. Jordan Redhawk

P.D. Publishing, Inc. (2008)

Ursula, a seamstress's slave, survives the brutal attack on her village by the King's Butcher, General Azrael of the Third Army. Due to circumstances beyond her control she's thrust into the role of body slave for the infamous woman, and must learn to please her new mistress in all ways or end up on the slaver's block. Azrael only wishes to retire at her estate, but her king has other ideas. In fact, King Shonal has many ideas Azrael cannot abide, and one of them has to do with demanding sexual favors from her newly acquired body slave...the one she's unaccountably fallen in love with.

On Azrael's Wings

Chapter One

Smoke filled the air, putrid with the smell of burning flesh, flames casting orange splatters against a sky growing lighter with impending dawn. Screams of the fighting and dying were heard on the northern edge of the village as the last of the resistance was dealt a deathblow. Bodies littered the ground, illuminated by the fires in their last acts of defiance and defense.

Behind a hovel, sheltered from prying eyes, three soldiers laughed at the antics of a prisoner they kept surrounded. Pushing her back and forth between them, they tugged at her peasant clothes, pinching her and feeling her up. Their plaything yelped and sobbed at the rough treatment, unable to get away.

“What do you wager she’s a virgin?” one asked, tugging hard at mahogany tresses before sending the woman reeling into the second man.

“Are you a virgin, sweetling?” he asked, holding her squirming body against his. A bloody, dirt-caked hand latched onto her chin and twisted her head from side to side. “I don’t know, Cor,” he answered. “She’s too pretty to be a virgin. One of these farm boys has got her first, no doubt.”

The third grabbed her out of his companion’s grasp, a meaty hand clamping hard on her breast. “P’rhaps we should check,” he suggested with a laugh. “Just to be sure.” Getting enthusiastic agreement from his friends, he threw the woman to the ground. “Hold her!”

“Why d’you get her first?” Cor complained as he watched the second man do as ordered. The woman tried to roll to her knees and crawl away only to be dragged, shrieking, back into the fray. “I saw her first!”

“Because I outrank both of you,” the third man stated, fumbling with his trousers. “Get her legs or get the hell out of here!”

With a grumble, Cor fell to his knees, grabbing at the woman’s kicking feet.

Between them, they tore the woman’s homespun garments to shreds, fondling her in the process. At one point, she kicked mightily, causing their leader to fall backwards on his butt and almost escaping their clutches only to be tripped and pounced upon before she could make two strides.

“Bitch!” he cursed, breeches hanging at his ankles. “I’ll make you pay for that!” With three powerful blows, he knocked the fight out of her, bruising her face and bloodying her nose. Positioning himself between her now passive legs, he pushed forward.

And found himself being yanked up and backward. Before he could react, his arms were pinned and he registered the sensation of cold steel against his genitals. The expressions of his comrades reflected terror and he swallowed weakly. Around them, soldiers eased out of the gray, their breastplates showing the mark of the Angel’s personal guard. The woman, released by her startled captors, made another attempt to scramble away only to be hauled to her feet by the newcomers.

“What have we here?” a cold voice demanded.

“Nothing, Lord,” the man stuttered, feeling his erection deflate and shrivel. Sweat stung his eyes as he tried to steady his breathing, chest tight against the muscular arm holding him. “We was just having some fun, Lord.”

“Fun?” the voice demanded, wiggling the blade, causing the man’s penis to swing. “Doesn’t look like she’s having any fun.”

He opened his mouth and shut it with a snap, knowing anything he said would be a death sentence.

“You three belong to Atol’s squad?”

The two other men nodded quickly. “Aye, Lord,” Cor said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t recall giving orders to have fun.” The blade nicked the man’s genitals, bringing a whimper and a trickle of blood. “My orders were to take the village and round up the people for judgment. Am I correct?”

Wincing, he kept silent until the knife cut deeper. “Aye, Lord!” he gasped, standing on his toes in an attempt to avoid the blade.

“It would behoove you to follow orders.”

The arm pinning his vanished and, as he stumbled forward, he reached for his crotch. A sharp stab of agony brought him to his knees and he found himself holding his now severed penis. Falling to the ground, he wailed, blood splashing his thighs.

Shivering in horror, the remaining attackers unconsciously clutched at their genitals as they stared. The woman sobbed loudly, slumped in the guards’ grip.

The general’s skin was dark, as was her hair and eyes. Those eyes watched the writhing man with clinical detachment for a moment before turning to the others. Holding up her dagger, dawn and firelight were reflected in its reddish streaks.

“Who’s next?”

Cleaning her blade on a scrap of cloth, Azrael turned her back on the bleeding men. “Suma, keep a guard on them. If they survive to nightfall, execute them.”

“Aye, Lord.” Her captain pointed at two of the men who nodded. “The battle is won, the prisoners are being rounded up. What are your orders?”

“Separate the men from the women and children then assemble them.” She inhaled deeply, looking at the beginnings of a pale blue sky in the east. “Keep a watchful eye on the women. Cull any dissidents from the herd during judgment and they’ll join the punished.”

“What about her?”

For the first time, the general actually looked at the crying peasant still being held by two of her guard. She stepped closer, studying the woman who attempted to gather her tattered blouse to cover herself.

“Keep her apart. If she should protest, send her with the punished.” Pause. “If she survives judgment, bring her to my tent.”

“Aye, Lord,” the captain said, saluting.

“Dismissed.”

All but two of the Angels left, their general following, leaving three of their brethren slowly bleeding in the cool morning air.

The sun was well up by the time all was ready. Gathered in the village square were the survivors of the morning’s battle. Centrally, less than a dozen men were huddled, circled by soldiers. The prisoners ranged in age from fourteen to fifty and most of them were wounded. To one side, a larger group comprised of women and children were being watched over.

The general mounted her horse, setting herself above the people so that all could see and hear her. She wore boiled leather armor, in contrast to the plated and chain mailed soldiers. Her long, black hair hung in a braid down her back and daylight seemed to glow from her nut-brown skin. “Citizens of Theara, attend me! You harbored dissidents in your midst. I am here on the authority of King Shonal to wipe them out.”

An older woman spat in disdain. “There ain’t no dissidents here, woman!” she proclaimed, receiving an agreeable mumble from her friends. “So long’s we pay taxes, you’d do well to leave us be!”

Ignoring the outburst and subsequent squawking as soldiers pulled the woman from the crowd, the general continued. “Your village harbored Donul of Colney after he was declared a traitor. A legal representative of the crown was killed when he came to arrest him. Upon our arrival, rather than submit to questioning, you’re counsel chose to run and hide like cowards and you chose to fight the rightful representative of your liege.”

Her eyes raked over the assembled, glares and sullen faces squinting back. Pointing at the group of men and one woman, she said, “By the command of our liege I, Azrael, sentence these people to death.”

Several people paled at her name, gasps of surprise filled the air.

“Yes. I’m Azrael. The Angel of Death,” she admitted, eyeing them. “Know your enemy before you engage.”

Turning in her saddle, she waved a squad of soldiers closer. They led a cart full of long, sharpened poles. “These men and that woman are to be executed. The surviving women will provide entertainment for my men tonight. They will then be sold into slavery, the proceeds used to repay the crown for this venture. The children will be relocated. It is done.”

Over the following hours, each of the sentenced prisoners was impaled upon the poles and raised. Some had the fortune to die outright while others, after a brief spate of unconsciousness, roused to scream and moan their suffering. The resulting pandemonium from the women was expected and quelled, three of them cursing the King and his butcher as they followed their men to agonizing death.

Azrael wiped the sweat from her eyes. She had personally driven each post home and was covered with more gore than her men. Her dark eyes scanned the small forest of broken limbed misery, ignoring the hysterical cries from the survivors behind her.

“Your orders, Lord?”

Glancing at her captain, Azrael said, “Keep the men busy. Have Razzu’s cohort complete a thorough sweep of the area. Tenango will be in charge of salvaging supplies.” She paused. “What word on the three this morning?”’

“Two are dead. One remains.” Suma shook his head. “It’s doubtful he’ll survive through the heat of the day.”

Nodding, the general frowned. “Since Atol has trouble controlling his troops, his men will clean up this mess. As usual, you’re in charge of the slaves. Keep them safe until called for.” Azrael turned and regarded the rest of the village square. “I saw that Indonatra rousted the most dangerous opponents. His cohort is released from duty for the afternoon. Have them return to camp.”

Suma bowed. “Aye, Lord. I’ll see to everything.”

“I’ll want to see all my captains for debriefing before the evening meal,” she reminded him as she padded to her horse. The animal, skittish from the smells of death, shied away but was brought to task by Azrael’s firm hand.

“Aye, Lord.”

Mounting, Azrael scanned her soldiers. “Swordsmen! You’ve fought well yet our work isn’t finished,” she called to her men. “Follow the orders of your officers. When the sun sets, a feast will be laid in your honor and entertainment will be supplied.” She waved a hand at the gathered women, a cold smile touching her lips at the resulting cheer from her troops. “Carry on,” she ordered Suma before turning her mount and cantering out of the village.

At camp, Azrael dismounted before her tent, tossing the reins to a handler waiting attentively nearby. Looking at her armor, she decided to forego checking the wounded until she was clean and strode inside, ignoring the guards at the entrance who snapped to attention upon her approach.

Her quarters were Spartan and functional. To one side, a large wooden table squatted, surrounded by several chairs. It was half covered in maps and reports, evidence of the early morning planning session with her captains. The other side had been cleared and a platter of fresh food kept company with a simple ewer and tankard. Across the tent were a large bed and the two chests that held her personal belongings. Toward the rear, Azrael saw a steaming tub of water.

On the canvas floor, a pale woman knelt, awaiting her mistress. “Milady,” she said. “Are you wounded?”

Azrael glanced at her bloody form. “No, Midia, just a few scratches. Help me out of these things.”

The blonde flowed to her feet and neared. Her clothing was diaphanous, a pale blue wrap that left nothing to the imagination. “I’ve drawn you a bath, Milady, and brought food and drink,” she said, her voice soothing as she began removing the armor.

A sudden wave of lust assailed the general as she watched her body slave work. It was all she could do to not crush the woman to her, filth notwithstanding. Fighting it down, Azrael gritted her teeth against the soft touches. There was too much left to do this day - plenty of time to satiate her hunger later.

Midia sensed but didn’t acknowledge the sexually charged atmosphere. Her body betrayed her, flushing as her nipples puckered. Following her mistress’ lead, she ignored it, removing shoulder and elbow guards. Next came the heavy bracers on Azrael’s forearms. The slave was careful to avoid the sharp knives sheathed there, setting the weapons on the table.

Once Midia helped her out of her leather vest and draped it over a chair, the general removed her sword belt, stepping away to place it near the tub. Rubbing at the red lace marks on her forearms, Azrael stood silent while Midia knelt before her. As grieves and knee guards came away, another sudden wave of passion wash through her.

The blonde reached for the muddy boots, looking up at Azrael. “Milady?” she asked.

Standing on one foot, Azrael placed a hand on her slave’s head to keep her balance as her boot was removed. The hair was soft and warm under her callused hand, spun gold against her dark skin, and she couldn’t help but caress it as Midia finished her task. Blood singing with desire, she growled. “Rise.”

Midia stood, head lowered.

Taking the slave’s chin, Azrael tilted her head up and looked into smoldering blue eyes, her thumb brushing a full lower lip.

“Lord Azrael?” called a soldier from outside.

Black eyes flashed displeasure. She proudly noted her personal slave didn’t flinch. “What is it?” she demanded.

Hearing the muted anger in her voice, the soldier cleared his throat. “The woman from the village, Lord. I was told to deliver her to your tent.”

“Kemplak’s hells,” Azrael cursed, releasing the blonde’s chin. “I’d forgotten about her.” With a regretful sigh, the general realized it would be a while before she could ease her battle lust. Duty called. “Bring her in then leave.”

The guard swung the flap aside and entered, pulling the peasant woman inside. He deposited her two strides into the tent, saluted his general and immediately retreated.

Barefoot, Azrael approached the woman who trembled uncontrollably though she had stopped crying. Her amber eyes seemingly vacant, it was an expression the general recognized, knowing the rest of the surviving villagers wore similar. Azrael circled, studying her new acquisition. With a frown, she twitched a ragged piece of cloth aside at the woman’s shoulder, noting a tattoo. “You’re a slave.”

“Aye, Lord,” the woman whispered, dropping her eyes.

“Call me Milady. Only my soldiers call me Lord.”

Shoulders hitched to avoid a blow. “Aye, Milady.”

Azrael pushed aside more of the tattered rags, examining the olive flesh beneath. “How long have you been a slave?” she asked. “You’ve hardly any scars.”

“Not long, Lo... Milady. Only two years.” Again she cringed.

Unable to help herself, the general caressed the woman’s waist and hip, sliding over the curve of her buttock and finding it pleasing. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Ursula, Milady.”

Azrael spent a few moments exploring the brunette, checking the lay of muscle and bone, wrapping fingers in thick mahogany hair to tilt her head from side to side as she inspected her property. “Your luck is good, Ursula,” she said.

Turning, the general waved her body slave closer. “Midia, bring Ursula to the slave tents. Get her cleaned up and fed, some decent clothes.” Pausing, Azrael looked the new woman over with a critical eye. “Something in burgundy if you can find it. Return when you’re finished.”

“Yes, Milady.” Midia curtseyed and took Ursula’s hand.

“Ursula.”

The blonde shivered. “Yes, Milady?”

“Obey Midia. She will instruct you on what I consider acceptable behavior.”

“Aye, Milady.” Ursula gave a shaky curtsey.

The blonde asked, “Will you need anything before I leave, Milady?”

Cupping her slave’s cheek, a faint smile twisted Azrael’s lips. “No. Do as ordered. We’ll continue later.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Azrael watched the two leave before sighing. Regretfully, she returned to the tub alone and finished undressing.

Chapter Two

Azrael wore clean black breeches, belting her sword over a sleeveless ivory tunic. She braided her thick hair, using a strip of leather to tie it off. Pausing to inspect her bracers, she frowned at the blood still caking the leather. Rather than wear them, she slid the knives usually sheathed at her wrists into soft boots.

Striding out of her tent, the general stopped to look over the camp with a judicious eye. Most of her soldiers were going about their chores - cleaning weapons and armor, seeing to horses and gear and attending guard posts. A significant number were still missing and Azrael could only assume that Atol’s cohort was still burning bodies. The surgeon’s tents looked calm, a positive mark in Azrael’s books, as she made her way to them.

Ducking inside, she was pleased to note several empty pallets. Across the room, she could see her surgeon working on a soldier, several assistants holding down flailing limbs as the patient thrashed against the pain. There was a grunt and the clank of metal as a bloody knife tip was dropped on a table.

“All right, lad, we’re almost done,” the surgeon said. “That was the hard part.” Indeed, it must have been, for the patient stopped fighting, panting heavily, his face the color of curdled milk. “You’re lucky it lodged in your rib and not your lung. Let me stitch you up and you’ll be good as new.”

Azrael moved closer, startling one of the men into standing at attention. “At ease,” she murmured, coming around the table to watch the proceedings.

If the surgeon was nervous at his new audience, he didn’t indicate it. After sprinkling powdered herbs into the wound, his hands firmly sewed the jagged edges together. “He’s the last,” he said. “Everyone else has been treated.”

“Casualties?” the general asked, gaze dispassionate.

“Other than the three you took care of?” the surgeon asked, raising an eyebrow. He smirked at the silent stare. “Just one other. Neck broken, probably from a fall.”

“Wounded?”

Finishing the stitches, the surgeon tied them off. “Seven walking with assorted bumps and broken bones. Three, including this fellow, who’ll need to stay down for at least a few days.” He set his instruments aside and waved at a pallet. “Take him over there and give him wine,” he ordered his assistants.

Azrael followed as the surgeon walked to a worktable, washing his hands in a basin. “Are you prepared for tonight?” she asked.

Grimacing, he shook his hands to remove most of the water, scooping up a clean cloth to dry himself. The surgeon turned to glare at her. “Yes. I’ve heard about your little celebration,” he said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’ll be ready for the upcoming bruises, lacerations and rapes.”

“Good.” The general refused to rise to the bait. “We’ll be on the road in three days. I want all of them ready to travel.”

The surgeon knew nothing he could say or do would change the evening’s plans. With a pensive expression, he bowed his head. “As you wish, Lord.”

Satisfied, Azrael left him, moving to the occupied pallets to check on her men.

The sun was beginning to set when Azrael finished in the surgeon’s tent. She’d visited with all the wounded, speaking to each about their injuries and how they were incurred. Though her manner was harsh, she instilled them all with a sense of dignity and accomplishment before she left, giving them words of encouragement and praise.

Outside, the scant clouds on the western horizon turned red and gold. A bonfire was being built in the central clearing and the cook tents were doing brisk business preparing for the upcoming festivities. The camp’s population had grown, indicating the last of the troops had returned from their assigned duties. Azrael had only a couple of things to do before she could relax.

Approaching her tent, the general noted an increase in the number of her personal guard; her officers were no doubt waiting inside. She answered the soldiers’ salutes as she passed, stepping inside her quarters and waving the captains back into their seats after they leapt to attention. Midia had returned and lit several lamps before making herself scarce. Azrael could see the dirty armor was no longer piled on the floor. It was no doubt currently being cleaned. The tub had been removed, as well, and a full complement of drinking cups was at the table.

“All is in order?” Azrael asked, moving around the table to settle into her chair.

“Aye, Lord,” they answered, nearly in unison.

Azrael waved at one of them to fill the cups from a large ewer. “Report.”

Indonatra, a tall, muscular man and captain of the First Cohort began. His hair was a wild mass of kinky brown, tied back with thick bands at regular intervals. “Not much to report, Lord. During the attack, we engaged the dissidents at the inn where four of my men were wounded and one died. Nomi was rushed in the hall on the upper floor and thrown out the window. It was just bad luck he landed as he did.” He pulled at his full beard, faintly shrugging. “The fighting was fierce. I have no doubt we had the best of their swordsmen against us.”

“I noticed,” the general said, taking one of the cups of wine being passed. “Which is why your cohort was allowed to return early.”

“They appreciated it, Lord. I made certain they knew it was reward for their courage.”

“Good.” Azrael’s eyes fell on the Second Cohort’s captain. “Razzu?”

Thinner and shorter, Razzu was a whip of a man. His face broke into an easy grin, transforming the narrow features from brooding to pleasant. “We had no injuries during the battle. Our sweep went well - the men went out a full league. We came across an old priest herding four children and brought them in. No other stragglers were found.”

“Where’s the priest now?”

“Left him with the prisoners. He’s genuine; has the tattoos all up and down his arms and back. Didn’t see a reason to execute him.” The Priesthood of Ishkay was notorious for their pacifistic and anti political views. That the captured man was not involved in the rebellion was a given - they abhorred violence in all its guises.

“No one else escaped the village?”

“No, Lord. No indication of anyone getting through our cordon.”

“Atol?”

The tension in the tent shot up as the third captain swallowed. He was the shortest of them all, barely reaching Indonatra’s sternum. Though his face was younger than the others, his black hair was fast receding. “The... uh... bodies have been burned, Lord,” he said, clearing his throat. “The Punished still stand. We stumbled across much weaponry at the smithy while searching for the dead; they had enough arms for a cohort from the looks of it.”

“And what of your three casualties?”

Atol drew deep breath, blue eyes unhappy. “They were burned with the others. I saw no reason to bring them here for a hero’s funeral.”

“No reason at all,” Azrael agreed. “Perhaps you can explain why they disobeyed orders?”

Sweat beaded on Atol’s forehead and he looked everywhere but at his general and peers. “No, Lord, I cannot.”

Azrael raised an eyebrow. “I believe I can,” she said, her voice dropping to a growl. She saw two of the captains wince at the tone, having been recipients of her anger before.

“Lord?” Atol asked, peering at the dark woman.

“They disobeyed my orders because you didn’t train them properly.”

The captain swallowed again and dropped his eyes. “Aye, Lord,” he whispered.

Not one to mince words, Azrael rose. “Five lashes for each man,” she ordered. “Will you submit?”

Atol’s shoulders drooped in resignation. “Aye, Lord. I will.” Standing, he removed his light cloak, draping it across the back of his chair, his tunic following. Despite his small stature, his body was thick with muscle. He went to the central pole of the tent and firmly grasped the wood, spreading his legs.

Azrael collected a whip from one of her chests and unfurled it, making it snake across the canvas floor as she took up position. “Prepare yourself.”

Gritting his teeth, nails digging into the pole, the captain nodded. “I am ready, Lord.”

She brought the whip forward with a snap. A welt blossomed across Atol’s shoulders and he jerked at the contact. With careful precision, Azrael created a latticework of red lines across the pale flesh, each gently welling blood. Her goal was not to maim, simply to ensure Atol would be more diligent, and the lashes weren’t as powerful as they could have been. The captain remained steadfast, neither flinching nor crying out against the pain, though anyone within earshot would know full well what was transpiring.

After the final lash, Azrael coiled the whip and stepped forward. Atol remained in place as he gathered his strength to move. He found himself looking into the cold black eyes of his general.

“Pay attention to your men. Do not neglect their discipline again.”

He croaked, stopping to clear his throat before repeating with a shaky voice, “Aye, Lord.”

The eyes warmed. “It takes great courage to submit, Atol. You’ve done well.”

He sighed, his body finally relaxing. “Aye, Lord. Thank you.”

Azrael returned to her chair, tossing the whip onto the table. She knew that Atol would now be more observant of his men and a stronger officer. As if the flogging had not occurred, she took a gulp of her wine and looked at the captain of the Fourth Cohort. “Tenango?”

Atol walked steadily to his chair and eased into his tunic with a grimace. The others ignored him as they listened to the woman speaking. There would be no further mention of the incident. Their general despised the backstabbing chaos within the ranks of other armies and had no tolerance for it under her command.

“Unfortunately,” Tenango reported, “fire in the bakery destroyed everything there, significantly damaging the structures on either side. We collected quite a bit of foodstuffs from the cellar of the headman’s house.” The captain scratched at an old scar on her upper arm. “As Atol mentioned, we’ve plenty of arms from the smithy. I would suggest a systematic sacking tomorrow. We can scrounge enough wagons for the goods.”

“You’ve left a guard?”

”Aye, Lord. They’ve orders to kill looters.” Tenango shook auburn hair away from her eyes. “Don’t think it’ll be an issue until tomorrow night. Anyone in the area with any sense will no doubt steer clear until we’ve gone.”

Azrael nodded, finally turning to the last captain. “Suma?”

As tall as Idonatra, the leader of Azrael’s personal guard was of fair complexion and clean-shaven. His long, blond hair was braided as his general’s and he held himself at attention almost as second nature. “The prisoners are counted and we’ve documented them.” He slid a parchment from his belt and handed it to Azrael.”There are twenty-four women and eighteen children to include those brought in by Razzu.”

“Where’s the priest?” the general asked, glancing at the list.

“Held separately. I thought it best to keep him detained until we leave.” While the religious order abhorred violence, the priest would give his life attempting to sneak prisoners from impending danger.

“Good.” Azrael tossed the list aside. “Separate the women from the children for tonight.”

“Aye, Lord.”

The general looked around the table. “Anything else?”

An assortment of negatives answered her.

“All right. Keep a guard on the village. Tomorrow, Razzu and Idonatra, I want your men to sack it.”

“Aye, Lord.”

“Atol, see the surgeon tonight and make certain we have a wagon reserved for the wounded. We’ll be moving out in three days. Also, your men will be in charge of perimeter duty tomorrow.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Tenango, you’ll run sweeps for the day. Make yourself highly visible to discourage the curious.”

“Aye, Lord.”

Azrael’s gaze swept over her officers. “Enjoy tonight’s celebration but keep close eye on your men. I’ve authorized unlimited ale. Hopefully, the majority will get too drunk to play slap and tickle with the prisoners - there aren’t enough to go around.”

“We still have quite a few whores among the camp followers,” Suma reminded her.

“Truer words.” Azrael stood, the captains following her lead. “I want your written reports here by midday tomorrow.”

There was a chorus of agreement.

“Dismissed.”

Once her officers were gone, Azrael blew out a breath. She rolled her head, trying to ease the ache in her neck and shoulders.

The tent flap was pushed aside and two women entered, each carrying pieces of leather armor. After a glance at her slaves, Azrael sat down and began preparing a message for the king. In the meanwhile, Midia directed Ursula in the proper placement of their mistress’ armor, laying it out on linen to dry.

Quill scratching lightly on parchment, the general finished her missive, a short acknowledgement of their triumph scribbled on a long, thin strip. Azrael capped the inkwell and gently blew the writing dry. Rolling it into a tiny tube, she rose to see her slaves kneeling before the table, awaiting her attention.

“Midia?” she asked.

The blonde bowed her head and looked up. “Would you have us bring you food, Milady?”

Azrael considered the request, ears catching the sounds of soldiers enjoying newfound entertainment. “No, Midia,” she finally said. “It’s not safe tonight.” Her eyes fell on the new slave. “Ursula, come forward.”

Head ducking in surprise and fear, the slave silently rose and approached, her bare soles whisking lightly across the canvas floor. She paused in confusion, uncertain of the proper protocol, before dropping back to her knees at Azrael’s feet.

“Stand, Ursula.”

Doing so, the brunette found herself being circled by her harsh new mistress and she trembled.

Midia had done a fine job finding clothes for her new acquisition. The dress held more purple than burgundy, but it would do until something else was found. It was of a heavier material than Azrael cared for, but it clung in all the right places, bringing out Ursula’s well-rounded attributes. “You clean up well,” she said once she completed her circuit.

A blush crept up the slave’s neck.

Azrael felt an answering flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Stepping around Ursula, she went to the entrance and stepped out.

The flames of the bonfire were beginning to take hold, dancing orange light bathing the revelers. Azrael could smell roasted meat from the cook tents. The women prisoners were being forced to serve the meal and their cries and whimpers were drowned out by soldiers’ laughter.

Turning to one of her guard, Azrael held out the message. “See this gets out immediately,” she said.

“Aye, Lord.”

“Have someone bring food for three to my tent.” She paused. “And bring a pallet from the surgeon’s.”

“Yes, Lord, as you wish.” The soldier saluted and ran off, another solidifying out of the darkness to take his place.

Azrael entered her tent, pleased to see Ursula had remained in place during her absence. Seating herself at the table, she waved Midia forward with a murmured, “Attend me.” As her body slave poured fresh wine, the general continued gazing at the brunette standing before her. “You say you have been a slave for two years.”

Ursula whispered, “Yes, Milady.”

“Yet you have few scars. Were you so good that beatings were unnecessary?” After taking the cup from the blonde, Azrael pulled Midia onto her lap.

“I... Apparently so, Milady,” the blonde said, blushing.

Azrael drank from her cup, setting it down to free her hand. She caressed Midia’s bare thigh as she spoke. “Who owned you? What were your duties?”

“I was owned by a man who had me stay with his elderly mother, Milady. She... she was a seamstress in the village and I helped her sew. She wouldn’t leave her home to join her son on his farm.” A loud roar of excitement from outside caused Ursula to flinch.

“No worries, girl. They don’t have the heart or balls to come in here.”

“Aye, Milady,” Ursula said, her shaking voice barely above a whisper.

“Lord Azrael!”

“Enter.”

A soldier held aside the tent flap for three of his companions to bring in their burdens. One carried a large platter of food, the roasted meat still steaming. Another bore a tray with various fruits and two ewers. The third dragged in a pallet.

“Put the food and drink on the table,” Azrael ordered, “and the pallet next to my bed.”

“Aye, Lord.”

Once all was in order, she sent them away, pushing Midia from her lap. “Fix my plate and then eat,” she instructed.

Smiling, Midia paused to kiss her mistress on the cheek. “Yes, Milady. Thank you.”

“Ursula, eat your fill.”

“Yes, Milady.” Despite the order, the blonde waited until Azrael had been served and Midia waved her forward. Hands shaking, Ursula took only a tiny portion of roast and an apple, pulling back from the platter.

“I don’t withhold food, girl,” Azrael growled, dark eyes flashing her displeasure. “You certainly cannot survive on that. I said eat your fill.”

Ursula’s voice was barely a whisper. “Aye, Milady.” She edged back to the platter, adding a wedge of yellow cheese and steamed vegetables to her plate.

Satisfied, the general began eating her dinner, looking over the reports littering her table. Midia settled at the other end of the table and, after a moment’s hesitation, so did the brunette. Silence reigned, diametrically opposed to the chaos on the other side of the thin tent walls.

Stomach full, Azrael stretched her back before shoving her plate toward the nearly empty platter. She drained her mug and scooped up the fresh ewer of wine from the tray before rising. “Ursula, you’ll sleep on the pallet. Wait,” Azrael said, stopping the brunette from discarding her half eaten dinner. “When you’re finished eating and not until. Understood?”

“Yes, Milady.” Ursula sank back into her chair.

“Midia.”

The blonde’s face slid into a slow grin. “Yes, Milady,” she said to the unspoken command.

Azrael moved to her bed, setting the ewer and cup on one of the chests. Removing her clothes, she sat on the mattress, untying her braid and brushing out it with her fingers.

Midia helped Ursula clean up their dinner, bringing the platter to the door and handing it to a guard. As the new slave timidly approached the pallet near her new owner, Midia set about snuffing the lanterns.

In the darkness, Azrael felt the warmth of her slave sliding onto the bed and she sighed, relaxing for the first time all day. Turning her head, she searched for and found welcoming lips.

On the floor, a few feet away, Ursula curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut at the sounds of pleasuring from both outside and in.

Chapter Three

Azrael felt the slave slip out of bed well before dawn. Accustomed to these early morning disappearances, she drifted back to sleep, ignoring the soft whispers and rustling cloth. Had there been an emergency, the general would be instantly alert, weapon in hand.

Somewhat later, Midia eased under the blankets. Her skin, chilled by early morning air, felt good against Azrael’s bed warmth. She pulled the slave close, callused hand gently buffing cool flesh. Midia shivered and snuggled nearer. Sleepy caresses became stimulating, quiet breaths easing into gasps and moans. Azrael took her slave with single-minded intensity, reveling in the familiar sounds and tastes and smells until they both came, clutching each other.

Drowsing once more, muscles languid from the pleasant exertion, Azrael’s ears picked up the sounds of a waking camp. In the distance, men called to one another as they rousted themselves for the day. A cook was swearing a blue streak over the celebration’s aftermath. A yelp from his slave indicated a cuffing as the cook urged him to greater haste in cleaning the kitchen.

The pressure in Azrael’s bladder intensified, not allowing her to fall back asleep. Disgruntled at nature’s call, she sighed and stretched, enjoying the feel of Midia against her. Many didn’t allow their slaves to remain in their bed after sex. Azrael, however, enjoyed the sensations of another heartbeat near hers in the night. A jaw-cracking yawn forced the general to throw off her covers and sit up.

On the pallet, Ursula scrambled to her feet, hastily grabbing at a thick robe to offer her mistress. Fear making her clumsy, she nearly dropped the garment.

Azrael felt a stirring in her belly at the woman’s beauty; it was more evident in daylight regardless of the ugly bruise marring her face. Rising, she allowed Ursula to dress her in the robe, pulling the belt tight herself. Turning, she took the brunette’s chin and tipped it until amber eyes looked into hers. “I’m strict but not unreasonable, Ursula. There’s no need to fear me unless you disobey my commands.”

The eyes darted about in a vain attempt to avoid the piercing gaze. “Aye, Milady.”

Soft breath against her face, Azrael closed her eyes and inhaled. Her bladder twinged and she released the slave, stepping away. “Midia, get dressed and help Ursula bring breakfast,” Azrael said, heading for the curtained corner that held the chamber pot.

“Yes, Milady.”

Bladder relieved, Azrael took a few moments to wash before settling in her chair to sort through the previous day’s parchment. Later in the day, she would bring them all together into a final report for the King. The missive last night was sent by carrier pigeon; this detailed version would go a more traditional route with messengers on horseback.

“Milady!”

Instantly on guard at Midia’s tone, Azrael reached for a nearby dagger as the slave burst into the tent.

“Milady! The soldier won’t leave Ursula be! He thinks she’s one of the prisoners!”

“Where?” the general asked, leading the way outside.

“This way, Milady!” Midia hurried away, closely pursued by her mistress. The guards, seeing their general wasn’t wearing armor or proper weapons, followed.

Midia led the way to the cook tent, passing the main entrance to swing around back. Those soldiers up and around watched them go, glad they weren’t the cause for the black expression on their general’s face.

“There, Milady,” she said, blue eyes wide as she pointed.

Ursula was being held in the clutches of a man who was attempting to get a kiss. Despite her squirming, she was unable to escape his strong arms and resorted to thrashing her head back and forth to avoid his lips.

“Aw, come on, wench!” the soldier growled good naturedly, squeezing her tighter and running a hand up her body. “It’s just a kiss! It’s not like you didn’t receive even more last night from the looks of ye!”

“Release her.”

Startled, the soldier glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of his commanding officer flanked by two of her guard. His jaw dropped and his hands flew from Ursula as if burned. “L... Lord Azrael,” he stuttered, saluting.

The general waved Midia forward, waiting for her to collect the terrified slave before doing anything more. Once the women were safely behind her, she stepped forward, twirling the dagger in her hand idly.

Watching the blade’s lethal spin, flashing in sunlight, the soldier swallowed heavily and came to attention. The woman before him might only be dressed in a robe, but he had no doubt his life could be forfeit, personal guard or no.

“Tenango’s cohort, yes?”

“Aye, Lord.”

Azrael nodded. “I’ve yet to make an announcement to my army regarding my new body slave, Ursula.” The dagger stilled, pointing behind her at the brunette cowering in Midia’s arms before returning to its maneuverings. “Until I do, know that she is off limits to everyone but me. Is that understood?”

“Aye, Lord!”

“Good. I’d appreciate it if you’d pass the word in the meantime...?”

His odds of survivability increasing, the soldier nodded emphatically. “Aye, Lord! I’d be honored!”

Studying him for a long moment, Azrael gave an answering nod. “Inform your comrades if anyone touches her, they’ll suffer the same fate as those three yesterday.”

He blanched. All had heard of the ones from Atol’s cohort who had disobeyed orders. Forcing away the urge to cover his manhood, his voice was less than exuberant as he answered, “Aye, Lord.”

“See to it.” Azrael waved him off, turning away. A slight grin touched her lips as she heard him stumble away fast as his feet would carry him. She focused on her slaves with a sigh, black humor fading. “Ursula, Midia, return to your task. A guard will remain with you until you return to my tent.” Azrael glanced over her shoulder and one of the soldiers nodded, stepping toward the two women.

“Aye, Milady,” Midia said, urging the brunette in her arms to move along.

Azrael was halfway through a breakfast of biscuits, boiled grains and left over roast when she heard a request for admittance. She waved Midia and Ursula away from the table, waiting for the slaves to settle on the other side of the tent with their plates before calling entry.

Wary and frazzled, Captain Tenango stepped in, stopping in front of her general. “Lord Azrael, I came as soon as I heard. There was trouble with one of my men...?”

“The incident was minor,” Azrael said, waving it off nonchalantly. “Mistaken identity. He had no knowledge of Ursula’s place in my household and thought to take liberties.”

Tenango bowed, her face a study in consternation. “Please accept my apologies on his behalf.”

Sitting back, dark eyes watched the officer. “No apologies necessary. As I said, it was a simple error. The soldier deserves no punishment for his actions.” She paused. “I’m impressed to see your haste in attempting to correct this state of affairs, however. It indicates a keen sense of responsibility for your troops.”

“Thank you, Lord.” The redheaded warrior seemed to relax at the lack of offense committed by her man.

“I plan to rectify the situation regarding Ursula at my earliest convenience,” Azrael continued. “Have the troops form up in one hour. I will address them before they go about their duties. Notify the other captains to wait until after formation before going out on their assignments.”

Tenango bowed again. “Aye, Lord, consider it done.”

“Dismissed.”

“Aye, Lord Azrael.” She left the tent, spirits higher than when she’d entered.

The general finished her breakfast, setting the plate aside before standing to stretch again. As her slaves continued eating, Azrael located the clothing she’d worn the day before. By the time she was dressed, Midia and Ursula were done and awaiting orders.

Azrael returned to her chair, scooting it a few feet away from the table. “Midia, take care of the platter. We’ll be leaving day after tomorrow so you’d best begin doing what’s needed to facilitate our departure.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“Ursula, you’ll be staying with me this morning,” the general informed her new slave. “Bring me my bracers and help me with them.”

The brunette nodded and rose, murmuring, “Aye, Milady.”

When the bracers were retrieved, Azrael instructed Ursula to kneel between her widespread legs. She offered a muscular forearm, pushing through the leather armor sleeve. “The laces must be tight enough to keep the armor from moving,” the general said, holding the bracer and twisting her arm until it set in place. “But not tight enough to block circulation.” Turning her arm, wrist up, Azrael held out her hand. “Tie them.”

Ursula’s fingers were shaking as she reached for the laces.

Azrael grabbed the slave’s hands, making her gasp, amber eyes darting up. “This is not a test, Ursula. This is training. You’ll learn how to do this before I begin demanding perfection; I expect mistakes.”

The brunette swallowed against a lump. “Yes, Milady,” she whispered.

Releasing her, Azrael again turned her arm over.

With careful instruction, Ursula learned how to secure the bracer properly and where to tuck the leftover laces so they wouldn’t fly loose and tangle. When the first was done, Azrael remained silent as the second was tied.

“Very good,” the general acknowledged, holding up her arm and making a fist. The leather creaked lightly from the strain but remained firm. She looked down to catch an expression of uncertain pleasure and smiled faintly. “How’s your head?” Azrael asked, reaching out to tilt the slave’s face to one side. She brushed aside mahogany hair and leaned closer for a better look.

“It... it hurts, Milady,” Ursula admitted, nervous at the woman’s proximity.

“Understandable.” Azrael was pleased the swelling was going down, though the bruises were solidifying into mottled colors marring the woman’s beauty. She ran a dark finger along the straight nose. “You were lucky he didn’t break this,” she murmured, continuing her examination.

Ursula blushed. “Yes, Milady.”

“I’ll bring you to the surgeon’s after formation. He’ll have something to ease the pain.”

Blinking, the brunette nodded. Slaves rarely received medical treatment; it was cheaper to replace them than to heal. That Azrael would do so was a surprise.

Leaving off her inspection, the general leaned back in her chair, studying the woman before her. “We’ve not had much time to discuss your place in my household,” she said. “Suffice it to say that you are now my body slave, as Midia is. You will see to my needs, whatever they may be. Do you understand?”

Recalling the needs that Midia had taken care of in the general’s bed, Ursula colored deeply and ducked her head. “Yes, Milady. I understand.”

“I expect obedience but as I said, I’m not unreasonable. If you have questions regarding a command, ask them. I would rather you know what I wish than make stupid mistakes.” Azrael leaned forward again, peering into the slave’s face. “One thing I do not tolerate is dishonesty, Ursula,” she said. “Lie to me and there will be dire consequences.”

The slave shivered at the dangerous growl. “Aye, Milady,” she whispered. “I’ll not lie to you. Ever.”

“Good. And I’ll not lie to you. Ever,” Azrael repeated.

A horn blew outside, three long and one short note, calling the army to formation and interrupting Ursula’s startled expression at her mistress’ last words.

With a sigh, Azrael stood and squared her shoulders. Her hair was still unbraided, a black wave falling midway down her back, and she brushed it behind her shoulders. “Get my whip,” she ordered, locating her sword belt and strapping it on.

Fearful again, Ursula located the weapon on a chair by the table. She had heard the crack of leather and flesh last night while cleaning the general’s armor. Shivering, she handed the whip to Azrael, not wanting to see what damage the thing could do.

Azrael unfurled the leather, sticking the handle in her belt and scooping up the fringed end. “Know that I do this not to humiliate or pain you,” she said as she tied the tail around Ursula’s neck in a loose collar, lacking a more traditional collar and leash. “My men need to know that you are unattainable without my permission and this is the best way.”

Ursula ducked her head with a nod, chewing her lip at the sudden flutter of her heart.

“Lord Azrael,” Suma called from outside. “The men are ready.”

“Stay behind me but close,” the general ordered. “Don’t let the whip grow taut.” She walked out of her tent, her slave in close pursuit.

The clearing held a formation of four cohorts standing at rigid attention and one of light cavalry shifting with their mounts. Only those on guard posts in the village or on the perimeter were missing. Other than Suma at her side, all Azrael’s captains stood with their troops, flanked by one lieutenant and two sergeants each.

Nearly two hundred fifty pairs of eyes watched as their general led her slave forward. Ursula shuffled behind, head down, shoulders tight against their collective gaze. She hurried to keep up with her mistress’ steps, taking two for Azrael’s one. So involved in not letting the whip pull tight between them, she almost didn’t stop in time, halting a mere step behind the general.

“Swordsmen!” Azrael called, her dusky voice easily carrying across the assembled. “Yesterday’s victory was well met but we’ve yet work to do. Your toils will be noted and a bonus applied to your pay. Once I’ve received full reports from your commanding officers, additional awards for valor will be given”

There was a rumble of pleasure.

This year, half Azrael’s army had been assigned garrison for six months. By now, General Morvril of the Second Army had made his rounds, dropping off those who would guard the outlying borders of the kingdom for the next rotation. “Our departure will be the day after tomorrow, so prepare yourselves. We travel to Provey to offload goods and slaves before following the garrison circuit to pick up your brothers and sisters in arms. Then we are bound for home and leave.”

Unable to help themselves, the soldiers cheered aloud. It had been two seasons since they’d been to visit family and friends.

Azrael smiled at the roar of approval. She let it go for several seconds before raising her hands for silence. When the noise dwindled, she continued. “One point of business before I release you,” she said. Turning to Ursula, she tugged gently on the makeshift leash, urging her to step forward. “This is my new body slave. You’ve seen the other I own. The same rules apply to Ursula. Do not touch her. Do not impede her duties. If you see her doing anything suspicious, speak with your superiors or myself immediately. Do you understand?”

The news from this morning had passed quickly through the ranks and all the soldiers called out, “Aye, Lord Azrael!”

“Good. Captains, dismiss your cohorts by squad. Have them file past so that all can get a good look at my slave.”

A chorus of agreement came from the captains as they followed orders.

First to parade past were the light cavalry - Azrael’s personal guard. Following them were the foot soldiers and archers that comprised the rest of her army. Through it all, the general stood stoic, powerful arms across her chest, stern features reminding all of them of the repercussions of disobedience. Ursula tried and failed to stop fidgeting under the collective stares from so many people, obviously wishing she were somewhere far, far away.

When the last had made the circuit, Ursula sighed, shoulders slumping. She thought she heard a chuckle from her mistress but when she looked, Azrael appeared as aloof as ever.

“You’ve done well,” the dark woman said, stepping forward to work at the knotted whip at Ursula’s throat.

“Thank you, Milady.”

Pulling the leather free, Azrael coiled it up. “This morning you fought the man who tried to take you.”

Amber eyes widened and Ursula wondered if she would be punished. “Yes, Milady. Midia said... she caused me to believe that you do not allow your slaves to be taken without permission.” Frowning, Ursula dropped her head. “I am sorry if I did wrong, Milady.”

“You did well, Ursula. Midia is correct,” the general stated, reaching out to lift the slave’s chin. “I mention it to inform you it is acceptable should you be attacked by someone. You are mine and no one else’s. If I deem you are to be used by another, I will tell you beforehand.”

Ursula nodded. “Yes, Milady. I understand.”

“Go find Midia and tell her to bring you to the surgeon’s. You should be safe within camp now.”

“Aye, Milady.” Ursula hesitated as she turned, chewing her lip. “Milady?”

Azrael raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Milady,” the brunette blurted. “I’ll do my best to serve you well.”

“That’s all I wish, Ursula. Now go.” Thoughtfully, Azrael watched the woman return to the tent.

Chapter Four

The rest of the morning Azrael checked guard posts. She scared the stuffing out of a number of Atol’s men on the perimeter, each wondering if she’d heard rumor of further laxity in their cohort. Voices trembled slightly as they gave challenge and received the password, chins thrust out in determination to prove their captain an able officer despite the previous day’s incident.

Azrael found their overt devotion gratifying and humorous but didn’t reveal her amusement. Rather, she reacted with vague suspicion, asking each questions regarding her command as if he were a raw recruit. Her patronizing behavior irritated the soldiers, binding them closer to Atol in the hopes that this surge of loyalty would quell further disobedience.

Upon hearing of her passage, Atol hastened to meet his general. She waved him away with a negligent hand and an almost nonexistent wink. Understanding, the captain backtracked, checking on those soldiers she’d met and boosting their spirits, walking a fine line between commiserating with them and supporting her actions.

Once Azrael completed the circuit, she made her way to the prisoners. The women and children were behind a fence. A lean to had been fashioned to give them some shade and shelter and many utilized it as the sun rose in the sky. Despite the seriousness of their situation, the younger children ran back and forth in a game of catch, kicking a ball of rags between them. Surrounding the enclosure, a squad of her guard kept careful watch.

Again she made the rounds with the soldiers. These, however, received praise and the occasional faint smile as she passed. The elite of her army, the Angels of Death held a special place. They were the most loyal to Azrael, proven in many trials over the years, and enjoyed a higher level of confidence from a woman who rarely trusted.

At midday, Azrael went to the mess tent, going through the food line with her soldiers. It was easier to keep a thumb on the pulse of her soldiers when she mingled with them and the general did so often. She settled at the officers’ table, surprising a handful of lieutenants in detailed discussions of their prowess the night before. After a pleasant greeting, the general ate in silence, the junior officers soon forgetting her presence as they continued their ribald jokes.

Stepping out of the mess, Azrael paused to breathe deeply and scan the camp. Her eyes stopped on her tent and she remembered the reports awaiting her attention. The thought of being buried under mounds of parchment didn’t appeal to the dark woman as she stood beneath welcome sunlight. Deciding one afternoon’s delay wouldn’t be an issue, she called to a passing handler to bring her mount.

She was soon riding along the road that led to the former village of Theara. As she neared, the smell of death and smoke prevailed, a fetid warning to all who would approach. Trotting into the square, Azrael ignored the grisly remains of her enemies bloating in the sun and the pit of bone and ash where the battle dead had been cremated. Instead, she approached the first captain she saw.

“Lord Azrael!” Razzu saluted with a grin. His face was smudged with soot and he’d long ago removed his armor.

Behind him, a squad was transferring furniture and clothing from a building onto a wagon. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

Leaning on her saddle horn, the general looked down at the whipcord thin man. “How goes the sacking?”

“Very well, Lord,” Razzu answered, face cheerful. “Indonatra and I split the village in half. My cohort is nearly finished.” He waved down the small alley. “We’ve only three more buildings.”

“What of the goods?” Azrael asked. “Decent?”

“Theara had money, there’s no doubt - some jewelry and gold, but not much - mostly solid household furniture, tools and the like. Idonatra has the smithy so just with the weapons and what we’ve found here, I’d say we’ll fetch a pretty price at market.”

Nodding in satisfaction, the general straightened in her saddle, watching the industrious soldiers. Most of them had followed their captain’s lead by removing armor, a handful going further and working bare-chested as they moved a heavy cabinet.

Azrael kneed her horse, sidling up to the side of the wagon. Leaning over, she opened a chest and looked inside. Kitchen items met her eye - pots, pans and dishes carefully packed and cushioned with clothing. Spying an interesting bundle, the general pulled out a sack and opened it, tumbling a delicate teacup into her palm. The workmanship was exquisite, thin clay lacquered with a fine filigree of green leaves and dusty pink roses.

“Aye,” Razzu said, coming up on her. “This house has many items such as that. A collector, apparently. It’s been difficult packing as we try to keep things from breakage.”

A dark thumb caressed a raised rose. Turning it over, Azrael saw the mark of its maker and wondered how many other pieces had been made by this artist. “It’s very beautiful.” Returning the cup to its bag, she rewrapped it carefully and tucked it into her tunic before closing the chest. “I’ll see to Idonatra.”

“Aye, Lord,” the captain said, saluting. “He’s on the eastern edge of the village.”

Nodding, Azrael turned her mount and trotted away.

Yelling and cursing guided her as she rounded a corner to see several men trying to pull a struggling wagon team. The wagon was over loaded with goods, predominantly iron, and the horses sweated and strained against the weight.

Idonatra, standing tall, was yelling the loudest, his face a deep red. He didn’t see the general until she was right up on him.

“Seems to me the solution is simple,” Azrael said. “Lessen the load.”

“My Lord!” her captain exclaimed, hastily saluting. ”I know, Lord. But this is our last wagon. All those tools and weapons…” His voice trailed off, an almost wistful expression flickering across his face as he gazed at the piled bounty.

“Perhaps the arms master has room for some. He’s always complaining we’ve never enough.”

Idonatra’s eyes lit up. “Very good, Lord! I’ll send for him now!” He waved one of his soldiers forward.

“Don’t kill the horses for a few extra knives,” Azrael said. “They’re worth far more than most of this.”

“Aye, Lord. We’ll lighten the load, maybe leave behind the raw iron once the arms master has had his pick.”

The general nodded. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Captain.”

“Thank you, Lord,” Idonatra said distractedly, mind already on the problem. As he gave his soldier a message, he was oblivious to his general’s departure.

Still restless, Azrael patted the neck of her horse. “It’s been a bit since you’ve had a decent run, hasn’t it?” Smiling at the answering snort, she kneed the animal in the ribs, shooting forward down the road.

Clear of the village, she guided her horse through a copse of trees, bending over his neck. Leaves and branches whipped past as they sped along and sod was sent flying into the air by eager hooves. Past the trees, a hill rose before them and Azrael urged her mount forward. Obediently, he raced to the top, muscles flexing and bunching beneath her legs as he galloped. At the crest of the hill, she pulled him to a halt, allowing him to prance about in a circle as she looked over the valley.

The road ran along her left into the distance, folding back and forth as it followed the lay of the land. A thick run of trees ran parallel on her right a few lengths away, the two seeming to meet several leagues further. Azrael’s army sprawled between, from this distance looking more like a toy set than real men and women.

Stamping his hooves, the horse yanked at his bridle and the general laughed. “Quit too soon did we?” she asked. “Let’s get you a drink then.” With an uncharacteristic whoop, she spurred him forth once more, making for the tree line.

Here the land was field and meadow. As they thundered through, a bevy of game birds was startled from their hiding place, taking wing in a cloud of squawking feathers. A creek bed, hidden by the folds of the land, opened up before her and Azrael pushed forward, her mount flying as he leapt across. Again they were among trees, dark shapes flickering past. The ground dipped, becoming rocky as they burst through, splashing on the edge of a river. Clattering to a stop, the steed snorted once more, sounding vaguely satisfied. Azrael chuckled and gave him the reins, allowing him to sink his nose into the cool water and drink his fill.

Deciding to join him, Azrael took a drink from the canteen on her saddle, sighing as her thirst was quenched. She capped and replaced it, twisting in the saddle to have a look around. The river was swift here, an inscrutable depth a few lengths across. Looking much the same as any other she’d come across in her travels, Azrael still felt a moment’s peace with her surroundings. A soft musical gurgle along the bank eased her soul and she had a sudden intense desire to be home, listening to the soft trickle of water from her garden fountain.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Azrael gathered the reins and guided her horse to the bank. With her knees, she asked for a slow walk and received it, relaxing in the saddle as her mount took her upstream. Soon, she’d come to camp and return to her duties. Until then, however, she intended to enjoy this brief interlude.

Some time passed before her thoughts were interrupted by the call of challenge. Azrael gave the password and received permission to pass, ambling forward to return the young soldier’s salute. Now within the perimeter, she began to hear the sounds of others - the clang of metal as men sparred, boisterous laughter from a group telling stories, and a rhythmic splash of water just ahead.

Curious, Azrael kept her course along the river, coming from behind a clump of dogwoods to see a small clearing and Midia washing clothes on the shore. Ursula was noticeably absent and the general frowned. Spotting a guard, Azrael nodded at his salute, jerking her head to indicate he should make himself scarce. As he disappeared, Midia looked up, a smile blossoming on her face at her mistress’ appearance.

“Milady!” she called, standing to wave as Azrael approached.

Azrael waited until she was near enough to use her normal speaking voice. “Where’s Ursula? I sent her to you after formation this morning.”

“She’s there,” the blonde assured her, pointing to a shaded area. “She’s asleep.”

The general could see a form lying beneath a tree on a blanket, a satchel beside it. Her black eyes narrowed. “Asleep? She’s to help you, not lounge about.” Azrael started to guide her horse toward Ursula but stopped when Midia leaned against her calf.

“It’s not as it seems, Milady,” she said, blue eyes wide. “The surgeon gave her a tea and it makes her drowsy. Wouldn’t it be better for her to rest for the next two days? Until the tea is gone? She’ll be sure to heal faster.”

Studying the slave for long moments, Azrael finally lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve been thinking again, haven’t you?”

Midia sensed the crisis had passed and smiled. “Only when it makes sense, Milady.”

Azrael chuckled and slid from her mount. “You have more sense than most I know, Midia.” She reached forward and pulled the blonde into her arms, getting a mild struggle.

“I’m wet, Milady,” Midia murmured.

Not to be put off, Azrael firmly pulled her close. “And I smell of horse. I’ve got the better deal.”

The slave relaxed into the embrace. “Is it true, Milady? The soldiers say we’ll be going home soon.”

“Yes, it’s true. It’ll take three months or so to collect the rest of the army but we should be home by harvest.”

Midia sighed, a smile on her face. “I miss Petracal.”

“He’s probably grown a hand span,” Azrael said. “He’ll be an insufferable young man looking for trouble if he’s anything like his father.”

“No doubt,” the blonde agreed. “Jastus has probably been at wit’s end keeping up with him.”

“It’s only fair,” the dark woman stated. “I’ve been at wit’s end keeping up with your husband for years.” She smiled at Midia’s giggle. “Now, back to your task.” Azrael stole a kiss for good measure before releasing the slave.

“Yes, Milady,” Midia curtseyed formally, a twinkle in her eye. “There’s an apple in the bag. And some bread and cheese,” she said, picking her way across the rocks to the wet clothing.

Nodding, Azrael led her horse to the blanket, draping his reins across a low hanging branch nearby. Ursula was curled on her side, hand cupping her unwounded cheek. The general scooped up the satchel and pulled out the fruit. Using her dagger, she cut it into quarters and fed it to her mount, taking care to avoid his eager teeth. When it was gone, he bumped his nose against her in demand and she chuckled. “Don’t be greedy. You’ve had enough.”

A gasp and rustling announced Ursula’s wakefulness and Azrael turned to see the slave struggling to her feet, face flushed.

“Milady! I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened!”

“Be still, Ursula,” the general said, retrieving her canteen and moving to the blanket. “Midia told me of the surgeon’s concoction.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Amused at the woman’s chagrin, Azrael settled down on the blanket, her back against the bole of the tree. “Since you’re awake, attend me.”

Ursula blinked. “Yes, Milady.” She knelt beside the general and grabbed the satchel. “There’s only bread and cheese, Milady,” she said, pulling the items out. The brunette unwrapped the cheese, breaking a chunk off and handing it to her mistress.

“More than enough for my appetite,” Azrael said, accepting it. She bit into the tangy cheese and chewed, watching the slave fumble with the bread. After receiving a piece, she said, “Come closer.”

Swallowing, Ursula scooted nearer. She stiffened when her mistress scooped her up with powerful arms. It was a struggle to not jump up from the lap she found herself perched upon.

Azrael said nothing, simply watched Ursula as she ate. She enjoyed the reddening of olive skin, the downcast amber eyes. It was with some surprise, the general noted a red tint where sunlight hit mahogany hair. When Ursula finally appeared to relax, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

The slave nibbled her lower lip before nodding in hesitation. “A little, Milady.”

Breaking off a bit of bread, Azrael held it out, pulling it back when the slave tried to reach for it. “No.”

Ursula dropped her hand, confusion flickering on her face before it cleared. Again the uncertain nibble before she leaned forward to take the food from her mistress’ hand.

Azrael smiled as soft lips brushed her fingers. “Very good.” She hand fed the slave for the next several minutes, dark eyes catching every nuance of Ursula’s face as she ate. The bread was finished far too soon and she was left with stroking the woman’s thigh. Holding herself very still, Ursula looked every bit the frightened bird preparing to take flight. The general refrained from escalating matters, preferring her partners to not be terrified. Instead, she continued the gentle caresses, not straying where she wanted to stray. It appeared to have the desired effect as Ursula began to relax, her breathing deepening and her eyes sliding closed.

The slave was unsure when matters changed. Fingers on her chin guided her head and she opened her eyes, gaze spanning mere inches to her mistress’ black irises.

Azrael closed the distance between them, taking Ursula’s soft lips in a kiss. It was rather one sided, but the general refused to leave things as they were. She urged the woman in her arms to take action, teasing Ursula’s lips. The response was tentative but sweet and Azrael felt a heady rush of arousal. Using her tongue, she tried to gain admittance but the slave whimpered and Azrael pulled back. “What is it?”

Ursula, face red, ducked her head. “It’s nothing, Milady.”

Eyes flashing, Azrael growled, “Remember what I said about dishonesty,” she warned. “I won’t ask you again.”

Anxious, the slave swallowed. “I’m sorry, Milady. It’s just... my jaw... it aches so...” Ursula cringed in the general’s arms, awaiting punishment. She was startled from her fears by the soft caress of knuckles along her unbruised cheek.

Azrael waited until those intriguing amber eyes glanced up at her to speak. “My eagerness to taste you has caused you pain. For that I apologize.” She smiled at the embarrassed blush. “I can wait for you to heal. And then, I promise you, you’ll be in my bed.”

“Yes, Milady,” Ursula whispered, a sliver of dread anticipation trickling down her spine.

With a rueful grin and a sigh, Azrael leaned forward to kiss the brunette’s cheek before pushing her out of her lap. “I’d best return to camp. I’ve work to do before we leave.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Azrael stood, dusting herself off and taking her horse’s reins. Mounting, she waved good-bye to Midia and trotted away.

Ursula watched her go, brow furrowed in puzzlement as she touched her cheek.

Chapter Five

The following day was spent packing for the journey. When all was said and done, the Third Army had three dozen wagons of supplies and bounty. Fortunately for Idonatra, the arms master did indeed have space for many of the weapons, lightening the load considerably from the smithy.

Morning dawned slightly overcast, good marching weather for the men. The last of the tents were broken down and stowed and the prisoners were bound together, neck and wrist, by thick rope. Of the wounded, only three were bedridden. They lounged in a wagon behind the surgeon’s. It was here that Midia and Ursula rode, keeping watchful eye on the soldiers for the journey.

While the officers were mounted, the captains at the head of the column with their general, the cohorts themselves were on foot with their lieutenants riding before them. It was difficult enough keeping the wagon ponies in fodder. To mount all her soldiers, Azrael would need a third again of horse or mule to carry feed for them all, an expensive proposition to say the least.

Idonatra’s cohort led the way, followed by the supply train, servants and camp followers. Past that were Razzu’s men. The prisoners formed a loose cohort of their own with Atol behind to pick up strays. Further along, the surgeon and wounded wagons trundled with Tenango bringing up the rear. Suma’s cavalry was evenly split between flanking the column, paying close attention to the prisoners, and riding fore and aft sweeps.

Once all were in place, Azrael signaled her standard bearer with a nod. The young man saluted, turned his horse and galloped down one side of the column. Simultaneously, the call to prepare for march rang out over the formation. As the standard bearer thundered back up the other side, the general called out the command, “Forward march!” The lieutenants at each cohort echoed her words and the entire train began moving.

Ursula gasped as the wagon jerked to a start but soon became accustomed to the swaying motion. The wounded were somnolent from a tonic of wine and pain killing herbs the surgeon had given them. Other than the occasional request for water, he told Midia the men would probably sleep through to midday.

Midia, an old hand at traveling with an army, waved the brunette close and pulled a bag of mending from the corner where she’d stowed it. The slaves sorted through the clothing and began repairs.

After an hour or so of silence, broken only by the tramp of feet and hooves or the jingle of armor and tack, Ursula glanced up from a linen shirt hem and asked, “How long have you been a slave?”

A smile quirked Midia’s lips but she didn’t look up. “You haven’t spent much time with other slaves, have you?”

Puzzled, Ursula shook her head. “I was the only slave in my village. And I’d only the one owner.”

“Don’t be too quick to ask that question,” Midia advised, tying off her thread. “Many slaves do not wish to revisit their capture.” She paused, biting off the excess and folding the breeches. “Take those women from your village. They’ll not wish to recall their first night as spoils of war.”

Amber eyes widened in understanding. “I’m sorry,” Ursula blurted. “I didn’t mean to offend!”

Midia laughed, leaning forward to pat the brunette’s arm. “It’s all right. I’ve no problem with answering. I only warn you about future troubles your curiosity may incur.” She pulled back, setting the breeches aside and selecting her next project. “I’ve been a slave all my life, the last ten years with Lady Azrael.”

“Where were you before?” Ursula asked, adding in a rush, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“On a farm. My master’s son was a friend of Milady’s. When his father died, he had no use for me and asked if she did.” Midia, deep in memory as she stitched a burst seam, had a rueful grin on her face. “Our poor mistress…I cried for three days, nonstop. The master’s son had sold me, but kept my husband and child. Petracal was only five.” She shook her head. “As soon as Milady induced me to speak on the matter, she turned around and retraced our steps, demanding to purchase both Jastus and my son!”

Ursula stared, sewing forgotten as her mind boggled at such uncharacteristic compassion evinced by a slave owner. Especially one who had done such heinous things as Ursula witnessed in Theara. Finally, she said, “And you’ve been her body servant ever since?”

“Mmm hmm,” Midia nodded.

The brunette thought for long moments, sewing by rote. “Your husband,” she said. “He knows what your… um… duties are as Milady’s body servant?”

Midia raised a blonde eyebrow as she regarded the heavily blushing woman. “Aye, he knows. He’s not happy with it - especially in the beginning!” She rolled her eyes at a memory. “But like it or no, we owe Lady Azrael a tremendous debt. Our family is together because of her.”

Ducking her head, Ursula apologized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

”Turnabout’s fair play,” Midia said. “I’ve told you my tale. What of you? How did you end up the only slave in little Theara?”

Tables turned, Ursula found it difficult to speak as she stared at the passing countryside. She saw how easily such an innocent question could press someone into depression or anger.

“You don’t have to answer, Ursula,” Midia said softly. “Sometimes it’s simpler for those of us who’ve never been free - we’ve not lost what you had.”

“No,” Ursula insisted, taking a deep breath and looking at the blonde. “It’s a fair question. I’m fortunate to not have the horrific memories of those women.” She jerked her chin, indicating the villagers ahead. “I lived in another village a day’s travel east of Theara. We had a large family - eight children in all. A few years ago, blight took our crops. Da had to borrow seed to see us through another year.”

Ursula’s gaze returned to a passing meadow. “The next year held heavy drought. There was no way Da could repay his debts and our neighbors could ill afford the loss. Three of my sisters and I were given to farmers he’d borrowed heavily from.”

”This farmer, your master… It was his mother you stayed with?”

“Aye.” The brunette paused, deep in thought. ”She was a nice enough woman if stubborn. Quick with both tongue and a needle - she taught me more of needlework than I ever knew existed!”

Midia chuckled. “Then I’m fortunate to have you. As you see, Milady has great difficulty keeping her clothing in one piece,” she said, patting the sack of repairs.

Tension relieved, Ursula smiled in response. “I can embroider and knit, as well.”

“Beautiful! Worth your weight in gold.”

Laughing, the pair continued mending in companionable silence. The meadow gave way to a forest, which in turn became cleared fields. Little was seen at the occasional homestead, the farmers wisely remaining away from the army marching past.

“At formation, Lady Azrael said we were returning home,” Ursula ventured. “What’s it like?”

“Sunny and warm,” Midia said. With a mock shiver, she continued, “Not as cold during the winter as it is here. Milady’s villa sits on a slight rise and the land is hers as far as the eye can see.”

Ursula wondered aloud why a soldier, a general no less, would need so much property.

“She farms, of course; acres of different types of wheat, groves of fruit trees. Why, Lady Azrael has an entire grove dedicated to several strains of pears alone.”

Frowning, the brunette finished the shirtsleeve she was working on. “If she farms, why does she lead an army as well? Wouldn’t she prefer the peace to bloodshed?”

Midia shrugged. “Aye, I think she does. She seems happiest when we’re home. But, she leads well and has obligations to the King. I doubt he’d allow her to retire without a fight.”

Ursula blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her that their mistress might be just as enslaved as they were, chained to her liege as effectively as if iron circled her wrists and throat. The thought was disconcerting and she shied away from it, changing the subject. “Do you stay in Lady Azrael’s quarters? Or with your family?”

“With my family. There are occasional nights that I’m called upon to remain with Milady, but not often.” Midia stretched, easing cramped fingers and glancing about their surroundings. “There are two other body slaves besides us, Felicia and Vincenza.”

Following her lead, Ursula paused in her work. “Do they have families as well?”

“No. They’re both young, though a bit older than you,” Midia said after carefully eyeing the brunette.

“But...” Ursula frowned in thought, trying to reconcile the woman who would turn back to purchase a slave’s family with the one who would separate the very same family for a year or more at a time. “Why are you here then? Why didn’t she take one of the others so that you might remain with your husband and son?”

Midia leaned forward and took Ursula’s hand. “It’s not as it seems,” she said. “Plainly put, it is my turn to accompany Milady on campaign. She alternates between the lot of us so that none suffer prolonged hardship.” The blonde smiled and winked, patting the olive skin beneath hers. “Besides, Petracal is fifteen. He needs his father now more than a nursemaid mother.”

Further discussion was delayed as a halt was called. Midia briskly began packing up their repair work as the column ground to a stop, keeping the completed tasks separate from those items remaining. Orders were yelled from the front of the line and the soldiers fell out of formation.

“Come along,” Midia said, rising to her feet. “We must see if Milady has need of us during the midday meal.”

Late that afternoon the army made camp with the speed of long familiarity. Only the officers’ quarters and mess tent were erected; the main body of soldiers would sleep under the night sky. After all was settled, guard posts scheduled and manned, and a hearty stew served for supper, the men took to their blankets. Tomorrow and many days following would see more of the same. Exhausting as it was, the knowledge of returning home kept spirits high.

The sun was a fiery orb hanging just above the horizon when Azrael arrived at her tent. Her perimeter check had gone well, all the soldiers relaxed and alert. Ducking inside, she found food and wine waiting at the table. Her slaves were laying sheets on the bed, both dropping to their knees when they saw her.

“Ursula, attend me,” the general ordered, taking off her sword belt. “Carry on, Midia.”

Obediently, the brunette went to her mistress and began helping her out of her leather armor. Ursula piled it to one side for the moment, looking up at Azrael. “We brought food, Milady. Are you hungry?”

“Very,” the general agreed, sitting at the table. As the slave poured a mug of wine, Azrael asked, “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, Milady. While you were out.” Seeing her mistress was taken care of, Ursula collected the armor and laid it out in one corner. While there had been no battles that day, it had gotten sunny and warm through the afternoon. The armor was damp and needed to dry.

Azrael tucked into the stew as if starved, the day’s ride whetting her appetite. In no time she was wiping the bottom of her bowl with a piece of bread. Finished, she drained her mug and reached for her saddlebags, retrieving a scroll and quill.

Ursula refilled the mug from an ewer, collecting the empty bowl. “Would you like more, Milady?”

“No,” Azrael said with a wave of her hand, her attention on the scroll as she prepared to make an entry for the day.

Preparing to take the bowl to the kitchen, Midia intercepted the brunette with a shake of her head.

“You are to attend her,” the blonde whispered, taking the bowl. “Stay with her.”

Nodding, Ursula watched her go. She turned to gaze at the general who was engrossed in writing. Uncertain of what to do next, Ursula settled nearby on her knees, awaiting a command.

Azrael finished the day’s report, pleased it was short and sweet. She blew on the ink until it was dry and then rolled the parchment into a scroll, putting it away. Yawning, she sat back, mug in hand, dark eyes regarding her slave.

Ursula, head bowed, was well aware of her mistress’ attention. She felt it as an almost palpable thing, surrounding her, filling her, seeming to vibrate the very air she breathed. The brunette wondered it Azrael would hold her again, touch her, maybe kiss her once more.

“Attend me.”

A shiver of anticipation flickered through Ursula as she rose. She found Azrael’s mug half empty and refilled it. As soon as she set the ewer down, callused hands found her waist and she was pulled onto the general’s lap.

Azrael took satisfaction that the brunette didn’t stiffen at the sudden familiarity. Her hand caressed an olive toned thigh, pushing up beneath Ursula’s dress to gain further access. She watched the slave’s amber eyes close, saw the gentle rise and fall of her breathing increase, noted when full lips opened in a quiet sigh. “Ursula.”

The brunette dragged her eyes open. “Yes, Milady?” she asked, the husky sound of her voice surprising her.

“How is your jaw?” Azrael asked.

“Much better, Milady.”

“Good.”

Her mistress’ deep burr caused Ursula’s heart to flip flop in her chest. When Azrael kissed her, she was a bit more prepared, responding to the gentle demands with tentative grace.

Ursula’s lips moved with hers and Azrael sank into the kiss. As at the river, she teased her way inside, keeping her touch light. With thorough care, she explored the brunette’s mouth, finding it hot and sweet like warm honey.

Her jaw still a little sore, Ursula nevertheless forgot her pain. Azrael’s questing tongue played with hers in languid movements that set her body on fire. The brunette was finding it difficult to breathe under the onslaught, unsure of exactly what she was feeling. She only knew she didn’t want it to stop.

Azrael backed out of the kiss, amused at her slave’s attempt to prolong it. It was too soon, however, and she pulled away, her stern expression reminding Ursula of who and what she was.

A flicker of fear crossed the brunette’s eyes, wondering if she’d be punished for her forward behavior. Her face was flushed and it seemed her very skin was singing. Ursula swallowed as dark fingers traced her lips.

“Very nice,” Azrael complimented, a smile creeping across her face at the brunette’s blush. “I can’t wait to taste all of you.”

Startled at the innuendo, Ursula felt her temperature rise. She wasn’t certain whether it was embarrassment or arousal and it left her in a soft state of confusion.

Grinning, Azrael gave her thigh a gentle pinch and pushed the slave off her lap. “Go to bed, Ursula. We march at first light.”

“Yes, Milady.” Disappointed, the brunette went to the pallet and lay on her side. She touched her lips with a hint of wonder.

“Midia,” the general said to the returning slave.

“Yes, Milady.”

Ursula closed her eyes, hearing the two women obviously kissing and wondered why she wasn’t yet required in the general’s bed.

Chapter Six

The next four days were the same for Ursula - up before dawn, pack the general’s belongings, travel for hours in the wounded wagon and set up camp at night. While Midia prepared Lady Azrael’s bed, the brunette was required to attend their mistress, taking care of armor and food, and lounging in her lap while being kissed senseless. Every night the kisses grew longer, the caresses strayed further, causing Ursula difficulty breathing from the rampant arousal that coursed through her.

And every night, Midia would share the general’s bed.

Listening in the dark, Ursula’s imagination ran unchecked to the music of their activities. What did Midia do to cause that low growl, the one that rumbled in the brunette’s ears and shot straight to her loins? Where was Midia being touched when her moan was interrupted by a gasp of pleasure? What was it like to feel that dark skin? Was it soft to the touch or hard like the calluses of Azrael’s hands? Was Midia even allowed to touch, to respond naturally? Or were there constraints due to her position as a slave?

Invariably, Ursula’s questions went unanswered as the women groaned their climaxes. When they drifted off to sleep, she lay awake for hours, her body humming with a need she couldn’t define and dare not ease. The one time she had tried, hand lingering along the inside of her thigh when she thought all were asleep, her mistress ordered her to stop, a sultry voice piercing the dark. “Only I shall have that pleasure, Ursula,” she’d said.

Frustrated and tired, Ursula now rode with Midia. The mending completed long ago, the two kept busy polishing brass and leather, ensuring their mistress cut a dashing figure in her armor. There was one soldier left with them, the other two having been pronounced fit enough to return to their cohorts. Other than the occasional request for water, he left the women be, not wishing to incite his general’s wrath.

Around them the countryside changed. There were fewer farmsteads and more towns, the land leveling from mountainous terrain. Traffic increased though the road wasn’t yet wide enough to allow anyone to pass easily. The army had priority, forcing local travelers and merchants to pull aside and allow Azrael’s men to pass. Ursula eyed the wayfarers, amazed at the fine clothing of the merchants wearing material and colors she’d never imagined.

Well before the midday meal, commands were called and the column ground to a halt. Curious, Ursula looked up from the boot she polished, craning her neck to see what was going on. She was startled to see the walls of a city, having been so busy with her task and some rather bawdy thoughts that she hadn’t noticed their approach.

“Where are we?” she asked.

Midia cast a knowledgeable eye at the walls. “I believe we’ve arrived at Provey,” she said, beginning to gather the items they’d been cleaning. “Now we’ll wait for a bit until Lady Azrael has met with the magistrate and arranged billeting for her army.”

“What then?” the brunette said, looking at her friend.

“Tomorrow will be spent at the auctioneer’s block and then a state dinner in the evening, no doubt.” Finished putting things away, Midia dusted her hands. “Our mistress is very important. The magistrate will do whatever possible to curry favor.”

Ursula blinked. “Important?” she asked.

“She’s fourth in line for the throne.”

Azrael heaved a sigh as the officious magistrate finally trundled off with his retinue. Her captains echoed the sentiment, Razzu going so far as to wipe imaginary sweat from his brow, receiving a grin and wink from Tenango.

“Your orders, Lord?” Suma asked.

The general turned her mount to look over her officers and army. “Set up camp there,” she said, pointing at a small rise. “I don’t want to be too close to the walls or road. Full camp. Set up the tents. We’ll be here two or three days; no need for the men to be without shelter.”

Leaning forward eagerly, Razzu asked, “And what of leave? The men could stand some amusement, I’m sure, and we won’t need three hundred to keep our perimeter.”

“Very true,” Azrael said. She paused long to consider, more to tease the officers than any thought to the contrary. “All right, see to your cohorts,” she finally said, smiling at the gust of sighs as the captains released their collective breath. “I don’t want more than twenty from each cohort away at a time.”

“Aye, Lord.”

“You’ll all be required to attend the state dinner tomorrow night,” Azrael added. Over the groans she continued, “If I have to suffer the diplomatic functions, so shall you. At the very least I’ll be afforded some decent conversation.”

The five grumbled reluctant agreement, once happy faces downcast at the thought of a boring formal dinner.

“Suma, as you’re in charge of the prisoners, see the auctioneer this afternoon. I’d like to set up bidding for tomorrow and get them off our hands.”

“Yes, Lord Azrael.”

“Idonatra,” the general said, turning to the tall man. “I want you to go into the city and find merchants willing to take these goods. Atol will help you with negotiations - he’s our best haggler. Tenango and Razzu, you’ll oversee the camp and perimeter.” Seeing everyone understood their tasks, Azrael said, “Let’s get these men camped.”

“Aye, Lord.”

Rather than meet with the many political bootlickers housed in Provey, Azrael spent the afternoon sparring with the arms master. The sun was low when she headed for her tent, sweaty and relaxed from the martial exercise. It was quieter than usual and she assumed at least a sixth of her men were drinking and whoring inside the walls, no doubt complaining that bonuses wouldn’t be paid until the prisoners and goods were sold.

And that silly state dinner! Azrael kicked a stone with evident displeasure. Gods be damned! Why was it that every time she visited some boorish province she was forced to endure the political scrapping of the locals? She wasn’t even a direct heir to the throne, merely a cousin. The chances of Azrael coming to rule were astronomical.

Sighing she shook her head. Soon she would be home to enjoy several months of peace. Until then she’d act as befitted her station - a successful Lord and general.

“My Lord!”

Azrael turned to see Suma striding forward. “What news have you?”

The blond pulled a scroll from his belt and handed it to her. “Our bidding is tomorrow morning. The proprietor, Rawley, says to have the slaves there at first light.”

Azrael looked over the document. “Fifteen percent? Rather steep, isn’t it?”

Shrugging, Suma said, “Perhaps, but he’s one of the best in Provey. We’ll still turn a good profit.”

“All right. Have the prisoners delivered in the morning. You gave him my authorization?”

“Aye. He said all the papers were in order.”

“Good. I’ll attend the auction. See that I have four guards assigned to me,” Azrael said, rolling up the parchment. “Anything else?”

“No, Lord.”

The general clapped Suma on the arm. “Take some leave; you deserve it.”

“Aye, Lord,” the blond agreed with a smile. He bowed and retreated.

Azrael continued to her tent. To the guards she said, “Unless it’s one of my officers or an emergency, I’m not to be disturbed.” That at least would give her tonight without Provey visitors.

“Aye, Lord!”

Inside, she found her slaves kneeling. As usual, Midia had food and drink waiting. How the woman knew her mistress was approaching and get fresh food to the table before her arrival was a mystery Azrael had yet to solve.

She sat down and eyed Ursula. The brunette already anticipated Azrael’s touch; her flushed skin and quickened breath gave her away. Deciding to change tactics, Azrael said, “Midia, attend me.” The slight movement of Ursula at the unexpected order was not lost on the general.

“Aye, Milady,” the blonde said, rising. She filled a plate of food and set it before the dark woman.

“Have either of you eaten?” Azrael asked, accepting a mug of wine.

“No, Milady.”

Azrael grabbed the slave’s wrist and tugged her forward. “Do so,” she ordered, nibbling the tender wrist. “You’ll need your strength.”

Midia smiled and licked her lips. “Yes, Milady.”

Releasing the blonde, Azrael said, “Ursula, eat.”

“Yes, Milady.” The brunette rose and prepared a plate, head down.

As she ate, Azrael watched the dejection in Ursula’s stance and smiled. It was one thing to arouse a woman - an easy task when the proper actions were taken. It was quite another for the woman to actually desire the touch. Ursula wanted more kisses and touches, had apparently looked forward to them and was disappointed when they were not forthcoming.

Eating in silence, Ursula reviewed her behavior for the day, finding nothing lacking. She’d been obedient and truthful, had finished all tasks well and with an even temper. Why then was Midia attending their mistress this night? Was Lady Azrael tired of her so soon? Would she be sold with the others on the auction block? Were her kisses not sweet enough?

With supper finished, Azrael sent Ursula to the kitchen to return the dirty plates and retrieve a pot of hot water. Upon her return, the slave found Midia straddling their owner, arms entwined about the dark neck and kissing for all she was worth. It seemed to Ursula that her fellow body slave was doing the seducing, not the other way around.

Blushing scarlet, the brunette placed the bucket on a chest near the bed. In the other, she rummaged about until finding a cleansing salve, washing cloth and linen. Unsure of what to do, she knelt nearby.

It was difficult keeping her head bowed. With all the nighttime serenades Ursula had endured, the urge to verify her imaginings with reality was overwhelming. Cautiously, she peered at what was taking place before her.

Midia still straddled their mistress, but she sat straight, head thrown back as Azrael dined on her throat. Pale hands grasped dark skin and hair, inflaming the general. Beneath the slave’s translucent wrap, Ursula could see Azrael’s hands sliding along Midia’s skin, constantly moving, one disappearing forward between their bodies, another delving southward.

The table blocked her view and she gasped as she found herself craning her neck to see clearly. Flushing, Ursula ducked her head, swallowing hard against a dry mouth and praying she hadn’t been caught out.

Azrael, ever aware of Ursula’s attention, smiled at the fearful confusion in the slave. Whispering in Midia’s ear, she gave the blonde one more rousing kiss before releasing her. Rising, she said, ”Ursula, attend me.”

The brunette’s heart pounded, certain her wandering eyes had been noticed. “Yes, Milady.” She trailed her mistress to the hot water.

“Undress and bathe me.”

Drawing a shaky breath, Ursula whispered, “Yes, Milady.” Her hands trembled as she worked the laces of Azrael’s tunic, the steady stare of black eyes not easing her trepidation. As was her wont, the brunette chewed her lower lip as she drew the tunic over her mistress’ head.

Neatly folding the cloth, she gladly took respite in turning away to set it aside, brief as it was. Ursula sighed and returned to her task, swallowing hard as she attempted to ignore the dark skinned breasts before her.

Ursula fumbled with the leather ties of Azrael’s breeches, head down and hair hanging to hide her scarlet skin. When finished, the brunette paused, wondering if she should slide the breeches off from her mistress’ waist or tug them down at the legs. Azrael sensed her confoundment and took the slave’s hands, hooking their thumbs at the waistband and beginning the process.

Halfway down, the hands left hers and Ursula finished the task. She knelt to help Azrael out of the legs, a hand on her head balancing the woman. When finished, Ursula made the mistake of looking up, her gaze captured by the tuft of curly hair before her.

Several moments passed and Ursula was certain the gods had sucked out the air in the tent. She couldn’t breathe, or move. Her knees were rooted to the ground and she had a nearly overwhelming urge to lean forward and nuzzle her mistress.

Azrael watched the brunette carefully, forcing herself to wait, wiling Ursula to take the slightest initiative. The slave broke out of her reverie, glancing up with fearful eyes before hastily rising to her feet with the breeches.

“I’m sorry, Milady,” Ursula said, wringing the clothing more than folding it. “I don’t know what came over me.”

The tableau broken, Azrael said, “I do.” She turned Ursula’s face toward her, smiling at the now familiar consternation. “You’ll not have lips to kiss if you keep gnawing at them so.” Her grin widened when those lips suddenly stilled. “Go to bed, Ursula. Midia.”

Opening her mouth to protest, Ursula barely caught herself. “Aye, Milady,” she whispered, a knot in her throat. She finished folding the breeches, laying them down before trudging to her pallet. Eyes stung as she curled up on her side. What was wrong with her? Was she so unpleasant compared to Midia?

Ursula fought her tears, listening to the trickle of water and their murmurs.

Chapter Seven

Azrael woke before dawn, forcing herself out of the warm bed with dissatisfaction. Ursula helped her dress as Midia scared up a cold breakfast from the kitchen. They ate quickly, the slaves then working together to dress their mistress in her armor. A soft voice outside indicated all was ready and Azrael led her body slaves out of the tent.

The sky was graying in the east, the air crisp and cool. Seven mounts, saddled and waiting, were before the general’s tent. Their nickering and the ring of tack was muted as if purposely keeping silent until the sun arrived and proclaimed daybreak. All but one were warhorses and five had riders. Azrael took the reins of the sixth warhorse and waved at the sturdy pony. ”Midia, you and Ursula are to ride this one.”

“Yes, Milady.” The blonde took the reins from the handler and clambered up. She helped Ursula behind her, scooting forward to give the brunette more room.

Azrael swung into her saddle, the soldiers and Suma following her lead. She waved her captain forward and they led the way out of camp and toward the city gates.

“Good morning, Lord.”

“And to you, Suma,” Azrael acknowledged. “Did all go well this morning?”

“Aye, Lord. Twenty-four prisoners delivered to the auctioneer’s holding pens. All paperwork in order.” He inhaled the refreshing air. “I took the liberty of arranging for Ishtay priests to pick up the children. There’s an orphanage somewhere hereabouts.”

“Good work,” the general complimented.

Further discussion was delayed by their arrival at the gates. Guards there gave a cursory inspection, eyes lingering on the weapons before waving them through.

“Any word from Idonatra about the goods?” Azrael asked.

Suma shook his head. “No, Lord. He and Atol spent most the afternoon going over the inventory with several likely buyers. That’s all I know.”

The highest buildings began to glow with a patina of sunshine as the group traveled half deserted streets. Moving further into the city, they veered off the main street, cutting through smaller alleys. More people shuffled about in preparation for another day as the sun rose. Runners delivered messages and goods between early opening businesses. Beggars sported rags and various handicaps, some real and others not, looking for scraps to eat. Several shop keeps threw wide their doors and windows, displaying their goods on long tables outside.

Bypassing a drunken pair snoring in a gutter, Azrael’s party came into a large square. In contrast to the rest of the city, many shops appeared long open, doing brisk business with the gathering crowds. Sunlight crawled down one end of the square, illuminating a large wooden platform standing six feet high and the two men scrubbing it down.

“We have a balcony there,” Suma said, pointing to a building near the stage. “They’ve a stable round the side.”

Ursula gawked at everything having never seen so large a place. She noted where the captain was pointing and realized several buildings had spacious balconies. Rich looking individuals already occupied many of them, lounging in comfort above the burgeoning crowd as they nibbled pastries and watched the comings and goings.

Azrael guided her mount to the building, her armed attendants keeping beggars at bay. Nodding to the occasional merchant or lordling who acknowledged her, she otherwise ignored the local power structure. Tonight’s dinner would give them plenty of time to ply her with false flattery and wine in ridiculous attempts to gain the King’s ear.

The owner, a razor thin man who bowed repeatedly, met them at the entrance, expressing his undying gratitude and happiness at the Lord’s visit to his fine establishment. As Azrael and her group dismounted, he frantically waved for a couple of boys to take the mounts. Flushing with pleasure, he led them into the tavern, escorting them up the stairs and to a room at the end of the hall.

Two of her guard entered first, scouting it out while Azrael remained in the hall, assuring the man that no insult was intended to the security of his business. It was simply normal procedure to guarantee her safety in this day of rebels and revolutionists. Mollified, the thin man returned to bowing and smiling, asking if he should have food and drink sent up.

Suma turned him down as the guards proclaimed all was well, allowing his general to enter unmolested. He paid the owner and sent him on his way, requesting they not be disturbed.

Azrael breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed, shaking her head. She preferred remaining with her troops or being home to dealing with the bloated importance of the aristocracy or the obsequious blather of common folk. In her army, her troops respected her for her prowess and ability to lead; at home, she’d earned the loyalty of her servants and slaves and returned it. In either case life was simpler and far more pleasant.

The room was smaller than Ursula expected, wide double doors opening out onto a balcony that was a bit larger. She assumed the establishment’s claim to fame was its proximity to the auction block rather than food or service and was utilized accordingly. A bed and table hugged the left wall with several cushions piled in one corner. To the right were a desk and a handful of chairs scattered about on an elaborate woven carpet.

Azrael went out on the balcony, two guards flanking her as they took position on either side of the doors. Midia urged Ursula to help her move a padded chair out to their mistress. As soon as she was seated, the two slaves bustled about, making things more acceptable for a Lord and general. The bedside table was placed beside Azrael and several cushions were strewn around the chair, many piled high enough in front of her to form a makeshift footstool.

“Lord Azrael, I’ve instructed a man to bring food and drink,” Suma said at his general’s shoulder. “I told him to select random vendors.”

“Good.” Azrael waved her slaves to the cushions on either side of her. “Will you stay for the bidding?”

“No, Lord,” Suma said. “I’ll see to the children’s release then return to pick up the proceeds from the auction. A full accounting will be on your desk before midday.”

The dark woman lounged backward, indolence in every line as she set a booted foot against the railing, playing her audience on the other balconies. “Very good, Captain. Dismissed.”

Bowing, the blond man backed away and disappeared.

Ursula, seated at her mistress’ left, gawked at her surroundings. In the time it had taken to get settled on the balcony, the crowd had grown by half again. The mass of humanity milled about, buying food from wandering peddlers, chattering and yelling to one another, or doing as she was by simply watching others. On the platform, the cleaners left and a handful of jugglers took their place to entertain prior to the auction. The sun marched higher and the brunette was glad for the awning above; already beginning to warm, it promised to be another hot day.

A hand on hers startled Ursula and she jerked, seeing Midia pointing toward the room. With a nod, she followed and found that Suma’s soldier had returned. The desk held a large platter of food - slivers of fruit in small pastry cups, clever webs of sticks that held still sizzling fried trout, an assortment of cheeses of all colors, several varieties of bread plus thinly sliced meats. Amazed at the obvious work that went into some of the items, Ursula was loath to spoil their beauty. She caught a wink from Midia and grinned at her foolishness, preparing a plate for their mistress as the blonde left to serve Azrael tea.

Bringing the laden plate, Ursula set it on the table and curtseyed. “Milady.”

“Thank you, Ursula. Be seated.” Glancing over her shoulder, Azrael said, “Swordsmen, help yourselves.”

A chorus of agreement met her ears and she could hear the two guards inside availing themselves of her generosity. Cups and plates were passed to the two outside.

“Midia, Ursula, you as well. It would be a shame to waste these artistic endeavors,” Azrael said, taking a bite of thick brown bread.

“Yes, Milady.”

With delighted eagerness, Ursula picked over the platter, adding bits and pieces of things she’d never seen or tasted before. Soon she was seated on the balcony, plate in hand, a mug of water placed nearby.

Despite having breakfast, the brunette cleaned her plate, finding many new favorite foods in the process. She stopped once to refill Azrael’s plate but was otherwise left undisturbed. Finished, Ursula drained her mug and rose. “Would you like anything else, Milady?”

“No, I’m well, Ursula. Thank you.”

Upon returning her plate inside, the slave couldn’t help but pinch one more piece of white cheese before refilling her mug. Once more she returned to kneel by her mistress.

“Heilsa!”

The noise from the crowd died down as a man stepped onto the platform. He was barrel chested and bandy legged, an incongruous combination more likely belonging to a crippled beggar than a successful trader. Dressed in linen, he shuffled about with arms held high as he gained the audience’s attention.

“We are well met today, fellow citizens,” he called. “I’ve twenty-four fine women from Lord Azrael!” The auctioneer waved at her balcony before bowing deeply.

Azrael paused from picking her teeth, saluting in acknowledgement with one of the sticks used on the fish.

“Additionally, I have an assortment of field and household slaves available, two with brick layer experience.” Rawley continued his circuit of the platform. “Later, three beautiful pleasure slaves have been brought for your attention. I am told that their dancing will suck you dry long before their lips touch your flesh.” Grinning at the round of guffaws, the trader said, “It’s time to begin!”

Puzzling over the joke, unable to comprehend why it was funny, Ursula watched as several women were led to the platform. All were naked save iron shackles and collars that adorned wrist and neck, linking them together. Their flesh was bone white where clothes once covered them. Shivering and mewling, they were lined up by a handful of guards for all to see.

The first in line was pushed forward and the trader began cajoling her virtues. “Firm flesh, strong back and legs. She’s pretty enough and has most her teeth. I’m told she’s good with children and baking. What am I bid for her?”

As men called out their price, Ursula’s mouth fell open in recognition. The woman being sold was the baker’s wife from Theara. Her eyes traveled down the line of women, finding them all from her village. It occurred to her the only reason she was not alongside them was because of three soldiers who tried to rape her. Only her mistress’ intervention had saved her from this public degradation.

Unable to breathe, Ursula gasped and sat forward. It was one thing to know the surviving women would be sold. The reality of the situation, however, was far too much for her and she struggled against fainting.

A warm hand caressed her back and she heard someone calling. Turning her head, Ursula fell into concerned dark eyes.

“Ursula?” Azrael said. “I swear, if she’s been poisoned I’ll have your head,” she growled at the soldier who had retrieved the food. “Ursula! Look at me. What’s wrong?”

The brunette swallowed, feeling sobs well up in her throat. “I… I was almost…” She stopped and inhaled deeply. “She had a son and a baby.”

Frowning at the non-sequitor, sudden comprehension filled Azrael’s eyes. “Ah… I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted. With a shake of her head, she held her cup to the slave’s lips. “Drink a bit.”

Ursula obeyed, sweet mint cutting through the dry ash in her mouth.

“Here now. Turn around and lean against me. There’s no need for you to watch.”

Laying her head on her mistress’ thigh, Ursula sighed and let tears take her. Soon she felt comforting hands caressing her hair. A towel was put in her hands and the brunette used it to hide her face.

Eventually her tears died down, Ursula’s chest hitching as she inhaled, eyes red and swollen. Azrael’s fingers continued to run through her hair and she relaxed into the sensation. She could hear the bidding, but not seeing the activity allowed her the luxury of self-deception.

“Better?”

Chagrined, Ursula swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Milady.”

“Up here then.”

The passing thought of punishment flickered away when the slave saw Azrael’s caring expression. She settled on her mistress’ lap, surprised to find warm arms surrounding her. Harkening to her childhood, Ursula sighed and closed her eyes, laying her head on a strong shoulder. “Thank you, Milady.”

“You’re welcome, Ursula. Rest now. It’ll soon be over.”

The many sleepless evenings had caught up with her. Ursula was uncertain how much time had passed before she felt a gentle shake. Warm and comfortable, the sense of complete safety permeating her soul made it difficult to wake.

“Ursula.”

The brunette shook her head, trying to burrow deeper.

“Ursula. It is finished. We must go now.”

Dragging herself awake, memory crashed in upon Ursula and she sat upright with a gasp. She was still on her mistress’ lap, still on the balcony overseeing the auction of people she knew. With a hasty glance at the platform, she was relieved to see an assortment of strangers. Belatedly realizing she’d fallen asleep on the general, Ursula swung around, blushing furiously. “Milady! I’m sorry!”

Amused, Azrael cupped a sleepy cheek with a smile. “No worries, Ursula. We must go now.”

Swallowing, the slave nodded and stood, face blazing as she straightened her dress.

“Midia,” the general asked as she rose, “can you find your way back to camp without the pony?”

”Aye, Milady,” the blonde said. “We’re camped near the east gate, yes?”

“Yes.” Azrael dipped into a pouch at her belt, handing the slave a few coins. “Find something nice for Ursula to wear. She’ll attend tonight’s dinner with me.”

“Yes, Milady.”

With a negligent wave, the dark woman ignored Ursula’s wide-eyed expression and added, “Use the excess for whatever you wish.”

“Yes, Milady. Thank you.”

Ursula watched the general and her guard leave with no further word. Still feeling somewhat hollow from the weeping, she sighed and rubbed her face.

“Are you all right now?” Midia asked, laying a companionable arm over the brunette’s shoulder.

Ursula grimaced. “I feel empty and foolish, but I’m fine.”

The blonde hugged her close. “Lady Azrael was miserable. She simply wasn’t thinking. Usually she’s much more sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Ursula demanded, her emotions taking their toll. Pulling away from the embrace, she turned her back to Midia. “It was hardly sensitive letting those poor women be raped and sold like cattle! I was in the village that day! I saw how her sensitive nature allowed her to brutalize everyone there!”

“What was done was necessary.”

“Hah!” the brunette gave a bitter laugh. “Impaling men before their mothers and wives and children isn’t necessary. Neither is having the women raped.” She was startled to silence when Midia grabbed her shoulder and whirled her about.

“Until you’ve seen three hundred men in battle lust I doubt you’ll understand. But know that our mistress must keep control of her troops! If she denied them, they would rebel and no one would be safe.” Eyes flashing, Midia stepped closer, forcing Ursula to back away from her anger. “You saw how those women were treated on the auction block today. Do you think it would have been easier for them if they hadn’t been broken days earlier?”

The change of subject undermined her rage as Ursula considered the question. She thought of Jenka, the innkeeper’s wife - bold, outspoken, just as likely to wade into a brawl as her husband. Or Yellan, oldest daughter of the smith, who had raised her siblings single handedly after their mother died, forthright and blunt as her father. Both women were very firm in their convictions and very likely to voice them. And they were the mildest of the lot.

Their indignant complaints on the platform would have resulted in severe punishments. Some would not have survived the whippings. All of them would go to their new owners full of fire and righteous indignation, something no slave could afford.

“Yes, you’re beginning to understand,” Midia said. “Life isn’t fair. As a slave you know that, but your life has been easy compared to many. You have no basis for comparison.” The blonde sighed, anger fading. “Our mistress does what’s necessary to keep her position and honor regardless of how horrible it may seem. You’d do well to remember that.”

Ursula, completely deflated, watched as the blonde walked to the door and opened it.

”Come along. We’ve much to do to ready you for tonight’s dinner.”

Chewing her lip, the brunette fought the urge to cry again as Midia left the room. With a sigh, she followed.

Chapter Eight

“Very nice,” Midia said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Lady Azrael will be pleased.”

Ursula stood uncertainly in the middle of the tent. Her dress had given way to a silk burgundy gown that left one shoulder bare. A long hemp belt, dyed a darker shade, wrapped twice about her waist, the tasseled ends hanging down her left leg. Delicate sandals laced up her calf, peeking from beneath the cloth as she moved. At her wrists copper flashed, an assortment of bracelets catching candlelight.

Tugging at the matching copper collar about her throat, Ursula said, “Will it make a difference? We’ll return and I’ll sleep on the pallet again.”

Midia tsked at the petulant tone, coming forward to rearrange a lock of mahogany hair. “Our mistress wants a willing participant in her bed, not a lump.”

“Willing participant?” Ursula blurted, expression incredulous. “We’re slaves, Midia.”

“Aye, we are. But you’ve yet to show our mistress that you want her as much as she wants you.” Readjusting the belt, she said, “Lady Azrael does not rape.”

Ursula blinked as the blonde turned away. Was that all that stopped things? Her passive response? The brunette recalled the previous night and wondered what would have happened had she given in to her desire. Shivering, she felt heat in her belly.

“Ursula? It’s time to go.”

Nodding, the brunette followed Midia to the entrance.

“Remember what I told you?” the blonde asked.

“Yes. Pick from random plates and ewers. And no onions.”

Midia laughed. “Very good. It will be overwhelming at first but remember - because of our mistress, you outrank every slave there.”

Azrael was listening to Idonatra reminisce about a battle years past when she spied movement at her tent. Her indulgent smile faded as she saw Ursula. Leaving her officers, her appreciative eyes traveled over the slave’s figure as she approached.

Swallowing, Ursula recognized the fire in her mistress’ dark eyes and felt a surge of arousal.

“You look magnificent,” Azrael said, circling.

“Thank you, Milady,” Ursula whispered, feeling over warm.

“Midia, you did a fine job.”

“Thank you, Milady, but I did little. Ursula is a rare beauty.”

“Aye. That she is.” Stopping in front of the slave, Azrael tilted her head, looking into amber eyes. “A rare beauty indeed.”

“Lord Azrael, are we ready then?”

The general chucked Ursula’s chin and released her. “Yes, we are.” She turned and walked to her horse, Midia urging the brunette to follow. “The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can beg our leave.”

“No offense, Lord,” Razzu said with a grin. “But I can’t imagine you begging for anything.”

Appreciative chuckles sounded as Azrael slid into her saddle. “None taken, Razzu. You’d be surprised what a beautiful woman in my bed would hear.”

Atol saluted. “Methinks a beautiful woman in any of our beds would hear much the same.”

“Speak for yourself, little man,” Tenango said, ducking a swat from him.

“The same can be said for beautiful men,” Idonatra told her, all but Tenango agreeing.

Ursula took her mistress’ hand, wondering how she was to ride in a gown. Her concern was baseless as she was pulled up and seated sideways in Azrael’s lap. Heart thumping, the brunette felt a whisper of lips on her ear and she leaned closer with a sigh.

Smiling, Azrael urged her steed forward, followed by her captains.

The magistrate, a portly man who was half as round as he was tall, put together a surprisingly decent dinner. The large hall was festooned with flowing tapestries and silks, the floor littered with flower petals. Playing in one corner was a trio of musicians, their sitar, pipe and drum providing background ambiance for the diners. Several long, low tables were sprinkled about with masses of soft cushions decadently available for lounging. Servants wandered the room with trays of ale and wine and interesting tidbits while a vast display of food was constantly being refreshed along one wall.

Azrael's captains were scattered about the table, apparently having a well enough time if their smiles were any indication. Razzu, ever the horticulturalist, had cornered the master farmer of the region into a long discussion of hybrid wheat that would have bored anyone else in the room. Nearby, Atol was sweet-talking a merchant’s daughter, ignoring the glares from her father as he flirted.

Tenango and Suma had gravitated together and Azrael wondered yet again if there was something between them. She resolved to speak with Razzu about any wagering being done on the matter, wondering what odds would be in her favor. A guffaw distracted the general and she turned to see Idonatra joking with one of the town council about his favorite topic after fighting - the preparation of food.

Aside from occasional fawning by the magistrate and his lackeys, Azrael was having a good time. She was certain that had much to do with her slave. Ursula, despite having no training for this type of function, comported herself with natural grace and elegance as she served her mistress. Even now, Azrael’s eyes followed her as she approached with another helping of food.

Lounging just in reach of the table, Azrael snagged the last of the olives from her plate. Using her tongue to seek out the pits, she noted appreciative leers from some of the other guests. Surprised, she realized a hint of jealousy burned in her heart at their expressions. With a rueful smile, the general spit out the pits, knowing it was the raging lust in her blood speaking.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ursula’s return. As the slave knelt down between Azrael and the table, the dark woman couldn’t help but slide her palm along Ursula’s thigh and side, the silk causing her skin to tingle. The ever-present flush bloomed and Azrael smiled, knowing her power over the brunette despite being ignored.

“Milady,” Ursula said, offering the plate. “I’ve brought you something called shrimp. It is a delicacy.”

“Hmmm,” Azrael said, caressing the slave’s bared shoulder. “Very delicate.”

Ursula’s gasped at the contact, gooseflesh pebbling her skin. She’d spent much of her time since their arrival thinking on what Midia had said. Tamping down a trickle of fear at her planned presumption, the slave selected a piece of shrimp and dipped it in sauce before offering it. “May I?”

A slow grin crossed Azrael’s lips. Nodding, she leaned forward and took the morsel, teeth brushing the edge of Ursula’s fingers as she bit. The meat was salty from the oils used to prepare it and the sauce shocked her tongue with tart spice. Chewing thoughtfully, her hand drifted down Ursula’s shoulder, following her feminine curve to rest at her waist. “Very nice,” she said, thumb lazily circling.

“More, Milady?” the slave asked, trying to control her suddenly erratic breathing.

“Much more.”

Ursula bit at her upper lip with a shy smile before scooping up another piece.

“My dear Lord Azrael.”

Not removing her eyes from Ursula, the general accepted another piece of shrimp, tongue darting out to caress a finger. “What is it, Torvan?” she asked the magistrate, tone bored.

The pudgy man cleared his throat but gamely continued. “Now that you’ve crushed the uprising, what are your plans?”

“Plans?” Azrael asked, reaching out to smother a shrimp in sauce before dangling it before her slave. “My plans are to collect my garrisoned men and return home.” She watched in complete fascination as Ursula’s full lips surrounded the meat, sucking gently on her fingers before biting the shrimp.

“Would you say all areas of unrest have been quelled?” Torvan asked, oblivious to the seduction before him. “Theara was the fourth village to be… cleansed…”

Annoyed, the general turned a cold stare on the chubby man. “Have you heard of others?”

”No, no!” the magistrate insisted with raised hands. “My concern is for Provey. While your visits are always welcome, I have no wish to see you and your men in an… ah… official capacity.”

Azrael studied him for long moments, eyes unfathomable as she searched for anything untoward. “All reports of traitors and seditionists have been investigated. I see no cause for concern.”

Torvan relaxed, his sigh almost imperceptible. “Good. That is very good,” he insisted with a toothy smile. “Rumors run rampant with an army camped outside our walls. I’ll be most happy to pass your news along.”

Not one for court intrigue, Azrael nevertheless felt the magistrate was trying to say something. Her dalliance with Ursula forgotten, the general picked up her wine and leaned back, focusing on the man. “What rumors do you hear these days in this far corner of the kingdom?”

“Oh, you know how people can be,” Torvan said, waving dismissively, his actions serving to underline the true importance of his next words. “They say there were no rebels, that someone near the throne wanted you away from court.” Laughing, the magistrate shook his head. “Silly, isn’t it?”

Azrael noted the sweat on his forehead and the shaky hand as he raised his cup to his lips. The man was scared. He was either feeding her false information to distract her or was very worried his words were true and she’d take offense. She laughed with him, drinking from her cup, mind racing.

Why would he lie? Fishing for word that he and kith or kin were suspected traitors? She wouldn’t be here drinking with him if that were the case. Azrael’s brutal reputation had traveled far after seven years of command. Surely he knew that any report of treasonous activity in Provey would result in a siege rather than a state dinner.

The other side of the coin was that he was speaking true. Again, why? To warn Azrael of rumors in the capitol? His loyalties were beyond her knowledge and suspect. Who near Shonal would go to the trouble of falsifying rebellious reports to remove her from court? Rarely there to begin with, she preferred to spend her time on her property. She was hardly a threat.

Puzzled, Azrael realized it would be some time before she could make sense of the conversation needing more information. Glancing at the magistrate, she was pleased he had turned to the person on his other side, no doubt relieved his words had been heeded and he still had a tongue.

Her eyes wandered the room, searching for shadows and attackers. Instead, Azrael saw dancers and laughter, tapestries and wandering servants, mahogany hair and amber eyes. She watched Ursula fill her cup, felt a warm hand on hers.

“Milady, would you like more?” the brunette asked, holding up the plate of shrimp.

There were months to go before Azrael could gather all the information she’d need. Until then… “Yes, Ursula, much more.”

By the time it was appropriate to leave, the sun had set. Torches lit the courtyard when Azrael and her officers sauntered out of the hall. Atol and Razzu had elected to stay, one for feminine conquest and the other to hear more about a new strain of flower. The rest of them mounted their horses, Ursula once more seated across her mistress’ saddle.

Azrael had worn a light cloak for the expected evening coolness. She wrapped it about both of them, caressing the silk of Ursula’s dress as they rode through town.

Her earlier flirtations obviously acceptable, Ursula pondered her next move. The unseen hand stroked her legs and torso, staying maddingly away from where she wanted it. A firm massage crossed her belly and drifted up until fingers rested below her bosom, going no further. Ursula’s breasts ached for contact.

As they neared the east gate, Azrael’s thoughts worried her conversation with the magistrate, her caresses absent minded. It was with some amazement, therefore, when she felt a trembling hand on hers, guiding her to a delicious breast. The portly man and his rumors disappeared in a puff as she focused on the slave in her arms.

Cupping the rounded flesh, Azrael noted a hesitant expression on Ursula who kept her eyes downcast. As she considered making things easier for the slave, the hand on hers squeezed, forcing her to do the same. To reward the bold behavior, Azrael repeated the action without prompting, thumb slowly rubbing a swollen nipple.

Unable to stop herself, Ursula arched her shoulders back, a sigh escaping her lips. The sensation was much better than she’d hoped, the slow burn in her lower abdomen flashing into flame. She gasped as her mistress pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, Ursula’s grip on the dark hand clutching in surprised desire.

The riders were ushered through the gate with little preamble. As the captains turned off the road for camp, Azrael stayed.

“Lord?” Suma asked, turning his steed, his comrades stopping with him.

“Go ahead,” Azrael ordered. “I’ll return later.”

Idonatra moved his horse closer. “Will you be safe?”

Azrael raised an eyebrow, hearing Tenango’s snicker as the large man remembered who he was speaking to and shook his head.

“Sleep well, Lord,” he said with a salute.

Suma remained behind a hair longer before obeying.

Once they were well on their way to camp, Azrael returned her attention to the woman in her arms. She teased the breast she still held, reveling in the welcome gasp.

“Shall we find some place quiet?”

A chill whisked through Ursula’s body at the flashing black eyes. Licking her lips, she nodded, her hand tracing up her mistress’ arm beneath the cloak.

Azrael kicked her horse to a trot and they sped down the road.

Chapter Nine

Azrael took them away from Provey a good two miles before leaving the road. Slowing her mount, she let him pick his way up a rise and into a meadow. A three-quarter moon lit the cloudless sky, illuminating their way.

Finding a likely spot, Azrael leaned back, the well-trained warhorse sensing her change of balance and stopping. With ease, the general picked Ursula up, swung her leg over the saddle and slid down the side of the animal with her cargo. Neatly setting the slave on her feet, Azrael led the horse to a stand of bushes where she draped his reins.

Ursula shivered, whether from the sudden chill now she wasn’t sharing her mistress’ cloak or a trickle of fearful desire, she didn’t know. She rubbed her upper arms as the general stalked forward.

Azrael watched the brunette as she drew near, unhooking her cloak from about her shoulders. Ursula was very desirable, the silk clinging to her supple form, a coppery reflection of moonlight sparkling from jewelry at wrist and throat. The slave was also nervous if her stance was any indication and Azrael wondered if they’d come here for nothing. Still, the bold if fearful maneuver on her horse was promising. It had been a week since Ursula’s capture; surely she was close to breaking.

Swallowing against the flutter in her stomach, Ursula gave the barest of flinches when her mistress removed the cloak with a flourish and laid it out on the ground beside them. Eyes lowered, she chanted her mantra, Midia’s words washing along the craggy shore of her insecurity - ‘willing participant.’

The general circled Ursula, eyes following the line of neck and shoulder, the skin bared along the back from the low cut gown, the gentle hint of what lay beneath the burgundy silk. Stopping before the slave, Azrael ran the back of her hand along a warm cheek, knowing even without proper light that the olive tones were darkening in a flush. Tracing the jaw line to the chin, she lifted Ursula’s face and bent in for a kiss.

Ursula sank into the familiar exploration. Her heart in her throat, hands trembling at her presumption, she caressed Azrael’s stomach, winding her arms around the firm waist. She was rewarded with an immediate escalation of the kiss and she hugged her mistress close, tentatively attempting entry past the warm lips and tongue that plied hers.

Feeling the feather touch, a hot kernel of arousal burst, spreading its warmth throughout Azrael’s body. As much as she wanted to ravage this beauty holding her, she didn’t dare, knowing it would frighten Ursula too much. Instead, she opened herself to the gentle touch, granting access as the woman delved into her mouth, at first with caution and then with growing need.

Ursula’s first taste was a heady one as she traced teeth and tongue. She clutched her mistress’ back in an attempt to crush her close, feeling hands ease into her hair, tracing her ears before sliding down to the collar at her throat. Moaning as Azrael’s tongue circled hers, she retreated luring her mistress into her mouth.

Finding the collar’s catch, Azrael opened it and let it fall to the grass. Her fingers gently rubbed where the metal had chafed, thumbs caressing beneath Ursula’s jaw as they forged a path to the hollow of her throat. She felt the slave’s pulse pounding just beneath the surface of her skin and decided it was time to explore the taste of her in other areas. Breaking off the kiss, Azrael followed the previously blazed trail.

The unusual sensation of wet heat along her jaw and ear nearly caused Ursula to swoon. Before she could falter, one of her mistress’ arms wrapped about her, callused hand squeezing her round buttock. Ursula’s body was on fire, hands grabbing at Azrael’s back as her breasts and belly ached for contact. She found herself pressing her hips forward, not knowing what she wanted.

Feeling the slave tremble in her arms, Azrael nipped at her throat, loosing her hold on mahogany hair and sliding down to cup Ursula’s full breast. “You are even more delicious than I imagined,” she whispered, enjoying the fervent response as she massaged the plaint flesh through silk, rolling the swollen nipple between her fingers. Her teeth found the juncture of Ursula’s neck and shoulder and she bit down with a satisfied rumble.

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry at her intense reaction, the slave opted to groan out her pleasure as Azrael feasted. Her hands, idle from days of not reacting to incendiary touches, had the powerful impulse to acquaint themselves with the dark woman’s body. Ursula took her lead from her mistress, sliding both of her hands down the strong back. She grabbed the muscular buttocks, firm from years of riding and fighting, and squeezed hard, gasping as Azrael growled and attacked her throat with a vengeance.

The brunette was definitely making up for lost time and Azrael was happy to accommodate. She followed the edge of the dress with one hand, pulling the expanse of silk from Ursula’s shoulder. It didn’t move with enough haste and Azrael tugged, causing the slave’s breasts to spill forth. Days of holding back behind her, the dark woman gratefully buried her face in the warm valley.

Startled and a little frightened at the degree of force being used to disrobe her, Ursula nevertheless found her mistress’ actions exciting. Her hands dislodged by Azrael’s stance, the slave pulled her arms up through those surrounding her, sliding them around her mistress’ shoulders.

Azrael considered pinning the brunette but lost herself in the feminine scent when she inhaled. As hands eased into her hair she massaged one of Ursula’s breasts, reveling in the sensation of soft skin, licking the flesh as she mouthed her way to the other.

“Oh!” Ursula panted when a tongue laved her nipple, lips closing over it to suckle. Her knees gave out and she sagged in Azrael’s arms, clutching at her thick black hair as both areoles were pinched, one between teeth and the other fingers.

Feeling the sudden weight in her arms, the general chuckled against warm flesh. She lay Ursula down on the cloak, pausing only long enough to divest herself of her tunic before following. Settling on her side she could now explore in leisure and proceeded to do so, caressing Ursula from jumping pulse point to just beneath the gown gathered at her waist, slowing things to allow the slave some equilibrium.

Ursula, uncertain with the change of scenery, lay still as she tried to catch her breath. Easy breathing was not forthcoming, however, as her mistress continued to touch her, eliciting sighs and moans as she played. The slave found herself running her fingers spasmodically over the cloak beneath her, shivering as Azrael traced down the inside of her arm or along her belly. She wanted something, yearned for it, not knowing what it was. Unable to remain still, Ursula captured the teasing hand and pulled it to her mouth.

Bemused, Azrael closed her eyes, finding the feather light kisses on her palm intriguing. When her thumb was enveloped by damp heat, her eyes flew open and she saw Ursula contentedly sucking. Growling, she replaced the thumb with her tongue, rolling onto the slave and pressing into her lithe body.

The weight was startling, vaguely reminiscent of the men who’d tried to rape her days ago. But the warm breasts rubbing hers, the muscled thigh between her legs and the soft lips soothed the memory away and replaced it with lust. Ursula’s hands found hot, bare skin and she scratched the strong back, tilting her hips to her mistress, trying to ease the ache. Azrael reciprocated, rubbing a muscular thigh against the steady throb, both easing and exasperating the sensation in the process.

Settling into a rhythm, the dark woman braced herself on one elbow as she nibbled and kissed Ursula. Azrael traced her fingers along the slave’s body, pulling the silk up one leg until she could reach the soft skin beneath. Clutching the back of Ursula’s thigh, she ground into the squirming woman, receiving a guttural moan in response.

Despite their carnal rocking, it wasn’t enough. Ursula almost whimpered as she struggled to achieve

something, anything. The plateau she was on seemed to go no further. Unable to go forward alone, the brunette escalated matters. With calculated risk, she slid a hand between them, caressing her mistress’ breast.

Azrael’s reaction was immediate. Growling against the nipple in her mouth, she increased the pace, fingers digging into the pliant flesh of Ursula’s buttock and hip. After several moments, she eased away, kissing the disappointed whimpers. With ease, she rolled onto her back, pulling the slave up to straddle her thighs.

From her new vantage point, Ursula had easy access to the tantalizing breasts before her. Caught up in the moment, she lost what shred of hesitance she once held and traced dark swollen nipples. She smiled as she realized her mistress was mirroring her movements, circling with one finger or sliding a thumb across the nub. Curious, the brunette tweaked an areole, gasping when she received the same.

Watching Ursula’s face as she explored, Azrael marveled at the woman’s beauty. It was no wonder her soldiers had singled her out, amber eyes sparking in moonlight, a sensual smile curving her lips. Azrael could simply observe her all day and count herself lucky. From the look in Ursula’s eye, she was pondering some action and the general moaned as the brunette bent forward.

The nipple in her mouth was salty and warm, a hard nugget of flesh against her tongue. Ursula felt her mistress’ hips surge upward, a hand crawling into her hair and holding her to her task. With sheer pleasure, she suckled, knowing from fresh experience what her ministrations were doing to Azrael.

Unable to hold back from her desires, Azrael brought both a hand to the thigh about her, drawing upward until her fingers dabbled in wet curls. Sliding easily in Ursula’s excited fluid, she traced swelling lips, easily finding the distended clitoris. She hissed when her attentions brought a sudden surge of hips and a sharp bite on her breast. “Not so hard, love,” she whispered, easing her middle finger along Ursula’s sex.

Trembling, the brunette released her hold on the nipple, not quite registering Azrael’s comment. Her body took over, primitive knowledge causing her to move against the fingers between her legs. She thrust down, sharp pants escaping her as she found herself suddenly impaled. Despite the unaccustomed sensation, Ursula found it to be exactly what she wanted as she lifted and pressed down again. Her hands squeezed her mistress’ breasts as she rode, all thought fleeing in the wake of moonlit arousal.

Silken walls gripped Azrael’s finger and she added a second as the woman above her began moving. Dark eyes narrowed to pleasurable slits, she watched Ursula’s face contort in desire, listened to the honeyed voice gasp words of encouragement, felt the crush of fingers on her chest. Using her free hand, she pulled the slave down for a kiss, reveling in the passionate exchange broken only by a groan as her thumb rubbed against Ursula’s clit.

With a shuddering gasp, Ursula felt the rush of arousal reach its height. For a single moment, she was perched on the edge, holding her breath as she strained against her lover’s hand. Then she was past, riding the wave down as she came, crying Azrael’s name into the night.

A gentle shaking woke her. Ursula opened her eyes to see Midia in the murky darkness of the tent. The blonde placed a finger over her lips and waved her forward. It took a moment for Ursula to comprehend but she finally nodded and took stock of her surroundings.

She was warm and comfortable in her mistress’ bed, the dark woman pressing against her from behind, a strong hand cupping her breast. Ursula sighed at the tingle between her legs, wondering if the previous night would be anytime soon. Reluctantly, she eased out from under Azrael’s arm and the covers, shivering in the chill of morning as she quickly donned her dress.

Midia had already ducked outside and Ursula followed, meeting her at the kitchen tent. No words were spoken, a week of working together lending familiarity to the needs of their owner. Still, the brunette wondered if Midia was jealous at being replaced in Azrael’s bed the previous night. The blonde showed no signs of ill will, however, smiling easily as they scooped coals from the banked fire into a brazier.

Ursula carried the heated brazier while Midia retrieved a pot of water. They trudged back to their mistress’ tent and set the water to heating just outside. Another trip was made to the kitchen to find cold food for Azrael’s early morning breakfast, something to tide her over until hot food was prepared.

Back inside, they cleared part of the table and set down the plate of leftovers from the previous night’s meal. Midia measured mint leaves into a cup so only hot water would be needed while Ursula pulled their mistress’ robe from a trunk and draped it across the foot of the bed. When all was in readiness, the brunette undressed and slipped back under the covers.

A shiver shook her body at the heat of Azrael’s skin against hers. Ursula scooted back until her mistress slid a hand along her body, returning it to the brunette’s breast. With a sigh, the slave drowsed, feeling the tickle of breath against the nape of her neck and hearing Midia ease back onto the pallet on the floor.

Again Ursula was awakened by a touch. Fingers caressed her belly and breast, idly tracing her navel and dipping down to tickle the apex of her thighs. Inhaling deeply, the brunette squirmed at the contact, pressing backwards. She could feel the chuckle as well as hear it, a rumbling against her neck where lips stroked her. The hand slid up her body, leisurely rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger before continuing on over her shoulder and to her neck.

Azrael brushed mahogany hair aside and nibbled the olive skin, eyes closed. Her palm drifted along the lithe form, following the curve of shoulder and waist and hip, stretching over a cool thigh. Applying pressure, she murmured, “Bring your knees up to your chest.”

The half asleep burr washed over Ursula and she did as ordered. Azrael’s hand eased down the back of her thigh and up between her legs, fingers finding the slave’s exposed sex. Ursula gasped as her mistress dipped past outer lips, surprised to note the wetness already forming there. A rumble from Azrael indicated her pleasure at the discovery and the brunette sighed as her mistress expertly caressed her, stroking in time with the slave’s gently rocking hips.

Movements becoming frantic, Ursula bit down on a groan as she climaxed, vaguely amazed at her readiness. As she lay catching her breath, she remembered Midia just a few feet away and blushed furiously. The brunette gasped as Azrael pulled her fingers away, wanting them back despite the embarrassment flooding through her. Salty musk assailed her nose and she found wet fingers in front of her mouth.

“Taste,” Azrael ordered.

Tentative, Ursula reached out to lick the offered fingers. She’d had the pleasure of tasting her mistress the night before but not herself. It was intriguing, alike and different, her essence sweeter than Azrael’s but still very nice. With a sigh, she bent to her task, her belly twisting in arousal.

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Azrael murmured, nibbling one ear. “I don’t think I can get enough.” She helped the brunette roll over.

“Yes, Milady,” Ursula offered before her lips were seared by a kiss.

Chapter Ten

After the rousing wake up, Ursula went about her chores with Midia. Azrael was soon dressed and eating breakfast as they tidied the bed and prepared for the day. Uncomfortable with her wanton behavior, Ursula avoided Midia’s eyes. That she’d been witness to many mornings of the same did little to ease her mortification. Midia seemed to sense this, acting as if all were normal. Of course, to the older slave it was, having years of experience with their mistress.

When all was readied, Midia tugged Ursula to the table and knelt.

“What is it, Midia?” Azrael asked, leaning back in her chair to gaze at her slaves.

“Milady, since we are to remain here today, perhaps Ursula and I can go into town and finish buying her clothing,” Midia suggested. “She had only rags when she came to you and now has but one good gown and her dress. Since she is your body slave, she should be appropriately dressed.”

Black eyes studied them. Midia’s expression was matter of fact and Ursula stared at her lap. “What do you think, Ursula? Would you like another dress?”

There was an audible gulp as the slave peered up at Azrael. “I would like to please you, Milady,” she said after a long pause.

Azrael grinned wolfishly. “Oh, you have, Ursula. Never doubt that.” She almost laughed as wide amber eyes displayed unnerving lust. Unwittingly, she became lost in their color. Gods, the woman didn’t know how beautiful she was. With a reluctant sigh, her desire to take Ursula back to bed thwarted by duty, Azrael took the pouch from her belt and tossed it on the table with a clink. “Buy whatever you deem necessary, Midia,” she instructed. “I’ll be with the town council for most of the day.”

“Thank you, Milady,” Midia said, smiling and rising. She approached the table and took the pouch. “I’ll see that Ursula has everything she needs for a slave of her station.”

Azrael also stood, reaching out to take the blonde’s hand and pull her close. “Buy something nice for yourself, Midia,” she said, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips. “Maybe something for Petracal, as well.”

“You are most generous, Milady. Thank you!”

“Ursula.”

Interrupted from her jealousy at the display before her, Ursula approached her mistress. She was pulled into a fiery kiss, a breathless moan escaping her despite her best efforts.

“See to it that Midia buys something for herself. Else she’ll spend all my gold on other people,” Azrael whispered, pausing to nibble a delicate earlobe.

“Yes, Milady,” Ursula said, hands clutching at strong shoulders.

Just as suddenly, she was released. Azrael smiled at them, winking at Midia before striding from the tent.

Midia allowed her companion to gain control of her emotions before stating, “I think we can find all sorts of things that are finer than that peasant dress.”

Ursula patted her cheek, feeling the heat reflecting from her skin. “Yes,” she finally said. “That would be nice.”

Chuckling, Midia took the dazed brunette’s hand and tugged her toward the entry. “The sooner we get to market, the better the deals to be had.”

Good gods, how many times did she have to repeat herself? Azrael gritted her teeth and attempted once more. “While I can appreciate your circumstances, I am but a lowly vassal to King Shonal. It’s not my place to rule in this matter.”

“Well, yes, of course, Lord Azrael,” the magistrate agreed, eyes glancing about the room. “But you’ve the most experience in dealing with the King. You know him far better than we.” He waved a pudgy hand at the gathered council.

A handful of men sat around the table representing Provey - merchants, crafters, and farmers all. Their peers had elected them to aid the magistrate in defining local laws and relegating judgments. At the moment, they were arguing a minor point of law handed down by the King months prior regarding the distribution of wheat.

“Gentlemen,” Azrael said, leaning forward, her eyes raking over the assembled. “I haven’t communicated with our liege other than carrier pigeon and messenger for two years. You may not know this but I don’t spend much time at court, even when I’m home. My cousin and I don’t discuss politics - that’s why he has aides and councilors.” She sat back, lifting her mug of wine. “I’m simply a soldier obeying her King.”

Chuckling half-heartedly, the magistrate said, “Hardly a ‘simple’ soldier, Lord...” His smile faded at the pointed look he received. Bowing, he said, “Of course, Lord Azrael. I understand completely.”

The general was certain he understood nothing but let it pass.

“Pardon, Lord,” a nondescript man said from across the table. A merchant, he was dressed in clothing far finer than his heavy peasant face. “Is it possible for you to convey messages to King Shonal? Lord Morvri informed us you would be returning to the capital soon.”

Azrael reined in her anger at Morvri discussing the comings and goings of any armies with these men. Loose lips could cause disaster should enemies of the realm get wind of troop movements. With a regal nod, she said, “Of course. I’d be more than happy to be of assistance.”

Pleased with her acceptance, the men fell to discussing what they should say to their liege, leaving Azrael blissfully alone for a few moments. Smothering a sigh of relief, the dark woman drank from her mug and entertained herself with thoughts of the night before.

Who knew the timid little brunette could be such a lusty wench? Ursula’s sexual experience was lacking but she more than made up for it with her passionate attempts to please her mistress. Azrael, having discovered the brunette was a virgin, wondered how their lovemaking would alter things. Many a sweet girl became a veritable harpy the following day. She was pleased to note that Ursula held her peaceful quality come morning, a tender heart that wasn’t daunted by the ravenous creature she’d become.

Azrael smiled to herself, recalling Ursula’s constant blush and avoidance of Midia. She’d soon get over her inhibitions as far as the other body slaves were concerned. Sooner or later all of them did. Still, it would be nice if Ursula remained as she was, a gentle woman bearing the quiet grace of nobility.

Contemplating her next move in taming Ursula, she almost didn’t hear the magistrate.

“Lord Azrael? What do you think?”

Leaning forward, the general took the parchment offered her, feigning interest in something she cared nothing about.

The women stopped to eat at a stall just off the main market area. Settled on a bench outside, they tucked into biscuits with meat and vegetables baked inside. At their feet were the spoils of their excursion, several bundles wrapped in cloth and twine.

Their shopping had been rather one sided with Midia leading the way through the market as well as conversation. Keenly aware of Ursula’s discomfort, the blonde attempted to act normal, hoping to ease her companion from her bad humor. Ursula remained silent, however, and Midia became increasingly concerned.

Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Midia sighed. “You’ve been very quiet today, Ursula,” she said. “Are you all right?”

Caught out, Ursula swallowed hard, nearly choking on her food before croaking, “I’m fine. Really.”

“Good.” Midia watched the slave take a hasty sip of water from the canteen they’d brought with them. “I know that our mistress’

appetites can be rather extreme at times. Sometimes she doesn’t know her own strength.”

Ursula blinked at her. “She’s hurt you?”

Smiling as she scoffed, Midia patted Ursula’s hand. “By accident when she was younger and much less experienced. It’s never been repeated.” Midia became serious, grasping Ursula’s hand to punctuate her sentence. “It’s not by design, you know. If Milady hurts you, tell her. She’ll not enjoy causing you pain.”

The slave made a sound of acquiescence in her throat, returning to her half eaten meal.

“Was last night the first time for you?”

The meat turned to dust in Ursula’s mouth and she forced it down. “Yes,” she whispered. Fingers tickled her temple and she looked to see Midia gently brushing her hair back with a kind smile.

“It can be overwhelming whatever your experience. I see why you’re so withdrawn today. You have much to think about.”

“Why are you not...?” Ursula blurted, “How can you not be...?” At a loss, she shook her head, brow furrowed.

“Jealous?” Midia supplied.

Grinding her teeth, Ursula ducked her head. “Yes, jealous. I don’t understand. If I were in your place, I would be.” She had been in Midia’s place and felt the sickening emotion so strong it besieged her.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of. Jealousy implies ownership and we do not own our mistress.” Midia left her hand on Ursula’s shoulder. “It was the same when Felicia and Vincenza came to Lady Azrael’s bed. She is a very accomplished lover, I’ll admit, but the four of us are a part of her family. She depends on us as we depend on her.”

Ursula chewed on that thought, having no experience. The camaraderie she enjoyed with Midia was foreign to her. Being the only slave in her village, she’d had no one else who empathized with her. She was now heir to three companions who understood intimately who and what she was.

“There will be times that our mistress will call someone else to her bed or even take a lover,” Midia said. “That does not mean she cares for us any less. Her lovers are few and far between and she’ll always need us to watch over her.”

Sighing, the brunette nodded, heart sinking.

Midia pursed her lips, eyes kind. “You’re unconvinced.” With a soft sigh, she continued, “We will always have a place in our mistress’ heart, Ursula. No matter who shares her bed, we all belong to her; we all care for her as she cares for us. The physical act...” Midia shrugged and waved negligently. “While enjoyable, it’s not the only way she shows her caring.”

Confused between her heart and Midia’s words, Ursula closed her eyes, trying to think. “How can she care? She knows nothing of me. I’m only a slave she acquired by accident in a raid.” She snorted, turning to look at her companion. “I would have been on that auction block but for those soldiers who disobeyed orders.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do!” Ursula insisted. She inhaled deeply, her food forgotten, amber eyes shining with unshed tears. “You weren’t in the village. You didn’t see her. She wasn’t looking for another slave to warm her bed or help you take care of her. She was as vicious as her reputation, killing several survivors in cold blood before condemning the rest to a life of servitude.”

Midia leaned forward, trapping the brunette’s fists in her hands. “I have seen how she is, Ursula. I’ve been with her for ten years and have gone through three campaigns as her body slave. I know of what you speak. I cannot explain her nature other than she’s a wild creature and does what needs doing in order to survive.” Sighing, the blonde shook her head, forestalling argument. “No, hear me. Our mistress has a clear line dividing all she meets into two groups - those with her and those against. If you’re with her, she’s loyal to a fault, even to her slaves.”

“And if you’re not?”

The blonde frowned. “If you’re not, she has no thought of you whether you be innocent or guilty, man or woman. No judgments passed. You’re nothing.”

Ursula’s eyes were as stark as her words. “On which side of the line do I stand?”

A smile smoothed Midia’s face and she gently cupped Ursula’s cheek. “You’re one of us, now.”

Tears spilled over. Ursula nodded and shrugged, looking away. Reconciling her feelings when Azrael was near to bloody memories of impalement nearly split her in two. Which was real, the sensation of safety and fondness reflected in black eyes or the screams of people she knew as they died in agony?

Midia slowly rubbed Ursula’s back, letting the tears flow. They were needed for her to heal, to merge heart and mind. It was not surprising that Ursula had no idea of her worth in their owner’s eyes. But Midia knew. When Felicia and Vincenza had been brought into the fold, Azrael never looked at them the way she did Ursula. Something was at work here that was beyond a decade of experience and Midia wondered if their mistress had finally found her heart.

Hoping such was the case, she held Ursula until the sobs eased. If anyone deserved love it was Lady Azrael. And if anything could make it come about, it would behoove Midia to assist.

“Here now,” she said, using a corner of her sleeve to wipe the tears away. “You’ll feel better as time passes, Ursula.”

The brunette nodded, chewing her upper lip. The canteen was pushed into her hands and she took a drink. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she decided that perhaps she did feel a little better.

“If we’re finished here, I’ve a mind to look at the stall with those beautiful hair combs. Are you interested?”

A tentative smile crossing her face, Ursula nodded.

Azrael wasn’t surprised to find her slaves had not returned from their trip into town. A fond smile lit her face as she viewed the silent interior of her tent, knowing Midia loved shopping nearly as much as her family. The general had no doubt there’d be nothing left of the gold she’d sent the pair away with this morning.

Not wanting to be indoors, she scooped up a canteen and easily lifted a heavy chair, bringing it outside. Azrael settled in the late afternoon sunshine, using a large rock for a footstool as she stretched out and crossed her ankles.

The meeting with the council had gone well enough, all things considered. It seemed they were as wary of dealing with Azrael as she was with them. Fortunately, the awkwardness wouldn’t be revisited, it having been decided that the general had done all she could to facilitate things. No further meetings had been scheduled, a significant relief from the burden of politics Azrael planned on enjoying to the best of her ability.

Azrael idly watched the comings and goings of her camp, nodding occasionally to soldiers passing close enough to require a salute. Immersing herself in the ambiance, she felt her anxiety fade away.

Her father, youngest of three princes, had told her long ago she had no aptitude for anything other than fighting or farming. She’d never discovered if he was pleased with her lack of political acumen, but he didn’t stint her training in those areas where she excelled. The thought of spending days on end inside a stuffy hall pronouncing judgment over minor issues was repugnant, however necessary they may be. Azrael spent hours at her father’s side learning statecraft and conniving ways to escape to the stables and saddle her horse.

A faint smile perched on Azrael’s face at the memories - fidgeting in fine clothing as the local folk put forth their disputes in hope of favorable decrees from their landlord. Despite her lack of attention on weighty matters of local law, her father had imbued her with a refined sense of justice, a view of right and wrong that ran deep. Azrael’s view was also stark, something her father hadn’t expected. All was good or bad, black or white. She’d taken over the estate after his death from a nasty wound nearly eight years ago and had quickly earned a reputation of being extremely harsh yet very fair in all her dealings.

The smile faded as she mulled over the magistrate’s words from the previous night. It was quite the puzzle. Why would false reports be given to keep her in the field a few months longer? Azrael was no threat to the throne; Shonal knew this. There was still their uncle, Duke Nieto, and his son in line for the crown should anything happen to her royal cousin. If Shonal would get to work producing an heir, her claim would weaken further still.

Uncapping the canteen, she took a long drink. Either the rumor was false or true. If false, as she suspected, who knew where it came from or why it had started? Ultimately, it didn’t matter for it had no basis in reality. Azrael suspected that a rumor arriving all the way out here to the farthest reaches of the kingdom had to be months old and long since died down at court. At the very least, she’d be required to publicly restate her oath of fealty to Shonal to prove her loyalty, giving the gossipmongers something else to prattle about as they pretended power and authority.

Azrael frowned. If the rumor was true, however

Either Shonal or someone near him considered her a threat, ludicrous as it seemed. She wondered if her uncle and younger cousin were suspected, as well. They would no doubt have to be since they were closer to the throne. Setting that thought aside, Azrael considered her orders to destroy the rebellion that had been brewing in the area. Why would she be sent on a fool’s errand that would result in the complete annihilation of four innocent villages in the King’s name? Word would eventually get out that hundreds of people had died for nothing, a serious blow to Shonal’s power for it could cause the very rebellion she was supposed to be suppressing. The entire matter vexed her to no end. Perhaps it would have been better had she paid closer attention at her father’s side but that time was long past.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Idonatra. She nodded at his salute and waved him closer. “You have word?”

“Aye, Lord,” the large man said, squatting down to be at eye level with his commanding officer. “We’ve sold it all for a very nice fee. I had the coffer delivered to your tent.” He held out a parchment.

Azrael took the list and scanned it, noting the total figure for the inventory. “Very good.”

Idonatra was smug as he nodded. “Aye, it is, Lord. That Atol is a wizard when it comes to merchanting. I think he missed his calling.”

Chuckling, the dark woman rolled up the parchment and slipped it under one bracer. “Talk to the quartermaster. The men are to be paid their bonuses in the morning and we’ll leave the day after; give them time to spend some of their hard earned gold in Provey.”

“Very good, Lord. I’ll see to it.” Idonatra stood and saluted before sauntering away, a whistle on his lips.

Azrael watched him go before movement caught her eye. Turning her head, she saw Midia and Ursula approaching, arms laden. A full smile broke across the dark woman’s face and she rose to greet them.

Chapter Eleven

The day they left Provey, Ursula found herself in the wagon that held Azrael’s belongings, the marching order much the same as the previous trip. Without prisoners and booty, the surgeon and a dozen supply wagons now trundled along between the second and third cohorts. Suma’s cavalry still rode guard, but not with the same vigilance, spending more time on the fore and aft sweeps than with the army.

Keeping occupied was an easy matter; Midia had insisted on purchasing material, thread and handspun wool before leaving town. The two slaves passed the time in conversation and sewing or knitting. Midia, who knew their mistress’ measurements, created a silk tunic of deep red. Ursula knitted socks, using a worn pair to gauge size.

The brunette paused in her work, setting the needles down and massaging cramps from her fingers as she looked about the countryside. Rolling hills met her gaze, mostly untamed land sprinkled with wildflowers and trees. In the distance she could see a mountain range, blue and hazy, looking like something from a fairy tale. Before and behind, the constant tramp of boots drove away all sounds except that of a cavalry soldier occasionally clopping past.

Reaching for the canteen, Ursula’s eyes fell on a gaggle of slaves walking just ahead. They were laughing at some joke and she smiled, wondering what it was like to have friends like that. Her only experience had been with her siblings and that was years ago.

“Midia?”

“Hmmm?” the blonde asked, still concentrating on her work.

“Why are we riding in the wagon? All the other slaves are walking.”

Looking up, Midia paused in her work. “I keep forgetting that you’ve no knowledge of these things,” she said, an apologetic smile. “We don’t walk because we are of a higher station.”

“Higher station?” Ursula asked, studying the group. “But we’re slaves.”

“Yes, and we are Lady Azrael’s personal body slaves. Just as our mistress outranks everyone here, we outrank the other slaves.”

Ursula frowned, settling back onto her cushion and regarding her companion. “So there are levels of rank?”

Nodding, Midia set her sewing aside and reached for the canteen. After taking a drink, she said, “Yes. If you should ever go to the royal palaces, you’ll find you’ll be ranked by those slaves belonging to Milady’s family.”

“It seems rather silly,” the brunette announced. “We’re all slaves. We’ve all experienced our lack of freedom. Why should we worry who is higher in rank among us?” She indicated those walking. “We all belong to our mistress.”

Midia cocked her head. “All the slaves here are attached specifically to the army. They spend their time at home taking care of the officers, the mess hall, and the barracks and training grounds. They know nothing of living in our mistress’ villa or what is required to keep Lady Azrael happy. Even if we were to look past rank, we’d have nothing in common except our mistress.”

Ursula chewed on that thought.

An amused smile turned Midia’s lips as she watched the young woman work though the puzzle. “Let me illustrate,” she finally said. At Ursula’s quick nod, the blonde continued, “You’ve seen our mistress at her most... shall we say ‘vicious’?”

The memory echoed within amber eyes as Ursula swallowed, olive skin paling.

“Yes,” Midia agreed. “Would you say that any of these slaves with that knowledge would wish to be her body servant?”

Leaping to the defense, the brunette said, “But they don’t know her! She’s not like that all the time.”

Finding the protective maneuver telling, Midia glossed over the issue. “True, but honestly, they only know what they’ve seen. Since we deal with our mistress’ appetites on a daily basis, we receive better treatment than the rest of the slaves she owns.”

Ursula could find little to argue, though the set of her jaw indicated she was still holding out for equality among slaves.

“Our mistress has a harsh reputation but it is always said that she’s fair. Just because we receive preferential treatment does not mean that her other slaves are treated poorly.”

Conceding the point, the brunette sighed and picked up her knitting. “How many slaves does Lady Azrael own?”

Midia followed suit and began sewing. “I couldn’t tell you,” she said. “We’re divided into three groups - military, household and field. Most of the slaves from the barracks are here, but some remain behind to keep things in order and see to the few troops there. They live near the barracks and separate from us. Of the household slaves, I’d say we number about thirty. We see to the cleaning and cooking. There is easily twice that in field slaves.”

“You said you don’t stay in Lady Azrael’s quarters but with your family,” Ursula said. “Where do you stay? In the villa?”

“No,” the blonde chuckled. “There are slaves’ quarters just past the kitchens. We have our own room, as do many other families. It’s separate from the villa, secluded; there’s a wall dividing our quarters from the villa itself and a fairly large courtyard that Milady has given us to make our own.”

Knowing the worth of possessions to a slave, Ursula raised an eyebrow. “That’s very generous of her.”

“Yes, it is,” Midia agreed. “With her assistance we’ve been able to create a very nice garden. She’s also allowed us to build benches and paths.” She glanced up and winked at the brunette. “It’s very beautiful. I think you’ll like it.”

Despite concentrating on the sock she was knitting, Ursula’s puzzlement had returned. Why would a brutal and severe general be so kind to her slaves?

Smiling to herself, Midia continued sewing.

Late afternoon stole upon them and the army was called to a halt. As the cohorts and slaves were dismissed to set up camp, Azrael rode up to the wagon containing her household. Midia was already on the ground, directing slaves in the unloading of their mistress’ tent as Ursula finished putting away the day’s work in a chest.

“Midia, you’ll have to do without Ursula for a time,” the general said as she reined in beside the wagon. “I’m stealing her away.”

“Yes, Milady,” the blonde said, curtseying.

Black eyes narrowed at the smile playing on her body slave’s lips, but Azrael didn’t want to lose what light there was to interrogate Midia. Her suspicion was noted and the slave’s grin bloomed before she turned away to supervise the others. A bemused air settled over Azrael and she turned to the brunette in the wagon. “Come along, Ursula,” she said, holding out her hand. “We’ve some riding to do and not much time.”

Hesitantly, Ursula took her mistress’ hand and was helped from the wagon to the back of the horse. Once she settled sidesaddle before Azrael, strong arms circling her, she relaxed only to grab at the dark woman’s arm when the steed leapt into a gallop.

The countryside had changed little since the morning. Hills gently swelled off the road, waves of earth and plants disappearing in all directions in a variety of colors. Everything was awash in the gold of the setting sun, long shadows stretching here and there promising cool respite from the heat. Away from the troops, Ursula could smell the vegetation rather than dusty road and she inhaled deeply, smiling.

Azrael slowed her mount and guided him off the road, moving at a trot toward a thicket of trees. As they neared, Ursula noticed a strange roar ahead, the noise growing louder with each step. Her mistress forgotten, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, concentrating on the sound, brow furrowed.

The general smiled at her open curiosity and continued forward. At the trees, she stopped her horse and gathered Ursula in her arms, dismounting. Releasing the slave long enough to tie the reins to a branch, she promptly captured Ursula’s hand and led her further. “Come along. I think you’ll find this interesting.”

It wasn’t long before they broke through the other side, the copse not being very thick. Ursula gasped in surprise, a delighted smile on her face at what lay before her.

They stood near the edge of a cliff. To the right was the river that had meandered along the road for miles plummeting down a vast waterfall to crash against rocks hundreds of feet below. Spray from the impact hovered nearly as high as their position and Ursula’s eyes lit up at the delicate rainbow whisping in and out of focus.

“It’s magnificent!” she exclaimed.

Azrael smiled at her slave’s excitement. “As are you.”

Ursula ducked her head with a pleased smile before returning her attention to the wondrous display before her. “However did you know about this place?” she blurted, pulling away to sit at the edge of the cliff.

“I found it during a sweep years ago,” the general said, her smile widening at Ursula’s lack of ever-present shyness. She sat down and pulled the slave close. “I make it a point to come here every time we’re in the area.”

Ursula leaned into her mistress. “Thank you for bringing me, Milady,” she said, suddenly remembering her place. “It’s beautiful.”

Azrael kissed the brunette’s temple. “Beautiful things complement each other,” she said. “I thought it only right to show you.”

Unable to answer, Ursula blushed and snuggled closer, inordinately pleased at the sound of a chuckle.

They remained until nightfall, twilight obscuring the mists and rainbows. When it was finally too dark to see, Azrael kissed the brunette before rising and pulling her to her feet. “We’d best get back to camp. Dinner should be ready and I’m certain Suma is beside himself wondering where I’ve hared off to.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Soon the women were mounted. Azrael let the horse walk across the meadow, not wanting him to twist an ankle in an unseen hole. On the road, she kicked him to a trot.

“Milady?”

“Yes, Ursula?”

“Have you brought Midia here?”

Azrael considered the question, surprised at her answer. “No, Ursula. I’ve never brought any of my body slaves here.” Why was that?

In the dark, Ursula burrowed closer to her mistress, a smile on her face.

And so the days went. Up at dawn, packed and ready to march. A day’s travel put behind the army before halting for the night. If there were any unique sites in the area, Azrael invariably visited them with Ursula.

Occasionally they would stop near a large town for two or three days. The soldiers were afforded leave and their general was pressed into service as a diplomat. At each point, more of Azrael’s troops, stationed on garrison duty, rejoined their companions.

Midia no longer shared their mistress’ bed though it was a week or more before Ursula stopped blushing about her nighttime vocalizations. At each town, the brunette was pressed into serving Azrael at various functions, losing more of her provincial inhibitions. It seemed as if she’d always been with Azrael, a level of comfort and security building each passing day that only startled her when she cared to think it over.

The distant mountains grew closer and the population increased. They marched past many farmsteads and small villages, each time garnering more and more attention. It was warmer, as well, and Ursula realized the growing season must be longer here. It was no wonder things were harder in the north. By now the first frost had begun and here harvest was weeks away.

A day came that Midia simply couldn’t concentrate, her embroidery heaped uselessly in her lap as she gazed upon the scenery with a smile. Even the soldiers seemed to be marching eagerly and Ursula puzzled over their behavior.

It was nearing midday when Azrael galloped to the still moving wagon. Her dark face was wreathed in smiles. “Midia, with me!”

Laughing, the blonde jumped up and clambered to the side of the wagon.

As she watched her companion transfer to their mistress’ horse, Ursula asked, “What is it, Milady? What’s occurring?”

“We’re almost home, Ursula,” Azrael said. “Just over that rise.”

The brunette looked where indicated and saw large fields of wheat. The tiny dots she realized were workers.

“Come along, Midia,” Azrael said. “Jastus and Petracal are waiting!” She kicked the horse into a gallop and raced away.

Ursula collected the blonde’s project and put it away. There was little doubt it was forgotten. Unable to concentrate, she stashed her needlework as well and watched the nearing rise.

Chapter Twelve

As the troop reached the crest, Ursula looked down onto a shallow valley. A sprawling walled complex lay to the left of the road, the entire thing nearly twice the size of her village. The brunette’s eyes were round as they continued along.

Field slaves noticed their approach; Ursula could almost hear the excited yells as she watched the tiny figures point and wave. Most dropped their farming implements to race for the complex. Those nearer to the marching army reached them first and walked along, calling to the soldiers and clapping fellow slaves on the back.

Envious of the friendly display, Ursula’s stomach knotted, indigestion burning at the back of her throat. She lost site of the complex as the army reached the valley floor. Exuberant welcomes bounced off the high wall as they passed and, over the din of marching feet, Ursula thought she could hear other voices inside.

Butterflies rampaged in her belly as the wall fell away from the road, opening into a dusty courtyard. A large, columned opening was to the left and Ursula could see the welcome green of potted plants in the atrium beyond. Azrael’s horse was tethered there. The wall continued along with another opening further down. People were scattered from one to the other, pointing and waving, happily chattering at one another. Azrael and Midia were nowhere to be seen.

Suma called the army to a halt. As the dust settled, the soldiers were commanded to turn and remain in formation. Silence filled the courtyard as the people hushed, expectation filling the air.

Azrael came from the columned atrium, striding down the handful of steps, a huge smile on her face. An older man with white hair and long mustaches accompanied her. She nodded greetings to those nearest as she mounted her horse, urging him forward to the front of the formation. Ursula’s wagon was positioned almost exactly in the middle so the slave had an excellent view of the proceedings.

“Swordsmen!” Azrael called, her voice ringing from the stone. “For two years you’ve toiled far from home with little complaint. I give you my thanks and pledge you my sword.” She pulled the weapon from its sheath and held it high.

In response, the troops cheered, drawing their own weapons until the courtyard sparkled with deadly joy.

When their voices receded, Azrael continued. “For the next three days, you are relieved of duty; the recruits will continue the perimeter guard. Those of you who wish extended leave, see your captains and a rotation will be granted.”

Again a cheer echoed off the walls. Ursula was surprised stones didn’t fall from the mortar at the loud noise.

“I proclaim the next three days as days of rest,” the general ordered, sheathing her weapon. “Tomorrow there will be food, music and dancing as we celebrate our homecoming!”

In the din that followed, the command for dismissal was barely heard. The troops fell out, sheathing weapons, slapping each other on the back and migrating toward the entry further down, followed by most of the slaves who had been with them.

“Time for ye to get down, lass,” the wagon driver said, craning his whole upper body to look back at Ursula. “We’ll be unloadin’ things inside the army court. Ye don’t belong there.”

The brunette swallowed, eyes glancing uncertainly about the courtyard. “Where am I to go?” she asked.

“The villa, lass,” the driver said, waving at the columned entry. “Don’t worry, the Lord will soon come looking for a pretty slip like you.”

Ursula nodded, stepping from the wagon. She’d hardly cleared it before the driver pulled away, leaving her to stand in a rapidly emptying courtyard.

Azrael had dismounted, once more in the company of the older man. Midia was nowhere to be seen and the rest of the faces belonged to strangers.

Taking a deep breath, Ursula approached the steps, following her mistress who was going inside.

The atrium was alive with potted plants circling the high walls. Placed intermittently, benches provided seating for petitioners. An oval of thinner columns surrounded a small gurgling fountain, supporting a partial roof that gave shade from the heat of the day. There were two doorways, an average sized one leading to the left and a larger entry with ornate carvings of vines to the right.

Ursula saw her mistress, deep in conversation, through the larger doorway. The slave’s dusty sandals whisked across the marbled floor. In her haste, she hardly noticed the mural delicately painted beneath her feet.

The entry hall was half the size of the outer atrium, the walls covered with tiny pieces of ceramic tile. A riot of color coalesced into pictures of the villa and surrounding land, and Ursula was amazed at the detail. Without thinking, she paused to stare, noting how each shade of coral was used to indicate depth and shadow. With a start, the body slave realized her mistress had disappeared and she hurried on to catch her.

The entry opened onto a large rectangular garden. As with the atrium behind her, a ceiling circled the room creating a covered hall. It teemed with plant life, a narrow pool in the center glittering with what appeared to be fish. Two servants knelt in the dirt, planting and weeding, their work producing a smell of rich loam. Beneath her feet, dark red marble glowed dully, and the walls were two toned - the same coral of the outer walls below and deep burgundy above. A handful of benches were strewn around the halls and beige curtains indicated doorways.

Ursula caught sight of her mistress along the right hall and scurried to catch up, barely missing a woman whose arms were full of linen. “Excuse me!” the brunette exclaimed, sketching a hasty curtsey and continuing on her way.

Hearing the slave, Azrael paused in her conversation and turned. “Ursula,” she called, raising a hand to wave her forward. “I’m glad you found me.”

“Yes, Milady,” the brunette said, halting beside her mistress.

“Ursula, this is Brahim.” Azrael laid a casual hand on her slave’s shoulder and nodded at the man. “He’s my steward and has served my family for quite some time.”

The steward tugged at his mustache, a slight grin on his barely visible lips. “And it is my honor to do so, Milady.”

Waving his compliment aside, Azrael said, “This is my new body slave, Ursula. She’s been with me for three months.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brahim,” the brunette said with a curtsey.

“Aye, lass. And I you.” He turned his attention to Azrael. “Felicia and Vincenza are preparing your quarters. I’ll have one of them see to a room for Ursula.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Azrael shook her head. “Ursula is to stay in my quarters for now.”

After so much time living in her mistress’ tent, Ursula saw nothing unusual in Azrael’s order. Witnessing Brahim’s round eyes blinking, she wondered at his confusion.

The steward cleared his throat, tugging harder on his mustache with one hand. ”She’ll stay in your quarters, Milady?”

Oblivious, Azrael said, “Yes. Ursula, at the end of this hall are stairs. Go up them and into the great hall. Bear right and follow along until you see an opening on the left.” She squeezed the slave’s shoulder and gave a gentle nudge. “Tell Felicia and Vincenza to prepare the extra bedchambers for you.”

“Yes, Milady.”

The dark woman watched her slave until she was to the stairs. She caught an odd expression on her steward’s face but paid it no mind. He had every reason to be startled. Azrael had never allowed a slave to reside with her.

Drawing him toward the doorway that led to his chambers, she said, “Brahim, you were speaking about last year’s yield…?”

The old man once more began filling in his mistress on the past two years of farming business. Granted, they had sent messages back and forth as needed, but the rest of the afternoon would be utilized to bring Lady Azrael current in all areas.

For the moment, Ursula was forgotten.

The great hall was aptly named, Ursula mused as she stepped in. More of the same dark red marble lined the floor in both directions and the ceiling was high overhead. From her vantage point, the hall was twice as long to her left as to her right with more benches and pottery along the sides. Four columns indicated a large room a bit further on, but the slave did as bade and turned right, hoping there’d be time for exploring later. The same two colors were utilized as the garden walls below, the upper burgundy stopping just above Ursula’s head and the natural coral above displaying delicate murals of pigment.

Neck craned, the brunette studied the artwork, smiling at a realistic depiction of her mistress in full armor astride a grand war chariot. Several other pictures showed Azrael hunting wild animals, some of which looked mythological in nature, exhibiting her prowess in all manner of activities. With a start, Ursula realized she’d nearly passed her mistress’ suite.

Chewing her upper lip, the brunette’s heart sped at the sound of women chattering inside. Ursula swallowed and stepped inside. The entry was half a circle with doorways on both sides and a private hall at its apex. There were actually two entries from the great hall, Ursula standing on the left of a gurgling pool and fountain that the doors flanked. Peering closely, Ursula saw there was a little shrine in the wall above the fountain; a shelf held an incense brazier and several clay depictions of the gods. Despite her unease, the slave reached out, letting water trickle across her fingers before brushing their wetness across her lips.

Homage to the gods paid, Ursula straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. It was time to meet the other body slaves of her mistress. The voices were to her left and she moved the curtain at that door aside to step in. There were two more doorways, the curtains tied to one side and Ursula saw her future companions in the one furthest away.

The two women were as different as night and day in an almost literal sense. One, a buxom woman, was golden in color, her wavy strawberry blonde hair piled in a mass above her head. Blue-black hair fell in a straight line down the back of the other, carefully tied at intervals to prevent tangling as she helped her companion tighten the muslin sheet on their mistress’ bed.

“Did you see her?” the blonde asked, her voice as honeyed as her skin. “I swear she barely had time for a kiss hello before Jastus came rushing in from the fields.”

Nodding, the black haired one said, “Yes, I saw. I doubt she’ll have much time for us for a few days.” She plumped a pillow and arranged it neatly. “More’s the pity. I wonder if Milady went to Raston this season.”

The blonde smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure Milady will tell you. She promised to see your family if they were there.” Brilliant green eyes widened as she noted the new arrival. “Hello. Can I help you?” As her companion turned she came around the side of the bed and approached.

With a gulp, the brunette found her voice. “I am Ursula,” she said, curtseying. “Our mistress instructed me to come and help prepare her quarters.” She flushed under their sudden sharp gaze.

“A new body slave?” the dark woman asked, stepping forward. “Midia didn’t mention you.”

“Midia wasn’t mentioning anything, I’d wager,” the blonde said with a grin. “Jastus wouldn’t let her talk.” Her smile widened and she came forward, taking the newcomer’s hands. “My name is Felicia and this is Vincenza. It’s good to meet you.”

“Thank you,” Ursula said, her voice low. She ducked her head at the intent gazes from her new companions, wondering if she’d get past the blush that threatened to inflame her skin. “It’s good to meet you, as well. Midia has told me wonderful things about you.”

Vincenza glided closer. “How long have you been with our mistress?” she asked.

“Three months.” Ursula raised her chin, forcing herself to meet the dark woman’s cool gaze. It occurred to her that she wasn’t the only one to feel the bite of jealousy when it came to Azrael. Wondering how things would proceed between them, she continued, “I was taken in the last village where our mistress... fought.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Vincenza’s eyes studied Ursula, their color as black as their mistress’.

“Then you’re quite new, aren’t you?” Felicia asked, taking the brunette’s arm. “Were you a body slave before?”

Ursula shook her head. “No, I was the slave of the local seamstress.”

The blonde grinned. “Quite a difference, is it not?” At Ursula’s answering nod, she continued. “You’ve come just in time. We still need to refresh Lady Azrael’s private hall and sweep out the old rushes.” Felicia drew the newcomer along, guiding her out into the suite’s entry once more.

Behind them, Vincenza followed silently.

In the private hall across from the fountain, the air smelled of brittle rushes long dried out. Felicia scooped up a rough broom and handed it to Ursula. “Why don’t you sweep the old ones into a corner while Vincenza gets new rushes?” the blonde suggested. “I’ll set to dusting.”

Ursula took the broom. “Of course.”

Felicia gave her companion a significant look and the dark woman left on her errand. As she gathered up a rag from a cleaning basket, she said, “Please don’t mind Vincenza. She can be rather... intense at times. She means nothing by it.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” Ursula agreed, bent to her task as she used the broom to tease rushes out from beneath a heavy desk.

“We’re very protective of our mistress.”

Ursula nodded. “As we should be.”

The blonde paused to look at Ursula for a long moment. “Once we’re through here, I’ll take you to Brahim. He’ll assign you a room in the slaves’ quarters.”

Blinking, Ursula stopped her chore and said, “I was to help you and Vincenza prepare the extra bedchambers here for me.”

Felicia froze, green eyes wide as she regarded the blushing woman before her. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried once more. “The extra bedchambers?” she repeated.

“Yes.” The brunette returned to chewing her upper lip at Felicia’s obvious surprise, Brahim’s shock multiplied the blonde’s response. Unable to help herself, she dropped her eyes and reddened.

“Well, then,” Felicia finally said, “the extra bedchambers it shall be.”

As the blonde returned to her task, Ursula did as well. She heard the woman’s murmur as clear as day.

“Midia’s certainly has much to tell us about this campaign.”

Chapter Thirteen

They’d been at it for hours, rehashing past messages, gleaning finer details from written words, discussing smaller items such as new babes or romances in the slaves’ quarters.

“What of these disconcerting rumors I’m hearing?” Azrael asked. She lounged comfortably in a chair inside her steward’s private chambers, flagon of wine close to hand.

Brahim tugged at his mustaches, frowning. “Aye, Milady. The rumors.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve heard them; most of us have. The King has been kind enough to not make a personal visit though his royal guard occasionally comes through in their travels, seeking billeting.” The steward leaned forward to top off his mug. “It’s believed they’re only here to gather information about you.”

Azrael sighed, frowning. “You’ve been at court, Brahim,” she said. “You know the manner of people there. What credence should I give this?”

There was a long silence as Brahim chose his words. Azrael didn’t press, knowing her steward tended toward diplomacy much more than herself. He would say what needed saying tactfully but he’d never withhold information.

“Beware, Milady,” he said, reluctance in every line of his weathered face. “Someone close to King Shonal bears you ill will and would like nothing better than for your death or disgrace.”

Leaning forward, resting one elbow on the arm of her chair, Azrael asked, “Do you know who it is, Brahim?”

Accustomed to his mistress’ intensity, the old man didn’t flinch from her glare. “No, Milady. It is said that since his coronation Shonal has surrounded himself with youths and dandies. His mother, Queen Gerina, dotes on him just as she did when you were children.”

Azrael experienced a flash of memory, a summer day at her uncle’s estate. She and her cousin had gotten into a disagreement over some childish thing and fell to fisticuffs. Her father and uncle had watched from a distance but didn’t interfere, knowing their children needed to work things out between themselves. The scuffle had ended when Shonal’s mother caught sight of them from her bedchambers. Shrieking like a siren, she had rushed out onto the terrace and demanded they stop before her precious boy was hurt.

“Shonal has always been his mother’s child,” the dark woman observed, leaning back in her chair. With a sigh, she realized that it was getting late. She was still dusty from travel and her stomach was proclaiming hunger. Azrael shook her head and rose, setting her mug on a nearby table. “It’s late. I’ve a mind to bathe and have dinner in my quarters.”

“Aye, Milady,” Brahim responded, standing as well. “I know that Felicia and Vincenza are very excited to see you. If you wish, I’ll have dinner delivered while they attend you in the baths...?”

Smiling, Azrael reached out and squeezed the old man’s shoulder. “That sounds wonderful, Brahim. Thank you.”

The steward bowed, eyes twinkling. “I’ll see to your meal, Milady.”

Azrael nodded. “Thank you, Brahim. It’s good to be home.”

“And we’re happy for your return, Milady.”

Grinning, Azrael winked at her steward before leaving.

Azrael smiled as she entered, eyes lighting on her body slaves. They knelt in the center of the round room, excitement radiating about them. Pausing only long enough to touch the fountain and her lips, Azrael said, “Felicia, attend me.”

The honeyed blonde approached, green eyes alight. “Welcome home, Milady,” she said.

“Thank you, Felicia.” Azrael brushed the back of her knuckles along a tanned cheekbone. “I hear you’ve a suitor?”

Felicia’s smile grew larger. “Yes, Milady. His name is Kinnet. He’s very special.”

“Kinnet,” the general repeated. “He works with the horses?”

“Yes, Milady.”

Azrael smiled. “He’s a lucky man then.” She bent forward and kissed the slave, reacquainting herself with familiar territory.

Ursula ducked her head, schooling her features to mildness. This was worse than watching her mistress with Midia.

“Have my things been delivered?”

Breathless, Felicia said, “Yes, Milady. They’re in your chambers.”

“Very good.” Azrael released the slave. “Go to the smaller chest. There’s a small linen sack inside. It’s a gift for you.”

“Truly?” Felicia asked. “Thank you, Milady!”

“You’re welcome. Go now, quickly.”

The blonde scampered into the next room.

“Vincenza.”

As the thin woman glided to their mistress, Ursula wondered at how her very stance screamed superiority. She gritted her teeth, trying not to ball her hands into fists.

“Milady. I’ve missed you.”

Azrael’s fingers traced black hair, following the soft strands until they passed her slave’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you, as well.”

Ursula fumed at another kiss. This one seemed to last far longer than Felicia’s. When she risked a glance, she could see why - their mistress had pulled Vincenza to her in a full-bodied embrace.

Felicia returned, bag in hand. Unfazed by the display, she returned to her mistress’ side, holding a delicate porcelain cup. “It’s beautiful, Milady,” she murmured.

“I thought you might enjoy it,” Azrael said, accepting a hug of thanks. “It reminded me of you and your roses in the garden.” Turning her attention to Vincenza, the dark woman smiled. “And for you I have a packet of letters from home. Your mother is well and asks that you attend your sister’s wedding next summer.”

“Oh! May I, Milady?” Vincenza asked, her aloof demeanor cracked by a hopeful smile.

“I don’t see why not.” Azrael laughed at the sudden fierce hug.

“Thank you, Milady!”

“You’re welcome, Vincenza. It’s good to see your smile. I’ve missed you both.” Movement caught Azrael’s eye, her newest slave shifting uncomfortably where she knelt. “You’ve met Ursula?”

The women nodded, Felicia murmuring affirmative.

It wasn’t lost on Azrael that Vincenza’s response was cool. The black haired slave was the latest addition to Azrael’s household. While accepting the need to share her mistress with the others, Vincenza still held a touch of jealousy that was no doubt flaring.

“Ursula.”

Swallowing, the brunette rose and approached them, stopping just within reach.

“Allow me to personally introduce you to my body slaves,” Azrael said. “Felicia has been with me for close to six years now. If she’s not here or in the room she shares with Vincenza, she’ll be puttering about the garden with dirt between her toes.”

Felicia couldn’t help but giggle at the description, her tanned skin reddening.

“Vincenza has been with us for three years. Her family trains some of the most highly sought after courtesans in the kingdom. She was a gift from my uncle.”

Ursula wondered if the thin slave could be any more smug. The haughty look on her delicate face seemed to be her natural expression.

Azrael muffled a sigh, sensing the sparks between the youngest members of her intimate household. Felicia would keep them in hand until Midia’s homecoming celebration was complete. “Has your room been freshened?”

“Yes, Milady. Thank you,” Ursula said, noting an irritated flash in Vincenza’s black eyes with enjoyment.

“Your clothing delivered?”

Felicia nodded. “Yes, Milady. Everything was brought in from the wagons. I made certain that Ursula was unpacked and comfortable.”

Azrael squeezed the strawberry blonde in thanks. “Ursula, I’m sure you’re as tired and dusty as I. Go change into your robe and we’ll go to the baths.”

“Yes, Milady.” Ursula curtseyed and left the room, frowning at her mistress’ next words.

“You shall both attend me tonight.”

Azrael lay in darkness unable to sleep, which was odd, as her body slaves had fairly worn her out. Yet, as Vincenza and Felicia danced with their dreams, their mistress remained awake. The light of a three quarter moon illuminated the foot of Azrael’s bed, silk sheets reflecting its light. The gentle breathing of her body slaves while hypnotic did nothing to give Azrael rest.

Unable to remain in bed, the dark woman eased out from the tangle of limbs, pausing to watch fondly as the women found each other among the rumpled sheets and relaxed deeper into their slumber. Azrael had to admit that she missed Vincenza’s fire and Felicia’s earthy presence while she was away. With a sigh, she scooped up her robe and left the sleeping area, carefully drawing the curtain so as not to disturb them.

Slipping through her chambers, Azrael arrived at the entry fountain. A smile curved her lips and she closed her eyes, allowing the sound to wash over her. This was something she’d also missed. Azrael had lived most her life in these quarters. Her rooms had been the set of chambers across from her current ones. This fountain had gurgled through years of scraped knees, adolescent arguments and nighttime stories.

Azrael opened her eyes and stepped forward, allowing cool water to wash over her fingers before touching them to her lips. Looking at the shrine above, she said, “Thank you for seeing me safely home once more. Give me guidance in the days ahead.”

After a respectful pause, Azrael turned away, eyes restlessly darting around the room. Her private hall, across from the entry, was silent and brooding. Though there were comfortable lounges there, the general really didn’t want to think of the duties she’d have to resume all too soon. Of course most of her meetings would be in the audience room down the way, but interviews on extremely delicate issues would arrive here, keeping gossip to a minimum. With the current situation in the capital, Azrael was certain that many meetings would be held in her private hall until things were taken care of satisfactorily.

The door to the other set of chambers gaped darkly at her and Azrael was drawn inside.

Moonlight filtered in, lighting the way in the familiar room. It had been too long since she’d been here. What had it been? Five years? That was when she’d moved into her father’s rooms, her mourning complete. These chambers, the ones she’d grown up in, were reserved for the woman of the house and her children. Azrael had little memory of her mother save the occasional murals throughout the villa. Lung sickness had taken her when Azrael was a toddler and she’d spent most of her childhood in these chambers alone.

Despite the passage of time, the rooms were still familiar. Moonlight helped save Azrael from injury as she navigated around tables and chairs. Past the next doorway was another chamber, this one a dressing room. Cabinets and armoires surrounded the perimeter and a precious mirror leaned against one wall. Even in the semi darkness, Azrael could see Ursula’s brushes and combs neatly placed on a cabinet next to a bowl and ewer. She touched a brush as she passed, the smooth bone handle cool against her fingers. Nearby, a pile of neatly folded clothing sat on a chest, the whole of Ursula’s possessions barely filling a good-sized sack.

Azrael made a mental note to clear out a trunk for the body slave. Half of the clothing in here was far to small for the general, most of it being things she’d worn through or outgrown since childhood. These chambers needed a thorough cleaning.

Easing through the dark, Azrael slipped into the final room. She could barely make out the sleeping form as she leaned against the door, windows not at the proper angle to catch the moonlight. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Ursula curled on her side, a blanket draped over her waist.

A sudden urge to caress the bared back sent the general forward, but she stopped herself. Apparently, Felicia and Vincenza hadn’t worn her out after all. Analyzing that thought, Azrael came around the bed, kneeling beside her slave. It was sobering; Azrael didn’t want sex from Ursula. She simply wanted to climb into bed and hold the sleeping brunette.

Azrael almost scoffed aloud as she sat back on her heels. Ridiculous! If it was feminine companionship she wanted, there were already two women in her bed.

Yet, she couldn’t seem to sleep there.

Studying Ursula’s face, Azrael remembered an emotion similar to what she felt for this slave. She’d been but a youth, full of self-importance and brash with immortality. In an attempt by Azrael’s father to foster others of his daughter’s age and station, the fair Lenore had come calling.

Azrael could still recall how her heart stopped at the first sight of auburn hair and laughing green eyes. The two had become inseparable through the six months of Lenore’s stay, Azrael flirting outrageously with the older girl to gain her favor. When the fostering ended, Lenore was returned home and Azrael’s heart was broken.

She had no doubt of what she had felt for Lenore in her adolescence. It was very much like what she felt for Ursula and no other word would do except love.

Azrael brushed her fingers along olive skin, tracing the dark hairline. She was in love. This young slave seemed to touch her deep within her soul and Azrael did nothing to stop her advance, eagerly throwing open the doors to her heart as Ursula lightly glided inside.

Despite the political and social ramifications of royalty falling for a slave, Azrael smiled. If half the blue bloods had the quiet grace Ursula showed daily, the kingdom would be a far better place. Ursula always showed such delight at the simple pleasures Azrael had gifted her. She was beautiful, intelligent, good natured and possessed a sensual nature that rivaled her mistress’.

It was unexpected to, say the least, and a healthy quagmire opened up before the dark woman as she considered her options.

With a sigh, Azrael leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Ursula’s forehead. “Sleep well,” she whispered before standing. She left the bedchambers as quietly as she’d entered.

Ursula opened her eyes, remaining still until she was sure she was alone. Turning over, she stared past the doorway and into the dark rooms beyond. “Sleep well, Milady,” she whispered.

Chapter Fourteen

Night still drowsed in the room when Ursula woke. Her training took over and she rose from the blankets, slipping into a robe. Standing at the end of the bed, she chewed her lower lip, frowning. On any other day, she and Midia would go to the army kitchens and prepare for their mistress’ awakening. Now, however, she was uncertain of her duties. Midia was with her family in the slaves’ quarters and Felicia and Vincenza were in Azrael’s bed. Was Ursula required to follow her previous duties?

Pausing thoughtfully for a time, the brunette finally sighed and eased out of her chambers. She had to do something; she doubted she could fall back asleep until she made the attempt.

The darkness was deep, the moon having long since set. Moving by feel rather than sight, Ursula made her way to the entry of her mistress’ quarters. Water trickled, a welcome sound, and she felt a twinge in her abdomen urging her to seek the latrines. As she prepared to step into the Great Hall, Ursula recalled her first day with the army, the soldier who had tried to have his way with her. Swallowing, heart thudding heavily in her chest, she braced herself for a similar occurrence and stepped through the door.

Torches flickered in the hall and Ursula was grateful she didn’t have to navigate across the villa in total darkness. Heartened to know she wouldn’t have to search for flint and steel to light a candle, either, she retraced her original steps into the villa. Two guards stood at the end of the hall closest and she found another pair near the wide columned opening she’d noticed yesterday. Ducking her head, she ignored them as they ignored her.

Her bare feet on the marble were chilled. Shivering, Ursula went down the stairs to the interior garden, seeing the sky coloring as dawn approached. Passing the main entry, Ursula could see four more guards in the atrium as she scurried past, her bladder beginning to complain. Within seconds she was in the latrine, sighing happily as she relieved herself.

Tidying up, Ursula washed in a trough of running water before stepping back into the garden. Felicia had called it a peristyle and the brunette mouthed the unfamiliar word as she swung her head to and fro. The entry to the baths she’d enjoyed the previous night were a little further on. Around the corner several doors lined another corridor back to the great hall.

There had to be kitchens. But where were they? With a resigned sigh, Ursula passed the baths and proceeded to the first doorway, easing the curtain aside. Her luck was true as she smelled food and stepped further inside, glad for the lamps hanging from the ceiling, lighting her way.

This room held many shelves of dishes, cups and serving plates. If the number of items were any indication, Azrael could serve a meal for twice the number of her army. Ursula picked up a plate, running her fingers along the inlaid silver design around the edge. If she’d any doubt of her mistress’ material worth, it was long gone now. The casual display of silver and the size of Azrael’s estate told Ursula she was very wealthy indeed. Hearing noises beyond the next door, Ursula set the plate down and moved further into the workrooms.

The next room held quiet pandemonium. Tables lined the room with several slaves deftly chopping, mixing and molding a variety of foods. Hustling from one to another was a thick waisted fellow wearing a long, gray apron.

“Here now, Tomas. A mite smaller slices. You’re dicing, not cutting! And you! Artinel! The mixture is supposed to be lumpy; it’s not gravy you know!” He continued to harangue and berate, instructing his helpers as he went. Ursula wondered if any of them paid heed. It seemed to her that the slaves did the same things after his passing as they had before with no variation.

“And you are?”

In her bewilderment, Ursula failed to see him approach. She blinked at him.

“Come now, young woman!” he snapped. “You’re presence here is an interruption! We’ve only so much time to prepare for Lady Azrael’s homecoming!”

Amber eyes flickered around the room, finding no one was taking notice of her. Hardly an interruption. “I am Ursula, Milady’s new body slave. I’ve come to retrieve food for our mistress and some tea.”

The man raised eyebrows at her. “You are new,” he agreed. “When our lady is in residence, I have a tray delivered to her quarters.” He looked about absently. “Since you’re here, however, I suppose you can bring it.”

”Thank you.” Ursula was surprised when he flashed her a grin.

“No. Thank you. That’ll be one less set of hands gone when they could be working here.” He busied himself preparing a tray. “Um… Felicia and Vincenza stayed with Milady last night?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ursula agreed, resisting the urge to grimace.

”So food for four,” he muttered. Ducking through another doorway, he returned juggling two large steaming pots. As he wrapped them in heavy towels to keep them hot, he said, “Grab bowls and cups on your way out

Ursula, isn’t it?”

The brunette nodded. “Yes. And you are?”

”I am Orsino, Lady Azrael’s finest chef,” he exclaimed, drawing himself up and puffing out his chest. Either he didn’t hear the snorts of laughter from his workers or he ignored them.

”It’s a pleasure to meet you, Orsino,” Ursula said with a slight nod. “I’ll bring this to Milady’s quarters.”

“Of course! Many thanks!”

Ursula was barely out the door with her burden before the chef was once more urging the others to greater industry. Shaking her head with a slight grin, she scooped up bowls, cups and silver spoons before leaving the kitchens.

By the time Ursula returned to her mistress’ quarters, the sky was turning gray. She expected Azrael to wake soon and hastened to set things right. With barely enough light to see by, the slave entered the quarters across from hers and set the laden tray on a table. Checking the doors between the sitting and sleeping rooms, she made sure the curtains were drawn so as not to awaken Azrael. Her eyes flickered over the three women entwined together on her mistress’ bed but she turned away quickly, not wanting to see more.

Retrieving the cold torches from the sitting room walls, Ursula stepped out into the hall to light them. Placing them in their brackets, she finally took a close look at her surroundings. The room was identical in size to the one that led to her sleeping room. However, the murals on the upper walls were far different. Those that Ursula had seen yesterday were of children playing, one child obviously the depiction of her mistress playing with wooden swords and riding a peacock driven chariot. These here were of the gods, each with something for easy identification - Kemplak stood before the Seven Doors of Hell, preparing to defy reason for love; the ruddy Sif lay wounded on the Altar of Estibul, his blood dripping to feed new life as plants grew from its nourishment. Many others lined the walls and Ursula turned to look at them, finding each of the pantheon in place.

A noise caught her ear and the brunette stopped her inspection, rushing to the tray of food and preparing it for Azrael. No one came from behind the curtains, however. Ursula assumed her mistress’ morning appetites were just as strong at home as they were abroad. Hearing their cries the previous night had been difficult, but she didn’t want to anger Azrael by not being near when she woke. Resigning herself to a louder version of the same, she finished setting things for breakfast.

Sighing, Ursula wondered what to do now. Despite the uncertainty of her time on campaign, she found herself yearning for the simpler time of just the previous morning, when her behavior was neatly delineated and she knew what was expected of her. The slave consoled herself with the knowledge that her unease would disappear once she knew what to do here in her new home.

Bored, she sighed again and knelt on a thick fur rug, resting against a footstool. The ornate chair it belonged to was the only one of its kind in the room so she assumed it was her mistress’ favorite. She closed her eyes, intent on just a moment’s rest. Slowly, her breathing deepened and she drifted to sleep.

The night had been a long one as Azrael lay abed. This was her first night away from Ursula in three months and her thoughts yammered constantly, not giving her any peace. Every time she began to drift off, another aspect of her situation would burst forth and begin the process anew.

She was in love with a slave.

While it wasn’t unheard of, Azrael wondered how others dealt with this problem, specifically the need to wed and produce heirs. She’d yet to consider that, hoping to appoint her younger cousin’s children to that position. There were some legal precedents in the histories, she was sure. She made note to speak with Brahim on the matter.

But, a slave! It wasn’t as if Ursula had leave to say yay or nay in her placement. She didn’t come to the villa of her free will to be romanced. The brunette had been the spoils of battle, treated as a lesser being according to her position, with no leave to say different.

Azrael couldn’t fathom falling in love with her owner if she was in the same position. If ever enslaved, she knew she’d fight tooth and nail for her freedom. Unless it was Ursula. The thought startled her.

Exasperated, Azrael rolled onto her side, soon becoming sandwiched between Felicia and Vincenza. Hearing stealthy footsteps, she quieted, knowing it was the woman she was pining over. The curtain over the door eased into place, the footsteps receding. Azrael had a sudden urge to follow, wanting nothing more but to see Ursula’s beautiful sleep worn face.

Instead, she remained where she was, mind thrumming.

Another consideration; what of her other body slaves? Azrael couldn’t recall the last time she sold one of her personal slaves. It was different with the survivors of battles; they were either sold into slavery or slaughtered. The killing of innocents wasn’t something she enjoyed. Enslavement allowed many to live and helped pay for costs incurred by the army, nothing more.

Midia had her family. Felicia, it seemed, had young Kinnet from the stables. But Vincenza? She had no one, having spent the last two years waiting for her mistress’ return. Not to mention that Vincenza’s entire training revolved around sexually pleasing her owner. If Azrael set her aside now, what would happen to her?

As the sun rose, the room lightened. She heard movement in the outer rooms and could smell food. Apparently she wasn’t the only one to notice as she felt gentle caresses against her arm. Inhaling deeply, she yawned and returned the favor, her hand sliding along warm curves. She was on her side, flanked by her slaves, Vincenza before and Felicia behind. It was the honeyed blonde that woke her; the black haired beauty was still sleeping in Azrael’s arms.

Her body responding to the touches, skin pebbling beneath Felicia’s touch, Azrael frowned. It wasn’t the same as with Ursula. She found herself watching her dark skin against Vincenza’s paleness with detachment. Felicia, feeling a stiffness in her mistress, mellowed her touch, switching from sexual to comforting in the blink of an eye. Noting the change, Azrael turned to look over her shoulder and gave the slave a welcome smile.

“Good morning, Milady,” Felicia whispered, kissing Azrael’s shoulder.

“Good morning, Felicia. How long have you been awake?”

The blonde continued stroking the dark woman’s skin. “Not long, Milady.”

Their voices served to wake Vincenza who stretched before rolling over to face them. “Good morning, Milady,” she purred, pressing close.

“Vincenza, did you sleep well?” Azrael asked, brushing blue-black hair from the slave’s face.

“Yes, Milady, very well.”

Azrael inhaled again, sniffing the air. “I do believe I smell breakfast.”

Vincenza blinked as their mistress climbed out of bed. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Felicia only to receive a shrug and a shake of the head as they followed her lead. The dark slave knelt to help Azrael into slippers as Felicia held a linen robe for their mistress. Putting on robes, they hastened to keep up as Azrael left the sleeping room without them.

The sitting room was awash with torchlight and full of the aroma of food. Azrael approached the table with a smile, noting a cup with dried tealeaves waiting for water. Gingerly lifting a lid, she inhaled deeply of the meaty stew from her kitchens. “Orsino has outdone himself,” she said conversationally. “I missed his talent while on campaign.”

“And he missed your healthy praise,” Felicia said, smiling as she poured hot water into Azrael’s cup. “We heard all too often about our peasant tastes and your discerning palate during your absence.”

Vincenza set a place for their mistress at the table, ladling stew into a bowl. She frowned when Azrael walked away, black eyes intent on something behind her. Turning, her frown soured.

Settling on the edge of her favorite chair, Azrael tenderly caressed mahogany locks. “Ursula?” she asked, voice low. “Wake, Ursula. It’s time to start the day.”

The slave, still half asleep, stirred and sighed, a smile playing across her lips.

Enchanted, Azrael smiled. Ursula’s very presence seemed to call to Azrael’s soul in a disconcerting yet totally enamoring way. The general’s stomach grumbled and she knew Ursula must be hungry as well. “Ursula, wake up,” she said again, sliding her hand down to gently shake the slave’s shoulder.

Ursula murmured complaint before waking with a jolt. She sat up, amber eyes wide. ”Milady! I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened!”

“I’d say you fell asleep,” Azrael said, her grin infectious. Rising she held out her hand and pulled the slave to her feet. “Attend me.”

“Yes, Milady.” Ursula straightened her robe, following the dark woman to the table. Ignoring the poisonous look from Vincenza, she found that all was in readiness for breakfast. At a loss, Ursula saw to Azrael’s seating and knelt beside her.

“Bring Ursula a bowl and help yourselves,” Azrael said to her other slaves.

Vincenza, already filling another bowl, finished her duty and handed it to Felicia rather than the upstart newcomer. The blonde’s lips thinned but she accepted the bowl, transferring it to Ursula with a soft smile.

Azrael ignored the display as well as the flash of anger. The urge to defend Ursula was unsettling. She needed to straighten her thoughts, to talk to someone. But who?

Ursula silently ate at Azrael’s feet. The others sat at the table with their breakfast, but she didn’t mind. Occasionally, Azrael would reach down with a piece of rich dark bread for her to nibble; the extra attention almost made up for the lonely night.

The stew was marvelous. It was no wonder the chef proclaimed his superiority. Orsino’s pride was well deserved. His was the only superiority Ursula was willing to accept, however.

She eyed Vincenza, keeping her expression neutral as the black haired slave flirted with their mistress over breakfast. Highly trained courtesan or not, Vincenza obviously wasn’t any better than her. If such were the case, Ursula knew she’d have seen an auction block during their travels home, not given a room within Azrael’s personal quarters.

Somewhat mollified by her thoughts, Ursula plucked a grape from Azrael’s fingers, sucking the digits before releasing them. Her reward was a smile and a caress as Azrael ran fingers through mahogany hair before returning to her own meal.

Glancing at Felicia, Ursula continued to eat. In the short time they’d had to get acquainted, she discovered a liking for the blonde. Felicia reminded her a bit of Midia, though the strawberry blonde seemed more inclined toward playfulness than duty. Ursula was certain they’d get along fine.

Scraping the bottom of her bowl, the brunette finished the stew and rose, setting the empty dish on the tray. “Would you like anything more, Milady?”

“No, Ursula. Too much of Orsino’s cooking after such a long absence will no doubt have me waddling in no time.” Azrael handed over her bowl and pushed back from the table, waving her slave closer.

Ursula settled on Azrael’s lap, smiling as strong arms surrounded her. Snuggling close, she shivered as warm hands stroked her hair and skin, slipping beneath her robe. She bit back a squeal when Azrael stood, taking the slave’s weight in her arms with ease.

“Vincenza, Felicia, take yourselves away for a bit,” Azrael ordered. “Rest or do chores until midday. We’ve a celebration tonight.”

“Yes, Milady,” the two murmured, one with a bit more alacrity than the other.

Smiling at Ursula, the general headed for her sleeping chambers. “I missed you last night,” she whispered, nuzzling a long neck. “And I need to work off Orsino’s cooking.”

“I’m more than happy to assist, Milady,” Ursula said, giggling.

Chapter Fifteen

At midday, Azrael reluctantly eased out of bed. A relaxed smile perched on Ursula’s lips as she stood behind her mistress and helped the dark woman into a robe. On a lark, she reached around and tied the sash, sensuously rubbing against the strong back.

“You are a vixen,” Azrael growled. Her tone belied her expression, eyes flashing as she turned to capture her errant slave.

“Only to please Milady.”

Azrael laughed. “You most certainly do that.”

Sighing, Ursula snuggled close, relaxed and safe. Her mistress had sent Vincenza away. That alone was worth last night’s solitude.

“Do you wish to visit the baths, Milady, before the celebration?”

“Are you insinuating I smell?”

Ursula froze for a moment before recognizing the teasing tone. “Of course not, Milady. I find your scent most attractive.”

“Mmmm, and I yours.” Azrael inhaled deeply. “Unfortunately, there’s not much time. If I know Orsino, he’s stomping about with his latest creations, demanding to know where I am.” Pulling away from their embrace, she paused only long enough to kiss her slave’s nose. “I hear Vincenza and Felicia in the outer rooms. Come along.”

Her enthusiasm dampened at the mention of the elegant body slave and Ursula followed her mistress.

Indeed, both women were awaiting Azrael in the sitting room. Their whispers ceased as the curtain was pulled aside and they remained on their knees, awaiting Azrael’s pleasure. Vincenza had changed into a gown of deep red, golden lions embroidered along sleeve and hem, the color contrasting sharply with the midnight black of her hair. Felicia’s gown was equally as rich, green silk with lighter colored hints of design on the fabric. While the dark slave’s hair hung straight down her back, Felicia had her strawberry curls pulled up onto her head.

“Has Orsino been asking after me?” Azrael asked, pouring a mug of water from a ewer on the table.

Felicia giggled. “Of course, Milady. How could you doubt it? He’s spent two years planning your homecoming menu.”

Thirst quenched, Azrael poured another mug and handed it to Ursula. Rolling her eyes, she said, “I’d best order a field cart for my belly tonight or I’ll be stuck in the dining hall.”

Ursula finished her drink, wiping her mouth and returning the mug to the table.

“You two will help me dress for the celebration,” their mistress stated. Azrael turned to the brunette beside her, pulling her into a lustful embrace. “And you, minx, will clean up and dress in your finest gown.”

Smiling, Ursula said, “Yes, Milady.” Before she knew it, her lips were assailed by a kiss, a prolonged exploration that left her panting.

“Go on now.”

Flushed, the brunette’s grin widened at Vincenza’s obvious distaste. Ursula turned and jumped as her mistress goosed her rear. “Yes, Milady!”

Azrael watched the young slave leave, a smile on her face. Her heart seemed to swell when she was in Ursula’s presence. It was a disconcerting yet very pleasant feeling.

Shaking herself, Azrael turned to her remaining body slaves, the bemused grin still on her lips. “Attend me.”

The celebration was still going strong as the sun began to cast shadows across the dining peristyle. Torches were set in brackets surrounding the oval room, flashing off the polished marble floor as they illuminated the way for the dancers. Near the opening to the dining hall, a handful of servants played musical instruments for the rambunctious lot stomping about with such abandon.

Further on, flanking the dining hall, tables were laden with vast amounts of Orsino’s handiwork. Despite it being ordained a rest day, the serving platters were constantly refreshed. To ease the load on the kitchen crew, all hands aided in the work, even the soldiers.

The hall itself was overflowing with diners. As was the fashion, low tables were surrounded by loungers for people to recline upon as they ate. A constant flow of slaves and soldiers drifted through - eating, dancing, drinking and dancing some more.

With a flourish, the music came to an end and Azrael applauded with everyone else. Currently she was with Vincenza, Felicia and Ursula dancing nearby. As the next song began, Azrael spied Jastus, Midia’s husband, attempting to cut through to reach his wife. Seeing an opening, Azrael called to him.

Jastus’ family came from the same stock as his wife, evident in the sky blue eyes and blond hair. His hair was lighter than hers, a result of many years working in sunlight. By the same token, his complexion was darker, a ruddy color that was a bit more red than brown.

“Yes, Milady?” he said with a bow, his voice deep and rich.

“Dance with Vincenza?” Azrael asked. “I’m off to find some wine and speak with Midia. I don’t want to leave my poor pet without a partner.”

Vincenza opened her mouth and closed it. Her eyes flickered to Ursula, apparently deciding Midia’s company for her mistress was preferable to the new upstart.

“I’d love to, Milady,” Jastus said.

“Thank you, Jastus. I won’t be long. I know how much you’ve missed your wife and I’m loath to monopolize her.” Grinning, she left them to each other and continued on Jastus’ original path.

“Milady,” Midia said in greeting. She was seated at a table that was surprisingly empty. All the occupants were either off to refill trenchers or out on the peristyle floor working off their dinner.

“Midia.” Azrael settled down on the chaise beside her body slave. “How was your homecoming?”

Lips twisted into a grin, Midia said. “Very satisfying, Milady. Thank you.”

Azrael chuckled, catching up the blonde’s hand. “I’m glad to hear so. I know you’ve missed each other.”

“And you, Milady?” Midia’s eyebrow twitched as her mistress looked away.

“I’m still not sure.”

Eying Azrael intently, Midia leaned close, further entwining their fingers together. “Is there something wrong, Milady?”

The smile on the dark woman’s face was crooked as she returned her gaze to Midia. ”Again, I’m not sure.”

Blinking at Azrael for a few moments, Midia’s attention wandered to the dance floor. The animosity between Ursula and Vincenza was evident whenever they were near one another. Fortunately, Felicia was doing fair job of keeping them separated and Midia believed their mistress was doing the same. “If it’s Vincenza’s behavior, Milady,” she began, only to be cut off.

“No, no. That’s not it, though it was something I suspected might occur.” Azrael looked over the dance floor, her dark eyes unerringly finding the willowy brunette dancing with Felicia. “My welcome was just as satisfying as yours, I suspect,” she said.

Understanding dawned in Midia’s eyes and she relaxed. “You suspect?”

With a frown, Azrael looked at their entangled hands. Midia’s hands were pale against hers, callused at the tips from sewing needles and the like. Useful, loving, those hands had brought Azrael to orgasm more times than she could count. They’d also cleaned and bandaged wounds, fed her, brushed her hair, held her close when sex wasn’t what she needed. Those hands and the woman who bore them were trusted.

“Yes, I suspect,” Azrael agreed. “Physically, it was everything a homecoming should be.” She looked into Midia’s eyes. “Yet I found it… lacking.”

“Lacking,” Midia echoed. “I’m very sorry to hear this, Milady. Was it something Felicia or Vincenza did? Perhaps if you spoke to them…”

“You know as well as I what I found lacking.”

The blonde studied the ink black eyes across from hers. “I may have suspicion, Milady, but until you can speak it, there’s little I can say or do.”

Inhaling deeply, Azrael dove into the heady waters of her heart. “After much thought upon my actions and feelings, I have to admit that I seem to have fallen in love, Midia.” Her lips stretched into a grin. “And I don’t know what to do about it to save my life.”

Midia smiled in return, raising their hands to kiss dark skin. “The best advice I can give you is to love her, Milady.”

Chuckling, Azrael said, “I need no advice such as that. She’s as much a part of me as the air I breathe. That alone is terrifying given the short duration of her presence in my life.”

Her gaze traveled to the dancers as a fast song began. Ursula was laughing as Felicia tried to teach her the steps, both women holding each other up as they stumbled through. Kinnet, Felicia’s beau, cut in, doing his level best to instruct their errant student, only causing more laughter and confusion in the process.

Azrael sighed, returning her attention to the woman beside her. “And what of you, Felicia and - bleeding Sif! - Vincenza? At least you and Felicia have others to cleave to. Vincenza has only been with me three years, two of which I’ve been away.” She shook her head. “It’s almost unfair to supplant her with Ursula.”

“Not to mention the jealousy evident,” Midia agreed.

“Yes, that alone is problem enough.” Azrael chewed on her thoughts. “I know eventually that would be worked out, all things being equal. They’re not equal, however. Vincenza has valid concern here.”

“No, Milady, she does not.” Midia’s tone was matter of fact. “Vincenza is a consort, trained from an early age to pleasure her owner. She’s quite proud of that, you know.”

Azrael shook her head slowly, eyebrow raised. “No. I didn’t.”

Smiling, Midia reached for her cup. She offered it to her mistress before taking a drink. “Oh, Vincenza is very proud of her station. Gods! It was all she spoke of for weeks upon her arrival!”

Eyes unfocused in thought, Azrael vaguely recollected overhearing remarks of a similar nature. “So Vincenza is more concerned with her station than —”

“No, Milady,” Midia interrupted. “Believe me, she cares for you just as much as we all do. I merely bring her words and beliefs to your attention.”

Azrael pondered, lips pursed. If Vincenza truly felt her skills and training were a gift, she would not appreciate them being allowed to languish as they had in Azrael’s absence. The only way Vincenza’s station would improve would be to return her to her uncle or perhaps his son. Azrael would be damned if she’d consider her ham-handed cousin, Shonal.

“Vincenza is well aware of the foibles of the heart. No doubt, she’s had training to deal with the likely event that love would interfere with her owner.” Midia sighed. “And you have been gone two years, Milady. While she may be attached to you, the connection is not as deep as the one Felicia or myself hold.”

“So you believe I should play on her sense of pride in her accomplishments?” Azrael asked with a mild grin.

“I think that would ease things between Ursula and Vincenza, yes.”

Nodding slowly, Azrael said, “It has potential.” Her grin widened. “Thank you for your insight, Midia.”

“You’re welcome, Milady.”

“Though it still doesn’t address Ursula herself.”

The blonde’s smile was gentle. “Something more, Milady?”

Azrael scoffed. “I love her, Midia, but she’s a slave! She’s not here by choice. How can she possibly return the feeling when I am her captor?”

“You could ask, Milady.” Midia almost laughed at the scathing glare she received. “Simple, I know, but quite effective.”

”You’re enjoying my misery,” Azrael said, looking so much like the petulant child that Midia chuckled.

”Not your misery, Milady. Never that. I’m quite happy for you. However, attempting to second guess a woman is never good odds.”

“Truer words,” Azrael agreed, pout fading. “Still, the fact remains. Ursula is peasant born, a slave; and I am of royal blood.” Shrugging almost helplessly, she said, “It’s just not done.”

Midia made a rude noise, dismissing the argument. “None of that, Milady. You’re a sapphist that’s set court on its ear by leading one of the best armies in the kingdom. Falling in love with a commoner is nothing in comparison to your legendary nefarious ways.”

Azrael laughed outright. “Nefarious, is it? When last I listened to gossip, my ways were simply evil.”

“Then it’s been some while, Milady,” Midia said. “You haven’t been ‘evil’ in more than six years.”

Enjoying the joke, both women let their eyes roam the dance floor. By now, many were footsore and pleasantly tired, including the other body slaves. The musicians were taking a much needed break and the dining peristyle was now filled with people conversing in small groups. Vincenza and Jastus were near to Midia’s table, waiting just out of hearing range for their mistress to acknowledge their presence.

Azrael squeezed the blonde’s hand, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Midia. Your level head has helped me once again. I’m in your debt.”

“You’re more than welcome, Milady.”

Rising, the dark woman waved Midia’s husband forward. Vincenza followed, slipping her hand through the crook of Azrael’s arm. “Thank you, Jastus, for attending to Vincenza’s entertainment.”

“You’re welcome, Milady. I was happy to.”

Azrael bid them to enjoy the evening before moving away toward her table.

”Would you like more wine, Milady?” Vincenza asked once her mistress was settled.

“Please.”

The body slave poured from an ewer, refreshing Azrael’s cup. “Shall I retrieve more food for you, Milady?”

”No. Thank you, Vincenza.” Azrael pulled her close and gently kissed her. “You and Felicia are relieved for the remainder of the evening. Please have Ursula attend me.”

Dark eyes flashed but Vincenza held her temper under the unyielding gaze of her mistress. “Yes, Milady,” she murmured.

As Vincenza left, Brahim appeared at Azrael’s elbow. “Milady, a courier has arrived from the capital.” The steward handed her a scroll case.

Leave it to Shonal to give her no peace. With a sigh, Azrael opened the case and extracted the message, cracking the wax seal. “Is he expecting a response?”

“I believe so, Milady. At any rate, the roads are dangerous for a speeding horse at night.”

Snorting, Azrael finished scanning the scroll and handed it to her steward to read. “My cousin wastes no time. He must be chomping at his bit to wrestle my oath from me.”

Brahim rolled up the scroll. “Shall I notify Captain Suma of your travel plans?”

“Yes.” Ursula was nearing and Azrael’s eyes saw only her. “Tell him we’ll leave in two days, standard retinue, and we’ll be stopping one night at my uncle’s villa.”

“Very good, Milady.”

“And have the courier fed and bedded down in a guest room. I’ll give him his response in the morning.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Smiling, Azrael let Brahim fade into the crowd as she welcomed Ursula with a hug and a kiss.

Chapter Sixteen

Azrael sat on a heavy chair in her public audience hall, a few steps up from the main floor. Brahim and two scribes were busily writing at a table nearby. Sitting on a pillow at her mistress’ feet, Ursula watched the proceedings with a curious eye.

The hall was almost as large as the dining peristyle they’d celebrated in the night before. Here, however, the mood was somber, a sensation of serious industry that seemed to permeate the very stone. Four guards were posted at the entrance and six more lined the walls. Ursula thought it a bit much, Azrael being so closely guarded in her own home, especially since anyone wishing to kill her would be foolish. Her mistress was more than capable of gutting an attacker with no more thought than who should be assigned to clean up the mess. Ursula banished her morbid thoughts with a shudder.

Standing before Azrael was the King’s courier. He was tall, though not as tall as the woman seated before him. His scabbard was worn, indicating experience despite his lack of armor. The sword itself wasn’t present, it having been taken along with his belt knife before being brought into Azrael’s presence.

One of the scribes finished his task, handing the parchment to Brahim who then transferred it to Azrael. Careful to not smear the drying ink, the dark woman scanned the document, finding it acceptable. Using a small table beside her, Azrael signed it and sprinkled sand on the wet ink.

Brahim brought a lit candle, dribbling melted wax on the document and watching Azrael affix her seal next to her signature. He then dusted the parchment off and rolled it into a tube, putting it into a scroll carrier.

“Go to the kitchens and get food for your journey,” Azrael said. “Sif’s blessings on you.”

The courier bowed deeply, accepting the scroll case from Brahim. “Thank you, Your Grace. By your leave, I’ll be on my way.”

Azrael raised an eyebrow at the formal address. It had been far too long since she’d heard it, preferring the simple Milady or Lord of her servants and army. She nodded, dismissing him.

Before she could think of escape, Suma strode in, nodding courteously at the King’s man in passing. “My Lord,” he said in greeting as he saluted.

Azrael leaned back in her chair with a rueful grin. “Your timing is atrocious, Suma. The least you could have done was await me out in the great hall.”

“It’s been so long since my Lord has sat in her audience chamber, I did not wish to deprive her of further opportunity.” The blond man bowed deeply.

Grin fading, Azrael glanced sharply over at Brahim who suddenly found his quills and parchments most intriguing. His shoulders shook, however, giving away his mirth. Azrael sighed, knowing anything she said or did on the issue would only serve to entertain them further.

“How are preparations?”

Suma rose from his bow, face bland. “Quite well, Lord. I’ve two squads of cavalry preparing now. What time do you wish to depart tomorrow?”

“Mid morning should be fine. I’ll send a courier this afternoon to my uncle so he will be expecting us.”

“Very good, Lord. And how many personal servants will be attending you? I wish to have their horses prepared tonight as well.”

Azrael thought a moment. Ursula was most definitely going. While it would be handy to have her steward along, she didn’t think Brahim would be pleased at leaving so close too harvest, however. There was no telling how long Shonal would insist she lounge at court before letting her go and either she or Brahim had to be here.

“Two, Suma. Ursula and Vincenza will be coming along. Be sure to have a wagon handy for our belongings. I doubt I’ll be able to get away without at least a dozen court functions to attend.”

“Aye, Lord.” Suma bowed. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, Suma. Dismissed.”

The captain saluted and left the audience hall.

Azrael turned to the scribes and began dictating a message to her uncle. At her feet, Ursula consoled herself over Vincenza’s addition with thoughts of wiping the smug woman’s face on the marble floor.

Finally free from official duties, Azrael arrived at her quarters with Ursula in tow. There was another conversation to be had and the dark woman was grim.

Midia was still spending time reacquainting herself with her family, so Felicia and Vincenza knelt in the entryway without her. Azrael watched them both for some time, not speaking. Finally she said, “Felicia, take Ursula visiting to the slave’s quarters.”

“Yes, Milady.” The strawberry blonde rose, smiling at Ursula as she offered her hand.

Ursula swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Things had gone so well yesterday and now this. Resigned, she nevertheless attempted a weak smile in return and followed Felicia out of the room.

Leaving Vincenza where she was, Azrael stepped into her private hall and sat down. She regarded the slave’s back. If it had been any of her other personal slaves, Azrael would have taken her into her quarters. But Vincenza was another case. If Midia was correct, discussing this unpleasantness as a matter of business would ease Vincenza’s transition.

She sent a silent prayer to the gods to ease her slave’s heart. “Attend me.”

Rising, Vincenza’s face showed none of the satisfaction she held at Ursula’s dismissal. She poured a mug of water from an ewer on a nearby table. “Would you like something to eat, Milady? I can send to the kitchens for food.”

“No, Vincenza, I’m not hungry.” Azrael accepted the mug. “Pour some for yourself. We’ve something to discuss.”

A brief wrinkle marred Vincenza’s brow before she complied.

When the slave returned to her side, Azrael pulled the woman onto her lap. She inhaled deeply. “You’ve been with me for three years, Vincenza. In all that time, you’ve only personally served me for one.”

Realizing a response was needed, Vincenza smiled. “Yes, Milady. It was a wonderful year. I only wish it had been longer before you were called away.”

“As do I.” Azrael brushed fingers through shiny black hair. “I’ll be blunt, Vincenza. I don’t wish to see you waste your potential here.”

The slave blinked. “Milady?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.

“You’re young and vital. Your family name exceeds all expectation in courtesans and you’ve done a tremendous job here in my household,” Azrael explained. “I don’t wish to see you languish as a mere dressing maid here.”

“I... I don’t understand, Milady,” Vincenza finally stammered, her usual aplomb missing. “If I’ve displeased you in some manner...”

“You’ve not displeased me, Vincenza,” Azrael soothed, firmly rubbing between the woman’s shoulder blades. “Never that.” She sighed. “My need for your services, however, has diminished.”

Vincenza’s expression flickered from confusion to understanding. Dark eyes flashed as she understood what was being said. “Please, Milady, I apologize for any ill treatment of Ursula. I was only surprised when she arrived, having not expected another slave to share your attentions.”

Azrael nodded. “I’m aware of that, Vincenza, and I know that your professionalism would eventually override any negative feelings you have for Ursula. But that’s not what’s at issue here.” She saw the question in her slave’s eyes. “Again, I’ll be blunt as it’s the way of any soldier. I’ve fallen in love, Vincenza.”

Pulling away slightly, Vincenza stared at her mistress, eyes wide. After a moment, her eyes flickered away and her brow furrowed as she considered the implications in her life at this unfortunate circumstance.

“You see why I have concerns for you?” Azrael asked, still caressing the lithe back. “You’ve spent far too many years learning your trade. I cannot ask you to retire yourself to the level of a maid. Your family would no doubt be furious at the insult.” The dark woman quieted, leaving Vincenza to her thoughts.

Several moments passed before Vincenza refocused on Azrael. Her self-confidence returned, she was the epitome of a professional courtesan. “What will you do, Milady?”

Azrael gave an internal sigh of relief at Vincenza’s easy acceptance, deciding that Midia deserved a huge reward. “I have one or two ideas for your placement,” she said, slipping into the same matter-of-fact tone. “I realize that you’ve almost nowhere to go but down in the scheme of things, however... Perhaps you remember my cousin, Nils?”

“Yes, Milady, your uncle’s son. I remember him.”

“He’s a virile young man now, years from settling down,” Azrael continued. “I believe he’s nearly nineteen and no doubt very much in need of a personal slave who can give subtle instruction on how to please a woman.”

Vincenza considered a moment. “He’s also very handsome if I recall correctly,” she added, grudgingly coming to terms with the idea.

Smiling, Azrael agreed with her. “And closer to the throne until King Shonal marries and has an heir.” She watched as Vincenza worked her way through the suggestion. “I leave tomorrow to see Shonal and plan to stop at my uncle’s along the way. I’ve made arrangements for you to come along.” Vincenza looked startled and Azrael continued, “While I realize you’re a slave, I’d much rather have your agreement in this. It will make the transition much better for all of us.”

The body slave nodded slowly. “What of my sister’s wedding next summer?”

“I’ll make certain Nils honors my wishes. I’ve given you permission; he’ll be more than happy to allow it, as well.”

Despite an effort to remain the professional courtesan, Vincenza’s lip quivered and her eyes grew moist. “I’ll miss you, Milady,” she whispered.

Azrael pulled the woman to lean against her chest, holding her close. “I’ll miss you, as well, Vincenza. You’ve been a wonderful addition to my household and I’ll mourn the loss of your smile.” She gently caressed the weeping woman, feeling a combination of relief and sorrow.

“You’ve really no reason for this jealousy,” Midia insisted.

Startled, Ursula left off the glum studying of her hands. She blushed as she realized both Jastus and Petracal had left the room. Searching her memory, she knew they’d said farewell to her deaf ears. “I’m sorry, Midia. I can’t seem to help myself.”

“You’d best learn quickly then,” Felicia said, smiling to offset ill feelings. ”It’s no surprise to anyone, least of all Lady Azrael.”

“She knows?” Ursula blurted, amber colored eyes round.

Midia clucked at her dismay. “Neither you or Vincenza are secretive in your distaste, Ursula. Only someone as dense as stone couldn’t see it.”

The brunette frowned, brushing at nonexistent dirt in her lap. Despite Midia’s many assurances over the months, Ursula was still uncertain. Her rival for their mistress’ affections had been here far too long. These women were Vincenza’s friends.

Felicia, seated next to the brunette, touched the tense shoulder. She gently rubbed as she spoke. “I, of all people, can understand your circumstance, Ursula. When Vincenza first arrived she was insufferable.”

“That’s one word to use,” Midia agreed with a chuckle.

Meaning Vincenza wasn’t that way now? Ursula slightly shook her head.

“In any case, it was quite some time before she climbed off her high horse as far as Midia and I were concerned.” Felicia shrugged, smiling. “It’s only a matter of time before she’ll do the same with you.”

“Will she?” Ursula asked. “As she’s been sure to mention in my presence, she’s a well trained courtesan. I’m a simple peasant with no experience.”

“Oh, you’ve some experience,” Midia said, raising an eyebrow.

Ursula blushed at Felicia’s giggle, her lips twisting into a reluctant smile. ”That’s not what I meant.”

“Nevertheless, you must be doing something right,” Felicia said. “Our mistress has had her share of adventure with willing peasant women. As you see, we’re the only ones still here.”

Cocking her head to one side, Ursula asked, ”Have there been other body slaves?”

“A handful,” Midia said. “They lasted no more than a week before Milady found other places for them.”

It was a sobering thought that did nothing for Ursula’s peace of mind. Granted, she’d lasted longer than a week, but that was on the road. Her gaze sank back into her lap and she nibbled at her upper lip.

Faintly exasperated, Felicia rubbed harder to gain the younger woman’s attention. “Stop raking yourself through the coals of doubt, Ursula. Lady Azrael cares very deeply for you; you’ll not find yourself digging yams in the field anytime soon.”

“Felicia’s correct,” Midia agreed. “You’re jealous of Vincenza because you feel she’s better. But think a moment… Why does Vincenza feel the same of you?”

Ursula blinked. That was an intriguing question. Someone with Vincenza’s background would really have no need to notice a peasant slave, regardless of the circumstances. “Why does she?”

“I just told you, you silly goose!” Felicia giggled. “Our mistress cares very deeply for you!”

“You’re quartered in her chambers, Ursula,” Midia added. ”No slave, personal or not, can say the same.”

A commotion at the door heralded the return of Midia’s family. Conversation turned to other topics, Ursula doing her best to keep involved. Her thoughts, however, insisted on looking past the emotions of her situation, finally searching for causes.

Chapter Seventeen

Ursula looked back longingly at the wagon trundling behind the speckled mare she rode. They’d been traveling all morning, her thighs and rear aching with the unfamiliar use of muscle. Beside her, Vincenza sat her horse with obvious experience and Ursula almost wished for the mount to stumble, wondering if it would crack the haughty slave’s implacable facade.

Before them were Azrael and Suma, sometimes speaking to one another, other times riding silently. Twice now, Suma had left to check his forward runners. In both cases, the general called Vincenza forward to ride along while Ursula fumed behind.

Twenty men rode fore and aft, all members of Azrael’s personal guard. There would have been fifty more plus an additional ten servants, but their lord and mistress had sent Brahim packing, the steward’s complaints regarding a proper retinue for a duchess falling on deaf ears.

The land on either side of the road was much the same as when they started. Rolling hills of farmland, interrupted by the occasional stand of trees or farmstead. This land, so much further south than Ursula’s home, sprouted all manner of crops. Ursula found herself staring at strange plants, wondering what they were. She wished she could ask, but there was no way she’d turn to Vincenza and their mistress hadn’t called her ahead.

Her eyes focused on the other slave’s profile. With reluctance, Ursula had to admit that Vincenza was less problem today. The slim beauty was in no way as pleasant as the other body slaves, but she’d stepped back from her obvious distaste, treating Ursula with professional courtesy rather than a thin veneer covering her jealousy. Perhaps their mistress had punished her the previous afternoon. Ursula felt a guilty pleasure at the thought, simultaneous with a surge of sympathy.

When she wasn’t worrying about the lack of sensation in her rear, Ursula’s mind was occupied by her conversation with Midia and Felicia.

Did Azrael care more deeply for her than Vincenza? The simple act of settling Ursula within her private rooms said something according to Midia. Though why only Vincenza was disturbed by it was beyond Ursula. She could easily see why the courtesan was angered. What she didn’t understand was why Midia and Felicia were not.

Ursula’s gaze, distant with thought, focused on Azrael’s back. If what Midia and Felicia said was true, how long would it last? The brunette had to admit to herself that she was treated differently from the others. Despite a two year absence, Azrael had only bedded the slaves she’d left behind once. Since then, Ursula was in her bed or lap more often than Felicia and Vincenza combined. While her mistress’ infatuation was delightful, it had to end some time, didn’t it? And what would become of Ursula when that happened?

Shying away from that speculation, the brunette stretched in her saddle in a vain attempt to ease the ache of her tailbone. She thought she heard a chuckle beside her. When she glanced over, however, Vincenza’s face was neutral as she gazed at the road before them. Dismissing the thought with a shake of her head, Ursula resumed her concerns.

Ursula eyed the villa they halted before. While similar in color to Azrael’s, both apparently built from the same quarry, this one was smaller. Puzzling over the size, the brunette noted no additional entry for an army. She raised her eyebrows, realizing Azrael’s uncle might not have one. Instead, a separate walled area sat few hundred feet on the other side of the road and the slave wondered what was there. Well cultivated grapes and olive fields basked in the afternoon sunlight.

A handful of people waited on the atrium steps as the horses came to a halt. Suma immediately ordered his troops to dismount and tend their horses as Azrael slid from her saddle, a brilliant smile on her face.

Watching the reunion curiously, Ursula saw the resemblance between Azrael and her uncle was so close, they could be mistaken for father and daughter. Standing beside the older man was a lighter skinned version of him, clouting the dark woman on the shoulder with youthful exuberance.

“Ursula.”

Concentration broken, the brunette looked at Vincenza standing on the ground beside her.

“You must dismount. Our mistress expects us by her side.”

The courtesan’s voice was matter of fact without a hint of condescension and Ursula wondered yet again what had transpired the previous afternoon. This thought was immediately chased away by the painful reality before her - having to get down from the saddle.

Ursula swallowed and nodded. Standing in the stirrups to swing her leg over wasn’t too difficult. It was bending her leg to reach the ground that nearly did her in. She bit back a groan as her thighs bitterly complained, grabbing at the saddle to remain upright. Vincenza’s hands on her waist steadied her and she glanced sharply over her shoulder at the other woman.

“Flex your legs,” Vincenza said. “Stretch a little and take small steps.

Doing as she was told, the brunette grunted softly at the agony, most of her weight hanging from her arms. The horse shifted in discomfort and Ursula clung to the saddle, abruptly terrified the steed would bolt, leaving her to collapse in the road.

“It’s not easy, I know,” Vincenza continued, releasing her hold as Ursula reacquainted herself with walking. She grabbed hold of the reins to steady the animal. “You’d do well to ask Lady Azrael for a horse of your own and ride every day. She’s been known to suddenly take leave of the villa with only what can be carried in saddlebags.”

Both leery and grateful of the assistance, Ursula murmured a thank you. She was glad the villa was on the other side of her mount, giving her a few precious moments to regain her equilibrium without prying eyes. The soldiers around them were busy with their gear, paying the slaves little heed.

Satisfied the brunette was able to walk, Vincenza urged her forward. Ursula feigned serenity as she hobbled toward the gathering, wishing she could use her dark companion to keep her balance.

“Will you never stop growing?” Azrael demanded of the young man whose neck was in the crook of her arm.

“It’s been three years, coz!” he exclaimed, playfully struggling in her grasp. “I wasn’t much more than a boy when I saw you last!”

Azrael laughed and released him. “Yes, but you’ve insisted you were a man since before you grew hair between your legs.”

“And you insisted you’d make a better man than most at a younger age than Nils,” was the droll reply from the older man.

Azrael bowed deeply. “Was I so wrong, Uncle?”

Nieto let out a bark of laughter, pulling his mischievous niece into a hug. “You weren’t far off the mark, I wager.” Releasing her, his dark eyes scanned the approaching slaves and captain. “Suma! It’s good to see you again! Has Azrael treated you well?”

Bowing, the tall blond said, “I’ve found no complaint in Lord Azrael’s service, Your Grace, except for her need to thrash my men at weapons practice.”

“Whose men?” Azrael asked, eyebrow arched. She bumped Nils with an elbow when he chuckled.

Saving Suma from the need to answer, Duke Neito said, “You know where the dining peristyle is, Captain. Have the men bed down there. Food will be served within the hour.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.” Suma bowed once more and left to see to the sleeping arrangements.

“And you, my dear.” Neito turned back to Azrael. “The royal guest rooms are prepared. Would you prefer to rest before eating?”

Azrael glanced at her body slaves, noting Ursula’s wan face. “Perhaps that would be best, Uncle.”

“So be it. We’ll have dinner in my quarters at sunset.” He waved forward a pair of servants. “Escort Lady Azrael to her rooms.”

As both bowed, Azrael smiled and gave each of her family members another hug. “I look forward to dinner. I’ve missed you both.”

“We’ve missed you, as well, coz,” Nils answered, giving her an extra squeeze.

“Go along. The sooner you’ve freshened yourself, the sooner we can break bread,” Neito said.

Still smiling, Azrael followed the servants, Vincenza and Ursula silently trailing behind.

Ursula nibbled at some bread, keeping a careful eye on her mistress’ wine. She sat on the lounger with Azrael rather than on the floor; the dark woman had insisted once she’d realized the extent of her slave’s pain. The subtle aroma of perfumed oils emanated from her, testament to a thorough, gentle massage of tortured muscles at the hands of her mistress. If every day’s ride ended thusly, Ursula would be more than happy to travel horseback for the rest of her life.

To top off the evening, Vincenza had been ordered to serve Nils. The young man had been startled but delighted, enjoying the courtesan’s attention.

The meal was simple fare, not what Ursula was expecting from the kitchens of a duke next in line for the throne. Obviously, Orsino the chef spoiled his lady no end with the menus he concocted. Surprisingly, it was a bit of a relief to dine without the exotic taste treats that came from Azrael’s kitchens.

Dinner was finished, trays of leftover foods and dirty trenchers whisked away by servants. Torches crackled along the wall illuminating those remaining. Vincenza’s head lay against Nil’s thigh and he caressed her hair with fascination. His father stared blankly at the cleared table between them, frowning in thought as his body slave - a young man with wild red hair - finished pouring wine into a mug.

Ursula took the offered ewer from the redhead and refilled Azrael’s mug as well before passing it along to Vincenza.

Leaning back with a sigh, Azrael urged Ursula to lay down on the cushioned lounger, pillowing the brunette’s head in her lap. She gently traced Ursula’s temple with her fingers. “Dinner was wonderful, Uncle. Thank you.”

Grunting, Neito looked up from his thoughts with a smile. “You’re welcome. It’s good to see you again. We’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” Azrael agreed.

“Did you travel far?” Nils asked, forcing his attention away from the beautiful woman at his feet.

“Far enough,” Azrael admitted. “Almost to the limit of our northern borders.”

Nieto nodded. “I hear there was a fair amount of fighting this year.”

“Somewhat. Enough apparently for the king to keep us in the field for a second year.”

Father and son traded looks. “There is that,” Neito conceded.

Azrael felt the tension in the room. Tilting her head, she said, “So far from court, wild rumors have sprung up like weeds. How are things here, truly?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” Neito said with a sniff. “I don’t spend much time in the capitol.”

The younger man shook his head. “Nor I,” he said. “Our… bountiful aunt wants as little to do with me as I to do with our royal cousin’s entourage.”

“My steward, Brahim, has reported many visits by the Royal Guard in my absence.” Azrael frowned. “Can the same be said here?”

“Oh, yes,” her uncle agreed readily. “They sniff around and note our loyalty to the throne before moving on.”

Azrael’s eyes narrowed. ”I’ll get to the meat of it then.” She leaned forward, displacing Ursula in the process. “Does Shonal believe I’m a direct threat to his crown?”

Nils choked and sputtered on a swallow of wine, coughing once it cleared his throat. Vincenza used a cloth to mop up the spill and help clean him up.

Smiling with bitter amusement, Neito raised his mug to his niece in salute. “Your father would be happy to know your latent skill in diplomacy has yet to surface.” He chuckled as her brow furrowed, her eyes apologetic.

“Be that as it may, Uncle, I need to know the way of things before walking into a viper’s nest.” Ursula’s hand gently rubbed Azrael’s back, soothing her. “Is it true?”

“It’s true.”

Azrael sighed heavily, lips pursed in frustration. “Where would he get such a preposterous idea?” she demanded. “Does he think I’ll sweep through and assassinate my entire family?”

“Maybe not your entire family,” Nils said, eyes still red from his near drowning though they sparkled with amusement. ”Him at the least, no doubt.”

“When his father died,” Neito said, forestalling his niece's response, “the queen began easing many of her kinsmen into court. She insisted Shonal receive tutoring in Crutcheon politics.”

“Crutcheon? That’s ancient history. There hasn’t been an empire like that in a thousand years.”

Neito shrugged. “Nevertheless, she felt his training as a king had been neglected and insisted on the matter.”

Azrael shook her head, brow furrowed. ”What does the long dead Crutcheon Empire have to do with me, Uncle?”

Reluctance in every line, Neito’s face was grim. “There were two ways to gain power in the empire, Azrael. Politics, of which you are sorely lacking, and military might.”

Nils spoke up. “It’s been centuries since an army attempted to take the throne but that doesn’t make it impossible. All a general would need is an extremely loyal army and the good will of the people.”

“Both of which you have, Azrael.”

The dark woman stared blankly at her family, blood draining from her face. ”Shonal can’t seriously believe that…” She swallowed as their expressions indicated otherwise.

Chapter Eighteen

Morning found Azrael and company gathered before Neito’s villa, preparing to leave. All was ready, horses saddled and gear stowed, except Vincenza and Nils were absent. Beside the wagon two trunks and a leather satchel sat on the ground, Azrael having ordered her uncle’s servants to remove them.

Ursula puzzled over them, knowing many of Vincenza’s belongings were inside. In fact, the satchel had been brought out by Ursula when they left the villa moments ago. Chewing her upper lip, she was distracted by the men mounting their horses. Amber eyes widened and she swallowed heavily as she looked at her horse. She could almost feel her back end protest at the thought of climbing into the saddle.

“Ah, there you are,” Azrael exclaimed as her errant cousin and Vincenza appeared at the door. ”I wondered if I needed to roust you myself to bid you farewell.”

Nils appeared frazzled and smug through the sleepy expression on his face. “Sorry, coz,” he grinned, looking anything but. “I was up rather late.”

Azrael leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “I trust Vincenza pleased you?”

Nils chuckled, running a hand through his thick hair. “Aye, she did, coz. She’s well worth her weight in gold.”

Beside him, Vincenza dipped an eyelid in a wink and Azrael laughed. “She’s yours, cousin.”

“What?” the young man blurted, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Very,” Azrael said. She pulled a parchment from where it was tucked into her belt, offering it to Nils. “Here are her papers. Her clothing and such are there by her horse.”

Neito raised an eyebrow at the exchange but said nothing as his son looked over the document in shock.

“I only ask one boon, cousin.”

”Name it!” Nils exclaimed, eyes sparkling.

Azrael grinned at his excitement. “I’ve already given Vincenza permission to attend her sister’s wedding next summer in Raston. I would ask you to honor that.”

“Consider it done,” Nils said, taking Azrael’s arm in his.

Shaking on it, Azrael nodded and turned to Vincenza. “I know you’ll treat him well and he’ll do the same for you,” she said, brushing her knuckles along the slave’s cheek. “Be well, Vincenza.”

Sniffling, Vincenza smiled. “Thank you, Milady. And you.”

Azrael gave her a hug and kiss before stepping away and turning to her uncle. Nils, still amazed at his luck, focused on Vincenza.

“Well, Uncle. I’m off to the lion’s den,” Azrael said, forcing a smile. “Any last words of wisdom for me?”

Neito pulled her into an embrace. ”Be careful, Azrael. Do as Shonal asks. Swear fealty and suffer at court until he’s at ease with you and allows you home.”

Azrael sighed. “Providing he’ll ever allow me go,” she muttered.

“It’s a possibility, true enough,” her uncle conceded as he held her at arm’s length. “Such is the way of it, however. Be glad Shonal bores easily. You’ll no doubt be home before spring.”

Hardly a concession. Azrael nodded once, bowing to her uncle’s wisdom. “I’ll see you at court on Solstice?”

“We’ll be there.” Neito glanced over her shoulder. “Your men are ready.”

Azrael gave him hug, interrupted Nils preoccupation with his new body slave for another and forced herself to walk away. Ursula was still on her feet and she waved the brunette up to her saddle.

Lifting her foot to stirrup was agony. Ursula could almost hear her hip creaking at the abuse. Straightening was nearly impossible; it took all the strength in her arms to haul herself upward. Sitting her saddle with a wince, she hissed as tendrils of fire shot through her thighs. Ursula consoled herself with the knowledge her rear would soon be numb.

Azrael watched with bemused sympathy until her slave was mounted. With a final smile and wave to those gathered at the villa, she gave the order to move forward.

Several minutes passed before Ursula could see past her misery. Vincenza wasn’t riding beside her. Frowning, the brunette looked ahead, not locating her companion. She grimaced in pain as she turned in the saddle, seeing Neito’s villa fade away behind the cavalry bringing up the rear.

Vincenza wasn’t coming?

Ursula turned forward, staring at her mistress’ back. Did Azrael leave the slave behind temporarily or was this a permanent arrangement? And why? Midia had never mentioned something like this. While it was always possible her mistress would send her body slave to someone else for the night, would she just leave her there? Would she do the same with Ursula?

Thoughts full and heavy, Ursula rode on, chewing her upper lip.

Suma broke off and dropped back to check the men. It was nearing midday, the sun hanging not so high overhead. Fall was coming and along with that, harvest. Azrael wasn’t pleased she’d miss it again this year. The only thing more satisfying than swordwork was the physical labor used to bring crops in for the winter.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked at her slave, finding the pensive expression amusing. “Ursula.”

The brunette blinked before kicking her horse to catch up to Azrael. Her amber eyes registered shock at the sudden stab of fire up her spine. It didn’t last long, fortunately, subsiding to a dull throb. “Yes, Milady.”

“How are your legs and back?” Azrael asked, reaching across to caress Ursula’s hair.

Mindful of her mistress’ insistence on truth, Ursula bowed her head. “Tolerable, Milady. It helps that I can’t feel anything.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.” Azrael chuckled. “When we retire for the night, I’ll give you another massage.”

“Thank you, Milady.” Ursula worried her lip. “Milady?” she finally said. “May I ask a question?”

“Certainly, Ursula.”

“Why has Vincenza been left behind? Has she displeased you?”

Azrael smiled. “No, Vincenza hasn’t displeased me, Ursula. I gave her to my cousin.” They rode in silence, the dark woman waiting for Ursula’s next inquiries.

The slave’s mind whirled. Vincenza no longer belonged to Azrael? But, why? Was it her jealous behavior? Or had she grown tired of the courtesan? Ursula mentally scoffed at the thought. Vincenza certainly had the skills and training to keep her owner interested for longer than a year!

A horrifying possibility occurred to the slave. Will Azrael be tired of her in a year?

The minutes stretched on and Azrael eyed the puzzled profile. Ursula seemed to be at a loss, uncertain of what to say. No small wonder. She was new and didn’t completely know what to expect from her owner. “Ursula, do you have more questions?”

Startled from her musings, Ursula said, “I… Yes… perhaps.” She blushed, dropping her eyes. “I’m sorry, Milady. I wasn’t expecting your answer.”

“It was a fairly recent decision,” Azrael admitted. “I spoke with Vincenza about it the day before we left.”

Ursula opened her mouth and then closed it. No wonder Vincenza had been acting different. She’d already known her fate.

“Ursula?”

The slave dragged her attention back to the woman beside her. “Why, Milady?” she asked, not expecting an answer. Azrael treated her slaves with caring and dignity, but she was still their owner. Certain things were not discussed with your property.

The anticipated question left Azrael with no answer. She knew it was inevitable and had rehearsed a handful of responses, but she was momentarily at a loss. Taking Ursula’s hand in hers, she said, “As you well know, Vincenza is a pleasure slave. All of her abilities are focused on that one aspect. To put it simply, I have no more use for her in that capacity. Nils will no doubt have much to learn from her.”

No more use for a pleasure slave? Ursula knew she was the only one spending her nights between Azrael’s sheets. She certainly wasn’t as experienced as Vincenza. Surely her mistress didn’t mean… “Will you be giving the rest of us away, Milady?” she asked, amber eyes wide.

Azrael smiled and squeezed the brunette’s hand. “No, Ursula. Midia and Felicia have made a home with me and I will not disrupt that. And I hope you will make a home with me, as well.”

There was something within Azrael’s eyes and Ursula furrowed her brow, trying to place the expression. Suma’s return interrupted both her musings and her mistress’ attention. She eased her horse back as the two soldiers discussed the state of their troops.

With so much to think on, Ursula forgot her bruised bottom as they continued their journey.

The sun was waning as they arrived in Shonal’s city. Ursula had thought many of the towns they’d been to were huge. The city was vast in comparison and she found herself gawking at all the sights.

Upon their arrival at a vast gate, the city guard halted them. One look at Azrael’s standard and the insignia on the breasts of her men was all the gate captain needed. Bowing and saluting by turns, he waved them through, pausing long enough to send a runner ahead to the palace.

It was nearing the supper hour yet the streets still teemed with life. The sun was low enough to cause drifting shadows from the taller buildings. Ursula was amazed to see that some had three stories! Pedestrians and carts clogged the narrow streets, forcing Suma to have the men clear a path. The cursing from people pushed unceremoniously aside by the breast of a warhorse was nearly as colorful as the people themselves.

They passed several inns and taverns, businesses set up for the weary traveler just arriving. The brunette heard Azrael’s name called and looked up at a building with a balcony. Several scantily clad women posed there, calling to her mistress and men offers of company for the evening. One had the audacity to bare her breasts, blowing a kiss to Azrael.

A brothel! She’d heard tales of these places but had never thought to see one. Gaping, Ursula glanced at her mistress. Azrael bowed from her saddle and winked at the tart! The women all cackled and leered in response. Ursula’s blush was so strong, it was a wonder she didn’t set fire to her collar. A dim throb pulsed behind her eyes and the ever present jealousy surged forth.

Thankfully, they soon passed the flourishing hospitality business around the gate. The buildings became more sedate, though dirty and unkempt. Quite a few people bustled to and fro though it wasn’t as crowded as before.

They turned off onto a wider street with better houses. Here some attention had been given to repairs and cleanliness. Bedsheets and rugs hung from upper windows, smoke rose from chimneys and the air smelled of cooking food.

Again the street widened. It also became noisier. Ursula saw they were entering a market square that was still doing business. Once more, pedestrians were forced aside as they navigated the crowds.

The square itself could have housed Ursula’s old village of Theara with room to spare. From her vantage point on horseback, she could see at least three city wells and a number of statuary. Hawkers called for their attention, offering goods at a reasonable price. Others were deep in the throes of haggling with potential customers.

Unlike the markets of smaller towns, here there were fenced courtyards where entertainers plied their trade for coin. They passed one such impromptu stage and Ursula watched with wonder as a small circus performed for a decent sized audience. She gasped as a tall woman, dressed all in black, tunic and breeches, held up a torch and blew flame four feet into the air. The people clapped and tossed coins as the entertainer bowed, not a single unruly blonde hair singed. She stepped aside, introducing two muscular men who looked to be twins.

Ursula was disappointed when they moved out of sight, wondering what other interesting things the performers would do. As they left the market square, she avowed to seek permission to return.

Again the buildings took a turn for the better. It seemed the further into the city they traveled, the nicer the accommodations. The houses grew wider, as well, no longer tenements with numerous occupants. Instead they were small mansions, some with walled courtyards spilling over with potted plants. Fewer people were on the streets, most obviously servants or slaves intent on errands.

Another square, this one not as large or robust as the market they’d passed through. Ursula’s eyes widened as she recognized a temple by the statue of Sif standing before it. Scanning the buildings, she noted several other temples, sedate businesses sprinkled among them. She eyed armed men at one door, wondering who or what they were guarding.

It seemed to Ursula that they had been riding inside the city forever. Certainly the sun had lowered quite a bit, the buildings now casting gloomy shadows. In some places, torches were already being lit by workmen, a string of orange flames illuminating the road. The mansions here were fewer and farther between, providing privacy for their owners. Ursula thought the people residing here were rich indeed.

As if to prove her point, the travelers slowed, the forerunners guiding their mounts into a courtyard. A young boy jumped up from his seat on the step and ran inside. In moments, several servants poured out of the mansion.

Ursula, taking her cue from the soldiers, winced as she eased out of her saddle. Rather than try to bend her leg, she prepared to slip her foot from the stirrup and hop down, preferring a sudden jolt to long burning agony. She gasped as hands gripped her waist, easing her to the ground.

“No more riding for a few days,” Azrael promised, brushing a kiss on Ursula’s ear.

Ursula, too busy remembering how to stand and walk without assistance, only nodded.

“Lord Azrael,” Suma said, approaching. “All is ready. I’ll have the men deal with the horses. Will you be going to the palace tonight?”

“Yes, Suma, I will. You saw the dispatch at the gate. I daresay Shonal will be horribly put out it I don’t make an immediate appearance.” Azrael checked on Ursula. “I’ll take four men as escort. See to Ursula; I believe she’s in need of a long, hot soak.”

Suma saluted and turned away, issuing orders to the men and servants.

“Milady?” the brunette asked.

Azrael smiled, draping an arm over Ursula’s shoulders. “I must appear before the king. No doubt it will be a few hours before my return. In the meantime, enjoy the hospitality of my house.”

Ursula quirked an eyebrow at the phrase but nodded. “Yes, Milady.”

Kissing the slave, Azrael hugged her close for a moment. Then she waved a servant forward, ordering a bath to be drawn.

Ursula stumbled at first but soon was able to hobble up the steps, the servant escorting her. She turned to see Azrael, Suma and three soldiers remount and clatter out of the courtyard.

“Milady?”

Startled, Ursula turned to the servant beside her. Before she had sense enough to correct his address, he urged her inside the mansion.

Chapter Nineteen

A red haze shimmered on the horizon by the time Azrael arrived at the palace walls. The sky overhead darkened, revealing a shroud of stars sparkling in the sun’s aftermath. The street was quiet as they rode along the wall; not many had cause to be near the palace except on business and rarely in the evening.

Rounding a corner, Azrael and her men saw torch light brightening their path ahead. They clattered to a stop before a gate.

“General Azrael, here at the king’s request,” Suma announced to the gate guards.

With evening fully upon them, the guards gave them much more than a cursory examination. A torch was called forth to better illuminate the visitors.

The sergeant bowed deeply once proper identification was made. “G’evening, Your Grace. His Majesty had word of your coming. He asks for you to attend him in his audience chamber.”

Azrael nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

He waved her through, calling ahead to the next checkpoint.

They now rode single file along a narrow outer bailey, high walls on either side. Above them, Azrael could hear the tread of booted feet, Shonal’s royal guard patrolling above, watching them.

A few lengths further, a second gate was open; here they endured another round of inspection until the guards were satisfied. They were finally given permission to pass and a soldier sent to the palace to announce Azrael’s arrival.

Once clear of the gate, Suma murmured, “Not very trusting, are they?”

Responding in an equal tone, Azrael said, “Apparently my uncle was correct. Have everyone keep their eyes open. I don’t expect anything untoward. Not yet.” Her gaze was dispassionate as she scanned the courtyard they entered, noting military strength. “Shonal’s always fancied himself as clever and sly. If there’s a true threat, he’ll have concocted some elaborate scheme rather than a forthright accusation and attack.”

“Aye, Lord Azrael. I’ll pass it on when we dismount.”

The courtyard was a large cobbled clearing before the palace. A handful of men and women awaited their arrival - servants, guards and stablehands. Additionally, Azrael saw archers on the walls and inside upper windows, watching.

Her shoulders fairly itched but she dismounted easily, tossing her reins to a stablehand. “See the horses get a mash,” she ordered. “We’ve been riding all day.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” The lad bowed.

Suma moved among the men, alerting them and bidding discretion. As their general mounted the steps, they followed, flanking her.

A steward glanced over the soldiers, a gentle tick in his right eye twisting it into a near wink. “Your Grace,” he intoned, bowing deeply. The handful of servants followed his lead.

Azrael raised an eyebrow at Suma. “While I thank you for the welcome, can we get on with it?” she asked, her voice warm to ease the sharpness of her words. “We’ve been riding most the day. The sooner I see the King, the sooner we’ll be allowed rest.”

Straightening, the steward’s tick was stronger. “Of course, Your Grace.” He waved two servants forward. “If you please, these will escort your men to comfortable chambers while you attend His Majesty.”

Azrael frowned in thought. “I was informed to meet with my royal cousin in his audience chamber, not his personal rooms, yes?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then this is not a familial visit but a public one,” Azrael said. “My men shall escort me.” She watched the man redden and wondered if his eye would freeze, mid squint, forever half blinding him.

Stuttering for a moment, the steward finally was able to speak. “Well… That is your right, Your Grace.” He peered with his clear eye at the soldiers. “They’ll, of course, be required to turn over their weapons …”

“Of course.”

At a loss for an argument, the steward shuffled a moment before turning away. “Follow me, if you please, Your Grace.” Urgently waving the servants aside, he led the way into the palace.

Excessive opulence enveloped them as they followed the steward through the entry hall. It had been some time since her last visit and it appeared Shonal or his mother had been quite busy in the interim. Every surface sparkled, reflecting flame from torches and oil lamps. Statues, while eerily lifelike, were as highly polished, shiny phantoms placed artistically here and there. Even the potted plants had changed, no longer the assortment of ferns and flowers of her youth. Instead, thick green leaves sparkled, each leaf polished to a high luster.

Azrael snorted at the fuss Brahim would make if she decided to implement this type of decor. No doubt it took an army of slaves to keep the walls this pristine. She could hardly imagine the headache of polishing torch soot off the ceiling every day.

Past the entry, they entered what would have been the peristyle of a proper villa. Here, however, no night sky was visible; a ceiling capped the room far above. It wouldn’t do for the palace to be open to a well aimed catapult. Where the garden and fountain would have been were more potted plants and a number of marble benches and tables. Several curtained doorways lined the walls.

They were not alone here. Slaves and servants bustled to and fro in their duties; it was nearing the evening meal and many carried trays of food. Several of the Royal Guard lined the walls, their armor appearing golden in the light of braziers and torches. The benches and tables held scattered occupants, lords and ladies of the court awaiting attendance on their liege.

Azrael held herself calm, not grimacing as they passed through the peristyle. All eyes were on them and the first shocked hush gave way to a buzz of whispered speculation. She nodded acknowledgment to those who tried to catch her eye, but continued on without stopping. Azrael knew that to stop now would be tantamount to a wounded fish pausing in a tank full of starving sharks.

The steward led them to a heavily guarded doorway. “Duchess Azrael to see His Royal Majesty.”

Bowing, the lieutenant said, “Good evening, Your Grace. The King is expecting you.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Azrael automatically tugged the sword from her belt. She restrained a smile at the sudden vigilance of the guards, turning the blade and handing it hilt first to the officer. Behind her, she heard the rasp of metal on leather as her men followed suit.

Disarmed, she waited for the steward to precede them into the hall beyond. The itching between her shoulders intensified and Azrael took a measure of comfort in the proximity of her men. They had drawn closer to protect her with their very lives. She lifted her chin, a trickle of pride at their loyalty easing her heart.

The door opened on well oiled hinges, moving lightly aside despite its apparent weight. Leading the way, the steward darted into the room, wringing his hands, eye twitching mightily. Azrael and her guard followed at a more sedate pace.

Half again the size of the peristyle, the audience hall was cavernous. The ceiling was four stories distant, perhaps the largest hall in the world; most definitely the largest in the kingdom. Polished black granite covered the floor, a strip of white marble setting counterpoint as it lead a path to the royal dais. It was along this path that Azrael paced with her men behind. Scattered about the room were more statues and the like. Royal guards were positioned at all points of entry and it looked like archers could be placed on a balcony circling the room with little trouble. The dais rose a man’s height at one end, flanked by ten soldiers. Upon it were two thrones, only one occupied.

Shonal lounged indolently as his cousin approached, a sly grin playing across his lips. As his eyes flickered across Azrael’s guard, they narrowed, casting a sharp glance at his steward who bowed deeply. His council, a dozen men of varying ages, loitered nearby, watching the proceedings.

“Your Royal Majesty,” the steward intoned to the floor. “Your Royal cousin, Duchess Azrael, General of the Third Army.”

Azrael bowed, her men kneeling before their king.

Shonal’s smile soured as he noted the woman didn’t go to her knees as well. He waved the steward away. “Begone, Darsis. My cousin and I have much to discuss.” Ignoring the old man as he fled, Shonal rose to his feet and descended the steps. “Cousin! It’s long since I’ve seen you. How fare you?”

“Tired and dusty, my liege,” Azrael answered, her smile just as false. “We’ve been riding since morning from uncle’s villa.”

Shonal stopped two steps above the floor. “I trust you found Neito well? I’ve not seen him since last Solstice.”

The woman nodded. “He is well,” she said. “As is our cousin, Nils. I did not have much time to speak with them, however. My desire to answer your summons caused me to leave prematurely.”

“Ah, yes,” Shonal said, his expression one of amused regret. “My apologies for taking you from your home so soon upon your return. It wasn’t my desire.” He waved at the men watching. “My council appears to be a bit nervous about you. You were away when my father passed on and have yet to officially swear fealty.”

Raking her gaze over the gathered officials, Azrael enjoyed the fact that many couldn’t meet her eye. “Had I known it would cause such consternation, I would have returned sooner, my liege.” She dropped to her knee before her cousin. “I’m prepared to swear fealty immediately to ease the hearts of your council.”

Shonal glanced swiftly about his men, his expression as startled as theirs. Dissembling, his smile returned and he laughed aloud. “That will hardly be necessary just yet, cousin,” he insisted. “Rise! I’ve begun preparations for a banquet tomorrow evening. You can give your fealty then, before all doubters as witnesses. What say you?”

Azrael frowned a moment, searching for a trap. Slowly, she gained her feet and bowed once more. “I would be honored, my liege,” she said.

“Good!” Shonal said, coming down the final steps to slap the woman on the shoulder. “It is good to see you, cousin! Let’s drop the formalities, eh?” Putting an arm across her shoulders, he steered her toward a table laden with food and drink. “You and your men must break your fast and tell me how things fare in the northern parts of my kingdom.”

Nodding, Azrael waved her men forward and began regaling the king with tales of her activities the last two years.

A single candle illuminated the bedchambers, a golden glow casting shadows upon the wall. The bed was freshly made, Azrael’s robe draped at the foot. All that was needed was her mistress to return. Ursula pulled a shawl closer about her shoulders as she waited, wondering when Azrael would come back from the palace.

This house was built up rather than sprawling about as the villa. Three stories held public rooms on one level, the owner’s personal quarters on the second and slaves and servants on the third. Murals and mosaics decorated walls and floors, reminiscent in many ways to the villa. Ursula considered that it was a means of making Azrael feel at home, since both residences were similar.

Rising from the stool, the slave padded to the window to look upon the courtyard. She’d nearly fallen asleep twice now. It wouldn’t do to be caught napping when she was supposed to be waiting for her owner. Looking much the same, it didn’t appear that Azrael had returned. At this rate, the moon would be well risen before her arrival.

It had taken some time before Ursula could convince the servants that she was a slave rather than a lady. Since none had been apprised of her status all had assumed she was high ranking. She finally had to bare her shoulder and the slaver’s tattoo before they’d believe her. Still, deference had been paid to her since she was Azrael’s body slave. Apparently, Midia had been right all those weeks ago when she’d said that they were of a higher station than the rest of the slaves in their owner’s care.

The bath had been luxuriant. A shelf held several types of oils and perfumes and Ursula argued for long minutes with herself before deciding against any of them. She didn’t know when her mistress would return and needed to be prepared. Perhaps later, she could experiment with the available scents. Afterwards, she took a late supper in Azrael’s quarters. Upon further exploration, she found a small room with a cot, table and chair. Assuming that to be for the personal slaves, she deposited her bags there before rushing off to ready Azrael’s bed.

Movement caught her eye and Ursula’s heart sped as five riders turned into the courtyard. Considering what she’d overheard regarding the king, she heaved a small sigh of relief that Azrael was safely home. Anxious, the brunette threw the shawl from her shoulders and ran to the door, calling for servants to prepare their mistress’ bath as she dashed down the stairs.

The steward here, Edric, opened the door and greeted the general. “Milady! Welcome home! Your men are bedded down in the stable and a room has been prepared for Captain Suma. Would you have your bath now?”

Azrael tramped into the foyer, her weary smile brightening as she saw Ursula’s arrival. “A bath would be very welcome, Edric, thank you.” She turned to her men. “You’re dismissed. Join your fellows in the stable for tonight and prepare for guard rotations on the morrow.” As the three dispersed, she regarded Suma. “Shall I have a bath brought to your rooms?” she asked.

“That would be most generous, Lord,” the blond man said, closing the door behind them. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Until morning, then.” Azrael watched him stride away, a fond grin on her face. “Ursula,” she said, pulling the willowy brunette into a hug. “Attend me.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Azrael sat in contemplation, the muslin sheet pooled about her waist, body cooling from its pleasurable exertions. Ursula was cuddled beside her, drowsing in the safety of her mistress’ arms. The slave stretched and sighed, her breath whispering across Azrael’s chest. Smiling, the dark woman hugged Ursula close, brushing hair away from her lover’s sweaty brow and kissing her. Despite their recent activity, she was amused to note a thrill of arousal as soft lips responded to hers.

With a chuckle, Azrael broke off the kiss and held Ursula close once more, relaxing as she felt arms tighten around her middle. “Gods, I love …” Startled at herself, Azrael prevaricated, “I love the way you make me feel, Ursula.”

Ursula felt her mistress stiffen a moment before easing again. Uncertain of the cause, she ignored it, smiling instead. She brought her hand up to caress Azrael’s throat. “Thank you, Milady.”

Capturing the hand before it could stray, Azrael squeezed it. “Ah, what did I say earlier?”

The slave ducked her head with a shy smile. “To call you by your given name when we’re alone.”

“And that name is?” the dark woman asked, her tone reminiscent of a tutor she’d once had.

Ursula blushed. “Azrael,” she murmured.

Everything about the slave was honey, including her voice. Azrael’s mouth went dry as she tilted Ursula’s face upward. “Again.”

“Azrael.”

The voice was musical, the tones striking deep into the recesses of Azrael’s heart and soul. Her head dropped closer, eyes closing, lips hovering just out of reach. “Again,” she whispered.

Ursula could feel her mistress’ heart thumping. “Azrael,” she responded in kind, drawing the name out until her mouth was taken in a fiery kiss.

Sleep was not forthcoming.

Azrael stared out the window of her bed chambers, seeing the almost imperceptible change of color in the sky as the sun made its way to the eastern horizon. Beside her, Ursula slept, a faint smile on her face. Occasionally, Azrael would reach over to touch her; caressing a bared arm or thigh, running fingers through dark hair, tracing a jaw line with her thumb. The resultant sigh and squirm almost gave her cause to wake Ursula for another bout of love making. Instead, Azrael tortured herself with pulling away, letting the slave return to her slumber while she burned with need.

It was frightening, this need. Once Azrael had accepted what was happening to her, it seemed the dam of her emotions had burst and was now overflowing. She’d never felt such intensity, not even as a youth with the fair Lenore. Azrael shook her head, recalling how she’d almost told Ursula of her love only hours before.

What would a slave know of love? It was ludicrous to think that Ursula, held against her will, could become romantically attached to her mistress. Azrael knew that her slaves loved her but this was a different emotion than theirs. Ursula no doubt felt the same way as Midia or Felicia - a deep caring love that would never be the same as the one she’d feel for her future husband.

Or the one Azrael felt for her.

Not liking this turn of thought, Azrael eased out of the warm bed, grabbing up her robe. Donning it, she stepped into the sitting room, pleased to note that embers still glowed in the fireplace. She stirred the coals to life and added wood until flames crackled before sitting down to brood.

The whole of Ursula’s life stretched out before her wandering mind. Sooner or later, the brunette would find a handsome young man to cleave to, would desire to bear him children and live with him as his wife. What would Azrael do? Deny her that right? Jealously keep Ursula to herself and damn all the consequences? The love that Ursula held for her mistress would wither and die, no doubt, dead on the vine for lack of water, lack of true love.

A vision of an elderly statesman came to mind and Azrael snorted. Widacus, profound and powerful leader on the King’s Council, had gone along this path, as well, falling madly in love with one of his body slaves. He’d doted on her in public, allowing her all manner of transgressions with nary a frown, treating her as his equal though he still held her leash. People were pleasant to his face, but wagging tongues remarked on his lack of sense and decorum. He was made a fool, a high born idiot slavering after a pretty face. His reputation became shabby and ragged by turns until he quietly retired to his estate, the butt of jokes among the aristocracy.

And here she was following in his footsteps. It was bad enough that Azrael was of royal blood. She also commanded an army! What would happen if she were to lose the trust and loyalty of her men?

With a sigh, she leaned forward, dropping her face to her hands and scrubbing in frustration. She rested there, elbows on knees, face covered as she tried to formulate some plan of action. Never one to be idle, the thought of just letting things go along on their own was incomprehensible. There should be something she could do to fix things.

“Azrael?”

The voice was hesitant and Azrael looked up to see Ursula poised in the doorway. A tired smile crossed her face. “Yes, Ursula?”

Chewing on her upper lip a moment, Ursula took a step into the room. She was wearing a silk robe of deep green. “Are you all right, Mi … Azrael? Do you wish to be left alone?”

Azrael sat back, her smile widening. “No, Ursula. Your presence will always be preferable to solitude,” she said, waving the slave forward. When Ursula was close, Azrael pulled her into her lap, leaning back in her chair. She rubbed the brunette’s back, content despite misgivings and thoughts. “And why are you up at this hour?”

Ursula played with the leading edge of her mistress’ robe as it sloped from her neck. “I’m always up at this hour,” she reminded. “I woke to call for your morning tea and prepare for the day, but you were already gone from bed.” She looked up, her fingers straying to brush against Azrael’s jaw line. “You seemed deep in thought. Am I not interrupting?”

Kissing the fingers, Azrael chuckled. “Perhaps, but it’s a welcome interruption, sweetling. My thoughts were going nowhere, circling with no end.” She hugged the slave. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

They sat in companionable silence for long moments before Ursula finally dared to venture, “Is it your cousin, Azrael? Is he what has you in a worrisome mood?” She waited, wondering if her forward behavior would result in punishment.

Azrael blinked in surprise. Was it already so obvious to the slave that she could take liberties without fear of retribution? Even Midia hadn’t attempted to be so bold until she’d been with her mistress for two years. The thought of Midia brought a grin to Azrael’s face. Of course. Midia had been tutoring Ursula for months.

“I wish it was my cousin,” she admitted with a chuckle. “At least he I can understand. As a child he was a bully and a coward. I don’t believe he’s grown into an honorable man.” Azrael stopped, a chill in her heart as she wondered why she was talking near treason to a slave. Deciding to change the subject, she said, “Have you cousins, Ursula?”

Puzzled, Ursula wondered what had saddened her mistress, disappointed that Azrael wouldn’t speak of it. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Possibly. My mother had two brothers, but she hasn’t had word of them for years.”

Azrael had a sudden desire to learn all about the brunette in her arms. “What of siblings? I recall you mentioning a sister or brother to Midia once.”

“Aye, I’ve both. There were eight of us.”

Frowning, the dark woman considered a moment. “You were lucky. I was the only child in my home. When I was younger, I wished for a brother but it never happened.”

Ursula gave a half smile, snuggling closer, returning her fingers to the robe collar. “Not that lucky,” she said. “No privacy, four to a pallet in the corner, not enough food … and terrors! My brothers were horrendous with hair pulling and dropping bugs down our dresses.” She paused in fond memory, startled from it by the next question.

“Do you miss them?”

It was Ursula’s turn to frown as she pondered the answer. “Yes and no, I suppose,” she finally said. “I miss the pleasant times we had, but it was terribly hard. I don’t miss working in the fields with poorly crafted tools or hoping for an early spring so we wouldn’t starve.” She looked at Azrael’s profile as she stared into the dwindling flames. “Farming’s a difficult life.”

“Especially in the northern lands,” Azrael agreed. “I’d be loathe to eke a living out of that cold, rocky soil.” She rocked the woman in her arms. “Tell me, Ursula, with a life as rough as yours, did you not have dreams and wishes?”

Ursula sobered. “Aye, Azrael, as a child. But when I grew older, I gave up childish things. They meant nothing, just dawdlings. By the time my father gave me away, I knew there was no place for dreams.” She shrugged, intent on the collar beneath her fingers. “They only cause regret and sadness.”

Azrael hugged the brunette close, hearing the muted pain in her voice. “Everyone deserves to have wishes come true, Ursula,” she said, brushing the top of the slave’s head with a kiss. She held her breath, cursing herself for torturing her heart. A part of her desperately needed to know the answer, however, and she found herself asking, “What were your dreams? Did you wish for a fair and strong knight to ride into your life? Someone to defend your honor and love you forever?”

Chuckling despite her melancholy, Ursula said, “No. None of that, though my sisters all swore that their true love would come from the Fey Well deep in the forest to take them away.”

It seemed Azrael’s heart stopped, mid beat. When no further words were forthcoming, she whispered, “What then, Ursula? What were your dreams?”

“They’re silly,” she said, blushing. She was jostled and her mistress gave her a warning growl. With a laugh, she finally said, “I was always the knight, saving the lady in distress, fighting to the death for love and honor. I remember being so disappointed when my brothers told me only men could become soldiers.”

Azrael’s heart began beating once more. A slow smile grew on her face at the thought, recalling many childhood summers pretending to do the same. “Well, as you now know, women can become soldiers and knights, too. Would you still wish to be one?”

Ursula shook her head, leaning forward to kiss the dark woman’s neck. “No, Azrael. I’d rather wish to remain in your arms forever.”

Chapter Twenty

In contrast to Azrael’s last visit, Shonal’s audience hall was quite crowded this evening. It seemed that every noble with an ounce of highborn blood was on hand to witness her vow. She heard the herald announce her and stepped forward, wishing it were all over.

She’d brought ten of her men this time, all in polished mail as they escorted her to the dais, five before and five behind. Azrael was dressed in her armor, as well, never much comfortable with the gowns of the feminine aristocracy. It was far easier to move in breeches and tunic than the frippery of women. Not trusting her cousin also helped in her decision; Azrael much preferred being ready for action if it was deemed necessary.

As she made her way down the suddenly long path, movement caught her eye and she glanced aside. A smile barely touched her lips at the sight of Ursula, cupping her mouth to hide a grin. Amber eyes flashed above tan fingers, reflecting excitement for her mistress. Azrael’s eyelid drooped in the barest wink before she was past but could spare no more attention. She was pleased to note Suma standing just behind her slave, keeping her safe from wagging tongues.

While it seemed to take forever, she arrived at the dais in little time. Her men came to a halt and knelt, leaving her standing amidst them. Azrael stepped forward and past, stopping at the dais and kneeling on the bottom step. “Your Royal Majesty,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry across the crowd. “I’ve come to swear fealty to you as my King and Commander.”

Shonal rose from his throne, torch light shining off his golden cape. Beside him, an elderly woman sat in the second chair - Gerina, the Queen Mother. With an almost insolent air, he sauntered down the steps until he was just above her. “I’ll hear your vow, cousin.”

Azrael quelled a shaky sigh, preferring to face a sword duel with the finest of masters than all this attention. “I, Azrael, King’s cousin and Duchess of Wrendon, General of the Third Army, in the presence of all the gods, and in the presence of King Shonal, King’s Council and all gathered Lords and Ladies: Be it known to all, present and future, that I do recognize that Shonal, King of Barentcia, has granted me possession of the Duchy of Wrendon, which I shall hold so long as I provide Shonal with the five hundred men in my company to serve the Crown in time of war, or pay scutage for the same; and that if I break this promise, all the aforesaid men shall hold directly of my lord, Shonal, King of Barentcia; my duchy shall be forfeit and revert to the Crown in total, but that my noble title of Duchess shall persist until such time as the Crown shall have reason to take it from me.”

Azrael bowed her head. “I will do liege homage to my lord, Shonal, King of Barentcia, and I swear to keep faith with him against all creatures, living and dead, without deception and with all honor; and that from this hour I will be true to him with regard to his life and his rulership, and the members of his body, and love all that he loves, and shun all that he shuns, according to the law, and according to the world’s principles. I swear that I will never, by will nor by force, by word nor by work, do ought of what is loathful to him; on condition that he keep me as I am willing to deserve, and that I assume all the rights and liberties of a peer of the realm. I further pledge to support, uphold and execute the common law of the land, and to abide by all decisions of the Crown in regard to this law.”

There was a long pause and Azrael wondered if Shonal were playing with her. Would he deny her fealty in this public forum, just to make a scene? Much as she wished to look up and see his eyes, to ascertain what he was thinking, she kept her head bowed, waiting obediently if not patiently. Relief flickered through her as she heard her cousin respond with the proper words.

“I, Shonal, King of Barentcia: Be it known to all men that we have received Azrael, King’s cousin and Duchess of Wrendon, General of the Third Army, as our liege woman. She has sworn on all the gods that she will aid us in good faith, as her liege lord, against every creature, living or dead; she will uphold our authority and come to the aid of the Crown in time of war. At her command the following persons have sworn to us that they approve of this and will support and aid her in keeping this oath: the King’s Council and all gathered Lords and Ladies. For our part, we do swear to uphold, protect and defend Azrael, King’s cousin and Duchess of Wrendon, General of the Third Army, for so long as we remain sovereign of Barentcia, and for so long as Azrael, Duchess of Wrendon, observes her oath of fealty to the Crown.” Shonal’s voice was smug as he said, “Rise, Azrael.”

The woman stood, noting her cousin’s tone also reflected upon his face. Regardless, she stepped forward as he leaned close. They kissed one another on the cheek, sealing the pact. Shonal took Azrael’s hand and turned toward their audience, his cousin following suit.

“All are witness,” he called.

“All are witness,” the crowd repeated before breaking out into applause.

Azrael was glad when the king released her hand - it felt pudgy and sweaty - and she resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her thigh. With a false smile, she bowed deeply to Shonal. “What is your will, My Liege?”

“My will is to celebrate with a banquet, cousin,” Shonal said, a wide grin on his face. “And you shall sit with me at the highest table! To the dining peristyle!” he announced loudly, the nearby herald picking up his order and repeating it for the masses.

As her cousin led her out of the audience hall, Azrael glanced back at the dais. The Queen Mother was still seated on her throne, apparently asleep. It occurred to Azrael that the woman looked much more frail than the last time she’d seen her. Shonal tugged on her arm and Azrael shook the disquiet from her mind. Now was not the time to be woolgathering. The night was far from over and she needed her wits about her.

Azrael wished fervently for this tedious night to be finished.

She drained her mug of wine, dark eyes watchful. Shonal lounged across from her, no less than three body slaves keeping attendance on his royal personage. Azrael wondered how much more of the fondling and ogling she could stand. His ribald attentions were enough to put any sane person off their feed for a week.

The high table she sat beside was long, stretching the width of the dining peristyle. All of Shonal’s council were seated here, to include their wives, consorts, and personal slaves. A handful of loyal officers peppered the politicos as well. Several steps below was the main floor. Here several more tables were filled to capacity with lords and ladies of the court. Suma was at the near end of the closest table, Azrael’s other men relegated to the lowest table and the rear of the room.

Ursula refilled her mistress’ mug from an available ewer. She knelt on the floor beside Azrael, a cushion pillowing her still saddle sore behind. The slave was careful to not look at the king despite an incredible urge to see if he and her mistress resembled each other as much as Nils did. Azrael had carefully instructed Ursula that afternoon on proper royal etiquette. It was all so much different from the other functions the brunette had attended.

With a fond grin, Azrael caressed Ursula’s cheek with the back of her fingers. Her reward was a brilliant smile. Taking her mug, she drank, only then noticing Shonal’s attention.

“She’s a beauty, cousin,” he rumbled, eyeing Ursula. “Where did you get her?”

Azrael swallowed her wine and reached for a roasted pheasant. “At our last uprising in Theara, my liege.”

“Really?” he asked, studying the willowy slave. “Then you’ve not had her long, eh?”

“No. Only three or four months.” She fed Ursula a piece of fowl, hoping he’d change the subject.

Shonal chuckled, a knowing expression on his dark face. “She must be quite the hussy to have your attention for that long. I hear you killed your own men for touching her.”

Azrael’s eyes narrowed. That Shonal had even an idea of what had happened in Theara could only mean one thing - there was a spy in Azrael’s army. “Rumors, Sire, mere rumors. I killed those men for disobeying orders in the midst of battle, putting their fellow soldiers at risk, nothing more.”

“Still,” Shonal shrugged. “It was this little morsel that caused the problem to begin with.” Wiping grease from his face with his arm, he leaned forward, upsetting the slave perched in his lap. “Stand up, sweetness. Let’s have a look at you.”

Azrael silently cursed, looking into scared amber eyes. “Do as the king orders,” she murmured.

Swallowing hard, Ursula rose, keeping her head lowered.

“Turn about! Turn about!” Shonal exclaimed, waving his hand in a circle. His voice carried, bringing the attention of other diners to the table.

Ursula turned in place, her olive skin flushing. She was wearing a green and gold gown that accentuated her coloring and frame. When she finished her circle, she stood still, hands clasped before her to stop their shaking.

“As I said, cousin, very nice,” Shonal said.

“Thank you, Sire. Ursula, you may kneel.” Azrael watched her slave sink gratefully to her cushions. Hoping that would be the end of it, she looked up to see Shonal’s reaction. His grin was almost a sneer. A chill wound through Azrael. It was the same expression he’d sported as a child when he demanded royal prerogative over his ‘lesser’ cousins.

“She looks tame enough,” he observed with a wink. “But knowing you, I’ll wager she’s a tigress under the sheets, yes?”

Grinding her teeth, Azrael refrained from growling. “She has her moments,” she finally agreed, racking her brain for a change of conversation.

Shonal continued to study the slave as he drank from his mug. “How about a trade for the evening, cousin?” he asked. Tugging the arm of a redhead at his feet, he continued, “Sallah here has many talents in bed. I think you’ll find her most pleasurable and I’ve a desire to taste your little niblet.”

Azrael’s thoughts raced. She could see Ursula’s skin pale at the implication. “Tempting as that may be to some, cousin,” she said, leaning back on her lounger with a feral grin, “I’ve yet to tire of this one and am not ready to try another.”

Proper etiquette, even for a king, would be an apology and a regretful backing away. But Shonal was anything but proper.

“I believe you misunderstand me,” he said, his grin matching hers. “I wasn’t asking.”

Azrael’s eyes narrowed, her smile fading. “And I wasn’t agreeing.”

Tension filled their section of the table, rippling away from them. Though many didn’t know the reason, all seemed aware of a struggle of wills.

Shonal laughed, his hearty bark serving to ease the ill feelings. “I understood you were infatuated with the girl, cousin, but not to what extent.”

Azrael relaxed a bit, but not completely.

“It’s been quite the eventful day for you,” the king said. “I understand your reluctance. You need a taste of home and hearth tonight to center yourself. No matter.”

Cautious, Azrael said, “I’m glad you see it that way, my liege.”

Winking, Shonal said, “You’ll deliver her to the palace tomorrow evening. I can wait that long.”

There was a long silence. “Excuse me?”

Shonal’s tone was steel, the smile vanished. “I believe you heard me,” he said. “As it bears repeating, however, I’m ordering you to bring this morsel to the palace for my enjoyment tomorrow evening. Is that understood?”

“I comprehend the order,” Azrael said.

He ignored the implicit threat in her voice. “Good. As you stated before all these witnesses this afternoon, ‘I will be true to his life and rulership.’” Shonal sat back, smugness reflecting from his eyes. “I’ve already passed word that you’re not to leave the city. I’d hate for you to lose track of time tomorrow.”

Azrael paced her sitting room, agitation in every step. “I’ll be damned if he’ll get his way in this,” she continued.

“Lord,” Suma began only to be promptly cut off.

“No, Suma. You’ll not talk me out of this. I plan total defiance in this matter.” Azrael stopped. “Wait! There is one thing I can do! Send for a scribe. I can’t very well send a body slave when I don’t have one, can I? I’ll free her!”

The captain frowned. “I doubt that will stop him, Lord Azrael. He’ll just make her a slave once more, this time in his bed instead of yours.”

“Milady,” Ursula said from her place near Azrael’s chair. “If I may?”

“Yes, Ursula.” Azrael attempted an encouraging smile, knowing the girl was no doubt scared senseless. “Don’t worry, sweetling. I’ll not let that royal ass of a cousin have you.”

“Perhaps you should, Milady,” Ursula said, her voice trembling. “He’ll feel he’s succeeded and leave you be.”

“Never, Ursula!” Azrael turned to glare into the fire. “You don’t know my cousin’s appetites. It would have been better for those three to have had you in Theara.”

“But, Milady, he seeks to hurt you! If you deny him, he’ll use it as an excuse to renounce you and your title!”

“The girl is right, Lord,” Suma agreed. “You said yourself he thinks himself clever and sly. This could be the elaborate plot you feared he’d create.”

“No! Both of you!” the dark woman shouted, rounding on them. “Suma, get me a scribe. I’ll have the paperwork brought up to free Ursula. She and one of the servants can leave the city in the morning.”

Suma saluted. “Aye, Lord.”

“I’ll also be sending messages to Brahim and Neito. They’ll know what to do.” She turned back to the fire.

“As you wish.” Suma bowed and left the room.

For a time only the sound of the fire crackling and popping could be heard. Azrael frowned, hearing something else. Slowly, she turned her head to see Ursula shaking with sobs and doing her best to stifle them. A flood of emotion filled her heart and Azrael went to the slave, kneeling before her and gathering her into her arms. “Ah, sweetling. No worries. I’ll see you’re safe.”

“You’re freeing me?” Ursula asked, burrowing into the warm embrace.

“Yes, it has to be done. Shonal can’t ask me to lend him a body slave I do not have.”

“If I’m free, I can make my own decisions?”

“Of course, love,” Azrael held the crying woman close. “In truth, I had planned on freeing you someday,” she admitted. “Just not quite this soon.”

There was a noticeable hitch in Ursula’s breathing. “Why?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Azrael sighed, feeling a lump in her throat and the sting of tears in her eyes. “Because I cannot wed a slave.” She pulled back to look into stunned amber eyes. Chuckling, Azrael said, “I had hoped you would grow to love me as an equal rather than a mistress.”

Ursula sniffled, trying to comprehend what Azrael was saying. “You … you love me?” she asked. “As your equal? Or a slave?”

Swallowing hard, Azrael wished a third time for this evening to be over. “I love you, Ursula. And I would like to see that love grow.”

She ducked her head. “But I will not force myself upon you. I’ll free you and you can stay as long as you wish at my villa. Or, if you prefer to return home, I’ll see you’re safely escorted and handsomely paid.”

“Did I not tell you what I wished this morning, Azrael?” Ursula asked. “I meant every word. I only wish to be with you.”

Heart thumping, Azrael fought back tears as she crushed Ursula to her chest. “All the more reason to send you away now,” she whispered fiercely.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, Azrael.”

“I know, love, I know.” Emotions under control, Azrael pulled back to look into Ursula’s eyes. “As long as you’re safe, nothing can hurt me.”

A knock at the door interrupted them, the scribe arriving as ordered. Azrael gave Ursula a hard kiss before rising, calling for the scribe to enter. It was going to be a long night of transcriptions and missives.

The following afternoon found Azrael at her desk, eyes closed as she massaged her temples. Ursula had left two hours prior, dressed as a serving wench, with two other servants in tow. Presumably, the three were on their way to the villa in Wrendon to collect more personal belongings for their mistress’ stay.

Azrael knew the biggest obstacle would be the gates. But the guard was looking for her or her people. She’d been sure to disguise the trio in the livery of another house to be safe. That and the increased comings and goings as errands were run and deliveries were made hopefully covered Ursula’s tracks well enough for her to escape. No doubt Shonal had his eye on the house and yard.

Sighing, Azrael sat up and glanced out the window at the garden below. She missed Ursula terribly; had begun missing her the night before almost in preparation for the slave’s real absence. No. Not slave. Freed woman. It had taken every ounce of will to persuade the brunette to leave. She’d been afraid that her new status would change her mistress’ opinion of her. Despite the somber situation, Azrael chuckled, knowing that was the least of their worries.

Among the many visitors to the house were no less than four messengers. Two each for Wrendon and her uncle’s estate. She’d had letters sent to inform them of what was transpiring, asking her uncle to see to things in her absence. Brahim’s letters were more detailed as she explained where certain papers were and what to do with them. If worse came to worse, Shonal would find a barren villa, all the slaves freed and escaped from his potential anger at her refusal.

Her rooms were at the back of the house. Nevertheless, she heard the clatter of horses in the courtyard echoing off the garden walls. A challenge was called by the guard and she tensed, wondering if Shonal was too impatient to wait. There was an answer and all seemed well. Azrael relaxed.

Several moments later, a gentle tapping at her door brought her from her mental wanderings. “Yes, what is it?”

“You have a visitor, Lord.”

Azrael frowned as she heard Suma’s voice. She wondered why he was the one to escort this guest. “Enter.”

The captain eased open the door, his stern face graver than ever. Behind him, Azrael saw another, slighter figure.

“Who is it, Suma?”

Suma stood aside and let the person pass.

The figure was somewhat familiar. When her identity registered with Azrael, the general rose. “My Queen!”

“Hardly, child,” Queen Mother Gerina scowled, her voice sounding wet and rough. “You’ve never been one for social niceties. Don’t start now.”

Confused, Azrael indicated Suma should leave. As the door closed, she noted the old woman slightly weaving and she hastened to bring a chair. Pouring a cup of wine for her aunt, Azrael refreshed her own and sank into her seat.

A closer look at Gerina only served to verify what she’d seen the night before; the woman had aged considerably. Azrael found it surprising since the queen was of an age with her uncle and he was still quite vital. No longer the tall and stern mother of the prince royale, she seemed to have shrunk in on herself and was now only half her original size. Her breathing was raspy, a rattle in her chest audible with every exhale. Gerina wore fine silks of blue and gray, a scarf draped over her iron gray hair and a satchel hanging from a frail shoulder.

Azrael’s study was halted when she noted the fiery blue eyes.

“O, how the mighty have fallen, yes?” Gerina asked, eyebrow raised. Before Azrael could respond, she scoffed and waved her to silence. “No need to be sensitive to my feelings. I don’t have them anymore.”

Azrael opened her mouth, closed it, and finally spoke. “Why are you here, Your Majesty? Did the King send you to escort my body slave?”

Gerina snorted. “Hardly. I warned him to keep away from you but he rarely listens to my counsel these days.”

“Then why are you here?”

The wrinkled face creased into a smile. “Always the blunt one, weren’t you?” she asked rhetorically. “I was quite happy that you were never one for court. I don’t think I could have stood the scrapping between you and Shonal for long.”

Regaining her equilibrium, Azrael pursed her lips. “What’s done is done,” she said. “What brings you to my home now?”

Their eyes locked, blue and black, as the two women battled with their wills. Eventually, though she didn’t release their gaze, Gerina nodded in slow and grudging respect.

“Your father raised you well,” she said. “He succeeded far better than I. I’ll have to commend him when I reach the other side.”

Azrael’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Forgive me,” Gerina said, her tone at odds with her words. “I’m used to a more civil tongue.” She heaved a sigh which resulted in a spasm of coughing. Dry and shrill, it almost bent her double.

Unsure what to do, Azrael leaned forward and awkwardly patted the old woman’s back until her hand was batted away.

Gerina gained control and took a large swallow of wine before sagging in her chair, face red, panting. Soon, the flush eased from her skin and she opened her eyes once more. They no longer radiated fire but a dull regret.

“You ask why I’m here,” she said. “Why would I come to the house of my son’s cousin, a woman who is strong and just, feared and loved by the people?”

Rather than argue the description, Azrael nodded.

“I’m here because I need you to do something for me.” Gerina leaned forward. “I’ve spent my life devoted to my only son, seeing to his safety, ensuring he had the best education to lead his people, to be a great king. His father -” Gerina snorted again and looked out the window. “His father had other ideas. A good king, not great. But I knew Shonal had the ability to be the grandest ruler in the history of Barentcia!”

Azrael listened, unimpressed. She could recall with ease how much the woman had doted on and spoiled her child.

“But something went wrong,” Gerina said, shoulders drooping. “He doesn’t aspire to greatness. He’s too busy playing with the members of his court to be bothered with his people.” Shaking her head, she returned her gaze to Azrael. “Shonal enjoys power; he always has. Perhaps too much. I have proof that he … he …”

Silence for long moments. Azrael finally begged the question. “Proof of what?”

Blue eyes sparkled with tears, reflecting an emotion Azrael had never seen there. Fear.

“Shonal is kin-and king-slayer.”

The news shocked the dark woman to her core. She sat back with an explosive curse. “You can’t be serious!”

Gerina’s tears began to fall in earnest. “I can. I’ve a witness I’ve hidden in the north and a sworn deposition.” The old woman fumbled for a kerchief from her satchel. “My son killed his father for the crown,” she whispered.

Unable to sit still, Azrael rose and began pacing the room. “Why didn’t you tell Neito?” she finally demanded.

“Tell Neito?” Gerina echoed, looking up from her misery. “If Shonal even suspects I know, he’ll kill me as well! His father was a strong man and I … I am nothing but an old woman. Besides, Neito and his son have been away from court for years. I had no opportunity to tell them.”

Azrael paused and glared at her aunt. “But you’ll tell me. What is this thing you want me to do?” She was surprised when Gerina, ever the proud and strong woman, shrank away from her gaze.

The Queen Mother pulled a parchment case from her satchel. “I have the deposition here. If you could get it to Neito, find the witness. Perhaps you can go to the council -“

“The council?” Azrael growled. “They’re as terrified of my dear cousin as you are.” Resuming her pacing, the dark woman prayed to the gods that she would wake in her villa with Ursula at her side. When that didn’t occur, she stopped to stare out the window rather than browbeat the old woman. “Why do you think I’ll do anything anyway?” she asked. “I’m in enough hot water as it is with Shonal.”

“Because I’ve instilled Shonal with a hatred for you,” Gerina said. “He’ll stop at nothing to destroy you now that he is in control.”

Azrael sighed and sagged against the window casement. “Why?” she asked, voice soft. “I was never a threat to your precious son’s destiny. I never wanted to rule and am too far away in lineage to legally do so.”

“Because you were everything I wanted him to be,” Gerina finally said. “Strong, forthright, proud. Give you a horse or weapon and you’d learn it instantly. The other children at court always followed you. You were born a leader.” She trailed off. “You had their love and didn’t even know it. It was all so casual for you. Shonal had to work at weapon craft, broke bones learning to ride. The children constantly picked at him.” Another pause. “I hated you for that.”

A banging on the door interrupted further discussion. Azrael whirled about and strode toward it, yanking it open.

“Lord Azrael!”

“Milady!”

The corridor held several servants, the steward and Suma. One of the servants was disheveled, blood flowing freely from a cut on his scalp.

A chill soaked through Azrael’s blood as she recognized the wounded man.

“Milady!” he said, voice slurred. “They came upon us at the gate! They took her and killed Joram! They left me for dead, as well!”

“Who are they?” Azrael heard her voice ask, though She didn’t need an answer. She already knew.

“The King’s personal guard, Milady!”

Chapter Twenty-One

“This is madness, Lord,” Suma exclaimed, his normal professional demeanor long fled in the wake of Azrael’s response. The other servants had been dismissed, leaving only the two of them and the Queen Mother. “He’ll never allow you near! You must know that!”

Azrael finished belting on her sword. Pausing a moment, lips tight, she turned to the captain of her guard. “You’re correct. He’ll be looking for me to come after him.”

Suma watched her closely, not daring to be relieved quite yet.

Looking at Gerina, Azrael felt a dark burble of humor. The old woman was watching her closely, much as one would a particularly volatile reptile, the scrollcase still clutched in her hand.

A slow smile bared Azrael’s teeth. She plucked the case free from its owner and handed it to Suma. “You,” she ordered, “will find the fastest horse in the city and get this to Neito. Take all the men - it must get to my uncle, no matter the cost.”

Sputtering a moment, Suma took the scrollcase. “What of you, Lord? Who will guard you?”

Azrael ignored him, turning to the old woman. “You,” she continued, “will get me into the palace under the guise of your guard.” Her tone brooked no argument.

Gerina opened her mouth and snapped it shut. The doting mother fought with the still grieving widow for dominance. After long moments, she nodded once in sharp agreement, aged eyes reflecting a hint of the steel they’d always held.

Pleased, Azrael turned to Suma. “Go!” she ordered, almost pushing him to the door. “This is evidence of a murder committed by the King! Let no one stand in your way!”

Duty warred with duty. “You’d best take care of yourself,” Suma growled, all semblance of the soldier replaced by the long time friend and companion. “I haven’t saved your life in many a fight to have you die now.”

“I’ll not be the one dying,” Azrael said, taking the man’s arm. “Now get going. Let no one stop you.”

“Aye, Lord,” the blond said, captain once more. “I’ll see you soon.” He left the room, not waiting for an answer.

Azrael listened to his footsteps until he was out of range. Turning back to Gerina, she surprised a smirk.

“You realize you will be dead by the end of the day?” the Queen Mother asked. “And I, as well. Either that or we’ll be side by side in the dungeons awaiting execution on charges of treason.”

Shrugging, Azrael retrieved her wrist daggers. “No matter.” She busied herself with the bracers and, once all was ready, looked at her aunt. “Call your captain. Let’s get this over with.”

Azrael rode beside the Queen Mother’s palanquin, dressed head to toe in the blue livery of the Queen’s Guard. Though the Guard was loyal to Gerina alone, tempting fate was not an option. Only the captain knew of the subterfuge being conducted. A guard of similar statue was now tied and unconscious in a storage room of Azrael’s manse, wearing nothing but smallclothes and guarded by the steward. There had been no challenge from the other Guardsmen. Azrael kept aloof from them to avoid detection, remaining at the Queen Mother’s side.

The palace gates loomed large before them and a challenge was called. Halting, the troop waited, vigilantly protecting their liege as the captain urged his mount forward to respond.

Guts tightening, Azrael watched the man with care, seeking any sign of duplicity. All seemed well, however, when the soldiers were ordered into the outer bailey.

Another agonizing moment of panic, Azrael gritted her teeth as she heard Shonal’s guard overhead. A slight snarl bared her teeth, hidden beneath the helmet.

The second gate came into view, another challenge called. Here Azrael could see that Shonal’s guard had been doubled. It was good to know the depths of her cousin’s caution. Through the gate, she noted quite a bit more traffic, even more than the night before with a palace full of revelers. As the troop was waved through, she saw a platoon camped in the main courtyard and archers in the palace windows where none had been before.

Pulling to a stop, the captain ordered the troops to dismount. Azrael was already beside the Queen’s palanquin, offering her arm to the old woman.

Whether real or feigned, Gerina stumbled, grasping the proffered arm tightly. She waved off the captain with a growl. “Alois will help me to my quarters,” she said, her voice rasping.

“Yes, my Queen,” the captain said, lips pressed tightly together. He bowed to Gerina and had the way cleared to the palace doors.

As they entered the palace, Azrael fought the urge to dash off in search of Ursula. It was only mid afternoon, chances were that the brunette was still safe. Shonal was no doubt waiting for his cousin’s arrival.

The number of guards seemed to have driven off many of the courtiers who would normally be hanging about. The few Azrael did see barely had time to pay their respects to the Queen Mother before scurrying off to less restrictive climes.

Gerins’s claw-like hand guided them through the atrium and into a corridor. Every few feet guards were posted, coming to attention as they passed. Azrael knew the way intimately though it had been a few years since her last visit. When her father was alive her family had a suite in the royal wings. Now, however, her ancestral home was not a welcome one.

In deference to security, there were doors instead of curtains. Two Queen’s Guards flanked one, their livery contrasting with the silver and black of Shonal’s men up and down the hall. Both bowed to the queen, one immediately opening the door behind him.

Azrael began to step inside but her aunt paused. Eyes narrowing behind the helm, she wondered if the old woman would raise the alarm. Frankly, she’d been surprised at Gerina’s cooperation. She should have know the queen’s complacency wouldn’t last long in light of her dear son’s peril.

“How are things here, Stefan?” Gerina asked the guard holding the door.

“Well enough, Your Majesty,” Stefan said. “As you can see, the King’s Guard are on alert. We’ve been told to keep an eye open for security breaches. Seems he’s worried his cousin will break her fealty oath.”

Face heating, Azrael stifled a growl, glad of the helm covering her countenance. That she was intending to do just that was almost anathema to her nature. Still, there was only one choice to be had - Shonal would never have Ursula, no matter how much honor and blood Azrael would lose.

Gerina scoffed at the guard. “Azrael break an oath? Hardly. Why would Shonal think that?”

The guard shifted his weight, eyes glancing about as his face flushed. A moment’s thought and he decided in favor of speaking despite his obvious discomfort. After a glance at his companion, Stefan leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It is said that the King has baited his cousin with a woman.”

“A woman?” Gerina looked appropriately shocked and Azrael’s estimation of her grew. “Is there truth in this?”

Another moment of hesitation and the second guard spoke. “Aye, Your Majesty. I saw them bring her in. It was the same woman who was with Duchess Azrael at the dinner last night.”

Frowning, the Queen Mother considered. “Perhaps you should bring her to me. Do you know where she’s being held?”

“She is under guard, Your Majesty,” Stefan said, eyes round. “Probably in the Queen’s quarters. No one but handpicked serving maids are being allowed inside.” He shrugged. “I doubt the King would allow us to bring her.”

Azrael stiffened at the information. As in her villa, the head of the house had one set of rooms while the woman and children had another, both opening onto a common area. Gerina had moved out of those rooms when her husband had died, leaving the quarters available for Shonal’s future wife and queen.

Sensing the tense muscles, Gerina squeezed her niece's arm. “Thank you, Stefan. perhaps I’ll send word to Shonal. Until then, I’m not to be disturbed.” She ignored their acknowledgement of her order and entered her rooms, pulling Azrael with her.

When the doors closed, Gerina cast the dark woman a warning look before retrieving a small silver bell from a nearby table. It’s sweet tones caused three servants to appear, dashing from other parts of the suite to kneel before their mistress.

“Begone, the lot of you,” the queen ordered. “I wish to be alone with my officer and then I plan on taking a nap. I don’t wish to see or hear you until after the evening meal.”

As soon as they were alone, Azrael went to the windows and peered out, pulling the gauntlets from her hands. Outside was a veranda that ran the length of the suite and around the corner. The Queen’s Garden was below and, while empty, the walls above were populated with guards. Azrael shook her head - Shonal even doubled the guard on the inner walls. She wondered if he thought she could fly over them. Grunting is disapproval, she partially closed the curtains and removed the helm.

“And now?” Gerina asked. She was still standing in the entry, hands clasped before her. “You might be in the palace but you still can’t reach your little tart.”

“Don’t ever call her that again,” Azrael snapped, stepping forward.

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” The queen’s laugh was bitter. “Seems the way of your age, doesn’t it?” She ignored Azrael’s threatening posture, hobbling past to pour a glass of wine. “What will you do, Azrael? I can’t get your precious slave from my precious son. He’s only waiting for you, you know.”

Azrael grimaced, looking outside to check the guards once more. “Why did you agree to help me?” she asked, turning back to the old woman. “You profess such love and fear for your son. Surely you know he won’t survive me.”

Gerina laughed again, gleeful cackling that set her niece’s teeth on edge. “Such arrogance! Have you not noticed the guards throughout the palace? You'll never get to the royal chambers!” The laughter caused another round of coughing. Several moments passed before the queen was in control of her voice. “You’re the one who won’t survive here.”

“Perhaps not,” Azrael agreed. “But I will finish what was started today.” She darkened the room by pulling the drapes flush. “Is your wish to be tied on the bed or where you sit?”

Azrael debated the wisdom of waiting until dark or acting now. The Queen Mother was trussed on her bed, gagged to keep her from calling the guards. At the very least it would afford the old woman an opportunity to deny her involvement.

Shonal would expect Azrael to come to the palace as soon as she’d heard of Ursula’s abduction. Time was passing and the longer it took for a response from her, the more suspicious he would become. Azrael had no doubt her cousin would send men to her house when she didn’t arrive without her slave in tow, primarily to make certain she knew he already had her in his possession.

She moved about the sitting room, checking windows for guard placement. Shonal wasn’t a strategist. His actions, while unscrupulous, were aimed at only one outcome - forcing Azrael into action against him. Succeeding, his safest course would be to have her killed or imprisoned. Arrogance, however, was Shonal’s way. He’d much rather gloat at his cousin.

The thought brought Azrael up short. Chances were good that had she marched up to the palace, Shonal would have had her detained and brought before him for entertainment. Azrael wagered her subterfuge was completely unnecessary.

It was too late now. The knowledge gave her an idea, however. She donned the gauntlets and helm once more. What better way to attain Shonal’s goals than to show up at his private quarters?

After informing the Queen’s Guards that Gerina was napping, Azrael marched down the corridor. While Shonal’s men eyed her with suspicion, she wasn’t challenged until she was at his door.

“Hold it, you! No one’s allowed in here but the king,” one of the four guards said.

“I’ve a message for the king from the Queen Mother. Is he here?”

A second guard eyed her. “Why don’t you take off that helmet, man, and we’ll see what the message is.”

Something in his voice alerted the others. They slowly moved away from their posts, hoping to surround the stranger. Azrael, expecting she would be discovered by this point, stepped back and pulled her sword, grin hidden behind the helm.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

Her first blow was blocked by the second guard who had drawn his sword simultaneously. As the others armed themselves, calls were heard as sounds of the battle rang against the stone walls. The corridor wasn’t large enough for all four to engage her and, while it deterred tow of them, one was able to slip close. Azrael grunted as a blade slipped past her defenses and thumped hard against her breastplate.

In response, Azrael parried another attack with her sword and kicked out at her second attacker. There was a satisfying crunch and a cry of pain as his knee broke, the guard falling away from the fight.

Booted feet pounded closer and Azrael knew staying in the corridor would mean her death. There were too many of them; they would eventually wear her down. Before another could replace her downed attacker, she laid several sharp blows against her first opponent and pushed across the hall.

The move startled the man. He received a dagger to the ribs and a fell back, his two companions taking his place. Azrael could see more closing in as she defended herself. Hoping that Shonal wasn’t paranoid enough to have guards inside, she managed to wrestle the latch open.

Another series of blows were traded, sweat dripping into Azrael’s eyes as she cursed the ill fitting helmet. She surged forward, gifting one guard with a mortal wound to his throat and pushing another back. As blood sprayed over her, she dived into the king’s quarters, slamming and bolting the door behind her.

The door held firm, shaking under the onslaught of the guards. Azrael took a deep breath and removed her helmet. Turning, she froze, two crossbow bolts inches away from her neck.

“How good of you to join us, Azrael.” Shonal sat in his study, three more guards at attention behind him. “Ursula and I were beginning to despair.”

Azrael watched as her cousin idly stroked the brunette’s hair. Ursula knelt between his legs, amber eyes wide, the pulse in her throat jumping against the edge of the knife held there.

“Now we can begin the festivities.”

Chapter Twenty-two

“Stop this and you’ll live,” Azrael said. Behind her, the rattling door quieted as the men in the hall stopped pounding, the trap closed.

Shonal barked laughter, eyes wide. “In case you haven’t noticed, dear cousin, you’ve two crossbow bolts at your throat. How do you propose to stop me?” He gestured with his free hand and one of the guards edged closer until the bolt dug into Azrael’s flesh.

She refused to respond, dark eyes cold as stone.

“Drop the weapons,” the guard growled.

Ursula shivered as she saw a smile spread across her mistress’ face. It looked very similar to the one on the day they had met. A rush of memory washed over her - the smell of blood and smoke, the screams as the men of her village were impaled. There was no doubt that the room would soon be swimming in blood if that smile was any indication of Azrael’s true feelings. The knife at her throat pressed harder, a trickle of warmth the only indication she’d been cut.

“Do as you’re told!” Shonal said. “Or this sweet morsel will pay.”

Azrael’s smile widened, white teeth flashing, though her eyes did not reflect the humor. “Go ahead,” she answered, letting the sword and dagger clang against the marble floor. “She’s a body slave, one of many I own. She means no more to me than yours do you.”

Shonal grinned, easing back on the blade at the brunette’s throat. “You would have me believe that?” he asked. “After all this trouble? Had you brought young Ursula as ordered, none of this would be happening.”

While the bolt remained against Azrael’s throat, the other crossbowman lowered his weapon. He moved behind her, pulling her arms back with a rough jerk and tying her wrists.

“Shonal,” the woman chided, “You’ve spent your entire life demanding things in my possession. Why would this be different? Can you blame me for getting sick of supplying your entertainment?” Azrael felt a thrill course through her as the guard tied her gauntleted hands. It would be easier to slip the bindings than if he’d bound her bare wrists. There was a chance she could at least get Ursula out of this alive.

The king’s eyes flashed. “So you refuse as a matter of principle?”

“Of course.” The guard finished and Azrael laughed. “Why shouldn’t I? Someone must stand up to you. Stealing from others because you’re lesser than the rest of us gets quite old.”

His smile became wooden as he ground his teeth. “I’m hardly ‘lesser’ than you, dear cousin. I am king, after all. And you are a treasonous bitch who will lose all for a principle.”

“An accident of birth,” Azrael said dismissively. Now that she was safely tied, the crossbow against her throat was removed, the guard stepping away. “As I’ve recently been reminded, I am superior to you in all ways.” She glanced down at Ursula, not allowing her expression to soften. “At least I don’t have to kidnap unwilling bed mates.”

“As you say, she’s only a body servant,” Shonal said, acid in his voice. “She’s trained to be willing.”

Azrael snorted. “Good thing for you, eh? I’d wager the only legitimate offspring you’ll yield will be products of rape.”

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the dagger, unconsciously moving it away from Ursula’s throat. “Do not speak to your liege in this manner,” he growled.

“Or what? You’ll kill a slave?” the bound woman asked. “How … courageous. I’m certain the act will be comforting to your people. Will you kill the slaves of everyone who voices an opinion on your ability to father a child?”

“Be silent!”

Ursula fell to her side as she was pushed away, the king towering over her. Despite the fact Azrael was tied and hadn’t moved, the guards behind him stepped forward, hands on the hilts of their swords. Heart pounding, she watched as her mistress endangered herself, tempted somehow to stop things before they spiraled too far out of control.

Azrael wisely remained mute, though her smile was as wide as ever. The crossbows were back at her neck, pinning her between them as Shonal strode forward and backhanded her. “At least I’ll have children,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re really a man under that armor. It’s been a topic heavily speculated at court these past years.”

“A better man than you, wouldn’t you say?” Azrael grinned, her neck bleeding where she’d cut it against a bolt. Her lip was swelling but not split. Regardless of the pain, she chuckled at the prominent vein pulsing at her cousin’s temple.

“If you do not shut your mouth, I’ll have you killed!” Shonal yelled.

“Heh … kinslayer. The title suits you, cousin. Perhaps you have some experience?”

The king’s rage dissipated, his dark eyes glancing about the room at his guards. More focused on the prisoner than the chatter, the men failed to note the reference. “Get out,” Shonal ordered, his tone no longer belligerent.

“But, Your Royal Majesty —”

“Get out!”

As his yell echoed off the walls, the guards jumped in surprise before hastily making for the door.

The last one to pass paused a moment. “The slave, my liege?”

“Leave her! Get out of my sight!”

Once the door was closed and the room quiet, Shonal stepped back from Azrael, lip lifted in distaste. He turned away, walking across the room to pour himself a mug of wine from an ewer, setting the knife down.

Azrael watched, pleased to see the cup shaking in his hand. He remained standing with his back to the room, staring out the window. She began to shift the bonds on her wrists, glancing over at Ursula. Her lover had curled up on the floor, amber eyes wide as she watched the king. Azrael would give anything to collect Ursula in her arms but that was impossible. Forcing herself to look away, to lock up her love lest Shonal see and use it against them both, she continued to work on her bonds.

Several long moments passed as the king finished his wine. With a deep breath, he thumped the mug onto the table, rattling the items there. “What did you mean by your remark?” he asked, lips pursed as he stared at the table top.

“I thought I was rather straight forward,” Azrael said, conversationally. “Kinslaying is something you come to easily, is it not? Or should I say king slaying?”

“You have no proof!” Shonal said, whirling around to glare at her. “Your accusation is meaningless without proof!”

Azrael shrugged, using the movement to get closer to freedom. “You’re right. I don’t. Not with me anyway.”

The man rushed her, eyes flashing. “You’re lying!” he said, voice raised along with his fist.

Though she expected the blow, it stunned her, knocking her to the floor.

“No proof!” Shonal hissed.

Azrael used the fall to fight the ropes at her wrists, her attempts adding to the awkwardness as she struggled to her knees. Rather than remain there before him in a parody of supplication, she forced herself upward. “So it’s true,” she said, her smile awash in blood. “I knew you were a dishonorable thief, cousin, but not a murderer, as well.”

“Silence!” the king roared, sending Azrael to the floor once again. Sweat covered his brow and his eyes flashed.

Grunting in pain, Azrael spit a wad of blood and phlegm onto the floor. She’d be lucky if her cheekbone wasn’t broken; as it was, one of her upper teeth felt loose. She fought to stand, only to be bent double by a kick to her abdomen. Sparks flared at the edges of her vision as he spoke.

“You know nothing of what you say,” Shonal said, face flushed and hands flexing. “My father died in his sleep! No poisons, no struggles! He never even woke up!” He kicked again his cousin for good measure. “The surgeons confirmed it!”

He growled in frustration at the chuckle he heard, grappling at his waist for his dagger and finding the scabbard empty. Shonal looked wildly about the room, spotting his blade where he’d left it on the table.

Azrael gathered her wits as he stormed across the room. She was almost free of her confines, one gauntlet half off. Just a little more time.

The king scooped up his dagger and marched toward the prone woman.

“Your Majesty! No!”

Shonal flinched away from Ursula’s grabbing hands. He shoved her away, intent on Azrael who was writhing on the floor. The slave was on him again before he made two steps. Fully facing her, his handsome face twisted into a snarl.

“Get off me, slut!” he said, punching Ursula in the face. Unused to such pain, she crumpled to the floor and Shonal grinned. “You and I will have our fun later.”

“I doubt that.”

Looking up, Shonal had no time to duck as a fist crashed against his chin. Fingers wrapped about his, crushing his hand around the hilt of his dagger.

“You really should reconsider your idea of fun, cousin,” Azrael said. Before he could pull away, she grabbed him by the throat. “I think this is much more entertaining.” She threw him backwards, years of warring giving her the strength to toss him as if he were a child.

The resulting crash of furniture was pleasing. Azrael took a step toward him, stopping as she heard questioning voices from the hallway. Striding to the door, she bolted it and turned to grin at Shonal. “We don’t wish to be interrupted until our little game is over, do we?”

One hand holding his bruised throat, Shonal staggered to his feet, waving the dagger before him. “Guards,” he grunted, coughing to clear his throat. “Guards!”

Someone heard, the heavy door thumping as the men in the corridor pounded. For the king’s safety, however, it was constructed with the strongest of materials. It would be some time before they would break through.

Azrael used Shonal’s fear to her advantage for a moment’s rest. She wiped at the blood on her face and spat again, tonguing her teeth. If she survived this, she’d lose a tooth, no doubt. She chuckled. If she survived, she’d lose more than a tooth when this was over.

Ursula moaned softly, gaining the attention of both of them. Azrael’s grim humor vanished at her lover’s cry. In an instant, Shonal leapt forward, grabbing the woman and pulling her toward him by her hair. Knowing she couldn’t intercept Shonal in time, Azrael dived for the weapons she’d been forced to abandon earlier. Armed once more, she spun around.

Shonal backed away, Ursula held in front of him, his hand wrapped in her hair. Tears streamed down her face as she scrambled with him, still partially on her knees. The dagger was sharp, cutting into her neck just below the ear, blood oozing from the wound. The king’s face was twisted into a grimace, eyes wild as he tried to scan the room for exits and keep his cousin in sight simultaneously.

Sword and dagger in hand, Azrael stepped forward, dropping into battle readiness as she moved.

“Stay away from me!” Shonal said, his voice an octave higher. “I’ll kill her! I will!”

“You won’t have time.”

Ursula squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she soon would meet death, not wanting her last vision to be that of her mistress, her lover with blood on her hands and face. Steel bit into her neck with a jerk and her hair was yanked. She sobbed when the dagger clattered to the floor. The king pulled her backward, toppling her over to land atop him before his grasp in her hair loosened.

Rolling to her hands and knees, Ursula caught a quick glance of Shonal, a dagger sprouting from his chest, blood flowering across his gold tunic. She stumbled backward with a shriek, not heeding where she went until she bumped into something. Hands grabbed her shoulders and she whimpered until she heard a welcome voice.

“Shhh, sweetling, you’re safe. It’s over.”

Sobbing, Ursula turned and buried herself in the strong embrace.

Azrael eyed her cousin, glad to see he wasn’t breathing. She knelt on the floor, holding Ursula close, knowing it would be the last time. The king was dead by her hand. Azrael would either rot in prison or die by beheading as a result.

She closed her eyes and pushed speculation aside. What mattered was that Ursula was safe. Neito would come and claim the throne, or perhaps Nils. In either case, the kingdom would be in much better hands. It would grow and prosper and not be ruled by fear and deceit.

Quite some time passed before Ursula’s tears faded. With no more activity inside the king’s quarters, the sound of the door finally breaking was sharp. As the soldiers fumbled with the heavy door, Azrael pushed away from Ursula, standing. By the time the guards rushed in, Azrael stood well away from the woman and Shonal, weapons on the floor and hands held out to show her surrender.

“Grab her!”

Ungently wrestled to the ground, Azrael felt her head pounded from the beating she’d already sustained. She made no protest at the rough treatment. Hauled back to her feet, hands firmly bound behind her back, she saw that Ursula was also tied and crying anew.“Leave her be,” she said to the guard captain. “She’s nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe so, maybe no,” the man said, spitting at her feet. “What of the king?”

“Dead, sir. Dagger through the chest.”

The captain swore. He eyed Azrael. “And you dressed in Queen’s colors.”

“You’ll find the Queen Mother napping,” Azrael said. “I made certain she was comfortable before tying her.”

“Gah!” The captain turned to two of his men. “Go check on the Queen Mother. No one speaks of this until she’s been seen to and we get orders. Someone notify the council.” Men left to do his bidding and he turned to Azrael. “And you. Duchess or no, I’ll not give you the opportunity to escape again.”

The captain nodded sharply at one of the men behind her and Azrael knew what was coming. Her last sight was Ursula, horrified and struggling to reach her, as pain erupted at the base of her skull.

Azrael sat in the dark, conserving her strength. She’d never been to the dungeons before and was unaware of the master’s daily schedule. Her only hint at the passing time were the waterings. There’d been eight so far but whether that was four days or eight, she didn’t know. Of course, for perversity’s sake, the small bucket of rusty tasting liquid could be delivered at random hours.

Lack of food was also beginning to take its toll as she rose from the moldy straw to stretch. She felt shaky and weak, the shackles and chains seeming to weigh more and more with each passing hour. Regardless, she forced herself to exercise. Not only would it keep her muscles toned, but it would warm her, as well. Azrael ignored the rustling of her companion, a large rat on the other side of the room. They’d come to an understanding when she’d first awakened to find him nibbling at the blood on her clothes.

She kept her mind occupied with analyzing what had happened and what her future held. Gerina was no doubt rabid for Azrael’s blood after the death of her only child. To be honest, the dark woman was rather surprised she was still alive. The only thing to account for it was Shonal’s council - perhaps they refused to follow the Queen Mother’s orders until Neito or Nils were confirmed. It wouldn’t be the first time powerful men refused to pay heed to a grieving queen.

Another possibility was the council planned on taking power for themselves rather than allow another spoiled king on the throne. It that were the case, Gerina might well be in a cell down the dank corridor, Nieto and his son further down. Azrael was uncertain how loyal the King’s Guard were and where those loyalties lay.

Ursula. Ursula was always on her mind. The last glimpse of the brunette crying and struggling to come to her … Azrael hoped that Ursula wasn’t also a guest in the dungeons. An innocent pawn in a surprise power struggle was her only crime. Of course, if Gerina was thwarted in an attempt to avenge her son’s death, it was a fair wager that Ursula would bear the brunt of her fury.

That Ursula could already be dead she refused to contemplate.

Azrael’s musings were interrupted by the sound of booted feet, more than one pair, approaching her door. She inhaled deeply, wondering if she would now meet death. Calming her mind, she vowed to greet her punishment with dignity and the last shreds of her honor wrapped about her.

As the door opened, she winced at the torch illuminating the grimy little cell. Three guards tramped in, crowding the room even more as one shoved the torch into a bracket.

“C’mon, Yer Grace,” one said, coming forward with chisel and hammer. “Someone wants to speak with yer.”

Azrael remained silent as he struck off the bolts holding the shackles about her ankles. When she held out her hands, however, the guard snorted.

“Nay. you’ll keep those on, Yer Grace. We’ve heard how easy it is for you to slip your bindings. We’ll stay on the safe side.”

Nodding in understanding, Azrael followed the men out of her cell.

Guards were everywhere along their path as Azrael was escorted out of the dungeons. It was a few moments before she could find familiar surroundings, glancing out a row of windows along one corridor to see a corral. Behind the stables then, an area rarely explored in her childhood.

Soon she stood before the council chambers. Azrael felt a vague sense of relief. At least the council was in charge rather than her aunt. That alone boded well for Ursula’s survival, providing she hadn’t been given to Gerina as a bone of appeasement.

One of the guards flanking the door knocked and entered. Whatever discussion being had silenced. The guard stepped out, holding the door wide.

“The council will see you now, Your Grace.”

Azrael was brought inside and deposited at the end of a long table. The guards with her took up positions inside the room as the door closed with a heavy clunk. Gathered around the table were Shonal’s council, seven men varying in age from twenty to fifty. Only two looked pleased, the younger men reflecting expressions of dull anger, disgust or fear. As Azrael scanned the table, her heart stuttered to a stop.

Neito sat at the head in the chair normally reserved for the king. He was dressed in his armor, dusty from the road. Flanking him were Nils and Suma.

Azrael flushed, nearly dropping her gaze. It was one thing to kill kin; it was quite another to face respected family members and companions after the fact. Nostrils flaring, she refused to look at her cousin or captain, lifting her chin in defiance of the guilt she should profess. Shonal was dead and she did not regret her actions.

A scribe rose from a small table, parchment shaking slightly in his hands, and cleared his throat. “Azrael, Duchess of Wrendon and General of the Third Army, you stand accused of murdering King Shonal of Barentcia, your cousin and sworn liege, by stabbing him in the chest with a dagger. You also stand accused of kidnapping and coercing the Queen Mother into assisting your infiltration of King Shonal’s palace. What say you?”

“I am not guilty,” Azrael said, her voice clear and firm as she threw her life to the winds.

The council’s shocked silence lasted only a moment before they all burst into argument.

Azrael paid them no heed, their voices fading to a drone as she and her uncle studied each other.

“Be silent!” Neito finally ordered, black eyes flashing as he pounded the table with a fist. As his request was granted, the council sullenly watching, he returned his attention to his niece. “What exactly are you not guilty of, Azrael? Shonal is dead by a dagger you carried. Was it the slave who did the deed?”

“Like she’d tell you the truth!” one of the men said, ruddy complexion reddened to a livid color by his anger. A glare from Neito forced him to silence, mouth snapping shut with an audible click.

Azrael ignored the outburst. “I did not murder Shonal. My fealty oath forbids murder.”

Neito’s brow furrowed as he listened. “So you argue the use of the word murder to explain your actions,” he said. Waving the others to silence before they could speak, he continued. “If it wasn’t murder, what was it?”

“I believe you received a document implicating Shonal in the death of his father?”

The council responded in shocked and angered cries of protest. It was telling that not all seemed surprised; apparently Shonal hadn’t been as sophisticated in his dispatch as he’d assumed. Suspicion, however, wasn’t grounds to bring a king up on charges.

Remaining still in his seat, Neito waited for the hubbub to quiet. “Yes, I received the deposition four days ago from Captain Suma. I’ve sent men out to locate the witness but you seemed to have taken matters into your own hands.”

Azrael nodded. “I swore an oath to the crown to uphold and execute the common law of the land, Your Grace,” she said, using her uncle’s title. “Murder is punishable by death.”

Another councilman growled and spat on the floor. “So you became judge and executioner?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said eyeing him.

He flushed under her gaze, reminded of her reputation as the Angel of Death, but didn’t back down.

“You had no right to judge him, Azrael,” Neito said. “No right to execute a death sentence.”

“I am aware of that,” the dark woman said, finally dropping her gaze to stare at her shackles. “But if I had not acted, an innocent would have died.”

“Ah, yes. The slave girl, Ursula.”

“She’s not a slave, Your Grace. She was freed from my service and given her papers the day she was taken by Shonal.” Azrael burned with the need to ask about Ursula’s fate but forced herself to silence in the matter.

Neito raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I see.” He pondered for long moments. “Tell me, Azrael, had you no information on Shonal’s guilt, would you still have done this deed?”

Azrael sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. To deny would be dishonest, to admit would prove her dishonor. “Yes, I would have done the same to protect Ursula.”

This set off another round of outrage that Neito shouted down. When the room was once again still, he ordered his niece to look at him.

“You stand accused of murder and kidnapping, Azrael. Granted, the Queen Mother wasn’t hurt by your actions and you brought her to her own rooms rather than away for ransom, but the charges stand.” He sighed, obviously unhappy. “You claim your actions were not murder but murder was in your heart nonetheless. That accusation stands, as well.”

Azrael nodded, heart sinking. She wondered if she’d at least hear of Ursula before she was executed. Certainly her uncle would understand.

“Your actions, however, have saved Barentcia from a bloody civil war. I’m certain Shonal would have denied any allegations regarding his father and resisted with force. You’ve also saved me from having to make the decision on his execution. I have no doubt that he was guilty of murder and would have received punishment for his actions.”

The council, having had enough surprises for the day, snorted and scoffed amongst themselves but did not speak their sentiments aloud.

“I have been confirmed as King by these wise and noble men,” Neito continued, voice rough with sarcasm. The nobles in question at least had the decency to blush. “It is my duty to judge you as I see fit, Azrael. Do you submit to my judgment?”

“Of course, Your … Majesty,” Azrael said, confused at his question.

Neito nodded, studying her. “Azrael, Duchess of Wrendon, General of the Third Army, you stand accused of the murder of King Shonal of Barentcia, your sworn liege and cousin. You have pleaded not guilty but this Crown believes you would have slain Shonal regardless of the circumstances of his father’s death. You are guilty of murder, Azrael.

The dark woman dropped her gaze again, mouth tasting of ashes. Her argument had been a last attempt to turn the tide, but the verdict was expected.

“You also stand accused of kidnapping the Queen Mother, Gerina, and coercing her to assist you in actions that caused the death of Shonal.” Neito tilted his head as he gazed at Azrael. “The deposition you sent me, however, had Gerina’s signature as witness. Therefore, I find you not guilty of these charges. I believe that the Queen Mother was asking for your assistance with the deposition and, while her assistance was somewhat coerced by you, she had ample time to stay you from your course.

“It is the decision of the Crown to banish you.”

Azrael’s head snapped up as she stared at her uncle. Hope flowered in her heart, lack of food compounding the weakness in her body and causing her to shiver.

“You are hereby remanded to Wrendon where you will remain for the rest of your days, Azrael. The Third Army is to be disbanded, though any and all of your men are welcome to petition the crown for transfer into other units. You are allowed only twenty men as your guard. Your properties and belongings here in the city are hereby confiscated by the Crown.” Neito sighed and leaned forward. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Her mouth worked a moment before she found her voice. “If it please the Crown, Majesty,” she said. “What has become of Ursula, the woman who was with me in Shonal’s chambers?”

“Fortunately for young Ursula, the council took pity upon her. It was obvious from all reports I’ve read that she had nothing to do with Shonal’s demise. She is safe.”

Azrael snapped her eyes shut, the rush of relief so palpable she wavered. Her uncle was still speaking and it took a moment for her to return her attention to him.

“… you will be escorted to Wrendon. In that time, you will remain sequestered in the family wing. I want a full report of what transpired that day, Azrael, do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, nodding. “You shall have it by the end of the day.”

Neito finally smiled. “Oh, I think tomorrow will be soon enough, Azrael.” He leaned over and murmured something to Suma before calling to the men at the door. “Guards! Remove the Duchess’ shackles.”

“Aye, Your Majesty!”

Azrael was led out of the council chambers by the guards who stopped outside to call for a chisel and hammer. Suma exited with them, standing stoically nearby as they waited. Once the required tools were delivered and the shackles removed, he stepped forward. “I’ll escort the Duchess to her quarters.”

There was some grumbling among the guards but Suma’s tone brooked no argument and he outranked them. Once they were dispatched, he asked, “Are you well?”

Rubbing her wrists, Azrael said, “As well as can be expected under the circumstances. How long has it been?”

“Five days since I left,” the blond said as they began to walk down the corridor.

“Report.”

A ghost of a smile played across Suma’s lips. “We had no trouble leaving the city. Shonal apparently had no idea of what we carried. They turned down another hall. “After our arrival at your uncle’s he ordered me to muster the army and march them here.”

Azrael grunted. If the sun was any indication it looked to be only mid afternoon. “When did you leave Neito’s?”

“Midnight, force marched to get here so quickly.”

“I take it there were no difficulties upon your arrival?”

“One or two.” At her questioning look, Suma shrugged. “The city guard were none too pleased to have an army demand admittance and control. It took a bit of time for the council to decide it was politically beneficial for them to allow us inside.”

The military discussion served to ground Azrael, a subterfuge of normalcy that eased her nerves. When they arrived at her suite, she was heartened to see two of her personal guard. She responded to their salute, almost believing it was a normal visit and that they weren’t there to guard but to keep her imprisoned.

“Suma,” she said, turning.

Before she could continue, the captain held up a hand. “I’ve had a bath drawn for you and food delivered.” He paused. “You’ll find her inside.”

Azrael’s heart thumped and she sighed. “Thank you.”

“As you’re no longer my general, Your Grace,” Suma said, using her royal title for the first time, “I would petition to be the captain of your guard. When you have time to consider my request, you can call me.”

“I would be proud and honored to have you.”

They stared at each other before Suma pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for staying alive as I requested,” he whispered gruffly in her ear.

Tears threatened Azrael and she fought them back, returning the embrace. “Aye, I told you I’d not be the one dying.”

Pulling away with a suspicious snuffle, Suma bowed. “You have someone waiting, Your Grace. I’ll check in on you tomorrow morning.”

Azrael nodded and inhaled deeply, regaining some equilibrium. “Good afternoon, Captain.” She turned to the door, hesitating for a mere heartbeat before stepping inside.

Despite the fact she hadn’t been in this suite of rooms since her father died, it looked clean and cheerful. A fire burned merrily, dispelling the early autumn crispness that could be seen through the windows. The smell of food made her head spin and she swallowed against a bout of nausea at the rush of hunger.

Ursula was nowhere to be seen.

Needing the brunette more than sustenance, Azrael swallowed against the bile and stepped further into the common room. “Ursula?” she called, voice rusty. A clatter and exclamation drew her attention to her father’s old quarters. Before she could move toward the doorway, her lover appeared there, amber eyes wide.

“Milady!” Ursula exclaimed, dashing forward to embrace the dark woman. “I was so worried about you! The council would tell me nothing of your whereabouts and health!”

The impact of their meeting almost caused Azrael to take a tumble. She held tight to Ursula for balance, sinking into the delicious sensation of her lover’s body against hers. “Ah, sweet Ursula,” she murmured. She inhaled deeply of brunette hair, a hint of roses dissipating the last of the dungeon stench in her nostrils. “You were all I thought of every waking moment.”

Ursula helped her to a chair near the fire, hands insistent as she explored Azrael for injuries. She made soft noises upon her discoveries, eyes mournful as she found the receding lump on Azrael’s head. “We must call a surgeon!” she said, following the blood stains on Azrael’s clothing to the cut on her neck. “This is beginning to fester!”

Azrael caught her lover’s hands. “We’ll call later, Ursula. A little while longer won’t make a difference and I’d much rather fill my afternoon with your visage than some crusty physician.” She noted the woman wouldn’t meet her eyes, chewing her upper lip as was her wont when upset. “Look at me, Ursula.”

Amber flinched away from black once, twice, before being captured. The tears that threatened spilled over and she threw herself into Azrael’s arms. Days of fear now relieved poured from her.

Some time passed as they embraced one another and released their worries. As Ursula regained control of her emotions, she pulled back to see tear stains on her mistress’ face. In wonder, she wiped away the moisture with a thumb. “You cry for me?”

Azrael smiled. “Yes, love, I cry for you.”

Ursula swallowed against a fresh bout of tears. “When I was taken at the gates, the soldiers destroyed my papers,” she said.

Gaze sharpening, Azrael said, “No matter. I’ll draw up new ones tomorrow.” She hugged Ursula, dreading the turn of conversation. “You’re a free woman, sweetling, and can do or go where you please.”

“What is going to happen to you?”

Azrael sighed. “I’ve been banished to Wrendon and sentenced to remain there until I die. No more warring for this soldier; only plantings and harvests to the end of my days.”

A curious smile crossed Ursula’s face. “It doesn’t seem like much of a punishment.”

“It doesn’t, does it?” Azrael agreed, squeezing the brunette. “My uncle is now king and is a good hearted man. While what I did was wrong, other factors came into play. Shonal was not long for his throne in any case, regardless of my actions.”

Ursula nodded, having heard rumors of many things over the past few days. “And I am free to do as I wish?”

Azrael became grave. “Yes, Ursula, you are a free woman and I will do everything in my not so extensive power to assist you in your choice.” She swallowed as the woman in her arms thought over her fate.

“I told you before, Azrael,” Ursula chided, voice gentle. “I only wish to be with you. If that means banished to Wrendon for the rest of my days, so be it.”

Unsure of her hearing, Azrael paused to stare at Ursula. The welcome smile and warm eyes melted her and she crushed the brunette to her. “Gods, I love you, Ursula!”

“I love you, Azrael.”