The empress was gowned in white silk heavily embroidered with gold and silver thread, turquoises, pearls, and pink diamonds sewn into exquisite floral designs upon the material. With her rose and white complexion, sky-blue eyes, and shining golden hair topped by a gilt crown, Helena was at the height of her beauty.

In striking contrast, but no less lovely, Theadora wore a simple pale-green silk gown that molded her high breasts and then fell away. The flowing sleeves of the gown were embroidered slightly at the edges in gold thread. There was a faint, very becoming flush to her creamy gardenia skin, and her amethyst eyes sparkled beneath their dark, gold-tipped lashes. Her shining dark hair was braided and looped about the sides of her face and held by golden cauls.

John Paleaologi leaned over and said quietly to Theadora, “I have never seen you look lovelier, my dear sister. You will simply captivate our guest of honor when he sets eyes on you. I have arranged that he sit next to you.”

“Are you trying to marry me off so soon?” she teased him.

“Would you not like to remarry, my dear?”

She was silent, and he saw the sadness in her lovely eyes.

“You love Murad, don’t you, Theadora? No, no, you need say nothing. Your eyes tell me all. Perhaps marriage to a good man and having several children would ease your pain.”

“Who is this man you would have me meet, John?”

“The new lord of Mesembria.”

“And he has no wife?”

“He had one in his youth, but she died and he never married again. He was not Mesembria’s lord then. In fact, that he is its lord today is a bitter twist of fate for him. He was a third son and when his father died his eldest brother inherited. He ruled well for us. Unfortunately, the elder brother had no sons. So his heir was the next brother. That man had two boys. Several months ago the palace in Mesembria caught fire and burned to the ground. The entire ruling family perished. Only this third brother, who lived in another city, was left alive. He was recalled, confirmed, and crowned despot of Mesembria. Though he has several illegitimate sons, he has no legal heir. So he must marry.”

“And you think to match me with him?”

“If it pleases you. Understand, my dear, that I will not force you to any marriage. I am not your father seeking aid or alliances. Perhaps you would remain single, or take the veil, or,” and his eyes twinkled, “perhaps you would choose your own husband. You may, however, like the lord Alexander. He has charm, and there is not a woman at my court who hasn’t thrown herself at him. But all to no avail.”

“He sounds unbearable and quite the peacock. If he avoids women, perhaps they are not to his taste. Are you sure he is a real man?”

John chuckled. “I am sure he is a real man, Thea, but I will allow you to judge for yourself. Here he is now.”

“Alexander, lord of Mesembria,” intoned the majordomo.

Theadora looked to the end of the hall and gasped, feeling as if she had been struck. The man striding toward them was the pirate she had known as Alexander the Great. Her mind frantically sought to assemble the few facts she recalled about him. He had told her he was the youngest son of a Greek noble, and his speech, taste and manners had certainly attested to that. But he had never named his father, and it had never occurred to her to ask him.

He bowed, flourishing his long cape elegantly as he reached the high table. He was tanned, his hair bleached to its usual golden color. His eyes were still pure aquamarine. She could hear the audible sighs from the other women and saw her own sister quickly assess the newcomer with speculative, lust-filled eyes.

“Come, Alexander,” welcomed the emperor, “join us. We have seated you next to our beloved sister, Theadora.”

A beaming John made the introductions and then left them to become acquainted. She was silent, and Alexander said softly, “Are you not glad to see me, beauty?”

“Does Helena know who you are-were?”

“No, beauty. No one does, not even your revered brother-in-law. I must rely on you to keep my secret. Will you-for old times’ sake?”

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I never thought I would see you again,” she said.

He chuckled. “Yet here I am, turning up like a bad copperpiece. And what is worse, they are proposing a match between us.”

She blushed. “You know about that?”

He did not tell her that it had been his idea, and that he had approached the emperor about it first. “The emperor and I have discussed it, but he tells me it must be your decision.” He took her hand beneath the table, and his was warm and strong. “Do you think you could be my wife, beauty?”

Her heart quickened. “Do not hurry me, my lord Alexander. I know nothing really of you.”

“What would you know? My father was Theodore, despot of Mesembria. My mother was Sara Comnenus, a princess of Trebizond. I had two older brothers, Basil and Constantine. My mother has been dead for several years, my father nearly two years, and a fire in Mesembria’s palace several months ago left me bereft of family-and an unwilling ruler. The rest you know, beauty.”

“I am truly sorry for your great loss,” she said softly.

“As am I, beauty, for my brothers were good men. Yet, as in all situations, there is a good side. As the lord of Mesembria I am able to ask the emperor for his widowed sister-in-law’s hand in marriage. Look at me, Theadora!”

It was the first time he had ever called her by her name. Surprised, she raised her eyes to his.

“I am an impatient man, beauty. You cannot deny the attraction we felt for each other when I held you and your son captive in my city. I believe you could learn to love me. You know more of me than most women know of their bridegrooms. Say you will wed me.”

“My lord, you hurry me too quickly. I am confused. My husband is only recently dead, and I was forced to flee the unwelcome attentions of the new sultan. I do not even know if I wish to remarry.”

The hand holding hers beneath the table loosed it and moved to gently caress her thigh. She quivered. “Ah, beauty, you were not meant to live a celibate life. And you are not a wanton woman to take lovers like your sister. You are meant to be married, and to have children about you. I would have you, and I would have our children.”

“Give me but a little time, my lord Alexander,” she pleaded.

He did not press her further during the feast, turning instead to talk with the emperor. Yet he watched over her, seeing that she had the choicest viands and that her cup was kept filled with sweet wine. Toward midnight the emperor gave the signal that those who wished to leave might, and Theadora took the opportunity to flee the hall.

There was no doubt in her mind that Alexander attracted her, and he had been correct about one thing. She was meant to marry. Long ago her mother had promised her that when Orkhan died she would be brought home to Byzantium to make a good Christian marriage.

As a princess of Byzantium, however, she could not marry just anyone. There was no one within the emperor’s court who was of sufficient rank to be her husband. Among the city-states belonging to the empire, there was no prince other than Alexander who was not married, too old, or too young.

Practical considerations aside, Alexander was handsome, educated, and sensitive to her as a woman with a mind of her own. She did not think she loved him-but she thought she could. She was strongly attracted to him. He would not be a hard man to live with. And she did want more children.

Absently, she let her women disrobe her, sponge her with warm perfumed water, and slide a blossom-pink caftan over her. Dismissing them, she lay upon her bed.

If Murad had really loved her he would have offered marriage, not the shameful bondage he had suggested. Alexander offered her his heart and his throne.

She smiled to herself in the darkness. Alexander was a very stubborn man, and she did not think he would accept a refusal from her. A giggle of amusement escaped her. A determined Murad to her right, an equally determined Alexander to her left. The truth was that she had no other choice than to accept one of them.

It did not surprise her to see a shadow suddenly loom on the balcony behind the gently billowing sheer silk curtains. She had thought he might come to press his suit more forcefully. There were times when even the most enlightened of men fell back on sex as a persuader. She knew it would disappoint him to learn that she had already reached a decision in his favor, using logic to do so.

Entering the room he walked quickly to her bedside. “Are you really asleep, beauty?”

“No, Alexander. I am thinking.”

“Of what we spoke about this evening?”

“Yes.”

Without being asked he sat down on her bed. “I have not kissed you in so long,” he said. Reaching out, he drew her into his arms and kissed her gently.

He loosed her, and she said softly, “Is that how you would make love to me, Alexander? I remember my first night in Phocaea when you were far more articulate on much shorter acquaintance. Come, my lord, I am no easily broken toy. If your love is that tame then perhaps I should not marry you. I am no wanton, but even my elderly husband was more vigorous a lover.”

A deep rumble of delighted laughter echoed in the darkness. “So, beauty, you will not be put upon a pedestal and worshiped like some ancient goddess?”

“No, I will not, my lord, for I am a flesh-and-blood woman.”

She heard him moving about and soon one of the lamps by her bed was lit, and then another, and another. “I would see you when I make love to you,” he said, drawing her up from the bed. His fingers swiftly undid the pearl buttons on her caftan, sliding it from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His own robe quickly followed hers, sliding to the soft rugs.

Falling back on the bed, he held her above him, rubbing his smooth face against her breasts. Then he slowly lowered her, folding her into his strong arms. She sighed deeply. Expertly he reversed their positions, and she suddenly found herself lying beneath him. He gazed down at her and she blushed under his inspection.

“Christos, how beautiful you are,” he muttered hoarsely, and his hands stroked her breasts. His soft fingertips brushed against her skin again and again, and she could feel the familiar tension beginning. He sat up, pulling her back between his legs. He cupped the cones of her breasts, gently pulling and pinching the large coral nipples, and she could feel his maleness butting against her lower back. Now she lay across his lap, and the big hands caressed her belly with a strength of touch that made her shrink slightly.

He laughed softly. “So, beauty, you recognize your master. Did your greybeard husband ever make you feel this way? I’ll wager not! Marry me, my darling, and I will teach you to crave my touch. I can pleasure you as no man can, and no woman will ever please me as you do, beauty.”

“You talk a good deal, my lord,” she mocked him, and his mouth crushed against her lips, bruising them, his white teeth drawing salty blood, his tongue subduing hers. He trailed a path of fiery kisses across her breasts and belly, finding the softness of her inner thighs with his mouth.

Theadora stiffened with shock as his soft, insistent tongue reached where no one had ever ventured. Her body shrank from him, her voice shook with protest. “N-No!”

He raised his head and stared at her, his eyes glazed with passion. “Has no one ever tasted of you, beauty?”

“No!”

“But you are like honey. A woman is sweetest there, beauty.”

“I-it is w-wrong” she managed to gasp. “You must not!”

“Who tells you it is wrong? Does it not give you pleasure, my love? Whom do we hurt? I will soon teach you how to pleasure me in the same sweet way.” Then he lowered his head again and, pushing her legs up and apart, sought again the sweetness he craved.

At first she was tense beneath the velvety, probing tongue, but suddenly a wave of pure pleasure washed through her defenses and she groaned. Deep, deep within her she could feel the tenseness mounting until it was almost unbearable. She was desperate for release, but he withheld it. Instead, he carefully eased off so that the tension receded like a wave. It began to return as he pulled himself up and threw a leg over her.

With the instinct of Eve that is born into every woman she sought for his manhood with her hands and, capturing it, eagerly guided him to her. She wrapped her arms about him. At first he would not enter her but, instead, rubbed the tip of the turgid root against the soft, throbbing flesh until she thought she would scream with the intensity of the pleasure.