“I like your father,” Cinnia told him as they ate. She took a decanter of wine and poured some into his goblet. “Is your mother as nice? I don’t remember my mother.”

“Would you be jealous if I told you that I adore my mother?” Dillon asked her. “She has been my best friend my whole life. Is she nice? Sometimes,” he told Cinnia with a smile. “But she can also be intimidating. When you meet her remember that you are the daughter of one king, the wife of another, and the queen of Belmair. You are every bit her equal socially, Cinnia, and she will respect you for knowing that. But you are not her equal in any other way. You will recognize Lara’s uniqueness as everyone does, but do not be afraid. You say you love me. If she sees it, and believes you, she will love you in return.”

“You say she is beautiful,” Cinnia remarked. “Is she like me?”

“Nay, she is your opposite except that she has green faerie eyes as you do. She is slender and very, very fair. Her hair is like thistledown, all golden gilt. My grandmother, Cirillo’s mother, and my mother look like sisters as faerie blood ages very slowly. My stepfather adores Lara. Be warned that it is unlikely my mother has told Magnus Hauk of my true parentage. He is jealous, I fear, although he has no need to be.”

“How will we protect the maidens of Belmair until Cirillo can make his spell?” Cinnia wanted to know. She wondered now if Ahura or another Yafir had been the source of her occasional feelings that someone was watching her. And would the spell protect her from them, as well?

“I think we may have to gather all the women together in one place where we can keep them hidden from the Yafir. The Yafir obviously roam Belmair at will, and take these girls unawares. But if we gather them all up, and secret them where we can guard them we may be able to put a stop to these kidnappings temporarily while Cirillo seeks his protection spell,” Dillon said. “This is something I shall discuss with each of the dukes.”

“The maidens would be safe in the ducal homes, I’m certain,” Cinnia said.

“Perhaps, but if I were a Yafir that is probably the first place where I would seek out the missing females,” Dillon noted. “No. It must be someplace no one, not even a Yafir, would consider. Nidhug may have a good idea,” he told her.

Cinnia yawned. “If you are starting at dawn, we had best get to bed,” she said. “Anke, Ferrex, good night. We will attend to ourselves.”

He followed her into her bedchamber. “What if I am not of a mind to attend to myself?” he said, coming up behind her, his arm going about her waist, drawing her back against him. “Will you attend to me?” he murmured in her ear.

Cinnia turned to face him, for his grip on her middle was a light one. Her fingers undid the frog closures at the neckline of his dark brocade robe. Leaning forward she kissed the faint hollow in his neck, and her lips moved slowly across the bared flesh, kissing it, licking him. “A good wife always, and gladly attends to her husband, my lord,” Cinnia purred. Reaching behind him, she began to pull the garment over his head.

Beneath it he wore only a pair of silk drawers. Dropping the robe upon the floor she smoothed her hands over his broad chest. Then slipping to her knees she kissed his belly, and untied the drawstring of his drawers, letting them drop to his ankles.

Dillon kicked the garment away from him, and drew his breath in sharply as his wife took him into her mouth and began sucking upon his cock. Closing his eyes, he let the enjoyment take hold of him. Her tongue swirled about the head of his member as she held the flesh back from it. Her teeth nibbled delicately upon that most sensitive bit of him, and he groaned. Her hand slipped beneath him as she sucked strongly, playing with his sacs, squeezing them lightly. Dillon felt himself grow harder and harder as she teased him sweetly. Finally he dug his fingers into her dark hair, gripping tightly, and said in a tight voice, “Enough!”

Releasing him, she gave him one hot lick from the root to the tip of him. “But you taste so good, my lord,” she protested.

He pulled her to her feet, and then pushed her back upon the bed. “You are a very greedy wench,” he told her as he fell to lie half-atop her. He took her face in his hands, and kissed her mouth hard. Then half gripping her slender neck, he caressed it, rubbing himself against her. He shifted himself so that he might enjoy her breasts. Kissing them, he then suckled, bit and pulled at the nipples. Then his head moved lower and lower, trailing hot kisses along her torso, her belly.

“Taste me!” she begged him, and gasped at the touch of his tongue on her pleasure jewel. “Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!” she cried softly.

She filled his senses, the fragrance of her lust setting his blood aboil. He sucked hard on the tiny nub of flesh, and Cinnia screamed in delight. He was throbbing, aching with his need, and he waited no more. Driving himself into her in a single smooth thrust, he began to use her fiercely.

“Yes! Yes!” Cinnia urged him onward. “Ride me harder! Harder! Yes! Yes! Harder, my darling Dillon!”

He drove her frenziedly, his cock flashing back and forth, forth and back within her burning wet sheath. “You are mine! I adore you!” he growled in her ear as his loins punished hers. “I could fuck you forever, my queen! Forever!”

She clutched at him, her nails raking at his back. Her legs wrapped about him and he pushed deeper and deeper until Cinnia’s head was spinning, and she was moaning as pleasures overcame them both in a final tumultuous burst of their mingled juices. Golden light exploded around them, and the air crackled with fire as she screamed her satisfaction, and he roared with his delight. And afterward they fell into a contented sleep, the fingers of their hands intertwined in a sweet embrace.

Dillon awoke in the predawn. Cinnia was sleeping soundly on her stomach, one arm flung out to the side. Looking at her he smiled, and thought that if a year ago he had been told that he would be a king, with a beautiful, passionate sorceress for his queen, he would have laughed. He hadn’t known then what he wanted to do with his talents. He had always assumed he would use them for good in Terah or Hetar. Rising, he slipped from her bedchamber into his own.

Ferrex, sleeping on the trundle at the foot of the bed, was immediately up. “Majesty!” he greeted his lord.

“I would bathe, and while I do set out some garments that are both warm and worthy of a visit to the dukes. Tell the queen when she awakes that I will probably be gone overnight. I shall have to accept the hospitality of the ducal trio, and I would not have Nidhug fly home in the dark of the moons so we shall remain with the last duke I visit,” he explained to his servant.

“Very good, Your Majesty,” Ferrex answered as Dillon passed him, moving into the bath. He then began to carefully lay out garments according to his master’s instructions.

Silk drawers. A short silk chemise. A silk shirt. A short white-and-gold brocade tunic that came to the midthigh. White trousers embroidered with gold cuffs just below the knee. A dark green cloak lined in fur. Dark green leather boots. From the chest containing the king’s jewelry he drew out a heavy gold chain from which hung a large purple amethyst cut in the shape of a star with a tail of tiny diamonds.

“I have not seen that before,” Dillon said, returning from the bath, a towel about his loins, his hair damp.

“There has been no occasion for you to wear it until now, Your Majesty. This is Belmair’s sacred symbol,” Ferrex explained. “You have seen the pendant the dragon wears with this very marking, and the queen has a golden wand with this same symbol. You will honor the dukes by wearing it, and they will better understand the seriousness of your visit. That it is not simply a social call, but a matter of Belmair’s national well-being that causes their king to come to them wearing the sacred emblem.”

“I think, Ferrex, that you are wasted as my servant,” Dillon noted. “I hope you will always offer me your wisdom and your advice.”

“Your Majesty flatters me,” Ferrex said with a small smile.

“Nay, Ferrex, Your Majesty speaks the truth. I mean what I have said to you,” Dillon replied.

“I am honored that you would have such faith in me, Your Majesty,” the serving man said. “Now let us dress you, for the dragon is always punctual.” And Ferrex quickly helped his master into his clothing and his boots. When he had finished he said, “You cannot don a crown, of course, Your Majesty, but wear this.” He handed Dillon a thin band of gold that went about the forehead.

Brushing his dark hair, Dillon fit the gold band about his forehead. Then, holding out his hand, he watched as Ferrex pushed the royal ring seal onto the middle finger of his right hand. “Am I ready?” he asked, noting that the sky was beginning to show color upon the edges of the horizon.

“You are, Your Majesty,” Ferrex said, handing Dillon his cloak.

“Travel safely.”

With a quick smile Dillon left the royal apartments, taking the stairs to the roof of the castle from where he would depart. A guardsman greeted him politely as he stepped out onto the flat surface of the battlements. “The dragon isn’t here?” he said, surprised after Ferrex’s warning.

“She comes now, Your Majesty,” the guardsman said, pointing a loft.

And there in the skies between the two castles, Nidhug, the great guardian dragon of Belmair, soared in all her glory. He marveled at her size, and that she could reduce it to something more manageable in order to deal with the Belmairans. He felt like a pixie when she set down upon the castle’s roof. The guardsman hurried to place the long ladder kept for this purpose against Nidhug. Without a word Dillon climbed up the ladder, settling himself in the small but comfortable pocket on Nidhug’s back.

The guardsman removed the ladder, and the dragon rose slowly into the morning skies, the rising sun touching her gold-lace wings so that they reflected themselves onto the earth below. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, Dillon thought from the safety of his dragon’s nest.

“Good morning, Nidhug!” he called to her.

“Good morrow, Your Majesty,” she answered. “We shall shortly be out over the sea, and you might wish to contemplate just what you will say to the dukes. I am certain you had no time last night to consider it, for it was late when our meeting broke up.”

“Can you tell me about Dreng?” Dillon asked Nidhug.

“A good man, not overly intelligent, but ambitious. As you know he was disappointed when you were chosen to be Belmair’s king. It put an end to his ambitions in that direction. But he is a loyal man,” the dragon said as she flew.

“And the others?” Dillon inquired.

“Tullio of Beldane is an intellectual. He is apt to examine an issue a bit too closely and a bit too long, but he always comes to the right decision. Alban of Belia is a good fellow. Intelligent, and with a fine sense of humor. You will probably like him the best of the three on closer acquaintance,” Nidhug informed Dillon. “Now settle yourself down, my lord. We have a ways to go.”

Dillon took the dragon’s advice. He closed his eyes and contemplated how he would approach Belmair’s dukes. Each would require a different approach if he was to gain their trust and cooperation quickly. Now that the Yafir knew that the king of Belmair was aware of their existence, who knew what mischief they would create. He wanted to make peace with them. He wanted to trust them. But had too many centuries passed for the breach between them to be healed? Only time would tell him the answer. He knew that he could destroy the Yafir if he had to, but the destruction of an entire faerie race would weigh heavily upon his conscience. He smiled to himself. Another tiny bit of his mortal blood showing, Dillon thought. Faeries did not have such troublesome traits as a conscience. He was not certain it was an integral part of his Shadow blood, either. He hoped there was a way to pacify the Yafir, but he also knew that sometimes no matter how hard one tried, peace could not be gained by any other method than force. He wondered if a time would ever come when that rule no longer held.

He was surprised when he heard Nidhug announce, “There is Beltran on the horizon now, Majesty.”

Looking in the direction in which they traveled he watched as the faint smudged line ahead of them grew larger and more distinct as they moved steadily toward it. Eventually he could see that the land rolled gently, and was heavily forested. And on the highest hill in the exact center of Beltran was a large building in the shape of a quadrangle, which, as Nidhug was making directly for it, Dillon assumed was the home of Duke Dreng, lord of Beltran. As they grew closer and began their descent he could see what appeared to be tiny figures, who grew larger with each passing minute, running about the courtyard of the building, pointing up.