"No but you're a Duran." The name sounded like a curse spat out with disdain. "It's not your mother the Western River King feared-it was your father. The only reason the elves aided us in the Revolution against your mother was because of Eleanor. They'd have taken the other side if not for the opportunity to put their blood line on Biston's throne. Didn't you wonder why Andraste changed his mind when he saw Eleanor holding your hand?"

Erick's mind stalled and numbness flickered across his face. "Why didn't Henry tell me this? Why was it kept secret?" Erick hadn't agreed to this. He'd never planned to marry, especially not that demonic brat.

"Anre doesn't like anyone to compare Eleanor to her cousin, Gildon's queen. She thinks people will fear Eleanor if they know. And Henry thought you'd rebel because of your fear of your mother and do the opposite, like you're doing now." Phil's eyes briefly flicked up. "If Eleanor hadn't nearly escaped last summer, he'd have let you take your time. But time's running out. She'll escape, you'll lose your chance and Biston will fall."

That's what the evil hybrid queen had meant. It wasn't a prophecy. She'd read them all. Shit. Why hadn't he seen this earlier? It was all so obvious now. "What if Eleanor doesn't want me?" Elves believed in fate. They didn't force marriages. Hell, elves didn't even marry. They just shacked up with their fateds forever by choice. "The Western River won't force it if she doesn't want me."

"You mean if you continue to drive her away and she escapes? They'll put your mother back on the throne," Phil snarled and his hard gaze dropped.

Erick had thought the elves' moral code prevented him from slitting the demon's throat. But her threat lingered only to force their kin into his throne. In elven kingdoms, fateds couldn't ascend a throne by marriage. Apparently, elves used whatever code benefited them more.

Erick gritted his teeth. He wasn't a discarded pawn. "Can we withstand their attack?" His father had for decades and his father before him.

"We can't afford another war."

There'd been three wars in Erick's lifespan-his mother's Civil War twenty years ago, his Revolution ten years ago, and the Duran War six years ago. So that was it? He was supposed to marry a demon who would murder him for the throne because he couldn't afford otherwise. "Figure out a way. And get me a wizard." If anyone could defeat his mother and the elves who guarded her, it was a wizard. Not that level-one woman who spewed rambling lies with her tarot reading. He needed a true wizard, the sort with tattoos up and down the length of both arms.

Phil grimaced, seemingly disgusted. "You can't afford a wizard. He will take everything you have in payment, including Eleanor."

"Good riddance." Then Erick would at least be free of both demons. Elves and hybrids wouldn't bend him to their will.

"You're making a mistake."

"Maybe, but if I am, it's mine. I'm not jumping because they tell me to. I'm not marrying a woman I hate to keep a job I'm not any good at. And they aren't getting their hands on it either. I'll do what I can and if that's not good enough then I'll take my place in the dirt next to my father."

"You don't know what you're saying. You were too young to remember what your father did."

Erick had heard rumors but they paled next to his mother's crimes. "Just see to it, Phil."

At this one corner of the garden, he could make out the river where he used to fish every Sunday. It curved like a satin ribbon through the countryside. Farther south, tiny squares of farmland lay fallow, where he used to chase Ellie. Stalks of wheat and corn had smacked him as he sped past. She'd always been the last one. The only one who'd put up a challenge. The human children's thoughts rang out like bells but not Ellie's.

He'd shrink her back to that tiny little creature if he could. She should have stayed there, at Gran's, a sweet memory from a simpler time.

When he closed his eyes, he smelled blackberry pie and honeysuckle, as if magic wafted the aromas across hundreds of miles. He could almost taste the tart goodness on his watering tongue. Oh, he missed it, all of it. Even blisters from tilling the soil. He was a fool for leaving that rural life for this.

His dead three oath-brothers would have been married there with farms of their own. Alive and well. And he'd be free from the guilt that tore an empty hole his gut, from the loss and from the impossibilities that squirmed out of reach.

Your mother would have hunted you down and killed you. Then your oath-brothers would be the ones with the guilt and loss.

Erick's eyes popped open. Had she followed him? He scanned the dead weeds and found Eleanor, shivering, curled up in a ball against the trunk of a tree. Her skirts puffed up just below her knees and elbows to reveal hints of her curvy calves. Goosebumps on her porcelain skin shouldn't cause waves of heat in his chest and face. It wasn't his duty to warm her but the thought made him ache in an all too pleasing way.

"I was here first." Her teeth chattered and she clenched her jaw to still them. She flipped a sketchpad closed with her blue fingers and rose up. "Watch where you're going." Her icy gaze avoided his as she scampered past. Frozen weeds crunched and clung to her skirts.

Earth, that perfume. Even in the bitter cold, it trailed behind her and hardened his tool. How could he want something so foul? "See Reiley off," he yelled after her. Maybe the twit king would steal her and draw away the Western River's attention.

Erick hated his oath-brother for bringing her but Henry had bled for him. He'd taken countless blows, slices and stabs all meant for Erick. Or was the sacrifice for Eleanor? No, Eleanor hadn't existed yet when Henry first saved Erick. Henry had probably thought this was the only way to win the Western River's support for the Revolution that put Erick on the throne. But he should have asked Erick first.

Everything had become so complicated. Erick wasn't sure who he trusted anymore. How did Eleanor cope with their ploys? Did she know?

A scream rang out and Erick spun about. Men struggled beyond the window of the parlor. Eleanor's guards.

Erick's heart jumped and he suddenly regretted what he'd said. He ran through weeds, slipping and sliding on ice. When he burst through the door, he found six large men slain on the floor. Blood spilled from the gaping wounds and soaked into the carpet. Above them stood Eleanor's guards, surrounding her in perfect formation, twin swords drawn in elven form. Gloved hands.

"What happened?"

Eleanor's icy blue light bore into him. "What does it look like?"

Mercenaries. Weapons gleamed from their belts and various scabbards hung from their shoulders. Their thick arms and lean bodies hinted at combat training, despite the lack of uniforms. No doubt hired by Porter's king but why not a whole army?

"It's a warning to prompt your hand. A lame attempt to avoid the larger expense of war." She squeezed past her guards and into the hall. "Apparently, I'm the one with the brains and you're just the pretty brawn," she muttered over her shoulder.

The muscles of his arms flinched and he couldn't help a stupid smile from curling up one side of his mouth. Pretty brawn? That was the first compliment she'd paid him in years. It shouldn't have such an effect on him but pride puffed out his chest and flexed his pectorals.

It isn't a compliment.

What the hell was wrong with him? Her pheromone. He shouldn't have even noticed it beyond the iron stench of blood.

Her guards started lifting the bodies over their shoulders, staining their uniforms and dark gloves. None of their own blood marked them. No cuts. No bruises. Not even a torn seam. For men who hadn't practiced, run drills, exercised, or even woken before noon since their arrival, that didn't seem possible. They couldn't be that good. Not even Henry walked away without a scratch from mercenaries.

Why the gloves? Ridges marked the underside of the fingers and palms, as if meant to be a permanent part of their uniforms. Strange.

Nothing had seemed right since Eleanor's arrival. She brought confusion and misery, in the way that humans suffered colds. Just one sneeze and infection spread everywhere.

Chapter Fourteen.

December 25, 9544 AR

Valetta, Biston

Warmth soothed her like a lover's words. It grew and swelled behind her, chasing away numbing chills. Breath caressed her ear and an arm draped over her waist. Something even nicer nestled between the cheeks of her buttocks.

She snuggled deeper into the imaginary embrace and the rigid rod quivered, ready to fulfill every request her active imagination conjured. So many possibilities tempted her slumbering body.

His mind pressed against hers and Eleanor moaned. Hungers and needs nipped at her shields.

Too real.

Eleanor startled awake. A man, a real man held her. In her bed. She gasped in a breath. But before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth.

Sparks from his flesh halted her. Erick. He lay behind her, beneath the covers.

"Shhh. It's okay. I just want to hold you." Erick hesitantly released her mouth and curled his arm around her waist, drawing her closer.

Painful tension melted away from her back. His touch tickled her through the thin fabric of her nightshirt, all along her side and deep into her stomach. This had to be a dream. He'd never knowingly crawl into her bed.

He pressed against her mind again but she blocked him.

"Let me in. I need to feel something else right now. Dreams. Anything." He couldn't be serious.

"Please. I've had a rough day, Ellie."

How dare he? She wanted to tell him no and shove him to the floor, to scream at him but part of her needed his touch. The way he held her, so tenderly. His mouth inches from her neck.

Eleanor licked her lips, body tense, wishing she could say yes. She shouldn't comfort him. He wouldn't appreciate it. He'd hurt her.

But his heart thudded against her back and his breath came in erratic spurts, tickling her neck and fluttering her hair up her cheek. He'd chanced the lure of her pheromones for comfort. He had to be in bad shape, perhaps enough to give her what she wanted.

Maybe just a taste to ease him in at first. Eleanor dropped part of her shields and opened up an alternate world for him.

His chest pushed on her back as he gasped in breath.

All around them, rainbows twirled, refracted from crystals overhead. They tinkled softly, stirred by a warm breeze from a window of light. The scent of blackberries and honeysuckle wafted in with soft music. On the walls, where tattered pink wallpaper once curled, pixies danced in vibrant, living murals. The floor gleamed, renewed with rich inlays and lacquer. Silk fluttered over them and gauzy curtains fell like fog from the gilded posts of her bed.

He tried to burrow deeper to where her thoughts hid.

"Do something for me first," Eleanor whispered. "Pretend to be someone for me." The image of a pirate flashed from his mind and his chest shook with laughter.

That wasn't what she wanted. Her face burned and her eyes stung. She couldn't ask. What if he said no? What if he used it to hurt her?

"I'll play along," he whispered and pulled her closer as if she meant something to him. Their bodies fit perfectly, seemingly designed together.

"This isn't real," she assured him and turned to face him.

His imagined arm fell away from her and his whole body tensed, nervousness on his projected face.

"Every touch, movement, thought, everything isn't real here. When you wake, you'll find me curled up and the room the way it was, because nothing changed." She touched his bare shoulder and immersed herself in the electric shivers. "This is all pretend. In our minds."

Although his body didn't relax, nervousness left his face and something else flickered across his mouth too quick to identify. He blocked whatever it was with strength he didn't normally have. "What do you want me to do?" His voice rumbled through her, deep and inviting. He knew what she wanted, part of what she wanted.

I get lonesome sometimes. Eleanor couldn't say it aloud. Could you pretend to love me? She hid her face in his chest, afraid she'd see him smirk or scowl. She shouldn't have asked. He'd only scream at her and stomp her already shattered heart.

The electric tingles from his skin made her want something impossible and she started to turn away.

But Erick stopped her, arm firm against her back. Look at me.

Breath caught in her chest and pricklies rolled up into her lungs. When she lifted her face, she didn't get a chance to read him.

He kissed her. His soft lips pressed gently, blanketing hers. He cradled the back of her head in his palm, fingers slipping through her hair.

She melted like chocolate in his mouth. When tender thoughts caressed her mind, she nearly wept. Everything inside softened and swirled free, liquefied.

Warm rain dripped from the crystals above onto their cheeks and into their kiss. Sweet nectar filled their mouths and caramelized in the electric sparks on their tongues and lips.

Erick smiled. Love tastes like chocolate and caramel?

She changed it to blackberry pie and whipped cream. Better? She stroked his stubbled jaw with her fingertips. The divine texture tickled nearly as much as the sparks. She palmed his cheek and they both moaned. Current gathered and hummed.

But he snatched her wrist and forced her hand away. His mouth left hers and she gasped from the loss.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said.

Oh, that made her want him even more. "You won't. We can't bind here." All the dark, hidden parts of their minds would stay buried. Only good things should show in this imaginary world. Maybe. Probably. If she could just...

He filled both his hands with her cheeks and a harsh grunt split his mouth.

The electricity that jerked his body taut coursed through her nerves with the force of an orgasm. She clutched his thick arms. Eyes ablaze, body shivering, she panted for breath that wouldn't come. Quick bursts, then a soft flutter that faded in warmth that drew her arms around him. Satisfaction filled her lungs and floated out on a sigh.

"Earth, it's like sex," he rasped.

She dragged her lips over his wrist. She'd never felt so close to him. That chemical attraction overpowered all else, even in dreams.

Do me. He guided her hands to his cheeks. Lust sparked from his skin through her palms. His desires pulled her mind into a murky sea of confusion. Fears tangled his thoughts like weeds and threatened to drown her.

That shouldn't happen.

He wasn't ready.

Eleanor tried to wrench free but he wouldn't let go. "Not yet," he demanded. "Just a little more."

Deeper, beneath his ocean floor, she found what he loved. Memories of their adventures, the imaginary worlds she'd built for him and now the want she stirred in him.

The current between them grew until it burst through. It crashed at her center and ravaged her secret places with thrilling spasms. She clung to the last spark and kept it as long as her trembling body could. When it faded, she exhaled, empty yet full.

"Mmm, I love you, Erick." The words moaned out on their own. They shouldn't have felt good. Her heart shouldn't flutter with hope. It was too soon. Or maybe too late.

He tore her hands from his face and mumbled, "I love you too." But his eyes avoided hers. He didn't mean it.

Her chest hurt, as if cold air froze her lungs with each breath. The room she'd created wavered and she struggled to keep it from darkening to a dungeon. Did he know what lay beneath his ocean floor? What was this? Why had he come here?

Erick kissed her mouth. He slid his hand up her bare thigh, under her nightshirt, completely unaware of her misery.

Was this why? For sex? Had he abandoned his make-believe, faceless woman?