He would try to persuade the Serangite to help him explore the dungeons and would even use his blades if necessary, although he would prefer to use seduction as his tool. Lachlan tensed, analyzing his thoughts. It had been years since he’d bedded a woman or even had the desire to do so. The petite princess attracted him, but it was moot as his mission to uncover the dungeon of Mevia’s stronghold was his main objective, and he could afford no distraction.
She inhaled, unintentionally pressing her softness into his hardened frame. The top of her head met his chest. She barely cleared five feet and was curvaceous though her loosely flowing sari hid most from his gaze. Her face, however, was shaped like the finest porcelain. Delicate chin, small nose, gently rounded cheeks, beautiful lips, and eyes hardened like diamonds appeared as if a star itself had been fractured in their depths. He ignored the flare of arousal that tightened his gut and pressed the blade closer to her beating pulse. Her soft gasp rasped over him, stroking the arousal that seemed to pulse inside of him.
He didn’t trust his unfamiliar, extraordinary reaction to her. He should have ignored her presence, but he was racing against time. His kingdom had formed a recent alliance with Princess Saieke of the winds and mountains, and he was now honor bound to free Princess Saieke from the emotional pain that beset her because of her Queens Blades’ imprisonment. They had been taken by warriors of Mevia who had hunted the princess only a few weeks past. They had been her guards for years , and she’d grown to regard them as family, ignoring the distinction of rank. Since their capture by the empire, she had been trying to rescue them. Lachlan owed her mate, Drac El Kyn, and he had called in hi
s favor. Honor and friendship insisted Lachlan responded. Saieke’s Blades’ lives now rested in his hands, and he would complete his rescue mission successfully.
Lachlan had been in Mevia for precisely six days, but only in the palace for the last twelve hours. He had traveled through the kingdom in the dark, seeking those who had been rumored to construct the dungeons or anyone who had any knowledge of how to gain entrance. After endless searching and spying in the shadow space, it seemed as if the cells were a mystery to everyone in the empire. Yet he knew they existed.
The famed torture chamber of Mevia created fear even in Darkans. And for the civilians of Mevia who seemed to live in abject deference to the emperor and his warriors, talk of the dungeons were taboo. Infiltrating the palace required more caution because the emperor had Darkan traitors working with him who scanned the shadows for intruders. But Lachlan had absolute control in wielding his shenkiri of shadows and had been careful to stay a step ahead of those of his kind in the shadow space.
The Princess Shilah was a weak link to the empire and weakness should always be exploited. She was ironically a powerful weak link, one that held the key to what he sought. Possibly. He pressed the blade closer to her neck letting its cold caress her skin, and its threat imprint in her mind. She posed no danger to him with her telepathy. It wasn’t that she was not dangerous. Far from it. She might be more fragile than other Amagarians, lacking their speed, strength, and their rapid healing capabilities, but Serangites made up for it with their mental prowess. But his shield, built through agonizing pain and loss, was impenetrable. He dipped his head and whispered in her ear. “The dungeons of Mevia, Princess. All that you know.”
The trip of her pulse vibrated against the fine steel of his knife. “The dungeons?”
“I believe that is what I said. You were recently there.” In what capacity he had yet to discover.
“I know nothing of the dungeons,” she snapped.
“You visited last eve.”
Every line in her body went taut. “You’ve been spying on me?”
He smiled at the outrage in her tone. “It is incidental that you captured my attention.” He had been analyzing the underground area where he suspected the entrance to the dungeon was located. It was a smooth wall of nothingness. There was no evident opening, yet those walls had parted, and the princess had spilled forth with a witch and several guards. Lachlan had tried to shadow step into that space and had found himself paralyzed for several minutes. “I grow impatient, Princess.”
With brutal deliberateness, designed to shock more than harm, he pressed the blade under her skin. Blood pooled and ran down her neck. Despite the danger to her, she slammed her head back, thumping his chest. She grasped his wrists, tapping her fingers across his pulse. Then he felt the soft flutters across his mind. He smiled. She was such a tiny creature. It was then he realized she was trying to fight back. How had she survived this long in the Empire? He was barely restraining her, and she could not escape his clasp.
Heat punched through him, and invisible hands yanked the blade down from her throat in a quick, powerful move, and that same force slammed him back with stunning might. Lachlan dug his heels into the floor, cracking the tiles beneath his feet as he resisted the blast of her ability, grounding himself to a halt.
She had telekinesis skills. Impressive. Most Serangites controlled only one of the four geneses—telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, and foresight. Unless the information gathered by his dark king on the other realms were incomplete. He filed it away and studied her.
The princess had a jeweled dagger held up in an attack stance, a strange blue light emanating from the blade. Her silver-white hair fell loose over one shoulder, exposing the slim line of her throat and the softness of her jaw. Lachlan hadn’t the heart to demonstrate how feeble she was against his power should he chose to unleash it. And as a woman who had the ear of the Emperor, he wanted no suspicion roused that an unknown Darkan was in their midst. He relaxed his stance, and with a deft flick of his wrist, sheathed his weapon. He tried to sound reassuring. Tried to appear non-threatening. “I do not wish a fight with you. I only seek information.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I have no information to help you, stranger. My senses were masked by enchantment. No one can enter those dungeons without the Grand General Shenzhen or the Emperor’s approval.”
That was valuable knowledge. “A witch’s spell?”
“Is there any other kind?” she asked softly, her muscles telegraphing her intent to attack.
“Do not be foolish. I have no wish to hurt you.” The truth of it resounded in him. He was not a man who shied away from his brutality. Lachlan was a warrior and had always done difficult things for those he loved. Yet he couldn’t imagine hurting her. She seemed too defenseless, and it was never in him to prey on those weaker than himself.
He considered her for an exceedingly long time, assessing every shift of her eyes, and the play of her muscles. Because he chose to bury his demon beast, he could not rely on the dark flavor of negative emotions to tell him when a prey lied, feared, or raged. Lachlan had made it a part of his abilities to assess his opponents, searching for those tell-tale signs to reveal deception. The princess, though frightened, radiated with innocent truth. “How long have you been in the Empire?”
A quick frown chased her features. “Almost three months.”
“And in that time how often have you been to the dungeons?”
She glared at him before answering reluctantly, “About five, and only the upper floors.”
“And each time you made it out, alive.”
She flinched, and his curiosity stirred. What had been her purpose? To read the thoughts of others while they were questioned and tortured? “Do you know the witch who cast the spell that enchanted the dungeon?”
“I do not.”
Another truth. “Why do you visit the dungeons?”
Her breathing fractured slightly, and the pulse at her throat fluttered, yet her eyes held steadily on his. “I read the thoughts of selected prisoners for the Emperor.”