"Then my gift is not bold in the least," he returned smoothly, "and there is no reason why you should not share a cup with me." He smiled invitingly. "Come, will you not at least taste a little? The blend is sinfully delicious.”

She started to refuse and dismiss him, but he lifted his own cup of keflee and blew to cool it. The rich, moist aroma swirled around her. Sweet Lord of Light, the fragrance alone was intoxicating … as was the spellbinding intensity of Vale's vivid eyes. Between his look and the seductive aroma of the keflee, she had trouble remembering what was so objectionable about an innocent drink between friends.

"Oh, very well. Where's the harm?" She took the cup from him, started to raise it to her lips, then stopped with a faint smile. "You first, though, Vale. Old habits die hard." Growing up in Capellas, where poisons and potions were standard fare among courtiers, she'd long ago learned to be wary of gifts. Except for Dorian, she trusted no one.

"Of course." Vale didn't hesitate to raise his cup. "To your beauty and grace, Majesty." He took a small sip, then gave a short laugh when she did not respond in kind. "Your suspicion cuts me to the quick, My Queen." With a shrug and a wry smile, he tilted his head back and emptied the remaining keflee in one quick gulp.

She sipped hers, then made a pleased sound and sipped again. He was right about the blend. She did like it. The brew was strong, like nothing she'd ever experienced before. Pure enchantment in liquid form. She sipped again, taking more of the keflee into her mouth and letting the flavors caress her senses.

"Well? Is it everything I promised?”

She swallowed and stifled a moan as the languid warmth slid down into her belly. "Hmm?" She struggled to pull her thoughts together. "Oh, yes, it's quite good.”

"I'm so glad. Here, let me warm your cup." He poured another small stream of steaming liquid into her half-full cup, and the gentle splash of liquid became a soft melody ringing in her ears. The room grew warmer, the scent of the keflee stronger and more intoxicating. Her eyes closed against the riot of colors and sensations bombarding her. Her hands—or were they someone else's?—guided the cup to her lips. A voice crooned, urging her to drink more, and, helpless to resist, she did.

A fresh wave of warmth suffused her body. The cacophony of sound faded, grew muffled, and then there was only a voice, low and hypnotic, murmuring to her, saying something about Dorian, something troubling.

Feeling dizzy, Annoura lifted a hand to her head. Just that faint tightening of her bodice as her arm moved sent bursts of heat exploding all over her body. Fire raced through her veins, licking at her skin with hot little tongues. Her knees went weak. Gods have mercy. The sensations flooding her body were more potent than the sexual energy that had rushed through the courtroom the day the Tairen Soul had claimed his mate. Her eyes fluttered, trying to open, but her lids were so heavy.

"Shh. Hush, my sweet." A hard hand slid round her waist, a man's hand, firm and strong, fingers splayed on her spine, pressing her forward. She leaned into a hard, muscular chest, and moaned as lips tracked burning kisses up her throat and swirled around her ear. Tremors shot through her like lightning bolts. Ah, gods, Dorian had always delighted in tormenting her ear, knowing what it did to her. He would laugh deep in his throat and do it again and again until she melted against him, pleading for mercy.

"Dorian," she protested.

"You don't want him, darling. He doesn't appreciate you the way he should. I've seen how he puts the Fey before you, how he allows the rabble to hold you up to ridicule.”

She frowned. No, no, that was wrong. Dorian was the only man for her. She'd never known what love was until she'd met him. Her parents led cold, political lives, using each other, their children, any and everyone to their personal advantage. Dorian had shown her a different way. He'd been the first man to make her believe there could be—should be—something more to marriage than power, politics, and procreation. He'd come to Capellas as an envoy from his father. And when he'd been brought before the royal family for presentation, he'd taken one look at her and forgotten every word he'd been supposed to say. His steward had had to read the message for him from the parchment that had slipped out of Dorian's hands.

For the next two months, he'd pursued her with such single-minded dedication and romance, she'd been utterly overwhelmed. He'd made it clear he wanted her for his queen, and made it equally clear that his desire had nothing to do with politics or power. When he left the shores of Capellas, she went with him, his ring on her finger. She'd never once looked back, never once missed the cold beauty of her homeland.

"You should be more than a queen." The voice pulled her back from her memories. "You should be an Empress. The Fey should bow to your rule, not you to theirs.”

Yes, that was what she'd always wanted. Glory for herself and Dorian, the power to rule with wisdom and benevolence. He'd always been content with Celieria alone, but she was Capellan enough to want more.

"You can have all the power you desire. All you have to do is give yourself to me”

A hand slid up her waist. A rich, male scent, cool and darkly sweet, filled her nostrils. She frowned in confusion. That wasn't Dorian's scent; it was another's. Fingers cupped her breast and squeezed through the stiffened layers of her bodice. Not Dorian's hand.

"Give yourself to me, sweetness," the voice crooned again. Her flesh swelled at the sound, aching, eager to obey. But the speaker wasn't Dorian.