Her eyes flashed open and she looked up into Vale's face, beautiful, sexual, ruddy with passion. He was holding her in his arms, his hips tilted in and up, pressing his sex against hers through the thick layers of her skirt, touching her with an intimacy no man but Dorian ever had. Shock shattered her strange hypnosis. She wrenched herself out of his hands and shoved him away.

"Oh, gods." She cupped her hands over her mouth. Her blood was still pounding, her br**sts and womb aching, all but weeping. Her whole body was on fire, screaming for release, but she couldn't—wouldn't—do this. "Oh, gods, what am I doing? What was I thinking?”

"Annoura?" Vale reached for her.

She lurched back, evading his hands. "Don't call me that!" Only Dorian called her that. Only he had the right. "You must go! Now! Now!" she shrieked when he reached for her again. No matter how hurt and angry Dorian had made her this morning, she still loved him. Even if that weren't the case, she was his queen, and this was treason.

Vale drew back instantly. "I'm sorry. Forgive me." His face had lost its color. "The brew went to my head. I'll go, of course." He bowed low, and for the first time his movements were stiff and graceless rather than the dance of sensual masculine beauty that had always so enticed her. "Forgive me, My Queen. I never meant to cause you such distress.”

"Just go," she cried. "Get out of my sight!”

Straightening, he pivoted on one heel and strode out.

Oh, gods, oh, gods. The keflee pot was still steaming its treacherous seductive fragrance. She snatched it up in a burst of fury and threw it against the wall. Dark liquid splattered, spreading out in a huge, ruinous stain, a blot as dark as the one on her honor. The smell became an overwhelming stench. She ran for the garderobe, leaned over the privy shaft, and vomited in violent, racking heaves until nothing remained in her stomach but emptiness and bile. Frantic to rid herself of every last vestige of the hideous potion, she rinsed and scrubbed her mouth and teeth again and again until she could no longer taste the slightest hint of keflee.

When she was done, she dragged in a long, shuddering breath and tried to calm herself. The task was an impossibility. Vale's brew was still inside her, still working its vile magic upon her. Every move was a torment, every swish of silk an acute torture.

She needed Dorian. Now.

Pausing only to straighten her hair and appearance—there was nothing she could do about the wild glitter in her eyes— she exited the chamber through the main door. She sailed past the crowd of courtiers lingering in the sunlit atrium nearby and walked as swiftly as she dared to Dorian's office. He was still there, his steward with him.

"Leave us," she commanded.

The steward cast her a startled look, then glanced uncertainly at her husband. Dorian eyed the flush of color on her cheeks and signaled the steward to obey.

"We aren't to be disturbed," she ordered, then closed the door in the steward's face."What is it, my d—" Dorian's voice broke off. His hazel eyes widened as she strode towards him, ripping at the laces of her bodice as she went. "Annoura?”

The bodice string snapped in her hands. The stiffened fabric parted. "Dorian ... " She ripped at the sleeves of her gown, almost sobbing as she struggled to pull the loose fabric free and shove it down in a puddle at her feet. She stepped out of the pile of silk, clad only in a sheer chemise, corset, silk hose, and heels. He started to rise from his chair, but she pushed him back down and straddled him. "Dorian, tell me you love me. Tell me now”

Bewildered, he said, "Of course, I love you. You know I do." He frowned. "What's wrong, my dearest?”

"Nothing. Everything." She clutched his face in desperate hands and kissed him, rocking her hips against his until she felt his body begin to harden in response. When his arms came up around her, she closed her eyes to hold back the tears of relief. "Love me, Dorian. Right here, right now Love me and make everything all right”

Yanking off Ser Vale's silk doublet to cool his overheated body, Kolis stalked down the palace hallway. Fury vibrated in his bones and his blood thundered in his veins. Dark Lord steal his soul! He'd almost ruined everything. The keflee had been potent indeed, laced with a Feraz additive intended to drive her into his arms. He'd had to drink it too, thanks to her suspicious nature, and the effects were far stronger than even the most concentrated keflee could have been. He'd thought that drink would be enough to cloud her senses and get her to accept the first Mark. Instead he'd come close to destroying months of work in one rash, unthinking act. If he lost the queen—if she banished him from her court—the High Mage would be enraged. He opened the door to the small suite Annoura had given him when Ser Vale had become one of her Favorites. A flash of bright color caught the edge of his vision and he turned to see the trailing edge of a woman's skirts disappear around his bedchamber door. Temper bit hard. Lust bit harder. "Come here," he commanded.

Fabric rustled. Jiarine Montevero stepped out of his bedchamber into the small parlor of his suite. "It didn't go well, I presume." Her lips twisted. "I told you it wouldn't. It's too soon. She still loves him. You must break that before you can break her.”

"I said come." The temperature in the room dropped sharply.

Jiarine turned pale. The sardonic triumph fell from her like an untied veil. She hurried towards him. When she drew close enough, he grabbed her arm and pinned her against the wall, grinding his hips against hers. His hands plunged into her bodice and tugged her generous br**sts free of their confinement, finding the ni**les and squeezing them until she cried out.