Page 5 of Lord of Dance and Desire

Andrei rose and turned, pinning me with brilliant teal eyes. He approached in his ethereal, rolling, inhuman gait. Nothing weak or defeated in his posture.

I believed he’d allowed the beating. He wouldn’t have suffered the penance or the humiliation a single moment if he hadn’t been chained by his own sense of honor, his love for us.

And maybe, with his own submission to a brutal punishment, he was sending me a message as well.“We ask nothing of you we don’t demand of ourselves.”

He halted in front of me—and kneeled, bowing until his forehead touched the ground. After a beat he straightened, head still lowered as he rested his hands on his thighs.

Strong. Proud. Deadly. Submissive.

The Heir of Casakraine could submit to his luudthen. Could kneel to his human consort.

He demanded no less service from me. There was a cost to living among them.

“It’s a formal obeisance, Lady,” Mathen said in a low voice. “He will not rise until you give him leave. If you don’t give it for a week, he still will not rise.”

“It’s an apology?”

“Yes. And among us, a humiliation. The High Lord’s Heir kneels to no one, not even a consort.”

“Enough, Andrei.” I abandoned formality and knelt, sighing, sliding my arms around his neck. “I get the point.”

Though I rather liked the look of him on his knees.

There was a noise and I looked up. Constin was leaning in the threshold of a door across the courtyard, a mug in his hand, an unbelted robe on his body. Another scuff of feet and I saw Philea, Esseum, Theland. Not all of the guard, but all the luudthen. Had they all been there, bearing witness?

Of course they had, or what would be the point?

“Andreien,” I whispered, burying my face against his neck, hiding from the residual humiliation.

He loathed this.

He knew he deserved it.

He wouldn’t say the words forgive me, because forgive me meant nothing. But he would ritually place himself as subordinate to her, until she felt he’d paid the price.

The beating was nothing compared to what he’d done. Not intentionally, but intent mattered nothing. Intent wouldn’t comfort a broken woman.

“Andrei,” I whispered again, withdrawing from his mind, too ashamed to voice my own guilt. I’d weaponized him like he was a toy. Like this life we were building was a tv drama or a game. “Take me back to bed. To sleep. I command it.”

He rose this time, lifting me in his arms. Mathen trailed behind us, his breath on Andrei’s neck.

The luudthen were angry. If only they knew who they should be angry with.

Why had I done this? I couldn’t walk away this time, so I was trying to force them to push me away? Was I so afraid of my own happiness?

I opened my mouth to confess, to apologize, but Andrei shook his head.

He said nothing, didn’t look at me. I felt the silent denial. Nothing I’d done—or hadn’t done—excused him for forcing himself on me. He’d expected me to behave like a young, petulant woman thrashing against her lover’s control. It was what fillies did during the breaking process. But he should have known better.

My mouth turned down. My guilt evaporated almost as soon as an image of a young female horse being broken to a halter drifted from his mind to mine.

He considered my spite nothing more than an expected act of defiance.

Andrei stopped in front of my bedroom door but I shook my head. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.

Even if I now wanted to strangle him.

Afilly?

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