Starcrossed Bride

By Meg Leader

"A delightful and complex mix of comedy and fantasy--a sensual love story set in a sensational world. I hope for more from this talented author."--USA Today bestselling author Christie Ridgway.
A Convenient Marriage . . . that can save--or destroy--a world
Connall Storm is a man with aspirations. A two-name bastard on the colony of Last Hope, he enters a pragmatic marriage hoping to discover a treasure that will give him the power and wealth he wants. But in order to find it, he and his new wife must embark on a perilous expedition into the Western Mountains--and come back alive. Little does he guess that guarding his heart against his exasperating and far-too-sexy wife will be the real challenge . . .
Arkana Crystal Song has blue blood, the finest education, and an unexpected, massively irritating new husband. All she wanted to do was find out what happened to her parents, who disappeared years ago. Now she's stuck trekking through the wilderness with a man who drives her absolutely crazy. And she's starting to like the feeling a bit too much . . .
It isn't long before Connall and Arkana's fiery arguments flare into scorching passion. But when they come across a deadly alien menace on their travels, their love will face the ultimate test. Are they strong enough to save themselves--and their entire world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Feb 1, 2000
• ISBN: 9781611944419

Book preview

Starcrossed Bride

He knew they only had a marriage of convenience, but was that a reason for his new wife to try to kill him?

CONNALL LAY ON the ground and glared at her with baleful eyes. Arkana, do you do these things because you hate me? Is that it? If that is so, let me tell you there are kinder, gentler ways to kill a man than this.

Arkana crouched on her knees beside him, taken aback by his question. Hate you? But you are my husband!

So? he asked cynically. Many women hate their husbands. I just want to know if you are among them. If that is the case, tell me now so I will know how to deal with you in future.

Of course I don’t hate you! I have been a model wife to you in all respects! Whatever put that doltish notion in your head?

He stared at her as he got to his feet. You call instigating a food fight at our wedding, denying me my marital rights, starting tavern brawls, endangering yourself by taking on a flock of wild animals, and booby-trapping the campsite so that I am nearly killed— He broke off to catch his breath before continuing incredulously. You call all that being the model of the perfect wife? He didn’t wait for her to reply, but just shook his head and stalked back toward camp, muttering to himself.

I didn’t! she ran after him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him back around to face her. "I didn’t do any of those things! I didn’t."

With one hand he began to tick off his accusations on the fingers of his other hand. First, did you or did you not refuse to honor our marital agreement?

I did no such thing! It was you! It’s not my fault if you decided not to—to—" Arkana broke off, embarrassed.

He stared at her in disbelief. You can say that? After making it perfectly clear that if I touched you it would be as enjoyable as caressing a—a packsaurus?

She stood her ground. Yes!

"Well, woman, if it is my decision to make, I say we shall enjoy our marital relationship—starting now!"

Starcrossed Bride

by

Meg Leader

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-441-9

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-470-9

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2000 by Maureen Caudill writing as Meg Leader

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

We at ImaJinn Books enjoy hearing from readers. Visit our websites

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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Couple (manipulated) © Arturkurjan | Dreamstime.com

Alien Landscape (manipulated)© Angela Harburn | Dreamstime.com

:Ebsw:01:

Dedication

For the ones who started it all:

Joyce, Elaine, and Susan

And for all those joyous, painful, and friendship-inspiring Wednesday and Thursday and Tuesday night sessions. You believed in Arkana’s story, and made me believe too. Thanks! This one’s for you!

Prologue

Last Hope Colony, Year 182

JENNA SWALLOW Song sat on the ground, her back against a large boulder and her husband’s corpse draped across her lap. She was quietly waiting to die.

This entire expedition had been such a mistake. She’d heard the death screams of everyone else in their travel party, and she had watched her own beloved husband succumb, an accusing, betrayed look in his eyes. Now, sitting on the leaf-strewn ground of this small glade, it only needed her own death and this ill-fated group’s doom would be complete.

Sighing, she looked down at her lap where her husband’s head lay, and gently smoothed the hair away from his brow. She loved Lucien so much, a love culminating in their beloved Arkana, who waited for their return, no doubt impatiently, back in Corazon City. At least Arkana would be safe there. The image of her daughter rose in her mind—a lively girl, intelligent, just a shade fey, with irrepressible spirits and the promise of great charm when she matured. For now, of course, Arkana’s twelve-year-old head was filled with her studies, her pets, and her parents. What, Jenna wondered sadly, would happen to Arkana when she and Lucien failed to return? Surely the Guild would take care of her, complete her education and embrace her into their society? Surely they’d keep her safe, nurture her and lead her gently into happy adulthood? Surely they’d give her their massed wisdom, aid her to find the life work she was destined for, protect her, let her find happiness and, perhaps, love?

Surely they’d do that—wouldn’t they?

Jenna glanced at the closed notebook sitting on the ground beside her. That would be her most important legacy to her daughter, one that only Arkana would understand and be able to use. She prayed that somehow, someway, it would be passed to Arkana. How that could possibly happen when she was destined to die here in the wilderness, and her daughter was so far away, Jenna had no idea. But surely—yet another surely, she thought wryly—it would find its way to Arkana’s hands. Somehow.

She had to believe in all those surelys or she’d go mad.

I’m so sorry, Lucien, she whispered, leaning down to touch his lips with her own. His mouth was already cool, no longer containing the warm, vital strength she’d known so intimately. She could detect no trace of the sensual pull he’d exerted on her without the slightest effort, or the passion that had always been ever-present between them. A shuddering sob racked her, and she forced it back down.

Yes, it was time for her to die, too.

But it was not yet time—quite. A crackling sound disturbed her, and she looked across the small clearing.

Across the way, a short, wiry man edged into the open area. She recognized him immediately as a member of the expedition, one she’d had little contact with.

You’re alive! She’d believed all the others were dead. Certainly, there’d been enough screaming to account for ten times the total number of people in their entire party.

Yes, m’lady. Are you all right?

For the moment, yes. But my husband— She broke off, unable to actually speak the words announcing Lucien’s death. Her hand against his brow felt colder than before. Another chill rippled through her.

I understand, m’lady. The little man edged closer. Can I do anything for you?

She shook her head. No. They’ll be back shortly. No need to explain who they were. If he’d survived the disaster, he already knew.

His panicked reaction confirmed it. Oh, no! We must run! They’ll kill us!

Again she shook her head. No. They’re coming for me, not you. I promise you’ll be all right.

But he wasn’t listening. Please, m’lady! Let’s leave here! Now!

No. If I go with you, they’ll only follow. They want me, not you. If you go without me, they may leave you alone. She picked up the small book and held it out to him. You must leave. But promise that you’ll see this gets into my daughter’s hands. Arkana Crystal Song. She’s staying at the Savant Guild Hall while Lucien and I are away.

He shook his head but accepted the book. Come with me, m’lady! Quickly. We can hide where they’ll never find us! Come with me!

Sadly, she declined. No. There’s nowhere we can hide that they can’t find us. Don’t you realize that? There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to escape to.

Comprehension of the scope of her warning dawned in his eyes, and he edged away from her toward the far end of the clearing.

Keep it safe for me, she called, gesturing at the notebook. Remember! Give it to Arkana Crystal Song at the Savant Guild Hall. Tell her it’s for her alone. And that I love her. And, please—

He was at the very edge of the clearing when he paused to wait for her final request. A sudden whirring above them made them both look up. The sky darkened with the bringers of her doom.

As the man dissolved into the shrubbery at the far side of the clearing, Jenna kept her eyes on the new arrivals lazily descending to collect her. But she completed her final request.

—Make sure no one else sees the notebook! It’s for Arkana’s eyes only! She could only hope he’d heard her and would find a way to slip the notebook to her daughter privately.

Taking a deep breath, she watched the newcomers surround her and waited patiently for death.

Surely it would be a relief.

One

Last Hope Colony, Year 192

REPEAT THE VOWS after me. I, Arkana Crystal Song, daughter of Lucien Fire Crystal and Jenna Swallow Song . . . the Savant Master intoned before pausing for a response.

Arkana decided she should not go through with the wedding. Unfortunately, she made that decision as the Master was pronouncing the traditional vows marking the climax of the wedding celebration.

The twin moons of Last Hope hovered in the skies over Corazon City as Arkana tried to attend to the Master’s ceremonious words. A lucky omen, those moons. Couples sometimes waited several tennights until just such an alignment provided a propitious sign of future happiness and prosperity. Yet in this marriage, the alignment signaled little but happenstance. Her groom, Connall Storm, had merely requested the Savant Master’s nearest free evening when he scheduled the wedding. He hadn’t planned the ceremony around the rotation of the moons.

Arkana shivered. A glance showed her that Connall looked serious and absorbed by the ceremony. She herself blocked out the words of the Master. She didn’t want to know about the obedient devotion she would owe her husband, nor even about the corresponding protection and concern he would owe her. She maintained what she hoped was a dutiful, solemn look on her face, while inside she panicked.

I, Arkana Crystal Song, daughter of Lucien Fire Crystal and Jenna Swallow Song . . . the Master intoned again. His voice carried an impatient note.

Arkana swallowed once to moisten her dry throat. She sneaked another glance at her almost-husband. Connall held himself proudly beside her, as proudly as any Family man might wish. Despite his own lack of a father willing to claim him, and his consequent inability to trace his ancestry back to the Founding Ship, Arkana could visualize him reigning over a large and prolific Family as he would a kingdom. He would soon have the right to rule her.

She didn’t want to be ruled.

He topped her by more than a head, and lean, hard muscles stretched over his frame. She could find no fault in his figure or bearing, even if his features held a hawkish cast, making his face a little too harsh for handsome to suit him. His traditional black leggings and tunic displayed intricately worked silver trim that echoed the gleam of his gray eyes and accentuated the copper glow of his thick, close-cropped hair. She eyed his red-gold hair glinting in the flickering light from the torches in the Assembly Hall courtyard.

It was said that hair of copper signaled a burning temper. She considered herself a peaceable, quiet person, well-trained in the art of discipline, but she feared her self-control might waver under exposure to a man who owed his fiery spirit to the fire in his hair.

She forced herself to continue with the ceremony.

I, Arkana Crystal Song, daughter of Lucien Fire Crystal and Jenna Swallow Song . . . Her lips moved, and the words shaped themselves in her mind. But nothing emerged from her dry, tight throat.

A ripple of speculation shivered through the crowd gathered behind her in the courtyard. Connall’s brow creased, and his fingers tightened in painful warning around hers. She had already failed her duties as spouse by faltering in the middle of the ceremony! Arkana sensed his irritation and took a deep breath scented with the rich aroma of spice-nut that decorated the courtyard. The heady aroma gave her courage.

She swallowed heavily to ease her throat and tried to make up for her lapse by reciting the words everyone expected of her. The words finally came out as a weak whisper. I, Arkana Crystal Song, daughter of Lucien Fire Crystal and Jenna Swallow Song, do hereby give myself unto your keeping, Connall Storm. I promise to revere and respect you, to hold your honor as I would my own, to stand by your side, to see to your hearth and your home, to be loyal to you and protect you and your children to the utmost of my abilities. This I do vow.

She hesitated. The optional words of love and cherishing struggled behind her lips. While most couples spoke them these days, in this marriage love was a luxury she could not afford. With the situation between her and her almost-husband the way it was . . . Well, he had no reason to await such vows from her—and he knew it. She pressed her lips closed to seal the words inside. The Master turned to Connall, and the moment passed.

A glance at her groom’s face revealed the disappointment there. She saw his resignation to the fact that he could not command her love as he could her loyalty.

So why did she feel his disappointment as if it were her own?

For Connall, the ceremony marked the beginning of the culmination of his greatest ambitions. Marriage to Arkana Crystal Song would provide him with everything he needed to achieve his goals—or almost everything. The rest he could seize himself. He intended to wring the greatest enjoyment possible from this ceremony. Satisfaction tasted sweet on his tongue. If nothing else, the attendance of Corazon City’s most illustrious citizens at this ceremony proved that Connall Storm, two-name son of Frenella Storm, had finally arrived.

This seed cake represents your commitment to the future. The ale represents your link to the past. As you share the cake and the ale, you avow once more your position in the society of today, of yesterday, and of tomorrow.

The Savant Master’s sonorous words echoed through Connall’s mind and jerked him back to the present. Of course he knew these words. Anyone who had ever attended a wedding knew them. What surprised him was the effect they had when applied to himself. He felt a pang of regret that a ceremony so rich with meaning sealed a marriage that hardly met the usual conventions of love and devotion. In an effort to appease the brief pang of guilt that followed that regret, he took the cake from the Master and offered it to Arkana.

You take this seed cake from your husband as you will later take his seed into your body. From such as this will come your devotion to your husband and your ties to the Family you create together.

Arkana’s mouth opened in obedience to the Master’s implicit command, and Connall fed the cake to her. Her lips closed around his fingers, sending a sudden jolt through him. His fingers lingered at her mouth as she chewed and swallowed the morsel. She had not met his gaze since the ceremony began, and he wondered what she was thinking. The obvious reference to their future marital relationship gave him pause for thought. They had not discussed this aspect of their arrangement. Would she want him to sleep with her? Would she want him at all?

You drink this ale as you will receive your wife’s pleasure. From this will come your care and concern for your wife and your protection of the Family she will give you.

The Master’s intoned words returned Connall’s attention to the ceremony. He had to steady Arkana’s trembling hand so he could sip from the chalice she held to his lips. His fingers covered hers, absorbing the cool silkiness of her skin. Her tension was palpable in the quiver of her fingers within his, like the delicate protests of a captured gossamer-tail. No matter, he thought. His duty now dictated he help and protect her in all ways. That realization, along with the warm protectiveness that accompanied it, shocked him.

He gulped more heavily than he had intended, and the mouthful of ale burned his throat. All his concentration in the last tennight or so had focused on arranging this ceremony and planning how he could best take advantage of his new political and social connections. He’d given little or no attention to the more personal aspects of their union. A sensual curiosity rose in him.

At that moment, she raised her gaze to him for the first time since the ceremony had begun. He looked deep into her eyes, absorbing the tawny sparks that swirled in their spicy brown depths. She had the longest lashes he’d ever seen on a woman, and his instincts told him they owed nothing to the usual feminine artifices. When her lids lowered, those lashes cast tangled shadows on her cheeks like smudgy accents. Raised, her lashes framed almond eyes that slanted with enticement. He studied her with solemn care. Who was this woman he’d married? Could she satisfy him? Could he satisfy her?

She smiled at him. Her finely sculptured lips curled into a beautiful curve that revealed a tiny chip in one front tooth. The flaw suited her, he decided. Her smile had a vivacity that lent a glow to her face and turned her eyes into mysterious pools that beckoned him with irresistible allure.

The jolt of that smile arrowed straight to his groin. He shook his head slightly in bewilderment. Arkana wasn’t beautiful, nor was she overtly sensual. Yet that fabulous smile lured him more strongly than other women’s more blatant efforts. Suddenly he couldn’t wait for the ceremony to end so he could explore the possibilities of passion with a woman whose smile offered such promises.

YOU LOOK LIKE you’re enjoying the feast, my friend!

Connall’s arm ached from the pummeling of his new acquaintance, Risto Cloud Charm. The sensual awareness he’d felt during the ritual had worn off in the roistering banter of the wedding feast. He’d just been caught up in the heavy traditions of the ceremony itself, he decided. It didn’t mean anything. Nothing at all. He turned to face Risto with a grin. I am. That’s what a celebration is for, isn’t it?

Not supposed to enjoy your own party—only those of your friends. It’s a rule, y’know.

Ah. He nodded wisely and drank from his cup of vingt-ale. It was good to understand the rules. How could you know how to bend them to your will if you didn’t understand what they were?

The celebration passed him by in a cloudy mist of pleasure. A grin crept over his face as he recalled the closing rite of the ceremony just completed. Arkana circled him in the traditional three circuits, unwinding the ribbon that, until then, had tied him about the waist. He immediately reciprocated, but when he was done the ribbon restrained her. The symbolism was not lost on him. He planned to control her—including her ties to the Guilds under her Family’s control—and with her training from the Savants, he could do so easily.

Despite the Savant Guild’s intellectual reputation, Connall did not doubt his ability to bend his new wife to his will. Everyone knew they disdained practical applications of the knowledge they spent so much time researching. How old was the planet? When did the first stars flicker into being? Why was the sky pink? Useless questions for the most part, but ones that more practical-minded Guilds could sometimes turn into profitable applications.

Nevertheless, a Savant wife lent a certain cachet to an ambitious, up-and-coming man. Of course, no doubt she would prefer to hold herself aloof from the rough-and-tumble of the rest of the struggling colony. He was sure she, like the rest of her Guild, believed that doing so preserved the intellectual independence necessary for her esoteric research. He wouldn’t impose his social requirements on her any more than absolutely necessary, he promised silently. She’d have to perform some of the hostessing duties he needed—at least until her Family and Guild connections were comfortable enough with him to make her presence unnecessary. Still, eventually she’d disappear into some musty lab to ponder the imponderable while he set about making his fortune. Yes, he could cope with a meek little Savant bride with no trouble at all.

Of course, she wasn’t exactly a Savant.

He quickly squashed the traitorous thought. Arkana had been raised in the Guild since her birth, and in the ten years since being orphaned she had been wholly trained in the Guild style. She was almost certain to have the meek, mild temperament of any other Savant woman. Too bad, really, for Connall preferred his women to have a bit more fire and spice—but it didn’t matter. Arkana would perform her role as his wife well enough.

He refused to consider that spear of desire. Such distractions held little consequence at any rate. He would be the dominant partner in their union and Arkana, with her Savant submissiveness, would protect his honor and obey him implicitly. Another smug smile escaped him, only to be as quickly quenched in a hurried sip of ale.

So, will you enjoy teaching your bride about the pleasures of the bedchamber? Risto nudged Connall’s side and winked, distracting him from his musings.

I am prepared to fulfill my duty as a husband, of course. The stiffness of his words concealed his sudden discomfort with the subject. For the second time he faced the reality of this marriage and the wedding night to come. The curiosity—surely it was no more than that!—he’d experienced during the ceremony returned. Unexpectedly, he found himself looking forward to the night with genuine eagerness.

He gulped more ale as he contemplated the pleasures a wedding night entailed. Another glance at his sweet wife with her demure, gentle air provoked a wide grin. Yes, this marriage had been a real coup for him—in many ways.

He’d almost forgotten Risto’s presence until he felt another jab from the man’s elbow. Risto leaned so close that Connall flinched from the man’s heavy, ale-laden breath. Maybe she’ll teach you some things in your bedchamber tonight. Hear female Savants are trained in the most exotic forms of love—secrets so rare they guard them as one of the inner-Guild treasures. Think you’ll find out about some of that training tonight?

I thought most people considered the Savants cold and undemonstrative—not passionate at all. With an effort, Connall refrained from pulling away from the alcoholic fumes Risto exhaled.

Hear that’s just a front, Risto insisted in a secretive whisper laden with innuendo. "Keeps other Guilds from knowing about the pleasures a Savant woman brings to the marital couch. All that investigating, don’t you know!" His laugh carried as much innuendo as the heavy nudge he planted on Connall’s side.

Connall rubbed his aching side and inched away. It did him no good. Risto and his surprising, erotic suggestions followed right behind. He didn’t place much confidence in Risto’s rumor. As far as Connall knew, Savants had as little interest in earthy pleasures as they had in . . . in political power—something he was relying on in his plans. Still, it was possible, he supposed, that their women received some training in sex. Savants kept to themselves so much. Who knew what secrets their fortresslike Guild Hall protected?

They’ve got a research project checkin’ on all the possible ways to do it. Up to a hunnert and three! Risto paused to swallow some ale. His voice lowered to an excited, husky whisper. "Train their women in all the ways to bring a man pleasure, y’know, some so powerful that men’d die just to experience them again."

Sounds uncomfortable to me. The lusty speculations of his new friend irritated Connall’s nerves. Nevertheless, he maintained a diplomatic smile. Risto headed the important Patents and Trade Committee on the Corazon Council, and Connall preferred not to offend him.

He scanned the room to where his bride presided with patient grace, surrounded by the women guests. She knelt in poised serenity, like a breath of fresh air amid the stuffiness of the crowd. Her stone-nut brown hair and gentle face with its warm, tawny eyes might not be as eye-catching as other women’s features, but she possessed a womanly charm that held its own allure. He remembered the vitality that glowed in her face when she smiled. No, he thought, he would find it no hardship to delve her secrets in bed this evening.

You’ll have to tell me all about the skills your lady brings to your couch. Risto, bleary-eyed and swaying from the strong drink, recalled his attention.

You sure you want to know about them? After all, if the Savants have such skills, it would take an exceptional man to deal with them.

The words evoked a lusty laugh and an earthy observation about Risto’s powers as a lover. Connall just smiled and excused himself before walking away. All this talk about his wedding night frayed his composure. He still had to get through the celebratory feast.

Before he’d taken more than a few steps away from Risto, a feminine hand drew him aside.

Connall, may I speak with you?

He recognized at once the soft voice coming from behind the concealing emerald veil at once. He frowned.

Lucina, what are you doing here?

Shhhh! I need to speak to you.

With a surreptitious glance around the feasting hall, he lowered his voice. This is my wedding feast. I don’t remember inviting you to participate. I would not invite my— He broke off in confusion, not wanting to say the word so publicly.

Your lover? Her soft voice held a note of irony. You wouldn’t want to insult your bride with the presence of a courtesan at your wedding, is that what you’re trying to say?

He stifled a groan. Women could be as sneaky as Snarka’s cold heart sometimes—and professional courtesans worst of all. He glanced around again. To his relief no one seemed to be paying undue attention to him at the moment. Most of the guests clustered around his new wife, laughing as she awkwardly coped with the traditional elaborate gift cage made of spun sugar and flowers.

With an insistent tug, he pulled Lucina into a draped alcove out of sight of the main hall; removing her from the feast as quickly as possible seemed his wisest course. His new bride—any bride—would be offended and hurt if she discovered his mistress’s presence here. Arms crossed on his chest in a deliberate pose of intimidation, he leaned against the wall. All right, you wanted to talk to me—so talk.

She flipped back her bright veil to reveal slanted eyes and ebony hair. The cynical thought drifted across his mind that she had obviously searched long and hard to find veiling that would so perfectly match the emerald depths of her eyes. While she was not innately beautiful, she knew very well how to make the most of her assets so as to give the impression of beauty—a beauty that lay no thicker than the skim of makeup on her creamy complexion.

He’d chosen her as his mistress less for her attractiveness than for her political connections. She came from a powerful Family, and while her choice of professions damaged her social position, it also gave her many opportunities to wield considerable influence among the leaders of Corazon City. Besides, he knew all too well that her excellent bloodlines counted far more than the money that burned holes in his pockets when it came to power and influence.

But he planned to change all that.

I want to know what you plan to do about us.

Us? What us? Deliberate amusement laced his voice. You had a commodity. You sold. I bought. That’s all that ever existed between us.

An impatient wave of her hand emphasized her disagreement. No, that’s not all it was, and you know it. You have ambitions, plans that I can help you with.

I don’t need your help.

You do, you know. You need me more than you think.

Letting his disbelief show in his face, he stared down at her.

I know why you married your little Savant.

He frowned. That’s none of your business. The rose-metal necklace that twined around her neck kept his gaze pinned. She wore it constantly. It was as familiar to him as her scented, pampered body. For some reason the thought repulsed him, and he turned his face away.

With a smile laden with meaning, she reached up to stroke a dragon-painted fingertip down his cheek, turning it back to face her. Yes, it is my business. You married her to get control of her Family’s holdings.

He didn’t answer.

You see, love, I know more than you think. Her finger tapped his cheek hard enough to sting. I know you’re planning on taking her into the mountains tomorrow. You have some notion of tracking down her missing parents.

He shoved her fingers away from his face. They’re dead. They died ten years ago.

Did they? An eyebrow arched in infuriating query.

He shrugged.

I think you’re not so sure about that. I think you’re trying to find out what really happened all those years ago. She paused, obviously looking for a reaction from him. He didn’t give it to her. Does your little bride know why you married her?

She’s satisfied with my reasons.

But would she be so satisfied if she knew all of them? Hmmm? Again that infuriating finger stroked his cheek in intimate gesture.

He pushed her hand away. Again. What is it you want, Lucina?

Why, I want to help you. Her voice dripped innocence.

He laughed once. Yes. Sure. And Snarka’s blazing temper makes a good matchstick.

Look, Connall, let’s stop dancing around this. You aim to become one of the wealthiest people on this planet. You think if you can find the secret that your little wife’s parents discovered—

She has a name. Arkana Crystal Song. Use it. His tone brooked no disobedience.

She looked as if she might rebel, then swallowed and nodded. As I was saying, you’re looking for the secret that Arkana’s parents discovered in the mountains. If you can find the energy source they were tracking and get control of it, you would be the most powerful person in the world.

He just stared at her. How in hell had Lucina found out so much? He thought he’d covered his tracks so carefully . . .

I can help you. Trust me. I can make it easier for you to get what you want. Her voice offered infinite persuasion.

How can you help me? His subtle stress on the you revealed his scorn.

Connall, I am more powerful than you think. My lovers are many, and I choose them carefully from the wealthy, the influential. I have— She hesitated, as if searching for just the right word. I have sources of information that would amaze you, and political connections you can’t imagine. I think you are right in what you seek. If you can find that power source and learn to control it, you can get everything you want.

And what’s in it for you? His fists clenched, but his arms hid them from her sight. He didn’t want her to sense the coiled