Coralyn inclined her head. “The harem’s girls will be along shortly, husband. They’ve prepared a performance for you. Given the effort they’ve put into making it memorable, you might consider giving them your full attention when they arrive.”
Silas’s expression tightened, but he gave a short nod before turning to the ambassador from Amarid, clearly having no intention of following the directive of his least favorite wife.
Servants stepped inside bearing the salad course, and Aren ate mechanically, his ears tuned for sounds of fighting in the corridor. For the pounding of boots. For shouts or screams or any other sign that his people were on their way.
But there was nothing.
Sweat trickled down Aren’s spine, the salad in his mouth tasting like sawdust. But next to him, Coralyn ate enthusiastically, seeming not to have a care in the world.
The servants returned to clear the plates, though Aren’s was barely touched.
Where were they?
The main door flung open, and Aren lurched, his chains rattling. But instead of Ithicanian warriors, two men entered the room pounding vigorously on drums, followed by another two shaking cymbals, taking up positions on opposite sides of the room. They kept up the furious beat, then with a resounding thunder, went silent.
Aren’s pulse replaced the sound, roaring in his ears with the same rhythm as the drums. Then Silas’s wives entered the room, and his stomach dropped.
It had been a trick.
All a trick because there was no chance Coralyn would risk the harem to violence. Either his people were captured, or they weren’t coming. Either way, all of it had been for nothing.
With dull eyes, Aren watched, which was more than he could say Silas was doing, the bastard still deep in conversation with the Amaridian.
All six of the women were dressed in gossamer silks and veils that concealed their faces, bells attached to both their ankles and wrists, feet bare. A rainbow of color, they encircled the table, their strides a seductive sway of the hips that made the silks shimmer in the lamplight.
There was an energy—a purpose—to their step that Aren hadn’t seen before, and though he wasn’t entirely certain why, his focus narrowed in on them as they took their positions.
“You’re such a dear.” Coralyn reached over to pat his cheek. “And in truth, they’ll perform better for you than the smelly old wretch at the other end of the table.”
A lithe woman with honey-blonde hair began to dance, the tiny shakes of her wrists making the bells decorating them jingle softly. She swayed through an elaborate set of steps, hips moving from side to side seductively. Then the others joined, replicating her motions in perfect unison, the musicians joining in.
The women circled the table, bare feet rapidly striking the floor in a complicated series of steps that filled the air with music. They spun, long locks swinging out behind them before falling to brush against their naked lower backs.
The drumbeat intensified, the women rounding the dining table, hips moving in suggestive circles that had some of the men breaking off the pretense they weren’t gaping openly, but Silas fixedly ignored them.
A young woman with long brown hair brushed past Aren, the silk of her transparent sleeve grazing his cheek, and he turned to look at her. Like the others, her face was concealed by a veil, only her eyes visible. Azure eyes. She gave him a wink before spinning away.
None of the wives had eyes that color. None of them. But as his attention leapt from woman to woman, each of them with eyes of Maridrinian bastard blue, Aren’s skin began to prickle.
“Talented, aren’t they?” Coralyn murmured.
“Yes.” He had to drag the word out of his throat as he marked the muscled tone of the women, which was entirely uncharacteristic of Silas’s pampered wives. His eyes picked up the faint lines of scars that had been mostly concealed by cosmetics. There was a fire to the performance, a spirit that he’d never seen in any of the harem wives, who knew they were entertainment to be ignored.
These weren’t harem wives.
These women were something else. What had Coralyn called them? The harem’s girls.
The harem’s daughters.
With his heart in his chest, Aren moved his attention to the honey blonde, whom he’d been both consciously and unconsciously ignoring each time she passed, the silk of her clothing drifting and moving to reveal a body he knew better than his own.
Lara twisted and danced, studiously avoiding his gaze until she rounded behind her father. Then her head turned and their eyes locked. Aren’s heart gave a violent thump in his chest.
She had betrayed him. Stolen away his kingdom and caused the death of his people. Been the reason Silas had kept him locked up. Aren hated her like none other, yet in that moment, it was memories of tangling his fingers in her hair that assaulted his thoughts. The feel of her hands on his body, her legs wrapped around his waist, lips pressed against his. The smell of her filling his nostrils and the sound of her voice in his ears.
It was all lies, he silently screamed at himself as she circled the table. She is your damnation.
Yet there was no denying that she’d come here for him.
The drums took on a frenzied pace, finishing the piece with a rattling crash of cymbals as each of the women struck a final pose.
“Well done!” Coralyn cried out, clapping her hands. “Beautifully performed, my lovely girls. Weren’t they stupendous, Silas?”
The King of Maridrina gave her a sour smile. “Wonderful, if somewhat overloud.” Then he waved a dismissive hand, and the young women backed into the shadows of the walls, heads lowered.
All, that is, but one.
Lara took three quick steps and jumped, landing on the center of the table like a cat and rattling the glassware.
“What are you doing, woman?” Silas demanded. “Get down and get out before I have you whipped.”
“Now, now, Father,” Lara purred, walking down the table and kicking over glasses of wine with every step, nobleman and ambassadors pulling back in alarm. “Is that any way to greet your most favored of children?”
Silas’s eyes widened as she pulled away the veil concealing her face, allowing it to flutter down onto a plate. Gasps filled the air, but no one spoke. No one dared.
“You little fool.” Silas rose to his feet and pulled out his sword. “Just what did you think to accomplish by coming here tonight?”
“I intend to take back what’s mine.”
I am not yours, Aren wanted to scream at her, but Coralyn pressed a hand against his arm.
Lara stopped in her tracks, one hip jutting out as she tapped a slender finger against her lips. “You lied to me. Manipulated me. Used me—not for the benefit of our people, but for your own benefit. To satisfy your own greed. For that, I think punishment is in order.”
Silas pointed the tip of his sword at her. “I admire your confidence that you can accomplish such a feat on your own, Daughter.”
Laughing, Lara tipped back her head. “Do you really think that I’m such a fool as to come alone?”
The air was split by distinct gurgles, bodies thudding to the ground.
Aren’s attention jerked from Lara to the five other dancers, all of whom now held weapons glistening with the blood of the guards they’d just dispatched. As one, they removed their veils and smiled as they said, “Hello, Father.”