“There are many delights to be enjoyed here,” he said softly, taking a step forward.
“I have a question, if I may?” I asked, rounding on him and easing back subtly, extending the space between us when I sensed he might touch me again. “Is there something I can give to my hendr so that everyone will know he belongs to me?”
“If you want,” he began softly, warming to the subject of me seeking his counsel. “It is within your right to collar any of your servants. It’s not the general practice, as collaring denotes status and lets others know of their importance to you, which, if someone attacked them or hurt them, would be a declaration of war between your house and another.”
“But I don’t have a house. I belong to Varic, who, in turn, is your son and therefore belongs to you. Who would be foolish enough to challenge you?”
I wasn’t stupid. Again, this was military training. It never hurt to casually compliment a superior in a roundabout way.
“Exactly right,” he agreed.
“So collars,” I said, “thank you. I’ll talk to Varic about it. I want something for Zev and for Dae-Jung.”
The king chuckled and shook his head. “I still cannot believe you have someone like Dae-Jung cooking for you. It is such a waste, Jason. Men have killed themselves after a night in his bed because they were certain nothing else in life could ever compare.”
I squinted at him. “That seems excessive, and if it was so great, why not petition Marcellus for him?”
“Marcellus teased many with Dae-Jung. He would grant the servant to them for the night, only to reclaim him in the morning, sometimes arriving in a bedchamber to rip his servant from their arms.”
I studied his face. “You liked that, him giving them only a taste of what it would be like to take Dae-Jung away.”
He gave me a very Gallic shrug.
For me, the idea of that was horrific. “Well, since I only sleep with your son, and since I get the idea, from talking to Dae-Jung, that he had very little freedom in his former service, I’m proud to be the one to let him live the rest of his life as he likes.”
“But he can never be wholly free, or another will claim him.”
“Yes, exactly,” I agreed, giving him a clap on the shoulder. “So that’s why I need something to show that he’s mine. And Zev too.”
The king nodded. “I’m certain Varic has something,” he told me. “Now, take your tour and, as I said, I’ll send Nerilla to you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said, and would have bowed but he stopped me, taking hold of my chin.
“I too like for others to know who is mine.”
“We’re similar, then.”
“Yes,” he said under his breath, studying my face a moment before he dismissed me.
I checked on Varic, found him trapped with several of his father’s courtesans, arm in arm with his mother, trying, I suspected, to explain the barrier that people had seen earlier in the day. I was, apparently, the talk of the palace.
In truth, I had expected the quarters of the king’s concubines to be cramped and depressing, but that could not have been further from the truth. The first room I entered was an enormous bathroom decorated in mosaic tile. Its centerpiece was a deep-crimson marble tub, large enough to lounge in, with several steps leading down and into it. Rose petals floated on the water’s surface, sweetening the air, their fragrance heady and sensual.
Windows circled the room, and colorful glass lanterns, along with the fabric-draped ceiling, made the interior resemble a giant tent. Beaded pillows of all shapes and sizes and thick, intricately woven rugs covered the floor. A deep blue-tiled pool surrounded by sandstone columns extended from the east side of the room and allowed one to swim from one room to the next. Silk curtains and several antique Chinese lacquer and hardstone folding screens, in colors I’d never seen, provided some privacy, if wanted. It was hard not to be overwhelmed by how beautiful it was, and I took several pictures so Ode could see it, knowing she would love the look of the space. I was betting that the Turkish glass mosaic lanterns had actually been purchased when Istanbul had a much older name.
I couldn’t get over the opulence of the space, and the small balconies that looked out toward the sea and down on what Tiago had told me were three-hundred-year-old gardens, complete with an olive grove. I had worried that being there, in the quarters of the harem, I would judge the women and men who lived there. But, as being a concubine, like being a courtier and a courtesan, was voluntary, it was none of my business. I didn’t need to understand it as long as everyone was a consenting adult.
Walking by some over-the-top Roman statues, all in the throes of passion, and stunningly vivid erotic art on the walls—lots of nymphs and satyrs getting it on—I was jumped as I came around the corner, arms wrapped around me tight.
“What’re you––”
The lilting cackle was a dead giveaway. I spun Nerilla around in my arms. “Really?”
“What? It was funny,” she deadpanned, scowling at me. “Some oversexed concubine trying to get busy with the prince’s consort. That’s a hoot.”
“A hoot?” I said, pained.
“It’s an expression,” she explained, gloating.
“Never mind,” I grumbled, putting my hands on her shoulders and noting the bags under her eyes and the bruises on her face, the black eye nearly faded, and no sign of the split lip she’d had last night. “That vampyr healing is really something, but how do you feel otherwise?”
She tipped her head. “I kept waking up,” she confessed. “Jarah was going to give me something to help me sleep, but I was afraid I’d have nightmares and I’d be stuck inside my own head.”
I nodded.
“So I—oh,” she said quickly, turning her head as a stunningly beautiful woman with hair that fell to her hips stepped from the shadows. She was dressed in exactly the outfit that came to mind when someone said “harem girl.”
“Sorry to disturb you,” Nerilla said, taking my hand and tugging so I’d follow.
“Wait,” I ordered, making her stop. “Gimme a hug. I need a hug.”
She smiled and then gasped just as quickly.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, realizing suddenly that her eyes were crazy big. When I turned to look, there were what looked like throwing stars sticking out of the wall.
“Are you kidding me?” Nerilla yelled, going from stunned to pissed in the blink of an eye. “What the hell, Jason?”
We both turned to the woman, who was shedding clothes to reveal crisscrossed sheaths over her chest and holding what looked like an absolute arsenal of knives.
Grabbing Nerilla’s hand, I yanked her after me and made a mad dash for the stairs going down to the first floor.
“Jarah said, ‘Oh no, Nerilla, he seems so nice. He can’t possibly be that much trouble.’”
“You’re making jokes?!” I roared, stuffing her behind me into a space between the stairs and a column, facing her as something hit me high in the right shoulder.
The impact sent a bolt of pain down my arm to my hand.
“Jason,” she gasped, touching my face, my chest, her hands like moths bouncing toward and away from a flame.