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“You didn’t agree to me,” he replied, wondering at himself for pushing his luck. She clearly didn’t like him, so he was only asking for trouble. “To marryingme, in particular.”
Firming her lush lips—they truly were the deep red as in the miniature, like the blood poppies in Meresin—she shook her head. The sharp gesture made her glossy black curls bounce where they dangled from the pile on her head. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he walked into her tower room, but he hadn’t thought she’d be dressed as if for a formal event, dazzling in her elegant deep-green gown and sparkling with jewels.
Or that she’d fascinate him so. It had to be her native power as a potent familiar. He’d known—mostly from terribly dry tomes that described the wizard–familiar relationship in painfully erudite and obscure terms—that gaining a familiar would amplify his abilities.
He hadn’t known that being near her would be more warming than the magically heated castle, or the fire crackling in her hearth.
“In point of fact, I did agree to you in particular,” she replied crisply.
“On paper,” he countered.
She shrugged that off. “What are we, besides our dossiers? I could’ve summarily dismissed you and didn’t.” Some bitterness crept into her tone, and he welcomed it as far more honest than her polished manners.
“We are human beings, too,” he argued. “More than our MP scores. People, with thoughts and feelings.”
She actually laughed, though without humor. “We are not. Wizards and familiars don’t have courtships. Thoughts and feelings are irrelevant in our world. The Convocation chose you for me, Lord Phel, and—as I had no reason to refuse the selection—I’ll abide by that choice.”
“Gabriel,” he said.
She paused, black lashes lowering, then lifting again for her gaze to pierce him. “Excuse me?”
“My name is Gabriel. If you’re considering marrying me, it seems you should call me by my given name. What should I call you?”
“Lady Veronica Elal,” she said with crisp enunciation.
“Is that what your friends call you?” He tried for charming, falling far short in the face of her scorn.
“I think you are not a fool,” she said, clearly implying the reverse, fixing him with those clear green eyes he seemed unable to look away from. “The rules of the Betrothal Trials clearly state that you must successfully impregnate me before we can marry.”
“I know the rules,” he replied mildly. He’d read them first with incredulity, then with growing anger, and finally memorized them with dull resignation. He wouldn’t get anywhere defying the Convocation’s rules. No, he’d play by their draconian laws. Until the time was ripe to kill the beast from the inside.
“Since you know these rules so well,” Lady Veronica said, parsing her words with false patience, “then you know that if you successfully plant your seed in me, I will marry you. Further discussion is moot. I’ll also remind you that you have one night to accomplish the deed, so perhaps—since you’re clearly not going to eat—we should get to it?”
He forced himself to sit back, to appear relaxed. With a woman like her, he had to move carefully. He’d come to House Elal determined to win this prize. But it wouldn’t be enough to simply win her hand. He wanted her on his side. Not unlike attempting to tame a wild cat from the western marshes. Fortunately, he didn’t mind a few scratches.
“As I mentioned earlier, all night is a long time,” he said mildly. “Though I’m flattered by your confidence, I doubt I’ll manage more than five or six attempts.”
She looked so briefly startled that he wondered if her other suitors had managed much more. There were all sorts of spells forthatkind of thing, which could be purchased from itinerant minor wizards, legitimate and otherwise. He’d gone for potency over performance. A good call, as she looked so fine-boned, so soft-skinned, he worried about hurting her. His gaze strayed to the table beside the bed, arrayed with all sorts of oils and unguents. Some of them numbing cremes, he’d read in the instructions packet. Charming.
“Five or six,” she murmured, fluttering her lashes. “So many as that.”
He couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm, an attempt to flatter him—or some of those nerves he kept sensing from her. “I’m happy to limit the number as you prefer,” he offered, knowing as soon as he said it that he’d misstepped, the way she cleared her expression and flicked that away.
“It’s entirely up to you, wizard,” she replied. “I’m at your disposal for the night.”
“You don’t have to, if—”
“I do.” She’d cut him off so sharply he was tempted to check if his tongue was bleeding. Her green eyes sparkled with gold fire. “Enough of this dithering. I’m not backing out. Are you?”
“No.” He restrained a sigh.Eyes on the prize.
“Five or sixattempts, then,” she declared, as if they’d been negotiating. “Have you figured any sleep into your schedule?” She was all sweetness with that question, the hard light in her eyes belying her tone.
“This is an important night,” he answered, holding her gaze. Her eyes were truly blue, a light grayish blue, flecked with gold like a cat’s, so they appeared green from a distance. “I don’t plan to sleep tonight at all.”
She laughed. “With five or six attempts, even spaced a couple of hours apart, with no napping between, that leaves a lot of unoccupied time. I do have plenty of books. I suppose we could read while we wait for your cock to recover for another go.”
He set his teeth against her taunting. “I thought we could talk.”
