Free Prince of Swords by Linda Winstead Jones Page B

was to deposit her in a place where she’d be out of danger. It was noble of him, but he would likely have the same care for any other man or woman in his charge.
    Even though she’d been shielded from much of life’s harsh realities during her lifetime, she was no fool. She knew why Ciro had looked at her the way he sometimes did, and why he grabbed her with clumsy hands that attempted to touch her where no man should. A pawing of her breasts, a hand thrust among her skirts and between her thighs. She always moved quickly when serving his tea, so those unpleasant touches did not last too long. Over the years other of her father’s visitors had often looked at her with leering glances that turned her stomach, most particular since she’d turned fifteen. At first she’d merely thought them odd men, but after speaking with a few of the maids and catching the cook and the gardener in the pantry…she knew exactly what was on their minds.
    She’d complained to her father once when an elder visitor had attempted to grab her, but her father had told her that she should be flattered, that their guest showed her attentions only because she was beautiful. How could a man be so protective in some ways, and so uncaring in others? How could he suggest that she be flattered ?
    During that particular man’s visit, Rayne had not passed a single night in her own bed. She’d hidden each night in infrequently used guest rooms or with the servants, and she’d known, by the way the man glared at her over breakfast, that he had discovered she’d not been in her own bed.
    Lyr Hern did not leer, nor did he grab. She almost wished that he would, but then of course, he would not be the man she was coming to admire.
    He was very handsome, not many years older than she, and…oh, he was striking. Not only handsome, but well built and graceful and strong. He was not at all like those men who had stared at her as if they were starving and she was a meat pie, and if he ever thought to grab at her in an inappropriate way, he wouldn’t paw roughly, she imagined, but would be possessed of gentleness and kindness. His touch would be skilled and caring. If Lyr were a gardener and she were a cook…
    Rayne closed her eyes tightly, but that did nothing to chase away the image in her mind or the odd clenching in her lower belly.
    â€œAre you all right?” Lyr asked, sounding concerned.
    â€œYes,” she said primly. “I’m fine.”
    â€œWhy are your eyes closed?”
    â€œI’m…tired.” It was a silly explanation. She was standing on the road, rigid as a board.
    â€œYou need to get to sleep sooner after we stop at night,” he said, sounding relieved that exhaustion was her only complaint.
    â€œI will try,” she promised.
    Lyr moved away. A moment later she heard him speak to Segyn, and she opened her eyes slowly. She’d been trying so hard to tarnish her soul with cursing when she wasn’t at all good at it, and suddenly lust touched her, unbidden. Was it lust that she felt? Or was it simply gratitude?
    It didn’t really matter. The only man she’d ever been attracted to in that special way had absolutely no interest in her as a woman. To Lyr Hern, she was an obligation, a package to be delivered and deposited and forgotten. A man like him, with his fine looks and his important position, probably had many women at home, women who would know what they were doing if he did grab or leer. No, he had no use for a woman like her.
    Well, damn.
    Â 
    T HEY WERE DAYS AWAY FROM THE PALACE, AND DAYS more still from Merin and his army, when Keelia suffered a startling vision of Ciro in the palace their party had left behind. She was overwhelmed with sadness, and filled with horror. She had not met Prince Ciro before the demon had taken him, so she didn’t know if he had always been bad or if he was as much a victim in this war as any other soldier who