Claimed & Seduced (8 page)

Once dressed—this time in clothes suitable for a prince—he wandered out to his sitting room and stared at the crumpled list. The first name—Decima Nabil. A petite woman, he recalled. From a good family. Impeccable breeding. A little older than most since she’d had two seasons already. Her dark green eyes hinted at a slumbering feline. He didn’t know for sure since this was a touchy subject and seldom discussed in public, but it was a decent indicator. If he chose her as his wife and they had children, there was a chance their offspring wouldn’t have the ability to shift. It mightn’t be fair, but he couldn’t marry her.

Ernestine Aniko—tall and slender but very shy. From memory, she had a stammer and she blushed each time anyone drew attention to her. No, he couldn’t marry a woman who tried to melt into the furniture.

“
Grata
,” he muttered and reached for his com. “Ellard, I’m going to the night market.”

“Wait. I’ll take Mareeka home and come with you. It’s safer.”

“No, stay with your girl. You deserve some down time. I’ll wear a disguise.”

It was an impulse but the decision felt right. Another departure from habit and one Ellard noted—if his silence was anything to go by.

“You weren’t happy with me this morn for going off without telling you. I’m correcting my error. I’ll have my weapon and my com unit with me. I can shift to feline. Combined with my disguise I’ll be safe enough. No one expects to see Prince Jarlath ambling around the market.”

“No, I’ll take Mareeka—”

“Stop treating me like an immature cub. Besides, I don’t want to take the blame for mucking up your love life. I’m grown and responsible.”

“Not recently,” Ellard retorted.

“It’s the square outside the castle. The castle guards are always alert. I’m going out and you’re remaining in and getting lucky. Maybe you can talk your Mareeka into staying the night.”

“Jarlath,” Ellard muttered in an undertone.

Jarlath grinned at the unspoken warning. “Give Mareeka a kiss for me.”

“Not bloody likely.”

Jarlath was still laughing as he clicked off and slapped the com on his bed. He opened his wardrobe and scowled at the rows of suits. Time to look like his brother again.

Five mins later, Jarlath strode from his suite of rooms, paused at the main staircase and backtracked to exit the castle via a lesser used doorway at the rear. He nodded to the guard and stalked outside.

Dusk had settled over the land and colored lights illuminated the castle square. Tables sat in haphazard rows and vendors bustled around, unpacking their wares ready for display. The aroma of cooking meat filled the air and the taverna on the corner was doing a brisk trade. He halted at the top of the steps leading to lower levels. The next level down, flymo pilots jostled for spaces to land and disgorge passengers. A spot opened up and a flymo pilot pounced on the opportunity. He zipped his compact gray craft into the space, a door flipped open and two adults and two children exited. The children ran past him, their bright green eyes alive with excitement. Their parents followed at a slower pace.

Jarlath pulled his hat lower on his face and ambled into the thick of the market, past vendors. On scanning the vicinity, he saw a few people of his acquaintance. Not one cried out in recognition. People saw what they expected to see.

A band set up and started playing instruments of the like he hadn’t seen before. The band members’ striped skin showed them as outsiders, but their music soon had his foot tapping. A huge group gathered and some of the youngsters started dancing, their arms and bodies jerking and waving to the melody.

Jarlath listened for a time before skirting the crowd. A young man, red-skinned and scrawny, his hair styled in dreads, bumped against him and attempted to pick his pocket. Jarlath might be a prince, but Ellard’s father, in his position of Head of Security, had taught him well. Jarlath seized the young man’s wrist and tightened his grip to the point of pain.

“Ow,” the youth howled. “I didn’t do nothink.”

“You were trying to pick my pocket.”

“No. No, wouldna do that.”

Jarlath made a scoffing sound and maintained his grip on the youth. “Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood. I have shopping to do and require someone to carry my purchases. If you’re willing, I’ll pay you two gold coins. I’ll give you one now and one when you help me carry my purchases home.”

“How far you live?” the youth demanded, his black gaze glinting with sharpness. Jarlath could practically see his brain ticking over, considering the angles and possibilities.

“I live five mins from here.”

“You be a toff.” The strident tone wasn’t complimentary. “What happened to your eye?”

Jarlath found himself grinning, the expression feeling more natural since he’d formed his lips that way many times during the day. “I fell off my beest. You should have seen it before. Do you want the job or not?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Cristop.”

“You may call me Lath. I find myself hungry,” Jarlath said. “Come, we will eat before we start our tasks.” He released Cristop, half expecting the youth to flee.

“You promise coin now.”

“Indeed.” Suppressing a burst of humor, Jarlath pulled a single coin from his pocket and tossed it to Cristop. He snatched it cleanly, surveyed it with close attention then shoved it into the depths of a pocket.

The youth gestured to the right. “The best food stall is this way.”

“Perfect,” Jarlath said.

The scent of roasting fowls grew stronger.

“I will wait here,” Cristop said.

“No, you will eat with me. I don’t wish to eat alone.” He located a table and sprawled in a seat.

Cristop perched on the other empty seat, prepared for flight.

“Ah there is a server.” Jarlath signaled for service and pretended to study the menu while he waited.

In reality, Cristop drew his attention—the hungry expression on the youth’s face.

Lynx had attempted to persuade his father to set up a program to help homeless youngsters, but the king had listened to his council and built a stadium in which to host cage fighting and arena sports. While it was true, the fights brought money to Viros, the currency flow lined the pockets of the rich instead of filtering down to aid those who needed help.

“You!” the chubby server snarled, his shout jerking Jarlath from his musing. “Get out before I summon the guard.”

Cristop jumped to his feet and edged back to dodge the man’s fist.

“Enough,” Jarlath snapped. “The boy is in my hire. We intend to order a meal before we go on our way.”

“Payment first.” The server planted beefy hands on his hips, his sneer displaying a golden tooth. “Show me your currency.”

Jarlath growled under his breath, channeling a grouchy Ellard. The server broke first, dipping his gaze. “We will have two roasted fowls.” Jarlath tapped his finger on the menu. “No, two of this set menu with the fowls, the savory and the sweet to finish. Two barley drinks.”

“That will be twenty-five dinars,” the server snapped.

Jarlath pulled change from his pocket—two gold coins plus several bronze ones and flung them into the server’s outstretched hand. “Bring my change. Cristop, sit.”

The man tugged his short, pointy beard and sniffed disdainfully but trotted off to deliver their order to the kitchen.

Jarlath focused on Cristop. “Are they all like this?”

The youth’s lips quirked. “Might have cause.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes I be hungry.”

“The soup kitchens?”

“They charge.”

They were meant to be free. Jarlath made a mental note to ask Ellard. No, rather than ask his friend he’d go in disguise and investigate himself. Perhaps it was possible to do good instead of blindly following the path his parents had set him.

The server returned with their order and thumped the serving platters on their table. He thrust Jarlath’s change at him, paused while waiting for a tip. Jarlath ignored him and the man stomped off to serve another table of diners.

“Is all this for me?” Cristop asked, his tone one of disbelief.

“Yes, eat up now. You’ll need your strength to carry my packages.”

Jarlath had no need to shop since he owned the latest gadgets and replicators, but shop he would to appease this young man’s pride. He picked up a roasted fowl leg and bit into the crispy skin. The meat tasted even more delicious than it smelled.

“Good choice,” Jarlath said and crammed more meat into his mouth. He studied the crowd and did a double take when he recognized Keira and her maid. He blinked, sure he’d imagined Keira’s pretty face, but no—it was her. A wide smile took possession of his mouth, so big his lips protested. His pulse jumped, a sensation he recognized as nerves taking grip.

Damn, he wanted her. One kiss hadn’t been nearly enough.

Chapter Five

“W
ait here,” he said to Cristop. “I see someone I know.” Jarlath jumped to his feet and hoofed it to catch her. “Keira.”

Both Keira and her maid froze, and when Keira whirled fear shone in her green-flecked eyes.

“Keira, it’s me,” Jarlath said, wanting to allay her distress even as he wondered the cause of this reaction in both women.

“Jarlath, what are you doing here?” Keira whispered.

“I’m having dinner and shopping,” Jarlath said. “Would you and Hortese like to join me and my companion? I ordered a lot of food and fear I’ll never manage to eat half of it.”

“No,” Keira said.

“We’d like that,” Hortese said and pinched her mistress on the arm when it seemed she would argue.

“This way,” Jarlath said and guided the women to his table. “Cristop, this is Keira and Hortese. They are joining us for dinner. Can you manage to secure two more chairs?”

“Really that’s not necess—” Keira began then yelped when Hortese pinched her again. “Will you stop that?”

“Take these seats,” Jarlath said. “Ah, my helper is back already. Excellent.” If there was one thing Jarlath was good at it was social chitchat. Since birth, his parents and tutors had drilled him in the art of putting people at ease. Normally the duty irritated him and the giggly females gave him headaches. In this case, using his skill was a pleasure, but he could tell something was bothering Keira.

“This fowl is delicious,” Hortese said. “Try some, Keira. It’s even better than Hilda’s.”

Keira’s mouth dropped open. “Sacrilege!”

Cristop tipped his head and his dreads flopped over his nose. He jerked his head the other way, and they resettled. “I told you meal be good.”

Amusement simmered inside Jarlath at Cristop’s smugness. “You did,” he agreed. “Are you ladies shopping tonight or do you have your stall set up?”

The two women exchanged a fleeting look, full of silent communication.

“Shopping,” Keira said.

“Good,” Jarlath said. “Once we’ve finished our meal we can shop together.” He leaned toward Keira. “You can help cement my disguise. No one would expect to see me shopping in the company of two beautiful women and a youth.”

Keira bit her lip. He smelled flowers and woman and closed his eyes to savor her presence.

“I wish we were alone,” he whispered.

“I’m not…it’s not a good idea for people to see us together. I don’t want to drag you into a gossip storm. You don’t know my stepchildren. Sitting with me is bad enough.”

“All we’re doing is sharing a meal and going shopping,” he said and dared to reach over to touch her arm. He swore he felt the heat of her skin through her cloak, and again, he wished they were alone instead of chaperoned by a maid and a street urchin.

“Where do you live?” Keira asked Cristop.

“In the lower town,” Cristop said through a mouthful of food.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Hortese scolded and her pink eyes flashed a warning when the youth opened his mouth again. “Don’t.”

“Is everyone almost finished?” Jarlath asked. “I’m ready to shop.”

“The food isn’t finished,” Cristop said.

Keira gestured for a waiter. “We’d like a go-pack please.”

Jarlath watched her pack the excess and hand it to Cristop. “You’re a growing youth. You should take this and eat it later.”

“Thanks,” Cristop said.

“Masterfully done,” Jarlath whispered to Keira. “Where are we going first?”

“You don’t need to accompany us,” Keira protested.

“I have the evening to while away.” Jarlath stood. “Besides, I’d enjoy the company and require help with my shopping. How do I know what to buy? I’ve never been shopping before.”

Keira’s hand flew to her chest. “Never?”

“My education is sadly lacking.” He watched the thoughts chasing over her face and the way she chewed her bottom lip. He wanted to be the one doing that.
Grata!
The urge to take her in his arms and snatch a kiss had him sidling nearer. He forced himself to back off and instead breathed in her flowery scent and relished her company.

A relationship wasn’t possible. He had to remember his parents expected him to adhere to duty and assume bigger responsibilities. He stepped back farther, his feline stirring, his gruff bark of protest echoing in Jarlath’s mind for long secs.

Keira stiffened then retreated to Hortese’s side, and Jarlath froze.

She’d heard his feline? Curious. Maybe he should’ve asked more questions about her heritage and her abilities. He strode to her side and ignored her glower of frustration.

“How long have you lived here on Viros?”

“Just over five cycles,” she said, and her chin lifted in hauteur. “I am not a spy.”

“I don’t believe I suggested the possibility.”

“But you were thinking it,” she snapped. “The courts cleared me of espionage charges too. I am not, nor have I ever acted as a spy for the House of Cawdor.”

Jarlath stared, mesmerized. Keira in a high dudgeon was a remarkable sight. Her eyes flashed with golden lights and a surge of delicate green highlighted her cheekbones.

“What do you want to buy first?” Cristop demanded, his loud voice breaking the tension.

“I need a new hat to cut the cold from the coming wintery months and a coat,” Jarlath said. “What are you shopping for, Keira?”