Chains of Revenge by Keziah Hill

chest. Yes, he lusted after her and wanted her, but through the ten long years she’d loved him. What a fool she’d been. Loving a man who would use his lust to show her how much he hated her. He would ravish her, use her body as a master uses a slave and, she didn’t doubt, reawaken her own desire that had long since lain dormant. He would take pleasure in her craving for his rough touch, for the feel of his cock in her body. But he wouldn’t want her love.
    Lissa reached the Great House and smiled as Ris came rushing out.
    ‘My Lady …’ She saw the chain and glared at Devadas. ‘Do you still continue this foolishness?’
    ‘I do, indeed, Mistress Ris. But now we are at home, I can dispense with the chain.’ He fiddled with her gold collar and undid the lead. ‘Come, my betrothed. Show me your house.’
    With a sigh of relief, Lissa stepped toward Ris and hugged her.
    ‘It’s alright, Ris. I’m all right. The Warlord Death won’t hurt me.’
    Oh, Goddess make that true .
    ‘The Warlord Death needs refreshment, Ris. Could you lay some out in my chambers?’
    Ris frowned and glared again at Devadas. He smiled back at her, cocky and assured. Ris muttered as she made her way to the kitchens.
    ‘This way,’ Lissa said as she led him through the house that she’d come to love. It was her creation, the place where she felt the most at ease. It was grand, grander than she’d wanted, but the townspeople had wanted a house fit for their king and his daughter.
    But she’d made a corner for herself that was truly her home. She led him through the massive dining room which had become a de facto meeting area for the town, then through the corridors to a narrow staircase. Climbing to the top she stopped and pointed to the right.
    ‘The king’s quarters are down there. I’ll have my father’s belongings removed if you want to use them.’
    In the space of a second, the reality of her father’s death came crashing down on her. She was never sure if she’d really loved him, but now, knowing she wouldn’t see him again, a hot, bitter kernel of regret lodged in her chest. She didn’t even know where his body was. Swaying slightly at the top of the stairs, tears clogged in her throat.
    ‘My father… where…’
    ‘We buried him on the battlefield. It’s marked with his shield and sword. You can go and see him.’
    The softness in his voice warmed her. She nodded, unable to speak, then turned left to her own quarters. All she wanted was to light a fragrant candle, say her prayers to the Goddess and sink into her bed, hoping sleep would claim her. Many times she’d done just that, after days of hard work and effort. Her quarters looked out over the town. Sometimes she’d stand at her window, feeling the night air stream in and worry about the days and weeks ahead, worry about the weather, the crops, about if they had enough put away for the winter. Now she worried if she’d survive this night.
    She turned to watch Devadas as he surveyed his surroundings. Through her fear and anxiety, she hadn’t had a chance to really look at him, to take in the reality of the man in front of her. Older and battle-scarred, he was still the man who inflamed her passion and set off a yearning deep inside her soul. That was what confused her. She wanted him sexually; there was no doubt about that. She wanted him to push and pull and wrestle her back into that space of mind-numbing ecstasy.
    But even now, there was something about him that pulled hard at her emotions. He was hurt. He’d always been hurt. As a slave and now as a great warlord, his eyes were like two dark pools of pain. He might look at her with lust and amusement, but behind that lurked pain and despair so deep it was all she could do to not pull him to her, cradle him in her arms and try and erase that pain with her body and her love.
    She was an idiot. Out of her depth like a young girl with her first love, not sure what the rules were. But that’s what he was,