Dance With the Enemy by Linda Boulanger Page A

possessed. And to confess such to a … to a servant? Was Nema actually a servant? She had served Elenya, and yet she’d sat at the family table during the meal. And in a position of authority. She called Tahruk young master and my lord and yet spoke so boldly to him, almost as a mother might.
    “What is your position here, Nema?”
    Nema surprised her by answering with a cackle. “Ah, lass. It’s complicated. Something to discuss another day. For now it must suffice for you to know I am here for you.” She stopped before an ornately carved door, pushing it open with the palm of her hand to expose an exquisitely decorated room. “Your chambers,” Nema told her, motioning for her to go inside. “Your lord has been awaiting the arrival of his chosen with great anticipation, though he’d never admit to such.” She laughed again. “Don’t let him fool you. He has his father’s bite and brawn, yet carries his mother’s heart just as much. Give him time and you’ll see.”
    Much of Nema’s comments went unheard. Elenya was too lost in the beauty of her surroundings, even ignoring the voice that told her the rooms were only hers because she was Tahruk’s chosen, not because he had prepared them for her personally. Still, they were hers. He didn’t have to care for her to take care of her. Love seldom played a part in these matters. They had one purpose and one only and that was to assure the strength of the royal bloodlines. That was why she’d been born – to fulfill that honor, and these beautiful rooms were part of her reward for being chosen.
    A moment of sadness filled her heart. She thought of the bottle carrying her dreams that she’d thrown into the sea. Secretly, she’d also harbored the hope she’d find love.
    “My lady?” Nema waved a hand before Elenya’s face, pulling her back. “The dress?” she inquired when Elenya continued to stare blankly.
    “The dress. Yes. I, uhm…” Her young shoulders drooped. She looked at the floor and sighed. “I’m unsure I have anything so fine as to fit the occasion any better than what I’m wearing….”
    “Have I inherited a beggar then?”
    Elenya spun toward the door at the sound of Tahruk’s growl of annoyance.
    “My lord!” Elenya and Nema chimed in unison, though Elenya’s voice was laced with shame where Nema’s carried clear anger.
    “Even if you had, you are without lack, possessing abundance enough to care for whatever needs she may have. It’s your duty besides.” The older woman pointed her bony finger at the warrior, her eyes narrowed as were her lips. “Leave us so I may tend to your chosen. Go!” She had crossed the floor while she spoke, and with her palms against the massive chest, she pushed. He didn’t budge immediately, his eyes on the maiden who stood, head still bowed, in the center of the fine room. With a last grunt, he turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps and mumbles echoing in the hallway. Only one word was clear to Elenya. Aleone. It was spoken with disgust.
    “One should not question the wisdom of the Masters,” Nema muttered. “Now let’s see those gowns.
    Elenya shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I shall remain as I am.”
    She missed Nema’s frown as the old woman moved to stand before her.
    “Lass.” The softness of the older voice brought Elenya’s head up at last to where her tear filled eyes met Nema’s. “Oh! No, love. Do not be saddened by the young master. His tongue speaks what has been fed into his head, not what he feels in his heart.”
    “What does he feel, Nema? Lust brought on by the scent created by my sharing his blood? I am nothing more than breeding stock to him, and once that job is done, then what? He’s being forced to mix with a people he despises. He’s a man used to being in control and that has been removed from him.” She sniffed back her tears. “What he will feel in time, if he doesn’t already, is resentment. He’s right. I am a burden that he is bound to