if you broke the ancient enchantment.”
He nodded slowly. “If many people lived here as they once did, surely you could call any of them to you as you called me.”
She rose, fac ing him with a sultry smile. “Do you care to dance? I can strike up music?” She waved her hand, and viols and flutes began an eerie tune from somewhere within the shadows.
“Your weed analogy is another trick, another trap,” Jublain said, massaging his forehead.
She twirled so the pleats of her scarlet dress lifted and revealed her lovely, smooth and enticing legs. The sight of them interrupted Jublain’s thoughts.
“Power and me,” she said with a seductive sigh . “You may possess both.”
The sight of her—she was lovely… beautiful… desirable . He wanted her. No, no, was he mad? He rubbed his forehead. What would his ancient ancestor have done? He watched her twirl, the dress float up and he saw the wonderful curvature of her thighs. He turned away, his palms moist. He must act now or fall under her beauty. He rose and drew his deadly sword. For the third time he aimed it at her.
The music stopped as she came to a halt beside the open book, a sleek hand on the dagger.
“I am an Aufling,” he said.
She smiled in mockery.
“My ancestor slew a dragon and ate its eight-valved heart.”
She laid a finger on the top half of her breast and began to trace the outline of her gown.
Jublain watched, and he licked his lips.
She smiled, and she began to dance once more, a slow and seductive sway . Viols played softly. Shadows darkened the room. Oh, but she was beautiful. She teased him with her smile, and her eyes burned with beguiling power. He knew she tried to trap him with her eyes. He should look away. He should look away now, but she was too lovely, too enticing to look away. Her smile grew, as did the wantonness of her dance. She twirled, twined and writhed for him. He licked his lips, desire and fear pounded in his head.
She touched the sword as a lover might . She ran her hand down its razor length and dared touch his cheek. “Jublain,” she whispered.
“No,” he said.
She danced around him, her hand on his shoulder and she touched the nape of his neck. “Jublain,” she whispered into his ear.
The sword clashed onto the floor . He spun and grabbed her. She laughed—a low, throaty thing.
“Kiss me, Jublain, and become mine.”
He fought it with a last thought of sanity. The lust, however, was too strong. He embraced her, crushed her lips against his. The kiss lingered, and Jublain’s heart pounded. A strange, fleeting thought came.
“Were you the Ice King’s paramour?” he whispered.
“I was his queen, his controlling empress.”
“You ruled?”
“As I will now rule again—through you!” She laughed, and pressed against him, shouting triumphantly.
His heart pounded wildly, and he knew a moment of terror as she faded into him . He shouted, the sound like a roar, and she staggered backward, solidifying.
Lines appeared on her forehead . “What happened? I should be in you.”
Jublain flung sweat out his eyes and he massaged his aching chest . Then he crouched and picked up his sword.
“Quickly,” she said . “Drink from the cup.”
“No.”
“You want me, don’t you?”
“…Yes,” he said, amazed that it was still true . She was beauty beyond bliss, but he wouldn’t trade his soul for her.
“Prove that you want me . Drink from the cup.”
“Never,” he said.
“I don’t understand. The Ice King couldn’t resist me. You’re but a boy compared to him.”
A weary smile touched Jublain . It was beginning to make sense. “Milady has forgotten an ancient line of verse. ‘The Dragon doth possess thee and no other’.”
She shook her head.
“Blood is blood,” he said. “The eater of a dragon’s heart is changed forever, as is his line.”
“But the Ice King—”
“—Was but a wraith of an Aufling, milady, and was thus without a heart and without the
He nodded slowly. “If many people lived here as they once did, surely you could call any of them to you as you called me.”
She rose, fac ing him with a sultry smile. “Do you care to dance? I can strike up music?” She waved her hand, and viols and flutes began an eerie tune from somewhere within the shadows.
“Your weed analogy is another trick, another trap,” Jublain said, massaging his forehead.
She twirled so the pleats of her scarlet dress lifted and revealed her lovely, smooth and enticing legs. The sight of them interrupted Jublain’s thoughts.
“Power and me,” she said with a seductive sigh . “You may possess both.”
The sight of her—she was lovely… beautiful… desirable . He wanted her. No, no, was he mad? He rubbed his forehead. What would his ancient ancestor have done? He watched her twirl, the dress float up and he saw the wonderful curvature of her thighs. He turned away, his palms moist. He must act now or fall under her beauty. He rose and drew his deadly sword. For the third time he aimed it at her.
The music stopped as she came to a halt beside the open book, a sleek hand on the dagger.
“I am an Aufling,” he said.
She smiled in mockery.
“My ancestor slew a dragon and ate its eight-valved heart.”
She laid a finger on the top half of her breast and began to trace the outline of her gown.
Jublain watched, and he licked his lips.
She smiled, and she began to dance once more, a slow and seductive sway . Viols played softly. Shadows darkened the room. Oh, but she was beautiful. She teased him with her smile, and her eyes burned with beguiling power. He knew she tried to trap him with her eyes. He should look away. He should look away now, but she was too lovely, too enticing to look away. Her smile grew, as did the wantonness of her dance. She twirled, twined and writhed for him. He licked his lips, desire and fear pounded in his head.
She touched the sword as a lover might . She ran her hand down its razor length and dared touch his cheek. “Jublain,” she whispered.
“No,” he said.
She danced around him, her hand on his shoulder and she touched the nape of his neck. “Jublain,” she whispered into his ear.
The sword clashed onto the floor . He spun and grabbed her. She laughed—a low, throaty thing.
“Kiss me, Jublain, and become mine.”
He fought it with a last thought of sanity. The lust, however, was too strong. He embraced her, crushed her lips against his. The kiss lingered, and Jublain’s heart pounded. A strange, fleeting thought came.
“Were you the Ice King’s paramour?” he whispered.
“I was his queen, his controlling empress.”
“You ruled?”
“As I will now rule again—through you!” She laughed, and pressed against him, shouting triumphantly.
His heart pounded wildly, and he knew a moment of terror as she faded into him . He shouted, the sound like a roar, and she staggered backward, solidifying.
Lines appeared on her forehead . “What happened? I should be in you.”
Jublain flung sweat out his eyes and he massaged his aching chest . Then he crouched and picked up his sword.
“Quickly,” she said . “Drink from the cup.”
“No.”
“You want me, don’t you?”
“…Yes,” he said, amazed that it was still true . She was beauty beyond bliss, but he wouldn’t trade his soul for her.
“Prove that you want me . Drink from the cup.”
“Never,” he said.
“I don’t understand. The Ice King couldn’t resist me. You’re but a boy compared to him.”
A weary smile touched Jublain . It was beginning to make sense. “Milady has forgotten an ancient line of verse. ‘The Dragon doth possess thee and no other’.”
She shook her head.
“Blood is blood,” he said. “The eater of a dragon’s heart is changed forever, as is his line.”
“But the Ice King—”
“—Was but a wraith of an Aufling, milady, and was thus without a heart and without the
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