“The lords who marry royal witches cannot wield the power directly,” Eloisa said. “But it helps them in other ways. Keeps them healthy, helps them heal.”
It was true that nobles tended to live long lives. But Sophie had never heard even a hint that it was due to anything more than better food and easier lives and more money to buy temple healings when necessary.
“Lady Sophia isn’t married,” Cameron said. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Royal witches are virgins when they undertake their dedication rites,” the Domina interjected. “And when the final part of the wedding rite occurs. There are reasons why this is so.”
“Am I allowed to know what those are?” Cameron asked.
“To avoid exactly this situation,” the Domina said. “To avoid her power becoming tangled with another’s before it can be bound.”
Tangled? What in the name of the goddess did that mean? Sophie bit her lip. Hard. Hard enough to keep the river of questions in her head from spilling out and making things worse.
“Which forces us to an unpleasant conclusion,” Eloisa said. “That perhaps Lady Sophia is not a virgin. That would explain why the ritual didn’t work.” She straightened a little on her pillows and looked squarely at Cameron. “So tell me, Lieutenant Mackenzie, did you by any chance bed Lady Sophia in the last few days?”
Eloisa might as well have slapped him. The bite of her question hit Cameron with the same force as a blow. Behind him, he heard Sophie gasp, but he forced himself not to turn. Not to go to her as his instincts urged.
No. Instead, better to watch the royal witch in front of him. His queen-to-be. His sometimes lover. Who was, if he was any judge at all of her temper, supremely displeased with him.
“Well?” Eloisa snapped when he didn’t immediately answer. “Did you bed the girl or not, Cameron?”
That was a slip, he realized. The queen-to-be should call her bodyguards by their ranks, not their names. He hoped Sophie wouldn’t notice. He was near certain, however, that the Domina would. Domina Skey was fiercely intelligent to go along with the power she wielded. She was the one woman, besides Eloisa herself, he’d ever seen get the upper hand with King Stefan in an argument.
But that was beside the point right now. Right now he had to answer the question. Lying would be useless. Easy enough to have one of the healers confirm that Sophie was no longer a virgin. And he was the obvious candidate, being the only man to have spent time alone with Sophie since she had manifested her power. She didn’t strike him as the type to try to coax anybody else into dalliance before she had turned twenty-one, and the penalties for harming a royal witch—or a potential one—were severe enough to keep any sane man from being tempted. “I—”
“It was my fault,” Sophie said firmly. There was a faint rustle of skirts as she moved to stand next to him.
“You seduced him?” Eloisa asked. “Truly, Sophie, you expect me to believe that?” She sounded almost scornful, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophie flush.
But she didn’t flinch or look away. If anything, she drew herself straighter, moving fractionally closer to the bed. “It was the ley line,” she said.
Eloisa’s expression of icy immobility—somewhat of a feat to achieve such a look when her face was so damaged—didn’t alter as she studied Sophie. Her eyes had turned a dangerous green, like the heart of a hunting cat’s gaze. A warning that danger—if not death—stalked nearby. “I fail to understand what a ley line has to do with Lieutenant Mackenzie relieving an unmarried royal witch of her virginity.”
“I stepped into it. This morning. I woke, and we were near a ley line—we were using the portals—and I couldn’t stop myself,” Sophie said. “And it—it . . .”
“The power overwhelmed her,” Cameron said. “I pulled her away, and then, well, we—”
“You fucked her,” Eloisa said flatly.
“It wasn’t intentional,” he said. “I’m well aware that that sounds ridiculous and I’m willing to take my punishment, but it was never my intention to . . . dishonor Lady Sophia.”
“You didn’t,” Sophie said beside him. Her cheeks burned red, but her chin lifted and her back was ramrod straight. “I did. Any punishment should fall to me.”
He heard the Domina murmur something that sounded like agreement.
“No,” he said. “It’s not Sophie’s fault.”
“Traditionally, the punishment for harming a royal witch is death,” Eloisa said. She might as well have been making a comment about the weather.
Sweat began to form under the tight collar of his jacket. He had fucked up. Literally. He had known that the minute his head had cleared after Sophie had come screaming beneath him. But he hadn’t truly thought through the consequences. He hadn’t expected that they would be discovered. Hadn’t known about the buggering ash-blown rituals. How could he?
Yet he had done what he was accused of. And now both he and Sophie were in danger. He was a battle mage, used to peril, and he recognized the scent and tingle of potential disaster and violence in the air.
Well. He had been charged with keeping Lady Sophia safe. And he’d be damned if he would forswear that oath even if he’d blighted his honor. He would make sure she was safe. He would shoulder the blame and any punishment merited.
But to do so he had to tread very carefully. Elly was sick and injured, and he could feel the echoes of her power—angry even though it felt oddly distorted—in the air.
The silence that followed her words seemed to ripple with it.
It was Sophie who risked breaking that silence. “I am not harmed.”