The Champion Read Online Free Page B

are,” she countered. “At least your famous seductions involve only willing participants.”
    “An odd rationalization.”
    “You wouldn’t think so, if you had ever been a servant.”
    A flicker of understanding surfaced in his eyes. “Ah.”
    “In this kingdom, a servant may be put to death on a whim. She may be stripped of her clothes and stoned by people in the streets, or bound in a sack and thrown into the ocean, sent to everlasting torment in the afterlife. Once she is given, not even her soul is her own.”
    He stared at her, the goblet in his hand apparently forgotten. “And your soul belongs to His Majesty, I take it.”
    “I was his favorite, once.”
    “Once.”
    “Yes.”
    “And now you’re a prize to be given away, is that it? Sent to please a thief he happens to admire, a gift intended to honor me.”
    “I told you, it was my choice—”
    “This, or the sack, yes, good choice.” He cast a searching look along the walls before moving closer, focusing his attention on her. She stared up at him, catching the hint of concern in his eyes as he considered her.
    He was too close now, and at ease with his own nakedness, his strength proudly displayed in muscular shoulders and tanned skin, the light swirl of hair on his chest glistening with water. No man had been this close to her in years, and even then, never like this.
    Osman had been almost exactly her height, his arms as thin as a boy’s, his body lanky and awkward without the heavy plumage of robes, collars, sashes and jewels. He disrobed only in the dark, always reaching for her in disgusted haste, without kindness or enjoyment, sickened by her, or by his desire for her. She never understood which.
    This man stood in the light—in a towel—as if he were born in the only armor he’d ever need. It didn’t seem like vanity, as much as a complete lack of modesty, someone who held no illusions about human bodies, or any other truths that social restrictions might try to disguise.
    “And, of course, it wouldn’t bother a reprobate like Robert Letoures,” he said, his tone softer now. “To accept such a gift.”
    “Gift,” Nadira whispered, unable to find her voice. No. I came here to talk, to tell you the truth—
    He leaned close, his chest warm against her shoulder, his mouth finding the curve of her ear. “No matter who’s watching us, or what they sent you to do, you’re safe with me in this room.”
    She shook her head. “That is not—no one is watching us.”
    “You really believe that?”
    “I came through the only passage. I was alone.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I—” She glanced at the walls, suddenly realizing that he was right. She had taken pains to secure the Sultan’s dressing rooms and private quarters, but modifications to the full labyrinth of the lower floors had been impractical. The Grand Vizier and his spies might well have found a passage, or a viewing hole, that she knew nothing of. Certainly, if they had, they would be watching now, trying to hear every word.
    “A mistake,” she whispered, the words burning in her throat. “I should never have come.”
    “You haven’t disappointed them yet,” he reminded her, the words soft under his breath. “You’ve been sent by the Sultan and I haven’t turned you away. That’s all anyone could have seen.”
    “I told you my name…told you who I am.”
    “Nadira of the Harem, once the favorite of the Sultan, now commanded to please his guest, the criminal Robert Letoures,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “Isn’t that who you are?”
    She tilted her gaze toward the ceiling in frustration. “Yes.”
    “Then no one has witnessed anything unusual.”
    “Except that I am rarely seen, even by members of the Harem.”
    “He keeps you locked away, his once favorite?”
    “You don’t understand.”
    “No,” he said. “But cruelty does not surprise me.”
    He moved behind her, slipping the goblet from her hand and placing it on the table