Lares Lords Book One

THE LOVER’S POOL

By

Eryn Blackwell

© copyright February 2006, Eryn Blackwell

Cover art by Kat Richards, © copyright February 2006

ISBN 1-58608-823-8

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

For Shal who kept pushing, thanks. To Mandy who said just do it already and shoved, and Michelle for coercing. J Thanks for offering all sorts of help in more ways than I can ever explain.

Prologue

The room was tinged blue with wisps of smoke from the belloa leaves that cleansed the mind as the steaming stones cleansed the body.

Lars, King of the Lares, appointed member of the High Fae Council, gazed at the other three men lounging on rock ledges in the small, stone, windowless room. They were all strong and well built, he supposed. As his elite warriors and ruling generals, they were men he trusted without thought. Men he also considered friends.

And none of them were going to like what he’d have to say. He shifted position on the hard and uncomfortable ledge. He should have some cushions brought in to cover them. He shook his head and thought of the matter at hand.

“Lars, I’d really like to know what we’re doing here,” said Conto who was sitting in the corner.

Lars said nothing. Instead he looked at the three men he’d die to protect and knew without the flicker of a doubt they’d do the same for him.

All were honed for battled, covered in scars, their only clothes the white loincloths draped around their waists. It was hot enough in here to roast the dead. Sweat dripped off his hair and ran down his face.

Lars knew what he was about to say would not be well received. Yet he had to smile at knowing he’d take them by surprise. It was rare he could shock or surprise his closest friends.

“I hate it when he smiles like that,” Titon, General and ruler over the Lares Marini, commented from Lars' left.

Lars glanced at Titon and only smiled wider.

“Damn,” Conto muttered, sitting up. “He’s going to ask us to do something he knows we’re not going to like, and he’s going to enjoy every damn minute of it.” Conto sighed. “So who are we supposed to battle? Kill?”

Lars laughed and shook his head. “Conto, always so cynical. Actually,” he considered how to phrase his next words. “Actually, this is more in your area of expertise.”

“A woman,” the last man said softly.

Lars looked over to where Romulas, commander of the Lares Rurales lay sprawled. His ankles crossed, one arm thrown over his eyes, he didn’t so much as twitch or turn in their direction.

Romulas continued, “The only area of expertise in Conto’s arena is wooing and bedding women.”

Conto’s laugh rumbled through the stone chamber. “Jealous, Rom?”

Romulas only scoffed.

“There are worse things to be an expert at, my friends, than the art of wooing and bedding a woman,” Conto answered.

Romulas muttered something and sat up, looking across the triangular pile of stones in the center of the floor to Conto. “Yes, there are. But some of us are more selective in our pleasures than others.”

“Too much caution leaves the bed cold,” Conto said happily.

Titon added his opinion. “Cold, aye, but at least quiet. Women can all too often be a pain in the ass.”

They all readily agreed.

Lars' smile widened. This would be more fun than he had expected.

“Well, since we’re on the topic of women,” he said, leaning back and propping his arm on his bent leg, “I should give you all your next order.”

Romulas gave Lars his attention, as did Titon. Conto was staring at the stones. “I’ve never been ordered to woo and bed a woman.”

Lars laughed. “No, Con, you haven’t. You are ordered to woo and bed a wife.”

For a moment no one said a word. Then Conto laughed, the sound bouncing around the small chamber in rumbling waves. “Wife?” He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “Wife? No, Lars. No wife. They’re too much trouble.”

Titon nodded.

Lars looked to Romulas, who was only staring at him. Finally, Rom spoke. “Ordered to woo and bed a wife? You’re ordering us to marry, Lars?”

He nodded and added more spiced water to the stones, the steam hissing a snake into the air. “Yes.”

Conto’s smile slid into a frown. “A wife?”

Titon mumbled something about women and death.

“A wife?” Conto asked again.

This time Romulas chuckled. “He’s having a hard time with this one, isn’t he?”

“A wife?” Conto stood and paced the small area. “What the bloody hell am I going to do with a wife?”

The other three laughed outright. Lars was still laughing when Romulas said, “The same thing you do with all your other women. I thought you were the expert.”

Conto glared at his friend. “You think this is funny?” Con turned his anger on Lars, but the king knew his trusted friend well enough to know that Conto was the more emotional of the lot. “I don’t want a wife.”

Lars calmly sipped the water from his goblet. “I don’t recall asking you, Con.”

Conto cursed and paced, shoving his hand through the blond hair women seemed to find appealing.

“When are these blessed events supposed to take place?” Titon asked with a sigh.

“You have three months to find your brides, or I find them for you.”

Conto whirled and opened his mouth, but Lars held up his hands. “The High Council is concerned that the kingdom, though solid, might be in jeopardy with no heirs.”

“We’re not the damn king,” Conto said, anger still radiating out of him.

Lars had expected no less. “True, but I want to know that my principalities are as solid as my own thrown. Without you three to keep the rural areas, cities, and sea ports in control, I would not have a throne to sit upon. I want to know that you each have children to inherit your control and powers. Children who will, in time, stand side by side with my own.”

Titon sighed. Romulas scratched his cheek and shook his head. Conto just stood there, still too stunned to get past his anger.

Lars continued, “It was either my order or have the High Council choose your fae brides, women with strong ties that would also benefit other kingdoms. I will have no one dictate to me the best course for my kingdom, but I also know there is a time to give and a time to stand. I don’t want to be allied with other fae kingdoms, to be beholden to others more than we already are beyond the Council’s laws of war. I will help and stand with them when I must. Beyond that, I--we--take care of our own.”

He knew his reasoning contradicted what he’d just ordered and expected of them. “I know this isn’t what you want. But it’s either do as I ask and find your own brides, or accept the High Council’s choosing. I chose for us to keep the control.”

Romulas nodded. “I agree. I’d rather know I was choosing my own bride than to have one handed to me.”

Conto jerked his chin in Lars direction. “What of you? Are you to marry as well?”

Lars nodded. “I am.”

“Married,” Titon said. “Mayhap I’ll just hire a wife.”

Romulas laughed, Conto rolled his eyes.

Lars shook his head. “Woo and bed, Titon. Woo and bed. The marriages will be real in every way. Solid. You find your mates. Make offerings to Venus if you must. But you have three months. Three full moons.” Lars stood. “I’ve had enough of this steam room. Lunch should be ready.”

“A wife?” Conto muttered again.

Titon slapped Conto on the shoulder and Romulas just laughed. “I’ll skip lunch. If I’ve only got three months to find the woman, I’d rather get to looking if it’s all the same to you.”

Lars nodded and watched his friend walk down the long columned hallway, the marble a dull red against the bright sunlight. “Be safe, Rom.”

Romulas turned and smiled. “How dangerous can wooing and bedding a mate be?”