Conar looked with fright on the little man, whose head bobbed in greeting.

"Conar Regius," the man repeated. He put his hands together and bowed low.

Two soldiers appeared as though from nowhere and stood beside the man. They mouthed the same words, their own faces filled with wonder, and then they, too, bowed. Around him, people bowed or dropped gracefully to their knees, giving Conar their homeland's greeting of honor. They pressed their foreheads to the wet sand, raised up and looked at him, then bent forward again, their arms stretched outstretched.

On the sh.o.r.e, Conar came to a standstill, his chest heaving with emotion as men and women whispered two words in the ancient language of Serenia-Conar Regius, meaning King Conar. The volume grew.

On the promontory where a thick line of warriors and soldiers gathered, the cry changed. The people took up the new chant with a force that ran out over the sh.o.r.e, vying with the crashing waves. Seven mighty, magical, heart-felt words. "Conar Regius: Belias niatos E nal sumein!"

"King Conar: The Wind is with us now!"

Tears filled Conar's eyes as he heard his battle cry. His aunt's people, showing him honor and respect he had never thought to experience again, tore at his heart. A lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him. His breath came in ragged gasps of emotion. When his knees buckled, he dropped to the wet sand, threw back his head, and gasped air into his aching lungs.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He lowered his head to a young Chrystallusian woman kneeling before him. She smiled; the little rosebud mouth, painted red as cherries and looking just as sweet, opened. In a tinkling, musical voice she spoke.

"Welcome home, King Conar."

She placed her soft lips against his scarred cheek. When she moved back, she giggled, seeing his astonishment. Gracefully she rose and held out her tiny hand, bidding him to take it. Her smile slipped away when he hesitated, unsure and somehow afraid.

"Let me take you to your aunt."

In a daze, he nestled her hand in his. They walked to the base of the steps from where the Empress and her husband were descending. When the woman eased her hand from his, he looked at her, needing that touch to keep him standing, but she shook her head, somehow sensing his awkwardness, and moved into the crowd of people.

Dyreil stepped from the last two planks and opened her arms. Her smile was as bright as day.

Conar stood there quivering as though with ague. His brows drew together, his fingers twitched at his sides. He was striving with all his might to keep his tears at bay. The effort was physically draining. He felt a faint echo, a soft sighing, of the total joy he had once known so deeply in his battered soul and it called to him in a voice he knew so well.

"I love you, Conar," his aunt whispered.

He was tense, like a tightly coiled spring. He trembled as he attempted to keep his anxiety under control. In the Labyrinth, he had learned to be invisible; here, he was scrutinized, welcomed, spoken to, by hundreds of people. In the Labyrinth, he had learned what it was to be deprived of love; here, these people were showering him with affection. In the Labyrinth, he had been denied human touch and warmth; here, he had been touched and shown love. When his aunt stepped toward him, a low groan came from the depths of his soul. As her arms closed around his waist, another moan, lost and helpless, poured from him.

"Oh, my sweet Conar."

He wanted to hold her to him, but he hurt so badly, he could not force his muscles to obey. She gripped him tightly to her, her arms encompa.s.sing him, her cheek pressed close to his chest. His head went to her shoulder and hesitant sobs wracked his body. He managed to bring up his arms until she was clasped against him in a tender embrace.

Her hands went up to cup his face. "My beautiful baby boy." She stroked the recalcitrant wave of hair that had fallen over his brow. "My beautiful, beautiful baby!"

He clung to her with all the pent-up need of a child too long lost from his family. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Tran smiled. "Welcome home, son."

Dyreil stepped aside for her husband to draw their nephew into his arms.

"We dared not believe it was you when our men came to tell us," Tran said.

"This day will live in our history," the Chief Minister added, giving his Empress a tender smile.

Dyreil slipped her slender arm around her nephew's waist. "You will come and sleep and rest and..." She squeezed him to her. "...And put some meat on this tall frame!"

Conar wasn't sure what had awakened him. At first he couldn't remember where he was. Sitting up in the bed with its rose-colored silk sheets and soft white satin coverlet, he looked around before he came back to the present and lay back down, the scent of sandalwood tickling the hairs of his nose. It was a warm scent and it smelled clean and fresh, and it soothed him.

He stretched his arms above his head, pushing on the ornately carved teakwood headboard and sighed. He had no idea what time it was, but by the shadows on the wall, he had slept well past noon. Ashamed, he threw back the covers, only mildly surprised that he was naked. He could vaguely recall being undressed. By Bre? Roget? He couldn't remember.

He looked for his clothes, but saw nothing on the credenza or the square table of lacquer-wood with its army of plump cushions encircling it. Silk screens part.i.tioned off different sections of the room; a large, gnarled tree stood in the corner beside another low credenza, but still he saw no clothes. He looked at the bed, the only concession to his own culture within the room. Though unquestionably comfortable, it looked foreign in a decor where a mattress on the bare floor would have sufficed.

He peeked behind one screen, finding a golden tub filled with water, mists rising above the surface like dancing ghostlings. He plunged his hand into the tub. The feel of the water filled him with sheer joy.

Folded on a table beside the tub were thick towels that beckoned his palm to spread over them. "Ah..." he sighed as his callused flesh dragged against their fleecy softness.

He plucked a white oblong of soap from its crystal dish. Easing himself into the over-sized tub, he sighed with pleasure, breathing deeply of the cinnamon-scented water, an aroma he had not taken in for a long time. He rested his head along the high back, put his arms to either side of the rolled edge and let his body drift in the warm coc.o.o.n.

He heard the sound of a rice-paper door gliding open, but the warmth of the water and the rich scent of the cinnamon filled him with la.s.situde and he didn't look around.

"Do you believe this tub?" he asked, expecting Bre, Roget, or Sentian to answer.

"Does it please you, Highness?" a laughing, musical voice inquired.

He jumped. The same slender woman who had greeted him at the beach walked gracefully toward him. She knelt beside the tub and smiled. Blushing, he scrunched down in the tub, and used his hands to shield his lions from her curious view. It was not the first time a servant girl had come into his bathing chamber; the various activities afterward had been especially pleasant. But this slim girl-child was the first woman to see him naked in many years. She was also the first woman he had been alone with in all those years. He swallowed to still the wild, erratic beating of his heart.

"My name is Se Huan, Highness. His Celestial Highness selected some clothing for you. If they do not fit or if you do not find them appealing, we will find others. I placed them on your bed." Her smiled was slightly amused. "Does it meet with your approval?"

"What?" he stammered.

A tinkle of merry laughter issued from her bow-shaped red lips. "The bed, Highness! Is it comfortable?"

He nodded.

"Good! I will wait here until you are finished with your bath and then I will help you dress." Her oval face was sweetly innocent as she raised her chin, craning her delicate neck to peer over the rim of the tub. "Where is your soap, Highness?"

"Huh?"

She smiled and gave him a look that was part chastis.e.m.e.nt, part teasing. "Your soap?"

He held up his hand where the bar of chamomile was slick and melting, squishy between his fingers. He handed it to her like a child caught with something he shouldn't have in his possession.

"You're...you're going to wait here?" he stammered, cupping himself again.

"Does my presence in your bathing chamber offend you, Highness?" Her heart-shaped face quivered as though the notion that he found below standards hurt her. She lowered her head.

"It doesn't matter. Stay if you wish."

"I wish!" she said brightly, sitting back on her heels.

He tried to pretend she wasn't there. His eyes shifted back and forth across the room, seeking a way to ask her to leave without hurting her feelings. He wanted to bathe, but he didn't want her watching him. He had almost formulated a request he felt would suffice when he felt something wet and cool caress the back of his neck. Turning his head slightly, he saw her kneeling behind him, her fingers deftly braiding his long blond hair into a queue. He brought up his knees, hiding his manhood. Amused laughter flowed over his shoulder, softly stirring the hair along his neck.

"I have seven brothers, Highness. There is nothing I have not seen."

"What you've seen wasn't mine, lady."

She finished with his hair and took up the soap. "I see you blushing when you shouldn't be."

He realized she was watching his expression in the Cheval mirror just to the left of the tub. He met her sparkling eyes in the gla.s.s and blinked. The woman was flirting! He watched her smile shyly and then turn her attention to his shoulder and left arm, drawing the soap along its tanned length as she hummed softly. If she noticed the Maze tattooed on the underside of his wrist, she didn't remark upon it. He glanced back into the mirror, curious to see her reaction to the band of burned flesh just above his left elbow, but she ignored that also. The pentagram branded into his palm, however, brought a frown to her face.

"Did my aunt provide beds like mine for my men?" he asked, wanting to bring the prettiness back to her face, to take her thoughts from the pentagram.

She looked up at him. "Oh, yes. Well, at least for the royal sons who are visiting. Her Celestial Highness had a dozen sleeping pedestals in storage for just such visits."

She pushed gracefully to her feet and padded to the other side of the tub, studiously avoiding glancing into the water where his legs, he hoped, hid him from her sight. She sank to her knees again and began to wash his right shoulder and arm.

"Are you ready for me to wash your legs?"

"I... I can do it," he stammered, watching her lips twitch. "I'm not helpless!"

She made a quick nod. "Then let me do your back, at least. That I know you can not do."

He leaned forward, clasping his knees with his arms and waited. He decided right then, when she finished with his back, he was sending her on her way!

There was a sharp gasp. Her eyes found his in the mirror once more. She stared at him with horror. She had seen the puckered, criss-crossed scars that covered him from his neck to well below his waist.

"You don't have to bathe my back," he told her. "I can manage on my own."

"Those who would dare do such a thing to you should be put to the ax!" she said fiercely. "No one had the right to hurt you in this way."

He had no thought of his own shame and hurt. Another's pain had always touched him far deeper than his own. He turned, heedless of his nakedness, and caressed her cheek with his palm. She brought his hand to her lips, kissing the scarred palm.

"Don't," he said. "It happened long ago and I no longer feel the pain."

She came hurriedly to her feet, backing away until she reached the rice-paper doorway. "I have shamed you," she confessed, stepping backward through the opening. She bowed several times. "I ask you pardon, Highness."

"You've done nothing wrong."

She spun around, a gasping sob floating to him as she slid the panel shut.

He let out a ragged breath. Suddenly, he was more tired than he could remember being in a long while. He looked at his legs and decided not to finish his bath. Getting out of the tub proved to be an effort since his muscles ached and cramped, making him wince. He needed exercise and he made a mental note to ask his uncle about it that afternoon.

He plucked a towel from the table and dried himself with the thick fleece. Padding to the bed across the straw mat flooring, he saw the clothes she had brought for him.

He picked them up, marveling at the rich feel of the black silk. The tunic and breeches were heavily embroidered down the front, sides, and sleeves with black silk thread. Peac.o.c.ks and mountains, arched bridges and flowing water were etched on the material. Slipping the breeches up his legs, he inhaled with pleasure as the feel of the silk lulled him. The tunic, held together by tiny black pearls down the left side, felt cool, clean, and fresh as he slipped it over his shoulders.

He looked at himself in the Cheval mirror. From a distance, he looked normal. But he knew if he walked closer, the scars, the haggard look on his face, the twin furrows along his left cheek would return. They would be with him always.

He sat on the bed, staring at the brands in his palms.

"She pitied you," he said to the empty room.

He lay on the white coverlet, pressing his scarred cheek to the bed as though to hide it forever. He was soon asleep, the vision of the Tribunal Square firmly in his troubled mind. He didn't hear his screams of nightmarish pain.

He woke.

He was lying on his left side. There was a soft warmth lying beside him and he snuggled up to it, a tiny, fleeting smile on his lips. He felt hands on his right arm, smoothing the fabric of his tunic. The hands moved over his shoulders, ran down his back and rump and up again. The feeling was wonderful and he wished for it to continue forever. He drew in a long, contented breath.

"Did you sleep well, Highness?"

His eyes snapped open; the breath held in his throat.

She lay on her side facing him. Her head was propped up on her bent elbow and her free hand smoothed over his back

and rump. There was a faint smile on her lips. Sometime during his sleep, she had lain beside him. He had sought her warmth, her woman's softness. His belly and chest were pressed against her, his arm thrown possessively over her tiny waist, one black-clad knee wedged between hers. He knew without looking that she was naked.

He let out his ragged breath.

They stared at one another a long time. He let his attention roam over her perfectly shaped face with its tilt of flaring brows. Her nose was small, delicate, the nostrils thin and arched. Her lashes were fine, short and moved upward with the slant of her beautiful black eyes. The rosebud lips were puckered in a gentle smile, their ripe cherry-colored flesh shining and moist. Her tongue darted out to wet them and his eyes lowered to them. Her teeth were as white as virgin snow, the tongue pink and curving. His eyes raised to the black glory of her hair and he wondered what she would look like if her tresses were released from the restriction of the ivory combs that held it in a tight coil.

His lids fluttered as she ran her slender fingers through his hair, her red-tipped nails grazing his scalp with tantalizing slowness. He drew in his breath, savoring the feel.

"Such marvelous hair," she told him, pulling his braid over his shoulder. "Such a beautiful shade of gold."

Her hand went once more to his shoulder. He was about to speak when she pushed him, a slight, incessant pressure against his shoulder that demanded he turn onto his back.

He obeyed.

Se Huan took the ivory combs from her jet black hair. Shaking her head, the thick mane of shiny, straight, silky hair slipped over her shoulders and cascaded down to his chest.

"Are you a mind reader?" he whispered.

She began unb.u.t.toning his tunic. He covered her fingers with a restraining hand.

"Are you committed?" she asked, her eyes hungrily sweeping over his face.

Had she used any other word he might have said yes, but that one word, a word echoing from his conversation with Brelan, made him shake his head in denial. "Not anymore, it seems."

When she returned her attention to the b.u.t.tons, he didn't stop her. He kept his head turned to the side, hiding his scarred flesh.

Se Huan exposed the wide expanse of his chest. Her fingers slid seductively over the hard mounds of his left breast muscle, threading through the hair in the center of his breastbone and caressed the right side of his chest before moving over his taut belly. Her fingers fanned over the hard ridges along his midsection and a knowing smile touched her mouth. She put her lips on the soft nub of flesh on his right breast. He drew in a harsh breath. Her low laughter was musical and teasing. She placed a feather-soft kiss on the side of his neck.

"Your blood pounds through your veins, Highness."

"Se Huan?"

She ignored the question in his voice. Her hands went to the drawstring of his breeches.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, his hand slamming down to still hers.