The Sorceress of Belmair

The Sorceress of Belmair
Bertrice Small

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author and master of romance Bertrice Small transports readers to the magical, sensual realm of Hetar. A past awakened… Magic coursing through his blood, Dillon, son of the Domina of Hetar, follows his path to the forgotten world of Belmair. Summoned to marry the king’s daughter and inherit the throne, Dillon discovers Belmair is beautiful, enigmatic and seductive—as is his strong-willed new queen. What’s more, Hetar’s brightest star may hold the key to his people’s lost heritage—and his heart.A love unimagined… Cinnia, sorceress of Belmair, expected to claim her rightful place as ruler, not as the wife of a stranger from a faraway land. But the enchantment that seals their marriage of power and greatness does more than soothe her wounded pride. It allows her to use her magical gifts to uncover a passion she never dared to dream of…and the darkest secret of a mystical land."Small's newest novel is a sexily fantastical romp." —Publishers Weekly

The Sorceress of Belmair

Bertrice Small

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For all those readers who love Lara and her world.

Thank you.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Prologue

THE OLD KING of Belmair was coming to the end of his days. He sensed it. And as he had lived over eight hundred years it did not seem to him like such a great matter. But he was leaving his world in even poorer condition than he had inherited it. He knew what needed to be done, but he had never quite been able to bring himself to do it. Now, however, as the purple sands in the great hourglass representing his life that sat in the king’s chamber ebbed away to almost nothing, the king knew he must act before it was too late. If it was not already too late.

“Send for the dragon,” the king said to the chief footman who stood next to his throne.

“Send for the dragon!” the chief footman said to the second footman who repeated the command to the third footman, and so on until the order had reached the last footman in the line within the chamber.

Opening the door the last footman called out, “Send for the dragon!”

And then they all waited in silence. After some time had passed one of the dragon’s servants, dressed in bronze-gold livery, ran into the room and up to the king’s throne.

“My mistress is sleeping, Your Majesty. It will take some time to awaken her for it has been a long while since you have sought her counsel,” the servant said.

“Are you a servant of the first rank?” the king asked.

“I certainly am!” the servant assured the king. “My mistress would allow no one of lesser stature to speak to Your Majesty. Though she sleeps, the protocols are always and ever observed.”

“How long will it be before she is awakened?” the king asked.

“I’m afraid it will be several days, Your Majesty,” the servant answered, his tone holding just the proper amount of regret. “She tends to sleep heavily.”

“Time enough,” the king replied pleasantly. “Send to me before she comes.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the dragon’s servant said, and then bowing, he backed from the chamber.

As he did, he was passed by a beautiful young woman who hurried into the king’s presence. She was tall and slender with the grace of a willow. Pale as moonlight, her long hair, which was worn loose, was as black as the night, and her eyes were as green as spring. She was dressed in a flowing gown of violet silk.

“You have sent for the dragon, Father?” she said as she came.

“I have. It is past time, my dear Cinnia, that I did so,” the king told his only child.

“You know what she will say,” Cinnia responded. “She has said it before, but you would not listen. Will you listen now, Father?”

The old king sighed. “I have no choice now but to listen,” he admitted.

“But will you follow her advice, Father?” Cinnia persisted.

“I fear I must,” the king replied, and he sighed again. “My time is coming to a close, Daughter. Look to my glass. A successor must be chosen to follow me. It is the dragon’s duty to choose the next king of Belmair, and it is your duty to wed my successor.”

Now it was the girl who sighed deeply. “I do not know,” she said, “why a queen cannot rule Belmair, Father. I am as good a sorceress as any male sorcerer.”

The king nodded. “It is true, Daughter, that you have strong powers, but tradition dictates that a king rule Belmair.”

“Can tradition not be changed, Father?” Cinnia asked seriously.