said. ―Damn it, Stigand, if Alexander does not rule in your favour, and you have crowned me,
then my coronation is null and void. Aldred is the second most senior churchman in England,
and there is no dispute as to his right to the title. He shall crown me.‖
Stigand shot Aldred a foul look, but the obese archbishop was staring down at his hands
laced across his belly, a small smile on his face.
Harold stood up, beckoning to the brothers Edwin and Morcar. ―I need to speak to you
regarding your sister, Alditha. If I am to wed her in the morning then you and I need to finalise
her dower arrangements tonight.‖
And with that the rest of the crowd was dismissed.
EIGHT
Aldred had secured for himself a small but private chamber within the Westminster
complex. Between the death of the one king and the coronation of the next there was little time
to scurry to and from his palace in London.
Besides he was enjoying himself far too much to waste time in travelling along the frozen
Westminster to London road.
―And so then Harold said, ‗Aldred shall crown me‘,‖ Aldred said, and grinned. ―I could
hardly believe it. I… I, to crown the King of England! Shall I crown William, too, my dear? Do
you think?‖
Swanne sat at the very edge of the bed, as far away from Aldred as possible. She felt as
though she were locked into a black, cold night from which she could never escape. Her belly ached from the incubus‘ horrid nibbling, her heart ached for all that had happened and for what
Asterion promised would happen, and her entire body throbbed painfully from Aldred‘s
just-completed bout of lovemaking…if such a brutal assault could be in any way described as
―lovemaking‖.
―Shall I, my dear?‖ Aldred said, now much softer, and Swanne‘s head jerked in terrified
assent, knowing that the incubus could strike at any moment.
He was going to say more, but just then came a knock at the door, and a mumbled request
from one of the abbey monks that the archbishop join the Abbot of Westminster and the
Archbishop of Canterbury within the abbot‘s private chambers as shortly as possible.
Aldred sighed, patted Swanne on the cheek and departed.
A few minutes later, surprising Swanne, who had relaxed just enough to close her eyes,
the door reopened and Asterion, now in his ancient form of the Minotaur, walked in.
He sat on the bed, close to Swanne, who had shrunk back.
She tensed, her black eyes growing huge and terrified, and Asterion reached out a hand
and took one of hers gently.
―I will not harm you,‖ he said, sliding close enough that their bodies touched at hip and
shoulder.
If anything, her eyes grew even wider.
―I will not harm you,‖ he repeated, and ran his free hand softly over her shoulder, breast
and belly where the hand lingered a moment before continuing down to rest on her thigh.
She was very cold, and Asterion jerked his eyes towards the brazier.
Instantly a fire roared into life, making Swanne tremble under Asterion‘s touch.
―Shush,‖ he said, and pulled her tense body close. ―I do not mean to treat you harshly.‖
She made a small noise, part laughter, part groan.
The expression on Asterion‘s great bull head changed into something curiously like a
smile. ―Ariadne loved me, you know,‖ he said. ―Perhaps you might, too.‖
―She wanted you dead,‖ Swanne said.
―Oh yes, she did, and thus this.‖ Asterion‘s hand again rested on Swanne‘s belly. ―I am
not going to make the same error with you as I made with Ariadne. But she did love me. A long
time ago, when we were but half-brother and -sister, and mated within the great mystery of the
Labyrinth.‖ He paused, and smiled, this time more obviously. ―It was hardly as if she were a
virgin when Theseus first took her, you know.‖
For the first time since she‘d managed to struggle from under Aldred‘s body to this spot
at the end of the bed, Swanne looked at him. And for the first time in many days there was
something other than fear in her eyes. A questioning, perhaps.
―Think about it,‖ said Asterion. ―Ariadne was the Mistress of the Great Founding
Labyrinth. I was…almost her Kingman, if you like.‖ His bestial mouth brushed the top of her
head, and Swanne winced. ―And you well know what relations exist between a Kingman and the
Mistress of the Labyrinth,‖ Asterion said, drawing back a little.
―You were not the Kingman of that Labyrinth,‖ said Swanne. ―You were the blackness
and malevolence she kept trapped within its heart.‖
He laughed. ―Ah, you know your history too well, Swanne, my love. Be that as it may,
Ariadne nevertheless visited me in the heart of the Labyrinth on many an occasion. We were
lovers, Swanne, and that is what made her betrayal of me to Theseus the more…dreadful.‖
His voice had hardened into ice on that last word, and Swanne shuddered.
―And yet still I gifted her all that I had,‖ Asterion went on. His hands were running all
over Swanne‘s body now, and as they moved they smoothed away all the pain and aches she felt.
Without realising it, Swanne leaned very gradually against him. Finally, she relaxed enough to
rest her face against his broad chest, and to feel, without fear, the play of his soft, warm breath
over the crown of her head.
Swanne closed her eyes. Oh gods, it felt so good to have all the pain and fear soothed
away. She felt a sudden rush of gratitude towards Asterion for easing all the pain Aldred had
caused, and she did not even pause to consider that thought strange.
―You are so very much like her,‖ Asterion continued, his voice now very soft. ―Your
hair. Your face. Your form.‖ Again he paused, although his hands still kept moving, slowly,
gently, soothingly. ―Your ambition.‖
Totally relaxed, Swanne did not even tense at that last phrase, and Asterion smiled to
himself over the top of her head. She had learned to hate and loathe Aldred, and that was good.
Better would be the day when she automatically relaxed whenever he appeared.
Best would be that day she allowed herself to love him. That she would, Asterion did not
doubt. And once she loved him, Swanne would grant him any wish if he promised to keep
Aldred at bay; a captive creature was all very well, but Swanne would do twice as well for him
should love drive her actions rather than force. Aldred‘s brutalisation had been harsh, but it had
been necessary.
―What do you think I plan?‖ he asked Swanne, in that moment before she fell asleep.
She jerked a little, not in fear, but merely in half-surprise at the question.
―To destroy the Troy Game,‖ she murmured against his chest. She had lifted one hand,
and now it rested against his skin, the tips of her fingers slightly tangled in the black hair that
curled over his breast.
He took her shoulders and tipped her back so that she could see his face. ―No,‖ he said. ―I
do not seek to destroy it, Swanne. Whatever gave you that idea? Some strange half-truth that
Ariadne passed down through her generations of daughter-heirs? I do not seek to destroy the
Game, Swanne. I seek to control it.‖
She frowned, and would have spoken save that Asterion laid the fingers of one hand over
her lips.
―And if I want to control the Game, my love,‖ he said, his voice throbbing with
reassurance combined with heady promise, ―I will need a Mistress of the Labyrinth.‖
Her eyes widened, then clouded with confusion. What was he intimating?
―I will need a Mistress of the Labyrinth, and I will need a set of kingship bands. Brutus‘
Trojan bands are the only set left. Swanne, you want to control the Game, and for that you need a Kingman and you need his bands. How are we at odds here?‖
―But…‖ she murmured behind his fingers.
―But…what?‖
―But you want to destroy me.‖
―Nay,‖ he said, laughing softly, and planting a brief kiss on her forehead. ―I adored
Ariadne. I can adore you, as well.‖
Swanne‘s forehead creased as she tried to order her thoughts…but she was so warm, and
so grateful to be free of pain and fear. ―William,‖ she managed to say finally.
Asterion‘s face became dismissive. ―Ah, William. He is not here, is he? He pouts
uselessly in some draughty Norman castle. Of what use is such a Kingman to you?‖
His mouth brushed her forehead again, the touch firmer this time, and with his touch he
used a barely discernible element of his darkcraft. Love me, Swanne.
Swanne suddenly realised she did not find the touch of that great beast‘s mouth
loathsome at all.
His mouth brushed against her forehead yet once more. Love me, Swanne. Trust in