Bride by Command by Linda Winstead Jones

imagine too well having Blane lead Morgana into an empty ballroom where he would be waiting for her, wearing his imperial robes and a heavy crown. He imagined her smile, her evident relief, in realizing that she was not married to a sentinel who had no ambitions beyond surviving from one day to the next and having an obedient wife to give him children. Perhaps she would laugh at her gullibility and his cleverness. Perhaps she would be so overjoyed that this inadequate room was not her home that she’d throw herself into his arms and claim another kiss.
    What fantasy that was. Knowing Morgana as he did, Jahn suspected that when he revealed himself, she’d demand to be taken straight home. She would be furious.
    “Don’t be making too many changes,” Jahn said roughly as he tossed his leather bag, which contained shaving implements he had not used on the journey as well as a single dirty shirt, onto the bed. “I like my room just as it is.”
    “It’s my room now, too,” Morgana argued. “Surely a few adjustments, perhaps a thorough cleaning and a bit of decorating . . .”
    “We do not yet know that this will be your home, as the marriage has not yet been made eternal. Lie with me as a wife, and you can make all the changes you’d like.” He smiled, knowing she would refuse his generous offer.
    Morgana studied the room once more, with narrowed eyes. “I suppose it will do, for now.” She gazed for a long moment at the single bed. “Where will you sleep?”
    Jahn pointed to the bed she gazed upon. “Right there, as always. As you can see, it cants a bit to the right, but after sleeping on the road it’s a welcome relief to settle my old bones on that mattress.”
    She pursed her lips for a moment, then asked, “Where will I sleep?”
    Once again, Jahn pointed to the bed, “Beside me, unless you’d prefer the floor.” He fully expected Morgana would choose the hard floor over sharing his bed, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. He wouldn’t know for certain until nightfall, which was several hours away. “Well, I must go to the palace and report my return to Arthes.”
    Morgana’s spine straightened and her face paled a little. “When will you be back?”
    “I don’t know,” Jahn said, shrugging his shoulders. “A sentinel’s life is uncertain. I serve at the emperor’s pleasure.”
    Morgana made an unkind scoffing noise which originated in her throat. “The blasted emperor. He has other sentinels. Why does he need you so soon after your return?”
    Jahn smiled. “I’m his favorite.”
    “Don’t jest,” she snapped. “I don’t want to stay here by myself. I’m alone in a strange city, in a small, dirty room. Not so far below this room rough men are drinking and laughing. If you leave, who will protect me?”
    Jahn removed a small dagger from his vest. “Here you are, love. Protection.”
    She paled again, and refused to take the weapon from him.
    “No one will bother you, trust me on that,” he said seriously. “You are safe here; I give you my word. I would not leave you here alone if I did not know that to be true.”
    “But . . .”
    “Stay in this room, and I will return as soon as I can.”
    She wrinkled her nose, but seemed to accept the order and the promise.
    “Blasted emperor,” she said again. “It’s quite obvious that I need you more than he does. What kind of emperor is he, anyway? A poor one, if you ask me.”
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    Morgana pursed her lips. “Arik fought for his throne. He earned it with blood and chivalry. Emperor Jahn simply walked into the palace and took his seat. He fought for nothing.”
    Jahn was taken aback. Was this what people thought of him? Did others think him worthless and undeserving? “He was a soldier in the war against Ciro.”
    “As were many others,” Morgana replied. “What did he do that was so special that he was made emperor, except to have the luck to call an old, incompetent emperor