Her name was Royall. And the gifts she brought were befitting a king. She was his wife now, but always she had been his wife in spirit. Ever since that night in Rio de Janeiro when they shared the miracle of loving and giving to one another.
The sounds of the jungle outside the window were familiar songs of the night. The wind stirred the trees, and off in the distance there was a baby’s cry. Their child. Born of love and bearing his father’s panther’s head and his mother’s amber-flame eyes. A blessed child.
He listened for the sound of her footsteps padding quietly across the Persian carpet. His senses were alert and sensitively attuned, every nerve vibrating with anticipation. Soon, he told himself, she would come to him, in all her glorious, golden splendor. The sheets would rustle as she climbed into bed beside him, time would cease to have meaning, and his world would fill with the nearness of her and the love they brought to each other.
Soon, he would touch her, adore her, devouring her in a ritual of complete abandonment and adoration. The dim light in the room would somehow be brighter, and as her fingers traced those places she loved so well, he would know she surrendered herself completely and totally to him. And at the very last, when she whispered his name, they would become as one. One heart, one soul, one desire. Together they would chart the heavens and travel in worlds known only to those who truly love. And each time they rediscovered the other, tasting, touching, giving. If the world knew her as his wife, he knew her as his woman. Passionate, indomitable, courageous. Forever, his Royall Banner, possessor of the key to his life, his heart. A woman whose lusts equaled his own.
The door on the far side of the room opened, allowing a brighter shaft of light to pierce the dimness within. She stood in the doorway, knowing the backlight outlined her beautiful body, allowing it to bathe her silhouette and edge it with flame. Her dressing gown was a vibrantly red silk, bringing out the golden hair hung about her shoulders and over one breast, making her appear virginal, denying the message he read in her eyes. She had told him once that virginity was not a condition of the body but rather a state of mind.
And she was right. For all her lusty appetites, Royall was untouched, pure, fresh. The years would age all mortals, but her bloom was frozen in eternity. She held her secret of agelessness and guarded it closely. For hers was a captive innocence that defied the tick of time.