by G. A. Aiken
Frederik winced even while he smiled. Why? Because Dagmar had created this judgmental little monster. He was so much her son, it would be horrifying if she didn’t like herself as much as she did.
Dagmar took a cloth from the hidden pocket inside her dress and wiped her son’s nose where he’d managed to get frosting on it. “I guess I should go up now and get a few more of your things packed.”
“Already done.” When Dagmar just stared at him, he added, “You know I like my things packed a certain way, Mum.”
Frederik snorted, but quickly turned so that she didn’t have to experience the betrayal of her favored nephew too closely.
Gwenvael danced by with Keita but stopped and turned, his arms open wide to hug his son. Var immediately raised his hand and said, “No.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Oh, come—”
“Father, no.”
Gwenvael dropped his arms. “Would it kill you to show a little affection to a father who adores you?”
“I think so . . . yes.”
“Unnvar Reinholdt of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, hug your gods-damn father!” Dagmar snapped at her only son.
With a heavy sigh, Var handed his small plate of nearly finished cake over to his mother and grudgingly accepted the hug from Gwenvael. The patting on his father’s back was painfully perfunctory.
When the “ordeal”—as Dagmar knew her son would think of it—was over, Var slipped off the table he’d been sitting on and grabbed the last hunk of cake from the plate.
“I’m going to eavesdrop,” Var told her nonchalantly before disappearing into the crowd.
“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me,” Gwenvael stated. “If anyone has taught him the casual ease of gathering information, love of my loins, it was you.”
Dagmar didn’t bother arguing with her mate, since she knew he was right.
She turned and placed the dessert plate on the table. That’s when she saw that Elina’s sister, Kachka, was standing in front of Frederik. She was eyeing him like a prize cow at the fair.
“What is your name, little boy?”
“Frederik Reinholdt.”
“A Northlander, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And your age?”
“I turn twenty-four winters in another moon.”
“Good.” The Rider took his hand. “You will dance with me then.”
Before Frederik could answer, she yanked him onto the dance floor.
Dagmar had her eating dagger out of her belt and was about to follow when Gwenvael caught her around the waist and pulled her back.
“No.”
“He’s just a child!”
“He’s a man. Full grown, but with much to learn still.” Gwenvael kissed her temple. “And something tells me Kachka Shestakova is just the female to teach him.”
Izzy gripped Celyn’s arm.
“Ow, woman! Unleash me.”
“Look! That Rider has poor Frederik in her grip!”
Celyn lifted his head to watch Kachka drag Frederik up the stairs toward the bedrooms.
Celyn looked at Éibhear over Izzy’s head, the pair of them grinning at each other over “poor” Frederik’s plight.
“You two disgust me,” Izzy growled before stalking off.
After rolling his eyes, Éibhear went after her. “Come on, Iz. We didn’t mean it like that.”
Yes, they did, but he understood Éibhear’s desire to not get into a fight on such a lovely night as this.
Celyn picked up his empty chalice and went in search of more wine. But he’d barely passed the back door when a hand clamped down on his arm and dragged him down the hall.
“Elina?”
“I did not know you would spend all night dawdling with your family. You see them all day and night anyway.”
“But the feast isn’t over.”
She grabbed the chalice from his hand and, when they passed the kitchens, she tossed it to one of the servants, who had to dive to catch it since her aim . . . still a little off.
The woman, whose Rider strength continued to surprise him, pulled him out one of the back doors, past the nearly finished and ominous-looking tower, and into the woods until they reached a small creek. That’s when Elina caught hold of Celyn by his chain-mail shirt, spun him around, and pushed his back against a tree.
“I have need of you to lick my cunt,” she told him as she yanked off her boots and wiggled out of the leather leggings he’d chosen for her to wear this evening. “Think you can manage that, Dolt?”
“If you promise to wrap that sweet mouth around my cock later.”
“Daughters of Steppes do not make deals with men.”
“I am not a man, so you’ll make a deal with me. That is if you want my tongue licking out your pussy until you scream, you will.”
Naked from the waist down, Elina nodded. “Fine, but you must never tell.”
Chuckling, Celyn switched places with her, pressing her back into the tree. “Just shut up and spread your legs, Rider. I have work to do.”
Elina watched the big dragon in his human form drop to his knees in front of her. He lifted her leg and placed it over his shoulder, then eased his hands up until they cupped her ass.
“You’ll have to muffle your screams,” he warned her. “We don’t want to attract a crowd, now do we?”
Elina might have had a witty comeback to that, but it disappeared when Celyn pressed his mouth to her cunt and began to make long, delicious strokes over her with his tongue.
She dropped her head back against the tree and stared up through the branches at the sky above. Her world had changed so much in just a few days, but Elina couldn’t say for a second that she was unhappy. That she felt out of place or confused or lonely. How could she say any of that when, at least at this moment, she had Celyn the Charming circling her clit with the tip of his tongue? Slowly, too. Over and over again, while his fingers squeezed the cheeks of her ass.
Her breath shortened, her thigh muscles tightened. She laid her hand on the top of his head. She wanted him to go faster, to finish her off. But he refused. He took his time, moving from her clit to her cunt, sliding his tongue inside like a cock. He was playing with her in a way she wasn’t used to but was growing to love.
It felt like hours of torment as he took his time. It was so much that even though the Southland evening was quite cool, she was sweating, her hips moving as Elina tried to catch the elusive orgasm that Celyn kept just out of reach.
Her hand tightened in his hair, and she bit her lip to keep from snarling at him.
Then—finally!—he caught her clit between his lips and slid two fingers inside her cunt. He suckled her, his tongue managing to also tease at the same time. It was magnificent.
She came, like a wave crashing over her, her gasps of pleasure filling the air as her body shuddered and her cunt spasmed around his rough fingers. She managed not to cry out, but it wasn’t easy.
Another wave began to crash, but before it could finish, Celyn stopped. Elina was about to order him back to work when he stood, kept her left leg up so that it pressed against his chest, and thrust his cock inside her.
He thankfully kissed her at the same time, so that her scream of pleasure and that little bit of pain was lost inside his mouth.
She tasted herself on his lips and tongue, felt her stickiness as his hand pinned her arms above her head.
He was ruthless, the way he fucked her. Ruthless and hard and unrelenting. What every Daughter of the Steppes demanded of a husband.
Elina’s eye opened in shock and some panic. She’d just thought of Celyn as a husband. Her husband. The thought frightened her and she tried to pull away, but his grip just tightened and his thrusts became harder still.
The second wave that had started earlier finally crashed over her. The pleasure of what Celyn was doing to her washed away any fear she had.
She had no idea how he felt, and couldn’t really care about it
at this moment as she gave up temporary control of her body to him.
And he took that control, fucking her hard until he’d ripped two more orgasms from her. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to come inside her, his entire body shuddering with the release as he held her tight.
When he was done, he gently lowered her left leg and brushed her hair from her face. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her nose.
Then he removed her eye patch and kissed her scars and the lid that no longer had an eye behind it. They were soft, sweet kisses, and told Elina all she needed to know.
She pushed Celyn back, both of them gasping as his cock slipped out of her. She immediately noticed that, as always, he was still hard. A “dragon thing” he’d called it. A thing that Elina could easily live with.
She took his hand and led him toward the sound of moving water.
“What are we doing?” he asked.
She stopped, smiled up at him. “I have a cock to wash,” she said, going up on her toes to kiss his jaw and cheek. Then she whispered against his ear, “With my mouth.”
The dragon growled as she led him to the nearby stream.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Elina slid out of the bed they’d only made it back to a few hours before and quickly pulled on her clothes. She grabbed her bow and quiver and left the room silently so as not to wake Celyn.
She gently closed the door and was turning to head down the stairs when her sister’s door opened and the Northland boy was shoved into the hall. His clothes were balled up and held by one hand while the other hand managed to keep a blanket in front of his naked cock.
He opened his mouth to say something, but Kachka slammed the door in his face.
Elina watched the poor boy’s expression fall into dejected misery, and she worked hard to hide her smile. She walked up to him while he stood there, staring at that door like he expected it to open again. It wouldn’t. Not for him, anyway.
Elina placed her hand on his forearm, and the Northlander turned those intense grey eyes toward her. Yes. She could see what had attracted her sister—at least for the moment.
“It hurts now, I know,” she explained. “But trust me . . . what my sister just taught you in the last few hours will last you for centuries and have a horde of eager females scratching at your door, looking for good fuck.” She grinned and patted his shoulder. “And a good fuck you shall give them.”
She winked and headed off down the hall toward the stairs.
When Elina reached the Great Hall, she made her way to the table and grabbed a piece of fresh fruit from a bowl.
“You,” she heard behind her and turned to see Dagmar Reinholdt walking toward her, while Gwenvael the oh-so-yummy ran across the landing toward the stairs.
Pointing a finger at her, Dagmar demanded, “What did your Outerplains whore of a sister do to my nephew?”
“She made him man. Something these little Southland girls could not do for him. Fucked him raw based on what I heard through walls.”
Dagmar took an awkward, clumsy swing at Elina’s face that Elina managed to avoid simply by leaning back slightly. Before the Northlander could swing again, Gwenvael caught his mate from behind and pinned her arms to her sides.
That’s when Elina realized that Dagmar Reinholdt was a damn lucky woman. With only his leggings and boots on, Gwenvael the Handsome was the epitome of male beauty. Especially with all that long, golden hair and those rippling muscles. His face was angular perfection. Honestly, Dagmar was lucky Kachka hadn’t dragged him off to her bed last night. Elina had no idea whether either Dagmar or Kachka was considered pretty by these vapid Southlanders, but Kachka definitely had more to offer. She was a very good provider and protector; could give a punch as well as take one; and would always put food on the table thanks to her hunting skills.
Could Dagmar Reinholdt, a weak, Northlander female, say the same? Elina doubted it. Not to say this woman didn’t have her own particular talents, but only in the Southlands was sneaky plotting considered a useful skill.
Gwenvael pulled his mate away while Elina watched them and ate her delicious fruit.
“You should be happy,” Elina informed the foolish woman when she saw that the Northlander’s anger wasn’t abating. “Yesterday he was boy with only worthless girls that took ride on cock. Today he is man. Now you can get several oxen and quite a few horses for his large Northland shoulders and for what my sister taught him in the bed.”
“Keep your sister away from my nephew!” Dagmar snarled.
“My sister got what she wanted from him,” Elina calmly explained. “She no longer wants your nephew.”
Gwenvael shook his head and lifted his mate off the floor, stumbling back a few steps. “You are not making this easy, Elina.”
“I am honest. I do not know other way to be.”
“Of course you don’t,” he muttered, carrying his mate away.
“Just remember,” the Northlander yelled back at her, “I can have you and that sister of yours executed in the town square. I have that kind of power!”
Elina tossed the core of her fruit to one of the dogs sniffing around under the table and grabbed another from the bowl.
She headed outside and as she went down the stairs, she found Annwyl the Bloody standing there, staring off . . . at what, Elina had no idea.
“May death find you well this morning, Annwyl,” Elina greeted her, tucking her fruit into the outside pocket of her quiver.
Annwyl chuckled, her gaze still locked on something past the courtyard. “I hate to say that death has found me many ways over the years, Elina. But I’m not sure it ever found me well.”
“You still live, so it must have.” Elina frowned a little. “Are you all right?”
“I was sleeping. . . .” She closed her eyes, her head tilting up so that the suns shone down upon her face. “Fearghus is always so warm. I love sleeping next to him in the winter. Summers can be hard, though. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not anything.
“Are you going to stay here?” the royal abruptly asked, her sudden change of subject startling Elina a bit. Annwyl turned her head to look at Elina, but Elina could barely see the queen’s eyes through all that hair. When had she stopped combing it? And why? Daughters of the Steppes might live a hard life, but they prided themselves on always being well groomed.
“I . . . I had not thought of it,” Elina said, stumbling over her words a bit. “But everything has happened so quickly. Do you want us to go?” Because Elina would never consider sending her sister away alone. Not when Kachka had given up everything to protect Elina. Everything. And that was a debt Elina would never forget or be able to repay.
“No,” the queen replied simply, quietly. Almost as if she were talking to herself. “I like you. I like your sister. Her general lack of emotion has a soothing quality. I want you both to stay. For as long as you both want or need.”
“That is kind, but I am not sure Dagmar Reinholdt would agree with you.”
“Because Dagmar’s sane.” Annwyl nodded. “She’s sane.”
“Queen Annwyl . . . ?”
The royal started walking. “I have to go.”
“Let me come with you.”
“No. You stay here.” Annwyl faced her. She might have smiled under all that damn hair, but who could truly tell? “If anyone asks, just say I’ll be back.”
She suddenly pushed her hair away from her face and Elina realized just how pretty Annwyl was. Clearly, Talan got his looks from his mother while Talwyn took after her father and grandfather. Not that she’d suffered in any way by taking after the males of her clan. Not like some women did.
Annwyl leaned in and kissed Elina on the forehead. “Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, mighty Rider,” she murmured before turning away and taking a few steps.
The queen pulled out something she’d tucked into the top of her leather boot. “Here, before I forget. Keita asked me to give this to you.” She tossed the item and Elina caught it.
>
It was a black eye patch.
“She said you can wear that as part of your everyday collection. I have no idea what that means.” Annwyl finally walked off, throwing over her shoulder, “But you don’t need to wear anything at all to cover your damaged eye, Elina Shestakova. No one here cares about your scars. Gods know, they don’t seem to care about mine.”
Elina looked down at the eye patch she now clutched in her hand. She could tuck it into the top of her boot and forget about it. Annwyl was right. No one here cared about her scars. But then she remembered Celyn taking off her patch the night before. The way his hands had felt against her skin. The way he’d kissed her afterward.
Smiling, Elina tied the patch around her eye and went to the training field to practice.
Celyn reached for Elina, but his hand only touched fur bedding. A barked, “Get up!” startled him from wondrous sleep.
“What? What’s wrong?” Celyn asked, reaching for his sword.
“I could have killed you twenty times over by now, idiot.”
Celyn sighed. “And a good morning to you, Uncle Bercelak.”
“Get up and get to work.”
“Is there a problem?”
“You are the queen’s protector . . . so go protect her.”
Celyn frowned. “Wait . . . is there a problem?”
Bercelak glanced out the stained-glass window. “The day feels . . . wrong.”
“Oh . . . okay, then.”
His uncle glowered at him. “Once you get some wear on your scales, boy, you’ll learn to trust your instincts. Until then . . . you’ll trust mine. Or find out that I don’t play favorites once you piss me off.”
“And the love of an uncle fills the room!”
“Get. Moving.”
“I’m up. I’m up.” Celyn threw off the covers and stood, taking a moment to stretch his muscles.
“What the hells happened to you?” his uncle demanded.
Celyn looked down at his naked body. “What?”
“You look like you were gnawed on by beavers.”
Celyn grinned. “Jealous?”
“Moving! Now!” Bercelak bellowed. “I’ll meet you down by the lake. I want the whole Clan involved.”