by J. L. Carter
Now, Margaret can’t help but look down at his large, erect penis, just mere inches from her face. She is awash in emotions, struggling to hold onto her anger and confusion, even as she is given a look at excitement, at love.
And is that the difference?
Is that the difference between Aidar and Julian?
Margaret doesn’t know, and that realization scares her. She can no longer tell who is more important, who is more right. She does listen, though, opening her mouth as large as possible for him, eyes flickering up to Julian. It’s too dark to see his smile, but she knows that it must be there.
Upon seeing Margaret open and ready for him, Julian’s other hand comes down to his length, slowly guiding it into the young woman’s mouth. Lips wrap around the length of his dick, puckering and sucking down as he moves. It’s far from the first time that they’ve done this, but it still seems like something is different, and the sheer girth of his cock still makes Margaret’s jaws ache. The tip hits the back of her throat, fingers tugging at hair.
It’s a rough and dirty affair. The mushroomed head bumps against the back of her throat, slips into it just a little bit. It’s hard not to choke and cough at the sensation; strange and foreign, like something that should be there but also shouldn’t be there.
But then Julian is gone, and there is nothing but a string of saliva keeping them connected. She laps at her swollen lips, savoring the taste, the feeling. Julian is ever the gentleman, even at times like this. He runs his hand through Margaret’s hair one last time, bends down to wipe the spit from his fiancée’s chin.
“You are always beautiful,” says Julian, voice low with arousal. “But you are even more beautiful like this. I could stand here all day and watch you mouth me like that. A shame that there’s more to be done.”
Margaret doesn’t ask what. She just kneels there and stares up at the Duke, and her heart is pounding, her mind is spinning. She thinks that maybe this is perfect, even with the anger still bubbling at the back of her mind. The crystal hangs against her chest but it’s not burning, not like it does with Aidar.
Is that a good thing? A bad thing?
She doesn’t know.
She doesn’t want to know.
In that moment, her entire world has boiled down to nothing... more... than Julian.
And it is wonderful.
It’s hard. This thing, where her entire life has boiled down to a web of lies and deceit.
It’s harder, though, outside. Margaret sees part of the world, but not all of it. She doesn’t see the troops that march in Bristol, York, or Derbyshire. She doesn’t see the fields set ablaze by purple tinted flames or the gas released from the bottoms of the flying ships, billowing across the planes, vales, and farms. Animals and humans alike choke on it.
Bakewell is completely razed to the ground. The invaders march upon it with guns run off of bronze gears, and they use exploding devices set off with clocks that have eight hands. Men, women and children take up arms to fight back. Not all of them carry practical weapons. Some of them use pitch forks, garden shears, and butcher knives stolen from the kitchen wood blocks.
These are mere farmers. They are little more than humans that are trying to make a difference, trying to reinvent their cause. They are mothers, brothers, sisters, and fathers. They are old and young – are life and love.
And with each resistance, the invaders only grow more angered. At first, they toy with the towns. They march in the mimicry of an actual army. But, as time passes by, things change.
Their tactics change.
Lancashire is the first one to face their revised forces. It goes from fair ground to something else. This is the first place where a Sky Man’s flying shape lands on the ground. Where it touches the earth, the ground dies. Grass withers. The soil burns. It grows so hot that the sand turns to glass, a glittering reflection of smooth brass and amber crystals.
It lets out an unholy number of invaders. They swarm into the small town and they take no prisoners. They spare no lives.
No one escapes.
That is the first town to meet an end of that manner, but it’s far from the last. Destruction spreads rampant across the country – Lincoln, Dover, Nottingham. Colchester and Salisbury. Even East Greenwich is victim to the blazing heat and trampling feet.
Outside of England, the world keeps turning. No one dares send aid to the country under siege, for fear that these abominable creatures might come onto their lands in turn. But Julian fears this will not be the case forever. As England continues to lose ground against the invaders, he grows ever more concerned about the eyes watching them.
In his room, with an advisor by the name of Owen, the Duke draws up maps and he tries to make contingency plans.
“We need to be prepared,” says Julian. He keeps his voice low, even though there’s no one around to hear their conversation. The guards and security details on this building are immaculate. “Napoleon has put a stay on his charge – he has not stopped completely. I fear that, with these weakened borders, we may end up facing more than just one invading army.”
Surprised, Owen asks, “you really believe that someone would attack us now?”
“Humans are naturally unkind,” answers Julian. “If they realize exactly how weak we are, then they will take advantage of that. We have many enemies, my friend. The troops invading from the sky may be our biggest concern, but they are certainly not our only concern. We must be prepared.”
“How? How should we prepare when we can barely keep our heads above water? There’s no way to pull ahead!”
“We can’t give up just yet,” insists Julian. “There is still hope. Even in the darkest of hours, there will be hope. That is what we must remember. It is a feathered thing trying to break free – it is a candle bracing against the harshest winds. So long as it burns, so long as we are always seeking out that light, then we will be able to survive.”
And even as Julian speaks, he gets an idea. It’s impossible to forget about his last encounter with Margaret – but he had, up until now, forgotten the start of their argument.
The pendant.
She had been asking about the pendant.
And now, he thinks that he might know why – and how to use it in his favor.
21
My dearest Margaret,
This letter comes to you on the eve of a realization. I recognize that you have differing views on the invaders than I, but also than most of those in our country during this time of conflict. While it angered and upset me earlier, I have come to realize that this could be very good for our cause.
No matter your thoughts on their society, you must be able to see that they are harming our country. As the patriot that I know you to be, I call on you now for help ending this sordid war.
It will not be easy, and I quake with the thought of asking you to help me with this. The lord of the invader’s stays in my house now, with you. I fear that he will grow angered every day, that he will take out the frustrations of this war on you. And yet now, I come to you seeking help and appeasement.
Once, I made you promise to never give anyone that necklace. I made you promise to never take it off. Please, do not rescind on that promise… but perhaps, pretend to?
You made it clear, during my last visit, that the Prince of the Sky Men was vastly interested in that crystal. I don’t know why – but feel that we could use it to our advantage. As our cities fall, I realize that we are not making the headway we should. Our tactics must change, or we will die.
Need I supply you with a list of fallen cities?
Of lost soldiers?
I hope not. And I pray you will not take these words too harshly. Margaret, you are my love! When this was is over, the second we are free of violence, I will take you away from this city. We will go somewhere beautiful and peaceful, where you will never have to see these ruffians again.
But first, I must ask you favor—
The door snaps open. Margaret jumps, crumpling the
letter up in her hand. It’s not the first time that she’s read through it, of course. In fact, it came almost three days ago! She’s yet to respond in any matter, still caught up on the audacity of what the Duke is asking her to do.
It is, of course, mostly a hang up spurned by lack of information. She still doesn’t understand the importance of her necklace; a thought which does more than irk her.
Madeline shakes her head. “Pardon, pardon. I knocked, my dear, I knocked but you must not have heard. Wanted to let you know, my lady, I wanted to let you know that the Sky Men have returned.”
They left three days ago, as well, albeit several hours before the mail ran. Aidar had been mum on his whereabouts, but persistent that it was of the utmost importance.
Margaret takes a deep breath, trying to school herself into something less frazzled. “Thank you, Madeline. The news is greatly appreciated. I’ll be out shortly.”
The maid gives her a sour look, all pinched up lips and furrowed brows. “You’re planning something.”
“What? No! What on Earth would I be planning?”
“I don’t know, but something isn’t completely right. You had best know what you’re getting into, my lady.”
Margaret stands up, smoothing out her skirts and tucking the letter into the folds of her pillow. “You’re kind to be worried,” she says, lightly. Margaret tries to smile, even though she doesn’t feel like doing such. “But I’m fine on my own. I won’t get into anything that drowns me.”
“That’s what they all say,” mutters Madeline, but she curtsies and slips out of the room all the same.
Margaret takes a moment to make sure the coast is clear, and then she slips out of the room. Aidar is, as expected, in the sitting room that he has claimed as a study. He’s already bent over the desk, writing something out in sigils and runes that she can’t understand.
“You’re back,” says Margaret, lightly.
Aidar doesn’t look up. “Yes, I am. Congratulations. You’re capable of recognizing and stating simple facts.”
“Don’t be smart with me,” scolds Margaret. She shuffles closer to Aidar, resting one hand on the back of his shoulder. “I came in here to give you something special, and you’re going to dismiss me so casually?”
“I’m hardly dismissing you, and I’m not interested in a gift. If you’re looking for something like that it’s going to have to wait until this evening. Tomorrow, even. I’m working on getting my notes transcribed.”
“It’s not that kind of gift! The nerve of you!”
Aidar sighs, and the sound is long and harsh. He finally tilts his head to the side, twisting in his chair until he can face the Lady of the House. “Alright, Margaret. Tell me, what is this gift.”
Margaret pauses. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, tongue running over the tender flesh. “Well,” she says, finally. “I wanted to give you something special. This war, it’s terrifying. And—I can’t stay in this house any more. I have family who want me to come visit them, and I’ve accepted. I leave tomorrow.”
Aidar doesn’t look pleased. “This is supposed to be a gift?”
When Margaret shakes her head, loose curls bounce against her cheeks. “No, Aidar. My gift to you is far more special. When I became engaged to the Duke – to Julian – he gave me a necklace. He said that it would keep me safe, that it would guide me, and that it was of the utmost importance.”
“In these trying times,” continues Margaret, unable to stop now that she’s started. The words fall from loose lips and into reality, these blazing, startling things. “There are few things you can trust, and few things to fall back on. I don’t know who that would be for me. I don’t know, exactly, what people I can trust. Julian is very busy. And—you’re one of them, the invaders. You’re someone that I want to know but can never completely get close too, not while there is so much violence in the world.”
Tears burn at the edges of Margaret’s eyes. The script that she had thought up earlier, it’s vanished from her mind. There is nothing left of it but a jumble of sensations and thoughts.
So, she struggles, desperately trying to come up with another ideal, to keep the words going and not trail off. War is a horrible thing, and it can often make your mind wander. Fear devours all, and the thought that this might work – that she, herself, might fall victim to the invaders – it’s something that Margaret can’t shake.
She says, “I’m going to leave tomorrow, for the country. If you will escort me to the edge of town, where my cousin will be picking me up, then I’ll give you my necklace.”
The words are like a charm. Aidar’s eyes light up, blazing with interest and want. He stands up then, unfurling himself from where he had been sitting in the chair. There are traces of purple scales at the edges of his eyes. He demands, “why would you do that?”
“As a way to remember our nights together,” says Margaret, lowly. “This way, no matter what the future might bring, you and I will never be completely apart. I hope that it will give you luck, and that you can find more answers in it than I was capable of.”
They leave early the next morning. The streets are empty in a haunted sort of way. Dusk stains the sky, and it bleeds out onto the stained streets of the town. Aidar walks beside Margaret, insisting that the horses are not to be trusted, and that no beast so mundane could ever handle his presence.
It’s not completely untrue. The animals always seem frightened when the Sky Men draw near, something that Margaret has pondered about herself on several occasions. Instincts are a hard thing to erase, she supposes, no matter how domesticated an animal becomes.
He doesn’t take her arm nor her hand. Aidar walks beside her, stiff backed and jaw set. He looks for all the world like he’s heading out to his death, a thought that makes Margaret’s stomach give an awful lurch.
She’s not meant to be a liar.
She’s not meant to be a fighter.
She’s meant to be a maiden of the highest accord, with soft hands and silken gowns. Her destiny should have been to marry the Duke and bring nobility back to her family, giving them a better life. In the future, she would have children, and while it might not have been the best life, it would have been a life in which she was content.
Now there are mysterious sigils dancing over the inside of her eyelids and a burning crystal pressing against her chest. The palms of both her hands are damp with sweat. Margaret has to resist the urge to keep wiping them on her skirts.
She doesn’t want to look too nervous.
“It’s set to be a pretty day,” says Margaret, desperate for any sort of conversation.
Aidar hums in response. He keeps his eyes straight ahead.
“I hope that it stays this way for the duration of my travel. It will be difficult enough getting across the vale. I shudder to think of how treacherous the roads might be if a storm sweeps in.”
Again, there is no response save a flick of Aidar’s eyes, a minute tilt of his head. His hands hang limply at his sides. There are small purple scales around the base of his nails.
“My cousin, Timothy, he’s a fighter. Ready to enlist and everything! He was going to join up when this trouble first started, but his wife is with child and refused to let him leave. I think, with his prowess, our trip to the farm house might go a little smoother. I’m worried about it, of course, but I think this is for the best. Life must play out one way or another. The only difference is how much I resist the impact.”
This time, Aidar reaches out, just for a moment. The tips of his long fingers brush over Margaret’s knuckles. There is warmth between them, but it’s fleeting and quickly lost. He says, “your trip will not meet trouble due to my men. I have issued an order to prevent it. While I cannot assure your safety after you arrive at this farm house of which you speak so fondly, I can promise that they will not harm you during the following days, as long as you stay on the main road.”
Margaret is so surprised by the answer that she nearly trips over her own feet. Looking
a great bit like a cat that has just been caught eating the canary, she turns wide eyes on the Prince. “What?”
“I would not want you to be harmed on the way there,” says Aidar. His hands return back to his sides. “We still have an agreement in place, and there are still many things that I want to know. Next time—next time we meet, I will not be so busy, and I will take my time exploring your body.”
Margaret shudders at the words. It’s not an unpleasant thing to hear. “Oh, will you? And what makes you think that I don’t consider our arrangement over with?”
“Because you plan on giving me a token of trust and appreciation,” answers Aidar, unhesitantly.
There’s a moment of silence, then, as Margaret struggles to come up with a response of her own. The words leave her cheeks colored pink. “And what do you plan on learning? When we meet next, that is.”
The corners of Aidar’s mouth twists up into the hint of a smile. His eyes shine with amusement. “I want to see what happens when you lose the element of control.”
“Pardon?”
“It is a custom in my land, during public displays. I mentioned once that it was used, primarily, to assert dominance, control, and respect among each other. While that is not the case here, I want to see how a human woman will handle the situation.”
“And what, exactly, is the situation?” Margaret’s neck is burning now, too. She can’t bring herself to look at Aidar in the eyes. “More importantly, what on earth do you mean public?”
At the question, Aidar lets out a bark of rushing laughter. He is really grinning now, showing off a mouth filled with teeth too sharp to be human. Fine purple scales are cropping into existence around the edges of his eyes. His pupils have turned into cat like slits.
He says, “we call them showings. There are times, of course, when it never leaves the confines of a bedroom. Those are personal displays, sometimes even just for amusement and enjoyment. But at other times, we gather at a public location – vistas, as you could call it in your language. It is meant to show the world where a connection lays. By fucking in public, we are allowing all the people around us to know who is in charge and where our loyalties rest. They know that two of our people share a connection on a deeper level, be it for wealth, or fame, or simple desire.”