Narthing stared at the ceiling of his small, clean prison and sighed. “Ersal,” he said patiently. “You have many skills. Chess is not one of them.”
Ersal sat opposite him, staring at the board and its pieces. “Just give me a moment,” he said.
He’d appeared with lunch, bearing the set, and challenged Narthing to a game. Narthing had welcomed the lunch, his first real, solid food, and the company. But after one game it was fairly clear there wasn’t going to be much of a challenge involved.
Ersal continued to study the board.
Narthing huffed out a breath. “It’s mate in three moves,” he pointed out.
“It can’t be,” Ersal said. “How so?”
Narthing reached over, and showed him.
Ersal shook his head in defeat. “Another,” he said, setting up the board.
“Fine. But talk to me,” Narthing said, waiting for Ersal’s first move. “What’s the word on m’lord and m’lady?”
“How can I talk and play at the same time?” Ersal said, reaching out to place a finger on his pawn and hesitated. Then he slid it along the board and sat back in satisfaction.
Narthing folded his arms over his chest.
Ersal rolled his eyes. “Lady Warna has been released by the healers, and I believe she’s asked to speak to m’lord.”
“Ah,” Narthing said. “I wonder what that means.”
“Nothing.” Dominic breezed in with a tray. “Drink this,” he commanded.
Narthing took the cup, eyeing it with trepidation. Dominic’s medicines were as sweet as his personality. “Must I?”
“No, of course not,” Dominic said. “As an adult, intelligent mael, you’re free to ignore all of my treatments and advice and endure the consequences as you see fit. Or take my advice, drink the tea, and perhaps be released from my care as early as tomorrow.”
“When you put it that way.” Narthing rolled his eyes and drank the cup down in three quick swallows. The bitterness almost closed his throat. “Why do you say ‘nothing’?” he forced out.
“Please.” Dominic sniffed as he took the cup. “She’s too common for a lord high baron. If there’s any interest on his part, it’s for a fling, surely. Nothing serious—”
Ersal coughed.
Verice and Warna were in the doorway, Ricard standing just behind looking appalled.
To Narthing’s horror, there was a slight flush on Warna’s cheeks, but Lord Verice’s face was set in stone. They must have heard—
“M’lord,” Dominic said. “I am pleased to be able to say that Captain Narthing can be released from our care once he’s had a successful bowel movement. Possibly as soon as tomorrow morning.”
Narthing covered his eyes as Ersal turned slightly purple with what had to be suppressed laughter.
“That’s good to know,” Verice said.
“Healers.” Warna looked a little strained, but she chuckled. “I understand Evie saw to you, Narthing.”
“She did,” Narthing smiled. “She said she was just supplementing Dominic’s fine work but I think it helped.”
“I would point out,” Dominic was looking down his nose. “That the Lady High Priestess is gifted by the Lord of Light. Any endowment of her power is to be treasured, honored, and respected.”
“Oh yes.” Narthing managed a straight face. “Especially if it improves bowel function.”
Dominic curled his lip.
Lord Verice gave a slight cough. “This is excellent news. Captain Narthing, once you are free of this place, move back into your old chambers. The constable will see to it that my gear is moved back into my old room.” Verice paused. “In the keep.”
“M’lord.” Narthing nodded his head to acknowledge the command.
“Seneschal Ersal,” Lord Verice glanced at Warna. “Our troth is fairly common knowledge at this point. I would make it official unto my people. No ceremony, however, so as to honor her period of mourning.”
Ersal beamed. “I would be honored to send out word, m’lord.”
Verice continued. “Lady Warna is in charge of the planning for the Festival.”
Narthing felt his throat close; so many bloody memories.
Lord Verice must have caught his thought. “I trust her to get us through this.” He and Warna exchanged a long glance.
Narthing nodded.
“She’ll need assistance sending invitations and organizing events. See to it, Ersal.”
Ersal rose to his feet and bowed. “Of course, m’lord.”
“My thanks.” Lord Verice turned and gestured Warna out the door. But just in the doorway, he looked over his shoulder. “Priest Dominic,” he said.
“M’lord,” Dominic bowed.
“The Church of Palins has informed me that you are to be assigned to Edenrich on a permanent basis. When the summons comes to you, you have our leave to depart without any ceremony.” His voice was hard. “They will make full use of your particular skills there, I am certain.”
Dominic opened his mouth in surprise, but Lord Verice was already gone.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“He’s right, you know,” Warna said.
A scowl passed over Verice’s face as they crossed the courtyard side-by-side.
“I am not a noble,” Warna continued, taking a deep breath as she tried to match his angry pace. “Father was a spice merchant and Mother was—”
“Dominic is an arrogant bastard,” Verice growled. He glanced at her, and then slowed to a walk. “Edenrich and the church are welcome to him.”
“As long as they replace him with someone just as competent,” Warna said, suddenly realizing that the keep seemed farther away than it had before. She hated to admit it, but she was tiring.
There was a sudden warmth as Verice put his hand on her lower back. She glanced up to find that he was giving her a serious look. “We did too much for your first outing.”
“No, no,” she protested. Odd. It wasn’t that he was pushing, but that warmth at her back seemed to strengthen her steps. “I’m fine,” she insisted, afraid that he’d use that as an excuse to put her off. Delay...other things. She didn’t want to delay, didn’t want to wait one more moment for—
“We’ll eat,” Verice said firmly as he led her into the keep.
Warna opened her mouth to protest, but then her stomach grumbled. The corner of Verice’s mouth quirked and she had to laugh at herself.
“I’ll have it brought to our room,” Verice said. “Head that way. I’ll be right behind you.”
His hand lifted from her back, but Warna could still feel its warmth as she started up the stairs, feeling light of heart. Which may or may not have had anything to do with ‘our room’.
She managed to slowly climb to the second landing before Verice caught up with her and swept her up into his arms.
“Verice,” she protested even as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Save your energy for other things,” he mock-growled.
Warna laughed, but a soft tendril of warmth wrapped around her that had nothing to do with the heat of his skin, and the strength of the arms that held her.
Nothing at all.
They hadn’t been in their chambers for more than a brief moment before there was a knock at the door. Verice noticed that Warna’s hands trembled while the servers set out their meal.
He was confident that it was anticipation. Or nervousness. So, he kept the talk light as their food was served, and the servants excused themselves. Nothing too serious; observations about the dogs, and the gardens. The dangers of working around rantha thorns.
Warna responded, and relaxed as they ate and talked.
He owed her a boon for so many things; that much was certain. If she wished to have him as a lover for the duration of the Festival, it was his duty to oblige. That she was inexperienced put an even greater responsibility upon him.
He’d slept with inexperienced women before. Never a human; but from what he understood human women were no differen
t from faella. He wasn’t concerned about that. What he wanted more than anything else was to make sure Warna experienced nothing but pleasure at his hands. She deserved nothing less.
He’d teach her all the pleasures he knew. It wouldn’t touch him the way it would touch her, but he’d take the utmost care of her body and her heart.
As soon as she’d finished eating, he pushed back his own plate, stood and stretched, enjoying her wide-eyed attraction.
“Food’s improved since the kitchens reopened,” he observed as he reached for the side buckle on his armor.
“Far easier to cook on-site,” Warna said. She stacked their plates, and was frowning at him, watching him as he fumbled with the buckle. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Stuck,” Verice muttered, as he tried to work the strap free. “Not sure what’s—”
“Here,” Warna huffed a breath. “I’ll do it.”
She moved closer, bending her head as she reached for the leather strap. Verice held his arm up high, letting her do the work.
“There,” she said as she unfastened the buckle. “That wasn’t so hard—”
Verice leaned in. “My thanks,” he said softly.
She lifted her head, startled.
“Help me with the rest,” Verice lowered his arm, brushing her hair back off her face and tucking it behind her round ear. “There’s another,” he pointed to the next buckle.
Warna blushed, her cheeks pink. “I see,” she said, and started to work on the next strap.
Verice turned to give her better access, but he used the movement to his advantage. He lowered his head, so that his breath mingled with hers, and gently stroked the soft skin of her neck.
She shivered, but concentrated on her task. “So many buckles,” she said as she tackled the next one.
“It needs to be tight,” he explained. He curled his hand around her neck, letting his thumb stroke the soft flesh behind her ear and his fingers sheltered in the warmth of her hair. “Tight enough to keep me safe, flexible enough to let me move.”
“You wore elven chain to the court,” she said as she freed the last strap.
“True enough,” Verice agreed. “But that’s hardly for daily usage.”
“Ah,” she lifted her hands to his collar clasp, but he shook his head.
“The bracers first. Would you mind?” he asked, lifting his arm about her, ensuring that she stayed close. “Just the two clasps.”
She turned in his arms, her back against his chest as he presented his forearm to her. She reached for the clasps.
“Careful,” he cautioned.
The clasps snapped open. “Oh,” she jerked her head slightly at the blade hidden within.
Verice leaned in, and nuzzled her ear. “I never like to be without a blade or two,” he whispered. He breathed on her soft skin, and felt her shiver in response.
She tilted her head, giving him a glance over her shoulder as she pulled off the bracer, careful to set it, and the concealed blade, on the table. Verice raised his other arm, letting her work on those clasps. He slowly moved closer, bringing his free hand to her hip, then sliding it over her stomach with a firm pressure.
Her breathing quickened. She removed the other bracer, this time expressing no surprise at the second hidden blade.
She turned back then, in the circle of his arms. The sweet scent of her skin warmed him as she reached for his collar clasp. He lifted his chin, waiting...a soft kiss pressed to his jaw.
He murmured his approval, pulling her close, nuzzling her face until she lifted her mouth to him and he could claim it with a kiss.
Gently, he reminded himself, as much as he wanted to plunge within its depths. She tasted salty and sweet. He went slow, with a gentle firm pressure, as she leaned in closer, and of her own volition opened her mouth to him.
Even then, he just nipped at her lower lip, darting his tongue within to tease, before retreating back. Warna buried her hands in his hair, holding his head, and he returned the favor, one hand buried in her hair, the other at her lower black, pressing her against him.
They broke off when breath became an issue. Still he held her close, unwilling to release her.
She swallowed with a shudder and a sigh. “Verice,” she breathed into his ear.
“The clasp?” he whispered.
With a chuckle, she fumbled with the metal, then eased her hands into the opening, pushing the armored tunic open.
Once the leather parted, he rolled his shoulders. Without any further encouragement, she eased the leather back, displaying the linen tunic beneath.
“Careful,” he warned again.
She lifted an eyebrow at the blade concealed at the neck. “One or two?”
“Or three,” he said, taking the armor from her hands and tossing it on the table.
With a soft stroke, Warna smoothed the linen tunic over his chest. Her hands left a trail of warmth through the cloth as they traced down and around to his waistband. There, she hesitated, and glanced at him.
He waited, keeping his own hands on her hips, and simply lowered his nose into her hair and took in her sweet scent.
There was no need to hurry. Discovery of a new lover, and a first lover, only happened once. They could take their time feeling, touching, tasting, exploring. Slow was preferable.
But he couldn’t help a rumble of pleasure when her hands slid along his belt, slipped around his back and started to tug his tunic free.
Followed by a clatter as his throwing knife fell to the floor behind him.
Warna’s head jerked back, her eyes wide, then narrowing. “Or four?” she asked.
“Sorry,” Verice shrugged. “I was...distracted.”
She pulled the shirt up. He cooperated, sliding the cloth over his head and easing his hair free. She laughed as she tugged it off his arms. She caught her breath as her gaze lingered on his chest.
He took the shirt from her hands, and threw it on the floor before drawing her in closer. She rested her hands on his bare chest.
“Are there any other surprises?” she inquired with an impish look as her fingers brushed his belt.
“There might be,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “Feel free to explore, if you wish.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
If she wished? She wished for nothing more, and yet…
Warna took a breath, hesitating, letting her fingers rest on the leather of the belt. She dared, but she also didn’t dare. She felt like she was trembling on the brink of something amazing and delightful, and terrifying all at the same time.
Verice stood, unmoving, like a rock. His chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. His skin was dusted with silver hairs that trailed down his chest, narrowing as they reached his waist. She licked her dry lips. Her fingers seemed to take on a life of their own, loosening the belt, untying the laces, slipping her fingers around and back and down to slide the leather over his hips and—
Verice must have helped, because it seemed that he was suddenly, gloriously naked, stepping out of the trous as they fell to the floor with a grace she was certain no human could achieve.
“Do I please you?” he rumbled and she could forgive the lilt of arrogance in his voice. He was certainly entitled. She glanced up to see the glint of humor in his eye, with a touch of something else.
She wanted nothing more than to touch, to explore further, but instead she put her hands up to splay them over his chest, went up on tiptoe, and kissed him. He caught her mouth and returned the kiss.
She didn’t resist when he stepped back, following his lead as they kissed. She was slightly shocked when he sat abruptly on the edge of the huge bed, and pulled her down next to him. It was the logical next step of course, but she felt scandalous.
“You’re seducing me,” she whispered as she tingled with excited realization.
“If so, I’m not very good at it,” he chuffed. “I’m the one who’s naked.”
Warna laughed at that, for it was only the truth. She pushed him down, s
uddenly greedy to touch every inch of his skin, explore every aspect of his body. He offered no resistance, letting her hands trail down, drinking in the sight of all that he—
What caught her eye was the horrid scar that laced his thigh, running from the outside of his hip inwards at an angle.
“Verice,” she whispered, reaching to trace its length.
His leg twitched and he caught her fingers half-way along the scar. He grimaced an apology. “It’s still sensitive,” he said.
“From the Festival night,” she said. “You almost died.”
“I healed,” he said with a shrug. He kept her hand in his, turning it over palm-up. “It will fade, given time. Fifty years or so.”
Fifty years. As if it was nothing. As if it wasn’t a lifetime.
He seemed to sense the way her thoughts were tending, because he lifted her hand and kissed her palm, letting his tongue brush the skin. Keeping his eyes on hers, he breathed on the damp patch, sending shivers down her spine. “What matters is that I am here now, and healthy.” He took her hand and pressed it against his length. She blushed hotly as she felt him beneath her hand. “And I believe you wanted to explore.”
Warna couldn’t have made a sound if she’d tried. Her throat closed up, her mouth dry. It was what she wanted, and the thought brought a warmth to her body and loins that swept over her like a fire.
She just wasn’t sure where to start.
Verice moved then, keeping his hand over hers, and reached out to cup her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. Her hand tightened, and his body moved in response, and suddenly her reservations were gone.
He was a song, a perfect song, with endless lyrics she’d sing the rest of her life, and a melody she’d never be able to quantify.
And beautiful, so beautiful. Like a marble statue, made even more perfect by the fact that he lived and breathed and had calluses on his hands and scars on his body.
His long silver hair cascaded over her hands as she dared to trace the points of his ears, stroke his neck, place kisses along his collarbone. The silver hairs on his legs were coarse on his calves and thighs, but seemed to turn to silk as she neared his core. He didn’t resist, didn’t stop her explorations. Just stretched out before her and let her have her way. It was only the trembling of his body, the shortness of his breaths that made her think she’d erred somehow.
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