by Peter David
“We thought about it.”
“No, we didn’t! I never thought about it!” I snapped. Which wasn’t entirely true, but I certainly didn’t want to give her the slightest encouragement.
“Well, I did, and that’s all that matters.”
“It’s not all that matters!” I had put aside my staff and was pacing my room with an agitated limp. “Gods, Entipy … what if your father had decided that, instead of wedding us, he was going to execute me for deflowering his little girl!”
“Deflowering. Oh, now you believe I’m virginal,” she said, arms folded and looking at me with a cocked eyebrow.
“No, I believe you’re deranged! I believe you’re unhinged! A mentally defective troublemaker who is out to ruin the lives of anyone and everyone who comes in contact with you!” I was waving my arms wildly. “Tacit would still be alive if he hadn’t fallen for you!”
“But he did and he’s not. And you are here,” said Entipy, brow knitting. “What, do you wish that you weren’t?”
“Yes!”
“That you were just some peasant, wandering in the streets, begging or maybe stealing?”
“Perhaps,” I said, although I admit I sounded slightly less certain about it. Then I rallied. “But that’s what Tacit was! And you loved him, or thought you did! And Tacit—”
“Tacit! Tacit! Gods in heaven, Tacit!” Entipy nearly shouted in exasperation, ignoring my imprecations to keep quiet. “Gods, one would almost think that …”
Then she stopped and looked at me with an air of challenge.
“What?” I said uncertainly.
“That’s it, isn’t it.”
“What’s it? What are you talking about, Enti—?”
“You’re afraid that Tacit really was my lover … and that if you try to take his place, you’re not going to compare to him.”
I suddenly had a feeling of what the sensation had been like for Tacit when he’d taken an arrow in the chest. My lips were abruptly very dry. “I … I told you you were crazy … and now you’re proving it,” I tried to say.
But she was shaking her head with conviction. “I should have figured it out sooner. You actually feel inferior to him. Even though he’s dead, you’re still lagging behind him …”
“I’m not lagging behind anyone!” I said defensively, almost forgetting to keep my voice down. “This has nothing to do with Tacit! It has to do with … with what’s right! And respecting my wishes, and—”
She snorted disdainfully. “You sound like a woman. No wonder you’re concerned that you couldn’t hold a candle to Tacit. You probably couldn’t.”
A white haze passed before my eyes, my blood pounding in my temples. And then she turned her back on me. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell my father that it was all a lie, that someone as hopelessly inadequate as you couldn’t possibly—”
That was when I grabbed her by the arm, swung her around, and kissed her as fiercely as I had ever kissed anyone … more so. There was no love in it; instead it was driven by pure fury and a need to dominate this insane creature who was playing havoc with my life.
She pushed away, and there was a sneer on her mouth, challenge in her eyes. “Is that it? Is that the best you can d—?”
And I saw Astel in those eyes, laughing at me, and Tacit in those eyes, proclaiming that he, not I, was the hero, and I saw the contempt of the knights, the sneers of the squires, the disdain of Stroker, everyone, all encapsulated in this one neat package. And I tore into that package, and I did so with relish.
I lifted Entipy clear off her feet, swung her around and—even with my limp—hauled her toward the bed. The sweep around knocked the candles off the table, and they snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness. But moonlight filtered through the window, and I could still see her eyes, those eyes, looking at me, and the challenge was still there, and the veiled contempt but also the eagerness.
I tore at her beautiful gown and it came away with a rip of cloth. She pulled at my clothing as well, yanking the doublet over my head. We fell upon the bed, a writhing combination of arms and legs, torsos and hips, becoming more naked with each passing moment as the clothes flew from us. Never had I worn such finery; never had I been less caring of what happened to it.
She was covering my face and neck with kisses, and moved down to my chest, biting down on one of my nipples so hard that I cried out. I returned the favor and her body moved against mine.
And for a moment, just a moment, my mind’s eye became filled once more with the sight of that phoenix, and the thought that it was Tacit who was supposed to be where I was …
… and then I thought …
… what if I was wrong?
It was a glorious, liberating notion.
What if … what if I actually was supposed to be the hero? What if it really was my story? If my epiphany had moved me in the right direction, but for the wrong reason? Dammit … why not? What if Tacit had been wrong? It was possible. Of course it was possible! The idiot had wound up a human target; obviously he didn’t have a perfect record for accurately foreseeing every possibility.
“Yes! Yes!” I shouted encouragement to myself. Because in one, heartfelt, perfect moment I had dared to accept the possibility that—despite my lowborn birth, despite the violence of my beginnings, despite the contempt, despite it all—I was actually entitled to reap the benefits of all that I’d aspired to. That I could do what I wished, enjoy the rewards, and not feel guilty about it.
Entipy, not realizing that I’d been talking to myself, cried out “Yes!” in return.
Naked, she wrapped her legs around me and I plunged into her, bringing down my lips upon her, and it was as if a final connection was made. Then I kissed the curve of her jaw, her throat, and her breath came in short gasps in my ear, and she was no longer the arrogant and demanding princess. Instead she was mine … mine to do with as I wished, mine to fill, mine to pleasure, mine, all mine, and the ghost of Tacit spiraled away, crying out at his banishment.
I thought of the phoenix, going up in flame, even as the heat built within me and in her. And from that searing heat was reborn something new and great. So it was with me, because a wave of burning passion ripped from me, enveloping me, reducing me to the emotional equivalent of ashes as I cried out her name. And she called out mine, and there was a joy such as I had never heard from her, one such as I had never felt.
“Entipy … ” I practically sobbed, “I love you … “
“It’s about damned time,” she whispered in my ear, and then I exploded into her.
The rays of the morning sun caressed us.
I had woken up some little time before to the soft but steady snoring of the princess, who was resting her head upon my shoulder. Her nude body was still intertwined with mine. The sheets were wound around us; during the night the cool air had prompted me, in my sleep, to try and pull the covers over us. I’d been only partly successful; they covered us from the waist down.
There was a trickle of drool from her mouth down onto my chest. I actually thought it was cute. Shows how besotted I was.
Now that I could see them in the daylight, her breasts were surprisingly small, but quite firm. The rest of her body, from the waist up, at least, was quite well muscled, actually. I wasn’t surprised; I had a sense of just how much endurance she had from our activities in the night. Gods, the girl was practically insatiable.
There was no doubt in my mind that she was a virgin. The eagerness, the raw need, reminded me of how I had felt that first time with Astel. How, once that floodgate of ardor had been opened, there was no shutting it, and I had wanted to experience it again and again. Entipy had exhibited that same sort of unquenchable lust.
I laughed softly to myself. In her sleep, she must have sensed the rise and fall of my chest in silent laughter, and she smiled as she ran her fingers across my chest hair. I ruffled her hair gently, affectionately.
I dared to dream.
I dreamt of a life together with Entipy.
Was such a thing possible? It was hard to say. She was still somewhat on the insane side. How could I trust someone like that? Then again … at least I could trust her to be insane. She was most consistent about that. I mean, look at Astel. She wasn’t insane, but one moment she was affectionate, and the next, she was trying to smash my head in. With Entipy … I could never let down my guard, because her very nature would not permit it. She couldn’t be trusted in anything except not being able to be trusted. It made a bizarre, circular sort of sense.
I dreamt of what it would be like to sit upon the throne. Runcible and Beatrice would not be around forever. Indeed, for all I knew, considering their delightfully antiquated and quaint notions of my being this great warrior and ruler they’d been waiting for, the king and queen might actually abdicate. And there I would be, Apropos, with either the greatest power in the land in my palm, or at the very least I’d be alongside Entipy helping her to consolidate her own power base. I could be involved with ruling through her.
I dreamt of sending Morningstar running twenty times around the castle, every day, while wearing full armor. “Exercise. He needs it,” I would shrug, even as I stood there with a grin and watched him running about and losing his mind.
I dreamt about being feared. About being powerful. About being the Hero Who Had Been Foreseen. It all seemed intriguing, marvelous.
I had never felt so relaxed. So complete. It was truly as if I was with—not another person—but another aspect of myself.
Entipy let out a soft, contented sigh and drew up one leg to bring it across my hips, snuggling for greater warmth. But her efforts were counterproductive as the movement caused the blanket to slide away, exposing some of her finely shaped ass to the cool air. I looked at it in the light of day and laughed to myself.
If I ever wanted evidence that we belonged together, there it was, right there. She had a birthmark on her hip, in the shape of a small burst of flame, that was identical to mine.
I found that very interesting indeed. Hers was slightly lighter in color, but otherwise, it was a perfect match with mine. One would almost have thought that we were of the same …
… family …
A birthmark … identical to mine … a linemark, a sign of parentage …
My skin suddenly grew much colder than the early-morning air as I sat up slowly, staring into her face. I’d never noticed how, relaxed in repose, it looked … familiar …
And a dozen little things … small comments … observations … suddenly were viewed in a light that was as different as the morning light was from the moonlight. The queen’s instinct that we would get on so well together, my feeling that she was a missing part of me … the unicorns going mad whenever we’d touched each other … I’d … I’d thought it was just because they knew what I had done to Tacit, but it wasn’t just that, it was because unicorns knew the way of things, knew that destiny had intended someone other than me, that romance between us was … gods … she’d had red hair originally … red, like mine … like a close family member … too close a family member … like a sis—
I let out a scream so loud that, to this day, I am convinced that Tacit, lying dead in his tomb back in the Outer Lawless regions, heard it and his deceased mouth twisted in a satisfied “I told you so” smirk.
Chapter 30
The agonized shriek not only jolted Entipy to full wakefulness, but it knocked her clear out of the bed.
She looked up at me with a confused face that was like mine, gods, how could I have been so blind? How could I not have seen it? How could others not have? I continued to scream, no longer in command of myself.
Immediately Entipy assumed that I was in the throes of some hideous nightmare. “Apropos, my love, it’s all right!” she said as she scrambled to her feet and came toward me. I stared at her, my eyes fair to leaping out of my head, and she put a hand on my cheek and made to kiss me. This set off another round of terrified bellowing as I scrambled backward on the copious bed, grabbing some of the bedclothes around myself and doing everything I could to keep as much distance between us as possible.
“Apropos, wake up, you’re having a nightmare!” she cried out. And how the hell was I to explain to her that in the slumber lay the peace while the waking was the nightmare.
Naturally there came a pounding at the door. What else was to be expected? The fiancé of the princess was howling like a banshee; naturally that was going to attract attention. At that moment, though, I was beyond caring. All I knew was that, after a joyous night of screwing the princess, I was now screwed myself.
Entipy gathered up one of the fallen sheets and wrapped it around herself expertly. Impressively, she actually managed to look rather imperious in the makeshift garment as she strode toward the door. That was when I belatedly realized that she was about to open it. “Stop!” I shouted, lunging for her, and falling off the bed with the other blanket wrapped around me. “Don’t—!”
“It’s a little late to be worried about discretion, considering you bellowed loudly enough to wake the dead,” she commented as she pulled the door open, “to say nothing of—”
Her father.
Who was standing there, a bleary-eyed look on his face. He had tossed on a robe over his nightclothes. Sir Justus, also nightclad, but holding a sword firmly, was beside him, as were two other guards. I suppose on some level I should have been flattered that the king himself was coming to check on me. As it was, I would happily have forgone the compliment in exchange for a widespread case of temporary deafness throughout the castle.
If there was any slumber left in their eyes, it promptly vanished at the sight of the sheet-wrapped princess presenting herself quite unabashedly in my room. From where they were standing they could easily see me in the background, looking like a fallen ghost … an apt description, between the shroud-like sheet wrapped around me and the fact that I was probably so ashen that my pallor was more suited to one dead than alive.
“What’s all this then?” demanded Justus in a low voice. The king looked stunned. The guards behind them were grinning. It was probably a good thing that neither of them saw it or the guards’ tenure would most likely come to a quick end, along with the guards themselves.
“Apropos was having a nightmare, Father,” Entipy said, the picture of innocence.
Remarkably, the king actually managed to sound solicitous. “Were you having a nightmare, Sir Apropos?”
I managed to get out, “I’m … still having it, Highness.” Of all those rare instances in my life where I had spoken the absolute truth, none was more accurate than that.
His voice ice, Sir Justus said, “Perhaps it would be best if the princess went to her own chambers now … ?”
“Yes. Yes, by all means,” said the king distantly. I wasn’t sure if he was still having trouble coping with what he was seeing, and was thus in shock … or if he was so angry he was simply fighting to contain his rage.
Entipy inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment and then glanced back at me. “I’ll see you later, my love,” she said, and she blew a kiss at me. I felt another small piece of my soul die as I forced a wave. She slid out of the room, angling past her father and the others and padding down the hallway.
Runcible’s cold eyes swept the chamber and took in the torn garments lying scattered on the floor. Then he looked back at me. I considered the possibility that he’d kill me on the spot and tried to see the downside of that. None presented itself.
“Apropos,” he said slowly, “there are those who take amusement from youthful indiscretion. There are even those who would say that, since you are betrothed to Entipy, that anything you do is completely fine and acceptable. I wish I happened to be one of those individuals, since it would simplify both my life and yours tremendously. However … I am not. Nine o’clock, this A.M. My court. Please be so kind as to be on time … properly attired, if it would not be too much trouble,” said the king.
“Yes, Highness” was all I managed to get out.
&nb
sp; The door shut behind them, and the last thing I saw was Justus’s scowling and disapproving face.
I flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“I hate family reunions,” I said to no one.
*
I had no breakfast. I was not hungry. Would you be?
As I dressed, my mind was racing. I was thinking back to when the queen was making passing remarks about how Entipy was much like her father. There had been something in her tone, something in the way that she’d said it, that struck me as curious. I had not, at the time, been able to determine what it was. Now, of course, I knew.
King Runcible was not Entipy’s father.
I had long ago discounted the possibility that Runcible was one of the men who had brutalized my mother that stormy night long ago. Madelyne would most surely have recognized him, and I could not believe that I would not have learned from someone—her, Astel, Stroker, one of them—that I might indeed not only be a bastard, but a royal bastard to boot. Besides, I had come to the conclusion that Runcible was many things … but a raping brute was simply not one of them.
Which meant that the man who was the father that Entipy and I both shared had not only done my mother … but the queen as well. And somehow—call me a fool, call me eccentric—but I tended to think that he had not had to resort to having other knights hold her down while he had his way with her.
Considering the state of mind that I had possessed when I first arrived at the castle, angry and bitter and seeking justice for my late mother, I did not think it possible that my opinion of people in general, and knights and royalty in particular, could have sunk much lower than it had before. But I was wrong. Because if there had been one person in the entirety of the court whom I had been certain was a good, true, and faithful individual, it was the queen. Part of me wanted to believe that I was mistaken, that I had misread the situation. That it was, in fact, the king who had transgressed rather than the queen. But my every instinct was telling me otherwise.