Mykh was simply pleased that no one insisted that he abstain from his Companion’s bed. Avoiding Corinne was something his rod strenuously objected to, especially now when it tented his breeches at the thought of her.
Ghryghoriy’s eyes met Mykh’s, suddenly entirely serious. “The wizards say they’ve never seen anything like the strength of the ch’i in Torhtremer now. They promise that it will be far greater during the Advent of the White Horses.”
“Not enough to cure an ice serpent’s bite,” Mykh answered, feeling a return of the old despair.
“They say any power can be focused, if there be a lens strong enough. And that puissance gained from a woman’s pleasure is the mightiest.”
Mykh forebore mentioning how often wizards’ interpretation of great magic went amiss.
“Two days more to stoke her fires,” Ghryghoriy mused. “Two days . . .”
Mykh chuckled at the helpless longing in his friend’s voice and slapped him on the shoulder. “Enough of that! Take your plaintive cries home where you might find some comfort,” he half-teased. “As for me, I’m off to see what mischief my little sorceress has created in the Tiger’s Den.”
Ghryghoriy swept him a full court bow. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
Mykh slapped him on the shoulder and the two men went their separate ways. Mykh took the stairs three at a time, worried more than he’d admit about Corinne’s back. His nod set the sentries posted outside the Tiger’s Den into a quick salute, followed by a hasty—and silent—opening of the door. He’d left the ceremonial coat behind but still wore his great sword, too wary of potential threats to set it out of reach.
He’d only seen these rooms once before, when he surveyed the palace after he claimed the throne. The Tiger’s Den had seemed formal and cold then, guarded by generations of priestesses and the ghosts of women who’d lived within.
The Dragonheart’s Companion dwelled here throughout the Hunter’s Watch and the Goddess’s Dance, so that she might be blessed and protected in the palace’s feminine heart. If the High King set a child in her, then she remained for the year and a day that she was his Companion. But queens, created by dynastic marriages that emphasized masculine concerns with land or gold or armies, had no rights in these rooms unless they were also the Dragonheart’s Companion for the Goddess’s Dance.
Five generations of High Kings had bred sons only during the Goddess’s Dance. Five generations had seen no woman live here longer than a year and a day before fleeing the rooms that whispered of the white tigress’s power.
But this time Mykh could hear splashing and laughter, mixed with snorts and light growls. He followed the sounds into the great bathroom, where he found Corinne and Mazur playing in the enormous pool. He’d considered it a tedious room before, with its enormous pool and surrounding colonnade that looked out to walled gardens on the west. It had felt flat and open, unguarded and defenseless, compared to the crags seen from his bathroom.
Now it seemed like paradise as Corinne ducked under a floating rose to wrestle with Mazur. She laughed as they came up for breath, Mazur playfully tapping her cheek with the soft side of one great paw. Clouds of steam rose around them, scented with roses. She grabbed the big cat by the ears and tried to pull his head forward. But he chose to dive under with his predator’s suppleness.
Suddenly Corinne was sucked down, shouting, “Dammit, Mazur. Let go of my ankle!” She went under rapidly, slapping the water but leaving only bubbles behind.
Mykh ran forward hastily, ready to dive in after her.
But Corinne came up laughing with one arm draped over Mazur’s shoulders. “You are a silly beast!” she chuckled before switching to a series of soft purrs and chuffs that Mazur answered in kind. He tapped the water lightly, sending a ripple to caress her shoulders. She patted Mazur’s cheek and laughed again, looking as innocent as a kitten playing with a weaver’s yarns. Mykh found himself needing to apologize somehow for shredding the skin on her back.
Corinne caught sight of him and stilled, her hand still resting on Mazur. Then she smiled at him and slid down until only her neck and head showed, leaving scant evidence of her enticing blushes.
He took a half-step toward her then caught himself, hungry for control lest she somehow prove to be a sorceress.
“Good evening. Would you care to join me for supper?” he offered, feeling like a thrice-damned coward for taking refuge in politeness.
She tilted her head and surveyed him, blue eyes lingering on the ridge behind his ornate trousers. “If you’ll turn your back so I can get out,” she countered, color burning her cheeks.
He pivoted immediately and fought the temptation to peek. The marble columns here had too many flowering vines, roses and jasmine mostly, to be mirrors for watching her. The sounds of water splashing and falling goaded his imagination, raising memories of feasting on her in the Tasting Room.
“You can turn around now.” He found her completely covered in a white robe with her hair wrapped up in a turban, both embroidered with red roses. Neither robe nor turban looked like they’d slip any time soon. Damn.
Her hand flew up to cover her smile.
“Corinne,” he got out, needing to start talking. He had to create balance before he could tumble her again.
“Yes?”
“Pray forgive me for hurting you on the balcony this afternoon.”
Her jaw dropped. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this.
“I have never before caused harm to a woman during bedsport. I swear it won’t happen again.”
“Please, Mykh, don’t worry about it. It’s already healed, thanks to the pool.” Roses swept across her cheeks in a blush.
“As my lady wishes.” He bowed politely, relaxing slightly at her quick forgiveness. She raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t challenge the formal phrase.
Mazur snorted his opinion of their flirtation, then stalked toward the food with his back arched and tail high.
A small table was set for two under the colonnade, offering an excellent view of the pool and gardens beyond. It was flanked by two other tables, each containing an array of tempting dishes. Corinne studied them closely, making Mykh immediately remember how she’d stared at him in the Tasting Room.
“It looks like they brought fresh food for me and separate food for you, Mykh.” She said the last word hesitantly with a quick peep up at him through her lashes. He swallowed hard before he could speak.
“Very proper,” he remarked, relieved for once by social chitchat. How could he consider leaping on her so soon after the pool’s healing? “Men and women have separate needs for the Goddess’s Dance and must prepare differently.”
She studied him curiously, open and unguarded for the first time. “Really? You’ll have to tell me more while we’re eating.”
The following silence was comfortable as each filled their plates and poured tall mugs of tea before sitting down and starting in on the delicious repast. Mazur crouched next to a side table, neatly consuming a large saucer of milk and diced rabbit that had appeared for him.
After a few minutes of silent consumption, Corinne propped her elbows on the table and studied the food before them. Mykh lifted an eyebrow but didn’t stop eating, trained by too many years as a mercenary to value every meal the gods granted.
“Looks like you’ve got red meat there with a hefty dose of pine nuts, too. Plus lots of fruits and vegetables: carrots, asparagus, bananas. Are those berries?” Corinne asked.
“Juniper berries.” He nodded, pleased that she was chatting. “Tasty sauce for the elk meat.”
“Okay. Red meat for masculine strength and some phallic symbols in the fruits and veggies. But why is that flatbread made with oats?”
His mouth quirked at her description of his meal. “The priests demand that men consume much of it during the Watch. I demand that it appear as oatcakes, in the fashion that my mother prepared it.”
“Probably tastes better like that.” Corinne took up her fork ag
ain and dug into her food, then smiled tentatively at him. “How long do we eat like this?”
“Throughout the Hunter’s Watch and the Goddess’s Dance.”
“What’s the Hunter’s Watch?” Corinne blurted then shrugged. “I never tried to understand it back home on Earth so it’s all new to me.”
Mykh blinked at her ignorance but answered her easily, pleased that there was something she didn’t know. “We celebrate the Hunter’s Watch for three nights and three days before the Goddess’s Dance begins. Most folks spend it purifying themselves for the Dance. But it is also the time when all shipping must leave port.”
“Why?” She watched him as she chewed. He immediately thought of a dozen ways her mouth could wrap around his rod, which predictably hardened.
“The Hunter’s Watch here in Bhaikhal is different from elsewhere, thanks to the harbor. The Advent of the White Horses, marking the end of the Hunter’s Watch and the beginning of the Goddess’s Dance, is truly a monumental tide in these waters and not just a poet’s pretty turn of phrase.”
She waited, hanging on his words.
“You know that we have two moons, the Hunter and the Maiden. The Maiden is silver and follows a predictable path, its great orb at its fullest once every month.”
“Equatorial orbit,” Corinne agreed.
“As you wish,” Mykh nodded, unwilling to admit his unfamiliarity with the term. “But the Hunter is golden and travels the far reaches of the sky in search of his mate.”
“Polar orbit.”
“Indeed,” Mykh said neutrally. Perhaps one of the wizards could explain her words. “They come together once every seven years and shine as one for a month, which marks the Goddess’s Dance. At the same time, the tides here increase until the high tide covers many cliffs, while the low tide leaves mud where ships once floated. No ship can withstand these changes, so all must leave during the Hunter’s Watch.”
“And the biggest port in the world is celibate, in the commercial sphere at least. It must be impressive.” She pursed her lips as she considered.
Mykh damned his unruly pulse, pounding like a youngling before his first battle, and hastened into speech. “Precisely. Pilgrims come from around the world to celebrate with us. The other planets, as the wizards call them, sometimes stretch themselves across the sky in a single line to join the Hunter and the Maiden in worshipping the sun. When the Goddess’s Necklace is strung thusly, as it is this year, then the Advent of the White Horses is larger yet.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “And we’ll be right there to watch it.”
Mykh nodded, startled by how soft she looked now, changed from the angry fighter he’d met in that distant world. Now was the time to seek equilibrium and pray that she wouldn’t transform into a greedy witch if he yielded to her.
“Corinne, I must make amends for shedding your blood this afternoon.”
“You really don’t have to, Mykh,” she demurred and poured herself another cup of tea. She added honey, as if the sweet was a necessity for creating a worthwhile drink of the dark brew.
“It is necessary that there might be balance between us.” His mouth firmed. If she passed this test, perhaps he needn’t fear her as a sorceress.
“Mykh . . .”
“It is best that this is accomplished where the symmetry was upset. In bed.”
“Now, why did I think that you were leading up to something sexual?” She carefully stirred her tea until the honey dissolved. “So what do you have in mind?”
“Corinne, how would you like to sport?”
“Excuse me?” She lifted the cup and took a deep swallow.
“Bedsport. How would you prefer it?”
Corinne coughed and spluttered tea across the table. “Mykh, what the hell are you talking about?” she demanded when she could speak again. “Are you honestly asking me to decide what we’re going to do next in bed?”
He nodded steadily, despite the way his blood roared into his rod. “I will do whatever you wish.”
“What if I tell you to strip, lie down on the bed, and let me do whatever I want?” she asked slowly.
“As you wish.” What if she wants to handle me as the Gray Sorceress did with all her slaves, squatting astride their prone bodies? An act I’ve found intolerable with any other woman since?
Balance must be rebuilt, a little voice reminded him, lest the Goddess’s Dance fail.
And the Goddess blessed her as my companion, Mykh reassured himself. I can do no less than play my part in serving the Goddess, as the High Priestess dedicated me. At the very least, I can worship the Goddess in her, as other men do with their ladies on this night.
But unlike other men, the voice reminded him, you can give your seed.
If she asks it, Mykh answered silently, slipping into the pattern of the Goddess’s service.
He stood up and took off Dragon’s Breath, propping the great sword against the wall. Then he began to unfasten his cuffs.
“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” Corinne breathed, tea cup drooping from her fingers.
“Yes.” He finished undoing the cuffs and started on the ornate knots that held the tunic closed.
Corinne blew out a breath raggedly. “Dear God in heaven,” she murmured as he shrugged the tunic off, “you really are such a fine-looking stud. And you’re going to let me explore you.”
He smiled privately as he folded the silk and placed it on his chair. Maybe this would work.
Mazur chuckled, an odd cross between snort and purr that startled Corinne. “Until tomorrow, Great Lady,” he purred as he stood up and stretched. “May the Celestial Guardians grant you joy tonight.”
“And may the Four keep you safe,” she answered, giving the ritual response. Mazur gave her hand one long, rasping lick before he glided from the room, as bent on his own amusements as any other cat.
Corinne tried to sit still as she watched Mykh slowly, oh so slowly, remove his clothing. If he’d been mouth-watering in the silk tunic and trousers that clung to every magnificent muscle, his bare skin made him damn near irresistible. Those plates of muscle that covered his broad chest, the hard arcs of muscle that wrapped his shoulders, the beautiful rippling abs, the sweep of biceps and triceps, his big hands . . .
She wriggled in her chair and clamped her legs shut as heat trickled onto her thigh. The heavy silk robe that had once felt so protective was now busily irritating her stiff nipples as she tried to breathe. And if she could only persuade her pulse to calm down and beat steadily . . .
She closed her eyes and tried to think about dragon magic or another intellectually challenging subject. Anything to buy herself time until she regained her discipline and wouldn’t lunge at him.
Something thudded to the floor. She looked over quickly and found Mykh setting his high boots neatly aside. His soft trousers stretched over his tight ass, emphasizing its clean, strong lines. Her mouth dried immediately and she ogled him.
He stood up and turned so quickly that their eyes met. She blushed at his swift understanding of what she’d been doing but defiantly refused to look away, letting him see her hunger. He smiled at her, a pleased masculine quirk of the lips that gave her hope a man wouldn’t hurt her if she showed her emotions.
Then Mykh began to unlace his trousers. His cock was a solid ridge behind the lacings, but so engorged that it peeped above the green silk. More and more of its scarlet strength was exposed by each cross lacing tugged free, leaving it shining from the trickles of moisture flowing down from the tip. Her pulse raced faster and she shivered, trying to adapt to the bursts of hunger that raced between her breasts and her clit.
He caressed himself boldly as he had in his bedroom, polishing his cock and stretching it. Corinne squirmed and tugged the turban off her head, shaking her hair free with a careless snap.
“Is that stripping and lying down on the bed? Or did you change your mind about doing penance?” Corinne asked, pleased that her voice didn’t sound as shaky as her legs f
elt.
Mykh’s hand hesitated then fell away, leaving his cock standing free like a living definition of masculine beauty. It was perfectly matched to his splendid body and would have seemed unbearably huge on another man, blessed as it was with an elegant mushroom tip and thick enough at its base that even his massive hand could barely wrap around it.
Any carver of male nudity would have knelt to worship it. A virgin would have run screaming away from it. Corinne simply wondered how she was going to avoid it long enough to make him sweat a little.
He tossed his head to straighten his hair, setting the jewels in his braids clattering. The plaits covered his chest and shoulder blades in a silken tide accented by flashes of light from the jewels and beads. Heavens, she wanted to play with them. Well, why not?
“Stand still,” she ordered just as he turned toward the bedroom.
Mykh frowned at her. “We decided that I’d lie down on the bed.”
“We agreed that you’re going to do what I want, which might mean lying down on the bed. But I want you to keep your ass exactly where it is. So just do it, buster.” Corinne’s heart thudded nervously while her fingers flexed, longing to sink into the long strands.
Mykh’s eyebrows rose, he started to speak, then came to attention like a man who wasn’t quite certain of the next step.
Corinne smiled in anticipation, a look that Svetlhana would have understood and approved of. Playtime.
She rose and strolled over to him, enjoying how his eyes followed the sway of her hips. She ran her fingers lightly down the braids, fascinated by how soft his hair was. Then she glided her fingers across the plaited strands, exploring how the various jewels and beads rippled. It was such a unique feeling that she did it again and again.
“By all the gods of war, what are you doing?” Mykh demanded.
“Having fun.” Corinne slanted a teasing glance up at him. “Got a problem with that, big guy? Thinking about backing out?”
“Certainly not.” His heart thudded under her hand.
She lifted a single braid with her finger and let it fall back to his chest. It settled into place with only the slightest whoosh. She lifted a handful of braids and brushed them over his skin. His small male nipple exhibited a very strong reaction, stiffening like a diamond in a jeweler’s showcase.
Captive Dreams Page 11