Captive Dreams

by Angela Knight

  The morning prayers were recited at a watchtower rising above the inner harbor, nestled underneath the citadel. Waves lapped at the great walls, showing no signs of the piers underneath. The main harbor lay to the west, free of shipping with its bordering warehouses now marked by white and green banners and pavilions. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people watched from every available space. Corinne could see no sign of piers there, either.

  A small island rose in the center of the main channel, a wide terrace below its crest blazing with reflected light from the sun.

  The parapet was covered with soldiers, servants, and their families, many of them leaning out to look at the water. They beamed as Mykh and Corinne approached and bowed happily, pleasing Corinne that she and Mykh had publicly reconciled.

  The High Priestess also smiled and raised her hand in blessing when the royal couple reached the balcony at the watchtower’s top. “Make haste,” she hissed. “It is almost time.”

  “Yes, Holy One,” Mykh answered and steered Corinne into position by the high priestess, a location blessed by a spectacular view of the water. A ram’s horn blew as soon as they stood still. Another answered from the main harbor, then three more blew one by one, each more distant. The watchers bowed and waited.

  “Mother Goddess who we recognize by the symbolic moon, the horns that wax and wane as thou dost change thy aspect over time, we . . .” the High Priestess prayed, her hands lifted up to invoke the gods.

  As Mykh had promised, the prayers were brief but heartfelt, basically asking the gods to sanctify the day and the worshipers who would be celebrating the Goddess’s Dance with their bodies, echoing the Earth’s dance of praise. The High Priestess tossed flowers into the water afterwards, a gesture that Mykh and Corinne copied. In fact, all the watchers threw blossoms into the harbor, so many that the water close to shore looked like a living carpet.

  The High Prestess blessed Mykh and Corinne afterwards in a simple invocation of the five elements. “Now go,” she urged them, making shooing motions, “the Companion must be prepared. Go, go!”

  Corinne blushed at the High Priestess’s earthy enthusiasm and glanced up at Mykh. He smiled at her, caught her hand, and strode away from the crowd.

  “Ready for your bath?” he asked, looking down at her.

  Corinne nodded. “Yes, of course.” Duty. He was discussing duty again, the tasks that would prepare her for that long boat trip around the harbor and whatever happened on board. She could handle that, even as her hand learned every nuance of his fingers wrapped around it.

  “Do you wish to use the small bathtub or the large pool?”

  Corinne shrugged. “The small one, I guess. It’s quieter.” Why was he asking? Maybe he planned to give the maids some instructions before he disappeared again.

  Mykh gone. She shivered at the hollow sound of those words then steeled her heart. She’d better get used to his absence as soon as possible, since that was what the future held.

  She pulled the rose coronet off her head as soon as they entered the Tiger’s Den and shook her hair free. “Thanks, Mykh, for escorting me,” she said without looking at him. “See you later at the boat.”

  “I am serving the bath to you, my lady.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. “Excuse me?”

  “I am the one responsible for bathing you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I will also anoint you with sacred oils so that ch’i may more readily leap between us. Then I will dress you in the Maiden’s robes before I escort you to the royal galley.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. High Kings don’t do the bath-slave thing, okay? They snap their fingers and flunkies come running.” Corinne protested his words as much as the rapid pulse that they caused.

  Mykh shook his head slowly, his eyes serious and possibly a bit nervous. “The Dragonheart and his Companion are to be together at all times on this day. It ensures that their dance is the culmination of their trust and eagerness for the other, without which no child can be conceived during the Goddess’s Dance.”

  “You’re honestly going to give me a bath?” She wished again that she’d set just one scene during the Goddess’s Dance in Bhaikhal, so that she’d know what the heck was going to happen next. Her knowledge of Torhtremer was apparently limited to what she’d picked up during her writing and what she could persuade people to tell her in the here and now. But they kept assuming that she knew as much as they did, while instead she faced big gaps. And a lot of butterflies in her stomach.

  “Aye.” Now that single syllable sounded a lot more like the warrior she knew: curt, emphatic, decisive.

  “Okay then, you’re the man. Just let me get into the water before you come in.”

  “If that will make you more comfortable.” She shivered at the sensual promise in his voice and walked quickly into the bath chamber. The small bathtub could only be called that in comparison to the great pool in the main quarters: it would have swallowed Celeste’s hot tub with room to spare. It was nestled in a corner of the Tiger’s Den, ringed by windows on three sides and a fireplace on the fourth. The tub had felt cozy before, but now the waters seemed to bubble in anticipation of Mykh’s arrival.

  Corinne stripped rapidly and tossed the white and silver crepe tunic and trousers onto a pile with her sandals. The royal palace’s magic would ensure that they were removed and cleaned. Then she stepped into the tub and sat down, settling back until the foam reached to her shoulders. A simple “Tea, please” brought a goblet of iced tea onto the ledge next to her hand. She sipped it and tried not to wonder what Mykh planned to do.

  Mykh’s arrival brought an abrupt end to all such higher thoughts, even as it sent her blood rushing to her cheeks and breasts. A trickle of heat brushed her core, but she ignored that. He wore only a simple white loincloth that left his magnificent body open to any ravenous glance she cared to give.

  She shivered and took a long pull on her tea. No man had a right to look as good as he did in so little clothing. It simply wasn’t fair to womankind.

  His mouth quirked, but he nodded and slid into the tub with a simple, “My lady.”

  Corinne’s eyes narrowed, watching him wade over to her feet.

  “May I?” he asked. He didn’t wait for her answer before he’d cradled her ankle in one big hand.

  She tilted her head, considered, and assented. What could he do to a foot?

  Quite a lot as it turned out.

  Corinne and Celeste had always had different definitions of true luxury. Celeste liked gadgets. Her apartment was both opulent and comfortable, full of high-priced items that made life easier. The kind of cutting-edge technology that costs a fortune but doesn’t need a genius to operate, like that unbelievable espresso machine. Her boyfriends were equally functional: very good in bed but somehow never connecting with her heart.

  Corinne, on the other hand, enjoyed simpler pleasures. She had a 1920s Sears & Roebuck house, lovingly restored with the minimum of twenty-first-century gadgets. But it looked out onto an enormous flower garden and was only twenty minutes from the finest day spa in Savannah, whose profits she assiduously contributed to. She collected spas on her publicity tours, insisting that she visit one every week during those whirlwind combinations of no food, no sleep, and endless smiling. She could tell you exactly who provided the best aromatherapy massage, deep tissue massage, reflexology, Reiki . . .

  But none of that compared to the feel of Mykh’s long fingers wrapped around her toes. He cuddled her foot until she relaxed, before slowly stroking each tendon in turn. The combination of delicate touch and hard strength sent shimmers of awareness across her skin, even including the parts he hadn’t touched.

  And there was more, like how he stretched her foot and gently tugged her toes until they felt like taffy. And when those strong fingers turned to rubbing the knots away, including the ones in the back of her ankle and calf . . .

  Corinne melted. She closed her eyes, slid down i
nto the water and offered her foot up for the most sybaritic experience of her life.

  He kissed her big toe. She cocked one eye at him, then both eyes when his tongue swirled over her. When he sucked it, she nearly arched out of the water. “Oh my God,” she gasped.

  He sucked again and she bucked. He smiled wickedly, knowingly. “Am I the first to pleasure you in this fashion?”

  “I, ah, yes!” She stared at him, ruefully conscious that her eyes truly must be as large as saucers.

  “Excellent,” he purred and moved to the next toe.

  She moaned as he worked it over, her thighs clenching in rhythm with his pulls. The connection grew stronger every time he touched her until his lips seemed to be drawing on her core, although his hands hadn’t reached above her calves.

  She lolled back against the tub’s rim, legs spread wide to ease his access. Cream trickled from her core in heated anticipation of his next step.

  Mykh moved closer to her until he was almost alongside her knees. His palm glided up her leg and cupped her aching core under cover of the frothing water. Corinne sighed and pushed against it slightly; he felt so damn good. His finger stroked her clit as if considering its potential.

  “Nice,” Corinne murmured. “Very nice.”

  “But you’d like a climax better.”

  “Yes. Oh yes, please, Mykh . . .”

  He took her big toe back into his mouth, while continuing to stroke her clit to reinforce the pull on her extremity. First one finger, then two in that wicked combination she’d found irresistible before. She groaned as a climax rose up and over her, awakening her body to the erotic potential of its most distant components. If this was the reward for putting a kingdom’s welfare first, then more women ought to try it.

  He worked on her hands and arms in a similar fashion until she was a puddle of sated, and anticipating, womanhood resting in the tub. She even forgave him the smile that flickered around his mouth. Instead she idly wondered what he’d do with her torso.

  He eased her hand back into the water, then picked up the sponge. He washed her gently but thoroughly until the scent of frankincense, roses, and cedarwood wafted from her. The nicks and calluses embedded in his hands by years of warfare became satin smooth skin covering wickedly skillful strength. And the tub’s magic helped him, setting the bubbles to dance more purposefully, so that the least trace of dirt or used soap disappeared.

  Mykh murmured, “Pillows, please” and a soft mound appeared on the tub’s edge. “Can you kneel?”

  “Sure,” Corinne agreed. She’d have consented to almost anything by then. He guided her into position facing the rim, with her head and most of her body resting on the pillows. She murmured something about being cold and the air obligingly warmed up.

  She was still mumbling her appreciation, when he delicately ran the sponge over her nether lips. She squeaked and jerked, just a little. She relaxed again—only to feel him spread her legs wider.

  She turned her head to look at him and found him tossing his hair over one shoulder. Mykh raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed but kept staring at him. He smiled at her and delicately blew a puff of warm air over her clit.

  Corinne gasped as that gentlest of all caresses made her core clench in desire. He blew again and her thighs clenched, until she trembled with the need to touch him. “Mykh, what are you doing?” she choked out.

  He answered her by gliding first the sponge then his tongue over her folds. A second pass delved a little deeper, and a third sent her twisting in anticipation. He explored every subtle nook and curve, more and more with his mouth rather than the sponge. She bucked against him eagerly, making him chuckle. He tossed the sponge aside and set his tongue and teeth roaming over her, while his hands gripped her hips firmly. She moaned, soft rumbles that sang of pleasure, while her body surged and floated under his mouth’s coaxing.

  She grinned at a stray thought. Had any other romance novelist ever labored like this to save her characters?

  Suddenly his teeth tugged lightly on her clit and a climax swept like a geyser from her toes to her scalp, leaving her sprawled half-in and half-out of the tub.

  Corinne tried to catch both her breath and her wits in the aftermath. She knew she should be embarrassed by how exposed she was to him, but that seemed far too much effort. And rather silly, considering what he’d already done to her. She did manage to be mildly curious when he stood up. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s time for your massage now.”

  She swiveled her head around to look at him. Damn, he was gorgeous standing there in the water with clouds of steam caressing all those smooth planes of muscle. She could see every inch of him, even his cock standing crimson and erect now that the loincloth was so wet as to be invisible. But the scrap of linen did manage to annoy her anyway. “Mykh, would you please take off that damned loincloth? Or would that be sacrilegious?”

  He threw his head back and roared, almost dropping the towels in his arms. Corinne blinked then blushed, as she tried to roll over and sit up. But her relaxed muscles wouldn’t obey her, making her lurch and nearly fall back into the water. He caught her instantly and held her against his chest. He was still chuckling softly while he wrapped fresh dry towels around her.

  “I didn’t know loincloths were so funny,” Corinne observed to his collarbone.

  “Very seldom,” he answered, setting her down on the bench. It was cool but heated up nicely once she touched it. “I would be happy to obey you but . . .”

  She snorted. Mykh was never going to obey anyone or anything but his own sense of right and wrong. Thankfully, that included caring for his family or she’d never have been able to get her heroines out of half their escapades.

  His mouth twitched but he continued, “On the last day, my rod cannot touch a woman until we board the galley. The loincloth is a symbol of that fast.”

  “Damn.” Corinne’s disappointment was emphatic. She reviewed his behavior in the bathtub. “But it’s okay for me to climax? Seems a little one-sided. We’ll have to make up for that on the boat.”

  “Whatever my lady wishes,” Mykh purred. He swooped down and scooped her up off the bench. He started walking toward the bedchamber.

  “Yeah, right,” Corinne commented a little brokenly. The tip of his magnificent cock was rubbing her hip through the layer of towels, which felt almost nonexistent at the moment. She tried to think of something clever to say, failed, and turned her face into the curve of his neck. He smelled of frankincense, cedar, and roses, as she did. But the strongest aroma was of himself, that satisfying masculine scent that spoke of hard work and hard loving.

  She was still purring about his scent when they marched hand-in-hand through the castle an hour later.

  The high priests and priestesses led the procession, together with all their attendant acolytes and lesser priests and priestesses. The acolytes waved censers, sending incense laden with frankincense through the air, while priests played flutes, trumpets, and other musical instruments.

  Then came a handful of guardsmen, two men carrying Dragon’s Breath and two women with the great halberd, Tiger’s Paw, directly in front of Mykh and Corinne, while Mazur glided alongside.

  They were both dressed now, if you could dignify their costumes with that role. He wore a finely pleated kilt, covering him from hip to knee, with a green and gold sash. She was garbed from armpit to mid-thigh in a strapless full-skirted dress, topped by a floor-length, intricately pleated robe, belted in silver tissue. Matching rose coronets, with cedarwood and frankincense, plus sandals, finished off their outfits.

  Mykh’s great emerald signet was the only jewelry he wore; not even a bead could be found in his thick coppery mane, now falling free down his back. She suspected that he missed his knives, judging by the way his fingers had twitched when they first left her rooms.

  The tissue-thin silk was a total contrast to her beloved gray sweats. But the sweats’ comfort faded next to the fire in Mykh’s eyes when he first sa
w her in this outfit. That look promised enough excitement to make her forget modesty, the difficulties of healing him, even the threat of the Dark Warrior’s return.

  Still, her skin prickled every time she saw his eyes check Dragon’s Breath. If the Dark Warrior attacked now, the only defense was Mykh’s skill and speed with that great sword, until he managed to summon Khyber.

  Corinne wondered again how she could call Svetlhana. She could grab the halberd fairly quickly since it was only two paces away; hopefully, it would be as light as the tigress had promised. But what did she say or do then to bring Svetlhana? A sorceress was supposed to accomplish that faster than the long chant Mykh used with Khyber. But she didn’t know what they did differently.

  She remembered the endless minutes at Tajzyk’s Gorge, while the knife-edged beak of Azherbhai, the Imperial Terrapin, had torn apart Torhtremer’s armies faster than a man could run. But no one had fled the carnage. Instead, men and women died by the hundreds and thousands to keep the Dark Warrior away, while Mykh’s voice rose and fell in the summons. And finally they roared in relief when Khyber appeared, his fiery breath ultimately reducing the enemy’s forces to ashes.

  Corinne had wept when writing that scene and she’d never rewritten it, not even to polish it while correcting the galleys.

  Ghryghoriy, with his hidden scars gained during that desperate battle, and his wife, Amber, followed Mykh and Corinne. Behind them came Alekhsiy and Juli, then another handful of guardsmen. Yevgheniy and one of the jewels, then the remaining jewels and their escorts appeared next, followed by the royal musicians and palace servants. More musicians and servants joined at every turn until Corinne couldn’t calculate how big the procession was. It was certainly longer than any Fourth of July parade she’d seen back on Earth.

  All of them, including the priests and priestesses, fell silent as they approached a pair of towering gold and silver doors. A ram’s horn sounded in the distance, then another and another. A gong answered three times from within the palace, sending echoes through the walls and into Corinne’s bones. Two guards, a man and a woman, flung open the doors and the throng flowed into the central courtyard.