by Lisa Daniels
“That I'll make a great target to practise shooting at?”
His lips twitched upward before he said, “You could come with me to some of the dangerous patrols in the Endless Dark. If you're looking for some more adventure. I know how much you like getting into crazy situations.”
She punched him in the elbow, and a passing Highborn couple glared at them. “Mostly I get into crazy situations by accident. It's not my fault if I step into a rope snare or get locked up in a carriage or make people want to kill me. These things just kind of happen.”
“Yes, but they seem to happen to you in particular.”
“Oh, shut up.” Kiara pretended to pout, her white-gloved hands now clutching his right elbow tightly. She deliberately changed the rhythm of their steps as well, so that they now swayed as they walked.
They continued walking with that pleasant air, and Kiara found herself thinking a little of her sister, wondering when she planned to arrive and disrupt the Kanthian Highborn further. The king and queen had finally received a letter from her, though it came in the form of a half invitation, half warning from Kiara's mother. Something along the lines of: Another daughter of ours has decided she wants to set up shop in Kanthus. Would you mind accommodating her, because like dark we can't control her.
The message read politer than that, of course, but it did contain that gist. The Kanthian king and queen agreed. Probably because the prospect of having another odd lightweaver potentially making powerful babies together meant a lot to them.
Plus, they did say that the last werewolf to be born was about fifteen years ago, thanks to the infertility of the Highborn women, and perhaps the weakened blood of their population in general.
The king and queen believed her to be settled in, happy with one of their sons.
Truthfully, though, Kiara suspected that wherever she went, she'd never quite fit in. The odd one who knew no proper lightweavings, but did know to cover her body in a thin, gleaming layer of light, which made her resemble a human lantern but did serve the purpose of protecting her. Winifred found the ability incredible. Though Kiara still thought Winifred's skills formidable. She grasped lightweaving in a way that Kiara knew she never would. Her brain simply wasn't wired that way. It was wired for other things. It worked better for other things. Just not what everyone else wanted from her.
Her boots pressed into the soft grasses around the lake, and the light unfolded like a fine mist. Glowing tadpoles flitted near the banks, and luminescent frogs hopped along the grass or sank into the waters. The sweet aroma of lavenders, lit to their true colors, gave a heady, relaxing sensation to Kiara. She leaned on Mordred's arm, enjoying the closeness, the bond they had developed.
Walks in the dome or around the lakes, sometimes out to the fenlands or the green swamp, occupied some of the better moments of her new life. Talks with Winifred, drinks with Vasha took up the others.
Less great were the ones who still found fault with Kiara's alliance to Mordred. Her stomach twinged slightly when she saw a gaggle of some of the worst offenders, talking to one another by a huge horse-drawn carriage, either departing or having arrived some moments before. Five Highborn, three of them women, two of them men. None of them happy with her.
One also happened to be Lady Essen, the one who Kiara insulted for her nose size and waspish features. Even with Mordred helping to shrug everything off as a joke, the privileged Highborn never quite got over it. Barely any of the Highborn seemed to understand Fjorn humor. Which put Kiara at a disadvantage.
“Ah,” Essen said, spotting Mordred and Kiara, just as Kiara had tried discreetly steering Mordred away, “my prince and lady.” She gave a short curtsey, spreading out her white dress with her hands. She kept her eyes averted from Mordred, and the other two women began to chuckle behind their hands. The two men gave steely, unimpressed stares towards Kiara, and she felt her cheeks burning. Again. Really, she needed to control that reflex. Bethany knew how to control her stupid features.
Mordred, aware of the animosity of Essen towards his wife, gave a sigh. “What appears to be the issue?”
For some people, being directly addressed by a werewolf in such a manner might terrify them. For Essen, she merely fluttered her eyelashes.
“I'm sorry, my prince. You see, it's not appropriate for me to look at you. After all, you and the Fjorn princess haven't even consummated your marriage yet, have you?”
Mordred bristled at this, and Kiara wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Instead, her face went rigid. “That's nonsense,” Mordred said. “If this isn't obvious to you that we're husband and wife, you must be mistaken.”
“Gossip gets around,” Essen said, unperturbed. “The servants know things. They know that you took her in to save face, to stop her from being ridiculed by the Highborn. They talk about you being soft, of not asserting your true nature. They talk about finding you a proper wife, one willing to perform and provide for you the children you need.” She relished the words proper wife, and flicked her gaze to Kiara as she enunciated them.
Kiara knew some of those servants had bat ears. She trusted Winifred not to spread word around, but not for those hungry for news, looking for any way to sabotage what they believed to be a faulty alliance. Maybe more people didn't mind her, but Kiara simply didn't care about the Highborn court long enough to make any real amends to the others. Even though she knew she should, even though she knew the Kanthian king and queen approved of her.
She understood then the pressure on Mordred—the true risk he took to help her out.
“Are you really that stupid, or are you just pretending?” The words slipped out of Kiara's mouth before she could stop them. “We have an entire world swamped by the Endless Dark, we should be teaming together, and all you can think of is how to belittle me and insult one of your gods?”
Essen flushed, but said, teeth gritted, “The only belittling and insulting going on is your presence here in Kanthus. We don't need you. It makes us look weak to even consider this alliance, and you've stolen a god from us. One you won't even sleep with.”
“Not to mention your ill manners,” another woman said, and the men nodded in agreement.
“See, this is why it's so easy to offend you. You lot think far too highly of yourselves.” Kiara couldn't resist it now—she accessed her lightweaving, instantly letting it cocoon her whole body in a blaze of light. Essen blinked wildly but stood her ground, and Kiara stalked right up to her.
“Mordred, darling,” Kiara said, “would I get into trouble if I punched her in the face?”
Mordred chortled, but shook his head. “I recommend you not to do that, Princess. You might cause a scene.”
“Well, clearly words don't work with these idiots.”
One of the Highborn men, however, said, “You think that's going to scare us? Casting some kind of weaving around your body?”
Kiara considered him for a moment, then snapped her hand out, deciding to go for a slap to his shoulder. The red-haired man gasped, reeling to the side, yellow eyes bulging. “Dare you to hit me,” Kiara said.
Mordred went to seize Kiara by the shoulder, trying not to laugh out loud. “Now, now, my bloodthirsty little wife, let's not beat up half the Highborn court.”
The man who had been slapped to the side shrugged off his friend's help and strode right up to Kiara. “That's impossible,” he said. “Hold out your hand.”
Kiara exchanged a look with Mordred, then did so. Instantly, the young Highborn punched Kiara, then gasped and buckled over. “That's impossible!” Although he exclaimed this, there was also a gleam of admiration in his eyes.
“People tell me that a lot,” Kiara admitted. “I usually just ignore them and keep doing it anyway.”
“It's solid!” The Highborn held up his uninjured hand. “Wait. Please. I want to look at this. I've never seen anything like it.”
“If you apologize to my wife,” Mordred growled, and the man nodded, stumbling over an apology before he continued his i
nspection. Now one of the women came over, ignoring Essen's glares, and even the carriage driver stared, jaw hanging open slightly.
They still didn't like her. But they did at least admire her lightweaving.
“This is unheard of,” the man said. “Except perhaps in stories. Light made solid.”
“Don't get too excited about it,” Kiara said, giving him a wry smile. “So far I can only wrap it around myself. Also I skipped all the other levels. Can't even attach light to a stone.”
“Well,” the man said, “pretty much no one who has lightweaving can do this. But you always find oddities. People who can do things they shouldn't.” He tapped her back, creating the pure note. “I don't think it's a case of skipping all the levels as it is rising up entirely new levels. Like another branch of lightweaving.”
He seemed to be utterly consumed by scholarly interest, and Mordred just folded his arms, amused and baffled at the same time. Eventually, the Highborn were dragged away into the carriage, mostly urged by Essen, leaving Mordred and a glowing Kiara behind.
“I don't know if you deliberately intend to antagonize everyone in the court,” Mordred eventually said, “or if you're just too impulsive for your own good. Not all ideas are good, just because you feel the need to do them, you know.”
“Hmm.” Kiara let the weaving go, feeling chastised. “Do you think what I did was childish?”
“A little. We would have been best to keep going, I think. There's no telling how they'll take this. Perhaps make out that you assaulted them and persist in spreading the rumor around that we're not doing the husband and wife thing as well as we want everyone to believe.”
Kiara tapped her boot on the softly glowing green, even as the carriage began to roll away. “Well, I can think of one way to dispel some of the rumors...” She gave him a grin, though a part of her lurched in fright, asking herself if she really intended to go through with this.
“Oh?” He shared her smile, stepping a little closer. “How's that, then?”
Dark take us, Kiara thought, before rolling to the balls of her feet and reaching up to kiss him on the lips. She did have to make sure she suppressed her panic reflex, the one that accidentally blocked her from the moment last time. His arms folded around her, and they touched one another's lips for the first time.
Such soft and pliable material. Such a kissable mouth. How had she waited so long to taste this? How had he waited so long to claim her, to make his mark?
“Let's,” she whispered, withdrawing herself long enough from his mouth to breathe, slightly dazed, “take this someplace else, shall we?”
“Let's,” he agreed, his voice slurred as if drunk. They stepped back to regard one another, before erupting into grins, holding hands, and dashing back to the palace.
She barely managed to get Mordred's door closed before he went for her, pressing her back against the wood, eagerly consuming her lips, her heat. Kiara's heart hammered at a breakneck pace, and she needed the support of the door to stop her legs from giving out under her.
She didn't know that much about sex, but she did know a thing or two about going along with whatever impulse and feeling burned through her. And her impulse right now was to tear those clothes off, to feel the press of his warmth against her, to let them share everything together. He touched her neck, her cheek, her ear with those soft, searing lips, hands now taking the opportunity to explore over her clothes, the simple black dress she wore, perhaps seeking out bare skin.
He bent to reach the bottom of her dress and hitched it up, now running those hands over trembling skin. She let out a sharp exhale, before scrambling to take his clothes off, to get him moving towards the softly glowing bed, to do what they were overdue for.
By the time they did reach the bed, Mordred had lost his jacket and shirt, leaving his chest gloriously exposed. His necklace fell behind him onto the red sheets as she pushed him onto them and straddled him, just wanting to be near him, to keep the feeling going, and the bolts of energy crackling through her stomach.
“This—stupid—dress,” he growled, now trying to tug her out of it, “how are you supposed to take it off?”
She laughed, before starting to unbutton it from the side connection, until it slipped off in a puddle, leaving her in her shift, panties and stockings. He let out a soft growl when seeing the small points in her shift, protruding from her barely concealed breasts, and quickly yanked that off, too. He rolled them so that now he lay on top, his body between her legs, kissing her with a sense of urgency. His length pressed hard against her, and her next impulse surged through her. To get those pants off, to get him naked. To let everything happen at last.
He shared that same impatience, wriggling off the rest of her clothes, so that she lay there, completely exposed to him.
Mordred's yellow eyes gleamed in the faint blue lights, giving a dark tint to him. She had the strange sensation that they were kissing underwater, reaching for one another as the liquid rippled around them, as he took off the last of his clothes, as he positioned his length at her entrance, and slowly made his way inside. Though she didn't really know how to act, what should happen during this moment, she again went with her impulse, to let the moment overtake everything else.
After he began to move, it became very, very hard to think. All her thoughts tumbled down, focusing instead to a singular point, of what Mordred did to her, and what she did to him with the way she arched against him. His eyes glazed over, shutting as he moved inside her, and she grimaced, unsure what to make of the feeling inside her curling out, half afraid everything inside might explode, making her unable to function.
She was partially right, at least. The tension increased, and she expressed her feeling with gasps and moans, in urging him to go faster, because she wanted more, more, more...
The sensation roared through her, covering her nerves and pounding heart like her lightweaving, except it came with a sensation that somehow dragged down her limbs as if drowning, and made her float at the same time. Her mind, certainly, felt as if all the moorings inside it had detached, leaving her drifting in serene bliss.
It didn't take him too long after that to reach his own personal bliss, and for them to share the reality of their act together. She smiled as he continued to kiss her, but this time with gentle touches of his lips, letting his hands softly glide over her skin. He removed himself from inside her, still exploring her body, and she let him do so, both unable to resist and unwilling to.
Finally, he settled to her left side, dragging the bedcovers around them by getting her to move as well.
“Mine,” he said then, voice cracking, resting one palm upon her cheek.
“Mine,” Kiara echoed, doing the same to his. They both gazed at one another, grinning.
Kiara then buried her face in the pillow, enjoying Mordred's hot arm draping over her.
What an amazing thing, this sex. When done in the right way. She might have been a little clumsy, a little unsure at times, but their sheer confidence in one another managed to override the worst of it. Also, what they did should stop some of the rumors. Just as long as she kept up the act, made sure she did what was expected of her—
She shook her head. No. That wasn't right. She didn't do this because everyone expected it.
She did it because she liked Mordred. Plain and simple. Maybe she struggled to admit the truth to herself at times, but from everything that had happened, accidental or not, convenient or not—she'd grown attached to him. Hard not to. He made it easy to love. Then there was that rather heart-pulsing rescue. How soon he'd reached out to find her, along with that other werewolf. How he fought back the night hordes with a form that surpassed anything any human could muster.
Something wasn't quite right about those night horde creatures, though. Kiara only heard that they were monstrous, savage things that would kill you the second they scented you in the dark. But to her, they seemed like an eerie form of human. One that evolved without eyes, yet still sensed light. Path
etic, scrabbling creatures that shouldn't even be alive, yet there they were, chasing after Winifred's illusions, seeming, well... not exactly threatening.
Far too much she didn't know. About how the sun and moon disappeared in the first place, about how things and plants survived in a place where they shouldn't. Everything outside the light-woven human kingdoms should be dead, without the proper nutrients and heat to survive. Lakes and seas should be frozen, the ground slick with tundra.
What did people actually know? The world went dark a long time ago. Something—someone made the sun die. It took the moon from the sky, the stars. Something happened. But what?
Mordred turned over then, hugging her closer to him, tumbling the thoughts out of her mind in that usual way. She really did overthink things. Instead, she focused on cuddling him, on breathing in his sweat-dried scent, on absorbing his warmth until it became too much to bear.
“What crazy thing do you plan to do tomorrow night?” he said, with a little grin in his words.
“Hmm...” Kiara tried shuffling herself in closer, though all it served to do was readjust their positions and not actually change the distance. “Well, if my sister comes tomorrow, you'll have twice the crazy and half the fun. We Fjorns will turn your Highborn upside down.”
He chuckled, now stroking her long, dark hair. “You must be looking forward to seeing her.”
“Yes and no. She probably thinks she's coming here to scoop me out of whatever political mess I'll unwittingly bumble into. And she's probably annoyed with father for sending me off with little to no training, so this is likely her revenge on him. I doubt her motivations are as pure as ‘wanting to visit little sis.’” Not that Kiara particularly minded. People's reasons might be selfish or pure—or they might lie to themselves and pretend their reasons were pure, but often or not, people did things because they wanted. Because it suited them. She didn't bother deluding herself for Bethany's motives, even though she liked the idea that her older sister wanted to help.
“Well, I suppose it gets lonely having to talk to Kanthians. And dealing with the fact that you're not as funny as you think you are.”