by Lisa Daniels
That is, if she happened to be a normal lightweaver like everyone else. What she tried doing was bending the shield around her arm, making it thinner so that she could spread the light in an even manner, covering more space.
Mordred watched her in interest as she attempted this, which made it hard to focus, since he had such a penetrating stare. “You know, you don't have to put so much pressure in learning this, Kiara. I'm happy with you the way you are. Impulsive tongue and all.” He sidled close to her as she managed to wrap the shield around her arm, leaving an amorphous chunk of it still floating above. “And what a tongue it is.” He breathed those words in her ear, and she yelped, dropping the lightweaving completely. She leapt away from him as if on fire, and clutched a hand to her rapidly beating heart.
“You did not just do that!”
“Didn't I?” Oh, he appeared so innocent now. “I didn't do anything wrong. It's true what I said. I like your wit. People don't like you at court because you don't speak to them with all the levity they've come to expect. You're... refreshing. You stand for your own mind. You should never be ashamed of that.”
Kiara fanned her face now, unsure why the words hit her right in the heart, making her knees tremble slightly. “I... people don't like me for those reasons you've just described. So I find it a little... odd that you like them.”
“Is that so? A pity, then. You've clearly been missing out. I mean... aside from your wondrous dark locks, your smoldering brown eyes which burn like coals... those plump lips that I sometimes just want to bite... in a nice way, of course...”
“Stop! Stop!” Kiara flung her hands in front, aflame with embarrassment. “No more!”
He started laughing. “You're really not used to being complimented, are you? Compliments are good. You deserve them. And get used to it, because I'm prepared to give you a lot more.”
The embarrassment fizzled away to a little shame, because he had described her in all these words—yet she never gave him the same compliments back. “You're... nice, too,” she tried, though it was a rather lame first attempt. “I like your... chin.”
“My chin?” He jutted out his jaw slightly, puffing up from the flattery.
“Yes. It's very.... shapely.” Then, before that killed the conversation, she added, “And your lake blue eyes. And that shiny hair of yours. And you do have nice teeth, too.”
He smiled all of his pearly whites at this response and flicked back a strand of hair from his eyes. His reactions made her struggle not to laugh. “I'm better at insulting than flattering, it seems.”
He began to inch closer to her. “You know, we've been husband and wife for a few months now. Getting on quite well. I've been reading you to sleep, watching you sleep, sometimes. My parents approve of you, and you're quite the unique woman...” Now he came in a little too close for comfort again. Kiara forgot how to breathe. Her heart thumped traitorously fast, and the blood pounded in her ears, her throat, her fingers. All this time, she'd been trying to avoid this confrontation, not wanting to focus on how she really felt. Now everything began to crumble around her. Just when at one point, Kiara convinced herself to be unlovable. “This may be a little forward... but I really, really want to kiss those lips of yours right now.”
“Um.” Kiara's tongue failed her. As did most of her brain. Everything stopped. He leaned forward, reaching out a hand to perhaps cup her cheek...
And light erupted in front of her, obscuring her vision for one blinding second.
When the light cleared, allowing Kiara to see again, she saw the werewolf's lips close to hers, and a rather astonished expression upon his face. She caught the scent of something earthy, like apples upon his skin, and felt his warm breath tickling her.
Something felt different about Kiara, like she had a kind of film covering her skin. Mordred started laughing so hard that he bent over, holding his stomach.
“What? What are you laughing about?”
“You...” he wheezed out the word, struggling to sound coherent, “that's going to make sex really awkward...”
She lifted up a hand and saw that she was now glowing. She followed the hand, and realized with growing amusement that her light had now solidified into a complete body shield around her, covering her with a thin layer that left no surface of cloth or skin exposed.
“You know, you can just tell me if you don't want to be kissed. No need to overdo it.”
“I...” Kiara shook her head, marveling at her light-encased arm. Mordred recovered from his fit long enough to prod at her. The high, pure note rang from his tap. “Okay then. I can do this now. Apparently.”
“Impressive,” he said, before wiping tears from his eyes. “But you know... if that's how you're going to behave each time... we might need to have some words about you.”
Kiara grinned sheepishly at him. “Well... Dad always did tell me to use protection...”
That did it. Both of them started roaring with laughter, and her shield dissipated.
They didn't quite get around to any kissing after that.
Probably for the best.
Chapter Seven
“You know what this means,” Mordred said, holding out a black-sleeved arm to her. She threaded her left elbow through his right, and they amiably began their stroll through the outside lake. “With your lightweaving now able to encase you.”
“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 inspection. 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.