Queen of the Earth: Book V in the Elementals Series

by Marisol Logan

  Veria closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her chest filled with the pain of heartbreak.

  “Yes, of course they did, sweetheart. In a huge field of flowers,” she finally answered when she was able to without the threat of bawling if she spoke on the matter.

  “That's how Dada says that you two are going to get married!” Irea remarked excitedly. “Maybe he has heard this story, too.”

  “I am sure he has,” Veria replied in a gentle whisper. “Now, you should shut your eyes and rest, alright, darling?”

  “Alright, Momma,” Irea yawned her reply.

  “I will see you tomorrow.”

  Within minutes, her daughter had fallen asleep in her arms, and Veria struggled to a stand with extra weight of her limp, sleeping body, then placed her on her bed and tucked her in.

  Tanisca was waiting in the doorway when she turned around. Her eyes were rimmed with red as if she had been crying, but there was no evidence of tears or emotion otherwise.

  “Are you ready?” she asked when Veria joined her in the hall, her voice cool and collected.

  Veria nodded. “What are we using?” she whispered.

  Tanisca grabbed her hand and pulled it up, then slid off the large, elaborate diamond wedding ring that Browan had placed on her finger the day before.

  “I hope you weren't attached to the meaning of this or anything,” she grinned wickedly.

  Veria mirrored her, the corner of lips curling up the side of her face. “You are a genius.”

  “Well, I am not Strelzar Plazic,” she muttered sarcastically, “but I have my moments.”

  -V-

  A month passed in a cold, regimented manner that made Veria feel as if she were actually frozen in time, reliving the same day over and over again. Everyday, she woke and refused the breakfast tray brought to her room. Each morning, she would visit the Regal Library and search for new stories to tell Irea after lunch, but every day her daughter requested the Dragon Maiden story again. And everyday, they had their exchange.

  “Dada told me to tell you that he loves you and he thought about you all day yesterday.”

  “Can you tell him that I see him every night in my dreams and I love him more with every day that goes by?”

  Every evening, she was made to eat dinner in the dining hall with Browan. And every time she was in his presence, she used her new talisman, forged with the mixed elemental powers of her mother's Fire and her own Earth, hidden in plain sight, to read his desires. They had been generally uneventful and held little useful information, but she knew it was the only thing she could do without getting caught—and sooner or later something would happen and it would reveal itself to her through his mind. She had to believe that it would.

  After dinner, with a verifier—usually a dejected and defeated-looking Willis Villicrey, which broke Veria's heart—Browan would ask her if she had been contacted by Virro. And she would say no, which was the truth, even though she wished it weren't. Then Browan would dismiss her to her room.

  Every night, she went to bed and immediately rolled to her side, wishing that Andon were next to her, half expecting him to be there, ready to scoop her into his strong arms and pull her into his solid chest. Her dreams were always of the two of them, desperately trying to find each other, and when they did, they would make love so clear and vivid even in her sleep that she awoke each morning aching for him.

  The previous night's dream had agitated her more so than usual, as it took place in the avadiso fields where they had planned to marry and move their family. Amongst the tall, sturdy stalks, topped with their golden crowns and orange sprigs that resembled the feathers of a bird, they had slowly helped each other remove their clothing—the formal attire of a wedding—but Veria awoke just before they formed the union she anticipated, in sleep and waking hours alike.

  After dressing and refusing breakfast, as usual, she started on her way to the Regal Library, but at the last moment changed her course. Irea would want to hear the Dragon Maiden, and she had found and memorized ten other stories over the past month if she didn't. There was no point in keeping the routine that made her feel trapped in time on top of her imprisonment in the castle. She wandered aimlessly through the castle until she found herself stumbling into the kitchen, and she realized she had never set foot in the castle kitchen before, in all her time living within its walls.

  It was quiet and empty, a large open room lined with wooden tables, a wood fire stove on each of the four walls. Two large hearths sat on opposite walls, one holding two huge cast iron pots and one containing a spit for roasting meat. A sizable square worktable sat in the middle of the room, covered in flour and pastry dough scraps—the baker's table, she thought as she ran her finger through the confectionery debris.

  “Hello?” Veria called out, but given the odd time, just after breakfast but quite sometime before lunch yet, she figured the kitchen staff was likely out gathering ingredients. She saw them some days from the library windows around this time of day, plucking braiberries and gathering greens from the garden, or toting baskets full of eggs or bottles full of cream across the grounds.

  Veria took a batch of tarts that had been cooling by the window, and begin absent-mindedly decorating them with coacoa crystals and ribbons that lay in a box on the nearest table. A brief moment of guilty conscience overcame her when she thought about what the baker would say when his tarts were not the way he had planned. Then she remembered, reluctantly, that she was Queen. No one was going to get upset with her. She could do whatever she wanted. Except the thing she wanted to do most—go home, with her family.

  A single tear traced a warm, moist path from her eye to her jaw. She sighed in frustration at the inconvenient emotions, most of which she had managed to keep locked up tightly and not give in to. Was it the warmth and familiar nature of a kitchen sanctuary causing them to break to the surface now, or the beautiful but unfinished dream that still haunted her that was responsible? she wondered. She jumped and brushed the warm droplet from her cheek quickly when she heard the door behind her open, continuing on her task of poorly decorating the tarts.

  “Your Majesty, I did not expect to see you in the kitchen.”

  Her heart jumped and fluttered—it was the most beautiful sound she had heard in what felt like forever, her favorite voice in the world—and she whipped around so her eyes could confirm what she already knew.

  “You will have to excuse my appearance, Your Majesty,” Andon said, making his way toward her through the long kitchen, covered in dirt and dust, sweat dripping down his face and pooling in the patch of sparse, dark chest hair that was visible in the open front of his unbuttoned shirt. “The King has taken it upon himself to give me a lesson in humility, I suppose, by offering me the position of work hand.”

  She smiled from ear to ear as he stopped in front of her and took a rag from a hook on the underside of the baker's table behind her and vigorously wiped his face.

  “What?” he asked, cocking his head at her. “Do not laugh.”

  “I would not care if you were the dirtiest man in the kingdom,” she whispered. “I am just very happy to see you.”

  “And I you,” he hummed, rubbing his rough, warm thumb across her cheek. “But you are also upset. In the kitchen? I know how you are with kitchens—and these tarts look ridiculous, dear, I hate to be the one to have to tell you. Who puts coacoa ribbons on sweet root tarts?”

  She laughed, but with the laughs sneaked a few more tears, rolling quickly down her flushed cheeks.

  “No...please,” Andon begged. “I cannot watch you cry anymore. It will kill me.”

  He wiped them away as they came, every brush of his thumb or palm or hand against her face bringing back memories, and every memory seemed to announce its presence with a fresh, wet tear.

  “Veria...” he sighed, continuing to wipe the tears from her face, until he stopped brushing them away and took the sides of her face in both his hands and looked her straight in the eyes. “Vina...re
member what I told you?”

  She closed her eyes and licked her lips at the usage of his pet name for her, then nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “Not to cry over you. And I haven't been, Andon, not for a long while, but I am just...I wasn't expecting to see you.”

  “Trust me, I know precisely how you feel, my love,” he said.

  “If you can come into the castle, then...then maybe we can see each other more often,” Veria suggested, placing her hands on his sides.

  “Sweetheart, do you not see?” he groaned, shaking his head. “This is his way of keeping me isolated. I already have a full day's worth of tasks to finish everyday—twice what I would have done working for you at Longberme—not to mention he has told the rest of the grounds keepers and laborers that if they do not finish their tasks, I am to finish for them.”

  “What?” Veria snapped.

  “And if I do not finish their work, they are supposed to report me to His Majesty directly,” he spat the royal title with disgust. “I get about three hours of sleep a night—I have not even seen the children in over a week.”

  Irea had still been passing on the message everyday, even though Andon hadn't been there to give it...Veria's heart sank. Her thoughtful, caring little girl was afraid her mother would be worried and sad if she didn't give the message.

  “Andon, I will fix this—”

  “Stay out of it, Veria,” he argued, his voice turning stern. “He will just make it worse for me, for you, for the children. Just let him punish me. This is my fault, let him punish me.”

  “Andon, it's not your fault—”

  “And as if I do not hate the bastard enough for working me to death,” he cut her off, looking deep into her eyes, “I hate him even more for being married to the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

  Her stomach turned to a giant knot, and she swallowed hard as his hands caressed each side of her neck. “That sounds like an overstatement,” she grinned.

  “Oh, I assure you, it is not,” he murmured. “The Queen is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Oh, the things I would do to her if I had her alone...”

  Veria's heart shot sparks through her chest, and she inhaled sharply, suddenly feeling like she could not get enough air. “Oh, really?” she asked as demurely and casually as possible. “What kinds of things?”

  He smiled, and she melted, her entire body going weak and warming up at the same time. How she had missed his face, his smile, his hands, his soothing voice—everything that was him.

  “I am not sure I know all of the words for what I would do in your language,” he teased. “I think it would be best to show rather than tell.”

  “I think that would be best,” Veria agreed, nodding her head.

  “Although, I think any action on the matter is unwise,” he whispered, one of his hands leaving her neck to fondle the braid that lay across her shoulder. “If I were caught doing these things to Her Majesty, the Queen, I would likely be hanged for treason.”

  “Treason?” Veria feigned shock, and he laughed. “That sounds a bit harsh. And far too political.”

  “Alright, then,” he said with a sly grin, “hunting in the King's forest? Stealing His Majesty's property?”

  “The Queen is no one's property,” Veria asserted. “Especially not the King's.”

  A series of metallic thuds sounded throughout the kitchen as Veria locked every door to and from the kitchen without moving a muscle, or removing her gaze from the man she loved.

  Andon shook his head in disapproval, but his body pressed hers into the table behind her.

  “Treason would be disobeying the Queen's wishes, would it not?” she asked, tilting her head playfully and running her finger down the middle of his sweaty, sculpted chest.

  His entire body shuddered. “Vina....no.”

  “We will not be caught,” she said, half arguing and half pleading.

  “What if we are?” he snapped, his voice tight with worry.

  “If somebody finds us, I will knock them out with a stone flower pot, and you can erase their memory,” Veria answered, matter-of-factly. Andon let out a soft chuckle, remembering what she had done to Rames years before, but shook his head again and pulled himself away from her, his hands away from her neck and shoulder, and started to back away.

  “No!” she cried desperately, clutching for any part of him she could get hold of, ending up with a hand on his shoulder and a fist around the waist of his pants.

  “Veria!” he protested.

  “Please, I cannot go any longer with out you!” she cried, panic creeping over her, her breath turned to short, unsatisfying gasps. “Do you not want me anymore?” she sobbed. “Do you not love me?” she shrieked frantically, attempting to pull him closer.

  “Vina!” Andon sighed, and stepped in to her, taking her in his arms. “Vina, vina, vina...” he repeated in a soothing tone into her ear. She clutched him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go or be without him again. “I love you more than I could ever tell you or show you in one lifetime.”

  “Then do not leave me, please,” she begged. “I need you...”

  “You have me,” he whispered, his lips on her ear. “Always.”

  “I need you now, viomo,” she murmured, pleadingly, and he growled in agitation at her usage of his native tongue. She tried her best at a phrase from his language she had memorized, planning to use it in a more romantic setting, on some momentous occasion or a special anniversary, and not a pathetic plea in a terrible situation. “Ayez a-soca tumo,” she purred. It meant 'I am yours'.

  Andon lifted his face to look at her, and put his fingers on her lips. “More,” he said.

  “That is all I know,” she said, hopelessly.

  “Then say it again.”

  She did. “Ayez a-soca tumo.” He closed his eyes and bit his lip, and let her mouth move his fingertips as she spoke the foreign words.

  “Mm...villami, Vina,” he whispered. If his voice had been seductive and soothing in her language, the sound of it in his native language was a symphony of lustful vibrations that completely entranced her. “Pazayez imar tuma,” he continued, running his lips along her cheek as her insides erupted in flame.

  “I wish I knew what you just said,” she murmured, “but I know it is not half as beautiful in my language as it is in yours.”

  “Come to me, sweet vine. Let me love you,” he translated, his lips grazing her ear, causing her skin to prickle along her neck and down her spine.

  She arched against him and he growled.

  “You know how I am with kitchens,” she whispered suggestively in his ear.

  So suddenly that it stole her breath from her throat, Andon grabbed her by the thighs and wrapped her legs behind his back, pressing her into the edge of the baker's table. She gasped as his firm arousal found its place against her, and he set his lips on her neck, which she elongated by letting her head fall back, propping herself up with her hands on the table's surface.

  He bucked his need into her and she instinctively swiveled against him in response. They moaned in unison, and he abruptly pulled back from his kisses on her neck to look her in the eyes. She expected him to say something, but he only stared at her, devouring her face with an intense, smoldering gaze. Then, he pulled her into his body tightly, away from the table, turning away from it and traversing the kitchen without taking his eyes from hers.

  Soon they were in a secluded pantry alcove, lined with shelves of jars, baskets of root vegetables, and large bottles of meade and wine, among other things. Veria was not concerned with the contents of the pantry—only with the man who carried her in his arms. He sat her on a narrow work table in the pantry, then slowly, never breaking his gaze, eased her backwards as he leaned in and then crawled up onto the table, hovering over her on his hands and knees.

  “What was wrong with the other table?” Veria asked with a playful purse of her lips.

  “Did you want to explain why you had flour and pastry dough in
your hair and on your back?” he asked.

  She shook her head and snaked her hands behind his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

  “Also, there were too many windows,” he explained, his voice soft, as he lowered his body, draping it carefully on top of hers. She moaned and writhed under him as his need met hers again. “We should not be doing this, vina,” he whispered, their lips close enough to touch. “This is foolish.”

  “Please do not say that,” Veria replied.

  “I am going to do it anyway,” he murmured, and started to maneuver the skirt of her dress up and out of their way. “I think I'd be more of a fool if I didn't make love to you at any opportunity given to me.”

  “Andon?” Veria purred as she started to work the belt on his pants.

  “Yes, love?” he sighed his response in her ear.

  “Stop talking,” she declared seriously, grabbing his face in her hands and pulling it up to look into hers. “That's an order.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” he growled before covering her mouth with his, tasting every corner of her mouth eagerly. She drank in the warm, musky sweetness of his kiss as they both fumbled frantically with the clothing that separated them.

  Once his pants and her undergarments were out of the way, Andon joined their bodies with an urgent, assertive thrust. Veria could have cried out with the pleasure of the feel of him inside her, but she knew better than to do so, and she had plenty of practice refraining as this was not the first time the two of them had made love in secret, quickly and quietly, hiding...

  His tempo was steady and reserved, but his movements were sharp and strong, punctuated drives that found new depth within her and crashed their bodies together, each collision both satisfying yet agitating. She opened for him as much as she could manage, letting her legs fall off the sides of the table, granting him more room which he promptly filled as they both moaned and growled with the mounting tension.

  Urgency and uncontrollable desire took over, and their bodies fell out of rhythm and into erratic desperation as they neared the tempest of ecstasy, searching frantically for the release from the fires they had started within each other. He grabbed her legs and pulled them up from where they had dangled off the sides of the table, tucking them up toward her chest, then shifted his firm grasp to her buttocks, clutching deep into the supple skin and swiftly maneuvering her hips upward as he came driving down inside her.