The Swithin Chronicles 3: The Comet Cometh

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  “You can say no, Uly. You can let go.” Dark, chocolate brown eyes with golden flecks in them stared at him as a backdrop to the words. Uly swallowed, searching that gaze. Reassurance existed there. He could stop this if he chose. The pleasure mounted, and Ryanac responded in kind. He sucked as though his only purpose in this world was to draw out Uly’s need and seed both. Uly wanted release, and not just from sexual torment.

  Something in his expression must have changed. Uly both felt it and saw the evidence in the slight smile that suddenly touched Markis’s lips.

  “By the comet,” Markis whispered, stroking his forehead. “You are so beautiful. Even more so in your anguish.” His words triggered something inside Uly. His heart and other things broke apart. He erupted, sending stream after stream into the depths of Ryanac’s throat. He might have spilled every drop into those depths if the big man hadn’t pulled back. Even then, Ryanac didn’t let go until Uly fell back, spent. Uly finally released the spindles. His arms lay dead, unable to move. Markis turned his head as Ryanac moved up the bed. Uly watched the two men kiss, blinking a moment later in surprise as he realised they were surely sharing his seed. Ryanac’s bright eyes turned to him. One of those huge hands gripped his chin.

  “Taste yourself on my lips,” Ryanac said, and by the time Uly understood what the big man meant, they were already kissing. Markis must have taken most of Ryanac’s offering, but there was still a taste. Uly flushed hot, moaning gently at the thought of what they did. Worse, Markis watched him. That both alarmed and sent a thrill of excitement through him. When they parted, he shot a shy glance towards Markis. There was nothing appalled in that gaze. Nothing agonised, nothing painful. Taking courage, Uly looked up to Ryanac’s face, but his gaze went no further than the man’s mouth. He stopped and stared at the other man’s lips. So recently, this mouth had drifted over his skin. This mouth had taken in his most intimate flesh and fluids. More than that, Ryanac had wanted to do so; he had enjoyed it, taking as much pleasure as he gave.

  Wanting to give Markis just as much pleasure as he received, still Uly hesitated, afraid of failure and thereby appearing foolish. The knowledge burned brightly in Uly’s mind that he would have to learn how to do so by experience.

  Chapter Two

  “What is it?”

  Markis stood staring down at the small woman who was his wife, and therefore the Swithin queen. They had wed out of duty rather than love, but he more than cared for her, even if she did drive him to distraction at times. The four shared the royal suites, a series of interconnected rooms. The arrangement gave them individual privacy as well as places to share and relax together in various degrees of work or leisure. Two hours ago, Tressa had barged into his room. Markis wouldn’t have minded the intrusion so much, or been so snappy with her, if she had knocked.

  “I…I think I insulted one of the servants.” Tressa sat still, her back as stiff as a tree trunk, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. This wouldn’t be the first time she had insulted someone, inadvertently or otherwise.

  Markis sighed. “What did you do this time?”

  Her mouth opened, and her expression hardened. Maybe she intended to argue with the “this time” comment. She seemed to experience second thoughts, and then she told him the problem.

  “Whaaatttt!” His roar filled the room, winged its way out through the door and down the corridor.

  Tressa stood up, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I honestly did not think she would be offended. It was a simple error. After all, she is a servant.”

  “That means she works for us.” Markis advanced on her, and he was half-mad with rage, half-delighted that she stood her ground. She clearly struggled to do so, but her feet remained planted. “I don’t know what “servant” means where you come from, but here it is a job someone does. They are not slaves or whores to satisfy our whims.”

  “I know that, but ‑‑”

  “And besides, you shouldn’t even be thinking of such a thing. You should have spoken to me. If you’re uncertain, you check with me. Tressa, by the comet, you’ve been here for weeks. It’s about time you started to understand our way of life. Uly picked it up quicker than this, and he’s had as many, if not more, disadvantages.”

  “I ‑‑”

  “What? What are you going to say now to try to talk your way out of this?”

  “I meant no harm. I thought the girl would be grateful.”

  “Grateful?” Her explanation stopped Markis in his tracks. He seriously had no idea what she meant.

  “I thought she would enjoy a queen’s attention. And I was…” She bristled, all taut sinew that trembled. “I was not looking to… I was just…” She took a breath and appeared to rally her thoughts and emotions. “I was curious!” She glared up at him, her eyes bright, defiant. “You…you said! You said that the Swithin could take lovers of either sex. You have Uly. You have Ryanac.”

  He couldn’t deny that, but the two men were her lovers as well, if only on occasion. Except… He tried to remember when she had last shared anything more than affection with Uly, and as for Ryanac… Something nagged at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite follow his train of thought; he was too busy gritting his teeth against the disapproval in her voice. It didn’t come from the fact that he had male lovers, and he never heard it when she spoke of Uly. What irritated Tressa was the idea that he continued a relationship with his guard. Her logic had puzzled him, but now he began to see why. To her, “guard” probably meant little more than servant, and clearly, in her society, servant didn’t mean equal. She knew the Swithin didn’t feel the same way, but knowing it and saying she understood weren’t the same as living by those rules and values. Every time he thought they had moved on a little from her backward upbringing, something else rose to the fore. Saying that, he wasn’t even sure how much his relationship with Ryanac was truly an irritation to her any longer. He was sure she just used the situation to bait him.

  “They are your lovers, too.”

  She shook her head for some reason he couldn’t fathom. “I thought…”

  “You thought what?” he prompted in a gentler tone, or maybe he was just that weary.

  “I thought I would finally have enough men to satisfy me, but when I am sharing you with them, there is still not enough to go around.”

  He stared, feeling his eyes grow slowly wide. Azulite women were highly sexed, yet as a race, they dictated their women not touch themselves. When Markis had married the princess, she had agreed willingly to their union, and to the Swithin way of life. She’d known that Markis had male lovers, and expressed an interest in the idea that they could be her lovers too. Since then…

  By the comet, she probably had a point. He wasn’t oblivious to Tressa’s needs. He had expected her initial hunger to diminish, and it had, somewhat. Just as he’d expected, once free of her race and the chastity belt her father had ordered placed on her, Tressa’s appetites were now less excessive. Yet when he neglected her needs, the catlike side of her nature emerged, and she had sharp claws, this one. He loved her for it. A Swithin man in his prime could easily manage intercourse two or three times a day, but as she had just stated, he had more than his wife to satisfy. Not only did the men in his life drag him from her side, but duties sometimes took over until the early hours of the morning, by which time all he wanted to do was sleep. There were three of them to love her. It shouldn’t have seemed daunting, but there were days when even he wasn’t in the mood and none of them wanted sex on demand. His reluctance had nothing to do with a marriage largely based on convenience, or even that he had loved Uly and Ryanac long before Tressa entered his life. He loved her well enough, but even that had nothing to do with his prowess. No matter which of his lovers clicked their fingers, if anyone expected him to come running, he would have felt resentful rather than aroused.

  Of course, he had told Tressa the Swithin had nothing against masturbation, but he couldn’t expect her always to take care
of her own needs. Like Tressa, he had experienced a long period of celibacy. The touch of his hand would have been gratifying, but not entirely. Eventually, one craved the touch of another’s skin. What with his taking the crown, the wedding, and then his father’s death, he had neglected her. Some days, he had even neglected Uly. None of this, though, gave her the right to make demands of another human being.

  “We consider what you did assault. You certainly molested the young woman.”

  “I did not ‑‑”

  “Did you touch her in the least way without her permission?” Markis ignored the satisfying shade of red that infused Tressa’s face. She dropped her gaze. Tressa had a strong will, but when she made a mistake and he caught her in error, she went on the defensive. It was her worst fault. Oddly, this time she remained silent. “If you touched her without her permission, then you molested her.” He watched her face. Finally she spoke.

  “I only took hold of her arm to stop her from walking away. Her refusal was one thing, but I could not believe a servant had the right to turn her back on me.”

  “If you wouldn’t accept her refusal, she had every right.” Markis studied Tressa’s face, picturing the scene. Tressa had bestowed nothing more than a chaste kiss close to the girl’s lips, probably as she said, out of curiosity, but when the girl had reacted in a negative way… Yes, he could imagine the scenario. “You believed you could persuade her. That she wouldn’t wish to refuse a queen.” Tressa made no reply, but her colour deepened, although that hardly seemed possible. “Where is she?”

  “With the other maids. They were going to tell you what had happened. I told them to wait, and I would do so.”

  At least she had kept to her word, but time had passed while he’d been with Uly. No doubt the staff no longer believed her.

  “I honestly did not take her seriously.” Tressa stared up at him. Her expression appeared genuinely anguished. “I…laughed.” Her voice sounded bewildered almost as if she couldn’t believe it herself. “I do not know even what I intended to do with her, but she never gave me the chance. She said no, and I laughed. I thought she was teasing. I honestly…” Her words failed her and Tressa stood there, hands clasped in front of her, looking nothing like a queen.

  “Come with me,” Markis said, taking her hand. She stiffened as though she might resist, then she followed him.

  * * * * *

  “They were very understanding,” Tressa said. She sounded relieved more than repentant.

  “So they were, and you apologised nicely. Now we shall have to punish you for it.”

  Her dark eyes swivelled up to his gaze. “I said I was sorry.”

  “You’re not, though. You are sorry the girl was unwilling. You are sorry you had to tell me.” Her anguish was genuine enough, but Markis could tell that she still completely failed to understand why the girl was reluctant. In Tressa’s culture, no doubt such servants would consider it a great opportunity to catch the eye of royalty. Tressa accepted she had done something wrong, but Markis could tell that she didn’t truly understand why it was wrong. She had even admitted that she could not believe they would insist on bothering him over what she considered such a foolish matter. Fine. He would show her how it felt to have someone do something to you that you didn’t want. Tressa carried on speaking, unaware of the rather dark thoughts he cast in her direction.

  Her face drew into a frown. “It is not that simple.”

  “It never is.”

  She snorted. “I am a queen and born an Azulite princess. I am above punishment.” Her tone implied she didn’t believe his threat.

  They walked along a corridor that led directly to their main suite. Markis had taken Tressa to face the servants. There he had made her sit and explain the life of an Azulite woman. Tressa had acted in a regal manner, facing the girl calmly, asking forgiveness. In error, earlier in the day she had tried to coax the young woman to nothing more than a flirtation. Even so, harmless as that appeared, when the woman had refused, Tressa had tried persuasion, finally grabbing the woman’s wrist when she’d tried to leave the room. To exacerbate the misdemeanour, Tressa had laughed, dismissing what she thought was the woman’s teasing. In Swithin society, a refusal was graciously accepted; no one trod on another’s feelings even if not reciprocated, and to use sex against one of their kind was a most grievous insult. The women, shocked by their queen’s upbringing, had given her absolution. Still, it had been a delicate situation. If any of the household staff had continued to feel wary around the Swithin queen, it could have caused disquiet in the palace. Markis had taken the hand of the maid, and kissed it by way of apology. To touch Shavar without permission could warrant death. To have Shavar touch you willingly was a great honour. The girl had flushed appropriately with pleasure, but he hated manipulating her like that all because of Tressa’s foolishness.

  No, he couldn’t blame her entirely. This was her nation’s fault, her father’s fault, and by the comet, his own fault. He would have to do something about that, but now there was the small matter of punishment. He might have let it go had she not snorted at him, had she not taken on such mighty graces, and had she not declared herself above punishment. No one was above punishment. Not even Shavar, should he do wrong. In her land, she wasn’t above her father’s right to place a chastity belt on the women of his household, and yet here she was above anyone telling her the right way to behave? He thought not.

  As they turned the corner and walked through the door of their suite, Markis captured her hand, aware of how fragile her wrist was and how he could easily break it. He had no wish to do so, but he squeezed enough for her to feel his strength. She was lucky. If Ryanac had taken hold of her wrist in such a mood, he might crush it by accident.

  Tressa gasped, staring at him in obvious surprise. As he turned towards his room, she tugged, trying to go in the other direction. He pulled her along.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to show you what it feels like to be in another’s power and helpless. Something you should know already, but seem to forget too easily.”

  “You cannot mean it.” Her voice sounded incredulous. He glanced at her.

  “Oh, but I do.” He walked into his bedroom, drawing off the belt that held his scabbard and sword. Markis always carried at least one weapon when out of his rooms, even in other parts of the palace. He tossed it aside onto a chair, and then walked towards the bed, Tressa twisting and struggling, prying at his fingers all the while. He wanted her to stop resisting, afraid he might actually bruise her, but he wasn’t going to let go so easily.

  “You have no right to chastise me.” She sounded truly indignant.

  “And you had no right to molest another human being!” Markis spun around and dragged her up against him. His common sense and knowledge of her background warred against his anger, and behind that, the comet frolicked. Sometimes his anger could get the better of him; it stirred the comet, and that in turn stirred his anger. All these things combined forced him into seeking some semblance of peace. Unfortunately, the sight of Tressa’s righteousness blazing across her face, and the words that fell from her mouth, did the opposite.

  “I can accept I did something in error, but I fail to understand why the girl finds me undesirable. Why are you not surprised she resisted?”

  He stared for a moment, speechless. “Are you truly that self-obsessed?”

  A frown creased her brow. “No. That is not what I meant. I am pretty. I am a queen.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You know very well what you did was wrong, and you know why. Don’t ever do that again.” He trembled in the grip of barely suppressed rage. “Damn it!”

  Not even aware of what he intended, Markis sat down, dragging Tressa across his lap as he did so. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to get her out of Azulite dresses, which were boned and confining. The Swithin garments suited her better, making her appear waif-like and delicate. The illusion did things to his heart and cock, bu
t as he dragged up the many fine layers of her skirts, he didn’t care how she looked. Markis just wanted to get to her bottom. He tore the undergarments away. The shock of that made her stop wriggling. She gasped and froze in what had to be disbelief. The sound of his slap sounded like a crisp, sharp crack in the otherwise silent room.

  She jerked in his grip, before coming still again. Her reaction was surely due to shock, and he might have let her up, but she suddenly started to struggle and, unable to help himself, Markis held her down with one hand, bringing the other down in a smooth, arcing curve to her flesh. Her slim, tight flesh jiggled under the onslaught. She writhed, squealed, and both the sound and the movement brought out his darker side. The comet and his cock swelled in unison. She felt one, if not the other.

  “You…you pig!” Tressa cried out.

  He answered her with another slap, this one harder. The flesh whitened, and then slowly turned red. Markis actually giggled. A chuckle followed, and it wasn’t his. Looking up, he stared into Ryanac’s eyes. The big man lounged in the doorway. Once, he hardly ever saw Ryanac out of uniform. Lately, although the man never went outside without his armour, it gratified Markis to see his friend in more relaxed garments. The soft drape of the tunic over loosely flowing trousers accentuated interesting places and hung to hide the promise of other equally interesting things.

  Tressa tensed, turned her head, apparently saw Ryanac, and doubled her efforts. She struggled, and for one moment, almost slipped from his grasp. Markis leaned into her and slapped several times in succession, gradually increasing the power behind his hand. He stopped when a small sob escaped her. Rather than let her up, he simply stopped holding her down. Still, she lay across his lap, a fine tremor making all parts of her quiver. Her skin glowed hot to the touch. He slipped his fingers into the valley between her thighs, seeking something lower.