She shivered as though strong emotions played havoc with her, too powerful to contain by mere flesh alone.
“Please, oh please, I want you inside me,” she finally begged. He was very happy to oblige. Catching her gaze with his, he saw a similar knowledge seated there. This was not to be the slow, unhurried affair he had wanted. The feel of her slickness easing over him set his teeth on edge. He turned his mind to affairs of state, to what they might have for dinner, to drifting clouds he could see through the open window. It gave him enough time to give her the strokes she needed as he ground into her pelvis, making sure she got the friction where it mattered most. She bucked, clenched, her internal muscles pulsating around him, and sent him over the edge. Despite his promise to remain silent, he cried out. It hardly mattered. He didn’t think Tressa could hear him over her own shout.
Chapter Three
“All that fancy grub you get at the palace, and you still scoff down my food as if it’s the best.”
Uly looked up into the woman’s face, realised he had a scrap of meat hanging from his lips, and sucked it into his mouth. The others around the table laughed good-naturedly, and his face grew warm.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Ditta said, setting yet another dish on the table and finally sitting down. “It does my heart proud to see someone enjoy my cooking.”
As she looked around the table, it became apparent that she included Ryanac and Markis in this, and quite rightly. The food they received at the palace was truly wonderful, but even Markis usually ate more than his share at this table. Uly had thought meeting Ryanac’s mother would be a daunting exercise. He shouldn’t have worried. He didn’t know why, but having met Markis’s father shortly before the man died had given him the idea that it was best to avoid all parents. Even if after that initial meeting he’d wanted to avoid Ditta, he wouldn’t have wanted to avoid her cooking. He chewed, swallowed, and dithered over whether to take another helping of potatoes. He didn’t know what she did to them, but they were like no kind of potato he’d ever eaten. She cooked them, and then smashed them to bits, but whatever she stirred into them gave them such a wonderful flavour.
Ryanac must have seen where he looked for the guard set another scoop on his plate without his asking. “Uly knows what it’s like to go hungry,” he remarked. The comment was true, but still it made Uly’s heart start in his chest. Would he never be able to forget? Strangely, the moment he thought it, Uly wasn’t sure he wanted to. If he forgot where he came from, he would have to set aside how he and Markis had met. It had been a strange journey, but looking back on it now, he remembered many moments with fondness.
“Don’t we all,” Ditta commented, then blinked and lowered her head as though she’d said something out of place.
“There were those in the palace that moaned about the rationing and having to have plain food, but I was not one of them,” Markis said gently.
“I didn’t mean ‑‑” Ditta began.
“Not at all,” Markis interrupted. “I can only say that I would not have been as tolerant of them as my father was.”
Uly had no idea to what Markis referred, but he knew that what Markis’s father had chosen to tolerate and what upset him seemed to have no basis in logic.
“We had a bad year when Markis and I were still young, close to a famine,” Ryanac explained. He glanced pointedly at Tressa’s plate. She was the only one picking at her food, and she hadn’t put much on the plate. She saw him watching and flushed.
“I am not used to such…fare,” she admitted. “It is very good.”
“You’re kidding. It’s wonderful.” Uly blurted out his opinion before he gave his words any consideration. Everyone around the table laughed, and Tressa looked immediately uncomfortable. She didn’t exactly squirm, but he could recognise the signs. The small princess had done a lot of squirming since becoming Markis’s bride. So much had happened in the last three months. Before Markis’s father died, Markis had taken his place as the Swithin king. Strange emotions accosted Uly that day, watching Markis accept a crown he would never wear again, the adornment part of the ceremony, not intended for wear at any other time. If one hadn’t known, they might have taken the look on the old king’s face for one of pride as he set the crown on his eldest son’s head. Markis and Lerai had loved each other in their way, but that didn’t mean they liked each other or always agreed.
Uly might have believed the ceremony for Markis’s indoctrination splendid if prior to that event, Markis hadn’t officially married Tressa in Swithin tradition. The ceremony actually turned out to be light and simple, heart lifting even, but undoubtedly lavish. Just lavish not in any way Tressa or Uly expected. A full Azulite ceremony entailed many songs and petitions; the service could take up to two days. Of course, Tressa and Markis had not been able to spare the time, being that they had stolen her away in the dead of night. From the look on Markis’s face when she explained the full ritual, he was very grateful they’d forgone such lengthy proceedings.
The Swithin ceremony was sumptuous in that people festooned the city. This was common, though usually kept to the district where the intended couple lived. With it being the prince’s wedding, the whole city celebrated. Everyone wore white, and flowers fragranced the air. Everywhere Uly looked, people had decked out the city in flowers or paper shapes and lanterns. The main colours were white with hints of red or gold. Markis had told him white was for peace, red for love, and the gold for the comet, of course.
On her wedding day, Tressa had looked beautiful in a simple white gown, with red and white flowers in her hair. Markis looked equally splendid in white. Much to Uly’s shame, he had struggled to stand by while the couple took their vows this second time, for watching Markis wed once was bad enough, but twice almost broke his heart, no matter how much he understood that Markis needed a queen and knew that Markis truly loved him, would not leave him. The Swithin way allowed the prince to have more than one love, but that didn’t explain the strange relationship Markis shared with Ryanac, for the two men had known each other since childhood. That was why they sat now in Ryanac’s family home, sharing a meal the guard’s mother had prepared.
Uly gazed around the table. The four of them took up one end of the table while Ryanac’s family occupied the other. Ryanac’s mother, Ditta, sat at the side, and yet somehow her setting was undoubtedly the head of the table. Everyone looked to her as though she were the hub of the home. Eldon looked like his son; or rather, Ryanac took after his father, but the older man didn’t have his boy’s bulk. No one did. It had come as quite a shock to learn Ryanac was one of four children. The Swithin seldom had such large families. Ryanac’s sister had embarrassed Uly on his first visit, when she had stared him in the face and told him he was cute. His face had burned bright red while Ryanac told her to leave him alone.
“He’s more than cute,” Ryanac had told her, “but he’s taken and got more than he can handle.”
“Like what?” she demanded.
“Like me.” Ryanac winked. It had taken Uly a moment to realise what the guard suggested. It wasn’t strictly true. They were intimate, but they had not shared full sex. That was his fault. He didn’t know why he held back, but he did. Markis had told him either it would happen or it wouldn’t, and he didn’t have to apologise whatever his decision, but Uly found it unnerving. Almost as unnerving as the way Ryanac’s sister continued to stare at him every time he visited.
He leaned towards Ryanac now, lowering his voice. “I thought you said, among the Swithin, a refusal is accepted.”
“It is,” Ryanac murmured, barely moving his lips.
“Then why does your sister keep looking at me every time I come here?” It wasn’t that he didn’t like the girl, but his heart lay with Markis.
“I said we accept it. Lalia is a law unto herself and doubts my word. You haven’t exactly refused her to her face. She won’t do anything, though. She’d need Markis’s permission even if you were agreeable, and there’s no chance of ei
ther. She’s just looking.” Ryanac turned his head to gaze at him. “You’re pleasing to look at.”
Uly tried not to appear thrilled by the comment but was aware he failed miserably. Ryanac just grinned.
* * * * *
“Memories?” a warm female voice asked at his back
Markis jumped. Ryanac’s mother had caught him staring at the barn. She came down the wooden steps of the porch and sat down beside him. It occurred to him that his father would never have approved.
This was their third visit in as many months. It would be nice if they could keep coming to dinner like this. Markis knew how much Ditta appreciated her son coming home even if it were only once a month, even if he was only a few miles away living in the palace. He had kept her son from her long enough. Besides, he liked these visits as much as Ryanac did.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she said.
So was he, but not in any simple way. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Markis closed his eyes tight for a moment, and then let that train of thought go. That chapter in his life was over with and done. He and his father had not parted as friends, but neither had they been enemies. It was less than he had hoped for, more than he had expected. “Thank you,” Markis muttered.
“I hope you’re taking care of my son.”
The comment made him bark out a laugh, and then he looked at her, aware his eyes were a little too wide. He had been away from the farm too long himself. He had forgotten how much Ditta could surprise him. The uncanny feeling that they were talking about something he would rather not discuss with Ryanac’s mother made Markis look away again. Her deportment was calm, and her face looked serene enough, but she had meant what she said and not in any one way. She meant Ryanac’s general welfare, but she meant something else too. There was no reason, as Swithin, for them not to be open about such things, but Ditta was not the type of woman you wronged even if you were the king.
“He’s taken well care of.” His tone sounded neutral enough. From the corner of his eye, Markis watched a smile play about her lips. She sat as he did now, her hands clasped, her arms encircling her knees with her feet on a lower step down from the one on which she sat. The setting sun sent a reddish glow across the ground.
“That Uly’s a one,” she said suddenly. “He’s brighter than he looks, but he’s used to hiding it. He loves you to bits, but he also likes and admires my son. I can’t make out what he thinks of that Tressa, though.” Her eyes shifted towards him, but she dragged her gaze away again before it settled. “Not that I know what to make of Tressa myself.”
It lay on the tip of Markis’s tongue to remind the woman that she spoke of the Swithin queen. He didn’t for all of the reasons he had already thought of and because it amused him to listen to her. “She’s had a restrictive upbringing. I’m sorry she wasn’t hungry ‑‑”
“Hungry, my arse. She doesn’t like my food, but that doesn’t bother me. Besides, Ryanac said she’s had problems adjusting to some of the plain food as well as some of the spicy stuff we serve here. Azulite dishes seem to be somewhere in between.”
“That’s true,” Markis admitted.
“What does Uly think of the more spicy stuff?” Ditta asked, as though it had only just occurred to her.
“He loves it.”
She sniffed and smiled, looking pleased. “I knew he would. He’s hot under the skin, that one.”
Markis looked down, wondering what Uly would make of the comment. He wished Ryanac were out here to hear it, and then realised he was probably spying on them right now. The skin at the back of his neck prickled. Yes, Ryanac was definitely around. He should have known the man wouldn’t let him out of his sight, not even on his mother’s farm, not even with Antal, Uly’s protector, out there in charge of the small regiment of guards they had brought with them. Ditta had sent the men food when Ryanac explained they couldn’t come in for dinner because they had a job to do. Used to be, she had said, that you didn’t have to take such precautions on Swithin land, and she was right, but someone had tried to kill Uly in recent months. Antal had taken the arrows meant for him and nearly died. They were being cautious.
“A day on the farm would do Tressa the world of good,” Ditta remarked now, and Markis couldn’t help smiling. He glanced at her and saw her looking at him.
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Good.”
“You do realise she flinches every time you call her Tressa, especially when you refuse to tack her title on to it,” he said.
“Why do you think I do it?” She turned her head then, leaning a little away, possibly so she could take in his face more clearly. “You don’t expect me to start calling you Shavar or Sardian, do you?”
“No.” He answered her firmly enough.
“Good. I never have done that. You feel like one of my own. How can I go around calling you after a sodding comet? Makes no sense to me.”
Markis tried not to laugh, afraid she would slap him for it.
“I admit I call Tressa by her name because it irritates her, but I also do it because I’ve called you all by your names instead of your ranks. Always have; always will. Giving herself graces, that one, and that maid of hers, head up her arse if ever one could manage such a position.”
Idelle had only come out to the farm once and had met her match in Ditta. Every time since, the old woman had bowed out of a visit, complaining of a headache.
“If that’s the sort Tressa had to grow up with, no wonder she’s the way she is.”
There was some real sympathy and understanding there, at least. “She’s doing better every day.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“I’ll take your word for it, then.” She patted his hand. “We’ll give her time, and if time doesn’t sort her out, then I will.”
He could only hope that for Tressa’s sake, time would do the trick. Before he could say anything, Ditta reached out and ruffled his hair. “You’re a good boy,” she said. “You always were.”
This time he couldn’t disguise the incredulity in his face. He stared at her, aware she mussed his hair up enough to pull a few strands from the braid into an unruly loop. The Swithin considered it intimate to touch another person’s hair, but Ditta even managed to turn that into something else. He glared at her, and she smiled back at him, her gaze daring him to say something. King or not, he was just a little boy to her.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said when he was still undecided what to do or say. “I always knew you would call for my son. I knew one way or another your paths would cross again. If it weren’t your doing, it would have been his. I knew that the day you wandered in here as a boy, all hurt and banged up.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“Hmm. Well maybe that’s an exaggeration. You were young, but I knew you would be friends. There was a day, though, when you were old enough, when I saw him look at you, and I knew how he felt. That last summer it wasn’t just a crowded house that made us let Ryanac sleep in the barn.”
He couldn’t help it. Despite being a grown man, despite being Swithin and the king, Markis blushed. The heat burned even his eyes. Luckily, she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the barn, but he wasn’t sure if that didn’t make matters worse.
“You’re good for my son. He’s good for you. You’re good for each other. Tressa you care for, and Uly you love, but my son…That’s something else.” She nodded now, slight movements of her head as she considered this. “You needed a marriage for you needed a wife, and despite what I say, Tressa’s a good choice. Her faults lie in being unsure of herself as a woman, but as a queen, I’ve watched her, and she’ll rule well by your side. Uly gives you life, strength that even the comet cannot provide. Ryanac…the two of you need each other.”
“I need Uly. I need Tressa.”
She turned her head to face him. “You need Tressa, hmm? You need a queen, not the woman.”
He shook his head. “I would miss
sleeping with a woman on occasion. I don’t prefer men. I just…love Uly more than I love Tressa.”
“Of course you do. Uly is your Samir. Tressa could never be that. You had to marry too soon. You like each other, care about each other, love each other, and respect each other. Your heart will splinter the day she dies, but when that happens, you will survive. If you lost Uly before his time, you would never recover.”
Markis flinched. He wanted to deny her words but couldn’t. “That’s a weakness,” he said.
“To a king, yes. To a man, no.”
Markis frowned. He wasn’t at all certain he should allow her to continue this conversation. “That still doesn’t explain Ryanac.” His ambiguous feelings had bothered him for some time. Odd that Ditta should touch on them.
She shrugged. “You need each other.”
“You keep saying that.”
She sighed. “You’re asking yourself the wrong questions. You and Ryanac both.” She turned her head as she said that, and a moment later, Ryanac detached himself from the corner of the house and stepped out of the shadows. Markis stared in surprise. He hadn’t seen him there. From the look on the guard’s face, the man knew it too, but amidst the amusement, Ryanac also looked serious. He stared intently at his mother.
The Swithin Chronicles 3: The Comet Cometh Page 5