The Best Deceptions: A Lesbian Medieval Fantasy (Deception Series Book 1)

by Victoria Pink

  "Why?" Her eyebrow arches. "Because I'm acting like you so often do?"

  Nadira gasps. "Did you just call me rude?"

  "Just," she hiccups and waves towards the now wrinkled pants. "Take them off. Please."

  Nadira laughs. "Okay, okay."

  The pants are discarded and the dress is dropped to the ground, leaving them enshrouded in nothing but the flickering light from the candles.

  Nadira's eyes skim over Fiona's alabaster skin, the nervous fidgeting of her hands. Her lips parted in anticipation.

  Nadira pats the space beside her on the bed, and holds out her other hand for Fiona to take. "C'mere."

  Fiona maneuvers her way on the bed and lies on her back, her breath hitching slightly when Nadira rolls over to hover above her. Their eyes lock—Nadira's soft and brown and benevolent as she looks into Fiona's darkened ones; trying to convey that even though they haven't known each other very long, how much Nadira would do for her. Protect her. Care for her.

  Nadira leans down, kissing one of Fiona's dimples before pulling back. "You're beautiful, Fiona."

  Her legs shift open unabashedly for Nadira to drop down into; their skin already hot from the clothes they had been wearing and the summer heat still lingering in the room.

  Her body starts to move of its own accord and Nadira's hand slowly moves lower, caressing each inch of skin she touches.

  Nadira pulls back, their mouths releasing with a slight pop. "Is this okay?"

  "Yes," she nods quickly, cupping Nadira's face to pull her down for another kiss. "Yes."

  Nadira's fingers dip further down and slowly, softly start to trail the length of her wet, wanting center—focusing on her apex until Fiona starts to bucks up and into Nadira. Nadira smiles against her lips and those fingers slide lower and lower still.

  "You're sure?"

  "Nadira." Her fingers claw into Nadira's back in an attempt to pull her closer. "Yes."

  Nadira slowly starts to push two fingers inside; groaning at the slight resistance she meets.

  Fiona quietly, but whole-heartedly cries out at the sensation of being utterly filled for the first time in her life. Filled and completed by a woman that, only a few short weeks ago, she was sure was going to break her and turn her world upside down horrendously.

  But now there's nothing but Nadira. Just filled and surrounded and completed by Nadira in the absolute best of ways. Her sounds, her touch, her scent.

  Nadira starts gradually. So carefully. Reverently. Like what they're doing is delicate and one wrong move will break Fiona beyond compare and there will be nothing left.

  But Fiona's fingers dig into Nadira's back more firmly; her leg hooked over Nadira's hip in a plea for more right now. A silent way of conveying that she isn't fragile, and she wants this, and this is more than okay.

  Nadira understands, even with no words spoken, she understands and starts to move into Fiona just a little bit quicker, a little bit harder. Fiona's fingers dig into her back, tightening and loosening in a way that lets Fiona set the pace. Lets her dictate what feels good and what she wants because, after all, Nadira wants this to be good for her. Wants it to be an equal give and take, instead of just a take, take, take; wants to memorize everything Fiona likes so she can do it over and over again.

  Nadira is surprised—her pace thrown completely off—when Fiona's thigh comes between her own. A grunt is involuntarily wretched from her throat, and she looks down with a furrowed brow when Fiona's hands rest on her hips instead of her back.

  "This isn't just about me, Nadira," she rasps, her hands starting to push and pull at Nadira's hips.

  Nadira shakes her head. "It should be."

  "It shouldn't," she replies, pushing her thigh up a little more firmly. "We're bound together now, aren't we? So shouldn't this be together, too?"

  And Nadira has no reply but to acquiesce.

  It's heavy breathing and gasps and light moans and beads of sweat forming on their skin. Teasing, rubbing, Nadira's thumb finding Fiona's apex until she starts to pant, until Fiona's eyes finally open to look up into Nadira's in a forewarning of her own impending release.

  "It's okay," Nadira responds. "Come for me, Fiona. I've got you."

  It only takes a few more flicks of Nadira's thumb until she tenses up. Nadira's name quietly tumbles from her lips as she arches off the bed—her eyes shut and Nadira's arms wrapped tightly around her. Holding her. Just like she said she would.

  Light aftershocks wrack her body, Nadira only moving against her mere seconds until she, too, collapses down against Fiona's chest in exhausted pleasure. Their skin is slick and hot; their breathing ragged and labored as they come down.

  She dares to wrap her arms around Nadira's back—to hold her, to enjoy the full weight of Nadira pressing down on her own. Nadira, that's usually strong and stoic and harsh, now a weak and fatigued puddle of putty in her arms.

  "Nadira?"

  "Hmm?" Nadira responds, the hum muffled and vibrating against Fiona's chest.

  Her fingers start to sift through a tangled mass of brown hair. "Do you think today went well?"

  "No one died, so yeah. I'd say it went over well," Nadira replies, before her brow knits. "Or maybe that's not so good…depends on what kind of entertainment you were expecting, I guess."

  Grinning, she rolls her eyes. "No, I certainly didn't want anyone to die. I meant did I do well?"

  Nadira stretches herself up to kiss her soundly on the lips. "They'll let you know when you don't do good, Fiona," she responds. "So yeah, I'd say you did alright."

  She picks up on the teasing lilt to Nadira's voice and pinches her side. "Merely alright?"

  "Yup. Just alright," Nadira props her head up, giving a sideways grin. "Especially compared to the other things you can do."

  Her eyebrow arches. "And may I ask what those other things are?"

  Laughing, Nadira kisses her once again. "I think you know."

  Chapter 15

  Lying in front of the stone fireplace, Nadira props against a pile of down pillows with a blanket haphazardly pooled around her bare waist. She looks so unguarded. Relaxed. Perfectly content and free of the burdens that constantly weigh upon her shoulders that arise from leading a kingdom.

  It's nights like these—with Nadira so utterly hers—that Fiona likes the most. There haven't been many over the past couple of weeks, but the few they've had together she's learned to cherish.

  Nadira's easily laughter and whispered confessions. The way Nadira listens in rapt attention as Fiona speaks of her wants, desires, and fears. How Nadira almost bashfully handed Fiona one of the rarest flowers one night, just because she knew Fiona would smile. The way Nadira is soft and concerned and caring, and still so herself in the sarcastically playful way.

  Yes, these were the nights she cherishes.

  Walking over, she resumes her spot straddling Nadira's hips and takes a grape from the tray on the hearth. Almost reverently, Nadira reaches up and traces around one of Fiona's nipples with her thumb.

  She grins down at her. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

  Nadira's other thumb comes up to caress her other breast.

  "Nope," she replies, smiling. "You're beautiful."

  Demurely, she looks away to pluck another grape. Nadira is the only person that could make her blush in four words or less. Her fingers graze Nadira's soft lips as she gently presses the sweet fruit to her mouth. Nadira takes it and, tracing her thumb across that same smiling lip, Fiona tilts her head.

  "What about children?"

  They had talked about many things, but this was a topic always avoided. Maybe not consciously, but it was. And now that they've almost been committed to each other for two months—a period of time which, in any other arranged marriage, would've been the time to try for the firstborn—the curiosity has been nagging at her incessantly.

  Chewing, Nadira's hands skim down to rest gently on the curve of Fiona's hips. "Kaelan leaders don't have children."

  H
er eyebrows crease. "Why not?"

  "Children are a weakness," Nadira replies, taking a slow drawl from the pouch of alcohol beside them. "In times of war, your enemies will use them against you."

  She tries to not look crestfallen. It's not that she wanted children right now, but she had at least hoped the option would be open lest they decided to choose that path.

  Rolling off Nadira to lie on her side, she pulls the blanket up to cover her cooling skin. "But what if I wanted children?"

  Nadira arches a brow and struggles not to break the feigned sternness. "I hope you're not asking to lie with a man, nohealani, because the answer is no."

  Fiona smiles back, reaching out to trace Nadira's jaw. "Of course not. I was merely wondering."

  Nadira looks at her for a moment, her face unreadable. The silence is heavy between them, and then she finally reaches out and takes Fiona's hand in her own. "How badly do you want one?"

  "Why?"

  Shrugging, Nadira looks off into the distance. As if she couldn't be held to the words that would soon tumble out of her mouth if she wasn't looking into the hazel abyss of Fiona's eyes.

  "I could figure it out," she starts. "If you really wanted one."

  Her fingers trace the sharp line of Nadira's jaw softly enough to match her voice. "And how would you do that?"

  Nadira looks back to her and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

  "For you…I would do anything," she leans back slightly at Fiona's grin, and deflects by wagging her eyebrows. "We can even hide it upstairs."

  She props herself up on her elbow to look down at her wife. "In the tower?"

  "Yep," Nadira nods. "Wouldn't it be perfect?"

  Her smile slowly fades and her eyes drop to the small space between them as she finally catches on. "We really can't have children, can we?"

  "No," Nadira whispers, looking even more crestfallen than Fiona had suspected she would. "But I would try if you wanted me to."

  Solemnly, her head shakes. "It wouldn't end well."

  "Maybe it would. Someday," Nadira says, her face not reflecting the hopefulness of her words.

  She softly scoffs. "It's never good to speculate about such things."

  "I know."

  And then Nadira is rolling on top of her, their legs and breasts and stomachs pressed and sliding against each other. Their lips feverously clash, and it's like Nadira is trying to make up for everything she's taken and everything she can't give Fiona with that single kiss.

  Nadira's hands start moving lower and lower still. Down the swell of Fiona's breasts, the ridges of her ribs, the smoothness of her sides. Her fingers giving the softest wisps of a caress.

  She arches into the touch, trying to get Nadira to where she needs her by sheer will. To get more and lower and now.

  Boom. Boom. Someone knocks loudly on the door. They both freeze instantly.

  There's another knock, and Nadira reaches out and closes her hand around the dagger beside them. "Who's there?"

  There's a silent pause and then a scoff. "Who do you think it is, idiot?"

  A smile breaks out on Nadira's face and she quickly starts scrambling for her clothes, leaving a very confused Fiona on the floor.

  * * *

  The hallway is dark, but Fiona recognizes the dark-haired male without the slightest bit of introduction.

  Grinning, she holds out her hand. "Francesco?"

  "Call me Franz," he urges, giving a small shrug as he shakes her hand instead of the customary kiss she had been used to at home.

  Nadira bursts from their room and slugs her brother on the shoulder with a laugh. "Took you long enough."

  "We're only a week late!" He exclaims with a scowl as he rubs his arm.

  But the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears drowns out Nadira's response.

  There's a lion.

  A huge lion standing less than ten feet in front of her.

  Moving as little as she can, she tugs the tips of Nadira's fingers.

  "Nadira," she whispers, but there's no response. Her breathing becomes shallow and she tugs on Nadira's hand even harder. "Nadira!"

  Sensing the fear, Nadira's body stiffens and she looks around. "What's wrong?"

  "T-there's a—that," she stammers, knowing her eyes are wider than they've ever been.

  Nadira turns and, unexpectedly, laughs when she sees it. Walking towards the beast, she roughly wraps her fingers in its mane and gives it a shake—looking over her shoulder to give Fiona a grin. "Tiger won't hurt ya."

  Still stricken with fear, she raises eyebrow. "Tiger?"

  "Don't look at me," Nadira shrugs and turns back to pat its head. "I didn't name him."

  She honestly wouldn't put it past Nadira to do such a thing. "Mhm."

  Franz nods. "Really. That thing is older than me and Janie combined. At least a hundred years old."

  "Lions can't live that long," she replies, brow crinkled. "The average lifespan is 10-20 years."

  Franz skittishly looks at Nadira and she gives another nonchalant shrug. "Well ours do."

  She takes a small step forward, and only then can she tell its coat is nearly identical to the horse that was given to her. "Are silver animals common in Faraha?"

  "You don't have any in Vatar?"

  Tentatively, she reaches out and touches the animal's head before jerking her hand back. There have been too many stories of wild beasts claiming lives for her to be completely comfortable around him.

  "No."

  "You sure?" Nadira asks, watching Fiona take a few steps back.

  She scowls. "I think I would know, Nadira. I lived there my entire life."

  "Oh," Nadira stands, "Maybe you can go talk to Stan tomorrow about it."

  "Stan?"

  "The librarian. I'm sure he knows. You can sate your desire for learning or something while you're at it," Nadira smiles and takes her hand, gently starting to walk her down the hall. "Now c'mon, dinner is no good when it's cold."

  Franz jogs to catch up to them. “I haven’t had a good meal in months. I hope this welcome feast is worth it, Nadira.”

  “Who do you think I am?” Nadira faux-slugs his arm. “The Amadi doesn’t serve anything less than the best for family.”

  Chapter 16

  "Come on, old man. Get off the ground."

  Elwyn looks up from his kneeling position with a scowl. "She's hurt."

  "Yeah," Justus retorts, "and you'll be hurt if someone catches you fawning over a mutt instead of doing your job."

  "Pipe down, would you? No one's looking," Elwyn refutes, looking around the empty alleyway.

  "You don't know that," Justus warns, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  "Hmph," he grunts, taking the tiny animal in his arms anyway.

  Justus incredulously raises his brows. "What are you doing?"

  "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm taking her with me."

  Justus groans. "How many dogs do you even have?"

  "None of your business," Elwyn snaps before looking down to the dirty dog in his arms as they begin to walk. "Is it, girl? I don't think so. No I don't."

  "Tell me you are not cooing to a dog—"

  "Is this the library?" Fiona interrupts, finally, as they come to a marbled white building with large, austere columns lining the front and pink flowering bushes planted along the perimeter.

  Both men clear their throats and stand at attention, seemingly have forgotten she was even there. Justus nods slightly. "Uhm, yeah, this is it."

  Of all the people she had met last night, besides Franz, these are two of the few Nadira had said she could trust. And, despite not having the best track record when it comes to being a good judge of character, she's fairly certain Nadira is right. Both men are nice to her, and not just from obligation, and they make her laugh even when they aren't trying. She hopes that maybe, one day, she'll get close enough to call them both friends.

  She smiles softly. "Thank you for showing me the way, gentlemen."

  They skittishly look aro
und, and Justus scratches his neck as he speaks. "Nadi—ah, the Amadi has us on your service today."

  She smiles demurely, but dismissively. She doesn't need babysitters. "That won't be necessary."

  The men glance to each other before looking back to her, their faces showing a hint of regret and empathy. Elwyn lamely shrugs, "Orders are orders."

  She internally sighs. Sometimes submitting to Nadira's wishes is a real pain in the ass.

  Plastering on the best smile she can, she nods anyway. "Okay then. Please, follow me."

  The interior of the library is bright despite the air being thick and heavy with the smells of dust and old wood from the overhead beams in the ceiling. The few books on the shelf in front of her are bound in old leather and the lettering on the fronts are worn down to illegibility.

  Skimming them, she pulls a dulled blue one down and begins to flip through the pages. "Are these all the books you have on Faraha?"

  The man with whitened hair and deep set wrinkles, Stan, pauses from dusting the shelves to look up to her. "All the ones I'm willing to loan out—don't touch the pages like that! You'll wrinkle them."

  "Oh," she jumps at his outburst and gently closes the book with a bashful grin, despite knowing that she was handling the item gently. "I apologize."

  He grunts with a sideways glance as he continues to wipe off the dust. "Don't do it again."

  She watches him out of the corner of her eye as she quietly makes her selections. He, like many others here, is clearly very rude, though she'd never say it out loud.

  After gathering several books from the small section, she turns back to him with her most diplomatic smile. "May I take these with me?"

  He levels a stare at her before curling his lip. "Why are you asking me? You're the Enzana," he snaps.

  Justus steps between them, his face stern and his voice sterner. "Watch it, Stan."

  Reprimanded and knowing what happens to those who don't comply, he ducks his head and mumbles under his breath, "Anything else?"

  "No," Fiona steps forward, placing her hand briefly on the man's shoulder. It was said that one could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. "This is all. Thank you," she finishes with a bright smile.