by Brenna Lyons
While it was illegal to use herbs on either partner to increase the chances of conception that night, many priestesses promised their counterparts any pleasures he wished to come to her bed after the challenge and take her multiple times in hopes of a child. She scowled. Loric had taken Jolia three times.
But, how long should she make Loric wait before taking him as her mate? If she waited too long, he might agree to warm other beds. Loric was single-minded now, but would that change when there were dozens of young priestesses offering him their bodies? If Loric were not promised to Deliya, would he accept those offers? If he did, she could not protest it.
Deliya shifted against Loric’s tongue, and his stroking became more insistent. He knew her body so well that Loric could hold off her climax or make her shatter to his whim.
No. There was an appropriate length of time to wait, but if Deliya conceived, she could take Loric to mate immediately, claiming a love schen. She would conceive. Deliya would not chance less. She would invite Loric to her bed as often as she could and not appear fixated, perhaps even sneak off with him to secluded places in the fields or forest at other stolen moments. She would have her heir and have it quickly.
As if sensing her wandering mind, Loric sucked at her hood hard then thrust his tongue into her again. Deliya shuddered as she ground her teeth against the pleasure he gave her. She forced her mind back to her task. She would choose no other man to challenge her unless Loric refused her, but Deliya would not give him the satisfaction of winning the privilege so easily.
Loric’s mouth worked her furiously: sucking, nibbling, stroking and kissing. The sensations were maddening. He darted back and forth, inside and out, from the sensitive spot forward of her hood to the globes of her buttocks and between.
Deliya fisted her fingernails into her hands, pressing her forehead hard to the bed, stiffening her back as her climax loomed closer. She sucked in her breath, relaxing her body into the crest, allowing herself to ride the waves of pleasure.
Loric groaned into her body, pushing her control to its limits. Just as Deliya felt sure she would triumph, Loric did the unexpected. His hands, hands that hadn’t played at her up to that point, seemed to be everywhere at once. The fingers of one hand breached her body and teased at her inner pleasure spot, while the others pinched her nipple hard.
Deliya cried out in pain and surprise as her body exploded in sensation, her inner muscles pulling at his questing fingers. She turned on the bed, aiming a slap for his cheek. Loric caught her wrist and fell with her to the bed.
“How dare you,” Deliya fumed, pushing at his chest.
“The challenge is mine,” he informed her.
“It is not,” she decided. “You cheated. You know full well that you will not be permitted to do that during the challenge.”
“No. I will not, but I will be permitted to do things that will shatter your composure even more effectively than that.”
Deliya felt her face heat at the truth of it. There were things more pleasurable and more painful allowed in the challenge. Expected in it. She cursed herself for her failure.
“You allowed yourself to be complacent. Because I had not used my hands, you forgot the possibility existed. You cannot ever allow yourself to make that mistake again.
“You are the true heir of Mother Leiana. Your line has ruled for twenty-eight generations. Never a priestess among them who failed in challenge, even the second daughters. Never a priestess dishonored. Never a priestess who failed to produce a true heir. I will not hesitate to challenge you. I will do my best to see you fail, so none may doubt that you are truly ordained by Fion for your place, and if the Mother is pleased, you will conceive a daughter of me at that challenge.”
She pressed her body to his, the idea of carrying his daughter, stated so plainly, nearly her undoing. Loric paused in his tirade, his breathing hitching. He kissed her passionately, his need fast overriding the urge to lecture her that he seemed to love so much.
Deliya stroked his length, smiling as Loric shivered in restraint. “I would trust no one but you to challenge me,” she whispered.
Loric didn’t thank her. He closed his eyes, grasping her shoulders. “You challenge my resolve,” he gasped.
The training had to be maddening for Loric. He lived for the challenge, for the day that he might give her heirs. There were no other priestesses for him to sate his drive with, none that he need not show restraint with. There were rules, pleasures they could not give each other until after the challenge, pleasures that Loric had enjoyed until he became her guard.
She sobered. “Will I still inspire you when you are surrounded by other priestesses who want your seed to fill their wombs with heirs?”
His eyes flew open. Loric looked at her miserably, touching her cheek. “Never,” he promised.
“Loric?” Something was not right. Deliya thought back over the conversation in the main room. She’d been led astray from things that bothered her again and again. If she didn’t know her companions’ dedication, Deliya might believe they were lying to her.
“I want the child you will carry,” he admitted, his eyes darting to the closed door.
Something was desperately wrong. Loric should not have said that. Until that moment, Deliya would have sworn Loric would not have presumed so much. The punishment Vela would serve him was not worth such a bold statement — if Deliya told her mentor what went on in this room.
She stroked his length more purposefully, using the drops of his readiness pooled on the tip as a lubricant to tease the head. “How many times will you take me on my challenge night, Loric? How many of the restricted pleasures will you teach me?”
He groaned.
“At the sanctuary on the night of the spring festival,” she whispered, laying a kiss on his chest.
Loric grimaced, and Deliya changed her approach to stave off his release.
“The firelight dancing on the green stone. You calling out my triumph for my mother to come witness, while you give me an heir to deliver into her hands.”
He shot her a look part pure ecstasy and part true dismay.
Deliya brushed the tips of her breasts over the wall of his chest, feeling her way to the truth he was hiding from her. “Tell me how it will be. Tell me the truth of it.” It was dishonest to use his pleasure to prod Loric to truthfulness, but Loric should not have lied to her.
“Deliya,” he begged.
She pushed him more roughly, driving his need to release. “Will you challenge me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he gasped. Loric kissed her, his body taut. “It was Mother Leiana’s wish that I would.”
“Will you take me to the sanctuary at Rintal?”
He hesitated, meeting Deliya’s eyes. “Only if your mother calls for you first,” he admitted.
“You went to Rintal when you left? Your gift was to deliver me home?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“My mother would miss my challenge?” she asked, heartsick at the thought of having her challenge without her mother.
“It is not her wish,” he soothed her. “Vela—” Loric looked to the door nervously, no doubt envisioning what Vela would do to him for going against her wishes.
Deliya kissed him, offering the comfort she could for the position she placed him in. Soon, Deliya would be legally an adult, and Vela would be her lesser. A few more precious months until she ascended to her position as Fion’s Source and leader of their people. Until then, they would have to keep this discussion between themselves.
She played the head of his cock in the lubricant preparing her, dipping the head a breath-stealing fraction of a finger inside and letting her outer lips close around him then pulling him free again and continuing her stroking. Loric broke off the kiss, watching Deliya’s teasing with wide eyes. She gave him another taste of her and retreated again, as his hands tightened on her shoulders, bruises he would have to heal before he left her bed.
“What you say is between us,” she pr
omised. “I will not tell Vela what is said. Why will I not return home now that I near my challenge?”
“Too dangerous,” he whispered, nipping at her jawline as Deliya teased him toward release.
“Dangerous?” she managed in a fierce whisper. “I am a priestess of Fion.”
“The survival of our people hangs in a fragile balance. It is too dangerous to have all the high family in one place. Your mother asks this boon of you. She asks you not to force a time of trial now, not while the Lengar are so close.”
Deliya nodded thoughtfully. If the whole line were lost, the priestesses would be leaderless without the trial to find Fion’s new most-chosen. And, the trial would leave all their best unable to fight until the decision was made. “What does my mother wish of me?”
“Produce a true heir.”
“But, I would not return home for—”
Loric kissed her to still her words. “Shhh. I know. You would not take your place for more than two years past the time you should, but the line would be assured.”
“My mother chooses my mate for me?” Deliya asked indignantly.
“Never. You could refuse me,” he choked. “Your duty is simply to produce an heir.” Loric looked ill at the prospect that she might choose another to mate with.
“And when I have produced my true heir?” she breathed.
“You know your future.” Loric cried out as he climaxed, his seed washing, wave after wave, over her sex.
Deliya licked her lips, as he swelled in her hand, applying the pressure he needed to truly enjoy the encounter. “Then my heir will be of your loins,” she promised, pouring the words into his lips.
Loric rolled over Deliya, his mouth urgent on hers. She stroked his cock in their mixed fluids, a promise of the mating to come.
“You will never regret this,” Loric vowed.
*
Deliya stifled a sob into her hand, wiping the shameful tears into her tunic.
Ro’s hand touched her hair from his side of the pallet. “I am sorry, Deliya. I would take back every word Donic spoke as a lie if I could — if it would save you your tears.”
“Tears?” she asked in an unwavering voice. “A priestess of Fion does not weep in front of her adversaries, even as she dies.”
“I do not have to be your adversary,” he suggested. “That is why you wear your armor to bed. The enemy you speak of is not the Lengar. It is the Magden.”
“Only a fool would trust the Magden in my place.”
Ro sighed. “I cannot change the truth. I can only wait and hope you see the truth soon.”
“You lie,” she stated confidently. Loric saw my mother only four years ago. He promised on Fion’s name that I would take my place when I had produced an heir. Loric could not have lied in the Mother’s name.
He removed his hand. “A Magden king does not lie,” he growled.
“Neither do Fion’s Children.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Caj 3rd, Ti 10-459
Deliya stirred the tea in the pot, bringing a large quantity of dried lizor berry and lizor stems to a rolling boil. For two days, she’d tried to find a way to escape Ro, but the man was relentless. As if he expected her to break her word and escape him, she was all but tied to him day and night.
She slept under Ro’s arm every night. When she tried to leave the shelter on the ruse of checking on Novin, Ro or Donic would accompany her to the young man’s side. Deliya was ordered to ride between Ro and Donic — for her own protection, of course. She was not even permitted to relieve herself without Ro standing guard on the other side of a bush.
This was her only hope. She added more of the lizor stem then some of her precious store of sucre sap to cut the bitter edge the stems would give the tea. Deliya strained out the stems and left the deep purple tea to strengthen.
She didn’t look up as Donic and Ro returned to the fire, discussing the next campaign. The Magden were like that. Every moment was immersed in talk of ways to kill and die.
Without asking, Deliya filled a steaming mug for each of them and offered them to the men. They stopped talking and stared at the mugs warily.
“Trying to poison us, Priestess?” Donic drawled.
Ro had convinced his general more than a day earlier to consider his life’s worth if he called Deliya “witch” again. While Deliya was not a bloodthirsty individual by nature, the secret wish to see Donic run through for insulting her again was hard to banish.
Deliya sighed, though she had expected this response. “Choose one,” she offered. “Go on. You saw me fill them from the same pot. Choose one for me to drink down, and then I will refill it for you.”
“Ro’s,” Donic decided. “Then I know he will be safe.”
Ro’s smile widened. “She does not like you very much, Donic. Perhaps you would be better served worrying about your own mug,” he teased.
Deliya heaved an affected sigh. “Fine. I will drink them both and refill them.” She’d actually taken enough of the stimulant, Implin core, to counter four cups of the tea in case this became an issue. Deliya drained the mugs and filled them again.
Ro took his cheerfully and sipped at it. His smile widened. “Wonderful. Lizor berry.” He sipped again. “And sucre.”
“Just a bit,” she replied, genuinely happy that Ro liked the tea. Better the chance that he would drink deeply of it.
Donic stared into his cup suspiciously, casting nervous glances at Ro. Deliya strode to the shelter and stretched out on the pallet. Perhaps if she didn’t hover, Donic would drink his tea. If he didn’t, this could never work. It wasn’t enough for Ro to sleep.
“Try it, Donic,” Ro urged.
“Are you insane? She is a— She knows sweet-tasting poisons.”
“She also drank it first,” he noted.
“Perhaps, she already took the antidote.”
Deliya laughed heartily, earning her a dirty look from Donic. “There is no such thing as an antidote I can take before a poison,” she assured him. “What would it fight?”
Donic grunted. “Perhaps. I have only your word on that.”
Deliya shrugged. “As you wish. I am sure Ro will not let the tea go to waste.”
Ro tipped his empty mug. “You are a fool to miss something so good.” He refilled his mug.
Deliya smiled. Ro would need at least two mugs of the tea to affect him as she wished. Three would be better. Ro took another sip, and Donic did the same. Her plan would work. She closed her eyes, willing her body to rest for the night ahead. Voices drifted in and out of her consciousness, making Deliya wonder if she’d made the tea stronger than she had intended to.
She opened her eyes, as Ro settled next to her on the pallet. Deliya sucked in her breath, as he loomed over her, his eyes glittering in the firelight.
Ro kissed her chin then her lips, brushing his mouth over hers. “Take off your armor,” he requested.
“It is not our way,” she reminded him. You are my enemy.
Ro fumbled with the straps to her breastplate. “I cannot make love to you with your armor on,” he reasoned.
Deliya tried to escape his grasp. The tea was a strong sedative. It relaxed the mind and body, but this was not what Deliya had in mind when she set out to relax Ro.
His body covered hers, and Deliya considered screaming. She dismissed the idea. Screaming would ruin any chance of escape and alert Ro’s men that their king had been drugged.
“Please, let me make love to you,” he breathed into her ear.
She shook her head, praying that Ro was rational enough to heed her refusal. That was the one thing Deliya could not willingly give Ro, even for the promise of escape. Fion’s priestesses did not mate with outsiders. They mated with males of their own kind.
His lips pressed to hers again. This was something she could give him. It was something she wanted to give him, and Deliya couldn’t deny that. She parted her lips tentatively, admitting his tongue.
Ro was relentless. His mouth plundered hers
: nipping and sucking, his tongue pushing deep inside her. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, like nothing Loric had taught her. Compared to Ro, Loric had been a foolish boy. Or perhaps, this was what Loric would have been had he not been restrained with her.
“I want you,” he whispered.
It is the lizor stems. He wants a female, not you specifically. “Tomorrow, Ro.”
He kissed her brow, smiling, then rolled to his side and nestled Deliya to his chest. “Tomorrow,” he slurred. “Sleep well, Deliya.”
She sucked in her breath. Did Ro truly know who she was and want her? Perhaps, but what difference did it make? None. In four hours, at the height of their sleep, Deliya would be gone.
*
Caj 4th, Ti 10-459
Ro woke, as the first rays of sunlight stole into his tent. He smiled, rolling the shoulder that had been so tense the night before. He’d had a wonderful night’s sleep and even more fantastic dreams.
One thing was no dream. Deliya had been the stuff of dreams incarnate. She hadn’t permitted Ro to make love to her, but she had been passionate in his arms, and that kiss gave the promise of everything he’d hoped for since he’d set eyes on her for the first time.
Tomorrow, Ro. She’d promised him—
He turned to wrap his arms around her, and his smile disappeared. Deliya was gone. Ro sat up, searching for clues to her whereabouts. Her packs were gone — and her weapons.
Ro cursed fluently as he pulled on his armor. He glanced at Donic then decided not to wake him. There was only one place Deliya would go, and Donic would shackle him before he’d let Ro follow Deliya to Gidlore.
He strode across the camp, nodding to his men as he went. He should have seen this coming. They were only a two-hour ride from the cliffs overlooking Gidlore. Ro paused only a moment as he mounted his war-buck, frustrated as much with himself for falling for her trick as he was at her for trying it.
Deliya had given her word, and his father taught Ro that Fion’s Children were bound by their word by law — a sacred trust with their goddess. Before Deliya answered to her goddess, Ro would make sure she answered to him for this breech of trust.