A Tale of Two Kingdoms (Knights of Black Swan, Book 6)

by Danann, Victoria

  Etana, in her guise as Arles Logature, approached the Eskildsens, owners of a guest house in the Faroes that had enjoyed the privilege of hosting the famous couple. She explained that the pair had actually been in their guest cottage the entire time and offered to pay the bill at three times the going rate. She also mentioned that the guest house could expect a deluge of reservations requests for having housed the royal celebrities and that they would have all the business they could manage for whatever price they’d like to charge for a while.

  Mr. Eskildsen responded that, at his age, he got dates confused sometimes. If the young couple said they’d been guests, then who was he to argue? He created an invoice and thanked Ms. Logature for settling the bill.

  “What would you do for me?”

  For the sake of diversion Song and Duff had been to the village a couple of times and met interesting people with stories to match, but mostly they had spent their “honeymoon” reveling in the exhilarating pleasure of simply being together. After the first couple of days of solitude, they had fallen into the habit of doing without clothes. They found that perpetual access to each other’s bodies only added to the euphoria of their reclusive love nest. It had been a time of companionable joy and seductive amusement, a euphoric bliss that was as intoxicating as any drug.

  Their awareness of the illusory quality of their days and the likely transience of the experience only heightened their determination to suck every morsel of delight from every moment.

  Duff looked up at Aelsong who was straddling him. He was lying on the little grass knoll that sloped down to the stream that ran beside the house. The air was heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and the grass felt cool and soft against his skin.

  He raised an eyebrow and grinned as he trailed his fingertips slowly down between her bare breasts. “Are you hidin’ a dragon for me to slay?”

  “Oh, no. The dragons are all gone away. Except for my brother.”

  “Your brother, the king, or your brother, the hero?”

  She laughed. “Aelsblood. I tried to kill him myself.”

  “When?”

  “After they brought me home and he said I was goin’ to be locked away.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I picked up one of those old-fashioned iron pokers, the heavy kind, and swung it at his head.”

  Duff stared at her for a couple of beats and then started laughing. “I would have loved to have seen that. What did he do?”

  “Well, first, he said, ‘Ouch’.”

  Duff laughed so hard at that he had to sit up. He put his arms around her waist and adjusted her position while she put her arms around his neck.

  Face to face, he said, “And then what?”

  “Then he called the guards to drag me away. I told him he’d better no’ ever let me out or I’d kill him for sure the next time.”

  “I will take this as a cautionary tale, love. I’m renewin’ my pledge to remain true to your good graces. I’m also makin’ a new pledge to keep the pokers locked away when we are established in our own home.”

  Song’s smile died away at that. “Our own home? ‘Tis hard to guess where we may end.”

  “I do no’ care so long as you’re with me and no’ tryin’ to kill me.”

  The giggle that bubbled up was smothered by a kiss so lovely that she was happy to give up the laughter in sacrifice. There was growing evidence between her legs that Duff was taking the conversation in a new direction. As his kisses trailed down her neck he moved his hands to the sides of her breasts and lifted her at the same time. In a dance of mutual understanding as old as time, she reached between them to perfectly position his cock at her entrance and then sank slowly down. As she lowered herself, she pulled air in a gasp, let her head drop back, and finally brought her gaze back to watch his face as she whispered his name, “Duffy.”

  In the throes of the most powerful intimacy possible, his concentration on her reactions was so intense that it was a rapture almost painful. Song moved slowly, deliberately, erotically to heighten the sensations. Just as slowly, Duff’s hands moved lightly over her body, his fingers greedy for the next touch before the last was complete. When Song began to move faster, increasing the friction, Duff’s arousal kept pace.

  He came up to his knees while holding her in place so that he could get more leverage. Holding her in a tight embrace, with arms wrapped around her, he pulled almost all the way out and plunged into her with a thrust so purposeful it could only be called ravishment. Hearing her responding cry spurred him on to pumping in a merciless triumph of claiming. He adjusted her position once more so that her most sensitive nerve endings would be brushed by the piston motion between them. Within a few seconds, he felt her squeezing him and let go in a seizure of ecstasy that can only be known by species that mate.

  They stayed in that position, panting. He held her close with one arm while he reached up and used the other hand to brush the damp hair back from her face. Keeping his hand against her cheek, he angled her head back a little so that she was looking at him. “I love you, Song.”

  She swallowed and felt her heart clinch in her chest. Her beautiful kiss-swollen lips parted so that she could say it back, but her throat closed and she felt a tear run down her face instead.

  “Here now. What’s this?” He wiped one wet trail away with his thumb.

  She nodded, then shook her head, and then flapped her hands until she could find her voice. “Is this what matin’ does? I’m goin’ to be as bad as Elora with the silly weepin’.”

  “She has a reputation for tears, does she?”

  “Aye,” Song laughed. “She does. But that was no’ what I intended to be sayin’. What I meant to be sayin’ is, I love you, too, Duffy. We’re goin’ to be okay, whate’er ‘tis that comes next.”

  “O’course. I proclaim it. Also, as to what I would do for you. I will murder your brother if you wish it, but ‘twould surely mean war, actual war, between your people and mine.”

  She seemed to contemplate that. “You’re goin’ to have to retrain yourself to stop thinkin’ in terms of your people and mine. ‘Tis our people now. And, no, love. I release you from the charge. If he needs killin’ badly enough, I’ll do it myself,” she smiled just as the doorbell rang.

  “Did you hear a doorbell?”

  “Aye. I think ‘twas the tune of ‘Comin’ Through the Rye’.”

  They got up and walked to the cottage, looked around the front door, but there was no sign of a doorbell.

  “Maybe ‘tis the angel tryin’ to be polite and give us a chance to make ourselves presentable before he appears.”

  “Let’s go with that,” said Song.

  They pulled on clothes and sat down to wait for a visitor with fruity beverages.

  A few minutes later Kellareal arrived to explain all that had happened. They looked at each other and each knew what the other was thinking – that there was a sadness in giving up the paradise they had enjoyed, wherever it was. Whatever it was.

  Duff reached for Song’s hand. “So we’re the greatest love story e’er told.”

  “Already knew that.”

  Duff smiled at her like she was made for him, which, of course, she was. “Life goes on, I suppose.”

  “So they say.”

  Kellareal went on with the briefing. “The plan is to deposit you in the little cottage on the Faroes. We have also arranged to have your plane, with all your things in it, returned to the air field there. You will fly back to Edinburgh and be greeted by the subjects who are eager to give you an enthusiastic welcome.”

  “When?”

  “How long do you need to get ready?”

  “’Tis no’ that ‘twould take long. ‘Tis that we do no’ want to leave. Could we have one more night?”

  Kellareal’s features seem to soften a little. “Tomorrow morning then. Early.”

  Song nodded. Duff sighed, picked up the hand he was holding and kissed the back of it.

  They took off
from the airstrip on the Faroe Islands, but instead of returning to Aberdeen, they flew directly to Edinburgh. Just as the angel had predicted, an enormous crowd was gathered outside the gates to the private hangars where small aircraft were housed.

  There was a sizable security guard and motorcade as well as a small roped off area for TV crew and news people. When Duff switched the engine off and turned to look at Song, he thought he saw a hint of panic behind her eyes. The echo of their experience in Quebec brought a mutual fear of being separated bubbling to the surface. He couldn’t blame her for the suspicion and hesitation, especially not when his own feelings mirrored hers. He gave her hand a squeeze and she responded with a smile that was brave, if not genuine. It was a marvel to him that he already knew her that well after so short a time.

  “Stay where you are, love. I’ll circle ‘round and help you out so that you can make a proper entrance.”

  She nodded. “Just a second.”

  He saw that she reached under her skirt, seemingly to make an adjustment to some article of clothing in the area of her crotch.

  Duff waved at the cheering crowd on his way around to the other side of the plane. Aelsong gave him her left hand to help her out of the plane and touched his lips with a light kiss saying, “Looks like a warm enough welcome.”

  She reached up with her right hand, presumably to wipe lipstick from his mouth, but what she did instead was to touch the indentation above his upper lip with mating scent. His nostrils flared, his eyes widened and his entire frame tensed.

  They were ushered past the hand-selected members of the press on the way to the waiting cars. Security allowed them to stop in front of the reporters.

  “Your Highness, how does it feel to be comin’ home with an elf bride?”

  Song looked at Duff, who seemed to have experienced a brain freeze. She could tell by the expression on his face that he was far from fully present in the moment. Fortunately, she had spent a fair amount of time in the public eye and was comfortable with attention. “There’s a wee frog in his throat this mornin’, so he can no’ say and I would no’ want to presume to answer for him. But I can say that I’m so happy to be in this beautiful city with the man I love.”

  “Princess Hawking, what do you think about your nephew bein’ named king of Ireland?”

  She smiled. “Well, I can assure you there has ne’er been an Irish king who was cuter or chubbier.” Everyone laughed. “And I can no’ tell you how delighted I am to have my da actin’ in the capacity of head of state.” She looked over at Duff. “When I saw our two fathers on the tele together, I thought they looked so handsome, like a symbol of our peoples reunitin’, which is as it should be. We’re the same.”

  “What are your plans?”

  “We’re open. What are yours?”

  There was more laughter. The news people clearly loved her and had more questions ready, but the king’s staff pressed them on toward the cars.

  As their vehicle pulled past the people lining the exit route, they saw hundreds of handmade signs with encouraging phrases like, “Welcome Home, Princess”, and roses were being thrown at the limousine.

  By the time they’d left the crowd behind, Duff had recovered his senses. He leaned into Song. “That was mean.”

  She put her lips close to his ear so only he would hear. “In my defense, I thought it would help you get through the nonsense. I honestly did no’ know that it would paralyze your tongue.”

  He pulled back to look at her as if to judge her truthfulness. “They adored you. Ate it up. So perhaps ‘twas all for the best.” She nodded. He smiled. “Still, I will be gettin’ you back.”

  Her answering smile was the first time he had ever experienced the full frontal fireworks force of Hawking sparkle at close range. “You can try.”

  Ram came through the apartment door looking flushed with the excitement of being reunited with his little family. Elora had Helm in the highchair and was feeding him smashed peas.

  “Is that the child who would be king?”

  Helm waved his arms. Elora stood and turned to greet Ram. “No. That’s just a spoiled baby with peas on his face.”

  Ram pulled her tight into the sort of welcome home kiss that let her know he wasn’t joking about being glad to be back. When they drew apart, he kept his forehead against hers and talked in the tone he normally reserved for bed.

  “Missed you.”

  “How much?”

  Helm had been as patient as he could with his parents’ intermission. He didn’t cry or whine. He didn’t scream. He yelled a demand for more food at the top of his lungs and there was no mistaking his meaning. He even turned red in the face to punctuate the gravity of the situation. Ram and Elora both stared at him.

  “Wow. It didn’t take long for that to go to his head. Just one mention of being king,” she said. “Exactly what I told you.”

  “Oh,” Ram laughed, “’cause neither one of us has e’er been the least insistent about gettin’ what we want when we want it. Stop lookin’ for trouble, Mum.” Ram went to the refrigerator, withdrew a jar of baby meat sticks, and put three on his son’s tray. “Put a meat stick in it and let your da have his way with her for a minute, will ye?” He turned back to Elora, smiling. “Did I mention there’s no place like home?”

  Author’s Postscipt.

  For those of you who are wondering what’s in store for the saga, my plans are to release three novellas in Spring and Summer of 2014. - Victoria

  Z Harmony.Com

  Solomon’s Sieve

  The Beast Who Loved Me (Exiled, Book 1)

  Excerpt from Z Harmony.Com

  COMING 2014

  The facilitator looked at him like she’d rather have him thrown out than help him get caught up to speed. Yes. He was late. Yes. He was a mess. “Is that blood on your face?” she’d asked looking down her nose.

  That’s only one of the shitty things that’s likely to happen when you pick the wrong fight in a battle with extra-dimensional assassins. Among others, you could end up locked in a freezing basement cage for hours.

  His answer was to stare in bald challenge. “Just tell me where I’m supposed to be.”

  She hesitated, but decided it would be less disruptive to the event to go along with the maniac than to cause a scene. “Very well, Mr….” she looked down at the card, “Nightsong. Everyone will be changing stations in…,” she looked at her stop watch, “five, four, three – go to station seven now – two, one.” She raised her voice. “Time everyone! Move on to the next table.”

  Raif spotted the number seven and headed in that direction, clearing a path as people took one look and gave him a wide berth. When he got a look at the woman who had just sat down to wait for him at table number seven, he felt his dick jerk and that infuriated him. He flopped into the empty chair seething about the past twenty-four hours, about having to comply with a speed date because he’d lost a bet, about how unsatisfying his work for Black Swan had become, and about the fact that the cutie was getting a response from his pants that was not in line with how tired and dejected he was at the moment.

  He refused to look at her. Instead, he looked around the room with a smirk. Speed dating. What could be more ludicrous for a guy like him? He had a progression of pleasure-giving penis piercings, commonly known as a ladder, and a reputation with women that was nothing to be ashamed of. Well, depending on who you talked to. But he’d never been on a “date” in his life.

  His present discomfort was his teammate’s idea of a joke, the price of a wager that misfired.

  “I’m Mercedes.”

  The sound of her voice brought him back. He let his eyes roam over what he could see above the table top slowly, way too slowly for speed dating. It was an intimidation tactic intended to make her uncomfortable, deliberate or not. She was buttoned up all the way to the neck and he thought the closed tight look was out of place on a natural redhead with freckles that seemed to say, “Underneath this disguise, I’m as unruly as the p
igment in my skin.”

  “Rafael Nightsong.”

  Her lips parted and stayed open for a minute, like she was thinking about repeating his name, but she recovered quickly and that look vanished. “So. What do you do?”

  “Vampire hunter,” he said as nonchalantly as if the answer had been insurance salesman.

  She supposed he must have been attempting some sort of theatrical goth look. The style was outrageous, but those eyes were such a pale shade of blue, framed by midnight black hair and lashes, they drew her in, compelling her to look and preventing her from looking away. One could almost believe that he actually was a vampire hunter.

  Gathering her composure, she smirked. “I see. You must be too shy to talk about yourself. So, let me just refer to your card then.” She picked up a white four by six index card with the number seven in bold at the top. “I see you like long walks on the beach and pina coladas.” He barked out a laugh in spite of himself. He had to give it up. Torn Finngarick was a funny guy. “Let me guess. I’ll bet you also like getting caught in the rain.”

  “Yes. I’m a simple guy, easy to read. Long walks on the beach and pina coladas are my idea of fun.” Her rust-colored eyelashes swept down and to the side as she looked away. “Sooooooo. Let’s see what your card says about you.” He shuffled through cards and held one up pretending to read. “Here we are. Little Miss Sheltered McManners. For fun you like spraying with Lysol and wearing stilts. All the better to look down on other people.”

  “Mr… You know, really, the most interesting thing about you is that you chose Nightsong for a fake name. I don’t need stilts to look down on you. I could be lying face down on the floor and wouldn’t have any trouble.”