Thrall (Deridia Book 3)

by Catherine Miller

  He released a shuddering breath, some of the tension easing. “You will... tell me if it does?” he insisted, his words slightly strangled. She shifted, if just a little, trying to see him better, and he groaned, pushing his head further into her neck.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked anxiously, his reactions confusing her.

  He shook his head furiously, a strange feeling when he was pressed so completely against her, and she felt him swell, just as he said he would. That didn’t hurt either, her body shifting and stretching to accommodate him, not painfully, but rightly. And the change in pressure made the thrum all the more persistent, and she did not know how to comfort him, not when she was so very distracted...

  He moved then, a gentle push and pull that made her hold him tight, made her close her eyes as she held him to her—ridiculous as that might have seemed. His strength was far greater than her own, and she doubted she could make him do anything, and yet... that didn’t make her feel powerless. The way he breathed softly, tightly, even with his face buried at the side of her, she knew with a sudden clarity that she held a great deal of control. He would stop if she asked it of him, would withdraw and simply hold her if that was her wish.

  Or, as she knew was both their preference, she could joyfully allow it to continue and find pleasure for them both.

  The sensations built and ebbed, the thrum tightening and coiling in her belly until it unfurled in a burst of... of something she could not begin to name. One of his hands was still curled around hers, the other having delved lower to touch, to press near their joining, and still he moved, coaxing whatever last vestiges of pleasure he could from their coupling.

  Until at last, he stilled, a low groan escaping from him. That was more familiar, though it lacked the relief she remembered.

  Instead she was almost sorry, couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving her, not when she felt so very safe and...

  And loved.

  Is that was this was? Was always meant to have been?

  He shifted, and at last she saw his face, tenderness quickly being replaced by concern as his thumb came softly brushed at the corners of her eyes. “You did not tell me,” he chastised, devastation coming over him more quickly than she could rebuff it.

  But that would not stop her trying. “Stop,” she choked out, trying to halt her tears but finding that they came all the more freely, contrary to her efforts. She swallowed, trying to find some measure of composure. Her limbs felt light and heavy at all once, and she felt as if she could sleep for an age. “Just stop,” she murmured again, burrowing closer to him. She felt him slip free and she was especially sorry as that meant he could easily get up, could leave her when all she wanted to do was lie here close to him and rest her heavy eyes.

  “I am... overwhelmed, not hurt,” she insisted, not liking the wariness she saw in him. “Do you trust me so little?”

  Olivar shook his head slowly. “It is not that,” he clarified. “Only... I was so afraid of... of doing you harm, no matter how unintentionally.”

  He did roll off her then, but not out of their bed, just to the side. She followed, curling about him as thoroughly as she could, wanting the heat of him even if she could not have the weight. “I know,” she assured him. “And you were... most kind. As I knew you would be.”

  He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. She shifted again, lying more fully atop his chest as she looked down at him, determined to put this right. Her tears halted the longer she focused on him and his own need for comfort, and she hoped he could forgive her unintended upset.

  “I understand now,” she told him, deciding to share part of her realisation. “About... what the Narada were afraid of.”

  His mouth tightened to hear the name, but took a breath, the tension easing. His hand came to her hair, bits falling freely from the braid. She would have thought she looked frightful, but nothing in his expression suggested he found anything wanting.

  “And what is that?” he asked, his voice low.

  She leaned down and placed a kiss upon his chest, his palm, wriggling up so she could reach his mouth. “Love,” she answered simply. “Pleasure,” she added also, her cheeks burning to talk about what she’d experienced. “Better there be pain, for what they hope to accomplish.”

  “No more pain for you,” Olivar almost pleaded. “I could not bear it.”

  She kissed him again, sweetly, encouragingly. “Not with you,” she promised.

  She studied him a moment longer, looking for any sign of lingering distress. But his eyes only showed the contentment she had hoped for, and what she was certain was mimicked in her own expression.

  “And now, we sleep,” she declared, scooting down and tucking herself against his side.

  She did not expect his refusal, didn’t particularly like the way he chuckled as he plucked her from the bed. Especially didn’t like that part.

  “Now,” he contradicted, “we wash. And then we may sleep.”

  She scowled at him, as close to glaring as she had ever come. She did not want a wash, she wanted a nap and to lay with him some more.

  But then he was kissing her cheek, and he nibbled, if just a little, and her arguments quieted. “Allow me to care for you, Ness,” he entreated. “Or else there might have to be another trip to the doctor, and somehow I would think you would avoid that.”

  She didn’t know why washing was exactly necessary, but she trusted him. He had known how to care for her, how to please her, without a great deal of contribution on her part, for which she was grateful.

  Perhaps the Onidae taught their men well in how to care for their wives. That seemed very like them.

  So she allowed him to carry her to the bath, allow him to fill it with hot water.

  Allowed him to join her in it.

  Allowed him to wash her all over, even her most intimate places, only stopping him so that she might do the same.

  And she most happily allowed for when washing turned to kisses, soap-slicked skin meeting skin.

  And perhaps rest could wait, if just a little longer, as kisses led to Olivar lifting her from the washtub, hastily drying them both before taking her back to their bed.

  The warmth of the water made her brave, her muscles loose and their kisses deep, and she did not want him hiding his face away again, wanted to see him, wanted to know what he was feeling and that he could see how well she was, at least during, though she could not promise that tears would not come again in the after.

  And he allowed her to position him just so, and though her cheeks burned, though her motions were halting and uncertain as she positioned herself atop him, his hands at her hips helped her pace, helped support, and she loved to see his eyes, even half-closed as they often were.

  In the after, she refused to leave the bed again, too tired and limp to indulge even his insistence that he would carry her.

  She wanted to keep him captive, and it seemed almost possible as she had simply fallen over across his entire body, but he kissed her as he wriggled free, bringing back a cloth to wipe away the mess from her.

  She was mostly asleep by the time he returned, and she half-heartedly parted her legs so he could manage, a cold, slithering memory coming as the cloth wiped, and her eyes flew open.

  Black, beady eyes looking for fluids, looking for readiness.

  Olivar meant only to clean her, she knew that, something about a doctor being needed if he didn’t, but she found herself strangely detached from that as she grabbed the cloth from him and hurled it across the room.

  The dampness caused it make a rather satisfaction sound as it struck the wood of the furthering wall and fell down in a pile.

  He stared at her, bewildered and perhaps a little nervous, and once the cloth was gone, once the feel of it between her legs had ceased, she felt remarkably foolish.

  And dangerously close to tears once again.

  “I...” she started, not sure how to explain, not sure that she wanted to. She was tired, and she wanted to hold
on to the lovely feelings he’d stirred in her, not delve back into the past.

  And he was too far away, still watching her closely, and she wanted him here, wanted to hold him close as she revelled in all she thought could never be.

  “Hush,” Olivar murmured gently, obviously seeing she needed comfort rather than more scrutiny. He rejoined her and tucked her into his side, just as she had hoped to be. “Something from before?” he asked gently, not prodding, not pushing, merely enquiring.

  She nodded, her throat tight and tears she didn’t want to shed burning at her eyes.

  “Right then,” Olivar affirmed. “I like how baths affect you much more than a cloth in any case.”

  She peeked up at him, her eyes watery, looking for any sign of disappointment. He wanted her well, and she knew that. Wanted her free from any hint of what the Narada had done, but she couldn’t give him that. Not yet. Could only really give him the desire to be so.

  He kissed the top of her head, pulling her more fully into his embrace, allowing her to sprawl partly over him again. She revelled in his warmth, the comfort only he could bring, and reminded herself of how fortunate she truly was, despite everything in the before.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his skin. She did not say it because she thought he would accept it, but because it was a simple truth.

  “Hush,” he said again, his fingers smoothing through her hair. “You have grown so much in so little time.” A smile entered his voice, and that pleased her greatly. “You are a wife now.”

  A smile of her own tugged at her lips, trying to banish the last vestiges of her upset, and doing an admirable job of it. “And you a husband.”

  “True,” he answered, a great deal of satisfaction entering his tone. “A title I find the most pleasing of all, especially given the benefits.”

  There was no mistaking to what he referred, and though it should have embarrassed her, she had to hide her widening smile, hide her blushes by tucking her face between her hair and his chest.

  She was certain he would be smirking, but knowing him as she did, the very tips of his ears would be green, showing that he was not nearly as unaffected as he liked to portray.

  “Me too,” she murmured softly, because it was true. She’d had far less titles and positions in her lifetime, she was certain, but thrall one that she was more than happy to forego.

  They laid there quietly for a time, and despite how tired she was, sleep seemed very far away, her mind swirling with thoughts even as her head rested against Olivar’s chest, her ear pressed against his skin, listening to his heartbeat. It was faster than hers, but not by much. She wondered if that meant he was excited or if that was its normal function.

  It was odd, to be curious and not have to chastise herself for it. She could question what she liked and expect an answer rather than an admonishment, either vocally or physically. The thought of it made her place another kiss, and she hummed happily when his fingers delved through her hair, taking out the last of her braid and making gentle motions through the damp strands.

  “Do you think...” Ness started, wondering suddenly if there were other rules about what happened after a coupling. Apparently washing was important, and maybe that precluded questions as well? She peeked up at him briefly, and he gave her an encouraging look, and she supposed that was answer enough. “What that woman... what Prim said before... do you think that’s true? That my kind came from the stars?”

  She glanced at him again, and she saw the surprise there, but he did not appear angered at her change in subject. Instead he grew thoughtful, his fingers still moving absently through her hair as he considered his response.

  “There are some,” he began slowly, his words carefully chosen. “That think it incredible that we can cross the water as we do. Even when there is no land in any direction, our ships can take us across safely.”

  He looked down at her, and her brow furrowed. He smiled, clarifying what he meant. “It is commonplace to us because the means are our own—our people have been doing it for generations. To others, they do not understand, so they marvel at the possibility. I admit that it seems... incredible... that it is possible to fly let alone out into the stars, but I would not think her lying either.”

  Ness nodded. “But...” she continued before stopping herself. It was one thing to question, it was another to sound prideful.

  He gave her hair a playful tug. “What, Ness?”

  She bit her lip, considering, but could deny him nothing. “Wouldn’t that have made them a great people? At least... before?” She thought the Onidae were very great, and others respected them—even the Narada. And if her kind had once flown through the skies, then...

  “Even if they lived in little dirt huts and had never dreamed of flying,” Olivar answered firmly, “they do not deserve what has happened to them.” His fingers found her chin and she looked at him steadily. “You did not.”

  She nodded again. “I know,” she answered simply, because she did. She didn’t know if she deserved all that she had now—especially not to call Olivar her husband—but that did not keep her from being grateful.

  She’d already decided the Narada were wrong for their ways and the treatment of her kind, but there was a comfort in thinking that her people had once been great.

  Because she did not think that a people who once knew how to navigate the stars themselves could be slaves forever.

  Perhaps that was a false hope, but it was there nonetheless, tucking itself away and burrowing deep. Perhaps she could help them someday, if there was something real and not foolhardy she could contribute.

  But for now...

  They would have to wait, and survive as they had always done.

  And she would enjoy her husband and the life he had built for them, and try not to feel guilty at the disparity.

  “Do you think of them often?” Olivar asked, abandoning her hair in favour of brushing his fingertips against her arm. The feel of it was enough to make her shiver, and he mistook it for being cold as he fished for the blankets, pulling them over the both of them and tucking them beneath her chin.

  “I try not to,” she admitted, wondering if that was a horrible confession. “It... it hurts, to remember, to know what is still happening to them.”

  Olivar sighed deeply, hugging her to him and leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. “I am sorry, my sweet girl,” he told her. “I want no more hurts for you. But I do not know how to help them, either.”

  She burrowed closer, although there was little need as there was no part of her that hadn’t been touching him. But she liked the feel, liked the idea that she could always try to be nearer still. “I know,” she assured him. “And if you did, I know you would do it. Because you are a good, kind man, and I am... am most honoured to call you mine.”

  He smiled brightly at that, and she was glad of it, for she did not mean for them to dwell on what they could not change.

  Not when there were sweeter things, like kisses and blankets and the feel of skin against skin.

  “I am relieved you think so,” Olivar countered, a smile in his voice. “For you will be doing so at the announcement tomorrow.”

  Her eyes had began to drift close, too content not to embrace her drowsiness, but they flew open again at that. “What?”

  He tugged at a lock of her hair once more. “What did you think an announcement meant?”

  She shifted so she could show him all of her indignation. “That you would be speaking, not me!” She didn’t mean for her voice to become shrill, and she winced at the sound. But her panic was genuine as the idea of addressing his people—especially when he had not been at all clear as to how that would be accomplished—was a distressing one.

  “It is nothing to worry about, Ness,” Olivar soothed, though it did nothing to calm her. It was easy for him to say that, as he knew the particulars. These were his people as well, and he had already proved himself to them as a useful member. She however...

&nbs
p; His hand cupped her cheek, and his eyes grew seriously. “Truly,” he insisted. He sighed when it was clear she did not fully believe him. “I should not have mentioned it. Now you will be fretting all night.”

  She didn’t want that. Didn’t want their first wedded night to be filled with worries and uncertainties.

  It was hard, as she wanted to pester him with questions, but she settled on just one, a bright spot that she would choose to dwell upon instead.

  “May I have a crempet tomorrow? To make up for it?”

  And his answering laugh soothed her much better than his platitudes had done.

  “Whatever you would like, sweet wife.”

  And with their limbs all a tangle, and his fingers drifting once more through the length of her hair, she slept.

  After deciding she liked wifedom very much if it felt like this.

  21. Ness

  “But are we late?” she asked, not for the first time.

  Olivar chuckled at her, pulling on his boot and making quick work of the laces. “How can we be late if there is no appointment?”

  Ness huffed, tugging at her dress and smoothing her hands over the skirt. He had told her remarkably little about the announcement ceremony.

  She had slept late into the morning, Olivar having already dressed for the day by the time she finally awoke. She felt remarkably guilty for that, especially when he brought her a meal accompanied with a kiss.

  She might be a wife now, but that did not mean she should laze about.

  She wanted nothing more than to lay back and accept her morning meal, but certain needs bade her cross quickly to the bathing room, her cheeks thoroughly pinked as she felt her husband’s eyes on her naked form. There was no need for modesty, she knew that, and she did not truly mind, yet somehow it felt different than the day before.

  Perhaps it was that he was mostly dressed, and watching, not assisting while also attending to his own attire.

  She had tried to ply him for information while she ate, but he remained stingy with his explanations. It was enough to make her nerves blossom in her stomach, and she was ready to abandon him and find Alindra when at last he relented, at least giving her a hint of what was to come.