She raised an eyebrow. “What's he wrong about?”
“He thought that with the binding ceremony, it causes us all to have simultaneous orgasms—if one goes, so does the rest.”
She began to giggle. Were they really that clueless? “You have to be touching me, Dummies!” she couldn't help but tease. She picked up her pillow and tossed it at Taric's head.
When he pulled it off, he looked over at her with amazement. “Where did you learn that?”
“I'm an elf; I know. There are fairy stories about it. Like the man who masturbated so often without his wife that she left him for a Winter God?” With the blank expression she was met with, even by Draevan, she realized quickly that it wasn't told to human children. “Fine, fine. What about the man who was able to have sex with all fifty of his wives all at the same time?” Still, vacant expressions.
She frowned. “Oh. Hmm… How about—?”
“Kyra? You need to check with us before telling any stories to our future children,” Draevan ordered, looking quite serious and shocked at the same time. He turned to look at Taric. “So, I'm at least half right. There's magic involved somewhat.”
“I think an investigation still needs to be held,” Taric replied, his tone full of doubt, as he kissed her shoulder.
This 'investigation' was sure to include her… their wife, their whore. She couldn't get it through her head yet—in twenty-four hours, she had gone from sure death at the end of a rope to being bred by two powerful human giant-killers.
Taric then pushed himself up and climbed out of bed. He immediately went to the door and demanded food be brought in for them. She grinned excitedly. Her hero! “How'd you know I was hungry?” she teased, sitting up.
He shrugged dismissively. “You need to eat whether you're hungry or not. You have your health to see to—healthy women breed better than waifs,” he educated, walking to a bowl and filling it up with water. He immediately splashed some across the back of his neck.
She opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it when she had a thought.
Sure, she didn't particularly like her being thought of as a womb with legs. On the other hand, however, from what she could see they had gone through a lot of trouble for her womb alone, and they seemed prepared to go through a whole lot more. Yesterday, it was a pardon, a bath, and a feather-bed. Today, it would be a feast… What would they provide for her tomorrow?
She wondered if their thinking they could breed her might just be the best thing for them to think.
Besides, no matter how kindly or warmly they acted towards her, apparently they were obliged to give her plenty of pain and humiliation if they decided that she required it…
She blinked and felt her chin drop. 'I must actually be what they say,' she thought to herself as she found herself thinking of their kindness as her due. 'Only a whore would allow this rather than offing herself. Lord, not only did I allow it… I enjoyed it.'
“Hey now—our little elfling is perfectly healthy from what I can tell. Look at her; look at these hips,” he gave her bottom a solid spank, and Kyra chirped with displeasure. Draevan merely continued, “These breasts!” Draevan unsurprisingly illustrated his argument by palming one of her breasts roughly with his hands. “Gods, she makes me crazy! I'm already up for giving her a re-fill.”
She pouted at his crudeness and shrunk away from him towards the far end of the bed. “I'm sore,” she complained, drawing her thighs tightly together.
“Besides, I'm next,” Taric told him firmly. “We have to always seed her in the same day—remember?”
She blinked very quickly. “What?” They were certainly referring to a discussion made outside of her presence!
“When you give birth, we want to make sure we don't know who the father is. Every child you have will be regarded as both of ours,” Taric informed her, gesturing to Draevan and himself. “That's the only way to share a wife—this is how the arrangement is done in the North.”
That didn't sound promising. She had a feeling she was going to get a lot sorer. Her husbands were insatiable—they planned to take her often, and they both wanted a 'turn' every day. “It will become easier as we go on,” Draevan assured her, reaching over to give the inside of her thigh a consoling pat. “Eventually we'll just forget who had you when.”
“Oh, good…” she said, a nervous squeak in her voice.
Although for a hazy, lust-filled moment when Draevan was growling filth into her ear as he rutted over her that morning, she had for a moment fantasized about having a child… Which was surely madness! Besides its impossibility, she’d never seen anyone handle a child. She had no idea how such an idea could have, even for a moment, been so intriguing. “I think we made our little wife nervous, Taric.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it gently. “Don't worry, my pet. You'll get used to this arrangement. Until then, just remember that if you're a good girl, you'll think yourself the most spoiled wife anywhere.”
“So I’m a well-paid whore,” she simplified, narrowing her eyes.
“No,” Taric quickly quelled. “You’re our wife—we’re married.”
“Right. Whores are paid what they’re owed, wives are given what they desire,” Draevan casually reworded. “That, and you’re ours exclusively.”
“Exclusively,” she repeated wearily, never having heard the word before.
“You will cause pleasure to us and to us alone,” Taric educated, patting her knee.
She knew that was expected of marriage, of course, but the demand still struck her as unfair, since she had no choice in it. “Well,” she huffed, knowing that when she pointed out the reverse she’d get nothing but complaints. “Then you’ll have me and me alone!”
“Absolutely,” Draevan replied easily.
“Of course, pet,” Taric agreed.
She frowned; their compliance was quite unexpected. Normally soldiers like Draevan and Taric were too wild to settle down with only one woman. “Really?” she found herself asking, confused. It was certainly strange to have a man call her a slut at one moment and then swear life-long devotion in the next.
The men laughed and Taric grabbed her arm and dragged her over to him. As soon as she was next to him, he picked her whole body up and set her on his lap. She felt his cock harden under her, moving against her flesh, but all he did was affectionately kiss her ear point and say, “You’re the cutest thing,” he told her, and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Even though you’re obviously a little upset at something. My suggestion is we put some food into you; then you’ll be in a better mood.”
She doubted that anyone could have possibly handled all that had happened to her in the last month any better, even if on a full stomach, but apparently her doubtful look didn’t get that across to either of her husbands. But she didn’t have to agree to the food being brought to her as they both set to the task of pestering the nearest servant for aid in feeding their wife.
She was certain when they turned back in her direction that Taric would take it upon himself to get between her thighs and take what was rightfully his once again, but it didn’t seem to cross his mind. In fact, the two men dressed and spoke of ordering a dress to be sent up to her.
She blinked. “A dress?” she asked, incredulous when Draevan, who made the order, turned away from the door.
“Well, yes,” Draevan said, his eyes shifting as if he worried for a moment that he had done something wrong. “We don’t want any servants seeing you in your just your skin. That sight is for our eyes only.” He pulled his tunic over his head, flexing his roping muscles as he did so.
She quieted, finding that she didn’t really want them to know that she had never worn a dress before. She had spent her life pretending that she didn’t like them, mostly because she knew she would never get to buy one. Her family was too poor to buy clothes; what they had was what was worn by the idiots who had tried to fight the giant and had failed, and to date, no female had ever tried the feat. Thus, it hadn’t seemed like
the garment was in her future.
“Damn,” Draevan swore to himself, looking about. “Now I can’t seem to find my belt…”
She rolled her eyes and lifted up a pillow, exposing the strip of leather under it like it was a snake lying in wait. “If you can’t keep track of it, then you should keep it in your pant loops,” she scolded, trying to hide her embarrassment of being so soundly spanked the night before.
Draevan gave a slight chuckle, then walked over and leaned over the bed to grab it. He pulled her long hair back from her shoulder just so he could nip her there with his white teeth.
“She’s got more color to her today,” Taric said, pausing to stare at her when Draevan was finally looping his belt back around his waist.
“All women get a little color to their cheeks after a morning with me,” Draevan replied to him with a shrug and a playful grin.
“Yes, well I did hear laughing’s good for one’s health,” she heard herself quip.
Upon Draevan’s hurt expression, she thought she was in trouble and pulled her knees up to her chest. Taric, however, doubled over and told Draevan, “Did you choose a good one, Cousin! She already knows how to push your buttons, eh?”
She still didn’t brave even smiling until Draevan cracked a grin, showing his white teeth and shaking his head. “It begins,” Draevan agreed.
She felt herself give a little relaxed sigh. She couldn’t help it; she was still slightly afraid of her husbands. One second they were brutes set out to spank her, humiliate her, and call her a slut, and the next they were sweet and ready to laugh.
She felt like she was dancing with a couple of hungry bears.
* * *
“What do you say, Cousin?” Draevan asked when they’d put out food for their elfling. The servants had refused, point-blank, to come into the room and serve her. It had been shocking, but their horror, which was like that of someone who had been ordered to serve a giant spider, was so sincere that Draevan and Taric were too stunned to get angry with them.
Poor Kyra looked at the banquet Draevan and Taric carried in from the hallway like they had set out precious jewels before her. It was pretty obvious that if the forest hadn’t provided it, then Kyra hadn’t ever eaten it, or had only done so rarely.
Taric looked back at Kyra, took in the sight of her eating with both hands, and turned back. “I say if she keeps eating like that she’s going to explode.”
Draevan lifted his eyebrows as if to say, ‘You know what I mean’.
Taric sighed. “Oh, you mean the strange class-system the elves have and that Kyra seems to be settled impossibly low in the food chain? I don’t agree with it, if that’s what you’re getting at, but honestly it’s a system that’s not going to matter in another year.”
“Why do you say that?” Draevan asked, a wrinkle of confusion appearing on his forehead.
“Because the entire class of untouchables is being caught and executed—there’re barely any left. Our Kyra will soon be all that remains.”
“Are you saying all untouchables are thieves and poachers?” Draevan asked, and Taric nodded with confidence, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Well, are they untouchable because they’re outlaws, or are they outlaws because they’re untouchable?”
Taric sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck with his palm. “I’m afraid it’s the latter. From what I understand, an elf would never hire an untouchable, never feed one or give one charity. If one uses a higher-born elf’s sheets, the sheets must be burnt. If they eat from one’s plates, the plate must be destroyed. They’re not allowed in schools, they’re not allowed in the kingdom. They spend their lives being hunted or avoided. All they’ve been able to do is eke out an existence.” He shook his head. “The poor thing.”
Draevan nodded, but then his eyes widened with realization. “No…” he argued, putting up a hand. “It’s fate.”
Taric had to argue with this. If he left it up to Draevan, he’d say everything was fate.
“Think about it!” Draevan said, shaking his hand in front of him to silence Taric’s bickering. “Our son won’t just be the greatest warrior destined to bring down the Dark Wizard, Taric. It’s her son that will do that… Even if we died and never got to raise our own son, or had to go into hiding, she could actually make the best of it. She’s a survivor, Taric.” He shook his head and grinned. “Fate brought us to her.”
He watched any signs of worry of the future leave Draevan’s face just that quickly.
Taric furrowed his brow and shifted his eyes back and forth awkwardly. “I think you’ve lost your mind,” Taric finally admitted.
“For her, I have,” Draevan admitted with a grin on his face. Seemingly unconsciously, he rubbed at the tattoo on his wrist that sanctified their marriage to her. “It’s like… It’s like there wasn’t women until her. There were just whores and wenches, pussy and ass. She’ll be the mother of our children, Taric. I can’t get over it!” He suddenly crudely adjusted himself, as he always had done when there was a woman around he wanted to see naked. “Makes me hard as a rock when I think about it, honestly,” he grumbled. “It’s hard to explain.” He tried anyway, using only a single word, “Primal.”
Watching Draevan look adoringly at anything besides his war hammer or his sword was certainly a sight to be seen! And the thought of standing there and waiting for Draevan to describe feelings that he’d never felt before sounded painful at best. Taric slapped his cousin on the shoulder and said, “I’m gonna stop you there before you’re spouting poetry.”
Draevan pursed his lip as if annoyed for a moment and then gave him a playful shove. “You entertain the missus. I’ll make sure we get packed up and provisioned properly for the journey home. I want out of here at first light.”
Taric shrugged. “What’s the rush? Don’t you want to honeymoon with our wife here for a while? We have a pleasant job to do, you know. I’d like to bring her home when she’s big enough to fall forwards.”
Draevan laughed but shook his head. “Do you really think the elves want us here another day now that they’ve paid what they owe us?”
“Of course not,” Taric said, showing his palms to the ceiling. “But pissing them off is half the fun. And it’s not like they’re going to force us out. Their feelings towards us are one-third admiration, one-third disgust, and one-third fear.”
“No,” Draevan said decisively. “It’s all fun and games, but we know too well what they think of our wife. How long until she gets spat on in front of us? And then what are we prepared to do about it?”
Taric gave a nod. “You’re right. It’s better to leave before something ugly happens.”
“You’re so annoying when you’re obviously speaking in another language for the sole purpose of my not understanding you,” Kyra noted flippantly from the table as she cut into a slice of bacon. “Would it really be so bad cutting me in on the conversation? Time from time, I’m known to have an opinion or two.”
“I believe it!” Taric chimed, grinning at her. “We’ve decided to leave here at first light tomorrow morning.”
She swallowed loudly, then looked up to blink at them with a blank expression on her face. He didn’t know what to make of her mood, until she fretted, “Well, they’ll… They’ll just hang me as soon as you’re gone…”
“They probably would,” Taric agreed, “but that point is moot. You’re coming with us to the Northlands, of course. You’re our wife—if we have any say about it, you’ll be with us always.”
“We should probably get you measured for some clothing,” Draevan added. “As much as I hate to cover you up for a second, I don’t want any other eyes taking in the sights.” He grinned, apparently thinking his possessiveness was rather humorous. “And you can’t wear that bathrobe forever,” he gestured to the red silk robe she had closely knotted to her body.
“Good luck,” she scoffed. “You forget easily who I am and where you are. There isn’t a servant that would stand ten paces from me. I know th
is from experience. Besides,” she shrugged her shoulders, “my old clothes will do.”
“Your old clothes were threadbare,” Draevan argued, an edge appearing in his tone. “If you think it gets cold here, you’re in for quite a shock when we start to head north.”
“Well, I can’t wait then,” she grumbled, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her face against her palm.
“I’ll take care of it,” Taric promised Draevan, just as there was a knock on the chamber door. Taric straightened his shoulders and walked over to answer it. “You just keep your mind on the provisions and the horses.”
A servant of the king, a royal emblem stitched on his silk tunic, was at the door and gave a bow. “My Lords,” he greeted. “I come to invite you both to sup with the king this eve in order to honor your visit and your departing.”
“How’d you know we were departing?” Taric asked, wincing half his face with confusion.
“Oh,” the servant looked very pleased. “Oh, we didn’t at all. We just suspected that since… you have your promised bride, you’d soon want to be on your way.” In other words, the elves were now very interested in the humans leaving the kingdom now that they were no longer in their debt.
Taric gave a wry grin. “Well, you were correct. Send some clothing up for my wife, and we’d be happy to attend.”
The servant shifted his weight from leg to leg.
Taric sighed, and he and Draevan both stepped into the hallway, closed the door behind them, and crossed their arms across their chest. “Kyra is not invited, you’re coming around to say,” Taric gathered.
“It’s complicated,” the elf at least had the decency to sound half-way apologetic. “But no. The king hoped you’d come alone.”
Draevan knew that not abiding by the king’s invitation would be insulting to the king, not to mention that it wouldn’t help the politics between elves and humans. Yet still he said, “Well, then we’re not coming.” Draevan’s reply was terse, his eyes darkening.
The servant’s shoulders slumped. “My Lord, the king, was afraid you’d say that, and if that was the case, then you may bring your new…” he choked on the word, “wife.” The servant swallowed. “Although it’s highly irregular…”
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