by Andersen,Kai
There was that inflection again. “An hour or two won’t make a big difference. Anyway, I seldom come to this part of the kingdom, so I want to enjoy the scenery.” She made a show of looking around at the green countryside.
“I knew it was a mistake to allow a spoiled princess on this mission.”
At that, her cool facade evaporated. She rounded on him, her eyes flashing. “For your information, my butt is hurting and my whole body is aching from that punishing pace you set yesterday and this morning. I may ride like I was born on a horse, Mr. Expert Horseman, but I didn’t have the training you did!” She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead. “You can go ahead and rescue Michael and get that damn bird, and I’ll just plod on at my slow pace.”
He gave a great sigh and pulled his horse to a walk beside her. “Ah, Princess, why didn’t you tell me?”
Tears welled up at his gentle tone, and her momentary anger faded away. She sniffed. “Because you’ve been so horrible. You’re mad at me, and I don’t even know what I did.”
He sighed again. “I’m not mad at you. You could say ...” He hesitated. “... I’m mad at me.”
“Why?” She looked at him, surprised.
He looked straight ahead. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Which means you’re not going to tell me,” she said wryly. “Okay, I can accept that. I won’t even command you, which is perfectly within my right.”
“Your Highness is to be commended for her restraint.”
“Which reminds me, please stop being so formal and calling me ‘Your Highness’ or even ‘Princess.’ Why don’t you call me by my name?”
“It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Oh, pooh. You called me ‘Giselda’ once.” At his blank look, she explained, “Last night, when you thought I was hiding and you were looking for me.”
“I was frantic; I didn’t know what I was saying.”
A thrill went through her. He was frantic.
“I have the responsibility of bringing you back safe and sound to the king. Else, he would have my head for sure.”
Everything in her seemed to deflate. She was a responsibility.
“Oh. Well, we’re out here in the wilds, and who’s going to notice? Anyway, this mission makes us more like partners than anything else. So, my first and last decree as princess on this mission is that we drop all usage of titles and ranks until we complete this job and we are back at the castle.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
“Giselda,” she said firmly.
“Yes, Your -- Giselda.”
If his voice was a little husky and seemed to say her name in a caress, Giselda convinced herself it was just her imagination.
“By the way, about last night ...” She trailed away as she remembered this morning.
“Yes?”
She cleared her throat. “What was that monster that attacked me?”
Rodin laughed. “Hardly a monster. Just a wolf.”
“Wolf?” Giselda shuddered. “That’s a monster to me.” She paused. “Don’t they normally travel in packs? Maybe there are more out there.”
“Yes, but my guess is that our wolf was one of the older ones that couldn’t keep up with the pack when they hunted. Maybe it was injured or something. Anyway, after I disposed of it, I checked the area to make sure there was no other threat lurking about.”
She shuddered. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, Rodin. I was so terrified, and I didn’t even have a weapon -- not that I know how to use one. I was just thinking how lucky it was that you reached me before it did. If it were the other way around, the only things you’d be bringing back to my parents would be my bones.”
“Don’t think about it anymore,” he commanded roughly. His hand tightened on the reins, and Giselda found it interesting that his knuckles had turned white. “It didn’t happen. But from now on, you’re not going anywhere without me. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered meekly.
He grinned sheepishly. “I sounded like a dictator, didn’t I?”
“Very. I imagine that’s how you are with your men.”
“I suppose so. I really wouldn’t know.” He laughed. “Nobody has dared to answer me in the same tone you did.”
Giselda didn’t know how it came about, but she was pleased all the same that the air between them had changed, becoming more relaxed and comfortable, friendlier.
“By the way, did you leave a note telling your parents what you’re doing?”
Horror washed over her. “Uh-oh. I forgot. I was in so much of a hurry that it slipped my mind.” Would he send her back now?
“We may reach a village soon. I know, we’ll send someone over to the castle with a note, maybe to my father so that no one will know your identity.”
Giselda was so relieved at his suggestion that she immediately agreed and moved on to another topic before he could change his mind. “What do you call your horse?”
He shrugged. “Horse.”
“He doesn’t have a name?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should he?”
“Well ...” She gestured helplessly. “My horse has a name. Randalin.”
“So, because the princess’s horse has a name, every horse in the kingdom should have one,” he mocked.
“No, it isn’t like that at all! I just think giving them a name defines their personality, making them more real, more vivid. ‘Horse’ sounds so ... general and pathetic.”
“I don’t see the need to give them names. Before I could even remember its name, it will be gone, replaced by a newer, more powerful horse. Do you know how many horses I’ve gone through in the past year? This is the eighth.”
“But why?” Giselda was confused. “I thought seasoned warriors had their own horses, which is especially useful during battle because by a touch or a nudge, the horse would know what its rider wants and --”
“You said it yourself: ‘during battles.’ We haven’t been embroiled in a battle for years, not that I wish for one. It’s just that ... I’m good with horses, so I help train those with potential to become better warhorses.”
She looked over at him in wonder and understanding. “So that’s why Frederick came up with the idea of a horse ranch, and for you to help him manage it.”
“Partly correct.” A small smile played about his lips. “Only, I was the one who thought up the idea.”
“How perfect! See, that’s why you should start naming your horses. If you do, the horses that you breed will not become nameless. Someday, they might even have their own place in history.” Giselda’s eyes were shining as her thoughts jumped ahead to history books written several generations down the road. “Like, Starlight was responsible for saving the life of its rider, Prince Whatever, with its speed and agility. Or, Lifesaver knocked down an enemy who was about to thrust a sword into its rider. What about --”
Rodin was laughing uncontrollably. “Giselda, you’re priceless.”
“I’m glad you agree. So, what do you want to name your horse?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? How plain. Let me think of a good name for you. How about ... Flower?”
“For a warhorse? Get serious.”
“Fighting Spirit?”
“Too long.”
“Demon.”
“Has potential.”
“Why are you guys so typical? You only like manly names.”
“You’re naming a warhorse, Giselda, not a gentle mare or a pony.”
For the rest of the afternoon, they traveled at a much slower pace, with Giselda still trying to come up with a name for Rodin’s horse, and both enjoying the somewhat silly and senseless conversation. An hour or two before twilight, however, Giselda noticed Rodin looking up at the gathering storm clouds with concern. His face became grimmer and tighter with each minute that passed.
Finally, she asked, “What is it?”
“We’re sure t
o run into the storm. I want us to set up camp before it pours. Can you move faster? A canter, maybe?”
“Yes.” She immediately sent the signal to Randalin.
Rodin was beside her, matching her pace for pace. “I’m sorry to ask you --”
“Don’t be silly, Rodin. You’re right; we need to get settled before the storm breaks. Besides, we’ve rested enough.”
They didn’t talk anymore as they raced against the storm. The sky got increasingly darker with each minute that passed, and the wind howled long and hard. Sometimes it was hard going, as the strong wind pushed against them. Rodin caught hold of Randalin’s reins as they trudged onward, so that they wouldn’t be separated. Finally, his sharp eyes caught sight of a small opening that led into a cave. After checking to make sure it didn’t contain any unfriendly animals, he led both horses farther inside.
They divided the work between them, and pretty soon, a fire was roaring warmly, with a spit of meat roasting over it. The horses were fed and tied together a little ways inside the entrance of the cave.
“We’re lucky the meat didn’t spoil,” Giselda commented from her position in front of the fire. The meat was the second of two rabbits Rodin had hunted for their lunch.
Rodin threw her a look. “What do you mean ‘spoil’? I just slaughtered it.”
“What?”
“Now, don’t be squeamish. You need to replenish your strength.”
“Next time, don’t tell me about it. I don’t need to know that what I’m about to eat was previously a living and moving thing.”
Rodin laughed.
The rain came down in torrents just as they were settling down to sleep. They lay down in the same position as the night before, only because Giselda insisted that the intermittently booming thunder scared her. But actually, she’d noticed that though Rodin was laughing at her quips, he was tense and uptight, and every time it thundered, he jumped. She thought he needed her hand more than she needed his.
“Do you think we’ll come to a village tomorrow?” she asked drowsily.
“Why?”
“I just thought ... how frantic ... Father and Mother will be ... when they discover ... I’m missing.”
“Don’t worry.” His thumb grazed her wrist soothingly. “I’m sure we’ll come to a village soon.”
“Good.” She rolled and snuggled against him. She felt him stiffen, but she felt so warm and secure that she didn’t care to move away. “Don’t want them ... worry.”
“You should have thought of that before you sneaked away.”
She yawned and laid a hand on his chest. “’Morrow ...”
“Yes.” His arm tightened around her. “Tomorrow.”
* * * * *
Frederick was shouting in her ear. She told him to shut up, to go back to his wife. All around them, cannons boomed. He kept shouting, “No! No! No!”
Giselda opened her eyes, heart thundering. She was covered in sweat. She realized she was dreaming -- or rather, nightmaring.
Outside, the rain still poured, and thunder boomed. That must have been the cannons she’d heard in her nightmare.
“No!”
Beside her, Rodin was thrashing about, restless in his sleep. He’d kicked the blankets down to their feet. She shook him gently on the arm. “Rodin, wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”
“No, Talina, you can’t leave me! No!”
The anguish in his voice cut through to Giselda’s heart. Who was Talina? Was she the girl who had captured his heart? The girl whom Rodin had rhapsodized about? Was that the reason she didn’t know about Rodin’s plans, because she had gone before he could tell her?
Chapter Thirteen
Giselda grasped him by the shoulders, determined to shake him awake. “Rodin, wake up! This is not real; it’s a nightmare --” By the embers of the dying fire, she saw his eyes snap open. She sighed in relief. “Oh, you’re awake. You’re having a nightmare, you know, and --”
A particularly loud clap of thunder cracked across the sky.
His eyes reflected stark terror as he shouted, “Talina, no! Hold on!”
He pulled her down to him and rolled over so that her back was half-on, half-off the bedroll.
“Rodin, what are you --”
His lips came down to hers, and he kissed her hard. He came up to say “I’ve got you, I’ve got you” before he possessed her lips again, this time with his tongue seeking entry into her mouth. She struggled to be set free, finally realizing that Rodin was still in the grips of his nightmare. He held on, but his kiss gentled. He was now wooing her with his mouth and his hands, caressing and inciting her to a fever-pitch excitement. His hands roved over her body and tore her lacy panties when they encountered that flimsy barrier. His fingers as they delved into her pussy were hesitant and yet sure, massaging her folds and drawing fluids from her core.
She was beset with a pulsing excitement. Her body recognized him and welcomed his touch.
She responded by opening her mouth, and his efforts grew more frenzied, more desperate. He inserted one finger into her tight sheath, and she gasped against his mouth at the feel of that invading digit. Her gasp turned into a moan as he began a thrusting motion with his finger, starting slow and then moving faster and faster, bringing her almost to the peak of that heart-rending pleasure. She sobbed when his finger withdrew, but it was replaced almost immediately by something else that filled her, that stretched her to the point of pain.
She cried out, beating her small fists against his chest. “No!”
He stilled in his movements and shook his head. “Giselda?” He looked down in horror. “What have I done --”
The pain in her was fading, replaced by a tightening pressure that she had felt before, beyond which lay a heart-shattering pleasure that she wanted to experience again. He started to withdraw, but she clamped her legs about his waist and pushed her hips up, impaling herself on his shaft, his cock buried to the hilt within her.
For a moment, she savored the feel of his cock -- so big, so full, so complete. Then another, more primal urge took over. She wiggled her hips. “Rodin ... I don’t ... understand. What ... What do I want?”
His voice was flat as he said, “You want me to do this.”
“This” was the tiniest of movements, of him pulling out and reburying himself inside her. It set off shockwaves of pleasure.
“Yes! Yes, oh, yes, please.”
“No.”
“Please. You want this, too, Rodin. You want this.” Her whisper was a siren call, and coupled with her experimental movement as she mimicked him, it was his undoing. He pulled out and pushed back in, over and over, plunging in and out, slow at first and then faster ... faster ... as fast the pouring rain, as loud as the booming thunder. The friction he was creating in her was unbearable, burning, soaring until she exploded, wild and free. He continued pumping, pouring his seed into her, until, with a hoarse cry, he thrust one last time. They fell back to the ground, clasped in each other’s arms.
Rodin’s solid weight was heaven above her. He smelled of earth and grass and rain, a heady scent. She rubbed soothing circles at his back, loving the smooth skin, the interplay of muscles beneath her fingers.
He moved to get up.
She clutched him tighter. “No.”
He rolled over, taking her with him so that she sprawled on top of him. She heard the soothing thunder of his heart and felt the solid warmth of his chest. She twirled a finger through his chest hair, finding his nipple and playing with it.
For a long while, no one seemed inclined to talk, but the silence was not uncomfortable. It wove a web of intimacy between them, such as one between lovers. For the first time in her life, Giselda didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. She was content to just lie there.
Finally, he tipped her chin up and looked somberly into her eyes. “I have done you a great disservice, Princess.”
He was back at it again. Unaccountably, tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“Because you called me Princess.”
His eyes were tender as he smiled. “I’m sorry, Giselda. I never meant for this to happen.”
“I know,” she agreed in a small voice, sniffing as she laid her head back on his chest. “But you didn’t know what you were doing; you were having a nightmare.”
“Whatever the reason, I shouldn’t have done this.” He paused and smoothed back her hair. “I have taken your virginity, Giselda. It’s not something that can be put aside. I would have married you if you were an ordinary girl, but you’re a princess. I don’t think your father would allow this union. I’m sure he would rather have my head. Besides --”
“Besides, I’m going to marry Michael.” She didn’t know why each of his words stabbed her. He would rather give up his life than marry her. To save her pride, she had brought up Michael, whom she had hardly thought about all day. Desperately, she clung to her dream of being Michael’s wife, of being queen.
He went rigid beneath her. “Yes, we mustn’t forget your prince.”
“Aside from which, I’m not a virgin.”
He stilled even more, becoming absolutely motionless. “You’re not?” He sounded like there were some big stones lodged in his throat. “Who?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Michael. He’s my betrothed, so it’s perfectly acceptable.”
And forgettable.
At first, she had been excited by Michael’s touches and kisses. It had felt wicked and daring to let a man into her bedchamber, especially in the dead of night. That they were about to do things that should have been done on their wedding night had added to her excitement.
With hindsight, she now realized that Michael had been eager to finish before she was ready. The moment she was fully naked, he had taken out his thing and pushed it into her. She had screamed until she was hoarse, but he just kept on doing his motions, no matter how hard her arms and legs had flailed against him. When he had finally collapsed on top of her, it was all she could do not to sigh in relief.