by Andersen,Kai
“And now?”
The growl in his voice thrilled her. “Now? He has Serena. I do have some standards, you know; I don’t go after married men.”
“Good.” Relief was evident in his voice. “I wouldn’t want you to break up their marriage.”
“Is that really the reason?” She didn’t pause for him to answer. “Anyway --” Her hand stole down to stroke his cock. “-- I have this. What do I need Frederick’s for?”
“And the prince of Ermont?”
The soft member had grown hard at her touch, and she was loath to leave it. But the tension emanating from him was now more tangible. She didn’t understand it, unless ... he was jealous? But why? There was nothing between them except friendship and, now, sex. Or maybe he was afraid he didn’t measure up to Michael’s prowess as a lover?
Giselda was amused. Men were so funny sometimes; they were actually still little boys playing grown-ups.
She propped her elbows on his chest and rested her chin on her palms. She gazed at him with an earnest expression, though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Actually, I have something to confess.”
“What is it?”
“I was after Frederick more for the chance to be queen of Mithirien than because of desire or curiosity.”
“Why?” His voice was a quiet rumble beneath her. The sensuous movement of his hand at her back caused her to shiver, though the night was warm. Or maybe because his body heat made her warm.
“My father -- my real father, that is -- died when I was ten, an age which was young, yet old enough to understand things.” She lay her head back down on his chest, sobered by the ugly memories of her childhood. Normally, she didn’t want to talk about those times, preferring to lock them up in one small corner of her brain and pretend they didn’t exist, that she had never gone through them. But something about the quiet intimacy in the atmosphere invited confidence. There was also this driving need in her to explain, to make Rodin understand, so that he would not ... judge her too harshly.
“My family owned a small piece of field in the southern part of Mithirien, where we planted corn and wheat. It was doing all right, I suppose, because I remember how the stalks were always bowed with the weight of the grains. There was also a small pasture where I rode my pony every day.” She smiled over the happy memories.
“You’re rich,” he said in a flat voice.
“Were.” She shrugged. “I suppose my father inherited it from his father, who inherited it from his father, and so on. But we lost everything when my father died. That was when Mother found out that Father had mortgaged everything -- the land, the house, even the furniture. Overnight, we became destitute and homeless.”
“I take it your father didn’t expect to die so soon.”
“I’ve always believed that.” Her voice choked. “I’m sure he would have been horrified had he known how things were for us after his death.”
“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”
That was when Giselda realized tears were falling silently down her cheeks and dripping onto his chest. She dashed them away. “You wouldn’t have recognized Mother then. Before Father died, she was carefree and gay and loving. But afterwards, she became tightfisted and calculating and scheming. She did it to survive. If not, we would have been cheated again and again, an unprotected widow and her daughter.”
“And how did you suffer, Giselda?”
His voice was so gentle that she broke into tears again. “Neighbors who previously curried our favor turned their backs on us. Oh, there were one or two nice people, but they were the small-fry, insignificant people with no sway over the larger community. Children taunted me for being fatherless, for being poor, for wearing secondhand clothes and eating scraps from the garbage cans.” Her hand fisted. “I can still remember all the ugly things they said, and I vowed, I promised myself, that no one, no one, would ever do that to me again. I would have wealth and power and rank, and no child of mine would suffer what I had suffered.”
So now he knew. He knew what drove her, what motivated her toward her seemingly one-track goal of being queen. He had always admired that trait of hers, her persistent, dog-teeth-in-the-bone attitude, the way she never let anything detract her from her purpose, the way she kept on when other girls would have been blushing in shame.
Now he knew.
He also knew that the prince of Ermont’s main attraction for Giselda was his attainability of the kingship of Ermont, something he, Rodin, would never have, not even if he worked his fingers to the bone for the next thousand years. Despair welled up in him, despair and a sense of helplessness so deep that he choked.
But at least he had this time with her. He would jealously guard every minute, every second. He would not give her up until he absolutely had to.
“Not that I wish the former queen, Frederick’s mother, any harm, but I’m glad that she died when she did.” Her fierce voice jarred him out of his thoughts. “And I’m glad that Frederick persuaded his father to tour the countryside. If not for that, he wouldn’t have met my mother, and I would never have been a princess. I’d probably still be scouring the garbage cans for food.”
I’m glad, too, because if it weren’t for that long chain of events, I wouldn’t have met you, and I wouldn’t be holding you in my arms tonight.
He could only make a noncommittal sound of agreement, as his throat had closed up and speaking was impossible.
“Do you think I’m being too much?”
He cleared his throat -- once, twice. “Too much?”
“Frederick said I was too mean, too cold-blooded, too unscrupulous, too deceitful, too ruthless, too --”
“What did you do, anyway?” he cut in, voice amused. “Frederick couldn’t be referring to that incident with the castle maid. He didn’t know about that.”
“Well, when Serena came to the lodge during the storm, remember, and she didn’t have any clothes other than the wet ones she was wearing?”
“Yes?”
“Well ... I didn’t lend her any underwear.” He felt her shame down to his toes at the same time shock short-circuited his brain.
“You mean she --”
“Yes.” Her voice was waspish now. “She was naked beneath the dress.”
He couldn’t help it; he laughed. He laughed until his body shook and Giselda’s head was dislodged from his chest.
“I’m glad you have a different reaction than Frederick.”
He could imagine her with her arms crossed over her chest and a disgruntled expression on her face. He laughed harder. Finally, he gasped, “Princess ... I really don’t ... understand Frederick. He should be thanking you ... not scolding you.”
“Thanking me?”
“Yes. You actually made things easier for him.”
Realization dawned as she gasped, and he heard the sound of her hand slapping over her mouth. “Oh.”
“But I suppose I can understand his rebuking you. Serena is the love of his life. He wasn’t about to let anyone get away with mistreating her.” The same way I would protect you and watch over you.
“What I did wasn’t nice; I admit that now. But I was so desperate at that time, you know. I couldn’t let Serena steal Frederick away from me.”
He deliberately gentled his voice when he said, “You never had a chance with him.”
She took in a deep breath. “Yes, I know that now. Good thing for Michael. Now I have another chance at being queen.”
That was a solid blow to his solar plexus, and he hadn’t even seen it coming. “Yes, well, we have to find him first.” He wasn’t surprised at his testy voice. Did she have to remind him when he had almost forgotten about that prince?
“Rodin, what’s wrong?”
It was too much to hope that she didn’t notice.
“What’s wrong is that my cock has been waving for your attention for the past few minutes, and you didn’t even spare it a glance.”
She giggled. Gods, he loved the sound of he
r laughter.
“I’m sorry. Let me rectify the situation immediately.”
Her sweet mouth closed over his cock, washing him in erotic delights and sensations. He wished he could see her, see her small pinkish mouth moving over his cock. His toes curled at the arousing vision, and he thrust into her mouth involuntarily. His hands tangled among her curls, loving the silken feel of her tresses. The way they had wrapped around his cock a while ago had been sheer torture, but he wouldn’t mind experiencing it again.
He opened his legs, and she moved between them, her mouth sliding off the head of his cock to lick and lave at the whole length, sucking his balls lightly as she rubbed her cheek against his cock like a cat purring against its master. All the lust and love and desire and need he felt for this one precious, tenacious, unpredictable woman overwhelmed him, and he reversed their positions in one graceful move, laying her beneath him. Without finesse or control, he pounded into her with hard, swift strokes, barely feeling her strong legs hooking around his waist as an extreme wave of pleasure engulfed them both and carried them over the edge into a place only lovers can reach together.
Chapter Eighteen
“Tell me about the stranger and his friends.”
Giselda strained to hear the conversation that was taking place a few feet away.
That afternoon, they had reached the village of Halcyon, where the stablemaster was a friend of Rodin’s brother. Upon inquiry, the stablemaster had verified that a person fitting Michael’s description had been in the village two days before and had left early the following morning after resting overnight in what passed for the village’s only inn. But just as the stablemaster had hinted of some trouble and was about to divulge the information, Rodin had changed the topic, saying that they could reminisce about the past later, as they were going to stay the night anyway.
After he thought she was asleep, he had crept out of the room on silent feet. She had been right behind him, though maybe not as silent. But he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. She had followed him to the stable, where the man was waiting for him with some ale. After some small talk and much laughter (she did notice there was no mention of Talina), Rodin had stated his request in a quiet voice.
“Och, ’es a bad one, zat one. Came ’ere as if ’e own ze place, ’im in ’is fancy clothes. ’Is two friends waz no better.”
Giselda could imagine the stablemaster shaking his head and then gulping down a swallow of ale.
“What happened?”
“Wants ze best food -- fish, crab and ... and something wi’ a fancy name. But we waz simple folk, no fish, no crab, jes’ corn and green leaves. ’E carried on something fierce, wants our heads --” He heaved a great sigh.
Giselda waited with bated breath to hear what had happened next.
“Ze village louts and sluts git on well with zem, zough. Party all night, zey did, keep us all awake.” The stablemaster grunted his disapproval. “Never a more welcome sight when zey all go away ze next day.”
“All? Even the village ... er, louts and sluts?”
He harrumphed. “’Eads turn wi’ gold, me lad. And zat man, ’e ’as plenty o’ it.”
“Had he said anything about a quest? Asked about a bird or something?”
“Whazat? No, ’e din ask anyzing. Jes demand -- food, bed, women ...”
“Thank you for telling me, friend. Now, don’t tell the lady what you just ...”
“Aye. No’ ears for ze lady. Yers?”
“No.”
“Och, sorry ...”
Giselda crept away, having heard all that she wanted to hear.
Lying on the bed, she tried to come to terms with what she had just heard. If she deciphered the stablemaster’s diction correctly and the stranger that he was describing was indeed Michael, then the Michael she had known was very different. Carousing with ruffians, wenching, bribing them with gold ...
Had he ever taken the quest seriously? Or was it just a chance for him to leave the restrictions of the castle to go about carousing and wenching? How much did she know of Michael, anyway? Had he ever loved her? Was she just a tool for him to attain more power through an alliance with Mithirien? Was he using her just as she was using him?
As she was using Rodin for sex?
At the sudden thought, she wanted to curl up in shame. If Michael was using her to gain power, then it served him right that she was using him, as well. But Rodin ... Beneath his tough and fierce exterior, he was good and kind and decent. He didn’t deserve to be used by anyone. Not even the princess of Mithirien.
In recent days, however, they had become friends, as well. And friends can give each other comfort and companionship throughout the long journey, right? So, it was not as if she was using him, right?
At that moment, Rodin slipped into bed beside her. She turned to him, kissing him with all the emotions in her heart. Caught by surprise, he allowed her to straddle him and rain kisses all over his face. As one tear dropped onto his face, he reacted. “Giselda --”
“Just kiss me, Rodin.” She was crying in earnest now, although she didn’t know what she was crying for. She only knew that it had to do with Rodin and what she had found with him in the past few days. “Love me ...”
* * * * *
Giselda couldn’t think of a better way to spend her time -- riding on a horse, wrapped securely in the arms of a man who’d hardly allowed her to have a wink of sleep the previous night. The atmosphere then was different from the other times when they had made love -- tender and desperate, poignant and passionate.
Of course, if the horse had a name, it would have made life perfect, but then, it wasn’t her horse, so she had no right to quibble.
“Would your friend remember ... to take the note ... to your parents?” Being fully satiated -- and sleepy -- had a tendency to make her voice drowsy.
“Yes. I can guarantee that he’ll assign the task to his most trusted servant.”
“Why not himself?”
“He has to take care of Randalin, remember?”
“Will Randalin be safe?”
“Don’t worry; I’ve known him since I was a boy.” Rodin’s hand was rubbing soothing circles on her midriff. “He’s a good man; he’ll take care of her.”
“That’s good.” She yawned. “I hope her leg will be healed by the time we come back to get her. How long do you think before I can see her again?” Her head lolled back onto his chest. “Two months? Six? A year?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. You’ll miss her.”
Strangely, it was not a question. “Yes, we’ve never been apart since the day Father gave her to me.”
“I really don’t know how long, Princess. But at least we’re heading in the right direction. The direction he’s taken, that is.” There was none of his usual bite whenever he referred to Michael. She soon found out why. “Princess, about last night --”
“Please don’t ask me, Rodin. I don’t have any answers for you.”
“Then tell me why you were crying.”
“I --” She released a helpless sigh. The fairy dust of naps and bedtimes was starting to fade. “I -- I don’t know. It’s a bit hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“I ... I can’t.”
“Is it the prince?”
“Yes -- No --”
“Were you afraid that we wouldn’t find him?”
“No -- Yes --”
“Or is it something else?”
“Yes, it’s something else!” She cried in agitation. Her arms flailed as she struggled to move away from him. He stilled her movements by hugging her more tightly to him. “It’s him and ... and ... and also you and ... and me, and I don’t understand anything anymore, and I don’t know what to do to --”
“I love you.”
Her head reared up and hit his chin.
“Ow!”
Giselda ignored the pain as she turned her head and tried to look at him. “You -- you do?”
Solemn green eyes looked back
at her. “Yes.”
“But you can’t!”
“Why not?” He looked at her in a considering manner. “Is it because I’m only the son of a gardener?”
“No!” The words burst out from her. “Please don’t think that. Never think that.” She could see that Rodin was surprised at the vehemence of her protest, but she surprised herself, for it was something she would never have said even a month ago.
“Then I don’t see why not.”
“Was it because ... because of what I said last night?” Love me ...
“No.”
“But -- but --”
“I know you don’t love me, and I didn’t say it to increase your burden. You have no obligation to return the feeling, Giselda. I just want you to remember that, in case --” For the first time, he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “In case ... something happened.” He muttered the last two words.
Giselda settled back against his chest when it was clear he didn’t want to talk anymore.
She knew what he was referring to by his last remark, and she thought it was so sweet of him. He obviously thought she would be heartbroken should she learn of Michael’s infidelity, and knowing that someone else loved her would help assuage the pain. She had learned so much of Rodin’s character in the past few days that she knew that was exactly his intention when he had declared his feelings. She also didn’t doubt his words; he was that honest and straightforward. One thing was also clear: He was a much better man than Michael.
But ... her emotions were so confused and jumbled together. She didn’t feel like she was worthy, and even if she were, she didn’t know if she could reciprocate his feelings. Did she even want to reciprocate? But didn’t love come about naturally? Either she felt it or she didn’t. So what was she doing even deciding about it?