Leo smiled gently. “Please, Nyssa. Tell me what you remember.”
She sighed again, shifting to fold her legs beneath her.
“The relevant part has to do with Ansiri—the man, not the city—and death of magic,” she said. “I’m sure there’s more to it; elves and trow fought even before it happened, after all. But supposedly, a sizable number of trow joined with the humans. I doubt anyone really knows what happens, but the elves blame my people and the old trow gods, Ikthain in particular, for severing their connection to magic. In a sense, that alliance made it possible for your ancestors to conquer the Isles and enslave the rest of the elves. So, from their perspective, it’s entirely our fault that elves, trow, and everyone else have spent the last three, four hundred years as slaves.”
She fell silent so abruptly and with such an understated tone that Leo spent several awkward seconds waiting for her to continue. When she did not, he frowned and cleared his throat.
“That’s it?” he asked. “Centuries of hatred over that?”
For a split-second, Nyssa’s face darkened as if offended. Then, just as quickly, the expression passed.
“It’s a little different when you’ve lived your whole life as a slave,” she said. There was an edge to her voice, cold but not hostile. Even so, the sound of it made Leo wince.
“I’m sure,” he said quickly. “I just… I don’t know. I expected there would be more to it than that. Quantity-wise, at least.”
“Reality is never as grand as the stories. Sometimes, things just happen. One grudge leads to another and so on.” Nyssa tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and absently massaged her knee. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s something we can sort out once this is all said and done.”
“Naturally,” Leo said. Nyssa’s melancholy was swiftly growing to dominate the tent and he glanced around in search of something to distract her. There was the bed, of course, but he suspected romance would do little to succor her at the moment. Unfortunately, that left only the swords.
Nyssa jumped and very nearly dropped the blade Leo tossed her way. For a moment, she stared at it, and him, in confusion.
“Come on,” he said. “I trained you in the noble art of letter writing. It’s time you returned the favor.”
It took barely a quarter an hour before he regretted the words. And by the time a full hour had passed, Leo was sweating, aching, and cursing the day he first learned to read. Nyssa had taken to his distraction with abundant enthusiasm, much to the amusement of their onlookers. And each time he mistimed a block or created an opening for her with an overly aggressive thrust, the watching elves erupted with a mixed chorus of groans and laughter.
There was a difference this time, however, though it took Leo most of their duel to recognize it. Before, whenever he’d deigned to make a fool of himself, the watching conscripts had been somewhat reserved. Certainly, they had hooted whenever Nyssa landed a particularly resounding blow. But their laughter had always contained a bittersweet note as if they were condemned criminals watching a folk play on their way to the gallows.
Now, Leo realized with no small astonishment, many were actively invested in the charade. They still laughed, of course. It wasn’t as though his skills had improved that much. But behind their playful jeers there lay a newfound… something. Something that made them want to cheer for his near-misses as well as mock his failures.
The change, subtle though it was, brought a smile to his face as he struggled from his knees to his feet. And, as Leo met Nyssa’s gaze, he saw in them the same recognition.
Their next bout was not dramatically changed. It still ended the same way as all the previous ones. But it was unmistakably unique. Nyssa no longer dodged his steadier swipes and thrusts. Instead, she parried them, slowing her reactions almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t significant enough for any of the onlookers to suspect a thing—and indeed, she landed several powerful blows to Leo’s shoulders and hip along the way—but it was enough to give him a fighting chance.
It was an opportunity Leo was not about to pass up. He unleashed a hail of blows as fast and deliberate as his trembling limbs could manage. And slowly, unexpectedly, he succeeded. Nyssa stepped back. Not a full-fledged retreat, but enough of one that he couldn’t help but press the advantage. Leo lunged. And although he nearly lost his grip on his training saber, the clumsiness of his attack enabled it to bounce off Nyssa’s deflection and swat her hard on the calf.
For an instant, the world seemed to freeze. A few murmurs of surprise echoed through the onlookers. Leo stared in shock at his outstretched hand and the weapon grasped loosely within it.
And then, Nyssa’s eyes narrowed.
The ensuing barrage lasted only a few seconds. Leo parried frantically, backpedaling and struggling to defend himself against Nyssa’s onslaught. It was a hopeless proposition. He stumbled as her sword caught him in the knee, inches from the spot where he’d struck her, and staggered. But as he fell, he thrust blindly upward. And, to his surprise, the wooden tip of his blade struck Nyssa in the gut just as hers came to rest against his neck.
For a moment, they stared at one another. And then, slowly, Nyssa’s gaze traveled from his face, along his arm, and up the length of his blade to the spot where it rested against her armor.
With a grin, she tossed her blade aside and offered him her hand. Leo accepted it gratefully. He wasn’t certain he’d have the energy to rise unaided, but Nyssa managed the task without difficulty. And, once he was back on his feet, he glanced toward the onlookers.
It wasn’t as though they’d cheered. Few were even looking his way. But from what he could see of their faces, a decent number of them smiled leisurely.
“Good enough,” he muttered.
Nyssa chuckled, smacking his cuirass to dislodge the dust.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” she whispered back. Her mouth stretched into an idle, mischievous grin. “Let’s find you a bath, Master. Can’t have you getting Sann all filthy now, can we?”
Chapter Sixteen
In the end, Leo and Nyssa did not find a bath so much as have one delivered. Even though most of the garrison had already been fed, both of the mess tents they visited remained crowded and their largest cauldrons occupied. The only immediate alternative was the river. But since Leo had little desire to bathe publicly, much less subject Nyssa to the same, he instead guided them back to his tent and flagged down a passing corporal. The elf did not appear overly pleased to be sent on a simple errand, but acknowledged Leo’s command with a crisp salute and murmured acquiescence.
By the time the oversized washbasin arrived some ten minutes later, Leo’s sweat had dried, leaving him cool and clammy. Fortunately, Nyssa didn’t seem to mind. She pressed herself against him, resting comfortably in the circle of his arms, and kissed him repeatedly with an idle enthusiasm that he found as refreshing as any bath. The intimacy must have been distracting for her as well. At the sound of a cautious “Your Excellency?” from beyond the tent flap, Nyssa pulled back sharply. Her face flushed, she stiffened and did her best to look a dutiful bodyguard.
“Enter,” he called, glancing over as the tent flap billowed and a pair of men staggered inside, struggling to haul the sloshing basin.
“Right there is fine,” Leo said, before either man could speak. He waited patiently as the men labored to obey, then dismissed the pair with an appreciative smile and a small nod.
“We’re going to soak the rugs,” Nyssa observed. Stepping forward, she nudged the plush flooring with the toe of her boot. “Pity. These are nice ones.”
“Better than getting it all muddy,” he pointed out. “Besides, it won’t be that bad. We can put down our clothes.”
Nyssa turned to look at him. From her smile, she’d already guessed at his intentions, but that knowledge didn’t stop her from cocking a brow.
“We, Master?” she teased.
Leo grinned but did not answer her. There was no need to. He
stepped forward, embracing her from behind and gently drawing her arms back until they were tucked between their bodies as though she was a particularly irresistible prisoner.
“We,” he repeated. And with that, he began undressing her.
Nyssa made no attempt to resist or flee. Although, judging by the eager way in which she chewed her lower lip, escape was the furthest thing from the trow’s mind. She did shift occasionally, shrugging to loosen the straps of her armor or lifting a heel to better enable Leo’s efforts. As a result, it was less than a minute before the work was done and she stood naked, save for a simple, linen bustier and panties.
“Well?” she asked, smirking and folding her arms. “I don’t recall saying that I needed a bath. Or am I to play attendant?”
“Quiet, you,” Leo growled, though not unkindly. Peeling her arms away from her chest, he slipped a hand down the front of her bustier and playfully squeezed a breast. The tent was comfortably warm but Nyssa’s skin pebbled at his touch regardless. “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“Then what exactly—”
He covered her mouth, as gentle an interruption as he could manage while still being unmistakably a command. Then, leaning forward, he nipped the edge of the trow’s elongated ear.
“Bend over,” he instructed. “Hands on the basin.”
Nyssa obeyed, if rather more sensuously than his words had implied. She moved slowly, arching her back like a cat and watching him impatiently with one narrow, amber eye. Then, almost as an afterthought, she eased her legs apart with a suggestive flick of her tailbone.
“What now, Master?” she purred.
Leo seized his training saber and, before the trow had time to do more than notice its presence, used it to deliver a firm, precise swat to her defenseless backside. Nyssa yelped as the blow landed. Her previously flirtatious expression contorted with outrage. And, in her haste to straighten and shield herself from a second spank, she set the washbasin to sloshing anew.
“Leo!” she snapped. “What the hell was that?”
He grinned wickedly. Though Nyssa’s scowl did its best to disguise the flushing of her cheeks, there could be no missing the fact that her outrage was more surprised than displeased.
“Payback,” he said. “You’ve given me plenty of bruises recently. What kind of Duke would I be if I didn’t repay such a thing?”
“A reasonable one,” she grumbled. Still scowling, she massaged her rear where the saber had struck her. “You could have at least warned me.”
“I could have. But I didn’t. Planning to lodge a formal complaint?”
“Well, no….”
He smirked, resting the saber’s wooden blade against his shoulder. “Then bend over.”
Nyssa’s face flushed again, a deeper gray this time. Her hands, too, balled nervously into fists as if she might dash from the tent. But then, ever so slowly, her fists unclenched and she leaned forward to grasp the rim of the washbasin.
There was a slight, almost imperceptible tremor to her hips and spine. Leo would surely have missed it had he not been looking for such things. But no sooner had he spotted it than he stealthily set his waster aside.
“Legs apart,” he murmured.
To his surprise, Nyssa whimpered. It was not a long noise or a pronounced one, just a quiet, anxious note of protest that faded almost as soon as it had sounded. But despite the slip, she squirmed and shifted to a wider, more exposed stance.
So tense were Nyssa’s muscles in anticipation of the next blow that the feather-light brush of Leo’s fingers on her inner thigh sparked a gasp and an almost violent flinch. She spun to look at him. And then, upon realizing what he’d done and how dramatically she’d given herself away, her blush deepened yet again.
“Jerk,” she grumbled.
“Don’t make me change my mind,” he warned her. Dropping to one knee, he kissed the small of her back. Her skin there was as cool and prickled with goosebumps as her thighs, though the latter’s texture grew less noticeable as he slid his fingers higher along her thigh. Her body grew warmer as well, pleasantly so as he gently brushed the clothed gap between her legs with his fingernails.
Nyssa groaned ever so slightly, her toes kneading the rugs beneath her feet.
“I think that we could both use a bath,” Leo whispered, continuing to caress her with the lightest of touches. “What do you say?”
“Whatever you… say… Master,” she managed. Her words emerged slightly strangled, punctuated by the quiet scrabbling of her nails against the washbasin.
Leo stood, trailing his fingers up the length of Nyssa’s spine as he joined her beside the washbasin. The large, copper pot was tall enough to reach mid-thigh, was two-thirds filled, and was broad enough at the rim that a scrawny man might have managed to squat down inside it. But Leo had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Instead, he retrieved the tin cooking ladle that bobbed near the surface. And, with exquisite care, he slowly upended its contents over the trow’s head.
Nyssa exhaled a long, shaky breath as the water cascaded over her. Though most of it simply followed the shape of her long, platinum hair and trickled to the ground, a modest share managed to reach her neck and from there, spread and soaked the upper edge of her linen bustier.
“Oh, that won’t do,” Leo teased, refilling the ladle. “It’s not your hair that needs washing, after all.”
The next time he emptied the ladle, it was just below Nyssa’s nape. And this time, as the water spilled and fanned out across her back, the noise she made was a muffled squeal that could have adequately described anything from mild disgust to barely contained arousal.
“So noisy,” he said. Gathering up a handful of her hair, he spun it round his palm and gently but insistently guided her head back until her chin was aimed at the unseen sky and her fingers could only just support her against the basin. “You must really love being bathed. Or you’re hoping that someone discovers us.”
He poured forth more water, this time concentrating it on the groove where her collarbones met her sternum and watching as the liquid quickly soaked through her clothes. And although it had not been difficult to espy the stiffness of the trow’s nipples before, their current state proved even more obvious as her underclothes grew increasingly saturated and transparent.
Tempting though it was to continue taking in the erotic view, Leo did not allow himself to indulge. Using Nyssa’s hair as a lead, he guided her back down to her original position. Releasing her, he reached out with his now freed arm and lightly embraced her.
He’d intended it to provide a bit of teasing, nothing more, but Nyssa’s reaction caught him off-guard. Groaning as her sodden breasts came to rest against his forearm, she began to rock back and forth with astonishing eagerness. Knees quavering, she squeezed her thighs together and squirmed.
For a few seconds, Leo was too taken aback to do more than watch in wry amusement as Nyssa ground against him in growing arousal. Then, once the surprise wore off, he allowed his eyes to harden. And with a soft growl, he used the ladle to deliver a sharp, warning smack to the trow’s ass.
“None of that,” he said. “I haven’t given you permission to move.”
Nyssa whimpered again, more piteously and with fewer inhibitions than she’d demonstrated previously. Staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes, she panted softly.
“Please?” she whispered hopefully.
He shook his head. And, gripped by sudden inspiration, he reached down with the ladle and wedged its head between her thighs.
“No,” he said. “Legs apart.”
Nyssa obeyed, albeit sluggishly. From the creasing of her brow, she knew that Leo planned to drag out the erotic torment for quite some time. Her shock and delight were all the more intense, therefore, when Leo slid the ladle higher to rest tantalizingly against her mound.
“All right,” he said, shifting his arm to make its friction more available. “Now you can move.”
And move she did.
For all his numerous experiences with women and non-human females, there were some things Leo simply couldn’t comprehend about them. In particular, the subtle nuances of their orgasms. His own were straightforward—thrust his cock into or against something appropriately soft, slick, tight, or silky and his climax would follow like clockwork. But when it came to the opposite sex, there seemed to be no universal rhyme or rhythm. Oh, sure, he could tease, experiment, and adjust the mechanics until he found something his partner enjoyed. But what delighted one and brought her to ecstasy in mere minutes would only bore or desensitize another. There was simply no accounting for taste.
Or, it turned out, for ladles.
Nyssa moaned as she ground herself against the flared edge of the utensil. Her breasts, shielded only by the damp, clinging fabric of her bustier, dragged and caught on Leo’s forearm as she rocked enthusiastically in place. And with each passing second, her urgency only increased.
“Look at you,” Leo murmured. He craned his neck to meet her half-lidded eyes. “I wonder what Atarah and Fanette would say if they could see you like this? The brilliant Nyssa humping a fucking spoon like a bitch in heat.”
Nyssa’s face darkened, so quickly and dramatically that Leo briefly worried his words had gone too far. But then, with a ragged gasp, Nyssa’s eyes squeezed shut. The rocking, rutting motion of her hips grew frantic. And then, with a loud, choking groan, she staggered, abandoned her grip on the washbasin, and thrust a hand between her legs.
Leo held her tightly, supporting her as she rode the waves of her orgasm. He could feel every detail, from the furious motion of her fingers to the violent spasms that shook the length of her spine. For what felt like a full minute, Nyssa swayed and shuddered in his arms. Then, finally, she blew out a long, satisfied breath and sank weakly down onto the damp rugs.
He eyed her for a few seconds, then shrugged and joined her. No sooner had he sat, however, than Nyssa groaned, hid her face behind her hands, and flopped onto her back.
Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4) Page 15