by S E Meliers
Praise
Her dragon was very tactile.
He particularly liked her hair, unravelling the braids in order to comb the strands with his fingers, wrapping it around his hand like a strange bandage before letting it pull free. He also liked the milkiness of her skin, and the freckles that clustered wherever it had been exposed to the sun. He drew mysterious runes between the sun marks; a road map of her body.
The firelight was broken by the thick grass stalks, the dune grass clumps forming a lopsided circle around their sandy bed. It seemed more private than it was, as all it would take for their bed to be exposed was for another to walk close by, the grasses only standing waist high at most, but the reedy barrier combined with the cloak of night gave a sense of security to her which she needed in order to relax. Nearer the fire, she could make out the forms of the less modest riders and their dragons in man-form, sharing wine and food, or tangled in sensuous embrace, uninhibited by the strict morals of her people.
His lips closed around her left nipple, tongue exploring the texture of her skin. She turned her head away from the bright firelight that pierced the grasses, and focussed on the star-filled sky. His hair tickled her stomach, and his skin was warm against hers. She stroked a hand across his shoulder blade marvelling at the flawlessness of his flesh.
His physical beauty was awe-inspiring. Wide at shoulders, narrow at hip, Ember was built for speed, his limbs long, his pectorals and arms not so heavily muscled as the EAerymen, who habitually wielded heavy swords, but perfectly defined. His stomach was a wonder, designed for female fingers to explore the valleys between each perfectly delineated muscle. She could not see him in man-form without lusting after him; inhibitions were lost in the need to touch, to taste and explore. He was pleased by her attentions, and his welcome always made her feel guilt, for, whilst she allowed him into her body she deliberately kept him out of her heart, her inner self.
Every time he touched her, she felt him pushing at her mental boundaries, seeking entry to her mind and soul through the link forged between dragon and rider upon mating. This mental and emotional invasion, combined with the physical intimacy, was too much for her however, and she resisted, determined to keep some part of her to herself; aloof from him.
He rubbed the palm of his hand in slow circles over her right nipple, the double sensation of his lips on one breast and his hand on the other made her shudder, and caused a tightening deep in her core. He enjoyed this reaction and swapped sides in order to draw another tremble from her. She moaned, half closing her eyes and blurring the stars in the sky.
She had grown up on a farm, and part of a small community, so was not completely naïve, having seen both human and animal courtships, but she had never imagined that it felt so nice to have the simple skin to skin contact with another person. She was initially uncomfortable with the exposure of her flesh and the feel of his large, rough palmed hands traversing her skin, but his touch was soothing, a balm to her soul, and she found herself looking forward to the next time he would take man-form. Her enjoyment conflicted with the morals of her youth however, as being red-haired and therefore given to the EAeryian god until her twentieth birthday, any inclination towards finding a mate was something to be repressed not explored. She tried to rationalise it; they were married in the manner that dragons married, after all, so it was not slatternly, although the dragon’s habitual openness about their marital relations felt promiscuous.
When he was in dragon form, and she was free of the mind boggling allure of his physical form, she tried to pull herself together, to think things through logically, but inevitably failed. This life was too foreign, and she resented that, yet again, her future had been wrested from her control.
Rooms were available for the dragon-riders in the castle of Amori, but they were seldom used, the dragons too exposed there to take man-form and the dragon riders preferring to rut on the beach rather than sleep on feathers wrapped in expensive linen. A dragon spell warded any voyeuristic eyes from seeing the small section of shore where they spent their nights, and the tangle of naked limbs in the dancing firelight was becoming an accustomed sight to her although she preferred more privacy and Ember was considerate of this need.
His palm skimmed her ribs, down her side to her hips as he adjusted his position, making room for himself between her legs. She felt the broad head of his cock rub up against her intimately, and moaned, lifting her hips to grant him access. He did not, however, push forwards, instead rested his weight on an elbow and kissed a line across her collarbone, up her neck and along her jaw, before outlining her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. Her hands coasted up his back, kneading his warm flesh as she arched up helplessly towards him. ‘Please,’ she begged, feeling his cock rub up against her again, the contact sending tingles down her inner thighs.
He nibbled her lip between his teeth gently, before brushing his lips against hers gently. Her hand fisted in his hair, pulling his mouth down on hers hungrily and devouring him, her tongue pushing entry into his mouth, seeking and searching. She felt his groan rumble through his chest, and he pushed with his hips instinctually, parting her flesh, and entering her just slightly before he remembered himself, and withdrawing. ‘Not yet,’ he murmured into her hair, almost a moan, and more to himself than her. ‘Not yet.’
‘Yes, now,’ she thrust her hips, and reached down between them to guide him into her.
He laughed and pulled himself away so she was suddenly bereft of any contact with him at all and cried out in frustration. He picked her up, flipping her over so she was suddenly on her hands and knees in the sand, unable to touch him without unbalancing herself as he moved to cover her with his body. She could feel the heat of his thighs pressed up against the back of hers, the drift of his long hair across her exposed spine, and the prod of his erection against her buttocks. He did not enter her however, trailing kisses and nips up her spine as he circled an arm around her waist and ran a finger through her folds before stroking over her clitoris. She cried out and bucked against him, pleasure surging through her as he rolled her between his fingertip and thumb.
‘Please,’ she was losing focus on what she wanted, more, and for him not to stop, and needed to enunciate it before she did. Her greed for his penetration was most urgent. ‘Soon,’ she urged as she felt him press against her from behind, but hold off again. She pushed back against him, and he moaned. ‘Now,’ she crystallised her needs into a simple demand.
He finally succumbed to her urgings, pushing entry. He was hard and thick with suspended need, her flesh stretching about him, the merging of flesh sensitised. ‘Oh Glory,’ she moaned half a prayer, not sure if it was sacrilegious to do so considering her abandonment of her sacred role and the act she performed even as she prayed that was itself a defilement of the edicts for sacrifices.
He entered slowly, filling her, parting her flesh with deliberation. It was a demand, too, she realised, demanding more than she was willing to give. She winced as he reached the end of her, pushing against a delicate internal spot that sparked a sharp pain through her stomach, and, ever vigilant and attentive to her needs, he adjusted so as not to hit up against it and cause her discomfort as he withdrew and stroked in again. The adjustment pushed him up against another spot within her, one that instead of sparking pain built a slow fire within her, a pleasure deep within her flesh that increased with each stroke.
He groaned, feeling the changes within her, and increased the pressure of his fingers on her clitoris so a sharper pleasure increased along with the deep burning. ‘Oh, oh,’ she tried to warn him, but it overtook her, and she exploded with a cry, her internal muscles clasping and milking him as he came with her. It seemed to go on forever, deep and intense. She had orgasmed with him before, but this was something new, previous orgasms being light and brief and breathtaking, this one sent an ache through her stomach and left a tingling in her flesh even as the last tremors faded.
He lowered her to her side without withdrawing, so the
y lay, still joined as their breathing regulated and he softened within her, finally slipping free. She sensed his smugness, but was unable to be irritated by it; it was well deserved after all. He kissed her shoulder with a sated sigh and settled into sleep.
She rolled onto her back, his arm crossing her belly, and stared up into the sky, unable to drift away, a little embarrassed. She was so… insatiable and needy with him, it was humiliating and wanton. She felt a little shame with each encounter, knowing that this relationship, this behaviour, would be disapproved of by her parents, her people, as profligate. There was also the knowledge from her inner sense of self, and her widening perception of his moods and feelings, that each physical interlude strengthened the bond between them, slipping tendrils to penetrate her mental barriers, opening her spirit to him even as it exposed more of his inner being to her.
At what point did one lose oneself in another, she wondered. She had never really owned herself to begin with, and that had been her motivation for flight, but she had never been owned to the extent that her inner thoughts and feelings were shared with another being. She wondered if she had lost more than she had gained in her bid for freedom.
Patience
‘Are you well, my sister?’ Rue greeted with thinly disguised anxiety as Patience opened the door to her chambers. Immaculate in a peacock blue silk gown regardless of the early morning hour Rue has been sitting by the window, her needlework untended in her lap and a flagon of wine at her elbow, but she rose as soon as Patience entered.
The window shutter had been thrown open, letting in the cold morning air as well as light, but the fire had been built up to combat the chill. Most importantly, a large wooden bath had been placed before the fire hearth.
Patience let Rue assist her with her over-cloak, leaving her in just her nightgown. ‘Is the bath warm?’
‘Yes. I ordered it drawn at sunrise; I knew you never linger,’ Rue poured a goblet of wine and Patience accepted it gratefully, but winced at its strength. ‘I thought you might need fortifying,’ Rue explained at her look of surprise.
Patience shook her head, and set the goblet onto the mantle in order to allow her sister to remove her nightgown and assist her into the bath. ‘It is not as awful as it would have been was he truly the man his reputation makes of him,’ she used a rag to clean herself. She was tender in ways she had never been under Charity’s attentions; and confused by her own ambivalence. ‘He has not been unkind during our... encounters,’ she struggled to find an apt description of her circumstances. ‘The children?’
‘Safe. Asleep still,’ Rue assured her. ‘I suppose we should be grateful,’ she referred to Patience’s nightly occupation, ‘however I do not feel so.’
‘I am too weary for gratitude,’ Patience murmured, closing her eyes and letting the warm water, scented with roses, lull her from her unease. ‘Will you wash my hair? I need to be clean. I fear I shall never be clean again.’
Rue moved to the stool by Patience’s head: ‘Try to think of is as being no different than an arranged marriage, but without the permanence. At least he is not ugly; some even consider him handsome.’
‘Darkly, though,’ Patience could not help comparing him to her lost golden Lord as Rue’s fingers massaged her scalp. ‘And not just in colouring, he has a darkness in him. It is not an evilness, but it is a darkness. I cannot explain it,’ she sighed. ‘It is enough that he is not unkind. I do not wish to think of it anymore; please, let’s talk of other things.’
‘Very well, though my other subject for discussion is just as unpleasant, I am afraid,’ Rue rinsed the soap from her sister’s hair. ‘Do you wish me to use the lemon water in your hair?’
‘Yes, please. What is your other subject of discussion?’
‘Do you remember young Glory?’
‘Mmmmm. Truthful’s eldest daughter; the red head?’
‘I would call it more strawberry blond, but yes,’ Rue wrapped her sister’s head in cotton. ‘She came late last night to your door. It seems Truthful and Honour refused the Monad and thus have been taken to the dungeons. Glory asks for you to intervene.’
‘I cannot,’ Patience pushed out of the water. ‘You know I cannot take such risks. My children’s lives are at stake.’ She wrapped a drying cloth around her body defensively. ‘Surely my peril is not unknown at court.’
‘I know and care for your peril,’ Rue said. ‘You know and care for your peril. But the court? They only know or care for their own peril. You know how they are.’
‘Vultures,’ Patience’s hands shook with fury. ‘Back stabbing, poison tongued vultures, interested in their own skins and nothing else.’
‘True,’ Rue was amused, ‘our dear friends and family.’
‘No aid will we see from them,’ Patience whispered. ‘For our own salvation, we must look to ourselves.’
‘But you are not just Patience the mother, my dearest,’ Rue counselled quietly. ‘You are Patience the Lady of Amori. Those vultures are your people, and as Lady of Amori you owe them a duty of care.’
‘I owe them nothing,’ Patience snapped irritably thrusting her arms into her chemise’s sleeves. ‘Where were they when we were locked up in the darkest dungeon? Where were they when Charm and Joy’s lives were under threat? Where were they when Charity threw himself from the cliff rather than be captured?’ She pulled up her petticoats angrily, tangling her fingers in the laces. ‘For goodness sake: will you help me?’ she threw her arms out in frustration.
Rue stepped in to sort out the muddle. ‘You are right, my sister,’ she said gently. ‘You are right to be angry. You are enduring so much to ensure your children’s safety, to preserve Charm’s inheritance. But, Charm will need the court when he becomes the Lord of Amori, and, if you neglect their needs now, they may turn on him in his time of need.’ She assisted Patience into the heavy over-gown, letting her sister think in the silence between them as she laced her in. Finally, as she unwrapped Patience’s long hair and took up a brush, she added quietly: ‘You should also know: Thankful has her youngest children with her in the dungeons, and they are only very small.’
Patience covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Curse it,’ she whispered. ‘Curse it all.’
‘I can braid your hair and bind it at your nape – I remember how from when we were very small - but if you wish anything more elaborate, you will need to call your maid back,’ Rue set the brush down.
‘I care not how it is done,’ Patience sighed. ‘I do not wish to deal with a maid’s idle chatter. Please braid it. I need to think,’ she added, frowning.
‘Very well,’ Rue guided her to the dresser. ‘But make yourself useful as you think and untangle that snood for me.’ She worked industriously, weaving her sister’s honey tresses between her slender fingers, before capturing the braids in the fine snood net and pinning it into place. ‘There,’ she stood back satisfied. ‘You’ll start a new fashion, I think; such simplicity suits you. Makes you look like a young, fresh girl again.’
Patience smiled for the first time in days. ‘You make me sound ancient. I have not yet seen thirty winters. And you are only three years my junior, so if I am old, then so are you.’
‘Do not remind me – I can hear our mother’s voice in my head ‘and still unmarried!’’ Rue rolled her eyes. She pouted at herself in Patience’s brass hand mirror. ‘I could get married, if I cared to. But, I’ve never met a man worthy of me. Men of quality: they’re few and far between. Oh, tosh,’ she dusted her hands off against each other. ‘Silly, silly things keep falling from my lips. Who cares for marriage and pleasing our mothers when we live in such troubled times. Have you decided?’
‘Decided?’ Patience repeated, blankly.
‘Decided how you will help Glory?’
‘Who ever said that I would help her?’ Patience sighed. ‘But yes. Yes, I know what I must do.’
‘Good,’ Rue kissed her cheek. ‘What can I do to help?’
Cinder
‘I do not care for yo
ur guests,’ Gallant commented.
‘What?’ Cinder looked up from the parchment he read by the window in order to catch the last of the evening’s sunlight to illuminate the text.
‘The EAerymen,’ Gallant’s face was shadowed by his hood, making his expression unfathomable.
Cinder considered the two EAerymen that the Priest had taken dislike to. They were big men, almost seven feet tall, and built like mountains, wide of shoulder with tree trunk arms. Cinder would have liked an army made up of soldiers of their girth: they would win through sheer intimidation.
They dressed like the barbarians they were, in leather from top to toe. The leather was wonderfully made, however, and finely tooled – he supposed that when one worked with only one material, one developed considerable skill with it. Their boots were heavy, with thick ridged soles that were surprisingly flexible – made of the sap of a tree specially treated, they told him, waterproof, insulated, and padded the feet on even the stoniest of grounds. He had convinced them to trade some leatherwear and boots with him – a wagon was expected at the turn of the moon – and was pleased with his success. Opening trade with the EAerymen to Amori promised to be very lucrative, and found favour with the Amori nobles who saw an opportunity to line their own coffers.
The EAerymen seemed refreshingly straight forward to him, they were not merchants, or politicians, but bounty hunters - they openly carried their weapons - heavy straight sword at one hip, a dagger that was almost a short sword at the other, and wore bow and arrows over their backs - talked straight and undiplomatically, and drank lustfully and unwisely. They were passing through in search of a missing girl, and cared not in whose hands Amori lay, as long as the controlling factor did not impede their search.
If they had been merchants or politicians, Cinder probably would have been unsuccessful in arranging trade. The EAeryians, as a people, were uninterested in the world outside their mountain ranges, as long as that world did not try to impose itself upon them, and the only reason these two had agreed to organise their kin to bring trade goods to Amori was due to goodwill built between them and Cinder over a couple of barrels of ale and stories of war.