The Plan Commences

by Kristen Ashley

  “Ah,” Mars spoke. “This heartens me. You remember who I am.”

  “Of course I do,” I said softly.

  “Mm,” was his only reply as he stood, unmoving, his arms crossed over the sand-colored leathers on his wide chest, his black gaze locked on me irritably.

  Even if he did look every bit what he was known as, a barbarian king, I gathered my courage.

  For I knew he was also Mars.

  I just had to settle into how he was both and neither belonged to me.

  “Did Basil not tell you?” I asked. “I was with Mother and Father, enjoying a drink.”

  “Basil shared your whereabouts,” he confirmed.

  “Well, I, erm…”

  I knew not what else to say.

  I also knew I couldn’t get to bed because, first, he was barring my path, and second, he was in the tent so Tril couldn’t attend me to help me change clothes in order to sleep.

  That gave me something to say.

  “Has Tril been ’round?”

  “Indeed,” Mars answered. “I sent her to her pallet.”

  I blinked at my husband. “But I need her assistance with preparing for bed.”

  “If you need your laces loosened, Silence, my fingers work.”

  Oh balls.

  “We…you and I usually—” I stammered.

  “I have given you that, yes,” he interrupted me to say. “I felt you needed time to get used to your husband and the closeness we will share throughout our lives together. Thus, I have absented myself while your maid helps you prepare for bed. However, as I’ll be seeing you out of your clothes, as well as in them, and doing this with great frequency during our years of marriage, there’s no reason when you’re late to bed that your maid must remain awake when I can help you out of them.”

  I swallowed.

  “Are you ready for bed, Silence?” Mars asked with faux courtesy.

  “I feel like I need more time, Mars,” I told him carefully.

  He took but a second to think on this before he jerked up his bearded chin in assent.

  I was about to sigh with relief, though even considering that, I wasn’t sure I felt relief for it seemed with that gesture my husband was quite all right to continue this distance from me.

  However, he didn’t wait even a second to speak again.

  “Before I leave to allow you to send for Tril, I’ll share that Basil will replace Kyril as your personal guard. You’ll be in Kyril’s presence only when you’re with me.”

  I felt my lips part in surprise and not because I now understood that Kyril had been assigned to me, something my husband had not openly shared with me.

  No, because he’d given me Kyril.

  And now he was taking him away.

  Mars continued talking.

  “You will also limit any time you spend with your father to time when I can attend him with you.”

  What?

  “But…why?” My question came as a shocked whisper.

  “Your father uses you for some purpose I have yet to understand. Until I understand it, I will be at your side when you’re with him.”

  “We were talking about books,” I told him.

  “Of course you were,” he murmured.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  He didn’t explain what it meant.

  He stated, “It will be done, my queen.”

  I closed my mouth.

  He started toward the tent flaps, and as I was directly in his path and he clearly did not wish to adjust his course in order not to run into me, I scooted out of his way.

  He stopped and turned again to me before exiting the tent.

  “You were conscious during the piercing ceremony, no?” he asked oddly.

  “Y-yes,” I answered.

  “And it was spoken in your language,” he noted.

  I nodded.

  “You told me you were moved by it.”

  “I was,” I whispered.

  “I’m curious. What, my new wife, moved you?”

  “I, well…”

  I stared at him.

  He didn’t look curious.

  He looked annoyed.

  He was a king.

  He was also my husband.

  And I had to remember, I was his wife.

  But I also was a queen.

  His queen.

  I lifted my chin and finished, “All of it.”

  “There are two piercings in the ear for a reason, Silence,” he retorted.

  I felt my body give an involuntary twitch as his meaning dawned on me.

  He carried on, “You do not sleep well. You avoid my presence. My intended was lush and hot and wet in my arms and in my bed when my mouth and hands were on her. My wife is remote and prefers the company of her guard and her father. The latter of whom treated her with callous neglect the entirety of her life but is now her chosen companion.”

  “Mars—”

  “Forcing my body on yours does not appeal,” he continued, and I clamped my mouth shut for I’d never entertained the idea he would do as such and was shocked that he had. “I also cannot force you to speak. I have made it more than clear I will listen to whatever it is that has taken you from me. You’ve denied me that privilege. I will not beg.”

  I didn’t want him to beg.

  I wanted what I could not have.

  I wanted to go back to how we were when we first met when he was but a beautiful man who made me feel beautiful too for the first time in my life and the promise of us was and always would be just…us.

  “Now,” he kept speaking, “I must consider my options. In considering these, I’ve realized those options are limited, which is something I do not like. But I will need to select one, and as matters as they are between us are vexing, I’ll need to do that in short order. In the meantime, I’ll protect you as best I can, by limiting your time with your father. And I’ll protect our marriage, such as it is, by limiting your time with Kyril.”

  “Kyril is just a friend,” I shared.

  “Kyril is not your friend,” he retorted. “He is a Trusted One. His life is yours. But more, his life is mine. Do not misconstrue who he is to you, Silence. He is your guard and I’ll allow a rapport. If I do not like where that goes, he will cease being one of the premier soldiers of his realm and will spend the rest of his enlistment cleaning latrines.”

  I gasped.

  Mars had one response to my stunned surprise.

  He turned his back to me, slapped the tent open and strode out.

  I stood, watching the flap settle into place, feeling a heat in my eyes and a prickle in my throat.

  Now, in a way, my husband was taking my father from me and I felt not a vague sense of alarm for my father had made mention Mars intended to do just that.

  And Kyril, who I felt was becoming a friend, was for all intents and purposes lost to me too.

  I had few friends and Mars knew that.

  It just seemed now, in a kingly pique, he did not care.

  On our wedding night, he had told me he wanted to fill my life with laughter.

  He was failing spectacularly at that and doing so without much of an effort to succeed.

  And for all those reasons, and a number more, I felt like weeping.

  However, I could not do that.

  I was queen.

  Queens did not weep.

  Queens carried on.

  And sadly, this made me need to weep all the more.

  I did not do that.

  I went to the tent flap, peeked out and saw Basil there.

  I asked him to send for Tril.

  I needed to prepare for bed in order to attempt to sleep in preparation for taking on another day as wife of Mars Laches.

  But mostly as Queen of Firenze.

  I had left the lamps glowing on the squat tables on either side of our bed for Mars’s return.

  But I was abed, in my nightgown, one that Tril brought with a stubbornness that was disquieting, which meant it was on
e Tril refused to go back to my trunk in her tent to exchange for another that was more to my liking.

  Not that I didn’t like it. It was beautiful.

  A bodice made entirely of lace (and thus you could see through it, not completely, but you didn’t have to look hard get a clear-ish picture) with a skirt that fell to my knees, was somewhat sheer, but provided full coverage. That was, it did in the sense of material. The slits at the front of either leg went all the way up to some satin bows at the edge of the lace at either hip, and they exposed a good deal.

  If I moved, that good deal was everything.

  It was mauve.

  The color complimented my skin.

  It was nothing of the like I’d ever worn before I was married.

  The lace was a bit scratchy so it wasn’t all that comfortable.

  And it was an invitation I did not want to give.

  Tril, who was less patient with the distance growing between Mars and I than Kyril was, essentially demanded her queen wear it.

  However, for Tril, I was not queen.

  I was instead, and always would be, Silence. Tril was my only true friend and had been the only one I could faithfully count on my entire life.

  Thus, half fearing Mars would return before we were done, and half not wanting to have an argument with another being who meant something to me, I’d donned it.

  And wearing it, I had one more obstacle to climb before being able to go to sleep so I could be refreshed to take on whatever came on the morrow.

  That obstacle had arrived, I knew, when I heard the tent flap open.

  I lay in bed, my back to Mars’s side, and I did it with my entire body tense.

  I heard him moving about. I heard his leathers drop to the rugs. I heard the swish of him pulling on the silks he slept in. And finally, I felt the mattress shift as he laid his great bulk on it.

  Only then did I brace to face what was next.

  What always happened right before we went to bed. What I both looked forward to with wistfulness for what I’d hoped it could be but never would, and I dreaded because it never would be what I needed it to be.

  My husband and I taking off each other’s marital chains.

  To do this, I sat up, twisted and looked to Mars.

  He was in bed, but twisted as well, to the lantern, exposing his broad, brown-skinned, muscled back to me. He appeared as if he intended to blow the lamp out.

  The fastenings were small on our chains, I needed the light to release his, as he would need it to release mine as well.

  “Mars,” I called.

  Before blowing out the light, he turned his head to me.

  His chain was gone.

  I stared at him.

  He’d taken off his chain.

  My chain.

  Our chain.

  And he’d done it himself.

  We had grown distant, but every night, like he’d said we would, my husband took the chain he gave me, and I, his wife, took his.

  And as that was all I really had of him, something no other would have, not ever, it meant a great deal to me.

  I had no idea why, but his chain being gone was too much.

  I couldn’t…

  “Of course,” I whispered and turned my head away, lifting my hands that felt peculiarly like they weighed five times more than they normally did to the links in my ear. “I’m sorry,” I finished nonsensically.

  “Silence?”

  “Mm?”

  Even my hum was husky. My eyes were burning, and I had no idea how to control the tears. I didn’t feel like I could breathe too deeply in the quiet around us, for he’d hear it and know, and I didn’t want him to know. But I did not know another way to keep them at bay.

  The bed moved, and I heard a much firmer, “Silence,” before my wrist at my ear was circled with his long fingers.

  I twisted my neck to look up at him.

  His gaze was at my ear, but it came to my eyes when I gave them to him and I watched his face freeze.

  “I’ll just see to this and…” I looked away and tried to pull from the hold he still had on my wrist, “blow out the lamp and we can sleep.”

  “Allow me,” he murmured.

  I evaded his gaze, and even with his hand still on my wrist, tried to catch a fastener with my nail.

  “No. I’ve got it.”

  “Silence.”

  That was a rumble.

  Which meant it was an order.

  I dropped my hands and kept my eyes averted.

  He released my wrist that was now in my lap and I felt his fingers at my ear.

  I held my breath and felt the chain loosen as Mars whispered, “Turn more to me, mia bellezza.”

  I turned more to him even if I didn’t wish to. I wished more to have this done. So I did it hoping he did not see my lip quivering.

  “My Silence,” he said softly.

  He saw my lip quivering.

  He released the chain at the hoop there and gently slid it out of the others, leaning into me to toss it on the table at the side of the bed.

  I instantly began to turn away from him so I could settle in and maybe muffle the deep breaths I needed to control my emotion with my pillow.

  Mars foiled this plan by catching the side of my neck in one hand, my waist in the other, and using his thumb at my jaw to force me to look up at him.

  “I’m tired, Mars,” I said to the empty hoops in his ear.

  “I did not know it meant that much to you to take my chain from me,” he shared quietly.

  I did not reply.

  “I will not make that mistake again, my beautiful wife,” he murmured.

  I simply nodded, still staring at his ear.

  I would think on it much after it happened, whether it was fortunate, or unfortunate (and I’d lean heavily toward unfortunate) that in that moment, my husband dipped his head and touched his mouth to mine.

  And I would think on it much after it happened, what prompted my response.

  But the truth was, he had not kissed me in days.

  In weeks.

  Since our wedding.

  And I loved his kisses.

  Thus, feeling the touch of his lips, I pushed up into him, into them, and slid my tongue out to taste them.

  I barely got a nuance for his mouth opened and my tongue slid inside.

  So much better.

  I made a hungry mew at having his essence, the warm wet of his mouth, the taste of some liquor and Mars, as I turned into his arms, eager for more.

  He fell to his back and I fell on him.

  Feeling him under me, I wanted so much, all of him, all at once.

  But as I couldn’t have it all at once, I focused on his mouth, our kiss, and greedily taking more of that.

  Mars, on the other hand, was able to give that and much, much more.

  His hands moving on me, on the lace, on the silk of my skirt, on my skin, he quickly found the slit in the chiffon and put it to use, stroking the inside of my thigh that I’d wantonly flung across his hip.

  That felt lovely.

  He adjusted us, I felt his hardness press against me and I made another mew, bearing down into it.

  He groaned, and his big hand cupped the back of my head, holding my mouth to his (not that I would take it away), as his other hand slid over my thigh, up, and I felt the tips of his fingers glide just under the edge of my panties at my hip.

  So lovely.

  “Mars,” I whispered against his lips.

  He lifted his head from the pillow and took mine again, his tongue surging into my mouth, drinking, dancing, the stud in it teasing, his fingers slid over my behind, still at the edge of my panties, and then slid back.

  Even more lovely.

  I ground into his hardness.

  His fingers retraced their path, going farther this time, farther, and I felt them tickle the wetness between my legs.

  I pressed into them, seeking more.

  They retreated. They were there, tantalizing, but not
there, giving me what I needed.

  “Mars,” I begged, our mouths brushing.

  His fingers skittered through my folds as he murmured hoarsely, “My wife is very wet.”

  “I—”

  He rested his head on the pillow, taking his lips from mine, as his fingers went from between my legs and clamped on the back of my thigh, right under the cheek of my bottom. He held firm, locking me on him and against him, his maleness hard, hot, thick and pressing into me.

  He then moved my head so my face was shoved into his neck, his beard grazing my forehead.

  “Let this be a lesson learned, Silence,” he murmured.

  A…

  What?

  I stared at his neck.

  “Tonight you will sleep as I have slept, every night since our wedding, in need of the body so close to mine, unable to have it, unable to find release,” he declared.

  I had no idea he slept as such.

  I also had no idea why he would make me do it because I already knew it was wholly disagreeable.

  “If you want something, my wife, you ask your husband for it,” he instructed. “If you need something, you request it.” His hands at my thigh and neck squeezed in a manner that was a clear rebuke even as his next words confirmed just that. “If something matters to you, you communicate it. I’m understood, yes?”

  He was talking about the marital chain.

  He was punishing me for having a response to him taking off his marital chain when it was he who had proclaimed we’d take off the other’s every night for the rest of our lives.

  This angered me.

  But I could not think on my anger.

  I needed to squirm.

  I could not squirm.

  I needed to shout my desires.

  I could not shout my desires.

  All I could do was mumble, “Yes.”

  “Good,” he muttered, giving me another squeeze, this one affectionate. “Now we will sleep with the lamps lit. Perhaps that will chase your bad dreams away.”

  I did not think this was a possibility.

  The sleeping part, that was.

  Mostly because he was hard and ready against me, still. I was wet and ready atop him, definitely still.

  And he seemed completely immune to both.

  Like he was in the necropolis when the men he’d tortured begged him to stop.

  Apparently, torture came in many forms.

  And my husband was a master at all of them.

  “I must admit,” he muttered, “I do not like your Dellish clothes.”