The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series

by E Cantu Alegre

“It’s just my partner, our pet Swanloft, and me.” Gilden nervously answered. “Grude kept us here against our will, to create dresses for his love hag, Cantata.”

  Treva tried to hold in a chuckle at that. He called Cantata a love hag, she thought in great amusement. A chuckled snort did manage to escape.

  Lanico continued, while annoyed, and summoned his distant regal manners and a slow blink. “I am so sorry, Gilden, that you and Ilgani had to endure this confinement. Please know you are free to go. I have regained control of this castle and Grude has been dispatched.”

  “Y-you’re Prince Lanico!” Gilden answered in surprise.

  “Yes. I am.” He flashed a grin that made Gilden blush and caused Ilgani to clear his throat in reserved disapproval. “You may leave and return to your pet Swinelow now.” Lanico ushered them to the door.

  Gilden paused and corrected, pointing to his mouth with toothy precision. “No-no, it’s Swan-loft.”

  “Ah yes. My apology.” Lanico smiled a grimace, annoyance rising.

  Treva walked behind the pair to gently lead them out. Her face, however, did not hide annoyance. Feeling the surge of the tea, she needed Lanico. Now.

  “What of our fabrics and supplies we have here?” Gilden paused looking to Ilgani. He simply shrugged his muscled shoulders.

  “I will pay you handsomely for all these fabrics and uhh...things?” He looked to Treva seeking some answer but then she shrugged. Right, Treva wouldn’t know anything about all this–this stuff. In fact, she’d be the least likely in all the kingdom to know anything about the art of tailoring. “We will need to make new clothes anyway,” he continued.

  She nodded; okay, sure, it made sense, though she couldn’t care less about that right now, and wanted the lovely couple gone from the room. Urgently.

  “Now please, quickly return to your pet Swanloft.” Lanico almost shoved them from his door, while smiling. The Dew Tea was fast at work. A fever was taking hold in…places. Oh, Odan on High the places…

  The Prondolin couple was most pleased. They happily walked out from the room to freedom and promised pay.

  He turned from the Prondolins and slammed his chamber doors shut. Gilden and Ilgani jumped in alarm.

  “She really was beautiful.” Treva angled her head toward the portrait of Raya.

  Lanico hummed. Though somewhere in the back of his mind there was a small voice saying it was disrespectful, he ignored the painting. He didn’t even bother to cast a glance in that direction as he closed the space between them. Having the loving eyes of Raya baring down at him while he harbored purely lascivious thoughts for his Treva. He preferred not to think on it at this moment. No, his mind wandered, fretted elsewhere. To the bed. There was too much on the bed. Despite the obvious mess that he began wicking away at, Lanico could tell that beneath the fabrics and scraps, the room had been prepared for the Prondolin tailors. Thankfully there seemed only a remote presence of dust.

  ✽✽✽

  Loud crashing sounds erupted from within the expansive room as Lanico tossed material-filled boxes from his bed. Not caring that they whirled into his mannequins wearing old armor and slammed into dusty weapons. The action created a cacophony of crashes that erupted from various areas of the room.

  Inside, Lanico grinned at Treva, mischievously. Still fresh from the rush of battle, he wanted her. Oh fires, yes, he wanted to devour her. To taste her. All of her.

  A slow wicked smile spread across her face; an eyebrow arched.

  He loved this. She was a smoldering challenge. His white teeth flashed a wide grin. A low, dark laugh rumbled from him and reverberated down the halls as if some mysterious evoked thunder. He imagined in the future; their coupling would be the talk of the castle. There was no denying the Fray within him and the elements conjured at his mating with his emerald siren.

  Outside Ilgani and Gilden, who had paused at the crashing within, now ran on but even faster. Only Odan knew what was taking place in those chambers.

  Inside the room, her heart jumped. His low laugh made reverberations covering her skin, and her other hidden places. Surprised, her joints softened under its unfamiliar power—a power she’d felt the very first moment their eyes met all those years ago. Overcome at this, she heard herself loose a small whimper. Another Fray secret of his now exposed.

  The sound was a delight to his perked ears. He started stalking closer. His eyes narrowed on hers as he strode, purposeful. Intent known. Walking power and sculpted grace. The bed had been cleared.

  Closer.

  “I want you, Tre. Now. No more waiting. No more… hoping.” He stared down into her brown, golden-flecked eyes. An arm’s reach away.

  Closer.

  “And, I you.” She gulped, her pulse becoming rapid. She was dazzled by his azure eyes, their humming snare designed for her, and only her. She lifted her chin, determined to keep from losing herself completely. Lost in the moment, feeling movement on the rise of her chest, she looked to his fingers now reaching for her, unbuttoning her night-tunic One. By. One. The time. Oh, the delicious agony of it.

  “I want you to be mine.” His blue eyes shifted back to hers. “Forever.” He pushed back the shirt, and didn’t even hear the whisp of fabric. “And I, to be yours.”

  “I want that as well.” She breathed, feeling the room swirl. Feeling the cool air send prickles against her skin, her shoulders, her exposed breasts.

  “We’re to marry.” It was both a statement and a plea from him. She held his rapacious gaze in her own.

  Biting her smiling lip and managed a slight nod, “Yes.”

  “I will rule over you.”

  Her heart pounded as his willing prey. It had been done. It was perfect, surreal, and now…now life could truly move forward—without the threat from Grude and his invasions. Now was the promise of oneness, togetherness that they had so longed for—for years. Her heart leaped with bliss.

  “And you, Tre, you are to rule over me.”

  She replied using her voice, small under her own shuddered breath, masking the desire to cry from joy, from anticipated pleasure. “Yes. I want this.”

  He slid a half smile. “The ceremony will be right away.” He still looked into the gold flecks in her eyes. Her breasts, her whole body—bared before him. The shirt on the floor covering her ankles. “Which is why I feel we can—” His eyes trailed down the length of her body, and then back up to her misted gaze. For some reason, he felt the need to explain just then. Unnoticed by her and with their eyes still locked, he removed his sword and sheath with fast movements.

  She responded, “As you can see… Yes.” A voiceless demand, more than an answer.

  The two soul-bound warriors had been deprived. Inwardly still raging from battle, they sought a maddening, urgent release.

  This will not be gentle. He warned wordlessly, and to that her breath caught.

  She challenged him in a daring but betraying, shuddered breath. “Promise?”

  In answer, he jerked the leather sword belt still secured around her waist closer. He’d waste no time. The falchion still sheathed at her thigh slapped against her skin. He didn’t care to take the time to remove it. Her’s had too many buckles. Too complicated.

  He neared her face, his breath on her scarred lips as he kissed. His arm wrapped around her, while the other slid under. He grabbed her buttocks and squeezed hard.

  A soft moan from her parted lips. Her hands explored him, his muscled arms, his solid back, and roamed down. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she always knew he’d been scarred from innumerable battles; he was half Fray and mortal. It wasn’t until her fingertips met the scars that she realized their placement.

  He lifted, to scoop her up. Though muscled, she was light, a mere feather to his ancient power and strength. His solid form shifted, sweeping her onto the bed—to their bed.

  With a voracious grin, the General lay his Knight over the pillows and hovered above her.

  “Do your worst, General.” She ordered in a low, hu
shed voice.

  From under his brow he said, “I guess I will have to punish you for commanding me, for-” he huffed darkly and made a roguish grin, “for your, insubordination.” Oh, and he had wanted to punish her for far too long now.

  Countless times she had imagined him saying that, without meaning the actual disciplinary action she often received. She groaned at his words, at the feeling they invoked.

  Something about the sound she made caused him an involuntary twitch. Without pause, he delved his hands between her knees and spread. He would begin with his own form of agonizingly, voluptuous torture and wouldn’t stop until he wrung every ounce of pleasure from her writhing, pleading little body.

  ✽✽✽

  Their first time together, in their chambers, in their bed.

  After so many years.

  It was happening.

  It was truly happening.

  ✽✽✽

  The connection between heightened. He knew every move to make. Skillful and perfected. He was a master and her body was his instrument to play. To manipulate.

  Lost in feeling her, in her emotion, within her body. He let go. He lost control. His focus was gone. The world outside whirled, lost into watery oblivion, floating, spinning, withering ash. Their names, soft breathy prayers that lifted to the air. The only words uttered.

  It was only them. Only they existed . . .

  He let himself go.

  She moaned his name; it muffled into his mouth. Writhing, she convulsed, dragging her nails clawing the length of his tight back. Ripping over muscle. United muscles tensed and hardened. Caged beneath him she arched, but feeling her flutter he held her firm; clutching her belt anchoring her in place. The leather groaned, stretching at his hold, at the force of his impossibly strong thrusts and at her hollowing. His other fist tangled in the tendrils of her emerald hair. He cried out just as she felt his throbbing, spilling himself deeply within. In the throes of her love, the passion, the aching desire of this claiming.

  One hundred years of wanting only her. It had always been only her.

  Their unified breath, ragged. His eyes widened. He let himself go. He realized it.

  Wait.

  He lost control.

  He felt the peaks of her bare chest touching him beneath the rising and falling of his own. Her pulse raced, just as his did. He met her tired, smiling golden gaze, and immediately turned from it—avoiding their connection. He realized, he lost control.

  And he KNEW!

  He let himself go!

  She-she’s...

  She moved a stray tendril from her face. She moaned, barely a breathy whisper. “Fires...Lan, I-I had no idea it could be...” His Fray ears prickled at the sound of her cinnamon voice, and the subtle change already within it—the change already there!

  “This was incredible...better than anything I have ever…” she gulped dryly before continuing in whispers.

  Yes! It was incredible—better than anything he himself had ever experienced as well, but… “I love you, Tre.” An interrupting but truthful statement allowing him time to think. He gave a tired smile, interjecting, but knowing. The back of his mind, knowing. His thoughts now shouting, I lost control and I know. I know!

  She’s a Knight. Haunting him now were his own shouted words to Izra all those years ago, She’s a Knight! Our most valuable Knight! He’d once railed at him with an anchored fist.

  Oh, Odan on High, how do I tell her?

  Inwardly, his thoughts suddenly panic ridden, and he could connect his gaze to hers, but no. Not now. The concern of accidently revealing this discovery threatened him. If he accidently blurted this through their connection… He needed to think. How will she react to this?

  “I love you too, my King.” She wrapped smooth arms and legs around him tightly. More of his weight on her now, crushing, but wanted. But without much change he still angled himself to the side because he didn’t want to smother her.

  Sated and languishing, they stayed this way. Seconds slipped into serene minutes. His face buried in thick emerald hair scented of jasmine, still thinking, inwardly still panicking. Tell her. Their heartbeats now slowed. Tell her! The voice in his mind now screamed.

  The tips of her fingers lazily grazed over his scars. “This one?” she swallowed dryly, “How did you get this one?” She smiled, waiting peacefully for his response. Her breath warmed his pec muscle. The flesh she fingered was a row of raked lines that ran parallel over his chest.

  “That,” he sighed fighting back from blurting out this new thing taking over his mind. His announcement…he wanted it to be special. “That one was from a morning star swipe.” He answered,

  “I don’t recall that,” her voice rasped.

  “Well, that was before we had you in our ranks.”

  Her palm drifted lower to his side and he chuckled softly at its tickle, “This one?”

  “Tre, you know that one,” he said amusedly. She huffed a small laugh as well. It was a scar that she inflicted on him, while they had sparred many lost years ago. He remembered that day well. Without thinking, he angled his head and looked into her eyes. He remembered the countless times he had to restrain himself from thinking of her in ways unfit as her commander; during their physical tactical trainings, and that one time he walked into the barracks and had accidentally seen her nude. Fires. That memory alone had served to haunt and tease is loins countless times over the years, like he was some yearning adolescent. Now, she was finally his.

  “So, you did see me nude after all!” She gave an astonished laugh.

  Lanico hadn’t realized he spoke in their voiceless way and said, “It was the reason my confidential papers went scattered to the ground.” He removed his gaze again, even more concerned now that he may accidentally expose his disquieting secret without trying to.

  “Lan?”

  “Tre.”

  “I’m, uh, I’m quite parched.” She made a soft laugh that whispered of sand.

  “Oh right. Of course.” He shifted. “I’ll get”—he started to move from her, allowing that part of himself to slide free from her hold.

  “No, it’s alright. I feel the need to walk.” She moved to sit up and their skin peeled from each other. He rolled to the side. “I feel I need to use my legs, or loose feeling in them altogether.” She made a roguish smile at him through a lowered brow. The bed bounced at her movement.

  He laughed a small, nervous chuckle, white teeth flashing. I’ll tell her when she’s come back, he considered to himself.

  “And then, when I get back, I want you to hold me, and tell me a story.”

  He smiled at that. “A story?”

  “Uh-huh. I want you to hold me close, and then I want you to tell me the story. The story of us.”

  “Well, that is my favorite story.” And he’d have quite a story to share with her when she came back. That is the way! he realized, that he could tell her! He would gladly incorporate his bit of news into the story. It would make for a delightful ending indeed. A romantic ending. One, he hoped, she wouldn’t be upset about.

  She headed to the door, her tan nude body tight, muscled, covered in sheen. Still armed with her sheathed sword she was so strong and willful. Enchantingly beautiful. He craved her again. Already! Blinking to present—

  “Wait. Tre, you-you can’t walk out there like that.”

  “I thought it was our castle now.” A wink.

  He grinned. “It is, but it’s possible others will be returning here. Marin, the others, castle workers—Lika.” He raised an eyebrow. Oh, fires! Lika!

  She sighed. “Yes, that is true.” The renewed reality of parenthood and appropriateness struck.

  He smiled at her irritated expression. “Trust me, I’d prefer you that way, always, but…”

  “Yeah, I know.” She grumbled, bending to grab the first article of clothing spotted. Her night-tunic. It was piled on the floor. It figured, all the fabrics and materials that surrounded them, but no actual clothes. Well, it didn’t ma
tter, the tunic would come off again soon enough. She whittled this on over her shoulders and arms. The smell of jasmine still clung to it. Thankfully the belt and sword were still fastened to her, and still taut. He enjoyed grabbing it but at least he didn’t stretch it out. A smile curled the side of her mouth at the thought. The sword sheath fit under the tunic’s width and length. She still wanted to wear her weapon. Just in case.

  “I’ll be right back.” She turned, raising an eyebrow at him.

  His devilish gaze fixed on her. “Promise?” Not just a sensual request, but now, more importantly because his level protection over her heightened—drastically. He deemed it would likely be the last time she was not in his presence. He wouldn’t allow her to leave his side after this.