The girl scoffed. "Why? Do you think you can chip away at the stone with greater ease if it's a few hundred years old? You're a prince, not some builder."
A muscled ticked in his jaw. "Princess Bethan, you're unmarried, is that correct?"
"Ha! Correct."
He could see why. "Do you think—" He caught himself.
They stood right where they'd started: the bower of the garden hall, surrounded by the nobles who'd been found, those who'd given up or were consulting the others for clues.
"Do you think if you were nicer to people you might stand a chance at finding a husband? Is that what you were going to ask, Prince A'zur?" The smug turn of her lips threatened his composure but for an instance. "I am engaged." Miracles existed. "Let that enlighten you in regards to your enquiry and in case you decide to pop the question."
He sent a hand through his hair, an action he'd done far too many times in her company, leaving them to escape their order and hang in disarray.
This was getting him nowhere. His tactic shifted; he sat down beside her (seeing as she insisted on abandoning all notions of actually walking on her own two legs). "That was not my intention at all," he lied. "I was going to ask, in the event you were unmarried and not engaged, do you think this is all there is for us?"
He gestured out at the gardens, the lively talks of those deeply engulfed in their gossip. "You come off strongly and thus I'd assumed you meant to intentionally steer men from you. As though you too fear the life of the court, the life of belonging to another. Unless, of course, your parents have sentenced you to a charming, handsome man."
She laughed again, equally as sarcastic as the last. "A charming, handsome man like my brother, who your sister appeared to be all over at the feast. I do not know why you are so concerned over which tree I am barking up when your sister is clearly barking up the wrong one."
"And I do not understand why all roads lead back to the two of them with you. Diversion tactic? Insecurity? No matter, I suppose it was dumb of me to attempt to share heart with you. Get to know you. I find I know exactly what sort of women are brought up here."
He rose. So much for that plan. And why did he bother to try?
"Will you tell me the date of the building's construct? Will you help me or is sitting there and irking me your only talent?"
Bethan clapped her hands together, most likely a gesture of resignation as she followed suit in rising. "Very well, as you are bursting at the seams to discover the origins of the lodge."
She gazed around her at the impressive construction, the carved pillars doted on by artisans long ago. Portraits of significant looking people which some cramping of the population as more pieces were added over time.
Then she smiled.
"It was built as a safe haven three centuries ago, though a college had existed on this very spot for generations before that. Something most likely was in its place before, for what is considered the old masonry in the passages and cellars is young in comparison to further pieces of work."
She crossed her arms. "Does that satisfy you or would you have me inform you of the exact date and time of day, along with the name of the mason and his father and grandfather who chances are had the very same name and the surname of 'Builder'? Best to be sure, though."
"And before you ask, there's no known map of the place. Fragments exist, yet I know not of a complete one. My father chose this location purposely."
He could feel his absorbent mind latching to her every word, no doubt assuming that definitive expression of concentration and knitted brows as he turned to all in which she gestured towards.
A safe haven. If it were built three centuries ago, as the young woman claimed, that landed it right around the mark of Redthorn's Dark Rebellion, a time where the church and the people and the royals were all set on slaughtering one another, whilst Pyracea and Thellemere sat back in a rare sort of truce, one that agreed it would be best to watch this time around.
But then A'zur caught on to the remainder of her words and turned to her. "Passages?"
A twinkle of amusement brightened the girl's amber eyes. "Passages are corridors you aren't supposed to know about."
A smile almost touched his lips. "So they do allow women access to the lexicons. But perhaps I should have elaborated for not everyone makes good use of context clues."
He glanced around to the gentle and light air, the spectators and wanderers. "You mentioned passages. Would you happen to know where?"
"I know of a couple, or perhaps they have changed. Rumour had it that the workmen still inhabit these halls, carving new ones out of stone while sealing the old ones. It is just rumour, mind you. We used to jest as children that magic shuffled passages around when we could not find our way, but my eldest brother was keen to put a stop to that."
"Hm." He could not imagine the prince and his sister being foolish enough to travel those passages together, just the two of them, but perhaps the king and queen had no such reservations.
He took note of the nine ribbons protruding from his pockets, then allowed another sigh. The sun was going down. "Will you lead me to any of them?"
"To hide or to seek?"
"To seek. I fear the king and queen did not account the duration the game might take should they hide too well." Either that, or the king and his nocturnal infatuation with eternal fun and games intended for this to last as long as it took.
Bethan scoffed. "Have you not heard of the grandest game of hide and seek ever to have occurred? Seventy-four years ago, and lasted for three and a half years, I believe. Everyone was hiding everywhere, all over the land."
That did not assure him in the least. And, as usual, she'd tactfully avoided answering him. "Will you take me to one?"
"You're not going to behave as well as your sister did with my poor brother, are you?" Her words emerged sharp and quick, though from the manner of her expression, her right canine tugging at her lips, she was merely toying with him.
"Do you hate my sister?" he asked with a flat tone he'd learned from his father.
"I have never spoken to your sister."
"Mm." Again, avoided answer. She was quite possibly worse than him. "Then why is it you obsess over her indulgences with your brother? Overprotective, perhaps?"
"He is a man engaged to be married—"
"And she is fifteen."
"Fifteen year olds should know how to behave."
He made a revolted tsk, though not at the idea of his sister and her brother, rather the young woman before him—her audacity. Who was she to speak of Astrid in such an insipid light? Who was she to speak of her at all?
"It is not her fault if an adult man is enticed by her. It says only that the women of this country are...mm, lacking."
"Hence why you marry your own kin. If they are so... enticing."
Her words dripped with sarcasm.
"My brother is far from innocent, but your sister offended a great many people. Are you aware of who he is to wed?"
A'zur peered at her closely. Could it have been her behind the crass markings placed upon his sister's chamber doors? It was plausible. The female certainly harboured enough disdain, but as she'd said, Astrid had offended more than just her.
He retreated from the assumption. "A pious niece of a well respected bishop. Father Conwell. Her name, Constance Durendale, I believe."
"You have done your research, very good. She will be a name for the history books. That is a certainty. It is also a certainty that your sister is completely ignorant of this fact. That is not good."
The marriage of Prince Tristian to this 'pure' female had been something his father failed to inform them before their departure from Thellemere. But the more time A'zur spent here, he failed to understand why when religion was hardly as present here as it was in his homeland, bringing him to wonder just how inexorable the wedding truly was.
He had not told his sister once he'd learned of the fact; already she was holding on by a thread.
"Wi
ll you show me to the passages?"
"Will you tell your sister to behave herself? If you had any sense you would have departed as soon as that incident happened."
"I will relay your message."
She nodded and commenced leading him down the hall, and away from the nobles who turned every now and then to gaze in their direction. Craving to be flies upon the wall. Her destination was an unremarkable door, painted the same emerald as the corridor leading from the garden halls, as if to hide it from sight. Such decor was not uncommon in any form of castle or home.
As she slipped them into the invisible darkness, A'zur relished the final peace and relative quiet as they began their search.
Rather than find his sister or her brother, they found the king and the queen.
~ ASTRID ~
Power. For once in her life she was exercising what had been forever denied to her. She was the being swinging the ball of yarn before a cat, a piece of steak before a dog. It was invigorating, especially when the contrasts between their persons came to mind.
So young compared to him.
So small.
And yet, she gave him this hunger. This game of tease when they were both supposed to be nothing but proper.
The click of the door as she followed his command brought her to grin, for she was so close to seeing her plan come to fruition. She could imagine it now, him looming over her, the two of them caught in their passion so urgently they were not completely nude. If anyone was to pass by, which she highly doubted, they might mistake the chamber for haunted by the intensity of their moans.
That had her laughing more so than before.
"You're so naughty." So was she and she loved it. What fun was there in being good all the time? "Such a naughty prince."
He had yet to peel himself from the observation wall, as though she carried a sickness. Even though his eyes had yet to stray from her, their golden flecks mired with need.
Or perhaps that was not it at all, for now his lips were drawing into a rather wicked smile.
As if her taunt had never been made, he pointed to the dusty bench. "Sit."
She took her time to comply with his instruction and sauntered to the bench. One hand flicked her hair over her shoulder, allowing a greater view of her chest. Not a word was said as she planted herself upon the seat, and she felt little concern for the mess it may make of her clothing for excuses could be provided.
We got a little too involved in the game, perhaps.
A little too involved in another game certainly.
Deliberately, she adopted a stance of being terribly innocent yet terribly knowledgeable. She knew full well what she wanted and where it lay. What it looked like, now that would come as a surprise.
Her tongue ran across the cut of her teeth, while her eyes remained large and wide.
Innocent, yet knowledgeable.
"Grip its ledge," he commanded and his voice was softer, but somehow even more authoritative than before. As it was, he had not glanced from her eyes a second time.
It was a sign that something was to come. Her fingers found the lip and she saw no need for gentle handling.
His member could emerge from his breeches.
He could spread her legs.
She could be pregnant by the time they left the room.
The thought of the plan coming to fruition, coupled with her genuine desire for the man before her led to a moan creeping from her.
Which in turn caused the prince to growl and abandon the wall to stand directly before her, his body tall, the hard definition she'd felt that night in the garden hidden beneath the elite royal vestige. A thick leather tunic of red and gold and a cuffed shift beneath it. Breeches and lace ties and a belt and the tethering to the pants which stared her down just now.
He lifted his hand, and for a moment, it looked as though he would reach for the tether—but instead he reached for her chin and tilted her head back further. "I like it very much when you make that noise."
His hand, impossibly warm in the cool space, trailed a fiery path down her neck, her collarbone, circling just before he made for her breast, where he gave a gentle squeeze. "You'll make it again."
Not a question, but a demand.
It was not compliance, merely a natural response as she moaned again. His hand had a pleasant roughness to it, one appreciated only when the touch came from a man whose rough skin came through hard work with the sword.
Her own skin was soft, silken, yet seemed to react so well.
"More."
And then he rasped a calloused finger over one of her sensitive buds, eliciting more of those moans.
Right before he pinched down hard upon it.
"Sweet Princess Astrid, you never command me, am I understood?"
Her throat went dry as she swallowed. Somehow this excited her even more. An order, when she had enjoyed the authority her body had briefly provided over his most primal senses. If her plan was to work and she was to marry him, then she would fall to his command regularly, and most likely readily.
She nodded. "Yes, Prince Tristian."
He smiled in the dark corridor, his touch gentling into a soothing yet corruptive fiddle. "Very good." His hand began to pay mind to the other breast as he looked to her curiously, persuasively. "Tell me, you say you have not known another man, but have you touched yourself the way I am now?"
Her mouth fell rather ungracefully as she felt the heat, not creep, but flush completely to her cheeks. If she had wished to resist him, she was certain that it would be impossible to do so. Even his crude question had her stomach flipping in anticipation.
Her plan...
Concentration steadily slipped from her control.
She nodded. "And between my..." Her eyes cast down and completed the sentence, though she realised it was quite obvious where she meant.
Before she could lead him further, his other hand was delved in a manner no different from A'zur. Covering her sex while staring at her with a constant flicker of amusement and lust. "Here?"
A surprised squeal slipped from her lips and she nodded, legs parting in welcome invitation.
She recalled full well what it was like to have another touch her there, and she was sure it would feel the same eventually. However, it was a different man, a different intention, one which she was quite ready to receive.
Fingers back to her breast, rolling one of her cold-beaded nipples between them, he appeared all too satisfied with her answers. "So the little hummingbird has grown needy in the night, filling her mind with fantasies while touching herself thus. I'm the naughty one?"
She garbed a soft tone, light, girlish and sweet. A good girl's voice despite having not been a good girl at all. "But I thought you would be happy if I thought of you, and only you, while playing with myself."
"You've known me but for a matter of days. So what was it then, who was it that occupied your mind before me?"
One mention of her darling would spoil the mood. The truth would cause his attention to sour and that would hardly help matters.
"The idea of a dark prince from a foreign land. Do you know of one?"
He kneeled before her, nearly bringing them eye-to-eye. "Perhaps. But he has a reputation that surely the princess must have heard of."
"Maybe that's why she liked him."
She leaned forward and their closeness caused two of him to appear before her. "He spoiled her innocence, but she doesn't mind."
He chuckled softly. "And the pain?"
His hand centered on her chest, forcing her back to the wall. Now he leaned forward, down, and took a nipple between his lips, lavishing with a wet, pleasant tenderness. Then, catching it between his teeth, he nipped sharply, and flicked the bud with the tip of his tongue.
Pain surged through her and she yelped, fingers curling into the edge of the bench.
Then he did it again, pinning her with a lethal yet excited glare. "What of the pain?"
"It also feels..." The turn of her stomach th
at emerged following his earlier petting returned. "Good..."
At that, the prince dragged her to her feet and all but slammed her back against the observation wall, his eyes lit with a dangerous fire, one which promised to burn every ounce of ice within her. Over and over again.
He lowered his head to the crook of her neck, his kiss anything but gentle. "You've likely never beheld a male's manhood, have you?" Guttural, abrasive.
He was not wrong. While she knew of their rod-like appearance in addition to their sensitivity, never before had she glanced at one, not even A'zur's despite having drank in the rest of him many times.
Though beholding one hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. She really only needed it inside her.
But why was she excited at the idea?
"No but... I would like..." A play at shyness. "Is it big?"
"God, help me," he whispered against her, and was he trembling?
Suddenly his fingers made a vicious home in her hair, yanking her head back and forcing the meeting of their gazes. "Are you not destined for another?"
"He's not you." Her breathing quickened as she gazed into the molten pools which had grown so fascinating, even in the short time of them knowing one another. "I told you before, I do not like him. He is not you."
His hold became impliable. "Then untie my breeches."
With a nod she obliged. Each tug of the rich lace was a moment closer to her goal, her security, her success. All that they had done before had been helpful, and yet, it would amount to nothing if he did not take her and fill her with his seed.
She undid the ties with caution, a breath of demure hesitation; she could not just spring upon the thing like a famished dog.
Which was exactly what the prince was doing to her as he hitched the fall of her gown higher with little care for pacing, a force meshing her back against the wall mercilessly.
And his hand was upon the naked reveal of her thigh, her fingers just unthreading the last remaining lace, when a jolting pound on the door commenced.
Before bursting open.
She shrieked. The place was haunted after all.
Astrid couldn't have fled if she wanted, for Tristian did nothing more than still against her, his face still buried in the crook of her neck as he sighed.
Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1) Page 17
