“Verice?” she whispered, sprawled next to him.
The intensity of his silver eyes caught her. “I’m roused, that’s all,” he said tightly. “Do not stop.”
“Oh,” Warna glanced at him, realizing what she’d done. “I’ve never done this before. I’m sorry—”
“I’m not,” Verice said.
“What can I—” Warna started, but Verice reached for her hand before she said another word.
“Finish what you’ve started,” he growled.
And to her amazement, she did, watching as he threw back his head to expose that long, elegant neck. Watching, as his strong warrior body quivered and succumbed to her touch. Watching as he shattered in her hands.
Verice regained his senses to find Warna curled up in his arms, the fabric of her skirts covering his legs. For a moment he enjoyed the pleasant sensation of being sated and relaxed. But then guilt rose up. He tightened his arms around her. “Warna?”
“Verice,” she said against his chest, her breath warm on his skin.
He couldn’t see her eyes, and didn’t know what she was thinking. He cleared his throat to offer his apology. “Warna, forgive me—”
“For what?” she asked.
He frowned. “I meant to see to your pleasure first. Not take my own before you’d had a chance to experience—”
“It was amazing,” she whispered. “That I could do that to you...make you feel that way.” She lifted her head, her eyes glowing in satisfaction. “And there’s more to it, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Verice couldn’t keep his amusement out of his voice. “A lot more. But we’ve no hurry, Warna.”
She frowned. “No more waiting.”
“Impetuous humans,” he teased.
“Staid elves,” she sat up and considered her dress. “It was messier than I anticipated.”
He laughed, letting it shake his entire body. Warna gave him a delighted look.
“Well, there’s a remedy for that,” he said, reaching out to trace her collar around her neck. “You are overdressed for the occasion.” He hooked his finger on the fabric and gave a tug. “Besides, is it not my turn to explore?”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Warna felt the tug of the fabric against her neck, and the heat of his hand through the cloth. As much as she wanted to, as much as she wanted his hands on her skin, she hesitated.
Verice knew it in an instant. “What’s wrong?” he asked, releasing her collar.
She looked away, licking dry lips. “It’s just...in your lifetime, you’ve been with thousands of faelles and—”
His snort was explosive. “Thousands?” Verice choked, clearly amused until he saw her face. “Ah, Warna,” he said, and sat up enough to reach for the bedding that had piled at the end of the bed. With swift movements he pulled her down beside him, and covered them both in warmth.
Warna didn’t resist his tugging. He waited until she’d settled beside him before he spoke. “I admit I am experienced,” Verice’s voice was warm in her ear. “And in my early days when I was a hundred or so, I was fairly wild. But thousands?”
She shrugged, hiding her face within the covers. “I just don’t see how I can compare. Elven women are lovely, and seemingly so perfect.”
“The important word being ‘seemingly’,” Verice said. “Don’t be taken in by appearances, Warna.”
“But how do human women compare?” She rose, letting the blanket slide off her shoulders.
“I wouldn’t know,” Verice said. “You are my first.”
“Oh,” Warna blinked in surprise.
“I have to say,” Verice pulled her back down into his arms. “You are amazing.”
He turned on his side to face her, pulling her close. “Not that I’ve seen much, mind, except when you were—” he stopped himself.
“When I was vomiting,” Warna said ruefully.
“Well, yes,” Verice said, his tone dry and serious. “But even that you did in your own special way.”
Warna couldn’t help laughing.
Verice reached up, and ran his fingers through her hair, tracing over the tops of her ears.
“Would you like to know what I have learned over all the years? That what really matters isn’t the physical attributes or the skills of a lover. The size, the shape, the appearance...that’s secondary. It’s important to find your lover pleasing, but what really matters is the person you are with, and the depth of the feeling you have for them.”
She reached then, to smooth back his hair, and trace the tips of his pointed ears. “Do I please you?”
“Oh yes,” Verice whispered. “And I believe it’s my turn.”
He threw back the blanket, so gloriously naked underneath, and reached for her.
She couldn’t have said where her clothing went. But once it was gone, she reveled in the touch of skin on skin from her head to his toes. Her body couldn’t contain all of these sensations another moment. She reached for him, looking for an anchor in the wildness. Her hands wandered over him, stroking and gliding over every lovely inch.
And his hands, his wonderful hands, caressed every curve of her breasts, her hips, her thighs, lingering between her folds until she writhed beneath him, begging with soundless pleas for so much more.
He held her close, his hand relentless within her depths, and put his lips to her ear. “It’s all right, Warna. Let go. Explore your pleasure for me.”
Her entire body seized, every muscle tight with the pleasure of it all. She cried out, and for long, lovely moments, was lost in white heat and light.
Half-asleep, she felt him move, felt him cleaning her with a soft cloth. She murmured in pleasure as he pulled the blankets over their rapidly cooling bodies.
He settled into her arms, pulling her close, entwining their arms and legs deep in the comfort of the bed. “There’s more?” she whispered, almost half-afraid of the possibility.
“There is,” he chuckled into her hair. “But the delay of pleasure is a pleasure in and of itself.”
“Any more, and I’ll die,” Warna whispered back.
If Verice said anything more, it was lost as she drifted off to sleep.
Verice awoke first, to the hints of dawn coming through the windows, and Warna in his arms.
She radiated warmth, her head on his shoulder and her blonde hair spilling over the pillow. Verice reached and tucked the hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against the soft skin of her neck. Her pulse was warm and steady under his fingers.
She was beyond anything he’d experienced before. He’d though he was gifting her a boon, but in truth she’d given him far, far more.
Amazing in her passion, in her willingness to let him lead, and then in her eagerness to show what she had learned. There was a playfulness to her loving that he’d never encountered before. Maybe it was the fact that she was human.
Or maybe it was just because she was Warna.
He’d not taken her, and he wasn’t going to until he was certain that she was ready. This he could gift to her, and he was determined that they’d take their time.
He pulled himself out of her embrace, and left the warmth of their bed. Warna made a small sound of protest, but didn’t awaken.
Pulling on trous, he went to the outer chamber. The dogs were all sprawled on the hearth rugs. Brindle sat up from the midst of the pack, yawning and blinking at him.
A servant appeared almost immediately. Verice sent a message to Narthing cancelling his normal routine for the morning. It could wait for a while. He also gave instructions not to be disturbed. They couldn’t shut out the world forever; there was too much work to be done. But they could steal a few hours.
As he headed back into the bedchamber, Brindle curled back down with a sigh.
Verice closed the door, and padded back to bed, discarding his trous along the way. He crawled into the warmth of the covers.
Warna was blinking at him sleepily. “All’s well?”
“Very well,” Verice mu
rmured. He stretched out, pulling her warm, unresisting body to his, and claimed her lips in a gentle kiss.
She smiled against his mouth. “Not time to get up yet, is it?”
“Not in the sense you mean,” Verice said, tracing a line of kisses along her neck.
Warna laughed, then matched his every demand with one of her own.
Later, much later, Warna stared down at the account books, her eyes half-closed as she remembered the previous night. And awakening this morning. Remembering Verice’s touch, his skin, his mouth—
Ersal coughed.
She brought herself up with a jerk. “Ersal? Did you say something?”
“Well,” Ersal was looking at his own accounting, trying to hide his amusement and failing. “I did ask a question a few moments ago. Did Janella include new napkins in the order for the table linens?”
Warna blinked. “Did we place that order yet? I didn’t think we had.”
“I’ll check,” Ersal said.
Warna returned to her accounts. But honestly, how was she supposed to be able to work? How was she supposed to focus on anything except how Verice made her feel?
Somehow, she felt like she’d been let in on a huge secret, one that made the entire world feel bigger than she’d ever dreamed. She wanted to sing of it, but she’d never be able to find the words to communicate the experience.
Or that she’d be able to sing in public.
But in private, now. In the privacy of their room, with just she and Verice, she could sing to him, of her feelings, her longings.
She hesitated at that thought.
No, that wasn’t fair. She wouldn’t burden him with those things. She wouldn’t cling. She’d made a bargain and she’d live with the terms. She’d keep her songs to herself, to be sung...later. When the troth was broken. When she’d left this place. After Verice had shared all the physical aspects of lovemaking with her.
Because she did want to know all of it. Verice had awakened her with kisses and touches, and brought her to shuddering pleasure with just his hands. He’d promised more of the same tonight, leaving her sated and gasping in their bed.
He might be determined to move slowly, but Warna had her own feelings on the issue. Her skin tingled at the thought.
She fought to bring her mind back to the task at hand. There were two weeks before the Festival started, and so many decisions had to be made. She needed to be thinking about the work before her, and not about enjoying the time she’d have with Verice.
And wonder what else Verice had to share with her.
“Then there’s the matter of the ale to be ordered,” Ersal’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Given the crowds, I’d thought perhaps two duns, but maybe we should consider three.”
Warna sighed. “Three would probably be best.”
Narthing was pleased to be back in his regular chambers in the barracks. But he was even more pleased to see Lord Verice looking more relaxed.
Not to the degree that he was laughing or smiling. But his shoulders were looser under his brigandine, and his eyes warmer.
At least until he started talking about the security for the Festival with himself and Constable Ricard.
“I want everyone trained,” Verice stood, his arms crossed over his chest. The maps of the barony had been replaced with the schematics of the castle and keep. “I want everyone drilled in responses in case of attack. Everyone, from the clerks to the stable boys. Where to go, what to do.” Verice leaned on the table, his eyes now sharp as daggers. “I’ll not be caught again. Not ever again.”
“Agreed,” Narthing said.
Ricard nodded. “Easy enough to do, Lord Verice. We can see to it over the next few weeks.”
“The Lady Warna, as well,” Verice said. “I’ll train her myself.”
“If they attack, they’ll rue it,” Narthing said.
“It’s not ‘if’, Narthing,” Verice said grimly. “It’s ‘when’.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
It was three days before Warna had a glimmer of a rational thought in her brain.
Yes, she worked with Ersal and the others. Yes, she’d started making decisions about the celebrations. Hopefully, good ones; it wasn’t like she could remember them. Yes, she’d some semblance of sanity, but that was all it was. For in truth, it was the nights in Verice’s arms that seemed the center of her existence.
It wasn’t just the physical aspects, although just the thought of what they’d done, and what they’d do, and what they hadn’t done yet was enough to turn her body into a heated lump of pure desire. Verice was still insisting that they move slowly, pox take the mael. Each night she’d argued, he’d touch her and the argument was over, for all intents and purposes.
No, it wasn’t just that. It was the closeness. The feel of his leg against hers, or the smell of them in the bedding. Or arguing over whether the dogs would sleep in the bed with them.
She’d won. The dogs slept on the floor.
But as glorious as it was, Warna was suddenly counting the days until the Festival of Light and Laughter started. She began to feel a flutter of panic.
Verice was relying on her to find a way to open the Great Hall of the keep, and for the life of her she hadn’t any ideas. She remembered what she’d seen when she’d explored inside, the broken furniture, the dried blood. There had to be a way to honor the dead and yet bring the place back to life, but she wasn’t sure quite how to accomplish that.
The Festival lasted seven nights. Back home, most holidays were a few days at best.
In Tassinic, they’d combined the elven and human traditions into a seven-day long party, and while she applauded the idea, it made her task just that much more overwhelming.
Warna frowned. Hadn’t Ersal said something about a Priest of the Lady at the church in the city? He might have an idea or two, or at least be someone she could talk to about it without fear of raising old sorrows. She wasn’t above asking for help. This was just too important.
Verice entered her sitting room, lifting an eyebrow at the vases spread around the room.
“The gardeners have started on the flowers, trimming some things back,” Warna explained. “I didn’t want the blooms to be wasted.”
“I’ll have to check their work,” Verice said, coming closer, careful not to let his sword hit any of the vases. “I was wondering if you were free, m’lady?” He leaned on the arms of her chair and kissed her. Warna caught her breath at his touch and taste, and returned the kiss with joy.
Verice was breathing deeply when she finally broke away to take in air. “For lunch?” she asked, licking her lips.
“Or other things,” Verice growled.
She reached up, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him down for a kiss that left no doubt as to her answer.
Or availability.
Later, when they sprawled on their bed, sated, and breathless, she asked. “When will you show me the rest? Teach me more?”
“Impetuous human,” he said softly.
“Staid elf,” she whispered back. She curled up, her head on his chest. “Could we make a trip into town? There’s someone I need to talk to.”
“No,” Verice rolled over onto his side, and pulled her close.
“Ersal tells me there is a Priest of the Lady at the church,” Warna placed a kiss on Verice’s collarbone. His skin tasted salty, and she blew a breath over the moist spot.
“Summon him here,” Verice murmured, cupping her breast.
“Verice,” she pushed at him back far enough to look into his eyes. “You don’t summon a Priest of the Lady. You go the church and you approach them with respect and humility,” she started to laugh as he raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s what we poor humans do.”
“Unnecessary and far too dangerous,” Verice said firmly. “I refuse to authorize any trips into Octara.”
They left at dawn.
“Stubborn woman,” Verice grumbled under his breath as he mounted. Warna was already up on her horse.
Her smile was soft, but he could see the triumphant gleam in her eye.
Once she’d won his concession to this little outing, she’d decided on five other tasks that could only be taken care of in the city.
She’d also sent word to the church, asking when it would be convenient to call upon Priest Dorne, who it seemed, kept early hours.
At least he’d managed to set the size of the escort. With any luck, they’d be done with their errands and out of the city before the crowds developed.
“You have the watch, Constable.” he gave a nod to Ricard.
“Aye, m’lord.” Ricard responded, and Verice set his heels to his horse, leading the way. They started off with a clatter of hooves on cobblestones.
As they approached the gate, Warna slowed her horse. Verice shot her a glance. She lifted both eyebrows and tilted her head toward the gate.
He snorted.
She laughed, a lovely light sound in the morning air, and urged her horse through the gates.
The ride down was quick. Verice set a fast pace, and with the streets barely awake, he could keep that pace as they made their way to the church.
They were greeted by a faelle acolyte.
“Priest Dorne?” Verice asked as he dismounted, and went to assist Warna.
The acolyte smiled. “He’s in the bakery, m’lord,” she said with obvious delight.
“Ah,” Verice said. “We can wait until—”
“Nay, m’lord.” The acolyte’s smile grew even wider. “He’ll be some time. I’m to take you to him.”
To Verice’s surprise, Dorne wasn’t supervising the bakers.
He was baking.
“Welcome, Lord High Baron, Lady Warna.” Dorne was a small, dark human with olive skin and a bit of a paunch. He was dressed in the traditional black robes of a Priest of the Lady, but with an apron over top, and a dusting of flour overall. “May I offer you kav?”
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