by Grace Draven
He framed her face in his hands. “So I gathered.” He smoothed away the lines between her eyebrows with his lips. It’s not a failing, Ildiko.”
“I know, but—” She broke off to return the kiss he pressed to her mouth.
“Consider it your gift to me,” he said, noting her confusion. “I have the opportunity to be your teacher and show you the pleasure of that particular act, one of the finest between a man and a woman.”
She relaxed under him once more. Her knees clamped against his sides. He exhaled a surprised grunt that changed to a groan when her hips lifted to rub against the erection that was robbing the blood from every other part of his body. Her hands glided down his back to cup his buttocks and keep him in place.
Her heavy-lidded expression returned, one Brishen quickly recognized as her passion for him and one he found more seductive by the moment. “What will I teach you?” she asked, hips thrusting, pressing, tempting him toward madness.
“Patience,” he said in guttural tones that made a mockery of the word. His arm slid under her buttocks, lifted until her hips tilted toward him. “Endurance.” His limbs shook with the strain of holding back. Ildiko’s hands moved to his arms, clutched his biceps. The mollusk-pink of her skin deepened, blending with the amaranthine stain. His cock nudged the entrance to her body, slick and hot. “Ecstasy,” he whispered and slid deep.
They gasped in unison, and Ildiko arched in his embrace, her short nails digging into his arms. Drowning in the pleasure of being inside his wife, feeling slippery muscles gripping him, drawing him ever deeper, Brishen fought to breathe, to pause. Patience. Endurance. And oh gods, the ecstasy.
He settled them both and waited, even as the waiting killed him. “Ildiko?”
Ildiko gave him a quick smile. Her hands abandoned his arms for his lower back. She kissed him, tongue flicking over his lower lip. Brishen pulsed inside her, and her smile widened. “I’m fine, my lovely prince,” she said and kissed him a second time. “Don’t stop.” Her clasp on his back tightened, and a soft moan threaded her voice. “It feels too good to stop.”
Grateful and relieved, Brishen needed no further reassurance. She was fire in his arms, hot and sweet. Her moans and softly worded encouragements, the feel of her surrounding him as he thrust inside her—slow and deep, shallow and fast—destroyed any lingering coherent thought he possessed.
Every near withdrawal had her clawing at his back; every hard pump of his hips made her croon her pleasure in his ear. Brishen angled his hips, a minute change in his position. Ildiko’s eyes grew wide, and she emitted a strangled sound.
Brishen froze, horrified. He’d hurt her. He stared down at her, eyes equally as wide. “What’s wrong?”
She held his hips prisoner when he made to pull out of her. “No!” Her legs flexed on him. “Do it again.”
“Do what?” He gawked at her, bewildered. She didn’t act as if he hurt her.
“That thing with your hips,” she said and wriggled hers to coax him into action.
He tried to recall exactly what he did. The angle, a mere shift in his body that forced his pelvis down onto hers and stroked a different spot with each thrust. Brishen repeated the motion, and Ildiko did her best to climb up his body.
His jaw dropped. “That?”
She nodded frantically, her thighs clamping so tightly against his torso, his muscles protested. “Again,” she commanded him between pants. “Do it again.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” he teased, exultant that he could make his wife burn the way she made him burn.
Whispered affections, drugging kisses and the steady rock of hips: Brishen balanced on the edge of release, struggling to read Ildiko’s ever-changing expressions as she met his thrusts and moaned her pleasures.
She suddenly stiffed, her arms tensing as her fingernails carved tiny crescent moons into his skin. Her moans flattened to harsh gasps, and her eyes closed. “Brishen. Brishen.” She chanted his name, and whether it was a desperate prayer or affectionate curse, it didn’t matter to him. Ildiko came apart in his arms, her body flushed and hot, and arched until he thought he’d hear her spine crack.
The sleek muscles gripping his cock tightened and pulsed with her release. Brishen buried his face in her neck and surrendered his control. His groans chorused with her gasps as he came hard inside her.
His climax rolled through him, leaving him both blissful and utterly stripped of vigor. His heart pounded in his chest, and he sucked in sweet gulps of air like a man saved from a drowning. Were Ildiko a Kai woman, he’d collapse on her, letting her take his full weight. He braced on his elbows instead and raised his head to regard his silent wife.
The flush to her skin had receded a little, though her chest rose and fell in shallow pants. She regarded him with an expression in her eyes even he could read: stunned amazement. She opened her mouth, closed it and opened it again only to say nothing.
Brishen brushed the tip of his nose across hers. “Breathe, Ildiko,” he said between his own short gasps. “Just breathe.”
She exhaled a strand of his hair away from her face. Her smile held the smug satisfaction of a cat that had caught a particularly juicy mouse. “That was neither awkward nor messy.”
His eyebrows climbed, and he tucked his hips even closer to hers to stay inside her. “Oh, it will get messy, wife, the moment we move.”
One small heel roamed up his calf to his knee. She traced his cheekbones with her fingertips. “I don’t mind,” she said softly.
“Nor do I.” He kissed her, and she kissed him back, her mouth working its magic so that his blood heated once more, and his cock hardened inside her.
He took her a second time as the sun marched west and then a third when they were both drowsy and exhausted from their lovemaking and lack of sleep. The third time was a slow melding of bodies and low sighs. When it was over, Brishen rolled to his back with Ildiko draped over him. She was asleep before he could cover them haphazardly with the bed linens.
He followed her into sleep only to be awakened what seemed like moments later by a brisk knock at his door. Those moments must have been more like hours. The candle he kept lit for Ildiko had melted into a pool of wax, the flame extinguished. Full darkness enveloped the room, and the air had grown colder. Ildiko was nowhere in sight, and he frowned.
The knock came again. Brishen rubbed at his scratchy eyes and sat up. “What?” he barked at his annoying visitor.
“Your Highness, you’re past the gloaming. You can’t sleep anymore.” Anhuset’s admonishment was muffled by the door’s thick wood.
Brishen scowled and swung out of bed to pad naked across the room. He slid the bolt aside and yanked the door open to the sight of his cousin’s smirk and his personal servant’s flinch. “What are you doing here?” he snapped.
Her gaze made a slow journey from the top of his head to his feet. “Cousin or not, you’re a fine figure of a man.” Her smirk deepened at his impatient growl. “Etep here fetched me. He said you didn’t respond to his calls or knocks. He thought you might be ill.” She looked past him to the bed and its rumpled sheets. “Obviously he worried for nothing. You’ve only been conquered.”
Brishen bared his teeth at her. “Don’t you have something to do other than vex me?”
She shrugged, unconcerned by his forbidding mood. “Not nearly as much as you do and more time to do it. The Beladine lord is due to arrive. The manor is in an uproar preparing for his visit.”
He groaned and raked his hands through his hair. “Poor timing,” he muttered to himself. He pointed a finger at Anhuset. “I’m not looking for your agreement.” She and Etep followed him into the chamber when he trekked back to the bed and pulled on the thin trousers he’d discarded earlier. Ildiko’s nightrail was gone, vanished like its owner. “Where is Ildiko?”
“Unlike you, your hercegesé is awake, dressed, and elbow-deep in supervising the preparations for your guests. And here I thought humans weaker than the Kai.” She flashed him a fanged gr
in, her eyes sparking bright with amusement.
Brishen growled. His cousin reveled in her chance to flense him with her mockery and draw a little blood—revenge for him ordering her to attend tonight’s dinner and the dancing that followed. He allowed her the indulgence, too tired and sated to do more than shoo her off with a flick of his hand and a sour “Go away before I have you flogged.” Her laughter drifted to him, even after she and Etep left his room, closing the door behind them.
He wasn’t alone long. Etep reappeared, leading a parade of servants carrying buckets of water to fill the bathing tub in the corner. One built the fire in the hearth. The servant bowed to his master. “A cold water bath tonight, Herceges. We don’t have time to heat that much water.”
Brishen shrugged. He lost count of the number of dousings he’d had in the icy waters of a lake or mountain stream. He’d save the hot water bath for a more leisurely time when he didn’t have to rush and Ildiko could share with him. The images of such a scenario banished the sleepy fog shrouding his mind. He stripped and hopped into the tub, allowing himself one hard shiver before submerging in the cold water to scrub himself clean.
In less than an hour he was dried, dressed and headed to the great hall. His chest swelled with pride at the sight. His servants had outdone themselves and brought Saggara’s great hall back to the days when it was the summer palace of a Kai king. More torches were lit for the benefit of their human guests and the trestle tables draped in embroidered cloths dyed in jeweled shades of cerulean and crimson, nettle-green and aubergine, and the coveted amaranthine that was the greatest source of his people’s wealth. The tables were set with the costly ceramics carried over the mountains via caravan and goblets made of silver mined out of the Serpent’s Teeth hills far to the south.
Not a speck of dust dared to collect in the corners, and the tapestries hanging on the walls had been taken down, beaten clean and rehung to tell their stories of an ancient past—Kai battles won and magic unleashed.
The scents drifting from the kitchens made Brishen’s empty stomach rumble and his mouth water. He had no idea what the cooks would serve. Though she was human in a Kai household, its maintenance and organization was Ildiko’s domain. He knew his place in the order of things, and in this, his only requirement were to stay out of the way, praise her efforts and show up on time to eat the food she ordered prepared. He only prayed she didn’t order potatoes.
His steward approached him. Mesumenes was Saggara’s steward long before Djedor gave it to Brishen. He knew it better than anyone—every stone, every corner, every roof tile. Loyal to the estate more than to any of its owners, he had patiently mentored Brishen into becoming a capable overlord and did the same for Ildiko when she arrived as its new mistress. He bowed. “Does this meet with your approval, Your Highness?”
Brishen nodded and clapped Mesumenes on the back. “Very much so. You and the servants have outdone yourselves.”
“The hercegesé’s hand is in this as well. She knew what would please and impress humans.”
Brishen complimented Mesumenes a second time and continued his tour of the manor. There were many, many benefits to having a human wife, or at least his human wife. He would thank her for her insight when he saw her. If he managed not to lift her skirts while he did so, it would be a testament to his control. His need for her ran like molten streams just under his skin. His cold bath had dampened his ardor only so long. He missed her and wanted her in his bed once more—preferably now.
It wasn’t to be, and he distracted himself by inspecting the bailey and training yard and ignoring Anhuset’s snide comments when he came across her saddling her horse in preparation to ride out and meet the Beladine party at the entrance to the estate road.
She wore ceremonial military leathers and beneath those a pearl colored tunic over teal trousers spun of silk. Brishen wondered how many times she cursed him while dressed in the formal clothing reserved for court and which she hated.
He twisted the knife. “You look beautiful.”
Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. Brishen kept his gaze on her dagger which she toyed with at her waist. “I don’t understand why I have to attend this thing. It’s a dinner with a Beladine warlord. More court maneuverings and double talk with sly innuendo and hidden meaning. Ask me to meet him in battle, and I will happily comply. This though...I hate this.”
Brishen sympathized with his cousin’s sentiment. He wasn’t fond of such gatherings either, but they weren’t at court. And while Serovek’s loyalty lay with a kingdom displeased with the Kai at the moment, he had always been a friend to Brishen. Until they met on a battlefield—and he prayed that would never come to pass—they would invite each other to dinner, socialize and trade valuable information no spy could ever retrieve from bribed sources.
“This isn’t court,” he said. “And you need to be there because you are my second and an important member of my household. Your presence is expected.” He didn’t mention that Serovek had asked after her when they traveled to High Salure to dine with him. Sha-Anuset was his trusted lieutenant and a woman of exceptional martial skill and leadership abilities. Had she been human, Brishen had no doubt Serovek would have attempted to lure her away to act as one of his commanders.
“I refuse to dance,” she proclaimed in a final show of rebellion and swung into the saddle.
Brishen shrugged. “That is your choice.” His lips twitched. “The last time I recall being forced to dance with you, you crushed every one of my toes. We’ll consider it a favor if you just watch this time.”
She glared at him and nudged her horse into a brisk trot toward the barracks where the rest of the escort awaited her.
Brishen returned to the house and made his way to Ildiko’s room. He could hear the gentle peaks and troughs of female conversation through the door. His knock was met with silence before a set of footsteps approached and the door swung open. Sinhue bowed and motioned him inside.
Ildiko sat on a stool before a looking glass. Dressed as a Kai noblewoman, she wore the split skirt-tunic and trousers in the dark colors she typically preferred—this time a combination of brown dark as tea steeped long in a pot and lustrous amber that shimmered in the candlelight.
She met his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. Her face was paler than usual, marred by lavender shadows under her eyes and the amaranthine splash edging her jaw. Her fiery hair was partially up, bound into braids woven with tiny pearls. She was stunning, and Brishen’s breeches grew uncomfortably tight the longer he stared at her.
“I think we still have a little time, yes?” She indicated the servant with a tilt of her head. “Sinhue is almost finished with my hair.”
Sinhue offered another bow to Brishen before skirting around him to return to her mistress. Her nimble fingers worked magic with a comb, and in no time Ildiko’s hair was coiffed, beaded and pinned. The servant left them alone then, a knowing look on her face as she eased out of the room, leaving the door open.
Ildiko rose from the stool to face Brishen and spread her arms. “What do you think? Presentable for our guests?”
Brishen narrowed the distance between them until they were toe to toe. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the tip of her earlobe. Even though he didn’t touch her beyond that small caress, he felt her shiver. “Beautiful, though even more so without clothes.” They smiled at each other. “Regrets?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only that I fell asleep.”
He nuzzled the soft hairs at her temple. “Who cares about the guests. Come to my bed. Now.”
He knew she’d say no. It was a foregone conclusion, and the worst thing she could do was say no. But if she said yes...
She turned her head toward him until her cheek pressed against his. “You’ll ruin my hair,” she teased.
“And you’re ruining my peace,” he countered. He laid his hand on her slender waist. “What say you?”
“Later,” she replied. “We’re the hosts, Brishen. We can’t be
late.”
He sighed, stepped away from temptation, and offered his arm. “Let’s get this over with then.” He escorted her into the hall and toward one of the staircases that led to the great hall.
Ildiko squeezed his arm. “I don’t miss the Haradis court, but I do miss your court garb. You will be the handsomest man in the room.”
Brishen gave her a small smile. “You mean the handsomest Kai.” She had earlier complimented Serovek’s looks when asked. In her eyes, he would be the finer looking of them.
Her mouth turned down a little. “No,” she said. “The handsomest man.”
“Lord Pangion will be there.”
Ildiko shrugged. “So? My opinion remains unchanged.”
He halted abruptly and hauled Ildiko into his arms. She gasped, then sighed when he kissed her. Her arms slid over his shoulders to play with the long braid of hair he’d queued at his neck.
Brishen forgot about time, about guests, about dinner, about the world around him. He cursed his inability to kiss her the way she kissed him—that soft mating of tongues and lips so sensual and alluring, she made his head swim.
He groaned when the warning peal of the gate bell rang throughout the estate, signaling the arrival of visitors. Ildiko’s blue eyes had darkened once more, and her lips were red. Her arms slid off his shoulders, and she put some much needed distance between them. “We’ll never make it to the hall if we keep doing this.”
“I don’t view that as a problem,” he groused.
“I don’t either, but others will.” She tugged on his arm. “Come, Your Highness. We need to make our grand entrance.”
Brishen schooled his features into a polite mask, placed his wife’s hand over his and escorted her toward the hall. A long, long night awaited him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Standing this close to him, Ildiko was struck by Serovek's impressive size. He was a big man—a little taller than Brishen—with massive shoulders and long, muscular legs. He looked as if he could crush anvils with his bare hands. She wondered if his gregarious personality contributed even more to the sense of physical power he exuded.
