A slew of hands lifted, and the instructor pointed out a long-haired youth at the back of the room.
“We go back to the Earth, Mother Marjoram.”
“Excellent. And what does that mean?”
“It means that we are purified. That the Earth absorbs our imperfections and returns us cleansed and ready to join society.”
Miach looked at Pelagia and found the guard gazing at the student in disbelief. “What do they do, bury them alive?”
“I can’t imagine they do that,” Miach replied, but he was deeply troubled by what he’d heard. “After all, the boys return to society, so it can’t be something that extreme…”
Pelagia shook his head. “This is such a wonderful place,” he muttered. “So peaceful. I don’t want to believe that the women here would harm the men, but it almost sounds like they’re brainwashing them.”
“I’d like to talk this over with Temair,” Miach decided. Perhaps she’d learned something from Mother that explained this training. Or perhaps this was something she needed to be made aware of.
As they turned to leave the school complex, a furtive movement at the end of the hallway caught Miach’s eye. A man with long, muddy-brown hair was talking intently to a smirking Earth youth.
The boy laughed and set his hands on his hips. “It will serve her right,” he sneered. “Thinking she knows everything…”
The older man grabbed his arm and hushed him. Then he tossed his long hair over his shoulder, and guided the youth down the hallway in the opposite direction.
Something in the man’s gesture tugged at Miach, but he couldn’t place quite what. It was only as he was returning to the hogan that he realized that the man’s body language reminded him of his little brother. Miach snorted derisively. As if “Vashti the Vain” would ever be seen in plain brown cotton, or allow his silky hair to hang in such dull tangles.
Miach looked around the empty chamber with an impatient sigh. He’d have to wait for Temair and the others to return before he could discuss what he’d seen and heard, and try to make sense of the contrasts that made up the Earth Lands.
* * *
“Look at how beautiful this is!” Nuriel was holding up a blanket woven in deep orange and gold. “So soft, too,” she added, rubbing the cloth over her cheek.
Mother smiled. “Our artists, both male and female, toil for years to master their crafts before they are allowed to sell their goods in the public markets.” The weaver, a man who looked to be well into his fifth decade, refused when Nuriel tried to return the blanket.
“It is my honor to make a gift to your Highness,” he insisted in a soft voice, eyes cast to the ground.
“It is my honor to accept!” Nuriel’s blonde hair fairly bounced as she hugged the cloth to her breasts.
Temair smiled as Mother guided them to another booth in the market place. The tranquility of the afternoon was emphasized by the tranquility of the people she met. It was almost unnerving. Perhaps she was too used to the minor skirmishes between herself and her foster sisters, or the low level snark between Miach and Dathan, but the absolute peace and agreeability of the Earth folk was beginning to strike her as a bit unnatural.
The next booth they passed was filled with smoky incense. It was actually more of an alcove, Temair realized, containing an oddly constructed chair where a young man was tipped back. His feet were propped in what looked like stirrups, and his legs were spread wide, exposing every intimate inch of him save his cock which was covered by a cloth draped across his lap.
“What on Merab?” An elderly woman sat on a stool between his legs holding a thick peg that seemed to have a number of needles on one end. She dipped the needles into a small cup of dark liquid, laid them against the tender skin of the man’s inner thigh, and whacked the peg hard with a wooden mallet.
Temair flinched, and felt Nuriel do the same, but the man in the chair -- which now seemed more like a torture device -- didn’t flinch; he just gritted his teeth and clenched his hands until his knuckles showed white through the skin.
The old woman worked quickly, but carefully, placing the needles, slamming the ink into the male’s delicate flesh in an intricate, swirling pattern.
“What is she doing to that poor man?” Temair questioned, horrified and fascinated by what she was seeing.
“Why, he’s getting his marriage tattoo. When a man is claimed by a wife, he’s given a tattoo of her household sigil. It’s a concrete sign that he belongs to her, and it’s placed on the seat of fertility as an offering and a promise that all he is belongs to her.”
Temair followed Mother away from the alcove, lost in troubled thought. The idea of the Earth males being all but branded, almost like cattle, disturbed her greatly.
“Are they willing?” she asked suddenly.
Mother turned to look at her in puzzlement. “Willing for what?”
“To be marked,” Temair clarified. “Are they willing to get their marriage tattoos?”
“Of course they are. It would never enter their minds to decline. It’s their responsibility to take their wife’s mark.”
“But…” Before Temair could form a protest, a loud commotion split the peaceful scene.
“Mama, mama, mamaaaaaaa!” A small, curly-haired girl went hurtling across the street several yards ahead of them, and Temair instinctively moved toward her in concern. Before she managed more than a step, the child tripped and went skidding in the dust.
Immediately her joyful cries transformed into agonized, heart-wrenching wails. Everyone on the street headed toward the weeping child, but it was a giant of a man who reached her first.
Somehow Temair had missed seeing him, though how that could be she couldn’t imagine. Now, Elan took up her entire focus. This huge man, his family’s “Mountain,” stooped to scoop up the little girl with such gentleness and tender care that Temair felt her heart twist.
His voice was a low, deep rumble. Temair couldn’t hear what he said, but his words seemed to soothe the child, who snuggled comfortably against his wide chest.
All at once his body seemed to go on alert, and his head snapped up. His gaze moved unerringly to hers, and Temair could practically feel the spark. The beautiful gold streaks in his deep green eyes flared, and Temair was fairly certain her eyes did the same. The little girl in his arms patted Elan’s cheek enthusiastically, demanding his attention, and the big man reluctantly returned his focus to her.
Without thought or consideration Temair turned to Mother and spoke three words. “I want him.”
Chapter Six
They were sitting among a grand meadow lined with trees and a small creek of water. Mother’s entire family was present, as well as all three of Temair’s Consorts and Nuriel. Mother had explained that before a young man was given in marriage, his entire family had to witness that it was a good match, and that the family of the bride was encouraged to witness the fact, too.
It was another of the quaint Earth customs that left Temair with an ambivalent feeling. While she approved the care taken in making a marriage match, she was troubled at the idea that Earth males weren’t trusted to form their own relationships.
Nuriel didn’t seem to share her reservations. The lovely blonde princess was sitting upon a richly woven blanket flanked by two young Earth males. They were seeing to her every need, making sure her cup was full and that she was comfortable.
Temair couldn’t help but smile. Her foster sister was enthralled by what she considered paradise. Nuriel had always looked at life through the eyes of a romantic, and this experience was fulfilling her all her dreams.
Dathan and Zevan had joined with several of Elan’s brothers, and were playing a game that involved balls and sticks and tackling each other to the ground with bone-crunching regularity, while Miach heckled them mercilessly from the sidelines. She felt her smile grow; nothing had ever filled her with as much joy as seeing her family happy and together.
That brought her attention to the potential newest mem
ber of her family.
Elan sat next to her on her blanket, his large body providing shade from the bright sun. Periodically clusters of children, his nieces and nephews, ventured over to crawl over him like a giant play structure. It was obvious he loved the children; he tickled and teased and cuddled until Temair was overwhelmed with the image of Elan with their children, his care and affection aimed at a little girl with fiery hair and glowing blue eyes, or a brown-skinned, gray-eyed little boy.
When he wasn’t acting as a climbing aid to his nieces and nephews, Elan was utterly attentive to Temair. He invariably offered her the choicest bits of fruit, even feeding her particularly succulent pieces by hand. He was amazingly gentle as he placed each piece of fruit on her tongue.
She closed her eyes and chewed slowly, enjoying the food and the attention, but when she tried to return the pleasure, Elan stopped her, tracing his thumb against the tender skin beside her mouth. “It’s my privilege to tend to you, Princess.”
Temair shivered every time his thumb or finger stroked her skin. The same chemistry that had flared into being when their eyes had met on the calm village street simmered below the surface now. As their picnic progressed, the simmering heat was beginning to drive her crazy. In spite of her attempts to draw him into conversation, or to lure him into slightly more intimate touches, except for when he was interacting with the children Elan was frustratingly quiet and reserved. For whatever reason the big man seemed overly shy and she didn’t know if it was because of her, or because of the many people surrounding them.
Coming to a quick decision, Temair stood and held out her hand to him. “I wish to spend some time alone with you.” Okay, they wouldn’t be totally alone; Miach had already sent some silent signal to the Royal Guard, and she knew the minute they left the group Darmon and Pelagia would discreetly follow them.
Elan’s eyes darted to his mother who merely nodded her head, and Temair subdued a moment at irritation that this grown man should need his mother’s permission to go for a walk with her.
“I am honored, Princess,” he murmured, standing to take her hand. His palm alone was larger than her whole hand, and feeling his thick, callused fingers close around hers sent a shiver of awareness over her flesh. Savoring the little thrill, Temair led him into the trees. They walked in silence for awhile, pausing occasionally when Elan pointed out a doe and her fawn in the distance, and again when he plucked a delicate white flower to tuck into her hair. Finally they came upon a grassy clearing dappled with the sunshine peeking through the trees.
She sat, kicking off her shoes so she could bury her toes in the velvety grass and he followed, sending her an almost puzzled look.
“Finally we can talk alone,” she said with an exaggerated sigh and a low laugh. This drew an answering smile from the man, and Temair had to catch her breath at the sight. Elan was truly beautiful to behold, teeth flashing white in his bronzed face and green eyes glowing with amber and gold sparks. So much about the man spoke to her on levels far beyond the physical, but she needed to understand his reticence before she could even consider joining with him.
Watching his expression intently, she reached out and touched his chin forcing him to meet her gaze. “Okay, we need some rules here. I don’t like it when you don’t meet my eyes.”
“But it’s a sign of disrespect…”
Temair cut him off. “You are an Earth Lord, and more importantly, you are a noble man. It’s no sign of disrespect for you to meet my gaze like an equal.”
“Princess,” a thread of humor laced deep voice, “no one is your equal.” He paused and, to her great relief, met her gaze with his own. The amber lights glowing in the deep green depths seemed to pierce straight through to her soul, and Temair’s heart began to pound. “But I understand what you’re saying.”
Satisfied for the moment, Temair lay back on the cushiony grass, looking up at Elan with equal parts interest and appreciation. “Tell me, Elan, do you enjoy the company of my Consorts?”
“Yes, Princess, I do.”
“They seem quite taken with you, too.” He gave another shy smile, and Temair found herself wondering how he tasted. “If you could have anything in the world, do anything you chose, what would you do?”
Elan frowned, not as if he didn’t understand the question, but as if he didn’t understand why she’d ask such a thing. Temair sighed. This was going to be more complicated than she’d expected.
* * *
For a moment, Elan wondered if the Princess was testing him, trying to catch him stepping above his position, or trying to trap him into saying something inappropriate. But that seemed so out of character for her that, finally, he had to accept that she really was interested in what he preferred.
“It’s always been my pleasure to serve my family,” he offered cautiously. Her scowl told him that wasn’t the answer she’d been looking for.
“That’s very admirable,” she allowed, “but there’s much more to life than service. What do you enjoy doing for yourself?”
“That is what I do for myself. The life of an Earth male is one of service. We discover our talents, and our pleasure in life comes from developing them for the good of the community.”
“You never do anything just for you? Just because you want to and not because someone else requires it?”
Elan felt his calm demeanor begin to crack. Of course he had selfish thoughts, selfish desires. But a true Earth male, a true Earth Lord, suppressed his own desires for the good of the community. Surly the Princess understood this.
“Princess, it would be futile and self-abusive for me to spend time wishing for that which I cannot have. I know my place, and I’m content to fulfill my duty.”
“So, you have no opinion one way or the other whether I choose you for my final Consort?”
“I would be greatly honored if you should choose me.” What else could he say? He couldn’t exactly beg her to choose him, no matter how much he might want to.
Apparently that wasn’t the correct answer, because the Princess sat up with a frustrated hiss. “Elan, I don’t want a Consort who’s honored to be with me. I want a husband who chooses to be with me. A man who desires me with every breath of his being, and who will fight to have me.”
“I don’t know how to answer you,” he finally muttered, unable to keep from casting his eyes down again. “I know what I’m supposed to say, but that doesn’t seem to be what you want to hear.”
She rose to her knees and cupped his face in her hands. Her skin was soft and cool, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes to savor the brief contact.
“I want to hear what you think, what you feel.” She urged his head up, compelling him to meet her eyes. “I won’t choose a Consort who doesn’t want me, Elan, no matter how honored he might be. I won’t choose you if you don’t want me.” She lowered her hands, resting them on her knees. “Tell me what you want, Elan.”
For the first time, Elan allowed himself a brief flicker of selfishness. “Princess, I want you.”
* * *
“Kiss me, Elan.”
He seemed to hesitate until Temair urged him on by leaning forward. He bent his body low, placing his mouth upon hers. The kiss was light and sweet and when he would have pulled back she grabbed him around the neck and drew him back to her.
Her tongue darted out to taste his lower lip, his rich scent filled her nose and she pushed her tongue further until he opened his mouth. His large hands came to pull her on top of him. She continued the kiss, playing with his tongue, moaning as he followed suit. She shivered as she felt his cock rise, and rise and rise along her thigh. She imagined the thick, healthy length of him filling her pussy, and felt a rush of liquid fyre between her legs.
He made no other move, though, just kissed her long and slow until she thought she’d lose her mind. Finally her frustration got the best of her. Sitting up on his pelvis she demanded, “What is it that will bring you pleasure?”
His eyebrow rose as though he were c
onfused. “This,” he answered tentatively. “Feeling you shiver in my arms gives me pleasure.”
She growled, wanting to beat his chest. “I want to feel you shiver in my arms! What will bring you that much pleasure?”
“I… I don’t know.” Only the genuine confusion in his eyes kept Temair from screaming in frustrated passion. “Isn’t it enough for me to pleasure you?”
“No, Elan. I will not direct my Consorts, not in life and certainly not in bed. You must learn to tell me what it is that you want, and sometimes even take it without asking. That’s what will bring me the most pleasure.”
He put his hands behind his head in thought, studying her with an intensity that lit fyres at her core. When he spoke, his voice was low and heated. “I want to see your breasts. I want to taste them.”
Thank the Mother, Temair thought as she quickly pulled down her loose-fitting bodice until her breasts were freed. She held the heavy globes in her hands like an offering. “If this is what you want, then come and get it.” She giggled before hopping off of him and taking off through the trees.
She heard him directly behind and wasn’t surprised when she was captured around the waist and tumbled carefully to the ground. This time Elan took the top position, moving one large thigh between her legs. He ground his knee against her pussy and she moaned and clamped her thighs tightly around his leg.
All his hesitation seemed to be gone. He sucked one of her nipples into his mouth strongly, flicking his tongue against the sensitized bud. She wrapped one hand around his neck and the other around his bald head, marveling at the soft, velvety feel of his skin. He grunted and rubbed his smooth cheek against her full breast, then moved his mouth to her other nipple, tasting it as thoroughly as he had the first.
With one last stroke of his silky scalp, she moved one hand down his body until she could reach the tip of his cock. Wrapping her hand around the head through his breeches, she stroked in a circular motion, moaning a little as she felt the tip get wet.
The Queens of Merab 4 Temair’s Earth Page 5
