Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  The more she turned it over in her mind, the more Edmerka realized it was the only kindness she would get. "Very well, I agree," she said in a small voice. She let the Traveler Prince pull her gently to her feet. His mother licked a finger and traced a sigil on Edmerka's left hip, to her disgust; it glowed silver until the spit dried. The Queen's son led the Princess to his caravan as the Travelers hooted. To Edmerka's surprise, the Queen scolded them: "Hush! It's difficult enough for her."

  Standing naked in the autumn chill left Edmerka grateful to be inside. The tiny caravan had the same barrel ceiling as the Queen's, and the same fold-out table. An elaborately carved and painted lintel framed a bigger bed built into the back atop low cabinets, a thick, surprisingly luxurious eiderdown covered the mattress. She sat down hard on it, sniveling, her arms crossed to hide her breasts; she felt his eyes, his hands, his breathing. The Princess kept her eyes on the floor. "Well?" she said.

  "My name is Connin. I won't hurt you," he said.

  She scoffed. "You won't hurt me. What do you think you're doing?"

  "I think I'm doing you a kindness. Better I should do this than the first stranger you meet."

  "You are a stranger!" she said.

  He sat down on the bed next to her and coaxed her arms down. His passion swelled in her, and her breasts ached. "I am a stranger who won't beat you, or keep you in a brothel, or kill you," he said, his bad eye swiveling wildly. He slid a rough, thrilling hand up her thigh. "I'm a stranger who will take this one gift from your body and give you forgetfulness in return. I know you feel how much I want you--you're shivering."

  "It's cold," she said, shifting on the bed.

  "Then let me warm you."

  Her pulse fluttered as his hand traced the curve of her hip. Fingers brushed her thick hair back over her shoulders, and traced feather-light along her collarbone. She wanted him to crush her in his strong hands, she wanted to strip his clothes away and lie skin to skin, she wanted to feel his mouth on her breasts--his desire had become hers. "How willing must I be?"

  "Willing enough," he said.

  "Then get it over with," she whimpered, squeezing her eyes tight. "Just be about it, get it over with!" She felt his hot breath on her face, and then he kissed her. No man had ever kissed her before; his lips were softer than she expected, and she leaned into him, his hands cradling her head.

  "Your cheeks are on fire," Connin murmured between kisses. "They will burn through my palms."

  "I'm so ashamed," she wept.

  He pulled her closer, and moved his mouth to her neck. He bit her gently, and she moaned aloud as he sucked at her skin. "The only shame in your life is the way you've behaved until now," he said, pushing her down on his bed. "Perhaps this will teach you some overdue humility, but there's no shame in being enchanted, Edmerka."

  "Don't call me by name!" she said. "Please, don't call me by name!"

  Connin stopped her pleading with his tongue; it slid deliciously across the roof of her mouth. He covered her body with his, her nipples rubbing against the coarse linen of his tunic. She brushed them against him over and over, unable to fend off the impulse. He rolled briefly to one side, unfastened his leggings, and tugged his tunic over his head; his skin felt cool against her, and she pulled him to her, unwilling but desperate for whatever would end this burning. "What do you know about lying with a man?" he said.

  "Nothing," she gasped. "I've never even seen a man's body."

  "Give me your hand." He wrapped her fingers around his length. "That's what a man feels like." Edmerka clutched at it, thrilled and terrified at the hardness under the soft, loose skin. He licked and sucked at her nipples, and she cried out as each tug sent exquisite jolts through her body. He smelled of salty musk, dry wood, campfire smoke, and leather, his beard brushed the underside of her breasts: overwhelming, foreign maleness, all of it. She felt lascivious, helpless, and horribly alive. When his fingers slipped between her legs, she cried out in need and humiliation.

  "Do you feel that? I do. You're dripping for me. Have you ever touched yourself there? No? Here." His thumb brushed against her clitoris, and suddenly all emotion and sensation condensed into that one little spot. He brushed it again as she clutched at him, at the coverlet, at the air. He chuckled low in his chest and latched onto her nipple, still stroking her. The sensation grew, and she cried out to Amma for help. "Don't be afraid," he whispered against her breast. "Give in."

  "What's going to happen? I'm going to die!" Connin's thumb moved faster and faster, and he pushed a single finger into her; she screamed, thrashing in his arms. Blackness gathered at the corners of her eyes until it darkened her vision completely, then flashed into hot, hot white.

  When sight returned, sweat covered her. She panted, limbs loose and trembling. "You're alive, never more," smiled Connin. "That is called spending, sweetheart." He centered himself between her legs, forcing them roughly apart, and she groaned in shame and anticipation. She had lost, she couldn't fight it, she didn't want it, she wanted it. "It will hurt, but only a moment." He pushed, breaking past her maidenhead before she completely realized he'd entered her.

  He hadn't lied. She felt a sharp pain, but the unfamiliar, uncomfortable stretching faded horrifically into pleasure. "Mine, Princess. Just this once, you're mine," he whispered in her ear. "And then you'll be anyone's." He pinned her to the bed, thrusting deeply into her as she bucked and sobbed; he took her cries into his mouth.

  She fought within herself as she struggled against him, but she could no longer tell between struggle and complicity; every attempt to fight resulted in pulling him closer, until she followed his every movement, her hips fixed to his. She cried out, "Please! Please!"

  "Please, what, little wanton?"

  "I don't know!" she sobbed.

  She broke, and the spell drove an ecstatic pulse through her, stronger than before. The only thing she cared about was the man crushing her down onto the bed, plunging into her. As the pulse left her, so did consciousness; her war against the man and the curse had exhausted her.

  Connin pounded into her for his final thrusts until he collapsed atop her limp body. He recovered his breath, and sat up. The princess lay sprawled on the bed, breathing deeply in unnatural sleep. He reached to a shelf above the bed in its alcove, and took up a tiny vial; he knelt between Edmerka's legs, and gently scraped her maiden blood into it, corked it, and replaced it on the shelf. He stroked her cheek tenderly, his wild eye calm for once. "I'm sorry, truly," he said, though she couldn't hear him. "But we cannot escape our fates. And you have given me a greater gift than you know."

  He fastened his leggings, and jumped down from the caravan. "It's done," he told his mother.

  "The horses are hitched," she answered. "Let's go."

  The Travelers took the road leading away from the stepmother's family until they came to a fork. One side led back to King Frederik; the other led over the Leute River's western branch into Tremont. They crossed the river at a shallow ford and kept going until they were well inside Tremont's borders, stopping at a clearing near the only cottage for miles. There they left the Princess Edmerka, naked and sleeping in the moonlight.

  * * * * *

  Temmin released the book. His shaking hands still felt Connin's skin; the Princess's terror and arousal coursed through him, as if the smoke of the Traveler Queen's spell had seeped through the book into him as well. Was he male or female? He consulted the stiffness between his legs: male. It had happened to someone else, it had happened to a character in a story, not to him.

  Shafts of gold and white light slanted low onto the lawn outside the windows; three or four hours had passed. "What in Harla's Name does this fiction have to do with anything?" he said.

  "You did not like it?" Teacher said mildly. "I thought you would at least be interested."

  In fact, Temmin was afraid to stand up. "I don't see how this connects at all to history," he muttered.

  "This is the story of your family," Teacher replied.

 
"We have nothing to do with fairy tales about Travelers."

  Teacher smiled sardonically. "Travelers are intimately entwined with your family."

  "I've studied my family's history. There are no Travelers in it!" said Temmin more emphatically.

  "The Intimate History contains all the untold stories of your ancestors, excised from official and unofficial chronicles."

  Temmin was flushed and irritated, and dearly wanted Teacher to leave. "If they've been excised from the chronicles, then they're not relevant. I don't see what this unfortunate girl's story has to do with me, even if it is true, which I doubt."

  "You feel this girl's situation was unfortunate?"

  "Of course it was!"

  "How so?" said Teacher. "She was unpleasant and spoiled. Did she not get what she deserved?"

  "I don't know," said Temmin, suddenly confused. "But--she was forced into--something!"

  "Was she? She seemed willing to me."

  Temmin gaped. "What kind of man are you! How can you be willing when you're enchanted?"

  "Interesting. I am surprised you came to that conclusion. It happens every day, you know, without enchantments."

  "What does?"

  "Many of us are confronted with choices that aren't choices at all."

  "Oh!" said Temmin, leaving the story behind. "That's certain! Look at me--I'm stuck here when I'd rather be back home on the Estate! But what choice do I have?"

  "To be sure," murmured Teacher. "But truthfully, Your Highness, you were the last person I was thinking of."

  Long after Teacher left, Temmin considered the story, and Teacher's last stinging remark; he repeated it to Jenks, leaving out the whole magic book part. "What could he have meant, Jenks?" he asked as he dressed for dinner. "As if I had any say in anything! If I did, I certainly wouldn't be studying with him, the old crow." Choices that aren't choices--he could come up with several examples from his own life, if he squinted hard.

  "Your Highness," said Jenks, "I suggest you grow up."

  "How'm I supposed to grow up when I'm not allowed to do anything?" said Temmin. "And stop rolling your eyes!" When they'd gone walking, Sedra hadn't been terribly sympathetic either, now that he thought about it. He gave an aggrieved, inward sigh; sympathy was in short supply in the City.

  After dinner, his father invited him for a brandy--not an invitation one refused, and thus a new resentment for Temmin to mark on his lengthening list. "Why am I studying fairy tales, Papa?" said Temmin as he accepted the snifter.

  "Do sit down, son, join me. Fairy tales? What fairy tales?" said Harsin.

  Temmin colored and looked away. "Some sort of story about...about an enchanted princess," he mumbled.

  "Ah," smiled Harsin. "You don't like that story?"

  "He told it to you? You're not saying it's true, are you?"

  "Oh, yes. It was the only one from the book I listened to, though. I didn't pay much attention to anything else, and Teacher gave up and focused on teaching me statecraft. And the managing of magic."

  Temmin fumbled with his brandy. "I'm sorry?" he said.

  "You haven't wondered how Teacher does the trick with the book?"

  "That's exactly it. I had it pegged as some sort of trick!"

  "Oh, no. It's quite real, I assure you. Has Teacher not taken you through a mirror by now? That would surprise me."

  "Oh, yes," said Temmin weakly. "He has." He kept seeing Teacher in the mirror to himself.

  "I imagine it must seem strange to find out magic is real, even though your mother raised you up with bumpkins. Country people still believe in magic and superstition, don't they?"

  "To be sure," said Temmin, warming instantly. "In fact! The grooms insisted one too many times on taking a new mare widdershins round the entire stables before bringing her inside the first time, and I said, 'You're ridiculous, the lot of you,' and just brought 'er in directly. One of the grooms fainted dead away!"

  "I believe it," chuckled Harsin. "And then I imagine the rest ran to the little shrine of Amma in the barnyard and made an offering to keep the horses from dying, yes? Here, all the servants think Teacher is the Black Man. They make the Sign of Amma every time he passes."

  "Is he?" said Temmin.

  Harsin considered. "I suppose he's how the myth started. But I'm not talking about superstitions and stories to frighten children into being good, Temmin. Teacher is power, real power that has kept us an unbroken dynasty for the last thousand years. Even though the men of this family lost our own magic more than 350 years ago, Teacher holds it for us, along with a great deal more--oh yes, he's really that old, older than that. He served Gethin the First. With Teacher's magic behind us, we will always be stronger than any outside enemy, though our nobles must still be managed with a deft hand. Statecraft. When you become king, you will control Teacher. He will teach you what the magic can and cannot do. As long as the land recognizes us, and as long as we have Teacher, our family will rule."

  "How did Teacher end up with our magic? And what does this girl have to do with it?" Temmin demanded.

  "It's not her story," said Harsin. "I like that part too, you should understand. I like it very much, in fact, and I've remembered it fondly many times over the years. But Teacher misses the actual point, as far as I'm concerned. This leads me to something. I had a conversation with your mother yesterday, and I'm very curious as to your side of the story."

  "My side of which story?"

  "Something about a maidservant at the Estate, if memory serves."

  Temmin's dinner curdled. Who could have told his mother? Was it Jenks? No, never! Someone else at the Estate must have found out and told her. He wondered if he could send a letter to Alvo to find out who--Gods, it wasn't Alvo, surely? "What did Mama say?"

  "That you kissed a maidservant under somewhat coercive circumstances."

  "Coercive? She said yes."

  "Temmin, we both know she said yes because she was afraid of losing her job." She'd certainly begged him not to tell Crokker, but he'd never considered she really might lose her job. Why would she lose her job? "There's nothing wrong with that," the King smiled, his teeth white against the dark of his beard and moustaches. "I've always found something rather arousing about holding that over them. Apparently you are of my mind."

  "But I didn't hold it over her," said Temmin, appalled.

  Harsin shrugged. "You don't have to justify yourself to me, son. Take a maidservant if you wish--take several. I've heard you're behind your peers on that score. I've left off the Keep's maids for your mother's sake--promised her I'd never have a mistress in the house--so the field is quite clear."

  "You have mistresses?" said Temmin.

  "No, Temmin," said his father. "I've been celibate for the last eighteen years. Of course I have mistresses."

  "But what about Mama? You're a married man!"

  "When your mother said she sheltered you, I had no idea how serious she was." Harsin's voice softened. "You must understand the deep affection and love I have for your mother. Ansella and I may not have been a love match, but I could not have asked for a better Queen and mother for my children. I hold her in the highest esteem--she is an excellent, if frustrating, woman."

  "Then why take mistresses?" Temmin muttered.

  "The question isn't why I have mistresses. The real question is why haven't you taken one by now. Your mother says you haven't."

  "I don't really think that's a proper conversation to have with one's father."

  "No," said Harsin, eyeing his son's burning cheeks. "You wouldn't. Is it a question of preferring men? To think on it, it's high time I found you a Mentor."

  "No, no, sir. Men don't disgust me, but women are..." Temmin trailed off.

  "Just so," chuckled his father. "In any event, your mother was concerned you might try to call this maid up to the City from Meadow House. Don't."

  "I hadn't really thought about it," Temmin lied.

  "Of course you have. Any red-blooded man would, if he fancied the girl enough
."

  "There's someone else I fancy a great deal more, actually," said Temmin, brightening.

  "Fortunate, because this girl is out of the question," answered his father.

  "I thought you wanted me to tumble a few maids."

  "I want you to do as you please in that regard, is what I want. But not with her." Harsin sighed deep in his chest. "When you were born at the Estate, I was there, you know. So was a very pretty little thing in livery named Tellis Ambler. Beautiful hazel eyes, sweet rosy cheeks. Quite a beauty. Are you attending me, Temmin?"

  "You don't want me repeating your mistakes, perhaps?"

  "No, I don't want you having sex with your half-sister. Do mind the brandy, son, you're about to spill."

  Temmin sat back in the wing chair, his brandy dangling from his fingers. "You're telling me Mattie is your daughter?"

  "Yes."

  "I kissed my sister."

  "Half-sister, actually."

  Temmin swallowed hard, his face gone from cherry to chalk, and he broke out in a cold sweat. "Does she know?"

  "She has no idea. Her mother knows, your mother knows, and now you and I know. And Teacher knows--Teacher took care of things, along with your manservant."

  "Took care of things how? You didn't hurt her?"

  "Do you think I would hurt my own daughter? No, we gave her mother some money--a great deal of money, actually--and strongly encouraged them to take up residence as far away from Whithorse as possible. Mattisanis has a nice dowry now, and she'll find herself a nice squire in Alzeh, or Kellen, or wherever they end up."

  "May Amma forgive me," Temmin said, his voice breaking.

  "For what? You didn't know. I've taken a look at young Mattie through the mirror. Don't feel too badly, Temmin, if I hadn't known, I'd have done it myself. Not as pretty as her mother, but that's a hard standard to meet. No, don't worry about her. She's well taken care of. I may even acknowledge her, if I need to shore up a minor alliance. But tell me," said Harsin, switching tacks, "who's captured your eye? Anyone I know?"