Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  "Oh good! I knew it would. You've eaten all the toast again, Temmy. Affton, more toast if you please!" chirped Ellika, slipping into the room and taking a place next to her brother. "Oh stop snarling at me. I know you're very cross, and I don't care in the least. Everyone's where they should be, and I'm quite satisfied with myself." She took a long, dainty pull on her coffee.

  "What are you doing awake?" said Sedra.

  "Avoiding Fennows," she answered, wrinkling her nose.

  "Isn't everyone?" muttered Temmin.

  "He tried to engage me last night for a private breakfast today, but I got up too early for him. Ha! So there. Now I know you're angry, Temmy," she continued, returning to the original subject, "but it was all for the best."

  "Just do me a favor? Stop flirting with footmen," said her brother. "I don't know what I'm going to do with this one if I have to take him into personal service."

  "I will on one condition: Come to Mistress Naister's with me on Nerrday."

  "The dressmaker's? What on earth for?"

  "I'm collecting a new dress for our Neyaday visit to the Temple, silly."

  Sedra folded her newspaper and picked up her coffee. "Oh, I'm looking forward to this conversation," she said.

  "You can screech all you like, Temmy, but I'm this family's current patroness of the Lovers, and so it devolves upon me to introduce you to the Most High Lover and Most High Beloved," said Ellika, removing the marmalade pot from his place. "Oh, you ate it all, you piglet!"

  "When did you pick up 'devolve?' Well, done, Elly!" cried Sedra. "Your turn, Tem."

  "It's none of your business!" he said, ignoring Sedra. "And I don't have time to spend an afternoon fooling around."

  "How does that differ from your usual day?" injected Sedra.

  "Be quiet, you," answered her brother.

  "Here's a to-do!" came an unwelcome voice from the door--Percet, bleary but vertical. "What are you arguing about? Most unusual in such a close family, I should think!"

  "We're not arguing," said Temmin. "What are you doing awake?"

  "I want him to come with me to Mistress Naister's on Nerrday, Fennows, and he won't, that's all," pouted Ellika.

  "I'd be most charmed to escort you, Elly!" said Fennows with an eager if oily smile.

  "Oh, that's all right, Fennows," interrupted Temmin. "I was funning with her. I'm happy to go with you to Naister's, Elly." Ellika gave him a tiny, triumphant smile, and Temmin knew she'd forced his hand. But he couldn't very well let Fennows insinuate himself any further into her life, even if it meant his own trip to a dressmaker. Sometimes, he thought, sacrifices must be made.

  Once back in his study, Temmin ran his fingers over the old red book. It had been almost a week since he'd been inside its covers, and though he recalled the story perfectly well, its immediacy had faded somewhat--until the image of Prince Hildin's knife slicing through the girl's clothes, her nakedness among the rags, came to mind. It shot a thrill straight down his center, but whether it belonged to Hildin's henchman Gian, or himself, he couldn't tell. If the latter, what did it say about him? Troubling.

  Teacher's cool voice brought him out of his brooding. "A busy time, Your Highness. Both of us engaged in other pursuits, I fear."

  Temmin turned to the voice's source, by the door. "I know what I've been up to. What have you possibly been doing?"

  "Sir, I am your father's chief counsel," Teacher sighed. "I am always busy."

  "Does that mean you've come bearing his stern warnings against becoming a Supplicant, too?"

  "Why would you expect me to?"

  "Everyone else has!" said Temmin, flinging himself into the library chair.

  Teacher sat down on the library table's edge. "I serve the Gods as well as your family. His Majesty would be foolish to ask it of me, and he is not a fool."

  "So you approve?"

  "I wonder that my opinion would hold much weight with you, sir," Teacher smiled.

  "You know more about this Supplicant business than I do. Well? Does serving my family preclude you from having an opinion?"

  "In my opinion," said Teacher cautiously, "a call from the Gods should not be left unanswered. Do you feel called? Or something less?"

  "Religious devotion hasn't crossed my mind. Not for a moment. But I can't shake her. Or...or him. Issak," he murmured. "Ever since I met her, I've had this strange trust in her, as if she'd never hurt me, as if I just had to be with her no matter what. Issak--I don't know if it's trust as much as just this feeling that...that... Why am I telling you this?"

  "Because I am an objective ear, perhaps," said Teacher. "It goes no further, and I do not judge."

  Temmin leaned against one arm of the chair, brows knit. "Issak makes me feel as if whatever it is he wants me to do, I should do it. It's the right thing to do. I have to do it. No one makes me feel that way, not even Papa."

  "That can be a sort of trust in itself, the instinct to obey another."

  Temmin sat up. "Are you saying what I'm feeling toward Issak is like what Gian felt for Hildin? That I have the need to serve like--like that?" Teacher said nothing, and Temmin continued, "Gian trusted Hildin. Is that why he obeyed him?"

  "A servant needs to trust his master. To serve is to let someone else make the difficult decisions. You have only to carry them out. Your master is responsible, not you. Gian believed Hildin made the right decisions for them both. In turn, Hildin trusted only Gian, and he took care of Gian just as you care for your horse, though I dare say you treat your horse with more respect."

  "Why would you stay with someone who doesn't respect you? Because you love him?"

  "Because you need him," answered Teacher. "Are you ready for the next part? Open the book."

  * * * * *

  Emmae woke slowly. Through the fog of sleep came a beloved, angular face; desire rushed through her, edged in an ominous way. She reached out her hand. "Warin?"

  "Not quite," said the face. "Hildin." He seized her hand in a hard grip.

  The drowsy fog cleared away; she sat up, and pushed herself to the top of the bed. Stone covered in tapestries replaced the daub walls of the cottage; feathers filled the mattress she sat on, not reeds; and a fire in a generous hearth warmed the room. Her clothes hung in rags from her arms. She pulled them close with her free hand against her chilled skin. "Where am I? Take me home! I want to go home, take me home right now!"

  She remembered now, this man Hildin, and the younger one--jarring desire forced into her, just as Warin's had been when they first met. The arousal intensified, insinuating itself further within her. She tried to pry herself loose from his grip, but he pinned both her wrists with one hand to the headboard above her. The remains of her dress fell open. Hildin moved closer and slipped his other hand around her waist. "Oh, please fight me," he purred. "I always win, but breaking the defiant is much more entertaining than taking the docile. What's your name, sweetheart?"

  His wandering hand brought hot shivers to her skin, made her light in the head, and she fought to remain in control. "Take me home," she stammered.

  "And where is home?" said Hildin. "Leute? The accent truly is adorable, isn't it, Gian--oh, this is my cousin, Gian," he added casually.

  "I don't care who he is," she spat. She fought to stay angry. The warmth of his body, and his fingers tracing against her skin, fed her panic and arousal both; she wanted to escape, and she wanted his hand to slip lower. She growled in frustration and despair, struggling against his grip until he took her wrists, one in each hand, and slammed them against the headboard.

  "Answer me. What is your name? Where are you from? Where did my brother find you?"

  Emmae gathered up the last of her crumbling defiance. "Take me home and ask him yourself, if you're his brother! Or are you afraid of him?"

  Hildin gave her a delighted smile. Over his shoulder, she saw Gian shudder, an eager smile on his face. Hildin brought his mouth within a hair's breadth of hers; she turned her head away. He licked a trail down her neck with just
the tip of his tongue, until she gasped, and shook in his hands. "There are two ways I could treat you," he said into her ear, each puff of breath maddening and delicious. "I could give you the beating for insolence you very much deserve, or I could just let your enchantment do the work for me."

  Emmae's eyes opened wide, and she stiffened. "I told you, I have no magic!" she said to the bedcurtains.

  "No, you don't," agreed Hildin. "But it's been practiced upon you, hasn't it? We can taste it on you. You despise me, yes? But look at you. It's all you can do not to spread yourself wide for me right now, even though you don't want to. You desire me. You desire Gian. You want anyone who wants you. Don't you?"

  "No, I can't be enchanted!" she cried, but she knew it had to be true. Enchantment alone explained the ropes of arousal coiling around her and crushing the will from her body, her forgotten past, her uncontrollable urge to give in to Warin's passion when she didn't even know him. Did she really love him--and worse, was he the one who had done it? All her strength left along with her certainty in him; she stopped struggling, and Hildin dropped her hands. The sob burst forth, and the fire in the hearth leaped up.

  "Never worry, sweetheart, we'll give you what you want. Hush now," said Hildin. He slipped the remains of her clothing from her arms and pulled her unresisting down on the bed. "Now, what's your name?"

  She gulped in air between sobs until she could stutter out, "He named me Emmae. I don't know my real name. I don't remember anything before he found me in the woods in the fall!"

  "Ah, now we're getting somewhere. No idea who you are--what an interesting, cruel spell! How long did he wait before he had you? Not long, I'd wager." Hildin kneaded her breast until she moaned, pressing up into his hand; the throbbing in her veins prayed he would suckle at it. "He had you the very day he found you, didn't he? But who could blame him--a beautiful woman dropped on his doorstep, defenseless against his lust--I wouldn't even blame him for casting the spell in the first place, to keep such a prize--"

  He stopped to take her nipple into his mouth, ending her body's suspense; intense pleasure bloomed inside her. "Yes!" the desire whispered to her. "Now, beg for more, tell him you want him inside you, beg him for it!" Though she had stopped fighting Hildin, she still fought against the enchantment itself; she did not beg, but her hand stole up to his neck, urging him without words. "Warin wouldn't, he wouldn't, he loves me," she whimpered.

  Hildin released her nipple, and rolled the other one between his fingers. "And what would he think if he saw you like this, in heat and open to another man--any man? I think he might change his mind about loving you, if he ever did. You're hundreds of miles away from him, at any rate, and you belong to me. This," he said, seizing her mound, "is mine now. Do you understand?" He squeezed until she nodded her head in desperation. Her pain inflamed him further somehow. His excitement drove the spell, and she spread her legs for him, too overwhelmed to resist. He thrust his fingers inside her, and she moved to bury them deeper. "There's my girl," said Hildin, sliding them roughly in and out. "You're mine until I tire of you, mine to do with as I please. Do you want her, Gian? Ah, but you already know he does, don't you, girl?"

  Emmae glanced at the flushed page, standing near the bed; he caressed himself through his leggings, staring at her with glassy eyes. Emmae felt invisible hands at her breasts: Gian's desire ghosting against her skin.

  "Come here," Hildin ordered. The bed dipped as Gian climbed onto it; Hildin sat up, and kissed the page so hard he groaned. "Behind her," said Hildin. Gian placed himself at the head of the bed and held her against him, his erection pressing into her back.

  Though it should have sickened her, Emmae's excitement grew--two men forcing twice the desire on her, far beyond Warin's. Gian's cock twitched against her as he fondled her breasts. She pushed herself faster onto Hildin's fingers, until he took them from her; she cried in disappointment and humiliation.

  Hildin laughed, and moved to his knees, unfastening his leggings. He put his hands beneath her hips. "Something better than fingers, pretty thing," he said. His fingers dug into her ass as he pulled her onto him. Emmae let out a guttural scream, arching herself again and again into his hard, fast rhythm. She twined her arms round Gian's neck behind her, to give him better access to her breasts. Kiss me, kiss me, she pleaded inwardly--she couldn't find the breath to speak the words aloud, and craned her head back until she saw Gian's face, focused on the Prince. "Let go," rasped Hildin. "I want all of her."

  Emmae found herself on her back, her legs as far apart as Hildin could force them; he struck her womb with each thrust. His eyes shone wild and cruel, his mouth pulled into a fierce grimace. He frightened her, and her body had never wanted a man more. "My brother's woman," he growled. He pinned her to the bed, crushing the breath from her. "But I've taken you from him. You're mine now, Emmae, say it, I want you to say it!"

  "I'm not your woman!" she cried, dangerously close to her crisis.

  "Did you cry out for more when Warin fucked you? Who's fucking you now? Is it Warin? Is it Warin making you come like this? Who is it, Emmae, who's making you scream, who's making you come?"

  "You are, it's you!" she shrieked, and her climax began. She dissolved and reformed around him over and over, shaking in his arms. He pounded into her, refusing to let her orgasm end, until he pulsed deep inside her; he let out a roar and fell atop her, sweaty and swooning.

  She lay beneath him, still trembling with desire. Exhausted, frustrated tears ran down the sides of her face; the spell wouldn't release her until the other was satisfied. Hildin's weight shifted off her, and from far away she heard him beckon for Gian. The sounds of begging, wet kisses, the rustling of clothes, and then Gian seized her breasts, licking and sucking in desperation.

  His cock matched his body, long and slender, and he shook as hard as she did as he slid into her, never taking his mouth from her breasts, his skin feverish even against her own. His pace grew hectic, nearly bouncing her off the bed, but she'd stopped caring. The enchantment drove her to match him, the inner impulse forcing her hips up and up with no thought left in her, only rhythm and need. He bit the nipple in his mouth, and she screamed and thrashed against him as she fell into the orgasm; Gian followed her in spurts. He lay atop her, whimpering and shuddering.

  "As soon as you can stand, Gian, come to me," said Hildin's voice. Emmae opened bleary eyes. The Prince stood in an open door; torchlight flickered behind him in the hallway. "We have arrangements to make." He left, closing the door behind him; it vanished into the wall as the tapestry covering it fell back into place.

  Gian rolled away from her and followed her eyes to where the door had been. "The door won't work for you," he said when he regained his breath. "It takes magic."

  "Warin could open it," she said.

  "But he's not coming."

  Emmae wanted sleep; the burning had left her. "He's coming, and when he does, he'll kill you and your master, and I will laugh."

  Gian gave a small snort, stood up, and fastened up his clothes. "Warin won't come back. He renounced the throne, and no woman is enough to draw him back. He's afraid of my master."

  Emmae gazed up at him: slender and tall; golden hair curling around a tender face; green eyes like a forest spirit. How could one so gentle in appearance be so cruel? "You're afraid of your master," she said. "That's why you did this."

  "Afraid?" said Gian. "You'd do well to be afraid of him. I did this because I wanted to, and I'll do it again. Listen," he said, sitting down on the bed, "Don't cry, Emmae. Let him have his way. Give in--to him, to me, to whatever this enchantment is--let go, enjoy yourself. Otherwise, this will be very, very hard for you and not at all hard for my Prince. He prefers a challenge--he'll tire of you faster if you give in. Then, he'll give you to me. I will be kind to you. And I promise you," he added, tracing his fingers down her body, "I won't tire of you for a very long time, no matter what happens."

  He lifted the damp strands of hair that had tumbled into her face; she slapp
ed his hand away. "All this magic you claim," she said. "For all I know, I'm a mile from home."

  Gian smiled, and turned to the candles burning on the sideboard. He snatched a flame from one and played with it like a ball of clay, drawing it out into a wand. He pushed it back into a ball, balanced it on his fingertip, and threw it back at the candle. Its flame leaped up and ate the tiny fireball. "My magic is nothing. Mere tricks--I'm too far from the throne to have much power. Hildin and Warin are strong, and if the King weren't a drooling wreck, he'd be the strongest of all. And then there's Teacher--no, Emmae, you're far, far from where we found you. This is home now. If Warin returns, he dies. If you love him, pray he abandons you. Look."

  He rose from the bed and opened the shutters; she followed him, covering herself with the remains of her chemise. Far below them spread a forest, gray-green in the spring sun. In the other direction, beside an unfamiliar river, lay a small city; smoke rose from its many chimneys. They'd taken her miles from home, perhaps even several days' journey.

  "You belong to Hildin," said Gian, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. "This is your life now. If you'll let me, I'll help you accept it, and then we can serve the Prince together."

  "I will never serve him, stupid boy. And you can die for all I care," she muttered. Gian shrugged, and left the room as Hildin had. Emmae stumbled back to the bed, exhausted and heartsore, and cried herself to sleep.

  When she awoke some hours later, she found herself tucked naked into the sheets, the shreds of her clothing gone; someone had been in the room. She slipped out of bed, wrapped the sheet around herself, and edged along the wall under the tapestries, touching every inch in her search for a hidden latch. Nothing came under her fingers.

  The stones began to grind; she pressed herself flat against the wall. A hand emerged from behind a tapestry, followed by an old woman with a bundle under one arm and a pitcher in the other. Emmae sprang forward, but the door ground shut before she could escape.

  The old woman jumped with a shriek, but held onto her pitcher. "Goodness, child!" she cried. "You scared me to death!" She was a fat little woman with the look of a grandmother: a broad, pleasant face framed in gray braids. She put the steaming pitcher next to a basin on the side table, and the small bundle she put on the bed. "Now, don't look so fierce, dear, it's just Old Meg. Master Gian says I'm to take care of you." Emmae beat her fist upon the wall, angry tears welling. "Oh, now, don't," said Meg. "You'll hurt yourself. You'll never get out until my lord says you may."