The Elven King

by Lexi Johnson

  Aranion moaned into her mouth. His cock was fully erect now, flushed and shining. Sade wanted to take him apart, watch him shatter inside her until they both forgot their uncertain future. Until it was erased, and there was only the two of them, the bath, and the bond they shared.

  Sade straddled Aranion’s hips, pushing herself down over his cock, taking it in.

  “Not yet,” Aranion choked out, voice rough with need. “Too soon.”

  “Take me,” Sade said. “Take everything.”

  Their eyes met, and then he pushed into her in earnest.

  They were moving together, and now somehow he was on top of her, her hair falling into the bath as he buried his cock in her, pulling out and pushing in with strong, level strokes that brushed her clit tantalizingly with every movement.

  Sade met him with every thrust, taking him deeper.

  Aranion kissed her shoulder, scraping his teeth over her flesh. Sade closed her eyes, the short, sharp pain bringing her pleasure up to unbearable heights.

  “Look at me,” Aranion said hoarsely. His voice was rough, but his fingers were gentle on her jawline. “I want to see you.”

  Dizzy with heat and pleasure, Sade opened her eyes. Aranion was on top of her, his legs shaking as he pushed his flushed, velvet cock into her. Each thrust ended with a snap, his balls tickling her perineum as the head of his cock massaged her g-spot. The slow build of it maddened her beyond endurance.

  “More,” Sade begged, hoping that he would recognize her desperation and stop torturing her. He had to touch her more. More deeply, more firmly – something! She didn’t even know how he had the discipline to keep up this measured, agonizing pace.

  Sade reached up to yank his hips closer to her, but he grabbed her wrists and pulled them away. His legs were shaking with the effort. His whipcord strength was incredible, and she vaguely wondered how long he would be able to keep it up. He’d have to break soon. Please, she thought desperately, please let him break soon.

  “Hands down. Eyes open,” Aranion ordered.

  “Yes,” Sade said, the agreement somewhere between whining and speech. Anything he wanted.

  Aranion let go of her wrists and plunged his thumb into her pussy, finding her clit and circling it in a firm, wondrous motion.

  Sade raised her hips, eager for the touch, eager to feel his cock pounding into her.

  The orgasm crested, breathtaking and sharp. For a brief moment, her eyes shut.

  “I want to see you,” Aranion’s voice said. “I want you to see me.”

  Sade forced her eyes open. She was pulsing, drawing him into an endless wave of pleasure.

  Aranion thrust into her, the control of his movements breaking as he took her. The head of his cock thickened just before he came, his rear tightening as he thrust into her, filling her with his hot juices.

  They collapsed together beside the bath, breathing into each other.

  Sade ran her hands through his thick, almost white hair. She marveled at him, the presence and the beauty of him. It was foolish for her to feel lucky -- lucky to be in his arms, lucky in this moment -- but the joy welled up in her.

  Aranion gave her a smile, strangely gentle after the raw passion of their joining. “We still need to bathe,” he said, and kissed her deeply.

  Sade fell into the kiss. Her desire for him was struggling with her own exhaustion.

  “Yes, we should,” she managed. “You’ll have to dump the water over me, though. I can’t move.”

  “Oh, that’s just a tradition,” Aranion said. The quirk of his smile at that moment had a definite air of mischief. “The water cleans itself.”

  Once they had collected their breath, they went together into the bath. In the hot, fragrant water, the made slow love again. Unlike before, this time was sweet, and had an overtone of sadness.

  When they’d stepped out, dripping together on the warm, patchwork wooden floor, Sade prayed in her heart that this was the beginning, and not an end, to their time together.

  Chapter 8: The Elven King

  Making love to Sade was like sipping moonlight wine, like the time when Aranion and Meldigur, for the final test of their ranger training, had left the World Trees and scaled Vardainiel’s Peak to watch the sunrise above the clouds.

  As Aranion made love to Sade twice in Meldigur’s home, he thought he might find himself sated, but each climax made him want her more.

  He’d imagined himself in love once before, long ago, when he’d had the black hair of a child and found himself enamored of the second youngest of Lord Eruantien’s daughters. Her family had only been afforded a title after her grandfather had proven himself in war against the Edenost court five centuries ago. Eruantien herself had been a decade older than Aranion and a century more knowledgeable; she’d led him to her bower with light, teasing touches, as they held each other and danced beneath the stars. He’d thought himself in love as he plumbed the Lady’s depths, binding her wrists in silk and laying sweet kisses on her neck.

  But their passion had faded in the autumn, when Aranion’s father, the Elven King, had called both youths to his private chamber and said they were as free to quell their passions with each other as they liked, but they would never marry; she would never be queen.

  Eruantien’s interest had ended abruptly with that proclamation, leaving him alone and betrayed both by her and his father who valued the crown more than his son’s happiness.

  For five years, Aranion had refused to speak to his father. He had chosen the rangers for his apprenticeship -- a decision with which none of the Lords, nor Aranion’s father, had agreed.

  But now, in Sade’s arms, he felt as if the poison of that betrayal – both that of Lady Eruantien and that of Aranion’s father himself – had drained from the wound. He no longer felt embittered. After all, had he married Lady Eruantien, he would never have known Sade, and his soul would be incomplete.

  By the time Aranion and Sade finally left the baths, it was well past midday, and they were hungry again. Ever the showman, Meldigur had laid out for Sade a formal robe of flowing gold, red, and black silk, that made her look like she was haloed in living flame.

  Even as she tied the belt about her waist, Aranion wanted to strip it off of her again, running kisses down her neck and shoulders -- and below. He wanted to taste her and touch her until she was once again shaking with desire…

  Sade looked up, and her cheeks darkened beneath his gaze. The water had softened her hair, and now it fell in a thick wave of tight, dark curls around her face. She ran her tongue over her full lips.

  No, Aranion told himself, even as he felt his body respond. They’d already been here for hours, and Meldigur could return at any time with the Elven King. It would not be a great idea for Aranion and Sade to be in the throes of lovemaking when they arrived.

  As if agreeing with Aranion’s thoughts, Sade’s stomach growled. Her cheeks flushed even darker, and she averted her gaze.

  “We should eat,” Aranion said, smiling at her.

  Like most elves, Meldigur had a food cabinet that could be opened with a simple incantation, which Aranion now performed. It was a calculated risk – he was using a touch of magic, but, with any luck, not enough to be detected and identified, unless someone happened to be searching for Aranion within the bounds of the court at this very moment. Considering that he’d been on the run for close to a week, Aranion doubted that that would be the case.

  Aranion chose for them a simple lunch -- spiced mushroom stew, sweet-meats, and a delicate, purple-flower tea that would relax them without robbing either of them of their wits or faculties – and they settled down to eat.

  Though he and Sade had learned each other’s bodies thoroughly since she’d crossed over from the mortal world, this was the first time they’d had a chance to have a quiet conversation about each other's lives. Aranion listened with rapt fascination as Sade told him about growing up in the mortal world, and all its marvels: for inst
ance, the enchanted boxes they used to share information and stories.

  “We’ve always thought that mortals don’t have magic,” Aranion said. What he’d heard had left him amazed.

  “It’s not magic,” said Sade. “It’s science. Until I met you, I’d thought magic was something that only happened in books and movies.”

  “But you were a witness to it, weren’t you?” Aranion asked. “You saw me, I remember, during my adulthood rite.”

  Sade nodded. “But my brother convinced me I’d made the whole thing up. The only other person I know who believed in magic was my Nana… but she went crazy. Or…” Sade shrugged. “Or maybe she just fell through to here, and that drove her crazy. I don’t know.”

  “You must have some form of true magic in your world,” Aranion said. “Otherwise, the gates wouldn’t work. I’ve often wondered what connects our worlds, and why. But, until now, I’d always assumed mortals to be… well, inferior to us. It’s what we’re taught when we’re young.”

  “Yeah,” Sade said. Her gaze was unfocused, as if she were looking beyond the room they sat in. “Lots of people are taught that other kinds of people are inferior,” she said, “and they’re just as wrong. We call it prejudice.”

  She must have felt his embarrassment and shame through the soul-bond, because her gaze focused on him again, clear and sharp as ever. “Then again, we’re taught you don’t exist.” She smiled a little. “I think if I told Charles I was seeing an elf, he’d just pass out in shock.”

  “Charles. That’s your brother, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. We haven’t been as close as we used to, since Mama died, but we still talk on the phone every week.” Sade took a deep, steadying breath. “Once we get this thing sorted out, with your dad, and this wedding of yours, I have to tell Charles what happened. I have to, somehow. I’m the only family he has left.” Sade’s voice took on a tone of long-held bitterness. “It’s not like my dad’s looking us up, now that he’s got his new wife and two blond boys.”

  Blond? Aranion wondered. Mortal hair came in so many shades, and, apparently, it didn’t hold the same meaning that it did for his people. Sade was clearly an adult, though her hair had stayed dark like that of a child or Bane Sidhe. But mortals matured differently; that much Aranion knew. They grew rapidly into their adult bodies and then lived and died in a brilliant flash; like falling stars they laughed, cried, burned and danced, until they shattered on the earth in a burst of fire and pain. Humans lived with urgency.

  The closest Aranion had ever come to urgency was in this mad dash from his wedding. And yet, in this week -- in the single day since he’d bonded to Sade! -- he felt as if he’d lived an accelerated lifetime.

  “We’re very different,” Aranion said quietly. “You and I.”

  Sade shook her head. “Not so different,” she said, taking his hand. Slowly, gently, she ran her thumb along his palm.

  Aranion wanted to kiss her. So he did: gentle and slow. It was the opposite of their usual urgency. But he didn’t want to rush this dance. He wanted to take it slowly, until she was gasping desperately in his arms, and he would lose himself in her again.

  As their mouths met and moved together, Aranion remember, distantly, that there had been a reason he wasn’t supposed to do this, not right now… but he couldn’t remember why…

  He felt the displacement of air before he heard the voices. Sade blinked in confusion, disappointment and alarm, as he abruptly pulled away from her.

  “Aranion—“ she began.

  Then her eyes widened as five elves appeared in the open area in the center of the room.

  Aranion quickly took them in. The first figure was Aranion’s father, the Elven King. At his right hand stood Meldigur, his face strangely unreadable. But who were the others?...

  Aranion felt his stomach turn ice as his gaze moved to the other three.

  To the Sidhe King’s left stood his dark counterpart: the King of the Bane Sidhe. He was black-haired and black-eyed, in thick lacquered wooden armor, with a sharp eleven-silver blade strapped to his back. Next to him stood his daughter, Lairelithoniel -- the woman that Aranion was supposed to marry.

  That alone would have been enough to convince Aranion of the tragic outcome that awaited them. But the final seal upon his future stood at the elven princess’s left hand: the head Justicius, Faelon.

  The elderly elf was swathed in red robes. Only the lower half of his face could be seen. Though he stood straight and tall, he held a light wooden cane in his left hand, as a symbol of the sacrifice he’d made: the eyes that had been taken from him when he’d sworn his oath to justice.

  Aranion knew then that it was all over.

  Had he been given the chance to speak to his father alone, maybe the Elven King’s opinion could have been swayed. Maybe.

  But now, under the eyes of the law and of Aranion’s betrayed intended, Aranion would have no chance to save himself, or Sade.

  “My son,” said the Elven King. As always, he was perfectly attired in resplendent gold, the thick, stiff silk perfectly suiting his straight, unyielding posture and icy expression.

  Like Aranion, his father’s hair was almost white. They shared the same chiseled bone structure and pale, luminous skin. But where Aranion’s face might, at times, be softened by a smile or some expression of sympathy, his father was as hard and cold as the peaks of the Hell’s Teeth, in whose shadow the Dark Elves made their home.

  After a moment, Aranion spoke first. “Father,” he said, stepping forward, and inclining his head with bare but appropriate courtesy.

  His father fixed him with his gaze. “It’s disappointing that you have chosen to sacrifice your duty to our kind, to peace, and to me, in order to engage in some foolish dalliance with a mortal,” he said, in his cold, ringing voice.

  The weight of his father’s recrimination always made Aranion feel like the lowest maggot, squirming on the carcass of some kind of decaying meat.

  Aranion tried to keep his voice as calm and polite as he could. “That’s not why I left,” he said.

  “Well,” said his father. “You can be comfortable in the knowledge that your future wife has chosen to overlook this...indiscretion…provided we are able to move forward with the wedding as planned in three days.” Aranion felt his eyes widen. “Are you prepared to do your duty to your home and people?” his father went on.

  “Father,” Aranion said desperately. “Is there any way we can speak…without an audience?”

  “Accept this, Aranion,” the elven king said, locking gazes with his son.

  Ever since the day Aranion’s mother had slipped into eternal sleep -- her body now housed in stasis, beyond the veil, until some remedy to her illness could be found -- his father had lost what little flexibility of spirit he’d once possessed.

  Aranion knew – or, at least, had once known – that his father loved him. But as Aranion grew older, it had become clear to him that his father loved his sleeping wife more.

  Since that day, his father had left Aranion almost entirely alone with his tutors, only checking in briefly and periodically to assess how his son’s studies were progressing. Aranion had felt it came as a relief to both of them when he’d decided to study wood lore, as a ranger. His taking such a strange and relatively lowly path had surely embarrassed the king, but it kept Aranion away from the court for long stretches of time. One would have thought – Aranion had thought – that that would be enough.

  “I can’t,” Aranion said. “Sade and I --” He gestured to Sade, who, during the conversation, had stood up and taken her place at Aranion’s side. He slipped his hand into hers, and felt the contact between them embolden him. “We have a soul-bond,” he said. “It would be a dishonor for me to marry Lady Lairelithoniel.”

  For the first time in Aranion’s memory, he had managed to shock his father. The King stood still as stone, but the ice of his expression was broken for a moment as he stared at his son.

&nb
sp; “How…? That’s impossible!” the King said.

  “Ask Justicius Faelon,” said Aranion, certain that the Justicius would confirm what he said.

  The old elf simply nodded once.

  “So, Lady Lairelithoniel, surely you see that there’s no future between us.” As he spoke, Aranion dared to meet the gaze of the Bane Sidhe princess.

  Lairelithoniel was beautiful, of course. Tall and thin, with raven hair and eyes… although right now, her expression was more murderous than serene.

  Lairelithoniel ignored Aranion’s words. Instead, she looked at her father.

  The Bane Sidhe King said, calmly, looking at Aranion and Sade: “A soul-bond with a mortal is of no consequence. We’ll simply have to break it.”

  It was Aranion’s turn to be frozen in shock. He stared, open-mouthed, at the Dark King. Even if Aranion had had any desire to break the bond -- even if he knew how it could be done, which he didn’t -- soul-bonds were not something that happened at random. To deliberately try to break a soul-bond was sacrilege. Not only did it put both halves of the bond in mortal peril, but it also spat upon the plan of the Gods.

  “It’s a simple thing,” the Dark King went on, as calmly as if he were talking about banquet arrangements. “Take your heart’s blade and slit her throat.”

  Even Aranion’s father looked taken aback. “She’s broken none of our laws,” he said to his counterpart. “We aren’t going to kill her.”

  Aranion pulled Sade hard to him, one arm protectively around her, his free hand on his blade. “No!” he said. “Anyone who touches Sade will have to come through me.”

  The Dark King went on in his calm voice. “She’ll die soon enough. Mortals always do. What’s a few decades, give or take?”

  Sade was trembling in his arms. He could feel her emotions, a mix of fear and fury that made it difficult for Aranion to think.