Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Samantha M. Derr

  Nic's heart missed a few beats, but he pretended not to notice the comment. "He's a beautiful and intelligent be—" He nearly said "beast," but realized the term did not apply there, in that quiet stall as midnight shrouded the world around him. What could not exist in daylight had become reality in the night. "He is beautiful and intelligent," he repeated.

  The woman nodded. She reached into a slender case at her belt and pulled out a dart. When Nic flinched, she cast a smirk up through her lashes. "I have not poisoned this one yet." She touched it to his palm. Nic flinched again, his fingers twitching violently. When she glanced up again, the smirk had turned wry. "Easy, stableboy." Then she paused thoughtfully. "What is your name? I cannot very well call you stableboy all night."

  "Nic." As he spoke, her dart dipped down and pried out a splinter. He winced, but the pain was minimal, certainly nothing worse than a bite from Bull or Deacon stepping on his toes.

  "Well met, Nic. I am Ember."

  "Ember," Nic repeated. He scratched Ash's forelock again. "Of course. Are you a princess, by any chance?"

  Ember's brows lifted. "Not that I know of."

  "Oh." There went that idea.

  "Were you expecting a princess?"

  Nic cleared his throat and focused on Ash's long head and half-lidded eyes. "No."

  "Now I fear I have disappointed you." Ember tugged on his wrist and grinned when he glanced at her. "Are you secretly a prince, Nic, waiting for your princess so you can both escape back to your kingdom and take your rightful places on the throne? Were you cursed by a witch?"

  Once again, she startled a laugh out of him. He never would have expected someone else to play that game. "Hardly," he admitted, meeting her grin with one of his own. "I was born to a woodsman. Me and twelve other children. The cottage is a half-day's walk from here. Three of my brothers and one of my sisters live there now, turning it into farmland and paying rent to Duke Theodore du Rhein. I can't think of a less princely beginning."

  Ember pulled out the last splinter as he rambled and flicked it away. With a feather-light touch, she skimmed bare fingertips over his palm. He watched, eyes widening, and shivered from the ticklish sensation. The touch triggered a sudden awareness of how closely Ember sat, her knees nearly touching his, the scents of leather and metal conflicting with the pervasive horse and straw smell of the stable. Her smooth cheeks, loose black hair, and warm eyes drew him. He fought not to lean closer to her, if only to capture more of her with his senses.

  "You seem to have survived well enough," she murmured, folding his hand closed. "I am sorry for startling you, Nic. It was not my intent."

  He forced a shaky smile. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that he should remove his hand from hers and return it to his lap, where it would rest harmlessly, but he couldn't force his arm to move. He couldn't remember the last time someone held his hand. It had probably been his mother, or a younger sibling tottering after him in the woods.

  "What were you doing here?" He jerked his chin in the direction of the inn's main building. "I know old Louis' beds aren't the best, but they must be better than straw."

  Her expression fell, drawing her cheeks taut with melancholy, and her gaze drifted to Ash. Her fingers plucked at Nic's wrist in an absent-minded fidget. He remained very still, hoping she wouldn't notice that she was very nearly caressing him.

  "My companion..." She trailed off and started again, offering a tight, fake smile. "It is nothing. Ash and I are very close. Some nights I prefer to spend with him. Is that a problem? For you?"

  Nic blinked, startled that anyone would even consider his opinion. "Of course not. Your coin rented the stall and Ash is your horse. You're as welcome here as you are in your own room."

  She relaxed. "I suppose I should have warned you beforehand." Her thumb brushed over his palm.

  "No harm done," Nic forced through his constricting throat. He cleared it. "Is there anything I can do for you? Or bring you? I have blankets in the loft."

  A grin broke past the darkness that had passed over her lovely face, and Nic's heart lifted. "That would be very kind of you."

  Seeing her smile suddenly became of utmost importance. Nic jumped to his feet, reluctantly pulling his hand from her gentle grip, and hurried out of the stall, picking bits of straw from his rough clothing. If only I had something better to wear, he thought wistfully as he ascended to his loft. Or something to offer her. Wine or silk. A feather mattress. Fur. A pillow. Instead, he gathered his own blankets, most of them a patchwork of pilfered horse blankets in thick wool, and a mangy lambskin that would protect her from the piercing straw. He bundled them up, threw them over his shoulder, and scrambled back to the main floor.

  "I thought I'd find you here." The deep voice reverberated from the stable walls, echoed by surprised snorts from the horses. Nic froze at the bottom of the ladder, one foot on a rung, the other planted on the floor. Midway down the stable's length the huge shoulders of the warrior stood black and ominous against the lantern at the far end. He loomed by Ash's open door, peering into the stall. "You should be in your room, little flame. The nights are cold without you."

  "Go away, Yrhardt," Ember responded. "Not tonight."

  Yrhardt reared back and slammed a fist against the doorpost. "Have you forgotten your place? You are mine."

  A great rustling announced Ash's movements. His silhouette rose above the stall walls as he stood. He stepped into the aisle, neck arched and ears back.

  "Out of the way, you brute." Yrhardt shoved Ash's head aside.

  Ash, who had been nothing but gentle with Nic, snapped at the offending hand.

  Yrhardt leapt back and brought his fist down. Ash squealed, the pitch rising with pain.

  "Stop it!" Ember emerged, placing herself between Yrhardt and Ash, her arms spread wide.

  "Then tell him to stay out of the way. We can always get you a stupider horse."

  "How dare you? You know what he is—"

  Yrhardt grabbed her shoulders and shook her with enough violence to toss her head about. "I don't care. He's like any other beast, just with a nose for trouble. And now that we've come to a place with gods be-damned beds, you aren't going to spend the night with him."

  "I'll spend the night wherever I choose." She wrenched out of his grip and retreated into the stall.

  Yrhardt's shoulders lifted and he visibly swelled, anger a palpable cloud around his silhouette. He stomped forward.

  Nic, who had frozen with hand and sole stuck to the ladder, shook to life. He had to do something.

  He'll kill me if I interfere. He dragged his feet toward Ash's stall, his knees weak with fear. And I don't know them. I don't know their situation, their relationship. Maybe this is—

  Ash squealed again, someone grunted, and straw rustled loudly. Ember's throaty voice carried a hint of panic when she cried, "No!"

  The shout jolted Nic to action. He dropped the bundle of blankets and sprinted down the aisle. If nothing else, he could distract Yrhardt enough for Ember and Ash to run for it. He skidded to a halt in front of the stall and barked, "Hey!"

  Again, Ash and Ember appeared as little more than shadow. Yrhardt stood in their midst, his arms around Ember's indistinct figure. After a moment of fixed staring, Nic made out her arched posture as she tried to pull away. Ash stood pressed to one of the stall walls, his head low. Yrhardt looked up from Ember's struggles and, even at that distance, Nic felt the weight of his glare like a fist against his own breast.

  Nic shook as he met those flaming eyes. Eyes that had looked upon demons, wizards, and ancient gods, and found them all wanting. One stableboy was little more than an insect to him. Gods help me. I'm going to die.

  "Leave," Yrhardt grunted.

  Nic forced his lips to move. His voice failed. He cleared his throat and tried again, quavering out the words, "All—all who reside beneath this roof are under my protection."

  Yrhardt's scowl deepened. "She's my wife."

  That came as a surprise, but N
ic refused to show it. Every heartbeat reminded him that he hadn't been squashed yet and pumped a little more courage through his veins. "All who reside beneath this roof are under my protection," he said again, standing straighter.

  "She doesn't need protection."

  "All who reside beneath—"

  "I said, she doesn't need protection!" Yrhardt dropped Ember and stomped toward Nic, huge hands flexing at his sides.

  "Obviously she does," Nic responded obstinately. He felt as though he was baiting an angry bear, but without so much as a hatchet or knife to defend himself. "She said no."

  Yrhardt stood silently, his breath coming hard and fast, then grit through clenched teeth, "She is my wife."

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Go away."

  "No."

  A gurgle escaped Yrhardt. "I've crushed bigger slugs beneath my boot heel."

  Nic trembled and his heart slammed against his ribs, urging him to flee, but his feet rooted into the floorboards. He shook his head.

  "Your master won't miss a little stableboy," Yrhardt growled, reaching for Nic with his giant's paws.

  "You would risk your reputation for this?" Ember asked quietly, sliding a gloved hand over Yrhardt's shoulder. Though she didn't appear to exert any effort, Yrhardt paused under her restraint. "How many peasants can you abuse before the king questions the wisdom of your title as Champion of Light?"

  Yrhardt flashed a glare at her and shrugged her hand away. "He'd be a fool to accuse me of anything."

  "Perhaps. But you do have enemies in the courts. The duke of this land, for one. The stableboy told me his own father has the duke's ear." Ember's murmurs rose and fell hypnotically. Even Nic had trouble remembering that his father was dead and the duke had little interest in his woodsmen.

  With a disgusted snort, Yrhardt stomped out of the stall. He brushed past Nic with enough force to make Nic stumble back to avoid his thick, bare arm. "Sleep with your horse then, bitch. There's wenches a'plenty to keep me warm." He whirled and grabbed Nic's vest, too suddenly for Nic to dodge. He lifted Nic clear off his feet and roared into his face, "And if you touch her, boy, I will kill you." Spittle and a hot gust of onion breath made Nic flinch and squeeze his eyes shut. Yrhardt snorted his disgust again and tossed Nic aside, to tumble onto the floor. He turned and thudded away with a parting, "The duke would understand."

  When he had gone, Nic sucked air into lungs that had constricted with fear. He pressed a hand over his fluttering heart, urging it to go slower. He had survived. Somehow.

  "Nic," Ember said softly, appearing at his side. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

  "No worse than before." Nic shook out his wrist, aching from his Yrhardt-assisted encounter with the floor, and wiped saliva off his cheeks. "You married him?"

  Ember's chuckle was high pitched, edged in mild hysteria. "It is a long story. Gods above, no one ever stands up to him like that. And you just a child."

  "I'm no child," he objected.

  She glanced askance at him, but said nothing. Instead, she peeled her gloves off and took his arm. With warm fingers, she palpated his wrist. "Nothing broken."

  Nic could have told her as much, but he wasn't about to object to her touch.

  "Come. Sit with me," she urged, cupping his elbow. "If you are not too tired, that is." She smiled ruefully. "It has been so long since someone was kind to me, I hardly know what to offer in return."

  The way she looked at him, the way she touched him, emboldened him enough to say, "Your company?"

  Her grin brightened the dim stable. "I hoped you would say that." When Ash whickered, she added, "We hoped you would say that."

  With some convincing, Ember allowed Nic to stand and walk unassisted, though she insisted on helping him collect and spread out his blankets. If she thought ill of their tatty condition, she said naught of it, but seemed delighted to curl up atop them. Ash lay down again and Ember leaned against him with all the grace and bearing of a queen on a luxurious divan. She patted the space beside her. "Sit with me."

  Her eyes were large and dark in her pale northerner's face, entrancing him. Her white throat carried his eyes to her chest. Somehow, perhaps in the struggle with Yrhardt, the ties holding her armour closed had come undone, revealing a goodly amount of creamy skin.

  Nic knelt and crawled next to her, favouring his wrist. He cast his gaze elsewhere, determined not to stare, but Ember touched his arm and drew his attention back to her.

  "You did a brave thing," she said, smiling through the dusty gloom. "Thank you."

  "Why did you marry him? Why do you let him treat you that way?" He gestured at her weapons. "You could probably kill him seventeen different ways with your bare hands, much less those."

  "Seventy ways," she corrected. "And it is... complicated."

  He stared at her. Ash sighed deeply.

  "Well. He rescued me."

  "You are a princess."

  She chuckled. "No, no. I was under the influence of a wizard. The Dark Lord of Crookfang Mountain. You may have heard of him?"

  Nic shook his head.

  "He kept a bevy of assassins. My brother and I were their commanders, lieutenants to the lord." She stroked Ash's neck absently, fidgeting with strands of his mane. "We were under his spell. Trained to kill, cursed to obey without question. The lord became a nuisance for the king, who sent Yrhardt out to deal with him. He came up against us and my brother and I were too strong for him.

  "Yrhardt was blessed at birth, touched by the gods, and we could not kill him. But we slayed his companions and captured him for the lord's pleasure. While languishing in the dungeon, he learned from another prisoner the terms of the curse placed on my brother and me. That our hands would do the lord's will and his alone.

  "He managed to escape. And when he returned, he brought two things." She held up two fingers. "A priest and a wizard of his own. A wizard who specializes in transmutation. And so he stole our hands through marriage and transformation, and broke the curse of obedience. Without us, the Dark Lord fell."

  Nic shook his head in amazement. "I didn't think he was that smart."

  Ember laughed. "Looking back, I suspect he had help solving that particular riddle. At the time I thought he was the most amazing, the most magical, the most heroic man ever to walk the earth."

  Ash snorted loudly.

  "Yes." Ember's smile fell. "At first our marriage was all about adventures, treasures, companionship. But he did not want another warrior at his side. He wanted a jewel to keep in the castle, doing needlepoint, wearing gowns, and waiting for him to come home with legs spread." She spoke to an errant piece of straw, twirling it in her fingers. "But I am no lady. The only needles I handle are coated in poison. And the only reason I don a gown is if my target is in the middle of a ball.

  "I fled the castle, sick of it, and he followed. Him and his pet cleric and tracker Amazon. I refused to return, but could not stand against them. So here we are." She waved the bit of straw, encompassing the stable. "On our way back to the castle and its no doubt improved fortifications. I had thought my enslavement at an end, but I fear I have only traded one master for another." She touched her cheek, then glanced at Ash's scarred flanks.

  "And you can't kill him because of his... blessing?" Nic worried at that concept like a sore tooth. The most magic he'd ever seen before had been the tricks of a hedge witch and one surprisingly potent herbalist.

  Ember nodded. "The gods favour him."

  "Can you appeal to the king?"

  "And tell him what? That his favourite champion's wife is unhappy?" She laughed shortly. "That would be a short conversation and would likely result in the removal of his wife. He has a direct way of solving problems, much like Yrhardt himself. They are cousins, after all." She sighed, then gave her head a hard shake. "I apologize, Nic. You should not have to listen to this. Your eyes are so old, I forget you are only a boy." As she spoke, Ember leaned away, putting cool distance between them.

  Jolted by mild pa
nic at the loss of closeness, Nic protested, "But I'm not! I'm no child. I've seen near thirty years." His mouth twisted when he said it. "Of course, I've seen them all here."

  "But you—" Ember stroked the air over his smooth cheeks, then brushed away the tawny hair over his ears. "You do not have elven blood?"

  "No."

  "A curse, then? Trapping you in the body of a youth?"

  Nic chuckled. "That one is closer to the truth. My curse is that the gods poured my spirit into the wrong mould. My body and heart don't match."

  He considered Ember's open face, her curiosity and warmth, wondering how much he could tell her. It seemed only fair; she had revealed her past and her heartache to him. He should do likewise. She was probably one of the few who might understand after all she had seen and done.

  "When I was born," he continued carefully, "my father and mother celebrated the birth of a daughter. Nicole Petunia Coterill. But in truth they bore a son. A son trapped in flesh not his own." He dropped his gaze to his hand where it plucked at a patch in his scratchy burlap trousers, frowning in old dismay at his stunted fingers, overly aware that beneath the fabric lay skin that was too smooth and free of hair, muscles that were too soft, bones that were too short. Everything about his body was wrong, had always been wrong.

  "So you are a woman?" Ember's tone lilted with confusion.

  "No!" Nic jerked his head side to side, reminded of the years he had spent agonizing over the same question. "No," he continued softly. He flicked his eyes up to take in Ember's worried frown, and let out a breath to ease the tension in his breast. "I'm not. I'm not a woman pretending to be a man. I'm... I'm just not right."

  "Nic..."

  He flinched and edged backward, expecting ridicule at the very least. He had told a handful of people about his curse since he embraced his true self, and all had laughed. Some had reacted worse, and he had born the bruises of their contempt for days after.

  "You have already proven yourself as brave, kind, gentle, and generous." Ember's fingertips lightly caressed his chin, tilting his head up. "You need not prove anything else. I want to understand. I want to know you."