She very much liked what he was doing with his hand. She tried to finish her sentence, but all she could say was “oh!” again.
D’Arbignal grinned and opened his mouth to speak, but she put her hand over his lips.
“Be quiet,” she said again. She arched an eyebrow as if to say, satisfied?
She shoved him to the ground. She lifted her leg to straddle him, but he held her off by her shoulders.
“Oh, it’s not going to be that easy,” he said, grinning devilishly.
He rolled her onto her back and proceeded to explore her body with a fascination and tenderness that surprised her. With his reputation as a Lothario, she had imagined he would be callous and self-centered; instead, he seemed to be taking forever.
His caresses drove her almost to the brink, but he stopped just short of her climax. She growled and reached for his head, but he eluded her. Smiling, he began to kiss her, starting at her neck and working his way down.
Her body writhed as she approached the precipice again. She threw her arm across her mouth to stifle her moans.
When her climax came, she couldn’t make a sound as waves of intense pleasure swept over her.
Before she could so much as catch her breath, D’Arbignal kissed her again. He continued with his hand, and all she could do was just lay there and take it.
He studied her face, seeming completely focused on her pleasure and attuned to her body and its responses. Yet as their love play progressed, she realized that he was withholding a part of himself: something hidden, or perhaps protected. Oh, without a doubt, he played her body like a master musician, exacting tremendous results. But his lovemaking seemed more intellectual than passionate. In an unexpected and atypical burst of insight, Willow suddenly realized that while danger did not frighten D’Arbignal, emotions did.
She was struck by this realization, and wanted to give it more consideration, but D’Arbignal kept robbing her of her reason. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. By the time she had opened them again, she had forgotten what she had been thinking only moments earlier.
After he had nearly exhausted her with several crescendos and the accompanying ecstatic convulsions, he put his lips near her ear and said, “I hope you have the energy for one more.”
“I’ll never yield before you do,” she gasped.
His naked body slid along hers and then, finally, he was inside. She cried out in pleasure despite herself, and he moaned a sweet little moan. This was the first sound of genuine pleasure he had uttered with her, and the unexpected authenticity sent an electric thrill through her.
She clung to his back as he made love to her, and as she felt herself approaching another climax, she whispered in his ear: “Who are you, really?” She moaned, and then added: “D’Arbignal …”
She toppled over the precipice. Her body felt like it was vibrating with a million humming points of pleasure. Her climax pushed D’Arbignal over the edge, too, and he exploded with a mighty groan.
When at last he was done, he lay down next to her, catching his breath.
“Call me ….” he started. “Call me … Your Majesty.”
He closed his eyes and smiled angelically.
She laid back, every muscle in her body loose and completely relaxed. She should have done something like this years ago.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said.
Instead of dressing and departing, as all of Willow’s previous lovers had done, D’Arbignal remained with her. Moreover, once he had caught his breath, he rolled to his side and held her.
She permitted herself to be held, but the act confused her. What was the purpose of it? Had she not fulfilled his needs? Was this some precursor to another sexual act? If so, too bad; she was sated now and had no desire for more sex.
When D’Arbignal started to stroke her hair, she stiffened. His hand froze in mid-stroke.
“What’s the matter?” he said, his voice anxious. “Have I hurt you?”
“What are you doing?” she said levelly.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m stroking your hair.”
She sat up and glared down at him suspiciously. “I meant, why are you doing it?”
D’Arbignal seemed at a loss. He shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand the question.”
“We had sex,” she said.
“Yes, I remember,” he said, sitting up, too. “I was there. In fact, I believe I even contributed a little, he said modestly, hoping she’d notice.”
“Your Majesty was more than adequate,” she said, grasping for words. “What I mean is … we’re done, right?”
D’Arbignal’s face went through a series of expressions, none of which she was able to decipher. He started to speak, stopped, and then tried again.
“Willow,” he said, his voice tender, “have none of your lovers ever held you after lovemaking?”
She shrugged. “Why would they?”
A weak smile flickered on his face, and for a moment, his eyes seemed without guile. The moment passed, and his sickly smile was replaced by a broad grin.
“Well, you’re missing out on the best part,” he proclaimed.
She had no response. She didn’t even have a frame of reference from which to craft a response.
D’Arbignal gently pulled her down by the shoulders until he was laying on the remnants of his shirt, and she was pressed against him, her head against his chest. The warmth felt good in the chill of night. He stroked her hair.
“But what purpose—?” she started, but he pressed his finger against her lips.
“Shhh,” he said. “Just give it a try. Just for a few minutes?”
“Very well, sir.”
D’Arbignal chuckled at that, and it shook her head a little. Pressed against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat and she did indeed find it soothing.
He continued stroking her hair. At first, she found it irritating, but she had agreed to try. She willed herself to relax. She pictured permutations of military formations battling each other; she analyzed the advantages of disadvantages of the pairings. She often found that relaxing when she had trouble sleeping.
After a little while, she realized that the sensation was not especially unpleasant after all. In fact, she had to admit that it actually felt quite nice.
She relaxed and tried returning the embrace. She could see why some women might enjoy it, though there were any number of better ways they might otherwise occupy their time.
D’Arbignal’s hand brushed aside the hair by her ear, and began stroking the ear itself.
“The elven ear is sublime in its beauty,” he admired. “You truly are lovely, Willow.”
She said nothing. She was used to men flattering her to convince her to have sex with them. She assumed this was just a variation on the same theme.
“Hm,” he said, suddenly sounding intrigued. “You have a tattoo behind your ear! It’s beautiful. What does it say?”
One of her rare smiles made it to her face, though of course he couldn’t see it.
“I don’t know, sir,” she said.
“You don’t know what it says, but you had it done anyway? And of course, you had it put behind your ear where it’d be hidden by your hair.”
She chuckled a little.
“Perhaps I’ll explain the reason behind the tattoo someday,” she said. Now her voice held no mirth. “Perhaps quite soon. But not tonight.”
“Fair enough,” he said, nodding in acquiescence. “Do you have any other tattoos on your body, waiting to be discovered?”
She sat up and began to dress. “Perhaps His Majesty will have the opportunity to find out on some other occasion.”
D’Arbignal took his cue, and began dressing, too. Willow observed him as he did so. For all his apparent indifference to anything and everything, he was a fastidious dresser. Every article of clothing had to be just so, and he kept making minute adjustments to his attire long after Willow could see any actual difference.
On
impulse, she said, “Your friend Maria has a lover.”
D’Arbignal turned with his ready grin already on display before understanding of what she said actually reached him. His smile faltered. He looked like he had been gut punched.
“She does?” he said, barely above a whisper.
Willow nodded, watching his face carefully. She had caught him off-guard; it was an interesting opportunity to see what lay behind the laughing façade.
“Is he …?” he started, but faltered. “Is he a … is he a good man?”
Willow shrugged. How did one judge “goodness”?
“He seemed prepared to fight me to protect her,” she said.
D’Arbignal whistled in admiration. “Brave man.”
“I should point out that you fought with me, too.”
“Ah, yes, but that was different,” he said and laughed, his eyes shining.
“How so?”
D’Arbignal grinned. “Because that was me.”
His finger went to his eye where he appeared to wipe away a tear. He smiled, chagrinned.
“Must be smoke,” he said with a knowing wink. “You know, from the torches.”
Chapter 57
D’Arbignal placed upon his head his famed plumed hat, of which she had so often heard. He seemed to have an entire wardrobe in that magical bag of his, including a spare uniform for her. She didn’t want to know how he had obtained that.
“There!” he said. “How do I look?”
He looked handsome, of course, but beyond that, she had no opinion on his attire. Save one.
“That is the same outfit you wore when you entered Bryanae,” she said.
Outside, dawn approached, adding a reddish tinge to the disused buildings. Willow belted on her rapier.
D’Arbignal nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“You’re leaving,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
He had trouble meeting her eyes. He gathered Willow’s discarded skirts and tossed them into his magic bag.
“It’s past time,” he said. “Don’t you think?”
“Why?” She asked the question not to plead, but merely to understand. “Isn’t being the King of Bryanae enough for you?”
He laughed, and raised his eyes to her own.
“Oh, being the King was fun, but ultimately, I think I’m ill-suited for it. Moreover, there’s something I need to do.”
“Duke Ledor,” she said.
“You’re quick,” he said, his eyebrows raised in admiration. “Nearly as quick as I.”
“Perhaps someday we’ll find out who really is the quickest,” she said, glancing at his rapier.
D’Arbignal’s eyes narrowed. “But not today?”
“No,” she said, “not today.”
He studied her face, seemingly unsure of how to proceed.
“You’re Captain of the Guard,” he said. “Don’t you have to try to stop me from leaving?”
“My current orders are to protect you from harm,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but the Queen made it quite clear that you were to keep me on a tight leash. Won’t she be furious if you let me go?”
“My current orders,” she said again with emphasis, “are to protect you from harm.”
D’Arbignal rubbed his chin, his face blank and bewildered. “I don’t understand.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“My current orders are —”
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time. You’re to protect me from —” Then he stopped.
“Oh,” he said, obviously getting it. “The Chancellor wants to kill me,” D’Arbignal said, smiling.
“Yes,” she said. “He does.”
“Methinks Fyrelord wishes a wagon-load of death upon me as well.”
She nodded. “It’s a fair assumption.”
D’Arbignal laughed. “Four Fingers definitely wants me dead, and he controls nearly every would-be assassin in Bryanae.”
“He does.”
D’Arbignal adjusted the tilt of that ridiculous plumed hat. He smiled wistfully.
“Captain Willow,” he said, perhaps a little sadly, “I don’t think there’s anywhere in Bryanae that I’d be safe.”
“I concur, sir. You are definitely at risk as long as you stay here.”
“Would you be so kind as to help me leave Bryanae?”
“My current orders,” she said, “are to protect you from harm, sir.”
Chapter 58
Willow eased aside the piece of brush that concealed the tunnel entrance in the side of the rocky hill.
“This tunnel was created over a hundred years ago,” she said. “It passes directly under Frost’s Vice and exits just north of Kyrn.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?” D'Arbignal said, sounding genuinely concerned.
“My current orders are to prot—”
He waved his hand impatiently. “I believe I’ve heard that somewhere before. What I mean is, won’t the Chancellor be angry with you?”
She shrugged. “The Chancellor is always angry these days. Besides, there’s nothing he can do. Ever since you arrived, I’ve only obeyed his orders. He may be angry, but what could he possibly do to me for doing exactly as he ordered?”
“And the Queen?” He shuddered a little as he mentioned her.
Willow permitted herself a half-smile. “Her Majesty, too, is known for being angry quite frequently.”
“But can she hurt you?”
“I take my orders from the Chancellor,” she said. “And my current orders are—”
“… to protect me from harm,” D’Arbignal finished. “This all sounds so … so … so familiar somehow. Very well.”
He started to enter the tunnel, but stopped again. “Willow, about what happened last night …”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“About … you know…” He was actually blushing. “About what happened between the two of us.”
“You mean the sex, sir?”
He laughed, appearing to be equal parts astonished and delighted. “Yes, that’s what I meant.”
She shrugged. “It was only sex, Your Majesty.” Yet as she said it, it didn’t quite ring true.
Odd. It was perfectly natural to have sexual desires and to act upon them when necessary. None of the other men she had slept with had been so concerned about it the next day. But in a way, it was oddly endearing.
There was something different about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Her thoughts on the matter were very confusing. She would have to ponder this when she had some spare time.
However, right now, she had things to do.
“Yes, well…” D’Arbignal said, seeming unsure of what to do or say next. “Good.”
He moved toward the tunnel once more, but this time she stopped him.
“I do have one question, if you don’t mind, sir.”
He blinked in surprise. “Of course, Willow.”
“I think I understand why you came to Bryanae,” she said. “What I don’t understand is how you made yourself look like King Eric, or why.”
D’Arbignal laughed.
“Willow, I had never even heard of King Eric until that morning when I awoke in the Castle,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You just happen to look like King Eric,” she said, unconvinced.
He shrugged and smiled broadly.
“So it would seem.” He stooped low and entered the tunnel. “What happens next, Willow?”
“I imagine that when I return to the Castle, the Chancellor will order me to hunt you down and kill you.” She said it matter-of-factly, and that’s how she felt on the subject. More or less.
“And will you?”
“If he orders me to kill you, Your Majesty,” she said, letting him see the diamonds in her eyes, “then you had better watch for your life.”
D’Arbignal’s smile vanished. He nodded once, curtly, before removing his hat and performing his customary bow and flourish.
“Until then, Your Majesty,” she said.
Chapter 59
It was after dawn by the time she returned to her office. She needed to wash and change her uniform. She had to look her most professional when the Chancellor shouted his threats and insults at her. She’d have to be chewed out by the Queen, too.
Ooh, but if the Queen ever found out that Willow had had sex with the man the Queen thought was her husband, her royal fury would be limitless. The thought gave Willow no small amount of pleasure.
As she opened the door to her office, a hand reached out and pulled her in with tremendous strength. It caught her completely by surprise, but by the time the hand went to cover her mouth, she had recovered.
She slammed her elbow into him, hoping to break some ribs, but she didn't feeling anything snap. Nevertheless, she heard her assailant gasp and his grip on her loosened. Quick to take advantage, she turned and head-butted him on the bridge of his nose, definitely breaking that. She followed with a quick knee to his groin. He dropped to his knees. She hopped back, and drew her rapier.
“Willow,” the man shouted, his voice familiar. “Stop!”
She held off running him through, waiting for her eyes to acclimate to the darkness in her office. She circled him, keeping out of reach, and flipped the door open with the tip of her boot, letting in more light.
It was the Chancellor. Blood flowed from his nose like water from a warm spring.
But more than that, he looked terrified—and not of her. Furthermore, he had no hair! His head was completely bald; his eyebrows, beard, and mustache were all gone. On one of his cheeks was a fierce red burn.
“Close the door,” he hissed. “Please!”
She did as he ordered. “What’s the matter, sir?”
“Where’s D’Arbignal?” he said. “Please, tell me you didn’t kill him!”
She blinked. What in all the Hells was going on?
“No,” she said. “His Majesty has escaped. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” The Chancellor’s eyes widened in terror. His mouth twisted and his eyes were moist. He stood and grabbed at her shirt with hands the size of small boulders. She peeled back his hand with a grip she could have turned into a wristlock, but did not.
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