The mount was a perlino, his coat pale rose gold with ghostly blue eyes. The powerful mount boldly fell into stride with Jasper as they galloped. He rolled pale eyes towards them in challenge. For a moment, they were shoulder to shoulder. Winnifred grinned fiercely over at him in victory, just before Jasper pinned back his ears and drew resolve from somewhere to push himself even faster, lengthening his stride. They bolted ahead of the pair as though the young stallion had been only taunting the princess and her mount.
Fast.
I told you, Jasper’s voice sang through him, exuberant and joyous.
Zan’Dar laughed into the wind, lowering himself over the stretched neck as they flew down the beach and finally spun around to head back, finding the princess on her mount, arms crossed over her chest. He expected to find her petulant, but instead she wore a small smile on her lips as she fell into step with him to make a more sedate pace back to the throng of people.
“You are a showoff, Zan’Dar.” She leaned over to hug him and press a kiss to his cheek. “Your hair is grown wild.” She ruffled the long curls first and then stroked the back of her fingers over his jaw to his chin and the beard he’d recently trimmed. “Like something savage.”
He drew back when her hand fell away and shared a smile with her. “You’re a fine one to talk with your hair style. Western wilderness, is it? It’s good to see you too.”
“And my brother? Does he approve of his warrior-bride?”
“Bride?” Zan’Dar asked, heat rising to his face. The memory of their joining returned sharply to his mind and his body responded with a fierce, primal desire at the thought of being knotted with his warrior.
Princess Winnifred’s smile was coy as she dipped her chin and looked at him through her lashes. “I am not a child anymore, either. I know what happens between lovers. Surely one of you must be the stallion and the other the mare, even though you are both studs.”
“It’s not information I’m sharing with you.” No, he wanted that to be private between himself and Bennonton. Precious, intimate details of their loving were not fuel for gossip. He didn’t enjoy being taunted by the spoiled little princess, no matter how grown up she might be.
“I’m sorry, brother.” Winnifred certainly sounded contrite this time and the big, perlino stallion she rode stepped closer so she could squeeze his arm. “I did not ask it to pry. I just…was curious how such matings worked. I…would not like to be ridden as a mare is,” she admitted, voice low. “Anyway, I should go.” She didn’t wait for him to ask what she meant. It was an awkward conversation he couldn’t ever imagine having with one of his sisters. He was relieved when she galloped ahead and also disappointed he couldn’t offer better advice.
Do you see whom carries her? Morgan, Traveler of the Coldest Night. Jasper was in awe and also a little sheepish. I outran Morgan.
Zan’Dar chuckled quietly and scratched the mount’s neck in reward for his victory and watched the young woman riding off. Her words stuck with him.
‘I…would not like to be ridden as a mare is.’
His face burned with the memory of being with his beloved, pinned under his strength. Ah yes, he did not mind being ridden as a mare. Except that had everything to do with the stallion.
When he rejoined Bennonton, the warrior pulled him down from the horse’s back, enfolding him as he leaned in for the kiss. Zan’Dar wrapped his arms around the broad shoulders and curled in close, smiling into the lingering caress of lips and tongue.
“Show off,” he whispered.
Taking his hand, Zan’Dar drew him to their tent and there, properly showed him just how exciting the ride was. Much later, curled together in the bath, he found his courage.
“Have you been with many lovers?”
Bennonton’s murmur was quiet, clearly still in a haze of pleasure from their union. He slid both arms around Zan’Dar’s stomach and pulled him closer, nuzzling his feathered chest against his back. “Not many. I had a regular lover when I was first in the ranks. He was my first, and we were together for many years before he crossed over.” He kissed Zan’Dar’s shoulder and nuzzled towards his neck, kissing the bite marks he’d placed there during their love making. “I tried a few casual physical partners but—gods above, it has been a very long time between that and when I found myself captured by you, bright-eyes.”
Zan’Dar let his eyes fall closed, soothed by the caresses and the warmth of Bennonton’s mouth against the bruised marks on his skin.
“Does that bother you, love?” he asked when a length of silence stretched between them.
Shifting slightly, he turned, twisting in the circle of arms so he could press chest to chest with the man, nuzzling their cocks together in the silken water. “No. Although you are…so very skilled. I don’t know the first thing about how to pleasure you correctly.”
Bennonton’s eyebrows lifted before he laughed, “Ah love, I am well pleased. I might die if you did more.” Bennonton smoothed a thumb down Zan’Dar’s cheek, stilling at the dimple as he admired him. “You don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you, Ben. I just…wanted to know if you have ever been….claimed, the way you have taken me.”
He’d rarely seen the huge man blush and it was adorable. Even the feathered crest fluffed up slightly as color stained his cheeks. “No,” he said firmly.
There was a finality in the single word that cooled Zan’Dar’s lusts and he tensed in the man’s strong arms. The flicker of fear coursed through his lover across their bond. He nuzzled himself lovingly into that spot. There was a wall there, though, rather than the embrace he expected.
He lowered his gaze, feeling awkward and ashamed for bringing it up. The conversation had not gone as he’d expected or wanted. It was his attempt to seduce his lover and explore something new. He wanted to share everything with this handsome, intoxicating man.
When Bennonton sat up and pulled himself from the basin, he felt even worse. Neither of them spoke as the warrior wrapped in a towel and after an awkward moment, walked into the adjoining room of the tent.
Zan’Dar slumped deep into the water feeling cold all over. Mortari offered a curious physic nuzzle against him in concern. Zan’Dar didn’t know what to say. How could he explain? His mount didn’t need words though, he sensed the difficulty. Go to him, rider. He suffers alone. His mount’s soft whisper nuzzled at him with affection. He has been the strong, proud general too long to understand he need not always be in control.
Zan’Dar took a moment longer before he stepped from the tub and bundled in the luxurious towel. He found Bennonton standing in the middle of the tent, towel around his hips, naked and dry, his expression stricken. Gods, he was a fierce, majestic being. A savage possessiveness clutched at his heart. Not saying anything, Zan’Dar walked closer and slid his arms around his lover, nuzzling into his thick neck and the marks of the bites he’d left there. He kissed each one, not saying anything.
“Don’t turn away from me, love,” Zan’Dar whispered and a huge sigh pass through the man.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, either. This is new for both of us.” Zan’Dar was relieved when the strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him in tight.
“I didn’t mean to push you away, bright-eyes.” He cupped his face and looked deep into his eyes, searching for something that was found in the glimmering connection they shared. “And yes, your request was unexpected and…I…um…don’t know that I’m ready for that, yet.”
Turning his head, Zan’Dar kissed the fingers that brushed along his lower lip, not breaking the gaze. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not into, either.”
Bennonton hesitated but Zan’Dar silenced any further discussion with a lingering kiss. Then he pulled him into the bed and cuddled himself against the big man. He savored the warmth of the powerful arms around him, and finally the deep, peaceful breath that tickled his neck as he drifted to sleep. Zan’Dar remained awake for a while, thinking about all the reaso
ns that his lover might be so forcefully reluctant to his advances.
Chapter 19
Days passed into weeks and soon Festival, as grand as it was, came to an end. The awkward conversation and resulting disquiet between them naturally faded, because Zan’Dar didn’t bring the subject up again. He loved his general and their relationship. If he was curious about what it would be like to overpower and claim his lover, he’d convinced himself it wasn’t important. Bennonton didn’t want it. That sort of thing must happen in relationships between men and women, too. Didn’t it?
He certainly had no reason to feel slighted. There was no lack of passion between them. Often it was only lack of time and stamina that kept them from their sexual exploits. Festival was ending and their free time would be cut even shorter when court began again.
Princess Winnifred warned Zan’Dar as she arranged the delivery of a new wardrobe for him. “You don’t know a thing about court. Ugh. Neither does he! He knows about fighting and chopping and stabbing, but he has never paid attention to the important things. It’s up to you to keep your wits about you and not let him get himself into trouble. Everything in court is very precise. From the words you speak, to the way you hold your drink and even the style and color of your clothing. You don’t want to openly insult anyone important, but when you put someone beneath you in their place, you must do so without mercy and remove all methods they might retaliate against you or your consort and prince or your king.”
Learning to fight with the sword was so much easier. Luckily, Princess Winnifred was a master of the games at court. She had spent all of her young life at the feet of her father who was a master statesman, and before her mother had passed away, she learned skills at her side as well. Her two years in the west had gained her a following in Lyni and of course everyone of eastern Shirvil worshiped her. Not a month went by that she was not courted by some lesser or greater noble or land-holder. Every one of them she politely danced around, and then neatly evaded. All this was accomplished without anyone being slighted. She handled them with grace and poise as she slid out of the noose each time.
Zan’Dar slowly and painfully developed a fraction of the elegance of the young princess, and he learned to love her like the sisters he’d left behind. He even grew to have affection for Shylo and Yuli when they came to court a few years later. A grown and mature Shylo showed his maturity in his apology with a contrite Yuli beside him. It showed that their hearts were in the right place. Many happy years came and went and Festivals with them every two years. There were difficult and troubling events as well. Wars and storms and there were often borders needing defending and allies to protect. Then the time came that the princess Winnifred was sent off to Klorwur to become the bride of Auburn, Prince of the northern islands. Klorwur’s own true heir.
Zan’Dar had a vague memory of the young man at his first Festival long ago. The man had been a dancer. He had not seemed unkind. Dozens of years spanned between that day and this. The boy becoming a man would have surely changed him, for good or ill.
She rode Morgan as proudly as any queen, escorted by her brother, Zan’Dar, and a small army who would see her happily married and finally seal a peace between the two kingdoms. Enough blood had spilled between the borders. A marriage could smooth over generations of unrest.
Klorwur was not any happier to see the princess arrive than Talgraem was to let her go. They thought the people of Talgraem with their bestial forms were far from human. They believed them closer to demon-kin or devils. Despite this, they were accepting the arrangement for the good of the peace treaty. They had lost too many lives in a war that would never be won in battle. Lovely, artful Winnifred accepted her fate after dozens of dodges. This time, the net was cast, and she was snared ruthlessly in the coils with no hope of escape.
She masked her emotions from everyone, except she couldn’t hide from Zan’Dar. Everything about her remained poised except for her grip on the mount’s mane. The big stallion’s flared nostrils showing he shared her inner turmoil.
Her words whispered back to Zan’Dar through the years, ‘I…would not like to be ridden as a mare is.’ Her golden eyes flickered to him and she begged him silently in that look not to let her be taken.
Gods and devils.
“Do we have to leave her here to that…man?” he asked Bennonton when they’d finally been settled into a room. Klorwur was even less thrilled about having two men room together than they were about their prince wedding a Hunter.
Bennonton paused in the process of exploring their room and turned to look back at Zan’Dar, his expression baffled. “What?”
“Ben,” Zan’Dar sighed. “Did you see her expression?”
“She is fine.”
“She most certainly is not fine with this.”
“There’s no other choice, Zan’Dar. It’s this or we continue to war forever.”
“Would you do it?” Zan’Dar asked, crossing to the man. “Marry someone knowing that you’re going to be forcefully mated any time your spouse, whom you do not care for, wishes it?” He knew by the tightening of the broad shoulders that he should not press this issue. He knew very well that Bennonton would never submit himself to such a thing.
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s every bit the same.”
Bennonton took a shaking breath and turned to regard him. His expression was stricken and a color stripped away from his cheeks as he eased down to the edge of the bed. “I don’t want this for our sister, Zan’Dar. I would rather she had a partnership as we do. She is a brave woman. Strong. She will be fine. Women do this all the time.”
Zan’Dar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The princess was powerful despite her guise of being mild and pampered. She was not a frail, wilting girl, and she did not deserve to be treated like a pawn. She was a queen. It was more than Zan’Dar could process. How could his lover not see how difficult it was for her to accept being treated as broodmare? The man himself would not tolerate it. Not even with his love.
The room was too small to stay there without his anger getting the better of him. “I’m going for a ride.” He brushed past the man, pulling away from the hand that attempted to restrain him.
“Zan’Dar. You know it’s the only way.”
Except that no, he didn’t know that for certain. He couldn’t just accept that as the way it would be. There must be some other way. Of all the faces that could come to his mind, it was his sweet youngest sister, Kelly, who consumed his thoughts. His stomach knotted as he re-saddled Mortari. The mount sent out a flicker of question and then a sharper focus of concern when he sensed the anger.
What is it, rider?
“Nothing. Let’s just run. All right? Just…run.”
Chirmeng watched them and extended a curious mental touch as well, before jerking away as though the fury in Zan’Dar burned him. Good.
A dozen and more happy years he and Bennonton had been together and yet the unbending rules of dominance and submission remained. The rules the man held so tightly must be addressed. Zan’Dar didn’t want to push the issue but he didn’t understand how the man could be so flippant to imagine his sister would be fine in a situation Bennonton himself would never submit to. Not even for the man with whom he willingly shared his life. At that moment, it was more than Zan’Dar could stand.
A stallion does not wish to be mounted, Mortari said firmly as though that explained everything. The comment came as an unintentional slap.
Was Zan’Dar seen as something other than a stallion?
The words from Princess Winnifred that he’d pushed from his thoughts years ago whispered in the back of his memory. Warrior-bride.
Zan’Dar shoved the mount out of his thoughts. Driving Mortari’s mind away from his, he yanked his walls up. “I see I should have taken Amberlynn.”
The mount’s ears flicked back and then pinned as the stallion tried to find his way back and regain the contact torn from him. He made a distressed sound low in his throa
t as Zan’Dar turned away in fury.
Chirmeng nickered loudly, too, though if Mortari wasn’t able to reach him, the other sapphire stallion had no chance to ever push his way through without the bond.
Tears stung his eyes. What an idiot he’d been. He gave up fastening the saddle and yanked it off, flinging it to the ground. He tried to walk away and found both stallions blocking his path. They grew more agitated as they struggled to find the familiar contact with him. He reached for his spirit form, ready to draw it over him. He longed to be gone from the place to run and clear his head.
“Don’t close us all out, bright-eyes,” Bennonton’s broken voice whispered behind him.
Zan’Dar glared over his shoulder at his lover. “You don’t get to ask me that. You’ve refused me. Right now, I don’t want to talk with you. Any of you.” His head pounded with the effort to keep the walls up under the additional pressure of both his beloved and the mounts. He knew he was behaving like a child, and yet he didn’t know what else to do.
“Zan’Dar. Love. Please!” Bennonton went to him and bowed his head as he went to his knees. “Do not harm yourself. Do not harm your mount. Talk to me.”
Mortari uttered a low, desperate cry and pawed at the earth, trying to nuzzle him pleadingly. His dark eyes rolled with obvious discomfort.
Zan’Dar closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh as he let the walls shatter down. The cold evaporated as his mount crashed back to him, shaking him fiercely.
Never do that again. Never Ever do that again, rider. You will do yourself harm. You do your love harm! What is wrong? Why are you unhappy? Are you not pleased with us? More distantly he felt Amberlynn and Jasper too, hazy emotions of fear and concern as they found him again.
Not dead.
Not Dead!
He had not thought of them being harmed when his wall shoved them away, too.
“I don’t understand how you can refuse me, your lover, and you expect our sister to do what you will never do even with me, your heart-bound. And now it’s clear you think I’m lesser somehow. All of you. I tried not to let it eat at me, but obviously you don’t see me as an equal.”
An End to Summer Page 16
