“I needed you, and you came.”
His happiness was a balm to her soul, and Myrina smiled as she slowly stripped away the concealing layers of clothing.
“I needed you too. So very much.”
Her words seemed to release something within him, and a rush of images akin to a storm broke over her, ravishing her senses. In moments Myrina was crying out, reaching for the culmination he commanded—demanded—of her.
When the storm passed, she lay back, satisfied for the moment, although a small seed of discontent unfurled in her heart. How she wished she could give him the same pleasure she had received. How it hurt her so to know he could but watch her find ecstasy, when what she wished for was to be in his arms.
As though he’d heard her thoughts, his voice drifted into her half-slumbering state:
“How happy you make me, darling, with the unselfish sharing of your delight.”
“But is it enough?”
It was only a whisper, but he heard it and replied: “What I truly desire cannot be, so yes, this is enough.”
She would give him more, she decided, so he would always hold the memory of her passion as a gift. Where before he had shown her all he would do with her if he could, she would cast her shyness aside and tell him how he made her feel.
Cupping her breasts, pushing them together, she pinched and twisted the over-sensitive nipples and sighed. “Oh, Ryllio. How I long to know the touch of your lips, here, everywhere.”
The sound that echoed through her mind was beyond description, dark and raw, overwhelming in its masculine desire. It spurred Myrina on, inspiring her to lift one full breast so as to touch it with the tip of her tongue. “I would hold the back of your head, my fingers tangled in your hair to embrace you closer, tighter, while I twined my legs around yours, felt the hardness of your cock against my body.”
Ryllio made no reply, but immediately an image of what she described took shape—a confluence of his mind, and hers. It was so intense, so real, Myrina almost imagined the roughness of his legs beneath the soles of her feet, the softness of his hair entwined around her fingers.
“I want you,” she breathed, feeling the air catch in her throat. “Inside me. But not like this.”
Rolling onto her stomach, she thrust her buttocks in the air, reaching between her legs to press trembling fingers into her desire-slick quim. Knowing he could see her clearly in the sunlight only pushed her arousal higher. Exposed to him, she pressed one burning cheek into her cloak, feeling elation burst through her at his agonized cry of delight. Slowly she withdrew her fingers, pressed them back in, feeling the hot sheath tighten and release in waves.
“Oh,” she cried, seeing it, feeling his hands tight against her hips, the thrust of his cock sliding hard and hot into her slick flesh. “Yes. Faster. Harder.”
As though Ryllio felt each plunging incursion into her body, his low groans matched the tempo of her hand. Rocking her palm against the sensitive peak of flesh, feeling it harden as her release coalesced, drew tighter, closer, she cried, “Does this please you? Can you feel your cock inside me—the wetness, the desire?”
“Yes,” he cried, just as she shattered beneath the weight of their love play, and their voices rang out together as though they found release as one.
Chapter Six
Leaving Ryllio was harder than ever, and Myrina exited the cool quiet of the woods and started up the path to home with dragging, guilt-laden, steps. With the sun almost setting, it was an hour or more past time for her to be back. Mama would be waiting, perhaps worried about her delayed arrival. The yearning to be with Ryllio pulled against her need to care for her ailing mother, becoming a constant tug-of-war in her heart.
After her father’s death, Myrina hadn’t truly understood her mother’s inability to find interest in anything or anyone around her. There had even been moments when her mother’s distracted, distant air had stirred her to anger, making her feel she had lost both parents instead of just one. Now she understood better, as she left part of herself behind in the magical glade. The love she had for her mother was as true and strong as it had ever been, but not strong enough to overcome the pain of parting from Ryllio. Once more she wondered what she could do to free him, who she could ask for advice.
As she approached the cottage, a figure stepped out from alongside it, and Myrina stopped, squinting against the sun to see. It was Jecil, and he came forward, smiling, to meet her in the yard.
Still stung by his earlier hurtful remarks, too weary to be polite, she asked, “What do you want?”
Smile fading, he stopped an arm’s length away. “I came to talk to you, to ask why you treated me the way you did today, to ask for another chance.”
Lifting her hands and letting them fall again, Myrina shook her head. “You have a new life now, and so do I. There is no use in speaking further of this.”
Stepping closer so she was forced to tilt her head back to see his face, he scowled. “I want to speak of it, to know who it is you found to take my place.”
A wave of annoyance swept through her at his petulant tone, and she replied, “Whatever place you had in my life was forfeit when you left Kessit. I never asked you to stay—never expected it—nor did I ask to go with you. What makes you think I was waiting here, hoping you would come back, ready to throw myself at you for the sake of a few days’ pleasure?”
His fair skin flushing with anger, Jecil grabbed her arm, pulled her close against his chest. “I thought you were different, but you’re no better than the other whores in the village, lifting their skirts for whichever man takes their fancy.”
“You only say that because I won’t lift my skirt for you again,” she cried, struggling against the cruel grip of his fingers.
“No,” he replied, lips pulled back in something akin to a snarl. “I say that because I can smell him on you, whoever it is you’ve been swiving in the woods. Is he married? Is that why no one in the village knows who he is?”
“What I do is my business, not yours. I don’t want you anymore.”
Anger forced the words from her mouth just as, with a rough shove, Jecil sent her staggering away, causing her to fall to her knees.
“I wouldn’t have you at any price,” he sneered, and Myrina wondered why she had ever thought him handsome. With his face mottled with anger, his lips thinned back over his teeth, he was frightening. “I don’t take any man’s leavings.”
To her relief, he turned away and strode off along the path without a backward glance. As she rose and brushed at her skirt, rubbed her stinging knees, the sense of despair collecting around her heart deepened.
That night she told Ryllio of Jecil’s return and what he said. Ryllio’s fury was both shocking and gratifying.
“He’s a fool and a knave. If I could, I would beat him to within an inch of his life, not only for his folly, but for making you doubt yourself in even the tiniest way. You are everything any man could ever desire.”
Not even his words of praise and continued joy each night she went to him could dispel the weight of her fears and sorrows, which seemed to grow more overwhelming each passing day. Thoughts of how to undo the spell holding Ryllio captive beat a constant refrain in her mind until she thought she would truly go insane. But what did she know of magic, or the Fey? Didn’t the stories say even if you could find them, they always demanded more than you could pay for any boon?
Yet there must, she decided, be a way, if only she knew how to be about it.
“I’ll take Gottreb’s provisions for him this evening, Goodwife Harbottle.”
Elawen made a face at her behind her mother’s back, but Myrina was too tired and heart-sore to laugh as she usually did. She wanted to ask the old man about the glade, what he had seen there, or felt. Perhaps in his tale she could find a clue to help her, to help Ryllio.
“That is kind of you, Myrina. There’s work going a-begging around here, and I can use Elawen’s help this afternoon.”
Myrina forced her
self to keep walking past the faint track leading to the hollow, although the pull of Ryllio’s presence was so strong it made her tremble. Greeting the woodsman and unpacking the goods from her basket took little time, and all the while he chattered to her, asking for her mother and the other villagers he no longer saw.
Gottreb paused to cough and, before he could start talking again, Myrina suddenly found herself asking, “Does the name Ryllio mean aught to you, Master Gottreb?”
“Ryllio, Ryllio…” The old man screwed his eyes tight shut and sucked on his lip in concentration. “Why do I recall that name?”
Afire with impatience, Myrina leaned back against the washstand and waited for the woodsman to speak again. Suddenly Gottreb’s eyes popped open and he nodded, slapping his hand against the table.
“Of course,” he cried, then was forced to pause as another coughing fit shook his thin frame. Once he regained his composure, helped by a sip of ale, he finally continued. “It was a tale told me by my mother, oh, many, many years ago, concerning a prince of that name. Even then it was an old story, so not many would remember it now.”
Myrina gripped the counter behind her as tightly as she could to stop herself dancing with irritation. “Would you tell me the tale before I go, Master Gottreb, please?”
The lonely old man was only too willing to comply.
“Once upon a time, all of this land and the land up the mountains beyond, stretching even to the sea beyond that, belonged to a mighty king. And he ruled with great wisdom and fairness and was beloved by all his subjects. The kingdom was prosperous, and the king was well-pleased, but most pleasing of all to him was his son and heir, Prince Ryllio. There was none more handsome, charming or strong than the prince, and everyone who met him agreed the Faeries must have blessed him at birth. For everything he did was done to perfection.
“Then one day, in his twenty-fifth summer, Prince Ryllio left the castle to hunt and disappeared. Everyone in the kingdom came out to search for him—the trackers and huntsmen scoured the forests and fields, the fishermen traversed the streams, rivers and sea, even the children joined in. The only sign they ever found was the prince’s bow, lying abandoned in the deepest forest, beside a wild copse. Thinking perhaps he had been hurt and had somehow crawled into the tangle for shelter, the courtiers hacked at the briars and brambles with their swords, but could not force their way in. Thus they realised the prince couldn’t be there and they continued with the search.
“For many months, day and night, they looked, but found no further clue to where he may have gone. His mother the queen died soon after from a broken heart, and his father spent so much time and gold searching for his son that when the emperor rose to power in the north—that would be the great-great-grandfather or such of the present emperor—the king was unable to hold his land against him. Thus the king disappeared, perhaps into the emperor’s dungeon, and his castle and the town around it fell to ruins.”
Gottreb paused to sip his ale, breathless after his long speech, and Myrina turned away toward the small window at her back, quite sure her face was as white as a sheet with fright. Ryllio, a prince, and trapped in the stone for longer than she could ever have imagined! How her heart ached for him, for his parents so long dead.
“Did your mother say what she thought happened to the prince?”
Myrina’s voice came out as a whisper, making Gottreb’s reply seemed overly loud in contrast.
“Some said one so handsome, so talented, had attracted the attention of the Fey, and they had stolen him away under an enchantment to their faery land.”
Did Ryllio know his parents’ fate and the fate of the kingdom that should have been his? He never asked if she found out how long he had been in the stone, as if he did not want to know the answer. What would she say if he did ask?
Too well did she know the pain of loss, having buried her father not three years past and still facing the loss of her darling mother. Yet she knew herself to be strangely blessed in comparison to Ryllio. At least she had been there with her father to the end and was able to take care of her mother too. Those moments, so precious, when you found yourself giving love and comfort to one you hold dear, had been snatched away from the prince.
How desperate must his hurt be? How must he pine for just one minute more with his parents.
Feeling tears welling behind her eyes, Myrina quickly thanked the woodsman for the tale and collected the goodwife’s shilling, chattering as hard as she could to avoid him asking to see her breasts. Gottreb looked disappointed, but made no demur when she said she had to get back to her mother, and Myrina slipped out the door as quickly as she could.
The need to go to Ryllio, to fight through the tangle of bracken keeping them physically apart, was stronger than she had ever felt before. Heart pounding, she tried to pretend she should not let it matter. Once more she reminded herself that a man of stone could not truly satisfy the needs of a flesh-and-blood woman any more than she was fit to keep company with a prince.
Hesitating outside Gottreb’s cottage, Myrina balanced on the balls of her feet, once more waging war between her responsibility to her mother, and her desire to be with Ryllio.
With a sob, she acknowledged the prince would be there later, while her mother needed her far more, and she ran down the path toward home.
Each night Myrina came to him and broke through a little more of the shell Ryllio hadn’t even realised existed around his heart.
As a man, he had been selfish, unable to take other’s wishes into true consideration. Looking back on his life before the day of Mab’s punishment brought a wave of regret, of repentance. All he had cared about were his own needs and desires. His mother’s fears, father’s concerns, meant nothing. As Prince Ryllio, he felt himself beyond the usual rules others lived by—if there was something he wanted, he took it, without fear or qualms.
He couldn’t bring himself to speak of those times with Myrina. As she told him of her life, the passing of her father, Jecil’s leaving and her mother’s slow decline toward death, his admiration for her grew to immense proportions. It shamed him, her unselfish love for others—made him even more aware of his own shortcomings and the fact he was taking advantage of Myrina in a most dishonourable way.
Long had he ceased to believe in Kestor’s incantation. As time passed and he felt no lessening in Mab’s spell, he discounted the golden faery’s words. This cold mass of stone was all he would ever be, all he deserved to be.
What then had he to offer Myrina? Even as a man, fully fleshed, he knew himself to be unworthy of her love should she chance to offer it. What had he ever done but take? If given the chance he would try, with everything he was, to be worthy of her, but as nothing but a lump of rock, he had nothing at all to give. She deserved to spend her passion with a true man, one who could hold her, touch her body not just her mind. With such a man she could have a life beyond the forest, the adventure she desired, children…
The thought of Myrina, round and happy, bearing another man’s child, was so painful Ryllio thought he might die, but he held on to the anguish, trying to find strength, more convinced than ever of the need to let her go. Yes, she found pleasure in his company, but Ryllio knew the goodness of her heart. What truly brought her back, night after night, was not just the passion, but sympathy. Craven as he was, desperate as he was for even a moment of her time, he loved her too much to allow these trysts to continue.
Autumn was swiftly moving toward winter, the days growing shorter, cooler. Once, when the Faeries came often to frolic in the glade, it had always been springtime. The winter snows stopped at the edge of the trees, held at bay by their spells. Now they had ceased to visit, the enchantment seemed no more to work, and Ryllio saw the changing of the grass from green to brown and the dying of the flowers as an omen.
Perhaps without their magic the elements would begin to wear his stone away, reducing him to naught but dust over time.
And soon the journey through the woods would become
all but impossible. Even on a day like today, so grey and drear, he worried about Myrina’s health as she came to him through the misty damp. Tonight, he would tell her not to return, would make her promise to stay away, no matter what it took to do so.
As though mocking his resolution, the clouds passed and the sun came out to light the final hours of the day, bringing the illusion of springtime and hope.
Chapter Seven
The moon was waning, but Myrina ran, sure-footed, through the darkened woods. Each footfall seemed to echo, as though another person or spirit kept pace behind her, and such was her mood she was glad of that phantom company. Events of the day had left her feeling confused, alone.
Her mother’s health was in an ever swifter decline, and Gottreb’s story naming Ryllio the prince who disappeared by turns made her angry and sad, bringing forth a sense of betrayal. It shouldn’t matter that Ryllio chose not to tell her who he was, but it did. Irrespective of the fact he was a prince without a throne, an immobile statue, withholding such an important piece of information made Myrina feel very lowly indeed.
Now, the time spent asking her questions seemed almost mockery on his part. There was nothing special about what she had done or seen. She had no stories of grand events or travels to share. Had he laughed to hear the mundane details of her life, to realise she, a villager of no account or address, was falling in love with a prince?
Yet fall in love she had, and even with these thoughts churning within, Myrina could no more resist his lure than become one of the Fey. Laugh at her he might, but she would be by his side as often and as much as she could. The thought of him, alone, lonely except for the company of birds and beasts, was too much to bear. And the thought of being without him was so painful she refused to even contemplate it.
Awaken: An Enchanted Story Page 5
