by Lena Austin
Instead of stopping at the news of her royal birth, Shadow laughed with her. “I can see that. If you aren’t worried, I’m not.” He pulled off her pants in one fluid motion and tossed them on a nearby chair. Then he outstretched a hand to help her sit up so he could remove her tunic. “Why have I not seen you at court, then?” Her tunic went the way of her pants.
Happily naked, Chantrea scooted to the edge of the table to pluck at the laces of his tunic. “Would you rather attend those boring court functions or stay down here with a good book?”
Shadow let his eyes roam over her trim form. His answer was quick and unfeigned. “The book! Definitely the book! May I come down here and hide next time I’ve done my duties and danced with your mother?” His tunic went over his head in a flash and flew off to land further down the table.
“I’ll do you one better. Let me know you are coming to court, and I’ll make an appearance. You can dance me right out the doors and I’ll show you my tunnel from the corridor off the main ballroom.” Chantrea eyed the bulge in his trousers with real delight. “Now get out of those pants before I magic them off you.”
It was no idle threat. It was a favorite trick of the Elves to whisk away clothing to embarrass the unwary. Shadow knew the legends and obeyed, chuckling. “Yes, ma’am!” Fortunately, his low, soft boots came off with the trousers. He kicked them aside.
Chantrea eyed his tall, well-built body with a burning lust she did not attempt to hide. Bulging arm and thigh muscles reflected his true form, and his abdomen had just the right amount of ripple to mar its perfect smoothness. She moaned. “Shadow, I can’t wait any longer.”
“You don’t have to.” He pushed her gently back down to lie among the parchments again. “I’m in no mood to wait, myself.”
Chantrea sighed happily and spread willingly. “Good, because I think I’ve been very patient.”
Shadow leaned over her. “Last chance.” The head of his cock twitched against her heated clit.
“Gimme!” The full size of a stallion sliding carefully and slowly in was nearly overwhelming. It hurt. It felt wonderful. She’d be damned if she’d tell him to stop.
Above her, Shadow’s luminous gray eyes were closed in concentration. From the way his jaw was clenched, he was holding himself back by sheer force of will. For her sake. He was a stallion. Unicorns were gentle creatures, usually, except when it came to mating. It awed her to know he was fighting his instinct to take, aggressively, what she was willing to give. Inch by inch, he fought and won, until he filled her completely. Then he waited until she adjusted.
It was a kindness that made her lonely heart swell. She fought back tears, knowing he’d misinterpret them as remorse or pain. “Shadow.” She deliberately let him hear the plea in her voice.
His eyes flew open. “I’ll… hurt… you.”
“Take, Shadow. Take what I give. Now.”
Something broke free inside him. She could see him loose the reins of control. He shuddered once, and then plunged.
The force of his thrust slammed into her. Chantrea cried out and clutched at his arms so she didn’t slide on the papers beneath her.
Shadow’s shout matched hers. His eyes became as wild as his nature, and he took, as she demanded.
In fear that she’d slide out of his reach, Chantrea wrapped her legs around his waist and matched his thrusts with her own.
There was no comparison to the past. Filled and complete for the first time in fifty years, it didn’t matter that she’d be sore in the morning. She only knew the pleasure of the now, of having one who cared for her pleasure above his own, to share this joyous dance with.
* * *
Shadow heard the Elven music, a song that beat in time with the pulsing rhythm of his body and his heart. He heard it rise to a crescendo, as Chantrea began to move wildly beneath him. Her breath came in short gasps, and her nails dug into his arms. Those little points of pain were like spurs, and now he understood how they could move an equine to greater power and speed. He pounded toward his own peak, never pausing. To rise to the challenge was all, now.
Chantrea shrieked beneath him, and the Elven music cried out with her, declaring her orgasm in notes on strings, horns, and bells. His heart added the drumbeat, and he followed the music to a crashing end.
The pulse of her orgasm wrapped around his cock and massaged more than he’d ever thought possible from him. He might have imagined he was turning inside out with the strength of his own release. Chantrea did not stop moving until he was so spent he feared he might pass out.
“Enough, Chantrea! I beg a moment,” he panted.
Chantrea pouted up at him, but complied. The pout turned into a teasing grin. “Forgive me, Shadow. It has been so long, I’d wear out a Satyr if there were any left.”
“My brother says there are, according to his last message.”
Chantrea groaned. “Oh, thunder! I can just imagine Chirion persuading a few to come live here. No female would be safe!”
Shadow offered his hand and helped her sit up on the table. “Mostly the Dryads and Wood nymphs. You’re right. I’ll speak to Councilor Le-An to write Chirion for reassurances.” He looked down at the mess of parchments and the scrolls, still waiting. “We didn’t get much work done.”
Chantrea hopped off the table and retrieved her shoe from the shelf then began to nonchalantly dress. “Actually, relieving ourselves could be a good thing. Now we can concentrate on the translation. I think you’ve got a good lead, so we can work on that one together.”
Shadow raised one eyebrow. “It’s getting late.” He didn’t want to leave, but he was beginning to feel tired. The moon had already risen when he’d arrived. He started to dress.
Chantrea smiled. “True. Would you like to stay the night? My bed is big enough.” The invitation was laden with hope.
He sighed. This lovely Elf made no pretense at coyness. It was refreshing. She offered nothing more than pleasure, with no hint of ambition. “Let me check with Brolly. My mother is dying, you see.”
“No!” Chantrea stopped hopping on one foot to put on her slipper. She grasped her braid and twisted. “By all means, ask.”
Shadow concentrated on mind speaking with Brolly while Chantrea stood in front of him, biting her lip and worrying her braid like a child might clutch a blanket. After a few moments, he smiled and kissed her pert nose. “No change, Brolly says. Her brainstorm still has her unconscious, but alive for now. What is more, I’m asked to stay away for now. It seems the whole Valley has turned out to volunteer for whatever tasks Brolly will set them.”
Chantrea released her braid, her eyes serious. “Would you prefer to go anyway? I’d like you to stay, but only if you are sure.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “I would love to stay. But why do you wish this?”
“Probably for the same reasons as you, I hope. In you, I have found a mind that loves books, and a lover who will not complicate things by doing something so silly as to fall in love.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder and gently took back her hand.
“You think love is silly?” He nodded toward their chairs, and manifested good wine.
Chantrea sat with him and sipped before answering. “It is silly for you and I.” She sighed. “We are royal, so let’s not pretend we can be ordinary. Duty must come first, and love a poor second. I will never sit on the throne, for my brothers have already provided heirs. Nevertheless, that doesn’t relieve me of my responsibilities. Someday, my father will remember I’m down here and try again to get me wedded and bedded properly.”
“Again?” Shadow repeated the word and looked stunned.
“Yes, again. The Elf Lord I was to marry preferred another.” She slapped playfully at his arm. “Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t hurt, I was happy. I’m more concerned about you.”
“Me?” He told himself to stop repeating every word she said.
“You. You will be Herd Stallion, Shadow. It will be your duty to rule, as well as sire on
as many fillies as possible. You can’t allow your particular color line to go away. Haven’t you noticed it’s only you and Durham left of the black and gray line?”
Shadow sat in stunned silence and stared. “Uh, no, I’d not realized.” Durham was a relation, then? “I was orphaned when very young.”
Chantrea shook her head at him. “More likely, you were unclaimed, not orphaned. Your dam died -- this was noted in my predecessor’s records -- but she had been the favorite of Black Talamar. I was studying the lines of the Unicorns and saw the pattern. Talamar rarely stayed with a filly for long. Your dam died birthing you, and her sister took over your care until Tanne Brae adopted you. I’d imagine Talamar never knew you were his, or didn’t care. By then, Durham’s dam was in his affections, if you can call it that.”
Shadow’s stomach churned. Was he really the son of that tyrant as much as Durham? “But Talamar was known for usurping all the fillies. I should have many relations. Why are Durham and I the only ones?”
Chantrea must have sensed his disquiet. She laid a soft hand on his arm. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. I thought you knew. Talamar killed all colts born to his favorites, except you and Durham.”
Chapter Four
“Why?” It was an anguished cry from his soul. “Why did Talamar kill his own offspring? Why did the mares let him?”
Chantrea used the magic of the Elves to bring more wine and pressed a full goblet in his hand before answering. “Talamar was a paranoid tyrant, Shadow. He wanted only an heir and a spare, as they say. Any more, and one of his sons might someday challenge him. The fillies were no threat, but none were his coloring, either.”
He forced his mind to take one thing at a time. “Why did the mares let him?” His horror was absolute. All his dreams of finding out whom his sire might have been, and hoping for a stallion who was as good and honorable as Tanne, came crashing down like an illusion.
Chantrea reached out and pressed his goblet to his lips. “Drink. I’ve given you a shock, and I’m truly sorry.” She sighed. “I can only give you an educated guess. Only Tanne and Kella bothered to report births and deaths consistently, and each of those little ones lived past birth. I’m going to assume Talamar killed the newborns by magic. There were three births recorded by the healers. The two fillies lived, but had their dam’s coloring. I assume Talamar let them live. The one colt died of a mysterious illness in the latter part of his third year.”
Shadow closed his eyes. A brother was dead, for no good reason. “I can see how it might be easy to dispose of any extra offspring. We breed so slowly, and births are difficult under the best of circumstances.” His whole body jerked and his eyes flew open. “Then why was I allowed to be treated so badly until I was adopted? Durham had the best of everything.”
Chantrea stroked his hair. “Again, I must speculate. Your dam was his favorite for a long time, compared to the others. Pampered and beloved, but not a strong filly, she was one of the rare whites. My historian predecessor recorded her death and your birth. Talamar did not choose Durham’s dam for some ten years. I think -- though it doesn’t march with Black Talamar’s reputation at all -- I think he mourned your mother for a long time.”
“And blamed me for her death. That would make sense.” Shadow stood, and paced in silence for a few moments.
“If it is any consolation to you, you didn’t kill her.” Chantrea’s voice held a note of conviction. “It was recorded that she loved salt during her pregnancy, and against the wishes of the healers, ate it constantly. By the time she gave birth, she was as swollen as a toad and ill. She did it to herself.”
Shadow worked with Brolly and the other healers enough to know the illness that beset some pregnant females of all races. Salt sickness killed many, if not carefully monitored. He could only nod. “And it follows that Talamar, unable to blame his beloved mare, made me the guilty party.”
Chantrea allowed a tiny bit of the rage she felt to show. “It was a shameful way to treat his first born. Among the Elves, you would have been the pampered heir, trained from birth to rule in your father’s place.”
“Well, thank all the gods, that didn’t happen.” Shadow stopped his restless pacing and blessed fate. Perhaps his colthood had been unhappy, but he’d learned good from evil in a way that others could not understand. He squared his shoulders. “Yes, I’m grateful that things turned out the way they did.”
She offered him a challenging look. “If that is so, then your research here becomes all the more imperative. If I am not mistaken, challenge fights often result in the death of one of the antagonists.” She wrung her braid. “I don’t want you to have your brother’s blood on your horn.”
Shadow laughed wryly. “I’m glad you are confident I’ll win.”
Chantrea sniffed and picked up the scroll. “Durham is so spoiled, he’ll resort to trickery. That little band of sycophants of his couldn’t fight if their lives depended on it. They let him win to avoid his temper.”
His eyes narrowed. “How would you know? I thought you didn’t have anything to do with the world outside your archives.”
“If I didn’t keep up with the other royal families, what kind of historian would I be?” Chantrea put her hands on her hips and her chin lifted with pride. “I have visitors and ears to hear.”
That made sense. What was more, it reminded him of her sexy little ears and wings. “And lovely ears they are, too.” His leer was patently lascivious. It might have worked, had his yawn not interrupted.
Chantrea snickered. “You would be no challenge right now.” She grabbed his hand. “Come, I’ll share my bed. There’s always the morning for happy bed games.”
While his mind reacted to the insult, his body agreed with her. He forced himself not to stagger in the long, dark passage back to her tree home. “You must be the most uninhibited…” Another yawn caused his eyes to water. “… Elf I know.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I have nothing to fear. Even were I to turn myself into a Unicorn mare to sport with you, I would use my Elven magic, not a true shift. So no worries about offspring. Secondly, I have no virtue to protect. It was gone long ago, and good riddance. We are mature, unattached beings. Why shouldn’t we have a good time?”
“I could learn to shift into an Elf.” He loaded his tone with teasing notes. Come to think of it, that sort of shift wouldn’t be difficult.
That tinkling fairy laugh echoed down the passage. “Why bother? You are fine as you are!”
Why indeed? He’d only do so for love, so why consider it? It stopped his heart and made his feet stumble more as he made his way through the door to her tree home. He was considering it, and not for the challenge of doing so. He wanted her to love him. Because he loved her.
Chantrea heard him stumble and turned. “Oh, look at you! Your face is as white as snow, and your eyes round with shock. Come! My bed is just up those stairs on the next large limb.” She held out a hand, smiling gently.
In the flickering light of her fire, she was even lovelier than in the bright mage lights below. The fire lit her hair until it was flame itself, and her white skin was creamy. The ink on her tunic and hand was endearing, disrupting her perfection enough to look like something fashioned for mortals, not gods.
Shadow did not fight the need to take her hand. She led him up a winding stair to her ivy-covered bed. Even the coverlet was sewn to resemble a pile of green leaves. Chantrea whisked away his clothes, pulled back the bedding, and gently pushed him in. She twitched closed curtains of the same leafy material, and took off her own clothes in a more conventional manner than she had before.
She saw the sleepy lust in his eyes, and shook a finger at him. “We’ll play in the morning. Rest assured of that!” She crawled in next to him and snuggled in his arms as if she belonged there, and kissed his cheek. “Pleasant dreams, Shadow.”
“How could I not?” She did belong in his arms, and he wanted to plot how to win her heart, but sleep stole his thoughts the way she’d stolen
his clothes.
* * *
Chantrea woke to the birdsong of her avian friends, whose nest was right outside the window. Sleepily rolling over, she found herself solidly against a broad, naked, and very masculine back. Blinking awake with a start, it took her a few moments to remember the events of the night before. Her lips curved into a smug smile.
What a lover Shadow was! Well worth breaking a fifty-year fast. He was close to perfection itself, with his soft, intelligent gray eyes and equally soft heart, all encased in hard body and rigid honor. How could she not fall in love nearly instantly? It made her want to weep and sing, all at once.
She slid carefully out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs for a wash. Once her morning ablutions were done, she unbraided her hair and began to brush it out before putting it neatly back into place.
Shaking her brush at her reflection in the mirror over her fireplace, she laughed. “Oh, you are such a fool, Chantrea! Look at you! In love with a stallion you can never have.”
The Elf in the mirror smiled ironically.
“Didn’t you listen to yourself last night? Shall I list the reasons again for you?”
She shook her head at the luminous face that grinned like a fool back at her.
“Oh, weren’t you just the ultimate in fakery last night? Pretending to airily take your first lover in so long, you can barely remember? Brainless twit!”
She sighed and watched her face turn sad. “He was enthralled with your wings, that’s all. If you keep them hidden, his interest will wane.” Her shoulders slumped. “No one wants you for yourself. Your father has had no offers for your hand, ever since your ill-fated betrothal.”
She glanced at the stairs to her bedroom. “Enjoy it while you can, Historian. Make love joyously, so that you will have good memories when he is gone back to his Herd. You will be forgotten again.”
She braided her hair in silence, and patted it into place. Her neat, practical hair belied her naked state. “Now, you will march back up those stairs, and enjoy that fine example of perfection gracing your bed.” She shook the brush at her mirror image once more. “Then you shall work until your head hurts to find the answer he seeks!”
