by Ava Sinclair
It had happened so fast, but the sight of them, the sight of their power, thrilled and terrified me. It would be hours before I was able to lie down and sleep. But I did, and I awake to the smell of food.
An attendant helped me bathe the night before. She gave me a gown. Now it seems she has left me breakfast—coddled eggs and cream, a slab of smoked beef, a bowl of berries, fragrant pastries and honeyed nectar.
I eat, more from boredom than hunger. How long will the lords of this castle keep me here before they grow tired and cast me out? I think of the man who has come to me twice now. Lord Edrys is so different from the men of my village. He is large and powerful, with thick black hair and a close-cropped beard. When he smiled, I could make out dimples through the stubble.
But it means nothing that I admired them. Nothing at all. And his kind words to me? They were just that. Words. I’ve been reflecting on them and despite the longing look in his eyes, I cannot believe he truly wants me. What use would three lords have for a woman like me?
Lord Edrys said he would come to me. I have told myself that I did not care one way or the other. But when I hear a rap at the door, my heart quickens. I am sure it is just apprehension. What else could the feeling be?
“May I see you?” His voice is deep from the other side.
“Yes,” I reply.
He fills the doorway when he enters. He was wearing a dark leather skirt and sash when I last saw him. Now he is wearing one of an ochre color. His muscled, bare chest gleams in the firelight.
“Did you sleep easy, Syrene of Arkney?” Edrys shuts the door behind him.
“Fairly so.” I point towards the window. “And yet I awake to find night still upon us?”
He nods. “Yes. And the night will remain until our bond is consummated.”
I cross my arms defensively. “Lord Edrys,” I begin in a tone stronger than I feel. “I told you…”
“We are past the time of talk.” He approaches me and I back away.
“You would just take me then?” I feel a sudden, wild fluttering low in my belly, as if a cloud of butterflies had settled there. There’s a challenge in my voice, and he looks at me curiously.
“I want you bad enough to do just that.” There’s authority in his words, and the fluttering intensifies. His gaze rakes over me. “But a lord does not just take what he wants.”
The fluttery feeling tightens into a curious throb. It confuses me. I turn away. “I saw dragons,” I say, seeking to deflect him.
“Did you?” His tone is unreadable. “Where?”
“Outside my window. One amber and one gray, like sword metal. You did not tell me there was more than one.”
“No, I did not.” I recall the beasts, shooting past my window to disappear around the other side. “Lord Edrys, when you send me away, will your dragons let me leave unharmed if you command it?”
“Send you away?”
“Yes. I look out the window, towards the wild beyond the mountains. Could I survive out there? I cannot think they truly intend to make me their lady.
“Syrene of Arkney, if you were to leave, the only thing those dragons would do is bring you back here, to where you belong.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He pauses. “I’ve brought you something.”
There’s a leather pouch on the waist of his belt. Lord Edrys opens to withdraw a small velvet bag. He holds it out to me.
“What is it?” I eye it suspiciously.
“It’s a gift. You won’t know until you open it.”
“A gift. For...me?” No one has ever give me a gift.
“For you and you alone.” I have the same feeling I had when he offered me food. I don’t know how to accept it without feeling awkward. “Please,” he adds.
Outside our village, we had a band of wild horses. The children would try to lure them close by holding apples in their hands. The horses were skittish, and it took much patience before the shy creatures would accept the treat. I’m reminded of that now as Lord Edrys holds out the bag. I take halting steps towards him and lift it from his hand. As I do, my fingers graze his and our eyes meet. I feel an odd warmth at his touch, and quickly turn my attention to the little pouch in my hand. I open the string and tip the object inside into my open palm.
“It belonged to our mother,” he tells me. “She bade me give it to our mate come claiming time.”
I study the gift, speechless. It is a jeweled comb, the top carved into the shape of a dragon.
“I wonder if our mother could have foreseen how beautiful our virgin would be, how glorious her thick raven locks.” His words are soft and deep.
I find myself blinking back tears. “I can’t take this.” I thrust it back at him.
“Why not?”
I stand there, holding it out to him. I’m awash in a mixture of emotions. I feel great longing for the comb, even as I try to return it. I feel gratitude, even amid my defiance.
“Take it,” I say again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns my hand palm up and curls my fingers tightly around the comb.
“It shall belong to no other, Syrene. For no other is worthy.”
“I have nothing to give you in return.”
He ignores this. “Would you like to leave the room? I would be honored if you would walk with me. On the opposite side of this tower, there’s a better view of the moon, and I thought I saw a shooting star earlier.”
I am wary of his kindness. “I will walk with you, Lord Edrys of Jo’lyn, so long as you understand that kindness and gifts will not buy my body.”
“I never said they would.” There’s a chest at the foot of my bed. He opens it and withdraws a cape fringed with ermine. I allow him to put it around my shoulders. The fur collar is unbelievably soft against my neck.
He takes me to a balcony. I clutch the cape around my shoulders, for the air is chill. It is pitch dark.
“I thought you said we could see the moon from here.”
“And so you will.” He points to some clouds, smoky black against the indigo blue of the sky. They drift along, changing shape as they go. Then the shimmering moon emerges, brightening the sky.
I am amazed by the intensity of the glow. “How could something so bright hide itself?”
“Sometimes a shadow can be so heavy that we forget the brilliance behind it.” He looks down at me and the flutter I felt earlier returns. I know he is not talking about the moon now. “The best things are often hidden, Syrene of Arkney.” He reaches for my elbow and I tense as he pivots me towards him. “Will you not allow me to show you some of what your old life kept hidden? You are strong. You are smart. These are things I already sense. You are far better than the people you left behind. I think, down deep, you know this. I think you have always known this…”
“I know nothing.” I drop my eyes. Compliments are harder to accept than gifts. But the man before me persists.
“I do not believe that, Syrene. I believe you have grown comfortable with one way of being. You have allowed anger to carve a path into your soul, and you traverse that path in an endless loop. Let me guide you out of it. Let me help you carve other paths to wonder, paths to pleasure. Do you not see that these things are your birthright?”
No one has ever spoken to me like this. No one has ever told me I deserve anything other than misery and scorn. But this man, this powerful lord who, along with his brothers, commands dragons, is telling me that happiness is my destiny, that I am worthy of all the things I believed I would never have.
“I can’t,” I begin, but he puts a finger to my lips. “You can.” He smiles, and my heart lurches. No man in my village had such a handsome face. He pauses. “Syrene. Let me show you but a taste of what’s been hidden from you. I will not persist beyond what you allow.”
He moves his hand from my lip to the front of my cape, parting the fabric. The chill of the night moves through my gown, hardening my nipples to aching, up-thrust peaks. Then Lord Edrys brushes one through the fabric, his hand warm against the tight little
nub. The contact makes it throb, and a tiny whimper of hidden need escapes from between my parted lips.
His large hand cups my breast now, squeezing firmly, and the throb I felt shifts lower, to between my thighs, like an itch, only different. It’s more like an ache that wants for something…contact, perhaps pressure. I am frustrated. I do not know what it is my body asks for as his other hand moves to the slight flare of my belly and then lower. The swelling ache in my core intensifies as his fingers descend, and when his hand reaches the top of the soft mound of my womanhood, I feel a tiny ripple in my core. I cry out and leap away, pulling my cape around me.
“What was that?” I demand to know. I can still feel the residual quivering, as if his touch is still there. “What is it you do to me?”
“That,” Lord Edrys says, “is a woman’s pleasure. Did no one ever speak to you of such things?”
I feel myself flush. Newly married village wives would sit in huddles, giggling and whispering. But like everyone else, when I approached they’d fall silent or glare until I left. What I could have gleaned from eavesdropping went unlearned. And my stepmother? Our cottage was small. My half-brothers and I slept on shelves built into the walls with straw mattresses. My parents’ bed was across the cottage, and sometimes I’d hear my father grunting and look over to see him on top of my stepmother. Her face was always turned to the wall. As a little girl, I wondered if my father was trying to push her from the bed, for she did not move and did not make a sound. Later, I instinctually realized what was happening, and from my stepmother’s reaction – or lack of it – surmised that coupling was as lackluster as any other duty she performed. It was one more thing to be endured.
I shake my head in reply, because no one has ever told me of what a woman and man do, or what I am supposed to feel. But I am quite sure that my stepmother never experienced the feelings I am feeling now, for if she had she would have been less sour.
“Let me show you more.” Lord Edrys whispers the words against the shell of my ear. My heart pounds in my chest and my face flames because I am curious. But then I remember that I’m supposed to be angry with him, and I am torn. I want to feel more of what I just felt. But part of me feels as if I am betraying myself by being so easily lured towards compliance. When I don’t respond, Lord Edrys reaches out and takes my hands.
“I have something else to give you. Something I was warned I should not.”
This gets my attention. I’m intrigued. I look up at him questioningly.
“Power.”
“Power?” I ask.
“Do you know what will happen if we do not bed you, my brothers and I?” He nods towards the moon. “Once the moon sinks behind the mountains at the end of the long night, and the sun rises to replace it…if by then we have not all claimed and bonded with you as our mate, then our bloodline will die.” He pauses. “In your village, you were made to feel powerless. But I am standing here to tell you that you are not. You hold the fate of your rulers in these fair hands.”
He’s holding my hands so gently. “And if I do, what then? If you get what you want, I’ll have no more power.”
“Oh, little one, that is when your power will just begin. The lords live at the pleasure of their mates. Your protection, care and pleasure will be our life’s ambition. We will share a bond that comes with knowledge you never could have attained in the village that didn’t deserve you. And our children…”
“Children…” Of course, there will be children. I am to continue their bloodline. Me, a mother. I try to fathom what that would be like. I’ve never known love. How could I give it to a child? But I’ve never known pleasure either, and the taste of it is awakening something inside me. When Lord Edrys takes my hand and leads me from the balcony, I find myself following.
Chapter 7
EDRYS
I cannot yet declare victory in my quest to claim Syrene. As I take her to my bedchamber, I realize this has become so much more than a physical conquest. Something about her has struck a chord deep within me. I want to awaken more than her body. I want to awaken her spirt as well, to show her the ecstasy of trust.
Syrene lets me remove her cape but does not meet my gaze as I do so. She has gone from raging maenad to shy virgin. Her innocence, and the knowledge that I am close to finally touching her has me rock hard and heated. As she moves, I fancy that I catch a hint of her virginal essence. A Drakoryan is especially sensitive to scents and flavors. I know before the first intimate embrace that Syrene will be as intoxicating as the finest wine. It is only with great restraint that I do not rush back to her after placing her cape on a hook by the door. She’s standing at an angle, unaware that the moonlight filtering through her diaphanous gown is casting her nakedness in the most tempting silhouette. Is it my imagination, or are her nipples still hard from where I touched them?
She’s staring out at the mountains again. Is she thinking of dragons? I’d not known of the incident between Nyron and Xarsi until after it was over. Normally, I’d have considered confronting Nyron for what he’d done, but our elder brother had cautioned against it. The rare fight had injured Nyron, and while he’d healed in the pool, the ordeal had left him wanting rest. Nyron is tucked away healing and Xarsi is keeping his distance out of respect. Now I have the time I need with Syrene.
She turns to me, and I can see her nervousness as I approach. I raise my hand, but when I reach for the shoulder of her gown, she flinches. She’s afraid. I release the fabric and run my hand down her arm.
“Have you ever seen a man’s nakedness before?”
She shakes her head.
I reach for her hand and lead her to the bed. “Perhaps you would like to look upon me first. You’re afraid because you do not know what to expect.”
I reach for my waist and undo the sash where it fastens before pulling it down over my shoulder. Next comes the leather skirt, which falls to the floor. My cock is fully erect, and I know is intimidating, even to the experienced maids whose skirts I’ve raised when the need strikes me. But to a virgin? Syrene’s eyes widen as I lay on the bed. Her gaze is locked on the staff rising ramrod straight from a thatch of thick black curls. When it bobs towards her, she takes a step backwards and I chuckle.
“Fear not, little one. It is an eager thing, but quite fixed in place. It cannot come after you.”
“You’re teasing me.” She pouts prettily, and I am charmed. Syrene is letting her guard down enough to banter, but I don’t push my luck.
“Would you like to touch it?”
“Touch it? Why?”
I consider the merits of burning her village after all as I silently curse the lot of them for leaving her so ignorant.
“Because to claim you properly will involve touching. That fleshy rod is my cock, and it is made to fit in the space between your legs.”
Syrene shakes her head. “That is impossible. It is far too big.”
I smile. Even though it’s true, hearing her say it raises the temperature of my blood.
“Yes, but your body is made to receive it. Once inside, my cock is capable of bringing you pleasure. Come closer, Syrene.”
She eyes me skeptically, holding her ground. Then she begins to approach me cautiously.
“You may touch me if you like. Don’t be afraid.” My voice sounds strained and strangled, even to my own ears. My gaze follows her hand, which is reaching out. She places her slightly trembling fingers on the flared head, and I suppress a groan.
“It’s smooth,” she says, and I just nod. She does not yet know that a Drakoryan’s cock is versatile, that it can do things a human’s cannot. Her touch is feather light on the raised veins of my turgid shaft, but the sensation of pleasure is acute. I clench my hands to keep from reaching for her. “Why does it rise so?” she queries. “Is it always like this?”
“Only in the presence of a female it seeks to enter. Excitement stirs the stiffness.” I swallow hard. “It stirs the need.”
“It’s so odd,” she muses, “that women
do not have such an appendage.” She removes her hand and I sit up.
“Women have something better,” I tell her. “Between your legs is a small, special treasure which also gets hard and sensitive with excitement.”
She shakes her head. “No. Other women, maybe, but I don’t believe I possess such a thing.”
“Syrene, remember when your nipples grew hard on the balcony?”
She flushes and moves to put her arm over her chest. I reach up and take hold of her hand, gently pulling it away. “Don’t,” I say. “You deserve pleasure, my beauty. It is your right, and you never have to worry about anyone keeping it from you again.” I peer at her in the glow of the candlelight. “Aren’t you curious? After years of denial, wouldn’t you like to drink from the well of ecstasy that awaits?” I pause. “I told you that a woman has her own seat of pleasure.”
I see something in her eyes now, something encouraging. It is the first glint of curiosity.
“Syrene, my beautiful Syrene. Let me show you.” As I speak, I reach for the hem of her gown and pull it up. I can feel her tremble. I can feel her tense. I hold my breath, fearing that she will bolt. But she stands still. I put my hand on the curve of her hip, and my cock bobs at the feel of her soft, bare skin. I slide it down to the front of her thigh, then to the inside, higher and higher until my hand meets tight, downy curls. I slip one finger into the seam of her pussy, dragging it upward until I find the fleshy hood at the apex of her cleft. I slide my other arm around her waist as I touch the hard knot of her clit, moving my finger in slow, circular motions.
Syrene’s eyes open wide. She rises on her tiptoes, emitting a little “oh” of surprise. I tighten my grip as she begins to wriggle.
“Oh,” she says again.
“Let yourself feel,” I say. “Let me take care of you. Let me give you the pleasure that is your birthright as a woman.”
