by Nicole René
The suddenness of it caused tears to well up in her eyes. She felt too full. Every one of her nerve-endings was screaming in pain at the intrusion.
Even the smallest of movements felt like fire. She was only half aware of Tyronian as he chased away her escaped tears with kisses, whispering unintelligible praises to sooth her.
“Please don’t move,” she gasped, clutching his hand that still held hers. He stopped immediately.
“Tell me what you need,” Tyronian rumbled lowly, and she was surprised to feel the slightest tremble from his body.
She blinked, her eyelashes sticking together from her tears. He was looking down at her, his teeth gritted together tightly, almost as if he was angry. He must have sensed her trepidation because his eyes softened.
“Tell me what to do, sweet girl.”
“Just . . . stay still. Please. I need—” Her voice caught on the last word, another tear leaking from the corner of her eye. She didn’t have to finish though; he seemed to know what she was asking.
“Tell me when, beautiful.”
He lowered himself until they were chest to chest, giving her time to adjust. He distracted her with his soft caresses of her body and the taste of his lips. He took his time, and no matter how much she resented him and the situation he’d forced her into, she couldn’t help but be grateful for his patience. He never rushed her, seemingly content to just touch her, even if he was still buried inside of her.
Gradually, her body relaxed, her walls stretching to accommodate his hardness. He waited for her whispered “okay” before he slowly began to withdraw. He let out a garbled curse when he drove back inside of her, and Namoriee gasped at the sensation. He continued his thrusting in slow movements.
“You okay?”
Namoriee couldn’t answer, because it still hurt. Then, awhile later, even though she still felt residual pain, a different sensation was starting to zing through her. An unexplainable need was swirling inside of her, making her body flare up and causing tingles to spread within her with each thrust.
His lips curled up into a wicked grin, his eyes hooding as he looked at her. “That feels good, doesn’t it, Namoriee?”
She answered with a moan, her nails digging into his hand when he started to thrust into her marginally harder.
“I think you like the way my cock claims you. Your body knows it’s mine to take. Mine to do with as I please,” Tyronian rasped down at her.
He shifted, gripping her around her waist as he plunged into her with more unleashed movements. The new angle brought newfound pleasure/pain, and she couldn’t help but cry out at the feel of it. He was hitting something inside of her that made her feel like she was going to implode with sweet agony.
“Tell me, Namoriee. Tell me you like the way my cock feels inside of you. Tell me that you’re mine.”
“Tyronian!”
“While I love the way my name comes out of your mouth, those aren’t the words I’m looking for.”
Somehow, he could grin, even though he was panting just as much as she was. She didn’t know how he could do anything at all. She felt like her body was in a whirlpool of pleasure, the twinges of pain just adding to the inferno. She was a captive inside her own body, with Tyronian as her master.
“Gods, look at you,” he panted, gripping her hip tighter. “You’ve never looked so beautiful.”
“Tyronian!” Namoriee whimpered, close to the edge. “I need . . . I think—”
“I know what you need, my sweet,” Tyronian whispered, reaching between them to rub his fingers in circles against the part of her body that throbbed the most. “You need to soak me with your release.”
He pressed down on her, hard, and Namoriee saw stars as her body seized. Her moan was loud and drawn out as she clamped down around him tight, bringing him with her.
Panting, Tyronian slumped on top of her, careful not to crush her with his weight. She was trembling beneath him with the aftershock of her orgasm, and never in his twenty-nine years had Tyronian experienced the amount of pleasure he just now felt.
No woman had ever felt as amazing clamped around his cock the way she had. It made him feel powerful, sated yet energized.
He lifted his head, staring down at his wife’s flushed face. Gods, she was his wife.
Primal heat flooded him and made his cock twitch. He wanted to possess her again, to bend her over and take her from behind, so that her ass pressed into him as he spanked her, blemishing her skin and leaving his mark. He wanted to dominate her.
But that was for another day.
“You okay?” he asked, smoothing back damp hair from her forehead.
She didn’t answer him and instead just turned her head away. He could see tears start to gather in her eyes. He sighed. He knew this would be a possible reaction. Leawyn had warned him, but he still felt the pang in his chest her tears caused.
He pushed himself up, gently pulling out of her as he did. Namoriee whimpered when he did, but other than that, she continued to stay silent. He padded across the room to the basin he kept there. He picked up the rag and wiped himself off. He paused at the blood that coated his member before continuing, rinsing the rag out again.
With one knee on the bed, he gently pried Namoriee’s stiff legs apart and tenderly started to wipe the blood that was smeared on her skin.
“Sorry,” he whispered when she flinched. He cupped her gently as he continued to clean her. Throwing the rag aside, he lay down and pulled a stiff Namoriee against him, guiding her head to rest against his chest.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Namoriee said quietly.
“I like taking care of you,” Tyronian replied simply. He glanced down at her, only to see that she was already staring up at him. “I’ll always take care of you, Namoriee,” he vowed.
Namoriee stayed silent, and he kept his stare steady when she searched his eyes. She broke eye contact first, and they didn’t speak for the rest of the night.
Even long after she fell asleep, Tyronian watched her. His heart was pounding, and for the first time in his life, he felt fear of the future, because right then, he knew that his life depended on the girl wrapped in his arms. He couldn’t live without her, and for once in his life, he had a weakness his enemies could exploit. His already overwhelming protective instinct for her flared and grew to a new echelon. He would go mad if she were hurt because of him.
Xavier’s craziness over Leawyn made so much more sense now.
When Namoriee woke, Tyronian was not in bed with her. Sitting up, she winced slightly at the twinge of pain it caused her. Her face reddened when she recalled last night. She looked down at herself, eying her nakedness. She was no longer a maiden, her innocence taken from her.
Did she look different?
Namoriee studied her body. Her breasts were still the same color, small and unimpressive. Her legs were still the same length, and though her inner thighs had a light smattering of bruises from where Tyronian had gripped them, they, too, looked the same.
Namoriee reached down and touched herself lightly. Her mound was overly sensitive; even the slightest of pressure caused discomfort. She brought her hand up, studying the slim digits. Her nails were long, curved and uneven, but they were the same nails that had raked down Tyronian’s back in the bouts of pain, and then pleasure. She pondered last night.
By all accounts, the experience was nerve-racking and uncomfortable. She had been terrified when Tyronian came into the hut, and even more so when he started to undress her. It had hurt, a lot, when he entered her, just like he said it would. But then it had felt . . . well, she couldn’t say good because she still felt pain throughout the whole thing, but it had morphed so that the pain mixed with pleasure. She was warned that she would not climax the first time he lay with her, that she would be lucky to climax at all.
Yet . . .
He was fierce, determined, and gentle with her. He took his time. Namoriee frowned. Why?
Why was he so delicate with her? She h
ad heard the stories from many women of their wedding night. Of how their husbands had bedded them after the ceremony mercilessly and ruthlessly. Leawyn herself said that her experience was horrific.
She didn’t deserve his gentleness, and she didn’t deserve to have him as a husband. She was nothing.
Worthless.
She was a slave, and she ruined his chances of chieftainship by marrying him. Bile rose in her throat as swiftly as her self-loathing. She made a promise to herself, right then and there, that regardless of what Tyronian felt, she would never allow herself to feel the same.
Tyronian was summoned to the northern borders of their land for an unseen amount of time. The Izayges had promising land, and it wasn’t unusual that their warriors occasionally had territory battles with those wishing to claim it for their own. Normally, Xavier would be the one to lead the charge, but since Leawyn’s pregnancy, he had stepped back to ensure he was there for her. Now, he reserved that duty for Tyronian.
Knowing that Tyronian was close to danger incited conflicted emotions from Namoriee. She didn’t want to be married to him, and if he were to be slain, it would free her of her marital bonds. It should be a good thing . . . so why did the thought of never seeing him again make her want to cry?
Namoriee shook her unsavory thoughts away and instead got ready for the day. Just because she was married to Tyronian now didn’t excuse her from her duties to Leawyn.
Moments later, she was knocking on Leawyn and Xavier’s door. After walking in on Xavier and Leawyn in a compromising position, which involved Leawyn on the desk and her legs thrown over Xavier’s forearms and—needless to say, she learned to knock first.
“She’s not there.”
She turned at the voice to be met with Tristan’s impassive face. He nodded in the general direction of where the pastures were.
“She’s with the horses.”
He didn’t elaborate any further, leaving Namoriee watching his back as he walked away and disappeared into the crowd of villagers.
Tristan still freaked her out.
He always seemed to appear and disappear from midair. She shook her head, pushing the encounter out of her mind, and headed down to the fields.
“How come you didn’t wait for me?”
Leawyn turned her attention away from the round pen, where Xavier was working with the solid black yearling, and shot her a look of surprise. “Why would I?”
“Because I’m your handmaiden, and it’s my job to help you?” Namoriee replied slowly.
“Namoriee, you’re married now. To my cousin at that! That makes you my cousin,” Leawyn beamed. “You don’t need to be my handmaiden anymore.”
She froze, hearing her words but not fully able to process them due to the ringing in her ears.
Not her handmaiden anymore?
Abruptly, she was robbed of breath; she gasped, doubling over. It felt like the air was sucked straight out of her lungs.
“Namoriee?” Leawyn frowned. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Namoriee!” Leawyn yelped, grasping her arm when her legs gave out.
Her breaths were coming out ragged, and she clawed at Leawyn in fear as she was lowered down.
“She’s having a panic bout,” Xavier said calmly from above her. She didn’t realize he had come over.
“Breathe, Namoriee,” Leawyn encouraged, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Calm down, and breathe.” She copied Leawyn, and gradually her heart rate slowed down until she could inhale oxygen more easily.
She burst into tears.
“Namoriee,” Leawyn said softly, brows creasing in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything is changing,” Namoriee sobbed. “My life is moving too fast, and I can’t keep up.”
She heard Leawyn sigh before she felt her lady chief’s arms wrap around her in a hug.
“Is this about your marriage to Tyronian?”
“It’s everything!” Namoriee wailed despondently. “My marriage to Tyronian, my living arrangement, the fact that I’m expected to carry his heir, and now I find out I can’t be your handmaiden!” She looked up at Leawyn, meeting her blue eyes. “My life might not have been glamourous, but I had purpose. I liked being your handmaiden. I can’t . . . I can’t h-h-handle any more changes.”
“Oh, Namoriee,” Leawyn whispered compassionately. “I understand how you feel, I’ve been there.” Namoriee took a shuddering breath, wiping her cheeks.
“Tyronian is a mighty warrior, and a good man. He cares about you, and I know he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt you.” Leawyn’s gaze turned firm. “He deserves a chance to prove that to you.”
Namoriee’s eyes glittered, guilt flooding her. “I know that, it’s just . . .” She trailed off, turning away.
She couldn’t explain it. Everything Leawyn said was true, and Namoriee knew that he cared about her, but she couldn’t help the feeling of fear every time she thought about him. Or the resentment. She deserved the chance to make the decision to marry him because she wanted it. He took her choice away, and that was difficult for her to look past.
Even if her heart yearned for his affection as much as she dreaded it.
“You don’t need to explain it to me.”
Leawyn’s gaze told her that she understood where she was coming from more than anyone else possibly could. She followed her gaze to Xavier, who must have gone back to the pen sometime during her episode. Leawyn’s look turned soft, reflecting the love that Namoriee would never understand.
“All I ask is that you try to look past the feeling you think you should have, and search for the ones that you already do have. Those are the ones that matter.”
Leawyn stood, offering her hand to help Namoriee up. Her dear friend smoothed back a piece of her hair before cupping her cheek.
“If you truly wish to continue with your duties, I won’t refute. But you aren’t my handmaiden. You are simply my cousin, whom I spend time with throughout the day. Okay?”
Namoriee sighed in relief, a weight lifting off her chest. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. Leawyn waved her off.
“I love you, Namoriee. You were never just a handmaiden to me.”
Namoriee looked around, wanting to change the subject now that the panic she felt had subsided and embarrassment was taking its place. “Where’s Xillik?” she asked when she couldn’t find him.
Namoriee’s eyes followed the direction Leawyn pointed to. Xillik was in a different pen with Deydrey, who didn’t seem at all bothered by the toddler who was trying to catch her tail as it swished back and forth.
“I promised him a ride after Xavier was done with Knox, though from the looks of it, it may be awhile,” Leawyn said in amusement. They both turned their attention to Xavier.
Knox was the yearling that was the product of Leawyn’s mare, Deydrey, and Xavier’s great war horse, Killix, who was notorious for his stubborn and wild personality.
“How’s the training going?”
She watched as Knox pounced around proudly in a fast circle, head held high and defiant against the long rope attached to his halter that Xavier held as he rode him.
Suddenly, Knox stopped, attempting to throw Xavier off as he hopped sideways before rearing. Xavier was quick to respond, yanking Knox’s rope to the side, forcing his nose towards his hindquarters.
“Not well, apparently,” Leawyn said dryly once Xavier gained control of Knox.
Namoriee grinned. “He’s so much like Killix already. I’m sure Xavier is happy.”
“I don’t think there will ever be a greater horse than Killix,” Leawyn whispered. “But I am happy to know his son. I know only the best warrior would be reincarnated inside Knox.”
Leawyn was talking about the legend of Saviero and Ianna. It was the Samaritan’s belief that once a great warrior died, they were then reincarnated into a horse. Their history told of a great warrior named Saviero and Ianna, the goddess that had cursed him to roam the land as a horse when he had broken his promise and fallen
in love with another. Saviero died when a terrible foe had tried to kill the woman he loved. Ianna was so moved by his sacrifice that she turned him back into a man and promised that any warrior who showed the same heart would be reborn as a steed to serve another great warrior.
“Momma! Look!”
Leawyn looked over at Xillik, her smile dying when she saw what he was about to do. He had gotten bored of Deydrey and had migrated to where they kept the weanlings. One of which he was reaching out to pet.
“Xillik, no!”
Too late.
Namoriee opened the door to the healer’s hut so that Leawyn could walk through first. The familiar scent of herbs, ointments, and sage greeted her senses. She had spent many of her days here in this hut since she had been the healer’s assistant before she became Leawyn’s handmaiden.
“Aggod?” Leawyn’s worried tone had Namoriee’s attention, and she frowned at how pale the old healer was.
“Aggod, are you well?” Namoriee rushed over to her when she went to stand from her bed and wavered. Though Aggod was as stern as a thorn and didn’t always treat her the best, she was all Namoriee had for a while; it worried her to see how ill the healer looked.
“I’m fine,” Aggod wheezed, batting away Namoriee’s hand with a glower when she went to feel her forehead. “Stop yer stressing, idiot girl. I’m fine!”
Her response would have been more reassuring if she hadn’t broken out into a coughing fit after.
“You feel warm,” Namoriee said, ignoring Aggod’s attempt to escape her. “How long have you been like this?”
“I said I’m fine! Now let me up. Can’t you see I have a patient?” Aggod grouched, and she started to stand up.
“You aren’t!” Namoriee scowled and pushed her back down. She matched the healer’s glare with one of her own. “How many times have you told me that a fever, no matter how mild, is dangerous? You’re going to rest, even if I have to stay here and tie you down.”
“Now listen here, girl, I don’t take orders—” Aggod started to cough violently, her withered body meandering to the side from the force. The cup of water Namoriee handed her noticeably wobbled when Aggod brought it to her lips.
