by L. Penelope
His sister, Eagle, warned that tenderness can be a torturous touch.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Sitting on his lap, she delighted in his unmistakable desire for her as it settled between her legs. A blast of pleasure assaulted her as she brushed against his hardness. She should have been appalled at her forwardness. The rich city girls he was used to were probably far more demure. Even prettied up in a fine gown after a fancy bath, Jasminda would never be like them. But he had come to her. He wanted her. It was not possible, and yet here he was.
Jack’s skin burned beneath her hands. The contrast of hard and soft made her fingers long to stroke him everywhere.
He stilled her hands. “Jasminda, are you certain?” The heat in his eyes was tempered with concern.
She nodded. “I would like to have this with you.” Unspoken was the reality that this could well be her only chance. He could be her lover. Perhaps not for more than this one night, but if that was all she had, then she would take it and hold it close in her memory forever.
“You have done this before, I would imagine.” She laughed at his sheepish expression. “Handsome soldiers are not the lonely sort.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, nose, and lips, then brought his hand to her breast and trapped it under hers. “You can show me.”
“But I’ve … I don’t want you to think…” He shook his head. “It was different before.”
She sat back, dropping his hand, her skin rapidly cooling. “Am I so different?”
“You are. In every way.”
Her mind raced as doubts swarmed. She drew away and moved to stand, but he wrapped his arms around her.
“Jasminda, don’t mistake me. You are like nothing I ever thought possible. Like no one else I have ever met. And I am glad of it. You are remarkable.”
She did not want to feel the joy his words inspired, the resurgence of hope within her. Nothing had changed. He was still a prince and she a farm girl with the wrong skin color and too much magic. Tonight was just a night. But as his arms tightened, pressing her against him, her heart threatened to revolt.
He kissed the shell of her ear, her jaw, her chin. “I will show you, if you will show me.”
“Show you what?” she whispered as his tongue tickled her neck.
“Your secrets.”
“I haven’t any secrets.”
He focused on her other ear, tugging on her lobe with his teeth. She shivered, the tiny motion sending a spark all the way to her toes.
“Your body begs to differ.” He stood, lifting her easily. After she settled on her feet, he leaned in for another endless kiss. Molten longing pooled between her legs.
“There is sylfimweed in the kitchens, I trust?” she asked.
“I should think so, with the number of soldiers I reprimand for being found sneaking out of storerooms with maids.” He placed a hand on her belly. The thought of having his child was not something she could entertain at the moment. Yet another fanciful idea to quell. She would go to the kitchens in the morning to obtain the herb.
Jack frowned as he pressed against her stomach. Thinking of half-breed bastards, no doubt. Before she could reassure him that she had no such designs, he kneeled and placed a kiss over her navel through her dress. She froze. He reached down to the hem of her dress, then slid his hands underneath to caress her ankles and legs. Her breath hitched. She needed the damnable dress off. Now.
Fumbling with the strap wrapped around her bosom, she found the end and gave it a strong tug, causing most of it to unravel. Jack watched with rapt attention as the dress loosened and eventually gave way, leaving her top half bare and only a thin silk slip covering her bottom half.
Hot with undiluted desire, his eyes traveled up her body to meet hers. Never breaking their locked stare, she walked backward to the four-poster bed overtaking the room and sat facing Jack. He still kneeled by the fireplace, staring at her.
She crawled back until she hit the pillows, then lay down, her legs barely spread apart. Jack prowled in her direction like a cat ready to pounce. He grasped one leg, tugging it to the side, mirrored the movement with the other leg, and then crawled between them.
A shiver rippled through her as he caressed her legs, hands sliding under her slip, running up her thighs, pulling the material up to her waist.
“No knife?” He sounded disappointed.
“It didn’t match the dress.”
The silky scrap of underwear Nadal had provided for her was all the protection she had from his thumbs as they ran up and down her. He kissed her once there, through the fabric, before moving his tongue up her stomach to circle her navel. The anticipation of feeling him inside her swelled.
He worshipped her body with his tongue, pressing kisses every place he could reach. Hands on the curves of her bottom, he spread her legs wider, settling his weight between them. Jasminda arched up, wanting more but at the same time longing to touch him, too. She freed her arms from her sides and slid her hands down his back, digging her nails into his flesh when he did something particularly delightful with his tongue or fingers.
The panties had to come off. Jack’s head popped up, focused on the material sliding down her legs before she kicked them away. She reached for the front of his trousers but stopped, perplexed at how to undo them.
He grinned and showed her the buckles and buttons, easing them off along with his drawers. She sat up, enthralled with the sight of him. She reached out for him, stroking his length. His eyes closed on a hissed breath. Jasminda loved learning him, changing the pressure and monitoring his reaction as she squeezed and caressed.
With a low rumble in his throat, he pulled away and came to rest on top of her, bringing his face close to hers. He was settled at her entrance but made no move to go farther. Just cupped her face and kissed her silly once again. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him to keep going, to go all the way.
He eased a hand between their bodies and stroked her. She tried to widen her legs even more. Finally, one finger worked its way inside her. She bucked and wriggled beneath him, wanting more, and he chuckled softly before inserting another finger and working them in and out of her, sliding deliciously.
She moaned when his thumb circled her most sensitive area. He kissed and caressed her, creating an amazing buildup of longing and desire. She teetered on the precipice, overwhelmed by what was coming, when he pulled out his hand.
Gasping at the loss, she looked up at him, wide-eyed. He positioned himself once again at her entrance, his expression seeking approval.
“Jack,” she cried. “Please.”
With permission granted, he eased himself into her. A sharp, stinging sensation accompanied the feeling of being stretched wide. She strained as he pushed farther inside her and focused on his face inches from her own. The discomfort was expected, and tempered in large part by her excitement.
Their pelvises met, and she curled her legs tight around his waist.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
She kissed him in response. “What happens now?”
“Now I start moving, but I want to be sure not to hurt you.”
She wriggled against him, delighted by the fullness of his invasion of her body. Jack grimaced, the tension of not moving evident in the veins bulging in his forehead and neck.
“You’re not hurting me,” she said, and kissed him again. He slid out of her a bit then plunged back in, then did it again with a gentle movement, a rocking in and out of her, creating a sweet friction between them.
Jack voiced unintelligible, impassioned sounds, his arms straining as he kept the majority of his weight off her. Their dual rhythms harmonized as they moved together.
She ran her hands down his back and even lower, wanting to push him even deeper inside her, wanting to hold all of him with her body. When he sped up his pace, she matched him, and the wave built up again. It rose, rose, rose, until she didn’t think anything could ever be better.
Then it broke, a dam shattering
, and she came completely apart, nothing but pleasure rushing through her unbridled. She screamed but wasn’t aware of it until the rawness in her throat brought her back to reality and the crest that felt like it had lasted a lifetime slowly faded away.
Her breath came in short bursts, and Jack, on top of her, was doing little better. His face was flushed, and sweat dripped from his hair down to his chin. He gave her a look of pure tenderness and peppered her face with more kisses. He remained inside of her, still pleasant, even as his swell reduced. When he moved to get off her, she clutched him to her more firmly.
“No, not yet.”
He rolled them onto their sides, still intertwined, still one. Jasminda wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed him everywhere she could reach.
“Jack.”
“Yes, my darling?” he said, breathless.
“Just … Jack,” she said, and smiled. He brought her even closer, kissing her until they both had to stop to catch their breaths again. She locked her legs tighter around him, determined to imprint this moment not just in her memory but into her skin, her bones, her soul, and her Song. When she left, it would be all she had to remember him by.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Shark wished for Eagle’s prophetic knowledge, and Eagle envied Shark’s generosity.
And the petals of their closeness wilted.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jasminda reveled in the feel of Jack’s fingers winding through her hair as they lay in the enormous bed. “I have something for you,” he said.
“What is it?” She grinned and he beamed down at her, appearing lost for a moment. Then he shook his head as if coming out of a fog and stood, crossing the room to his discarded jacket.
Jasminda appreciated the view of his strong back and the muscles working there and lower. He turned to find her staring and flushed, his face and chest growing red.
“Am I not supposed to look?” she asked saucily.
He shook his head and returned to the bed, a thin, rectangular box in his hand. Gathering her again into his chest, he held the box out. She brushed her fingertips across dark blue velvet emblazoned with Elsira’s crest and looked up at him questioningly.
“Open it.”
Gingerly, she plucked the box from his palm and lifted the lid. A shiny gold medal winked up at her in the dim light. A five-pointed star with the profile of a man wearing a crown at its center hung from a wide blue-and-gold ribbon. Around the man’s head circled the words IN FEAST AND IN FAMINE WE SUSTAIN.
“It’s the Order of the Grainbearer. Elsira’s highest honor for service to the crown.” Jack’s voice was full of pride.
Jasminda’s heart stopped beating. “For me?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You saved my life. This is just a token, but you deserve it.”
“But … but…”
“There’s generally a nomination process and months of paperwork and a fancy ceremony, but I didn’t want to wait for all that. I may do away with it entirely from now on. I just went into the storage room where they keep these and got one for you.”
Her mouth gaped open.
“Don’t worry. It’s official. I signed you into the registry myself.”
She snapped her jaw closed, but a minute passed before she could form words. “Thank you.”
“I suppose I should call you Dame Jasminda now.” He smiled and bowed. She laid her head on his chest again, admiring the finery of the medal. On record as having been of service to her nation. A lump grew in her throat.
Somewhere, a clock struck midnight.
“You know, it may be easier if…” Jack trailed off. Jasminda lifted her head, not liking the tone of his voice.
“If what?”
He stroked a hand across her jaw. “I don’t want them to make your life here miserable. There will be questions, speculation … gossip. About us.” Worried eyes searched her face.
The tiny light that had flickered to life in the center of her chest faltered. But she’d known. When he’d showed up at her door, she’d known. When she’d let him in, and when she’d chosen to go down this path, she knew where it would lead and where it would not.
“So what would be easier?” The question fell from her lips on a whisper. She must not have done enough to mask her feelings, for he pulled her closer, tightening his grip around her.
“If we remain discreet.” His voice wavered. That tiny wobble stole the strength from her growing hurt. It was not exactly a rejection, but the reality was clear. He could never truly be hers. He belonged to the people now, and the people were fickle masters.
“You are right,” she said to his chest, then pressed a kiss there to show she bore no ill will about the state of affairs. She did not. If her heart broke the tiniest bit, it was only because she had allowed it to grow weak and sentimental. That would never do.
She sat up, pulling herself out of the fortress of safety his arms provided. “This is no one’s business but ours. We don’t ever have to speak of it again, if you’d prefer.”
“No, that’s not what I…” He reached for her, but she pulled away, turning to sit on the edge of the bed with her back to him.
“You should probably go. You will be missed if you leave it until morning.” She wished she had something to cover herself with. There were robes in the great wardrobe hulking in the corner of the room. She’d peeked in it earlier. All she had to do was walk over there and retrieve one, but she did not trust her shaky legs.
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and she pushed them back. She tried to force that same will into her legs to push her to stand, but just when she thought she’d found the strength, nimble hands enfolded her waist, sliding her across the bed. Jack turned her over until she was on her back with him straddling her, his face inches from her own.
He kissed her. She closed her eyes involuntarily and lost herself in it. Even if by some miracle she found someone to kiss again, it would never be like this.
“If you want me to tell the world, I will,” he said. “I will call for a press conference on the steps of the palace and shout your name from every roof and balcony.” He placed kisses down her jaw, pausing to nuzzle the crook of her neck and inhale deeply.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, so short now there was barely anything to hold on to, and pulled his head up so she could peer into his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t want you to think that I … that I care what anyone else thinks. I just don’t want it to be harder for you than it has to be.”
“All right.” A quiet acceptance of an unavoidable fact. “What have you said about my presence here?”
He settled onto his elbows, still on top of her, and her center warmed at the press of him against her.
“You are my honored guest. You saved my life at great risk to yourself, and are welcome to stay as long as you like.” He grasped a lock of her hair between his finger and thumb. “I will erase the debt. Your taxes. I would have done it anyway.”
She shook her head and looked around the room; even in the dark its finery was visible. “I don’t want to owe you any more than I do already.”
“You owe me nothing—”
She hushed him with a finger across his lips.
“I will not allow you to lose your home,” he said around her fingers.
“I don’t intend to. I’m going to lodge my appeal in person tomorrow at the Bureau of Taxation. It’s my last day to do so, and my case is solid.”
“I know it is. I’ll have Usher, my valet, assign you a driver. You can go and get it cleared up.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, battling the sadness that kept creeping in from the corners. The clock struck the quarter hour.
“You really should go and get some sleep,” she said, smoothing a finger across his brow. “Can you discreetly get back to your rooms?”
He sighed, rising to a knee. “I can use the back passageways. There are secret corridors throughout the palace too narrow fo
r the servants to bother with. I used to hide in them as a child.” He reached for her. “How I wish I could stay beside you the whole night.”
She did not give voice to all the things she wished that would never be.
He stood, finally, retrieving his scattered clothing and dressing. Jasminda admired each of his body parts as they were hidden from her view. When he looked at her one last time, she glimpsed a well of pain inside him she had never seen before, one that tugged at her in a new way. And it made it all the more difficult when he kissed her good-bye and walked out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Lady Oola, are you ready to begin?” My cousin Vaaryn stands in the center of the amphitheater that is the Assembly Room. Rows of benches spiral around him, filled with the other children of the Founders. He is aged and stooping, the eldest of the Thirds. Next to him, spine as rigid and unyielding as his face, sits my beloved Eero.
When I shudder, Yllis squeezes my hand. I stand, all the heavier for the weight pressing against my heart, and force myself to look upon my twin.
“Eero, son of Peedar, second-born to the ninth child of the Founders, what say you to the crimes of which you are accused?” My voice sounds strong, but inside I quiver from nerves. The closest relative of the accused must stand up for him in Assembly, but I do not want to be here, not as observer, judge, or Advocate.
“My only crime, sister”—the word is a sneer falling from his mouth—“was being born Silent in a world of Songbearers.” He is not chained or bound in any way and crosses his arms in front of him defiantly.
I clear my throat and take a breath, still amazed at the cruel way he speaks to me now. “Your crime is the kidnapping of Sayya, Fourth descendant of the Founders. Do you deny this?”
He looks straight ahead, his gaze boring into the wall. “As a Third descendant, I see no reason to dignify this proceeding with a response.”
I swallow. “As you well know, only Songbearers are counted in the line of descendants. The Silent are not—”
