Her One Wish

by Marie Hall

  Fingers trembling, she took it from him. Hanging on to it by its red silken strings.

  “I would tie them for you, but…” He gave a small grunt cough. “Under the circumstances, it’s probably best not to touch you again.” Then with a swift nod, he exited their palatial tent.

  Feeling like a hot, sexually frustrated mess, Nixie walked over to the floor-length mirror—another one of Robin’s spelled objects, most days it was only the size of a hand held piece of glass, but as with most things in his tent, not everything was always as it seemed—and tied the mask on with nerveless fingers. It took her three tries before she finally tied a true knot, then, taking a step back, she studied her reflection. Trying to see herself as Robin had.

  Her fingers traced the fine lines of the Grecian goddess gown. She was to play Aphrodite this night. A goddess of seduction and love.

  The rich red fabric gleamed with shades of orange and gold wherever the flickering glow of candlelight touched it. Her arms were bared except for a golden circlet of a snake consuming its tail on her left bicep. Tendrils of black hair spilled artfully over her right shoulder. Her breasts looked ripe and lush. She wore only a nude corset and slip beneath, giving the illusion that she was naked beneath.

  Closing her eyes, she prayed for strength, then turned and went to join him.

  Chapter 15

  Nix couldn’t believe the splendor of the castle. It’d been transformed from a cold, sterile tower of gray stone to one glittering with balls of lights strung from the rafters. But these weren’t Christmas lights on a string; they were finely woven balls of briarwood with fireflies trapped within. Their neon green glow added to the slightly festive creepiness of the place.

  Carved pumpkins dotted the walkways, their open mouths flickering with candlelight. Bats zipped around them. Skeletons lined the walls in full battle armament—and man, she hoped they were fake—clacked and danced in the gentle breeze.

  Everything smelled of apple and hot cinnamon.

  Everywhere she turned they were people dressed in exotic styles. Some wearing the skins of animals, with their faces and legs painted in spots and stripes. Others looking like zombies just come from their grave, their suits and gowns looking old and molded, tattered at the edges, and with their face paint and slightly decayed scent, they could have passed for the real thing.

  Maybe they were. This was Kingdom, after all.

  This was a Halloween party, Arthurian style.

  Robin grabbed her hand. “My lady.” He bowed low before her. “Shall we dance?”

  Nixie smiled behind her mask and nodded. She vaguely wondered where the other men had gone off to. More than half of Robin’s men would be in attendance this night.

  Though she couldn’t find any of them. She’d cloaked them all in magic, so much so that even she, the creator, could not see them.

  Nix tapped her fingers on Robin’s chest nervously, leaning in to whisper, “What exactly are the men here to find tonight, Robin?”

  His face turned to her and though she couldn’t see behind his mask, the sudden tightening around his eyes made her worry. “You’ll know soon enough.”

  Swaying with him in time to the stirring crescendo of violin strings, Nix tried so hard to ignore the feel of his strong hands clamped onto her waist. The smell of his body—masculine and spicy. The hypnotizing way he moved he moved them across the dance floor. She wasn’t a great dancer, never had been. She totally busted the myth wide open that all Latinas had rhythm encoded into their DNA. Nix had two left feet and was as clunky as an ogre trying to do a reel, but in his arms, it was like she floated on clouds. Like her feet never even touched the ground. He moved so seamlessly she had no choice but to follow.

  His thumb pressed into the base of her spine, and she was so aware of it. Aware of how each step they took shifted the pressure just slightly. It was like a wash of current zipping down between her thighs with each twirl, each stride.

  Each breath was a struggle. “Why do you keep me in the dark?” she asked low. “You’re the only master who ever has. Everyone tells me what they want. What they need. And yet you—”

  “Me what?” His voice was thick, but his touch was lethal. Now it wasn’t just his thumb, but his entire palm laying flat on her back. His fingers teasingly brushing the tender area just before where back met bum.

  It was all Nix could do not to purr like a cat in heat.

  Aware of all the eyes around them, of Robin’s very precarious position, she didn’t jump out of his arms, or give into her need by pressing in even tighter, molding their lower halves together just so that she could get that friction she desperately needed.

  “You’ve gone rigid in my arms, pet.” He moved his palm up and down so damn slowly that she couldn’t help but give a little mewl in response.

  “Stop touching me like that,” she snapped. Angry with him. With herself. But most especially with their situation. Until Robin wished his final wish she’d be tortured by her want of him.

  She might not be able to see it, but she’d bet good money that he was biting his lower lip right now. His eyes were starting to glow.

  “Your eyes, Robin.”

  He closed them, but still held her unbelievably tight. They were no longer dancing and now couples were beginning to bump into them, giving them glares of disgust.

  “Off the floor if ye’re not dancing,” someone snapped.

  But Robin wouldn’t move. Now he was the one turning rigid.

  “Charming?” she said it softly. They were still playing the roles they’d played when he’d bought her the gown the other day. She touched his sleeve. Even through the thick layer of fabric, she felt the warmth of his flesh beneath her fingertips.

  Grabbing her hand, he twined their fingers together and pulled her off the floor to one side. “Punch?” he asked, his voice sounded normal again, and his eyes were an intense blue, but no longer so electric.

  Feeling like she was suffocating beneath her mask, she slipped it off and took a deep breath, running her hand across her sweaty brow. “Yes, please.”

  He stared at her, and once again she was back in that bubble, that strange place where reality melted away until all she saw, smelled, and heard was him.

  “Goddess…Marian,” he said haltingly, as if for a moment he’d forgotten her pseudo name, “when you look like that.” His thumb traced her burning cheek.

  Feeling bold and daring, knowing she played with fire, but unable to resist the siren’s call of him, she stepped into his body. Robin didn’t move back as she’d expected him to.

  “You make me forget that this is all a—”

  Suddenly the night erupted with the violent blast of trumpets. Jerked out of her thoughts, Nixie latched on to her chest with trembling fingers, moving away from him. From the dangers of what Robin meant to her sanity and looked up, and for just a moment she caught a flash of moving shadow that made her heart leap.

  She quickly tied her mask back on.

  Narrowing her gaze she peered at the corner of the massive chamber room, and then shook her head feeling ridiculous and even slightly crazy. For a second she could have sworn that large swath of darkness must have been John, but though she didn’t dare blink, nothing budged.

  A throng of bodies began to move slowly forward toward the wooden stage festooned with garland and red and white ribbons.

  A red carpet was being rolled out by two youngish looking squires—one of who had a shock of bright red hair, the other blond, wearing similar outfits—but there was something about their movements, their mannerisms that seemed oddly familiar.

  The final ringing note of the trumpets hung suspended in the air for several quivering seconds, before a man wearing royal blue tights, a hunter-green shirt and a jaunty feathered cap, boomed, “His Royal Highness, Crispin the Lion-Hearted!”

  The flock of people erupted in a deafening roar of applause.

  But Nixie had eyes only for the king. He was a tall man, nearly as tall as Robin himself. B
ut instead of a shock of blond hair, his was a deep, rich brown that hung to the nape of his collar in soft waves. He was broad of shoulder and slim of waist, with strong, thick looking thighs. It was only the sheer masculinity of his face and body—the super-chiseled jaw that looked as if it could slice through paper, the regal nose, and the broad forehead—that helped him not to look like such a dandy in the candy apple-red tights and flowing red robe lined with white-speckled animal fur.

  Crispin certainly looked the part of a lion-hearted king. The sword strapped to his waist didn’t look like mere ornamentation so much as a natural extension. This was clearly a warrior king.

  He waved to the crowd, giving them a magnanimous smile full of nothing but straight, white teeth.

  “Welcome one and all to the annual harvest celebrations. May you be well, and merry.”

  His voice was strong and even, and even had a hint of a burr to it. The golden crown studded with rubies atop his head glinted as he moved, there was an innate charisma to the monarch, one where a person—be it man or woman—was held instantly spellbound by it.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured.

  “Careful, my pet,” Robin whispered hotly in her ear, “lest you fall to the viper’s treachery as well.”

  “What?” She shook her head and turned to him, and realized she’d been leaning forward on tiptoe, just as everyone else around them now was, hanging on the king’s every word with rapt, devoted attention.

  She frowned and grabbed her head, feeling as though she’d had too much to drink, when she knew she’d had nothing at all.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Her voice quivered, head still full of fog.

  Robin’s touch on her bare arm was gentle, but also grounded her. Helped her to breathe again, helped her clear the muddle of her mind.

  The king was still speaking, and it was all Nixie could do not to turn her face up again, not to want to fall to bended knee and…

  Robin’s hot body moved in behind her own, his warm hands slid down the naked length of her flesh, before his fingers curled through hers.

  “Listen to my voice.”

  She shivered, skin going awash with the heat of goose bumps.

  His nose nuzzled the length of her neck, making it hard to breathe. And it wasn’t the king now fuzzing up her thoughts, but the man standing behind her. The hard lines and grooves of his body rubbing up against her own that made her tremble.

  It didn’t matter that there was clothing between them; she swore if she closed her eyes she could feel him move through her.

  “That’s right, my beauty.” His thick drawl touched a nerve in her, set her belly aflutter with the wings of a thousand butterflies. “Listen to me alone.”

  The soothing cadence of his voice drowned out the enthrallment of the king’s, who was now shaking his fist and spouting the virtues and strength of their realm. The power of them as a people. And how, in all things, he was to be their god and they his chattel.

  She frowned. “What?” Had she really just heard that?

  Robin’s thumb traced the soft skin between her thumb and finger.

  “Can you hear him now?” he asked.

  She blinked. “I…I…”

  “You will adore me. Worship me,” the king continued, “I will lay down my life for yours.” She shook her head. The words going in and out from nefarious to patriotic. “I will fight for you. Honor. Pathetic humans. You are not fit to kiss the muddied soles of my boots. Loyalty. Send me your virgins. Honor. Kill any who besmirch my good name. Truth—”

  But it wasn’t simply his words changing, but also his appearance.

  He blinked in and out of her vision. As that regal, brown-haired champion of righteous, to someone that made her gasp and quiver.

  “Not possible,” she gasped, going rigid in Robin’s arms, because the man standing on stage and the one standing behind her was one and the same.

  Right down to the electric-blue eyes.

  “Aye.” His grip tightened. “It is possible, pet. Crispin is not just my brother. He is my twin.”

  Chapter 16

  “Now. Eat. Drink. And have fun!” Crispin intoned. The moment he did, the lights flickered out, except for one lone jewel of light in the very center of the room. Flickering like a torch.

  “Don’t stare at that light,” Robin ordered her.

  Nixie blinked, shaking herself violently. “What will happen if I do?”

  “You’re magical, so maybe nothing, but I’ll not take that chance.” He spun her about, locking her safely in his arms. “But that’s fairy magic. And the dark kind at that. It compels all women to go to him.”

  The moment he said those words a beehive of women began to slowly push forward toward the front of the stage.

  Nixie clung to Robin’s collar. Her tiny body fit like a perfectly interlocking puzzle piece in his arms.

  “Charming, but if I don’t go?”

  He nodded. “You can’t go.”

  “They’ll know we see through him. This is too dangerous. I can wish him out of here; I can lock him away in a tower where no one can ever find him again. This is too dangerous for you.”

  “My men will grab him.” His finger traced her finely sculpted cheekbone just as the clock struck midnight, women were now rustling up their skirts and jumping up on the stage.

  No one would remember this, would recall the orgy about to take place tomorrow. Crispin was a deceiver. A trickster. He would pick the best of the bunch, take them away to a hidden room in the castle, and in the morning he would wipe all traces of him from their memory.

  The menfolk, the husbands, no one would remember. And if a child was conceived, no one would think it amiss.

  Crispin didn’t just merely rape the women, he stole from everyone. His words were poison dipped in honey.

  “And as for you…” With a groan full of longing, Robin slipped their masks up just enough so that he could dip his head and feast on her lips, running his tongue gently across the seam of them, coaxing her to open up to him.

  Nixie’s mewls of pleasure spurred him on. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her small fingers clutched at the collar of his shirt, bunching it up in her fists as she molded her lower half to his.

  His cock was so stiff it was painful. Twining her tongue with his, he wanted to growl at her. Wanted to tell her she was his. Only his. That his diabolical brother could never have her. Would never have her. But those words remained locked away in his heart.

  With one final flick of his tongue, he forced himself to put her away from him. Her breathing was heavy. Her cheeks a flushed pink. Her dewy, bronzed skin almost seemed to glow like gold beneath the muted glow of the lights.

  Suddenly a scream rent the night, and then another.

  Remembering the plan, what they’d come here for in the first place, Robin nodded and shoved their masks back down. His body was still humming, still desperate to have her, own her. It took tremendous willpower to remember what he was about.

  “Come,” he ordered, dragging her behind him as they tried to make their way through the suddenly confused crowd.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, glancing over her shoulders. There were more screams, and now grunts.

  Soldiers were moving in, withdrawing their swords and screaming above the crowds. It was utter chaos and madness. There was a loud roar, which caused her to glance to her right. Lying in the middle of the floor a fat friar monk groaned, grabbing hold of his head. Somehow during his stumble he’d pitched into the knights, knocking several of them down with him.

  A few kicked out at him as they scrabbled to their feet, racing toward the stage. Nixie frowned, wanting to go help the poor friar up, but Robin clutched her hand tighter.

  “We can’t, Marian.”

  The spell Crispin had cast seemed to be completely obliterated as men and women both scrambled to try and get away.

  “But Charming—”

  “Ssh.” Robin, placed a finger over his lips. “If all gone as p
lanned, then you’ll very soon, find out. We must hie off now, pet. Keep close to me.”

  ~*~

  Robin headed toward a side entrance that quickly veered toward a hidden network of tunnels. They ran for some distance before a scraping noise behind them had Nixie glancing over her shoulder. “Robin,” she hissed, when she saw a shadow move.

  Tensing under her hand he looked over his shoulder to where she pointed. Nixie wasn’t crazy, she’d just seen a shadow move.

  “Wh—”

  Just as he was surely about to ask her what she’d seen one of Crispin’s guards stepped out of the darkness. Robin kicked immediately into action, shoving her behind him before he pulled a dirk from his pocket and held it before him.

  “You’ll leave us be,” Robin said it without a quiver in his voice.

  “Oh will I?” The guard’s smile revealed a missing front tooth. His hair was shaggy and long, hanging about his shoulders haphazardly. A large, rugged scar extended from the tip of one eye to the corner of his lip. He had a grizzled, weathered appearance to his skin, and didn’t look like any of the other clean cut guards Nixie had seen prior. But though he looked like he belonged on a street corner panhandling, there was a keen intellect that burned on his face—like the man had seen years of war and death and had come out hardened and cynical because of it.

  Nixie’s heart pumped with adrenaline as all around them she could hear the cries and scuffle of hundreds of feet running away from the ball. Here they were, hidden inside a “secret” tunnel that should have kept them safe, and yet, they’d been found. The thought that it might all be over, that all of Robin’s plans might have been for nothing, had her seething with fury.

  Clenching her jaw, she dug her fingers into the back of his shirt. “Make a wish,” she stood on tiptoe and hissed into Robin’s ear.

  Robin merely jerked his head. Maybe he was telling her no. Maybe he was shrugging her off. Or maybe he was simply too zoned into the man in front of him to give her a verbal response, but the head shake was all she got.