The Best Deceptions: A Lesbian Medieval Fantasy (Deception Series Book 1)

by Victoria Pink

  It makes her feel wanted. Cared about.

  Her eyes drop demurely from Nadira's to hide her blush and a grin she's sure is far too wide for a sentence so simple.

  The flickering, warm light from the fire catches the gold in Fiona's hair. The light flecks in her eyes. Makes her skin glow vibrantly.

  Boldly, Nadira leans forward and kisses the soft skin of Fiona's shoulder.

  The brief graze of Nadira's lips against her skin catches her off guard. She sucks in a trembling breath as she looks back up, her chest flushing instantly at the glint in Nadira's eyes.

  Nadira grins and the reaction, and reaches down to pick up a puckered, red fruit from the tray. She holds it up to Fiona's lips. "Here, try this."

  Still slightly thrown off-kilter, her brow knits as she looks down to the fingers in front of her face. "What is that?"

  "It's good," Nadira replies, moving it slightly closer to her mouth. "Open."

  Her mouth parts just enough, but then her lips clamp down as soon as she feels Nadira's fingers graze them. She makes sure to suck the sweet juice from Nadira's fingers; her eyes never leaving the dark ones that widen in pleasant disbelief.

  Smirking, she pulls back with a moan. "Mmm. It is good."

  "You've got a little bit," Nadira uses her thumb to lightly rub at a nonexistent fleck on the corner of Fiona's mouth, smiling. Two can play this game. "There. Got it."

  Her eyes flick from Nadira's own to her lips and, almost involuntarily, she starts to lean in to the electric pull that has seemingly hung between them from the moment they met. Her breathing slows and quickens all at once, and she can easily see Nadira's pulse throbbing quickly in her neck. Anticipating this. Welcoming this. Wanting this.

  But then a drum beat steadily begins and lifts her from the trance. She looks away quickly as muscular women and men dressed in animal pelts pour into the canopy and circle the fire—their bodies covered in paints of red and green and blue.

  "They aren't fancy dancers like you're used to, but—"

  "They're beautiful," Fiona interrupts in awe as she watches. "Look at the way they move. The way their musculature accentuates the movements. It's amazing."

  "You're amazing."

  Fiona rolls her eyes, trying to hide her grin as she looks back to Nadira. "Has anyone ever told you that you're awfully trite to supposedly be such a ruthless person?"

  "Well they have now," Nadira retorts at Fiona's teasing. "See if I ever compliment you again."

  Chapter 8

  "You are beautiful, Fiona," Nadira whispers, emboldened by the wine they had drank over the past hours. She reaches across the small space between them on the bed and grazes Fiona's cheek with a feather light caress. "So beautiful."

  Fiona lazily walks her fingers up the dips and contours of Nadira's abs. "And you…are exquisite. Simply exquisite. "

  Nadira laughs, her stomach tensing under Fiona's touch. "I've been called many things, but I don't think that has ever been one of them."

  "Well you should've been," she replies, her hand falling onto the bed between them. "You're so much more than you're made out to be. So complex."

  Nadira laughs. "And you aren't?"

  "Maybe," she says, "But perhaps I'm just too odd to be understood."

  "You are weird," Nadira agrees, smiling to make sure it isn't taken the wrong way. "But it's a good weird. I like it. And I want to understand it."

  She takes a shaky breath. This…she's never felt this before. Wanted. Desired. Blissfully content in doing nothing else but basking in someone else’s presence.

  Her fingertips graze Nadira's lips; her heart pounding and breaths uneven.

  "Me too," she murmurs, scooting closer to Nadira. "I want you to understand me. All of me."

  Then her lips press against Nadira's, and all of those poems she had read throughout the years suddenly make sense.

  It may be tentative; Nadira may be holding back and letting her dictating the pace, but it feels like her breath has left her lungs and Nadira is the only thing keeping her afloat. Like fire is scorching through her lips and skin in the best of ways. Like she's only been existing as a half and Nadira is her whole, and everything now feels so entirely right that she can't believe she's been content with a life that was obviously so wrong with out this in it.

  Without Nadira in it.

  Nadira doesn't even have to use her strength to roll them to where Fiona is on her back. Her eyes are nearly black in the flickering flame light of the tent as she looks down upon her, and the muscles in her arms bulge as she holds herself up.

  "Fiona…" Her hand cups Fiona's cheek. "Are you sure about this?"

  Fiona grasps Nadira's biceps, her thumbs rubbing soft arcs across them. "Yes," she confirms, "I'm sure."

  "It's not just the wine? You're not—"

  Fiona laughs, her hair splaying out on the pillow as she shakes her head. "No, Nadira. It's not the wine. "

  Their eyes lock; a silent beat.

  "Okay," Nadira finally murmurs, leaning down and pressing their lips softly together again. "Okay."

  Nadira leans down and begins kissing under her jaw, down the column of her throat, across her collarbone. Her hand reaches up to lightly tangle in the wild, black curls and the smell of Nadira lingers across her. Sandalwood. Undertones of burning wood from the firepit, a slight hint of sage, the heady, arousing light vestige of Nadira's sweat.

  Her legs bend and, unable to help it, a gasp tumbles from her lips as Nadira lowers down fully upon her.

  Then Nadira starts to slide down her body, pushing up the soft silk of Fiona's dress as she goes until it's bunched high around her waist. The cool night air hits her skin, but Nadira's fingers leave a fire-hot trail in their wake. A dull throb pounds through her body as Nadira kisses one side of her hip, then the other.

  "What are you—oh, gods," she moans louder than she probably should have as Nadira's mouth makes contact with her most intimate parts; parting her flesh and sending shivers up her spine.

  Nadira's hands wrap around her thighs and land on her hips; the sounds of Fiona's panting gasps and moans, and the slicks sound of Nadira's mouth against her are the only noises filling the room. She’s never done this, never really even imagined this, but never, ever wants it to end.

  Not even minutes later—maybe mere seconds, she chances a glance downwards.

  And the sight of the strong-willed and ruthless Nadira between her legs doing the most deliciously soft and delightful things with her tongue is her undoing.

  Her eyes clench, back arching as white-hot pleasure overtakes her body. Stronger than anything she's ever felt. Better than anything she's ever felt.

  The books she had read about this certainly did not give it justice.

  She finally relaxes back upon the bed, and Nadira slowly works her way back up to look down upon her.

  "That didn't take long," Nadira smirks with a good-humored glint in her eyes.

  Fiona blushes crimson and glances off to a suddenly interesting footstool.

  "You really haven't been with anyone before?" Nadira questions softly.

  "They told you I hadn't been when the arrangement was made," she admits.

  Nadira shrugs. "Most people lie."

  "I don't."

  "I wouldn't expect anything less from someone like you," Nadira replies, leaning down to kiss the tip of her nose. She pulls back with a grin. "And yes, that was a compliment."

  She decorously grins. "Thank you."

  Using only one hand to prop herself up, Nadira idly starts to run her other hand up and down Fiona's bare side. "Was it up to your expectations?" Nadira smirks. "Feel free to stroke my ego. "

  Her hands slide down Nadira's spine, her fingers dipping under the edge of the leather to lightly scratch at her lower back. "Is that really what you'd prefer me to stroke right now?"

  Laughter wracks Nadira's body. "Wow. You are something else."

  She smugly grins. "Was that a compliment, too?"

  "Yes," Na
dira snakes a hand up Fiona's dress, her palm covering and squeezing her breast. "It definitely was."

  She lightly gasps, and Nadira's fingers continue kneading and massaging softly. "Wanna do it again? Maybe make it last a little longer?"

  Lips parted, she quickly nods. "Please."

  Nadira leans down, her lips nearly touching Fiona's neck when a loud horn blows. Once, twice, three times. People start yelling and clamoring from their tents, and from the sound of it, it seems like this isn't a good thing.

  Nadira drops her head down against Fiona's chest. "Damnit."

  Her eyes widen in concern. "What is that?"

  Pushing herself up and off the bed quickly, Nadira—with incredibly wild hair and stern eyes—points to Fiona on the bed. "Don't leave this tent, Fiona. The guards are outside, and you'll be safe in here. Do not leave."

  And with that, she watches Nadira flee ferociously from the tent.

  Chapter 9

  After growing tired of resting on the bed and replaying the events of earlier over and over until she honestly just can't without arousing herself, she starts pacing in Nadira's tent. Her feet start to wear ruts in the sand from the monotonous path, but soon her curiosity gets the best of her. Just like she knew it probably would.

  There's yelling. Screaming taunts. Nadira's voice booming over the rest every so often, followed by cheers of agreement. It sounds vicious; brutal. But the way that Nadira's voice drops low mysteriously makes her blood boil in something much more akin to desire than anger.

  The guards say nothing to her as she pushes by them in her wrinkled tunic—how could they?—and makes her way to the huge encirclement at the edge of camp where the nearly over-powering commotion is coming from. Torches have been set about to light up the scene, and people crowd around the large opening in the middle where Nadira and two others stand.

  She pushes her way to the front of the crowd—the people too wired to even realize who she is—and only then does she see it.

  See him.

  A man staked to the ground by daggers through his hands.

  Blood is pooling out and turning the white sand red. He's straining so hard just to not scream out that the vein in his neck is prominent even from where she stands. Sweat is beading up and trailing down his forehead in fear. Outright terror.

  And she is absolutely horrified.

  She tries to run forward to help him, but Nadira catches her last second and pulls her back. "Don't touch him."

  She tries to push forward again, though the crowd grows silent. "Nadira—"

  "Fiona!" Nadira exclaims, clearly pained by the agony in Fiona's voice. She wraps her hands around Fiona's shoulders and holds her at arm's length. "Stop it."

  She looks back at the man; the way his arms are quaking with pain. "But he's injured!"

  "You can't. You can't help him, Fiona. They won't let you. You'd just as soon be staked down there beside him, and not even I could stop them," she whispers, pulling Fiona's face to her chest as the two other men in the circle yell behind her. "Just promise not to look."

  "Are you—"

  "Don't look, Fiona."

  And before she can ask anything else, Nadira pushes her back into the waiting arms of Akina, who promptly starts to lead her back to Nadira's tent and away from the suspicious eyes of the people that had been watching her.

  Tear tracks dry down her cheeks as she falls into the padded chair in the tent. Death sentences were few and far between in Vatra, but when they did occur they were always performed quickly and hidden from the public eye.

  It was certainly never…encouraged.

  So lost in thought, she doesn't even hear Akina slip out and Nadira slip in sometime later.

  "Fiona…" Nadira's voice is tentative and soft, and breaks halfway through the word, clearly worried.

  Her head is slow to rise as Nadira stands in front of her. "Did you kill him?"

  "I didn't kill him." Nadira sighs at Fiona's displeased look. The accusation on her face. She squats down in front of the chair so that she's looking up at Fiona's face. "Do you think we are feared because we let criminals go?"

  A sob hiccups through her. "No."

  Nadira reaches out to touch her knee; to soothe her, but she flinches away.

  There's a severe pause; like the air is weighing heavily upon them and threatening to crush what they've so recently made together.

  "Fiona," Nadira finally tries again, but another tear escapes her eye. "Do you know what that man did?"

  She imperceptibly shakes her head, whispers, "No," just loud enough for Nadira to hear.

  "He tried to rape Dine's daughter at the edge of camp. She's eight," Nadira assuages. "Do you want us to let rapists go? Let them come back and hurt other women? Hurt you?"

  She doesn't answer because she doesn't have to. Nadira knows she wouldn't want that. There's no way she could want that.

  Nadira sighs when Fiona pulls away from her touch again. "I know you're angry. But sometimes there are no good answers, Fiona. I swore to protect my people, and that's what I do. Every day. Hard decisions have to be made."

  Nadira holds out a handkerchief and Fiona takes it to dab at the corners of her eyes.

  "You have a kind heart, Fiona, and I love that. A lot. But it won't keep you alive," Nadira says, and the smallest smile grazes her lips when Fiona doesn't flinch away from the touch on her knee. "But you don't have to change who you are because I'm here to keep you alive. And it doesn't matter what I have to do, I will keep you safe. Even if it means you're mad at me every day…at least you'll still be here with me."

  After a beat, she swallows down her emotions thickly and reaches out to take a weathered, tan hand. "Is that what happened to you?"

  "What?" Nadira asks, clearly thrown by the change in topic.

  Her fingers lightly massage the nubs of scar tissue on Nadira's palms. "What happened out there…did that happen to you?"

  Nadira pulls her hands back, her face hardening into an unreadable mask. "That's a story for a different day."

  "Nadira..." Her voice is soft and open. If there's anyone she feels comfortable talking to, it's Nadira. She would do anything for Nadira to feel the same way towards her too.

  Taking a deep breath, Nadira hesitantly rests her hands palm-up on Fiona's thighs. She knows she can't deny Fiona anything, and Fiona knows it too.

  "Yeah, it's what happened. These…they're the reason I am what I am. The Amadi."

  "What happened?"

  "I…I was pinned down to the ground by the last Amadi. I managed to get free."

  Fiona's fingers gently trace around the knotted flesh on Nadira's left palm; afraid to interrupt lest Nadira decides to go back into her tough façade before finishing.

  "He was the first man I ever killed," Nadira continues, her voice to the point of almost cracking. "With my bare and broken hands."

  "They aren't broken," the conviction is clear in her voice as she clamps Nadira's hands in her own. She makes solid eye contact with Nadira to push away any doubt. "They're not. They're beautiful."

  "They weren’t then," Nadira bolsters, remembering the way they—bloodied and horrifyingly painful— brought a grown man to his knees. "Now theses scars are a constant reminder of why I'm the Amadi. Keeps people in check when they see them, y'know? So I guess it's a good thing."

  If it hadn't have happened, she wouldn't be here at this very moment with Nadira. So in a way, she's grateful. But at the same time…she can't imagine the pain that such a wound had caused. Torn skin. Nerves. Ligaments. Too painful to even fathom.

  Her fingers still knead lightly at the raised flesh—completely at odds with the anger boiling inside her towards the man that's no longer alive.

  "What was his name?"

  Nadira scoffs. "Does it matter?"

  “I guess not—“

  Nadira kisses her roughly. Taking what she can, as quickly as she can. To convey that she's very much alive now and, no, she doesn't ever want to talk about this again. To que
ll Fiona's anger and worry; a plea for Fiona to let this go and not think about it just like she, herself, no longer thinks about it.

  Nadira eases up moments later, only pressing superficial kisses to her lips until finally pulling back mere inches with a suddenly-timid smile on her face.

  "I can do that now, right? Kiss you when I want to?"

  "Yes," she confirms with a nod and a full smile. "As long as I can do the same in return."

  Leaning up, she kisses Nadira again—a kiss that feels full apology, rather than the sweetness they had shared before. She frowns when Nadira pulls back and starts to stroke her cheek with seriousness in her dark eyes.

  "No one travels in the desert alone, Fiona. More people are probably out there, but that man wouldn't say where," she softly says. "I don't want you to be scared, but I do want you to know what's happening."

  Oddly, as unwarranted as they are, she can feel the tears prickling behind her eyes again.

  She tries to blink them away. "Thank you for the honesty."

  "I'm always going to be honest with you. But that meansI can't stay with you for the rest of the night. I want to but…I can't." Nadira tilts her head in sympathy. "I have to be out there when there's a threat."

  "Okay," she replies, hating the way her voice breaks. The way her throat starts to constrict. The way it gets harder to breathe as she fights away the tears.

  "Hey, no. Don't cry," Nadira starts, worry and compassion clear on her face as she gently wipes Fiona's cheeks. "I'll be back in a few hours. You won't even know I'm gone."

  "I'll notice," she says through a sob. "There'll be no petulant, irritable woman to placate."

  Nadira laughs at the attempted joke before her face softens. "I'm not always grumpy." She squeezes Fiona's knee. "Are you actually going to listen and stay in here this time?"

  She nods, already wringing her hands together.

  "Good." Nadira kisses her quickly on the crown of head as she stands. "I'll be back soon. Promise."