by YatesNZ, Jen
He turned her mind to corn mush. It was difficult to remember she was supposed to be angry, let alone why. Only Taur had ever had this effect on her. Whatever emotion he stirred in her, be it love, anger or jealousy, it was deep and passionate, all-consuming. She'd never felt so alive.
He lifted his head to gaze quizzically down at her while gently brushing errant strands of hair back from her face.
‘Princess, you look like you've been hung upside down for a while,’ he drawled, green eyes afire with satisfaction.
Just as swiftly the softness and pliancy vanished. Before the intention had fully formed in her mind she jabbed at his nose with her closed fist—and connected. It had never been like this with Gotham. She'd argued and fought but always with a cold fury that never touched her heart. With Taur, even anger came straight from her heart. Ibn Ist, how could she go on living without him?
‘You witch,’ he snarled, grabbing her wrists. With a deft twist he had her draped around his neck once again, her wrists still firmly gripped in one hand, his other arm hooked round her knees. Wriggle and jerk and curse him as she might, he continued striding up the path, only stopping when they came to a cave guarded by two warriors wearing Nyaldan helmets.
Their King brusquely commanded, ‘Go down and guard the entrance to the path. Don’t return until I command it and make sure none other comes here either.’
‘Ta’a, Sire!’ the two chimed in unison, their mouths twisted in appreciative smirks. Their King was a true oaf!
Gynevra longed to be able to fight him like a man! How dare he humiliate her in this fashion?
Without slowing his stride he entered a dimly lit passage that twisted and climbed into the rock from the cave entrance. At the top of a flight of stairs was a heavy door, which Taur thrust open with his foot. Once inside he lowered her to the floor and keeping a firm grip on her wrists, dropped the locking bar in place across the back of the door, and removed the cover from a single, small ilmenite lamp.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, Gynevra realized they were in the royal stadrag. The place was well furnished with rows of bulging hide money sacks and nothing else. Why had he brought her here?
‘Because I thought the sight of so much uson might change your mind about leaving.’
The iron hard tone of his voice drew her eyes to his. They were dark, flat and watchful. His mouth too, was tensed and grim.
‘High uson could never be an issue between us. Why here, really?’ she demanded quietly, locking her gaze with his until a slow, devilish gleam lit the emerald depths.
‘Because there is little privacy in the Castle—and when you cry out for me it will delight my ears only!’
No words could have told her more clearly that Taur wanted to join with her for his own pleasure rather than as public proof of his virility or majesty. How could she ever withstand him when he touched her through every sense, then appropriated her mind also? Resist him she must, or all would be lost. She had Archinus training, didn’t she? She must fight; not only Taur but herself.
Before she could match thought to action he’d unfastened her cloak, throwing it on to the nearest sacks. As she struggled to get free of him, he gripped the front of her gown with both hands and ripped.
Snatching at the edges of the fabric, she cried, ‘You great Paggi arabo! Now I've nothing to wear but the bed-gown they gave me at Hecanil!’
‘You might as well wear it for a gown because you won't be needing it in bed,’ he growled.
Thrusting her back onto the cloak and holding her there effortlessly with one warrior-strong hand, he unfastened his kirt with the other and threw it aside.
‘I've been waiting for this, Golden One, and I've waited long enough. I'd have been gentle had you come willingly but you've excited me beyond reason and gentle I can't promise but—ecstasy—I—can!’
Bracing herself for a violent penetration, Gynevra was startled by the closure of his mouth on her breast and the bolts of fire arrowed to her groin by the avidity of his suckling. Her blood sang with desire and throbbed with passion. The signature scent of him drawn in with every breath was an explosion in her mind, wiping it clear of thought or awareness, of anger or responsibility to anyone other than herself. This man, only ever this man could bring her to where thought no longer existed, and he could do it with only a word, a look, or a touch.
He was what she'd incarnated for.
He moved to her other nipple and her body arched to his, a cry of need erupting from her throat. With an answering growl he released her wrists, hands sliding down her arms to cup and knead her breasts as he suckled.
Free at last to respond to their own need, her hands tangled in the thick, silken ropes of his hair, glissaded over oiled muscle of bulging shoulders and biceps, and slid up to the delicate skin of his earlobes.
With a deep soft groan, Taur lifted his head and the flame of desire in his eyes flared hot enough to scorch. Gynevra moistened suddenly dry lips. Her whole being burned. Their mouths fused; tongues tangled in a dance of joyous recognition; bodies melded in an old and perfect knowledge.
‘Open for me,’ he rasped, nudging at her thighs with his knees. ‘Let me kindle your fire.’
As at the turn of a magic key, her legs parted for him and he thrust deep and sure with a guttural cry of triumph echoing her reflexive gasp of elation.
In a moment of blinding awareness, Gynevra understood total fulfilment, such as she'd experienced but twice before, both times in the arms of Taur of Nyalda. This man was her destiny—her past, her present, and her future.
‘Keep the bars of my prison secure! Please don't ever let me go!’
Powerless to withhold it, the cry erupted from her heart. She'd found that which she'd sought all her life.
This man. This passion. This belonging.
Thrusting with his hips, Taur reared up on his arms and fixed her with the emerald fire of his gaze.
‘You are mine—always!’ he vowed, and began rhythmically pounding his body into hers.
In no time at all, the passion that blazed in her belly, flamed through her whole being, the power of it issuing from her in cries of ecstasy.
‘My woman, my Queen!’ he growled over and over, in counterpoint to her cries. Then, as the life force ejaculated from him, he reared back, body rigid with passion, and shouted in a voice reverberating all around the cave, ‘Mine!’
The echoes of his cry rolled around her, the sound component of the energy web that held her captive in Nyalda. Their lower bodies strained together in the physical ecstasy that would draw them forever together. The rhythm of heart and lungs pulsed in oneness as natural as breath itself. The essence of him ensorcelled her and she was his willing victim.
‘Golden One.’
The words were little more than a whispered vibration super-imposed over that already encompassing them.
But Gynevra heard them and opened her eyes. Hair a tangle of midnight silk about his shoulders, eyes blazing as from a great victory, head crowned with the golden horns of Nyalda, he poised above her on arms taut with strength and power. In that moment the Archinus she strove to be, lost the battle with the woman she truly was.
‘Always. Would I could wake to this always.’
‘Your thought is mine. Of all the women I could take as my Queen, I desire only you.’
‘But I cannot be your Queen.’
‘I will never let you go.’
‘I pray you never do. But I warn you, if I find a way, I must return to Qrazil. I have no choice in that.’
‘I promise you will never find a way.’
Slowly Taur lowered his body to hers and rolled sideways enfolding her in his arms and holding her close.
‘Ah, Gyn'a, Gyn'a, Gyn'a,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘What have you done to me? You are the sun, the moon, the stars in my sky. You are the jewel in my crown.’
‘Yet you didn't come!’ she cried, flinging her head back and fixing him with a fiery glare. ‘Every day and every night
I longed to see you but you never came.’ Ashamed at her outburst, she hid her head against his chest. Where was her strength, her ability to be within herself? He'd stolen it. ‘It seemed you'd kidnapped me only to abandon me,’ she finished in a whisper.
‘I am the King, Gyn'a. I must be seen to act as King. Which meant I must stay away from you until you were fit for my Kingly attentions. I knew I couldn't be gentle, nor could I be sparing of you.’ He pressed his lower body against hers. ‘You see? Already I desire you again. Mount me. Ride me to paradise. Now, woman!’
Needing no further urging, Gynevra rose above him, straddled his thighs and took his rigid penis in her hands.
‘Promise me this is no dream,’ she begged as she kneaded the hardening muscle.
‘This—is—no—dream,’ Taur rasped, snatching the golden horns from his head and rolling them across the sacks of money.
With a sigh of pure joy she lowered her lips to caress his throbbing potency. Taur gasped from low in his belly, gripped her hips and guided her down onto his straining flesh. With an upward thrust and a deep groan of satisfaction, he slid his hands up to cup her breasts.
‘Ride me. Come with me to the stars.’
Their bodies heard the same music, pulsed to the same beat. Only with Taur, only ever with Taur had it been like this. Sweet Goddess, if it could only always be!
When he carried her from the cave stars hung, brilliant and sparkling, in the ebony sky above them. A salty tang overlaid the pine-scented air and from a far mountain ridge came the eerie call of a wolf. Gynevra laid her head back against Taur's shoulder with a long sigh of repletion. Just for this night she'd not allow herself to think of Qrazil or her responsibilities as Archinus Elect. For this night she'd be Gynevra, a woman in complete attunement with her world and the man who held her in his arms.
May the Goddess forgive her, but for this night she just wanted to be loved even though she knew her Paggi warrior would never admit to such a weakness.
Beyond the shoulder of the Crags the lights of the city danced like fireflies against the darker mass of the cliffs while below on the dim gleam of the harbor bobbed the lanterns of night fishermen. All was shades of velvet darkness jeweled with crystals of light. The dark seemed darker, the lights brighter, the air crisper than she'd ever encountered.
‘This place is so clear and crisp—magical—as if anything were possible. On the day you fought Gotham and almost severed his leg, Phree and I discussed the rival merits of living in Trephysia or Nyalda. We thought this place cold and primitive. How ignorant we were—what children we were.’
Her voice faltered as pain burned behind her heart. It had been almost the last day she'd spoken to Phryne, the last time she, Phryne and Meryan had been together. That thought still had the power to wound her deeply. Biting her lip, she fell silent.
They’d come to where a giant seat had been carved from the mountain rock. Taur sank down, drawing her onto his knee. Pulling her cloak round them both, he settled his back against the rock and gazed out over the lights below. Gynevra felt tension in the arms encircling her, sensed the heaviness in his soul that he’d never admit to. Her warrior was hurting and she longed only to bring him comfort.
‘I've never understood what happened that day. I'd fought Go' many times with more deadly intent. We always agreed beforehand who was going to win and it was supposed to be him. We knew how to put on a good show without either one of us getting seriously damaged. I've never felt his injury was my fault but it was my hand holding that sword. He was never the same afterwards and I always felt he blamed me.’
Gynevra turned and touched a gentling hand to the hard line of his jaw.
‘It wasn't your fault. Go' was mind-connected to Craelia who was birthing her fifth child, all sired by him. If Go' cared for anyone at all, it was Craelia. She certainly loved him beyond discretion. That birth went very hard for her and he refused to break the mind-connection with her even while he was fighting with you. Her suffering distracted him.’
‘The stupid arabo,’ Taur muttered, then said softly, ‘He taught me much and we had many good times together. Even if it wasn't my fault, he resented me for it.’
‘It wasn't the injury he resented,’ Gynevra said with certainty. ‘It was the loss of virility which came later. It could just as easily have been from an addiction to fuaba. We all assumed it was the result of the injury and he blamed me for that as much as he blamed anyone, for I'd healed him. A kinder course might have been to let him die.’
‘But that a healer would never do. Since we don't hold the future in our hands we can only make decisions on what we know in the present. There are many things I've done that I'd change with hindsight. For one, I'd have taken Gynevra of Poseidonia as my sacred partner when I had the chance.’
Gynevra slipped her arms around his neck.
‘Playing ‘if only’ is a futile exercise,’ she murmured, and touched her lips to his chin.
Taur moved to fuse their mouths and past or future meant nothing at all. Lifting his head at last, he growled, ‘Let's find somewhere more comfortable to continue this.’
Tightening his grip around her, he surged to his feet and started down the cliff path once more. As they went he said, ‘I intend for my people to acknowledge you as my Queen whether we're sacredly joined or not. To this end, we'll go down to the main entrance and make a royal procession through the Castle to the King’s Chamber.’
Gynevra opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Conflicting emotions roiled within her. She'd no right to stand before the Nyaldans as their Queen when by so doing she put their lives in jeopardy. But Ianthe was still strong and healthy. Surely there could be no harm in staying with Taur, being what he wanted her to be—for just a little while until she found a chance to apportate back to Qrazil? How wrong could it be to take a little happiness for herself?
Chapter 22
‘Where’s Pog?’ Taur demanded of the warrior guards as they approached the main portals of the outer courtyard.
‘Here, Master,’ piped a reedy voice, and the little man scrambled up onto the base of a massive stone effigy of Poseidon which guarded the portals to the castle. ‘What is it my Great Master desires?’
Taur bent to murmur his orders into the little man's ear. Pog slid from his perch to land in a tumble at his King’s feet. With little ado he picked himself up and affecting a comical, pompous strut, began proclaiming, ‘In the name of our great Father Poseidon, I bid you greet King Cadal Isidor and Queen Gynevra of Nyalda. Hail ye! Hail ye! Hail ye!’
At a nod from Taur several warriors formed an escort. With his arm across Gynevra’s back and hand resting on her left shoulder, he began a measured progress through the halls of the Castle. Gynevra held her cloak to conceal the ripped gown and walked with head high so none would guess at her fear and uncertainty. Life had taught her to hide her emotions.
All they passed fell to their knees, murmuring, ‘Hail to the King. Well come among us, Queen Gynevra.’
Thus they came to the Presence Chamber where the King’s movuon remained defiant and haughty on the Queen's throne.
‘In the name of our great Father Poseidon, I bid you greet King Cadal Isidor and Queen Gynevra of Nyalda. Hail ye! Hail ye! Hail ye!’
The expectant hush in the Chamber swelled to a pregnant stillness as Queen Nudon lifted her chin and fixed her son with a challenging stare. Long entrenched in these halls of power, it was plain she’d not be willingly foresworn.
‘Nudon of Nyalda, kneel to your Queen!’
Taur assumed a militant stance. Black anger flashed from Nudon’s eyes. Gynevra, feeling like an interloper, knew that to show weakness would be to lose a battle scarce begun.
Nudon spoke.
‘For two score years and three I've ruled Nyalda. Your pavuon died when you were but ten. In maturity you’ve lusted only for war and women, content to have me act for you here! Now, in disgrace as a finwod and needing a stronghold, you claim you're ready to rule. Fur
thermore, you expect us to kneel to a Queen you had to kidnap!’
Gynevra fought indignation. She must speak but not in anger. If she was to be Taur’s Queen she must deal with Queen Nudon before she and her son tore each other to ribbons. And for this she must call on all the tact and diplomacy she’d learned as Princess in Trephysia and Archinus Elect in Qrazil.
‘I would speak, my Lord.’
Biting back words he’d been about to throw at his mother, he gave Gynevra a long, hard look, then tersely nodded.
Gynevra faced Nudon of Nyalda knowing that if she were to be convincing of her right to the crown she must be more regal than the woman herself. She would command obeisance but in the interests of future harmony, she would be gentle. Releasing her grip on the cloak, she stood proudly erect and apparently unconcerned for the immodesty of her gown.
‘Lady Nudon,’ she began, emphasizing the title, ‘I've not come willingly, as you so rightly observe. But now I'm here I deeply desire to remain. The King has conferred on me the title of Queen. There can only be one of us in this province. I am a practicing priestess-healer, which I expect to occupy much of my time. Therefore I'm certain there will be many offices presently undertaken by you, which I'd be more than happy to leave under your jurisdiction. Nyalda and her people will fare better if her Queens, past and present, can work as a team. I kneel to the Queen Past of Nyalda.’
As if gowned in the most exquisite of Queenly garments, Gynevra dropped to one knee, the shredded remnants of the priestess gown falling aside, exposing the golden perfection of her body. When she came slowly upright at Taur's side again, she calmly retrieved the edges of the cloak. As a Temple priestess she’d long overcome any sense of modesty, but as a Princess she deeply understood the value of dignity.
