by YatesNZ, Jen
Gynevra convulsed violently in his arms and swore explosively between grinding teeth.
‘I stay!’ he growled once more. ‘Now do what you have to do to get ready. We'll stay here until you're prepared.’
Once Gynevra was dried and tucked into a warm bed, High Priestess Rimona tried once more to get the King to leave.
‘I stay,’ he barked as Pog handed him a loose woolen robe to cover his body, ‘so you might as well give me something to do.’
Rimona looked startled and deeply offended but Difleer turned away to hide a smile of satisfaction from the priestess. She understood what her Lady needed.
‘The King could stand at her head and let her grip his hands when she needs to,’ she suggested.
Pursing her lips and heaving her not inconsiderable breasts, Rimona agreed it should be so. Later, as Gynevra squeezed his fingers so hard he thought they'd break, he wondered whether Difleer's championing of his presence had been less about awareness of his need to be with Gynevra and more about punishing him for her Lady's recent misery. But it was a fleeting thought. He was much more concerned for Gynevra whose body was so wracked by pain her moans turned to screams, deeply piercing and forced out of her by intense agony.
‘Can't you do something?’ he yelled at the priestess after an hour had passed and the pain wasn't abating. He felt every violent contraction, every wrenching scream, right up his arms and deep in his heart. Sweat stood out all over his body and poured down his face. At least he assured himself it was sweat because high Paggi men didn't cry. ‘Is this normal?’
‘Quite normal, Sire,’ the priestess, assured him somewhat distractedly. ‘The baby's coming a little fast is all, but the Queen's doing fine. If you can't stand it you'll have to leave. You're distracting the Great Lady, and myself.’
The King of Nyalda hadn't been spoken to so summarily by anyone in a long time, and for a moment he glared angrily at the woman but she was totally focused on the Queen—as if she might even have forgotten who he was.
‘The head appears. He really is impatient, Great Lady. Try not to push with the next contraction. Your body needs a bit more time to adjust.—Difleer, do you have the cloths ready?’ the priestess fussed.
His son was about to be born. Taur clung mutely to Gynevra's hands, his heart hammering in his chest like a warning gong. Taking a cloth from the pile in Difleer's arms he wiped Gynevra's brow and then his own.
‘We're nearly there, alara,’ he murmured encouragingly, ‘nearly there.’
‘I can't stop it! I have to push!’ Gynevra cried, and clutching Taur's hands in a death grip, let out a piercing yell and the tiny body slithered into the midwife's waiting hands and Ugo Isidor of Nyalda added his lusty cry to his mother's exhausted whimpers. Laying the child high on the Queen's belly, Lady Rimona worked quickly and surely to tie off the cord and to ensure the passing of the placenta.
Tears rolled down Gynevra's cheeks as she placed her hands gently against her baby's tiny body to steady him. Taur cupped her head and lifted slightly so she could see better. Then he touched the sleek damp head of his son with one finger and knew in a moment of blinding certainty that his children wouldn't be banished to the House of Children at age two but would be raised in the Castle with their parents as had used to be the case in ancient times. There would be many to say their King had lost his mind, but he knew with the deepest surety that his decision was the right one.
The midwife took the babe to cleanse and bathe him and Difleer sponged Gynevra, bound her with cloths to absorb the bleeding and changed the bed. Taur took the opportunity to freshen himself in the pool once more then lay down on the bed and took Gynevra into his arms and held her against his heart.
He longed to give her a word that would make this moment poignant and memorable. The only word he could think of was `love' but it wouldn't be uttered. He'd not used that word to any one, didn't believe he ever would, or could.
‘You're dearer than life to me’
The thought was a gift from his heart. She smiled sleepily into his eyes. He knew that smile to be the most precious gift he'd ever received.
‘Here he is, Great Lady, and he's very hungry,’ said the midwife, coming to stand by the bed with their son. ‘Perhaps the King could help you sit up.’
Taur did as she suggested then watched in wonder as the tiny mouth latched on to the breast where he'd been wont to suckle so often himself and his whole body leapt in an ecstatic combination of wanting, desiring, and loving that took his breath away and once again brought him close to tears. A tiny fist wriggled free of the winding cloth the midwife had wrapped round his son. Taur reached out a finger and at the baby's grip marveled at the strength in something so seemingly fragile.
Something he and his Golden One had created from this amazing need they shared, one for the other.
Great joy descended on Heceuda Castle with the birth of the Prince. His hair was bright and golden like his mother's but his eyes were the vivid emerald green of the King's. True Dragon spawn, many said. A throw-back to old Isidor himself, Prince Ugo was a beautiful child, lusty and healthy despite his early arrival.
The brief scandal that erupted over the Queen's disappearance with her mute servitor and her subsequent discovery in a hut on the goat farm was effectively quashed by the old Queen, Lady Nudon. Taur related to Gynevra with relish how his mother had spoken at the birthing banquet of the ‘tradition whereby the future Kings of Nyalda ran their mothers temporarily mad when their birth was imminent.’
In her own case, the Lady Nudon said, she'd been driven to demonize all her court ladies, sacking the lot and having to call them back and apologize when she went into labor.
Gynevra snuggled sleepily into Taur's arms.
‘Movuon has been hovering all day. She's somewhat scandalized by your intention to raise Ugo in the Castle. He'll grow up too fast, she says. But at last, she's speaking to me as if we could almost be friends. It takes so much off my mind. Tomorrow I'll thank her for taking my part and making my cowardly act look like ‘impending birth syndrome specific to women bearing future Kings of Nyalda’!’
They smiled together in the darkness, then Taur asked, ‘Will you have a wet nurse?’
‘No. I nursed Solon. I will nurse Ugo also. I prefer him to know who his mother is!’
Taur chuckled.
‘And I've had a sling made so he can sleep against my chest and be with me at all times so he can start learning to be King—and know who his father is. Have we become Qeggi, do you think?’
‘No, I don't,’ Gynevra said in a voice which was suddenly very wide awake. ‘I believe this is part of what ails Atlantis, has ailed her for several generations now. People are delighted to hand the responsibility for raising their children over to those who run the Houses so they can fornicate and maffickate day and night without any other responsibility. Paggi in particular do nothing constructive with their time beyond creating more Paggi babies, nor do they do anything constructive with their phenomenal wealth—unless they think it will make them more wealth.’
‘So you approve of my plan to raise Ugo in the Castle?’
A note of wariness in Taur's voice made Gynevra respond quickly, ‘Of course I do!’
He moved restively in the darkness but she, attuned to every nuance of his temperament, recognized his chagrin.
‘I'm sorry if I haven't really said so,’ she added.
‘I'm sorry I didn't actually discuss it with you or even ask your opinion about it. I—just presumed—you'd be in tune with me. I should've learnt that very first night not to presume anything.’
‘You're just lucky you got away with it this time!’ she teased.
Taur pulled her close against his chest again.
‘Don't sass me. It always makes me want you and you're not ready for your horny Dragon-Bull just yet.’
With a little sigh Gynevra subsided against his skin, her fingers curling in the long black silk of his hair.
Winter arrived with
the birth of the Prince. Days of cold sleet and bitter northerlies gave way to several more of hard frosts and brittle sun. Then the snows came. Only light sprinkles fell in the city and around the harbor making the tracks away from the stone-paved roads boggy and treacherous. The mountains, and even some of the higher foothills were thickly blanketed in dense white that glistened and sparkled like ilmenite in the weak winter sunlight.
Gynevra loved to gaze out on the pristine beauty of it from the luxurious warmth of the Castle. Crystal braziers abounded and every courtyard had one or several wood fired grates blazing continuously. Under-gowns of much coarser linen than their summer counterparts were worn and over-gowns were of thick, densely woven wool. Through the bitterest month of the season Gynevra only left the protection of the Castle for essential civic occasions like the Winter Solstice celebrations and the dances to the mid-winter full moon.
Frequently during the indoor days of the deep cold the King's Court joined the ladies in the Queen's Court of an afternoon, and always Ugo slept in the sling against his father's chest. The Court carpenter muttered about the waste of work he'd put into creating the royal cradle, and many of the women looked askance at the man they'd begun to call `King Clod'.
He was filled with happiness and pride in his son and cared not who knew it. He'd given up contract siring and now he was nurse-maiding his child like a Qeggi mother. It was even reported he was no longer interested in being included on the exclusive guest lists for the intimate private ‘frolics’ some of the high Paggi ladies hosted.
More and more he understood it made no difference how many women he had, he would never stop wanting or longing for his Golden One. He was beginning to accept that she held his heart. Having her, he wanted no other. And, he needed her securely bound to him as his sacred partner. He could still lose her to the Temple. Without her in his arms every night he might as well be dead. It was time to act.
Spring came early. Even so Taur felt it had been the longest winter in memory. His body, his heart, ached with needing his woman and he knew it was time to cure both needs. While waiting for the sign he knew she'd surely give him, he'd been carefully planning the method of that cure.
Had he realized this was to be the day, he’d not have allowed Magus Marek to delay him at the Temple to complain about the reactivation of the Energy Web after the birth of Ugo. He’d have made excuses to Lord Albyon, successor to Judge Lomy, who'd needed him to read through the first draft of the changes to the Breeding Flabria.
Finding Gynevra in the King's Presence Chamber with Ugo playing on a thick rug at her feet, he cursed all matters that had kept him from her. She only came to the Chamber if she had specific need of him and his heart leapt at sight of her and with the hope that she did indeed have need of him. As always he was accompanied by a plethora of guards, clerks, and advisers and his arrival was well announced.
The King's Chamber was crowded but he was instantly aware of her presence, as was she of his. Their eyes met across the vast room, hers a deep luminous gold. He knew her need before her thoughts entered his mind and his body was instantly hard and desirous, just for his Golden One.
I need you—as soon as you can find the time.
Chapter 28
She was wearing a rose silk underskirt shot with gold and hemmed with gold lace. Over it she wore a fine wool overdress in forest green with a low neckline and front lacing to make a man smile. But beautiful and alluring as she was, it was the promise in the golden dance of her eyes that enthralled him.
Taur dragged his gaze from her, and turned to Maden, hovering with a sheaf of breskina for his attention.
‘Cancel whatever is scheduled for the rest of the day. I have an important—assignation,’ he said, starting across the Court towards Gynevra.
‘But, Sire—,’ Maden agitated, then subsided with a snarl of resignation. The rabon knew his King well. He'd save himself a lot of aggravation if he just did as he was ordered.
As always Pog skipped at his Master's heels. Of a sudden the King stopped and the little man almost climbed up his leg.
‘Eeh, Sire!’ the dwarf remonstrated, rubbing his nose. ‘Please don't be doing that. It's like a tree you are!’
‘Sorry, midget,’ Taur offered affectionately, then added, ‘I've a commission for you. First send a runner up to Bagos at the forest stables to ready Pegasus for me, then send another to Zephra's Spa with word the King is coming. Now!’
‘Ta’a, Sire. Will do, Sire. Pog is off!’ the little man cried and turned to gallop across to the outer Court.
Seemingly without acknowledging the Queen, Taur scooped Ugo off the floor with his rug and asked, ‘Where's his nurse?’
‘In the apartments,’ the Queen answered in a tone those around took to indicate pique for the King’s brusque words and lack of greeting.
‘Come,’ he barked and to the astonishment of all who'd come to expect their Queen's haughty response to such terse orders, she hurried after him out of the Court.
As soon as they found the child's nurse Taur placed the baby in her arms, adjuring her to mind him.
His eyes met Gynevra’s for the briefest of moments, enough to set the energy already dancing between them to sparking with crystal static. She knew he understood the import of the moment and that he’d accord it due reverence. The time was now, by her choice. The place would be his.
Clasping hands, they ran the back way from the Castle like children bent on mischief, up the steps past the Council Chambers and along the cliff to the edge of the forest where some of the royal horses were stabled in sunny clearings.
‘He's ready, Sire,’ Bagos called, leading forward a huge palomino stallion already caparisoned.
With a brief salute to the stable master, Taur swung Gynevra onto the horse's back, leapt up behind, and wrapping them both in his cloak, set off along the ridge which separated harbor from sea. As the horse settled into its stride Taur pulled Gynevra hard against his obvious need of her and murmured by her ear, ‘Feel how my need matches yours.’
With a soft guttural moan she wriggled her buttocks firmly into the wedge of his thighs. Taur groaned and fumbled with the front lacing of her gown and growled with deep satisfaction as her breast fell into his hand.
‘Taur!’ she moaned, throwing her head back onto his shoulder. ‘Any more of that and I'll demand you take me right here on this horse! Sweet Hyades! I need you inside me!’
Forgotten, the horse slowed to a walk then stopped to graze on the soft spring grasses. Taur bent his mouth to the smooth golden skin of Gynevra's throat and loosening more laces, slid his hand down over her belly to part the soft dewy lips between her legs. She was hot and wet and so ready for him he was within a snip of abandoning his romantic plan and throwing her down and kurning her on the forest floor. Soft cries and moans of delight stamped their vibration on the very air, ensuring he’d never ride this trail in comfort again!
Suddenly she cried out, convulsing against his chest with a sweet wild ecstasy that stole his breath and with begging words that almost stole his reason. But if it killed him, he'd follow his plan. He was determined on the outcome of this day.
‘Not here, not yet, alara. That's just to hold you a little longer,’ he murmured between nibbles at her trembling mouth. Then sitting her upright, he slid quickly to the ground, threw his cloak round her shoulders and remounted in front of her. Taking only a second to ensure she'd fastened the cloak securely, he commanded, ‘Hang on tight!’
On the wooded path round the cliff-tops above the city, they rode as if the Demons of Hyades were at their backs. Gynevra clung fiercely to Taur and laughed when the wind whipped the spikes from Difleer's elaborate arrangement of her hair and it flew free like a pennant from the masthead.
Well beyond the city they came to a lookout place before a stone wall above the southern end of the harbor. Forested hills soared to the mountains behind them, and Heceuda Harbor sparkled, a mysterious jewel below. Away to the right was the colorful mass of the city wit
h the Castle beyond, sprawled like a dark and somnolent catamountain on Castle Crags.
‘Where are we?’ Gynevra murmured, her breath warm and teasing against his ear.
Turning so his mouth was a whisper from hers, he answered huskily, ‘Zephra's Spa.’
Immediately a question lit her eyes. Laughing softly, he touched his lips to hers in a slow tender kiss that replaced the question with stars. She'd now forgotten what it was but since it suited his purpose, he'd answer it anyway.
‘Zephra was a Nyaldan Princess of ancient times who used to meet her lovers here. In those days Princesses were supposed to be decorous, pious, and chaste so the Princess Zephra had need of discretion. There is believed to be a wonderful energy here for lovers.’
‘I've no complaints so far,’ Gynevra murmured, tilting her head to steal another mind-drugging kiss.
With a deep chuckle he savored her mouth then turned the horse and urged it through a gap in the wall behind them.
Gynevra was bereft of breath. Spread before them was a great bowl-shaped valley laid out in well-kept gardens that caught at the senses with the brilliance of tropical color and the sweet, heady scents of tropical flowers one expected in the gardens of the south—not in far northern Nyalda.
‘Oh Taur,’ she breathed, ‘this is so beautiful. I really would like to explore—but later. Sweet Ist, I need you.’
Without another word he swung off the horse and helped her down. When he turned back after tethering the animal she was clinging to a stone pillar as if her legs would scarce support her. Cheeks flushed and eyes fiery bright, she held out a hand to him and all his blood rushed to his loins.
For one desperate moment he thought his knees would buckle. Breathing deeply to force oxygen to his extremities he snatched her into his arms and strode down the pathways past gardens, pools, and statues, through tunnels of sweet flowering vines and shaded rocky dells until he came to a perfect circle of soft green grass. At the very center of the bottom of the valley, it was encircled by a dozen flowering cherry trees, the grass carpeted with the delicate pink blossoms. Setting Gynevra on her feet he drew off his cloak and spread it on the ground. When he looked back at her she was naked, her importuning hands reaching for the fastening of his kirt. In seconds he was shed of all but his boots.
