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To The Sound of Clashing Swords (Story/Traveler)

It seemed fairly important to Fritz that Ser Ricard like him, and he lit up slightly when mentioning that the knight ‘always’ grinned at him. Jacoby’s eyes narrowed as he looked over at his companion, noting the slight flush to his cheeks and the way his lashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked and glanced away…quite delicate features, actually.

“It’s not a brothel completely, but some of the women make a few extra coins that way, I suppose.” He cupped a hand around the other and looked around at his surroundings. This place had seemed much saner when he was here with some of the crew. Now it felt like a place where his hackles would be ever raised, and when Fritz suggested they stay with the wanderers, his eyes slid to his companion. The Romani were the land-locked cousins of pirates. Perhaps it would be a better place. He scoffed at the mention of men and women who could be purchased. “I’ve no desire to catch something from any of the whores,” he gave a little laugh as he considered his options. “But…yeah. Okay. I’ll get my things and come stay with you tonight,” he said, his eyes once again scanning the room. “It feels different here without the crew.”

The ale and stew was a welcome sight, though the cleavage was crusty and pock-marked; not a good indication of what else might be lingering underneath the wench’s dress.

“Well, a fighter has to defend, so…strong? Big?” he turned his eyes back onto Fritz. “If anything, I’d say you were built more for someone who should be standing with the archers, or fighting with a knife, though…you’re damn good with that bo!” He took a drink and set his ale aside before considering the stew. “I mean,” he said, “don’t…get me wrong. Seeing you out there today I think you’ve got a chance. It’s just…the people we’ll be sent against are likely big, ruthless brigands who wouldn’t think twice about dragging someone like you off and having their way with you before slitting your throat, and they don’t care if you’re a boy. They’ll find a way to get their pleasure.”

The stew, surprisingly, was very good. Or else he was very hungry. He dove in, taking three or four bites before adding to his thoughts after wiping at his mouth with the back of one sleeve. “And consider this – what if some big knight is injured and you need to drag him to safety? Do you really think you’d be able to haul someone like Ser Ricard to safely is he was hurt?” He looked at Fritz again. “Don’t forget; he’ll be wearing thirty or forty pounds of armor on him; that’s a lot of weight to move.”

He was content to eat and hadn’t noticed the other’s disinterest in his ale until Fritz leaned forward and asked what he thought the King was looking for. This drew Jacoby’s attention. He set his spoon down, the stew half finished, and slid it away as he pursed his lips and considered the question.

Mirroring his position he leaned forward as well, his elbows on the table and arms lightly crossed. “I think I would look at the knights he has already chosen, Fritz. He’s looking for people like them.” He studied the boy’s dark eyes and his heart-shaped face, noting how decidedly delicate the lad looked. “I’m sorry, but you’ll never be ‘like them’. You haven’t even hit puberty,” he said, waving a hand towards the other’s neck. “You don’t even need to shave yet, do you? And your voice sometimes squeaks like a girl’s.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “My dad would say that you’re balls haven’t dropped yet,” he added.

Then, after a brief silence, he pulled his stew to himself and began to eat. The laughter and commotion in the room had increased when one woman was convinced to do an impromptu dance on a table, her hips swaying as she teased the patrons with almost glimpsed of her large, darkened areolas. “Let’s get over to your Romani friends. I think this place is going to get uncomfortable quickly…”

As if on cue the woman’s blouse came open and she did a complete turn to the room, bending over at her waist and pressing her breasts together with both hands as she wriggled her ass and bosom at the tables, rousing a loud cheer from her audience and chants of ‘Take it off! Take it off!’.

“Yeah…” Jacoby said as he downed the last of his ale. “Let’s grab my stuff and go…”

~ * ~​

Prince Syrus was unnerved by the attention from his grandfather, and the message that had been sent. That moment encompassed more words than he’d heard from King Locke in one sitting, let alone directed solely at himself. And the invitation…he had never received such an offer from the man. It was something he would have to consider once the tournaments were done, since most likely the role of Crown Prince would pass from his incompetent sire to himself, though no one thought that Locke would ever give up is place at the throne. No…likely Syrus would grow old and pass, and even his grandchildren’s grandchildren would never have to bear the mantle of King if Locke continued as he did.

…Edwain’s thoughts had already left the table and the provocative and feisty Lady Maira. Unfortunately, his body had not. Then the lady’s voice called out his name and he turned, a slight scowl flitting across his brows as he tried to discern whether she was being accommodating or demanding. He saw her glance at Ser Ricard, and knowing his friend’s intent, relented.

Ricard smiled down at her, noting the desperate glimmer in her eyes. “Of course,” he reached out and grabbed Edwain by the shoulder, pulling him closer. “We’d love to, wouldn’t we, Edwain?”

Trapped with nowhere to run, the Golden Knight pulled out a chair. “It would be our honor,” he placated, and both men sat to the left of Maira, the king several seats to their right.

Ricard turned to his right, noting the Knight General and his wife, Lady Anabeau, who had noble lineage of her own, sitting on her other side. He gave them both a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to the lady in question. “May I say, Lady Maira, that you are the most beautiful woman here tonight?” His leg brushed against hers beneath the table, though he did not seem to notice and left it in place. “Tell me, what do you enjoy doing when you’re not handing out flowers to a line of cads?”

Sir Edwain took the small respite to wave over a server carrying a tray full of bread. As he selected a bun, his eyes took in the room, then landed on his mother deep in conversation with a middle-aged woman whose bosom looked about to spill from her neckline. As he watched, Olivia turned to the king, and he saw her touching him as if, as if…

‘Why does she have to act the slut?’ He broke a piece of bread off and put it in his mouth, keeping an eye out for the server with the water. He felt embarrassed for the Queen Apparent, though he could understand the appeal King Locke’s power and vitality would radiate to those of the weaker sex. And who was this mysterious cousin he was to look out for? If the king’s relation had arrived, why were they not here and being introduced to the nobility? ‘He said ‘keep an eye on her’ while I’m out and about… had she been watching the tournament? Was she here? Now?’ With something more interesting than the prattling of a Knight Commander’s daughter to keep his attention, he began to look more closely at the dinner guests and servants, searching for the one mentioned by the king.
 
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Fritz ate once the food arrived, listening to the pirate boy’s own definition of what a fighter should be, and bringing to the table more perspective than Fritz had as to what that meant. It was followed by a sense of stubbornness, a refusal to believe that he would not be up to the tasks that the other male presented to him if the time came. But even he had to admit to himself, regardless of his skill with weapons and no matter that underneath the layers of clothing he had on himself, the lithe figure he hid would never have the same bulk as one of the full grown men on the field.

“I lived with big, ruthless brigands. They are better than a lot of what I have seen here,” he scoffed defensively. “And they let women fight alongside them as well as men. What makes no sense to me is the need for flashy armor. On a battlefield - or in a real fight - all that weight is just a hindrance. It’s not practical. The mountain folk, they are more practical, but they also do not fight out in the open on fields. And here it is the honorable thing to do!”

He was getting worked up, that was for certain. The boy’s eyes blazed, bringing out the green in his stare, as he furiously tore off a chunk of bread and chewed it while waving it around like a knife. “That is just a waste of life! It is foolhardy to die for nothing than to be fodder! Honor be damned!”

Next was the ale that was already nearly gone. He downed the rest with a fevered gulp and scowled. It was meant to be intimidating, but on his face it only looked adorable. Thumping his empty glass on the table, he fixed Jacoby with a hard, intensive stare, “You do not actually.. Believe in all of this nonsense, do you? You were raised by free men, rulers of the sea. You do not truly wish to be sucked into a false sense of honor … for what? They do not even allow women to partake in these events. The Lady handing out flowers -- her only fate is to be married off like a prize pig, like a thing. How is that fair? Do you think that is a life for any woman?”

His jaw tightened as he clamped his mouth shut and his eyes lowered, words unspoken simmering underneath the surface. He had already said too much in his fervor. Quieting, he sopped up the rest of his stew with his bread and ate sullenly, flinching only when he started mentioning his appearance. Oh, he knew better than to say anything for that. Instead, he mumbled, “I have hit puberty, I am just a slow developer. And I can shave if I wish to. And my balls are bigger than yours, I bet.”

Then he started giggling. Only to shut up again and push himself away from the table and stand, ogling the other boy impatiently, “Well, let us go. Get your things and we can be out of here before any of these women take advantage of you.”


~~~



Maira had already resigned herself to talking to the pair of knights, though one was more keen to sit where Edwain looked as if he were ready to flee. He felt like she did, then, in her present circumstance. She could sympathize, but not so much that she wanted to let him wander off on his own just yet. Eyeing Ricard, then Edwain, Maira put on the sweetest smile she could muster.

“So you two are my Father’s favorites. I am sure at least one of you has wandered over here to judge my interest in my father’s proposition to sell me off like a plot of land, or like a decoration to go with that plot of land,” she simpered oh-so-delicately, green eyes landing on Ser Ricard as his knee brushed against hers under the table. “No, tell me, what you enjoy doing when you are not waving around swords all day in the hot sun for sport?”

Her eyes wound away from Ser Ricard to Edwain, her features softening as she studied the other man, “I am sorry that I lost your flower, Ser Edwain. I did not mean to. Though I must know… what has your attention so intensely?”
 
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That little wisp of a warrior was getting pretty upset, and as Fritz’s eyes blazed green and angry, Jacoby thought he was beginning to see the light. They would be required to follow certain rules; live by a certain code, that no others had to abide by. The life of a knight was honorable and rewarding but it was also limiting.

“Rulers of the sea? Is that what you land-bound people call us?” He grimaced. “The sea’s a harsh mistress, Fritz. She gives and takes, and takes, and takes. And when you go to port you never know if the bounty on your ship has reached its harbormaster or not. It’s one fight after another, struggling to survive. The only laws that matters or the laws that pirates have with each other, but if one were to decide that they wanted to take you on in the middle of the ocean and no one from your ship survives then that crime is never brought to justice.” He shook his head. “It’s the same on the land, I’m sure. People everywhere, generally suck.”

“As far as that lady goes? The only thing separating her from the women here,” he looked out at the women dodging men’s hands and others who seemed to invite them to touch, “at least she gets some protections, doesn’t she? Her husband has to treat her fairly and provide for her. But…what’s to stop her from choosing another life? I mean, really – if life were that bad, and I was a woman, I’d pack up my stuff and leave. The fact that she doesn’t means that there’s something about her life that she thinks is worth staying for.” He shrugged.

Fritz giggled at his balls comment, bringing a smile to Jacoby’s face. “Well, maybe. Last time I asked, though, women weren’t concerned about how big a man’s balls were so much as – “ he raised an eyebrow before gathering up his few belongings and standing. As if those women would care to ‘take advantage’ of a man who wasn’t willing to pay for their company. Had Fritz not figured out these women’s other career?

He went upstairs and grabbed his bag, a simple pack with a change of clothing and a few things of his own he wanted to keep. A scope, a sextant, and a jade disk amulet with the outline of a sea turtle his mother had given him when he was a child. Once he returned to Fritz he was ready to see what his friend thought was a better fit for them that night. Glancing about the room, where one woman was raising and lowering herself on the man on whose lap she was seated, he didn’t think anything short of prison would prove worse.

“I see you haven’t gotten yourself raped yet,” he teased the delicate-faced young man at his side. “Now…show me your Romanis.” He was glad he had only had one ale, and only most of it. The streets were more crowded now that the night had released her creatures to roam about and feast upon the weak, and not for the first time that night, he was glad for the swords at Fritz’s and his sides.

~ * ~​

“Oh? His favorites?” Ser Ricard grinned at Maira. “I’ve never heard him say that,” he said, leaning one elbow on the table to further block her view of Edwain. But the sweet strawberry of a woman turned the tables when she asked him what he enjoyed rather than waving his swords in the hot sun all day.

“You know, I actually like to read.” He studied her eyes for any signs that she liked the same. “And music. I love listening to a beautiful woman play music and sing.” His lips curved slightly. “As a matter of fact, I like doing many things with beautiful women like yourself…”

But Maira’s attention had turned again to Edwain, and though Ricard knew she was merely being a good hostess and not showing any preferences, it annoyed him that she showed the Golden Knight any at all.

“Hmm?” Edwain turned at the sound of his name. “What? Oh – nothing. Just…thinking about how much I enjoy waving my sword around in the hot sun all day,” he said, taking a bite of the roasted pheasant before him. He gave her a smile that did not travel beyond his cheeks.

Ricard turned back to Maira. “You don’t sound happy at the prospect of marriage, My Lady? What would you do had you complete freedom to do as you wish? There is a chance, you know, that whomever is picked might be the kind of a man to indulge a wife her wishes?” He slid his hand along her sleeve, trailing to her hands and then nestling under to lace his fingers around hers. “You could find that this marriage thing is not as bad as you first thought,” he offered.

Edwain had wolfed down his supper and placed the folded napkin across the tray. “Don’t count on it,” he said, his keen ears picking up on his friend’s words. “Marriage is nothing but a transaction. Don’t look at it as anything other than a business arrangement,” he said, standing up and looking at the Dark Knight and the Crimson Beauty. “And you’ll do fine. Lady Maira,” he looked up at her parents, “Knight General Willams, Lady Anabeau, thank you for your company.” He looked at Ser Ricard and gave him a solid thump on his shoulder. “I’m off to bed. Remember Ser Alun’s warning. It applies to us as well, concerning the final tournament.” With a final look at the red-haired beauty he turned, again, to leave.

There was a cousin to be found, and many things to think about that night. He didn’t think it beneficial or required to sit and entertain a prize he had no desire to win.
 
“You sound like a bitter old man. How old are you, anyhow? No more than twenty, I would guess,” the smaller boy snarked when Jacoby went on about the pirate’s life. Not that he himself had been exposed much to the sea; they gave him sea sickness, in fact, the few times he had dared travel by boat, and swore to avoid such things as much as possible. “Do we need to find you some tobacco to puff from a pipe and a glass of Mama’s finest gin for you to sip whilst you wail about the harshness of the world?”

He teased, of course he did, not the other boy was right. The world was full of monsters that called themselves men and even women. The bright eyed youth’s attention snapped from the debauchery of the tavern back to his companion, relieved not for the first time that night, that he had at least someone to call a friend even if it was only for the spell of this tournament.

“If you were she, what would you do, then?” It was an honest question that he asked Jacoby, eyeing his belongings with a snooping eye as he gathered up his things. “And, by the way, a woman is more interested in a wicked tongue than a prick,” he torted, then grinned at his own suggestion. “Unless you mean how big their purse is, then yes, the women here would like coin over cock. Or even a nice tongue.”

As if he would know. As Jacoby had pointed out, Fritz’s balls had not dropped yet.

Which was hilarious all on its own, but for different reasons than his current companion would believe at this time.

“Do not jest like that,” he coughed, jabbing his elbow into the other boy’s ribs on their way out when he joked about rape. Though in truth, now that the night was in full swing, he was anxious to leave the docks and find a quieter, safer place to rest his head for the evening.

Like some cat, he slunk through the throngs of people as they passed them by. Past the taverns and whore houses of the harbor, the closed down shops and fish shanties, the reek of fish and vomit, the sea and too many people. Only to be bombarded by the lights and sound of the festival that sprawled through at the edge of the town out into the fields.

It was a bloody carnival out here and Fritz was quickly realizing that sleep was going to be hard to come by with the noise and merrymaking. And even has the circle of wagons and carts - a caravan - of the Romani came into view on the very outskirts of it all, the riot of laughter and song was strong in the air. A huge bonfire had been constructed; a brilliant effigy of fire that spat and sparked. A ring of the dark skinned wanderers twirled around in it dance, many of them whipping and spiraling with flaming whips and torches. One woman even balanced a flaming hoop around her arms and wide, curvaceous hips, moving so fast that the flames did not touch her.

A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, sitting or standing, crouched down in the grass. A collective gasp rose from the crowd when a man spat out a bout of flames that stopped just short of the faces closest to him. Another section cheered as a juggler spun up six flaming torches and watched them spin through the air faster than they could move their eyes.

Before Fritz and Jacoby could get too close to the spectacle, however, they were ambushed by a tiny slip of a woman. She was wrinkled up like an old walnut, wispy hair gone white held back in a colorful handkerchief that matched the flow of her skirts and puffed blouse. She ran up to Fritz with a squawk of delight and before the younger boy could protest, she had reached up and grabbed him by the cheeks, yanking him down so that she could smack him on either side of the face with her lips.

“My lovely child, I was beginning to worry about you. And look, you are filthy; you reek. You need a bath. Take off this filthy thing,” she demanded, voice laced with a thick accent of her people. She spoke again, this time in a rapid fire foreign language and reached up to snatch the cap from the boy’s head while her other hand pulled the curls free from where they were curled up underneath, shaking them free with a tsking noise. They tumbled free, longer than could be expected, and Fritz immediately blushed.

“Mama, please! Do not!” the boy shrilled, snatching his cap back and plugging it back on top of his head with a sidelong look at Jacoby.

It was all she needed to move her attention away from Fritz to Jacoby. Squinting with dark eyes, she moved more slowly over to him. Reaching up, she yanked at his red hair and tutted, “Oh, and who are you? A friend, obviously. I am Reinka, call me Mama, I accept nothing else. You need a bath as well. You are both filthy!”

She huffed and moved away from them both, back into the crowd, and expected them to just follow her. Fritz at least knew better and with an embarrassed look to Jacoby and a wide eyed apology, lips mouthing the words that he wanted to say, he slunk off after the tiny woman as she led them to a barrel of water with a wash cloth and a lump of soap on its edge.

Reinka was already there, pointing, “Wash your faces and come join us by the fire. We dance, drink, eat.”

Then she was gone like a tornado, stalking away from them to fend for themselves from there. Fritz, stupefied for an instant, burst out laughing and grinned at Jacoby.

“That is Mama,” he declared proudly, then took the other boy’s arm and dragged him, “Come on. If you do not mind a cold bath, I know where we can get a real bath here.”


~~~



Oh, but the man was insufferable. Maira had to force herself not to roll her eyes when the knight leaned in and simpered in her direction. What she could not quite stop was the annoyed little grunt, followed by a forced smile.

“You will adore the Lady Clarice. Surely, the both of you are coming to the ball that will be held after the tournament to finish off the celebration. You are my Father’s favorites; it would be expected of both of you.” She might have been speaking the words to Ricard, but she was looking at Edwain as she said them. Though her attention did meander back to the dark haired man that grinned at her like a fool, her smile curling more wicked on her freckled face. “Ser Ricard, you will adore Clarice. She is beautiful, blonde…” she trailed off, her hand plucking from his as he took it into his own to gesture to her breasts “...big breasts. Men like breasts, do they not? Hers are very lush. And she adores to flirt and would be quite happy to sing you a song like a little birdy and dote on you night and day.”

She snorted. It was her attempt to hide the ripple of laughter at Edwain’s comment about waving his sword about. She tried to straighten her expression and turn her attention wholly on Ricard, “And as for freedom, Ser Ricard, why if I had the choice I shall run off into the woods and surround myself with cats and brood potions like a witch.”

Her lashes fluttered prettily at him.

Only for her chin to jerk in Edwain’s direction again, surprise on her face. Her expression scrunched thoughtfully. Here was a man who knew what life was really about. Still, she leaned in like she was conspiring with Ricard, “Your friend is right. I am a bartering tool. Remember, Lady Clarice,” she patted his hand.

Then she, too, was rising up, her heart in the pit of her stomach. The Golden Knight’s words had struck her more deeply than she liked, but that still did not stop her from taking his arm as he was headed to leave.

“Ser Edwain, you shall accompany me to my pavilion, as you have reminded me that tomorrow is a big day. If you do not mind?”
 
The things that kid threw out; they were enough to make Jacoby laugh. Or cry, depending on the topic. What did that little sprite know about the sea and the world, anyway? Although his sharp little elbow made the taller lad grunt in surprise at both the quickness of it and the pain of having so much pressure right between his ribs.

He rubbed the spot as they threaded their way through the drunks and whores, past ale houses and fish shanties, until they finally came to the edge of the revelry. The bright lights and the cacophony of laughter, music, cheers and bawdy songs was almost overwhelming.

“You’re right,” Jacoby finally said once they were a good distance from the port and far enough from the festivities to be heard. “I am twenty, but I spent all twenty years on the seas, so I think I speak with some authority when I say those things about the world. Besides,” he added, “pirates don’t drink gin. We drink rum.

“And I’ve been thinking about your question. You know, about that scarlet-haired woman we’re all supposed to be instantly in love with? If I were she, I’d disguise myself and run away to sea.” He smirked. “That’s what my mother did and look how it turned out.” He waved a hand across his chest. “The proud product of the runaway farmer’s daughter and a pirate.” He smirked. “Beautiful things can happen at sea.”

His attention was soon caught up in the fire juggling and the woman with the hoops, though he was more interested in how she didn’t get burned than in the hips she was moving in those tight, concise circles. Jacoby’s eyes were wide in wonder; the fire-breather made him step back, and he thought he had never seen anything so spectacular. The man’s movements as he jerked his body back and forth made his long scarves and wild hair move like serpents, completing the illusion that he could charm more than just the flame.

For the first time since he had met Fritz, he finally saw the lad speechless. The little wrinkled spitball of a woman surprised them both with her unabashed affection of the smaller lad, grabbing him with both hands and kissing him like a doting…mother. A pang flashed across Jacoby’s chest as he watched the two. He began to chuckle. Reek was an understatement; they had all been in the sun for hours, sweating and straining under the eye of the king.

Jacoby’s breath caught. For just a moment he saw a scared, shocked, woman where Fritz had stood, and then the illusion was gone. A gypsy boy ashamed of his long hair now stood where the illusion had shimmered, pulling down his cap and scowling like he always had.

“Ow! Ow-ow-ow!” he protested at Fritz’s ‘Mama’ and her grip upon his hair. He rubbed at his head once she released him and nodded at Reinka. “Yes ma’am. Mama.” He scowled back at Fritz. It was bad enough that they had both now been called out for their stench, but a bath? He’d already had one that week. He shrugged at Fritz and followed the lad through the gypsy crowd after the little hedgehog of a woman until they reached a barrel.

Jacoby breathed a sigh of relief. As he joined Fritz at the barrel he was startled by the young man’s sudden laughter. “She’s…something else,” he agreed. Just as he was reaching for the soap he found himself yanked away again, this time away from the fires. “But won’t your Mama be mad if we don’t…” then, seeing the lad’s determination relented. “Alright.” He went along willingly, deciding that fire-dancing and sleep would have to wait.

“Why don’t you just wear your hair in a tie?” he asked as they walked. “I used to do that when I had long hair. Not as long as yours, but,” he pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal a pink scar across his collarbone, perhaps a few months along. “Someone grabbed me by my hair and nearly cut off my head. That’s when I cut it short, though Mama just proved that even short hair isn’t defense against a hair-grab.” He let his collar go and rubbed at his head again where her strong grip had nearly brought him to his knees.

“She’s something else,” he muttered. “If you grew up with her it’s no wonder you’re so damned tough.” He glanced around as they walked, noticing that they weren’t going to any of the tents or wagons, but away from the festival. “Are you sure you know where you’re going Fritz?”

~ * ~​

Why in the world was Maira trying to pawn him off on this Lady Clarice? Couldn’t she see that he was interested in her? He shook his head at Maira’s insistence that the other catch would be a better one. “I don’t care about a woman’s breasts, or blond hair,” he insisted. “I care about the heart that beats in her chest, and the way her mind works.” He flashed her his most charming smile, but even that seemed to leave her untouched. It was irksome, to say the least.

He laughed at her vision of what she would do if she was given free rein. “Surely, you jest! A beauty like you surrounded only by cats?” he turned to better look at her. But she herself was a cat, jerking her eyes away and gazing at Edwain like he had been the one courting her, instead of Ricard. And then, with a final admonishment to remember Lady Clarice, she was gone. He stood slowly, and watched his prize slip her arm through Edwain’s. To be fair, the Golden Knight shot him an apologetic look that was tinged with horror at being caught in the redhead’s snare before he left.

Though that only made Ser Ricard want her more.

Edwain was not used to being touched, unless it was being battered during training. The arm that slipped into his was wholly unexpected and unwanted. Short of jerking his arm away and causing a scene, there was not much he could do. He had seen the General Knight glance over and see his daughter’s new condition and had nodded at Edwain, and now he was stuck.

His brow furrowed at her intrusion, but he had been trained well. “Certainly, Lady Maira.” He sighed. “It would be my honor,” he monotoned, stepping forward with her hand clasped firmly about his forearm. Hopefully her pavilion would be nearby and he could move on to more important pursuits.

As they passed out of the king’s tent the couple was stopped several times by well-meaning nobles who wanted to great the General Knight’s daughter and take measure of the man she seemed to have favored that evening. They finally passed through the thickest of the crowd and found themselves strolling across the field towards the blue and gold tents of the man who was being honored. Ser Edwain kept his arm bent for her but offered no comforting clasp of his opposite hand over hers, preferring to keep it free to access his sword in case some fool thought to take him on or try to dishonor the Lady. He was content to walk in silence, and if she would allow him would not have said a word until it came time to bid her goodnight and goodbye.

He was looking forward to the ‘goodbye’. The entertainers had the crowds in a ruckus, fire juggling and music lit the air around them, and for just a moment he thought he saw one of his lads, the pirate’s son, sneaking off with a woman. He shook his head in disappointment. Of all the men in his lineup he thought that Jacoby, at least, would have had the good sense to turn in early and rest. Tomorrow would prove even more difficult for the men, with the crossbow, stick-fighting balanced on a log, and hand-to-hand combat. If he had read the lad correctly, he would have the most difficulty with the crossbow.

His mind went to the scamp in Ser Ricard’s group. Fritz. That lad would do well with the stick fighting, though they would have large padding on either end. That was, if he didn’t get broken in two by a lucky hit. And the hand-to-hand combat…well, that was where Edwain expected Fritz to do the worst. He was gangly and short; a disadvantage when pitted against some of the bulls who had signed up to compete.
 
“So your mother just ran away willingly with a pirate?” The boy mused at last, seeming to pick up their conversation right where they had left it before the old gysp woman had disturbed their exchange. Fritz had never know his parents; his mother had died shortly after he had been born and his father was an unknown in his life, though his grandfather had said that it had been an unholy union, his mother a victim.

A bastard child of rape. It was no wonder that the man was so disgusted with him that he had been sent away to live with folk who were considered little more than barbarians, though from what Fritz had seen so far, were freer and more considerate of people than the civilized ladies and lords, knights and the like, that held reign here.

“Are you saying that we should suggest that she run away and take her chance at the harbors, hope that a dashing pirate will sweep her away than a romance novel instead of some dirty whoreson dragging her into an alley to rape and murder her? Or have her guise herself as someone else and.. Do what? She is the Knight Genera’s daughter, what skills would she have outside of what her father has deemed that she needs to know. Should she become a scribe?” He paused and considered that one, then, “Actually, she might genuinely be able to make a living as a scribe. The noble lot are taught to read and write regardless of gender, right?”

His eyes rolled over to the pirate’s son, lips pursing. “The thing of it, Jacoby, is that we cannot know other people’s lives. For all we know, she chose to be handed out like a lottery to be won, so mayhaps she would love to settle down and make babies for whoever her husband is. I do not know.”

And that was just being honest. Though judging by the redhead’s reaction, Fritz would bet gold that she had not been pleased or even aware by the announcement. Though a wicked cheshire’s smile carved his lips as he angled to jab him in the ribs again, but stopped short, and instead reached up to ruffle his hair, “Mayhaps you can win and whisk her away to the high seas so she can be a pirate bride.”

They walked and Jacoby made his comment about Fritz’s hair that had come all undone. Self-consciously, he blushed and fisted the locks that had become matted, then shrugged his shoulders, “Would you cut it for me, then?” He bit his lower lip and glanced up, then decided to spin a tale around his reasoning for having long hair in the first place. “The gypsies did not raise me. I am only traveling with them for this tournament; I live with the mountain folk, up north. They call themselves the Guerra. They grow their hair until they lose in battle, so. I usually wear it plaited or braided, but I did not want to stand out so much here.”

He grinned, but only slightly. He was already standing out. He knew that from his size alone, though that couldn’t be helped.

“Here we are,” he said at last, however. They had reached a series of tents that had been set up. They still were within the confines of the Romani camp, but this was where their elders and high ranking members stayed. They had their own private baths, so to speak, though with them being as transient as they were, the system they had rigged was still not comparable to a genuine bath house or a drawn bath, but it was better than scrubbing at themselves by a barrel.

Within the circles of tents that provided what little privacy they would have was a rigged system of pulleys that pumped water from a barrel into a shallow wooden tub that was more like a platform that drained, for overhead was an odd fixture. Fritz walked over to it and glanced around guiltily, but there was no one around to catch them from using the apparatus. Grinning over his shoulder, he reached over and pumped a few times, then pulled a lever, so that a stream of water fell from the fixture above in a spray. He shut it off almost immediately and gestured like he had brought them to a fountain of youth.

“Your bath.. Er, waterfall of bathing,” he declared. “You can go first. Just do not use all of the water. I don’t want to go to bed reeking.”


~~~


Maira was certain that Ser Ricard meant well, even if he was meaning well for her. She had no interest in romance, men, marriage, or what came with it. While she had been half jesting when she had told him what she desired, that life held more appeal to her than having to deal with a man for her entire life. It was why she was currently latched onto one, though as soon as they had left the gaping knight behind, she snorted in a very unladylike way and threw his arm down, then turned an incited look at him. Catching his expression, she laughed, and that was the most genuine sound that she had made all night.

“Do not look so horrified, Ser Edwain! You are safe, but I do thank you for being my escape from there. I never would have been able to leave without one of my father’s most trusted knights, and I do not think your friend Ser Ricard would have let me out of his sights.”

She grinned like an imp. Like a very satisfied imp. Then she flourished a mocking now that they were out of line of sight from anyone who might have been watching. “...And since you and I share the same desire to not be bothered, this is where I leave you. Enjoy your evening, Ser Edward, I am sure you will be pleased to be rid of me since I could tell you wanted to sit down and enjoy the conversation as much as I.”

He would get his goodbye more swiftly than he might have anticipated, for the girl turned away in a flurry of her skirts and started off into the crowd, heading towards one of the spectacles nearby from the festivals with a fluttering of her fingers over her shoulder as she left him behind to slip through the crowd.
 
The prospect of a real bath, no matter how cold, lifted Jacoby’s mood. He happily strolled along beside Fritz, taking in the sights of showmen and women and breathing in the sweet and fried aromas in the air. He laughed at the younger lad’s question. “Willingly? They planned it, and they weren’t pirates at the beginning. At least that’s the story I was told.

“They plotted together, pretended they were brothers, and signed on to a ship as merchant sailors. From there it just…evolved.” He shrugged. “I guess it’s easier to fool the world when you have a partner in crime. So no – I’m not suggesting she roam down to the docks and take her chances. Although the scribe idea is good. I suppose…” he turned to look at her. “Isn’t everyone taught to read and write?”

Despite his ‘worldiness’, he had never thought much about life for the land dwellers. His world was the ship and their harbors, not the daily trials and tribulations of those who made a life scratching from the earth.

Fritz’s corner gaze made Jacoby stumble. He caught himself and coughed it off, a fist held to his lips. “Maybe she did,” he agreed, “but she didn’t look too happy at the prospect at the prospect of marriage.” He chuckled. “In fact, I’m certain she’ll make whoever she marries life a living hell. Did you see the way she pulled those flowers apart? Mine only had two petals left!”

He scowled at the hair tussle. Reaching up to flatten his hair back down he scoffed. “Not likely! I have no desire to marry, and lest of all her. Or return to the seas!” he guffawed. “What a ludicrous idea.”

The tents continued seemed to stretch on endlessly. Brightly colored streamers hung in the lamp light and the moon glowed blue against the violet sky. Fritz seemed to take a page from Jacoby’s book with his question about his way auburn locks. “I suppose,” he answered. “though, it seems to go against your heritage… but if you want…sure. I can cut your hair. But let’s wash it first.”

The little circle of tents held a treasure. “This is great,” Jacoby whispered. The empty tent and the barrels and tubs were pure genius. As he walked around, taking in the rigging and the barrels, he thought that it was something they would have loved to have on the ship. He began stripping off his scarf and shirt as soon as Fritz demonstrated the mechanism. “Why bother waiting for me?” He slid his boots and trousers off and hung the garments over a chair, reveling a lean, fit body underneath the clothes. “We can both fit,” he surmised. He experimented with the hand pump and laughed softly. “I’ll be damned,” he exclaimed, “here – you pump for me and I’ll pump for you. It will go faster.”

Jacoby grinned at Fritz. “Unless it’s okay for us to be discovered in here?”

~ * ~​

Lady Maira’s sudden jerk of her arm shattered Ser Edwain’s quiet contemplation. He scowled over at her, then had to scoff. She wasn’t wrong; he wanted to be rid of her. But he had also agreed to take her to her pavilion in front of the General Knight.

As he wrested these two contradictions apart, she turned and hurried away. Had it not been for her scarlet hair and the flutter of her dress he would have lost her to the crowd. As it was, he had to push festival-goers aside and sprint before he finally caught up to her, and it was only by reaching forth and grasping her by the wrist that he got her to stop. “Wait!” he exclaimed.

“I promised to deliver you to your father’s pavilion. So…walk with me there like a lady, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you. Your choice.” He tensed his jaw as the crowd moved around them and waited for her answer. “Once we’re there, I don’t care where you go or what you plan to do.”

~ * ~​

Ser Ricard remained for a moment more at the banquet hall, then finished his wine and took his leave. The festival’s music and chatter thrummed loudly in his ears, but not as loudly as the feeling of the lady’s rejection. He stalked through the crowd, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong.

Women loved his charm and his dashing attention. Yet that particular woman didn’t. And that made him want her all the more. He wanted her to want him, to find him charming, to seek his attention.

The fire and color of the Romani camp drew his darkened heart, like the swirling black and white constantly swirling in a dance of balance. Soon he found himself smiling into a set of dark eyes, running his hands into a tangle of ebony locks, and pressing his lips against full, yielding lips that eagerly sought his own. He pushed aside all thoughts of the redhead and submersed himself in the embrace of a gypsy beauty. Maira be damned.
 
Jacoby’s brief telling of his parents’ story sent a pang through the boy. He wanted to tell the pirate’s son his secret, he did. But as much as he liked the other boy, he did not trust him enough yet not to rat him out. Maybe once the competition was over, they could be friends in truth. That thought warmed Fritz enough that he was still grinning at him as he inspected the treasure that Fritz had brought him to.

“So what do you plan, then? Become a knight and then traipse around the land bedding all kinds of women and never settling down?” The question was meant to be lighthearted, but Fritz wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he won this tournament. Reveal himself to his grandfather? Laugh in the man’s face that he had won something on his own?”

Then he considered actually cutting his hair, while his fingers combed through the dark waves. He chewed his lip, watching the movements of the male, only to gasp as he started stripping right before him like there was nothing better to do. “Jacoby!”

He was naked before Fritz could protest further, and the other more stared for longer than was appropriate before he whirled around to face the other direction. It was too late, though. He had seen everything. His voice was higher than it had been before as he managed out a quick retort to the offer to bathe together, “No, no… I’ll be right back. You just enjoy…”

And then he was walking swiftly away before the other young man could try and encourage him any further. Not that Jacoby would appreciate it if Fritz had joined him. He did start giggling once he was out of range and glanced over his shoulder once before slipping off between the tents to find a distraction for the redhead.

She came in the form of Illeana, one of the fire dancers that had earlier been entertaining the crowd. A lush, dark beauty with a full set of lips painted bright red and a come hither stare. Like most of the Romani that Fritz had traveled with, they knew who he truly was, and as Fritz described Jacoby, romanticizing him as he had done for his parents, she glided off to seek him out with an amused laugh. So rather than Fritz returning to the scene, it was the firedancer that slunk cat-like like she was going for a stroll and just happened to catch sight of the redhead in the showers. She walked over like it was nothing and leaned against the railing, dark eyes watching him.

“Hello,” was all she deemed necessary to say. She let the curve of her lips and the trail of her eyes do the rest.

~~~


Maira thought she was home free of the Golden Knight when she felt his hand latch onto her wrist and pull her just short of the festivities. Green eyes wandered down to the hand that held her slender wrist, then moved up to the man’s face with a dark scowl that rivaled his own.

“I’ll go with you back to my pavilion,” she promised, slowly, hand jerking away from his grasp. “After we have a little fun. You do not have to have a stick shoved up your arse, Ser Edwain. Here I thought that you would be the more pleasant of my father’s favorites, but you are just as a rigid as he is, aren’t you? When was the last time that you had any fun?”

Her eyes were already moving away, roving longingly towards the fire dancers in the distance. And look there in the sky -- the fireworks were being set up! She actually started pacing in place with a sudden thrill of excitement. Her steps moved her forward and her hands clapped together, “After the fireworks, I promise,” she tossed over her shoulder, wondering if he would try and stop her again.


~~~

Meanwhile, Fritz had to give his friend time to work on Jacoby so that he could go take his own bath. Wandering aimlessly, he suddenly froze as he caught sight of someone familiar with his arms wrapped around another one of the dancers. She recognized her as well, a woman named Dorlisa, as she snaked her arms around his head and dragged his mouth down for a kiss as one shapely leg rode up his thigh to drag his hips close against her own.

For a long while, Fritz was frozen in place as she watched Ricard return the kiss with fervor. It was far from logical. Beyond anything that he should have cared about. But Fritz felt a cold stab of jealousy that the knight he favored was lip locked with the beauty.

So he did the only thing he could think of and marched close enough to stammer, “Ser Ricard! I did not know you would be interested in the revelries! I see you have met Dorlisa, she is with the troop that performs here! Since you are here, I can show you around!” Too much interest in what he was doing and his words were coming out in short stammers.

It at least caught the woman’s attention, who broke the kiss to turn her sly gaze to the boy, a knowing smirk curling her lips as she saw who was speaking. Fritz’s look only darkened when her hands roamed down the knight’s chest and around his hips, her breasts pressing into him, “Oh, how darling,” she grinned. Then she pushed back away from the knight. “It is our mountain...boy.”
 
So much for partnering. Fritz abandoned Jacoby to pump the water for himself, and though it slowed down his progress he soon found that a few quick presses to the handle gave him enough water to was and rinse, and he was not about to turn down the gift of a shower. If there was one thing he had learned in his twenty years, it was never to put off an opportunity. Whether it was a warm meal, a soft bed, or a chance to be a knight, the sea-born son did not want to be in his death bed seventy years from today going over all the things he regretted not doing.

No, life only came around once. He plucked the soap and began to lather his hair and body, enjoying the crisp scent of the spice and lavender as his hands slid across his stomach. The last time he’d had such a treat was at the Windhelm Falls a year ago. Fresh water was a treasure when you were surrounded by nothing but the sea; most of his baths had been in that wild water when they’d had a chance to anchor in the shoals.

He pulled more water down upon him, lifting his face to meet the icy chill. The sound of the tent flap alerted him to someone’s arrival. Thinking it was Fritz, he chuckled. “Change your mind?” he asked. As he turned, he saw his mistake; smoky eyes and a knowing smile traced the lines of his body.

“Oh…” he felt himself react to the sultry gaze of the Romani dancer. At first, he wondered if he was in trouble for being there, but as she continued to assess him, he knew that scolding wasn’t the first thing on her mind. “Hello,” he replied, his gaze lingered on the curve of her long, tanned legs, before traveling over her hips, the curve of her breast, and along her neckline, then dancing across her lips and finally meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome to join me,” he smiled, fully alerted to an opportunity he wouldn’t regret.

~ * ~​

‘Good, she’s going to be reasonable,’ Ser Edwain thought. But then the spitfire jerked away and layered a set of her own expectations on the night. He placed his hands on his hips as Maira spewed out her assessment of him and rolled his jaw. She was going to be difficult.

‘Typical noble woman…’

“Do you really think that talking like a street whore is going to make anyone respect you?” he shot back. “Seriously, Maira. You’re an educated woman; act like it.” But as she expressed her excitement over the fireworks he sighed heavily. He’d watched her grow up from afar, always the ‘perfect’ daughter of the perfect knight, and he understood the appeal of the forbidden.

A firedancer and a fire-breather traded extravaganzas, rousing a cheer of excitement from the crowd. Edwain shook his head, realizing he had as much chance of finding his cousin as the runt in the tournament had of winning.

“Let’s make a deal,” he reasoned. “Stay within shouting distance of me, and within my sight, and after the fireworks I deliver you to your pavilion. I don’t care what you do or who you do it with. Just don’t taint my honor by having made me a liar to your father. Agreed?”

~ * ~​

Soft, luscious lips eagerly pulled on his, as Ser Ricard slipped a hand over the Romani woman’s breast. He could feel her hardened nipples underneath the soft fabric, and as he parted her lips with the tip of his tongue he ran a hand behind her back, sliding underneath her full, plump ass, and pulling the woman closer. He could feel the heat of her sex pressing against his hardened shaft, rubbing him through his trousers, and promising to give him more.

Ah, he loved the Romani. Their free spirits and eager sharing of their natural delights drew him to their lot whenever they passed through town. There was something about the wild, unbound way they delighted in their pleasures that spoke to him. He broke his kiss with the lovely Dorlisa and began trailing his mouth along her jawline and down her neck. Her soft moan of appreciation made his desire strain painfully against its confines.

He wanted to plunder her where they sat. He squeezed her ample breast and found her nipple through her blouse, rolling its firm pebble between his fingers –

The sharp sound of his name being called startled him, causing him to pinch the woman more firmly than he intended. With a sharp scowl the dark knight turned to see who was interrupting his enjoyment, only to be met with the wide eyes and eager words of Fritz. The lad’s words stumbled all over each other, rushing out like water through a breached dam.

“Fritz!” he growled. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

It seemed the Romani woman felt the same way, continuing in her advances and drawing him to turn back to her with a wicked grin. He felt her hands roam near his manhood, testing out the tautness of the fabric across his hips. “That’s more like it,” he murmured, returning his attention to her ear and ignoring the lad altogether.

But then his evening’s entertainment pushed him away. Ricard rested his head against the woman’s hair, scowling at the lad who had dominated his attention during the day.

Mountain boy, hurried speech, the gypsy hair… it was all making sense now. Fritz wanted to be a knight to break free of his people’s caste. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, Boy?” He snarled at the intruder. “I told you – I’m busy.”
 
“I am Illeana. You are Jacoby, are you not?” Her voice was thick with the accent of her people, soft and sultry. The girl from the mountain who insisted on hiding as a boy did not lie; the ginger headed sea son was a delight on the eyes. Her eyes feasted, wandering the muscles of his shoulders, the clenching ridges of his abdomen, before falling to his twitching prick. She grinned, mischief dancing on her face as her slow ascent back up to his face. She leaned ever closer so that even more of her cleavage was pushed up for his own eyes.

“I was told to come fetch you and show you where you can sleep tonight. Are you hungry?” There was nothing about the woman’s words that suggested that food was for eating. Instead, she stepped up onto the edge of the platform, careful of the spray of water, and watched the soap dribble down the length of his body.

“Hurry up with this and come with me,” she insisted, arm already extending to jerk the pulley again and stop the fall of water. Once she had stopped it, she stepped right back down, and glanced at the dripping young man. “Are you coming or not?”

~~~

If the man could see his own face. He looked like a smoke monster with his flaring nostrils and crossed eyes. Maira was almost amused at it if she weren’t also afraid that he might truly throw her over his shoulder and take her back.

“I am not talking like a street whore,” she snapped back. “Unless your fellow knights are also streetwalkers with their foul mouths. I’ve heard worse from noblemen, so what kind of example are they supposed to be making for proper young ladies?”

Fiery as the mane of red that tumbled down past her shoulders and to her back. But at least her attention had turned away from him for a while, even if she did fall into step with him in order to snatch up his arm and drag him along as she rushed towards the crack of the light show in the sky, followed by a rain of color. She squeezed his arm when it alighted, grinning again despite herself, though her attention quickly turned to a vendor selling sweetmeats. Hauling him along, she ordered a sizzling skewer from the man and pursed her lips back up at Edwain once coin had exchanged hands.

“Try this,” she offered, plucking one of the meat cubes from the stick and handing it up to the man as if trying to feed it to him. “And perhaps we could get some spun sugar as well? I’ve heard that it tastes very sweet and melts in the mouth. And don’t you like the fireworks? It is amazing, that it is like a rain of fire in the sky.”

~~~


“Ricard,” Fritz repeated again, a hint of desperation in the lad’s voice. He was overcome by an emotion he couldn’t explain, a tightening in his throat, and a flush that ran up his throat so that his face blushed bright red. Paralyzed except for the feeling of numb fingers jerking at the collar of his tunic, he did not know if he should turn away now or continue on this folly.

Dorlisa made the decision for Fritz, in a way. She looked just as frustrated as the man did as she reached up and patted his face, “Your boy has a crush on you. The little one is jealous,” she murmured, then moved further away from the knight to ruffle the tousled curls on top of the lad’s head. She leaned down, kissed Fritz on the cheek, then with a roll of her hips made for dancing and distraction, winked at the dark knight. “Find me when you deal with this,” she promised, sliding back through the forest of tents and wagons. “And don’t take too long.”

“Ricard, I--” The boy stuttered, shocked when Dorlisa kissed his cheek and sauntered away like that. “I just… I... ...shouldn’t you be in bed as well?”

He stared stupidly at the other man, whom he had only really admired from afar, fueling his crush with only the man’s appraisal and witty banter between them during that first day. So why he felt like he had just been punched in the stomach was a mystery that furrowed his brow and tossed his gaze to the ground.

Licking his lips, he pushed his hands through his hair, then grinned like a madman. His feet moved on their own accord, and with his attention still downcast, he fisted his hand in the front of Ricard’s tunic and pulled himself up, head tilting, and mouth pressing against the other’s with a mouth that was startlingly soft.

The dark haired lad still wouldn’t make eye contact and ended the kiss as abruptly as he had started it, backed away swiftly, turned away, and started retreating as fast as humanly possible back towards the showers without another word.
 
Surprise blossomed across the redheaded man’s face when the beauty in the bath house introduced herself. Even more when she knew his name. Her voice was as sensual as the lips that formed them, plump and soft, drawing him forward even as an alarm was softly tickling at the back of his brain. He briefly wondered if someone had sent her because of his father, but when she leaned forward, inviting him to ponder the luscious valley between her breasts, all thoughts of assassination and revenge disappeared.

“Yes, I am,” he answered, growing harder at her advance. Then he surmised who had sent the lovely Illeana and decided that pesky friends were not so bad after all. “I am…definitely…hungry. But not for food.” Her gaze was intoxicating, and as the bubbles ran down his body small shivers followed their touch. Her eyes had a heat to them that penetrated the water’s chill.

She wasn’t going to join him in the shower, but she would join him, it seemed. He felt powerless to resist her allure. Even more; he didn’t want to. This was an opportunity that might never come again.

The cold spray of water woke him to their wasted time. Hs shuddered as his hands rubbed off the last of the soap. He was eager to part ways with the shower now and find another delectable treat to enjoy. A coy grin crossed his lips. He was coming… that much was almost guaranteed.

He crossed the tent to his pack. Slipping on a clean pair of under trousers, he grabbed his dirtied clothes and shoved them into the top of the bag, then slung it over his shoulders and grabbed his boots, belt, and sword, before padding barefoot after the delectable woman.

Jacoby guessed that Fritz would find him, if not tonight then in the morning. He followed the swaying hips and long, dark hair through the camp, watching for sights of his companion and thinking about the lips that voiced his name. When Illeana reached her destination and parted the entry to the tent for him, the sea born man smiled at her, thinking that women seemed to improve the further from the sea he went. ‘I should have met the Romanis sooner,’ he thought. ‘No wonder Fritz is so damned happy.’

~ * ~​

Ser Edwain pulled back his face, peering down at Maira through narrowed eyes. She was claiming the goose and the gander when it came to her mouth. He wondered if her insistence on equality held true when it came to the rest of it; going to war, taking the most laborious work, and sacrificing yourself for the next generation, or if it only pertained to the perks.

If one could call being foul-tongued a perk.

Then her snake-like arm latched onto him again, rushing him towards the fireworks like some kind of simple-minded child. He frowned up at the light show. It reminded him not of magical holidays and gift times, but of battle. The cries of awe from the crowd sounded eerily like the groans of the injured. He heard a woman’s shriek of delight echoing a cry of despair from another time, and turned to see a joyous face looking up in pleasure.

Edwain hated the explosions. They brought to him memories of torn limbs, displaced torsos, and indiscriminate destruction. A particularly loud percussion sounded over the crowd, raining sparks and popping into the trees, and making him flinch in Maira’s grasp. He was thankful when she pulled him away from the display towards a gypsy vender.

As Maira picked out her perfect meat laden shaft, Edwain cocked his head at the vender. Slowly understanding grew, and with an irritated grunt the knight reached into his pouch and brought out the coins. It was interesting how someone who insisted on being free to curse also expected to have her items bought for her. Edwain didn’t care – once she was at her tent he would be free of her, and in two days’ time she’d be betrothed to some fool who wasn’t him.

She’d be someone else’s problem.

He grimaced when Maira shoved a morsel of meat at his face. His hand clamped over hers to stop its advance. “I don’t want to try that,” he protested, gripping her hand and pushing the seared flesh towards her lips. “You wanted it. You eat it.” He scoffed. She seemed undaunted. As soon as he released her hand she was thinking of the next treat and praising the fire in the sky.

“Spun sugar will make you fat,” he warned her. Though he doubted her future husband would mind giving her as much as she wanted, if she was fond of putting things in her mouth. Besides, whoever married her would be going after her noble blood and favor, not marrying for love. Not even lust, he guessed, thinking her altogether too brash and pushy to be any sort of companion for those long, quiet winter months. More than likely she would wind up driving her husband to jump from the rooftops, if only to silence her prattle.

He nearly snarled at her praise of the fireworks. “I hate them,” he told her. “And fire in the sky is nothing to be celebrated. But now…the fireworks are over,” he reminded her. “Let’s get you your spun sugar and take you to your pavilion as promised. And then, Lady Maira, you go your way and I’ll go mine.” He put a hand on her back and guided her, unwilling to allow her to lead him along by his arm anymore.

Edwain walked with the scarlet vixen the short distance to the sweet’s vendor, and as he paused to allow Maira to make her selection, he noticed a tent down an alley open. A lovely Romani woman stepped out, her dress and sway indicating her fire dancing connections. Her expression, even from this distance, was full of sensual amusement, and she glanced behind her in a come-hither that left very little doubt in his mind what she was about. A moment later a barely clad redheaded followed. His bare feet and chest, and the pack slung over his shoulder, told the knight that Jacoby had either just left his bed or was going to it. As Edwain watched the lad follow the woman away he shook his head. There wasn’t going to be much sleep for the candidate that night, but what could be expected? Once a rogue, always a rogue it seemed.

~ * ~​

Like an irritating woodpecker, the scamp would not quit. And though the lips that pulled at Ricard’s were perfect, the knight found the tone in Fritz’s voice kept him from enjoying the lovely Dorlisa. He let out a groan as the woman pulled away. Her soft hand on his cheek made him want to feel it wrapped around this hilt, but she declared Fritz’s crush and moved away, seemingly wanting to wait until the cheeky brat was dealt with.

Ser Ricard turned irritated dark eyes upon the knight candidate. He stood, brushing off his tunic and adjusting his sword. He wouldn’t take long t deal with the lad; a swift backhand might do it. But then he saw the gentle way Dorlisa kissed the lad and understood. The boy had been coddled and spoiled all his life, allowed to have whatever he wanted. No doubt, he had mistakenly been taught not to mind his betters.

“In bed? What do you think I was doing, boy? I might have been in bed – her bed – if you hadn’t interfered. What’s wr –“

But his words were cut shot when strong, small hands grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled at him, and a soft kiss pressed against his lips. Ricard should have been furious. He should have been disgusted and insulted. Instead, the anger in his heart and the dis-ease that had followed him from dinner was suddenly stilled, as if a tidal wave had rushed a sea wall and the moment of contact was slowed. Frozen. Then suddenly reversed. He felt it like an unexpected breeze in the desert; gentle and cooling, and very welcome. His eyes, hard and frustrated a moment before, softened. His breath caught.

Then just as suddenly the kiss ended, and Fritz disappeared into the crowd. ‘What the fuck?’ Ricard’s brow knitted. His lips tingled where the scamp had planted his lips, feeling oddly like being drunk in only one place of his body. With a growl the knight shook it off and tracked Dorlisa down, wanting to take up with her where they had left off and push all thoughts of Fritz, and even Maira, from the Dark Knight’s mind.

Less than a half hour later he was stalking to his tent, furious at the night. Despite Dorlisa’s best efforts the evening was not going to be Ricards; he wanted the Romani dancer, he was attracted to her full breasts and luscious mouth, and desired nothing more than to part her thighs and sink into her heat, pouring his frustration into her body. But her hands, her lips, even her tongue, were not enough to erase the memory of that unexpected kiss. Ricard finally had to push his willing playmate away and admit to them both that it wasn’t going to happen. He’d been hexed, perhaps. Cursed.

But all he could think about was the look of desperation in Fritz’s eyes, and the way he grinned at Ricard before sidelining him with that kiss. As Ser Ricard laid on his cot and stared blindly at the ceiling, he hoped that Edwain was having as equally a miserable night.
 
Fritz’s plan would work, at least as far as Illeana went, so it seemed. The gypsy woman seemed amused as the knight to be hastened from the shower and dragged on a pair of pants as if it would matter soon anyhow. Still, Illeana was a quiet, sliding presence of swaying hips and easy grace as she led him through the winding maze of color, only to stop before a royal blue tent flap and part the way. She gestured for him to enter first, then ducked in herself before pulling the flap closed behind them.

Inside, it was spacious enough, and high enough for them both to stand up straight once inside. One corner had a pallet stacked with pillows and blankets. Once she had lit a candle that sat on a crate that doubled as a table, she turned and looped her fingers through the waistband of his trousers and pulled herself closer to him until the full, plush mounds of her breasts pressed against his bare chest through the fabric of her blouse.

Her lips parted, hovering just an inch or less away from his own as her dark eyes wandered up to his. “I hope you do not mind sharing a tent with me. Our friend has suggested sleeping accommodations for you, so I offer my own. I sleep in the nude… do you?”

He would be tonight if the woman had her way. Her hips bumped against his at the close proximity until his cock was nudging against her. With a devilish smile curving her lips, she tilted her head and brushed them against his, teasing the younger man’s mouth with her own. “Or.. we can behave,” she suggested with a murmur, dragging her mouth back, only to nuzzle it against his again suggestively. “But you do not want that, do you?”

~~~


Maira was watching him through the sequence of events, at once enjoying his tormented expression, but also feeling a pang of guilt for having dragged the man out with her in the first place. He looked miserable and she noticed that he kept flinching whenever the light show went off.

“You were hungry earlier,” she reminded him as she pulled her hand back and popped the cube of cooked meat in her mouth. It tasted of spice and sweet and meat, and not like anything she had ever had before. She moaned her pleasure and waved the sizzling stick at him with a cheeky little grin, “Edwain, are you certain? It tastes heavenly.”

Though his next comment washed away any guilt she felt at luring him into this venture. She scowled at him in front of the next vendor when they stopped, ordering the sticky sweet treat that came wound up on a cone. She took it eagerly and turned to face him fully, twisting off a fluffy puff and stuffing it in her mouth. She exaggerated the motion, eyes rolling back in her head, and moaned again.

“Then it shall make me fat and happy,” she informed him, again shoving her confection up at him. “Try it, Edwain, instead of being such an ass. I thought you were supposed to be one of the more tolerable of the knights.”

Making a face at him as he started to move her right along, she reluctantly went, but used her spun sugar like a scepter as she pointed it at him, “What is something that you will enjoy, then, if the light show is miserable to you as well? Or are you always such a bore?”

Maira seemed to not notice anything further other than the look of distaste on the man’s face. Only her attention did flick to the Romani camp when his eyes went there, locking onto the gypsy women, then turned a wide eyed, disgusted look up to him, “Edwain! Are you wanting to go bed one of the free folk? And you dare call me anything but ladylike?”

Angry, she popped another puff of sugar in her mouth, then took another bite of the sweet meats. At least she had both her hands full so that she could not latch onto him even if he wanted her to or not.

~~~


Where Ricard might have assumed that the lad had gained the affections of the Romani by being spoilt, the man could not have been more far off. Though by outside appearances, it may have seemed that way, and the lad did not know enough of the other man’s thoughts to retort any differently. The truth was that they knew exactly who Fritz really was and the journey it had taken for him to get this far.

Pampering had not been on the agenda, unless one counted their natural tendency towards hospitality and thievery as being pampered.

But as Fritz walked away from the stunned knight, he felt like he might just crawl into the abyss and live there. Or die there. Never to be seen again. His mouth tingled where he had pressed his own against the knight’s, and worse, he wanted to turn back around and do it again, to part the other man’s lips and taste him. To run his hands over his body like the gypsy woman had been doing. To be touched like she had been touched.

Fritz shuddered, stumbling back to the secreted circle of the caravan where the shower waited. To his relief, Jacoby was already gone, though Fritz was not thinking about anything but the pair of shocked, dark eyes when he stripped down, tossing his clothes into a pile at the foot of the platform.

And while the Romani might know the truth underneath the lad’s clothes, his fellow knights did not. But the truth was tightly bound around his chest, which he unraveled with shaking fingers.

So, he was really a she. Something that was only apparent to the night air as the bindings dropped and relief caused the young woman to slump as her aching breasts were freed from the wraps that had pressed them down. While not large, it still would have been obvious if it were not what she had done. Not to mention it had taken away the soft curves from underneath the clothing. Groaning, she dunked herself underneath the cold spray of the water once she was fully nude, head down so that the full curtain of dark hair was allowed to fall like a veil over her face.

Her ribs ached. Indeed, her entire body ached, including her very soul, which hurt in the most humiliating way.

She would have to face Ricard again tomorrow morning, disguised again as a fucking lad.

It was enough to cause laughter to bubble up in her throat. She laughed at herself for the stupidity of the action -- but then she laughed even more so at the dumbstruck look on the man’s face at having a lad pucker up and kiss him full on the mouth.

Only to stop as a rasp of pain shot through her ribs, making her groan and stretch out, toes curling and back arching, arms stretched out above her head. Exhaustion was catching up with her, and as much as she wanted to luxuriate in fresh water, she grabbed the soap and began scrubbing herself and all the dirt, sweat, and grime from the day.
 
Jacoby had never been so happy to follow someone as he was to follow Illeana. Her soft sway as she moved promised luscious satisfaction, and he admired the way her waist moved with a lyrical sense of strength. He could only imagine the way it would feel to pull her close, tightly locking her body with his, and losing himself in the harmony of her heartbeat.

Her tent was surprisingly permanent looking. The bed was more than he had expected; a fine pallet with luxurious pillows and blankets stacked along its head, and a small crate that acted as a table. Jacoby set his pack near the wall, turning to look around and finding the woman pressed up against him. His lower abdomen tingled at the feel of her fingers sliding along the thin layer of clothes he had on. There was no way to shield his arousal from her notice; the young man’s eager body had reacted, stiffening his desire to strain against the cloth. It felt as if it had a mind of his own, betraying any sense of control he might have wanted to display.

He could almost taste her kiss as it teased him, staying just a breath away from his as she asked him if she minded sleeping with him. Nude. Whether or not he habitually did, he intended to tonight. “Y-yes,” he breathed, his eyes dancing from her lips to her eyes. This was no giggling farm girl or eager city seamstress eager to have a pirate after a drunken night of revelry; this was a woman who knew her way around a man, and though he liked to think himself knowledgeable, he knew that she could teach him things that he had never yet explored. There was no guilt in her voice, nor hesitation.

And her willing seduction drew him in completely. “Oh…I don’t want to behave,” he agreed, softly breathing against her neck, “not at all.” He kissed he side of her neck, running his hands along the taper of her waist and drawing her harder against his rigidity. He slid one leg between hers, relishing the feel of her long limbs slinking between his own. One hand slid down and cupped her bottom, his fingers trailing underneath the curve and pulling her upwards.

He turned his head to kiss her ear, drawing the tip of his tongue along the curve of her lobe and then taking it between his lips, before trailing towards her mouth. His other hand slid under the scant shirt she wore, relishing the feel of her bare skin and imagining the way it would feel to be completely flush against her; skin on skin, nothing between them and no rush to finish.

He felt his manhood twitch against her at the small movements of her body. His stomach tensed in need, and he found her lips with his own, tasting the full sweetness of her as he pulled at her bottom lip and then slid the tip of his tongue along the line between her plump lips, then parted them to taste her completely. A soft groan of appreciation grew in his throat as he felt her nipples graze his skin through her blouse.

He would have to thank Fritz tomorrow. Tonight, there was only Illeana.

~ * ~​

She was a wanton brat, and the redhead was not hiding it that night. Edwain glared at her as she took the fingerful of cottony sugar and shoved it in her mouth, moaning like a woman in the throes of ecstasy and claiming that he was supposed to be one of the more ‘tolerable of the knights’.

“And I thought you were a lady,” he quipped. “But it seems we were both mistaken.” If tolerable meant caring for childish things and childish foods, he would never qualify. He needed to find his cousin, and he needed to get some rest, damn it! She was foolishly taking his time and attention. It seemed she was purposely drawing out the time they had to be together, rather than upholding her part of their agreement.

He clenched his jaw at her defiant feasting on the spun sugar, moaning and pantomiming a woman’s pleasure so outlandishly that several of the passers by looked at her with interest, lust, or something akin to shock.

Edwain continued to herd the vixen towards the pavilions, and she seemed to constantly pause and take another sensual-laden bite. Finally, he had enough and grabbed her by her arm to direct her between two rows of tents. “I am not trying to bed anyone, and it’s obvious that your father failed to teach you to behave,” he said, seeing a crate that would suffice. He looked over at her sugar-filled face and smirked. “So I will.”

He grabbed her around her waist and drew her into his lap as he sat on the crate, shielded from the view of most of the festival goers. Pressing her face-down across the solid base of his muscular thighs he held her down, caring not if he caused her to drop her food or dirty her dress, and reached down to pull the fabric of her skirts over her hips. Quickly, fighting against any struggling she might do, he slid his fingers beneath her small clothes to bare her bottom to the night air and then brought a hand down hard against the apple of her butt where ass and creamy thigh met. “You need to stop,” he said, smacking her again, “being such a brat!” He smacked her again, then resting his hand briefly across the heat of he sex as he adjusted his hold on her back.
 
Illeana had brought many men, and the occasional woman, to her small nest of a place to call her own over the years. She had grown up with the caravan, grown up amongst the freedoms of her people. This one was even a handsome one, albeit young; he was still most certainly a man. She came up to only about his shoulder and had to push herself up on the balls of her feet for her lips to be able to meet his, and was pleasantly surprised at the eager confidence he displayed.

Her hands roamed, wanting to explore now that she was so close. Head tilted, her own lips fanned down across the chiseled cut of his jaw, nibbled down his neck with the hot velvet of her tongue tracing his throat while her own pulse jumped in response to his own meanderings. All the while her fingers drifted upwards, leaving their grip on the waistband of his pants to trace the ridges of his abdomen with a little murmur of appreciation, then around his waist to graze her nails against the bunched muscles of his back.

Her lips had found their way in a dance across his throat and down to his collar, her plush mouth pressing fully against his pectoral muscle as she breathed out a throaty moan as his mouth descended, wicked as it was, to capture the sensitive lobe of her ear. His hot breath against the ridge of her ears sent tingles through her body, his teeth and lips a deeper shudder that had her teeth grazing the edge of his nipple and the rest of her pliant figure rocking up against him.

Her next moan he caught with his mouth along with her hitched breath. Her lips parted eagerly, soft sliding against the firmness of his own mouth. Her tongue greeted his, tangling with him, before pushing past the part of his own lips to taste him.

All the while her hands made their downward descent, trailing down his spine, down the dip at the small of his back until she cupped the firm cheeks of his ass as he gripped her own softer swells, pushing him forward as her pelvis ground against his, squirming against the feel of his erection pressing into her lower abdomen.

He was so eager, holding her against him so tightly.

She smiled against his mouth, almost pulling back from the kiss, only it was her teeth that pulled his lower lip now and chased it with the flick of her tongue, dark eyes drowning as she watched lust slacken his face and turn his boyish good looks into something more masculine. Then she kissed him again, tender-like, her mouth dragging sensually against his to stoke the flame.

Those hands of hers wandered over hips, gripping one while the other slipped between them so that she could wrap her fingers around his hardness through the barrier of his breeches, gripping him by the root and stroking upwards until her palm slid over the twitching helmet of his head.

Her kiss deepened with the quickening of her breath and pulse, her throat purring her agreement to his own noises. Her hand slid once more down his length, then moved away, teasing the waist of his breeches, the dove inside to see what he would feel like in her naked palm.

Her mouth pulled away from his only long enough for her ragged whisper of, “Bed. Now.”


~~~


“It seems so,” Maira snapped right back at the knight, who, in her mind, was pouting just as bad as she was at the sequence of events. Why had she invited him to come along? Because she thought, perhaps, he might loosen the rigidness and relax? Only to find out that he has a splintered stick shoved too far up his arsehole for him to be able to.

The redhead even knew it was childish, what she was doing by taunting him, but the man had inflamed her enough that she no longer cared if she was openly embarrassing him. Not until he snatched her roughly by the arm until she stumbled before she could find her footing in order to match his long strides.

“Edwain, you do not have to drag me about, so you can unhand me,” she protested before she realized that he was no more pulling her back towards where their tents were set up, but between the two closest rows. “What are you--”

The girl didn’t have time to protest further, or fight him, considering both her hands were full of her meat stick and spun sugar. She shrieked when he picked her up like nothing, flipped her right off her feet and over his thighs, dropping her handfuls of junk food in the process as her attention went from more important things, such as struggling in his grasp.

The long fiery locks fell forward along with her face even as she craned her neck to try and look up at him, veiling the mask of fury that her features had contorted themselves into, “You are not going to--”

Oh, but he was. Horror replaced anger as she felt the cool breeze of the night air hit her stocking covered thighs as he flipped the skirts of her dress up and exposed the white frills of her undergarments for anyone to see. And where she tried to scream again, instead she only gasped in shock as the man had the audacity to drag down the last of her modesty until her bottom was exposed. Small, yet plush, the twin globes clenched and shuddered as Maira dragged her upper thighs against his as she tried to push away from the crack of his hand against soft skin. The pain was sudden and sharp and a little sweet, and left a burn behind that was kissed by the night air. But not for long enough before his hand fell again, the blow somehow harder this time, and coerced a strangled cry from the redhead.

“Edwain…” she whimpered, frozen for the moment as she felt his hand fall just between her cheeks to rest against her most intimate region. Her sex pulsed, tingling with the sensation, and fully aware of the heat that his hand had left on her stinging behind.
 
The gypsy’s touch was wicked and wanton. Perfect. Her fingers went from soft caress to dragging nails, exciting his skin and promising more than just a simple, brief encounter. When she grasped his length through his trousers, he felt his heart skip a beat to take up a faster rhythm. The sound of his heartbeat thrummed in his ears. This was no coy maiden playing the part of seductress; she knew her way, and she wanted to take him along. This wasn’t a tease. This was going to happen; and that realization made his body strain painfully against the flow of desire that swelled within.

He could have drowned in her kisses; when she reached inside his pants and gripped him skin to skin, he almost did. He moved a hand to cup her breast, feeling their plump firmness through her blouse, then finding a nipple, hard and delectable, and rolling the nub between his finger at his thumb. Her ragged whisper made him twitch, if only because he heard her desire in her voice. She wanted him, and that made him want to please her even more. He wanted any reports that got back to Fritz to be positive; a boon to his young reputation, and a memory for the young pirate to carry into the future.

“You’re wearing too much clothes,” he growled, his hand moving to slide beneath her blouse. He stepped between her legs, moving her back a few inches, as his eager fingers worked to separate her from her top, and reveal her youthful breasts. He slid a hand behind her neck to pull her into another kiss, running his lips and tongue across her lush bottom rim before urging them to part for the thrust of his flesh into hers. She tasted exotic; spicy and intoxicating, with a hint of blood and fire. He felt the brush of her breasts against his bare chest as he moved her back, another step, and then another.

His jaw tensed as his hands went to her waist, freeing her skirts of her belt and dropping it to the floor in a jingle of bells and bangles. The young man moaned softly into her kiss as he moved forward, sliding his taut leg against hers and dancing her slowly towards the bed. A waltz la Eros; a dance of wicked intent and soul-drenching ecstasy. He wanted to see her completely exposed; draw his vision along the length of her leg, across her thighs, and memorize every line of her form.

Strong fingers loosened the ties at her waist and pushed her skirts over silken hips. His lips trailed across the curve of her neck, flicking across the tender curve of her shoulder. As he pushed her skirts down further, his mouth sought out the nipple that had been neglected, pulling it into his lips and lightly drawing teeth across its length, before capturing it once again and swirling a firm tongue around its peak. The hardened flesh aroused him more, and he imagined how she might have swollen with desire below, her inner labia plumping in slick need.

He had to slow his cadence or risk disappointing her. And himself.

As he stood, gradually moving along her body with his hands, and sliding one between her thighs, he ended his leg between hers to ease them apart. The bed was behind them now, a half-step before they would meet its soft embrace. Jacoby stood fully, his fingers splaying near her sex, sliding across her outer lips before parting them to his touch. He held the woman’s gaze, his own eyes growing dark and lustful, as the lightly calloused tip of his finger eased between her valley, sought out the hardened bud, and then slid further into the velvety channel that guarded her entrance. He groaned softly and withdrew his hand, then used his other to push her towards the bed. “Now bed,” he said, holding her gaze as he brought the moistened tips of his fingers to his lips to taste her, drawing his lips across the length and smiling.

~ * ~​


“Be silent!” the knight snarled, curling his fingertips slightly to brush against her nether lips. His left hand grabbed her furthest shoulder, holding it still, as his forearm banded across her shoulder blades to pin the woman down. The shock on her face as she had tried to free herself was delectable; the wide eyed look of disbelief, combined with the small gap between her lips as she drew in a breath, lit his flame and convinced the Golden Knight that she had never before been properly addressed.

“Naughty brats get punished,” he growled, firming his fingers flat against her heat. He tapped his fingertips lightly against her sex, then found her peak and softly stroked across its tip, before sliding across her virgin entrance and circling its gates, he continued. “Good girls get rewarded. But you’re not a good girl, are you?” His hand slid away from the heat of her honey pot and covered the swell of her ass. Then he smacked her apple once again. “No, you’re not.” He confirmed, giving her two more smacks, near enough to her leg to brush suggestively over her sex, then roughly drawing her undergarments over her bare bottom. “There,” he said, not able to resist one more tap against the white frills.

He slid his arms around her and set her on her feet as he stood. The blond glanced at her dress as it hung, disheveled, about her legs. “Fix yourself,” he commanded. “You look a mess.”

Edwain rolled his jaw as he waited, hands on his hips as if he had been delayed much too long from more important business.

“Now,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Are you going to walk nicely and quietly back to your pavilion, or do I need to spank you again?”
 
He was hot to the touch and eager, jerking against the palm of her hand as it slid down the length of his rigid shaft. Her fingers glided, stroking the soft skin pulled taut over the hardened appendage. She ran her hand all the way down, feeling the inches, and cupped the sack of his scrotum, massaging him in her hand before she stroked him right back up and gripped him more firmly just underneath the swell of his head, tenderly rolling back his foreskin so that her thumb could stroke along his sensitive tip, teasing.

She almost lost her motion as his own hands persisted with their own wanderings. Her nipple caught, Illeana’s breath lurched, her sound of pleasure a groan of pleasure as her nipple puckered between his fingers and she writhed like a flame against his insistent tease.

“So are you,” she insisted, free hand pushing the fabric of his breeches down past his hips so that he would have to step from them as they dropped. Her sea warrior had his own plans from there that forced her hand away from his cock and over her head as fabric slid over sensitive skin and cool air kissed her heated, naked flesh. Dark skinned like warm toffee greeted the soft glow of inside the tent. Illeana had a woman’s body, full and lush. Her breasts were full, peaked with wide, dusky areolas and darker nipples that strained in the air.

Her form was curved, sculpted by the dancer’s flaring hips and plump backside. Shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, her hands lifted back up, this time to tangle in the short crop of his hair, dragging him closer as his mouth covered hers again. Her nipples rasped against his bare chest and she surged forward again so that she felt the length of his cock press against her lower belly.

She teased him like this with her naked flesh and a wiggle of her hips as she helped him free her from the weight around her hips and the slinky flow of the skirt that slid down the pair of shapely legs until it hit the floor in a puddle. Grinning against his mouth, the gypsy woman pulled back, stepping from the pool of her own clothes and moved backwards with him until her ankles hit the pallet on the floor.

Her hands dropped again, curling against his shoulders when his head dropped, trailing heat across her skin and drawing her excitement up to the surface until even the dancer was near blind with lust, made that much sweeter and poignant when his mouth captured her puckered nipple and drew it deep. Her nails dug into his chest and her head tipped, long black hair flowing in waves as she uttered a moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure, chest arching against his mouth to push her nipple against his tongue and into the heat of his mouth.

The woman looked bereft when his mouth left her breath, her nipple puckered and tight, teased by wet and cold air. Her lips were parted, pouting, well kissed by now, and her eyes were black with mirrored desire as she looked up into his face. Her hands trailed back up, rougher now, gripping his hair and dragging his face down to hers. She nipped his lips before spearing her tongue between his lips, moaning needily into his mouth. Her knees shook, thighs parting as his fingers searched and found her wet and hot underneath the trimmed thatch of hair between her legs. More than just a little, she left his fingers coated with her juices. Aroused, her clit pulsed just underneath the hood of her cleft. The woman that clung to him jerked her hips with his contact, thighs trembling as she rocked against his touch and pulled at his lower lip with her teeth one last time.

Wicked intent was written across her face as, instead of just falling back into her pillows and blankets, she sunk down to her knees in front of him. Her dark eyes watched him, delectable smile curving her lips while her palms massaged up his muscular thighs. Lips parting, she covered the head of his cock with that luscious mouth, pulling his tip into her mouth, her tongue a devil’s thing as it flicked across the tip, then dragged down the sensitive front, up and down, teasing him at first so that her hands could catch up. One grasped his shafts, squeezing then stroking, while her other teased the base.


~~~

Maira startled in response to his snarl, her shocked gasp turning into a desperate noise like a plea she couldn’t quite form into words. Like a snake, she tried to twist away from his hand that moved between her legs, stroking through the soft, fire red curls that adorned her outer lips and mound of her sex. Her face flamed in humiliation when he touched her there, like that, and all she could do was try and close her thighs over his hand as he pet and stroked her.

Her red hot cheek pressed into his thigh as she turned her face to smother the moan and hitched breath as his finger coaxed her body, pleasure snaking through her lower abdomen despite her aching ass that was still arched in the air. The tingle between her legs fast moved to an aching pulse, wetting his fingers and swelling the nub of pleasure that he stroked. Maira gasped, her breathing shallow, then his touch was gone, replaced by another cracking smack of his hand that caught her off guard.

She cried out this time, her bottom jiggling under the force of his palm. Her hips arched forward to try and get away from the next slap, but the move only rubbed friction between her legs, and she was already agitated in a way she wasn’t sure she liked. Especially from the man that was beating her as he was.

She had tears in her eyes when she was jerked, trembling, back to her feet with her under garments jerked too far up her bottom so that she felt the hot sting where his hand had laid into her rump and the wet between her legs more acutely. Her legs wobbled underneath her as her face struggled to figure out if she wanted to cry or rage. The rest of her decided for her as her shaking hands smoothed down the skirts of her dress and pushed her hair from her face, which burned cherry red.

Her mouth opened at him, then shut again, her face open confusion, fury, embarrassment, and the remnants of frustrated desire. Then, unevenly, she pushed past him, her feet fast moving away from the knight. Not quite a run, but she did not want to look at him either.

But at least he had shut her up for the time being.
 
He shivered as her skin brushed his, flesh upon flesh, completely exposed. His attention was completely focused on this woman; every touch of her fingertips, every ridge of her lips. As she pulled his head towards her, her fingers grasping at his scalp, he completely lost himself in her probing kiss. He matched her moan deep in his chest, feeling her need pouring into his own. He boldly touched her body, memorizing every curve and niche of her dancer’s form. His fingers touched her roughly in their eagerness, delighting in the brazen woman at his side. And when he touched her in her most intimate of places he was delighted to find her warm, and slick, her tender flesh quivering at his touch. Her sex drew him in as eagerly as her lips pulled at his own, and he wanted nothing more than to explore and taste the gift he had been given all night through.

The man panted as her teeth pulled across his lip, then as she slowly began to lower herself before him. His young gaze turned curious, unsure of her intent, until her hands moved against his thighs. He drew in a breath at how near she was to where he needed her to touch, teasing him but causing him to wait. His hands moved to draw the dark veil of her hair from her eyes, laying it across her back and shoulder.

“Oh!…Gods,” he groaned at that first soft, warm embrace of her lips. His balance swayed a moment as the entire world shifted beneath his feet. Unbelieving, yet unwilling for her to stop, bright brown eyes watched the wicked gaze of his siren. As her plump lips moved over the sensitive tip of his glans, he moaned again, this time as the breath left his lungs. Her tongue slid across the corona, and then her hands, so skilled, began to move over his shaft delightfully. Her slim fingers worked to cover his length and he thought, if he received no other gift from her, this might be enough.

His hands laced through her hair, providing purchase as he gripped her strands and strained his neck; head thrown back in sublime pleasure. He breathed deeply, mouth parted to draw in each calming lung, and let himself drown for a moment in her touch.

There were more mysteries to explore. He wanted to feel her legs around him, to feel her slim, strong hands pulling him deeper into her body. He let his head fall forwards, his hands slowly easing from her hair, as he urged her to slink up the length of his body. His strong hands lifted her beneath her ribs, pulling her legs to wrap around his hips as he edged closer to her bed, his hands moving beneath her plush bottom to support her weight.

He captured her lips in his kiss, exploring the mouth that had given him so much pleasure. The tip of his tongue traced the line of her teeth, then slid along her tongue to tease. His mouth kissed greedily; aggressively, and with the abandon of one who had youth on his side.

He edged one knee upon the bed, shifting their weight over it, and then leaned her forward as he continued to explore her mouth. As her hips touched the bed his lips moved away from hers to travel down the length of her neck, flicking across the curve, then dancing across the hollow. His other knee joined the first, parting her thighs and pressing against the heat of her sex. He bent over her body, supporting his weight on his hands as he began to trail his mouth down her breast.



~ * ~​

Maira seemed to have received his missive. And though she started to speak, she closed her mouth and pushed away, walking in the direction of the pavillions. Ser Edwain followed a pace behind. He was content at least that she was quiet; he found it unnecessary to demand she answer him with her words, though quite honestly, a ‘yes Ser’ would have been appreciated. As he walked behind her, he noticed the way her skirts hung, semi-askew, and her hair was disarrayed. Strands of golden fire wisped from her temper-filled head, looking like a light show against the dark-lit sky. She was fireworks plenty for whomever would eventually be in her life, and he vowed once again to himself to ensure it didn’t fall to him.

‘Perhaps…Ricard,’ he thought. He remembered the way the knight had looked at her at dinner, and the crestfallen way his chest had sunk when Maira had asked Edwain to accompany her. The Dark Knight had always thought himself quite the catch, and apparently, so did most women. There was nary a time they had ridden together that the raven-haired man had been without a woman to warm his bed.

Edwain’s attention fell to Maira once more as they turned the corner and came upon a line of lanterns along the way, lighting their features more clearly. Anyone might look at her flushed cheeks and think that she had spent a randy evening in the arms of a lover instead of with the stalwart knight. ‘And perhaps that is where she will wind up tonight,’ he thought. She seemed to like excitement and fireworks and trying different things. No doubt there were several in the Romani camp who wouldn’t think twice about taking the lady to bed, even if they had to keep her maidenhead intact.

As they left the center of the fair behind, the voices and laughter began to still, and soon they were walking between the palatial pavilions of the senior knights. Edwain began to walk beside Maira, allowing her he dignity of being escorted. Knights and squires were more relevant here, some sitting around large bonfires and sharing stories of heroism.

The Golden Knight nodded to several as they acknowledged his passing. Some cast glances at Maira, hoping to catch the eye of the General Knight’s daughter.
 
Sienna had finished her brief shower in peace, just as she had planned, and had a smug smile on her face as she shut off the pump that allowed for the spray and dried herself off with one of the towels folded nearby. Wrapping it around herself, she stepped off the platform and gathered her dirty clothes to tiptoe off to the tent where she was staying, careful not to be seen. She only allowed a brief glance down the long line of them to where she knew Illeana slept and let her smile grow into a grin of delight as a thrill went through her that she had managed to get away with her deed.

She also reminded herself to thank the Romani the next day for distracting her newfound friend.

Though as her thoughts roamed back to the knight, her footfalls slowed and color heated her cheeks. Self-conscious, she scurried even faster until she could dip underneath the sealed flap of her tent and into the small space she was calling her own during her stay here. Smaller than Illeana’s, Sienna could not stand upright, but her bedrolls were soft and she had a change of clothes that were clean that she could slip into. Leaving the towel and the rest of her garments in a corner, she slid into a clean tunic, groaning her relief that her torso was no longer bound tight and the crisp fabric slid over naked skin. A pair of tights followed; she would save her small clothes for tomorrow, when she needed to bind and pad herself up again for her ploy in being a man for the tournament.

No doubt she had just made things awkward for the both of them come the morrow, and idly, she wondered if Ricard had returned to the Romani woman with a stab of both shame and jealousy that had her flopping onto her side and burrowing underneath her blankets, eyes squeezing shut as she tried to shut off thoughts of the knight’s devious grin from her mind’s meanderings.

~~~

Illeana appreciated how enthusiastic her young seaman was; the delight was written in the dark sparkle of her eyes as long lashes acted like a veil over her gaze, sultry as she watched his face slacken with pleasure. She growled as his hands slid into her hair, the vibrations kicking off the tease of her tongue as her mouth lowered, pulling him deeper into her mouth. She could feel his pulse throbbing as her lips pushed down, dragging across the hard ridges of his shaft with agonizing slowness until he was inches deep inside her mouth and kept going.

When her lips cradled him to the very root of his shaft, she finally closed her eyes, the suction of her mouth dragging at him as her tongue plied its sin against the tip of him, stroking up and down, before she pulled her mouth back up the length of him, her hand following with its form grip to stroke him up. She repeated this, gaining friction and enthusiasm, and thought she would even be able to finish him this way with how eagerly he jerked and moaned.

Only his hands uncurled from her hair when she had slid her lips all the way down his length, his insistent tug distracting her from her play. Dark eyes slid back up to his face and she held him in her mouth a few beats longer, then with a wicked look, pushed her mouth even further over him and massaged his base with her wicked pair of lips before she began her rise, tongue teasing up his length until his head popped from between her lips.

The length of her body slid up his, soft against his firm, until her arms snaked around his neck and plucked at the small hairs there. Urging him forward, she nuzzled her mouth against the shell of his ear and murmured, “You do not have to stop me, you are delicious, and I do not mind.”

He had his own ideas, though. Feeling herself lift in his grasp, she gasped out loud and tightened her embrace around his neck and pulled herself up like she might climb his form. Curvaceous legs, toned with muscles, wrapped around hips hips and clung there even as he pulled them both down onto the bedroll.

Her body rolled up to meet his, soft breasts pressing into his chest to tease the peaks of her nipples that sent a shock of pleasure through her, hard enough that her hips bucked and the heat of her sex teased against the throb of his erection. He was already wet from her mouth and she wet from his attention. Illeana used the hungry grab of his mouth to plunder his, lips parting and tongue tangling with his. Her breath mingled with his, lips pressing forward again when he drew, making a little noise of protest that evolved into a full bodied moan when she learned just where his lips took him.

It was her face that bled lust as her hair fanned out around her and her head slid to the side, cheek nuzzled against one of the blankets while her hands grasped in his hair and full lips parted in a shuddering gasp that traveled the length of her body pinned underneath him. Thighs spread around his hips, one ankle dug into his upper thigh to press him forward where his thigh had nudged between her legs and pressed against molten heat. Instinct had her pressing up against the pressure, nether lips parting to apply desperate friction against the swollen nub of her clit.

Her breath was ragged by the time his mouth found the curve of her breast. Groaning her frustration, her eager nipple pushed up, dragging against the side of his face as anticipation clenched her and she wiggled again, grinding herself against his encroaching thigh. Her head turned again, neck dipping down to nip at the edge of his ear, “Please, you can take me..”

~~~

Maira was too stunned to look at him even though she knew that he was following on her heels. She could barely see the ground in front of her and could no longer hear anything but her own pulse thundering in her ears as her strides quickened and she made ground back to the knights’ encampment faster than she would have otherwise. She had the sting of her behind to remind her as well, for every time her foot landed on an uneven patch of ground, a tug of pain elicited a tingle between her thighs as a reminder.

Her face jerked away when she caught him in her line of sight when he came up alongside her, throat swelling as she struggled to hold back tears.

Until she couldn’t any longer, but by then she saw her own private pavilion. Hiccuping, she stumbled the last steps before she gasped out loud, her body doing a full shudder. She turned on the blonde knight then, tears blurring her green eyes, but the outrage and embarrassment was clear on her face.

“Why did you do that? Touch me like that?” Her words were not as sharp as she would have liked, but instead were contorted by the fact that she was still fighting the flow of tears that were already spilling from her eyes down her cheeks. “I… I don’t…” she sniffed hard, swiped her hand across her face and straightened. “You did not have to come, Ser Edwain. You did not have to do any of that. You could have left me be, what could be my last night of freedom, instead of us both being miserable. So why…”

She still couldn’t decide if she were more angry or more upset. Her eyes left him and wandered, her face falling into something more lost than anything, “Not that you would care, nor would you understand. You are a man; you can do as you will. How do I know that who my father just gives me away to … like I’m a thing … will be good?”

This had always been coming. He had just pushed her over the edge sooner than later. Her hands rose, covering her eyes that were turning red with the tears, her shoulders slumping forward. “So I wanted to see… how everyone else could live life. And you did not have to come, Ser Edwain.”

She managed to get the last out with more spine as she straightened again and met his stare one last time, “So I hope that you enjoyed yourself. Now, go away.”

With that, Maira turned, tugging at the flap of her tent with trembling fingers, and made to duck inside.
 
Her legs wrapped around him, eagerly pulling the young knight-candidate closer, and he relished each tremor of her body and moan that escaped her lips. He felt invincible in her arms, as if there was nothing out of reach. His lips and tongue lingered across her body, tasting the delicious salt of her skin and the remembrance of the scented oils and lotions she had rubbed into her tawny skin that morning. He envied the lotions that touched every part of her body and sought to taste as much of this temptress as he could.

His hard hands trailed possessively over her curves, pressing her skin underneath calloused palms. He took her nipple into his mouth, suckling the tight, puckered sides, and pulling at her hardened peaks with the gentle drag of his teeth. His hand moved down to squeeze the sides of her breast, feeding her flesh into his lustful mouth.

The grind of her warm, moist sex against his thigh made him ache between their bodies, his hardened rod pressed between their writhing flesh. As he taunted one breast, the other nipple pulled at his cheek and stubble, begging for his attention.

He heard her ragged voice begging him to take her, and he chuckled in his chest as he moved his head away from her nipple to blow softly across its wettened peak. “So eager,” he purred, then nipped softly at her other breast before sliding up her body to hover over her mouth, a breath away from her lips. He brought his other leg between hers, nudging her legs apart and sliding the length of his shaft across her warm, wet nethermost lips.

His thickened girth parted her and slid between her labia, rubbing against her swollen clit as he teased her with his shaft, slowly grinding his length along her valley. His sacs, heavy with need, bounced against her twin entrances with each forward thrust.

He met her mouth with his, seizing her kiss and invading her mouth as his tongue slid in, parting her teeth to allow himself full engagement with her delightful lingam. As he did, he pulled his hips back further and canted them, tracing his glans across the V of her sex until he met the engorged, moist swell of her canal. His hand moved to her arm, then slid along them to find her wrists. Capturing them, he pressed her to the bed as he plunged himself fully into the wanton Romani beneath him, hilting himself until the tuft of his ginger fur pressed against her wet exposed nub.

He held himself there for a moment, groaning in the pleasure of being fully encased, before slowly sliding back, drawing against the vacuum of her body, and then thrusting himself into her once again. His speed gradually increased, and he let first one hand free, then the other, as his own curled against her shoulders to pull her against his body.

~ * ~​

The whirl of red hair and tear-filled eyes should have been followed by a slap. Ser Edwain expected it. But a slap did not come. Instead, she assaulted him with accusations and tears.

Tears; the woman’s most dangerous weapon.

Did she mean the spanking or the stroking? The golden-haired knight could not tell. “What do you mean, I did not have to come? I had to, Lady. You asked me in front of your father!”

‘And in front of mine,’ he added internally. “I agreed to escort you to your Pavilion. You could have released me by obediently going there and letting us go our separate ways, but you didn’t.” His eyes narrowed. “I am not to blame for the disruption of your plans.” He clenched his jaw. ‘But you are to blame for the disruption of mine,’ he thought.

Then she said that because he was a man he could not understand. She was a ‘thing’, and according to the red headed brat, men could do anything they desired. The knight put his hands on his hips as he listened, his expression one step away from rolling his eyes at her drama. He shook his head as she insisted that he did not have to come… again.

“No,” he said, reaching out and taking her by the arm as she went to enter her tent. He drew her back to face him, unwilling to let her accusations go unchecked. “You don’t get to have your warped sense of reality without considering what others are going through,” he told her. He forcefully moved her away from the tent flap and lowered his voice.

“Do you think every man on that field is hoping to win your hand?” He didn’t give her time to reply. “No. They are not. When your father decided to make you the prize of the tournament, he neglected to think of the men who would be competing. Some of those men are married. Others have no desire to be married, and certainly not to you.

“So before you go and play your ‘pity me’ games, Maira, consider how the men feel who are considering their fates at the end of the tournament. Your father is not giving anyone a ‘gift’. He’s passing his burden to another man; an innocent man, who will be saddled with the Flaming Bitch of Meridan as his wife.

“Whether your husband is a good man or a cruel man, he is innocent of your father’s plans. And had you been less of a brat all these years, you might have had a chance to pick the man you will torment. So think on this; if you want a good husband, be the kind of woman who deserves one. Otherwise, get used to what you received tonight. It was much less than you deserved.” He sneered at her. “You should be so lucky to get someone like Ser Ricard as your husband. He worships you, the fool. Try treating him nicer when you see him, instead of acting like he’s last week’s garbage.”
 
Just like that, he had her. There was a look on her face that held an echo of pleased surprise at how ravenous he was. Her head had rolled back, lids heavy as she watched his heady appreciation of tongue and lips as they roved down, then down, until her breasts were rising to greet the kiss of his mouth with their dark areolas and darker, peaked nipples. It was erotic for her, watching him like this, the deep throated moan that she sang to the air part stimulus and part just the watching of him. She felt the stab of pleasure between her legs, swelling her nether regions, making her clit pulse and core clench as the flame of desire was stroked higher and honey coated his skin where she bucked against him, rubbing herself in want. She eventually rolled her head back, dragging her lips between her teeth and groaning as his teeth teased and his mouth sucked, her fingers scrambling to pull him down roughly against what he tormented so with his mouth.

It was almost cruel when he pulled back, pebbling the aching peak with his breath, and only teasing the other with the graze of his teeth before he slid the length of his body up her own. She reveled in this; the way she was all softness underneath him and he a burgeoning sculpt of muscle and masculinity.

Illeana’s breath rasped in needy pants, her dark eyes wild with shared lust. Her lips curled as her eyes wandered his face and her hands wandered down, nails scraping his broad shoulders and down the broad stroke of his back, gripping him as her thighs spread wide on either side of her, parting the lips between her thighs like a slick bloom that opened her up to the throb of the cock he slid against her.

“Yess…” she hissed out, mouth grasping at the edge of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, tasting his cleaned skin that still tasted vaguely of the sea. Her hips undulated like she might dance underneath him, coating the length of him with her body’s nectar as he teased the blunt head of himself against her clit, teasing.

She lost any control that she might have still had with the moan he stole from her mouth when his mouth covered hers again. Her voice was muffled by the invasion of his tongue, which she met with the full force of her own. Mouth canted, she parted her lips wide to accept him, her own a ravenous force that wanted to devour him. Her fingers curled at her sides where his strong hands pinned them and the woman writhed in her excitement, breath catching in ragged pants, until he pushed himself inside her, all of his inches, until he was hilted and throbbing deep inside her.

She felt her own pulse between her legs, an ache that only flared into an almost painful pleasure as he stretched out her walls with his girth and ground himself deep. Her walls contracted, clutching around him like a hot glove, and her legs wound around his hips to hold him inside her even as his hips withdrew and he pulled against her walls enough to have her shuddering and arching into his withdrawal.

Her lips pulled away from his first, teeth edging against his shoulder as she lowered her head and groaned against his flesh. Her dancer’s hips rolled and gyrated, helping him find a rhythm that added a sweetness to the pulsing ache, a needed friction to their staccato.


~~~

Maira did not want to listen to him. She had too much emotion roiling around inside herself to appreciate the cruelly struck words like a slap in the face. Her arm jerked in his grasp as he moved to stop her, but her head was angled down, not looking at him.

“I thought I might have enjoyed your company,” she admitted, sullen, realizing that she sounded childish even to her own ears. “And perhaps you would enjoy mine, if I pushed.” Through blurred tears, she sharpened her gaze and chanced a look at his own. “I was mistaken,” she bit back, jerking her arm again to reclaim it as her own, cradling the appendage close to her chest.

The more he spoke, however, the more she flinched away from him, until her entire face fell in a crestfallen, ashamed way. Especially when he threw his new founded title her way, Flaming Bitch of Meridan. That brought a fresh sting of red to her cheeks, but also tightened her chest until the breath was forced out of her lungs in a strangled gasp.

She stood stunned for a long moment, fighting with her own grasp of reality, then turned away from him, voice shaking, “Please leave me be. I will speak with my Father, and see if he sees it your way, Ser Edwain. But I would suggest making your case on the Flaming Bitch of Meridan to him and not I, as he may very well be the only man who does not see me as a pile of waste. I never wished for a husband, and knowing that this is your true opinion, I know why. Now go away. I wish that I would not have to see you again,” she said, voice quiet, cracking.

She took another step back towards her tent, hands absently through the long mane of hair.
 
Her soft hiss of desire and the writhing of her hips drew him tight into her body. He felt the slick lust of her body coating his shaft, easing the push into her swollen, warm embrace. The flats of her inner thighs spread for him, wanton and bold, her heels dug into his hips and pulled him into her, and as she eagerly milked him with her body, the delight of her teeth against his shoulder contrasting pleasure and pain edged a moan from his lips. He clenched his torso, driving into the dark Romani to match her lover’s dance.

Their cadence undulated like the tides. Rushing in like a storm and pummeling against her shores until the battlements might break, then soft and gentle like a new moon’s tide, to sooth away the flame. He hiked her leg higher about his hips, driving his flesh as deeply as possible, holding his thick mushroom head against her womb’s engorged gate, until he could wait no more.

He pulled against her strong legs and hands, wanting to press himself between their bodies to spill his seed, desiring the heat and pressure, but not the child.

~ * ~​

Damn her tears. Damn the twisting of his words; he did not say that she was waste, but that she was wasteful, and all the words on Ser Ricard’s behalf had fallen on deaf ears. And as she turned away, her voice seemed to sound the defeat he sensed in her heart, she suggested he speak to her father. Her quiet words, reflecting the title he had given her, seemed that much sharper because of the gentle way it was said.

It was in that moment that Ser Edwain wondered if he was more like his grandfather than he wanted to be. “Maira, wait.” He moved to intercept her once again, but this time his voice was gentle. He plucked a strand of straw from her sunset hair and placed a hand upon her arm. “I don’t mean to be cruel to you – but honest. We’re all pawns. All of us. Don’t hate another pawn because of the hand that moves the pieces.”

He stepped nearer and cupped her jaw upon his palm. Rough, hilt-worn hands brushed across her flawless skin. “Maybe the next time you see me, your tears will be happy ones instead of sad.” He chuckled. “Say… when I’ve been knocked off my horse in the joust, perhaps.” He eyes demanded hers for a moment, searching to see if she understood. “You really should give Ser Ricard more than a passing glance.” Then, with a slight bow of his head, he turned to leave.

Ten minutes later as Sir Edwain strolled through the darkened paths between the tents, he spied a familiar form. “Your highness,” Edwain called out, hurrying his steps to meet the king. He bowed as was proper, before continuing. “Might I have a moment of your time?”
 
The Romani woman was no longer acting the part of a lover for him, but lost herself in the throes of her own design. Her hands grasped at him as she gasped underneath him, flushed face nuzzling against his shoulder as she kissed and nipped. Dark eyes closed as she rocked against him, her body eager to reach the threshold he was close. He would even feel her grip around him, her breath becoming more labored, her thighs tightening even as they quaked.

One hand slid between them as she groaned, her fingers trailing down to press against the hood of her sex. Leaning back and raising her hips to give him a better angle, two of her fingers dipped further, stroking her swollen clit that ached for her own release. Her other hand grasped against him as she whimpered, shuddering as she squirmed up against him and the pressure of her fingers both until her insides were gripping him feverishly.

“Nnnmm…. Not yet,” she pleaded, feeling him start to draw away. “Not yet, not yet,” she gasped urgently, her thighs clenching around him again as the motions of her fingers grew tighter, circling, urging her body’s release.

She came with another gasp that turned into a low groan, her hips bucking up to press hard against his pelvis, her fingers still working herself even as she ground herself against him, feeling his cock pulse inside her. Her insides spasming, gripping him all the more as her inner channel tried to hold him inside her, contracting and clenching as she rode out her own pleasure with her mouth on his shoulder and her dark hair strewn in her face, one leg hooked around his leg as she panted and gasped.

~~~


Her chest was still tight and her stomach sour when he called her name again. She fought against her instinct to brush him off and disappear inside her tent, but she also was not sure that he would not follow her inside. Squeezing her eyes shut to try and calm her nerves, she turned again to face him with her eyes bright from the tears she had shed and her mouth pinched, tight.

She flinched as his hand strayed to her hair to pluck the straw free and would not quite meet his stare, “What?” she snapped, then stiffened, her stomach tightening with panic. She quickly moved to cover the sharp tone of her voice by gentling it, “What is it, Ser Edwain?”

She actually flinched away from his hand when he reached out and cupped her jaw. Stiffening all the more, she raised her eyes back up to his, seeing a flicker of the kindness she had seen at the tournament return. For a shocking moment, Maira wanted to enjoy the moment, until a more brooding thought came to mind.

No doubt that he was afraid that she would be running to her father with accusations on what occurred that night and he was trying to shield his true demeanor with this false, kind one. Fear squeezed in her belly as her curious eyes turned skeptical again.

“Please do not touch me again without my permission, Ser Edwain,” was her only reply to him, voice quavering but cold. She backed out of his touch, then before he could protest further, she ducked into her tent and zipped it up. Breath loosing in a shuddering fit, she scrambled over to her bed rolls, still fully dressed, and felt the tears well up in her eyes again until she was shaking with the sobs of her own pity.

~~~

Outside, full dark had claimed the grounds. Out here, the King was a tiger still locked in a cage, prowling restlessly. One would think that the responsibility of a king would come with more freedoms, more liberties; instead, it came with more burdens to shoulder and problems to solve. He wished that his son were here instead of he, a rightful ruler, instead of broken and cared for in a castle. Selfishly, he even wished that his grandson were ready to take up the mantle of this burden so that he might return to his studies instead of appearing like some sort of false idol before the masses.

While his guards held back to give the illusion of privacy, Locke knew that they were there. His meanderings were not private, just like the rest of his life; he had acknowledged that years ago and accepted his responsibility without pause, but without any joy in it either. He had wed for the betterment of his own northern kingdom and his son after him as well. And now he was out here searching for the girl child that he had sent away, so that she would not know her own secrets.

Of everything that the Sight saw, he should have seen this one himself. That she would return seeking her true heritage instead of the false one he had sent her to find.

Only the reminiscing caught him off guard tonight as the familiar voice called out and jerked Locke’s head to the side to seek the source. Surprise, then amusement, danced and faded across the man’s face as he looked at the Crown Prince in the guise of a fellow knight. He knew, of course, and understood why the boy did what he did.

Although there was nothing amusing about the look on Syrus’ face.

“Ser Edwain,” the man replied, with a cocked brow and hidden smile, before gesturing for him to join him on his stroll. “You are always welcome to my time, you know this. How can I be of assistance?”
 
The determined press of her hands between their bodies made his body twitch. The new sensation of her digits brushing against him as she rubbed her swollen flesh and touched him as well was unexpected; and her soft plea of ‘Not yet, not yet,’ echoed in his ears as he rejoined with her body and thrust again. He pressed into her hips, grinding with the rhythm of her eager hand.

His mouth latched onto her neck, tongue stroked her skin, as he tasted her. He feasted upon the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder, then he moved to whisper in her ear. “Take what you need,” he said, his breath caressing the small hairs near her neck. “Take it,” he repeated, thrusting into her, gritting his teeth as he tried to avoid thinking about her hands, her hips, her lips.

Her leg hooked around the back of his, locking him into place, and as he felt her body pulsing around his, the flutter of her pleasure rippling along his shaft, he brought his mouth back to hers, capturing it, and sliding his tongue within to swirl against her lips until it opened to receive him.

And as he thrust himself inside her once more, feeling her walls slicken with her release, he pulled himself out violently to spill across her belly.

With a groan he collapsed on her. His energy completely spent with waiting, with holding back, and then with the hot release of his seed. He panted as he was suddenly aware of the pounding of his heart and the raggedness of his breath. Then, slowly, he rolled to the side and let out a low chuckle of pleasure.

“Illeana,” he breathed, “that… was wonderful.” He folded an arm across his forehead, staring at the ceiling of her tent. Yes… he certainly owed Fritz for his introductions. He had to find a way to repay him.

~ * ~​

Edwain fell in step with the king, finding his spot to the man’s left and slightly behind him. “Thank you, My Liege,” he said, trying to find the words now that he had this unexpected opportunity. “I need your advice, and… to ask a favor, if I may.”

His eyes flickered to his grandfather. It still surprised him to see the man so unchanged. Already, the Crown Prince Victor was beginning to look as old as the king, and soon their roles would appear reversed. He wondered if King Locke tired of being locked into his role, if his name was an ironic testimony to his destiny.

“I… found myself being cruel tonight. Needlessly so. I always prided myself on being kind, and fair… practicing for the day when diplomacy and politics will take a greater role in my life.”

He sighed, his heart clenching. “I didn’t like myself when I did that. And yet… I did. It… was like there was a darkness that seeped out. Something that had been there all along but had been hiding.” He placed his left hand upon his heart. “Is this something…” he lowered his voice. “Is this something that runs in my bloodline?” Or, he feared, was it simply something in him?
 
Illeana’s head was tossed back by the time his mouth met her neck, breasts thrust up and nipples peaked, moving right along with the motions of her body that writhed in its rapture underneath her. Moaning, she only moved her arm to lock around his neck as his mouth then moved to cover her own, the vibrations of her voice only trapped inside his greedy kiss.

Her insides were still pulsing when he pulled free of her body’s embrace, her abdomen tensing as she felt the hot spill of his semen across her caramel skin, soon cooled by the air around them. Panting and head floating from release, her slick digits captured his hips, smearing her juices on his skin as she held onto him until he disengaged himself from the tangle of their limbs and rolled to the side.

Her smile was brief, but knowing, as her own liquefied limbs pulled her back into a sitting position and she rose up from her bedrolls to find a dirty garment to wipe his leavings with before she returned to the bed, tugging at the edge of a blanket and using it to wrap over her shoulders as she settled back down beside him. She covered them both and shifted closer to him, one leg falling over his as her cheek came to rest on his shoulder.

“You should be able to sleep easier now, yes?” she murmured, her eyes already closing. He was but a temporary affixation in her bed and on her mind, yet she was cuddling up with him like he was something familiar and not just a stranger she had dragged back to her tent, and was nonplussed by her own affections toward him. “So you are friends with the mountain girl? Not lovers?”

The Romani’s voice was husky, relaxed, and she paid no mind to the words that fell from her lips as she reached down and tugged another blanket over them, covering their feet and legs.

~~~

Something slid into the King’s silvered stare as the Prince fell into step with him. Curiosity, perhaps. Even a little bit of uncertainty. It was not often that Syrus sought him out -- and especially not for council. Locke even knew that the younger man despised him, in a way, and he even understood why. It was likely his fey nature that he left it be, though the human side wanted to reach out with more warmth than he had throughout the boy’s life.

While not overtly noticeable, age was starting to creep into Locke’s face in subtle ways. The sandy dark of his hair had more silver and grey than it did anything else, which only cast him in a more regal light. Then there were the fine lines around his eyes, in his forehead, the creases around his lips. But he no more looked like an old man than a man in his prime.

When Syrus began to speak, though, Locke paused to the point of stopping and turned to look at the younger man with open interest and consideration.

“Have you stopped consider why you thought yourself cruel tonight?” The question was posed simply, with no intent behind it. Then the man was strolling again, though at a slower pace than before. “That nature is only human, Syrus. It is emotion and while unsavory, it is best to feel it than nothing at all.

Locke almost paused again with the last question. His brows shot up, surprise flickering across the face that was all too clever at hiding its emotion, “I do not believe that it is blood, human or otherwise, that creates distemperment. Do you think that you have a blemish in your mental state? The mind is capable of twisting realities…”

He trailed off from his own train of thought, frowned, then eased his features into something more neutral, before asking, “What is it that you think that you did that has you thinking like this?”
 
The woman rubbed her body against his, covering them in the fragrance of their sex and making a playful, slick after play from their mutual pleasure. The young seaman watched the exotic tanned woman rise from the bed to fetch them a garment, though she only used it to wipe herself. Still, he was satisfied to stick to his clothing or anything else she wanted after the rousing romp she gifted him with.

His gaze danced over the curve of her hips and back, swirled around the perfect orbs of her ass, and when she returned to her bed, touched upon her dark inviting breasts before returning to her face. She was lush and exotic, and he felt like he had just cashed in on a king’s treasure to be spending the night with her. Yes… he would have to thank Fritz for introducing them.

Not that Jacoby fancied this would lead to anything else. For one thing, she probably surpassed him by a handful of years, and for another, a woman like her was too wild to be shackled to just one man. Besides, he had seen the Romani men; they were strapping, dark, muscled and lean – she had her pick of any of these roaming princes for her bed on any night.

He welcomed her into the bed with open arms, folding one around her shoulders as she rested her head upon his chest. “Oh… yes,” he said, “I will sleep much, much easier now. So much…” he smiled softly as he nuzzled into her fragrant thick hair. As his temporary lover relaxed against his body, her lean warm leg hooking over his own, he let out a soft hum at her question. “The one who told you about me?” he asked softly. “Thick long hair, crazy dark eyes, and small enough to fit in a barrel? Is that the person you mean? Fritz?”

The knight candidate peered down across his cheeks and watched the woman’s lips as they spoke. “We’re just friends. Kind of?” He chuckled. “We just met today.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he wondered why Illeana would think that he and Fritz were lovers. Then he recalled her words. “They call Fritz the mountain girl?”

~ * ~​

The king paused, and Syrus paused with him. His grandfather’s question caught him unprepared. Then they began walking again, and the king’s guards, shadows always present, followed. The younger man frowned in thought as he was told that feeling unnecessarily cruel was better than feeling nothing at all. He supposed that made sense; he’d watched his grandfather face difficult court situations with no passion in his eyes, as if the things of men meant nothing to him.

Then the question was parried back to him, and a question asked about his mental state. Twisted realities was something the young prince remembered from his classes in rhetoric and logic, and then when King Locke asked him why he thought he was cruel, the prince took a moment to form his words.

They strolled further through the darkened tents. The sounds of merrymaking died out to make way for the sounds of camp, eerily like a battlefield, and yet soothing in its familiarity.

“I didn’t think I was being cruel, at first. I… was giving someone honest, frank feedback and advice. And… discipline.” He pressed the hard line of his lips together, tightening his jaw. “I don’t think this person had ever been told ‘no’ in her life. She was… obnoxious. Inconsiderate. And irritating.” His hands clenched just thinking about her. “But then she… made me feel like I was the one in the wrong. As if I should just accept unladylike behavior and the way she treated my friend. And the way she treated me, I suppose. I had things to do; if she would have just gone to her tent like she was supposed to, that would have been the end of it. She could have sneaked out; had what she wanted, without drawing me and my promise to escort her into her night of seeing how everyone else lived.” His words came out in a jumble of emotion and frustration; a vomit of the heart.

His face scrunched up in frustration. “And then she cried, and I felt like I was the worst scoundrel that ever drew breath,” he confessed. His hand went to his chest, as if he could pull the emotion from himself and throw it on the ground. “I hated myself for being the reason she cried, even though I care nothing for the woman. She means nothing to me aside from being one of our realm.” He shook his head, blond hair falling across his eyes. “How is it I can both despise someone, and feel compassion at the same time?”

He looked at his grandfather, the confusion evident in his sterling blue eyes. “I wanted to hold and comfort this woman I don’t like, and at the same time, I wanted to spank her again for her insolent selfishness.”
 
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