Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (23 page)

"So perfect." His words floated into the shadows.

Lyssia had no answer for him. She was impatient now. She began to scratch and tear at the fastenings of his clothing. His chuckle at her haste was little more than a barked exhale. She took little more care over the fate of his garments than he had taken over hers, casting them aside as soon as the impediments were removed. The planes of etched muscle that she revealed were moonpale, and marred by scars and bruises that she hadn't been expecting to see. She had arrived in this country under the allowance of this king, had been bought by him, had been kept by him, had relinquished her blood to him, and been rescued by him. He had an aura of power, of omnipotence, so the evidence that he could and had been harmed shocked her to her core. She traced the silvery lines that crossed his chest, ribs, and stomach. She didn't dare touch the evidence of the hit that Girogis had scored during the joust, it looked to fresh and sore. When she glanced up, Kavrazel was all wry amusement, and she realised that she had been thoroughly distracted from her mission to get him naked. Reminded of her aim, she set about achieving it.

Eventually the king stood before her, naked, but in no way vulnerable. His cock was standing as tall and proud as he, bobbing impatiently, as if begging for the attentions which she would happily bestow. The skin of Kavrazel's body was pale to the point of being almost translucent, with an eerie blue cast. His shaft was flushed and rosy red at the head, crowned with a clear liquid jewel. Her mouth watered.

Lyssia drew her fingertip through the crystal, earning a sound between a grunt and a gasp. She brought her finger to her lips and licked it, smiling at the tang of salt. Kavrazel was trying to speak, but his words were stuck in his throat. Before he could voice whatever inconsequential thought he was trying to articulate, Lyssia dropped to her knees before him. She looked up at him, her king, and did not feel abased, even though he loomed over her. She did not feel afraid, she felt powerful, intoxicated with the control she owned. She took his cock in a firm grip, and licked the blushing head, melting to the taste of his intimate skin, to the musky scent of his body. Here and now, the king was utterly in her power, completely be-spelled. She opened her mouth and took as much of him as she could. She wanted to take more, wanted to feel and taste as much of him as possible, to own as much of him as possible.

She lifted her eyes to find orbs of icy fire blazing down at her.

Two strangled words made their way to freedom.
"I thought..."

She reluctantly released him with a parting lick to the underside of the crown that made his shaft jerk. "You thought what?"

"That you were... a... that you were untouched." His voice was pleasingly dry and hoarse.

Lyssia shrugged, not willing to explain the precise details of her history, nature and experience at this particular moment. "I suppose, mostly. I've been too long my own mistress to remain ignorant or innocent." She knew her returning gaze held fire of its own. "I'm no child. Don't treat me as one."

"I wouldn't dare." His gruff words preceded the bruising grip of his hands about her arms, as he lifted her and fairly tossed her onto the bed. She tried to right herself, after a fashion, but his body was there, caging her, pinning her. It was clear that his intent was not simply to take her. He grunted in an almost animal way as he laid kisses that were mostly nipping bites along her skin, over her belly and further, until he was settled between her thighs. His evident desperation thrilled her, but all those thoughts were drowned out by the surge of every drop of blood in her body as he licked along her aching core.

Such violently carnal contact after his earlier delicacy turned her bones molten and wrenched a scream from her, a sound that could likely be heard in the ballroom. The soft brush of the furs and pelts that she was lying on was too much, too overwhelming in conjunction with Kavrazel's mercilessly skilled attentions. His fingers were digging into her thighs in a vain attempt to keep her from twisting away from his lips and tongue and teeth, but that bruising strength only piqued her pleasure. It was too much, in the only way it could be, in the best way, in a way that she was sure she had never known before; and then the world flew apart into nothing more than the ecstasy of the king's mouth on her.

As her muscles still clenched and fluttered, he moved up and over her. The heat and weight of his body was beautifully oppressive, his scent - ginger mixed with some sharp fresh green herb - filled every sense. There was just enough of her mind left, just enough in the here and now, to make room for her to place her palm over his heart.

Although they were both gasping for hard fought breaths, Kavrazel stilled immediately at her touch. She wasn't sure how to tell him that while she was no innocent, the inevitability of what was about to happen was something she had never experienced. She knew she should tell him... but she couldn't. She told him another truth instead.

"I didn't want to love you. I didn't want to, but I do."

Kavrazel dropped his head, resting his forehead against hers as he fought to catch his breath. She could feel the pulsing thump of his heart against hers. She fought not to writhe against the searing shaft that waited impatiently atop her mound. The king lifted his head so that he could look in her eyes as he spoke. "I am yours, it has always been so, since the first moment I saw you. The world might see a king and a slave, but they are wrong, I see a queen, the queen that I love."

Lyssia wasn't aware that tears were falling from her eyes, until Kavrazel followed the path of one salty drop with his tongue, and spoke, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Take hold of me," he rasped. "If this is the first time, put me in your body. I need to know that this is your choice."

His words were more true than he knew.

Lyssia knew she was on the precipice of something, on the edge of being able to catch something that had been beyond her reach since the moment her father had told her she was to leave their village and never return. The dreams and desires that she had forsaken so many years before were attainable once more.

She reached between their slick bodies, finding and glorying in the rigid strength that burned her fingers as she grasped it. She parted her legs still further, until that stretch was almost its own pain, and notched the head of the king's cock into the entrance to her body.

Chapter Twenty-Two

He had to raise his head. He needed to look into her eyes for this moment. He didn't want to miss any part of their first joining. He wanted to see everything that those emerald depths would reveal. It seemed a monumental effort to make the small movement, but what he saw was worth the exertion. He saw a complete flow of emotions; her soul was revealed, guileless and unguarded.

The scalding, wet heat of her on his most tender skin almost unmanned him; it shredded his control until he was mindless with the need to drive into her, hard and deep. Only her fist, curled around his shaft and in no way doing anything to lessen his need, prevented him from losing his honour. Lyssia's nails pinched his bicep, but he accepted all the myriad sensations as part of the nearly spiritual experience.

He pressed forward, so slowly that he thought he might lose years of his life from the strain, but he wanted to savour everything. He edged into her body, leaving no room for her guiding hand; it flew up to match its twin, adding more tiny bites to his muscles. Kavrazel could hardly breathe with the effort of maintaining such a slow pace, but soon any pain was lost in bliss, for him at least. He was half sheathed in her body when Lyssia suddenly stiffened and became rigid.

He didn't understand at first. He doubted she had reached her peak; her attitude was not that of pleasure. He had told her that he had needed to know it was her choice. It had been unequivocal, she herself had guided him into her, and yet now she was frozen as if terrified. Kavrazel fought the anger and confusion that was merging with the agony of being so close and yet so far from so much satisfaction. He needed to feel, really feel, what her body was telling him, since it differed so markedly from her words. The answer that he discerned left him stunned, and for a moment, speechless.

He needed to be certain. He did not withdraw, he couldn't stand to lose such hard -won ground, and to do so would likely be counterproductive. He did raise up so that he could see Lyssia more clearly. Her eyes were shut now and her brow pinched. When he raised a hand to smooth her brow and stroke her cheek, she gasped, because she felt the shift of his body in so many more ways than merely the brush of his fingers, but he did not think she was hurting; it was only... unfamiliar to her.

"Lyssia, look at me."

Her eyes fluttered open. Her lashes were dark and delicate, like the wings of a butterfly. He saw flashes of fear and shame, but also a burning need so intense that he was tempted to disregard what he felt to be a certainty and simply thrust home. He was irritated that she hadn't told him the full truth, but in an obtuse way, she had. He began to understand a little more. He had no wish to chastise her, and he didn't need to ask for more confirmation to add to the facts that his eyes and body were telling him. There was only one question to be asked.

"Do you still want this, my Lady?"

His shaft jerked of its own accord, asking the question itself, impatient at being thwarted. Lyssia gasped and arched, causing Kavrazel to grunt with the way that her tight, tight silken heat pressed and slid against his cock. When she stilled and looked at him again, that burning need was drowning out all the other emotions that he had seen flitting across her features.

She had to try twice, working her mouth soundlessly to make words. "Yes, my Lord. Please."

"I don't wish to hurt you, little butterfly, but some pain is inevitable."

"Please," Lyssia gasped again, an enthralling sound. "I need... Please." She gasped and flexed again. Kavrazel felt the urge to pin her down, but could not do so without hurting her more than he wanted to, more than he needed to. Lyssia's breaths juddered with the warring sensations of agony and ecstasy. "I need... you," she whispered.

The growl that rumbled from him was an involuntary and bestial sound to answer her admission, her demand.

He kissed her, distracting her with his mouth, his lips, his tongue. He wanted to witness every moment, but he couldn't bear to see the pain that he knew she would not be able to hide. So he kissed her as if their world was about to end, and as he did so, he thrust, steady, but deep. He swallowed Lyssia's cry, and made a vow to himself that he would never cause her such pain again. He stilled again, fighting every greedy urge of his body, allowing her to become accustomed to this new flavour of passion.

He felt the change in her body. Her muscles relaxed, and then tensed again, but not in fear or pain; it was as if the tide of hurt had ebbed, and waves of need and lust had flowed back to the shore. It would take every ounce of strength, of restraint and control, that he had, but he would be what she needed. The precious, bewitching, unfathomable creature beneath him was worth any price. Kavrazel new without any doubt that he would throw himself into the fires of Taan to earn her trust, her faith, her love.

He began to move, slowly at first, all the while whispering words of devotion at Lyssia's ear. Soon, her body began to make demands of his, speaking the same language fluently and instinctively. Her nails scratched lines of fire down his back. Kavrazel snarled with the pain, and with the anticipation of examining the marks afterwards. Although he moved faster now, he was not hurried. Each carnal surge was forceful, to the limit that either could reach and accept.

His personal chambers provided the most sacrosanct privacy that he could ever be afforded as monarch, and here, cradled and welcomed into Lyssia's lithe body, Kavrazel thought that perhaps he had found nirvana. She tensed again, but now he understood well the meaning of her movements. He knew she was close, so close, to reaching her peak. He drew back as little so that he could bear witness to the pleasure he was bringing her, and he was not disappointed with the display of delirious rapture.

He didn't think that Lyssia was entirely tethered to reality at the moment of her climax, but when she uttered the hoarse shout of "Sire," an exclamation and exhortation both, the last frayed thread of his discipline snapped. His body gave over to its animal instincts, and moved with all the violence and urgency that it had been denied. He felt Lyssia clench and pulse around his cock a second time, and when his seed released it was as if his orgasm had been yanked from the roots of his soul.

~o0o~

Kavrazel had been awake for some time, and all had been silent and still in the room. Lyssia was fast asleep, her head pillowed in his chest, her body tucked against his and wrapped in his arms. He knew it had been late, or early, when they had retired; dawn had been making its presence felt. Much time had passed since then, a lifetime it seemed. Now the sunlight was bright at the edge of the drapes, and yet they had not been disturbed. Kavrazel wondered if the world around them had ended, if the kingdom had fallen and withered as they lay in their intimate embrace. More likely, Girogis was at the door threatening death to all who would try to enter.

Lyssia sighed as she wakened, and Kavrazel smiled to himself as she snuggled closer to him. He continued playing with her hair, catching random locks and twisting them between his fingers for the joy of observing the sheen of light play on the dark satin. It was a paltry distraction for the lush curves that were pressed so closely along the full length of his body, and whilst his mind might have been somewhat ordered, the same could not be said for all of him.

"Good morning."

"Is it?" Lyssia asked, her voice hoarse, as she raised sleepy eyes to him.

Kavrazel chuckled. "Is it a good morning? Or is it morning, do you mean?"

"Is it morning?"

"No. I think it is likely after midday."

"And we haven't been missed?"

"Oh, I'm sure we have been, but we can have our paradise a while longer."

"And then we have to give it up and return to reality."

He smiled again at her sad little pout before she tucked her head back against his chest. His grin grew as he thought the thoughts that he had been thinking since his eyes had opened. The thoughts that would preserve this perfect moment for them.

"Marry me." He hooked a finger under Lyssia's chin and lifted her face so that he could see her eyes and her reaction. "Be my queen. We can have this for always."

He was disappointed at the way she shuttered her emotions to him. When she answered, he understood, although a bitter aftertaste of the sentiment remained. "Shall I be your slave and your wife?" The question was a simple enquiry posed with honesty; there was no aggression in her tone

"No, no slave to me."

"So we would keep our own slaves?" Lyssia's brow creased and her mouth set into a grim line. "I won't drink from a stranger, not one ripped from their home, and I will not wed you if you would."

"No. I could never drink from another. I couldn't watch you perform the toast." Kavrazel's blood ran cold at the very thought, followed by an astonishingly swift surge of white-hot jealousy. He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip until it relaxed, marginally. "We will find our own way," he assured her. "I must continue to honour Taan. I cannot shake the foundations of my country, but I will not take another slave."

"And those already enslaved here?"

"That is a political field of thorns. I will endeavour to negotiate it, for your sake. But I can make you no promises on that front, save that I will do all I can."

"You will work to end the trade in slaves?" She was seeking a clarification that he could not provide.

"I will do all I can," Kavrazel replied firmly. "And I will make no promises. If all I can do is ensure that slaves are well treated from the moment they are taken, I will do it. I will try to do more, but you are talking about a nation of people, and traditions ingrained since the beginning of our time. It doesn't matter how many dead I can raise, my body is still mortal. Someone can easily slit my throat as I sleep, if they are of a mind and have enough help." He squeezed the arm that was wrapped around her, holding her against his flank. "They could take you from me, and I will not risk that, not for nameless strangers. So I say again, I make you no absolute promises, but I will try."

"Then, yes." Lyssia's grin was wide. Her eyes glittered with joyful tears. "Yes, I will marry you."

She leaned forward to kiss him, but he halted her with a finger against her lips. "And be my queen?"

Her bright countenance dimmed just a little. "I don't know how to be a queen."

"You don't know how not to be. The way you act, the way you carry yourself, the way you think, all of it is here." He moved his hand to press his palm over her heart, and tried not to be distracted by the generous swell of her firm breast.

Her answering smile was shy, and utterly endearing, but as Kavrazel pulled her into a kiss, three firm raps sounded on the door below. Their haven had been interrupted. Someone or something of importance or urgency had presented itself. He would be able to hide away with Lyssia no longer, at least for this day. But he was happy, as content and fulfilled as he had ever remembered being. Those paltry sentiments did not do justice to his feeling of completeness. Lyssia had agreed to be his mate, to stand by his side forever, voluntarily, without price or command. They would have many, many more of these private moments to savour.

With groans and laughing curses, they parted from each other and from the comfort of the bed, and prepared to face the rest of the day, the consequences of their decision, and their future.

~o0o~

It did not take the king long to find the jewel, one that had been passed down through the generations of his bloodline. It had been a favourite of his mother's and Kavrazel remembered it well from his childhood. It was a ring, the centrepiece was a fire opal the size of an acorn. The setting was decorated with rubies, and the band encrusted with tiny diamonds. There was something almost terrible and serpent-like about it, but it was wondrous and beautiful at the same time. Kavrazel had fond memories of the moments that his mother would allow him to sit on her bed, with the box in which she kept her favourite jewels, when she would let him play with the priceless trinkets. Kavrazel remembered twisting and turning this particular ring to catch the light, so that he could see the sparks dance in the gems, and marvel at the trapped shards of rainbows projected onto his fingers.

He had never thought of the ring in terms of presenting it to a future bride, but when he thought of Lyssia as his wife, as Queen of Vuthron, he had known that no other piece would do. He took a moment to examine the stones as he had as an innocent youth. His memories had not been embellished by time or sentimentality; they still held the same enchantment. It was time, he thought, that something so beautiful should see the light of day. The ring should be used for its purpose, rather than be hidden away in dark velvet. He wondered if the same might not be said for Lyssia, that it was time she fulfilled her own potential, which was so much more than hiding in the dunes of the Southern Wastelands and scratching an existence in Sken. He grinned ruefully at his own mawkish thought, and ruminated on how a man might have his life completely altered by the right woman, then he tucked the ring into the pocket inside his coat.