David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

“Are you all right, love?” she asked, her eyes still closed, the smile never leaving her face.

“I’m…fine,” he grunted in reply, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“I think I know what’s wrong,” she said and, leaning back in his arms, grabbed the back of his neck and stared into his eyes. Her other hand crept over his elbow, moving down until her fingers brushed against the crotch of his thick breeches. He let out a moan and stumbled. Nessa laughed, Crian cursed, and he eventually set her down while he leaned against the wall, shaking his head.

“You’re insufferable,” he said.

She bit her lip seductively and leaned against the wall too, using it to brace herself as she walked forward, swaying her slender hips in the process. He couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m not insufferable,” Nessa said. “I’m simply in love. You’re my everything, Crian Crestwell, and I want to give you everything.” She grinned wickedly, an expression that made her seem like a clever seductress rather than the little girl she often appeared to be. “We are free now, my love, free to do whatever we wish. I need to have you beside me, atop me, in me again. It’s been far too long already. Now that our love is no longer forbidden…and I’m to be your wife.…”

Crian needed no more urging. He kicked himself off the wall and crashed into her, his plain, itchy wool clothing-the staple of his existence now that he’d been exiled from his family-crumpling as he lifted her into the air. Their lips met, their tongues probed, and he pressed her into the wall, holding her up with one arm while he caressed her with the other. Her lips tasted sweet, like strawberries, and he was filled with the desire to rediscover what the rest of her tasted like.

… and I’m to be your wife …

Amazingly enough, it was true. Nessa DuTaureau, daughter of the first of Ashhur’s children, was to be his bride. They had just come from the city quad, where Nessa had been baptized. He had been so proud of her, watching from a distance as his love stood in the center of the great fountain at the center of the four interconnecting streets that formed the quad, surrounded by onlookers. Soleh Mori had been there, along with every member of the Council of Twelve. All had come to see the very first convert of Ashhur. Karak had been there as well, and though Crian kept his distance-he had never met the god in the flesh before, and he was instantly afraid that the deity would strike him down for disobeying his laws-he was somewhat eased by the pious kindness in the god’s eyes. He had also been taken aback by the sheer size of him, standing twice the height of even the tallest man present, his fingers large enough to crush a head in a single hand.

Yet Nessa had not been afraid, even as Karak stepped into the fountain with her and demanded she kneel before him. She did so willingly, eagerly, raising her hands up to the deity without hesitation. When the priest poured the cold water of creation over her head, she did not even flinch. And when Karak spoke his decrees, she affirmed each one, her innocent voice suddenly full of strength and conviction. It had not escaped Crian’s attention the way Karak had looked at her afterward, with all the affection of a father welcoming a long-lost child back into his arms, nor did he fail to notice the way the god then looked at him, those shining, golden eyes piercing straight into his soul.

You had best appreciate this creature , were the words he heard, though no lips moved to speak them.

And appreciate her he did. After the ceremony, once Nessa was officially dubbed a free child of Karak, they were informed that they could now marry. He knew they would in time. All he had to do was collect the proper coin to pay a priest to preside over the ceremony, for unlike baptisms, which were offered free of charge, marriages cost money. To ensure that those dedicating their lives to each other are in the position to care for themselves , had been standard reason given by his father, and since Crian had always agreed with that philosophy in the past, it would be hypocritical to decry it now.

Yet the collection of the necessary funds continued to be a problem. As a low-ranking member of the City Watch, he earned a pitiable weekly salary. It would take him months to save up enough for the ceremony, even more if they decided to find lodging outside the Tower Keep. He could not even afford to pay the rookery to send the letter Nessa had written to her brother yet. Depressing, sure, but at the moment the only thing that really mattered was that he and Nessa were free to live their lives as they chose. In truth, that was all he had desired since the day he first met her in the delta swamplands, and he would gladly give up all of his titles, responsibilities, and influence if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with her.

“I will be your husband,” he whispered into her ear after finally pulling his lips away from hers. “And I will protect you always.”

He felt her body shudder against his, and he could take it no longer. He glanced around, making sure they were alone, and then, slipping his hands underneath her, lifted her, and after she wrapped her legs around his waist, he carried her up the stairwell, down the hall, and into their room. He barely had time to shut the door and light a candle before Nessa pulled him down on the bed, tugging at his clothes and kissing him all over. He slipped the sodden baptismal gown over her head and tossed it aside. Once they were both naked, her body still damp from the ceremony, they fell on one another, each devouring the other’s essence, enjoying the feeling of their connection, the taste of sweat on flesh, the smell of desire that permeated the room.

Crian let out a cry of animal passion that he hoped would never end. Despite everything that had happened, he’d never been happier in all his life.

Vulfram heard the cries of ardor as they echoed through the halls of the Tower Keep. He was in father’s studio again, drink in hand, propped up against one of the countless statues of Karak. Since Crian had arrived with the DuTaureau girl, this had been the only place he could find solace, despite its odd effect on his faculties. He slept in here, took his meals in here; in fact, the only time he left was when his father wished to work, which, given his son’s sour mood and brooding attitude, didn’t seem to happen very much at all.

His deceitful mother had, of course, begun acting strange around him. Whenever she came home and tiptoed into the studio to see him, she acted hesitant, as if he were a wild animal that could strike out at any moment. This from the woman who had raised Kayne and Lilah. And her attempts at communication were laughably inconsistent. At times she would coddle him, ushering in freshly baked goods and urging him to eat. Other times she would chastise him for his behavior, for his lack of resiliency, telling him how his position as Lord Commander was hanging by a delicate thread. Although that was typical behavior for her-Vulfram had experienced it since he was a child, the private vulnerability turning into hardheadedness in the public eye-there was a sort of desperation behind it now that was unbecoming. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. His little girl was gone, his mother was secretly plotting against him, and he was a broken man.

Tonight his god would visit him, and when Karak saw what a miserable wretch he was, he would be demoted, just like Crian had been.

The thing was, Vulfram just…didn’t…care. About any of it, not even Yenge, Alexander, and Caleigh, sitting back in the safety of Erznia, unaware of the hardships he was enduring.

But he did care about Lyana still, and now he had to be tortured by listening to the Crestwell whelp and his turncoat whore fucking upstairs. The sounds of their passion brought forth images of his daughter’s future, of her trapped with some sadistic bastard like Romeo Connington, forced to obey his every command. Whenever a man purchased her services, would she be forced to scream out the way that DuTaureau girl was screaming?