Bertrice Small - Lara

“You would display your beauty before these kings?” Vartan said, an edge to his voice. His look was hard.

Lara shook her head. “Have I not told you before that you must not be jealous, husband?”

He flushed. “I cannot help it,” he admitted low.

“But you must,” she said. “You swore to me that you would not impede my destiny, Vartan. And I warned you that my destiny would sometimes take me from you. I must treat with these people in my own way if you are to succeed, husband. Do not love me so much else I break your heart,” Lara warned him softly.

“My wife will see you have your bath,” Rendor said jovially. “I have sent a message to King Archeron that you are coming to meet with him, Vartan. We will depart on the morrow for his palace. It is but a day’s travel.”

“Should we not wait for his permission?” Vartan asked.

“Nay, I told him I would send word when it was decided how you two would meet. By tomorrow evening you will be welcomed into King Archeron’s palace. I will come with you. I always enjoy the company of these Hetarians.”

Lara enjoyed the bath which Rendor’s wife, Rahil, provided for her guest. She poured a small bit of scented oil into the hot water, pinning up her hair so it would not get wet. Rahil sniffed appreciatively as the perfumed steam arose from the water. Seeing her Lara said, “Do you like it? Here.” She handed the small vial to the woman. “I think a woman should always have something lovely to enjoy.”

“My thanks,” Rahil said smiling. Then she added, “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you, lady. You are careful to hide it in your warrior woman’s garments, but here in your bath, as the Celestial Actuary created you, I see how dangerous a burden that beauty is for you to bear. Will you display it before the Coastal Kings?”

“I must, for my legend precedes me,” Lara told her as she washed herself. “Like all Hetarians, they will be impressed with Vartan for having such a wife. Because of your good husband they have already begun to make friends among the Outlands. Now we must obtain them as allies, for if I remember Gaius Prospero’s passion for profit, his incursion into the Tormod and the Piaras is but the beginning of our troubles.” She stood and wrapped herself in the drying sheet Rahil handed her.

“You think Hetar will attack us again?” Rahil said, wide-eyed.

“Yes, I do,” Lara replied. “I will know more after we have spoken with the Coastal Kings and I have heard the story of the carts entering the City. That was a very powerful lesson. People in the street, ordinary citizens in the City saw those carts with their dead. More families than not have blood kin among the Guild of Mercenaries. And those among the dead with others dependent upon them for their daily bread would have those family members, wives, children, parents, left now without a home, or a means of support.”

“They would lose their homes?” Rahil was aghast.

“There are only so many hovels, and they must be kept for those who give service to the Guild,” Lara said.

“And they call us barbaric!” Rendor’s wife said angrily.

Lara slipped into a simple gown, and braided up her hair again. “I have found the Outlands more civilized than the City,” she said quietly. “Now, how may I help you with the supper?”

“My servants are well-trained and have it all in hand,” Rahil said, “but you could pour the Frine.” She was impressed by the fact that Lara had offered to help. She might be a great lady, but her human side was mannerly.

After the meal Vartan and Lara were taken to their host and hostess’s own chamber. When Vartan protested, Rahil told him it was an honor for the Felan that the new Head Councillor and his wife would sleep there. Then bowing, she left them. Vartan, cautious by nature, threw the bolt on the door, and turning about found that his wife had shed her garment. He smiled a slow smile. “You mean to palliate me, wife.”

She smiled back holding out her hand to him. “Yes,” she said.

He pulled his own garments off, dropping them upon the floor. “When the Coastal Kings smile at you I will want to kill them.”

“I know,” she replied.

“When they gaze upon your beauty and desire it for themselves, I will hate them for it,” he told her.

“You will,” she agreed amiably.

“When I see in their eyes the image of the dreams they will have of coupling with you I…”

She put her hand over his mouth. “But you are the only man I desire, Vartan,” she told him. “They cannot have me if I do not wish it, and I do not.” She stood before him, and pressed herself against him even as she took his sinewy arms, and wrapped them about her. “I desire you, and you alone, my husband.”

“But you do not love me,” he said looking down into her small upturned face.

“You know I do not believe in love,” she replied.

“Then how will you give me the son I desire of you?” he asked seriously. He could feel every inch of her delicious flesh as it pressed against him seductively. “I know that faerie women do not give children to those they do not love.”

“I am only half faerie,” she responded softly, her pointed tongue encircling the shape of his ear teasingly. “Do you not want me, husband?”

His length was hard. It throbbed between them. “Witch!” he groaned. Yes, he wanted her! More at this moment than he had ever wanted her, but it was always that way each time they lay together. No matter how much he took of her, no matter how much she gave of herself, it was never enough for Vartan. He wondered if it ever would be. He wanted to hear her tell him that she loved him, but it would seem along with her faerie beauty she had inherited a cold faerie heart. Nonetheless he could not resist her. “I love you, Lara,” he told her, and then he picked her up and laid her upon the bed that awaited them. His big hand caressed her small heart-shaped face, his mouth taking hers in a passionate kiss. His long fingers tangled in the soft golden hair with its gilt highlights. So soft, he thought as their mouths drank of one another. Everything he touched was soft and smooth, and yet beneath it she was like iron.

He rolled onto his back, drawing her atop him as one kiss blended into another and another. Then she drew away from him, and sitting up, began to caress his broad smooth chest with her hands. Her emerald eyes gazed into his meltingly, and he felt weak but for his manroot which raged, pinned beneath her round buttocks. Reaching up, he began to play with her breasts, and when he teased at her nipples she teased at his in exchange, pinching them lightly, bending to lick at them.

He lifted her up, and impaled her slowly upon his manroot. With a deep sigh she sank down, enveloping him within her body. Taking him deep into her heated flesh, leaning back and sighing again. “Ride me,” he growled at her, feeling her thighs close against him as she steadied herself with her hands, tightening her sheath around him as she pressed and released, pressed and released until he began to make whimpering sounds for she was not yet ready to allow him his fulfillment. Raising herself, she leaned forward so he might have the pleasure of her breasts. His mouth closed about a nipple, and he sucked on her hard until Lara began to feel the tension building.

She leaned further forward, burying her head in the space between his shoulder and his neck. She felt his hands closing about her rounded buttocks, kneading them as she thrust, and thrust and thrust against him. Finally unable to endure any more of her sweet torture, Vartan turned them so that Lara now lay beneath him. He thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew until it was she who now whimpered. He was so attuned to her that he could sense her impending crisis, and held himself back until they could attain pleasure together. And then the heat enveloped them both. They were filled with their passion, and finally collapsed from their delightful efforts, without another word falling into a peaceful sleep. But Lara, before she closed her eyes, touched the crystal she always wore, as if seeking a reassurance from Ethne that she would not allow herself to find with Vartan.