Oria's Gambit Page 11

  “In bed.” Practically naked.

  His smile stretched across his face as lazily as the rest. “A good place for it. How about this—do you have a hair brush?”

  “Why?”

  “Your braids are all messed up and it looks uncomfortable. Maybe you’ll feel better if I take them down for you.”

  “You’re obsessed with my hair.” Though the snarled things were pulling uncomfortably.

  He shrugged a little, gray eyes dancing with that mischief that sparked in blue stars from him. “I can’t deny it. Get your hair brush, Oria.”

  She huffed out an impatient sigh, but got out of bed to retrieve the thing—though taking a moment to tie the neckline of her undergarment closed. The man was as relentless as Chuffta chewing a bone.

  “Hey!”

  “You know you are. Speaking of, have you hunted recently?”

  “Want some alone time with the new mate, huh? I can do that.” The derkesthai stretched his wings, yawned mightily, then took off out the open terrace doors.

  “Where’s Chuffta going?”

  “To hunt. Since we’ll be here for a while.” She stood uncertainly, holding the brush, arrested by Lonen’s intent expression and a wave of particularly intense desire from him. “What?”

  “With the light behind you like that, your gown is nearly transparent. I can see all the lines of your body.”

  She grabbed up her gown, wrapping it tight around her.

  “Don’t do that, Oria,” Lonen coaxed. “You’re so beautiful. I love seeing you.”

  A whisper of pleasure ran through her at that. Ah, vanity. “Well—I shouldn’t give you … ideas.”’

  “I’ll tell you a secret.” His smile went crooked and he lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “I already have the ideas.”

  She had no response to that, so she indicated a chair with the brush. “Want me to sit here?”

  Lonen spread his legs and patted the sheet covering him between them. “You come here.”

  “I can’t—”

  “I won’t touch your skin,” he said, calm and insistent, but a challenge glittering in his gaze. “Trust me.”

  “Fine.” Aware she’d huffed again, making him laugh at her, she smacked the glass handle of the brush into his palm hard enough to sting, then climbed onto the bed to sit cross-legged between his spread thighs, carefully adjusting the long chemise so it covered her. He waited for her to settle, then began carefully plucking at the braids, unwinding them and undoing the ribbons that held the ends.

  “My mask knife is right there,” she said, “if you want to cut the ribbons instead.”

  “Why not just untie them? It’s wasteful to be cutting them all the time.”

  She didn’t have a ready reply. “I never thought about it. You think about wastefulness more than I do.”

  “A Destrye trait, I suppose. We don’t have all the riches you do in Bára, so we’re careful of what we do have.” He had one braid unplaited already, picking up the brush again to smooth it through the loosened locks. “I’ve never seen hair like yours before. It looks like metal, hammered to a bright polish. I’d like to have your beah made of copper just like this, to match, if that’s all right with you.”

  Uncomfortable, she shrugged a little. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “It matters to me.” His voice stayed even, but annoyance seeped from him.

  “Lonen…” She tried to think of a way to explain without making him angry. “I see what you’re trying to do here and—”

  “What am I trying to do?” he interrupted. Not irritated, but drawing her out with the teasing tone.

  She pressed her lips together. She would not amuse him further by huffing. “You know perfectly well.”

  “Yes, but I want to know what you think I’m doing, as I’m not able to read your thoughts and emotions.” He had more braids undone, and worked at a stubborn one, tugging a little. “Sorry—these are very tangled.”

  “I’m sure. I don’t usually sleep in them. I can call Juli. You don’t have to do this.”

  He kept a hold of the braids when she started to move away. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not wriggling out of this so easily. Besides, I’m enjoying myself.” He was good at it, too, surprisingly deft.

  “I wouldn’t think a man like you would want to tend a lady’s hair.”

  “A man like me?”

  “You know. Big, strong warrior.”

  His amusement went sharp, desire heightening. “Not any woman. You. What do you think I’m trying to do?”

  “You never give up, do you?”

  “No, so you might as well capitulate, my captive bride.”

  That shouldn’t give her a shiver of answering desire. Likely it came of being so close physically, surrounded by his feelings, his usual intense sexuality more sensual, echoing his lazy mood.

  “I think you’re trying to seduce me,” she finally said.

  “Of course I am.”

  “I can’t believe you admit it.”

  “Stop wiggling—I don’t want to cut your hair by accident and this ribbon is too knotted to untie. There’s no ‘admitting’ to it. You’re my wife, Oria, I want us to be easy together. I want you to trust me.”

  She sighed for his obstinacy. “It’s not a real marriage. Ow!” She clapped a hand to the braid he’d tugged sharply.

  “Then don’t say untrue things. You were there for that Arill-cursed ceremony. I might be mind-dead but I can feel the bond to you inside me. We’re married as married gets and I’m not spending the rest of my life tied to a woman who dances around me like a deer darting into the shadows at every movement.”

  She wanted to protest that she didn’t do that, but she probably did. “It’s not you, though. It’s because of how I am.”

  “You said I intimidate you.”

  “Badgering me into staying in bed with you and letting you brush my hair while we’re both nearly naked is not making me feel less intimidated,” she snapped.

  He laughed, a low and sensual sound. “Yes it is, because you’re all imperious princess again instead of skittish doe. Besides,” he leaned close enough that his breath wafted over her ear as he spoke, “we could be a lot more naked than this.”

  “No, thank you,” she replied, making herself stop knotting her chemise, deliberately smoothing it out.

  “Nothing to make a person less intimidating than the intimacy of nakedness,” he murmured, his voice doing strange things to her.

  “There’s no point in it,” she protested, but she didn’t sound nearly firm enough.

  “Sure there is. You’re a beautiful woman and you’re mine. I want to be able to see you in all your loveliness. It will be an enduring delight to me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, I have a pretty good idea.” He nearly purred with sensual confidence and her body seemed to hum along.

  He’d gotten all the braids undone and slowly dragged the brush through her hair with one hand, combing the fingers of his other hand through it in alternating strokes. So soothing. How it could feel totally different than when Juli performed this service, she didn’t know. But it did. Determined to stay on point, she ignored the melting sensations.

  “I understand that you’re determined to find a way to have sex with me, but this will only lead to frustration and heartbreak for us both. You saw for yourself what happened from only holding hands with me.”

  He was quiet a bit, the only sounds the hiss of the hairbrush and the ebullient morning songs of the birds in her garden.

  “Juli said it wasn’t as bad this time, that you’re stronger than you were.”

  “Obviously not strong enough.” The bitterness crept into her voice, curse it. So much self-pity. “Believe me—I don’t like being this way.” Worst wedding night ever.

  “Then we find a way to make you stronger.”

  “Things aren’t that easy, Lonen. I can’t just wish up being like your copper metal instead of badly blown
glass, riddled with flaws. Magic doesn’t just make things appear from thin air.”

  “How does it work?”

  “It depends on the kind of magic.”

  “What kind do you have?”

  “My kind.” Princess Ponen.

  “You’re avoiding answering my questions.”

  “Yes. You’re not the only stubborn person in this bed.”

  He burst out laughing, the rush of delight showering around her like a cooling rain. “I’ll tell you a story then. When we left Dru to come to Bára and try to end who or what had sent the golems to attack us, I figured I’d never make it home. None of us did. We barreled up all the food and water we had left—which wasn’t much—and sent it with everyone who wasn’t a warrior on what we called the Trail of New Hope. Mostly the women and children, but also our scholars, artists, scribes, and a few fighters in case the golems pursued them.”

  “Where were they going?”

  “Somewhere new.” She felt the shrug in the rhythm of his hands. “We couldn’t stay in Dru any longer, so they went in hopes of finding a place where they could live. My father, brothers, and I took all the warriors to Bára, certain that we’d die trying to fight you. Theirs was a journey of hope and ours of hopelessness in the face of an impossible task. Our main goal was to maybe take enough of you with us to ensure the others could escape.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, daunted by the waves of remembered angry despair coming from him.

  “Don’t be,” he said, sharply. Then the strength of the emotion dimmed. “Is that better?”

  “How did you know I was feeling it?”

  “You get all tense in your neck and shoulders, and flinch away from me. I’m trying to learn to notice when I’m affecting you and pull it back. Did it work?”

  “Yes,” she answered, surprised. “Much better.”

  “See? There are many ways to undo knots. Now, I didn’t tell you that story so you’d apologize, yet again, for something you didn’t do. I told you so that you’d understand that I already accomplished the impossible. I not only lived, but the Destrye emerged victorious from our hopelessness. My people returned to Dru and we have a fighting chance at surviving the winter. Well,” he amended, “we will when my brilliant and powerful sorceress queen makes sure of it.”

  “You put a lot of faith in me.”

  “Yes,” he replied, in that implacable tone. “And in me. Because, my lovely Oria, I no longer believe in the impossible. I’ve already seen it shattered. So, I do believe that, while it may not be easy, you and I will find a way to be husband and wife in truth. We will put you on the throne of Bára, save the Destrye, and go on to live long and happy lives, with many copper-haired children to dote us on us in our old age.”

  “And the drought? Will you also command the monsoons to return?”

  “Of course not. That’s your job. Mine is to keep you safe while you work your sorcery.”

  She had to laugh. “Not to mention tending my hair.”

  “It’s like silk—and now it’s all kinked from being in those braids, so each little bump catches the light. I’m torn on whether your beah should be plaited copper or smooth like when your hair is straight.”

  “A grave dilemma indeed.”

  “Very much so. I will have to see your hair both ways, many times before I can make such an important decision. I’ve discovered that’s what being king mainly involves—making good decisions.” His breath whispered over her ear again. “I intend to make very good ones with you, Oria, which means I’ll tend you with great diligence.”

  Despite herself, she giggled at this playful side of him. “Well thank you for this. I do feel better having the braids out.”

  “You’re welcome. Want to do me a favor in return?”

  ~ 10 ~

  He almost regretted asking the question, because she stiffened warily. Not, however, as much as she would have even a short time before, so he was making inroads on earning her trust. Maybe enough to push her a little further. And, if he hadn’t gotten as far as he hoped, how she responded to this request would let him know where the boundaries lay. All the better to strategize how to shift them.

  “Want me to brush your hair in return?” she asked, in that prim voice that told him she didn’t want him to know how she felt.

  He laughed. “Spoken like a person with straight hair. I have to use a comb on mine, with lots and lots of oil.”

  “I know how to use a comb, Lonen.”

  “All right, then that would be welcome.” In fact, he might greatly enjoy having her tend him in turn. “But that’s not what I’m asking for right now.”

  “What then?” she prompted, with some impatience. Wanting to get it over with, perhaps, and clearly suspicious.

  He put his lips close to the delicate curve of her ear. She shivered so deliciously when he murmured into it that he couldn’t wait to experience her response when he licked her there. And elsewhere.

  “I’d like to see you naked,” he murmured.

  As he expected, she tried to pull away, but didn’t get far with his hand firmly wrapped in her hair. “Don’t fly away, Oria. I’m just asking. You can say no.”

  “I’m saying no.” But she was breathless, a high blush on her fair cheekbones. “Let me go.”

  “As my queen commands.” He released her hair with some regret, already missing the silky mass of it sliding through his hands. Oria immediately leapt away, putting several feet between her and the bed. To his good fortune, in her haste she also forgot that the bright sunshine from the terrace silhouetted her slender form in the thin silk gown, her hair a shining cape around her. He folded his hands behind his neck, preparing for whatever lecture she intended to deliver, and enjoying the view in the meanwhile. Particularly the enticing triangle between her shapely thighs.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  He dragged his gaze back up to her face, though he couldn’t read much of her expression with the light behind her. “I already told you.”

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “And you think this will make you happy, being able to see me naked and not being able to do anything about it.”

  “I wouldn’t agree I can’t do anything about it.”

  “Sometimes you seem so smart and then you constantly forget that—”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he stopped her there, sharply. “Enough of trying to make it seem that way. Seeing you will give me something to picture when I use my own fist for relief.”

  She went so still that he dearly wished to get a glimpse of her expression, but moving to see better might startle her.

  “I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that,” she finally said, her tone faint.

  “What shocks you—that I’d use my own hand in lieu of being inside you, or that I want the image of my naked wife to fantasize to while I do it?” That triangle between her thighs drew his eyes again. He could almost make out the division of her sex.

  “Both, I think.” Her voice was hushed. The silence drew out. “You’re looking at my silhouette again, aren’t you?”

  “Oh yes,” he replied, pushing the image forward so she might pick it up. “See yourself in my head?”

  “I already look naked.”

  “Almost. The real thing would be better.”

  “I don’t know.” But she wavered, one hand tugging on the ties of her neckline. “I’m not sure how to feel about you picturing me while you…”

  He waited but she didn’t continue. “It seems wrong to picture anyone but you,” he argued. Maybe another push. “You don’t want me imagining Natly, do you?”

  “A low blow there, Destrye.” She moved out of the light, coming around to his side of the bed. At least he could see her face again, and the pink blush of her nipples. The shadow at her mound—not clear if her hair there was copper, too. He needed to know with a near-desperate thirst. His cock throbbed, so erect she had to be able to see the outline through the sheet. Indeed, her gaze did go there be
fore she yanked it away. Tempting to take himself in hand and demonstrate to her then and there.

  “Would you like to see it?” He asked.

  Her coppery eyes flew wide and alarmed to his face. “No! I mean, not yet, I think.”

  Definite progress.

  “Don’t you do that, use your own hand, to pleasure yourself?”

  She blushed nearly crimson. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

  And yet she hadn’t run. She lingered, curious and drawn despite herself. “You’re already having this conversation,” he pointed out. “And if we’d had a normal wedding night, we would have seen and done much more with each other.”

  “I haven’t,” she said abruptly, almost defiant. “Done that. Normally I don’t feel the urge.”

  “Not ever?” He was flabbergasted.

  “I don’t think women do,” she informed him coolly. “I’m not sure all men do.”

  “Oh, they do,” he assured her. “Believe me, almost all men and women do.”

  She put her hands on her hips, delineating her narrow waist nicely. “You don’t know that.”

  He considered it. “Yes, I do.”

  “Maybe the Destrye do it.”

  “You Bárans might have sticks up your asses, but I’m willing to bet money even your people do it.

  She actually stomped her slender bare foot, forcing him to repress a smile. “I cannot believe you just said that to me!”

  “Don’t be annoyed. Having things up your ass can feel very nice. I’ll show you.”

  She grabbed a pillow and flung it at his face with an incoherent screech. He caught it in time, but could no longer hold back the laughter. By the time he wiped the tears away, she’d composed herself, standing with folded arms, tapping her foot with barely contained ire.

  “I was going to let you see me naked,” she informed him coolly, “but not now.”

  She was killing him. “Aw, don’t be that way. That’s not fair.”

  “Yes, it is.” She lifted her pert chin and sniffed, as if she smelled something bad. “You don’t deserve a treat like the sight of my naked body, not behaving like a barbarian.”

  Wait. She was actually teasing him. She looked perfectly composed, even disdainful, but something about her made him realize she was being playful. If only he could toss her on the bed and torment her into showing it. “Oria, I am a barbarian.”