Bound to the Prince (9 page)

So somehow this place, cold and barren as it
was, seemed to enhance beauty with its old magic. Elathan could see
it clearly happening whenever he looked at Igraine. Not that she
needed it, but now she was so stunning that she made him think of a
shining star illuminating the night whenever he saw her. She didn’t
know that he had entered her chamber every night since she was
here, watching her while she slept so peacefully on her bed, curled
up on her side like a child. His sharp elven eyes had adjusted to
this eternal darkness long ago, so he didn’t need a candle to see
her delicate features, closed eyelids with long dark lashes lying
against her cheeks, her slightly perky nose and her lush, sensual
lips. Now and then he had smoothed a lock from her brow, feeling
its softness.

Soft. Damn, she was so soft. He just wanted
to lie down with her on the pallet and wrap himself around her warm
body while she looked so relaxed in her sleep. He wanted to bury
his face in her neck and breathe in her sweet scent, close his eyes
and find peace for a while.

Last night, Elathan just had entered her
chamber, when to his surprise the woman woke up. He was positive
that he had not made a sound, but she somehow seemed to sense his
presence. As she stood there in the deep darkness without seeing
anything, he clearly saw her fear. But he couldn’t help but admire
her courage when she waited so calmly for her invisible enemy to
attack.

As he felt his heart beating faster with a
strange, disconcerting pride, his feelings suddenly turned to blind
rage. It was directed at himself, for being far too much attracted
to this woman. After all, she represented the race he was
determined to hunt down and destroy whenever he could.

He approached her, frightened her to death
when he showed her the contempt and disgust he felt for her kind.
For a moment he had considered killing her right on the spot, to
rid himself of the dangerous weakness she had awakened in him.
Although she was terrified, he realized how aroused she was by his
touch, how much she wanted him, how desperately. It was not only
sexual desire. Her soul seemed to reach out to him, begging him to
make her a part of him.

It had felt incredible to kiss her, as if his
heart cried out with joy for the first time in centuries. When he
couldn’t help himself from further exploring her body, he had felt
like
he
was
her
slave now, overwhelmed by the raw
lust in her eyes, her soft moans and cries. The feeling of her wet,
naked flesh against his manhood turned him into a reckless animal,
rubbing against her until she came for him, holding her close while
she writhed beneath him.

Instead of seeking his own release, he
quickly left her. If he went any further now, he would not have
been gentle. His need for her was so overwhelming that he would
have taken her life, along with her willing body. It made him
painfully aware of the loneliness that tormented him since he had
come here, to this dark and hopeless place. He had fought very long
and hard to build up the walls that protected his heart from
further pain, and he would not allow a mere mortal to tear them
down. Even if it meant killing her.

But for now, he found no reason why he
shouldn’t amuse himself with her desirable body until she was ready
to take him without dying from exhaustion as a result. And even if
she didn’t survive, Elathan would make sure that she enjoyed
herself so much that she wouldn’t care about dying at all.

Before leaving after their sword training
that day, the prince had told Igraine to come to his chambers
later, giving her exact directions. As she went through the dark
tunnels, she couldn’t stop the frantic beating of her heart.

Elathan. He wanted her to bathe him.

She looked down at herself, trying to smooth
the wrinkles in her dress with her hands. If she only had something
decent to wear! Incredible as it was, she seemed to have lost
weight again. But she didn’t believe for a second that Elathan
might find her attractive, even if he used her to satisfy his
body’s needs. She had nothing that could compare with his
otherworldly beauty. Although she hadn’t seen other elven men, she
was certain that he was unique amongst his kind.

Finally, Igraine stopped in front of a
smaller tunnel. She was trembling like a lamb about to enter the
lion’s lair. Taking a deep breath, she followed the narrow passage
for a while until it bent into a larger cave. She paused at the
entrance until her eyes adjusted to the gloomy light. A soft sigh
escaped her lips when she finally saw the prince's chamber.

The cave’s walls and high ceiling were
decorated with ancient runes and beautifully painted images
depicting what she assumed was elven history. There were pictures
of graceful maidens walking under trees, fairies weaving flowers
into their hair. An old king sat on his throne with a young elven
knight kneeling before him, around them all kinds of magical
creatures she could never have dreamed existed – dwarfs, trolls,
even a group of centaurs at play. But there were also other
paintings, with armored warriors fighting against humans who were
slaughtering their innocent women and children, burning down
dwellings and woods, panic-stricken animals fleeing as they
approached.

Between the paintings, climbing plants and
unknown, exotic flowers grew on the walls, their green leaves
radiating a magical light that softened the shadows of the cave.
Countless tiny fireflies seemed to be scattered all over the
ceiling, giving it the look of an open night sky sparkling with
stars. There were several openings leading to smaller caverns. One
of them must be the prince’s bedchamber and the other his training
area, Igraine presumed. The smallest passage to her right seemed to
emanate a pleasant warmth and a faint sulfuric odor as fumes
emerged from the opening.

The cave Igraine had entered was obviously
used as Elathan’s bathing chamber. It opened into a small lake
which descended into the darkness in one corner, possibly being fed
by an underground stream. At the mossy edge of the lake there was a
small wooden table adorned with delicate carvings. It held
different bottles made of colored glass and linen towels. Right
beside it, soft silken cushions and blankets covered the floor for
the prince’s comfort. There was even a small waterfall coming out
of the rock, reuniting with the dark waters of the lake.

Turning again in the direction from which the
strange vapors came, Igraine dared to follow the corridor into the
cave. At first she wasn’t able to see clearly, for the room was
dark and misty, with fumes wavering in the air. An intense, but not
unpleasant earthy smell reached her nose, making her feel dizzy.
When the air cleared a bit, she saw a pool in the middle of the
round chamber, with only a narrow space of solid ground to walk
around it. The inside of the pool was pitch black, filled with a
thick, bubbling substance which emitted the fumes. She assumed that
this was some kind of mineral mud warmed by underground hot
springs.

“Are my chambers to your liking, human?” a
deep, mocking voice asked. Igraine screamed out when she noticed
Elathan in the middle of the pool, with only his head and wide
shoulders above the surface. His long hair was drenched in mud, the
long strands glued to his skin. Her mouth went dry.

He watched her silently, fascinated by the
way she looked at her surroundings, eyes open wide in wonder like a
child’s. Unable to speak a word, she stared at the prince as he
slowly stood up, first lifting up one knee before he gracefully
emerged from the dark mire. Apart from the space around his eyes,
the prince was covered from head to toe in wet black mud. It made
him look like an ancient god climbing out of the depths of the
earth. For a moment she wondered if he had come to draw her down
with him into the netherworld.

Besides the mud, the prince was completely
naked. She didn’t dare to look down, at the place between his
muscular thighs, so she quickly averted her eyes. The sight of his
athletic body, shining like a statue made of polished black basalt,
was breathtaking.

Elathan crossed the chamber, exuding strength
with every movement. He didn’t bother to cover his nakedness.
Pausing before her, he studied her face for a moment, searching for
something. Igraine looked up at the black pagan god who had come to
steal her soul – or was he a demon? Either way, she belonged to him
now, as long as he chose to let her live.

“Now follow me, wench, and do what you were
sent for,” Elathan ordered with a sudden angry look on his face,
narrowing his eyes. “Bathe me.”

Elathan stood at the edge of the lake,
waiting for Igraine to serve him. “What do you want me to do, my
Lord?” she asked, still avoiding looking at his private parts.

“Don’t you filthy humans even know how to
wash?” he hissed impatiently. He gestured to the ornate table.
"These vials contain soaps and oils. Use them to bathe my body,
slave.” The prince stepped under the waterfall, rinsing off part of
the mud, but it stuck to his skin and hair. Igraine sniffed at some
of the bottles, inhaling their wonderful, unknown scents. Some of
them were fresh, others musky, but clearly intended for use on the
gorgeous body of the male who was showering right in front of her,
naked. Water drops glistened on his skin, running down from his
chest to his flat, rippling stomach and still further down,
gathering at … "Why do I feel like I'm in midst of a
Cool
Water
commercial now?" she nervously murmured, wincing when the
elf threw her a glance that clearly declared her a lunatic.

Sighing, Igraine took a small green bottle
containing a soapy liquid and followed the prince. Elathan stepped
out of his natural shower without even looking at her. Closing his
eyes, he turned his broad back to Igraine, with the unspoken order
to wash him. She poured some of the aromatic soap into the palm of
her hand. It smelled like fresh moss, but there was also an
undertone she didn’t recognize. The mud was diluted by the water,
but it still ran in dark streams over the elf’s body, down over his
hips and his muscular backside, dripping over his thighs. It
collected in a puddle at his feet.

Igraine’s hands trembled when she reached out
to touch him. “May I …?” she said softly. “What are you waiting
for?” Elathan replied. Despite the harsh words, his voice was low
and hoarse. She couldn’t see the expression of his face from
behind, but she noticed his rigid posture. Tears of frustration
came to her eyes when she realized how much he despised her. Apart
from being human, her undignified behavior last night surely had
not helped to change his opinion. His contempt for her was
obvious.

Taking a deep breath, she fought back her
tears and started with his dirty hair, lathering it with the
luxurious soap. Black, muddy water ran through her fingers and down
her arms. When she had worked the soap into the whole silken
length, she reached up to massage his scalp. Elathan stiffened
before tilting his head back so she could reach him more easily.
After she had washed all the mud out of his hair, she reached out
to touch his shoulders, covering his pale skin with the soap.

Elathan stiffened even more, looking like a
statue of stone now. Her hands wandered to the sides of his neck to
wash the dirt away, then moved down over his shoulders, rubbing him
in circles. His skin was smooth and soft as velvet over his
rock-hard muscles. How much she loved to touch him! No man had ever
affected her so much. Just being close to him made her a weak
creature, driven by the most primitive desire to mate.

Now that he couldn’t see her shamelessly
staring at him, she was safe to admire his muscular back. It was
built like an artist’s masterpiece. The scars marring his alabaster
skin only enhanced his beauty. Without them, the sight would be too
perfect for human eyes to endure. They were old, faint scars,
diagonally crisscrossing all over his back. Igraine suddenly
realized that the prince had been whipped, even if it had obviously
happened long ago. Tears stinging in her eyes, she lightly traced
the scars with her fingers while she washed his back. Although she
didn't dare, she longed to touch those reminders of his torment
with her lips, kissing the ancient pain away.

Continuing with his waist, she found some
very nasty grime there, sticking to the prince’s skin. As she
rubbed his sides to get them clean, Elathan seemed to wince. She
paused, but when he said nothing, she rubbed some more. He winced
again, apparently trying to escape her touch. At first she stared
at his back, baffled for a moment. Maybe he didn't like her to
touch him anymore. But then she understood.

The merciless, battle-hardened elven prince
was ticklish.

Amazed by her discovery, she pondered about
tickling him some more, but decided against it. She should not
tempt her fate too much. Instead she reached around his waist and
began to wash his wide chest, feeling his strong heartbeat and the
heat of his skin. He was so tall that she had to press her body
against his back to reach him with her arms. Moving down, she
soaped his flat stomach, feeling the tense muscles under her
fingertips. Elathan seemed to breathe more heavily now. For a
moment, she asked herself what would happen if she dared to go even
deeper, washing him … there. When she had finished and withdrew her
arms, she glanced down at his butt. Heavens, this was too good to
be true – so smooth, perfectly rounded and tight. She wondered if
he would allow her to wash him there, too.

Suddenly a mischievous grin spread across her
face. Well, even if he would kill her afterwards, this princely
backside would be worth it. Now your ass is mine, Your Royal
Highness, she thought. She just couldn’t help it. Then her hands
touched his muscular buttocks, lathering the soap in small circles
over the skin. Maybe being an elven prince's slave wasn't so bad,
after all. When Elathan moaned ever so softly, she couldn’t hold
herself back anymore. A small giggle escaped her lips.