Oria's Gambit (15 page)

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?”

H
e 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 before 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.”

“So you’ve demonstrated,” she retorted. “But
you don’t have to look like one. Come and sit. I’ll comb your
hair.”

“Are you sure you won’t—”

“Not happening.” She turned crisply, hair
crackling about her. “And I’m summoning Juli, so you might do
something about
that
.”

To his utter shock, something briefly grasped
his cock, a shimmer of energy like a tiny bolt of lightning.
“Arill!” he gasped, fighting not to spill his seed immediately like
some oversexed adolescent.

Oria turned and flashed him a coy smile. “No,
Destrye. That was me.”