Chapter 27 | The Last Royal Mistress

Patience

Temmin lay gasping against Issak’s chest, his heartbeat slowly coming down. His eyelids flickered shut.

“Don’t fall asleep,” murmured Issak, pinching Temmin’s nearest nipple.

“Ow.” Temmin opened his eyes. “I’m always sleepy afterwards.”

“You have to learn not to be. Up.” Issak pushed Temmin off his chest and sat up himself. “There is much you still have to learn.”

“It’s not even a spoke and a half, and I think I’ve learned a lot already! No one’s complaining, at any rate,” Temmin added smugly. “Everyone says I’m a quick study.”

Issak stood up. “You pick up some things very quickly,” he agreed, “like a child imitating his parents. You don’t really know what you’re doing, or why.” He poured himself a glass of water from an earthenware pitcher on the table and drank it down, then poured himself a second.

“Why?” said Temmin, an edge creeping into his voice; he plopped back against the huge pile of pillows on the couch.

“What d’you mean, why? To make people feel better! Why else? Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Sex is about--”

“Yes, yes,” Temmin interrupted. “‘Sex is about everything, and everything is about sex.’ Everyone keeps saying it.” He stretched his slender, golden body, still-gangly arms and legs languidly draped the length of the couch, and yawned. “No one’s bothering to explain what it means.”

“Because it can’t be explained. It has to be observed and absorbed. It has to be meditated upon.”

“That’s bollocks,” snorted Temmin.

Issak took a fistful of Temmin’s hair and wrenched the prince painfully up off the couch by it. “You really are determined to lose all your hair before we’re done, aren’t you?” he rasped. Temmin gave no answer, and Issak shook him until Temmin felt he really might be scalped. “Aren’t you, Supplicant!”

“Not on purpose, Holy One!” Temmin squeaked.

“Don’t be cute with me, boy,” snarled Issak. “That will only get you so far.” He threw Temmin back down on the couch. Temmin scrabbled for purchase against the smooth linen throw protecting the upholstery; he hated it when Issak put on his professional demeanor. “You have been spoiled and petted your whole life, whether you’ve known it or not,” Issak continued. “You’ve performed your more onerous duties with very little grumbling, and for someone so cosseted, you spare more than a few thoughts for others. That’s unexpected, and it’s to your credit. But you expect what you want, when you want it. You have little patience, and that makes me have little patience with you.”

Temmin’s mouth dropped open in surprise. What had he been impatient about? He had worked without complaint, as Issak has said. He had asked nothing of anyone, nor pushed for anything--and then it came to him. He had pushed for one thing, and asked a great deal of one person. “Is this about Allis?” Temmin said incredulously. Issak flushed, and Temmin knew he’d scored a hit. “Issak, I haven’t asked Allis to give up anything, or anyone, or do anything for me but love me!”

“That’s asking a great deal, Temmin, more than you can ever understand!”

“Perhaps so, but--” Temmin stopped in confusion. “Why is it so wrong for Embodiments to love?”

“Wrong? It’s not wrong,” said Issak, impatiently pushing his black forelock away from his face. “It just makes everything more difficult! Choosing one of you out of all of you--”

“But I haven’t asked her to do that! She can love whoever else she wants to love!” cried Temmin. But as soon as he said it, Temmin knew it was a sentiment not entirely tested.

Issak dropped his arms at his sides in resignation and closed his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” said Temmin simply. He rose up on his knees and took Issak by the hand. “Please don’t be angry with me. I’ll try to understand--I want to understand. And I won’t do anything to hurt her--to hurt you--ever.”

Issak opened his green eyes, tilted his head, and smiled sadly. He dropped Temmin’s hand, and his face took on its more businesslike facade. “It’s time we got on with lessons,” he said brusquely.

“I thought we’d been at lessons,” said Temmin, sitting back down on the couch.

“That?” said Issak. “That wasn’t a lesson, that was a stretch, so to speak--limbering up.”

“Pleasant way of stretching,” said Temmin. “Much more so than Brother Imbert’s.”

Issak ignored him. “How fast do you think you can get hard again, Supplicant?”

“Ehm--well--I’m not sure!” But Temmin instantly felt a twitch; the mere mention was still enough to go straight to his groin. Some day he would be jaded, he thought, but not now.

Issak stepped closer and smoothed the hair he’d been pulling not long ago. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

Temmin blushed and hardened further; any way Issak touched him felt erotic, and this caress was no different. “When I remember. Every time I take a piss, I can stop in the middle now.” He grimaced slightly; nothing erotic about pissing, he thought.

“Good! That’s good,” murmured Issak, taking Temmin’s length in hand and slowly stroking until it was fully erect. “It means that muscle is getting stronger. Keep at it.”

“You never told me what it was for, just that it was part of lasting longer--the Patience.”

Issak released him, poured a little oil into one hand from a bottle on the table, and resumed his now-slick caresses until Temmin groaned and put his arms around Issak’s neck to steady himself. “That’s all it is,” Issak said into Temmin’s neck. “A way of lasting longer.” Issak’s hand stopped and Temmin nearly cried out in frustration. He tried to push up into Issak’s grip, but the Embodiment stopped him, hand on Temmin’s chest. “You’re panting. Stop. Breathe in slowly--breathe out slowly. That’s it. When you’re feeling out of control, the first step is to slow your breathing and slow down or stop what you’re doing.”

Temmin felt his frustration subside slightly, though his erection did not. “How long am I supposed to last without dying?” he gasped.

Issak chuckled. “You won’t die. In time, you won’t even be frustrated.” He resumed stroking Temmin’s cock, even slower now but just as skillful. “Remember how it was with Neya? You didn’t spend until the end of the night, but I would wager you came more times than you can count. Were you frustrated?”

“No,” said Temmin through gritted teeth. “But that was--She’s a Goddess! That was Her doing, wasn’t it?”

“That night it was. Temmin, relax. Tensing up will make lasting more difficult,” said Issak, his free hand slipping up to work Temmin’s shoulders gently. “Imagine feeling that way, the way it was with Neya, whenever you wanted to. Nothing is completely as ecstatic as sex with the Gods, but few of us are privileged to know the difference. Once you’re through with your supplicancy, you’ll be able to enter that state as closely as a mortal may, especially with a partner who understands how to do the same. You’ll be able to last for hours, spend, and then last for hours more, coming over and over again through it all. In this way, we please our Gods and bring Their favor on the people.”

The sound of Issak’s voice, the way he looked down between them to watch his own hand stroke Temmin’s cock--Temmin tried to regulate his breathing, but found it increasingly difficult. “Are you close?” said Issak. Temmin nodded frantically. “Flex the muscle you’ve been working on!” Issak ordered.

But no matter how he tried, Temmin couldn’t manage to work that muscle; he felt the pulse beginning deep in his groin. Temmin rested his head on Issak’s forehead and closed his eyes, the world narrowing down to his cock in Issak’s grip, the feel of the hot, slick hand encircling him, the faint cinnamon scent of Issak’s hair, the Embodiment’s own erection hard against his thigh--he couldn’t stop. He cried out as he came all over Issak’s hip in a great spurt. Issak kissed him then, sucking on his tongue; a last spasm shook him, and his knees gave out. He collapsed onto the couch, Issak following him with considerably more grace.

“I’m sorry!” Temmin finally wheezed. “I tried!”

Issak laughed as he toweled himself off, handing the flannel over to Temmin when he finished. “It’s all right. You did better than I thought you would.”

“Really?” said Temmin, surprised.

Issak nodded. “Most postulants are so excited just being here at first that they manage only one or two minutes of stimulation no matter how hard they try. That you lasted close to a half-hour speaks very much in your favor.”

Temmin lay back, thinking. Feeling like I did with Neya, whenever I want-- “Are you sure this won’t kill me?” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure!” laughed Issak, lying down next to him on the linen drape. “I’m certainly not dead yet, nor is Senik, or Barik, or any of the Lovers and advanced Postulants. Look at the High Beloved--he’s close to 90. He says it’s the secret to his longevity, and in truth, our clergy tend to live very long lives. No, you’re not likely to die, Tem, quite the opposite.”

Temmin got up on one elbow, the better to gaze down at Issak’s perfect body. He reached out and traced the line of black hair down Issak’s belly to the curls at his base; Issak had been hard since the lesson had begun, and his cock still lay hard against his belly. “And what about this?”

Issak smiled up at him. “I’m patient.”

“How can I be patient while th’art gone?” Sedra groaned as she stroked Brinnid’s cheek. Once again she lay in Brinnid’s arms in the Wood, their heads resting on a pile of soft pillows atop a blanket. Her blouse was undone, the tops of her ivory breasts plush above her corset. “Thou hast brought me to such a state far too many times! Why can’t we be married now?”

“Because I would prefer to bring thee home to a nation at peace, love,” answered Brinnid, kissing her forehead. “I wouldn’t put thee in danger for the world and all who walk upon it.”

“Then thou hast better stop kissing me senseless,” she retorted. “Stirring me up when I shan’t see thee for who knows how long--th’art a cruel man, Brinnid of Sairland!”

He tightened his arms around her. “Th’art right, Sedra of Tremont. I am cruel enough to make sure thou shalt miss me while I’m gone.”

“I’d miss thee anyway,” she murmured against his lips before she kissed him. “The question is,” she resumed, “wilt thou miss me?”

“Of course I shall,” he answered, returning the kiss and holding her in it for a long time.

“There is another question, too,” she said, her eyes hooded. “Wilt thou wait for me?”

“Wilt thou?” he retorted, moving back the better to see her whole face.

“Dost mean, ‘wilt thou?’” she demanded. “For the first, I have no desire for anyone but thee, and for the second, I have to pass my Sister’s Temple examination! What choices do I have?”

“The Lovers’ Temple?”

“Where I’m not a devotee and where my own brother and sister can be found more often than not.”

“Thy maids?”

She blushed. “Not really my first choice, being a lover of men.”

“And yet the refuge of many a queen, lover of men or no,” he said.

“Brinnid!” she said, scandalized. “I would never!” She scanned his face for a clue as to his sincerity, then added, “Th’art teasing me, cruel man.”

“If ever thou didst take a woman to thy bed, I wouldn’t object.”

“No, as long as thou were invited!” she said, smiling.

“Ah, there is that,” he grinned. “Behind a screen, perhaps?”

“No!”

“I shan’t make a peep.”

“I told thee, no!” she giggled. “Nowhere near!”

“So thou art considering it!” he cried out, clasping her round the waist and rolling her under him as she laughed helplessly. “Oh, Sedra, I love to make thee laugh,” he said, adding a kiss for good measure. “And sigh--” another kiss-- “and moan...” He slipped a hand beneath her skirts, higher than he had ever before.

Her eyes widened. “Brinnid--”

“Is this not what thou wanted? What thou were practically me begging for?”

“When we’re married, yes, oh yes, but--”

“I shall do nothing to compromise thee, love,” Brinnid soothed. “Nothing to jeopardize a successful examination. We’re allowed these liberties. We are engaged. Or so it says in all the papers!”

Sedra laughed. “We are engaged, sir, and we do not need The Morning Capital to tell us so!”

“No,” he said, his gray eyes blinking slowly. “We do not. We need no one to tell us what’s right. This,” he said, moving his hand up the smooth cotton of her drawers to their opening between her legs, “this is what is right.” She felt him spread the wet lips of her sex, and groaned; his gray eyes lit up in amusement and desire. “Thy body very much agrees with me.”

“That was never in question!” she breathed. “The question was the wisdom of it!” Brinnid was making slow, slippery circuits around her vulva; her eyes closed, the better to feel his rough fingers, and her arms went round his neck.

Brinnid slid her skirts up for a better view of her. “Thou hast the prettiest little mole, right here,” he said, circling a mark on the inside of her left thigh. “I should like to kiss it, but today is not that day.” He returned his fingers to their task. “Hast ever touched thyself like this, love?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes,” she said in a small, constrained voice. He mustn’t know he’s not the first man to touch me there, she thought.

“I could not imagine a passionate woman like thee not doing so.” He flicked a finger just inside her until her hips moved of their own accord; she felt his lips smile against her cheek. “Dost still touch thyself?”

“Oh, yes.” Her heart thumped against her ribs, fear she would give away her experiences with Connin somehow adding to her arousal. Sedra opened her eyes and looked up into his. “I think of you now when I do,” she said impulsively.

“‘You,’ is it?” he said, stopping his fingers.

“I’m sorry, when--th’art--doing that, I can’t remember to use ‘thou,’” she answered in a rush; he resumed the slow circles, just touching her clitoris in passing, and she whimpered, clutching his broad shoulders.

“Th’art forgiven,” he smiled. “Thinkest of me? That’s what I want thee to do. I’m going to bring thee, Sedra, and when you touch yourself like this, I want you to remember my hand here. That will have to be memory enough until our day.” He crushed Sedra’s mouth to his, biting softly at her lips as he hastened his touch between her legs, dipping inside her to spread the wetness, stopping his strokes to grip her buttocks or thigh until she begged him to start again.

She was overpoweringly aware of his cock, pressing hard and urgent against her thigh. Sister’s Temple be damned, she thought. I can buy my way through the exam somehow, please, I want him, I want you, please let’s not wait-- But, hazy as she was with desire, she was still sensible enough to push this dangerous thought out of her mind. If I ask him for that, he’ll know somehow--I won’t be able to hide it...

Finally his fingers found the rhythm that led straight to the coil at the base of her spine, steadily teasing it tighter and tighter. Words rarely left her, but now she could do nothing but cry out, softly and then more urgently until finally the tension broke and the coil released in a fierce rush. Convulsive ecstasy pulsed through her and she screamed, pushing up into his hand as she pulled him on top of her in a violent grip.

Shuddering, Sedra lay back on the pillows; a few tears traced down the sides of her face from the corners of her eyes. One trickled into her ear, and she released Brinnid long enough to swipe it out with one finger, a small laugh almost lost as she slowly regained her breath.

Brinnid kissed her with a decisive smack. “That,” he said, “was fun.” He lay down next to her, stroking her cheek and licking the fingers of his other hand.

“I have never underst--” she stopped herself just short of betrayal. “Why would you want to do that--lick your fingers like that--after...” She trailed off, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

He hadn’t, too engrossed in his task. “Because it gives me one more thing to remember,” said Brinnid, sucking his middle finger clean for emphasis. “Thy taste, thy smell. One more thing to think about when I’m aboard ship so far from thee. Didst know,” he added, “that thy father sent me a miniature portrait of thee before I came across the sea from Sairland?” He rolled onto his back and pulled a small case from his breast pocket, thumbing open the latch. Inside was a tiny copy of a portrait Sedra remembered sitting for two years previous, just before Ellika had arrived at court. The copy reproduced only her head and shoulders, bare in the dark evening gown she wore for the sitting. “I keep it close to my heart, now that I know it actually resembles thee. It’s remarkably true. See, the eyes almost snap at you, and there’s the dimple that I see far too little of.”

Sedra chuckled. “The painter kept saying ridiculous things to make me laugh, in between demanding I hold still, and giving her very crotchety opinion of gaslight versus candlelight. She insisted on the latter, and only worked at night.”

“A woman, was it?”

“Rennard. One of several court painters, but the one I like the best.”

“She is very fine indeed. Thou art very fine,” said Brinnid, pulling her atop him.

Her skirts were still rucked up enough that only a layer or two separated her from him, and she sensed his arousal against her very clearly. It made her ache inside. “As art thou, my love. But tell me,” she continued. “What shall I have to remember thee by?”

He looked up at her in surprise. “I should think I’ve just given thee something to remember me by!”

“Thy taste? Thy smell? Can’t I have the same memories of thee?” she said recklessly.

Brinnid opened his mouth in a wry, astonished gape. “Th’art as saucy a maid as ever I did see! Dost even know what a man looks like?”

Sedra blushed, forcing back a cringe at her misstep. “Of course,” she said carefully, “I have been to the Lovers’ Temple to make my offerings with my family, and seen the great statues in the Grand Hall. Everyone is familiar with the proper image of Nerr, I’d suppose, even the most innocent child. Most households have a little altar of some kind, after all. And within the Keep, you have to have seen the many wonderful paintings of scenes from the Testaments, with all of the Gods in various states of dress, especially Farr and Nerr. And I am enough older that I remember Nurse changing Temmin’s diapers! So, yes, I suppose I do, in a way.”

“Shouldst wish to see an actual man? Nothing like a babe, I promise thee.”

Well I know, thought Sedra. She laid her hand against his cheek, the faint beginnings of stubble under her palm, then rolled off to sit beside him. “I should like to see my particular man.”

A slow appreciation spread across Brinnid’s face. “All right,” he said, putting his arms beneath his head. “Figure out the buttons, and take a look. Go on,” he added at her show of hesitation. Coloring for more reasons than she cared to think on, Sedra slowly undid his trouser buttons and slid her hand over the pants underneath, the outline of his cock firm under her fingers. Brinnid shifted slightly, and she glanced at his face. “Go on, then!” he grinned back at her. “It is thine idea!” Sedra returned her eyes to his fly; she fumbled at the buttons at his waist, and finally spread his pants open.

The hair that grew at his root was darker than the hair on his head, a sparse, nearly-brown russet that curled faintly. He was thicker than Connin, but not as long, she thought, studying him with wide eyes. “It leans a bit to port--that’s to my left, love--so it mightn’t look quite the same as a statue of Nerr,” he said in amusement.

“Why? Why does it lean? Didst break it?” she teased.

“Certainly not!” he laughed. “Because it does! It’s just how I’m made. No man’s as straight as a mast, we say in the Navy, and it has more than one meaning.”

Sedra took him in hand; Brinnid took a sharp breath inward, then eased it out. “Soft skin,” she murmured, moving it up and down with tentative fingers. Brinnid closed his eyes, a contented hum rumbling deep in his chest. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” she said shyly.

He opened his eyes. “Let me show thee.” Taking one arm from behind his head, he wrapped his big hand around hers and began to stroke. “That’s the way,” he said quietly. “Just like that.” He let her work him by herself, until he said, “Now, d’you see this?” He gingerly rolled back his foreskin, and just as gingerly, she touched the almost angry-looking, glistening red tip; he was leaking considerably by now. He shivered a little. “Gently. Very, very sensitive, love, especially right now. What is it thou sayest--thou hast me in a state--oh, girl, thou shalt kill me!” he said, as she leaned down to look at it more closely, and timidly kissed the head. His fluid tasted sweet--Connin’s had been a little bitter, she reflected. Sedra caught herself and shoved her former lover furiously out of her mind.

She played inexpertly with Brinnid, afraid to reveal what she knew, until finally he placed her hands aside. “Let me show you. Lay down beside me.” She gave him long, slow, deep kisses as he stroked himself, stopping now and again to watch his movements, until he groaned and his breathing came fast. “It’s now,” Brinnid gasped. Sedra sat up and impulsively reached out; she cradled his balls gently in one hand and wrapped the fingers of the other around his base. He cried out endearments in surprise and pleasure as he came, looking down his body at her hands on him, slippery now with his cum. “No, not thy handkerchief,” he stumbled out through gulps of air. “Stewn will raise no eyebrow, while Sinsett may object!” He recovered enough to give it to her, and she carefully wiped him clean, followed by her hands, before she handed it back to him. He wiped his own hands on the only corner left and tucked the large cambric square into his pocket.

“Camma keeps my secrets very well, sir,” she said, lying back down next to him. She put herself in the crook of his arm, kissed him again, and dozed with him until the sun slanting through the trees woke him.

“Tea time, love,” Brinnid said. She muttered protests until he pushed out of his arms. “Up, up with thee!”

She stood up, fastening the buttons of her blouse and brushing the wrinkles from her dove gray walking dress as he fastened up his trousers. “Thou dost always know what hour it is!,” she said. “I find this very annoying at times.”

“It is the way of a naval man, my dear. Best get used to it now.”

Sedra put her arms around him and took one last long kiss, twining her tongue around his in a lazy tangle. When it ended, she said, “I don’t know if this will make things better or worse while we’re apart, Brinnid.”

“Either way, darling girl, requires patience,” he replied. Arm in arm, they strolled out of the clearing down the forest path out of the Wood and back to the Keep, Sedra leaning her head now and again on Brinnid’s shoulder. Their occasional laughter floated back into the clearing, where the leftovers of the picnic, the blanket and the pillows waited for footmen to retrieve them.

In the branches above the clearing, something rusty flickered high among the spring green leaves. A masculine figure climbed expertly down from the high branches, finally swinging from the lowest of them to land on his feet in the grass. Connin stared after the couple, brushing bark from his breeches. “Patience," he muttered. "A thousand years of patience, and I’m done with it.”