Chapter 17 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

Desperate Hymns to a Dark Lady

Temmin felt Allis' breath hot on him and groaned into Issak's mouth. He strained against the strong arm across his chest as he felt a tongue lick at his balls, tasting him thoroughly; he let go of Issak's lips and gasped out, "Holy Mother!" Issak nibbled at his neck, and speech left him entirely.

Bit by bit, Allis worked her way up the underside of his shaft, tiny licks that ended at his slit. She took the head into her mouth and softly worked it, playing with the foreskin and running her tongue along the groove from his slit to the base of the head before swallowing him whole.

Temmin lost track of exactly what she did next, floating in a haze of pleasure punctuated by Issak's deep kisses, until he felt her press firmly behind his balls. He abruptly focused, and realized what had felt like forever had been a very short time and was about to get shorter. He tried to pull away, but Issak kept him pinned. "Let her finish you," he whispered in Temmin's ear. Temmin took two long harsh breaths; Issak bit him, hard, at his nape, and he came with a roaring sob.

"That didn't take long," said Allis after a moment, shaking out her shawl and settling herself next to him on the bench. Temmin draped himself over her and kissed her gratefully and sloppily.

"What can I do for you?" he said, cradling her head. "I still haven't seen you--I mean--and you too," he said, turning to Issak.

"There's plenty of time for that tomorrow, and not much time tonight," said Allis.

"We're professionals. We're used to delayed gratification," added Issak.

"I'm glad I'm not a professional, then," said Temmin, fastening himself up.

"Royalty has its own drawbacks, your highness," said Issak, standing up and brushing off the seat his trousers. Temmin could tell he was half-erect and probably working to bring himself entirely under control. How he longed to see Issak entirely out of control--but that was for tomorrow. "One of the drawbacks is that you're going to be missed soon if you haven't been already, so we must get back."

Temmin sighed and stood himself. "S'pose you're right," he said and retied his stock. He took a twin on each arm and they began walking companionably back over the lawn to the Keep, Temmin leaning over now and again to rest his temple against Issak's or kiss the top of Allis's head.

On the dance floor, Sedra was already putting up with one of the drawbacks of royalty in her view, namely balls.

It was well-known the princess didn't care to dance, and she was mostly left to her own devices, visiting with friends and being admired from afar by several hopelessly lovestruck young nobles. For though she wasn't the porcelain beauty her sister was, Sedra had a graceful, quiet elegance to her that showed in the way she held her dark head on her slender neck; it appealed to a certain kind of idealistic young man. The severely cut shot silk gown of blue and scarlet suited her so well she wore no other jewels but a diadem and ear-drops of Nijan opals. In fact, she looked so beautiful that night that even Ellika had had a brief pang of jealousy, until a quick glance in the mirror convinced her she was still the fairest of them all. As soon as their mother had retired for the night, Sedra and Ellika had taken turns partnering with Harsin, though Sedra left most of the dancing to her sister.

Why was her father staying so late tonight? Sedra couldn't retire before the king did--the only member of the family allowed to do so was the queen--and to her frustration he showed no signs of flagging. Outwardly, she appeared tranquil, but inwardly she sighed as the Duke of Barle's idealistic young son bowed deeply and asked her to dance. She smiled sweetly and let him lead her onto the floor. Sadly for the young man, the very long dance he chose required a great deal of switching of partners and took up an entire set. He wouldn't see much of the princess after all, but perhaps, he hoped, he could persuade her to accept an ice between sets. She would end up dancing back to him, after all.

Sedra circled calmly with partner after partner, gracefully moving through the form and chatting amiably with them as they went round and round--until she turned and found herself in a familiar set of arms. "Teacher," she said flatly. "I didn't know you danced."

"As enthustiastically as you do, your highness," replied the Teacher. "I'm under orders as well." There was an awkward pause. "You look splendid tonight, Sedra."

"You have no right to say anything of the sort to me," she said, struggling to keep her face composed.

"It's merely a statement of fact." Another awkward pause, though anyone looking on would never have known they spoke of anything more pressing than the weather. "I do wish, Sedra, that some day before you leave we could have something resembling our old friendship back."

"Why? You made it perfectly clear how you feel about me."

"I made it perfectly clear that I have limitations. Those limitations preclude what you want from me."

"There was a time," she said, her dark eyes flashing, "when I would have sworn that I was not alone in that wanting."

"You would have been right," the Teacher said quietly. "Is that what you want to hear?" Sedra paled, then flushed and stared angrily into the ancient gray eyes. "It changes nothing, Sedra. We are each on our separate paths, and there are other reasons why my--my ill-advised..." There was an uncharacteristic falter. "Princess, have pity on me."

"Pity on you?!" said Sedra in astonishment. "Pity on you?" she continued more softly. "Your advice to my father has resulted in my betrothal! A fine way to get rid of me!"

"It's the only diplomatically correct move for the empire. You would marry the Princess Royal to Sairland yourself were you king."

"Which makes it no easier for the Princess Royal, thank you," she huffed.

"And so is there no hope that my friend will return to me?" said the Teacher just before handing her off to her next partner.

"We shall see," said Sedra coolly. Inside, though, she was a seething mess, and it took every scrap of royal fortitude to keep it there.

Her mood was not helped by her new partner, who swept her up in a strong, proprietary grip. "Good evening, your highness," he said in a lilting accent. She looked up, irritated, and saw she had no idea who this man was. He was tall, strongly built but not heavy, with thick russet hair cut unfashionably short. His tanned, handsome face was clean-shaven and open, with fine, sharp cheekbones and jaw, and freckles across the bridge of his nose. His eyes were a warm gray, and though he was young there were already crinkles forming at their corners from the outdoors, and from laughing. "And how is your ball?"

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, sir," she said cautiously. "I don't believe we've met."

"Let me introduce myself, my lady. I am the Earl of Maccal."

"My lord Maccal, what brings you here from Sairland?"

"You noticed my way of speaking, then."

"I know where Cormaccal is, of course." She smiled formally. "Are you new to the capital? Part of the advance party preparing for the king's visit, perhaps?"

"Indeed," smiled Maccal.

"And when might we see his majesty here in Tremont?"

"Very soon, my lady, once he hears that reports of your beauty and grace are no exaggeration, but in fact do you no justice at all."

"He must be quite nearby, then. Is he as great a flatterer as you, my lord Maccal?"

"Worse, my lady, much worse. It is part of the Sairish character, though we consider it poetics, not flattery. But when it comes to you, it is no flattery, or poesy neither, but merely the truth." In spite of herself, Sedra blushed. Taking in her heightened color, Lord Maccal smiled slightly and studied her face so intently that she didn't know quite what to say or where to look. "Will you let me bring you a glass of something when the dance is finished? Some wine, perhaps, or lemonade if the hour is too late for wine?"

"I thank you, sir, but I am already committed," she said, glad for once that she'd taken the floor with that lovesick puppy from Barle. But when the puppy brought her a flute of sparking wine after the dance, she was very close to being rude to the poor boy. She listened politely as he earnestly expounded on Lassik Heinigen's latest chapbook of sonnets, "Desperate Hymns to a Dark Lady." He tried in vain to draw parallels between the poet's unrequited longing for his muse and his own longing for just one kind word from the princess. But she murmured noncommittal noises instead of kind words, and her dark eyes scanned the crowd over the rim of her glass for the handsome Sairish earl, who was nowhere to be seen.

He was not far away, though he was no longer in the ballroom.

"Who was that little beauty you danced with all night, then? Why'd you send her home?" he said, settling into a chair before the library hearth.

"Her?" The Teacher handed him a snifter of Leuteplum brandy. "A dead bore. A young matron I'd been asked to keep an eye on, no more."

"I shan't ask on whose behalf," said his lordship with a wink the Teacher ignored. He swirled the dusky brandy in its glass. "None for you?"

"I don't indulge, but I'm told 914 was a very good year for it."

Maccal took a sip and studied the glass again appreciatively. "Whoever told you that was more than right. I shall have to seek out a few bottles when we're passing through Leutefloss on the way home."

"The Keep has the entire vintage, but I'm sure his majesty would be pleased to make you a present of a case."

"A fine host, his majesty." He took another appreciative sip. "She's exquisite, she is."

The Teacher shrugged. "If you like that sort of thing. I find her too lacking in native curiosity, sapphire eyes or no."

"What, that little chit you were shepherding? No, no, I mean the Princess Royal."

"Ah," nodded the Teacher. "Another matter entirely. Princess Sedra if anything has too much native curiosity. In fact, don't expect her to be fooled by this masquerade of yours for long, if she ever was."

"It's no masquerade! I am the Earl of Maccal!"

"More properly styled His Majesty Brinnid the Ninth, King of Sairland and the Far Isles and all its Protectorates--"

"--Duke of Ammahome, Earl of Maccal, Lord of Deneen, Comfort of the People, Consort on Earth of the Bloody One and Defender of the Mother. I could have introduced myself as Ammahome as easily as Maccal."

"She would have known instantly who you were if you'd introduced yourself as Ammahome. It's the best known of your other titles. You've held it from childhood."

"Goes with the line of succession, yes. My father held it when he was Prince Royal, and it will go to my oldest son when he's born."

The Teacher leaned against the mantle. "Your reasoning for this feeble deception?"

Brinnid uncrossed his long legs and stretched. "I wanted to see her all unguarded, at least against me. She will be different with me when I reveal myself, even if she already knows who I am."

"Depend upon it, your majesty, she does."

He shrugged. "I wanted to see her amongst her people, on her own terms and not on some enforced best behavior." He sat up straighter and put his feet on the floor. "She is a jewel, counsellor, a finer woman than any I've seen. I woo her now for her own sake, not just that of Sairland."

"Hers is a heart not lightly given, and your courtship will not be effortless. Her highness is not a giddy girl but a thoughtful woman, and a passionate one. When her heart is finally given, the receiver had best know what he's about."

Brinnid looked at the Teacher sharply. "You sound altogether too intimate in your assessment, counsellor."

The Teacher's gaze went hard and flat. "Meaning what, your majesty? I have known the Princess Sedra since before her birth. If you are implying something, I will defend her honor and my own vigorously."

"Whisht," he answered, waving a hand. "None of that, then. I cannot fight you here and you know it. My magic is thousands of miles away in Sairland, and I know your skill with a dueling sword. It'd be a fine thing were you to kill me when I've come here to marry, not offend. I withdraw any unintended implications, Teacher. Please accept my sincere apology."

"Accepted," said the Teacher coldly.

Meanwhile, Lord Barle's son had finally given up explaining poetry to Sedra and she'd gone out onto the terrace for air. Her shoes were pinching and she wanted nothing more than to go upstairs, but Harsin was at the center of a large knot of lords, laughing uproariously. He's drunk, she thought, how unlike him.

She was resolving to avoid breakfast the next morning--a hungover king being the very antithesis of morning cheer--when she felt a little arm slide through hers. "All right, spill," said Ellika. "Who's the gorgeous redhead?"

"The gorgeous who?"

"That tall man you danced with! The one with the dark red hair--please don't act all innocent, I saw you blushing. Papa did, too, but he didn't seem terribly angry about it."

"No," said Sedra, "I don't expect he was."

"Who is he?" bounced Ellika, impatient.

"How can you be so giddy this late at night?"

"Pfft, not even winded. Who is he!"

"The Earl of Maccal. He's part of the Sairish delegation."

Ellika raised her eyebrows. "Well! If Brinnid's half as handsome as my lord Maccal is, you're in luck!"

"There's more to marriage than looks, Elly," said Sedra in exasperation.

"They don't hurt," her sister answered sagely. "Perhaps Papa will marry us both off to Sairland. You can marry Brinnid and I'll take his lordship."

"Somehow," said Sedra, "I don't think it's likely, considering that Brinnid is the Earl of Maccal, and unlike the Northern Tribes or the Inchari, civilized men are allowed but one wife at a time."

"That was--Sedra!" Ellika clapped her gloved hands. "How exceedingly romantic!" Sedra grimaced. "Well!" said Ellika. "If you don't want him, I'm sure I wouldn't mind!" Sedra laughed, slipped her arm around her sister and hugged her close in the chilling spring air.