Violet Moons

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Violet Moons ISBN # 9781419908583 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Violet Moons Copyright© 2007 Nina Nash Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Philip Fuller Electronic book Publication: March 2007 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Content Advisory: S – ENSUOUS E – ROTIC X – TREME Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic. S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

VIOLET MOONS

Nina Nash

Dedication For all those whose fondest wish is to meet the object of their dreams. May your destiny be fulfilled.

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Chapter One The flames in the cavernous fireplace shimmered violet, crimson and gold. It helped to heat the vast room, but the chill still reached their bones. They pulled their long, shimmering robes closer to their cool bodies and clutched the sinuous fabric tightly between blue-tipped fingers. Their garments did little to allay the barren coldness that had crept, uninvited, into their beings. The time of Midnight Moons had arrived. It would be desperately cold for many days. The hard wood of the Bilboa tree released a sweet golden mist into the air as it burned. It swirled around them, letting them forget for a moment the reason for this conclave. But only for a moment. Dinardo, his violet robe pulled snugly about his thick shoulders, silently shook his head. His long white locks, tied in the requisite dual tails, swayed beside his stillhandsome face. Only the shade of his hair and the knowledge in his eyes told of his advanced age. To an unobservant onlooker he would appear many seasons younger than he actually was. His body, his face and his movements were those of a young man. They would remain that way until death claimed him. Then and only then would his body show the true number of its years. Even at that instant, in his fleeting surrender to the realm of the unliving, it would only show for the briefest of moments before his extinguished being surrendered itself to the afterlife in a puff of silver smoke. “But I do not see how we will get the circlet,” said Dayanara, her voice filled with the passion of her convictions. “It seems that the people would protect it—protect it

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with their lives if they had to! It won’t be out in the open, waiting for anyone to just walk in and take it. No, the power will be hidden somewhere.” Her long blood-red fingernails drummed mercilessly on the granite tabletop. Why couldn’t they see that the only way to secure the circlet was by force? Had they all turned into a tribe of cowards after the last era? “You’re missing the point. The power will be protected, yes, but we should be able to convince them to give it to us. They will be reasonable, they will see our need. I don’t think we’ll need to take it,” said Alana quietly. “Take it! Of course we’ll need to take it—you’ve been bathing too often and too long, apparently, with the boobang bulb if you think we’ll get it any other way. Honestly!” snorted Dayanara. How could they be so naïve? “Just hold up right now. That’s not fair. You don’t need to bring that into it. Besides, I haven’t bathed in boobang bulb juice in…in days. So don’t even begin to act like I’ve been influenced because I haven’t been. I believe you’re going about it all wrong, that’s all,” said Alana. She furrowed her brow, her amber eyes flashing at her sister as she spoke. We look alike but that’s where it ends. She’s nothing like me—if she was, she’d begin to see this thing logically. “You’d have a discussion with them, then? Is that the proposal you bring to the conclave?” asked Dayanara. She studiously avoided her sister’s gaze, looking instead at her own crimson fingernails. “It is. I say we request a meeting and ask to have the power. You may be surprised. They might simply give it to us.” Dayanara smiled at the other woman’s stupidity. Did she really believe that they’d just hand it over? The one thing that kept all life safe from the voracious appetites of the others? How can she look so much like me, yet be so different? she thought. It’s difficult to believe that she can’t see that the only way to get the power is to take it—by force.

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Wathalia had, as was her way, kept her own council. Listening closely to her sisters, but refraining from joining in the conversation, she could see both sides. Still, she knew that neither sister had a plausible solution for their dilemma. She felt Dinardo’s probing eyes and when she looked up she found his steely gaze locked on her. She knew what must be done. Wathalia nodded, her long black hair falling over her shoulders as if ready to cloak her for battle. She knew that the time had come to tell her sisters what their decision should— what their decision would—be. And she also knew that neither of the other two females of the long line of Danizar would like the way things must move forward from this point. It was no secret that the logical Alana would much rather approach the people of the North, the keepers of the sacred circlet, with an evenhanded, rational proposal. She knew, too, that the people would reject Alana’s proposition outright. The realization that her headstrong, impetuous sister Dayanara would vow to charge into the midst of the people and take the sacred circlet was obvious to her as well. Dayanara would feel that it was their due, especially since their need for it was temporary yet unable to be ignored—not if they were to survive. She knew that Dayanara’s method would lead to death and destruction. The sacred circlet would be of no use to them if they claimed it in that manner. Wathalia knew that she had been born into the trio to take the lead in this moment in time. It was her destiny to gain the use of the circlet by means known only to herself and the elder, Dinardo. It fell to her to tell the others what they had to do now. They would not like it. They would argue with her, but she would not relent. There could be no other way.

*****

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The chill in their bedchamber was lessened by the thick covering of soft, furry longtooth wolf pelts. The oversize animals yielded enormous furs that draped their sleeping loft in security and comfort. The three women huddled beneath their furs together as they had been doing nearly every night since their birth. The daughters of the king and queen of Vestia, they were the last of their line until such time as they produced heirs to the kingdom. They had been protected as much for themselves as for the children their wombs would eventually produce. It had been that way since before the time of their birth. The daughters of the kingdom had spent all of their days inside the palace grounds and most of the minutes of those days and nights had been spent together. They were their own constant companions and had been since conception. “But won’t you be frightened without us? Don’t you want us to accompany you, maybe to help you on the quest for the circlet?” Alana asked quietly. Wathalia felt the comfort of Alana’s presence. Won’t I be frightened without you? Maybe, but I think not. I dare not tell you this, but I am excited to be finally going on the journey that is my destiny. This quest is not your destiny, dear Alana, but mine. I will miss you, though—a little. “No, I don’t think I will be frightened,” she said into the darkness. The glow from the fireplace danced across the ceiling but the light from the flames was quickly consumed by the vast room. It was a small, but comforting flickering and they were thankful for its presence. “I think I’ll be fine, just fine. And it is not your quest, Alana dear. It falls to me to retrieve the magic circlet and bring it home to the kingdom.” Alana’s fingers tapped in silent response, as if she had known that her sister would say those exact words, as if she had known all along that Wathalia would not agree to taking them along with her. They knew, they had always known, that although they were separated into three distinct bodies, they were linked. Eternally, without conscious participation, they were

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allied. A connection of their minds and souls that could never, not even in the life that followed this one, be unraveled. The tie between the three women was one that had been forged long before their births. It would endure long after their deaths. Dayanara turned onto her side to face the other two. “She’ll be frightened, all right, when she gets to the North. That’s when she will wish she had taken us along to accompany her, dear sister,” Dayanara said, her voice barely concealing her desire to swap places with Wathalia. No one could fail to recognize Dayanara’s longing for the adventure of the quest, her wholehearted wish that it had been her destiny rather than Wathalia’s. You may be right, dear Dayanara, but this is not your quest. It is mine and your wanting it to be different will not make it so. I am sorry for you, but this is my destiny, not yours. Wathalia turned her head toward her red-haired sister. She knew that her physically stronger, more athletic sister was better suited to making the long journey. They all knew it. “I am sorry, Dayanara dear, that this is not your quest. I know that you would love to be going to the North. And if you were going instead of me, I would wish you only the best. I would wish that your success in gaining the circlet was swift and safe and that you came home to Vestia with many engaging stories of adventure—and none of misadventure,” Wathalia said sincerely. Dayanara’s head hung lower when she heard the words, shame replacing jealousy within her. Her long, fiery red curls fell forward. She shuddered, then smiled, in response. “I wish you only the best, dear sister. You have been chosen and we, who are to be left behind, wish you well on your journey. We will be waiting for your return with the circlet. Won’t we, Alana?” “We will.”

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Turning on their sides to face the dancing violet flames of the fire they slumbered, leaving the cares of one world behind for the unguarded joys of another. They knew that when the time of Midnight Moons was ended, just a few nights hence, they would be separated for the first time ever. There was a part hidden deep within each of them that hated the idea of their impending separation. Excitement mixed with fear but there was no way to deter what would be their destiny, no way to avert whatever the future held for them. They knew that the separation, unwelcome as it was, was also necessary. Not only for them but for Vestia and its people. They knew there was no other way.

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Chapter Two The afternoon before she was to leave for the North, Wathalia waited in the cozy bedchamber adjacent to the one she and her sisters shared. The room was smaller but no less well-appointed, with a roaring fire in a cavernous fireplace and lush furnishings. The sleeping loft was not as large as the one the trio shared but it was adequate for its intended purpose. Wathalia had bathed in scented water and had rubbed skin-softening lotion into every spot on her body. She had brushed her long, straight black hair until it shone like ice on a pond and was dressed in a loose lavender gown. The preparations had been meticulous and she was ready for the afternoon’s activity. As a daughter of the king and queen of Vestia she had to be mindful always of her sacred womb. Within her body she carried the line of the kingdom, a responsibility she shared equally with her sisters. As long as they remained within the palace grounds the safety of the kingdom’s lineage was secure. But once one of them stepped outside the palace, her womb was no longer considered secure. The coupling she insisted upon before leaving on her quest would ensure the lineage of the kingdom, regardless of any unfortunate circumstance that might befall her. Having coupled with a high-ranking member of the adjoining realm, having his essence within her body before she left, would give her the ability to produce an heir for the kingdom if she chose and she wanted the ability to make that decision. That was the reason for the coupling. A light tapping at the door preceded his entrance. The son of the king of Bramhorn, Michel was stunningly handsome. With mocha-colored eyes, waves of black hair and a strong, muscular build, he was a prime specimen of Vestian manhood, even fully

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cloaked. Without clothing he was even more delicious, his full glory revealed in a series of rippling muscles covered with a soft layer of fine, black hair. Michel knew that it was an honor for him to be chosen to provide his essence for Princess Wathalia to carry with her on her journey. It was an honor that he was happy to fulfill. “Princess,” he said. His voice was deep and measured, the result of years of learning. Not merely good-looking but brilliant, Michel spoke eleven languages, two of which were long-dead, nearly forgotten tongues. He had mastered advanced calculations and could call to mind the names and locations of distant stars. A mind such as his was a complement to his other, more visual, attributes. Michel was one of her father’s candidates for an eventual matrimonial match but Wathalia hadn’t yet consented to the match. It wasn’t a question of liking him that held her back, she liked Michel well enough—she enjoyed his company, laughed at his many witty jokes and was naturally attracted to his masculine virtues. Regardless of these things, she couldn’t help but wonder if another man might make her heart pound. There was no denying that Michel was a fine man, but he didn’t make her heart respond the way she thought it should. The way she hoped it would. The way her sister Alana spoke of so effortlessly. The fair-haired sister had chosen a prince of her own and was slated to partake of the matrimonial ritual next season. Alana insisted that when she merely thought of her chosen her heart thudded uncontrollably in her chest. That was what Wathalia wanted for herself. “Michel,” said Wathalia, slightly inclining her head. “My appreciation goes out to you this afternoon. I am glad that you are able to accommodate me in this regard.” Michel’s eyes drank her in eagerly, flashes of appreciation glowing from within their mocha depths. “My pleasure, as always,” he said, his deep voice. “I am never unhappy to couple with you. You know that, don’t you?” 12

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“I do.” They had coupled many times in the past years. There was no shyness between them and they both knew that their interlude would be mutually satisfying, at least physically. Wathalia stopped. Nervousness washed over her as quickly as water falls from a high peak, a torrent of chilling, conscious-wakening knowledge that stilled her hands on his hard, warm body. Michel knew her too well to not notice her hesitation. He was in love with her, yet he knew she did not love him. Yet. He hoped, as did his father as well as hers, that eventually this woman would learn to care for him. Lovemaking was a pleasurable activity in both their kingdoms, something given and taken freely. They’d never before experienced a lack of passion. Never. Perhaps it was merely nervousness over the impending journey? “Please allow me leave to worship your loveliness.” “I can’t,” Wathalia said. She stared at the high domed ceiling above her and placed a hand over her eyes. It was true, and she knew it. She couldn’t couple with Michel, regardless of her obligations to the kingdom. “Let me couple with you. Allow me to remind you of how it is between us, how it has always been.” “No, Michel. I cannot.” The gauge of her emotions was her eyes, so open and clear and so easy for him to read. He saw that she didn’t love him in the manner he loved her, saw that his body and his friendship pleased her but that it might not be enough for her to allow the matrimonial rites. Michel sighed. “You do not love me.” She didn’t want to hurt him but she could not lie. “No. I do not love you. I am sorry, Michel, but it is the truth.”

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“And the seed that was to be planted this day? The one that would ensure the lineage of our great families?” “No, it cannot be. I cannot do this. Not now, not ever again. I fear I have lost my heart to another,” Wathalia admitted. She bent her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. Resting her chin on her kneecap, she met his gaze. A cloak of black silken hair swirled around her face, shielding her from his sight. That was good for Michel, whose body had begun to understand what his heart and mind had known for a long time. “Who is he? So that I may congratulate the man who has won the heart of the most sacred treasure in the land? Who may I call on?” Taking a deep, shoulder-raising breath, Wathalia answered. “I do not know his name. He comes to me in my dreams. He has always. I have, until now, tried to find a man with more substance than mere wisps from my nighttime hours. I have tried, Michel.” He nodded. “But I cannot pretend to love you when my heart already belongs to another. First, I will journey for the people to find the circlet. I will replenish our life source. Then I will journey for myself, and find the man who fills my soul with all that I crave. I will replenish my life source, then. And perhaps when I find this man, I will find peace. I will find happiness. I will worry then about the offspring of my womb. That is my destiny.” “Will you at least think of me while you are on your quest?” His eyes bored into hers, pleading for that much consideration. “Think of me and consider, one last time, whether or not you could find happiness with me. Please—it us all I ask of you.” “But you know how I feel. And you should not be waiting for my answer. You should seek out a woman who will love you as you deserve to be loved. That should begin immediately—while I am on my journey, not after I return.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “I promise to be open to finding love with another woman, dear Wathalia. That is, if you will simply carry thoughts of me along with you. 14

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And who knows? Perhaps when you return you will have decided you truly need to search for the man of your dreams. And perhaps I will have already found the woman of mine. Can we do that much for each other, at least? Make these promises?” “We can,” Wathalia answered. “It would be prudent.” They knew there was no other way.

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Chapter Three The frigid air swept its icy fingers across their cheeks as they stood in the meager circle of the rising morning star. The star could not compete with the frostiness that had been left behind by the Midnight Moons although it made a valiant effort to warm the land. Alana pulled her cloak closer to her body and shivered, her teeth bouncing together behind her tightly set lips. Looking openly at Wathalia she wondered if it would be the last time they would be together. “Take care, dear sister,” said Alana. “Take no undue chances, please. Promise me that you will be mindful of the danger.” “I promise that I will be mindful.” Wathalia bent her cloaked head to her sister’s forehead. She brushed aside the blonde hair and put her lips against Alana’s forehead. “Do not worry about me.” Dayanara watched the exchange between the two, surprised at the tightening in her throat. She blinked, conscious of the tears that suddenly threatened to fall from her eyes. Wishing yet again that she was going on this journey instead of Wathalia, she wondered if her sister would be strong enough to complete the demanding task. “Remember not to be afraid, dear sister,” said Dayanara. “It is an emotion that you cannot afford to have. Fear makes us weak. Promise me that you will be strong.” “I promise you that I will be strong.” Wathalia pressed her forehead to Dayanara’s for a moment before she touched her lips to her sister’s skin. The trio stood and stared into the distance at the rising star, each lost in thought. Three women so different yet so similar. Their hair and features, the movement of their bodies and the feelings that encouraged their actions were all varied, almost as if they were destined to be three 16

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points of a triangle. But their similarity, the undeniable thread that held them together, the way a Jonquart bush adheres to a Bilboa tree on the edge of a rocky crevice, was the blood that flowed within them. It was as if they were all parts of the same organism, with identical hopes and desires, dreams and destinies. They knew that if Wathalia failed, if she returned without the circlet, the kingdom would perish. They knew that as surely as they knew the time of Midnight Moons would stretch its cool finger forward and favor the land of Vestia with its icy embrace again in due time. The three women, and Dinardo as well, knew that if Wathalia died while on her quest there would be no hope for them. Long before the people of Vestia perished the two sisters would join Wathalia. The trio was destined to walk this world together. If one were to set a toe into the next world, the other two would have no choice. They would follow. Quickly. Wathalia turned to look toward Dinardo. He stood slightly apart from the sisters, out of the circle of the morning star’s heat. She stepped out of the star’s reach and stood beside him. Dinardo also had his eyes trained on the distance. There was an earthen track, overgrown and unused, that led to the lands past the borders of Vestia. It was the point where the track became lost in the thick forest where his eyes lingered. “I’m off, then,” said Wathalia quietly. “Yes.” “I will return with the circlet. The people will survive. Do not doubt this, Dinardo,” said Wathalia. “I will not fail.” He turned to her and stared at her for a long moment before he spoke. “I wish there was another way to save the people. We all wish there was, Wathalia. I hope you know that,” he said sadly. “But there is no other way.”

*****

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The silence in the forest was deafening at first. Accustomed as she was to the busyness of the castle and the constant chatter of household staff, visiting dignitaries and lingering friends and family the absence of those things was a bit unsettling at first. But by the time the morning star had risen to its peak in the sky Wathalia had forgotten the nervousness the initial silence had thrust upon her and was able to hear what had been hidden behind the stillness. She was able to discern the deeper, more pleasing, lower layer of activity that filled the gaps between the tall trees. As she heard the movement of trees and flowers as they grew, the whisper of the wings of creatures both seen and hidden and the steady noises of a land that was alive she felt less alone. Finally Wathalia was able to hear with her heart rather than with her ears. She knew that she was not taking this journey in solitude after all. The wide, buttercup-yellow leaves of the tall, gnarled Boke trees rustled in the tender breeze of the forest. The squatty Polter bushes had needles that brushed against her cloak, sounding like the whisper of bats’ wings as she walked past them. The steady hiss of low-legged forest creatures, dragging their tufted tails along the forest floor, brought a smile to her face. Hours spent planting one foot before the other left much opportunity for introspection. Wathalia’s mind settled naturally on the issue that felt, at times, all-consuming to her. It was a topic that she and Alana and Dayanara had discussed endlessly, one they had begun talking about it when they were but small children. They had debated the subject all throughout their middle years and into their young womanly moons. Now that they were women they discussed it less and less, knowing that discussing it wasn’t the way to a solution for any of them. So they did not discuss it hour after hour, day after day. But it was with them always, regardless of whether or not they spoke of it. The burden cast its heavy weight on their shoulders. It had no regard for where they were, what they were thinking or feeling or even if they cared to carry it.

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Even in the forest Wathalia could feel the weightiness of her situation. It was like a boulder tied to her back by a length of wizard-forged chain. There was no freedom from the fact, not even in the solitude of the trees, that she had not yet chosen a mate. A man to share her life and her love, to place himself beside her at the long council table and to father the heirs to the kingdom of Vestia. That decision was the one that had plagued her like a case of toadstool boils for every one of her days. But unlike toadstool boils there was no ready cure at hand for her lack of a man. There was no healer’s touch, no magician’s blink of an elliptical eye, no ghastly potion to swallow that would solve the dilemma. No, she needed someone. And not just anyone, either. The man that Wathalia chose for a mate would have to follow her as she and her sisters ruled Vestia for many ages to come. He would need to share ordinary matrimonial things with her yet also know enough to understand that there were many things that he could never share with her, issues that could only be discussed within the circle of the trio. Why is it one of life’s greatest pleasures, as well as its perils, to choose a mate? Someone to share my heart, my life, forever and always. Someone to laugh with, shed tears with and simply pass the days and years with? Oh, how I want the man to fill me completely—not only my sex but my heart and soul, too. Others find mates so easily, it seems. But me? I have only one man who makes my heart sing. But he is merely wisps. Wishes made in the hours of sleep. Hopes realized in the brightness of day. But is he real, this man I seek? And if I find him, will he know me for who I am? Not only a princess, but a heart-mate? A very rare man, indeed, who could fill the bill. And fill her heart. And quench the fires that raged within her body, the fires that she had not dared to admit existed—not to anyone, not even to her sisters. She knew that until she had made her decision there would be no rest for her mind or heart. Or her body. No, she had to decide upon a mate. And soon. There could be no other way. 19

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***** Sitting beside the narrow stream in the dappled glow of the morning star Wathalia warmed her face, closing her eyes and lifting her chin toward the sky. She slipped her arms out of her walking cloak, letting it fall on to the mossy stone she sat upon. I must be getting closer to the North. The star is getting stronger with each passing hour. It’s too bad that the warmth of the star doesn’t surround Vestia like this—it is so full and flows over my skin like the waters of Mandabel’s sky fountain. It would chase the chill from the land, from the people. For a while at least. The people would benefit greatly from the strength of the star if it were thus in our land. She pushed her fingers beneath the slightly damp hair at the base of her neck and lifted it off her skin. A breeze, soft and silent, swept over her, licking at the tender hidden spot like a lover’s tongue. Wathalia shivered, not from chill but from the teasing torturous excitement that the touch brought with it. Her nipples stiffened, pressing against the soft fabric of her tunic and she shifted on the large stone as her belly grew warm and her love spot moistened. Memories of Michel rose, unbidden, into her mind. He was not as easily forgotten as she’d hoped. Always it’s the same thing…men. Michel. I know he wants me and I want him, too, but not in the way that I should want him. I enjoy coupling with him…enjoy the feel of his hard staff inside my warm, wet center. I love the way he watches me take my pleasure and I get a thrill from watching his release. Yes, it is good. Very good. But is it enough? He does not do it. He does not quench the fire that burns. But perhaps no one will ever quench that fire. Maybe the fire is merely a part of who I am. Maybe the fire burns within each of us. No, I cannot believe that to be true. I know there must be a man who will make me burn in more places than just between my thighs. There has to be. Dropping her hair back into place as she reached down to pick up her traveling pack, Wathalia snorted at her endless preoccupation with the subject. 20

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“Honestly,” she said to the inquisitive green-eyed bird that perched on the ground beside the stone. “Is there nothing else in this land for me to consider? Is making a matrimonial choice the only thing that I should be thinking about? How ridiculous is this whole thing? Pointless, really, don’t you think?” She reached inside her pack and withdrew a wrapped bundle, untied the length of twine that held it closed and spread the wrapping on her lap. Tearing off a largish chunk of firm brown bread and tossing it to the spongy ground in front of the bird she closed her eyes for a long moment, searching for a way to calm the swirl of emotions within her. When she opened her eyes the bird was enthusiastically pecking at the bread and Wathalia took a bite of her midday meal. “Michel,” she continued. “His manhood. His pleasure. My pleasure—and that, I promise you, little bird, is something I take very seriously—is that all there is for me to consider? And how will I know when I have found the man for me? Is it not enough that he makes me shiver inside when he fills me? That I tingle for his touch when I think of the minutes we have spent together already? Or does my heart truly need to thump—pound even—in my chest, like Alana says it does? How, feathered companion, will I know?” The bird cocked its head and stared at her as if it were searching its mind for an appropriate answer. It watched her finish her bread. It watched her as she ate her blue melon and drank the sweet clear Vestian water she carried with her. It watched Wathalia with humanlike fascination. Pushing her meal remnants back into her pack, she smiled at her meal mate. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t have an answer for me. That is fine—I did not expect one, really. I would just like to know if this is the way it is to be for me— uncertain, yet certain. I know how I feel about Michel—of that I am certain. Yet I am uncertain if that is enough to last a lifetime. And what of this other man, this elusive man who fills my mind night and day? Is he real, little one? Is he a true living, breathing man, or have I conjured him from nothing more than a desire to know him as

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real. Is he merely a product of my dreams? Will I always search for him? I need to know, small bird, if this is the way it must be for me. That is what I need to find out.”

***** By the time Wathalia decided to stop for the night she was weary. She had walked far in one day but she was confident that she would reach the land of the North within the circle of two more morning star cycles. That was, she knew, the best thing she could do for her people. A glowing fire came to life quickly with scraps from the brush beside a tiny waterway. When the violet and gold flames were crackling she looked toward the small stream. It was cool and clean and despite her weariness she decided to bathe. Hanging her cloak and tunic on the low limb of a tree she walked, nude, to the edge of the water. Not at all self-conscious about her unclothed state, she stood at the water’s edge for a moment and watched the ripples made by small underwater creatures. In Vestia communal bathing was standard within groups of relations and acquaintances and the naked body was never something that any Vestian would consider shameful. The water was soothing on her hot skin as Wathalia walked to the center of the stream, where the water was deepest. She searched until she spotted a low, flat rock that had been worn smooth by the incessant washing of the water. Then she lowered herself into the water until she was sitting on the wet rock. As the water broke around her shoulders she dipped her head beneath its surface, holding her breath for as long as she could. When she lifted her head for air she was blinded by the streaming blackness of her own hair and she pushed it out of her eyes with a wide grin. Water. It could make even a tired woman feel like a child again. Her washing was an enjoyable task that ended too quickly. Before entering the stream she had pulled a handful of fatty blackthorn flowers. Rubbing the flowers between her palms she used the frothy silver lather they yielded to scrub her skin clean.

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It was an invigorating lather and the muscles that had been so weary were not only cleansed but greatly stimulated. Wathalia floated on the surface of the water, feeling as clean and buoyant as a cork released from a wine flask. She looked down at herself, at her smooth sleek body. Her nipples, rosy and wet, peeked out of the water toward the darkening sky like the tiny horns of two pink platyfish. Letting her eyes travel further down her length, she pressed her hips a bit higher, bringing them out of the water as high as she could. The movement exposed her fuzzy bush, the one that concealed her sacred opening. She looked at the flat abdomen that lay between the two points of her body, the spot where life began and the peaks that nourished new life and marveled at the spot that, although it was deceiving in its concave smoothness, could shelter life. But it did not. The thought made her sink like a loaf of moldy bread. Sitting on the rock once again, she gave herself only a few moments to consider the implications of carrying an heir to the throne of Vestia. Or not carrying one, as she’d decided. Now it is even more imperative that my quest be a success. There is no room for failure now that I have not given myself the option of the heir. No, I must retrieve the circlet, refill Vestia’s life force and give myself the chance to complete my fondest desire. I need to find a man to make my heart pound and I need to feel the fulfillment that the birth of a child will bring. I need to find myself, find my love and move forward. There is no other way for me.

With little else for her to do, Wathalia lingered in the stream. Running her fingers through her wet locks, untangling the snarls in the thick hair, she looked over at the crackling hearth fire. It would be her companion for the night’s journey into sleep. The caress of the water as it lapped her skin was far more stimulating than the frothy cleansing lather had been. The temptation to lose herself to its gently insistent stroking was overwhelming. With a sigh, she leaned back in the water and parted her legs. 23

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The current washed over her hidden spots and she felt the first tingling sensations urge her forward. Wathalia knew it would be an effortless wave of pleasure that would consume her body. She scooted forward on the rock, pushing herself closer to the current. Pleasure was, for Vestians, as natural as breathing. Pleasure, either alone or with a chosen mate, was welcome at any time and it was not uncommon in the land to come across coupling, or solitary pleasuring, in nearly any venue. Tongues. It feels like ten tongues tickling me. Stroking, kissing, loving me at my center. Oh, it feels divine. As her fingers left her hair they slid lower, over her breasts. She cupped them in her palms as if they were ripe melons before she gave them a small squeeze, massaging the soft, tender skin. Her nipples were like hard nuts between her fingertips as she tugged them and she moaned as pleasure filled her, her voice a harmonious addition to the songs of the forest. The sensations that filled her body were building and she arched her back so that her swollen, throbbing sex was open to the water’s licking waves. Her own waves grew more insistent and she rode them higher and higher until she felt them breaking over her. She gasped as the sweet, silent shuddering began within her. As Wathalia climaxed, the face of the man that filled her mind wasn’t one that she had seen before except in her dreams. It was the way it had always been for her when she took her solitary pleasure—somehow she was connected to this handsome stranger. The stranger was part of her destiny, she knew that. But she had searched all of Vestia for the face that came to her and had never been able to find it. Was it the face of one long dead? Or perhaps it was the face of one yet to be born? Perhaps it was merely a figment of her inner heat. Not truly a flesh-and-blood man, not a man who would walk this plane with her, but a dream, only a dream.

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As she dropped her hands to the soft, quivering spot between her legs and stroked herself absently as her body relaxed she let her mind fill with visions of the man she only knew by sight. Dead, alive, old, new, dream or real, I have to know. I have to find the face that comes to me, comes to me in waking moments as well as in my unguarded sleeping hours. I have to know who it is that belongs to the turquoise eyes. I cannot endure the wondering…I need to know what lies behind and within those sea-deep eyes. Dare I say it? I think I have lost my heart to this man, this dream lover who consumes me from afar. Wathalia knew with every fiber of her being that there was no other way for her. No other way to find satisfaction, except with the face of the stranger in her mind.

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Chapter Four “I will not linger over thoughts of pleasure,” Wathalia said as she strode through the forest. It had been a sleepless night, spent tossing on the hard ground beside the crackling fire. Visions of strangers, the sound of Michel’s deep voice pleading with her over sounds of her own protestations and circlets of all shapes and sizes plagued her dreams. With the rise of the morning star she had awoken to a new resolve—a resolve to think of nothing but the circlet. “No Michel. No stranger—no stranger! No matter how handsome his face is or how wide his back is or how big his…his… No! No stranger,” she muttered. “Ridiculous, simply ridiculous! One man loves me yet I do not love him. Another knows not of me yet I cannot think of anyone but this nameless stranger. No more! I cannot bear it. If this is love, I need a respite. The circlet, that will be my focus. Nothing more.” Passing beneath low-hanging branches that reached for her hair without a glance, she stomped over brattleberries and released their cloying fragrance into the warm morning air, yet she didn’t stop to sniff their scent. And when she scraped her ankle against the swirling bark of a tall azure tree trunk she didn’t feel the scratch it left behind. Wathalia’s morning trek brought her closer to her destination by a large measure. A determined woman covers more ground than an indifferent one. She covered a lot of ground. When she paused for the midday meal she was once again beside a stream. The land was covered with waterways of all sorts and it was nearly impossible to avoid them. The stream that she rested beside was a large one, with a small cluster of stones on the far side that the flowing water cascaded from, sending melodiously bubbling notes into the warm air. 26

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Sitting beneath the canopy of an umbrella-shaped tree, she ate her meal of bread and berry pudding quickly. She had given herself a hearty appetite and found herself hungry even after the food had been consumed but when she looked into her pack she found no extra morsels. There were only carefully measured meal packets remaining. Enough for her journey but none to spare. And that was only if she didn’t eat more than her share at any meal. With a sigh she closed the pack and turned to look at the water. Allowing her mind to wander for the first time since she had awakened it turned toward thoughts of the journey and its purpose. The circlet will not be easy to retrieve. The people of the North are dark-hearted, selfish and backward. They are an angry people, unreasonable and filled with suspicion. I will have to make them see that we do not mean to keep the circlet forever. We need to hold it only for a short while to replenish our life force or we will perish. They will not care about us or our plight. They will not understand. But I will make them understand. Somehow, I will make them see that it is the only way. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, the notes smooth and sweet and enticing. Familiar yet unfamiliar all at once. Wathalia searched for the origin of the music that filled her head. It rose above her own thoughts, pushed aside the plans for the circlet and claimed her full attention. It was something that could not be denied. Her eyes were pulled toward the movement that she saw at the water’s edge. The movement was rapid and measured, coming in beats that accentuated the sounds. It seemed to be coming from the center of a clump of berry bushes. Rising quietly from her place beneath the tree she walked cautiously over to the clump of berries and leaned down. Separating the blue fronds with shaking hands she peered between them, searching for the source of the music.

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The strains of the melody were louder, coming from deep within the berry fronds. With the tips of her fingers she firmly pushed aside the fronds and gazed into the center of the plant. A pair of beady yellow eyes stared up at her. With its chartreuse body and shimmering skin it was camouflaged effectively in the plant’s center. But it was definitely not part of the plant. “What are you?” asked Wathalia. “I have seen many amazing things but I have never before seen something like you.” She reached out and stroked the creature’s satiny skin. It was cool and smooth and it seemed to be completely unafraid of her. Once again it began to produce the simple melody. She could see the area beneath its mouth vibrate with each musical note and there was no doubt in Wathalia’s mind that the little green being was singing. As if on cue other voices joined the first. They joined and swelled and soon the whole forest was alive with the music of the small green animals. She sat back on her heels and listened to the sounds for quite some time, letting the melody fill her mind and body as evenly as water fills a puddle. It rolled over her and for a while she let the weight of her mission fall from her and she lived in the moment. The moment was far too short. Wathalia knew that she could have stayed there forever, had she not the matter of the circlet to deal with. It was difficult to leave the musical creatures behind entirely and she had a strong desire to place one of the singing beasts in her pack and carry it with her on her journey to the North. But as she reached for one, the first one she had seen, she realized that she couldn’t take it with her. She pulled her hand back. No, she knew she must continue her journey on her own. It was her destiny to go forward without taking anything or anyone with her on her quest. There could be no other way.

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Wathalia heard the sound of footsteps approaching her fire long before she saw the person who was making the noise. The owner of the less-than-silent feet made no attempt at concealment. When he walked out of the cover of the trees and stood in the small clearing she was not frightened. She was barely even surprised. After the singing creatures there was little, she thought, that could startle or shock her in the forest. When her eyes found his she felt as if she had finally realized her destiny. For a brief moment all thoughts fled her mind and she let herself fall under his spell. Her heart fluttered, a recognition she could not control. A recognition she had no desire to control. “Greetings,” he said. His voice was as smooth as warm wild amber honey on a steaming hot loaf of bread. “I saw your fire and I wondered if we could share its warmth. I hoped that as well as sharing the fire’s warmth perhaps we could share a long, joyful evening of fellowship. Greetings to you and all your fellow travelers.” The man looked around the clearing as if expecting to see others, but there was only one woman in the space. One very beautiful woman. It was customary, even expected, that when travelers met they share hospitality without reserve. It would have been unthinkable for Wathalia to deny his request. The request itself was merely a formality and they both knew it. “Of course,” she said, rising to her feet. She had bathed in the small stream beside the clearing and was dressed only in a loose-fitting tunic. Her hair was unbound and fell in a thick sheet around her body. “I am Wathalia. Please, join me.” Forever. She watched him walk toward the fire. He stopped a short distance from the flames and removed a leather travel pouch from his broad shoulders and leaned it against a tree along with a lumpy-looking bundle. She could only guess at the contents of the bumpy package. When he stood on the other side of the sputtering flames she got a long look at the stranger. The stranger who is not strange, but familiar. 29

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With a tall, muscular and broadly built body, his hair was long, the color of chestnuts when they are ripe and ready to be picked. Despite the stubble of his thick beard his face was friendly and he smiled at her open assessment of him. He looks as if he’s been traveling for days. Long enough, anyway, to grow an impressive covering of chin whiskers. It was his eyes that made Wathalia feel off balance. They were large and he looked into hers without guile. His directness was customary and it wasn’t the unsettling part of looking into his wide, open eyes. The stranger’s eyes were blue. Not just any blue but the color of a deep turquoise sea, a sea so clear and clean that seeing fathoms into it was an easy task. His eyes were a teal blue shade that Wathalia had only ever seen one place before. In her dreams. She was staring into the face of the stranger from the dreams that had plagued her for her entire life. Staring into the eyes was a bit like dreaming, too. Suddenly she felt woozy and wobbly and without the balance that had always been within her. As she swayed, the stranger crossed to her side in a flash. The expression on his handsome face was one of pure concern. Honest, unbridled concern. His fingers reached for her arm and he placed them on her. Through the thin tunic she could feel the heat of his body boring into her own cooler body. The heat radiated from its point of beginning, traveled up her arm and into her center as surely as if it had always known the way to her heart. For a moment, one fleeting irrational moment, she thought that her heart might stop beating within her body. She stared into the bluer-than-blue eyes and waited for it to happen, for her heart to suddenly turn to stone, but it did not happen. If anything, it beat more quickly. “Are you unwell? Would you like me to examine your body? Have you been scratched by a dragon or bitten by a kelp rat?” His voice was calm and even but held a

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hint of panic. They both knew that the bite of a kelp rat was fatal and that kelp rats were common in the far reaches of the forest. Wathalia found her voice. It had been trapped inside her but the mention of kelp rats unleashed it. “No, I have not been bitten. Thank you but I will not need to be examined. I have not been scratched by a dragon, either. No, I am fine. It has been a long day for me and I am weary. Please, join my fire. You are welcome,” she said as she blinked her eyes rapidly, as if to clear her head. As she blinked she realized that she must look addlebrained so she stopped blinking and concentrated instead on holding her eyes open. Then she thought that not blinking must make her appear even more dim-witted so she stopped holding her eyes like a statue’s and relaxed. She blinked at will and hoped for the best. “I thank you for your hospitality, dear Wathalia. Allow me to introduce myself, if I may be so bold. I am Priam. I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said. Priam bowed low, pressed his lips to his fingers and released the sentiment into the air above their heads. It was the customary greeting for a male stranger to give to a female stranger. The release of his best wishes into the air was a signal to the powers above that he wished the relationship to be a trusting, caring, friendly one. There could be no other way for strangers to begin a relationship in the land.

It was impossible for Wathalia’s heart not to gallop in recognition of the man who joined her at her traveling fire. It was impossible for her mind to ignore the knowledge that Priam, the stranger from the forest, was in fact the man who had been filling her nights with dreams of love, passion and fulfillment. And it was impossible for her thoughts not to stray to the visions that she had seen in her dreams, the sensations that she had experienced already with Priam—even if they did not exist in the bright glow of daylight’s reality.

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Her eyes locked onto his as he knelt before the fire. But when he stretched out his hands to warm them and she saw that he had been injured. A large wound covered the palm of his right hand. Deep-looking and with a puffiness to it that she didn’t like, the gash concerned her. Infection in the forest was nothing to be taken lightly. It would be easy and often was, for a traveler to succumb to the dangers of the forest. Confusion fled mercifully as she saw his need. Once again Wathalia felt in control of herself. The stranger. My stranger. His name…Priam. It is like a song to my heart. But first I must tend to him. He needs me. “Your hand,” she said. She pointed toward his palm and his fingers curled instinctively to protect the damaged area. “You are injured. What happened to your hand?” Looking down at the reddened area with a scowl that only made his rugged face more handsome, he shrugged. “Careless. I reached into a thicket, into a grove of bushes to pick the berries of the honeymint bush. I only saw the berries. I didn’t see the thorns,” Priam said, grinning sheepishly. “A good lesson, I think. I should look at where I am putting my fingers before I put them carelessly where they could be hurt.” Wathalia knelt beside him, reached for his hand and took it within her own smaller ones. When they touched it was as if they had been touched for an instant, an almost unreal second, by a tiny bolt of lightning. They both felt the shivering jolt of electricity that passed through their bodies, felt the tiny hairs on their arms and on the backs of their necks stand up at the shared touching of skin on skin. When it came to her she tried to ignore the tingling in her breasts, the tightening in her chest and the definite warmth that was spreading from her hidden center outward. She tried to ignore it but its pull was there, the pull of the fleeting insanity that tugged at her. 32

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“You have need of attention. You have a wound that must be attended to so that it does not bring your body to a weakened state. I can take care of that need for you. I have my medicine pouch in my traveling pack. Will you allow me to attend to your wound now?” She smiled when he nodded his head. Allow me to heal you, so that we may find our futures—together. “That would be most welcome. I admit that I am not much of a healer, not much good at attending to my scrapes and cuts. But first I would like to wash in the stream. I have much grime covering my body and I need to make myself clean before I can rest.” Standing, Priam loomed over her. She looked up at him and saw the treetops swaying behind his head. They seemed to be very far away from her. Very far indeed.

***** Wathalia attempted to concentrate on the modest meal she was preparing. Trying to avert her eyes when Priam removed his travel-dusty clothes, she studiously avoided openly staring at his exposed back as he lowered himself into the water. She tried. But she failed miserably. He is beautiful. He is, I know, the man who has coupled with me so many times in my dreams. My body recognizes his—and welcomes it. Beneath lowered eyelashes she studied the man while he bathed. He sat on a flat stone in the center of the stream and ducked his head beneath the glasslike surface of the water. His long dark hair streamed down his thick neck, down his wide, unscarred back and down lower, down into the water. Some of it floated on top of the stream when he dipped his body beneath its surface and its tangled tendrils held her eyes to it as if she was already physically ensnared in the silky threads. His hands scrubbed vigorously at his body. Smooth, creamy bubbles from the fragrant roots he used for cleansing wafted toward her through the evening air and she inhaled deeply.

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She was shocked at the tensing of her nipples, the strangled breath that fought to escape her suddenly constricted lungs at the recognition that washed over her. Wathalia knew the scent that floated to her from where Priam bathed as surely as she knew the scent of her sisters’ hair or the odor of fruit grilling during feast days. It was the same intoxicating scent she’d experienced in her dreams. Priam had no false modesty but when he looked over at her, toward the fire and the food he raised an eyebrow in question. Unaware of her customs, he did not wish to offend her by appearing immodest in her presence. “Wathalia, please…tell me, is it considered to be in poor taste for a man to emerge from bathing in the presence of a woman that he has just met?” When in doubt, he knew that it was better to ask directly for an answer rather than risk offense. Throughout the lands and between the kingdoms wars had been started over smaller infractions against propriety. He did not wish to offend her, either by covering himself as if in hiding or by exposing himself as if he didn’t care about her sensibilities. In truth, nothing could be more important to him than how she felt. About him, yes, but about other things as well. “In my land it is not considered rude or in poor taste to exhibit the human form. No, it would not offend me to see you emerge unclothed from bathing,” she said, looking over at him and laughing. “It would make me think that you were a strange creature indeed if I were to see you emerge from bathing clothed.” They laughed easily, the sound of the shared joke filling the cooling air. “Although I understand that there are places where it is customary to bathe with the garments all in place,” said Priam. He stood in the stream and droplets of water fell in small rivers down the rippled muscles of his hard body. “It saves, I am told, on cleaning the garments and keeps them from becoming too travel dusty or work worn.” He took a few steps to where the bank met the water and as the water level dropped she was able to see more and more of his perfectly sculpted physique. It was impossible not to look openly at his body. 34

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“Personally I would rather wash my garments, regardless of the time and energy such activities entail, than to be forced into bathing while still wearing them. It seems that it would be terribly confining to do so.” You should never wear garments, Priam. Never. Nothing that gorgeous should ever be concealed from view. It is simply not right to hide that from the eyes of the world. When she pulled her eyes from his manhood she found him watching her as she stared at him. A slow grin spread across his face as he recognized the look of desire on Wathalia’s face. She nodded, acknowledging her longing for him. Dropping her eyes as he rubbed his body dry on his spare tunic, she watched in fascination as he touched each part of himself in turn, shaking and stroking until all signs of moisture were gone from him. She watched with an intensity that could not be ignored. And when he pulled his tunic, damp now from his large hard body, over his head she sighed. She wanted him, she knew. She knew too, that she would have him just as surely as the moon would rise over the spot where they were to share their passion. She knew that there could be no other way.

***** After his hand was bandaged and they had eaten their modest meal they reclined by the fire. They watched the violet and gold flames lick the night air, watched the crackling logs split and groan, spewing sparks against the forest floor. The moss upon which the fire glowed was moist and magical, sheltered by the bark of the tall, gnarled orange-striped trees that grew around them. It couldn’t ignite, no matter how hot the fire grew. They were out of harm’s way in the clearing. Safe and secure and feeling as if theirs was the only presence in the forest. It was a good feeling—a feeling that easily encouraged communication.

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Their meal, and the time immediately after it, was filled with laughter and conversation fueled by twin desires. They wanted—no, needed—to know each other as fully as possible. Respect, shared interests and instant camaraderie made their time together pass swiftly. Too swiftly, for either of them. Priam was handsome, even clad only in his lightweight tunic. The thin cloth could not camouflage his muscular form, his long, unbound hair hung over his shoulders like a veil on his back and his face had the rugged features that every kingdom held in high esteem. He was a man who would catch any woman’s attention. Especially a woman who had been seeing his face in her dreams every night for all of her life. How can it be that I know your face so intimately, Priam? I have seen you so often that I feel as if I know each contour of your skin, each dimple and dent on your handsome face. You are the man of my dreams come to me in the forest. Is this part of my destiny, too? “I have been on a small, satisfying journey in search of new or better spots for my people to sojourn during next season’s warm violet moons. It is difficult for the young ones, I think, not to have new areas for exploration and learning. I know that when I was a growing pup I liked the thrill of finding new places. I always felt as if I were the first to ever set foot on a spot, the first to touch a patch of moss. Even if it is not so, it is always a good feeling to know that it is your discovery, is it not?” Priam’s voice washed over her as smoothly as the nectar that came, warm and bubbling, from the giant Vestian nectar baths. She felt lulled as he spoke, as if transfixed by some type of magic. The magic is of the heart’s making, I think. It must be. Surely this is what Alana speaks of, isn’t it? What else could compare? Wathalia nodded, recalling the thrill of exploration, the enthusiasm that came from seeing a new place. It was something she was feeling often on her journey to the North. Every inch took her toward new experiences, unseen places and she felt great anticipation. Great excitement. “It is a good feeling. Are you a scout, then? For your people?”

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He looked thoughtfully at the fire before he spoke. “In a matter of speaking, yes, I am a scout for my people. It is their welfare that I keep uppermost in my mind when I search for places and sights that will be pleasing to them. So yes, I am a scout. Do you have scouts where you come from?” “We do. We have many scouts. They are always on the watch for places for the people to pass some happy, peaceful weeks away from the castle. Ours is a kingdom that is a special place filled with many such secluded areas. Our scouts are masters of tracking and seem to know the best areas for the various seasons of the moon. We, too, enjoy the time of violet moons. It is for us, as well, a season of rest and renewal.” “Ah, so our lands are similar. You said that you are from…?” Priam let the question dangle in the air. She hadn’t said where she was from, or where she was going either. He supposed that they were both keeping a secret or two. They both knew that until they got to know each other better there was no other way. The secrets of their peoples had to be kept. “I didn’t say, Priam. And you know that I did not say.” Wathalia smiled. She could not be angry with him. She had been formulating a plan in her mind to help her figure out the missing pieces of his story. Who could blame him for doing the same? “I did not tell you anything at all about where I am from. Or about where I am going, either.” He rubbed a large finger across the tiny dent in his chin. The noise he made, rubbing his skin along the stubble of his beard, gave Wathalia goose bumps and she felt a tingle travel along her spine at the thought of touching that perfect dent with her own fingers. “Hmm…you have a point, my new friend. You have not divulged the mystery that surrounds you. Would you care to tell me something—anything? I am very trustworthy, I assure you. I can keep a secret. I have, in fact, been known to keep some rather important secrets for long periods of time. Try me. I will not disappoint you.” She stared at him for a long moment, gauging his sincerity.

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Oh, beautiful stranger, he thought. If you only knew that I have kept secrets for years far longer than either of us have been walking this land you would tell me your most intimate secrets without hesitation. I am Priam, keeper of the North and guardian of the secrets of my ancestors. I will not deceive you. I will not fail to keep your confidences. Try me. And, perhaps, later on I will try you, too. Perhaps, dear Wathalia, we will share more than secrets. Much, much more. Perhaps we will share a lifetime. A lifetime filled with secrets, as well as fantasies. We shall see. A lifetime filled with love. For I fear I have lost my heart to you already.

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Chapter Five Their coupling came naturally. It was not unusual for physical pleasures to be shared between two who have barely met, not in the least. Among all peoples the need for and satisfaction with shared physical knowledge was acceptable behavior. The sleeping mats, side by side near the banked violet fire, encouraged the sharing of their pleasures. When Priam turned to Wathalia in the darkness and pulled her close to his body she did not resist. Even if it hadn’t been natural for physical intimacy to occur, it would have been useless to try to fight the urges that were welling up inside her. She allowed what was destined to happen between them happen. His lips on hers were warm and tender while still managing to be forceful and strong. As his tongue flicked between her lips, she opened her mouth to him willingly. Her tongue felt his greedily as if tasting some new, delightful morsel. Priam sucked her tongue into his mouth and challenged her wordlessly to explore his depths. Eagerly she obliged him and was rewarded to feel the beat of his heart against her chest grow more insistent with each passing second. Ah, stranger who is not a stranger…you will see that the women of Vestia are well-versed in the art of passionate lovemaking. My skills are many and I am willing to share them with you, Priam. We will do now what we have done in my dreams many, many times already. “You are like a wild flower, open and free while keeping the essence of yourself hidden from casual observation,” Priam said, his voice low and melodious. The words of love were intoxicating, as he had intended them to be. She felt the moisture grow between her folds, yearned for the large fingers she had held when attending to his

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wound to touch her with the same delicate caresses he had used on her body during her dreams. “Touch me, Priam…please touch me.” Wathalia urged him forward, arching her hips against his strong body. She felt the hard bulge of his sex pressing against her hip and pushed herself closer to him. “I need you. Now. I need you now.” His lips came down hard against hers and an agonized groan escaped his throat. She felt his teeth crash against her own briefly before he pulled his head from hers. When she opened her eyes and looked at him she could see the intensity of his feelings. It frightened her, but for the barest of moments. Her fear of his intensity was vanquished when he put his fingers on her wetness. He hesitated for an instant before he spread her lips to his touch. Skilled in the art of passion, taught by some of the kingdom’s most skilled courtesans, he had never failed to satisfy a partner. This coupling, however, was more important than ordinary episodes of physical intimacy and he intended Wathalia to feel pleasure at their coupling—not only basic satisfaction but intense, never-forgotten fulfillment. When he touched her swollen wetness with his tongue she moaned, a low, animalistic moan that escaped from her mouth in a low rumble. It brought a smile to Priam’s face and a passion to his tongue and he eagerly sought out her erect button and pulled it between his lips. He stroked it with his tongue and felt every tensing of her body. It was obvious to him that she was getting close to the time of her first release. To allow the first spasms to grip her would have been a simple process. A touch of his tongue, a pressing of his fingertip in the prescribed spots and her body would respond. It was a fact that they both knew. Instead of bringing her to release, though, he lifted his mouth from her sex. Priam knew that the greatest ecstasy is ecstasy that has been waited for. He intended to make Wathalia wait.

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Lying back against the sleeping mats with a grin, Priam twitched aside his tunic to expose his body to her eyes, her touch, her mouth. Thick and hard, his penis stood straight out from his body. Without hesitation she reached for him. When Wathalia felt his hot skin beneath her fingertips she gasped. His rod felt as if it were made to fit inside her fingers. She squeezed his ripe red tip and felt the shudder of pleasure that shook him pulse through her own wetness. She had never felt so intimately connected with a man before. Is it because of my dreams that I feel as if we have made love before? Is it because of the dreams that I feel as if I am already on the brink of my pleasure? Wathalia couldn’t wait. She wanted him inside her, filling her and she sat in the prescribed position for bodily connection and nodded at him. “Now. I am ready, Priam.” His laughter, rich and full and loud, echoed off the treetops. His eyes sparkled as he surveyed her in the flickering firelight. They roamed freely over her, scanning her face, flushed and serious, to her sex. With her legs bent at the knee and her hands planted securely on the sleeping mat behind her, Wathalia’s folds, glistening and swollen, were open to him. “Priam. I am ready,” she repeated, furrowing her brow. How can you not understand my meaning? My love nest is open, I am ready. All you need to do is place your staff inside me and bring me to my pleasure. What is wrong with you? Why do you not attend to my needs? “I see that you are ready, dear Wathalia,” he said, chuckling. Reaching one finger out to touch her, he slid it across her slippery opening but did not enter her body, not even when she tilted her pelvis closer to his touch. “Very ready. But perhaps I am not yet ready. Have you considered that?” Your ways are not mine, Priam thought. We will need to teach each other our ways. As well, we will learn together. “No. Of course I have not considered it,” she huffed. Her body ached for release and the fact that she could see his hard staff, standing as if forgotten before him, only 41

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made her need greater. It was all she could do to keep herself from impaling herself on him. Even if it wasn’t in the prescribed way. “You will have your time. I have no doubt that by the time my body has been attended to yours will be ready. Now. I am ready Priam. Ready.” Again he laughed and again the sound filled the forest. This time she noticed that when his mirth held him his whole body shook, including his hard manhood. It was a fascinating process and momentarily distracted her from her need. But only momentarily. “What can you possibly find that is so amusing? Is it customary for your people to laugh at this point? Because I can assure you that it is not something to which I am accustomed and I find it somewhat unusual. I am not certain that I like being laughed at.” Priam scooted closer to her and pulled her body against his. To hold her he had naturally assumed the Vestian position for coupling and she felt less unsettled about the whole affair, more in control of the situation, when the hardness of his body settled against her soft center. He made no move to insert himself but held her head against his broad shoulder and stroked her back. “I did not mean any disrespect toward you or your people. Not toward your customs, either.” His voice was soothing and she relaxed against him. “It was simply the manner in which you informed me that you were prepared to move to the next level of pleasure. We do not couple like that where I am from.” “How, then, do you couple?” This could be enlightening. I have never considered that there may be more than one form of coupling. There are only so many options, I think. Unless he means to insert himself in my other side. I have heard of such things whispered but I have never taken part in such a ritual. I wonder if that is what he intends to do? And I wonder if I will enjoy it? Why can’t he simply insert his staff into me? This never happened in my dreams!

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“Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we talk. But always, we join when both partners are ready to move forward. We try to time our pleasure surges to coincide,” he said gently. It was apparent that this was a new concept for Wathalia. Her eyebrows rose so high on her forehead that they nearly disappeared beneath the soft curling locks above them. “You wait? You are telling me that the man does not bring the woman to release first?” “That’s what I am saying. We wait until we are both about to release before we go forward. And this upright position—it is not the way we do it, either. Do not misunderstand me, it is interesting. But it is not our way.” Not your way? But Priam, is there any other way? Without another word he reached between them and touched her, stroking her wetness with his fingers as he pulled a nipple between his lips. Her body had relaxed and the nipple, a soft, flat circle on her silky skin, began to tighten beneath his tongue while her center began to grow wetter beneath his touch. Her hand circled his shaft and as she massaged him she mulled over what he had told her about his type of coupling. Wait? I am supposed to wait until your manhood feels the urges my body feels? I suppose I could do that if I had to. Your hardness is throbbing, I suspect you are not far from your own satisfaction. Yes, I think I could wait a while longer—especially if you continue to touch me that way. Oh, Priam, now this is what I have been dreaming of. Your touch is like the whisper of a dakkar leaf, so soft and gentle, leaving delicious tingling shivers in its wake. Oh yes, I think I can wait a little while longer. But not too much, Priam. Please, not too much longer. “Does this please you?” he asked, his voice hoarse against her ear. “Tell me, Wathalia. Tell me that it pleases you.” “It does. Oh! When you do that I think I cannot wait much longer,” she gasped. His fingertips circled her hard spot and her body once again ached for release. “How much longer, Priam? How much longer do I need to wait until you, too, are ready?” 43

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Chuckling, he said, “I am ready now, darling. Is this truly the position you desire for what we are about to do?” I have waited, Priam. I have waited until I feel I can wait no more. It is too much to expect me to feel a new coupling position as well. Perhaps another time, but right now I simply want to feel your staff inside me. Yes, this is the position I choose. Rather than answer with words she pushed his member down until its tip met her wet opening. Nothing more was needed. He slid into her as naturally as a tiber berry fills a berry pouch, filling her until she felt the tip of his body touch a spot deep within hers. When he neglected to press the base of his hardness against her love spot as they thrust she groaned in frustration. But when Priam pressed his fingertip to her spot, massaging it rhythmically as he filled her, her groans became sounds of passion. Their pleasure came swiftly. The spasms of their release gripped them both at precisely the same instant and he lost his essence into her wetness in short, rapid bursts as she saw white flashes behind her closed eyelids. Their pleasure-taking was different from any other experience that either of them had ever had. It felt as if it was something that they had been born to do. It also felt as if it was something that they had done many times in the past. Wathalia’s last thoughts before she drifted off to sleep were thoughts that brought a smile to her pretty, peaceful face. With Priam holding her close, their bodies nestled together tightly, she fell into slumber contentedly. Her dreams, when they came, were filled with romance and love, desire and sweet coupling. And this time, when she dreamt, there was no nameless stranger with her. She recognized the man in her dreams. It was Priam.

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Chapter Six Beneath the cloudless azure sky they broke camp quickly. A beautiful day was a good day for traveling and they both knew it. “So, you still have not told me where you are going.” “No, I haven’t.” “Well?” asked Priam. She had been an enthusiastic lover and they had pleasured each other so often throughout the long night that he felt as if he knew her body intimately, but her hidden personality very little. His longing to know her mind more fully was as obvious as his desire for her body. “Well what? I have not told you, no. And I am not certain that I will be telling you, either,” she teased. She rolled her sleeping mat into a tiny ball and stuffed it into her traveling pouch. “And what of it, Priam? You have not told me where you are headed.” “No, I haven’t.” “Well?” He ran a hand down his newly bound side tails. They framed his face handsomely, he knew. He did not indulge in vanity but facts were facts and his long thick hair was the envy of many women in his kingdom. Right now he would have gladly traded it for the chance to read Wathalia’s thoughts. There were tales, ancient tales, that told of those who could read thoughts. He had always wished that the trait of thought-reading could still be cultivated among the people, but try as he might he could not figure out how to do it. It would have been a talent that would serve him well at this moment in time. Something else, he thought. Ask her something else. 45

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“Where are you from, sweet Wathalia? Where did your journey begin?” She hesitated, but only for an instant, before she answered his question. There could be no harm in his knowing where she had come from. After all, everyone came from somewhere, did they not? “Vestia. I come from Vestia,” she said. “It is a kingdom about two days’ walk in…” she searched the sky to get her bearings, “in that direction,” she finished, pointing at a distant point somewhere behind them. “Ah yes, I have heard of Vestia.” “You have?” “Of course. It is a place that is known for peaceful living, fertile lands and beautiful women. I have never seen it with my own eyes but I know now that the part about beautiful women has not been exaggerated. If anything, it is an understatement.” “Ah, you know how to say the right things to make a woman swoon, do you not?” “Are you swooning?” She laughed, the easy heart-lifting laughter that seemed to come quickly and often between them. He joined in her laughter as he rose from where he was packing his travel pouch. Reaching for her, he pulled her body against his. “I wish we had time to linger,” Priam said. He bent his head and touched her lips with his own. “I would like nothing more than to hold you close, feel you shiver and shake against me once more. Last night was a time of wonder and joy for me, Wathalia. You taught me much.” She knew by looking into his eyes that he spoke the truth. She knew it by looking and she knew it by feeling the fluttering of her own heart. “For me as well, Priam. You, too, have taught me many things.” They kissed again and she felt his manhood begin to rise within his breeches. With an anguished laugh she stole her mouth from his and pushed him away with her hands on his chest.

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“No, we cannot. We will never get moving if we tarry here. Your manhood…look at the bulge in your breeches! It is on the move again, Priam. It is on the move, as we must be,” Wathalia said, shaking her head as she turned back to her packing. Honestly, how can he still want to couple? My love center is sore today from last night’s passion. Maybe by tonight I will want more of his body, but right now…right now I have other concerns. I do not wish to put my desire for Priam out of my mind, but I know I must. I must put the needs of my people above my own. The change came over her face as surely as if it was a cloud covering the sky. It was like the drawing of a tapestry against a draft. The change closed her off from him and he felt a sudden chill in the air around them. “Wathalia?” “Hmm?” “Where are you going? What has brought you from the fertile green valleys of Vestia into the dangerous dragon-filled forest? What is so important that you would walk among the trees on your own?” She considered him carefully before she answered. When she did it was not an answer that was entirely unexpected. “Life,” she said simply. Wathalia shouldered her traveling pack and, with a small smile over her shoulder to where he still stood, she walked toward the edge of the clearing. As he followed he thought about the smile she had just given him. It had failed to light her eyes. And that knowledge gave Priam the first moment of sadness he’d experienced in Wathalia’s presence.

***** The morning hours passed as if they were on the wings of dragons. Priam and Wathalia walked past crags and crevices in the hills, over fallen trees and around boggy patches. They traveled deeper into the forest all morning long. 47

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Then, toward midday, the trees began to get sparser. They could see breaks within the trunks of the massive Bilboa trees, breaks that led to more breaks—all with the promise of the end of the journey. “The trees,” observed Wathalia, “they are growing less dense. Do you think that means that we are getting closer?” “Closer to?” “Oh well. Closer to the end of the forest, perhaps.” It peeved him that she had yet to divulge her destination to him. He knew, of course, where she was headed. There was no other place to head—they were both going to the same destination. He would have felt greater joy at going if she had trusted him enough to tell him about her quest, but so far she hadn’t. In all fairness, he hadn’t told her anything about his journey, either. And he wasn’t about to. “Perhaps.” Wathalia stopped walking and turned to him. He bumped into her body with his larger one and sent her sprawling on the moss-covered forest floor. “Oof!” “Wathalia!” She looked up at him, so tall and straight above her that he looked like another tree. She looked at him, his startled expression at the realization that he had knocked her on her back. When Priam reached out a hand to pull her up she pulled him down. He fell on top of her, his bulky body covering her completely. They rolled in the softness of the forest. They rolled, laughing at first. Gradually their movement became more sensual, more deliberate, more intense. “Priam, I want you,” she murmured. His body was hard against hers and she wanted him—now.

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Priam, I love you. The thought came as naturally as their desire. Wathalia felt his hardness, felt his arousal through the soft fabric of his traveling clothes. Unfastening the cord that held his breeches in one swift movement, she pushed aside the fabric, eased his cock out into the sunshine and pulled him to a sitting position. Then she maneuvered him toward her own waiting wetness. There was no need to fondle. No need to massage or caress. They were ready instantly and with one powerful thrust he filled her. When he moved inside her she moved against him, matching him thrust for thrust. It was as if their bodies had pushed aside their minds, as if their need was as basic as that of the forest for sun, rain and warmth. They needed—and they took. And that was how Priam and Wathalia moved now. They took their satisfaction quickly but it was not forgotten as quickly. When it was over they were left panting on the forest floor, staring up at the treetops swaying high above them, their bodies tired but their minds filled with thoughts that refused to be quieted. Wathalia, I have found you yet I fear I will lose you soon, Priam thought. My heart will break, my future will be empty without you in it. How then to get you to trust me fully? Tell me, I beg you. Tell me what it is you conceal. Neither of them could recall a time when they hadn’t been joined. But somehow they felt that their time together might be coming to an end. It was a feeling that left them both feeling hollow.

***** Priam added a twig to the fire. It glowed brightly in the darkness and he wished that they didn’t ever have to leave its protective circle. “Camping here was a good thought. It will give us one more night of pleasure before…” “Before what, Wathalia?” 49

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She shook her head. With her hair unbound and clad only in her light tunic she looked like a fairy instead of a woman. A bright, glowing-in-the-dark ethereal being. “Before the morning, that’s all. Come back, come back to the sleeping mats. There is still much time before the light awakens us. Let us take the gift of this night to find our pleasure together, Priam. Please.” Looking down at her as he walked back to the mat he thought that she looked so irresistible that it was nearly impossible for him to say what he knew must be said. Priam reached for her and traced the line of her chin with his finger. Her skin felt soft and warm beneath his touch. He dropped his finger lower, to make its way down the curve of her neck toward the slope of her breast. Wathalia shivered beneath his touch. Her nipples tightened and she pushed herself against his palm. “Now, Priam. Let us take our pleasure now. Your way. Show me how it is done in your land.” Every time they had come together it had been in the Vestian position. This time she knew it must happen in the way of his people. I am excited, but nervous as well. Please, don’t make my trust in you be misplaced. Without words he reached for the hem of her sleeping tunic and pulled it over her head, all thoughts of speaking gone from his mind. All he could think of was pleasuring her in the soft, tender ways of his land and he dropped his tunic beside hers before he lowered her to a reclining position against the mats. I want to show you the ways of love among my people, too, Priam thought. I want you to know the tenderness and sharing, the joy and love of coming together in our fashion. We have much to learn about each other, much to share. Priam placed his hand between her legs as he kissed her. Steadily massaging her soft folds with his fingertips, he explored yet again the recesses of her mouth with his tongue. She tasted sweet and every taste of her left him unsatisfied. He wanted more of

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her, more of her mouth and her body. More of her mind. And all of her heart. He knew that, had known it for some time. When she squirmed beneath him he placed her hand on his penis and closed his grip over hers. Holding her skin against his throbbing flesh for a long moment, he shuddered as the pulse in her wrist matched the pulse in his staff. Taking his fingers from hers, he moaned. Being with Wathalia was almost more than he could bear. Stroking him slowly, she teased him, pressing on the spots she knew would tantalize him the most. He, in turn, worked the same kind of magic between her thighs and by the time he pulled his staff from her grasp she was dripping, her desire was so great. Positioning himself above her crotch with his own just inches from her face, he waited until her mouth circled his penis before he touched her wetness with his tongue. Thus joined, they pushed their bodies closer to the fulfillment that tortured them with its nearness while it urged them closer with every movement. After what felt to Wathalia to be much too brief an interlude, he removed his mouth from her sex. Taking his penis from her mouth with a suddenness that would have been comical if she hadn’t been so disappointed, Priam turned and straddled her body. He leaned down, kissing a line from her lips to her neck and lower, across her breasts and toward her center. When he reached that area she parted her legs, pressing herself toward his mouth, but he didn’t kiss her there. Instead, he lifted her and turned her so that she lay on her stomach. Covering her body with his, he slid himself across her, pushing her hair aside and tenderly kissing her neck and shoulders. Oh, so this is it. This is what I have heard whispered. They say it hurts sometimes and I do not wish to be hurt. Yet I do not wish to disappoint him. Perhaps Priam knows ways to be gentle when he does this. He has been such a considerate lover until now. I need to trust that he will continue to consider my pleasure. He will not hurt me.

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Trust. I need to trust him, at least a bit. And it feels so good…so deliciously delightful. Who would stop him? He’d lifted his mouth from her shoulders and was massaging her back, his strong fingers kneading her flesh as his hard staff lay against her, throbbing hotly. It had settled along the crack of her body and she wondered when he would push it between her cheeks and into her. She tensed every time he moved on her, waiting for it to happen, but it did not happen. Eventually she realized that his fingertips were the only part of his body that was pressing into her flesh and she became as malleable as the moss that held the flames. This is wonderful, Priam. So slow and tender, so considerate and…oh. It is very arousing as well. I think…oh, I think I like this method of coupling. Yes, I like it very much indeed. By the time Priam lay beside her and she shifted, holding him close while they kissed beside the fire, she felt as open and relaxed as a blossom beneath the kiss of the morning star. With a smooth movement he rose and covered her body with his, angling his manhood and separating her lips with his tip before settling into her. When his hardness came into her soft center they found the rhythm of their passion quickly. He’d made her open to his touch and without conscious effort she felt the first spasms shake her as his body filled hers. “Oh Wathalia,” he breathed into her hair as the waves of his release overtook Priam. “I have to tell you who I am. I…have…to…oh! I have to tell you…who I am.” With a sigh he said the words that would change her life. They brought with them other, more powerful words. There was no way to take any of them back—the words they would say long after their passion dimmed. Long before the light was upon them they would each know the truth.

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Chapter Seven “You should have told me,” she said angrily. “You knew all along and yet you did not tell me what you knew. You lay with me, over and over. It was all a lie we shared, not a truth!” Her anger ran over him in a furious rush and he felt as powerless to stop the flow as he would be if she was a wide, torrential water-filled chasm. What was worse was that he knew he deserved every drop of her anger. Every single, solitary drop. It was his, he owned it. He had omitted the truth. The biggest concern he had was that what they had, what they had forged together, would not be washed away in the deluge. Priam thought that it was strong enough to survive the flood, but who could ever be certain of things such as that? Watching her throw her belongings into the traveling pack with reckless disregard as to how she assembled the pack was unsettling. He had never before seen her stalk around as she was doing, shoving items haphazardly into the already bursting pouch. It was her sleeping mat that was the final challenge for her pouch. She had not rolled it tightly enough and he could tell just by watching her that it was not going to fit inside the leather bag. Holding his breath, he watched, wondering what she would do when it refused to go inside the pack with the rest of her crushed and rumpled belongings. It didn’t take long for him to find out what would happen to something that vexed her after she was already inflamed. The sleeping mat went flying through the air like a small bird that had been spat from the mouth of a large dragon. It sailed high above the remnants of the fire and missed Priam’s head by mere inches.

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Instinctively he ducked. Then he reached for the mat, rolled it into the proper shape and size and stuck it deep into his own neatly packed traveling pouch. “To know, all this time, where I was going and not to let on that you knew. It is…it is…it is shameful! That is it—you should be ashamed of your actions instead of gloating over your deceit.” “I am not gloating. And I was not deceitful—not entirely.” “What would you call it, then? Tell me—tell me now before I hit you with something—something hard. Something that might just knock you unconscious until the time of the next midnight moon. Perhaps until the time of next season’s violet moons!” she spat. Clenching her teeth to keep herself from speaking, she twisted her hands into a tight, angry knot in front of her midsection and glared at him. At this moment his handsome face, his deep eyes and firm mouth had no effect on her. If anything, they inflamed her further. Wathalia wanted to wrap her fingers around his neck. The knot in her fingers was the only assurance she had that she wouldn’t do what she was thinking of doing. How can I love him and still want to hurl things at him? I am angry, that is it. My love has not changed, only been pushed aside by anger. I did not know that two strong emotions could consume me in this manner. It is very confusing! “I will not discuss it with you when you are so angry,” he said, knowing that it was useless to attempt to explain himself to her when she was seething. Priam knew that it was easier to talk the wings off a bat or to coax the breeze from the sky than to talk to an angry female. “You need to calm down, just a small amount, in order to hear what I am trying to tell you. Please, please…please,” he sighed the last few breaths. She had worn him out and the day was just beginning. “Fine. I am calm, Priam. Now you need to explain to me what you were thinking of—or maybe what you were not thinking of.” “Can we sit together? Over there, by the fragrant blossoms? Please?” 54

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Wathalia looked in the direction he pointed. There was a large fallen log surrounded by sweet-scented blooms past his fingertip. In another time, perhaps, it would have looked romantic and inviting. Now it merely looked like a likely place to sit and talk. With a shrug of acquiescence she turned and strode over to the log. Sitting with no regard for her body, she waited until he was seated beside her before she spoke. When she did she did not waste words. “Well?” He took a deep breath before he began. “I admit, my sweet Wathalia…” “Do not call me that! I am not your sweet anything, Priam—not now, not ever.” He swallowed a sudden lump that rose within his throat. The lump and the feelings that accompanied it were unwelcome and he prayed they would be fleeting. “I hope you change your mind,” he said quietly. “I will not.” He took a deep breath and began a second time. “I admit that perhaps I should have told you who I am, but there seemed to be no time to do it. We were too busy learning about each other to explain about who we were or where we had come from. You were not eager to tell me about yourself, either. Do you remember that or have you forgotten so easily your own secretive nature?” “I have not forgotten. It is true, what you say. But I have been on a quest to save my people. I have not been idly walking through the forest. There was more at stake here than simply my own feelings and needs. I could not tell you.” “You could not trust me,” he said as he reached for her hand. It was still curled into a tight fist but he held it in his own hand anyway. He held it and hoped that she would feel some of the love he carried for her. “I understand that. I understand how you felt about revealing who you were and what you were doing before we had come to know

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each other fully. I felt the same way, Wathalia. Please, you must believe what I say is true.” She listened to the sounds of the forest around them. Here, near the kingdom of the North, the forest was in many ways a world completely different from the one she knew and loved. The trees were fewer in number, yes. But here there were other differences as well. The stars shone more blue in the evening sky—she had noticed that last night for the first time in her life. And the air was sweet. Not better than the air of Vestia but sweet, as if it had been dipped in raw honey before being set loose. Here the sounds of singing jayadaws could be heard in the bushes and brambles. And chirping purple flowers, called fairy kisses, were in abundance, growing in clumps beside nearly every tree’s roots. She had picked a small bundle of them yesterday and they were still in her traveling pouch, chirping steadily. By now they may be crushed but there was no doubt that they would still be chirping. “You listened to my words about the people of the North—you listened to my words about their hardheartedness. You listened and yet you let me go on and on, knowing full well that you were from the North. Why could you not just tell me, Priam? Why could you not just tell me the truth—that you are a man from the kingdom of the North? I would have understood. I would not have felt differently about you.” He knew that this was the moment when all between them could change. Forever. “You would not have felt differently?” She shook her head. “No. I would have felt the same.” “Are you certain, Wathalia? Really certain?” “Yes, I am.” “How do you know? Tell me, please.” She studied the ground by their feet. She studied it, for the first time ever knowing the reason for this destiny of hers. It had not been to get the circlet after all. It had been to meet the man who had haunted every night of her life with his presence.

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Tell him. Now is the time to tell him the truth. It is upon you. There can be no other way. Tell him. “I have dreams, Priam,” she said softly, her eyes still on the ground at their feet. “Dreams?” Priam’s heart froze at her words. It could not be possible, could it? Could she admit her feelings for him? Could she trust him? “Yes, dreams. I have had them every night of my life. In every dream there is one constant thing, one haunting similarity.” “Your face,” he said. “I have them, too.” “So you know,” Wathalia said, looking up at him. Their eyes met and held. “You know that we are sharing a destiny.” He waited before speaking again, considered the options open to him. In the end, it seemed best to continue along the path he had chosen. More difficult, perhaps, than riding a ridge-backed dragon through a thunderstorm, but it was, at least, a truthful path. “Yes, I know. I know that we were destined to find each other. I have loved you since I can first remember breathing. I have loved you, always,” he admitted. “And I you, Priam. Always.” She reached out and caressed his arm with her fingers. Her touch felt warm and smooth against his skin, like fire on ice. “So you see, you should have told me the truth from the first. I have loved you and I will continue to love you—no matter what comes between us on the path we have been traveling together.” “Always?” “Always.” Clearing his throat, he said, “I have one more thing to tell you, my sweet Wathalia. One more thing and then we will have honesty between us.” “Whatever it is, you should simply say it.” 57

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“I am Priam,” he began. She smiled for the first time since they had been awakened by the morning light. “I know who you are,” she giggled. “That much I know.” “I am Priam, Prince of the North Kingdom.” The giggling stopped at the same instant her fingers ceased stroking his arm. It was the same moment that Priam felt his heart fall. Again.

***** The moment had arrived. It was upon her as fully as if it was a cloak, dark and dense, that had been billowing softly in the wind. And when the wind stopped whispering, the cloak had fallen and covered her in an instant in an all-consuming darkness. How to find the way to the light? How to tell him the truth, her truth? How to keep the love she had yearned for and still retrieve the circlet? How then, to save herself as well as her people? “Wathalia where are you? My beloved, I am afraid. I do not see you! Call out, please,” Priam called. His voice echoed off the trunks of the tall trees, came back to haunt him. Came back at him to mock him. “Please, my sweet Wathalia. Please.” He had known that when he divulged his true identity she would be shocked, but there was no way to put it off any longer. They would reach his kingdom by day’s end and with their arrival he would lose his cloud of anonymity. No, he had no choice but to reveal himself. The shock he had been prepared for. He had expected that. But the stomping off into the forest without a word? That he had not expected.

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Letting her go off on her own was difficult for him but it was understandable that she would choose to become accustomed to the idea on her own. He, too, had chosen the solitude of the forest many times when he needed to ponder something important. He hadn’t planned on her becoming invisible. The realization that he couldn’t find her had his whole body shaking and he was filled with terror. What if something had happened to her? It would be his fault, just because he had been the one to force her to seek solitude. Priam crashed through the brush in search of Wathalia. She couldn’t have simply disappeared, could she?

***** The view was breathtaking. Below her she could see the kingdom spread out in orderly patches of beauty. The Northern Kingdom was similar to Vestia in that the landscape showed clearly the love and happiness of its inhabitants. This was no dark, ominous kingdom. The words that passed from mouth to ear in Vestia were false words. Priam’s kingdom. How could I have believed that it would be an evil, foul place? Look at it. How clean and proud it is, sparkling like an emerald in the morning star. I am embarrassed by my lack of knowledge. I wonder what else there is to know about his land and his people. I wonder, too, what else there is to know about Priam. Wathalia turned at the sound of his footsteps. Standing on the edge of a boulder that jutted out into the air above his kingdom she knew that one false step would drop her to her end. One false step…or one well-placed shove. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “I was coming back. I needed some time to myself. I needed time to think.” “I know. I have come here often, to do exactly the same thing. I have spent many hours standing right where you now stand. There have been long hours looking out

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over the kingdom and thinking of all manner of things. So,” he said as he came to stand beside her, “have you thought through all manner of things here, too?” An awareness passed through her body in unspoken response to his closeness. She longed to reach out and feel his skin against hers, longed to feel his lips on hers, longed to… But she knew that before they could ever feel those things again, it was her turn. Her turn to tell the truth. “I did.” “And? Will you share with me?” Her eyes met his. For a moment she wondered if it wouldn’t be better if she told him somewhere else, somewhere not quite so close to the edge of a cliff. Wathalia glanced into the void beside her and decided to make her own leap of faith. “Priam, I have to tell you a truth,” she said. “I am Wathalia.” “Yes, my sweetest, I know that you are Wathalia.” “Yes, but…” His eyes shimmered…they glistened and she saw that he had unshed tears in his eyes. The sight dried her words in her throat. Priam cleared his throat before he spoke. “You are my sweet Wathalia, Princess of Vestia. You are the heiress to the throne of the Kingdom of Vestia, womb sister of Alana and Dayanara. Daughter of the most exalted King and Queen of Vestia.” “You knew!” “I did.” “But you did not…” “I could not.” “Could not? But why, Priam, why?”

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“It was not part of the oracle’s decree. I had to wait until you were ready. Until you trusted me enough to tell me on your own. Then and only then—when the bond of trust was forged between our kingdoms—could I reveal my knowledge of your identity to you. Dearest Wathalia,” he said, scooping her into his arms. “I have been waiting for you, for this moment in time—for all of my life.”

***** The smooth, flat boulder felt magically soft beneath her back and Wathalia wondered if it was somehow bewitched. If it was, she did not care that she was lying naked on a bewitched stone. And if it wasn’t, she did not care either. All she cared about was the pleasure that she and Priam were sharing in the warmth of the morning. “I want to make you happy in a thousand ways,” whispered Priam. His unbound hair tickled her warm cheek as he kissed her neck. The kisses felt like the touch of tiny silken star slivers caressing her skin. “I have loved you a thousand times, in a thousand different ways.” Her nipples rose in response to his touch, in response to the thoughts swirling inside her head and in response to the tingling sensations that were coursing through her body. Priam was also unclothed. Their garments were scattered around them, forgotten for now. All that either of them cared about was the pleasure that they had found. Together. “I too,” she whispered. “I have loved you always. I have loved you so completely that I could not find room for another. I will never find room for another, dear Priam. My heart, my soul and…and my body…they are all yours. Forever and always.” “And mine have always been yours, even though you did not know it,” he said. Leaning close, Priam placed his mouth on hers and they kissed, a deep, tender joining that made them feel as if they had been born to kiss like this.

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She reached for him, reached for the hardness he offered so freely and held him firmly in her grasp. He throbbed beneath her fingers and she could feel the blood flowing beneath his skin, feel the promise of his essence in her hand. Someday, Priam. Someday we will use that essence and mine to start a new kingdom. It will be a unified kingdom, where people are as one. We will bring our two lands and our people together. And the beginning will come from here…and there. Priam’s fingers slid across her slipperiness, teasing her as they explored her body. He slipped one thick finger inside her opening and her muscles clenched against him as he touched her in the ways of her dreams. She felt the approaching storm within her and she welcomed its delightful fury, the instant of madness that would make her gasp and shudder. Wathalia tugged Priam’s body over hers, in the way of his people and pulled his staff toward her wet opening. She placed him at her entrance and stared up into his eyes as they lingered…joined physically—almost. Joined by something more encompassing—completely. He slid into her and they began the dance that had held lovers in its grasp since the dawn of time, regardless of kingdom. For the first minutes of their coupling they moved as he had shown her was his way. His staff thrust into and out of her wetness over and over, bringing them closer with each delicious movement to the moment of release. Oh yes, Priam. Yes, I like this North Kingdom manner of sharing pleasures. It is different, certainly, but it is good. I cannot see your body as clearly but I can feel you much more readily, feel your hardness sliding along my inner body. It feels like the morning star’s touch, but within me. The heat builds with every stroke and oh! Yes, Priam, yes! Oh. Oh. Oh! What are you doing? Where are you going? Groaning as he removed his staff from her, Priam knelt on his heels and grinned down at Wathalia. His erection glistened wetly, thick and hard and pointing straight from his body. He saw her confusion at his abrupt departure from her body but it couldn’t be helped. They had many things to learn together, many ways to explore. 62

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He hoped she would be pleased with what he wanted to explore with her now. “Priam? What is it? Are you unwell? Your staff,” her eyes dropped to the flesh between his legs before lifting to meet his eyes again, “seems healthy. What, then, is wrong?” “There is nothing wrong, my sweetness. It is just that I wish to couple with you in a different manner. Now roll over, if you will. And rise to your knees. Then I will show you what I have in mind.” This is it. He will put himself in the spot that is whispered about. What else can it be? But now I don’t mind if he does. I know he will not hurt me, not now. Not ever. Love does not hurt and love is open to new experiences as well. Positioning her so that they could both look out over the edge of the boulder at the kingdom spread below them, he pushed his hardness back into her slippery hole and began to thrust. With one hand he reached around her body and found the hard, slick nub between her folds and began to stroke her, his fingertips matching the movement of his manhood. Oh, so this is what he had in mind. Coupling in the usual way, yet in a new manner, as well. Oh, yes. I can see it all, spread out before us. It is a new beginning. The kingdom. The land. The people. Us. We are the new beginning. Right here, right now. Oh, yes, Priam. That feels so good, so good. Do not stop. I am ready—for you, I am ready! The first fast spurts of his release came into her at the precise moment her spasms began. Their moans filled the air above the kingdom as the final phase of the oracle’s decree came to pass. In that instant the two kingdoms were irrevocably joined. No one knew it yet, but there in the light of day a darkness between the kingdoms had been put to rest. A new way of life and a new life was just stirring between the lands of Vestia and the North Kingdom. There could be no other way.

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Chapter Eight “Have you ever ridden a dragon before?” Wathalia looked at the iridescent blue-scaled creature in the stall. It snorted and a puff of powder-blue smoke escaped from its wide nostrils. It stamped one goldentaloned foot, as if it was a common horse raring to go for a run. The wings of the sturdy creature were folded against its back. They looked harmless but Wathalia had heard stories of their strength. The wings of a dragon could crush a human to death before the victim even had an idea that death was upon him. I’ll just stay clear of the wings, that’s all. And it’s kind of exciting, actually, to think that I’ll be arriving back home on the back of a dragon. With Priam. And the circlet. What will Dayanara think? And Alana? Wait until I tell her that I, too, have found the man who makes my heart pound. She will be so pleased for me. A dragon? After what I’ve been through already? “How hard can it be?” The enormous creature rose the instant that she was nestled against Priam’s strong, wide back. For a moment she feared that she would fall but the motion of the rippling blue scales beneath her held her body securely in place. “I enjoy your touch, Wathalia, but it does not need to be so tight. Beezer will not drop you. Do you not feel the grip of his scales against your skin?” “Beezer?” “At your service, Princess.” The body beneath them rumbled as the dragon spoke, sending quivers through them. They were tremors that went straight to Wathalia’s heart and she wondered if a heart could be frozen by the voice of a dragon. Her fears

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were forgotten when the dragon spoke again. “I am Beezer, the royal conveyance of Priam, the Prince of the North Kingdom. I have been his since the day of his birth.” “You’ve known him that long?” “Certainly, Princess.” “You went riding as a baby? On the day you were born?” Priam’s laughter filled the air around them, mingling with the whooshing sound of Beezer’s wings and it was as if they were surrounded by a symphony of their own making. “No, my sweet, I did not learn to fly until I was a bit older than my first day. It was a while after that before I took my first ride with Beezer. How old was I, Beezer? Do you recall?” “Certainly, my Prince. You were two dozen moons when you had your first flight. And what a flight it was. You sat astride my back as if you were born there, laughing and giggling and rubbing your face against my scales. If I recall accurately and I do, you were so pleased by the voyage, so excited that you—” “Beezer! You wouldn’t, would you?” “Well, you did ask.” As they flew the ground passed beneath them in a blur of greens, purples and blues. Orange trees stuck out of the landscape and violet streams wove ribbons of color through teal fields. Wathalia realized that they were moving swiftly. Vestia would be below them shortly. “What? You must finish, Beezer, telling me the story of Priam’s first flight. You cannot leave me without an ending. It is not the way things are done. Tell me, please. What happened?” “It was a rather common occurrence, truly. Young boys are often so excited by their first dragon ride that they react in the manner in which the Prince reacted. So it is not unusual that he acted as he did.”

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“How? How did he react? What did he do?” Wathalia asked. She was so intent on the story the creature told that she was absolutely at ease flying through the pink clouds. “What happened?” When Beezer chuckled his scales shook so completely that they massaged his passengers from toe to scalp. “To put it simply, the Prince became so thrilled by the ride that he wet his breeches. Left us both feeling rather soggy, it did. Thankfully it was something he did not do again. But that first trip… yes, it was a wet one.” Laughing, she pressed her cheek against Priam’s back and hugged him close. She could feel him shaking his head and hear the groan come from deep within him. When he spoke his voice touched her heart so tenderly that she knew it would never again be in danger of freezing. With Priam her heart would forever be warm. “Now, darling Wathalia, there are truly no secrets between us.” No, my love. No secrets.

***** “Thank you, Priam, for accompanying the princess on her journey home. I am sure that she rested more easily knowing that you were watching over her and the circlet,” said Dinardo. He bowed at the younger man and the white twin tails fell forward against his cheeks. “It is a good thing, indeed, that your kingdom and ours has come to such a desirable meeting of the minds, is it not?” The fire in the cavernous fireplace danced in a riotous tangle of purple and gold flames. The mist from the flames circled the room, flavoring the air with spiciness. The blaze warmed the large room, making it feel for all gathered there that it was the coziest spot in the entire land. “It is definitely a good thing,” agreed Priam. He smiled at the elder, hoping that his next words would be received with warmth and acceptance. “It is with one thought in mind that I come to you today, though. I am hoping that you will allow me the 66

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privilege of sharing the matrimonial ritual with your daughter Wathalia. I have to proclaim my deep feelings for her here, before all of you gathered here today. I have lost my heart to her on the journey.” The room was silent. Alana and Dayanara stared at their wombmate sister with unconcealed surprise. Since Wathalia’s return, they had not had an opportunity for open discussion so not even they had any idea that this was something that came to the kingdom along with the circlet. If the truth be told, Alana and Dayanara were still shocked over their sister’s arriving in Vestia on the back of a big blue dragon. And she had been laughing when it landed, no less. Now there was more? No, there had been no opportunity for discussion. They were as surprised as everyone else in the room at Priam’s words. Surprised and delighted all at once. “What does my daughter think of your desires, Priam? Have you consulted with her?” asked Dinardo. “I have.” “And does she share your desires?” “I believe she does, Dinardo,” Priam answered. He grinned at the elder and was rewarded with a grin in return. The woman’s father had known the instant the two had become one, at the time of their first coupling in the forest. He had been waiting for this news, these proceedings were merely a formality. He knew that in their hearts the pair had been joined since before their conceptions. “Let’s ask her, shall we? Wathalia, please. Come forward, daughter,” Dinardo said. She took her place before the long council table and gazed at the man who sat at the head of the table. In his violet robes, Dinardo looked like a coddled child rather than a

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nearly ancient man. He smiled at her from his unlined face and she was pleased to see that it was a satisfied smile. “Is this bid for your matrimonial ritual pleasing to you? Do you desire this man, this prince from a distant kingdom?” he asked, his eyes sparkling at the words he spoke. “It is pleasing to me, Dinardo,” she answered truthfully. “I do desire Priam. In fact, I love him more than I can ever say. And I believe he loves me as well.” Priam spoke immediately. “I do. I love Wathalia with every fiber of my being. I will love her for every moment of every moon yet to come.” “It is my future, Dinardo,” Wathalia answered. She grinned when the leader nodded wisely, his twin tails brushing his cheeks as a smile crossed his face. It was apparent that Dinardo had already recognized this fact. “Then it will be so,” the king decreed. The applause and laughter that rose around them was lost on Wathalia and Priam. They turned to each other in the crowded room and he bent his head to hers. Theirs was a kiss of barely restrained passion. His need instantly rose against her hip and her own longing showed itself wetly between her legs. She felt, too, the thudding of her heart in her chest. Wathalia glanced over at Michel. He had his arm around the shoulders of one of the maidens of Vestia, a woman who would make him a pleasant mate. They looked happy together, and for this Wathalia was deeply thankful. She inclined her head toward them, acknowledging their union. Then she turned her eyes back to those that were upon her now, the ones that had held her in her dreams and caressed her in her life. They flashed now, an expression of supreme contentment warming her from their liquid depths.

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Wathalia had no doubt that Priam was the man of her destiny and that they were meant to share the sacred, ancient matrimonial ritual. Together they would begin a new generation, a strong, bold future for their kingdoms. Priam felt it, too. Together they would forge bonds that would, hopefully, last for ages and bring love and understanding to all the land. It was their fate, and they accepted it gratefully, gladly and lovingly. They knew there was no other way.

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About the Author Nina Nash loves romance. She loves steamy kisses, hand holding, walking on the beach at moonlight and mostly, she loves love. The feeling that your feet have left the ground and your heart has begun to sing—that’s what Nina is all about. Writing romance? It comes easily to a woman who believes in it as passionately as she does. Nina divides her time between Key West and Manhattan. An accomplished pianist, she’ll often be found tickling the ivories while contemplating her next novel. When she’s not writing romance or making music, she likes to snorkel, scuba dive and rock climb. Life in the Nash household is never dull. And Nina doesn’t think it should be, either. As far as she’s concerned, life is too short for dull. What do you think? Nina loves to hear from fans!

Nina welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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Also by Nina Nash Assignment Cairo by Moonlight North Pole Naughty Recipe for Love

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