Chapter 21
Guinevere
My muscles burn as I swing the heavy sword. I’ve been training with évandre in the courtyard for longer each night, and each night my blows land with more force. Each night I can keep going for longer before I’m forced to stop.
The sword swishes in a neat arc and slices straight into the wooden shield Corvin carved as évandre holds it up to parry my blow. “Good. I felt that.”
I pull it back and admire the chunk of wood missing from the shield. “One more.”
évandre shakes his head with a smile. “No more, princess. That’s enough for today. You will be too sore tomorrow if I push you too hard today.”
I let out a growl of frustration, but he’s right. And consistency in my training is important. “Very well. But will we continue tomorrow?”
He grins. “Naturally. I look forward to it.”
Corvin takes the weapons to store, and I lift my arms, stretching sore shoulders.
Raban alights so softly beside me I jump when I turn to see him there.
He had been watching from the walls. I’m glad he has relaxed more now that my skills have improved.
Apart from a few nasty cuts which healed quickly, I have escaped relatively unscathed and do not think évandre or Corvin have held back.
That’s in part due to his care of me with the shield, but since I have improved, he has taken to seeing to my sore muscles afterward.
Now he smiles at me. “You are making good progress. Soon you will be able to overpower évandre.”
I laugh since that is unlikely, but I like Raban’s easy compliments. They never feel false, even when they are exaggerated. “You are being too kind as always.”
“You are sore,” he says, ignoring my comment. His hands grip my shoulders and massage gently and I moan at the feel of his clever thumbs working a little of my tension out.
“Yes.”
“Let me prepare the baths for you. A hot bath is just what you need.”
To be honest I’m quickly becoming addicted to the baths. They are certainly my favorite part of the castle and they make living in the ruins under the sky a lot more bearable. “Thank you.”
Raban hurries off to stoke the fire in the hypocaust—the underground furnace that heats the baths.
The gargoyles tell me a learned man once travelled from far lands to oversee the construction of the castle with the latest technology for the comfort of their royal family.
It still amazes me to think of this ancient kingdom with more advanced technology than ours.
I fetch my own drying cloth and make my way down the stairs by the light of a torch which Raban carries.
The room is already steamy, and I sigh as I shed my clothing and dip my toe into the warm water.
I’m too impatient to wait until it heats completely, preferring instead to slide into the lukewarm water and heat from within.
It feels good to be immersed in the water, to float and relax tired muscles.
Raban folds my clothes neatly and comes to the edge of the bath, crouching and tucking his feathered wings behind him. “May I massage your shoulders, princess?”
I sit at the edge of the bath with my neck and shoulders out of the water.
Raban slides his hands over my wet skin and immediately goes to work rubbing out the pain.
Soon my muscles are loose and my mind empty of anything but the sensation of his gentle touch.
With each stroke of clever fingers, his touch roves further, sweeping across my chest, down my arms, and finally grazing the swell at the top of my breasts.
My nipples tighten beneath the water. The temperature has risen, and now I’m warm and drowsy, with a tingling low in my belly and a delicious sensation spreading through me.
I don’t want him to stop. It might have been scandalous for the princess of Erenvold to allow such liberties, but that girl is dead.
I do not think the rules apply to me any longer.
So I lean back and enjoy his touch, dimly aware of a growing restlessness within me. I’m still surprised when his hands slide lower—beneath the water to cup my breasts, drawing a moan from my lips. Raban pulls back and I sit, twisting to look at him.
“Did I overstep, princess? I am sorry. I could not help myself.”
I hadn’t imagined he might be feeling restless as well.
Since that first night in the bathhouse, there has been no further sign of masculine awareness, and I’ve grown used to thinking of the gargoyles as asexual.
Now I look more closely at my handsome companion.
Perhaps it’s my imagination, but a deeper flush seems to have spread on his cheeks.
Beneath the loincloth he wears, something very hard is tenting the fabric so that it stands out from his body in a way I find both alarming and intriguing.
I did not get a look at Alaric’s member when he assaulted me in the woods.
Not that I had any desire to look at the thing he forced between my legs.
But Raban is different. For one thing, his sweet, gentle nature makes it impossible to hate him or be angry with him, even though he has taken liberties with my body.
For another, the soft, almost feminine curve to his full lips and his long lashes are such a contrast to Alaric’s hard masculinity that I feel completely differently about his touch.
“No. You didn’t. You just surprised me.”
There’s a pause. Raban wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I only want to serve you, princess. I’m at your command.”
I do not know why, his words add to the restless feeling inside me until a throbbing starts up between my legs and a smile grows over my lips. “Then continue.”
I turn back, and a moment later, he returns his hands to my body with a sigh.
“Your skin is so lovely,” he whispers. “So smooth.” He keeps exploring my body with his hands, running them all over my chest, teasing my nipples into firm peaks once more.
When they’re so sensitive the graze of his palm over their taut surface makes me gasp, I reach up and grab hold of his neck, lifting myself further from the water, inviting more of his touch.
Even so, he never delves lower than my belly, never seeks out the secret place that throbs for him between my thighs.
He just continues to stroke and massage my chest until I grow frustrated.
With a little growl, I disentangle myself from his arms and turn to him, kneeling on the step of the bath to look at him.
He’s on his knees beside me. His loincloth is still tented with the size of his erect member, and suddenly I long to see it. “Undress,” I command him.
With a swift motion he removes the cloth, revealing a straining cock, long and curved, with a tapered head glistening with moisture at the tip.
It bobs under my gaze, and I grin, biting my lip as I reach out for him.
He stays where he is, not moving as I grasp him in my fingers and explore the heat, the exquisite softness of the skin here.
As I stroke down the length, his eyes drift closed and he lets out another awed sigh. I do it again, letting my fingers skim the shaft up and back down. Raban’s hips jerk forward, and his eyes fly open. “Does it please you, princess?”
“Yes.” I speak openly, thrilled when my words cause another jump of his swollen flesh in my hand. “Have you ever done anything like this before? Did you lie with the humans who lived in this castle once upon a time?”
He shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is full of need, though I’m only touching him lightly. “No, princess—” He lets out a little sigh. “—the only ones who have ever touched me are my brothers.”
I blink in surprise. “Corvin and évandre?”
Raban nods. “We have kept each other company for many nights. But a woman’s touch is—” he breaks off as I close my hand around him, and I smile when a bead of moisture wells at the tip of his long cock.
“A woman’s touch is…?”
He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “Your hand is so soft. It feels better than anything I’ve ever known.”
Experimentally I slide my hand over his shaft again, and he lets out a little cry, his hips bucking forward once more.
“I want to please you too, princess. I want to give your body pleasure like the pleasure you give to me.”
My core clenches and I begin to imagine the kind of pleasure he could give to me, but then I remember the pain of invasion. That is not an experience I’m eager to repeat. “You do please me, Raban. You take such good care of me. It pleases me to see you like this.”
Little moans and whimpers escape him as I work my hand faster and faster over his body. Eventually he begins thrusting into my hand as I stroke him, and I take note, learning the rhythm of his body.
My hand is slick with the dewy release trickling from his cock.
His body shakes. His long tail lashes behind him, but he makes no move to stop me or to touch me. Only his eyes on mine speak the depth of his desire, their amber irises dark with unspoken need.
I squeeze my hand tighter. Raban lets out a choked sound.
His whole shaft surges in my hand.
I keep going, stroking him in little jerky thrusts until, with a gasp, his body shudders and white liquid spills from the tip of his member onto my hand; warm at first, then cooling slightly in the steamy air.
Raban sits back on his heels, his breathing ragged.
I turn my hand and scoop the liquid into my palm, looking at it in wonder. “Is this what your pleasure looks like?”
“Yes. It’s what you made of my pleasure.”
When I look up, he’s watching the milky white drops in my palm as intently as I am. I do not know what possesses me, but, on instinct, I hold it up to him.
His lips drop open. He stares. Then quickly, as if afraid I might stop him, he dips his head and drinks up the liquid from my hand, looking up at me shyly when he is done.
This makes me grin. “Does it taste good?”
He nods. “Yes. Should I have left some to share with you?”
Impulsively, I reach up and pull his head close to mine.
Then I lift my own and he meets me in a kiss, dragging his open lips over mine, making me shiver with pent up need.
I’m hungry for his touch too but unwilling to take it lest it break the perfect moment with memories I do not wish to relive.
Instead I deepen the kiss, reaching with my tongue for a taste of his pleasure, since I won’t submit to mine.
When Raban’s tongue slides against mine the taste is salty, laced with something richer, heady and impossible to define. His lips are every bit as sweet as I thought they would be, and it’s a long time before I draw away.
When we emerge from the baths, I wonder to myself if the others will be able to tell what we’ve done.
But when we return to the courtyard, neither Corvin nor évandre comments on the little smile I cannot wipe from my face.
And Raban says nothing, only follows me as devotedly as always, attending to my needs before I’ve even thought of them, seeing to everything before I can ask.