6. The First Taste of Summer
Chapter 6
The First Taste of Summer
T hat week, Lord Encarmine courted Celestine in touch.
Scalehall was a fortress. Celestine walked through the halls and battlements, seeing the towns and cities of his realm in fiery paintings. Rosendall, Scalehall, Firekeep. She toured them with him.
The land was not the richest for its soil, but its people were industrious and steadfast. Each buttress of his estate was bold and proud stone, daring an invader to break themselves upon it. His banners flew proudly wherever they went.
While there was a luxury she saw in his castle, there was a utilitarianism to everything. Windows were angled to give an archer a better angle at defense. His gardens around the keep were a thick bristle of thorn and delicious red berries that cleaned wounds when boiled.
In the mornings, Celestine woke in his arms. She sought to kiss him, but he always said the same thing.
“I have not earned your taste yet, Final Bride.” His eyes were brown without his circlet, but even without it he was intimidating. She felt like a slight thing in his arms.
Lord Encarmine showed her the castle. The gardens, the halls, and walls of weapons, trophies, the tapestries that illustrated his own victories against other Lords of Season. The sun was bright, high in the sky, and would darken any skin. His people were a myriad of tones, pale, dark, mixed. It did not seem to matter. When she asked him about this, he simply stated. “I belong to all men, though they wish it were not so. I am neither jealousy nor greed, but the rage of injustice or those coveting.”
On his high tower, she surveyed his realm. Encarmine’s hands explored her constantly: her hand, her arm, her legs. In the evenings, he would enter their chamber with his circlet on, a Lord of Summer, and he would take her in touch.
Celestine was spanked, gripped, touched. Encarmine slid her body all across his and would touch her until she begged for more, then command her to ride his hand, his fingers, his arms. Always outside, always the point of friction between them. He would never enter her. He would oil her entire body, holding her legs together, and slide his fierce cock between her thighs, stirring and torturing her quim with his firm ridges.
In the span of a week, she learned the fire of his touch. Celestine was coated with his seed. It drenched her belly, her thighs, her cunt. Once, an edge of his seed entered her opened mouth. Immediately, her vision reddened, and she sought to hold him down, take what had been denied, and challenge him.
Encarmine noticed and nodded. He had pinned her easily against the bed.
“I will seek your token of Taste beginning on the morrow.”
They lay together that night, she on his nude form. His strength came from determination, the ability to exert, and to push. He was not a man, but he was all men.A demigod, made from war, or the creator of it, she did not know.
A demigod she knew she could marry.
They rode that week among his towns.
“It's important you know the land you would rule over, as well as myself.” Encarmine brought her a horse.
She saw the scholas where his men and women trained, even children donning shields and swords. Celestine saw gatherings of women who learned not the sewing of embroidery and linen but of flesh split, bones reset. These women would drag men from the battlefield or conduct gruesome surgeries to save their lives with grim faces. Many carried a dagger like a long spike.
“For mercy,” Encarmine explained. Celestine nodded at the macabre realization. They turned towards the edge of the town. Celestine watched him as they sauntered slowly. His face was stoic and set—but with an underlying sadness.
“You wish something else for your people?” she asked.
Encarmine stared at the town. “If I did, I wouldn’t know what to wish for.” He looked upon her now as if she were some strange creature of legend coming to his world.
Maybe I am, in his eyes.
“But you might,” he said.
Celestine held the reins of her mount. No women rode side-saddle here. They were fighters, workers, healers, and builders. Everything was practical. Everything had an edge, a killing purpose.
Like him.
Life in the Red Realm was a life of honest labor, with bouts of pride and challenge.
“Come,” Encarmine nodded to the edge of town. “It begins.”
Celestine followed him, taking in the long line of his back. The red ribbon that had been his banner was always tight around his wrist. Everything with him in his world was bought and paid for with honor and effort. She shuddered to think about her first month with the other Lords of Season. Nights of tears and screams, of rent or ravaged flesh.
He is deadlier than them all, perhaps? What Lord tried to best him and won? All were vanquished. I feel safe with him, safer than any time I’ve ever known. He could choose the seasons wisely.
At the edge of town, she saw a small arena where the townsfolk shouted. It was the ferocious cheer of the mob as two men warred in armor with maces in their hand.
“A contest and a settling of grievances,” Encarmine explained as he helped her down from her horse.
“What grudge do either of them hold?” Celestine asked as he took her by the arm towards the small stands.
“Hail, Lord!”
“Hail, Lady Celestine!” Shouts came from all around. Celestine blushed as the crowd parted, many saluting both him and her. It was not something she was used to.
Encarmine leaned close as they walked to a simple set of wooden stands and sat. “One seeks another’s wife, saying he is unfit. They fight. If the husband loses, she is his for the evening.”
Celestine’s eyes went wide.
“This is permitted? Women are wagered so?”
Encarmine stared at the crowd. “As are men. See his wife there…”
Celestine looked and saw a woman staring at the two clashing men. Her eyes were afire with pleasure.
“She is delighted for this?”
Encarmine touched her leg. No matter how much he touched her, it always excited her. Now others could see. She shifted, but he slid his hand further to the top of her thigh.
“Did you not glisten when four Lords of Season warred to part your thighs?”
“I was shocked and…” Celestine gasped as his hand went higher. No one around them seemed to notice.
I am his prize, and I never can get used to his touch. I hope I never do.
“I smelled your excitement, as we warred for you.” Encarmine’s finger traced under her dress now. The crowd roared as the men battled. Celestine turned, face flush, staring into his strong brown eyes.
“Encarmine…” Celestine whispered. His eyes stared into hers.
“There is no greater gamble than combat, Celestine.” He removed his hand. Celestine straightened her skirts and stared at the warring men. It felt satisfying to be close to Encarmine. Presented and at his side. They did not sit upon a throne or place of honor but in a circle. In his realm, all who wagered their lives in contest were the same, Lord or man alike.
Celestine watched the duel. The husband crumbled upon a flurry of blows, a mace crashing against his shield. Celestine saw his wife stand, not in fear but shouting something she couldn’t hear.
“She is a brave woman.”
Encarmine smiled. “You might be mistaken, my lady. She is the one who offered the challenge. Her husband seeks to keep her loyalty. To prove himself.”
“What?” Celestine was incredulous. “That is allowed?”
Encarmine shrugged. “Not all take their vows seriously. Though she may lust for another, she conducted herself properly. Perhaps her husband has not been on march lately, or has grown soft and meek. This may be her way of spurring him to brave action.”
Celestine watched the husband fall, smashed aside, his shield in splinters still bound upon his wrist. Encarmine stared at the contest.
“Or she may lust after this new suitor. She wagered the key to their home for the evening. Her new suitor may sit at the head of the table for one night.”
Like the lords in my realm, who sell and wager the keys to women’s homes.
Celestine saw now that the woman was balling her fists and shouting for the suitor to best her husband.
“Courage!” someone shouted to the husband, who rolled back and forth to avoid the blows falling on him. Celestine felt herself rooting for him as well.
“Courage!” she shouted to the man. She was on her feet. Yelling with the others.
Encarmine sat, but she felt his eye upon her. He seemed amused? She glanced down. No, it was pride in his eyes.
Celestine swore the husband looked at her in the crowd from his helm. He grunted and rolled, taking his opponent’s foot and twisting, tripping him off balance. His wife shouted from the stands, never ceasing her shouts.
The husband slid, exhausted, upon the suitor who would have bedded his wife and sat at his table for the evening. The husband was older and larger, but a veteran, Celestine was sure of it.
The suitor made a play for his mace, but the husband was on top of him, smashing his helm apart with gauntleted fists. The husband grunted, punched, and roared as he battered the man into the mud.
Finally, the suitor's hand raised in a hand gesture of supplication, and the people of the Red Banner roared.
The husband pushed off his downed opponent, standing, wavering. His wife flooded into the muddy arena.
“She goes to her husband!” Celestine turned to the sitting Lord Encarmine, seeing the wife hold her husband’s armored hand in the air in victory. The wife threw her arms around her spouse.
The crowd quieted as Encarmine stood, all eyes on him.
He commands always. Never have I seen any man or being be dominance and conquest made manifest.
“Hail to the victor, hail to the defender.” Encarmine saluted.
The battered husband removed his helm and bowed, and then he returned the salute to his lord.
“Your key lives in your own pocket this evening, Merril,” Encarmine said.
“Aye, my lord.” The older man nodded, his face a mass of bruises. His wife held him up and showered his cheek with kisses. “Now I’d see it slid into the lock it owns.”
The crowd laughed. Encarmine smiled. “Enjoy your boon. For every man is lord of his own home. There is glory in conquest, but true honor is defending that which is yours. It makes us cherish what we take for granted, does it not?”
Merril’s wife smiled and held her husband tight. The old warrior looked down at his wife. “It does, my Lord. It does indeed.”
“What better to covet, than that which you have?”
Merril smiled and groaned. His wife took him out of the arena to tend to his wounds… and likely her own lust, Celestine decided.
“Lady Atrotha,” Encarmine called to the wife.
She turned, her husband’s arm over her shoulder. “Lord?”
Encarmine raised a salute to her. “Well wagered. Mercy might be needed in your conquest.”
The crowd of his people laughed and cheered. Atrotha grinned. “Woe to the vanquished, my Lord.”
Laughs and cheers went around. Encarmine raised his fist in honor, and the elder couple left. The young suitor was helped up.
“Young Jamie,” Encarmine called out. The wounded warrior removed his helm. He was a handsome young man. Celestine saw his jaw was broken, but he held himself upright despite the pain.
“Let this be a lesson to you, for some opportunities are traps, and no man fights fiercer than one defending his home. You wagered and lost.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Encarmine nodded, and someone helped the man away. He sat back down as the crowd turned to fevered discussion.
“She wanted him to win?” Celestine asked.
Encarmine regarded her. “What do you think?”
“The wife lured the young suitor to spur her husband into action.”
“Perhaps.”
“To prove his love and devotion to her.”
Encarmine stared at her. “Possibly so, Lady Celestine. Or I venture another path to you. This could be a game she plays to stir her own needs. Or her adoration, to see men fighting for her for an evening. Or she wanted the suitor all along, but her husband's fury thawed her heart for him again.”
Celestine smiled. “So, which is it?”
Encarmine laughed. His white teeth flashing in the light. “I rule my people, not their bedrooms or thoughts.” Then his eyes fixed upon her. “That which is won must always be defended. That is the lesson for the men and women here today.”
“You rule your own bedroom.”
“This is true.”
Celestine raised her head. “Rule me this evening.”
“Do you want me?” Encarmine leaned forward. “All of me, every inch?”
“Every,” Celestine swore.
The Lord of Summer leaned back. “Then prove it.”
Celestine was about to ask him what he meant by that when a shout came.
“Lord Encarmine!” a young woman’s voice cut through the crowd. All stopped and stared at a lithe young woman, Celestine’s age, with dark hair braided close to her scalp, like many in his realm. She wore leather leggings and a banded tunic. Even under her clothing, Celestine could see the strength of her body.
All eyes turned to him. Encarmine stared at Celestine, then rose.
“A request, Dritha?”
“Is that your new bride?”
Encarmine bowed slightly. “Time will tell.”
“I have heard of a campaign in three parts.” Dritha stared at Celestine. “That she has won your touch. I challenge for a key of my own. She is not worthy of your taste.”
Murmurs and jeers went around the crowd. Dritha spread her arms in mockery and challenge to Celestine.
It had been a wondrous morning and afternoon. Blood pounded in her temples. This one would seek to disrupt their afternoon together?
Celestine clenched her fist and rose. “You’ll have no such thing,” Celestine bit off every word, staring down the fearsome woman.
Dritha laughed. “Sit down, girl. Our Lord is wasted on you.”
She would die to his touch. And risk death for the chance to. Celestine looked back at Encarmine, but he watched her with flat eyes.
Would I?
All eyes were upon Celestine, including Encarmine, so handsome, so stoic, and distant.
“Ready the gate,” Celestine found herself saying. “I’m coming in.”
The crowd roared.
“My Lord.” A man came forth into the arena. “The next bouts and combatants are at the keep, as requested.”
Encarmine sat, eying Celestine. “Add one more duel to the lists, Jermaine.”
The crowd applauded. Celestine looked around, not understanding.
Encarmine stood and held her close from the side, then whispered in her ear, “It is one thing to answer the fury of the moment. But the true mettle of a warrior is tested in the hours before battle. May you find your bravery, Final Bride.”
The afternoon feast continued at Encarmine’s keep until the evening. In his great hall, men and women fought for bouts of honor or grievance.
Celestine was led away by several women at Scalehall. One young, one middle-aged aged, and one elder of the Red Banner. They stripped her fine dress and shift away, dressed her in undergarments, and bound her breasts with linen closer to her body. Her hair was plaited into braids and circled, bound to her scalp.
Finally, the oldest woman bound her hands in linen and leather while Celestine stared at the wall.
“It is nearly time,” the older woman said.
“Thank you.”
The older woman shrugged.
“How is victory proven? The hand sign?” Celestine asked.
“Victory shows itself and needs no confirmation.” The young woman said from the chest where she put linen away.
“If I lose?” Celestine asked.
The old woman shrugged. “Dritha will have the Key to Encarmine’s chamber this evening. She will take your boon of Taste. Though it will likely end her life, the fool. Such is the seeker of glory instead of sense.”
Celestine shook her head as her hands were bound tightly. “Women do not fight thus, in my land.”
The older woman snorted. “Every woman in every world defends her bed and groom. Those who seek to take, we stop. Whores with lusty eyes and filthy promises are the siege of all married women.”
“I’m not married.”
“You lose this bout, that may remain a truth.” The old woman tugged on the straps at her hands and nodded, standing.
“It is time.”
Celestine stood like a prized knight going to joust for a lady’s favor. The young woman in her attendant circle touched Celestine’s shoulder. “Don’t hold back. Fight for what is yours.”
Butterflies the size of piglets tumbled in her stomach. They walked from the readying room to the great hall. Every seat and bench was filled with the entirety of Rosendal. Even the walls held people three deep. These were not a barbaric people, but they were raucous, and the wine flowed as the martial entertainment continued.
Two men were being led away to tend to their wounds. Encarmine sat upon a throne and raised his hand for silence. The middle of the hall parted, and Dritha waited in leathers and linen before the hall.
“Now comes the challenge, and its answer,” Encarmine’s words rang out. Celestine looked upon him, his circlet on his brow, his eyes a red glow from this throne.
That will be my prize, that man.No other will taste him.
Dritha stepped in front of Celestine as the crowd parted.Her mouth curled into a churlish sneer, “That beautiful face of his will be my throne this night. I’ll have his key, girl, while you sleep with the hounds, and I warm your bed.”
The air was smelled of smoking braziers that hung from the ceiling in thick chains. Celestine had left her home behind, her entire world, braved death and dismemberment and now at the meekest sign of solace—this one thought to take her place? To deny her that which was hers?
“No hand or thigh sits upon my rightful throne,” Celestine spat the words. “None.”
Dritha grinned. Celestine looked up at Encarmine, his stoic face staring at her, willing her.
That which is won must be defended.
Encarmine leaned forward and started the bout with a clap of his hands like a hammer on an anvil.
“Begin!”
No weapons were brought. Dritha circled her, falling into a crouch.
It's like I am a champion upon the Court at Calendar, and I’ll win my prize or die here.
Dritha flew at her, and Celestine flinched to take the blow. She had never been the fairest or the skinniest. She had heft. But she was no weakling daughter of a high landed lord. She had worked plow and labor her entire life among her people. The thought of Dritha’s nude form writhing with her Lord was fuel enough.
The tackle was ferocious. Dritha slammed into her.
Celestine gripped her under her shoulders, straining, fighting their weight against one another. Their heads rose, and Celestine gritted her teeth when Dritha slammed her forehead into her face, filling her eyes with stars.
This was no fight among friends or young girls. This was combat. It was a contest. Her nose stung, her eyes swam. They broke their grip on one another, and Dritha let fly a stiff jab that rocked her head back. Celestine retreated, keeping her eyes on the woman. Adrenaline flooded her body, and Celestine felt the pain retreat under the thumping tattoo that her heart thrummed.
Dritha snaked forward fast and let loose a flurry of swings at Celestine’s head. She ducked and danced back, letting the woman come forward. Another blow clipped her chin, snapping her head to the right, and she slipped into the next one in time that would have flattened her nose.
“Come here, my lady.” Dritha walked forward, hands raised and bouncing to strike.
Celestine spat bloody saliva onto the ground.
I am a bride of the Calendar Court, and I will not falter.
Celestine thought of Encarmine defending her when they first came to the castle. She thought of his poise in the duel with Cedarheart, the wolfish lord of Autumn. He had not faltered nor fallen, and neither would she.
I cannot lose.
More swings came for her. Celestine grunted as a fist landed and snatched back from her stomach as quick as it had come, but she didn’t fold. The pain was nauseating, but she threw her own strikes, sending her opponent dancing back. But it was a feint. A leg flew out right at Celestine’s side. She grabbed it as it slammed into her ribs, running the air from her, but held Dritha’s leg tight and danced backward, bringing her off balance.
She didn’t fall but lurched forward, clawing at Celestine. They grappled again, the foot leaving her grip as she fought the raking hands of Dritha. One found her hair, yanking her braids back, pinioning her neck.
Rage thundered in Celestine’s heart. She strained against the pull. Nails dug into her brow and tore at her face. She stuck her left hand behind Dritha’s neck, pushing her down.
“Fucking,” Celestine grunted through the pain. She kicked out as hard as she could, driving her right boot into Dritha’s stomach as she tried to pull away. Finally, she landed a true blow, knocking the wind out of her opponent.
The hand released from her hair, Dritha shot forward to shove her back, but Celestine somehow, between a sidestep and a grab, took Dritha’s momentum under her arm, locking her in a headlock.
Celestine wasted no time. She drove a wrapped fist over and over into Dritha’s unprotected side. Nails dug into her back and leg, but Celestine roared and delivered blow after blow.
“Whore!” Celestine yelled on the last punch into her opponent’s side. The nails dug deeper, and she threw her fury into the final blow. Then released Dritha, but not all the way. The woman stepped back, but Celestine kept her hand on the back of her head, keeping her head low. She brought her right knee up as hard as she could and into Dritha’s jaw.
You could hear the crunch of bone on bone when her knee connected.Murmurs slid from the crowd.
The woman fell to the ground, stunned. Celestine fell upon her. The chance and opening might not happen again. She couldn’t let her get up. She drove her hand over and over onto her opponent’s skull, bringing it down like a hammer. There was no martial prowess here. This was a brawl. Her enemy’s head turned, and Celestine hammered her over her ear.
Dritha stopped defending herself. Her hands slackened.
Celestine stood, the bloodlust upon her, wounded, scratched, and sore everywhere.
I’ll open her fucking head. I’ll crack her skull apart like a porcelain plate.
Celestine raised her boot to stomp Dritha’s head, but in a split flash, she saw her defenseless opponent.
This is wrong.
Celestine stopped. She stepped back, panting.
“Victory presents itself,” the old woman said behind her.
The crowd roared. Attendants came and swept up her fallen opponent. Celestine turned, and the young and middle-aged women of the Red Banner came to her, sudden sisters in a single bloody endeavor, and raised her hands high. The crowd cheered her name across the hall.
Never had she felt glory. She would be in pain tomorrow, she knew, terrible pain. But in that moment of victory, it didn’t exist. The people of the Red Banner came forward and filled her hand with a tankard of wine, and she was hoisted upon their shoulders as she danced across the hall. She drank the flagon down, and she felt strong and mighty. The coin toss of defeat and victory had landed up for her, and her eyes locked with Encarmine’s as she was carried on cheering shoulders.
He was smiling.
The merriment and contests continued all evening. Celestine was greeted by another roar of the crowd when Dritha emerged, carrying two tankards of ale to her. She stood and embraced her opponent, smiling and cracking their tankards together. They stayed by one another during several more bouts, cheering and toasting, until Celestine’s head swam with the heat of the hall and the alcohol.
“Well won, Final Bride.” Dritha sipped her tankard.
“I saved your life, you fool.” Celestine wiped the drink from her mouth.
Dritha’s eyes slid over to Encarmine. “Who would deny themselves a night with such a being? Even if it was their last.”
They watched another bout together. She felt a strange kinship with the woman who had challenged her, who had helped bring forth something she didn’t know was in her to do.
“Your prize,” the old woman came to her as she watched another bout. A key was placed in her hand. Celestine stared at it, closing her hand around it. She handed her ale to Dritha and marched drunkenly to her Lord’s chambers.
Up and up the steps, she limped.
She slid the key into the lock at his chambers and unlocked her prize. Inside, he waited for her, standing, his circlet on. Celestine walked forward, right at him.
“Leave it on,” she demanded as his hands rose to remove his circlet.
Glowing red eyes regarded her.
Celestine walked up to him. He was so tall, so large, and powerful. But he was hers. Her hands went over his armor to his powerful chest. A face of coarse beauty stared at her. She withdrew a torn ribbon from his banner and handed it to him.
Encarmine took it in his hand, kissing it.
“Kiss me,” she demanded, stripping her leather shirt away, tossing it with the carefree of the drunken. She reached out, as if in combat, and grabbed a buckle on his breastplate, but his fierce hands were upon her. Nothing was stronger than him. She heard the clamor of a distant battlefield, red haze, and black mist circling an enchanted crown.
Encarmine kissed her. It felt like a siege she had been defending for a thousand years finally fell. She was a castle, crumbling in his arms. His lips were fire and death. His tongue slid upon hers, and their mouths locked like a duel.
A flood of sensation washed over her. She kissed him again and again.
I could kiss him forever.
Maybe she would. The idea tasted good.
They broke, staring at each other, arms around one another. Celestine ripped at his armor, and he stepped back, unbuckling it. She grinned and pulled her leather leggings down, no longer shy, until they both were unclothed.
Encarmine’s eyes fell upon the bruises, the scratches, the cuts on her combat-riddled body. He fell to his knees and kissed her leg where she was battered. Her hands went into his thick dark hair, the black and red gold of his circlet burning her hands in such a good way. He kissed the front of her thigh.
Celestine’s cunt ached for him. She knew even now, in the lustful exchange, he would not give her what she truly wanted. It wasn’t earned. It made more sense to her now, and she respected it more.
She had won him. This night, his face, his taste, was hers. No one would kiss him before her.
Celestine gripped his hair and forced his head lower. She stepped her legs apart and brought his massive frame against the bed.
“Woe to the vanquished,” Celestine said and filled his mouth with the lips of her quim.
His hot tongue danced across her folds, spreading, eating, and feasting until he found her clit. His mouth locked onto her in suction, and she groaned, pleasure dancing up her body like a lightning strike. Fever and bloodlust came upon her. His tongue and lips were such agonizing pleasure that she gripped the horns of his circlet like a demon of war trapped between her legs. His hands toyed at her cleft, another upon her buttock, spreading it, a thick finger coaxing the edge of her rear.
She held Encarmine’s hair like a conqueror. In a moment, they were on the bed, and she climbed over his muscled chest, filling her fists with his hair as she climbed forward.
“I know you want this.” Celestine whispered and sat on his face. Encarmine groaned, the sound and vibration dancing up her loins as his tongue and mouth and lips became her saddle, and she fucked his mouth with furious need. Celestine groaned, taking him. He was her prize.
When she came, it was from his tongue and lips and how he sucked mercilessly on her clit. She spasmed on his face, grinding him into the bed.
The Lord of Summer and War, tasted her all night.