Six Avirin
SIX
Avirin
Lord Riften’s lesson in the study has taken up permanent residence in Avirin’s mind. She replays that night every time she closes her eyes. It might have been her own hand, her own touch, but she was merely a puppet on a string tied around Lord Riften’s fingers.
She’s never felt anything like it — being completely in control, yet still so pliant and yielding.
It’s strange. It’s not something she ever imagined she’d enjoy.
She has never wanted to be moved by someone else’s hand, to be ruled under their fist, but when that hand belongs to Lord Riften, it’s suddenly intuitive and intimate.
Is this why society considers such consummation improper?
Because it does consume Avirin. The memory of the study shoves everything else aside and fills her head with fantasies far more attractive than anything she’s supposed to dream of.
Fantasies of Lord Riften meeting her gaze in the reflection, pressing their lips to her ear, brushing their fingers against her —
The post-chaise jostles, knocking Avirin into the window frame.
She rubs her aching shoulder. It must be punishment for where her thoughts are — where she is, currently.
Lord Riften has turned her into quite the rebel.
Never before has she snuck away from her house for an evening, and even now, she presses back against the seat to stay out of sight.
She clutches a piece of paper between her gloved fingers. The letter was left fluttering outside her bedroom window, written in a swirling handwriting that leaves Avirin thoroughly besotted.
I hear the opera house is putting on quite an event this weekend. Join me, and I will introduce you to one of my confidantes. You’ll have dinner and a show.
- P.
He was at her house. He was outside her window.
He has invited her to an event without a chaperone.
The thought alone makes her palms sweat, but Avirin wouldn’t dream of staying home.
A night at the opera is far more risqué than the balls and parties she’s used to, but she has to go.
She can’t bear the thought of falling short of Lord Riften’s expectations, nor the thought of missing whatever tonight may bring.
Her thighs clench. Surely if her previous session with Lord Riften was so sensual, tonight’s lesson will be even stronger.
She doesn’t know exactly what it will entail, but from what she’s gathered, Lord Riften will strip them both of their clothing.
He will align himself between her legs. He will show her what a man does —
The carriage jerks to a halt, leaving Avirin scrambling for balance. She tugs on her cloak and shoves out the door before Mr. Brandiron has a chance to get down from his perch.
“Miss!” he calls. “Wouldn’t you like to be closer to the city center?”
“No, thank you!” Avirin shouts and bustles away.
Lord Riften had offered to collect her at home, but Avirin insisted on making her way herself.
She doesn’t take the direct route to the theater, skirting alleyways and keeping her eyes down.
The streets are full of the boisterous beau monde doing nothing to appear as scarce as she does.
One drunken man stumbles into her, and she mutters an apology before she scurries around a corner.
You don’t belong here, the antsy voice in her head whispers. You second-guess every step you take. You’re going to look a fool in front of Lord Riften.
Embarrassment sears through her. She leans back against the cool brick and tries to regain her bearings.
Lord Riften’s letter might have infused her with a little unearned bravery, but she was kidding herself.
She wipes her clammy palms on her light green dress.
She is not some confident rebel; she’s a silly child playing dress up, and that will soon be clear to everyone around her.
“I should have known your beauty would upstage mine.”
Lord Riften’s voice startles and soothes her all at once. She spins toward them in relief, but her thoughts are wiped quickly from her head.
Black tattoos peek out from the top of Lord Riften’s dress, the fabric as teal as a drake’s head.
It is not what she expected him to wear.
Moreover, she did not expect to be so moved by it.
Seeing Lord Riften like this does more to her than seeing him in his finest suits.
The gown is perfectly tailored, the ruched neckline bunching at their chest and complemented by long sleeves that accentuate the muscles of their arms. It reminds Avirin of the shapes other women cut in their dresses, bare clavicles and pert breasts…
God, she’s staring.
Warmth rushes to her cheeks, but Lord Riften is staring at her, too. Their gaze wanders her curves like she’s a heady drink they want to take their time with.
“I was hoping we’d blend in tonight,” he says, offering his arm, “but clearly, I forgot who I was meeting. You shine everyone else down. No one will pay any mind to the opera once they catch sight of you.”
Avirin’s cheeks grow redder. He means to flatter her, to be sure, but she feels lighter nonetheless. She loops her hand around his elbow as if he is the buoy keeping her afloat. “I dare say you’ve never wanted to blend in a day in your life.”
Lord Riften chirps a laugh, a delightful sound that rings in Avirin’s ears. He lowers his voice between them. “How did you find our previous lesson? Was it…applicable to your private studies?”
Avirin’s nails dig into his arm as she waits for them to pass a crowded store entrance.
Her throat is tight, but she wants to speak.
There is something dangerous and thrilling about disguising their words and speaking on such a profane topic out in the open.
“Your teaching was…quite extensive. I’ve gone over the material more than once. To ensure I understand it intimately.”
Lord Riften hums in the back of their throat. “And how did you fare for the rest of the party? Were you missed during our little liaison?”
That memory is a rude interruption from her other thoughts. “My mother was unhappy. I was conspicuously absent for some introduction she wanted to make. She threatened to tie a lead to me next time to keep me in sight.”
Lord Riften clucks his tongue, but there’s a spark in his eye. “We’ll have to continue our meetings in more creative places, then.”
When they approach the opera house, the vestibule is nearly empty, and Lord Riften turns to speak with the usher.
Avirin can’t help but be enchanted by how certainly he moves.
Even when the usher gives his dress a sideways look, Lord Riften does not cower.
They look…beautiful and free. They look like themself.
The usher hands Lord Riften an envelope of bills, and Lord Riften returns to Avirin, noting the cloak still situated over her head.
“You needn’t worry about being seen, Lady Avirin.
” He leads her toward the stairs and tucks the envelope away.
“Since the members of ‘fashionable society’ are more interested in themselves than the arts, half of them won’t arrive for another hour yet.
The rest will be too drunk on cider and gossip to notice if we kick up a lark. ”
But only once they ascend to an empty landing does Avirin pull down her hood. Curtains line the corridor, leading to private seats that are far more secluded than the ones below.
“I’ve rented a box for this evening,” Lord Riften murmurs. “Somewhere far away from any twittering birds that might like to print your name in the scandal sheets.”
Avirin’s nerves flutter like wings swarming up her throat. Tonight is the night. Tonight, Lord Riften will take her behind one of these curtains, and she will finally discover the truth of what she’s been imagining. She will learn everything there is to know.
Despite the furious desire inside her, there is another melancholy part of her.
She hasn’t spent much time considering what happens after these lessons are over, but it sinks into her stomach now.
On one hand, the thought of Lord Riften finally touching her so thoroughly is palpitating.
Yet by the same turn, she doesn’t want this to end.
Will this be the last night she speaks to them? Feels them? Sees them at all?
“Is something on your mind?” Lord Riften asks.
Avirin’s teeth dig into her lip, and she pulls the emerald green fan from her reticule. “Admittedly, I’m a bit quailed since tonight is our final lesson.”
He comes to a halt beside her, but Avirin continues, lowering her voice.
“Since tonight, you will show me what married people do. You will show me how to please y- a husband.” Her eyes dart between his and the column behind him.
“Truthfully, I hadn’t considered how quickly these lessons would pass — but I do not impugn your teaching!
” she adds quickly, praying she has not offended him.
She adds a diplomatic nod for good measure.
“You have been exceptionally thorough, Lord Riften. You have shown me everything there is to know.”