Chapter 18 Eng
ENG
Iclimbed out of the shrew’s bed in the dark needing to relieve myself, and in less than two steps collided into a wall. The shrew stirred at my softly muttered curse and I felt along the wall, banging my shin on the wooden footboard and nearly falling over a discarded shoe.
And I’d thought my place was a hovel. Not that the shrew hadn’t done her best in trying to make the place home-like with brightly colored pillows and upholstery, but the woman seriously needed a larger den.
There weren’t even walls separating the living area from her bedroom, and the scant furniture barely allowed enough room to edge between the sofa arm and the kitchen bar with stools.
It had been a snug fit for the two of us in her bed, but I wasn’t complaining about that.
I was complaining about the near impossibility of getting out of her bed without climbing over top of her.
The bathroom was equally horrifying. If I’d needed to sit to relieve myself, my knees would have extended into the minuscule corner shower. The sink was barely big enough to wash one hand at a time and I nearly knocked a shelf off the wall trying to open the door.
Letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the bedroom, I managed to squeeze my way between the bed and the wall without danger.
The shrew stirred as I eased onto the mattress and I wound myself around her, my arm across her waist, and my body pressed firmly against her back.
She sighed, wiggling her ass against my hand-axe, which reacted with enthusiastic approval.
I woke to the smell of coffee and frying bread and for a moment was confused. Had I dozed off in the diner a block away from my hovel? If so, their seats had gotten way more comfortable than I remembered.
Blinking my eyes open I saw the naked backside of my female, eight feet away and apparently cooking something.
My female. My woman. Mine. How had convenient, although admittedly amazing, sex come to this?
She turned and I saw she had an apron covering the frontal glory of her body, held in place with two thin ties around her waist and neck.
“Hungry?”
My gaze lingered on those long, muscular, golden legs and the ruffled hem of the apron that hid where I truly wanted to feast this morning.
“Yes. I’m very hungry.”
She grinned then reached down to lift the hem of her apron up a tantalizing inch. “French toast, bacon, and coffee first. Then we can enjoy a very different second breakfast, unless you have other plans for this morning?”
I thought of the Hnefatafl game and how I wanted to bring it to the old humans and teach them to play.
But a leisurely morning in bed with this female would be more enjoyable than any other activity I could think of.
Besides, the old humans liked to go worship on Sunday morning and probably wouldn’t be at the park until well after noon today.
“I have no plans that cannot be moved to another time or even day,” I told her.
“Me either.” She turned back to the pan of frying dough.
“Well, except for tonight. Sunday dinner at my parents’ place is pretty much the only thing I don’t want to miss.
All four grandparents come, if they’re in town and not off on some cruise or bus trip touring all the flea markets on the east coast. They’re not getting any younger.
My nana on my mother’s side had a cancer scare a couple of years back.
She’s doing okay for now, but it made me realize that they’ll be gone one day and I need to spend as much time with them as I can.
Other family too. With so many brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, I feel like if I blink I’ll miss something important. ”
I sat up in bed, rubbing at a sudden ache behind my ribs.
“I don’t remember my grandparents. They died before I was born.
But when I was young, I enjoyed sneaking out of the castle and visiting the city and tradespeople.
There was an older man who carved wooden toys that his family sold in their market stall.
I still have the cup and ball toy he made for me. ”
She turned, flashing me a gorgeous smile and some heart-stopping side-boob. “The toy with the wooden ball on a string? You swing it upward and try to catch the ball in the cup?”
I nodded.
The shrew turned back and scooped fried bread onto a plate. “I had one of those too, although mine wasn’t hand-carved by a local artisan. It was probably some cheap mass-produced thing from overseas, but I loved it.”
I rubbed my chest again, thinking of the day I’d visited the small wooden house the family lived at, only to be told the old man had died the night before in his sleep.
It had been the first time I’d faced loss, the first time I’d contemplated how fragile and impermanent life was.
Suddenly the death rolls the city administrator presented to my father took on a new meaning.
They were no longer just names on a page but orcs who had friends and family, who had loved ones that felt that sharp pain in their chests and the agony of loss.
Each name was a lightning strike of grief to someone, and that wasn’t something that should just be glanced over and filed away in the archives.
“Almost every day I go to a park and play games with old humans.” I had no idea what had prompted me to confess this.
I hadn’t told anyone about my elderly friends.
The whole thing was embarrassing, not the sort of activity a prince should waste his time on, or the sort of individuals a prince should be spending his time with.
The shrew turned, the plate of fried dough in one hand and a plate of cooked meat in the other, her eyes wide. “You do what?”
It was too late to backtrack, so I plunged on ahead.
“Old humans. They gather in parks and watch the other humans or birds or whatever. Sometimes they gather in groups and talk and play games. They are stupid games with red and black disks jumping over each other, or dice rolling to move disks, or a truly horrible game that I think is supposed to simulate battle strategy. It does a very poor job of that, but the old humans seem to love it.”
“Chess.” She pivoted to put the plates on the counter table with two stools on one side. “I grew up playing it with my grandfather on my dad’s side.”
I climbed out of bed and walked the few steps to a stool as she added various bottles and mugs of coffee to the counter. Everything smelled and looked amazing, so much better than even the diner down the street from my hovel.
“It is a terrible game. I never win.” I sounded whiny, but for some reason all my defenses were down this morning.
“It is,” she admitted, pulling off her apron and sitting next to me so we were both completely naked.
“But I decided that winning wasn’t the goal.
What was important was spending time with my grandfather.
He’d tell me stories about his life while we played.
I’d tell him about my school day, problems I was having with friends, about the boy I had a crush on that week. The game was just an excuse to talk.”
I grunted in agreement, cutting off slabs of butter to layer on my fried bread. It smelled of dough and egg and cinnamon and my mouth watered for both the breakfast and the shrew’s lithe, muscular body.
“I haven’t played chess with my grandfather in ages,” she mused as she swirled lines of syrup on her bread before passing me the bottle. “Maybe I’ll challenge him to a game tonight. He’ll win, but it will be fun. Just like old times.”
I didn’t bother with syrup, shoveling a chunk of butter-laden fried bread into my mouth and humming in approval with the taste.
The shrew was a better cook than the humans at the local diner.
She was better than some in our palace kitchens.
If she were an orc and back home, we’d snatch her up as a royal cook.
The idea bothered me. I didn’t want her to cook for anyone aside from me. And herself, of course. I wanted sole access to the shrew’s body, her time, her cooking. I wanted her to be mine.
Which was not at all why I’d come here. This female beside me was not a princess.
She was not the bride I was supposed to bring home.
And while my brain tried to think of a way she could be my lover, my mistress, part of me was appalled that I could ever consider treating her as a filthy secret to be kept in the shadows while a subservient, obedient wife stood beside me in public.
“Tell me more about your parents,” the shrew said as she crunched on a piece of bacon.
I hesitated, fork halfway to my mouth. Eating the bite of fried bread, I thought about how I should respond as I chewed. “My father takes his role as king very seriously. He is actively involved in all legislation and in every governmental decision.”
The shrew raised an eyebrow. “Micro-manages, does he?”
It took me a few seconds to remember what the words meant before I nodded in agreement.
“He does not trust others to make anything but the most minor of decisions on any matter. There are advisors, and he considers their opinions as well as the history of a matter, current facts, and various options. But in the end, the decision is his to make.”
“It must be difficult to have so much weighing on every decision you make,” the shrew mused as she continued to eat.
“In my job people do rely on my knowledge and experience, but all I’m affecting is their training plans and personal fitness.
Nothing as life-changing as what your family deal with every day. ”
I frowned. “My father’s decisions may affect more people than yours do, but your decisions are life-changing for the humans you work with.”
She shook her head. “Bench press reps and cardio intervals are hardly life-changing.”