5 #2
Locking my jaw, I watched the destruction until a brass noise rang through the forge. I whipped toward the wall clock, my eyes widening at the passing hour.
“Shit,” I gasped, wrestling out of the apron.
Two hours before dusk. That’s how long I had to get washed, get dressed, get Mama comfortable, and get the fuck out of here.
I prided myself on being on time. Technically, I was well in range.
But more than that, I also prided myself on arriving early.
Unlike my adolescent years when I wouldn’t have bothered for the Masters, then showed up late and lied through my teeth about why, I had outgrown this habit.
I’d become part of a clan whose schedule I respected, elevating my own standards in the process.
Punctuality was good business and just plain considerate.
Also, I liked having time to spare. No stress, and it often thawed Jeryn’s icy demeanor, since the Winter King took punctuality more seriously than even Briar.
On that front, clocks invented by his nation were imported luxuries Mama and I couldn’t afford.
But this one had come from Jeryn himself, one of nine models he’d presented to the clan, less of a gift and more of a demand.
The calculating man hated tardiness and had dismembered people for lesser offenses.
I tossed the smock aside and exited the forge.
Within five minutes, I changed into a felted wool skirt, donned a knit pullover, threw my cloak hood over my shoulders, strapped on my axe, devoured one of Mama’s persimmon tarts, assured her none of the trees would attack me on the way to the castle, and sprinted from the cottage.
Several miles later, I hastened down the brick lane carving through The Wandering Fields.
Casting the golden stalks a heedful glance, I shot past them.
Briar had described a shortcut through the harvest rows, but considering the fields’ penchant for entrapping anyone who meant harm to the kingdom, I wasn’t about to chance it.
Not that my endgame meant to hurt the clan, or that I’d sided with Rhys out of boredom, but who knew how the corn and wheat fields would interpret those actions?
Rushing from the fields to the maple pasture, I sought a particular tree and flattened my palm against the bark. A camouflaged seam appeared, then swung inward like a door. I darted inside, flew down the subterranean steps, and raced along the tunnel, roots glinting to illuminate the way.
Only the clan, the troops, and members of Autumn’s Royal family knew about these secret passages. Rhys had been privy to one isolated channel, but Queen Avalea had since ordered that conduit demolished.
The tunnel deposited me at the lower town’s border. Cobblestones bloated from the ground. Timber and plaster homes cluttered the avenues. In the main square, cooked plums wafted from a cafe, leaf bouquets decorated the lampposts, and lumber wheelbarrows trundled by.
That time of the year had arrived. In three weeks, Reaper’s Fest would be in full swing.
As I neared the barbican, my pulse jackhammered. Aire was coming home.
Even if a secondary mole had informed Rhys, the clan would have also known in advance, and they would have told me by now. Then again, this kind of news traveled fast and quietly by avians. And I hadn’t been here in a week, too busy taking care of Mama and working in the forge.
Flanking the drawbridge, sentinels stood like chess pieces. Their eyes slid my way, briefly scanning my tits as they inflated from the vent in my cloak. Over the years, my curves had grown into a luscious body. And while my height didn’t reach the branches, nobody could call me petite.
The guards shifted to let me pass, their attention veering back to the bridge. Fronted by the maple courtyard, the castle towered like a mammoth library, wrought of brown masonry and flat towers. Scarlet leaves rained from the boughs. The aromas of fresh bread and cinnamon drifted across the quad.
My muscles relaxed. How I loved coming here.
How badly I wished Mama could see this place. The updated interior wainscoting and millwork would captivate her.
Instead of entering through the main courtyard, the army’s training lawn provided swifter access.
Behind a sprawling fenced-in yard, spokes, mauls, and pennants decorated the area, and a mighty trebuchet loomed.
Across the south yard, male and female warriors flung swords at each other, grunts punctuating the air.
Typically at this hour, I found Poet training to a packed audience, his sculpted chest the stuff of legends, his naked abdomen glistening as he snapped into backflips or spun knives between his fingers like deadly sex toys.
I’d once tried to guess how many inflated dicks and soaked cunts this sight had elicited under every woolen stitch of clothing, but I lost count and gave up.
Eventide poured dark blue across the sky like overturned paint. Stars nicked the welkin, and a watch of hawks appeared, circling the towers on wingspans vaster than paragliders.
My eyebrows furrowed at the birds. Usually, only half a dozen stationed themselves overhead at this time of night. Must be a new rotation.
In my periphery, the armory door stood open. I slowed, my insides fluttering with enthusiasm. Although I’d been inside plenty of times, the impact never got old, and the troops rarely left this partition ajar.
I’d gotten here with half an hour to kill before heading to the library wing. Succumbing to temptation, I crept past the armory door, my eyes jumping from war hammers to shields. Maces, spikes, chains. Helmets and gauntlets. Jousting lances, beautifully constructed and painted.
Also, hatchets. Bracketed along one wall, each one gleamed, the blades etched in symbols of Autumn. Gilded leaves, foxes, and trees. Leather and hardwood handles. Poleaxes, halberds, and battle axes.
Torch flames crackled from the walls, luminous casts unspooling across the floor. Withholding a grin, I approached the display and trailed my fingers along every specimen.
Then my hand stalled. Hyperawareness glided up my spine, my nape tingling as an intense weight filled the room like a pair of watchful eyes.
I pivoted, scrutinizing the shadows. The armory stood vacant, yet a strange heat coursed through my veins. As I wheeled back toward the axes, my attention landed on an adjacent mirror spanning the neighboring wall.
Glass reflected my features. Dark hood. Hazel eyes flashing beneath the mantle. Crimped curls unraveling down my bosom. Curves for days. All that was missing was a fatal weapon.
Ripping the axe from my harness, I flipped the handle between my fingers, then charged into a sequence of moves. Fanning the weapon overhead, I circuited across the floor, delivering makeshift death blows.
In this moment, I held all the power. Instead of a liar and traitor, I became a fighter, a protector, a warrior in my own right.
Despite every blast of pain the movements triggered, I battled through them. Rotating into a squat, I raised the hatchet and froze toward my reflection, a fighting smile splitting my face.
That anonymous weight returned. The sensation of somebody viewing me.
“Warfare is a good look on you,” a suave male voice invoked from the doorway. “So is trespassing.”
Ah. I glimpsed a tall figure blocking the exit. “Here to get me in trouble, soldier?”
“Who? Me?” Feigning innocence, the man stepped over the threshold, his trimmed brown hair highlighted in filaments of red. “Now when have I ever led you astray, milady?”
I gained my feet while reeling the axe in my grip. “I’m no lady.”
“I’m no gentleman.”
My laugh came out dry. All knights were inbred from lofty households, held peerage titles, and touted their birth status like notches on their bedposts.
Regardless, my humor encouraged the man to lean against the jamb and make himself at home. Lively teal eyes and handsome face. At six feet tall, Rhun was built like a suit of armor and wielded a cock as long as a battering ram.
Doubtless, this man had been the source of the weight I felt. Just this once, I’d forgive him for that.
“Careful,” I warned, strutting to meet him at the door. “I can be loads of trouble.”
“Your type of trouble is worth it,” he intoned, withdrawing a dagger and skating it across my axe like a tease. “Especially if I lose the next round. I rather enjoy how you collect your winnings.”
The roundtable clock ticked in my head. About thirty-five minutes left.
Overestimating this was out of the question, but that amount would be plenty to still arrive before anyone else.
Considering the sucker punch of Rhys’s news about a certain, unexpected arrival, and with this edible male tempting me into a bout of combat, I could use a shot of endorphins.
The preliminary buildup to a session of mind-bending oral sex after the meeting. Something else to look forward to.
Fully dressed, of course. No one saw under the hood but me.
Reliably, this knight worked around my sex-under-the-clothes rule without problems. He had a tongue as flexible as a whip, drawing out every climax until I shrieked myself hoarse.
Rhun and I traded conspiratorial grins. Then we launched into action, my hatchet flying up to catch his dagger. Smiling across the weapons, I lunged, and he catapulted backward. We emerged from the armory, eventide constellations spotlighting our blades as we advanced across the grass.
Knights paused their training. Keyed up for amusement, they approached to observe and shout encouragements.
“Take him down, Aspen!”
“Have at the bastard!”
“Make ’em sweat, lass!”
Flashing his teeth, Rhun leered like a copper fox.
Chortling, I swung the axe left, then right, his weapon snaring mine each time.
Like a mating dance, we thrust and blocked while the soldiers pounded their fists on the training fence, hollering as I drove Rhun through the gate and into the central lawn.
The impact rattled my bones. Pain shot across my joints, counteracting the thrill.
I stifled a growl, refusing to let them see what the skirmish did to me. Come morning, my muscles would pay for this much excess. Until then, I had two more minutes before my extremities gave out.
“Feel like surrendering yet?” I jeered, sweeping the axe horizontally.
“Take heed,” the knight crooned in a low tone, his linen shirt accentuating smooth pecs and a nipple piercing. “I might be repeating that line later, when I’ve got you arching beneath me and your cunt spread around my dick—”
Rhun froze, his graphic monologue snuffing out like a flame. The man’s features collapsed, fear steamrolled down his face, and a pasty white color leached away his tan complexion. All at once, this brash soldier looked on the verge of pissing himself.
The booming cheers petered off. Murmurs raced across the training yard.
I stumbled in place, then shuffled backward to observe Rhun clearer and struck a blockade. My spine collided with a wall of muscle carved from granite, a masculine shadow spanning the grass behind me.
A familiar scent infused my senses. Aged leather and a gale of wind.
The weight I had detected earlier returned full force. So Rhun hadn’t been the one watching my display in the armory.
To my right, a broadsword speared past me. Like a warning, it grazed against Rhun’s dagger, ushering the smaller weapon aside as if the larger one might either sever the knife or decapitate its owner.
Then a deep voice cut through the silence like a blade cleaving stone. “Dismissed, soldier,” Aire murmured in a low, lethal baritone. “I’ll take it from here.”