Chapter 23 Calluna
CALLUNA
C alluna sat on the prince’s bed, her fingers running through his dark red hair. He sat on the floor with his back to her, naked but for his loosely tied trousers. Silver spider threads of radiance stretched from her fingertips to all corners of his skull.
“All these warmongers,” she lamented. “It’s enough to ruin a lovely day.”
“Yes, the day is quite lovely,” the prince said. His name was Petr. He was handsome, if one liked the color red. His skin had a pinkish tint to it, and it blushed easily when she scratched it with her fingernails. Even his freckles were an unpleasant shade of orange.
Calluna flicked the back of his head with her forefinger.
“Shush, now. Wait for your questions.”
She slid off the bed and bit her lower lip.
Perhaps she was a bit cruel in her judgment of Petr’s appearance.
The freckles gave him a boyishness that was endearing, but the rest of him was quite muscled.
She traced her fingertips along his biceps, enjoying the thrill it gave her.
Petr watched, quiet, with a dumb smile on his face.
“Surely you would have heard of them by now,” she said. “Two brothers, or perhaps not brothers, merely friends or acquaintances. Both dark-haired, and one wielding an enormous bone sword. They would be terrors on the battlefield and heroes for whomever they fight.”
“That sounds like the Godsight brothers,” Petr said. “They say Faron the Ram toppled an entire fort on his own. Fights with a wolf at his side, one half the size of a man. His brother is with him, and rumors claim he is so fearless, he wears no armor into battle.”
Calluna smiled, and she patted him atop the head.
“That certainly sounds like them.” Faron didn’t even use a false name , she thought. Did Sariel do the same? “And who do these Godsight brothers fight for?”
Petr smiled up at her, so pleased to be helping. He hadn’t a clue about the dozens of threads piercing his ears, mouth, and eyes to smother him with her will.
“Queen Isabelle Dior of Doremy.”
Isabelle… Calluna had heard many rumors about her, mostly from the downtrodden populace.
She doubted all of them. Petr, though, would be privy to far more accurate information.
She spread her legs and sat atop him, her hands lacing tightly around his neck.
She sucked in a hiss of air. Petr was currently… very happy with her.
“Tell me of Isabelle,” she said. “I would learn of her. How strong is her army? How great are her chances for building a kingdom?”
“She claims she is blessed by the goddess, Leliel, to unite the realms,” Petr said.
He spoke as if lost in a dream. Which he was, for she was that dream.
“My father calls her the Bastard Queen and insists she is unworthy of the throne she inherited months ago. Her armies are strong, though. Queen Sillia swore loyalty after King Bentley’s death at Vendom.
The three realms, Armane, Argylle, and Rudou, all became one Doremy. ”
“She sounds dangerous, then.”
Petr shook his head.
“My father did not believe so. He thought she would be defeated when she turned her eye to the Blue Rivers Alliance.”
Calluna shifted her weight again, the motion pressing his crotch against hers. She clenched her teeth and groaned. Heat was building between her thighs, bothersome in its urgency.
“But she wasn’t defeated, was she?”
“Forez has already surrendered,” Petr said.
He reached up to touch her face, and she slapped his hand back down.
His smile never shifted in the slightest at the rejection.
“My father is amenable, too, if we can remain vassals to Doremy. Bastard blood or not, we will bend the knee if it spares our homeland from pillaging. King Murta is the only one holding the alliance together.”
Calluna stopped pretending not to be enjoying herself. She pressed her weight down, impressed by how firm the prince felt. The pressure was a delight, but still, a far cry from what she had begun to crave.
“Then Isabelle is the tool my brothers have chosen,” she said, standing. “And it seems they chose well.”
Which left just one recourse. If Isabelle was her brothers’ tool to wage war against Eder, then Isabelle would have to die.
It was that simple. She smiled. Killing a single human should be easy enough.
Sariel and Faron would eventually find a new stooge, but that could take years.
Maybe during that time, she could talk some sense into them.
She patted Petr’s face.
“You’ve done well,” she said, and the way he beamed sent a tremble through her. “Now, let’s see if we can scrape a little more use out of you.”
She hiked her dress up above her hips, then undid the laces of his trousers. When he was free, she took him in her hand and then slowly, carefully guided him into her. Her legs locked about his waist, and she groaned at a sudden wave of pleasure.
“Too long,” she muttered. “Thirty years too long.”
She rocked her hips, slowly grinding against him while using her own grip about his neck to occasionally lift herself ever so slightly. Petr’s breathing grew rapid, his exhalations sometimes released as groans.
“Am I beautiful?” she asked him as she lashed threads into him.
They pulsed from her hands into the back of his neck.
She kissed along his chest, leaving sparkling silver dangling into his spine and rib cage.
More. More. She wanted more of herself inside him.
Her thoughts. Her emotions. He would feel everything .
“So beautiful,” he said with what breath he could spare.
His eyes spread wide. His mouth quivered.
She kissed it, then bit his lower lip to help her focus.
She felt him stiffen within her, his climax approaching.
She rocked faster, her eyes imprisoning his.
Her legs locked about his waist, squeezing.
Her vision went white, and radiance burst about her eyes.
Everything, she pounded everything through those threads into the prince.
When he looked at her, he did not see a rather plain-looking woman with long black hair, a button nose, and chin and cheeks so curved and small she was often mistaken for a child.
Instead he saw his whole world. He loved her, more than himself, more than life itself.
To even gaze upon her overwhelmed his heart.
Her every touch lit him with fire. He stared at her as if she were a goddess of the heavens, and oh, how good it felt.
If only one of her siblings would look at her like that.
“Sariel,” she moaned, imagining his face there, his long dark hair wrapped between her fingers.
Her legs went weak. She felt Petr flexing inside her, but his orgasm was an afterthought.
Her teeth released his lower lip, and she tasted blood on her tongue.
Not entirely unpleasant. She slowly slid her weight against him, enjoying those last few waves of pleasure, and then stood on unsteady legs.
He looked up at her with glazed eyes. An empty smile covered his face.
“I love you,” he said, and most assuredly meant it.
Calluna wanted nothing more than to rip each and every thread of radiance from his body.
It suddenly made her skin crawl, to be so close to him.
This red-haired fob was not her majestic, timeless brother.
He was no blinding beacon of radiance able to match hers.
He was a stupid lord with a limp, wet prick who had taken her into his room thinking she was a na?ve farm girl thrilled by the thought of a fun time with the eldest prince of Etne.
“I should have resisted,” she said, kissing his nose. “But I’ll keep my word. I said you’d enjoy the sunshine, didn’t I?”
He nodded at her. “The day is quite lovely.”
She pulsed her will into him even fiercer than when she had fucked him.
“Then go enjoy that sunlight, Petr. It’s waiting for you right out that window.”
Calluna lowered her skirt and slipped out the bedroom door. They were in a high tower of the castle, and several dozen steps were between her and the outside. She encountered an older servant on the way down, who gave her a strange, pitying look.
“I pray you are well?” the woman asked, looking her over. Calluna wondered what she was looking for. Stains? Evidence of bruises?
“Better than Petr,” she said, and giggled.
Once outside, she passed by the stunned crowd gathered around Petr’s broken body, unknown and unnoticed as she ever was.