Ursula’s expression grew dreamy as she recounted the festivals, conventions, conferences, and parties she’d both attended and organized. “It’s a lot of work demanding long hours, but the delight attendees experience makes it all worthwhile.” Herexpression turned sober, perhaps even melancholy. “However, free association doesn’t seem to be a Urib thing.”
“Explain.”
“At a community festival or arts and craft show, for example, everyone is welcome. It doesn’t matter who someone is or where someone comes from, each person who wants to attend is welcome to do so. A really good event will draw attendees from hundreds or even thousands of miles away. Such an event will have exhibitors and vendors, most participating in the hope of selling goods and services. It’s a way to meet a lot of different people, build your clientele, and perhaps make a bit of money. They’re generally a lot of fun, even if they’re not profitable.”
“Everyone is welcome?” he echoed, an idea forming in his mind. He didn’t know what a mile was, but grasped the concept of people traveling long distances for entertainment. After all, they did so for war, and what was such an event as she described but a polite, mostly friendly battle for customers?
“Everyone,” she said.
“You should do that here.”
She blinked, jaw dropping in surprise. After a moment, she closed her mouth and considered his suggestion. Tilting her head, she said, “You know, that’s an excellent idea.” Her expression clouded. “But I don’t know that Gil and Bran would permit it. They’re rather overprotective.”
Zul opened his mouth to reply, but the door opened and more customers entered. He returned to his corner to lurk, trying not to scare away her customers while the Prima exerted her charm to sell them her wares. When they left with their purchases, he rejoined her at the counter and resumed the conversation. “As long as one of us is with you at all times, I believe you would be permitted to plan such an event.”
“Do you really think so?” Her eyes brightened. “But I’d have to get the mayor and the sheriff’s permission—and they certainly don’t approve of the freedoms Bran and Gil already allow me.”
Zul bared his pointed teeth in a fierce smile. “I am now the Fangrys Third, am I not?”
Ursula’s lips spread in an answering smile. “You certainly are.”
“Then I outrank both the mayor and the sheriff.”
Since Uribern’s feudal society deeply respected its caste system, Ursula immediately understood where he was going with this. “Yes, you certainly do.”
“Then you shall pick a day and plan a festival.”
Ursula threw herself at Zul and wrapped her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug. His body responded to the press of hers against him, releasing pheromones to which her flesh responded with the heady aroma of feminine arousal. Only by fierce control did he refrain from pressing his advantage of greater strength and nearly overwhelming desire. She released him and stepped back, her cheeks flushed and her gaze averted.
“I… I’m sorry, Zul.”
He pressed a fingertip under her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze. “You never need to apologize for touching me.”
“But… but…” She gestured vaguely at the tented front of his kilt.
“My cock is not my master,” he assured her even though he desperately wanted to yield to its throbbing demand.
Chapter 13
A few days after Ursula pored over ideas for a festival, the sheriff and the mayor objected to her proposal with the usual protests of propriety and safety, particularly concerning any females whose permissive guardians would be so lax as to allow them to attend and participate. Ursula ground her molars in exasperation, wanting to add her voice to the argument and knowing that doing so would result in categorical denial. Finally, her patience ran out.
“Fine,” she snapped. The sheriff and mayor gaped at the impertinence of her interruption. She looked at Zul. “We’ll hold the festival at Fangrys.”
“But—” the mayor blurted.
“You cannot,” the sheriff blustered, taking a belligerent step toward the berserker. The mayor followed close behind him.
She leaned forward and glared at them. “Am I not the Prima of Fangrys?”
“Of course, you are,” the mayor said, nodding his agreement in a futile effort to smooth her ruffled feathers. “And as such?—”
“And is Fangrys public property?” she demanded, hands fisted on her hips. “Does it belong to the village?”
“Of course not,” the sheriff replied, eyes narrowed in suspicion of the direction of her argument.
She smiled, knowing what baring her teeth at them meant and meaning it. “Then you have neither control nor say as to what I, the Fangrys Prima, do inmy own home.”
“But your mates?—”
