Her breath rushed out at his boldness, but she had to admit it stirred something within her. Well, she was already a harlot who’d made love before marriage—what difference did it make if she was on her knees now?
Besides, a wicked part of her wondered if she’d like it.
He undid his trousers and freed his already stiff cock. Bryn’s eyes widened—it was one thing to have his manly part beneath the sheets, quite another to have it directly in her face. And yet, as he wrapped one of his hands around his cock and tipped up her chin with the other, her curiosity got the best of her.
“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted.
“Good. I’d be tempted to kill the man who had your lips around him first. Don’t use your teeth. Take as much as you can.”
She took a deep breath before placing a tentative kiss on the tip of Rangar’s cock. A groan slipped from his mouth, and his hand around her chin tightened. He moved it to the back of her head, fisting her hair to keep her head steady.
“That’s it, my love. Just like that.”
Bryn let herself test and toy and lick, gaining boldness as Rangar’s reaction made it clear he enjoyed everything she was doing. He tasted salty like the ocean, not altogether an unpleasant thing. Her efforts grew bolder as she took more of him into her mouth. His hand on the back of her head guided her in a rhythm until he groaned and pulled out, turning away to spill his seed into the snow.
Breathless, Bryn sank back onto the cloak. She delicately touched her lips, shocked by what she’d just done—and how much she’d enjoyed it.
Rangar cleaned himself up, then dragged her to her feet, claiming those lips that had just been on his most intimate part.
“If I fail at being king,” he moaned into her mouth, “It’s because I’ll be too busy ravishing you every chance I get, instead of tending to my kingdom.”
Chapter 19
HIGHARBOR KEEP . . . a hidden castle . . . a waterfall . . . Val and his wine . . . tunnels to the wolf
As they approached Higharbor Keep, more homes and farmsteads cropped up in the forest. With little farmland, the forest folk took advantage of every meadow and sunlit clearing in the forest to grow their meager winter greens and vegetable crops. A few scrawny goats munched on forest brush. According to Valenden and Rangar, most of the forest folk filled their bellies from hunting, fishing, and gathering wild edibles from the forest.
Bryn kept glancing over her shoulder at Valenden on his horse, wondering if he’d truly been napping or had overheard Rangar and her by the stream. She finally comforted herself with the knowledge that he doubtlessly would have teased them about it mercilessly if he had.
“There. Ahead. This is the town of Woodmark.” Rangar pointed toward a small town hugging the edge of the forest. There was a small square and what looked like several taverns and an inn, and all the small shops and businesses one would expect from a kingdom’s main commerce center, though this was smaller even than Barendur Village.
“But where is the castle? Where’s Higharbor Keep?” Bryn asked.
She’d been warned that the structure was nearly invisible behind the trees, but this was ridiculous—no sign of any castle existed.
“This way.” With a cryptic smile, Rangar led Legend into the small town, passing a few vendors and children chasing after a stray chicken. He then led them up a path behind the town into the towering trees. A rushing sound like water came from somewhere ahead. He looked over his shoulder. “Do you see it now?”
Bryn drew in an awe-filled breath. Amid pines that stretched higher than she’d ever seen trees grow, she could make out glimpses of an enormous stone-and-wood structure. Unlike Barendur Hold, which was squat like a bear, Higharbor Keep was made to mimic the trees. It was narrow and tall, with turrets that rose amid the tree canopy. A mountain waterfall spilled down a cliff on one side of the castle.
“No one said anything about a waterfall!” she exclaimed.
Valenden and Rangar grinned at her wonder. They spurred their horses over the rocky paths toward the castle and across the wooden bridge that spanned the waterfall’s rushing creek. The pine boughs opened on either side of a heavy oak door. The guards stationed at the door must have gotten word of their arrival because attendants were already waiting to take the horses.
After the day-long ride, Bryn dismounted Fable with shaky legs and stroked her horse. “Thank you, sweet girl. Now go eat hay.”
The attendants led the horses across another bridge and into a cave that seemed to serve as Higharbor’s stable.
“King Rangar,” one of the forest guards said, bowing his head. “We’re honored by your visit. Prince Anter is expecting you. If you follow me, I shall take you to him.”
Bryn's sense of wonder increased as the guard ushered them through the heavy door. Inside, the castle’s windows were plentiful and delicate, made out of bits of colored glass so that the entryway sparkled with soft blues and greens. The distant rushing of the waterfall could be heard from every room they entered. The furniture was simple but delicate, unlike Barendur Hold’s heavy oak. The kingdom’s woodworkers were unrivaled when it came to carving beautiful relief work into the wooden walls.
They climbed one of the circular towers into a windowless room lit by dozens of lanterns, where Prince Anter conferred with advisors over a table laden with books. It was colder in this room than in the rest of the castle, and as Bryn hugged her arms, she looked at the roughly hewn stone walls and realized the space had been carvedintothe mountain.
“King Rangar. Prince Valenden. Princess Bryn.” Prince Anter quickly came to greet them. “Welcome to Higharbor Keep.” His eyes snagged on their white mourning sashes. “I’m sorry again for your father’s passing.”
“Thank you. I’ve seen nothing like this place,” Bryn confessed. “This room . . .”
Anter nodded. “Higharbor Keep was constructed overtop of caves in the cliffside. Half the castle is made up of these interior cave portions.”
