He vanishes in a rush of crimson wind.
“There is one bed. One fucking bed.” Argnier’s muffled voice from the adjacent room wakes Aura from her nap after her conversation with Ingvar.
She groans, shifting onto her back in Calder’s powerful embrace. His glacial eyes search the wall beside them, linking to their companions' room.
“Come on, Argnier, we can cuddle. My lovers tell me I’m soft and warm.” Edmund’s snark has her snickering.
Calder sighs. “At least they arrived safely.”
She snuggles closer to his warmth, feeling the hardness of his cock press against her front.
His hand encircles her neck with a growl. “I’ve been needing to feel you again, sweet Princess.”
She rolls him onto his back, straddling his waist with a coy smile. Her hand grips his wrist at her throat. “How do you propose to top your seduction in the forest, Iss Drengr?”
He flips their positions, pinning her wrists above her head. “Oh, we’ve only just begun, baby girl.” His mouth ravages her lips, evoking wild moans of excitement.
“Oho!” Their door slams open, revealing Edmund and Argnier. “Good to see that the Iss Drengr’s tools still work at his age.” Argnier quips, waltzing away and leaving them exposed.
Calder’s forehead connects with hers. “I’m going to ice everything in their room.”
After fulfilling that promise from the Jarl–much to Aura’s vengeful giggles–they arrive outside on the inn’s porch to find their two companions sitting in rocking chairs and puffing on their pipes like chimneys.
“And what a pleasant evening to my great niece. I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you about men like Calder. Although I suppose, living with my nephew, you are well acquainted with his type.”
“I am amazed you both arrived unscathed.” She ignores Argnier’s heckling and leans against a porch pillar.
“No trouble this time except an angry otter in the channel.” Edmund shrugs. “We docked our boat for a swift return.”
“Hey, now!” Argnier admonishes him. “Don’t speak ill of the weasel family.”
She laughs at their absurdities while being a little curious about his interest in weasels. Her great-uncle is quirky, yet also intentional.
“All right, you lot.” Calder gestures further along the dirt street. “A tavern in the village advertises endless bowls of ale stew today. We have plans to make and bellies to fill.”
The group shuffles to the tavern, sitting in the back corner while eating and drinking their fill. Once Calder finishes his fourth bowl, Aura unlaces her pants on bowl number two.
Argnier surprisingly stops at one, while Edmund is still eating from his fifth bowl.
Calder reclines in his seat and withdraws a map. “Thanks to our resident map makers.” He nods to her and Argnier as he unravels the parchment. “We will need to climb the mountain. The entrance should be close to the summit, and accessing it will require aseidrseal. Probably a sacrifice.”
“There will be chambers and traps. We should all be on high alert.” Edmund adds with food filling his mouth. A young waitress removes their empty bowls. “Any more, sir?” She winks at Edmund.
“Keep it coming, sweetheart.”
Argnier rolls his eyes. “If you wish to fuck the woman, just ask her.”
“Listen, man, food isn’t cheap, and these eight bowls I intend to consume may be my greatest source of sustenance in the coming days. Don’t judge me.”
“Once we obtain the weapon, then what?” Aura brings the subject back to the temple. “Will we leave, or will we fight monsters?”
“This is the God of Power.” Edmund munches on a bit of carrot. “As you explained during our meal, I think Ingvar is correct about Makt. At the very least, we should prepare to battle drauger.”
Her lips purse into a thin line, dreading what the temple will subject them to.
“Once we secure the weapon and exit, we must reach NightwallKeep and lure him to the mortal plane.” Edmund drums his fingers upon the table, awaiting his next bowl of stew.
“I still suggest we call upon Jarl Clementia.” Calder finishes his mead flagon.
