“Would you like my help now, Your Highness?” he asked, being unnecessarily formal while taking in my disheveled state. My mouth was sour and my guts churned relentlessly. My hair was a mess, my face likely swollen from retching so forcefully, and there was a bit of mess on my shirt too. Wonderful.
“Yes, fine,” I said tersely and attempted to stand up straight, only to have my balance compromised by the boat’s rolling hull.
Gripping his rod, he came nearer and inspected me from head to foot. His hand was refreshingly cool against my forehead and then my cheek. “Give me your hands.”
I presented my hands to him, palms facing upward. Tucking his rod underneath one arm, he peeled back the cuffs of my jacket and undid the laces on my sleeves, then pushed up the fabric of my tunic to expose my pale wrists. Gently, he pressed his thumbs against my tendons. I ignored the strange tinglingin my spine and the quiver of arousal that weakened my knees. Surely I would react the same to anyone who caressed me so intimately.
“Are you cold?” he asked, interpreting my reaction as a chill.
“No,” I said with a dry swallow.
“Better?”
“I think so.” I was distracted at the very least.
He raised his rod and drew a ribbon of metal from the end of it, manipulating it between his fingers like taffy until it resembled a thin silver band. He then fit the metal around my wrist and cinched it tight, yet not uncomfortably so. The metal band lay flat, applying weight to my pressure point. He did the same for my other wrist, and I realized what they were–a matching set of cuffs, like I was his property or worse, his prisoner.
Are you sure you wouldn’t enjoy that?
Godsdamnit, the lord’s taunting voice was now in my head.
“This should help with the nausea,” Lord Vasil said and angled me back toward the sea, planting both my hands on the cold metal railing. “Stare at the cliffs, Your Highness. That will help ground you.”
Rather than moving to my side, he remained right behind me with his hands overlapping mine. His breath was warm against my ear as he spoke to me in a soothing manner, “Deep breaths now. I can hear your heart racing.”
“Because I never know what you’re going to do next,” I protested with a petulance that made me wince.
“Shall I inform you of my intentions in advance?” His voice held a low, sultry timbre. Mocking me? Flirting? It was impossible to tell.
“No,” I said, somewhat reluctantly.
“No? Why not?”
“Because I’ll probably just be stubborn about it,” I admitted.
He chuckled, warm and low against my neck. My cock throbbed, the traitor. “You are quite contrary,” he agreed, sounding pleased by it, which had never been the case with my family or my tutors. I asked a lot of questions and refused to do something simply because I was told to do it. I needed a reason, a compelling one in fact, whereas my brothers always just… obeyed.
I worried what his crew might think, what with him pressed up against me so close, his cock nestled against the seam of my breeches. An accident, or was it intentional? But we were betrothed, if only temporarily, so some measure of affection was to be expected. I could have asked him to move, but the weight of him felt good and solid against my back. I glanced down at my wrists where his bands glowed in the moonlight, then back to the cliffs, his homeland and birthright.
“Have you always had a talent for sorcery?” I asked.
“For as long as I can remember. I was reshaping a silver rattle before I could walk, or so my mother said.”
There was a wistfulness to his voice whenever he spoke of his parents. They’d been close, I knew that, and after they’d passed away, Vasil’s visits to Emrallt Valley became rarer and never for very long. I’d caught only glimpses of him then, usually at formal dinners when my mother held court and forced me to attend. He bore the weight of an unbearable sadness on his shoulders, a terrible loss that echoed my own grief over my father’s passing. I hadn’t teased or annoyed him then because it would have been too cruel.
“Did you have tutors for sorcery?” I asked, recalling my own with some displeasure.
“I had a mentor, a powerful elemental sorcerer named Bethel Kane.MasterKane. He lived with us for a few years. His command of metal was unmatched in all the realm.”
“And where is he now?” I asked, for the lord hadn’t mentioned him before.
“He died at the same banquet as my parents. Poison.”
I hadn’t known about his tutor. My own mother and father were both present at the ball where his parents collapsed. Lord and lady had been dancing, arm in arm with their golden goblets held aloft, when both their hearts suddenly stopped beating. They’d fallen to the ground like puppets with their strings cut, still with their arms around each other. My parents hadn’t spoken of it to me. I’d read about it in the daily scrolls and seen the tragedy of it written all over Vasil’s face.
No wonder Lord Vasil lived as a recluse, not trusting anyone. I wanted to say something to acknowledge his loss, but I didn’t trust myself not to make it worse.
“Did you admire him, your master?” I asked instead.
