The big Kindred rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.
“Remember that, uh, ‘cream’ you saw shooting out of the tip of my shaft when you were watching me in your dreams?”
“Yes.” Brynn nodded, trying not to think of how he’d looked, fisting his long, hard shaft until the white cream had overflowed everywhere. “Yes, I remember.”
“Well, that’s my seed—all males have it. A male needs to thrust his shaft as deeply as he can inside a female’s pussy before he shoots it—that plants the seed that takes root in her belly and makes a baby,” he explained. “Now do you understand?”
“I…I think so.” Brynn felt her breath coming short and for some reason she kept imagining herself with Varin’s thick shaft buried to the hilt in her forbidden area. No, not forbidden area and not downstairs area, she told herself. Pussy—his shaft in my pussy.
But just the thought of that made her blush and shift and squeeze her thighs together tightly.
“Does it happen every time?” she wanted to know.
“What? Does he shoot every time or—?”
“No—do you make a baby every time, I mean,” she clarified.
He barked a laugh. “Hell no, little one! If it did, every planet in the universe would be in danger of overpopulation.”
“So you don’t just…just do it for that—to make a baby?”
“No, you do it for pleasure.” The hungry look was back in his bronze eyes as he spoke. “To make each other feel good…to bring your female closer to you.”
“Oh.” Brynn cleared her throat. “Thank you for telling me,” she said at last, not looking at him. “You…you must think I’m horribly ignorant.”
“It’s like you said—you were kept ignorant on purpose,” he murmured. “And besides—you deserve to know what to expect before…” He grimaced. “Before you get joined to whatever male your father picks for you and go off somewhere.”
“Will you…will you come with me? When I get joined and leave here?” Brynn asked softly.
“Yes.” His answer was immediate and fierce. “Yes, Princess—I’m not leaving you—or letting you leave me—again.”
“Oh.” For some reason it made her feel better to think of the big Kindred coming with her to wherever she went. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Welcome.” He nodded. “If that’s all, you’d probably better get to sleep. You’ve got a big day of dancing lessons and basket weaving and etiquette classes tomorrow.”
“Ha-ha,” Brynn said dryly, recognizing he was making fun of her. It was funny but not funny too, because unfortunately it was true. “And what will you be doing?” she asked him. “Practicing in the Arena?”
“I have to keep my skills sharp—I need to be ready to defend you at any time, Brynn,” he said seriously.
“But you’re only here with me at night,” she pointed out.
“Because that’s when you’re most vulnerable. And your day guards were trained specifically to protect you—so you don’t have to worry,” he assured her.
“But when do you sleep?” Brynn asked.
“I catch a few hours after training—I don’t need much.” He shrugged. “And it doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing in the palace—I can feel your distress if you’re upset. And if I feel that you’re in danger I’ll come to you, always.”
“You’re…you can feel me?” she murmured, surprised.
“Strong emotions, I can. And sometimes I get flashes of you—visions even when I’m not asleep and dreaming. The other day I saw you and that ridiculous Lady Amalthia while she was trying to teach you to arrange flowers. You looked bored—can’t say that I blame you.”
“Lady Amalthia’s beautiful.” Brynn defended her head lady in waiting automatically. She didn’t exactly like or trust her very much, but sadly, Amalthia was the closest thing Brynn had to a friend here in the palace. Or she had been—until she and Varin had begun to talk. But were they friends now, Brynn wondered? Or were she and the big Kindred something else, somehow?
“Don’t fool yourself—Lady Amalthia would stab you in the back as soon as look at you,” Varin said flatly, interrupting her speculation on the complicated nature of their relationship. “In fact, I wouldn’t trust any of your ladies in waiting if I were you—they’re all politically motivated.”
“Who should I trust then? Only you?” Brynn challenged him.
“I’m the only one with your name burned into their flesh, little one,” he pointed out in a low growl. “And the only one so attuned to you I can hear your heartbeat and pick out your scent in a crowded room. Yes, you can trust me. The others…” He shrugged. “Well, just be careful.”
“I will.” Brynn drew her knees up to her chin, being careful to keep her skirt smoothed modestly down. “Thank you for talking to me, Varin. For…explaining things without laughing. Much,” she added.
“I am happy to help, Mistress,” he rumbled, returning to a more formal tone. “Do you require anything else of your slave tonight?”
“No—yes,” she said quickly, changing her mind as she remembered her original purpose. “I want you to…to stop…stop touching yourself,” she said in a rush.
He raised his eyebrows. “So you don’t have to watch me anymore in your dreams? Or because you don’t like what you see?” He indicated his long, muscular form, still propped easily against the door frame.
“It’s not that—you’re very handsome,” Brynn said and then blushed furiously, realizing what she’d said. “I mean—very strong,” she amended quickly. “Your body is very big and strong and…and, uh, muscular.”
“I’ve made myself strong to serve you,” Varin said softly. “But if you like the way my body looks—”
“It’s embarrassing, all right?” Brynn burst out. “And I…when I dream of you doing…doing that, I always wake up feeling so…so…”
“Hot and bothered?” Varin suggested. “Restless?”
“Well…” Brynn thought of how restless she felt, of how her breasts felt sensitive and the place between her thighs—her pussy—felt so hot and wet. “Yes,” she admitted at last. “I guess…that’s one way to put it.”
“I tell you what,” Varin said reasonably. “I’ll stop it—stop touching myself—if you’ll try it yourself, at least once.”
“You…you want me to…”
“Touch yourself,” he growled softly. “Pet your soft little pussy, Brynn. Make yourself come.”
“But…but why?” she whispered, her heart pounding. “Why would you want me to do that?”
“So you can see how good it feels,” he rumbled. “It’s not fair for you to ask me to give it up unless you try it first to see exactly what it is I’ll be giving up.”
“But I told you, I did try it,” she protested.
“Yes, but only for a minute or two and you never made yourself come,” he growled. “That’s the deal—you touch yourself until you come and then see if you still want me to give it up. If you do…” He shrugged. “I will. It’ll be damn hard but I will—but only if you try it first.”
“But…how will I know if I, uh, come?” she asked, feeling bewildered.
“You’ll know.” His bronze eyes were burning and heavy-lidded. “You’ll feel a peak of pleasure and your inner muscles will clench. Your breath will come short and your nipples will get tight. Afterwards you’ll have a feeling of satisfaction—sometimes even sleepiness, as though you’re all done somehow. Well…” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Will you try it?”
“But it’s wrong,” Brynn protested weakly.
“It’s not wrong to give yourself pleasure,” Varin growled. “Why do you think the Goddess gave you a soft little pussy that feels good when you pet it if she didn’t mean for you to touch it? You’re ignoring her gift when you cut yourself off from that pleasure.”
This was pretty much the exact opposite of what Brynn had learned in the convent but somehow, when the big Kindred said it, it made sense. Still, she hesitated.
<
br /> “Well…” She bit her lip.
“Brynn,” he said softly. “There are no nosy Sisters to come in on you in the middle of the night here. You’re alone in your chamber and I’m out here, guarding your door. I won’t let anyone enter and catch you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ll protect you from prying eyes as well as assassins—I swear it.”
“But…you said you could hear my heartbeat…that you were attuned to me,” Brynn protested, thinking of another reason not to do it—not to touch herself. “You said you get visions of me sometimes.”
He shrugged. “You can cover yourself with the blanket if it makes you feel better…more secure. Yes, I’ll hear your elevated heart rate but I hear it when you have a dream that disturbs you too.”
“Will you…” She nibbled her lip. “Will you, uh, feel my pleasure too? You said you could feel strong emotions,” she reminded him.
“I don’t know.” His eyes were suddenly heavy-lidded again. “Do you want me to tell you if I do?”
“I…don’t know,” she whispered.
“Then I won’t tell you unless you ask,” he murmured. “And now, it really is time for you to be getting to bed, Princess.”
He rose and reached down, offering her a hand up.
“I…I guess you’re right.” She looked at his outstretched hand uncertainly. “I’ll hurt you,” she pointed out.
“Don’t care.” He reached for her and Brynn found herself putting her small hand in his much larger one to let him pull her to her feet. She saw a slight tightening of the corner of his sensuous mouth but otherwise he didn’t say anything about the pain.
Brynn wanted to keep touching him for some reason—his big hand was so warm against hers—but she made herself let go quickly, so as not to hurt him more than she had to.
“Good night, little one,” he murmured, stepping out the door. “Remember, you have nothing to fear as long as I’m here to guard you. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Seven
Brynn didn’t touch herself—not that night, anyway—though she really wanted to. She still felt too guilty and uncertain, wondering if Varin might hear her. Later on, however, she tried to experiment—but she never had satisfactory results or reached the “peak” he had been talking about.
She continued to have dreams of him—though not necessarily of the sweet variety. She still saw the big Kindred going about his daily routine but for several days he seemed to be abstaining from touching himself, which made it easier for her not to feel so restless. She wondered if he was doing it for her sake but didn’t dare to ask during their nightly talks.
For they did talk nightly now. Brynn felt herself drawn to the huge warrior, even though she wasn’t sure it was right to want to feel close to a male, especially a slave. But she found she couldn’t help herself—she wanted to spend time with him. So every night they sat on the floor opposite each other, just inside the doorway of her chambers, talking of everything and nothing.
Varin had a dry sense of humor and that made her laugh and he seemed to know much more of the outside world than she did, even though he was a slave. They didn’t speak of anything forbidden as Brynn still thought of it, which was both a relief and a disappointment at the same time. But she had the feeling the big Kindred had determined not to talk about their earlier topic of conversation unless she brought it up and since she didn’t, they spoke of other things.
There was plenty to talk about, too. Varin was surprisingly knowledgeable about the different couriers and royals in her parents’ court because, as he told Brynn, no one ever bothered to notice if a slave was listening when they spoke. He might as well be an expensive piece of furniture as far as the snooty, high-born nobility of the Galen Court was concerned. As a consequence, he could tell her what political players were close to her parents, who really mattered, and who to watch out for, all of which Brynn found extremely useful at the regular state dinners.
And there was another benefit to her nightly conversations with the big Kindred. Because of his connection to her, Varin could talk to Brynn about the girls she’d left back at the convent—especially the ones she really missed, like Myra who had been her best girl friend.
She had no best girl friend here, Brynn thought ruefully. Though she tried, she couldn’t seem to fit in with her ladies in waiting. Brynn was certain that her parents’ idea of surrounding her with a group of girls her own age was for them to teach her the ways of the Court and include her in the latest fashions and trends while they all grew close in sisterly friendship.
But that wasn’t exactly what happened. Try as she might, the gap between her and her ladies seemed to widen, not narrow, especially now that Lady Amalthia had taken leadership of the little group.
Amalthia, who had at least been nice to Brynn’s face when she had first come to the palace, had apparently decided to discard her sweet outer persona now that she was certain Brynn wasn’t going to suddenly become the darling of the Court, just because of her royal status. She teased Brynn unkindly and made jokes at her expense while she led the other ladies in laughing behind her back. Such cliquish behavior hadn’t been tolerated at the convent and Brynn found herself in a most unpleasant situation with no idea of what to do about it.
One day, almost a week after her second long talk with Varin, things came to a head as Brynn was being fitted for a new gown at the royal tailor.
She was standing patiently on a stool in front of a 3-D viewer while the tailor hummed to herself and fitted the plain silvery gray bodice to Brynn’s chest with pins and tacks.
The other girls were watching and Amalthia, as usual, was laughing behind her hand. Brynn heard her own name spoken—then a volley of unkind giggles.
She clenched her fists at her sides. I’m sick of this! she told herself. And remembered what Varin had said when she haltingly told him of her problem with the other ladies.
“They do it because you let them, little one,” he’d rumbled in that deep voice of his. “You need to stand up for yourself—remind them who’s the princess around here.”
“I don’t know…” Brynn had replied, nibbling her lip uncertainly. “That’s so…confrontational.”
“Sometimes you have to cause a confrontation if you want to solve the problem or get some answers,” he pointed out. “Remember how you marched out of your chamber the first night we spoke and ordered me to talk to you? That was pretty damn confrontational.”
“Yes, but that was different.” Brynn had sighed. “I’m just saying what works in the Arena won’t necessarily work in a group of ladies, Varin.”
“A bully is a bully no matter where you are,” was the big Kindred’s implacable answer. “Don’t let them get away with it, Brynn—call them out.”
Lifting her chin, Brynn decided to take his advice.
“Excuse me,” she said, turning to face the knot of giggling girls behind her. “What did you just say?”
“What?” Amalthia looked up at her, her bright green eyes wide and innocent.
“I said, what did you just say?” Brynn demanded, though her heart was pounding. “I heard my name.”
“Oh—you must have imagined it,” Lady Terga said diplomatically. “We were just—”
“We were just saying the tailor will have to sew a lot of padding into your bodice to make it look like you have a proper figure,” Lady Amalthia finished for her snidely. “They can do that you know—you ought to ask her.” She nodded at the tailor who was red in the face. Clearly she wanted no part of a fight that involved royals and nobles.
For a moment, Brynn was at a loss. She hadn’t expected the other girl to be so openly bitchy. But then she remembered Varin telling her she was beautiful—not because she was like her ladies in waiting, but because she was different. His words gave her courage and she looked down her nose at Amalthia.
“I like my dresses—and my figure—just the way they are, thank you, Lady Amalthia,” she said in her coolest tone, imitating the Reverend Mother from the con
vent whose voice could turn positively glacial when she was displeased. “I don’t feel the need to put myself on display every available instant.”
Amalthia looked taken aback and for a moment she was almost at a loss for words. She recovered quickly, unfortunately.
“Well, you might at least pick a brighter color,” she said, motioning to the silvery-gray silk the tailor was now draping around Brynn’s slender hips. “That one is so dull and drab although now I come to think of it…” She pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side, as though studying Brynn. “Never mind. It suits you.”
“Yes, it does,” Brynn said, refusing to rise to the insult. “Which is why I picked it—because I don’t always choose to go around looking as gaudy and overly made-up as a preen-bird in heat.”
“You…why you…” This time Amalthia really did seem to be at a loss for words.
“And besides,” Brynn added, going in for the kill. “As the princess, I’m entitled to wear whatever I please.”
But instead of ending the fight by asserting her place, she seemed to have made it worse. At the mention of her title, Amalthia’s poison green eyes sparkled and she smiled unpleasantly.
“Oh yes indeed,” she said sweetly. “You should enjoy being a princess while you can, Brynnalla. Because I’ve heard the King, your royal father, is looking for someone—anyone—to take you off his hands as quickly as possible.”
“He…he’s looking for an advantageous match.” Brynn’s voice faltered but she tried to keep her chin high.
“Oh, please don’t worry, princess dear,” Amalthia hissed. “Of course, you won’t get joined to whoever it is until after your deflowering.”
“My…my what?” Brynn demanded. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt sick. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, just a royal tradition.” Amalthia gave her a poisonous smile. “Never mind though, princess. You’ll find out…soon enough.”
Then she and the rest of the ladies in waiting went off in a gale of giggles and Brynn was left feeling both worried and humiliated and wishing, for the hundredth time, that she was back in the convent of the Sisters of Chastity and Obedience.