#featured
#1 in The Paper Plane Awards
#15 in Fantasy
#46 in Supernatural
"What do you think you're doing?"
"You seemed cold," he replied, voice sultry, alluring and tempting her far beyond what she thought she could endure. "I thought to help. That...
(adj.) extremely delicate, light, not of this world.
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Zane had already lived hundreds of years, but it was the first time since his age was in double figures that he was feeling rather excited. Princess Raneem was human. Purely human. Without a shred of blood that gave elves near-immortality, calm and control. Even so, he knew the princess would not be broken easily. Had she been elfin, he worried that nothing he did would yield anything. It had been a gamble before the revelation, but now, he was quite sure he would win even without using the Ollan to break her.
She would speak in his bed - scream, if she needed to - but he would have the information he needed. War could be averted if she yielded enough secrets, or at the least, the damages could be minimised. All he knew was Gwahan was planning to take what magic they can from Treliron and expand. He would not let that happen. He would not let the greed of humans win.
To his side, Raneem walked as if she were the queen and he, her guest. Nothing in her exotically alluring features betrayed what she felt. Save her hands. They were balled into fists, her knuckles white and her fingers red from how tightly she held them together. Her mind and her heart were obviously still in turmoil. He could exploit that. The treaty only did say bodily harm. But he would not do such a thing.
Zane was an elf. The better being. The only torture he would inflict on anyone was torture they like. And he did not know of anyone who did not like a good fuck. It was only pure luck that her arrival had been timed with his mating year. He would break her façade and prove her to be as wanton as her predecessors.
He shuddered in his mind at the thought of humans going after sex for the sheer pleasure of it, not for the sake of progeny. The woman at his side could have fucked many men before him and suddenly, his plan in getting information from her became depressing. There would be no joy in bedding a promiscuous woman, but if she held onto her fiery denial, it could be worth it.
He swept aside the vines that were the curtain into his chamber and unstrung his bow before relieving himself of the rest of his arms. He turned around and saw Raneem, her composure showing hints of uncertainty. Her eyes darted taking in the plain walls, the jewel-encrusted furniture and the casement where he placed his array. She suddenly flushed as her eyes settled on the bed that could barely fit two and quickly turned her head away.
A chuckle had involuntarily risen from his throat before he could stop it. She was only feigning innocence, perhaps to make him feel guilty about his plans for her. But he would not be swayed. Libertine or no, he would make her talk the only way he knew.
"How many days has it been since you have taken a bath?" he asked. She did not smell awful, but she did have the smell of sweat. And of faint arousal. They were not entirely unwelcome odors, but it was the only question he could think of, to break the silence between them.
"Three," she said quietly, not looking at him.
"I see. You can take a bath in the lake to the east. I hope you do not mind company. Everyone takes their baths there."
