"NO!" snapped Xanir furiously. Water slopped from the glass slammed onto the wooden worktop, and Alanna flinched at the bruising grip on her shoulders. Her bare feet jarred on the rough tiled floor when he jerked her forwards off her perch and hissed, "Do not keep asking."
Her breath, just beginning to regulate after their latest shattering interlude, speeded back up. Alanna looked sharply away from the black eyes searing down at her, furious at the tears prickling her eyes. For the fortnight since her transgression up the tree, the stony remoteness had distanced him, even while he had continued to demand she be brought to him daily. She should be thankful -- she
was
thankful, it made it easier to pull her mind away in between encounters, even though her damned traitorous body still melted to his expertise. Her naked back hit the edge of the thick slab of wood when his grip suddenly released. The Tahl loomed, arms folded, expression implacable. "The Tahl-maia does
not ride a horse
."
The sleek, muscular lines of his chest and arms were offset by the rough cotton waistcoat he evidently wore for a morning of horse-breaking. Infuriated at her own unthinking response to his stance, his proximity, she snapped her traitorous body erect, wrapping her arms around her trembling torso. Anger warred with worry as her blurred gaze swung sideways out of the small barred window of the tack-room, across the multitude of paddocks surrounding this palatial stable-block. Beyond the second fence, the alert stance and pricked ears of Rigal showed that he had not moved a muscle since he had spotted her being escorted here with the tea tray. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "He is
my
horse." The hoarse choke lifted in volume while her husband's footfalls approached the doorway. "Please let me at least
talk
to him."
There had been worrying gossip among her women this week that the magnificent Westhaven stallion gifted to the Tahl by the northern king was to be taken to the desert stud. Alanna
couldn't
leave this alone.
"He was part of your dowry," retorted Xanir, then crashed the door open and called a harsh order. Searing black eyes turned back to her, and she blinked as he seemed to offer a rare explanation. "The paddocks and stables are not fully secure -- I should not have had you brought outside the citadel, even today." The scowl was deepening between his eyes.
The tears pooled in Alanna's and she jerked her gaze away again, back to Rigal's vigilant ears. Her heart was burning. "So. A prisoner of the harem," she whispered in her own tongue.
For a year
. Drawing her tattered dignity around herself, she sank into the formal obeisance to a visiting ruler, addressing his knees in a detached voice. "I thank my Lord for letting my enter the Queen's garden."
Xanir stiffened, blood leaping as it always did when she tried to distance herself from him behind her perfect manners. And she was still pretending she couldn't speak his language properly.
The sound of approaching footstep halted his step towards her, and his mouth quirked when she shrank and dove for the tiny heap of material on the floor. Shaking it out in frantic haste, Alanna froze when a warm chest suddenly pressed against her back and Xanir took the dress from her limp grasp. "Stay there!" he ordered over his shoulder to the silhouette who had appeared in the doorway.
Voice softened, he bent his head and murmured in her ear. "Still so shy, little bride? You should be proud - the whole court is scrambling to try to get an unrestricted view of what has held me entranced these past two weeks. These beautiful curves that I cannot keep my hands or my lips from."
Or mind
, he added to himself.
Alanna closed her eyes when his tongue traced gently down the side of her neck, leaning back against him when her knees wobbled and blood leapt in excitement. As it always, always did. "I think you not try very hard," she managed to whisper unevenly. This was the first
relaxed
exchange in weeks.
Xanir chuckled, tantalisingly feather-light brushes of his fingertips tracing up over her belly towards her already throbbing breasts. A hard erection was growing against her buttocks. "Do you want me to?"
Alanna caught her breath, unable to answer, her whole being centred on the explosion of feeling when gentle fingers teased the mounds he had suckled to tight, unbearable sensitivity merely minutes earlier. A wisp of attention strayed to the urgent, throbbing length nudging rhythmically into the crease of her buttocks, and her blood pulsed, thunderous in her veins.
His hold was getting
stronger
. She had thought that she would grow inured,
prayed
at times that she would, but instead her sense of self seemed to be retreating, mind losing the battle with her highly-charged body more and more swiftly each time he called her to his bed.
The sharp thought pierced the shroud over her mind: she had never been near his bed. Nor he hers, after her tears that night almost two weeks ago. A gritty whisper bit: "Rigal is
mine
."
Warm hands lifted and spun her to sit on the worktop again, his knee nudging apart her dangling legs while Xanir advanced and slid a hand up between her breasts to ease her onto her back. Alanna resisted for a second, eyes flying stricken beyond his shoulders to the doorway, but relaxed on seeing that the shadow had retreated. Glancing up into the dark, intent face of her lord as he focussed on the nipple he was teasing back to painful fullness, she failed to catch even a glimpse of the earlier anger at her insistence.
"But you are mine," he replied, the smile still playing around his mouth as he focussed on his task and his bride's breathing hitched. "And therefore all that you possess is also mine, no?"
A sound almost like a sob fluttered from Alanna, but she yanked her mind back to the conversation and spluttered, "For a
year
."
The dark eyes lifted swiftly and locked on hers. Something dangerous flickered. "Sven Bjornsson," Xanir breathed. The next second Alanna arched on a cry of almost pain at the bewitching drag of tongue, teeth and lips possessing her nipple, the astonished recognition that he
knew
that her former betrothed had promised to wed her on her return. Thought disintegrated instantly in the storm of heat as his fingers plunged between her open thighs.
Xanir's lovemaking was much more fiery than usual, he seemed to want to burn his touch into her. Her voice was hoarse by the time he finished forcing her to peak under the slam of his thrusts and skilful brush of fingers, demanding her breathless admission that she was his, his, his.
But he held her afterwards, a welcome return of gentleness after a fortnight of rejection, brushing her hair from her sweat-gleaming skin, cradling her trembling form while she pushed her face into his shoulder and tried to still her rioting senses. He even ignored the tears that escaped into the smooth cloth of his shirt, gently massaging her scalp.
There was a hint of regret to the line of his jaw, Alanna thought later, seated on his knee. Her eyes explored his sombre features while she cupped her hands around his wrist while he let her drink.
But she kept her eyes down, skin prickling with unease despite his shielding arms while a silent servant deftly placed a washbowl , soft flannel and sun-warmed towel at his elbow before being dismissed. So she was to be permitted
water
to cleanse him today. Him only. No washing allowed for her. She was supposed to
flaunt
the scent of his pleasure clinging to her glistening skin.
Cheeks flushed, Alanna's mind was darting, trying to work out what this change meant, fearing too much, hoping too much, while she finished up her task. Then he swiftly re-tied the gossamer wisp of material around her and strode out into the sunshine without so much as a backwards look. She gritted her teeth and snarled after him.
Stop forgetting you are just a damned symbol. A toy
.
***
Xanir was cursing himself as he vaulted back into the saddle. The trouble was, her facade was so damn perfect. He hadn't seen the manipulative side again since the day she had interrupted his morning ride.
But
, he reminded himself, she was clever,
very
clever. As had been Hajima, Adrienne, Immi -- it was easier to cope with the stupid ones, although more dull. Because she had an agenda. They always had an agenda, and there was some underlying purpose to her ceaseless questions. He had done his duty; now he really had to cure himself of this ridiculous excitement and stop summoning her so often.
His blood lurched in protest, and he scowled, leaning into the wind as he raced across the paddocks to where his vizier was waiting, arms folded, beside the gatehouse.
Dammit.
And
she had made him late for his next appointment.
***
Apparently the mosaics decorating the walls and dome of the star chamber commemorated feats of the previous Tahls. The Victory at Luido, the Treaty with the Sea Lords, scaling the Nizrat with the Five Thousand - usually Alanna lingered to admire the artwork and learn more history from her guards, but today her primary desire was to wash the sticky scents off her skin and scarlet cheeks as soon as possible. The walk back from the vast stable yard outside the inner walls had been interminable, seemingly every single lord in the castle finding time to waylay and admire her even more blatantly than usual. They had been becoming increasingly vocal as the weeks progressed, lust sometimes tempered by politeness or political acumen, but as their Tahl showed increasing favour to his northern bride, his subjects went out of their way to seek out and applaud his choice.
Oh, they never spoke to her. They spoke about her, loudly praising her figure, hair, skin. The bright eyes that steeled at their words. The breathless cries of pleasure she made when cloistered with the Tahl. Damn him. Underneath her aching heart, anger simmered at the sensitivity and soreness which was reinforced with every step. She wanted so badly not to melt at Xanir's touch. Not to feel every breath of air as she walked back to her rooms. Her
bath
