Markos had once confessed that the slender willow-wand woman, supple and yielding even as he steered her towards his apartments in the manor house, had bewitched him. All of the prayer and penance in the world had not shaken this woman from his mind, and now, he suspected, if someone were to ask him whether he needed saving, he would have denied it.
His heart in his throat, Markos was tempted to slip off to some hidden spot in the garden with her, even to take her right then and there among the moonlight and the until recently infuriating smell of tuberoses, but he had wanted to keep Sintija from the prying eyes of the world. The manor's ballroom had too many templars, too many nobility, and they wouldn't understand or care.
For so long, this woman had been his phantom. Markos saw her everywhere, and in everything, but it had never been true. Even now, he was afraid to let her go because some deep part of him knew that she would disappear with the breeze. Impossibly, here she was, solid and warm. Markos pulled her close, wanting to savor the moment, the feel of her soft hair on his cheek, but he didn't know when the dream would end and he knew it would end. He kicked the door closed behind them without looking at it, and it banged like a shot in response. Dancing passionately, if clumsily, with her, he pawed the latch over and then set to more urgent matters.
Fine clothing wasn't any sort of defense against the two of them. It fell away, and when she yanked the collar of his jacket hard enough to snap the button off, he wanted to thank her. With their lips pressed together, it came out as more of an impassioned growl. The rest of their clothing scattered across the cold stone floor like leaves scattered by a storm, until they were both bare to the evening and every touch burned by comparison.
She tasted of honeyed berry wine more intoxicating than the vintages that he had only sipped at politely earlier in the evening. More words tried to boil up out of him - there was still so much he wanted to say to her - but now that he had her, he couldn't seem to catch his breath. They eased onto his narrow bed and Markos pulled back to see her, to see that she was still here. She was here, spread in the soft moonlight, for him. He watched her eyes, drinking her in as his free hand explored her graceful curves and took her close.
Sintija gasped for air, breathless, and bucked slightly against him with a slow undulation that he found strange but alluring. He sensed that she wanted him just as badly as he ached for her, and her body trembled beneath his hands as he eased down over her.
He summoned his voice from wherever it had gone. "Is this what you want?"
His beautiful fey creature bit her lower lip, meeting his gaze with such a smoldering look that he felt foolish for asking. She pressed her lips against his and wrapped an arm around him, pushing off the bed. Markos, feeling like a magnet drawn to her, let her gentle him onto his back. She murmured "I want you," into his mouth as she straddled him.
He smoothed his hands over the outside of her thighs, feeling the corded tension just beneath her soft skin, uncertain of what she wanted him to do as he stared up at her. She eased herself slowly down, wincing, as he felt her body tense around him. She shuddered, biting her lower lip as she moved against him in slow, easy movements. His hands settled on her side and he relaxed the tension in his neck, finding that the pillow let him watch her.
All of the lonely nights dreaming of her, twisting in his bed and there she was, her blonde hair falling in a veil around her face. It tickled his cheek as she leaned down and moaned into his mouth. He kissed her lower lip and slid his hands up her back, settling one hand in hair not quite as fine as silk, but just as soft. Sintija was going slowly, so he didn't pull or yank on her, but he wanted to hold her and keep her there. The heat of her breath and the motion of her body called some distant memory up in him, and he remembered they had kissed like this before.
Markos remembered magic, and thought for a brief instant that he wanted to give it all back to her somehow. Every motion, every breath, every piece of her, he had wanted this from the beginning - but more than this. She called to him, summoned him up, and he answered, finding a better hold on her hips. Sitting up, he buried his face in her neck, smelling her hair just briefly on the edge of his awareness as he dug a heel into the mattress and moved the two of them. It was not awkward for long. He bucked against her and shifted her beneath him, pressing her down against the feathered mattress. She could have protested, but she yielded to him, just as he had surrendered to her before.
The world faded away, the sound of their hearts pounding and their excited breathing filled his ears. He lost all sense of time as they moved together, the tension in the moment building higher and higher until he heard her, felt her muffled scream against his mouth, rising up out of her throat like a demand. "Markos!"
Her name fell from his lips in a gasp, as his eyes closed, "Sintija."
Markos's ears popped, and he suddenly had a headache.
"S..sintija?" Echoed a feminine voice that he suddenly recognized as Josphina's.
Markos opened his eyes and saw Jo's large emerald green eyes staring up at him. Sweat dampened her curly red hair and the tell-tale moisture of tears swelled up in her eyes. The sounds of the crickets and the distant sounds of laughter filled the chamber. Her lovely face was contorted with dismay. "You were thinking of HER this entire time?!"
"You… you... asshole!" Jo hissed as she pulled away, hurriedly gathering her clothing from the floor, her face crimson with anger and embarrassment.
Markos's hand went to his forehead as he stared after her. He had no idea what just happened. He didn't get a chance to reply to Jo before she was out the door, in some manner of dress that seemed only feasible with magic. The door slammed and he was left alone with the lingering scent of tuberoses.
The apartment seemed colder and dimmer in her absence. He was confused, everything was muddled. How had he thought Jo was Sintija? It was too much. He recomposed himself and pulled on suitable riding clothes. He needed to get out of the manor, he needed to think. The evening, the wine, and the garden had done something to him to confuse his thoughts. On autopilot, he picked his sword from the stand and buckled it on, already halfway out his door.
Still spent, and more tired than even the best sex in the world could have left him, he stalked through the hallways of his family's manor and eventually threw open one of the more subtle doors on the servants' side. The cold air hit him like a hammer. He hadn't noticed it before, when he had been dancing with her in the starlight, but the evening had grown dark and chilly.
He went for the stables, uncertain where his feet were taking them until he was in front of his horse, and then he knew where he was going and went instead for his tack and saddle. Magic or fate, or whomever or whatever was pulling him along wouldn't force him to ride bareback after… riding bareback. The horse snorted at him as though it got the joke, and he grumbled, "Ha ha," at it. The return whicker didn't bother him.
They rode east, drawn like a string on a lodestone.