CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING
THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:
~ NUDITY
~ SEXUAL CONTENT
. The door groaned slightly, its weight arguing with him as he pushed it open. He left the door open and slipped inside the dark room. The heavy drapes had been pulled over the windows, candles were either burned out or had never been lit the night before, leaving the room in complete darkness. So, he walked into the room with nothing to guide him besides the smell of ale.
He approached the bedside where he heard a faint snore. Fumbling around, he felt the edge of the nightstand and then found what he assumed to be a candle. He chuckled silently as he heard a sudden and loud snort. Snapping his fingers, a small flame spouted from his fingertips, and he held the flame to the blackened wick. The candle came to life, and he returned to the side of the bed where his lord lay sprawled out across the goose-feathered mattress in nothing but a sheer nightgown. Blankets and pelts were kicked either to the foot of the four poster bed or to the floor. Bottles of ale, some empty, others not, lay strewn out across the table and across the room. He stared down at the limp body, one he'd otherwise guess was a corpse because of the stench. If it were not for the apparent breathing, he'd be calling for a graveyard attendee.
He sat on the edge of the bed near the slayer's head and rested the candle on his knee while he lightly shook the slayer's shoulder.
"My lord," he said softly. "You must wake, my lord."
The slayer stirred, grumbling incoherent curses at the manservant. "Why the bloody hell are you waking me up in the middle of the night, Gaalin? This best be important!"
Gaalin frowned. "My lord, it is not the middle of the night. It is past dawn, nearing midday." He stood and walked away before a bottle could be smashed across his temple. Moving to the most eastern-facing window, he ripped the curtains open, scaring away any devil in the room, disintegrating any shadowy creature, and blinding his incredibly hung-over dragon slayer.
He heard a distasteful groan.
"Gods curse you, Gaalin!"
"My lord, I refuse to offer you any apologies for merely pointing out the obvious." Gaalin opened the curtains of the last two windows in the room, welcoming the warmth the sunlight had to offer. He turned around to face his liege who now sat up on the bed, the sheer nightgown revealing every feminine part of her body.
She sat with her legs tucked beneath her buttocks, one hand rubbing her eyes, the other stretching and reaching to the ceiling. Her flaxen colored hair was a disheveled mess around her long face and down her middle back, her lips plump in a pout as she glared icy blue daggers at him.
Gaalin approached her and handed her the only pair of cotton pants he could find without holes in them. "You need to get dressed, my lord."
She continued to glare at him, and he noticed how bloodshot her eyes were. She must have drunk a lot and slept very little.
"Why must you drink that foul ale? It is not good for you, your liver will rot out of your gut."
"You know why it is I drink, Gaalin?" She grumbled again, shifting her weight on the mattress.
"Yes, I know why it is you drink. But why must you drink this slop?" Gaalin picked up a bottle and felt his stomach churn at the stench of it. She just grunted in response to him. "Edinburgh calls for you."
She clumsily stood up off the bed and tripped over her own toes towards him where he caught her with one arm.
"What for?" she mumbled.
"A dragon is attacking the city," he said calmly.
Gaalin tried to hand her the pants, but instead, she pushed herself away from him and began to walk in the opposite direction, pulling on the lacings from the gown at her neck.
"I suppose I should attend to that problem then, yes?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I'm safe to assume then, that there is some exhausted guard waiting for me at my door?"
"Yes, there are two guards. They rode here on horseback right at the beginning of the attack."
She sighed, her head rolling back as she stretched once more. "Yes, of course they did."
Shrugging her shoulders, she let the material fall past her waist to the floor, leaving her to stand nude in front of her drow companion. She ignored his gaze, even though she felt his eyes looking her up and down.
Gaalin's gaze started at the floor as he cherished the view he got to enjoy almost every morning; his liege was perfection, he thought. She was nearly as tall as he and lean with well-toned muscles from her years of travel and battle. His gaze traveled up her long legs to pause momentarily at her plump buttocks, ones he'd just love to reach out and grab.
Her waist was long and thin, and her backside was free of any blemishes, even though he wanted to put some there, and elsewhere for that matter. Gaalin surveyed from her navel to her breastbone and then to her breasts, and he felt his mouth watering at the sight of them as she turned to catch the pants he tossed to her. He could ravish this elvish woman any day, all she'd have to do is ask.
She bent over to pull on her pants, and he instantly felt a tug on the cotton of his own. He cleared his throat and turned slightly away from her to hide his erection from view, but not enough to lose sight of her body. Her large breasts were magnificent with perfect pink, perky nipples from the chilly air. He could imagine himself toying with those glorious mounds, oh, he could imagine. For as tall as she was, her breasts and ass were big. Too big? No. But too much for an ordinary man to handle, he assumed.
"Gaalin, a shirt please."
Gaalin's eyes jerked up to meet her unaffectionate ones. The cold blue of her eyes could freeze a man. They were almost lifeless, without emotion, and without the desire he felt boiling inside himself. This woman was a god to him, she was perfect in every way, in every detail, except the scar. He stepped quickly to a closet and began to rummage through her clothing as she sat on a chair and slipped her feet into leather boots. She was tying the lighter strips when he approached her again; this time a shirt in hand.
Yes, this woman was perfection to him, he found himself thinking again. Yet he found himself tracing the blemish on her neck with only his gaze, as his reach and touch would never find her. The jagged mark started at her left ear, split to cut across her cheek and followed her jawline to her chin before lining her throat to her collar bone. The injury was old, several years old, and even though it has since healed, the scar was still hideous looking. It distracted him from looking at her symmetrical face, her large eyes, her straight nose, and her full lips.
He cleared his throat again when she pulled her shirt over her head and pushed her arms through the sleeves. Yes, he could touch this woman, his liege, all he wanted in his imagination, but never could he touch her in reality.
"Allow me to assist you with your armor, my lord," Gaalin said, lifting a heavy leather chest piece from a mannequin.
"Would you stop with the blasted 'my lord' shit! I've told you hundreds of times to not call me that. My name is Libelle, you know this. You've always known this. You call me that, or nothing at all."
Gaalin chuckled, lifting the set of armor above her so she could raise her arms into the set. "My lord, forgive me will you? You've got guests downstairs, and I don't wish to be thought poorly of by calling you your given name." He pulled the armor down around her, tightening the straps at her back. The plated leather was heavy, yet flexible enough for her to still engage in battle.
"So, just for today, you shall allow me to call you lord."
Libelle grumbled, adjusting the plated skirt about her waist. "No sense in arguing with you, huh?"
"Correct."
"You will call me whatever you want to call me regardless," she grumbled again, this time tightening her wrist cuffs. "When will my new armor be done with? Soon, I hope. It has been about three months now."
"I can't imagine it being much longer," Gaalin replied. She stared at him once more with those icy eyes that still held no emotion, and he continued to wonder, what is she thinking?
She held a firm gaze with him.
"Send a letter to that blacksmith."
"Yes, I'll send one out in the morning." Gaalin tugged her hair into a loose braid, ignoring the rat's nest of knots. "Your helmet."
Libelle took the masculine looking helmet and settled it into the crook of her arm. The helm gifted her with enough space for vision, but it hid her face from the public, aiding in keeping her identity secret from peering eyes. Yes, townsfolk knew where she lived. But nay, folk hardly knew her true identity. If she so chose, she could walk among them as a commoner and no one would bat an eyelash.
She turned towards him, maintaining that cool gaze. She watched him watching her, and watched his gaze traveling up and down her now covered body. His lips twitched into a slight grin, and she sighed.
"You look as if you're needing to say something," she grumbled.
Gaalin straightened. "Why is it you say that?"
She crossed her arms across her chest. "You're eyeing me like a piece of delicate meat that you're ready to feast on."
Damn it all, Gaalin cursed to himself.
He stared at his lord all the time when an opportunity presented itself, but not once had she ever confronted him about it. She had never given any indication that his prying eyes bothered her. Those icy eyes of hers, since when had they begun to follow his?
He didn't say anything as a large lump built up in his throat. She was always so cold, not just to him, but to all potential suitors. As the dragon slayer and as a commoner, she was content with being alone.
"So, do you want me then?"
The question caught him off guard. He felt his grey skin flush with warmth over her question, his heart skipped a beat, and sweat quickly covered his palms.
How should he answer her question?
Truthfully?
No, he couldn't do that.
If he chose to answer truthfully she would most likely clobber him. She'd be furious at him, right? What if he did answer truthfully? Would the seemingly emotionless woman standing in front of him return his desire?
Gaalin steadied himself, squaring his broad shoulders and lifting his chin. "No, my lord. That'd be far more inappropriate than either of us should be comfortable with. No, I do not want you like that."
She chuckled, the sound just above a whisper as she adjusted two leather straps at her sides. He watched that cold glare turn darker, too dark for a living being. He questioned if he had hurt her with his response, perhaps she had wanted the truth from him. He flexed his already taught muscles.
The light smile fled her lips, and she returned to the dragon slayer behind the set of armor. Not many people were aware of her true identity, let alone that she was a woman. He was one of only a few who knew her, the real her. Perhaps he could think he was special to her, because when he really thought about it, he was the only one allowed close to her. He stared at her from the corner of his eyes. The bulky armor hid her curves, and her height had others thinking of her as a man. Her voice didn't help any. She didn't speak like a feminine female; her voice was more hoarse and rough like a man's.
Any common man could not handle her, and none of the kings could handle her either.
She looked over her shoulder at her expectant drow. "Go ready yourself. You're coming with me. I am not riding with these fools by myself. Yes, go fetch your blades. I'll be down in a moment."
Gaalin walked away and out of the room to head down the stairs. He passed through the dark halls with a disgruntled sigh, muscles in his arms bulging as he flexed and clenched his fists. He rounded a corner and slowly descended the short flight of stairs, looking into the dining hall as light began to shine onto the table.
The table was barren, hardly ever used and in prime condition. The hearth was barely breathing at the head of the room, and near it sat several baskets of fresh produce. Retrieving a ripe red apple, he rounded two more corners at a steady pace until he was at his room. He entered his living quarters, shut the double doors behind him and sat on the edge of his bed. He stared down at his raging erection with a sigh, his blood was pumping, and he felt hot all over.
"Yes, my lady Libelle...Yes, I want you, lass," he murmured to himself before taking a bite of the sweet fruit.