Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Delicate gold links starting at a small hoop in her upper ear, leading to another one in her lobe, it had some diminutive but shining rubies and what looked like amethysts dangling from the part that led from lobe to nostril, and then another length fed down to a small hoop at the side of her upper lip.
Right ear. Right nostril. Right lip.
Drey’s focus honed on the warrior’s lip and nostril.
He had the hoops.
He was just not wearing his chain.
They were married.
She was his wife.
Drey tasted bile in his mouth.
The warrior had said, Careful, false priest.
And then he spoke Drey’s native language, the language from the Vale, that being Hawkvale from across the Green Sea. The language spoken throughout the Northlands, save Fleuridia. The language Drey had read all about in the history books. A language that had been brought over when a good number of Lunwynians escaped the ice centuries before when the last Frey before the one they had now betrayed the elves.
“Firenze is not safe.”
“I think you’ve demonstrated that,” Drey spat.
Those eyes under that heavy brow dipped before they lifted. “You are still hard, false priest, do not tell me you don’t now go to your tent and stroke your own shaft, feeling me in your arse.”
His woman licked his neck from collarbone to jaw then turned, snuggling in and smiling cattily at Drey as her husband rounded her lovingly with his beefy arm.
Enough.
He turned to leave, lifting his deep-edged sleeve to his face to wipe away the warrior’s seed.
“That is not the safe I meant,” the warrior called.
G’Drey whirled and snapped, “What?”
He then took a step back as he realized you did not snap at a Firenz warrior.
The large man’s face was carved from stone and his enormous, muscled body was still in its lounge, but Drey sensed it alert for action.
“Attento,” he growled at Drey. Careful.
“Calma, mio amore,” she soothed her warrior.
“May I have your leave?” Drey forced out.
“Your hole was tight. I enjoyed it,” the warrior stated. “For that purpose alone, I share, you are not welcome in Firenze. You will not be welcome in the Fire City. Firenz do not worship false gods. Be smart, false priest. Your teachings, your healings, we will accept. That is why you’ve been allowed through the fire. But do not press your gods on the Firenz people. They will not welcome it and our king will not abide it.”
“I am a teacher,” Drey somewhat lied, lifting his chin.
The dark eyes of the warrior assessed him.
“I hope so for you, mio buco,” the warrior replied quietly.
G’Drey decided, with some trepidation—and feeling it, his fury rose—he didn’t need the warrior’s permission to leave.
He tore through the red silk flaps and stomped across the hard sand that butted the river tributary where the bazaar was located, thinking he would remember that face. He would remember that cock. He’d remember the woman. And he would not give warning when he was in the position he would soon be in and he used them both as he wished.
With her watching something that would not make her smile.
He made his white silk tent and tore back the flap.
He had six acolytes who traveled along to attend him, and the first, in her sheer white shift, who whispered, “My lord, we welcome your return,” caught the back of his hand.
She cried out as she went to her hands and knees.
It was then she caught his sandaled foot at her mouth.
She flew to her back, blood spouting from her lips.
“Draw me a bath!” he roared to the others. “Immediately.”
They scurried to do his bidding, including the one, though she was much slower, who was bleeding.
Mio buco.
My hole.
“No warning,” he groused, tossing himself to the white and gold cushions the acolytes had arranged for him when they’d made camp, as many of the Firenz nomads had done the same outside the bazaar.
He shoved his robes aside, caught his cock in his fist, and stroked.
Savagely.
“No warning,” he groaned, engaging his other hand and squeezing his swollen sac as he spent himself magnificently on his robes, still feeling that Firenz warrior’s cock moving through his arse.
8
The Unicorn
Princess Elena
Balcony of Her Treehome
THE ENCHANTMENTS
I slowly opened my eyes and saw the rising sun as I sat cross-legged on the overhang outside my treehome.
After my meditation, I did not feel refreshed.
This was because I could not clear my mind.
And this was not surprising.
My mother had been much changed the last five days.
Further, she’d ordered a number of unusual things.
And as the queen asked, it was done.
This meant that five hundred of our warriors, the most elite, were daily doing formation drills on their horses and they were doing this for hours.
And all were conserving magic.
Neither I found comforting.
The only time sisters did formation drills was when we had a celebration or a rare state visit, sometimes a contingent from Wodell, more often priests from Go’Doan, or magic ambassadors from all the nations.