A Gracious Surrender

An hour passed with Rachel waiting there in her tower, watching and listening for the men who had come with threats for Cador. She thought she recognized Sir Odo's voice in the arguments. The men of their number might rally around Sir John Osteler, a man of royal blood and martial glory, it was Odo who her father would have trusted most with this duty. He was earnest and stubborn. Desirable traits in a vassal, but irritating in an enemy. In his years of service to the deep Cador had distinguished himself by besting his foes in the field. Though he was crafty and capable, it was all he knew; he was a hammer in need of a nail.

Rachel had learned other paths to victory. She stepped back into the low light of her bedroom and felt the thrum of the castle under her bare feet. Ughelor was one entity, and alive in ways that those who did not know the ways of magic could not fathom. Its air was a part of it as surely as the breath in her breast was. She allowed that breath to intermingle with Ughelor's, and through it summoned the wind. That wind carried her words to the red monster of a man looking down from the rampart at her father's champions. "I'll go with them, my love," she whispered in his ear. "And see our work done in their homes, and the halls of the proud."

She didn't need to see his face to know it. When those who feared him beheld him smile they couldn't recognize it - it was only a twitch of the lip, a flash of a tooth. But Rachel knew to delight when she saw it. "As you wish," he said under his breath. And then, aloud, so that all the men of the camp could hear him: "You've offended me, calling me a knave and a kidnapper. But I'm a better man than you and I'll prove it. Take the woman back with you. She'll tell you all what a gentleman I've been."

Sir John would think it was his great wit that allowed him to see the threat in Cador's snarl. He would think he was a beast who deceived even himself that he was a man. That he had outmaneuvered the dog who stood upright and **** him to give up the bone that he clenched between his teeth. All because he saw her as the sterling lady, daughter of an esteemed lord, while Cador viewed her only as a prize. It was that deception, not Cador's, that would undo them.

A moment later Cador was at her door. He flew up the stairs and appeared to her naked, his armor swallowed up by his power. "How long?" he said.

"Two months," she laughed. "But I doubt I'll need more than one."

"Too long," he said. He was pulling her closer to himself.

"I'll give you something to remember me by," she said. She kissed him for only a moment, so that he could taste the lust in her throat. She licked the excitement from his own tongue and pulled herself back for a moment, taking in all of him. Her pale, unblemished skin complimented his scarred ruddy frame, and his red mane was nearly as long as her black mane. She bit her lip and conjured a golden pin into her hands. With a flick she pushed it into her hair, and with a twist secured it up. Then she trailed her hands down his chest. He was hot to the touch, as she was; another gift from their masters.

"You're planning on making them wait?" said Cador with a smirk.

"I want them to think you came here to butcher me," she said, sidling closer to him. He grabbed her by her neck and kissed her again. "While I get to know what sword you're wielding." She took it into her hand, already hard, and heavy. An object of worship. She went down onto her knees and faced it. It was throbbing, and so was she. A smile played across her lips as savored the moment. Letting her fingers run over his thighs, she took her time, inching closer until her lips brushed against the tip of him. He shuddered, full of power barely held in check.

Slowly, she took him into her mouth, tasting him, feeling his weight against her tongue. She pushed it down her throat to steal her own breath. He growled and tangled his fingers in her hair. She looked up at him, and saw him burn. He couldn't look at her. His hand moved her, and she submitted to him; the human form of the gods below. Her hand fled under her dress and touched the gooseflesh on her legs. Then she allowed her fingers to move upward, and to fuck herself. It was his favorite joy. Long before they'd allowed each other to touch they'd enjoyed watching each other reach the brink. She felt the pulse of his desire, the thrum of his heartbeat, as if they were one entity.

He was almost there. Before he could loose himself in her mouth, she pulled back, licking her lips. “I'll leave you wanting,” she murmured. “So you'll remember me while I'm away.” She rose, watching him flushed and breathless, sick with hunger.