Fairy Godmother

Godmother in residence; as Elena well knew, it was the only thing that would shake her off her current crusade. 'I beg your pardon, Madame Elena!' she said. 'Of course it can wait. Your bed has been turned down and warmed, and there's a tidbit waiting on your bedside table.'

'Thank you, Rose,' Elena said, but she was already gone, whisking herself away as only an embarrassed House-Elf could.

Now she turned back to Randolf. 'So what was it about your presentiment that was so important you were going to set Rose off again?' she asked with more than a touch of impatience.

'Madame,' Randolf said, with immense dignity. 'Godmother. It was important, because if I am correct, what is going to happen is unprecedented. My sense is absolute that Prince Alexander is perfectly ready to pass any trials of his nature that you or anyone else may set him — and also, that when he does so, he will never leave here. Make of that what you will; it utterly baffles me. I certainly cannot imagine a Prince of the Blood being content with laboring as a common farmhand.'

Elena controlled her expression, somehow, and managed to thank Randolf gravely before dropping the curtains over his mirror. But inside, the emotions that she thought she had brought into check roiled up again.

If she had not been so tired, Randolf's words probably would have kept her up late into the night. But after a glance out the window to see that there was no light in Alexander's loft-room, she found herself so exhausted that she nearly fell asleep with the glass of honeyed milk in her hand. She caught herself just as it started to slip from her grip; she drank it down quickly and got into bed, and was literally asleep before she even turned on her side to her usual sleeping position.

The little, shallow waves of the amethyst ocean were as warm against the skin of her feet and calves as the milk she had just drunk. She noticed that the filmy little halfhearted excuse for a skirt she was wearing barely came to her knees; well, at least it wasn't going to get wet while she waded. The silky-soft sand was even softer under the water. Experimentally she reached down to touch the slowly undulating waves, then brought her fingers to her lips.

The water was sweet, not salty. Interesting; she wondered what that meant, since dreams had their own logic.

'Elena! Are you going to paddle out there all night?'

She looked up; Alexander was standing just above the waterline, watching her with a huge grin on his face. Unlike her, he was attired in real clothing, rather than the few bits of veils that she was wearing.

What on earth was her dream trying to tell her?

She waded obliquely towards him, enjoying the feel of the water on her feet. When she was near enough, he held out his hand to her, and she took it.

'You called me by my name,' she said, curious to hear what the dream-Alexander would say to that. 'You've never done that before.'

'Well, I finally figured out who you were,' he replied. 'And it doesn't matter what I say to you here, anyway,' he continued, impudently. 'You aren't a Godmother here; you can't punish me in a dream. I can say what I like and I won't end up as a donkey, or on my back with a splitting head. I can do this — ' he took her in his arms ' — and this — '

He wound both his hands in her hair, bent his head and kissed her; his lips were already open, and hers were parted, but in surprise rather than initial arousal, because she had just realized, not only what he had just said, but what it meant...

This wasn't her dream.

Or to be more accurate, it wasn't just her dream; it was their dream. They were sharing it.

His tongue teased hers, and his hand slipped inside the flimsy bodice of her gown to caress her naked nipple, which hardened immediately. She thrust all other thoughts aside for later. This was a dream, and she was going to enjoy it —

He slipped the straps of her gown off her shoulders, and her breasts slid free of the silky fabric. The warm breeze played over her shoulders. Each of his hands cupped a breast now, and his thumbs made little circles on the exquisitely sensitive skin. Little lances of pure pleasure and incredible sensation followed every movement of his fingers, and her groin tightened as she opened her mouth to his probing.

He took his mouth from hers and began to lick and nibble at her neck; she discovered that (ah, the wonders of the dream-state!) his shirt had vanished altogether, and she moved her hands over his chest, the muscles moving marvelously under her palms as he breathed, until her fingers found his nipples, and it was her turn to make him gasp.

But he took his revenge immediately; before she knew what he was about, his head had moved lower, and he fastened his mouth on her breast.

And his tongue and teeth were so much cleverer than his fingers had been that it was all she could do to stand upright.

Dream-logic again, for the very next moment they were lying in the soft sand, both of them utterly naked. He moved the attentions of his mouth to her left breast, and she moaned aloud, her hands in his hair, wanting to keep him there forever, but also wanting more. He chuckled; his free hand went to work on her right breast, and she felt her back arching without her even thinking about moving, and then his hand began to move lower — lower — her legs parted involuntarily as his fingers just stirred the first soft hairs of her sex and —

A rooster crowed. Right in her ear.

Swearing, she woke up.

The wretched bird crowed again. It wasn't right in her ear, but it was certainly just under her window.