Ath’asho’s fingers closed over hers, holding her hand prisoner. Other hand picking up his abandoned fork, he speared a wedge of tart as soon as the serving girl cut it free of the whole and offered it to him. Holding the utensil before Aida’s mouth, smile indulgent and warm, the pale brown with flecks of green in his gaze held another story. One she’d become all too familiar with of late.
“I do wonder how Nys'risa would feel about you feeding a young girl, old friend,” Er’it said, the serene calm of his words as dangerous as a deep running current. More formidable still the lazy roll of two fingers at the proffered sweet. “By your own hand, no less.”
As if startling from a dream, Ath’asho dropped the fork to Aida’s plate and slid back with a rattle of armor. Clearing his throat with a rough nod, he shoved his seat back to stride away with head held high and an uneasy smile on his face for those that looked to him in question.
Aida had little time to be startled herself. Hand closing over her arm like a vice, Er’it yanked her from the chair. Hauling her into his lap so she perched upon his thighs within the circle of his arms. With little more than a gasp escaping her parted lips, she found a bite of custard settled on her tongue.
“Close those damnable lips of yours,” Er’it husked against her cheek.
Aida closed her mouth over the fork, the warm custard melting over her tongue as he slid the utensil free. Wary of this new mood, the way he caressed her arm with such care, she held the bite in her mouth. Waiting for his command.
“Good. You learn quickly. Now eat it.” Voice a rough rasp at her ear, those gentle fingers now traced the line of Aida’s jaw. Urging her into motion until she swallowed the thick sweetness down. With a turn of his wrist, he cradled the column of her throat. Not enough pressure to choke, but more than enough to warn. “You open them for any other man, and I shall make you regret it, princess.”
Aida inhaled hard through her nose at the implied threat. It seemed she did have tears left, and now they burned the backs as her eyes as he pulled her stiff body into his. Forcing her to lounge against him as the musicians played a merry tune and a score of women clad in little more than breath and shadow took a place before the head table. Their graceful limbs moving to the beat, swaying and leaping in some strange dance.
When he kept her draped over his lap, Aida forced her body to relax. Concentrating on every muscle until it grew placid, earning his fingertips smoothing back and forth over her arm in time with the music. In spite of her despair, of everything that had happened, she felt a momentary calm. Wrapped in his scent and warmth, she became soothed.
Terrified of him, her body still ached from his abuse, but he lacked the menacing darkness of his predecessor. There were no holes in the ground with him, his violence absolute and at his own hands. He also cared far less for her comfort. Otaso at least had seen to that, even if he had locked her away. It was still too difficult to reconcile the man who had raised her with the one who had taunted her so.
Head heavy with her thoughts, she let her cheek settle against his chest. Watching the swirling dance through her lashes as she contemplated it all. Listening to the steady thudding of his heart, the swell of his breaths. He had not spoken to her, but she knew they traveled tomorrow morning. He made all of the preparations with her standing just behind him. She didn’t know the land they were going to, only that he called it home. The very name of the place felt foreign on her tongue, but she found her lips shaping it all the same. Denath. Far outside the borders of Aeslomor, mention of the edge of a desert. She knew of no such kingdoms. Otaso once told her that only Aeslomor was worthy of knowledge, its artists and history all that she needed to know for all others paled in comparison. Now, watching the twitching hips and graceful arms of the dancers, she wondered at that which she had never questioned.
Lids growing heavy, the bass of his heart lulling her closer towards the exhaustion knotted through her bones, Aida wondered just how many new horrors and wonders awaited her.
She came awake in the darkness of her room. Unhurried hands plucking at the laces at her back as she lay belly down on the bed. Remaining still as the callused palms of her tormentor and master worked over the length of her back as he laid it bare, Aida’s brow furrowed. She didn’t understand how, even now, she felt warmth flooding through her belly and hips. The place between her legs slippery and hot. At his rumbling exhale, the slide of his tongue up her spine leaving a trail of cool wetness in its wake, she shivered in anything but fear.
Thighs already parting as he tugged the silk of her gown from her legs, Aida bit back her moan. Willing the seeping heat from turning molten as he guided her knees wider still. When his weight covered her back, her hips tipped up of their own volition. A whine echoing through the dark when he slid the heat of his thickness through her slick folds. She had no words for it other than the ones he growled and muttered against her skin, telling her to take his cock, to squeeze
