They drove over the bridge and peered out the windows, first at the river, rushing far below, and then at the castle itself, across the bridge, because it was like nothing either of them had ever seen.
Bilkwood was build right into the mountain, carved directly into the rock there. There were a number of glowinglights illuminating the towers that had been carved directly into the face of the mountain, graceful turrets with pointing spires, each reaching high into the heavens. A waterfall rushed past the castle, tumbling down into the river. The entire palace was encased in towering fir trees.
Aerhril could not help but gasp at the sight of it. Its beauty caught in her throat, different than the architecture of the nae Oir in some secret and silver way, something she could not quite put her finger on, but something that made her ache, even so, ache like the look of the sun rising over the cliffs around the Peak. This land, it took root in a body.
She gaped as she leaned forward on her seat, looking through the window to drink in the sight of it.
And an orc moved past, momentarily blocking her view, and then another, and then she saw them all over the grounds, holding spears and revolvers. She drew back in dismay, unable to help herself from feeling as if something was very wrong, as if some sacred domain had been invaded by something monstrous.
Dathor saw, and he only smiled, one of those smiles she had grown used to seeing on his face.
They belonged to each other, yes, but that did not mean everything was easy between them.
When she got out of the carriage, she could feel the imprint of his cock in her. When he’d urged her to take him again, she had wanted it, liking their joining, liking his claiming, liking the intensity of his desire for her.
When they were connected in that way, there was a feeling she would float in and out of, a feeling of slipping in and out of each other on some other dimension, and a feeling of dual possession—he possessed her, she possessed him. It made her feel luminous in some way.
The soreness she’d felt hadn’t diminished it, not when it was happening. It had added this other undercurrent to their lovemaking. It had made it feel all the more real and intense and true and she had not minded, not at all.
But it hurt now, and it was unpleasant. She scolded herself, saying that she must not let him have her again untilshe was recovered. But if he asked her like that again, his voice low and urgent, she was not sure she would be able to say no to him.
The orcs stepped forward. They spoke to Dathor, but they spoke in the orc language, and she could not understand what they were saying.
Dathor spoke it haltingly. He paused often as if searching for words. He would have only had a few years to have learned it.
The orcs turned to look at her at one point, and then they gestured with their heads for Dathor to follow him.
He turned to her. “You are being taken to my chambers, Aerhril, your trunk, too. Try, if you can manage it, to simply be quiet and undemanding. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”
Quiet and undemanding. What was it, exactly, that he thought of her?
But an orc took her by the arm and two other orcs came to pull her trunk off the back of the carriage.
“This way, my lady,” said the orc, though there was an undercurrent to his tone.
She was taken through all sorts of hallways and up twisting stairways. Eventually, she was deposited in a large room, a room that might befit a traveling dignitary. It had its own connected bathing room with a built in tub.
The carpet was thick and deep blue. The bed was vast and swathed in a deep blue shimmering blanket. She sat down on it while the orcs deposited her trunk. They left her there, and she sat in the vast room, wondering why it was that Dathor warranted a room like this.
A knock sounded on the door, and it startled her.
Who even knew she was here?
“Hello?” Her voice wavered. Dathor wanted her to keep a low profile, she knew. He did not wish her to be a problem for him in any way.
“Hello, may I enter?” said the voice. “It’s the Envivtaintess nae Bilkwood.”
“Oh,” said Aerhril, getting to her feet and hurrying overto answer the door. “Of course you may.”
The elf on the other side of the door was not much older than Aerhril. She had long dark hair braided around her head like a crown and she smiled at her. “Hello,” she said again. “I heard you are a willing one, too.”
Aerhril tilted her head to one side, confused.
“I mean, with the orcs?” said the woman. “I’m Larha. I was married to the old envivtain for only two months before the orc High Chieftain and his forces came and invaded. They came straight into the main dining room. And I know I was supposed to be frightened and horrified, and I really should have been, because they did stab my husband, and he did die. And I liked him, my husband, I liked him quite a great deal, I really and truly did. It was a shock, I suppose. But before they stabbed him, and in front of all the servants, one of the orcs lay me right down on the table and…” She let out a little sigh.
“Right, well, I know about this,” said Aerhril. “That is what they do. It happened to me, too, only I was in the middle of getting married.”
“In front of everyone?” said Larha, eyes wide.
