They walked, instead, walked the four miles back to Foxglove Peak.
They went around the gates, going over the small stone wall that surrounded the property. They entered through the entrance on the west side, which was where he’d brought the orc army in. He warranted no one but people who lived here even knew that entrance existed.
They climbed the stairs to the steward’s chambers, but Lashrud was in there, because of course he was. They went to her chambers instead.
They were empty.
She was exhausted, sweaty from the walk, and she resisted when he began kissing her as they lay down together.
But he knew her body well. It took time to awaken it, but he knew how to do it. And she did not resist his gentle ministrations, teasing her nipples first until she was sighing, and then putting his mouth to her until she was gasping, and then kissing his way down her body to taste her between her thighs.
He made her come against his tongue, and she panted out his name, called him husband, and he told her to be a very good elf wife and take his cock, and she shivered into him, sighing out her agreement.
She felt like sinking into pure perfect bliss.
He held her hips in place as he worked himself in her. “You want my seed, do you not?”
“Mmm,” she sighed. “Shall I beg for it, husband?”
Because this was a game between them, and they had whispered words like this back and forth many nights after watching the orgies in Bilkwood. And perhaps, also, they’dwhispered other things back and forth, too. Maybe it had aroused her to think of being fucked on his lap in front of others, maybe she had admitted she liked him saying it to her, though she had assured him she didn’t wish to ever do it, and he said that she was for his eyes alone, that he would kill anyone who looked at her, and all of it had been, well, pretend.
But now, he wasn’t pretending, and he wasn’t going to stop. “I mean it,” he whispered in the darkness. “I mean it this time.”
She only sighed. “Please, spill it in me, spill all of your orc seed right inside me, husband.”
“You want me to get you with child?” he said. “You want to carry my child?”
“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, yes, yes, so very much, Dathor.”
And he rode the edge of his pleasure, because it was half not pleasure, half some kind of wild anxiety, and it took time, lots of silent moments as he frantically moved himself in and out of her, almost, almost, almost—
And then it happened, and he was emptying himself into her, finding the height of pleasurehere, right in the depths of her tight heat, and he didn’t know if anything had ever felt so good.
She touched his face. “You did it.”
He shuddered against her. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” she whispered. “Is it because we’re home?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, because we’re home.”
They both fell asleep, then, but he didn’t sleep long.
He woke later, the light of the day spilling in through the windows, and he climbed out of the bed with her, got dressed, and went to where she’d told him that Celedin was hiding.
She said that she thought he might have left the spot. She had wanted to help him, to get word to Elrion, all manner of things, but none of them had come to pass.
So, Dathor wasn’t sure he would find him there, in his old room, but he did.
Celedin was sitting on the bed, a stack of dirty bowls onthe floor, reading a book. His neck was knit back together but there was an awful scar there.
He got to his feet when he saw Dathor. His eyes were full of fear.
That was gratifying, Dathor thought. He liked Celedin to be afraid of him. “She says I’m not to kill you,” he said.
Celedin’s voice was a harsh whisper. “As if that would stop you.”
“I won’t,” said Dathor. “I suppose I already killed you once.”
