“It would not be that way,” she said. “I would not be his. He would be mine, at least if I can engineer it right.”
“And then we kill him.”
Her expression froze, as if she had forgotten about that aspect of the plan.
He laughed, a mournful sort of laugh. Right now, right in this moment, she was slipping from his grasp.
She kissed him. She tugged him towards her bed. She reached down to work on the laces of his breeches, freeing him.
He stiffened in her hands. She was good at that now. She had learned to touch and tease him surely as he had learned her.
“Come now,” she said. “Let me see to you. It must have been difficult for you, all alone here, waiting for me to come back. I’m quite tired, but I’ll suck you quickly and then you can rest a bit in my bed before you go back to the stables.”
He seized her by the back of the neck, his voice hard. “You cannot just distract me from this by tucking my cock down your throat.”
She looked up at him, insouciant. “Sure of that, are you?” She dropped to her knees in front of him.
He shook his head. “No, you can’t just—”
He cut off as she sucked him into the warm, wet cavern that was her mouth. It felt so very, very good. He wanted to let out a moan, but they must be quiet in the keep. So, he was silent, gently tracing her features as she bobbed her head against him, her eyes closed.
He gazed down at her pleasuring him.
If any elf lord knew his future wife was on her knees with her mouth full of orc cock, he wouldn’t want her.
Dathor could ruin her scheme any time he wanted, he supposed. Probably get himself hung for his trouble, but if it ever seemed worth that, worth his life, well, he had that power.
19
NOW, THE ORCarmy was gone and things settled into a wary routine at Foxglove Peak. Aerhril spent each night sleeping next to Dathor in the old steward’s bed.
She sometimes thought of how she used to wish for this, the ability to sleep next to him without sneaking around, when they were younger, how here it was, everything she’d ever wanted, and yet, it was all wrong.
He did not touch her, and she did not touch him. They circled, taunting each other here and there, each interaction bringing back the bittersweet feelings she still held for him, the ones she could not quite extinguish.
Hafindel had not left yet, but she was ready to go and could go at any time. Each time that Aerhril saw her, she knew this could be the last time she did, that soon enough, Hafindel would slip away. Every time she parted ways from the other woman, she felt that like a dart to the center of her.
The women stayed to their small room for the first week. Some of them did go willingly to orcs in the keep, who had claimed rooms for themselves, beds. But it was very few.
After a week, she was able to convince Dathor that another room must be given to these women, who were all lying practically on top of each other on the cold stone floor. He resisted, saying that he had made promises and if he went back on them, he would look soft and weak, and she said that they already were frightened of him, that a bit ofsoftness might not go awry.
Each day was the same.
They woke in the morning and they went to the kitchen. They had to make their own breakfast, because there was no one else there to do it for them, but the grain mush itself was not difficult, requiring only boiling water and grain. They would boil a great pot of it for the entire day. As long as it was eaten before nightfall, it was in no danger of going bad.
Then they spent the day playing card games or reading books. They had use of the library in the Peak, which was not extensive but was serviceable.
They ate luncheon and the afternoon was spent in much the same way. The children seemed to have taken it all in stride. The women were mostly subdued.
Aerhril checked on Celedin at least twice a day. She brought him food, too. Hafindel had been doing it, but since Hafindel would be leaving at any moment, they had deemed it wise that Aerhril take over the duties.
Celedin’s neck was healing, though his voice seemed permanently ravaged and whispery. She brought him books to read and a pack of cards if he wished to play solitary games with himself. She offered to play with him sometimes when she looked in on him.
He always said no. She suspected he wasn’t reading the books either.
He seemed different, beaten in a way she had never seen him beaten.
“Is he fucking you?” he asked her at one point.
