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If Doryn wanted me to agree to wed him, all he had to do was to offer his horses. I'll have to demand an explicit agreement allowing me free rein of the stables.
I adore my horse, Shoal. And he is mine—he clearly agrees. When Lark informed me he was Doryn's, the thick, muscular beast, built for both speed and endurance, neighed impatiently. I had to pat his neck to make him understand I agreed: Lark was completely wrong.
"Can you understand him?" Vessorian asks on the fourth day of travel, watching me curiously.
I'm lying back against Shoal. My legs are getting tired of our grueling pace—not to mention how Doryn fucks me into oblivion the moment we stop—so I've removed his saddle, handling it to one of the guards carrying our luggage at the last stop. Instead, I've set up the blanket to make a comfortable cot on his back.
I look over the edge of the book I snatched from my room back in Starfall. "Not in words, as such, but I suppose."
I know when he feels like playing, and stopping, and speeding up. He knows I want him to follow the others, and preferably not let me fall off his back. I respect his will and he, mine.
"Shoal isn't a tamed beast—not truly. He's never been one to behave. Your power is growing."
I narrow my eyes, bristling. I've always had an affinity with horses; it's not some strange power, just years of practice.
Right?
"Is that just with horses, or other beasts?" Lark cuts in.
The buxom beauty's warm, enthusiastic, and always polite, even to me, even after watching the king pin me against a tree, lowering my pants and rutting like an animal. I would have snapped at Vessorian, but I actually consider her words. "I haven't been exposed to many other beasts regularly, but dogs like me." I tilt my head, remembering the stray cats in the tower. "And cats, too. I fed them leftovers, so they would."
"You should test yourself. Try to exert your influence on others purposely, to see your limit. It's important to know your own power."
I bite my lower lip. In truth, I don't like this power they all seem to assume I wield. Manipulating, seducing, whatever they call it. It's slimy. Even without considering the fact that I seem to need to fuck to be able to do any of that. I desperately want them to be wrong, but the memory of Doryn shoving a blade in my chest to show me how wrong I am remains fresh in my mind.
That doesn't mean I'm some sort of mind-controlling freak.
I can't prove I'm not unless I try, so I ask, "How would I go about trying?"
"You could practice with us," Lark offers.
I blink in surprise.
"I see your hesitancy," she says, "Using your abilities against your companions behind their back wouldn't be acceptable, but we all have to learn. It's no different than sparring with your friends to get better at swordplay."
I can't explain why I think it is. To me, manipulating someone into doing something they don't want to is far worse than a good old fight. Fouler.
I think back over the course of the last few days. If I'd been able to use the power they think I have, things would have gone much differently for me.
Lark encourages me to sharpen my weapons, when we're on opposite sides of this conflict. They truly think I'm no threat to Doryn, to them.Evenwith that power. So maybe it's not that terrible, if none of the members of the circle take it seriously.
"I wouldn't know where to start." I sigh.
"Magic, as a general rule, is about mindful focus. Breathe, relax, and center your energy on one of us." I'm surprised by Vessorian's gentle, patient tone.
He has been nicer to me since he fucked me with Doryn three days ago, though. "Think about something you'd like that person to do for you. You might need to say it out loud, or picturing the action clearly in your mind could be enough. Do what comes naturally to you."
None of this is even remotely natural, but I don't have much else to do. Besides, if I do have this power, I ought to at least know.
My instinct is to start with Doryn. I could make him grab a sword and skewer his own chest. The idea brings a grin to my lips. I know that would do little harm, but it certainly would make me feel better.
Something tells me I'm nowhere near ready to attack the king. I likely won't like the consequences.
Instead, my gaze slides over to Alrion. I do my best not to even acknowledge his presence nowadays. Using a form of mind control seems intrusive, vicious, cruel, and even a little cowardly, but if there is one person who deserves all of that and more, it's him.
I remember how he arrived in the dungeons, dressed to the nines, while I was covered in cum and shivering. He left me—us—to rot in them, although we ate and drank and worked together for three years. Not to mention what he did to Sorsha, seducing her, getting under her defenses.
I understand spycraft, but he didn't have to make it personal. He could have done his job, pretending with Doplov in order to be trusted. Instead, he chose to involve us, then betray us.
