Bedtime Stories_ A Collection of Erotic Fairy Tales Part 20

"By royal decree!" the man mounted on the horse called out in deep tones. "His Majesty has commanded that, due to the unexpected and tragic loss of all known inheritors, Oger Havant, Baron of Sh.e.l.lid, shall be named successor to the Marque of Calabas. This proclamation is to be made all throughout the bounds of the Marque of Calabas and its immediate environs. Let all hear His Majesty's decree and honor your new governor, the Marquis Oger of Calabas! " "

Siona hissed. She didn't realize she had dug in her claws, too, until Marc himself hissed. Squirming out of his arms, she stalked over to the center of the broken wards and paced, waiting impatiently for him to return and begin inscribing the circles and runes all over again.

As soon as she safely could-many minutes later-Siona shot back to her natural form and glared at her former cla.s.smate, hands clenching in fists. "They're both both in collusion on this! It's the in collusion on this! It's the only only explanation why His Majesty would act so fast, when it's barely been a week!" explanation why His Majesty would act so fast, when it's barely been a week!"

"Calm down," Marc ordered her, catching her wrists. "What you're suggesting could be considered treason if if someone else hears us mentioning it. I did put up sound-dampening wards, but they'll only go so far. If we can't catch him by taking your evidence to the king and demanding a truth-testing . . . then we'll have to find evidence some other way, and . . . I can't believe I'm even thinking this . . ." he muttered. someone else hears us mentioning it. I did put up sound-dampening wards, but they'll only go so far. If we can't catch him by taking your evidence to the king and demanding a truth-testing . . . then we'll have to find evidence some other way, and . . . I can't believe I'm even thinking this . . ." he muttered.

"And what, take justice into our own hands? I'm more than willing!" Siona a.s.serted. He hushed her again, glancing at the door and the walls around them. Subsiding, she thought out loud in a lower, quieter tone of voice. "You're right. We need evidence. But not just to prove it's Oger. We need evidence to hold over His Majesty's head. I don't want anyone else trying to gain control of Calabas once Oger's out of the way, and I don't want the one man who is supposed supposed to be protecting all Gucherans to just turn around and back to be protecting all Gucherans to just turn around and back another another greedy murderer." greedy murderer."

"I'd better get to work crafting that collar-if there's anything you can do to help, we'd better brainstorm what that is right now," he added, releasing her hands. "It takes too long to set up these ward circles. We'll want to be prepared and ready before we start, if you're going to help make that collar, and help me think of ways to get the evidence we need. Here-I have a couple of miniaturized slate boards and some chalk in my pouch. You take one, I'll take the other, and we'll list out our objectives, requirements, and goals."

Siona smiled wanly. She settled back on the floor, tucking the hem of her nightdress down for decency. "Were you always this organized?"

"Third best Arithmancer in my graduating year. The only thing keeping me from a higher ranking was my lesser magic. I wasn't even a quarter as powerful as that Serina girl, the one from outkingdom," he admitted with a shrug. "She took the top honors."

"Serina . . . Serina . . . tall, skinny, pale blonde?" Siona asked. "Skinny, but really pretty?"

Marc wrinkled his nose. "Too tall, too skinny, and her hair was too straight." He smoothed his expression into a smile and added a wink. "I like curly haired Gucheran girls."

Mindful of the uncombed state of her own curls, Siona ducked her head and concentrated on writing down whatever ideas might be of use in her-their-quest.

FROM the ends of her whiskers to the tip of her tail, Siona trembled with rage. It was all she could do to keep from growling and flexing her claws, the latter of which might have caused Marc to drop her. As it was, her tail thumped thumped repeatedly against his chest. repeatedly against his chest.

Baron Oger lowered the lash in his hand, giving the whimpering man at his feet a brief respite. Strolling around to the front, he grabbed the peasant's curls and lifted his tear-streaked head. As he was a very large man and the peasant somewhat short, the Baron managed to lift his victim almost off his knees. "Now will you call me by my new, rightful t.i.tle?" will you call me by my new, rightful t.i.tle?"

"I'm so sorry, milord! Bright Heaven, I'm sorry sorry, but I can't call you that!" the man begged.

"And why not?" Baron Oger all but purred. "Why can't you call me 'milord Marquis,' hmm?"

"Be-because there isn't isn't a Marquis of Calabas!" a Marquis of Calabas!"

"I should beat you until-"

Marc cleared his throat, interrupting the older mage. As soon as he had the baron's attention, he spoke in a dry, bored tone, "Is this going to go on much longer? My time is very valuable."

His languid, foppish drawl made Siona blink. Where did he learn to sound like a pampered Draconan n.o.bleman? Where did he learn to sound like a pampered Draconan n.o.bleman?

Baron Oger, would-be Marquis of Calabas, frowned. He dropped the farmer he had been whipping, shifting his hand to his hip. The stance only emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, making him look like a muscular wall. "Your time is valuable? Who are you, and why are you here?" time is valuable? Who are you, and why are you here?"

"My name is Arithmancer Marc Tresket. I was sent here as a favor of a certain certain high-ranking high-ranking someone someone to offer my services in investigating any possible reason as to why the Calabas line has been slaughtered. Certain to offer my services in investigating any possible reason as to why the Calabas line has been slaughtered. Certain other other parties insist on having an Academy-trained Arithmancer rule out financial gain as a motive. After all, Calabas is a prosperous marque, and money is always a motive." Pausing to pet the black cat lounging in his arms, Marc shrugged and continued. "Of course, if you think parties insist on having an Academy-trained Arithmancer rule out financial gain as a motive. After all, Calabas is a prosperous marque, and money is always a motive." Pausing to pet the black cat lounging in his arms, Marc shrugged and continued. "Of course, if you think you you could do a better job at figuring out how money could be a motive, and the truth of the estate accounts covered or uncovered . . . could do a better job at figuring out how money could be a motive, and the truth of the estate accounts covered or uncovered . . .

"Oh, wait, you you don't have a degree in Arithmancy. Any attempt don't have a degree in Arithmancy. Any attempt you you might make at trying to uncover embezzlement and so forth would be about as successful as any attempt you'd make to cover it all up." Another pause, a shift of his weight, and Marc tossed his head, settling his curls back from his face. "Either way, the longer I'm delayed, the more likely my employer is to recall my services . . . and send a more formal inquest as to why they were delayed." might make at trying to uncover embezzlement and so forth would be about as successful as any attempt you'd make to cover it all up." Another pause, a shift of his weight, and Marc tossed his head, settling his curls back from his face. "Either way, the longer I'm delayed, the more likely my employer is to recall my services . . . and send a more formal inquest as to why they were delayed."

"And who, pray tell, is your employer?" Oger sneered. The peasant was all but forgotten; Siona could tell the farmer was struggling to keep silent in spite of the blood-speckled welts on his back.

Marc gave a languid, graceful gesture with his free hand. "The Dowager Queen Jalta . . . but I'm here on her behalf discreetly discreetly. One of her uncles was related by marriage to the Calabas line, you know, and she is eager-out of sentiment, I'm sure-to settle the question of who inherits what, now that the family line is dead. Not to mention the death taxes need to be a.s.sessed and independently verified, for which reason I am also here. I do realize my appearance at this juncture is unannounced unannounced . . . but then that . . . but then that is is the way these things are done these days. I the way these things are done these days. I am am supposed to be an independent a.s.sessor of the situation, after all. supposed to be an independent a.s.sessor of the situation, after all.

"I will require access to the entire estate, its storerooms, barns, warehouses, flocks, herds, and other accountables, plus of course all fiscal records for the last fifty years, and the original copies of any wills or other entailment doc.u.ments. Personal correspondences if they can be found, in case anyone wrote any uncivilized, inflammatory letters at some point. I also require a study with a writing desk, several expandable slate boards . . . if they have have any in such a backwater marque as this . . . and of course my own private suite of rooms," Marc added, as if such an endeavor were unthinkable otherwise. "I refuse to share quarters with anyone of lesser rank and status. The staff must also be informed about the needs of my precious puss here. It wouldn't do for my pretty little Boots to go hungry while I'm working, now would it?" any in such a backwater marque as this . . . and of course my own private suite of rooms," Marc added, as if such an endeavor were unthinkable otherwise. "I refuse to share quarters with anyone of lesser rank and status. The staff must also be informed about the needs of my precious puss here. It wouldn't do for my pretty little Boots to go hungry while I'm working, now would it?"

Siona affected a purr as he kneaded the nape of her neck. It wasn't too difficult, since Baron Oger's mouth had sagged open under the impact of Marc's performance. Marc paused once more, sighed, and tossed his head again, bouncing his brown curls.

"Now, if you're done punishing this criminal, or whatever he is, I'd be deeply deeply obliged if you'd instruct the staff to prepare my rooms-unless this is some member of the staff and they're being unruly?" obliged if you'd instruct the staff to prepare my rooms-unless this is some member of the staff and they're being unruly?"

"They're all all being unruly." Shoving the farmer away, Baron Oger gestured behind him at the steps leading up from the courtyard into the manor house. Like most Gucheran n.o.ble homes, it was arranged in a square two stories high, ringed with arched balconies and centered around a garden courtyard shaded by trees and cooled by fountains. There was enough room on the flagstones directly in front of the wrought-iron entry gate to receive guests. Or to punish someone. The baron gestured for Marc to follow. "This way." being unruly." Shoving the farmer away, Baron Oger gestured behind him at the steps leading up from the courtyard into the manor house. Like most Gucheran n.o.ble homes, it was arranged in a square two stories high, ringed with arched balconies and centered around a garden courtyard shaded by trees and cooled by fountains. There was enough room on the flagstones directly in front of the wrought-iron entry gate to receive guests. Or to punish someone. The baron gestured for Marc to follow. "This way."

It didn't take long for a servant to show Marc to a guest suite on the second floor. Once there, and once his baggage had arrived from the coach hired to bring him to the manor, Marc warded the front room against scrying. Siona, set free to sniff around while they waited, joined him on the overstuffed cushions lining the wicker couch.

"Your a.s.sessment?" he asked quietly.

She squeaked and mrraurred mrraurred, and the collar they had crafted for her over the last two days translated her intentions in an approximation of her own voice. "This is bad bad. He'll beat them until they call him the Marquis of Calabas, but the entailment means they literally can't. Not the spellbound ones. The others, the freeholders, they can call him whatever they want, but the enslaved ones cannot lie."

"What if you you told them to lie?" Marc asked. told them to lie?" Marc asked.

She shook her head. "They can't. Unless there is an actual Marquis of Calabas . . . they can't. They can only say that someone is the marquessa, which would be me. Or the marquess if I were married . . . Ohhh Ohhh."

"Oh, what?" he asked. She blinked up at him and he reached over, scratching the top of her head. Siona enjoyed it for a moment, then pulled both her head and her mind back, concentrating on the business at hand.

"Well . . . if I got married married, then they could say there was a Marquis of Calabas. But . . . I still can't order them to lie to a government official. That's part of my own family's spellbound covenant with them, part of the things which ensure we'll never abuse our powers. Particularly that we will never abuse those powers and then try to conceal it from the law."

He mulled that over. "What about . . . if you ordered them to obey me me, and I I told them to lie?" told them to lie?"

"They wouldn't have cause to obey unless you were my husband. And even then . . . I don't know how much of the spellbinding on the Calabas line would affect a spouse's commands." Siona sighed and groomed her shoulder, thinking about it.

"What if I told them-or even if you told them-to seem seem as if they were addressing him as the Marquis of Calabas . . . so long as as if they were addressing him as the Marquis of Calabas . . . so long as I I was present and was your husband? You know, like the way how you can be looking directly at one person, but are actually talking to someone else?" was present and was your husband? You know, like the way how you can be looking directly at one person, but are actually talking to someone else?"

She paused in her grooming, tail tip twitching. "That . . . might work. Of course, it would require us to get married, but such things aren't irreversible. We could always get an annulment afterward."

Marc slowly shook his head. "No . . . I don't think so."

About to lick her paw and groom her face, Siona quirked her furry brows. "You don't think so? I know marriage is a bit extreme, but I'd really rather my people weren't beaten for something beyond their control."

"No, I meant an annulment would be out of the question, not the marriage itself." Reaching over, he scooped her up and cuddled her against his chest, putting their heads close together. His was large, brown, and curly; hers was small, black, and furry. Meeting her green gaze with his own, Marc quirked up the corner of his mouth. "You're a beautiful, intelligent woman, Boots. I'd have to have the willpower of a G.o.d to resist the thought of making love to you if I had the chance. As it is, I'm a young, healthy man, and you're a young, healthy woman. If If we marry . . . I'm afraid we'd have to get a divorce. I insist on having a wedding night. And any other following nights." we marry . . . I'm afraid we'd have to get a divorce. I insist on having a wedding night. And any other following nights."

She opened her mouth to mrrau mrrau in protest at him, only to have his fingertip lightly bop her on the nose. in protest at him, only to have his fingertip lightly bop her on the nose.

"Besides, how do we know I'll even count count as your husband, at least where the entailment spells are concerned, unless the marriage is first consummated? Hmm?" as your husband, at least where the entailment spells are concerned, unless the marriage is first consummated? Hmm?"

He had her there. Subsiding in his arms, Siona mulled it over. He isn't a bad catch, as far as husbands might go. He's not a messy roommate, and he did buy me a set of clothes to wear so I'm not stuck reshaping myself into nothing but my nightdress and boots. He's smart, and funny, and cute . . . and he smells nice He isn't a bad catch, as far as husbands might go. He's not a messy roommate, and he did buy me a set of clothes to wear so I'm not stuck reshaping myself into nothing but my nightdress and boots. He's smart, and funny, and cute . . . and he smells nice, she admitted. Plus he's rather good at finding all the right spots to scritch while I'm in this form. Hopefully that should translate into reasonably good skill as a lover . . . Plus he's rather good at finding all the right spots to scritch while I'm in this form. Hopefully that should translate into reasonably good skill as a lover . . .

Marc lifted his brows, waiting for a reply. Making up her mind, she nodded. "All right. We should probably do it in the manor chapel, too, as soon as possible. After supper. That is, presuming Priestess Selva hasn't been retired precipitously. She's one of the few surviving people within the marque who know I can take on a cat form. Just caution her not to say a certain spell-targeted name, to avoid catching the attention of Oger's wards, and we should be fine."

"Agreed. And if she can't do it, well, whoever is is there will just have to put up with my wedding my cat," Marc muttered, though he wrinkled his nose. there will just have to put up with my wedding my cat," Marc muttered, though he wrinkled his nose.

Cats, Siona discovered, could actually smirk. "I look forward to seeing you pull off that that."

THANKFULLY, the priestess was still there. She had almost turned them away, citing the need to continue preparing the bodies of other Calabas family members still in the process of being brought to the family crypt for interment, but she consented eventually. Namely after several surrept.i.tious, thoughtful looks at Siona, and Siona's own solemn nod upon the third viewing. Their sole witness was the young acolyte who served as Selva's altar boy. The youth stared with wide green eyes at the amulet-translated cat while "Boots" meow-spoke her vows but otherwise didn't comment.

Baron Oger confronted them not more than a minute after they left the chapel with the blessing of their patron G.o.d Cheren still dampening their brows in an oily blue dot. Or rather, he confronted Marc. He met them on the winding garden path leading through the back gardens to the rear entrance of the manor.

"I tried getting ahold of Her Majesty via scrying mirror," Oger growled, glaring down at the shorter man, "but it seems the dowager queen is currently experiencing a bout of religious fervor and is 'contemplating her life.' Which means I cannot ask her directly to confirm your presence here."

Marc tossed his hair and stroked the cat in his arms. "It's not my my fault her relatives have been dropping like day-flies. Her Majesty is probably busy confessing her sins and purging her guilts in the understandable effort to avoid spending part of her afterlife in a Netherh.e.l.l. Besides, I'm supposed to be here as an fault her relatives have been dropping like day-flies. Her Majesty is probably busy confessing her sins and purging her guilts in the understandable effort to avoid spending part of her afterlife in a Netherh.e.l.l. Besides, I'm supposed to be here as an independent independent investigator of the nature and status of the Calabas estate. It wouldn't do to connect me too strenuously with a potentially interested party." investigator of the nature and status of the Calabas estate. It wouldn't do to connect me too strenuously with a potentially interested party."

Out of the corner of her eye, Siona watched this languid, foppish version of the normally sane Arithmancer give the larger man a wink . . . and then purse his lips. Oger paled and backed up. Marc smirked and strolled past him for a few steps, then turned and spoke again.

"I'll need access to all books, scrolls, logs, journals, letters, receipts, and other forms of record-keeping bright and early tomorrow morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's been a terribly long day of traveling already, and I'll need to spend what is left of this evening preparing my mathemagics for the morrow's accountings." He paused, glanced around the lantern-lit shadows of the garden, then stepped close enough that Siona had to suppress a sneeze at the musky-sour scent of the baron's body odor. "If you have any specific specific instructions on what I should or shouldn't find . . . slip them under the door. I'll set up a catch spell to hold them confidential until I can attend to whatever you have in mind." instructions on what I should or shouldn't find . . . slip them under the door. I'll set up a catch spell to hold them confidential until I can attend to whatever you have in mind."

Baron Oger stepped back. His lip curled up. "Are you flirting flirting with me?" with me?"

"Hardly. I save all of my pa.s.sion for my sweet puss. Isn't that right, Boots?" Marc asked, lifting Siona and turning her so that he could nuzzle her face with his own. She licked his cheek above his beard, doing her best to look like an affectionate, pampered cat. Cuddling her to his chest, he gave the baron a superior smile. "I am, however, smart enough to seize an opportunity, or even just see the possibility for it. Particularly if there is some profit in it for me. I am am an Arithmancer . . . and manipulating money is just one more form of mathemagics, isn't it? an Arithmancer . . . and manipulating money is just one more form of mathemagics, isn't it?

"Sleep well, Your Excellency," Marc added over his shoulder as he turned back toward the manor. "I certainly intend to . . ."

AN hour later, as soon as the last chalk mark sealed most of their suite against any possible intrusion, physical or magical, Siona unfurled herself into her human form and smirked at her ersatz husband. "You are unbelievable. Whatever gave you the idea to act like are unbelievable. Whatever gave you the idea to act like that that around him? Did you want to risk having him throw us out?" around him? Did you want to risk having him throw us out?"

"It's a trick I learned from a cla.s.smate from my primary schooling years. Well, not a cla.s.smate, per se," Marc amended, putting his chalks back into their pockets on his satchel. He had marked all of the walls, plus the edges of the ceiling and the floor in shades of blue, white, pink, green, and silvery gray. "Eremen Gestus was an extraordinary eleven-year-old con artist. He would affect a brash, over-the-top personality to distract anyone and everyone around him during the luncheon break . . . and while we were all distracted, he would swap out bits of lunch brought by the others.

"Pocket breads, fruits, even baked sweets would end up in his his hands, if we weren't careful. And though many of us swore time and again we wouldn't let his antics distract us . . . sooner or later, his little theatrics and gestures would draw our attention away from guarding our sticky buns and our pasta bowls, and there would go a spoonful of this and a nibble of that into hands, if we weren't careful. And though many of us swore time and again we wouldn't let his antics distract us . . . sooner or later, his little theatrics and gestures would draw our attention away from guarding our sticky buns and our pasta bowls, and there would go a spoonful of this and a nibble of that into his his mouth, and down into mouth, and down into his his gullet." Wiping his hands on a rag taken from his satchel, Marc smiled wistfully. "It took me more than three months to realize he gullet." Wiping his hands on a rag taken from his satchel, Marc smiled wistfully. "It took me more than three months to realize he never never brought food of his own from home. I don't think his family had any to spare. Not and still afford to give him an education. brought food of his own from home. I don't think his family had any to spare. Not and still afford to give him an education.

"When I realized why he did it . . . I didn't begrudge him the way he cadged his meals, since it spared him his dignity. He went on to be quite famous-I'm sure you've heard of him, Gestus nii Vestas?"

"Gestus nii Vestas?" Siona repeated, startled. "The Magicless Wonder? The entertainer who has successfully challenged hundreds of mages to explain how he makes things appear and disappear without without any traces of magic? You grew up in the same school as him?" any traces of magic? You grew up in the same school as him?"

"Primary school only, since I went on to the Academy to learn real magic, and obviously he didn't follow, but yes. However However," he stated, moving close enough to cup her shoulders, clad as they were in the short-sleeved, short-cropped tunic he had bought for her to wear, along with the matching rose-pink skirt wrapped decorously around her hips, concealing her legs down to her ankles. "This is our wedding night, and I would rather you paid attention to me me, tonight."

Twisting, Siona double-checked the wards he had scribed. "Did you remember to ward against the pa.s.sage of excessive sounds, as well as intrusions and scryings?"

"That's what the pink runes are for." Sliding his hands from her shoulders to her back, he stroked along her spine, subtly tugging her closer.

When Siona looked back at him, he seized the opportunity to kiss her. His lips were sweet, warm, and slightly scratchy, thanks to his mustache and beard. They also grew on her rather quickly, coaxing her into responding with soft, savory nibbles. It had been a while since her last lover; she had forgotten how satisfying in and of itself a good kiss could be . . . and Marc was undeniably a good kisser.

By the time it ended, her lips stung a little from the scratching of his beard, but she didn't mind; his kisses were quite enjoyable. He had also loosened the ties of her blouse and had splayed his hands across her bared back. Siona smiled. "I take it you've done this before?"

"Just because I'm an Arithmancer doesn't mean I'm as pa.s.sionless as my numbers and formulae," Marc admonished. He smiled as he said it, rippling his fingers in a subtle ma.s.sage along either side of her spine, then sliding them down to the ties of her skirt. "Besides, I tutored Stasia Nicolmo in applied statistics and Geomancy in exchange for lessons on how to please a woman properly."

Siona wrinkled her nose, remembering the girl in question. "Stasia Nicolmo? But she looked like a . . ."

"As she she put it, since she never had the looks to catch and hold a man's attention, she always had to rely upon pure skill," Marc told her. "She exchanged tutoring lessons with at least five other cla.s.smates and managed to graduate with decent grades. Last I heard, she had moved west to Nightfall to work for some guild in the brand-new kingdom. put it, since she never had the looks to catch and hold a man's attention, she always had to rely upon pure skill," Marc told her. "She exchanged tutoring lessons with at least five other cla.s.smates and managed to graduate with decent grades. Last I heard, she had moved west to Nightfall to work for some guild in the brand-new kingdom.

"But enough about her," he added, drawing his hands around her waist. The action brought the ties of her skirt around as well, unwrapping the garment. "We need to focus on me and you."

Siona mock-frowned and tucked her hands around his waist, finding and tugging at the ties of his own trousers. "Not fair. If I have to get naked, so do you."

Marc grinned. "It'll be my pleasure."

I don't know why, Siona mused as she backed off, divesting herself of clothing and giving him the room to do the same, Siona mused as she backed off, divesting herself of clothing and giving him the room to do the same, but somehow, getting naked so I can make love to my but somehow, getting naked so I can make love to my husband husband, and not just a casual lover, is rather t.i.tillating. Illicit, even. Possibly because it's only temporary . . . but possibly because it is is a commitment. A legal right to pleasure. In other words, a commitment. A legal right to pleasure. In other words, she thought, moving back to run her fingers over the whorls of hair dusting his now naked chest, she thought, moving back to run her fingers over the whorls of hair dusting his now naked chest, mine, all mine. Acres and acres, and it's all mine . . . mine, all mine. Acres and acres, and it's all mine . . .

She paused and pulled back, looking down. His trousers had fallen, thanks to her own efforts, but while he was still wearing a loin wrap, it was the impediment to the removal of his trousers that had caught her attention. Smirking, she looked up at him. "Perhaps I should start calling you you 'Boots' as well?" 'Boots' as well?"

"Just for that, I'll make you remove them," he quipped. He shuffled over to the side of the bed, sat, and stuck out his feet, draped in a tangle of cloth and leather. Kneeling, Siona untangled his clothes and removed them, noting with approval the contraceptive amulet tied around his ankle. She crawled up onto his lap when she was done, meeting his lips even as she straddled his hips.

With each of them clad in a loin wrap and nothing else, she was free to touch almost anything she wanted. What she wanted to do most, she did: Siona ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. "Mmm . . . very very manly. Last time I saw you, Marc, well, you still looked like a boy. Young and hairless. But manly. Last time I saw you, Marc, well, you still looked like a boy. Young and hairless. But this this makes you look very much like a fully grown man. I like it." makes you look very much like a fully grown man. I like it."

Grinning, he lifted his palms to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, gently cupping the soft curves. She shivered when he rubbed his thumbs in slow circles around their peaks, and shivered again when he spoke. "Alas, I can't say the same, since you already had these these when I first saw you . . . but they're a when I first saw you . . . but they're a very very nice pair of these." nice pair of these."

She laughed, tilting her head back. Marc shifted, taking advantage of her bared throat. With the edges of his thumbs rubbing her nipples, he nuzzled and gently bit the exposed skin, feathering his teeth over her skin. The combination was simple, yet stunning, connecting not only her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to her throat, but her throat to her loins. Breath hissing in, she raked her fingers gently through the coa.r.s.e fuzz of his chest and tugged lightly on the strands.

Marc shivered under her. "Mmm . . . are you sure you didn't tutor Stasia in anything yourself ?"

That made her laugh a second time. "Maybe I'm just naturally talented. Or maybe I just prefer practicing on hairy men."

He pulled her close, pressing them together from pelvis to chest. Nipping at her ear, Marc growled, "Well, you're married to me me, now. For however long this marriage may last, I don't don't believe in sharing." believe in sharing."

That was t.i.tillating, too. Digging her fingers into his dark brown curls, Siona tipped his head back, baring his own throat to her lips. " was t.i.tillating, too. Digging her fingers into his dark brown curls, Siona tipped his head back, baring his own throat to her lips. "I don't believe in sharing when married, either." don't believe in sharing when married, either."

"Mmm, good," he murmured. "Then we're agreed . . . we'll have lots and lots of lovemaking together-and if we don't get it right, we'll just keep practicing until we do."

Chuckling, she nibbled on his ear. He growled again and nipped back, somehow finding a ticklish spot she hadn't known existed. Squirming, Siona fought back to nibble while avoiding being nibbled on in turn. Somewhere in there, their mouths met, this time for a much more heated kiss than before. Fingers buried in her long black curls, tipping her head this way and that, Marc kissed nearly every inch of her skin from brows to collarbone.

The pleased, hungry noises he made as he did so thrilled her. It had been a while since she'd had a lover, particularly one so enthusiastic. As the sole heir to Calabas-in the immediate family sense, before the odious baron began his killing spree-she had been caught up in learning how to manage the marque in a responsible, oath-sensitive manner. That hadn't left a lot of time for pursuing anything other than a casual romp. This wasn't a casual romp, though; for however long or short it lasted, they were were married. married.

Recapturing his mouth, Siona kissed him hungrily. She didn't know if or when Baron Oger might uncover their deception, or how long it might take to find evidence solid enough to prove his guilt, or how to deal with him once they did. It felt right to seize the moment with this man. With her husband.

Pushing him down onto the bed, Siona kissed her way down his chest, nuzzling her face into the crisp strands of his chest hair. Marc played with her curls, letting her be aggressive. She had to slip off the bed in order to kiss lower than mid-chest; by the time she did, the modest bulge in his loin wrap had formed a distinct ridge. Unbuckling the thong holding the wrap in place, she freed the spike of his flesh from the folds of cloth.

The reddened head was peeking out through its little cowl, encouraging her to gently grasp and stroke it. Marc sucked in a breath, lifting his hips into her touch. He reached for her hands, curling up a little so that he could tug on them. "Come up here on the bed. If you're going to play with me like that, I want to play with you, too."

She complied. He guided her into lying down diagonally on the bed, giving both of them enough room to stretch out past each other, heads to loins. Siona lifted her upper leg, bending her knee so she could brace it upright, but he didn't accept her silent invitation immediately. Instead, he leaned over her thighs and kissed their soft skin. Enjoying it, she returned the favor, exploring the differences between the smoother, nearly hairless expanse of his upper thighs versus the hairs scattered with increasing thickness over his lower legs.

His erection b.u.mped against her shoulder and throat. Gradually, the accidental brushes became more deliberate touches, until with hungry little moans of her own, she kissed her way from his sack to his spike and back. He returned her efforts by nuzzling his way into her folds, proving within moments that he had been well paid for his tutoring efforts. Siona enjoyed it thoroughly, until he murmured something she couldn't quite catch.

Lifting her mouth from his spike, she pushed up higher on her elbow and craned her neck. "What did you say?"

Beard glistening, Marc removed his head from between her thighs. He flashed her a grin. "Just a little spell I read about, a few years back. One One which I'm sure you'll enjoy." which I'm sure you'll enjoy."

The moment he said one one, her loins throbbed. It was a subtle vibration, but a distinct one. Blinking, Siona eyed him. "Did you just . . ."

"I am am an Arithmancer. Numbers are my specialty." Smirking, he paused, pursed his lips, and carefully enunciated, " an Arithmancer. Numbers are my specialty." Smirking, he paused, pursed his lips, and carefully enunciated, "Four."

The subtle thrumming became a distinct buzzing in her flesh. Siona gasped, hips bucking. Rolling onto her back, she squirmed in the attempt to escape, but she couldn't. It stayed with her, enervating her senses. "What did you . . . ?"

"What, don't you like that number? How about five five? Six? Six? " he asked. The tremors strengthened, spreading from the little peak at the top of her folds to the base of her spine, making her buck again in surprise. "Or would you prefer " he asked. The tremors strengthened, spreading from the little peak at the top of her folds to the base of her spine, making her buck again in surprise. "Or would you prefer three three?"