Authors: Dara Joy
Rital of Proof (20 page)
Green collapsed over him.
Jorlan took deep breaths, trying to regain his equilibrium.
What had happened to him?
He had set out to show her something about himself. He had ended up falling prey to his own revelation. That worried him. He could still smell the scent of her; it was all over him now and he knew in his heart it would always be over him.
He sighed against her, even now loving the texture of her rubbing against his face.
Green slid down the length of him until his lips pressed into her throat.
She circled her arms around his head, burrowing her face into his hair. Her warm breaths teased him as she tried to regain her normal breathing.
"Are you all right, Green?" he drawled huskily. His hand idly stroked her back, simply enjoying the sensation of touching her. The gesture was somewhat possessive.
She shook her head, still stunned by his actions. "Men are not generally so aggressive," she panted unevenly.
"You did not seem to object to it, as I recall."
She laughed softly. "Oh, I objected all right, you simply chose to ignore it."
He nipped the side of her jaw playfully. "I know." He grinned, nibbling on her cheek.
"Mmm. I probably should caution you—"
"It won't do any good," he revealed truthfully.
"Probably not." She smiled sleepily. "And right now I am too tired to instruct you on proper deportment."
He laughed. "If you were interested in proper deportment, you would not have taken me as your name-bearer."
"Got that figured out,
hmm?
She yawned and began to drift off.
"Yes, I have that figured out," he whispered. Green mumbled something incoherent, falling into a deep slumber on top of him.
"Among other things," he murmured enigmatically.
The only response was a gentle snuffle.
Jorlan drifted off to sleep, having no idea that he had flaunted every convention of society on his first fastening night.
The next morning, Green would begin to have concerns about the wild side of his nature.
Jorlan awoke perfectly.
He felt a complete warmth nestled in the soft coverlet. An unbelievable sense of comfort pervaded every cell in his body and he couldn't recall ever waking up feeling this wonderful.
His eyes still hadn't opened, but a small, satisfied smirk curved his firm lips. Residual aftereffect of being well used and well pleasured.
Green.
His name-giver had cuddled into him as they slept. She had held him to her all night. Again, making him feel cherished and not simply a commodity for her bed.
Once he had awakened to her kissing his throat while she slept, her hands skimming down his sleep-warmed sides. He had whispered something to her then—he had no idea what—and she had whispered something back.
He thought she might have murmured, "I know... ," but he couldn't really be sure. She had fallen back asleep then.
He had, too.
Jorlan stretched languidly on the silken sheets. He was enticingly erect; it seemed he had been so all night. The slight scrape of Ramagi cloth against his swollen member was sheer torture.
His thoughts went to the previous night. The experience had been incredible to him. Utterly overwhelming. Surely, he would not have experienced this with anyone else. He remembered Green's tiny cries, her deep-throated moans. The beguiling sounds made him want her more and more. The feel of her and then the
taste
of her...
With a low groan he turned onto his side. If he rubbed against her as if he were still asleep, maybe she would turn to him and—
His hand stretched out across the sheet as if by accident.
The place was empty.
He blinked and opened his eyes.
She must have already gotten up. He scowled, strangely hurt that she hadn't stayed with him.
He glanced down his length and scowled again.
This was the horrible affliction his training master had warned him about when he was being disciplined for the fastening bed. His master said that the frequency of the dilemma would increase with use, yet the more relief he was given, the more he would probably desire the affliction.
He said it was called Male Tragedy Paradox.
Jorlan sighed mournfully.
All he had to do was think Green's name, hear her voice, remember her touch and how it assailed him. He inhaled deeply, beginning the grounding meditation of the Gle Kiang-ten. Few could master the technique, but it had always come naturally to him. The discipline emptied the mind and channeled his root energy back into Forus.
Just as he was reaching total calm, the door to the chamber burst open.
"Up at last, are you? And its about time, too!" An elderly woman with a slightly maniacal look about her bustled into the room carrying a tray laden with food. She was followed by another woman, also somewhat elderly but with a more solemn look to her.
"Now don't be getting use to this! The Lordene had this sent up to you today. Said she wanted to be sure you awoke to a hearty meal. She'll be spoiling you if you ask me!"
Jorlan sat up in bed. The sheet fell to his waist. With his disheveled hair and sleepy-eyed look, the new Marqueller was quite a sight to behold against all that Ramagi silk. Both women gawked.
"Who is asking you?" he drawled, smiling slowly. He ached all over but he had never felt so
good
inside!
Avatar snorted. Down in the Southern Regions, where she was from, it never hurt for a man to have a bit of the juice in his belly—especially between the sheets.
"Troublesome snap-branch! None of your rut-bid, now." Mathers plopped the tray squarely on his lap.
Jorlan tried not to wince.
"And in case you forgot, I'm Mathers and this here is Avatar. I'm the Marquelle's majordoma." She puffed up her sagging chest to a formidable display. "I don't normally deliver dining trays so don't get any fancy notions!"
As if he would dare.
Jorlan viewed the tempting tray. It was laden with all manner of delicacies from snogglehound pudding (which wasn't really made of snogglehounds, the beasts just had a fondness for it) to baked lumpies. His favorite morning hukka biscuit was there and a small pot of Dreamtree jam. A little pitcher of cool fuzzle-muzzle cream sat beside a hot pot of sunpod tea. Someone had thoughtfully placed a magnificent aqua roseyal bloom in a bud vase for him.
"Yes, it was herself." Mathers gleefully informed him. "The Marquelle seems to have developed a fondness for that green-blue color these days. Must have pleased her well and good."
"My Lordene couldn't stop smiling and humming silly tunes this morning." Avatar added, a knowing leer on her face.
Jorlan's cheekbones bronzed.
Both women laughed uproariously.
He gave them an odd look. He wasn't sure what they found so humorous, but it was obvious that they adored the Marquelle. She was rather adorable, he supposed. Especially when she viewed him with that forbearing, exasperated expression. He grinned at the memory of it. Yes, sometimes he enjoyed putting that look on the Marquelle's face. Of course, sometimes he didn't intend to—it just happened.
"He's smitten," Mathers whispered loudly behind her hand to the other woman.
"And why shouldn't he be? He got the best name-giver in all of OneNation! Go on, then, lad, eat." The one called Avatar motioned to him.
"You must be famished, eh?" Mathers elbowed Avatar in the side with a leering wink. A dimple curved into Jorlan's cheek.
They all laughed.
Jorlan dived into the food, devouring it with a hearty appetite. The two women just stood there staring at him. Midway between a spoonful of lumpies, he paused in question. "Why are you two staring at me like that?"
The women seemed uncomfortable then.
Avatar cleared her throat; Mathers pulled out a white rag from her back pocket and began sweeping at nonexistent lint on the nearby tabletop.
Jorlan arched his brow. "Well?"
"Beggin' your pardon, Marqueller, it's just that we've never seen anyone as beautiful as you up close and bare as a side of tasteslikerooster."
Avatar elbowed her sharply in the side.
She coughed. "Beneath the coverlet, that is. Cybella help us, but we're women! We've got imaginations, you know."
His mouth parted in shock. What was he to say to that? "Oh."
He quickly went back to polishing off his tray, doing his best to ignore the goggling servants. Was it going to be like this every day? He didn't think he was going to like being stared at as if he were a ripe balum fruit.
"Ah, did Green, I mean, the Marquelle, have her morning meal yet?"
"Oh, lad, she's been up for ages!" Avatar waved her hand. "It's past the midday."
"Is it?" He glanced out the window, surprised to see the high angle of the sun along with the rising Arkeus. He had never lost sense of the day before. He chocked it off to his extraordinary, sensual night. Somehow it must have impaired his internal cadence.
"Mathers will draw you a fresh bubble-pool and lay out some clothes for you. The Marquelle apologizes for not having a personal man for you yet. Would you like Opper to come and assist you again?"
Jorlan's lips firmed. "No."
"I don't blame you," Avatar concurred. "He is something of a nog-twist."
"Snip-butt," Jorlan and Mathers simultaneously intoned under their breaths.
Surprised, they grinned at each other.
"You'll do, lad." Mathers gave her stamp of approval. "I can see you're a man who likes to get creative with the language—just like old Mathers."
Avatar harrumphed. "Don't be teaching him any of your foul-tongue ways, Mathers. He's a gently reared lad. The Marquelle will have your head."
Jorlan and Mathers beamed at each other. One promising, one daring.
Avatar rolled her eyes. "When you're finished we'll take the tray. The Marquelle is waiting for you out by the coops at the rear of the house. I think she has a surprise for you." She winked at him.
"A surprise?" He was not sure he liked surprises. He had enough of surprises these past few weeks. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What kind of a surprise?"
"Ooo, look at that expression of distrust in his face! It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?" Mathers crowed.
Avatar frowned at her. "You'll find our Mathers has a strange sense of the world. We all suggest you don't adopt it. As for the surprise, you'll find out soon enough—that's what a surprise is, in case you don't know." With that she took the tray from his lap, hooked Mathers's elbow, and dragged her out of the room.
At the door, Mathers turned around to give Jorlan the "ain't she a tight one" hand sign: thumb and index finger joined in a circle with the three middle fingers fisted downward.
Jorlan chuckled huskily as they closed the door.
He shook his head. They were quite different from his grandmother's servants. Although he liked
This entire household was very different from the Duchene's.
Still, he was shocked to feel a sudden, deep pang of homesickness.
He shrugged it off, refusing to acknowledge it. Life in the Duchene's house had not been easy for him. While his grandmother had treated him with the utmost love and devotion, due to her high position in society and his eligibility to the Slice, she was generally forced to hide him from view until he came of bid age.
Jorlan's extraordinary looks and position made him vulnerable to every swagger looking to improve her station. The Duchene could not take the risk that a woman would try to coerce or lure him to impropriety. So, he had been forced to lead a secluded life.
Well, that portion of his life was over now. He was a fastened man.
Jorlan wondered for the first time what freedoms would come with his new status. Surely more than he had enjoyed in the past?
Exhaling, he threw off the coverlet and padded nude across the carpet. He stood in front of a large, ornate mirastone on the far wall of the bed chamber. His gaze scanned the length of his naked body.
Except for the loss of his veil, he didn't look any different. At least, not to his eyes. Would women be able to look at him and
know
that he was no longer a veil?
Somehow, he thought they might.
Jorlan strolled around the balum hedges by the front of the coops.
The bushes were adorned with the tiny infamous fruits that made their way onto almost every table of the Select Quarter. The oval-shaped, sweet balums were believed to endow one with prolonged physical stamina. The Slice was mad for them.
As he passed by the thick row of plantings he snapped a ripe fruit off one of the branches.
