Hunger (3)

The Princess had actually fallen asleep. Mikhail was a little surprised by how quickly she had gone from impassioned and trembling beneath his hands to sleeping peacefully in his arms. It must have been the wine.

Most of what she had said and done must have been the wine, he assured himself.

It was a pity that he could not dismiss his own desire as easily as she did. The memory of her naked body spread out before him, her back arched, lips parted as her breath came in staggered gasps...that image was burned into his thoughts. He could close his eyes and see her clearly. It would certainly torment him for many nights to come.

The Princess flinched in her sleep, and her body tensed. He began to slowly rub her hip again and, after a moment, felt her body relax against his.

All of her ridiculous talk about bridges, he thought and scoffed. She didn't need to build a bridge to him. They were on the same side of the river. He would build the bridge, force her across it if he had to, and then burn it down behind her so that no one could follow her.

Of course, she was drunk when she said that. She was drunk when she reached for him. Drunk when she wrapped her legs around his waist. Drunk when she allowed him to run his finger down her wet, wet....

He groaned and tried to clear his head of impure thoughts- an impossible task with her small warm body pressed tightly against his own.

He shifted his weight, drawing away from her slightly, and in her sleep, as if sensing the space between them, the Princess scowled and moaned slightly.

"Ssssh," he soothed, running his hand lightly over her head, and smoothing her hair back from her face.

She was also drunk when she spoke of love. She had no real understanding of love. To her, love was the stoic Sir Aron always following two steps behind her sister. It was probably her father kissing her mother's cheek, or handing her a bouquet of flowers. It was poems and gentle smiles and hand holding.

Love, real love, was suffering disguised as a virtue. It was his mother kneeling and waiting for her death rather than running or fighting back. It was his mother closing her eyes, so that her murderer would not see the fear and disgust in them and remember that for the rest of his life instead of her tenderness. It was the words she spoke with her last breath that wounded and tore his heart even though they were meant to comfort.

Love was an excuse for obsession. It was a master you begged to serve. It was his father sacrificing his own people to gain his precious heir. It was going to war and taking a thousands lives to save one. It was twisting and bending yourself to serve that one person until you could no longer recognize yourself.

Love was a sword you willingly fell upon with a smile, and yes... yes... he certainly did love the girl. He felt the grip of that destructive emotion every time she glanced up at him with those startling blue-green eyes.

He would never tell her, even though there was a part of him that desperately wanted to acknowledge it-- to lie to the girl with sweet words, to bind her mercilessly to him, to hobble her so that she could not run from him. That part of him wanted her even knowing how it would end.

That part of him pushed even now, demanding that he at least satisfy his physical need for her. That he should pretend not to know that the Princess did not differentiate between love and desire. Reminding him that she was drunk, and might not remember anyhow.

Mikhail smiled bitterly to himself. He would stick to duty. He would pay what he owed to both Queen Ora and the child in the woods, and send this girl far away before the part of him that wanted her heart, could wrap its claws around the girl's slim neck and bring her down with him.

He knew now, without any doubt, that her blood was stronger than the blood used to make the Krovbond, but that did not mean that she could free either him or Ilya entirely. If he had to keep her close to gain his freedom from the Emperor, then it was not a solution at all. Ilya would be disappointed.

That was, of course, why his aide continually poked and prodded him to find any tender spot he could as far as the Princess was concerned. He saw the Princess as a key that might unlock the chains that bound him, and though he could not oppose his master's order to send the girl away, he was smart enough to know that encouraging Mikhail's obsession with her would achieve the same ends.

The Prince slowly freed his arm and sat up. The compulsion to hunt down the Blacksmith from Chelblade and kill him no longer caused him any physical pain. It was there in his head still, a thought or desire that lingered, but it had no power over him.

He would still have to do it. The Emperor should never be given a reason to doubt his brother's loyalty-- not until the end.

He would need to get up soon and find a shirt. He needed to find Ilya, and send a servant for new clothing for the Princess, and send for his troops, but right now... right now... the girl was trembling in her sleep. Right now, her hand twitched as if she were searching for something. Right now, he could pull her close again and press his lips against the top of her head and breathe her scent in and soothe her fears, and she would never have to know.

The part of him that wanted her no matter the cost was terribly cunning.

He sat up quickly and shook his head as if to clear it of all thoughts. The Princess drew no line between her heart and body. Now that he knew it, he would have to be careful in the future.

Prince Mikhail stood quickly, and left the sitting room without even a last glance at the girl's fitfully slumbering form.

With any luck, Ilya would be nearby. He did not relish the idea of walking through the Tavern without a shirt.

He opened the door of the dining room and quickly surveyed the hall beyond. As he had hoped, Ilya leaned against the wall opposite of their private dining room. He glanced up as he heard the door open.

"I'll need a clean tunic and my cloak," he greeted his aide.

"Is that an order?" Ilya sneered.

He was angry. Of course he was angry. Mikhail seldom used the Krovbond to command his servant. He knew better than anyone else how infuriating it was to not have control over your own body. Still, Ilya had been completely out of line, and he surely knew it.

"I can make it an order," Mikhail threatened.

Ilya looked him up and down lazily and then smirked to himself.

Mikhail knew without being told what he was thinking.

"No need," Ilya assured him. "I will fetch your clothing. I assume the Princess will need-"

"Yes, something to wear," Mikhail cut him off. "And send a missive to Napolanva. Have a few men ride north to meet you on the road. You will escort the Princess to Napolanva and wait there for my return."

"You're going north to find the blacksmith?" Ilya guessed.

"Yes," Mikhail answered quickly.

"You still feel compelled to-"

"No, I go only to stop a loose tongue from wagging. The Emperor has eyes and ears everywhere."

"And the Princess?" Ilya asked.

"Sleeping for now. I mean to leave before she wakes," Mikhail informed him.

"If you leave after whatever it is that just happened in there, she will be very unhappy when she does wake,"lya warned him.

Yes, she would be angry... and she would probably feel unwell after drinking so much wine. He wanted to stay and see the girl's embarrassed face and hear her explanation of what had happened between them.

"That will be your problem to deal with," Mikail shrugged.

"Reconsider, my Prince. I fear that I have already proved my incompetance as an escort. The girl has escaped me once before, " Ilya reminded him.

"See that it doesn't happen again," Mikhail suggested.

"She will be angry with you as well," Ilya continued.

"The Princess's moods do not concern me," the Prince lied. "Now do as I say!"

"She will curse you. Women hate it when you leave too soon after and--"

"I did not ask you for your thoughts on this matter! Still your tongue!" Mikhail snapped.

Ilya glared at him but turned to leave.

"If you see the serving girl, send her back. A glass was broken," Mikhail called after him.

With Ilya assigned his tasks, Mikhail had only to wait. Hopefully, he would be gone before the Princess woke.