“So?” Rea couldn’t believe she had finally worked up the courage to do this. Her heart was stuck in her throat, and her face felt like it was on fire. She was sitting on the general’s lap, straddling him, one arm resting on his shoulder for support. Her face was a hair’s breadth away from his. If he refused her now, it would deal a devastating blow to her heart.
Inside the inn where they hurriedly requested a room—just one that time—they were finally alone. The bed beckoned, pulled them toward it like a magnet. Up close, the general was irresistible, his perfect features radiant. Rea kissed the tip of his nose.
“Proceed,” he said, cupping her bottom squeezing it playfully.” She closed her eyes, rested her head on his shoulder, and enveloped him with her arms.
“I love you, too, general. And I’ll show you proof.”
Sebestyén
Rea’s shadow shifted in front of him. Peeling back the sleeve of her gown, she exposed the entire length of her arm. It didn’t stop there; she unlaced her bodice and bared her shoulders which were imprinted with various tattoos. It was mesmerizing. Beautiful. Enchanting. As the bodice fell away from her, her breasts spilled out, two perfect mounds with hard tips.
Heat coursed through his belly. All he wanted to do was bury his head in the crook of her neck and revel in feel of her skin against his. His mind, usually so quick to decide, became paralyzed by indecision. Part of him nagged his eyes to look away from the indecent display while another, far more adamant part of him didn’t want to stop looking.
She was right. He was becoming more and more certain of one thing: that he loved that woman. She was confident, brave, uninhibited and when he was with her, she made him wild with passion and bold enough to follow his heart, too.
“An Alisian woman would never be so brazen,” he remarked. “Not that I’m complaining about the view.”
“Don’t compare me to an Alisian woman,” Rea said. “I’m not one.”
“I didn’t imply—” His lips lost their power to move when her fingertip met the delicate curve of her collarbone and she traced over a complicated red snake that coiled over her shoulder all the way down her arm to her wrist.
“What’s that one? I can’t remember you ever mentioned a snake tattoo during our lessons.”
“Irvana,” she said. “The snake of spirit connection. All Suveri have this tattoo. It’s the first one we get to remind us of our identity and our connection to our family. Once inked, Irvana dwells within the souls of every Suveri, always protecting us and making sure that all our lives, we remain bound to each other in spirit.”
“That’s an interesting fable. I presume the tattoo is imbued with some kind of soul-binding magic?”
Rea shook her head. “It’s not a magical tattoo. Bonds can’t be forged by magic. Physically, it’s a simple drawing on the arm. But spiritually, it’s an eternal promise made to each other, to treat each other as family whenever we may happen to meet.”
“Can anyone with the tattoo become family?”
“Yes.”
“What if I got one?” Sebestyén questioned. A restless wave of emotions pushed at his ribcage. A nebulous darkness whispered at the edge of his consciousness. He wanted her to be his family. Wanted her tattooed in his life, tattooed on his chest, bound to him in every possible way so no one could ever separate them again.
“Family is a serious obligation, general. You can’t have one family with your Alisian girl and one with the Suveri. That’d be dishonest. You must choose.”
Indeed. That was the root of the problem. He didn’t know what to choose. A life under the stars with nothing but the woman he loved or a life where he could realize his ambitions and dreams, a life where he could make a difference even if that meant he’d have to give up the love of his life.
“Come here. Let me finish unclothing you,” he said, restless to do something—anything—to keep his mind away from the dilemma shadowing his future. She obeyed. He pushed her onto the bed, on her back, tearing away the rest of her garments one by one like a savage man. Her eyes widened, then a grin curved at her lips.
Sebestyén forgot where his hands were supposed to be. Her smile was a slice of heaven glittering in front of his mortal eyes.
Rea drew him into her arms pressing his face against her bare breasts. He relished their softness. Sticking out his tongue, he teased the hard bud of her nipples. She tasted like honey, her sweetness pouring into the cracks of his heart and closing the wounds he carried since the war.
Sebestyén came up for a long breath and used the interval to dispense with his shirt. Rea’s hands roamed his chest greedily, her tongue returning the favor he’d just bestowed on her. It was exquisite. Intimacy wasn’t foreign to him, though it was something he avoided for so long, it might as well be. With Rea, nakedness didn’t feel embarrassing or labored or dirty. It felt divine. Like ‘certainty’, like ‘proof’.
He dipped his finger into her wet, swollen folds, pleasuring her until she writhed in his arms. Every sound, every moan she released, he wanted to bottle and keep with him forever.
She raised her head, kissed him, and dragged him under her enchantment. He was so drunk on her, his every sense wrapped in her, that he couldn’t wait to come with her. If only he could get rid of his breeches. Thankfully, Rea helped him, her tiny, industrious fingers pulling the garment away. And then he was as naked as she was. Even when he’d gotten the crown he hadn’t felt as powerful than he did at that moment. His true nature was stripped bare. And the eyes that saw it were filled with appreciation.
“Come into me,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“This one time, give me everything.”
Her words undid him. He pushed into her, eager, on the verge of shattering.
She took him easily. That wasn’t her first time. He’d always suspected she wasn’t a virgin, given how free the Suveri were with affection. Right now, he was grateful that there were no additional resistances to overcome to get to her core.
Breathless, then breathing hard, they panted against each other, him thrusting and grinding and pulling and pushing. And her pleasuring him beyond his wildest imagination. Giving him an ecstasy so heady, he lost his entire being to her, heart, soul and body.
The climax vanquished all his doubts. This was union. This was ecstasy. This was a bond so sacred not even time and distance could sever it.
This was love.
Sebestyén woke from his nap sometime the next morning and the first thing he saw was Rea stirring a glowing, blue liquid in a tiny cup. Sadly, she wasn’t naked anymore. She’d dressed herself in a baggy, outdated dress. He made a mental note to buy her better clothes.
“Are those…?” he started.
“It’s a dye I made from glowing blossoms,” she said.
“Where did you find glowing blossoms in here?” he asked.
She opened the window of their room. Bright sunlight raced in like a dozen arrows, each ray hitting his eye with devilish precision. Through the blinding light, Sebestyén noticed the warm, blue glow of something else. Flowers. Tiny blue flowers clinging to a branch that stooped into the room through the window. A petal fell onto the floor.