She had the wolves and Danoh, of course. But the dagger meant Yvenne could see to her own safety, and she hadn’t felt that particular pleasure since Ran Ashev had given her a bow.
Loosing the arrow that killed her eldest brother had been a greater pleasure still.
But that memory was followed by unhappy ones Yvenne had no wish to revisit. Clutching the edges of her cloak tight over her chest, she drew back the curtain. Danoh had tossed her furs onto the floor beside the entrance but had not bedded down yet. Instead she was examining the chamber’s corners and checking the shutters—even looking up into the rafters—just as Fassad had done to judge the security of the room. Her gaze slid past Yvenne and the curtain, landing on the dogs.
“Fassad has gone to the stables,” Danoh told her.
Instead of remaining outside the door. “Should I send the wolves after him?”
She shrugged. “If you wish. I am protection enough. But if they are not beside your bed, I prefer you keep the curtain open.”
Though Maddek would come to the bed—and anyone in the chamber might know how Yvenne saw to his need. Not that a curtain would prevent them from hearing. And not that they had greater privacy in his furs each evening. The only privacy they truly had was the custom of turning away eyes. But it all seemed more intimate within the chamber instead of a camp under the open sky.
Cheeks hot, she said, “I would keep the wolves here.”
Danoh grunted, as if the answer did not affect her one way or another. “Do you wish to keep this lamp lit?”
“No.”
The warrior extinguished the flame. By the flickering light from the hearth, Yvenne drew the curtains, then wrapped her cloak closely around her body before lying on the bed.
The barrier provided by the curtain looked more uncertain in the dark. Between the panels of fabric, narrow swaths of the chamber were visible. The glow from the fire fell upon the leg of a table, across the wooden floor, and over Danoh’s bare foot.
Yvenne closed her eyes. Maddek had said he would wake her when he came to bed. She doubted sleep would come before he did, however. Not with her heart thudding as it was, as if her blood ran slow and thick through her veins. Every breath felt heavy and her skin as hot as if she were still in the bath. Anticipation was a low burn, a warmth that heightened and tightened every time she pictured the way he looked at her with dark eyes full of fire and hunger.
Her heart gave a wild thump as the door latch slid back. Her eyes flew open, her body tense.
Hushed laughter accompanied the shuffling of feet. Abruptly it quieted, followed by whispers and more laughter. A table leg screeched against the floor, as if someone had stumbled into it. Silence fell, then was broken by a woman’s muffled giggles.
Sarus, the barmaid—who was between Ardyl and Kelir. In the dark, Yvenne could not be certain whose hands and whose mouth were currently upon the maid’s waist and neck, though both warriors seemed determined to put their hands and mouths everywhere.
But she was certain Maddek was not tangled up with them.
She sat up. “Kelir?”
Sudden quiet. Then, “Did we wake you, my lady?”
From her spot by the door, a soft grunt from Danoh sounded like a curse and answer, all in one.
But matters more urgent than her sleep concerned Yvenne. “Who is guarding Maddek?”
Fassad had gone to the stables. Toric and Banek had also planned to sleep there, watching over the horses. If they had already gone to bed, then none of the Dragon was left to protect Maddek.
“He drinks with the Gogean soldiers,” Kelir said. “Toric is still with him.”
Drinking with the Gogean soldiers. She had suggested to Maddek that he speak with the Gogeans to learn the truth of their situation. It seemed he had followed her advice.
“Thank you.” She hesitated before adding, “You may carry on now, if you wish to.”
Over Ardyl’s muffled snicker, Kelir solemnly replied, “I do wish to, my lady. Thank you.”
Eyes closed and determined to ignore the activity on the other side of the curtain, Yvenne lay back again.
Sarus’s sharp gasp—as if made in pain—had her eyes flying open again. Were they hurting her? Half afraid of what she might see, Yvenne peered through the slit between the curtain panels and could not at first make out the scene taking place on Kelir’s furs. There seemed too many legs and arms and hands. Then the glint of firelight on Ardyl’s piercings allowed her to orient limbs and assign them to their owners.
Sarus straddled Kelir’s lap, her back to his chest. His big hands cupped her breasts and he kissed the length of her arched neck. Ardyl’s face was buried between the barmaid’s spread thighs.
Oh. It was not a pained gasp that she’d heard.
Prickles of awareness racing across her skin, Yvenne watched as Sarus bit her lip, her back bowing. Kelir’s rough murmur reached her ears, too low to make out the words, but Sarus suddenly gave a breathless laugh and Ardyl lifted her head to grin up at him.
Her heart suddenly full and tight, Yvenne closed stinging eyes. So this was what her mother had spoken of. Queen Vyssen had reassured Yvenne that usually relations between lovers were unlike those between Zhalen and her mother. Always Yvenne had been sent behind the screen when her father came to the queen’s bed, and she held hands over her ears as instructed, but still she heard his cruel and mocking voice. Still she heard the slap of skin and thud of flesh. Her mother never cried out. Never. But by the sounds, Yvenne had known Zhalen hurt her.
Still, her mother had told Yvenne not to fear. That they would never choose a husband who was brutal as her father was. That they would never choose a husband who hurt her, but one who could please his partner in bed.
And although Yvenne had believed her mother, she had not known what pleasure truly looked like. Not until this moment, seeing Ardyl and Kelir and Sarus smile and laugh and gasp.
Would Maddek taste her as Ardyl tasted the barmaid?
The moment Yvenne imagined it, an ache centered deep and low inside her. Stifling a groan, she curled forward in the bed, clamping her hands between her thighs.
But Maddek would not be as Ardyl was. Because try as she might, Yvenne could not picture her would-be husband smiling and laughing as he licked her cunt. Instead his expression would be fierce, his dark gaze hot and hungry and intense.
Oh, she would die from imagining it. Trapped between her thighs, her fingers were drowning in her need, yet no matter how tightly she squeezed her legs the ache only deepened.
She had felt warmth and pleasure while touching Maddek before. While thinking of him. But this.
By Hanan, this need would kill her. And if Maddek felt the same degree, she knew not how he refrained from demanding she ease his arousal every night.