Selected for Sport Ch. 15

Asmir panted into the plaster, heart pounding. His forehead ached where it was jammed into the edge of his peephole but he barely noticed, transfixed by the wide, moist blue eyes of the Tahl-maia as her beautiful face jerked repeatedly into his line of vision. Those luscious lips drew his gaze, her breathless gasps punctuated by almost incoherent sobs of, "Gentler! Please! My lord!"

He could see no more this time, but his mind burned with the glimpse he had once had of her naked, panting on her back on the concovation table when he had brought the Tahl tea. Her begging now was lost in a rising moan when the speed of the harsh, rhythmic slap of hips to buttocks increased despite her plea, the masculine grunts of pleasure echoing Asmir's flying hand beneath his robe and hammering heart.

The grunts were louder, rising towards triumphant to drown the soft, smothered chokes of "No! Please! No!" from the girl, when minutes later Asmir straightened himself on a long sigh, swiftly washing and wiping clean in the spare bowl and towel he brought for this purpose. Composing his features, he picked up his service tray and stepped soundlessly around the corner and along the last few yards of the tiny corridor buried between two walls, halting beside the guard poised outside the hidden doorway into the small withdrawing room where the Tahl was currently enjoying his bride. He could see nothing through the peephole here, but knew from the staccato grunts of his ruler that he must be ready. The Tahl no longer rested even a little after finishing in this one, dismissing her instantly after he had slaked his lust.

Slaked for a while, but never wholly assuaged. And no wonder, with a body like that at his beck and call. Asmir felt the tingle of lust reawakening while his mind flickered over the glimpses of the Tahl-maia he had seen in the three days since her apology. The sweat-drenched, golden skin and beautiful, trembling curves, limp with exhaustion wherever the Tahl was done playing with her -- and he was obviously making up for lost time after ignoring her all those weeks.

A favourite memory rose: her slumped on her knees on the floor with her arms tied behind her, the drenched, woebegone blue eyes above wet cheeks and parted lips, heaving breasts bewitching under the almost transparent silk while she had fought to regain her breath. That had been her third summons that day, and despite all the begging she had still not been taken between the thighs and allowed to reach that long scream of pleasure which had used to punctuate each encounter. It was a foolish woman who sought to rule their Tahl. Thank the gods the emperor had recovered from his strange diffidence and was now ruthless in reminding her of her place.

The high, wordless cry echoing from the room reminded Asmir that the Great Tahl sometimes still took his pleasure in a way that would pleasure his bride. The servant fought down the fire tingling in his blood, trying to ignore the way his cock pulsed at the harsh snarl of pleasure which echoed the girl's cry, shudderingly aware of the motionless bulk of the warrior poised beside him. Did the personal guards feel nothing?

Trembling, Alanna rolled off the sofa, landing on all fours beside the short, carved legs. Hoarsely gulping, trying to draw breath back into her screaming lungs, she huddled against the silk, limb shuddering, while Xanir strolled away, readjusting his clothing. He hadn't even undressed. Hastily Alanna clutched her untied bodice up to her chest when he spoke to the servant who appeared in the doorway bearing a tray with an urn of tea beside a steaming bowl of water, soap, and towel.

Wiping her eyes, they landed on the crumpled scrap of the undergarment she had used to support and enhance her cleavage, and widened. Her women had advised her not to wear it, and as they had predicted her husband had ripped it off in disgust without even looking. Swallowing, she reached for it.

"Leave that!"

Her hand jerked back at the harsh tone, and tears sprang automatically to her eyes. Damn her oversensitive tear ducts. Her mind whirled. He wasn't touching her. So he meant it.

Alanna swallowed again when the servant's eyes rested on her flushed face, and she turned it into the silk, sternly smothering the desire to smile. The servant, the lords she passed in the corridors, the concubines -- they were all so smug, relieved, delighted that Xanir no longer listened to a word she said and treated her with harsh, unrelenting lust, no tenderness. Although the concubines weren't so happy about the frequency.

No-one knew what he had whispered in her ear that first time he had summoned her after the garden, the elaborate game of opposites that they had been playing whenever he touched her. It had been so hard at first to remember through the haze of lust, and she had begged him to thrust harder, only to be furiously disappointed when his pace had immediately slackened. Now screaming, "No!" and "Softer!" and having him do the exact opposite sent her desire skyrocketing. There were times when as soon as he touched her she begged him not to take her throat again. She didn't know why she loved kneeling before him so much while he used her mouth; even the ache of dissatisfaction between her thighs was a strange pleasure, knowing from the tightness of his fingers in her hair and speed of his thrusts how much he loved her in that position also. She also strangely loved that today he had ignored her plea, making her scream in fulfilment when her slick passage had melted around him.

"Another," Xanir ordered, holding out his empty teacup, and the man busied himself with his task.

But sometimes this backwards, tortuous communication was frustrating. Heart pounding, while he was joking with the servitor, attention elsewhere, Alanna sneaked a trembling hand out to gather up the brasserie. An exclamation of stifled anger, and her eyes jumped to meet his as he bore down on her in fury.

"What did I tell you?"

The flashing black eyes flickered at the desperate message she was trying to convey with hers, and he yanked the material out of her grasp, stuffing it into his sash. "You don't need padding, princess. Let me show you."

His grip was gentle despite the firmness with which he hauled her to her feet, and then he was behind her, leaning her trembling figure back against his hard frame, hauling her hands up to clasp them together behind her head. She shuddered at the exposure.

"Eye on the floor!" Xanir snapped, and the gaping servant hastily dropped his mesmerised gaze from her naked breasts, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the carpet where he remained, motionless except for the tremble to his frame.

Xanir looped the halter tie of the bodice of her dress tight around her wrists and tied them at her nape, elbows bent to the ceiling, the thin material plastered taut to every line. Her flush was burning almost painfully while her husband leaned in close and nipped her ear, growling fiercely, "You do as I say."

"I -. My lord," gulped Alanna on a whisper, trying to find words to explain while his hands carefully smoothed the fine silk which flattened her breasts to her chest, tweaking the hard buds with to punctuate each fierce phrase: "Exactly as I say. No less. No more."

She trembled. She knew there had been some risk in what she had done, but so very little, and despite the amazing sex she was miserable. She had had no contact with him. The real him. Three days! "My lord, please -." Her voice was hoarse.

"Bethesda will release you," Xanir cut across her, stepping away so abruptly she swayed. "Perhaps this will remind you of your duty of obedience. And do not even try to wear such a garment again." Her eyes flew to his stern, fierce face and she blanched when he clapped his hands briskly.

Not like this! Please, Xanir.

His eyes were cold, and he gestured for her guards to take her away.

The tears were sparkling on her cheeks when a moment later she was escorted past the avid eyes of the courtiers outside the door. Damn it, why did his displeasure make her cry?

***

"By Rihma," breathed Em Feliz reverently that evening in Xanir's chambers, poring over the mosaic of line drawings painted on the folded silk which had padded out the Tahl-maia's bra. His eyebrows snapped together when his eyes dropped to one of the sketches. "What is Mika whispering to Faisal?"

"Yes, I noticed that," murmured Xanir, moving away, savouring a sip of wine. His face darkened when he considered his bride's haphazard method of getting these dangerously informative sketches to him. Her breast halter could easily have been left for a servant. And anyone may have seen her sketch -- no, she was not to do this again. Hopefully he had made that crystal clear. No. He must ensure she learned.

"Stop scowling," said his brother, stepping forward to draw the pictures towards himself, ignoring the spymaster's stifled protest. "That picture alone is worth its weight in gold. They have spent so long establishing their standoff of mutual contempt..."

"Which you never trusted."

"... yet here they are, heads together like sword-sworn."

"Limaq reports he saw them parting in that doorway," Em Feliz chimed in.

The older prince's eyes were deep, pondering, while he indicated the silk stretched out on the low table in mute reply.

"She can only have seen them that way for a moment," growled Xanir.

"Yet every line is perfect. That is a remarkable talent."

The Tahl knocked back the last of his wine and flopped down beside his cousin, leaning his head back against the backrest to stare at the ceiling.

"She doesn't know who any of these people are. Why pick out that pair?" Xanir muttered, almost grumbled. He didn't like the way she made him feel. She made him feel unsettled. Almost vulnerable. He felt guilty for tying her on display like that and making her walk the gauntlet of the court, knowing she would hate it. Yet what else was a punishment for? And now he had dismissed Asmir from service and brought Fundin out of retirement. He, who had never cared in the slightest, was becoming irritated with those servants who enjoyed watching behind the walls. She cared. Even though she didn't even know!

"Maybe because of the way they moved apart instantly when her guards passed the windows," hazarded Em Feliz.

Xanir's turned his head to eye his spymaster. "That is what you would see." This was so much more than he had asked of her. So much more than he had expected of her.

"Do not underestimate her, my lord."

Haman sighed at the wary look on Xanir's face. "And do not hold it against her either, little brother. You asked her to use her talents for your purpose. Intelligence is not a flaw in a woman."

Xanir closed his eyes and smiled. "'A woman's only concern is how best to please her husband'," he quoted, taunting.

Haman snorted. "And are you not pleased?"

A short pause, and the reply was almost disgruntled. "Yes."

"So what will you do?"

The eyes reopened, aflame. "I have already given the order. At dawn I ride with five hundred horse to Jindl to cut through to the truth of what the high lords are concealing behind this façade."

Haman drew a long breath. That had not been what he meant. While he had no doubts about Xanir's ability to hold the Empire together with shear force of will and arm for several years yet, the long-term well-being of their people depended on more. But he knew better than to dispute with him when that look fired the Great Tahl's eyes.

***

"Princess!"

The word was growled almost inaudibly. Alanna blinked in the low light beside her bed, swallowing at the shadow looming over her. But the voice was familiar: her guard, Omar. She grimaced at the rawness of her throat, massaging it gently. Brutal man. Bestial taking of her throat with ruthless, selfish intensity. A smile was playing at her lips and she tried to smother her grin as she realised what being woken in the night meant. She squirmed. The simmer of desire burned higher and her palm swept up over her stomach. Silken touch.

Alanna lifted her swaddled paw and scowled at it. He didn't have to still have her fingers shrouded as she slept. It wasn't like he didn't sate her enough in between times. The scowl deepened, a blush rising. And he hadn't had to tie her like that for the walk back in front of his men. She no longer had even the blue beads in her hair. Until he had removed them, she hadn't realised the protection that those tokens of his favour had accorded her.

She shuddered in distaste. The courtiers had delighted in the peaked, aching nipples straining against the light covering, together with the renewed marks around her neck. Their excitement had been palpable; it was not merely that the men of the court no longer bothered to rein in their lust, they flaunted it, bantering coarse, explicit vulgarities that scorched her cheeks while they followed her, discussing her attributes, how their Tahl had most likely been pleasuring himself this time, and what they most wanted to see when he finally took her in the mosaic room. Her guards walked more alert.

"Princess!" Omar breathed again, snapping her back to the present. He indicated that she should get up.

Again. Her throat ached. Her whole body trembled. The smile curled her lips.

Wrinkling her nose at the senseless excitement and idiotic feeling of pride, Alanna slithered blearily to her feet, steadying herself against one of the bed pillars. She was grimacing at the soft binding around her hand when a cloth bag descended over her head cutting out all light and muffling the sound which escaped her.

"Shh!" cautioned Omar. A drawstring pulled the soft cloth to bunch loosely around her neck, while one bundled hand was lifted and placed on a shoulder just in front of her. "Keep silent!"

"What -?" she gulped quietly.

"Be silent. Or we must gag you also," repeated Omar urgently.

Her blood was thundering. Was this a plot? If Xanir didn't trust his bodyguards, could she trust hers?

A hand grasped the knot that belted her gossamer nightdress, careful to avoid her skin, and she was towed forwards, stumbling after that retreating shoulder down the dais holding her bed. Should she scream? Even if she did, she couldn't defeat them. Omar and Malik and Ben and Yusif. She swallowed again, remembering the shared jokes and her history lessons in the sleepless nights before she had apologised. The ripples of the bruises at her throat reminded her: they walked more alert, also, when protecting her out in the wider palace.

A light shiver, but she held silent.

On the main floor they spun her, dizzyingly, and then her belt was tied to a belt just the length of her forearms ahead, both her hands tucked in to hold either side of it. "Stop when he does," ordered Omar, and she was towed into motion.

"Can't you -," undo my hands was cut off in her throat when with lethal swiftness her escort slammed to a halt while in perfect silence, bewilderingly rapidly, she was lifted, tilted, the bag scrunched above her chin and a round leather ball forced into her mouth before being tied in place with a silken strip of cloth.

While he tied the knots Omar's lips were at her ear, voice almost inaudible, but frighteningly vehement: "You must be silent! Or you may die."

Alanna gulped. This time, her hands were tied to the belt also, before her guide again jolted into motion.

Her head was still spinning. They were kidnapping her. Who? She had no idea of the alliances here, but someone must have seen through the façade that she was of no account. Maybe Xanir was right and the silk paintings were to blame. Had someone seen? A tear crept onto her cheek.

Her feet were towed from rush matting to warm tiling. Had the door been open? They must have passed the door by now. Which way were they going? More tears escaped while she was pulled ruthlessly onward in the deafening silence. Even the steady pad of the footsteps that must be ahead of her were inaudible above her pounding heart and rapid breathing. The silence seemed to echo. Where were they going? Down more steps, now. She jumped when her guide halted, reached back to hold her tightly, and lifted her, stepping sideways, before carefully putting her on her feet again. His muscles were wiry. He was shorter than any of her guards.

Who was leading her?

Breath hot in the heavy, motionless air inside the bag, Alanna's pulse was thundering, spiralling into panic, until ruthlessly she forced her mind away: there was nothing she could do. Only follow. Play stupid. More tears: far, so far away from home.

Lost, in interminable darkness and silence punctuated by a bewildering number of further stops, turns, sidesteps and another staircase spiralling downwards. They halted. A feather-light knocking of knuckles on wood sounded just ahead of her, while the muscles of her guide's waist moved under her shrouded fingertips. The stagnant air stirred and light cracked under the edge of the hood enclosing her head. She was led forwards into the light, hands untied, and left, the click of the door closing the only sound.

Still trying to keep her breathing light, her heart suddenly changed rhythm. Straining for the faintest sound, she had instead caught a hint of musk. She knew that aroused scent. Knew it well.

Fool, she berated herself, relaxing from fear into a different tension. Of course there were hidden ways in a palace this large, this old.

Of course the Tahl had a secret route to his bride's chamber.

Fingers carefully untied the drawstring, removed the bag, and tossed it aside. Alanna swallowed. Ow. She had forgotten how muscular his shoulders and chest were. How could she have forgotten in a few short hours?

Xanir tutted, and his fingers went to the binding of her gag.

No, it must be a trick of the light, the candles blazing from the surrounding walls them emphasising the bulge and hollow of the sleek muscles under that dusky skin. Her hands freed, they lifted to trace the lines. Alanna worked her aching jaw, then swallowed against the surge of need that burned through her. Desperately trying to hold onto her composure, she pulled her gaze away, trying to recover the façade of fear and trepidation.

"You may relax here. No act."

Xanir's eyes were burning, and hers skittered on from them, colour firing. Her heart slammed in even greater excitement while light fingers brushed the tearstains from her cheeks. She leaned into his hand.

The room was compact, square and windowless, the usual weapons and shields decorating the walls. A glittering circular fan stirred the air above a large canopy bed, the centrepiece of the various pieces of furniture.

Alanna couldn't keep her attention on her surroundings. Although her blood leapt in awareness that there was a bed.

Her eyes were glued to his softened face. Those fingers were now combing lightly through her hair, smoothing out the disarray from sleep and her headcovering. She dropped her head to hide the almost painful surge of the longing within her, lust and a gentler warmth burning in her veins. Her forehead touched his chest and she sighed, half a whine. "Xanir," sounded breathlessly in the heavy air.

"Shh," the deep voice soothed. A hand under her chin lifted her lips, and his brushed them, shocking more heat through the rich desire within her, melting her. "I know. You have done very well."

Her blood purred in his hug, then abruptly she was in the air before being bent over a cushioned bench at waist height. She gasped, squirming when a heavy strap was secured across her back, holding her firm to the leather under her chest and belly. She cried out at the sudden removal of his skin under her forehead and fingertips, disappointed yet heat flaring when his hands smoothed over her buttocks.