The Solider and the Priestess Ch. 02

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Caspian and Zara's Travels Continue.
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Part 2 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 01/23/2016
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egirl1212
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It was winter. It was wartime. It was snowing. A fresh layer of downy whiteness was beginning to cover the broken bodies in the clearing, the congealing blood that lay like pools of garnet across the ice. In the midst of that quieted carnage, a man and a girl were kneeling. The man was broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, dressed in the gray and crimson of Zanthar. His palms were roughly callused, his torso wrapped in thick bands of muscle, his skin scarred with the stories of the many battles he'd endured. Yet in this moment he appeared still. Almost gentle. Because the girl in front of him was crying bitterly. And his hands on her thin shoulders were soft.

...

"I cannot bear it," said Zara at last. Tears had left tracks of salt on her pale cheeks. Her voice was painfully hoarse, her fragile body nearly limp under Caspian's warm hands. Everything about her was screaming, pain.

"You can bear it." Caspian ran his thumbs across her high cheekbones, wiping the tears from her cool skin. He looked at the pads of his thumbs, shimmering and damp, wondered at the caress he had just bestowed on her. Such a touch had no place in their world. Neither one of them had felt anything quite like it.

Zara heaved a shuddering breath. The snow was beginning to swirl around them again, and the air was growing swiftly colder. One of her pale hands moved to brush a fire-red strand of hair out of her eyes. "Please," she spoke at last. "I'd like to say the rites."

When he paused, he saw panic cross her face. "Please," she begged. "I know it's cold, but—"

"It's not that. In Zanthar, we have no death ceremonies. I'd forgotten that some do."

"Oh." Zara was taken aback. She touched a gentle finger to his strong forearm, tracing one of the blue veins briefly. "I am sorry."

Caspian shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance. "You were right about the cold; it's getting colder by the second, little girl. We should get moving."

"But—please. Our rites don't take long. Please. I know that you saved me, Captain. I see what my fate would have been. I know what you've done for me. I won't fight you any longer, I swear it."

Her voice was so earnest that Caspian felt moved, but he knew his instinct to push forward was right. The sky was darkening, massive iron-colored clouds circling. The weather was worsening by the second. They needed to be getting back to shelter before it was too late. But looking down at those sad, sea-glass green eyes, Caspian found that he didn't want to say no. "Be quick," he compromised finally.

Zara didn't smile, but the peace that came over her pretty face was just as sweet. As she moved towards the broken forms of the priestesses, he suddenly wanted to protect her, to cover those ruined bodies before she could see the gruesome details of the scene.

As if she could read his thoughts, Zara turned back toward him, the blue winter's light framing her delicate silhouette like a halo. "You don't need to worry," she offered gently. "I've been going down to the battlefields for weeks. I've seen these things."

"Not when it's someone you love. It's different. It's harder."

Zara shook her head. "They weren't my loved ones, but they were someone's, on the battlefields. It is the same."

Caspian let himself fall silent. He knew the timbre of that tone, the steel that edged her honey voice. It was the edge of someone gritted for battle. Grim, but not naïve.

Zara knelt by each of the five bodies, closing their eyes tenderly, her fingers light but never trembling. She brushed hair from faces, straightened shattered limbs. When she turned back to look at him, he saw that she still had the blood of the Zanthar soldier smeared on her cheek. Still, he thought he had never seen something so pure.

He wasn't sure if he was meant to watch the rites, but Zara didn't seem to be bothered by his presence. She was chanting softly, occasionally touching a cold hand or forehead. Caspian remembered when she had healed him—now, too, there were the soft sounds of bells mixed with Zara's lilting voice, a soft buzzing that warmed the frosted air.

When she had finished, the clearing felt different. Serene. Caspian watched, astounded, as Zara knelt down by each of the slaughtered Zanthar soldiers and closed their eyes as well.

When she came to stand before him again, Caspian felt that he knew her. Watching her move about the clearing like an angel of death, he caught a deeper glimpse of who she was, how she must have lived her short, sweet life. He had seen straight through those clear green eyes, straight to the golden light at the center of her being.

He had seen her, and he could not look away.

So he was not surprised when she raised up on her tiptoes like a ballerina and kissed him softly on the cheek. She was a healer; it was what she did.

"We should be going," he said gruffly. As if responding to his words, the wind howled like a hungry wolf about their shoulders. Zara shivered. He pulled her in to his chest, letting her sink against him for a moment, letting his strong arms block the wind's bite.

She pulled away too soon, steeled for the journey. "Let's go."

They walked through the flurrying snow quickly, heads bent against the cold. The snow was higher than Zara's knees, and watching her wade through the drifts was painful. He knew she had to be freezing.

Still, he resisted the urge to carry her, not wanted to hurt her pride and knowing their makeshift shelter was close. The snowstorms here usually settled down after the second day; in the morning, they should be able to travel again.

It took a few minutes for him to find their shelter, camouflaged as it was among the snow banks. After that, it was short work to dig back inside and re-barricade the doorway.

Zara was shivering so hard she couldn't speak. Caspian pulled her down onto the canvas tarp and covered her with the blanket, pulling off his cloak to drape it over them. When Zara's numb fingers fumbled at the clasp of her ivy-green cloak, he unhooked it swiftly, taking a moment to let his eyes trace the lines of her form through her white dress. Her gown was remarkably clean given the events of the past few hours, and when he pulled if from her shoulders he carefully folded it beneath her head like a pillow.

He knew she was in mourning, and he knew their lives were at stake. But he was still a man, and she was still so beautiful. He couldn't stop the heat that stirred deep in his belly and pooled through his limbs. He wondered if she could feel it, if the warmth of his feelings for her were radiating through his skin like beacons.

It was that slip. Zara in that slip. It was enough to make him forget the trauma the girl had been through; it was hard to think clearly when he could see so much of her creamy skin. It was hard to think at all. His hands were running over her cool arms, down the sides of her jutting ribs, into the soft curve of her tightly coiled waist. He wasn't sure if he was trying to warm her, or simply trying to run his hands over every slope and angle of her slender body. It didn't matter. It was enough to just touch her, to watch her dusky lashes float against her cheeks as if she wasn't despising his touch much at all.

He pulled back to look at her. "Are you warm enough?"

She nodded breathlessly. "It is much better in here. Thank you."

He knew he was staring at her too much, too aggressively. His hands were bunched in the gauzy fabric at her hip. Her thighs were pressed against his. His left his hand drift down to the hem of her slip, his rough fingertips grazing her velvet skin. Zara inhaled sharply, but she made no moves to push his hand away.

A sharp crack shot through the silence; somewhere out in the wintry forest, the weight of the snow had snapped a heavy branch. Caspian and Zara started at the sound, their bodies shifting against each other, skin on skin. Warmth on warmth. Somehow Caspian found his leg sandwiched between Zara's creamy thighs. He could feel her delicate muscles quiver. He groaned softly.

Zara's eyes were round, her rosy lips slightly parted. Her cheeks were flushed pale pink.

"You're so beautiful." He hadn't planned the words, but he didn't regret saying them when he saw the corners of her lips turn up in the faintest sad semblance of a smile.

"So are you," she said graciously.

He laughed shortly, gratified when her green eyes warmed at the sound. "Hardly, priestess."

Their legs still tangled, Zara twisted her body a little trying to see his face better. The movement left her nearly astride his thick thigh; he could feel her warmth. A soft, sweet trace of her wetness.

"But you are," she insisted, apparently innocent of the indecency of their position. She traced his jaw with a finger, leaving goosebumps in her wake. Her touch was like fire.

Zara meant what she'd said—behind the hardness of his expression and the smudges of the day, his face was handsome. He had those dark gray eyes, troubled but not without light. A pearly scar cutting over his nose, another curling his generous upper lip. Tanned skin, dark curls of hair. His body, hard and muscled and protective. His thigh, so strong between her legs. She shivered at this thought, and the reaction surprised her.

He felt her twitch, and raised a brow, his crooked smile rakish. "Cold?"

"Yes," Zara insisted, too-quickly.

He flexed his thigh against her groin, and she moaned softly. Shocked, he coughed something between a laugh and a gasp. Zara was crimson-cheeked and mortified, trying to cover her face with her hands.

Caspian let his leg let press up against her, feeling her unmistakable wetness slide like silk over his skin. "Don't be ashamed, priestess. I'd very much like to make you moan."

Zara was shaking her head, her braid whipping around her shoulders like a flame. "That isn't... I can't..."

"You told me you wouldn't fight me anymore, earlier. Did you mean it?"

Zara was solemn and owl-like in an instant. "I meant it. Only, only... please, will you be just a bit patient with me? This is all very new to me."

Caspian couldn't refuse that gentle bid, and he didn't terribly mind the prospect of waiting, because it promised—at some point down the line—that he'd be burying his cock between those trembling thighs while his tongue danced over her porcelain skin.

"I'll be as patient as I can," he allowed. He bucked his thigh under her again, watching her bite her rosy bottom lip and crumple her brow at the touch. "I'll be truthful with you, Zara, it's difficult to hold myself back. But I know what this day's been like with you. I can hold off a bit longer."

"Thank you..." Zara was looking terribly shy, her cheeks still flushed. Trying to reposition herself on top of him, she slipped a little, finding herself crushed against his front again, the warm shaft of his cock pressed across her stomach. She gulped, somehow still managing to meet his eyes.

Caspian let his cock press against her for just a second longer, then pulled back reluctantly. Her eyes were still glued between his legs, so let his hand slide up the length of his hardness, watching her eyes trace his every movement, his every inch. "You know I won't hurt you, Zara."

She nodded. "I know it."

He cupped her cheek in one hand, and she buried her face in his palm, grateful for the meager hiding place. Her skin was so soft. He'd never felt anything like it. He let his body press an inch closer to her. "I'll go slow, Priestess. I'd like to make you moan again."

Zara peeked out at him from between his own fingers. He could feel her hesitation, so thick it was almost tangible. He didn't want to rush her—he'd promised her only minute before that he'd allow her some time to get used to him. So, trying to be kind, he pulled the blanket down between them a little, making a thin wall between their hips. "Distract me a bit, won't you?"

She cocked her head. "How?"

Her swinging braid brushed his chest. He grabbed it, glad to be thinking of any part of her that wasn't hot and slick between her thighs. "Take your hair down?" he asked. He'd said it lightly, but she looked instantly sober.

"But I... Priestesses don't... It's a vanity," the girl attempted to explain weakly, her hand brushing against his as she reached for the green velvet ribbon at the end of her plait.

"Please?"

Zara nodded slowly. "I know you're being patient, Caspian."

He liked the sound of her voice wrapped around his name. "I'm doing my best, Zara."

She untied the bow slowly, and began to unravel the heavy silken coils of her titian hair, letting it fall freely to the curve of her waist. She looked like a painting. Like a saint. She was so very golden.

He toyed with the ends of her hair, measuring its glossy weight. She looked so different, framed in a mantle of scarlet. It brought out every bit of blush in her cheeks, and made her eyes seem darker and greener, pine trees in the forest at night. Her hair smelled like sun-warmed grass and lavender.

"It's not a vanity, your hair."

Zara's brows raised. "No?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't believe it. It brings me happiness to see you looking so free, Priestess. Nothing so pure and lovely could be a sin. I hope you don't feel guilty for it."

"I'm doing my best not to," Zara said dutifully, a faint hint of humor warming her voice. He liked having his hands wrapped in her hair. He thought that maybe, just maybe, she liked it too.

Finally, he could feel his body starting to relax. When Zara yawned, he felt her tiredness sink into his own skin. "Are you tired? Are you hungry? It's been a long day." His muscles were starting to slacken, somehow. Impossibly. He too was tired.

She nodded, grateful. "Yes, Captain, both, please."

He laughed at her obvious relief, spread cheese across two hunks of bread and handed one to her with a few dried figs. They ate quietly, listening to the sounds of the storm: ice scraping against ice, exhales freezing as they fell.

Caspian was surprised when Zara fell asleep quickly against him, so trusting and utterly defenseless in his embrace. Her breasts were pressed against his bare chest, one of her delicate legs wrapping around his. He stroked his hands through her long, loose hair, feeling the silk of her skin through its strands. He let his lips brush against her forehead, although he would have preferred her sighing lips, or the fragrant curve of her neck, or the silky wetness he imagined he could still feel between her legs.

Still, Caspian knew he'd spent far worse nights than that one. Every time he woke, there was something new about the situation to appreciate, some new angle of her body curled against him, some new patch of skin bared for his hand to explore.

Zara woke as the first beams of light were beginning to hit the snow, acutely aware of the hardness pressing into her hip and the pearly wetness between her thighs. She looked up to see Caspian looking down at her, looking at her in a way that made her blush.

"I, um..." She tried to squirm away from him, but in the close space only managed to wriggle against his body. His cock twitched against her stomach. He laughed at her jump.

"Just hold still a minute," he ordered, almost laughing. His gray eyes were lighter than she'd seen them, less troubled. She was a statue in his arms, cool and perfect with that porcelain skin. So very still, so careful to obey him. Her little face was so sweet, still blurry with sleep.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her copper head and she squeaked, her muscles tensing. "Easy, priestess," he soothed, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that he could feel the press of her hardened nipples against his chest or the fact that her hips were still only an inch away from his aching cock.

"Where are we going, today?" Zara spoke up breathlessly, much to his relief.

Relishing the distraction, Caspian considered the options. "There's an inn I know that's not too far from here. We can stay there for a few days. I've got to send a message to one of the generals back at Zanthar's capital, let them know I'm alive. See if they know I'm a traitor. That sort of thing." He was nearly certain that his massacre in the woods hadn't been witnessed by anyone, and that the snow would was away any traces of their trail. Still, the words had their desired effect—Zara's eyes widened with concern for him.

"I don't want you to be in trouble," she said, worried. Her little brow was furrowed.

Caspian seemed nonplussed. "I'll work it out. I always do."

Zara believed him.

They dressed, eating a quick breakfast before venturing back out into the snowy world. The early morning light was piercing and silver like blades against the fresh powder, but there was no more wind, and it wasn't so frighteningly cold. Though they could still see their breaths curling through the air like smoke, it was almost pleasant as they took their first steps, stretching their sore muscles and enjoying the crisp kiss of the winter sun.

It was strange, for the world to seem so suddenly ordinary. The sky was pale blue and cloudless. The snow was sparklingly pristine. For the moment, they could almost forget that they were a captor and captive, a soldier and a priestess, a killer and a virgin. It was as if the days before had been something else entirely. As if the future was full of possibility, without the sharp threat of danger that was snapping at their heels.

They walked for a few hours, until the sun was almost directly overhead and their skin began to feel damp and warm under their heavy clothing.

Zara's forehead was dewy, tendrils of hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. Caspian had to fight the urge to squirm under his cape, beads of sweat skittering down his spine like spiders. He admired that his companion didn't complain—not when the snow became slick and muddy beneath their boots and not when they had to trudge through bog that reached well above her ankles.

Still, he didn't want to put her through too much—he knew it would be difficult for her in Zanthar. She'd attract too much attention: her accent was too foreign, her visage too lovely. She'd be a rose in a field of weeds.

Maybe that was the reason why, when they heard the first chime of a river and he saw Zara look up at him with hopeful eyes, that he allowed himself to be a little soft. "Are you thirsty? We can fill our canteens."

"Yes, please," Zara smiled up at him with her typical innocent gratitude. They followed the sound of the rushing water until they found its source: an exquisitely clear river flowing over silvery rocks and culminating in a deep, round pool fringed with thin, crystalline ice.

"Oh." Zara's face was childlike in its wonder. "This is so beautiful, Captain." She shrugged out of her cape and laid it over a boulder, so beautiful in her soft white dress against the greenery and snow. The trees here were monumental, with trunks so thick Zara couldn't have wrapped her arms around them if she tried. The bark was wrapped in abundant, lush ivy that hung down from the strong boughs like curtains. The water itself was aquamarine, with soft moss around its banks and a few golden fish darting through the currents.

Zara crouched down at the pool's edge, washing her hands and splashing icy water on her face. She laughed at the sudden chill, so appreciated after the hours of sticky heat.

"Do you think it's too cold to bathe?" she asked.

Caspian did think so, but the promise of seeing Zara's pretty body again was hard to turn down, and he knew he could do with a wash as well. "We'll have to be quick," he decided at last, laying his cape next to hers.

As they undressed, the air cut across their skin. Caspian watched Zara shiver. Her body was so lovely in the golden daylight. Her skin had a light sheen of sweat, making her limbs nearly sparkle when she moved. Her nipples were hardened against the cold, pink as rose petals against her pearlescent skin. Her shapely legs, her tight waist, the smooth curves of her hips—she was exquisite. No sculptor could have carved anything so perfect as the marble of her form and no painter could have captured the curious light in her jade eyes, or the way her lush pink lips curled up at the corners. He was glad when she turned her back to him—now he could drink in the sight of her all he wanted, let his gaze burn with the pressure of his ache for her body. He wanted to bury his fingers in the taut softness of her bottom, knead her smooth flesh with his strong hands. He wanted to taste her. Something told him she'd taste like raspberries and cream.

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