is.” Then he asked her, “Why do you have no siblings?”
“My mother died shortly after giving birth to me,” Cinnia said. “My father chose not to remarry although there were several women of suitable families who would have made him a good queen. But since king’s sons here in Belmair do not necessarily follow in their father’s footsteps he felt no great urge to sire a son,” Cinnia explained. “He wed late in his life, and might not have married at all but he saw my mother once, and fell in love with her. They were wed for over two hundred years before I was born, and I was quite a surprise to them I can assure you.” She chuckled with her memories. “When a child was not born to them in the first years of their marriage they assumed they would never have one. Belmairans live a normal life span of several hundred years, but we age incredibly slowly,” Cinnia explained to him, for she could see he was somewhat confused.
“But you said you were seventeen,” Dillon said.
“I am,” she told him. “But I will live several hundred years if illness does not fell me first,” Cinnia said. “How long will you live?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “My father has lived since the beginning of time itself. My mother, being mostly faerie, should live for several hundred years. I suppose I will live at least as long as she does.” He swam across the pool to stand beneath the spray of water from the pink marble blossom. Their life spans were similar. He would not be forced like his mother to watch as Cinnia grew older, and he remained the same. It was likely that they would age together. Had the dragon and his father been aware of that, Dillon wondered? He would remember to ask Kaliq when next he saw him. Cinnia was looking at him, and the young king suddenly became aware of his throbbing member. He needed to couple with her again. He swam back to where she was awaiting him.
Cinnia leaned against the marble walls of the pool, enjoying the warm water as it lapped against her. This bathing had been a surprisingly good idea of his. She did feel more comfortable in his presence, and she was learning little bits and pieces about him. Her eyes closed and she listened to the flower fountain as it sprayed into the water. It was a most soothing sound. And then she sensed him. Her eyes flew open and he stood directly before her.
Taking her small face between his big hands, he kissed her slowly, lingeringly. “Now once more, my queen,” he told her.
She felt his hand cupping her bottom as he lifted her up.
“Wrap your legs about me, Cinnia,” he directed her.
As she did she felt his thick length pressing once again into her body. Cinnia sighed, clinging to him as he moved hungrily within her until she was dizzy with her own lust, and the pleasures being joined with him brought her. But then suddenly he withdrew from her, and she protested. “No, Dillon! No!”
“Come,” he said without explanation, and led her from their watery playground into the third chamber of the bath. Here the air was filled with an exotic and elusive perfume. There was a wide marble bench upon which rested a large pile of fluffy towels. Taking one he began to dry her. The towel was warm. When he had almost finished he lay several towels upon the bench, and instructed her to sit down. When she had he dried her feet, kissing and sucking upon the toes as he did so.
Cinnia couldn’t help but giggle. “You are a great fool,” she told him.
“Lay back,” he said in reply, and when she was stretched out upon the wide bench he spread her legs wide, and seating himself he leaned forward to peel open her nether lips with his thumbs, and lick the sweet coral-pink flesh.
Cinnia gasped, shocked. “What are you doing?” she asked, attempted to rise up.
“Stay still!” he told her sharply. “This is but a new pleasure for you, my queen.” Then his tongue began to explore her slowly as he licked and probed and tasted her.
Cinnia’s senses whirled with the sensations he was engendering. They were delicious, and she suspected, very naughty pleasures he was offering her. He seemed to be in no hurry to end the delightful torture. His tongue licked one side of her flesh, and then the other. He explored carefully, and when the tip of his tongue met what was an incredibly sensitive part of her, Cinnia squealed nervously. Immediately he began to taunt and tease that tiny jewel until she was almost mindless with the delight, and when she was certain he was going to kill her with it, Dillon was mounting her once more, and thrusting deeply into her body. “And again, my queen,” he said.
He rode her hard. Their breathing became ragged and rough as he pushed into her again and again and again. He was a fierce lover now, and Cinnia reveled in the wildness they were sharing. She wrapped herself about him so he might have deeper access to her. Their fingers intertwined restlessly as they climbed and climbed and climbed until they could climb no more. Then together their passions burst. Her cry echoed about the room. His shout as he allowed his juices to finally erupt mingled with her soft cries of pleasure, totally and completely fulfilled. The room was bedazzled and drenched in a quivering golden shimmer, and the sounds of crackling light could be heard. The glow danced about them, tiny darts of lightning shining within it, snapping noisily. And then the chamber grew quiet and dimmed as the light faded away and they collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs upon the wide marble bench. Finally Dillon pulled himself up and stood. Cinnia lay pale, her breathing now quieted, but obviously weak with satisfaction. He bent and, picking her up, carried her from the bath, and into her bedchamber, where, drawing back the coverlet on the bed, he lay her down. Walking to the hearth, he added more wood before returning to the bed and climbing in with her.
“Your sensual nature will be the death of me,” Cinnia murmured.
“Not for at least a thousand years,” he replied, and he pulled her into his arms. “I’m going to sleep with you tonight. I cannot be certain yet that my lusts are satisfied.”
“Mine are,” she half groaned. “Your passions are enormous.”
He laughed softly. “Are you learning to trust me, my queen?”
“It would seem I have no choice,” Cinnia answered him.
“Passion is not so terrible, is it? You seem to enjoy my attentions,” he teased her.
“I do,” she admitted softly.
“I want you to trust me in other things, too, Cinnia. If you do we can solve this problem besetting Belmair,” Dillon told her.
“And you will teach me some serious magic,” she said sleepily.
“When you are ready, aye, I will,” he promised her.
“Good night, my lord.”
“Good night, my queen,” he replied. But he lay awake for several minutes listening to the sounds of her breathing, enjoying the voluptuous young body within his embrace. Cinnia was not an easy woman to know, he thought to himself as he had earlier. Though the Belmairans scorned those they had sent into exile many centuries before, they were much like them in their desire for order and conformity. Their need for tradition, sameness. But the king their dragon had chosen was anything but Hetarian or Belmairan in his thoughts and methods. It was going to be an interesting time as they all came to terms with one another.
Several days later the scholar, Prentice, sent a request to the king that he come to his chambers at the Academy. Gara, who had been assigned as the king’s new secretary, set the message aside, for he did not think a missive from an unimportant scholar worthy of his master’s immediate attentions. Gara knew of Prentice, for he had been educated at the Academy. The fellow
