Milady’s Wiles             by: Brandy Dewinter, with the invaluable assistance of P.J. Wright

 

Chapter 9 - All Kisses Are Not Created Equal

Bathing the next morning started out as usual. The heavenly feeling of release from my steel guardian, the soothing warmth of the bath were each so desirable I’d never willingly miss an opportunity. Together, I’m not sure even the safety of the realm could convince me to pass the chance. Though it was always wonderful to be released, I was actually becoming somewhat accustomed to the constriction. Even without the tight corset section, my waist had narrowed appreciably. The excess flesh had migrated to my bosom and hips, which now had a decidedly feminine shape at all times.

Julia never looked anything but beautiful. Her own imprisoning gar-ment had not needed to enhance her delightful curves more than the barest amount. Each day as I rubbed my pained ribs under the scented water, I watched her delicate form slip into the tub with envy. Mother always gave me as much time out of my maiden’s lover as possible so I was always the first into the tub and the last out.

Mother and I had always been close. Indeed, I knew Father had con-sidered us too close. She had impressed her own memories on me, but not all of her memories. Those dealing with her married life were private to herself and her lost husband so I had a strange combination of experience and naiveté to work with in understanding how to act. She had opened her-self to me in a most strange and intimate manner, yet there were still things I didn’t feel I could talk about with her. This morning when Mother needed something from the other chamber and left us alone for a few minutes, I leaned closer to Julia.

"Will you answer a few questions for me?"

"If I can."

"Does, um, Lyonidas kiss well?"

"Yes," she replied, a dreamy reminiscence in her eyes.

"I mean, uh, does he kiss better than other men?" I persisted.

"I’ve only been kissed by Lyonidas and Tamor," she answered.

"Well then, uh, which of them was, um, better?"

"It’s not a case of better or worse, they’re just different."

I kept pushing, "How?"

"They just are. Tamor was stronger, and even taller, and he had a mustache. He was sort of, um, powerful," she tried to explain, but I could see her mind drifting back into memories.

"Lyonidas seemed terribly powerful to me," I mused with my own memories.

"Well, yes, he has a rock-solid strength," she smiled, "but he’s gentle, too. He keeps that strength under control. Tamor was as likely to sweep me off my feet as caress my hair. Though he did that as well."

"That doesn’t seem as, um, nice."

She laughed, "Well, sometimes you don’t want nice. Sometimes it’s grand to be swept off your feet."

"Do you like that better than gentle?"

The dreamy look was back in her eyes, "No, gentle is, well, special. If I had to pick just one way to be kissed, it would definitely be gentle."

"Even more gentle than Lyonidas?"

Julia looked at me with a strange expression in her eyes, as though seeing me for the first time, or in a new way.

"Maybe," she admitted.

We had been whispering to make sure that our conversation didn’t draw Mother back in from the other room. As we talked I had moved closer to Julia so that we could be very quiet. When she looked at me in that new way I was close enough to touch her hair myself, as I had done that day in the woods. My hand drifted over almost of it’s own accord and I let my fingers twine slowly through the fiery brightness. Her eyes drifted languidly closed, surrendering to the incredibly sensual feel.

Her full lips were just inches from mine, deeply red, soft . . .

Though a part of me knew that this was dangerous, that Julia was fully capable of killing me herself if she felt insulted, I had to kiss her. I let my hand caress the back of her neck to steady her, and brushed my lips lightly against hers even as my own eyes were pulled inexorably closed.

If she had exploded from the water, I wouldn’t have been more surprised. But instead of anger, I felt her own hand on the back of my neck pressing me tighter. I surrendered to her pressure even as I let an underwater hand lightly stroke her trim waist. She responded to this caress with an even stronger pull in my hair, catching a handful as a taut leash.

Then I felt her lips open. And felt her tongue.

It danced on my lips like a fairy sprite, demanding entrance without force but nonetheless insistent. I surrendered to that demand as well, letting my own lips part. Her tongue danced in to find my own tongue wondering what part to play in the tune she was defining.

She taught me what I needed to know.

My hand drifted higher, exploring a swell that revealed hidden firm-ness of ribs under smooth skin.

Then that firmness gave way to even softer fullness.

The complex curves that made her figure so fascinating when she slipped in and out of the bathing tub were even more intriguing to my sightless fingers. The texture was as smooth as sight predicted but more resilient, more vibrant. The weight of the swell my fingers explored was both greater and less than I expected. Fluid where I expected stiff-ness yet gently insistent on holding a wondrous shape.

Then my body betrayed me, or revealed me. A stridently excited part of me brushed against her smooth leg and she jerked away from the touch. I jumped back in embarrassment, sloshing water from the tub. The return wave washed higher up on Julia than she expected and caught her full in the face.

"Oh Julia, I’m so sorry!" I wailed. Now she was going to kill me for sure.

Her sputtering could have been the prelude to an attack by her famously vicious tongue, now employed to cut where it had so recently caressed. Instead it transformed to giggles as she caught a look at my face. I don’t know what my expression looked like but I felt like the worst fool God ever inflicted on the earth. If any of that showed, I deserved to be laughed at.

She stopped laughing long enough to catch her breath and smile at me where I sat as far away as the tub allowed. Then her eyes softened.

"Yes," she observed as though considering it analytically, "gentle can be quite . . . desirable."

I still felt my cheeks flaming, but her smile had a gentleness of its own and I merely felt like I wanted the world to swallow me into oblivion rather than provide some more spectacular demise. The closest I could come was to slip beneath the water of the tub, which I did. Her hand grabbed the last of my blonde locks as they floated on the water and pulled me back up.

"Oh, don’t be that way. I enjoyed it! Didn’t you?" she grinned.

"I should think that would have been obvious," I mumbled.

"Not too bad, actually," she giggled, an arched brow and an overdone glance indicating interest in seeing the response she had so briefly felt. Even though her glance was meant as a joke, I felt my hands reflexively hiding my underwater messenger. This made her laugh even louder just as Mother reentered the chamber.

"What’s so funny?" she asked lightly.

"Oh, Cherysse and I were just reviewing the things that happened yesterday," Julia said airily. Somehow the word ‘just’ didn’t belong in that sentence. Still, her claim had allowed me the time to get my flush under control, at least to the point that it looked like a result of the hot water, not internal energy.

"Well, I found a lighter soap for your hair. Now that you’re both wearing it unbound it will get a lot more sun. We need to keep it from getting dried out. The palace cosmetician promises that this will work better, without dimming the bright colors you both possess."

With that, Mother was briskly business like as she continued with her morning duty. Still, Julia managed to catch my eye, and her lips moved in an almost-instantaneous pucker that offered a rematch. I don’t know if her offer was real, but the effect on me was real, both above and below the water line.

"Cherysse, you’re getting flushed. Is that water too hot for you?"

Mother asked.

"No," I blurted, then wondered what excuse I should use. "I guess I was just remembering, uh, yesterday."

"You’ll both need to take it easy with Lyonidas today. We can’t let things go too fast," Queen Selay instructed us. Then her eyes got harder than I had seen since Father died. "We need time to arrange some removals without blame falling on ourselves."

Removals? She had not used that term before but I knew what she meant as soon as I considered it. Someone from High Canyon would begin to return the blood price we had paid for our peace.

Thoughts about her plan filled my mind as we went through the rest of our preparation ritual. The maiden’s lover, though not so cruel about my waist, was as unpleasant as ever in its most intimate duty. Julia and I were dressed in tailored black dresses that, while less sensual than evening gowns left no doubt about the curves under the material.

Preparing our hair seemed to take longer than usual though, with false starts where a style was combed out and another set in its place. I had long ago learned with Mother that the appearance of disorder was likely an outward sign of deeper structure. The edict that Lyonidas had announced on the day of our surrender allowed some latitude in details of our hair arrangement. The court protocol experts had been working to define a new structure of hair ornamentation that resurrected the identi-fication of my noble rank while allowing the main mass of golden honey to flow unrestricted. Today, it seemed, Mother was going to establish a new style for that main mass. Under her directions, the palace courtiers made my hair wonderfully thick, soft and wavy, alive with highlights. When I saw the results, I was more than pleased, though it had taken quite a long time.

Julia was incredibly beautiful. Not for the first time, I felt a sharper ache under my constraining garment. Not for the first time I cherished her bright energy, her flamboyant joy, her ready wit. My thoughts were ambiguous as I hugged her before we sortied from our dressing chamber, but for the most part it was the warm embrace of sisters.

At least, on her part.

At least, I thought so.

Maybe.

Our preparations had made us very late for a scheduled meeting of the High Council of Achaiea, a gathering of nobles and key guild leaders. Just as apparent disorder was not proof of disorganization, tardiness on the part of Queen Selay could be expected to have a deeper purpose. A portion of that purpose became apparent when our Achaiean entourage de-toured by way of my quarters on the way to the Council chamber. I ga-thered Wraith into the dark arms of my dress in counterpoint to Greyshadow in the arms of the Queen and we arrived in the Council chamber almost exactly one hour late.

Not surprisingly, Lyonidas was in attendance. So was General Reynal, and Strane. Hugh of Sandars had packed in a much larger contingent of Achaieans than had been the practice in the past, including the recently-elevated Spencer, Baron of North Vale. His was the first issue before the Council.

As our official party took the remaining seats, excluding only the King’s High Seat, I coincidentally found myself next to Reynal. Wraith took one look at him and hissed a most unladylike challenge, one which Reynal looked more than ready to answer. However Queen Selay had her own dark cat with her and none of the High Canyon representatives knew that this was not the usual case. I contrived to lean against the arm of the hard chair, allowing Wraith to peek out at Reynal over my elbow. She gave an occasional reminding hiss to make sure that Reynal was aware of her displeasure.

"I’m so sorry we’re late," Queen Selay claimed. "Since you have decreed new hairstyles for all the maidens, our preparations simply take longer."

I knew it would somehow turn out to be Lyonidas’ fault. Or at least someone from High Canyon.

It was not a coincidence that the chairs of the Council chamber were uncomfortable, excepting only the King’s High Seat, and the Queen’s. Those who had been waiting so long were almost comically glad to see the meeting finally begin.

It seemed that North Vale had been approached by various wood con-sumers, a shipyard and a furniture guild among others, for permission to remove trees from an untouched forest near the border of North Vale and its western neighbor. The neighbor, Clfton, under Baron Sutherland, was concerned that removal of the trees would allow the spring rains to flood his fields. Establishing this situation took an inordinate amount of time as experts in different woods make presentation on the quantity and suitability of North Vale’s trees for various applications. This was fol-lowed by other experts who discussed expected rainfall, normal stream sizes, and anything else that Hugh had been able to invent as part of the discussion.

The actual decision was obvious. North Vale would be allowed to re-move the hardwoods suitable for the specific uses envisioned by the wood consumers while leaving other trees in place. Yet reaching this obvious conclusion took almost 3 hours of Council time.

By this point Reynal was openly suffering. His eyes were red and watering in a way that looked too close to crying for his manly image. His nose was alternately dripping in a most ungenteel manner, or being wiped on an increasingly sodden sleeve. His breath rasped in and out like a blacksmith’s bellows, each exercise deliberate, forced, and wheezy.

Hugh had orchestrated things nearly as well on the next case. A farming baron wanted to change from wheat to oats but was unsure of ade-quate water supply. After further interminable testimony it was deter-mined that an irrigation system that had already been planned, financed in part by the crown would resolve the issue. All that the baron needed to do was delay his change until the irrigation system was in place. This took only two hours to determine. In the end, another obvious decision followed monotonous, largely irrelevant pedantry.

It wasn’t even clear who made the obvious decisions. The presenter would seem to discover the solution in the course of his discourse and everyone would find themselves nodding their heads in concurrence. Hugh would state the decision for the record and motion for the next topic.

At the calling of the third issue, which revealed at least a dozen men who obviously expected to speak, Lyonidas stood up.

"Your Majesty, if you would consent to continue without us, General Reynal has always been a sparring partner of mine, and I feel the need to sharpen my skills with his aid. We had planned that after the Council session but it is taking a bit longer than we anticipated.

"Of course, Milord Regent," Queen Selay nodded graciously.

She had no chance to reinforce Reynal’s willingness to leave, but his streaming eyes showed that no reinforcement was really required. The departure of the ranking High Canyonites provided sufficient excuse for the rest of their contingent to attend to other duties and the Council chamber soon held only Achaieans.

"Very well, Hugh, let’s get to the real business," Queen Selay or-dered as soon as the door closed behind the last tan-garbed intruder.

The real business consisted of more oaths of fealty to Achaiea, through my hands. These were repeated oaths from those who had held their positions before. However, most of them were in on my secret, both that I was really male and that I was already crowned King of Achaiea. They were prepared to repeat their oaths with full knowledge of the dual meaning.

I gathered the power of the white-cold mind behind me as I prepared to accept the oath of the first Council noble. When I attempted to use it to forge a deeper link though, I felt resistance. This man, Baron Suther-land, was accustomed to power, accustomed to his duties to the realm and to the crown. But he was also aware of the crown’s duties to him and wanted to see that commitment on my part just as I wanted to see his promise of fealty. No words were spoken, but I knew that I could not force his loyalty without recourse to the consuming fire of anger.

I looked at Mother. Her face showed serenity except in a tightness in her eyes that showed she realized this was as much a test of me as of the assembled Achaiean nobles. I did not have the force of personality that my Father had enjoyed, nor even the martial respect of Bareth. I had even surrendered my outward manhood to a disguise unthinkable for a warrior of Achaiea. What made me think I was worthy to be monarch?

Queen Selay’s blue eyes held my gaze, calm and untroubled. She had confidence in me. They invited me to look within myself for the solution with a message that was almost audible.

Invited.

Look within myself.

I remembered the time when she had impressed her personality on me and that the sensation I had experienced was not that of her mind coming to mine, but of mine going to hers.

All this introspection took place within the space of two heartbeats. I looked back at Sutherland, took his gnarled, scarred hands in my soft ones, and offered him a look into my mind with a bridge formed of the white-cold power.

His eyes widened in surprise. No other ruler of Achaiea had ever possessed the power that allowed me to merge my mind with his. It gave us each insights into the other, an enduring bridge not made of words.

When the time came for the words, there was no resistance.

"Baron Sutherland, do you swear fealty to Achaiea and to her Monarch? Do you swear to lay your fortune at her feet and if need be, to sacrifice your life on the altar of her protection?"

"I do," he replied strongly. Strangely perhaps, almost like a marriage vow, but perhaps not so strangely at that. The loyalty we owed each other was no less sacred that that of husband and wife.

The rest of the oaths proceeded normally until the time came for Hugh of Sandars, Chamberlain of the realm to swear his own fealty. I opened my mind to him while searching his and found a different sort of resistance. Hugh was so committed to the preservation of Achaiea that he could find no room in his heart for a separate loyalty, even to the one who wore the crown. It was not that he didn’t want to serve me, but he was honestly concerned with the potential for a conflict between my best interests and those of the realm. It troubled him that he might be forced to choose and so be forsworn to one or the other.

That conflict provided me with a lever into his mind. He wanted an honorable resolution to his internal conflict, and I could use that desire to impress compliance just as Mother had impressed femininity on me once given an inroad into my mind. I could feel the power forming about me as I readied a probe into Hugh’s mind and I knew it would be successful.

Then I drew my hands back from his.

"No, I will not do this," I told Mother.

No one else really knew what I was talking about. A few probably thought I was refusing Hugh’s oath but I couldn’t address their concern right at that moment.

Mother knew Hugh from before I was born. She had selected him for my tutor though neither he nor I really enjoyed that relationship. I knew without proof that she knew exactly what was troubling me.

Yet she said nothing. She just left me to determine how to proceed, the same small tightness in her eyes indicating another, perhaps even more important test.

I turned back to Hugh. "Lord Chamberlain, will you step aside with me for a moment?"

He nodded, of course, and we stepped into a small side room.

"Hugh," I said in a familiarity I hadn’t used for ten years, "do you trust me?"

"Yes, Your Highness," he replied.

"No, Hugh, not Highness. Do you trust ME?"

"I don’t even know who you are," he said softly.

"Do you think the clothes I wear change who I am?" I asked.

"It’s not the clothes. You have been acting strangely ever since you decided to attempt this masquerade."

"Do you know why?"

"No, though it has given me more reason to believe that your Mother may truly be a witch," he admitted uncomfortably.

"She is, of a sort," I admitted in my turn, which brought his breath to a long halt.

"She has a power of mind that allowed her to teach me what I needed to know for this masquerade. I learned it all in a few moments when she opened her mind to mine. Do you believe it?"

He nodded slowly, a light dawning in his eyes as he cast his memory back over their decades together, resolving conflicts within the context of this new reality.

"I have that same power," I claimed bluntly.

He nodded again, even more slowly. No fear, but some suspicion lurked in his eyes.

"I could have used it to force you to be loyal to me," I claimed further.

He nodded once again.

"Do you know why I did not?" I asked.

"Because you are your father’s child as well as your mother’s," he answered obliquely. He saw the confusion on my face and continued.

"Your father, King Andros, was the most honorable man I have ever known. He listened to your mother’s advice and followed it almost always. But I think if he had the power you describe, he would not have used it. He always remembered that he might make a mistake and required honesty from those he respected, even before obedience."

I nodded, knowing that there was more unsaid.

"I’m not sure your mother has that same humility," he concluded.

"Perhaps not, but she has required all the nobles to swear fealty to me, not to herself," I reminded him.

This brought a new look into his eyes, one of deeper examination of his memories.

I offered him a resolution to his internal conflict. "I think Mother will do whatever it takes to restore Achaiean rule. She is harder than Father regardless of her outer feminine softness. Yet in her own way, she honors him as well by working to ensure Andros’ blood retains the throne. It may not be humility which constrains her, perhaps the oppo-site. She may have the pride to believe she can accomplish any goal. It is just that her goal is focused on Andros’ memory and on Achaiea, not on herself.

"And your goal?" he asked, a sharper look in his eyes as he returned from his memories.

"To restore Achaiea," I declared.

"Just that?" he demanded further.

"Do you think I would dress as I do if I were worried about my own future?" I asked in turn. "The circle of those who know Cherysse is expanding further and further. I will never be respected as Deacon, even if the High Canyon invaders leave. But they will leave!"

The intensity of this final claim surprised even me, though not as much as Hugh’s next action. He knelt before me and held out his hands to mine. I took them, and without my urging he swore the oath of fealty. Though I used no power to reinforce it, I saw in his eyes a commitment as great as in any whose mind I had touched. For the first time, I knew that I really would rule in Achaiea.

 

(continued in Part 10)

 

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Milady's Wiles © 1998 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.