Their kingdom, a formidable fortress of stone, clung precariously to the precipice of a towering cliff, some nine thousand feet above the world. When Nexarina had dared to peer over the edge during their ascent, her heart had lurched violently, the ground a dizzying, incomprehensible distance below. They truly lived amongst the clouds.
Now, slightly unsteady on her feet, the remnants of wine still warming her veins, Nexarina was returning to this alien place she now called home – a home she never desired.
A solitary tear traced a path down her cheek, a salty testimony to the life she had left behind in Ghost Town. Her friends, Madam Griselda's comforting presence, the familiar scent of old paper in her beloved bookstore, the sharp wit of Madam Ivy – all were now distant memories. Replaced by a man she loathed and the pervasive, acrid smell of dragons.
A moment of disorientation almost led her astray, but she managed to stumble back into the vast Hall of Binding, the scene of her recent, unwanted vows. The grand space was now largely deserted, save for a handful of maids who moved with quiet efficiency, restoring order.
One of them noticed Nexarina's entrance and hurried towards her. "My Lady! Where have you been?"
"Take me to my chambers," Nexarina murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears.
The maid inclined her head and began to lead her down a corridor tucked into a corner of the hall, but Nexarina halted abruptly. "Wait."
"Where is Grant?" she asked, the general's name feeling like a bitter taste in her mouth.
"In his Lordship's private chambers."
"Take me there."
The maid led her down a narrow, dimly lit passage. Imposing stone walls loomed on either side, seeming to cast disapproving glances. She still wore her wedding kirtle, the rich blue fabric with its intricate silver embroidery now feeling like a suffocating weight. The bodice pressed uncomfortably against her breasts, a growing constriction. Impulsively, she fumbled with the fastenings, unzipping the gown until her cleavage was boldly exposed, a small act of rebellion in the face of her impending fate.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
General Grant.
The object of her fierce loathing, a loathing made all the more complicated by the unwelcome stirrings of attraction he evoked. She was going to his room to make a request that felt both audacious and utterly humiliating.
Fear, sharp and cold, gripped her. What if the experience proved as distasteful as the man himself? What if the fleeting intrigue she had entertained vanished the moment he touched her? What if she pleaded for him to stop, and he refused? She was venturing into uncharted territory, and the unsettling truth was that her own desires felt treacherous and unreliable.
They turned a third corner, entering a grander hallway illuminated by ornate lanterns affixed to the walls, their light reflecting off a plush red carpet that stretched the length of the passage. At the far end stood two imposing double doors of gleaming gold.
The maid reached the doors and bowed her head. "His Lordship is within," she announced softly before turning and retreating down the hallway.
A knot of apprehension tightened in Nexarina's chest.
Should she truly do this?
Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly on one of the golden doors and then pushed it open, stepping into an enormous bedchamber. The sheer scale of the medieval room was breathtaking, tapestries depicting heroic battles adorning the stone walls, heavy velvet curtains drawn against the night outside, and a roaring fire crackling merrily in a vast hearth.
Her gaze drifted to the massive king-sized bed, the silken sheets a stark contrast to the rough stone, and her mind flashed back to their earlier, unsettling conversation.
He sat in a high-backed chair beside the bed, engrossed in a leather-bound book, oblivious to her arrival.
"Why did you not seek me out?" Nexarina asked, her voice a low murmur as she closed the heavy door behind her.
He did not look up. "I did," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
His ring, an identical band of dark metal to her own, gleamed on his finger – a tangible symbol of the bond that now irrevocably linked them.
"I did not see you."
"Were you expecting me?" Still, his eyes remained fixed on the page.
"Why are you not looking at me?" she demanded, a surge of irritation breaking through her fear.
"Do you desire me to?" He still did not lift his gaze.
Nexarina stalked towards him, snatched the book from his grasp, and slammed it shut with a decisive thud.
His gaze finally sliced upwards, sharp and unnervingly intense. They were striking eyes, the colour of a stormy sea, the most captivating orbs Nexarina had ever beheld.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
"Were you not speaking earlier of… having me in chains and binds?"
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features. "I was under the impression you found the notion abhorrent."
"Shut up," Nexarina spat, her voice laced with a raw vulnerability. "I do not find the idea abhorrent. I find you abhorrent."
"Fair enough," he murmured, his gaze lingering on the exposed expanse of her cleavage, a dark intensity now smouldering in his blue eyes.
A deeper flush stained Nexarina's cheeks as she subtly shifted, ensuring the generous expanse of her cleavage could not be ignored by his gaze.
His blue eyes, intense and unwavering, locked with hers.
"What are you doing?" he finally asked, his voice a low rumble.
"What? I am doing nothing at all," she replied, her tone deliberately nonchalant, though her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
He held her gaze captive for a long moment, a slow dawning of understanding flickering in their depths. Then, a ghost of a smile played on his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "You wish me to ask," he voiced, the statement more a knowing observation than a question.
"Do you not desire it?" she countered, her voice barely a whisper.
"Desire what, precisely?" The air between them crackled with a silent tension.
"I am certain we both crave the same… release," she managed, her breath catching in her throat.
"Say it," he commanded, his gaze never faltering.
"It… it is humiliating," Nexarina confessed, her eyelids fluttering shut as a wave of shame washed over her.
General Grant rose to his feet, closing the small distance that separated them. "It ceases to be humiliating if the desire is mutual," he murmured, his thumb lightly stroking the curve of her cheek.