LUCIA, THE SLAVE PRINCESS

CHAPTER TEN

Lucia opened one eye, feeling strong arms snake around her waist from behind as she lay sleeping on Lestor's large bed. She murmured in pleasure as her lover kissed her bare shoulder, before trailing long fingers down her upper spine, then slowly down onto her back, tickling, before gently moving at her waist then down at her still tender hot channel.

Lucia was stretched languidly, blinking, trying to bring her mind to some awareness. She turned her upper body, leaning in to meet Lestor's lips, marveling at how this had become so easy between them, how natural it felt to be with each others arms. And Lucia treasured every moment that theu were together, and her doubts had begun to fade with time.

And the General seemed no less enamored of her, and his fierce possessiveness had not faded at all.

There was, perhaps, a small degree of hope, after all.

Her lover shifted, lifting and turning her with ease, the show of strength making Lucia feel her desire rising, her wet channel which was still sore from their love making twitched with the heat of her thoughts. It seemed that neither she nor Lestor could get enough of each other. Her lover had shown her so much, and she blushed a little as she thought of some of the things they had done.

She blessed Lestor's experience quite fervently.

She smiled as she saw how Lestor was arranging them. One of her favorite positions, especially first thing in the morning, when there was time and peacefulness between them.

Lucia leaned forward eagerly, licking a stripe up Lestor's huge, wet shaft, laughing a little as the older man groaned, delaying his own move toward Lucia’s dripping hole.

Lucia moaned at the taste, grasping the base of the shaft in one hand and slowly licking around the head, proud of her newly learned skills.

When she suckled the tip, before letting her tongue delicately delve into the slit, Lestor finally collapsed in his back, abandoning his plan to reciprocate.

Lucia grinned, satisfied, swirling her small tongue, while pumping her hand.

Lestor's hips twitched, thrusting minutely, helplessly, under her ministrations.

Tightening her grip, Lucia opened her lips wide, feeling her mouth stretch almost obscenely as she bobbed her head, faster, then faster, tongue laving as much as she could manage.

Lestor's upper body turned, and he plunged the fingers of one hand into the smaller woman’s hair, not confining, joining them together as one…

He cried out, face contorting, eyes wide with dazed completion.

Lucia swallowed what she could, lapped at the rest with small noises of pleasure.

And then scrambled around so she could lay chest-to-chest with Lestor, pulling him close, raining kisses over his face and neck.

The older man grunted, opening one eye as he fought for breath.

“One moment, that’s all I need. I swear, youngling, you will kill this old man…”

Lucia could only laugh and snuggle against his shoulder, fully willing to wait.

This, this was the happiest she could ever imagine being.

* * *

The winter was harsh, and so it was with great surprise when a trader managed to make it through, a caravan of goods that were joyfully welcome in the lean times of the snow months.

The trader, Rolan Wyeth, was northern bred, and seemed to be as hardy as Lucia was, the snows seeming little impediment to his travels. He was bombarded with both customers and those wanting to hear his tales.

Stories were valued as much as gold. Rolan would sit by the great fire in the hall, his well-modulated voice carrying effortlessly to the furthest ear.

Everyone was spellbound, and after each storytelling, coins would find their way into the discreet hat left by Rolan's feet. It was evident he was well pleased with the results of his trip here.

Lucia had been absent from the hall the previous two nights, for reasons that had left him walking with a limp and with a flush upon her face. Lestor was a vigorous lover, and seemed to want only more of Lucia as time went on, rather than tiring of her.

So it was on the third night, while Rolan was storytelling, that they arrived late to the feast, enduring good-hearted jesting at their expense.

Lestor only grinned, while Lucia felt she was blushing from head to toe. It was hard to accept teasing, when she expected it to become vicious at any moment. Her past experiences was nothing she could forget.

Rolan finished his story with a smile and a flourish to much applause, and then he looked up.

His gaze fell on Lucia, and his eyes widened. His jaw dropped. Ignoring the others, he came forward and dropped to his knees before the small woman, bowing his head to the ground.

“I apologize, my princess, for my lack of greetings. Blessings upon your royal presence.”

There fell a spreading silence as Lucia stared down at him in shock. Then she glanced at her master with pleading eyes.

Lestor had frozen in place, confused. “Rolan, what in the name of the gods are you doing? What sort of prank is this? Fostered by a bet no doubt. I don’t much like it.”

Rolan finally raised his head, but remained plastered to the floor. He did not look at Lestor. Only at Lucia. “Will you forgive my trespass, my princess?”

Lucia took a nervous step back, her hands twitching restlessly by her sides, her gaze sliding back to Lestor in helpless supplication.

“Rolan, get up. You are upsetting Lucia with this nonsense.”

Rolan glanced at him, then back at Lucia, finally seeming to register that the girl did not understand his gesture at all.

Slowly, hesitantly, he rose back to his full height, confusion evident as his gaze swung between Lestor and Lucia.

“I did not know that you had contact with the Elven Tribes.” His tone held confusion, then he seemed to realize what he had said, and he stepped back, paling.

There was complete silence in the hall.

It was Lucia who broke it. “You know of the Elven Tribe? My mother was from there…” Her voice trailed off, longing in the tone as she stared at Rolan, before shooting a glance at her master, then looking down as though she feared she had stepped over a line.

Lestor stepped forward and laid a hand upon Rolan’s shoulder, holding him from retreating farther. “Come with me, my friend. I think we need to talk.”

Rolan looked anything but thrilled, but he walked at Lestor's side as they left the hall.

Lestor led the way to his office on the west side of the vast sprawling complex and shut the door behind them. He had the feeling that this was better kept quiet for the moment.

Rolan eyed him, then looked down, his fingers twined with each other, his twitching skin indicating nervousness.

Lestor folded himself down upon his chair and put his forearms down upon the desk, indicating that Rolan should also take his seat himself.

The other man folded his legs and sank down upon the chair on the far side of the desk.

Lestor kept his tone calm. “Now, what was that about?” Rolan was a friend, and not to be interrogated like an enemy trooper. Rolan took a deep breath, glancing back at the door. “If I speak of this, it must remain between you and me alone. If it was known what I have foolishly exposed, my very life could be forfeit.” He paused. “Tell me of the girl, the white girl. How is it she is here?”

Lestor frowned, concern rising. “Lucia is a slave, found by us at the sacking of Val’s fortress. He is Val’s seventh daughter, from a Elf woman, at least that is what Lucia says.”

Nolan eyed him, frowning, considering. “I will tell you this. The Elven Tribe exist, but word of that must not spread. They are very reclusive, and want no contact with the outside world. I would be barred from their lands if they knew I had exposed them in any fashion.”

Lestor drew a deep breath, fascinated. “How then did a elf woman find her way to Val?”

Rolan shook his head. “Of that, my friend, I have no knowledge. But the girl’s coloring cannot be mistaken. Only the direct descendants of the royal Elven Tribesmen carries such a distinctive silver hair and white pale skin. No other.”

Lestor sat back, stunned, mulling this new development and beginning to worry about what this would mean for Lucia. And perhaps to them all. The loss of a royal child would not be taken lightly. Their kind were not very fertile and a child was a blessing of great magnitude. To lose one to a tragedy was beyond words.

“So this coloring could not be an accident? Lucia claims that Val is her father.”

Rolan shook his head. “A cross would create a silver hair, but never the white pale skin. Even the Elves themselves, only the direct royal line carry that distinction. I have seen Val. But I'm sure that no child of his would ever carry those genes for a pale skin.”

“Then he is purebred Elf.”

“Royal Elf,” Rolan emphasized. “Word of this must be sent to them. I do not know how this came about, but they are secretive. Any loss would never be discussed outside their own.”

Lestor felt a pang, his forehead creasing into a frown.

These people, kin though they might be, knew nothing of Lucia. He could not imagine just turning over the girl to strangers. Lucia was shy and timid. She was only just settling into finding herself here, must less discovering that she had kin, and royal kin at that.

And Lucia was his.

The thought flew to the forefront of his thinking, acknowledging he had no wish to release the young woman. He had grown very fond of her, badly though things had started. To simply walk away from her now was beyond his capabilities.

“We will send word then, but we will bring Lucia to them. I do not want these strangers on our lands until we know if they are ally or foe.”

“I will go myself with all speed.” Rolan stared at him, concern in his eyes. “They will not be pleased when they hear of her treatment here. I had heard the rumors of the pale woman long before I came here, and how she was regarded by all. To know that their kin was treated in such a fashion… It will not go over well, my friend.”

Lestor grimaced. He did not need a conflict with the Elven Tribe. He had a war with the Hibernian's to worry about already. “We will deal with this day by day. For the moment, we can only inform them of her presence, and take it from there.”

Rolan nodded and rose. “I will do my best to explain the circumstances, and the political situation here. Hopefully they will understand. They chose to eschew politics long ago by going into seclusion. I have no idea how they are going to view this entire situation.”

“Do your best, Rolan . I know you have a silver tongue. For all our sakes, use it well.”

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