Rituals of Passion (2 page)

Lavonia shifted her dark blue gaze from girl  to girl, until Maven felt it land on her. “If Maven wishes to know about the Maran tiles, then perhaps I can tell you all…a little something.”

“Oh, please, Maven, please,” Laela begged.

Laela’s immaturity at fifteen was thoroughly  grating,  yet Maven still gave in to  thetemptation being offered. She looked up at  her maid and tried to sound aloof. “Yes, I suppose I would like to know whatever you can tell us.”

“All right then,” Lavonia said, “but gather round, so I can speak quietly.”

Lavonia lowered her voluptuous frame onto Maven’s bed and motioned  for thethree girls  to come closer. As they pulled  up near her on the floor, Maven saw the giddy light in Lavonia’s eyes. She knew from years  of experience that her maid played thepicture of obedience in her work, but that  she privately enjoyed telling secrets or passing along any sort of scandalous gossip.  “What I am going to share with you mustnot leave this room,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “It is the history of the Maran tiles.”

Laela gasped in awe as Maven and Teesia simply exchanged more mature looks of

interest.

“Legend holds that there was once a great  ruler named Arend who took for his wife

a girl called Maran.”

“Was this back in the Before Times?” Laela asked.

“No one knows for sure,” Lavonia said, “but  most think not. Most think Arend was a heroic leader of our age and that this is  why the royal follow his marriage rituals to  this day.”

“Go on,” Maven urged. Despite her efforts at maturity, she wanted to hear the  story.

“Well, it seems that Maran was a very shy and backward girl and that she was frightened of Arend’s…um,
 
attention
 
on their wedding night. Now, most powerful men  would not have cared in the slightest how the  girl felt, but Arend, being a far wiser man  than most, wished his new wife to enjoy their marriage.

“So rather than proceed with the usual events of the wedding night, he exercised  great patience, and he spent many evenings  creating the Maran tiles, a game he felt  would prepare his young wife for his attentions. He was correct—the tiles led Maran

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to…let us say, a full understanding of  the  joys of marriage—” Lavonia imparted on a  light giggle,  “—and Arend and Maran shared great happiness from that day on.”

Maven only pursed her lips as Teesia voiced the question in Maven’s mind. “That’s  it? That’s all you’re going to tell us?”

“I think it sounds utterly romantic,” Laela cooed, only to earn frowns from her sisters.

Lavonia just laughed.  “You didn’t think I’d tell you the  secret, did you? Why, yourfather would likely take away my position  if  he knew I’d told you  even
 
this
 
much. No, the real truth of the tiles will be revealed to  each of you at the appropriate time, and all you need to know is that the game shall  bring you pleasure such as you have never known.”

* * * * *

The next morning Maven lay abed, awash in sensations she still didn’t understand. Watching the gardener and the maid the previous morning—and she’d been sorelytempted to sneak down this morning as well, but had resisted, afraid of getting caught—had only created more questions  for her, without providing any answers.

The spot between her thighs tingled madly. This particular sensation was of the something-like-an-itch variety and it radiated up through her belly and down  through her thighs with startling energy.  She couldn’t help thinking the dratted feelings hadstarted growing more persistent ever since  she’d started playing with the Maran tilessome months back. What sway did the wooden tiles, painted with simple curving symbols, hold over her? And Lavonia promised the game would bring her joy? At themoment, all she felt was maddened. Despite her growing  skill in the game, the tilesseemed to instill in her  this exasperating prickling sensation that kept her from sleep.

Of course, for all she knew, her excursion to the kitchen yesterday morning hadcontributed to the itch as well. It was beyond her to sort it all out. She hated being royalty! It wasn’t fair that a  girl  her own age—like Senya—knew every secret of a man’s body, yet Maven was kept in pure ignorance  so she would be a more desirable bride.

She was tempted to try scratching away the nagging sensations between her thighs, but she’d attempted that before, without success. Oddly, her efforts at scratching thearea only seemed to aggravate the condition further.

Of course, she recalled, had not all her attempts been made when fully clothed infurs or leathers? Would the result be different
 
now
, wearing only a silk sleeping gown?

Biting  her lip, she eased her hands beneath the silk sheet that covered her. Using one to pull the soft fabric of her gown aside, she eased the other  between her thighs. Oh  Ares, she was so wet down there! Of course, she’d experienced such moisture along with the tingling long before this, but sinking her fingers directly  into the fissure where she was so slick made her flinch. Awe and a  steep jolt of satisfaction assaulted her.

But wait, no—perhaps not satisfaction, only something very near to it.

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It had occurred to her to ask Lavonia, yet she  knew her maid would only giggle and tell her, “All in good time.” It had also occurred to her ask her mother, but the Mistress of Caralon was equally as secretive about  the marriage rituals. Her dark eyes were kinder than Lavonia’s on the occasions Maven’s bride price—her virginity—was mentioned, as if her mother understood her  frustration, yet still she said nothing to lessen the mystery of the marriage bed.

Maven continued scratching, although perhaps it had become more of a stroking now—a strong, firm, repetitive stroking that  seemed to ease the ache even as it deepened it. “Oh, Ares above,” she murmured. “Deliver me from this. Let me be wedsoon, so I might finally know the answers.”

As Maven’s breath grew labored, she realized her entire body was responding to the strong rubbing, her fingers sinking deeper  and deeper into the slick, opened folds.  Drat it all, now even her breasts ached—
 
why, why, why?
 
What was she to do? In utter desperation, she slid her free hand across the silk covering her belly and closed her fingers tight around one breast through the  thin material. Her nipple jutted firm anderect into her palm, as if begging—itching—in the same way as below.

Instinct made her pinch the hard  little protrusion of flesh between her fingertips.  She gasped, the resulting stir spreading through her as if some thick, warm liquid was being poured inside her.

Instinct also  told her that if she just kept  stroking the wet slit between her legs, it would get better somehow—the ache would  be eased. Rubbing harder, faster, the frustration inflated tenfold, yet intuition kept her stroking, petting, her fingers drenched by her own juices.

“Oh Ares,
 
please
,” she murmured. Please what? She  didn’t even  know what shesought, only that the answer seemed to lurk just beyond her reach.

The door opened.

Maven shrieked lightly and withdrew her hands from her body as her motherentered the room in a long, flowing sleeping  gown of sky blue. “ I  startled you so?” thebeautiful raven-haired woman asked with her usual warm smile.

For some reason, Maven felt she’d been caught at something she preferred to  keep private. She didn’t understand the inclination, but neither did she bother examining it. “I’m simply  feeling…uneasy,” she mumbled,  easing her hands from under the covers.

Her mother, Jalal, sat on the fur- and silk-covered bed next to her. “Uneasy, daughter? About what?”

Maven took a deep breath and confessed. “I suppose I’m growing ever more curious about the marriage rituals. Other girls  seem to know all there is to know about women and men, together. Yet Teesia, Laela, and I are kept ignorant of it all.”

Her mother  bestowed a kind,  knowing chuckle. “You must remember, I was once a royal daughter too.” Jalal was the daughter  of Osren of Myrtell. It was known far andwide that she’d left her father’s small domain to marry Enrick the Attacker, now Enrick,

Ruler of all  Caralon.

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“So you, too, were as mystified and curious as I?”

Her mother nodded. “I  know it’s infuriating,  not yet having the answers you desire,  but such is the cost of being a ruler’s daughter.”

“I scarcely  know if it’s worth it,” she fumed, her frustration made worse by the  roaring hum of her body, left hanging in that same maddening place as every other  time she’d attempted to alleviate the ache.

Jalal tilted her head and looked as wise  as Maven  knew her mother was. “You  live a  life of ease compared to others, my daughter. You shouldn’t take that for granted.”

“Yet I have no choice of who my husband shall be, I am bartered like a common  goat or chicken, and I am given over to a man without a clue of how to be a wife.”

Her mother’s calm smile remained in place as she reached out to stroke Maven’s hair. “You are your father’s daughter,” she said. “Strong, determined, with a  will fit for  battle.”

“But I am a
 
woman
. What good does such  strength do me?”

“Your father will not marry you to just any man, Maven. He makes such a choice with the greatest care. You may not like your inability to  choose your own husband, but  it’s our way, a way that has worked for centuries. Your strength will carry you through  the uncertainty, and later it will perhaps lift you to your husband’s side.”

“Like you, with Father.”

“Exactly.” Everyone knew Jalal was the  most powerful woman in Caralon, and  perhaps in the domains to the north and south as well.  Enrick had chosen to make her  his advisor and confidante in  many matters, a rare elevation for a female. Men, it  seemed, liked women well enough when it  came to kissing and connecting the way  Senya and  Arleck had,  but they thought themselves superior in most other aspects of  life.

The thought struck Maven hard. “Father tells you so  many things another ruler’s wife would not know.” She tilted her head  against her feather-stuffed pillow. “Has he told you his plans for me? Has he found my husband yet?”

Jalal’s smile deepened. “That’s why I’ve  come, daughter. Your father summons you to the great hall this morning. There is to be an announcement.”

Maven’s heart dropped to her stomach. “A  betrothal? I am to be married soon?”

“Yes, Maven, your father has made his choice.”

The news took her breath, but she managed one more question. “Who, mother? Who am I to marry?”

Jalal lowered her chin slightly. “Ah, daughter, even I don’t know the answer to that.  Your father will share it with us all at the same time.” Her mother pushed to her feet,blue fabric flowing over her matured curves like silken waterfalls. “Lavonia  shall be in to dress you shortly. After that, you are  to come to the hall—we’ll all be waiting.”

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* * * * *

“You are to be married, daughter,” Enrick  said, although he proclaimed it loud  enough for everyone in the hall to hear. Maven stood looking up at his throne, wearing  her best silk dress. In attendance were her mother, sisters, all who worked in the

fortress, and many of the local townspeople who wished to show their support to

Enrick, the fairest ruler to reign over them in over a hundred years.

It occurred to Maven how noble  and handsome her father appeared, elevated on the throne constructed of costly metals, some  of the most valuable artifacts from the Before Times. His once-blond hair  had begun lightening to silver, along with his beard, but his dark eyes still glittered with power. He  was a wise and fair man, and still clearly enamored of her mother many years after  they’d wed—so maybe Jalal was right, maybe he’d chosen a man who would treat Maven  with the same reverence. Even so, she

waited impatiently, her stomach churning.

“Maven, my oldest daughter and first to become a bride, in three nights you shall be gifted to your husband-to-be in this very  hall, then escorted north to  his home, where you will marry. The man you are to wed is Dane of Rawley.”

Maven’s chest went hollow. Dane of Rawley? She hadn’t heard her father  correctly—she couldn’t have! Yet everyone around her had gone silent, their faces filled  with shock. Even her mother looked aghast,  sitting enthroned next  to Enrick.

“Father, surely you jest.” She had to  find out if she’d misunderstood.

Her father appeared displeased. “No, daughter, I would not jest about something as serious as marriage.”

An ire unlike any she’d ever known rose  in Maven’s chest. She’d been frustrated  before, about the nagging sensations between  her thighs, and she’d been angry before,  about having no control over her own fate. But what she felt now surpassed those  emotions twentyfold. “Father,  Dane of Rawley is a—a…barbarian! Surely you know  this! He’s the most feared man in the north.  Why in Ares’ name would you award me to
 
him
?”

Enrick looked about the room, as if deciding whether to answer her, given thepresence of so many. Yet finally he took a deep breath and peered into her eyes.  “Precisely
 
because
 
he is so feared. His estate is vast and his army is strong—in the northern territories of Caralon his name is  revered as one of power and danger. In exchange for your virginity, Dane will guard and protect the entire length of mynorthern border until my demise. As the husband of a royal bride having no brothers, he will also  be eligible to take my throne at that time.”