Page 4 of The Ivory King

“Make sure she is fed sweet hay and fresh grains,” I told the young miss, who nodded, bowed, and then curtsied. “And when she is brushed and happy, tell Cook Primrose that I asked for you to get an extra slice of warm bread with your meal.”

“My lord, you are truly kind and winsome!” she blurted out, then blushed from her toes to her pointed ears. Atriel, being a little bossy when she knew hay and grains were coming, began tossing her head. I smiled down at the girl and walked over to embrace my friends.

“A span of a day is seemingly much different here in the marshes than it is further south. For it seems our bannerman rode off in the passing of the sands through a glass.”

I pounded on their backs, each one, and then moved to bow to the lady of the keep. “My grandfather sends his regards to you, Lady Mossbell, and is suffering a great sadness that he could not attend the celebration for Lady Bonnalure, but his legs are swollen again and the healers forbid him to leave the keep.”

She placed a hand on my head as was customary. I straightened and met her gaze. She was a fair woman even though she was older, the signs of age just starting to show with the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. A warm wet breeze blew over the bailey, lifting her satiny hair into her face.

“We will miss the grand advisor at the dinner table and games, for he always brings wit and a keen aspect to our discussions,” Lady Mossbell replied as she folded her hands in front of her.

“I shall pass your words along. Oof!” I grunted as Luchas and his brother took hold of me from behind, giggling like mad otters, and pulled me away from my men. I gave V’alor one fast glance as I was yanked into the castle proper. He watched me go inside, barked an order to a stable hand, and then went to follow me. I shook my head. The glower I got was short-lived but intense.

Once inside the keep, the twins herded me through the main hall into a small library where Lady Bonnalure, their sister, sat reading in front of a fire. She, too, was possessed of fine features, long yellow hair, and slim pointed ears. Her dress was a soft green that played well with her emerald eyes. “I am sorry to interrupt your reading,” I said as the twins finally released me to attack a tray of meats and cheeses resting on a side table by a thick glass window.

“You did nothing of the sort. It is good to see you again, Lord Stillcloud.” She placed her book on her lap, careful to keep the thick woolen blanket over her deformed legs. “My fiancé has been called home. His grandsire has taken a tumble off his horse but assures me that he will be here for the feast tomorrow.”

“I do hope that the elder Lord Dewfall was not greatly harmed,” I said, then was tugged from polite conversation with the young woman to a small corner of the library.

“Honestly, Aelir, you are too polite by far. No one save Bonnalure gives two twists about that old goat Dewfall or his brackish-faced grandson,” Luchas stated as he shoved a roasted chicken leg into my hand. His brother sat in a padded chair, one long leg draped over the armrest, gnawing on a slice of pink pork.

“I hear you speaking, you oaf. My legs do not work, but my ears are keen!” The twins blanched. “Lord Aelir, I shall speak to you later. Do not let my foolish brothers lead you into any great trouble,” Bonnalure shouted out, then exited the library, the wheels on her chair creaking slightly as she left us to whatever tomfoolery the twins had in mind.

“Why is it that all those who are set to inherit become such prudes?”

I lowered my chicken leg to shoot Larium a sharp look. His brows flew into his yellow hairline. “Oh, not you, of course, Aelir. You’re not nearly as prudish as our sister.”

I placed my half-eaten leg on a clean plate. “So you are saying that I am a prude?”

Larium, who had a tendency to leap before he looked into most things, glanced at his twin for assistance. Luchas wiped his greasy fingers on his fine linen trousers with a sigh.

“Aelir, we do not think of you as a prude. Perhaps more a proprietarian.” He sat up just far enough to reach one of the pitchers of red wine and poured himself a glass.

“I think that is one and the same,” I replied with some bite. The twins smiled and shrugged in perfect unison. “I am not a man who lives his life by what society dictates.”

“Have you fucked your guard captain yet?” Lariam asked. My mouth fell open. The sound of a bard plucking a lute floated in through the open windows on the western side of the room.

“Why…what in the name of Ihdos are you talking about?” I sputtered, my cheeks hot, my appetite gone. “V’alor is a dear and trusted friend who has been like a brother to me throughout my childhood.”

“The Dewfalls fuck their brothers,” Luchas tossed out. Lariam whipped a leg bone at his head. It bounced off his skull and fell to the ground. “No, they don’t! I don’t know where I heard that.”

“Simpleton,” Lariam spat as his brother rubbed at the grease mark on his temple. “That is a rumor that has been spinning about the realm for years now with no basis.”

“I’ve never heard it,” I whispered. “I’m sure your mother would not have agreed to a union with your sister and one of the Dewfall men if such a thing had any truth to it.”

They both nodded their matching heads, but I saw a hint of disbelief in their eyes. To be honest, the breeding pool of elite elven houses was incredibly limited and as such, a few had begun suggesting we begin looking into accepting by-blows of noble lineage into our esteemed ranks. Not much had come from the whispers yet, but someday things would have to change. One did not breed a stallion to his daughter as the stable master had explained to me as a child, and while I did not grasp it then, I certainly did now. So perhaps the rumors about the Dewfall siblings had been overlooked to ensure a match between two pureblooded elves. Unsavory things were ignored every day to ensure the nobility remained unsullied by the taint of half-bloods or those who called the Verboten forest home. “Leaving that lurid talk for the fishmongers, I would like to make sure that no one thinks that a Stillcloud would dally with a servant of our vills.”

“And that is why we say you are a proprietarian,” Lariam replied as he sat back to sip his wine. “Your grandfather has hammered such archaic thinking into your head. Everyone who carries noble blood swives the staff.” Luchas bobbed his head, a leer coming over his face. It was a look that took away much of his handsomeness, in my opinion. “My brother and I have shared lovers for years now, from the grooms in the stables to the wenches who light the fires. All are quite pleased to share our bed for even a night. We gift them little trinkets or some silver, then send them back to their duties.”

This I already knew. The rumors about the Mossbell twins rode the winds like willow tufts in the spring. I’d been privy to a few of their excursions over the years but had never partaken even when they, and the men and women they were about to dally with, assured me all were fine with a fourth. I was not fine with a fourth, or a third, or a second. My tastes ran to one lover and one lover only. And that lover must mean something to me. Since my heart rested in V’alor’s capable hands, I had not taken many to my bed. Two over the past five years, and those had been professional courtesans who visited the castle when dignitaries arrived. Both were beautiful elven women, slim but rounded in all the pleasant places, and most skilled in the ways of pleasing a man. And while I enjoyed my time lying with each of them, their curves and sand sage scents could not pry my desire for V’alor’s broad shoulders, thick thighs, and rough hands from my breast. Elven sexuality was incredibly fluid. When a race is as beautiful as ours, male and female bodies both hold exquisite pleasures, but no other elf possessed what V’alor Silverfrond did in my eyes.

“I am aware of your bed play, but my tastes are—”

“Yes, yes.” Lariam sighed as if bored witless. “You are not so inclined. We do know that youareinclined to bed your captain, though. It is as obvious as the nose upon your face, and why you withhold from doing so escapes us.”

“Is he not willing?” Luchas asked, sitting up as he warmed to the conversation, long gold hair sliding over his slim shoulders. “Is his cock not functional? Does he prefer women over men?”

“What he prefers or does not prefer is irrelevant for he refuses to even discuss the possibility of lying with me, so may we please direct our discussion—”

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