Page 12 of The Snow Queen

The previous day, he’d brought fruits and a modern book – something frightfully interesting, the writer hadn’t skipped past the good bits; in the old days, they just talked of loving before hurriedly jumping back to things far less outrageous, such as beheadings. Now, they had no shame in describing just what the loving entailed, cock sucking and all.

Blowjobs, they called it, these days.

“Gerda asked for this book, so I got you a copy, too,” her elf told her.

He often brought her things; clothes, sweets, and a pretty stone the same blue as her eyes. There now was a shelf in her cave, built from wood he’d just cut outside, where she could store them all.

“When are you going to leave me alone?” she asked conversationally.

She said it everyday, and every day, he came back.

“When are you going to stop living in the woods?”

She shrugged, knowing the answer. She’d return to her palace when he stopped visiting her.

He would, some day.

“Are you going to tell me your name today?”

Eira could have introduced herself, but she was reluctant to do so. Sure, she might have given one of her names without explaining the pedigree attached to it, but she knew he would have more questions when she relented this one detail. Where did she come from, why was she here? She saw them all dancing in his eyes, and when he had her name, he’d ask something else.

Because fair was fair, she hadn’t asked for his either, although she would have liked to know it.

“Who is Greda?”

She heard it before she’d consciously decided to say it out loud; and there was an edge to the question, too.

She sounded like a possessive girlfriend; and it was quite fitting too, as it happened to be exactly what she felt like.

“My… friend, I suppose.”

She didn’t twitch. She might have been proud of her mature reaction, if the storm outside hadn’t suddenly picked up.

The elf was visibly alarmed by the unnatural change of weather.

“Damn. Tonight isn’t going to be safe out there, if this continues,” he told her. “Come with me.”

They’d met a month ago, now; he’d asked perhaps fifteen times, since.

“I think not.”

The elf glared at her for the longest time, she could feel it although her eyes were focused on the naughty book she was re-reading.

“That wasn’t a question, witch.”

On that note, like the barbarian she’d frequently accused him to be – at least, in her mind – he grabbed her and threw her onto his shoulder.

Eira yelped in surprise, first, and then, concentrated on trying very hard to prevent herself from giggling like a schoolgirl, wiggling for the sake of it.

“You may want to stop this witch, or I shall have to smack this fine rear end.”

This was delivered in his usual tone, devoid of intonation, and oh-so-sexy because of it.

She was speechless. Smack her ass? No one had ever dared in her entire existence.

“You wouldn’t!”

His answer to that was one harsh, loud slap right on the spot.

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