Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
I can do nothing about what is happening at home, so I shall not think about it at all. I tuck the knife into the front of my bodice and get to my feet, dusting off my skirts. “Coming! Are we going to feast on fresh Fellian mushrooms tonight?”
Nemeth laughs again, the sound echoing through the lonely tower, and I feel a little better after hearing it.
Just a little.
The world outside fades away from my thoughts far too easily.
Now that our supplies are flush once more, it’s easy to feel happy and settled. The root cellar is full to overflowing, and the storage room on the first floor brims with flour for bread, dried herbs and teas, fuel, and new, warm clothing that we can use in the winter. There are fresh blankets and sweet-smelling candles. There are soaps and lotions for me, and new books for Nemeth. With his ledger book, Nemeth has our food supplies plotted out to last us several weeks beyond the next Solstice, all without skimping on meals.
The tower seems a little more comfortable in the weeks past the Solstice.
If the tower’s comfortable, I wish things between Nemeth and I were equally so.
It’s not that things are bad between us. But Nemeth has erected a wall. He’s stated what he wants—a mate—and is calmly and patiently waiting for my decision. He doesn’t want a fling from me, and he’s perfectly willing to wait—or to decline my advances entirely. We still share a bed at night, but the kissing and cuddling has ended as quickly as it began. Things are still friendly and affectionate between us, but he hasn’t tried to wake me with his head between my thighs, and I’m afraid to approach him in a similar fashion once more and get turned down.
And I don’t know what to think.
It’s hard not to feel like I’m being punished. That he’s withholding until I agree to be his mate and say “Yes, I renounce my kingdom, my sister, and everything I’ve ever believed in.” But Nemeth is still my friend. We still laugh over passages in books and curl up together in bed to read or talk about nothing at all. We take turns making meals and playing a card game, and it’s all quite lovely and sweet.
He’s not trying to be an arse about it, I realize. It’s just that if we take things further, Nemeth is only comfortable with one route—as a mated couple. I understand that. I respect that.
I just don’t know if I can do that.
To his credit, Nemeth doesn’t push me to accept him. It’d be easier if he did, I think. Instead he’s kind and understanding and leaves it all in my hands.
Sigh.
Why does he have to be so nice? Why can’t he just grab me and pin me against the wall and have his way with me? Demand my body? Demand my kisses?
I know why—it’s not who he is. He’s a polite monk of a Fellian who just happened to be trapped in a tower with a princess of loose morals who really, really wants to ride his cock.
Weeks pass with our relationship standstill. I keep waiting for Nemeth to break, but I’m starting to realize that this anxious tension on my part might continue for the rest of the time that we’re here in the tower. Six years of waiting for Nemeth to push me into his arms (and his bed) and it might never happen.
And that bothers me.
I wake up in darkness, and the bed beside me is empty. “Mmm,” I say aloud, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “Nemeth?”
No answer.
I reach over and tap the light, turning it on, and the room we share—Nemeth’s room—is empty. I see stacks of books and firewood by the hearth. I see the table heaped with my sewing (the only hobby I’ve managed) and the cards from our last card game scattered about. I see the shelves filled with supplies and Nemeth’s stool near them, but no Nemeth. Frowning to myself, I reach under the mattress and pull out my knife, where I keep it when I sleep.
“Is everything all right?” I ask. “With Nemeth?”
A quick pulse reassures me.
Yawning, I put the knife back. A midnight run to the garderobe, then. I should just go back to sleep.
I don’t. Instead, I get to my feet, drawn perhaps by instinct to leave our comfortable quarters and the light behind. The moment I step outside of our room, I hear a grunt.
I know that sound.
Fascinated, I follow it towards the storage room, where Nemeth keeps his mushroom farm and the wood supplies. I don’t have to be able to see in the dark to know that the door is slightly ajar. I can tell that from the sounds coming from inside. The slick, frantic slap of a hand working a thick cock is a familiar one to me, and heat pulses between my legs.