What?
The soft humming he’d heard in his ear—Merryn humming in her pleasure—stopped. Everything stilled. Merryn settled her face in the crook of his neck, her heart pounding against his. He breathed her in.
When at last she could breathe, when she could at last find words again, Merryn said, “Bishop, this is beyond what should be, isn’t it?”
“Yes”—the only word he could get out of his mouth. In truth, he didn’t care, but she was right. And here she was, talking. It amazed him. He still wondered if another breath would fill his chest—it was so hard to suck in the air. He stroked his hands over her back, wished her gown were on the floor beside her. He wanted desperately to feel her flesh, to feel her breasts, to feel her heart against his, to give her his mouth.
He managed it, somehow managed to get the gown off her. And then they were together as they were meant to be. “Sleep, Merryn,” he said against her ear. “Sleep.”
“The humming,” she said, her breath warm on his neck. “The humming.”
Aye, the humming, her humming against his ear. “It was very fine,” he said, kissed her hair, closed his eyes, and slept, his breathing deep, finally slowing.
Sometime Else
The prince laughed. “Did you like that, Brecia? It is my lust that is shaking the very fortress beneath your weathered old feet.”
“Stop it, you mad prince. Just behave yourself. We have to find that chest.”
/> “Do you know,” he said, looking up at her as the violent quivers settled once again, “I want you even though you are so ugly it makes my eyes burn to look at you.”
“You are so ugly I would have to pull a sack over your head to bring myself even to kiss you.”
“But how could you kiss me if I had a sack over my head?”
“I could pretend it was a beautiful wizard beneath that sack, and surely that would be more pleasant.”
Suddenly there was an old sack over his head and she heard him laughing, muffled. “It’s true, Brecia. I want you. Now. Kiss me, witch.”
It was a short kiss because Brecia knew they didn’t have much time. But then the prince followed that kiss with many more kisses. Soon his hands were everywhere, and he didn’t stop.
The afternoon sun was slowly lowering when at last Brecia and the prince stood in the center of Mawdoor’s vast chamber. Both of those very ugly old beings were smiling, memories of pleasure still tingling in their blood.
“There isn’t much sunlight coming through those windows,” she said. “I wonder why.”
“Mawdoor is more at ease hovering in the shadows, letting the darkness cover him, don’t you think?” He stroked his ancient, sagging jaw. “I can also see him squating under big rocks.”
“You’re just angry because he wants you dead and he wants to wed me.”
“Aye, that is at the bottom of it. I’ve always known, deep inside, that there would be a final battle between us. It’s near, I feel it. Now, let’s find that chest.”
It wasn’t in his big, gloomy chamber, with its brooding shadows that filled the corners and cast dim light onto the old wooden floors, bare and worn. Brecia looked at his bed, a huge thing that was covered with an incredible white cloth. She touched it. It felt just like her white woolen gowns.
“We must work quickly.”
“Yes,” she said, walked beside him to the door, then turned to look about the chamber. She spoke very quietly, waved her hand in a half circle. The room was still shadowed and dim. She said, “Ah, a wonderful job. The room is clean now, although there wasn’t much dirt to begin with to sweep into the courtyard.”
Three hours later, they still hadn’t found the chest.
“Mayhap it doesn’t exist,” the prince said, and scratched his armpit. “It could just be a ghost tale.”
“But you’d heard of it too.”
He nodded.
“The ghosts were very certain about the chest. His demon father gave it to him, told him it was his decision whether or not to accept it. It would give him greater powers, but if he lost it or if it was taken from him, it would suck him in, destroy him.”
“So mayhap he decided not to take the risk. Mayhap he destroyed it. Mayhap the ghosts were wrong about him keeping it.”