Cethe (67 page)

Stefn silenced him with another kiss, this one returned eagerly. Strong arms pul ed Stefn over onto him, tongue thrusting deep.

The slick head of Michael’s cock pushed hard against Stefn’s buttocks. His hands slid up and down Stefn’s back.

Moving his body slightly, Stefn positioned himself for Michael’s pleasure, gasping as the h’naran lord found the opening and

pushed up into him. It hurt, no preparation made to ease the way, but Stefn barely noticed. He sat up, knees splayed to either side

of Michael’s long, lean body, his head thrown back as Michael impaled and possessed him.

This was where he belonged. Stefn knew it as surely as he knew anything, moving to the rhythm of their pleasure,

overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of it. Michael sat up, wrapping his arms around Stefn, pul ing him close. Each plundering thrust,

each jagged bolt of pleasure-pain shook Stefn to his soul.

“I love you,” he heard Michael whisper over and over. “I wil never let you go.”

Michael’s arms tightened. Stefn cried out, hands gripping Michael’s broad shoulders, light brighter than the terrible naragi spel

fil ing his heart. He came, spil ing his seed across Michael’s bel y and felt the rush of warmth of Michael’s own climax. Afterwards

they clung together while the sun rose higher, the day warming around them. And, when Stefn final y had the strength to lean back

and look into Michael’s face he saw, for the second time in his life, a naragi’s tears.

The history of the nara in Tanyrin is one much misunderstood and has suffered slander and calumny due to the unfortunate

war which cast Tanyrinin against Tanyrinin. In truth, nara fought with human and human fought against human; the villains of the

war are not so clearly set out as some might claim. It was therefore decided that the Scholars Guild would write this third volume

of the Chronicles, one in which the nature and history of our naran brothers and sisters might be set out in full view so Men

might understand how much alike we are and how small and insignificant our differences.

from:
The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume III
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1350

The dispatch from the west arrived while His Majesty was enjoying a hurried lunch at his desk, going through piles of orders,

plans, maps, and lists. He thanked the clerk, who bowed his way from the room, then opened the satchel, upending the contents on

his already over-crowded desk. There were only two letters of note. One was from Lord Damon, the other he tucked into his

waistcoat pocket.

The siege at Creighton wore on. Uncle Damon’s impatience showed through the polite, if terse, note. If only Severyn would

permit him to make use of his marshland witches, the duke was certain the entire situation could be brought to a head and finished

within the week.

Doubtless he was correct, but the people of Tanyrin were being asked to accept a dreaded naragi in their midst. Changes of

heart took time; forcing the issue by unleashing a horde of h’naran witches would hurt more than it would help.

“If you find your lunch so disagreeable, send for another,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. “You are the king, after al .”

Severyn’s heart lifted at once. He looked up to see Mick. Strol ing into the room, Mick took a chair opposite Severyn’s desk

with the same easy familiarity as always. Severyn came up with his first real smile of the morning.

“It’s not the beef, it’s your grandfather. He’d rather swoop down on Creighton with magic and fire than endure the tedium of a

siege.”

“Fewer people would die,” replied Michael, matter-of-fact.

“At least they’l die at human hands,” said Severyn.

Michael shrugged, looking unconvinced, but he hadn’t been among the noblemen who made no secret of their unease at the

resurrection of their ancient nightmare. Michael was right; more people would die in an ordinary siege, but those were deaths

everyone understood and, in a perverse way, would find more acceptable.

“Has there been any word from the east?” asked Michael. “Do we know what Locke is doing?”

“A few travelers have come out of the Midders. They report Zelenov in ruins, but of Locke?” Severyn’s grin was wry. “Not a

word. I’ve no doubt we’l hear from him again, but it wil be awhile before he chal enges me openly.”

Reaching into his pocket, he took out the other letter. “I did get this today.” He handed it across the table to Michael.

His friend glanced at the seal and his face stil ed. “It’s an acceptance, I assume?”

“I imagine so.”

The look in those grey eyes was suddenly unbearably bleak. Then, summoning an unconvincing smile, Michael rose. “I

suppose there’s no point in putting it off.”

“Where is he?”

“By the lake with Annie and Stefanie.”

“You could wait. Give it to him later.”

“Why? It’s his dream. He’s more than earned it. And I certainly have no right to deny it to him.”

“You’re his naragi.”

“I’m his captor and his rapist,” replied Michael harshly. “He wil never be free of me, whether he thinks he wishes it or not.”

“He stil wears your lethet. Didn’t he say he had the power to remove it?”

“The Third Chronicle. He never actual y laid hands on it, never read those words himself. It could have been one more trick of

Locke’s to torment him.” Michael shook his head. “I would keep him by my side every minute if it were up to me, Sev, but I wil never

be such a monster again. He’l have al the freedom I can give him, including freedom from me.”

“Mick… ”

But Michael only smiled sadly and, envelope in hand, left Severyn at his desk.

For several long minutes, the young king sat, wondering what would happen if Stefn Eldering chose the path now laid before

him. The thought that Mick might stay here with him, instead, gave the king a glow of guilty warmth.

Suddenly, he could not bear to wait for the answer. Getting up, he left his work and made his way through the palace to one of

the large parlors overlooking the island’s western shore. He was in time to see Michael walking swiftly down the sloping lawn toward

the white strip of beach.

There, the dark-haired earl sat on one of the benches, facing the lake. On the sand, Annie Arranz and her new best friend,

Stefanie Eldering, future queen of Tanyrin, splashed in the shal ows, holding their brightly colored skirts above the gentle waves.

Their laughter, light and musical, drifted up to Severyn on the breeze.

Spotting her brother, Annie left Stefanie to run to him. He embraced her. When they parted, she cal ed to Stefanie and the two

girls, arm in arm, ran on down the beach, leaving Michael alone with his cethe.

Severyn watched Michael sit down beside Stefn on the bench. He couldn’t see or hear what they did or said, for their backs

were turned to him. But final y, Michael rose and left. Moving slowly, like an old man, he started back toward the palace.

On the bench, Stefn Eldering sat, head bowed. He had taken the envelope, Severyn realized. He would accept his admission

to the exclusive Withwil ow Col ege of History. He would leave Lothmont. Severyn’s heart beat faster.

But suddenly, Stefn rose. He did something Severyn couldn’t see. The next moment, a handful of what looked like confetti was

caught by the breeze and whirled away. Leaping over the bench, the earl started to run up the grassy hil toward the mournful figure

in black.

Just as Michael reached a concealing line of trees, Stefn caught up to him. Severyn’s heart sank. The smal er man hurled

himself at Michael, arms going around his neck and Michael, his entire body advertising surprise and joy, swept him up and held him

close.

Severyn sighed. He watched until they parted and disappeared together beneath the trees. Lifting his eyes, he looked across

the lake at Lothmont and beyond, where his subjects waited hopeful y for a new and better day.

He was King of Tanyrin. It would have to be enough.

We hoped you enjoyed Cethe and we also wanted to let you know that you can order SL's newest publication, Cake, on its website on April 14th.

Cake is about man who's life is without merit and boring. He is a chubby, irritable computer programmer, who decides to try his hand at industrial

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About the Author

Becca has been writing since the mid-1990s when she started writing fanfiction for various television shows. Her talent has only grown and she has

recently started writing original works of fiction. Cethe is her first published novel but expect great things from her as more of her works are published in

the coming years.