Carnal Sacrifice (12 page)

He nodded. “Slowly, we figured out that his parents had been farmers, peaceful  people, but the Virgs know no peace—only killing and destruction. A caravan of other  survivors had brought Baelor south, but turned him out near the village, likely because  none had the means to provide for him. My grandfather took him in and though he’s  seven years younger than me, we were raised as brothers.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a kind man.” Often in Caralonian society, parentless  children were indeed taken in and even treated well by the community—but seldom  did one person take sole responsibility for the child of another.

Garon nodded. “My mother died during childbirth, so he raised me.”

So much death in the lives of these men. It made her feel fortunate to have both of  her parents, even if she
 
was
 
still incredibly angry with her father. “You were born here  then, in Myrtell?” she asked.

Garon shook his head against the fur bed covering. “My grandfather and my  mother—his daughter—both worked as servants in a large fortress far away,  somewhere west of here. The man they worked for is my father, although not by my  mother’s choice. He raped her.”

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Carnal Sacrifice

Laela gasped. Rape? It was a crime perpetrated by such as the Virgs, but in Caralon itself, the offense was rare. Except for royal daughters and a few other wealthy girls with a bride price, sex was a common, accepted way to entertain one’s self, a celebrated pastime that all shared with equal joy, and she knew, just from her knowledge of their society, that finding a willing partner was not difficult. Rape was an act committed by only the most violent of men.

Garon seemed to read her thoughts. “The fortress was isolated. Not many young women worth fucking, I presume,” he said coldly. Yet his voice came steady, and she knew he’d accepted this harsh reality of his life long ago. “After my mother’s death, my grandfather stole me away and brought me here. There, I could have been a wealthy landowner with a fortress of my own someday—probably by now—but Ares only knows what sort of existence I’d have had to endure. My grandfather felt a chance at a happy life for me was worth the sacrifice.”

She summoned a soft smile. “And
 
are
 
you happy?”

He met her gaze in the dim lighting. “Mostly, I suppose. When my grandfather died, he’d saved enough for me to open the tavern. So I have more than many in  Myrtell—something to call my own. I have food to eat and ale to drink, and earnings saved should I ever need them. I have a soft bed, and enough women to warm it.
 
You
 
to warm it, just now,” he added, reaching to press his hand across her bare belly. “And he left me other things, too. Not things that can be measured, but…”

“What?” she asked when he trailed off.

“He taught me things. He gave me an education.”

She couldn’t help being curious what he meant exactly. “What did he teach you?”

His eyes softened. “He read. And he taught me to read, too.”

She smiled at his pride in his grandfather, knowing that, in Caralon, many did not  have the opportunity to learn the ancient written language. “My father’s fortress  possessed a large library stacked to the ceiling with old, valuable volumes from the  Before Times.”

She rolled on her side to face him. “Really? They must have been extremely

valuable.”

He nodded. “And yet there they all were, tucked away in a fort in the middle of nowhere, gathering dust. The master of the fortress didn’t even read them. As far as my grandfather knew, they were left behind by
 
his
 
parents, and only my grandfather ever set foot in the chamber.” Then he grinned. “He used to sneak in late every night to read.  Read almost the whole library, he said. And he told me stories from the volumes, and taught me everything he could remember learning from them.”

It gave her chills to think of such treasures going unappreciated. Enrick, too, owned a library, but even the Ruler of Caralon’s collection was small, containing only a few fragile volumes from the Before Times. “
My
 
father’s library,” she said, feeling giddy at the sudden memory, “had a favorite volume I learned from as a little girl. It was a book of primeval tales, and my favorite of them featured what, in the Before Times, was

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Lacey Alexander

called a
 
kingdom
. The man who ruled it, as my father rules Caralon, was the
 
king
. He  had a daughter—the story was much about her—and she was called a…” She started to  say it, but stopped, meeting his gaze.

He smiled, then finished for her. “A princess.”

She’d nearly forgotten to wonder how he’d known the archaic term—so much had  happened so fast over the past two nights—but now it all came clear. His grandfather
 
had
 
taught him a lot. “He sounds,” she said, “like a wonderful man. I’m…glad you had  someone like that in your life.”

“Why is that, princess?”

She spoke quietly, sheepishly—but truthfully. “Because I think he made
 
you
 
into a  good man, too.”

His brows knit doubtfully. “A man who protects you only if you agree to be his  slave is a good man?”

She considered his words, and replied honestly. “I’ll admit, it doesn’t
 
sound
 
very  good. But so far, yes, I
 
do
 
think you’re a good man—perhaps a better man than you  know.”

* * * * *

The next day Garon walked along the beach, listening to the seabirds call, watching the grasses on the dunes sway in the ocean breeze. The hottest days of summer were upon Myrtell, a time that often led him to the shore for that blessed wind that whipped through his hair and took his mind off the heat for a little while.

At the moment, though, he had a much more niggling sort of heat on his mind—and the sea breeze wasn’t distracting him from it. He kept remembering Laela so boldly taking both his cock and Baelor’s. He’d been sure the very suggestion would send her escaping out the nearest window—yet he’d been wrong. Instead, she’d stunned and amazed him with her lovely willingness. No one would have believed she was a virgin until just a couple of days ago.

Seemed he simply couldn’t upset the girl—no matter what intentions he began with early in the evening, by the time the last candle’s flame faded, he was forced to realize he’d made her far happier than sad. It had only been two nights, but two very
 
telling
nights indeed.

He’d known from the moment he’d lain eyes on her that she was a lush beauty whose body could threaten his sanity—but he’d had no way of knowing she’d turn out to be such a hot, willing little slave.

Both nights, he’d come to her intent on ravishing her, making her damnably sorry she’d ever enslaved herself to him, but each night, after finding her so impossibly agreeable to whatever he suggested, he’d soon forgotten all about wanting to offend her, trying to drive her to protest or, better yet, drive her away—he’d been far too

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Carnal Sacrifice

caught up in watching her explore the wonders of her own body, and of his. And, last  night, Baelor’s, too.

And now…now she thought he was a good man?

What had he been thinking, opening up to her about his grandfather? It had been  too late in the night for such a discussion—he’d spoken without weighing his words.

The truth was—he didn’t think he was a particularly
 
good
 
man or a particularly
 
bad
 
one. He’d been a
 
better
 
man before his grandfather’s death, but once the beloved old  man had passed on, Garon had been left with no one to care about anymore. Oh, there  was Baelor, certainly, but that was different. Maybe the loss of his grandfather had left  him feeling as if…well, as if no one
 
needed
 
him anymore.

And then he’d fallen for Ellaena, who’d left him for a wealthier man, and for a brief  measure of time Garon had even wished his grandfather
 
hadn’t
 
taken him away from  the riches that would have been his, for riches bought a lot in this world—maybe even  love. He’d come to his senses later, realizing he remained glad his grandfather had not  let him be raised by a rapist—but life had indeed changed after those losses, his  grandfather and Ellaena. Life had become about serving ale and fucking women.  Nothing wrong with either activity, but he couldn’t deny his existence had begun to  feel…thin. He’d slowly grown greedy, selfish, out for himself.

The man who’d agreed to protect Laela when she’d come to him, fear and  desperation in her eyes—
 
that
 
was the man his grandfather had raised. But the man  who’d made her promise her body for it, the man who’d made her a slave, was  someone his grandfather wouldn’t be so proud of.

Yet what it came down to was simple—he couldn’t permit her to see what was left  of the good man inside him from this point forward.

Because he couldn’t harbor this royal girl much longer.

He was only lucky Enrick’s men hadn’t yet returned to haul them both away, him  to his death.

She was sweet—too sweet for him to throw her out into the street, he’d learned. So it had to be
 
her
 
decision—she had to decide to go on her own. Which meant he’d have to make life as his sex slave unbearable. He’d have to insist she indulge in acts that she would find repulsive, and he’d have to
 
succeed
 
in finding those repulsive acts, even if that required digging a bit deeper into depravity than he’d gone so far. He’d have to make her decide that marriage to whatever old man her father had chosen for her was better than what she’d be forced to do for
 
him
, here.

Letting himself play with the girl up to now had been decadent fun, but also pure foolishness. As much as he genuinely liked her, and as much delight as he took from her enthusiasm in the bedroom, his very life depended upon getting her out of his tavern—for good.

* * * * *

57

Lacey Alexander

Laela stood over a wooden tub, methodically scrubbing the goblets dirtied the night before. She should have felt dejected—suddenly living the life of a washerwoman. Yet even without a viewing glass to peer into, she knew a merry little smile lit her face. For every time she recalled the unthinkably erotic sex she’d shared with Garon and Baelor last night, she couldn’t help but feel giddy and hot, her pussy oozing desire beneath the hem of her silk dress, even growing tattered as it was.

She’d often wondered about the existence of common villagers in Caralon, wondering what drove them, what kept them happy even though they hadn’t many choices in life or the many luxuries she did in the fortress. But now she thought she knew. They could fuck day and night if they wished, they could bed each other copiously with no one to worry or judge or fret over it in any way. And an hour of good sex, she’d learned, was enough to keep her happy all day.

The tavern had been left excessively messy last night, so it took her the entire day to make it ready for another night of drinking. When Garon came in near dusk, looking flushed, a bit windblown and inexorably handsome, his eyes seeming to glitter with the late day sun, she was sorely tempted to ask him why they need bother cleaning the place up so much if the customers were just going to dirty it again tonight. But she refrained, for he didn’t appear nearly as at ease as during their oh-so-delicious encounter last night.

She was discovering him to be a moody man. Yet she didn’t mind it much—so far, he always seemed to turn tender enough with her in the bedchamber. Tender and hot and generous—
 
beyond
 
generous—in giving her pleasure. And, as she could not forget, he
 
had
 
saved her from being taken home by her father’s men. If she served as his slave for fifty years, she feared it wouldn’t be enough to repay
 
that
 
debt.

“The tavern is clean,” she informed him, holding out her arms to motion around her. “Shall I head off to sleep now?” It was what he’d instructed yesterday before the doors had opened for business. And it would suit her fine if tonight turned out like the previous—cleaning, then sleeping, then fucking. In fact, she thought she could become very accustomed to such a life, so long as the man in the center of it all was Garon.

Yet her lover shook his head, not smiling. “Tonight you serve with the other tavern maids, princess.”

She raised her eyebrows. Besides the fact that she was already intimidated by her single memory of Sima and Janya, and that she didn’t necessarily wish to be ogled by  Garon’s customers as the other women had been, she had an additional concern. “What if someone recognizes me?”

Another light shake of his head. “You said yourself that unbraiding your hair makes your identity much less obvious. And…” he handed her a cloth sack he’d carried in, “…you’ll shed your silk for the night. In more common clothing, you’ll look like nothing more than a village girl earning her keep by passing out ale to thirsty men.”