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Chapter Nine

Author: Everleigh Miles
last update Last Updated: 2024-10-29 19:42:56

Rapunzel emerged from the curtained bed slowly, sliding until she sat on the end of the mattress, her elegant gown rumpled and gathered around her, showing that her feet were bare. “I am a prisoner here,” she told us with wide eyed earnestness. “And have been since the first year of my life.

“This is my family home. My father was a landed gentleman with a small farm. Nothing extraordinary, but enough to support his family in comfort. However, my mother became sick, and in desperation, he sought out a renowned witch who lived within Nerith, by the name of Gerveine, who was known to have a magic potion that could cure all ills made of a rare flower.

“Gerveine granted his wish, and made him a potion, but in exchange for me,” Rapunzel touched her fingertips to her hair. “As, when I was born, my fairy godmother blessed me with magical hair capable of sewing any wound closed as if it never existed. Gerveine takes a few strands every time she visits, which she sells to kings and heroes headi
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    “Up to?” I repeated trying for innocence. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”“Mhm. I was very flattered when your parents named you after me,” Daerton stepped over the bench and sat next to me. “And I have been nothing but proud of the young woman that I have watched grow ever since. But I must admit, never so proud as a few moments ago when you manipulated that fool of a knight into doing precisely what you wanted him to do,” he nodded around his smile. “Whilst preventing him from beating your mage to a pulp.”“I… Ah,” I felt my cheeks heat. “Aien isn’t my mage.”“Darling girl,” Daerton drawled. “As a mage myself, I recognize when another of my ilk becomes a liegeman. I remember the moment that your mother won me as her mage. We were traveling in a wagon, watching your father flying overhead, and she compared her crown to a shackle, and herself to a sacrificial lamb. I realized then that my magic was hers, that there never would be another Queen or King whom I could serve with as

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    He took the soap and lathered his hands generously, before sliding them over my skin. Beneath the slip of the soap, I could feel the slight rasp of the callouses on his palms. As I had done, he stroked over my shoulders and back, down to my waist, before stroking over my chest. His breathing was heavy, and I could feel the throb of him against my back as he moved closer.He cupped me between his legs, his knees bent due to the close confinement of the tub, and I rested my hands upon his knees, feeling the shift of bone, and the tickle of hair against my fingertips. His hands sculpted over my breasts, his thumbs stroking over the nipples.“Oh,” I sighed the moan.“Amazing,” he whispered, his voice catching hoarsely. “So beautiful.”That betraying vocal catch sent shivers of need across my skin, raising my hair. His hand stroked over the soft curve of my stomach to cup me lower, his fingers discovering my secrets. I felt him swallow on his groan.“Tell me…” He swallowed again, fighting

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    I woke Aien from sleep when I burst into his chamber. He was reclining against an impressive number of pillows, his arm immobilized between splints and bandages. He had a black eye and a knife wound that narrowly missed his other eye, scoring down his cheek to his jaw.“Oh, Aien,” I sobbed out.“Daethie,” he smiled, wincing slightly as it pulled on the scabbed wound. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Isyl returned this morning and is working on a potion in the kitchen as we speak. Ecaeris says that by tomorrow I’ll have a scar and some weakness in my arm, but I’ll be…”I crawled onto the bed and buried my face into his chest. I felt him press a kiss to the crown of my head. “I’ve been so scared all night,” I whispered to him.I felt him swallow hard and his uninjured arm tightened around me. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It was stupid of me. I walked right into it…”“Well, isn’t that lovely?” Tarragon drawled from the doorway as she and Rue carried in Aien’s chest. I sat up, gu

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    The night was not still, and my tears were interrupted by the sounds of tents being dismantled, hasty whispers and rustles, followed by the creak of wagons and the hollow fall of horse-hooves. Aien and I both stilled, listening. A man called out, challenging those leaving, arguing that abandoning the campaign was cowardice. They called him a fool and encouraged him to join them before continuing undeterred. I gripped Aien’s shirt in both fists and leaned my forehead against the warmth of his chest. He stroked his hands up and down my back. “Perhaps…” He said into my hair. “Tomorrow we may go too, Daethie…?” “Perhaps.” I didn’t want to think about the morning. Lying pressed against Aien, feeling his body against mine with just the finest layers of cloth between us made me ache for him. I was not alone, his desire evident where our tangled legs brought our hips together. I slowly lifted my head, looking up at him. His hand shook as he stroked my hair back from my face and his face sof

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    Tarragon was drunk.The knights and camp followers who had gathered around the fire to ease their weariness with food and ale clustered on the opposite side of the flames to where she sat staring into the glowing embers, a jug of spirit held in one hand. Her dragon-nature was on full display in her stillness, the flames echoed in her eyes, and her jaw grimly set.It took a considerable amount of effort and alcohol for a dragon to become intoxicated. I had only ever seen my father tipsy on a few rare occasions, and never morosely so. When our father drank enough to affect himself, he would speak freely of his past, his childhood, and his people, sing the refrains of ancient songs that he only half-remembered, and then he would wrap his arms around our mother and whisper to her in Fae until they crept away to make another sibling for our family.My brothers and Tarragon regularly drank, but only into joviality, until they sang songs of war, or gambled ridiculous wagers, let their knight

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