Chapter 5
The wind ripped savagely at the canvas tent, trying to tear it from its secure moorings and seeming to grow more irate the longer it resisted. Rain and sleet lashed down in torrents, and though Richard initially feared the desert dwellers would not have thought to waterproof their tents, he’d come to find the canvas cloth had been treated with some manner of waxy oil which proved quite impervious to leaks. He watched the bustle of activity outside from the entrance to his new accommodations, a thick cloak of sable fur wrapped tight about his shoulders to ward against the bitter chill. Fortunately, whoever had set up the tent had been smart enough to angle its doorway out of the face of the gusting storm winds. Rafir and Sadiq, his spahi guards, stood stoically just outside, and if the squalling wind bothered them at all they were too disciplined to show it.
The gale had been howling for two days and a full night already, and Richard was familiar enough with such late winter storms to know it might well last another before blowing itself out. He’d hoped the inclement weather would be a burden to the Jaharri, but rather than dampen their mood it appeared to be invigorating it. “Finally, some weather with a bit of spirit to it!” was a comment he’d heard more than once. Even the scouts perched high up in the swaying trees seemed to revel in the way the winds shook their makeshift platforms, and the strongest gusts couldn’t convince them to abandon their posts.
From where he stood, Richard could see a team of Jaharri working through the storm to dig and maintain a series of channels around and through the campsite, directing the flooding waters away from the tents and down to the swollen banks of the nearby stream. Among the figures, directing their efforts and aiding wherever it was needed, he recognized Zafirah herself. Though she could have been enjoying the dry, warm sanctuary of her tent—as most leaders Richard was familiar with would have done—the tall woman was out with her soldiers, braving the storm alongside them.
Grudgingly, and not for the first time since coming here, he added a mental check in her favor; clearly Zafirah was not above getting a little dirt under nails.
Since surrendering himself to the Jaharri nearly a week ago, Richard had had a lot of time to ponder the enigmatic desert Scion and her people. When he first came to the camp, he’d expected to be met with a cold and possibly even malicious reception. But the barbarians treated him with the same courtesy and respect as Falak had shown during their first meeting. He was not treated as a prisoner, but more like an honored guest, permitted to move freely about the camp in the company of his escort, to speak with his own soldiers when they visited the camp to watch the spahi train, and the Jaharri all offered little nods of homage whenever they passed by him.
At first this only made him more suspicious; he sensed a ploy on Zafirah’s part, though he couldn’t yet guess what game the woman was playing with her story of the assassination attempt and subsequent demand that she be given a hostage. It became clearer over time that the Jaharri were truly impressed he’d chosen to accept the role himself rather than allow one of his men to take the risk.
Although he never approached her, never exchanged so much as a word with her, Richard had been watching Zafirah with a scrutinous eye since he arrived. What he’d seen so far both confused and intrigued him. As well as being younger than most rulers he was familiar with, Zafirah was also the first female warrior Richard had ever encountered. Women in the Heartland were forbidden from taking up arms, though the Jaharri seemed to find the practice quite normal. She stood taller than most men, her body lean yet muscular, and she wore her battle scars with pride. Everything about her—every movement she made, every word he’d ever heard her speak, and every interaction she had with her troops—was expressive of utter strength and confidence. In fact, Richard would almost have said there was something vaguely masculine about her, were it not for the fact that Zafirah was so undeniably feminine. She was beautiful in a way Richard had never seen in a woman born of the Heartland—commanding, proud, and strong. The spahi treated her with an almost reverent admiration, clearly loved and worshipped her, and Richard couldn't help but be impressed. Having observed her in a less confrontational setting over the last few days, he was starting to understand at least a little how his daughter had been ensnared by her powerful charismatic presence.
It was only when he thought of his daughter, his treasured and virtuous Dae, whom this woman had corrupted with her unnatural desires, that Richard felt his hatred for Zafirah stir within him again.
The question of the assassination attempt was another thing Richard had pondered these last few nights at great length. He trusted none of his men would attack Zafirah without his express command, and knew the culprit was a stranger. What was less clear, however, was whether the Scion had manufactured the story to somehow hasten her negotiations for Dae’s release…or was there perhaps a third party involved? Any one of a dozen other noble lords could benefit greatly from instigating a conflict between himself and the Jaharri, regardless of who came out the victor. Did Zafirah realize this? He liked to think the woman was too stupid to even consider such a possibility, but based on the way he was being treated by the desert warriors, Richard suspected otherwise. But if that were the case, why had she demanded a hostage? What did she hope to gain?
Outside, Zafirah and a few of her troops had paused in their work and seemed to be simply standing there, admiring the force and fury of the weather. The Scion threw her head back and laughed, her drenched hair flying about her face in the gusting squalls.
Who can understand these people? he thought, turning away from the bitter chill. The sun must addle their minds, for them to rejoice at such chaotic conditions as this.
* * *
With a meticulous hand, Dae applied the tip of tightly rolled paper she was using as a blending stub to the charcoal sketch she was working on. Very gently, she rubbed it back and forth to add definition and shadows to her drawing. Since she was working from memory she had to pause frequently and analyze her work, sometimes closing her eyes to better recall the image she was trying to recreate. The sketch portrayed an image of Asalah, one of Zafirah’s pleasure-servants who Dae had come to admire most for her skill as a dancer, twirling about with her hands raised above her head, the gossamer fabric of her bejeweled skirt swirling about her waist as she spun. While Dae had attempted to describe the style of Jaharri dancing to her new friends in the reformatory, words alone couldn’t properly capture the alluring, suggestive movements, and she would have felt foolish trying to demonstrate them herself without the accompaniment of music.
The surface of the desk was already littered with a flurry of other sketches, many of which were still incomplete or only basic outlines. Most of the sketches were erotic in one form or another, from nude studies depicting some of the other pleasure-servants in the harem (along with several of the girls in the reformatory), to others which showed those women locked in various intimate couplings. Dae had been using the sketches as an aid to Kaylee’s continued interest in learning more about what could be shared between two women…and to bring a few of her own fantasies to life in a visual format.
Kaylee may have been the first to succumb to Dae’s seduction, but she hadn’t been the last. Emboldened by her success, Dae had set about enticing others to share pleasure with her with even greater confidence. It had been storming for the last few days—what her father used to call ‘good weather for the ax-men’, since the wild winds could topple even the sturdiest of ancient trees when the ground was soaked to loosen their roots. The weather made it impossible to do much work outside, and with everybody confined indoors, Dae had found more opportunities to sneak away for private trysts with both Kaylee and several of their fellows.
A young woman named Dani had been the latest to approach her for some carnal playtime. Like Tricia, Dani had been sent to the reformatory for sins other than expressing same-sex attractions; the daughter of a blacksmith in her township, she had always longed to train as a fighter. Fiercely competitive and stronger than most of the boys in her village, her troubles began when she started challenging them to wrestling matches or sparring with wooden blades. Those who earned her respect in combat often found themselves invited to share her bed…and apparently, there had been many. Both her promiscuity and interest in martial service attracted the ire of the townspeople, and she’d been sentenced here as a means of turning her away from such unwomanly pursuits.
Though Dani had never before harbored an interest in other women, she’d found Dae’s tales of her experiences in the harem intriguing enough to tempt her to explore something different. Dae smiled to herself as she worked, recalling their vigorous session in Dani’s room.
I think I convinced her there’s more fun to be had than what she was getting from the men she bedded. Damn, but she had some stamina!
Just as Dae was beginning to shade in the fiddly details on the fabric of Asalah’s billowing skirt, a knock at the door distracted her from her work.
Setting aside the charcoal stick she’d been using, she went to open the door, hoping to find a messenger from her mother—or better yet, the Jaharri—bringing word of what was going on outside the reformatory. It had been some time since she’d spoken with her mother, and she hadn’t heard anything further regarding her request to see Inaya, or about her father, or how the negotiations for her release were progressing. While her activities with the other young women were providing her with a pleasant distraction, the lengthy silence was making Dae a little worried.
She was surprised, however, when she was instead greeted by a stern-looking Lyric standing in the hallway outside. Despite her disappointment, she offered her visitor a cordial smile.
“May I help you?”
Lyric regarded her with a frosty expression and held up a familiar-looking note. “Yes. I think we need to talk.” Without waiting for an invitation, she brushed past Dae and into the room.
“Certainly.” Dae grinned and closed the door behind her. “Have you changed your mind about my offer?” she asked playfully, though it was obvious from her expression that erotic pleasures were the furthest thing from Lyric’s mind. Still, it was fun to tease her.
“Hardly.” Lyric held out the note again. “I’d like to ask you about this. Look familiar?”
Dae affected an air of innocent confusion. “Should it?” Taking the note from Lyric, she gave it a long look…adopting an expression of curious but delighted interest as she scanned the familiar handwriting. “You think I wrote this?”
“Did you?”
Dae shrugged. “Does it matter? Even if I didn’t, I think the guilty party has expressed some rather intriguing ideas…and I won’t deny my own thoughts about you have traveled much the same course as they describe.”
“That’s disgusting,” Lyric stated in a bland monotone as she snatched back the note. “And even if you’re not the author of this foul thing, you are certainly the reason it was written. I’ve seen the effect your blatant disregard for morality has had on the rest of the young women here, and I consider it shameful that you’d look to destroy all the progress these women have made simply to satisfy your own prurient interests.”
“Oh?” Dae raised an eyebrow lightheartedly…noting how Lyric folded the note and tucked it carefully back into her pocket. “I thought you’d appreciated my standing up to Father Douglas and his cronies. That I put an end to their ‘disciplinary measures.’”
“I did…but that was before I realized how you would take advantage of the fact by luring others down the dark path they’ve worked so hard to avoid.”
“All I did was remove the threat of punishment from over their heads,” Dae countered, not at all intimidated by Lyric’s glower. “Perhaps they’re simply no longer afraid to let their true passions find a voice. You are gifted with a striking and compelling beauty, Lyric; is it really so surprising that you've attracted an admirer?”
Lyric had wandered over the desk and was studying Dae’s sketches with an icy, disapproving look…one which was nevertheless passing over the images slowly and very deliberately. Dae’s smile only broadened, watching her glacial gaze lingering over several images. Was it just wishful thinking, or did she read an edge of curiosity in her expression?
“See anything interesting?”
“Hmph.” Lyric looked up at her in haughty disdain. “You have talent, Dae, I won’t deny it. A shame you feel the need to apply that talent to such prurient subject matter.”
“The female form is a thing of beauty. I'm simply expressing my appreciation.”
“Well regardless, I came here to ask that you stop.”
“Stop?”
“Yes. Stop ‘expressing your appreciation’ of the other young women in the reformatory, and stop tempting them to indulge in carnal exploits with one another.”
Dae sat up on her bed and folded her legs under her, regarding Lyric with lazy amusement. “Why should I? What difference does it make to you what I do, or what any of the other girls do for that matter. I thought such things were no longer of interest to you.”
“They’re not…but even though you may have no interest in pursuing a more virtuous life yourself, you’re still a daughter of the nobility, Dae. People still look up to you…follow the example you set. Do you care nothing about the damage your recent actions may inflict on these poor people?”
Dae bristled slightly at Lyric’s words, though she didn’t let it show on her face. “Again…why would you care?”
Lyric took a deep, weary breath. “You and I have something in common, Dae—aside from the fact that we are both born to noble Houses, we are also both hoping to leave this place shortly. I myself await word from my family that the arrangements have been completed for my betrothal to a worthy man and I can finally be free of the shame of my past…indiscretions. I won’t allow your games of seduction to ruin what I’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
“Are you saying you’re afraid you’ll be tempted?” Dae asked, her eyelids lowered languidly. “Perhaps you’d feel better if you vented any residual passions yet lingering in your heart. We are alone…and I’d be happy to allow you whatever liberties you might find pleasing. No one need ever know.”
The way Lyric’s eyes once again wandered over her body in a fleeting and furtive exploration told Dae clearly that the temptation was still there, but her expression seemed more frustrated than aroused. “I’m worried that when my cousin asks after my progress, Father Douglas will paint my recovery with the same brush as he would use to describe the others you’re dragging down with you. After I leave this place, you can all sin till your hearts are content…but please, Dae, don’t ruin my life with your mistakes.”
“Cousin?” A connection suddenly occurred to Dae. “You don’t mean Jonathon of Blackwood…do you?”
“Indeed.” Now Lyric appeared slightly smug. “I heard you’d been introduced…and yes, it’s true that had you not fallen so far into shame, our two families might well have been bound by your marriage to him. Of course, I can hardly fault you for denying his courtship request.” Lyric’s lips twitched into a cold smile. “Jonathon is an arrogant blowhard and a fool. Whatever other faults you may have, Dae, I agree you could find a better match. Jonathon could never accept a woman of such independence and self-possession for his wife…a woman who would accept him as nothing more than equal.”
“Thank you for saying so.” Lyric had only confirmed what Dae already suspected—her father had not done as good a job screening her potential suitors as he believed. “I’m curious though…you're the favored student of all the priests here, the shining example they point to as proof that their methods can be effective. Do you really believe they’d want to tarnish their record by denying that you've successfully overcome your ‘baser urges?’”
Lyric looked away, obviously taking a moment to phrase her response carefully. “I am…concerned…that the atmosphere of carnal lust you seem to delight in stirring up among the other girls is…detrimental to my recovery.”
“I see.” Dae sat up a little straighter on the bed, hearing a slightly more vulnerable tone creep into Lyric’s voice…something she hadn’t expected, but which intrigued her greatly. “And is your recovery such a weak and fragile thing that it must be protected from such temptations?” she asked gently, reading the tension in Lyric’s body and wondering if it indicated her resolve was faltering.
“No,” Lyric said defensively, turning back to face her with a guarded expression. “But it's something I value a great deal…and I will not disappoint my uncle, whose name my actions have already shamed, by allowing corrupting influences to endanger it.”
Dae flashed the statuesque blonde another playful, flirtatious grin. “So you consider me a corrupting influence? I’m flattered. Though I think you give me too much credit to believe I could put a stop to whatever activities the other girls are engaging in. Of course…” She ran her hands lightly over the curves of her own body, gazing boldly back at Lyric as she pulled the cotton material of her shirt taut over the swell of her breasts…letting the cloth mold itself to her form and providing Lyric with a tempting view. “…I’d be happy to let you try to change my mind. There are many things I’m sure you could do to me that I would find extremely…persuasive.”
Lyric snorted and looked away hastily. “Must every word out of your mouth be a carnal invitation?”
“Forgive me,” Dae pouted, her tone not at all repentant. “But you’ll recall I was living in a desert harem a long time; I fear I’ve picked up some terribly wicked habits.” When Lyric glanced back at her, she batted her eyelashes in false modestly. “Perhaps you could punish me for my sinful ways?”
This time, Dae finally saw warmth thaw the cool, calm mask of Lyric’s face…a light and pale blush, but visible nonetheless. Lyric turned away hastily, muttering, “Why did I think I could even talk to you?”
It was a retreat, and Dae recognized it as such. Still, that didn’t mean she had to make it easy.
“Lyric?”
When the platinum blonde turned back, her icy facade firmly back in place, Dae regarded her with frank and open interest. “You say I could do better than Jonathon? You’re right. Perhaps you should ask yourself then, why are you so desperate to conform to your family’s desires? The priests may not see it, Lyric…the other girls may not see it either…but I’ve lived with the desires of other women as a constant companion for longer than any of them have. I can read your emotions like the pages of a book, and they are no mystery to me.” She saw those glacial eyes narrow warily…saw Lyric’s slender figure stiffen into a slightly defensive posture. But Dae only eyed her with mild appraisal, her voice gentle and no longer seductive. “Forget about what they think of you—let the shame they feel be theirs alone. Ask yourself, does this ‘recovery’ of your truly serve the passions of your own heart…or is it simply a way to appease your family’s pious ignorance and satisfy their ambitions?”
Lyric looked at her a long moment, cautious and uncertain, then she said very quietly, “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”
“But I do understand, Lyric…better than anyone else,” Dae continued. “You know how my parents reacted when they learned of my ‘transgressions.’ I love my mother and father; for the longest time, they were my whole world. Do you think it's easy for me to see the confusion and shame in their eyes? To know how I have hurt them simply by accepting the happiness I’ve been lucky enough to find? It’s difficult, I know. But if I did what they wanted me to do—if I told them I’d stay here, be good, live the life they wish me to lead—it would only be a lie. My heart would be unchanged…and I could never abandon the joy that heart has led me to.” Dae gave the taller girl a compassionate look. “I just wonder which life you're trying to live—the one that will bring you happiness…or the only one your family will ever find acceptable.”
Lyric held her gaze a long moment, and it looked to Dae as though that crack in her armor may have grown larger, for she opened her mouth a little as though she had something more to say. But then she closed it again and, with that same haughty expression firmly in place, she turned and exited the room, closing the door behind her with a loud THUD!
Dae lay back on the bed and stared up at the watermarks on the ceiling, sighing quietly to herself and replaying the conversation in her mind. Although Dae knew she was nowhere close to being able to sense the hidden desires of other women as Inaya and the others in the harem could, she felt certain she hadn’t misinterpreted the signs in Lyric. That slight edge of insecurity in her typically inscrutable expression…the way her glacial eyes always seemed to linger over the places where they had no business lingering…Lyric did a better job hiding her desires than the other women in the reformatory, but they were still there, swelling like a rising tide and causing cracks to form in her icy facade.
Dae had considered Kaylee’s attraction to the austere blonde a thing born of physical lust, but now she was beginning to think there might be more to Lyric than just her good looks. Beneath the haughty disdain and snobbish attitude, Dae sensed deeper waters stirring…and her interest in Lyric took a warmer turn. She recalled the way Lyric had folded the erotic note carefully and taken it with her when she left, rather than simply discarding it.
Perhaps the images it hinted at were not as displeasing to her as she claimed them to be.
* * *
Standing in the hallway outside Dae’s room, Lyric struggled to bring her roiling emotions back under reign. Days of frustration and anxiety made every muscle in her body ache, made her mind feel fuzzy and thick. She took a few strides down the hall, stopped, turned back and reached for the doorknob, but hesitated. Part of her wanted nothing more than to storm back in there and slap that coy, inviting smile right off Dae’s face. But it was the other part that concerned her more…the part that wanted to put her hands on the girl in a very different way.
“Damn the stubborn little teasing bitch if she…” Lyric’s snarled words trailed off and she ran her fingers through her fine, silvery hair in frustration. Her teeth were clenched so tight it made her jaw ache. She was shaking. Taking several slow, deep breathes, she managed to recover her mask of composure. Giving the door a final glare, she turned and made her way back down the hall.
Born into nobility, trained from an early age to accept the privileges and responsibilities of her station as a given, the current climate within the reformatory wasn’t something Lyric had anticipated dealing with when her uncle exiled her here. Like all the nobility, Lyric viewed self-discipline as the great standard required of the ruling class, and she found this growing sense that she was losing control over her own emotions extremely uncomfortable.
For more than a year now she’d worked diligently to rise from the shame of her past mistakes, to attain the goal of earning forgiveness and acceptance back into her family. Release from this nightmare seemed like it was finally in sight… yet now that it was so close, the thought only depressed her. She didn’t like this sense of unease, this feeling that all those old ghosts of her past were not quite finished haunting her. Nor did she welcome the worrying, familiar tingles that sometimes washed through her in the late watches of the night. And Lyric knew just who she blamed for her emotional instability—Dae.
The young blonde had completely upset the balance of power in the monastery, changing the routine of life in a way Lyric found unacceptable. She was accustomed to people treating her with a certain amount of respect, even servility…but Dae wasn’t like the other women. She viewed Lyric as an equal, could not be intimidated or debated into doing what she wanted. Dae was also high-born, confident in herself and unapologetic about the choices she had made. And worse, she had the charm and charisma to draw others to her way of thinking…particularly since there was now an army of Jaharri savages standing ready to back her up.
Lyric had always attracted a great many admirers; her porcelain skin, platinum-silver hair, and refined features made her stand out in any setting, and she’d never shied from flaunting her unique beauty to get what she wanted. The other young women in the reformatory, all common-folk and peasants, had always seemed a little in awe of her…and Lyric could admit she quite enjoyed the deferential way they looked at her. But since Dae arrived and began stirring their prurient thoughts back up, their looks had shifted from simply doting and admiring to eager and lustful.
Lyric might not have been bothered by this—they were only commoners, after all—but Dae was harder to ignore. The captivating young woman actually seemed to delight in challenging her…and Lyric hated the part of herself that responded so hungrily to the aura of sexual confidence that seemed to envelope and enshroud the younger blonde.
With the air of sexual tension growing more pervasive every day, Lyric had been spending most of her time sequestered in her private quarters. It was one of the privileges she’d earned by means of both her dedication to recovery and her noble station, and for the most part having her own room enabled Lyric to avoid the effects wrought by Dae’s antics. She had her own private bathtub, and so had never had to endure showering with the other girls…which, from what she’d been hearing of late, was a temptation she was grateful to steer clear of. But after receiving that note—the note which painted such vivid images in her imagination and recalled memories she’d struggled so hard to suppress—Lyric found her body stirring with deep, forbidden appetites once more. She wanted to discard it, told herself she was only keeping it in case it might be useful later as evidence against Dae…but every night she read it again and felt it warm her blood to boiling.
It was one of the things she found so irritating about Dae; she seemed able to read those hidden emotions effortlessly, to pierce the icy shell that protected Lyric from the disgrace of her past. The comment she’d made just now—that wanton invitation for Lyric to punish her—had hit closer to sensitive nerves than Lyric believed possible. She wondered if Dae had somehow intuited that this suggestion was one she would find so alluring.
Despite being born under tragic circumstances that had left her a ward of her uncle, Lyric had basked in the trappings and privileges her noble blood afforded her. She’d been instructed by the best tutors in the kingdom, had eaten only the finest foods, and socialized with the inner court of the King himself. Her status also meant Lyric had servants fawning over her at all times, cleaning her room and assisting her with her clothing and hair, keeping her constant company. But as she grew older, Lyric found that this authority over the commoners and her handmaidens developed a new, more stimulating, aspect. One handmaiden in particular—a Tasurik girl named Selestene—seemed to respond differently than the others to Lyric’s orders.
Selestene had come into her service shortly after Lyric’s eighteenth birthday, having once served in the court of the Tasurik Emperor himself before leaving to seek her fortune in the Heartland. Where her other handmaidens were dutiful and compliant, Selestene seemed to enjoy challenging Lyric; she would often neglect her duties on purpose, then apologize profusely when her transgressions were called out… all the while watching Lyric with hungry, hopeful eyes and an impudent smile. It didn’t take Lyric long to realize the young woman was daring her to punish her. And Lyric, unable to deny the darker urges the girl inspired, began concocting new and exciting punishments for this particular handmaiden.
At first they were only little things…small, private humiliations that became a secret they shared whenever they were alone. Lyric made the girl clean her room topless, then in her underwear…and eventually denied her any clothing at all while she performed her chores. Selestene seemed every bit as thrilled by the increasingly erotic nature of her discipline, and Lyric found that rush of power too intoxicating to deny.
Over time, Lyric applied her imagination to concocting new, increasingly daring forms of punishment for her rebellious handmaiden. They were mild enough in the beginning—a light spanking just to hear the girl cry out in surrender and beg her forgiveness…but soon enough Lyric discovered the joys of using a riding crop rather than her bare hand. Later she began employing light leather whips and soft floggers. The expensive silk scarves in Lyric’s closet found a new purpose as ties for bondage-play or blindfolds, and the games they played took on a new, more carnal nature. Forgiveness would only be granted after Selestene had pleasured her for hours with her tongue and fingers…and her own release would only be earned after her lithe, naked body was crisscrossed with a mesh of scarlet lines—the physical proof of her submission to Lyric’s authority.
Lyric might have been able to stop herself had her playmate not been so enthusiastically submissive, every bit as eager to push her own boundaries as Lyric was. By the end, these ‘disciplinary sessions’ had reached a truly frenzied level; sometimes they would last for hours, bringing both women such exquisite, forbidden ecstasy as they each fed off the other’s need.
So consumed was she by this emerging side of herself, Lyric grew careless in keeping it a secret. Eventually her uncle had discovered what she was doing, and the shame she felt when her private sins were exposed was enormous.
Although Lyric could be cold, even vain, she was not a cruel person; she was every bit as mindful of the responsibilities of her station as she was the privileges. Bearing this in mind, she’d done all she could to shield Selestene from blame; Lyric made certain her family understood the girl had done no more than what had been asked of her by one of noble blood, and she could not be faulted for obeying. Selestene was sent away, and had been spared the same bitter fate as Lyric.
But the fact that Dae would make such a playful and tempting offer to let her punish her troubled Lyric deeply. Did she realize her offer would be so appealing to her? Or was it just an off-hand remark intended to test her reaction? Did Dae have some instinctive insight into that side of her that Lyric fought so hard to conceal? And the thought that taunted her worse than any other…would someone as sexually confident and liberated as Dae truly be willing to submit to her?
Picturing the beautiful blonde, naked and begging for mercy while she applied her tongue, her fingers, and any other suitable implements to the task of running her senses along the edge that lay between pleasure and pain…Lyric hated the illicit fantasies that sprang to mind every time she thought of Dae. And worse, she’d started to imagine some of the other young women joining these scenarios. No matter how she tried to purge these fantasies from her mind, they only seemed to be growing stronger and more vivid over time, and they were driving her to distraction.
Lyric’s iron will, forged of shame and tempered by her determination never to allow those darker desires to rule her again, was faltering.
She knew that Dae had recently seduced a number of young women into sharing intimate pleasures with her. Several girls were sporting the marks of her passion like badges of honor on the pulse-points of their necks; like any proud artist, Dae appeared to enjoy signing her work. The priests were unable to do anything to stop the rapid changes brought about by the beguiling young blonde, and the most Lord Everdeen’s soldiers ever did was break up any amorous activities when they discovered them.
Lyric was beginning to think the only way she would resist her own desires much longer would be if her release came quickly.