A Torrid Affair

By Saphron

A/N: Your reviews are all very encouraging; thank you so much. I really wanted to make this story sexy and sophisticated, as opposed to simply insubstantial fluff, and it seems to be working judging by the positive response I've been getting from you lovely readers. I'm so glad!


Chapter 4: Reverberations

A white-gloved hand fringed with a fine silk pattern smashed rudely onto the wooden table in front of it, a gesture that stood in stark surprise against the delicate elegance of the fist that made the move.

"Damn it," a voice muttered over the muffled thump of the hand hitting the table. "I had him this close!"

"I know, Delia. So what happened?" The Duke of Conte asked quietly; his stony eyes not betraying the fact that he was angry, very angry.

"I don't know!" the woman wailed, "one minute he was wrapped around my pinky finger, and would have done anything I asked merely for the chance to dance with me! Now, he's distant, polite--but distant. I don't understand what happened!"

Roger sighed. The Prince was proving tricky to snare indeed. "Well," he intoned dryly, "it appears the Prince is no longer interested in your…charms."

A small whimper escaped Lady Delia's throat. "But, but how? I've done everything you've told me to! I've dress with meticulous care before every ball, making sure every gown flatters my assets in every conceivable way! I've danced with him, flirted with him to get him interested, and even flirted with his friends to make him jealous! Mithros, I think I once even danced with his awful little squire, even though the runt was a head shorter than me! What more can I possibly do?"

Roger quirked an eyebrow. "I notice you haven't mentioned the most important thing you've done for him yet…"

Delia kneeled before Roger's armchair, gazing adoringly into his windy blue eyes. "What?" she whispered.

"Sex," Roger practically yawned in his nonchalance at uttering that one word. "Clearly, he's gotten bored in bed and moved on to another woman with more…charms."

"No!"

"Yes. I'm afraid so. Which means you'll just have to work even harder to seduce him. Do whatever it takes—even if it's unconventional—just make sure you get him back. My—our—entire plan rests on your pretty little shoulders. Understood, my pet?"

"Yes Roger," Delia breathed, "I understand completely…he won't be able to resist my new charms…"

--

THUMP echoed around the training hall, reverberating off the rack of weapons and the chamber door, criss-crossing with sound waves bouncing off the opposite walls to clamor ferociously in Alanna's ears—or maybe that was just the sound of her own heart pounding beneath the clack of her ribcage…

There was no denying it: Shang-Do was hard. After Shae had made them do 50 more of the laying down exercises, they had moved on to squatting and falling backwards, extending their arms at the same 45 degree angle to break their fall. They had also learned how to do a side-breakfall, front forward roll, and some groundwork techniques similar to the wrestling moves they had previously studied. Alanna didn't mind the bruises—she knew they made her stronger—but she couldn't stand the fact that, once again, she was on the same playing field as the rest of her class. It had taken her years of dedicated training to become the master swordswoman that could best every squire in a ten mile radius, but now with Shang-Do she was back to square one. She was just as capable—or incapable—as everyone else. And it didn't help that Shang-Do bore marked similarity to wrestling, a field she had never exactly excelled in. All in all, the word that could sum up her feelings was this: frustrating.

Nonetheless, she kept at it, gradually remembering to turn her head sideways when rolling forwards, and keep her chin down when side-breakfalling. Despite remembering to turn her head, however, she still seemed to have the most trouble with the standard forward roll. Being so short and close to the ground, she couldn't quite seem to get the momentum going needed to roll forwards without landing squarely on her shoulder (or, on a particularly bad try, her hip, which hurt even worse.) She had been practicing relentlessly both during practice times and outside the courts, but to no avail. She needed someone to show her how to do the move, and correct her if she misplaced her hand or pushed off on the wrong foot. She needed Shae's help.

Alanna let the squires in front of her trickle out of the room at the end of the lesson, wiping their brows with the towels slung over their shoulders and boasting to one another that they had executed a perfect elbow umber technique on their very first try. Then she approached Shae, who was busy picking up the soft mats they had been using to practice on in order to prevent injuries.

"Excuse me, Master Shang Hawk?" Alanna queried shyly, leaning down to make eye contact and grabbing a cornoe of one of the mats to help Shae lift it.

"Please, just Shae," he replied, tucking the last of the mats along the wall and turning to face his pupil. "What can I do for you?"

Alanna blinked—the man had incredibly unsettling features. His face was young, probably only a few years older than Alanna, and his eyes were slightly almond-shaped, cloaked in long black lashes that caressed the tops of his cheeks. They were beautiful eyes, the thought popped unbidden into Alanna's mind. Shaking her head to clear it of such a random thought, she continued with her request. "It's just—I can't quite seem to get the hang of the forward breakfall roll, I keep landing on my shoulder no matter what I do. I was hoping, that is, if you have the time, it's ok if you don't, but if you did, would you mind, well, giving me extra lessons on the side so I can catch up with everyone? I can pay you for your time, of course," she rushed out hurriedly, twining her fingers in the folds of her dampened sweaty tunic.

The corners of Shae's almond eyes turned up in a warm smile, "Of course little one, I'm always happy to help assist my students. No charge required. Meet me tomorrow morning here at five forty five, that's when I conduct my personal training sessions, which you're welcome to join."

Inwardly, Alanna balked at the ungodly hour—5:45 in the morning? Was the man mad?—but nodded her acquiescence; she needed the extra help, no matter how early it was to be given.

Trotting out of the training room, she shook her head; she already knew Jon wouldn't be happy with her new training schedule. He hated it whenever she crawled out of bed before him, and for some odd reason had taken a strong disliking to Shae despite that fact that the Shang Hawk had been perfectly polite towards him when they met the small dinner his father the king had prepared for his son and few select guests (Alanna included, albeit as a serving host for the royal family's table, much to Jon's chargrin, who would have preferred her by his side as he made "forced conversation" with the Shang Hawk, as he later described it.)

But ultimately, this was her decision, not Jon's. And a squire had to do what a squire had to do.

--

Alanna was right in her prediction of Jon's reaction to her new training schedule—

"Five forty five in the morning? You've got to be kidding me!" He groaned, slapping the back of his hand on his forehead for dramatic emphasis. "That means we won't be able to wake up together. You know how much I like waking up together…"

"I know, Jon," Alanna murmured, pressing the corners of her tunic with the hot iron in her hands to straighten out the wrinkles; there was another ball tomorrow, and although her attendance was optional, she had already agreed to go for Jon's sake, mostly as a compromise for having to leave his bed every morning before he had even awoken. Somehow though, she figured one night's attendance at a ball wouldn't exactly pacify him. "But I don't have much a choice; I need the extra practice."

Jon grumbled, "but it's still dark out at that hour! Couldn't he just train you when it's light out? And when other people are around? That would make me feel a little more comfortable about the whole thing…"

Alanna rolled her eyes as steam hissed out the side of the metal triangle she was using to straighten her best tunic. "Geez Jon, what do you think is possibly going to happen other than training? Shae is a really nice guy, you know he is. Besides, I can't just demand a different training time, that's when he conducts his personal practice sessions which he is graciously allowing me to join, ok? So calm down, everything will be fine."

The worried frown lingering on Jon's face clearly showed that he was not appeased. "Well what about Faithful? Can't Faithful come with you? That's a good idea, huh?" Jon seemed to perk up.

Excuse me? I'm so not getting up at that ungodly hour for no good reason, thankyouverymuch. The cat snorted scathingly, What do you think I am, Alanna's personal chaperon?

"Oh come on, Faithful, it's not that early.." Jon tried, forgetting to infuse his voice with every last drop of the Conte charm and instead falling a bit into whining, "please? Pretty please? For me?"

Uch. Fine. But I demand a new sleeping pillow in return! A really nice one, with goose feathers in it, got it?

"Deal," the Prince smiled, extending his hand to shake with Faithful before realizing that, as a cat, Faithful probably wasn't much accustomed to the social conventions of the court. "Mithros, I keep forgetting Faithful isn't a real person," Jon shook his head wonderingly, "I still can't get over the fact that he talks!"

Yes, yes, the power of speech is amazing… the cat in question drawled, Alanna, you missed a spot to the left there. Don't forget my pillow! And with those last words he was gone, hopped out of the window to prowl about town.

Alnna finished the last spot on her tunic and hopped down to join Jon on the bed. He slung a protective arm around her shoulders, resting his chin on one of them, and sighed softly. "Well, at least you're coming to the ball tomorrow night to keep me company."

"Yep," Alanna smiled sweetly at him, "though don't forget, if you try and make me dance with any 'pretty young ladies' I'm so out of there."

Jon chuckled in her ear, and she felt the reverberation rumble through his broad chest and bounce back to vibrate against her skin. It felt like she was adopting the laugh he had started, taking it into herself until the sound waves mingled between them, sharing their bodily hums. "I know, I know…but if Gary tries, don't blame me!"

"Yeah, except you'd probably be the one to put him up to it!" Alanna snorted, "so the deal still stands. No dancing with women, period. Or I'll call it a night."

"Fine, fine." Jon replied, pulling the covers around them, "Though if you leave, I suppose I'll have to comfort the poor 'pretty young ladies' whose hearts you've so cruelly broken myself, and dance with them all three times each to console them!"

Alanna narrowed her eyes and humped, "so? What's your point?"

Jon grinned, hiding the playful smile that threatened to break across his features. "Oh, nothing, just that…well…the women I dance with tend to want to follow me to my room at the end of the night…so really might it might be best if you slept in your own bed after leaving the ball, just in case, you know."

"JONATHAN!" Alanna shrieked, pulling away from him so quickly the blankets tumbled to the floor. Moving preemptively, he grabbed her with one large palm and cupped the other over her ajar mouth. He had been expecting her to react like that, after all.

Grinning wickedly, knowing he had won, he murmured sweetly, "or, you could just avoid that entire possibility and stay till the end of the ball to keep me from having to leave with anyone else…"

Alanna tried to speak from behind the mask of his hand, but it came out jumbled and incoherent. Prying his fingers off, she spat out, "Jonathan of Conte! Threatening to sleep with other women just to get me to stay at some stupid ball is completely deceitful!

"Well…did it work?"

"No," Alanna snorted noncommittally, turning vehemently on her side away from him, implying that the discussion was over. But Jon ignored the gesture and tucked a large well-toned arm around her, hugging her close. "If you say so dear," he smiled under his breath, "if you say so…"

Saphron


A/N: Sorry, this was a bit short, I'll update soon as I can with the ball chapter. And I'm glad we have some martial artists out there! Wonderful :)