Disclaimer:Sir Bevier and his world belong to David & Leigh Eddings. Bevier's short speech to Queen Linde is a paraphrase of Psalms 1:1-3. I only own Menina, Afreet, and certain Arcians, some of whom I'd rather not be connected with.
Technical Notes:"Caparison" refers to the decorated coverings worn by horses, particularly by warhorses in the medieval times. "Lists" are the railings set up in the middle of the jousting field to keep the horses from running into each other.
Author's Notes:Here's the latest chapter, almost in time for Valentine's Day! (Sorry about the delay; I was planning to update last week but my ISP wouldn't let me _ ) An event in this chapter is one of the reasons why I was pondering an R rating for this story, but I eventually decided to stick with a PG-13. If I can have a "close call" in another PG-13 fic I'm writing, I can have two consenting adults making out in this one! (At least I think I can…)
Thanks to SweetLee, Dagaz1 (thanks for reviewing my other fic, too!), rootless Californian, Lady Bevier, macgyver70, Lacuuna, and Iolo for the reviews. I hope this chapter proves satisfactory.
Special thanks to Aurelia, for the lovely review and absorbing discussion on all things Elenium/Tamuli (and some other things, too). I'm still having trouble with the next chapter, but I think the entire story will be a much better one, thanks to you!
Chapter Ten
Her Royal Majesty Queen Linde of Arcium began her birthday celebration with a state procession down Ucera's main street. Townspeople lined the sun-splashed avenue and shouted their good wishes to the queen as she passed, resplendent in azure and gold, her husband's gift glittering around her still-youthful neck. A platoon of Cyrinic Knights, led by their preceptor and the champion of their order, rode in a square formation around the open carriage in which she rode with her husband and son. The leading nobles of the court, ordered according to rank, made up the rest of the procession.
The procession found its way to the cathedral in the center of town, where the Patriarch of Ucera led them all in worship. In his sermon, Emban spoke of God's gift of life and exhorted the congregation to follow the shining example set by Queen Linde and devote their time on earth to virtuous conduct and good works. The fat little churchman earnestly thanked God for the gift He had given to Arcium in the person of the queen. (It was later bandied about that King Dregos had reached over and actually held his wife's hand — in church, while services were going on, and right under the Patriarch's nose at that!) There was also a moving musical tribute from a choir of monks who had all entered the religious life thanks to Her Majesty's generosity, a gesture that moved the good lady to happy tears.
Once the proper obeisance to God had been made, the Arcian royal family and their court returned to the palace to rest until that afternoon's jousting. Bevier, Arda and Menina took a light meal in the sitting room of their suite, and then repaired to their respective bedchambers for a nap.
Their servants woke them some time later so they could get ready to go to the tilt-yard. The maids presented their mistresses with water to wash their faces and arms, then did their hair and helped them dress. Arda had decreed that she and Menina would wear black and white, the family colors, that day in support of their champion. Their gowns were exactly alike in design, but while Arda's gown was black, embroidered and trimmed with white, Menina's was white embroidered and trimmed with black.
Bevier was already waiting in the sitting room when the women finally emerged from their bedchamber. "Ladies," he greeted them, "your beauty takes my breath away."
His mother beamed at him. "And you look very handsome in your armor, my dear."
"Also very different," Menina blurted out, blinking at the sight of him in his silvery armor and pure white surcoat. She had seen many Church Knights of all orders in her lifetime, but none were as dazzling as Bevier was now. Perhaps it was the light,she thought. His raiment caught the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the sitting-room window and seemed to cast it back in an otherworldly glow. Yes, it must be the light.
The knight blushed under her scrutiny and hitched his plumed helm more securely beneath his arm. "I believe I will take that as a compliment," he said with a faint smile.
"Have you visited the chapel yet, my son?" Arda asked him then.
"I was about to, Mother; I just wanted to see you before I left. Will you gird my sword on me when I return?"
"It would be my honor." The dowager viscountess watched her son leave the suite and dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "Seeing Bevier in his armor always brings tears to my eyes," she sighed. "His father, God rest his soul, did not look half so fine."
Menina took hold of Arda's elbow and guided her to the settee, where she could sit comfortably and await Bevier's return. "Was he a knight, too?"
"No. Destan was more of a scholar. He never carried my favor in any tournaments. But he was a brilliant man and a good husband." The older woman smiled reminiscently. "He would have been so proud of Bevier — our son is everything he himself had wanted to be."
Menina smiled back, and her eye fell on Bevier's weapons sitting nearby. The shield had been polished to a mirror shine and the rampant bull stood out in stark black upon its face, but it still looked used. There were several nicks, scratches and dents that no amount of refurbishing could hide, but these defects only enhanced the weapon's nobility…and that of its owner.
She found herself thinking that, while she wanted Prince Aventor to win so that he might honor his mother on her special day, she hoped Bevier would win as well. There could be no champion truer than one who had acquired his skill not because it amused him, but because his life depended on it.
It seemed that everyone in Ucera was at the tilt-yard to watch the jousting that afternoon. Because the tournament was open to the public for a fair price, a goodly number of citizens clad in workaday wool and homespun shared the stands with nobles garbed in more delicate fabrics in exotic hues.
The richest and best-connected, however, remained apart from the rest of the populace, sharing a special canopied section with the king and queen. Even though it was Her Majesty's birthday, these lords and ladies continued their posturing and jockeying for favor. They preened in their best clothes, vying with one another for the public eye, and whispered to one another how this lord had been too cowardly to enter the tournament or how that lady's horned headdress made her look more like a cow than she already did.
Despite the disparities between and within classes, however, the crowd rose and cheered as one when the festivities opened with the brassy sound of fanfare.
The spectators roared as the parade of lords began. At their head rode Prince Aventor, armored in brass-inlaid steel and wearing a blue-and-gold surcoat that matched his bay stallion's caparison and the livery of his attendants. A cloth-of-gold cape swirled majestically from his shoulders. "I suppose he plans to win the tournament by blinding his opponents," murmured Sir Lepore, who was seated in the stands with Arda and Menina. Although he was a competent knight, he had returned from Larium too late to enter his name in the lists.
"A man must capitalize on all the advantages given to him," Menina replied.
He nodded fervently and caught her hand. "Indeed he must, Mistress!"
The redheaded woman laughed and snatched her hand back. "I meant on the field, my Lord. And I'll thank you not to try such a thing with me again," she admonished playfully. "Remember you are surrounded by chaperones."
"Some chaperones," Lepore scoffed. "Two have eyes only for each other, and the third is more interested in watching the tournament than watching you."
Menina giggled and glanced at Arda, deep in conversation with Gregor, and Galema, watching raptly as her husband rode by. "Nevertheless, my guardian requested you to see to my and his mother's safety. You must not shirk your duty."
The brown-haired Cyrinic grinned flippantly at her. "And Bevier should not have set a fox to guard the hen-house."
As each participant in the tournament rode by the royal box, he saluted the King and Queen. One of his attendants then approached the box to present Queen Linde with a rich gift on his lord's behalf and deliver a witty jest or rhyme for Their Majesties' amusement.
In contrast to the pageantry of the other lords, Sir Bevier was dressed simply, and he was unattended. The Cyrinic Knights nevertheless cheered loudly for their champion, and others in the crowd quickly joined in when the knight's coal black stallion bent its forelegs in an equine bow. "What a clever trick!" the queen exclaimed.
Everyone watched as Bevier dismounted and approached the royal box himself. After bowing deeply to his sovereigns, he presented Queen Linde with a prayer book, richly bound in jewel-studded leather. "Happy are those who take joy in the law of the Lord," he said in a quiet voice. "They are like a tree planted near streams of water that yields its fruit in season; its leaves never wither; whatever they do prospers." He gave the queen a polite smile. "On behalf of my family, Your Majesty, our felicitations on this most special day."
"Thank you, Lord Bevier," she replied, accepting the gift graciously. "I wish you good fortune in the tournament."
The moment with the queen gave everyone a chance to inspect each participant. It allowed the ladies in particular to see whether their chosen knights were carrying their favors. "Bevier does not seem to have a favor," Gregor remarked as the Cyrinic champion moved on to make room for the next participant.
"I did not hear talk of any lady offering Bevier her favor," Arda said, and sniffed derisively. "I was certain they would delugehim with tokens and so did not offer himmine; but I should have known that those feckless little butterflies prefer style over substance…"
"Nevertheless," the baron noted, with an amused glance at an oblivious Menina, "he isriding Afreet."
Due to the large number of participants in the tournament, the competitors were divided into pairs, with each man seeking to earn victories for his team. A loss meant instant elimination for both the unfortunate jouster and his partner.
Bevier was teamed with the prince, a pairing that made sense to all. "The Cyrinic Knights arethe best warriors in Arcium, after all," Lepore boasted. "My guess is that Their Majesties did not want to risk having their little boy joust against the best of the best."
"They will decimate the competition," Arda predicted with relish.
And indeed they did. Thanks to years of knightly training and practical experience on the battlefield, Bevier mowed down his challengers with a lance as surely as he would have with his Lochaber ax. He had kept his eyes open as the other lords practiced for the tournament and now used his knowledge of their weaknesses to methodically destroy the opposition. He went for the jugular right from the very start and often unhorsed his opponents on the very first pass. This apparent invincibility made him a crowd favorite, especially with the spectators who had wagered against significant odds on his victory.
Prince Aventor fought valiantly as well. To his parents' dismay and the crowd's delight, he insisted on facing all his challengers, charging them even as they conceded defeat in deference to his status, and dispatched them with almost as much ease as his partner.
"Well done, Your Highness," Bevier commended Aventor after the prince had masterfully unhorsed one of Ogelor's toadies, eliminating the unfortunate man's team from the tournament.
The prince raised his visor to smile at his partner. "Thank you, my Lord. Coming from you, that is a great compliment."
"I only speak the truth, Your Highness," the Cyrinic replied humbly. Although personally he had some problems with the prince's closer-than-proper friendship with Menina, Bevier knew that he should not allow these feelings to cloud his judgement, not if he wanted to win.
Presently, there was the ghostly sound of pipes. The teasing little trill was very familiar. Oh, Bevier, you're such a nice boy!Aphrael praised him playfully.
If a strange expression crossed the knight's face, Aventor did not see it, as he was busy watching his latest victim being helped off the tilt-yard. "Lord Rafale really did not want to face me," he remarked. "I thought him a skillful jouster."
"If I may be honest, Your Highness," Bevier said, "Rafale is actually not particularly skilled. 'Twas his partner who carried their team to the semi-final round." As he spoke, he returned the salute from Elias, who was following the dazed Rafale off the field. The duke had been Rafale's partner in the tournament.
"I would rather die than win by riding on someone's coat-tails," the prince declared. "Victory must be earned, else it is not a victory at all."
The knight gave his partner a small smile. "You make your sentiments well-known with your conduct on the field this day, Your Highness, and I must say, it speaks very highly of you."
Bevier then heard the faint notes of a harp and Romalic's resonant bass rumbled loudly in his mind. You always did have a way with words, my son.
He's not yourson!Aphrael said to the Bull-God. She sounded peeved.
Neither is he yours,Romalic replied.
Well, he's more mine than he is yours; are you not, Bevier?
Prudently deciding not to answer that, Bevier turned his attention to the next joust. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when he recognized Ogelor's red-and-black surcoat on the other end of the tilt-yard. The count's team was in the other semi-final joust.If they won, then they would face Bevier and Aventor in the final round of the tournament.
Ogelor's partner, who was representing his team in the joust, was no Lord Rafale. He faltered somewhat during the first pass, but rallied to finally defeat his opponent. Bevier, however, paid little attention to the man's technique. Ogelor was sure to joust in the final. The count's ego would not settle for anything less.
Sure enough, once his partner had unhorsed the opposing jouster, Ogelor mounted his horse and his attendants began preparations for the final joust.
Aventor saw this and stiffened. "Sir Bevier," he murmured, "would you think any less of me if I said I would prefer it if you rode in the final?"
"Not at all, Your Highness," the Cyrinic replied.
In fact, you would prefer it yourself, would you not?Aphrael teased. Bevier ignored her.
"I think that I am more than competent in the joust," the prince continued, "but I do not think I am good enough to defeat Count Ogelor. I would place the victory of our team above my own vanity."
"I assure you that if we do win this tournament," his partner told him, "'twill be a victory that we have earned together."
"Oh, we will win this tournament," Aventor said, glancing up into the stands. "We must win."
Bevier smiled tightly. He was certain that he was looking at Menina, whose bright hair made her easily visible even from their vantage point many yards away. "I will do everything in my power to make it so."
A great cheer arose from the stands when Bevier and Afreet took the field. "The people love them," Arda noted happily, clapping in delight when the black stallion reared up and pawed the air with his forelegs.
Menina laughed at her horse's dramatics. "I do hope Bevier wins," she said.
She wanted the win for many reasons. Not only did it mean that the prince would have a victory to present to his mother, it also meant that disagreeable Count Ogelor would lose. A victory would also bring honor to the family, and Afreet would enjoy the adulation. He will be almost impossible to ride after this,Menina thought affectionately.
She and Arda squeezed each other's hands as Bevier and Ogelor saluted each other from opposite ends of the lists. After the count lowered his visor, the competitors couched their lances, set their shields and charged.
They shattered their lances upon each other's shields during the first pass, and again during the second. Excitement rose when it became apparent that the jousters were more or less evenly matched, and all eagerly awaited the third and final pass, which would decide the champions of the tournament.
"Easy, Afreet," Bevier reminded his mount as they prepared for the last pass of the match. "It is a clear head that will win the day."
The black stallion whinnied angrily. During the first pass, Ogelor had deliberately aimed for Afreet, hoping to injure him as he had Nimbus, but Bevier had anticipated the underhanded trick and lowered his shield to deflect the blow. The count had tried again during the second pass, but Afreet managed to shift slightly without throwing his rider — and, more importantly, his rider's lance — out of position. The horse knew that the other man was trying to do him harm.
"Easy," Bevier repeated, tugging firmly on Afreet's reins to get his attention. "We have Ogelor right where we want him, but we will lose if you do not calm down."
Just as he had predicted, Afreet's unexpected appearance had the count in a panic. Bevier knew that in a fair fight, Ogelor could never hope to surpass his superior physical condition and military training. "I expect that he will aim for you again to try and unhorse me," the Cyrinic said to the stallion. "Can you avoid getting hit just like last time?"
Afreet snorted in what sounded like a scornful affirmative.
Bevier ignored the horse's attitude. "Good. That will put Ogelor out of position and leave me free to focus on unseating him." He accepted a fresh lance from a nervous attendant and rode out to his place on one end of the lists. "This is it, Afreet. If we win this joust, we win it all. You want to make Menina proud, do you not?"
The black stallion snorted. He sounded calmer now. Ogelor took his place on the other end of the lists.
"And you want to dump that count on his pompous rear, do you not?"
Afreet snorted again, louder this time.
"Then let us do it." Bevier couched his lance and set his shield. "On, Afreet!"
They charged. The Cyrinic's heart was pounding in time with his mount's galloping hooves, but he willed himself to focus on his ever-nearing opponent. Even as the combatants thundered toward each other at a superhuman speed, he braced his shield and waited for the perfect place and time to strike.
CRASH.
Menina squeezed her eyes shut at the terrific sound of collision, but opened them again quickly. The minute she saw that it was a man in a black surcoat lying on the ground, she leapt to her feet and let out a most unladylike shriek of triumph.
Once she became conscious of her behavior, she looked around guiltily, but fortunately for her, many others were also on their feet and roaring their approval. Lepore stood at her side, cheering on his brother knight; and Arda and Galema were squealing like giddy young girls. The dowager viscountess had thrown her arms around Gregor, but no one except the baron paid her any mind. Even the king and queen were standing. Judging from her furious clapping, Queen Linde was going to love her son's birthday present.
The stands shook with huzzahs as Aventor and Bevier approached the royal box side by side. They knelt so that the queen could crown them with laurel wreaths of victory, and were presented with a large, perfect emerald each as their prize for winning the tournament.
Then, with everyone looking on, the prince removed his wreath and laid it at his mother's feet. "Happy birthday, Mother. I hope I brought you honor this day."
Queen Linde beamed proudly. "You did indeed, my son," she said, bestowing a kiss on his forehead.
Bevier applauded along with the crowd at the tender gesture, and then turned to look at his own mother. Arda was weeping, but her wide smile assured him that her tears were happy ones. Menina was smiling, too, but not at him.
He glanced at the prince and saw that the young man's eyes were no longer on his mother.
And he heard the harp and flute in his mind again, but this time there was an ominous overtone to their tune that sent icy fingers of dread running down his spine. Beware,Aphrael told him. They are planning something.
The celebration of Queen Linde's birthday was capped with a splendid banquet back at the palace that evening. The excitement of the joust had whetted the courtiers' appetites, and they did justice to the lavish spread provided by the castle kitchens. The feast showcased the bounty of the sea: there were large, fresh oysters served on ice; prawns poached in wine; and whole fishes served in lemon, cream, or tomato sauces. There was duck in orange sauce; delicately flavored beef and lamb; and a whole roasted peacock with its glorious plumage restored. Lettuces braised in wine, artichokes in olive oil and asparagus and peas in butter accompanied the meat and fish courses, and to finish there were delicate cakes, jellies, and a mouthwatering array of fresh fruits that could be eaten as is or together with delicate cheeses or sweet, creamy custards.
After everyone had eaten, Master Bayhard proudly presented his much-anticipated latest masterpiece. "Menina tells me it is about the power struggle between the Sun King and the Lord of the Night," Bevier informed his companions as they found a spot with a good view of the stage, "over who has greater dominion over the day."
"Ah, the advantages of knowing someone in the cast," laughed Lepore.
"Why are younot in the cast, Bevier?" Maraline asked. "You are quite an actor, if I recall correctly."
Flattered that she had remembered, the black-haired Cyrinic blushed. "Well, I fear I am a bit out of practice," he replied. "I haven't been involved in any theatricals since leaving university." Actually, he hadbeen given the opportunity to use his dramatic talents during the course of his travels with the Church Knights, most recently when he had posed as an outlaw on a mission to save Queen Ehlana, but perhaps that did not really count. "Besides, I was not invited to participate."
"Menina could have suggested it to the prince, or to Master Bayhard. She is friendly enough with both of them."
"Although not in the way you mean," Galema told her repressively. She clearly wanted to say more, but her husband had laid a soothing hand on her arm.
"Well, I am sure she would have if she had known of Bevier's dramatic abilities," Lepore broke in, "but she does not. He didn't tell her because he needs to uphold his image as her stodgy guardian." The brown-haired knight chuckled even as Bevier prodded him and muttered at him to shut up.
Just then, the hall torches dimmed and Sarpina let out a small squeal. "It's starting!"
The play began with a series of exciting sword-fights across the heavens, with the Sun King besting the Lord of the Night every time. Prince Aventor, as the Sun King, literally shone in cloth-of-gold garments in the style of ancient Arcium. (The ladies noted appreciatively that, save for a pair of high-lacing sandals, His Highness's legs were quite bare under his brief tunic.) Providing a sinister contrast was Master Bayhard himself, portraying the Lord of the Night in diamond-studded black silk.
Desperate after his numerous defeats, the Lord of the Night cast a magic spell that stopped the movement of the heavens and fixed the moon firmly in place. Deprived of the sun's nourishing warmth, every living creature in the world — played by the younger courtiers in appropriate costumes representing plants, animals and people — soon grew pale and weak. Many sought to end the endless night, but only he who cast the spell could undo it.
The Sun King enlisted the help of his lover, the Dawn, to convince his rival to break the enchantment. "Will you lookat what she's wearing?" Maraline hissed when Menina appeared.
Like the other characters, Menina was dressed in the ancient style. Her sleeveless shift, in the pale pink and orange of the early morning sky, was blessedly longer than the garments worn by the male characters, but it clung to a body that, while sleekly muscled from athletic pursuits, was still generously curved in all the right places.
"I didn't know she was so fat," Ariyan giggled. "Her rear end is so big!"
"Oh, I don't know," Lepore remarked absently, "it looks to be just about the right size to me."
Bevier bristled as the Sun King instructed the Dawn to use her feminine wiles upon the Lord of the Night and seduce him into ending the perpetual darkness. Mother is probably having an attack of the vapors right this minute!Had they known that the play would promote such immoral dress and behavior, they would not have allowed Menina to participate, sign of favor or no!
"Easy, old man," Elias whispered to him then. "The veins in your forehead are ready to explode."
"This is absolutely monstrous," Bevier gritted back. One had to be blind to miss the look in Aventor's eyes whenever he looked at Menina.
"It's only playacting, Bevier. I thought you of all people would understand what it was all about."
"Well, I'venever behaved so lewdly onstage!"
"There is nothing lewd going on," the duke pointed out as the "lovers" stroked each other's cheeks without really touching. It was the only gesture of affection acceptable on the Arcian stage. "She can't even kiss him."
Nevertheless, Bevier silently vowed to have the necklines of all of Menina's gowns raised to her chin. She would also be required to wear the voluminous black robes Cyrinics reserved for women visitors at all times for good measure. She was not to be allowed out in public without two—no, threechaperones!
Why don't you just clap her in irons and lock her away in a dungeon?Romalic suggested. Like the duke, the Bull-God of Styricum sounded amused.
"I might do just that," Bevier muttered. Anything to ensure his family's honor. Anything to shield her from lecherous eyes. Anything to keep her from ruin.
"Pardon?" Elias asked.
"Nothing."
Following her lover's instructions, the Dawn approached the Lord of the Night and beguiled him with her beauty and honeyed words. But when the Lord of the Night made to embrace her, she drew away teasingly and said she would await him in her palace. Unthinking in his lust, the Lord of the Night rose from his throne and ran after her, breaking the spell that firmly fixed his place in the heavens. It was only when he finally found the Dawn dancing across the skies, heralding the coming of the Sun King (and treating the audience to glimpses of her long, bare legs), that he realized that his rival had duped him again. The play ended with the Sun King and the Dawn graciously accepting the thanks of the earth's creatures and, once alone, pledging their undying love to each other.
Bevier was immensely relieved when the curtain finally fell. While he had to admit that the play was good in terms of plot, scenery, costumes and acting, watching it had been torture. The first chance he got, he was going to have a calm, rational talk with Menina about proper conduct and, once things between them were settled, pack her off to a nunnery.
If you're planning to do that, you had better do it now,Romalic advised. That is, if you can find her.
The Cyrinic's eyes widened in alarm. Where has she gone?he asked, remembering to think the question rather than ask it aloud.
Oh, not far,Aphrael assured him. She hasn't left the hall. But Aventor is with her.
Good God!"Excuse me," Bevier said to his friends, cutting short Maraline's diatribe about how shewould have made a much better Dawn.
"Where are you going, Bevier?" the dark-haired woman asked.
"He's probably off to wrap Menina in shawls and drag her to the chapel to seek penance for her actions," Elias chuckled, but Bevier had already gone.
Bevier had thought that, with her bright hair and unusual costume, Menina would be easy to find, but it soon became clear that she and the prince had stolen away from the banquet. "If I were off to indulge in immoral behavior, where would I be?" he murmured.
He had no idea.
Aphrael and Romalic offered a few suggestions, but they gave it up once they realized that Bevier was not listening to them. Left to his own devices, Bevier wove his way through milling groups of people, searching for his errant ward. Once or twice he also ventured into a secluded alcove, but the presence of a busy couple often sent him right back out again. "You have to get over that embarrassment if you want to find her," he told himself as he marched on, his cheeks burning. Fortunately, he was fairly certain that none of the couples he had encountered thus far was the one he sought.
Just then, he passed an open doorway leading into a darkened side room and heard a very familiar giggle. "Menina?" Bevier blurted out, coming to a stop.
The giggling woman did not reply, but Prince Aventor emerged through the doorway a few moments later. "Sir Bevier," he greeted him with a controlled nod of his head.
Bevier bowed back. "Your Highness."
"You were looking for Menina?"
"Ah, yes, I am," he replied casually. "Have you seen her?"
A thoughtful expression crossed the prince's face and he shook his blond head. "Unfortunately, I haven't. She should be around here somewhere, however. Please excuse me."
The two men exchanged bows and the prince walked away. Judging from the tinge of annoyance that he was unable to keep from his voice and face, Aventor had not gotten very far with Menina. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bevier strode into the room. As it was lit only by the moonlight struggling in through a single, high window, it was difficult to see, but he managed to make out Menina standing near the corner of the room farthest from the doorway. "What were you doing here with the prince?" he demanded, marching toward her.
The redheaded woman knew she was in trouble, but as usual refused to back down. "If you must know," she replied, "I had promised to kiss him if he won the tournament. Thanks to you, he honored his part of the bargain, but at the same time, Iam unable to honor mine." She sighed dramatically. "What must His Highness think of me now?"
"I doubt that his opinion of you changed much."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what he wants of you," Bevier told her, leaning closer. "And you were prepared to give it to him, were you not?"
"I was only going to kiss him."
"What if he had wanted more?" he hissed.
Instead of being shocked at the idea, Menina was infuriatingly blasé. "Well, I would have had to think about that," she said lightly, a small smile curving her generous mouth.
"No! You would not have thought about such things at all!"
"All that the prince and I had agreed on at present, Bevier, was a kiss. It was but a friendly wager, and as I am not required to keep myself chaste for a future husband, am I not entitled to have a little fun?"
Fun?"You're trying to ruin yourself!" he choked, scandalized.
"Only just a little," Menina admitted.
He grasped her shoulders but just managed to keep himself from giving her a good shake. "There is no 'just a little,' Menina! Either you are ruined or not at all!"
Her expression sobered and she actually began to frown. "Will you stop overreacting?" she demanded. "It was only to have been one silly little kiss, and it did not even happen."
Bevier bit back an uncharacteristic oath. This woman was driving him mad! He thought she had finallyrealized the gravity of the matter, but instead she was scoldinghim! "It had better not happen!" he sputtered. "Ever!"
"I just wanted a kiss!"
"If it's a kiss you want, then it's a kiss you shall have." And the next thing either of them knew, he had cradled her face in his hands and pressed his lips firmly against hers.
It was supposed to be a brief kiss, a punishing kiss, meant to perfunctorily satisfy Menina's silly wish, but when the shock of initial contact subsided and sensation flooded his body, Bevier discovered that he was determined to try and stop all this nonsensical sneaking around once and for all. He was going to give her a kiss to end all kisses. Never mind if the prince was most probably far more experienced than he was.
Menina stiffened in surprise at the touch of his lips, but she did not try to push him away as a respectable woman should. This initially displeased Bevier, but when she softened against him and twined her arms around his neck, pressing her warm body close, he supposed that it was all for the best.
Her mouth was warm and yielding, opening at the slightest urging. He nipped at her full lower lip and ran his tongue between her lips, tasting a heady mixture of wine and spice and woman.
As he kissed her, Bevier's hands slid from her face to caress her neck and shoulders, then slipped to her waist to pull her closer. Menina squirmed as he did so, her breath rushing hot and frantic into his mouth. He felt her move again and the next thing he knew, she had wound one long leg around his, deepening their embrace.
He groaned and backed her against the wall, his lips leaving hers to string kisses along her jaw line. Menina arched her neck and wove her fingers through his hair, egging him on. Bevier obliged, kissing his way down her throat and nuzzling the scented curve of her neck and shoulder. One hand traveled up her ribs to cover a breast, long fingers skimming over the silky swell revealed by the low neckline of her costume. She whimpered, leaning into his touch.
The small, broken sound pierced through the haze that fogged Bevier's brain. Finally realizing what he was doing, he broke away abruptly.
Menina slumped against the wall, breathing hard. By the weak moonlight he could tell that her expression was bewildered. She gazed unseeingly at him, her eyes wide and unfocused.
Bevier was horrified. What had possessed him to do such a thing? He was a beast. Lower than a beast. He was a sinner. He had just violated the sacred trust that was supposed to exist between a guardian and his ward. No wonder she was looking at him with such revulsion.
The thought of sinking so low in her regard filled him with shame. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, backing away from her and hurrying from the room.