Vigil's Keep- one year ago
Caoilainn rose from her bed and pulled on her leather breeches, lacing them at the sides while she spoke. Upper body bare, the pink tone to her skin lessening as it met the cool temperatures of the room.
"It's nothing, Nate. Just ignore it," she said with annoyance. Though she knew exactly what Nathaniel was referring to and the challenge it was to ignore.
"Caoilainn, it feels so real," his voice was pleading and forlorn. "It's a song I hear all the time, but it's not just in my head. It's in my whole body."
"I know," she confessed. "I've felt it too."
"But then… that means there's another Archdemon. Caoilainn, we have to-."
"No!" She yelled and spun around to face him. Nathaniel was laying down; the blanket draped over his body, a small veil of sweat visible on his skin. Caoilainn's voice quaked low and rigid. "I've killed an Archdemon." She took a breath. "And this is not the same. I received orders from Weisshaupt not to follow Clarel, and I plan to follow them."
Exhausted and admitting defeat, Nathaniel sighed. "All right. If you say so," he rose from the bed naked. "But what about this false Calling?... If that's what it is?"
"We ignore it," her response was blunt and all too simple. Nathaniel stepped closer to her. His hands rested on her hips while she offered a solution. Fierce silver-blue eyes met his grey ones. "It should not impact newer Wardens. And the connection of our Senior Wardens is strong, Nate. We are the griffon and we can overcome this."
Skyhold
Nervous. But why? And frustrated with herself. This is still a mission and I need to focus. She tried to remind herself that Alistair was still just Alistair: the same awkward buffoon she met, and ultimately fell in love with, over ten years ago. Whatever has come over him lately is just a phase.
She was mildly sweaty; bruises were forming underneath her armor, and a few small slashes in the cloth parts of her armor revealed flesh wounds from practice. Caoilainn's face was dirty from removing her helm and her hair was messy, damp with perspiration and full of knots. But she walked powerfully, each step a forceful action to take her to her destination. The door to the War Room swung open, and she entered; the afternoon light cast shadows across the table and against the walls. Her presence was nothing short of demanding and successfully masked the storming emotions underneath.
"Warden Commander," she was greeted by the Inquisitor who she suspected was flustered by something herself.
Caoilainn surveyed the room. At the War Table stood Leliana and Josephine and the Inquisitor who welcomed her. But Alistair, relaxing in a chair, was speaking cheerfully to Cullen. They were deep in what looked to be a pleasant conversation that was completely unburdened by her entrance. Did Alistair just wink?
She neared the table and Inquisitor Alanna spoke. "Thank you for joining us, Warden Commander." The sound of her voice brought attention to the table. Alistair rose from his chair to stand with the group. His presence was professional, his hands clasped behind his back, but Caoilainn was certain she saw the slightest evidence of a smirk as she stood across from him.
Stepping closer, the map and markers becoming clear, Caoilainn centered herself. This was her territory, a place where she thrived. And it is not the place to play games with me, Alistair. She thought, settling into her task at hand.
"We are preparing the steps for our army's movement to the Wilds. Your experience will be most helpful," Alanna explained, scanning the faces of Caoilainn and her husband. "And yours, King Alistair."
"I am at your service, Inquisitor," Caoilainn pledged and her posture straightened.
"And I," Alistair added. "Ferelden has stood to the side long enough during this catastrophe."
"This meeting is called in preliminary to our expedition," Alanna clarified the reason for the meeting, and the limitations they faced. Her brow set, serious, but her demeanor calm and welcoming. "Though we still need the status of your scouts, Warden before we can make the final arrangements, the council has decided it best to discuss our strategy now. This can be updated after their detail."
"'Tis a wise decision," a voice rang from the doorway.
A confident saunter led Morrigan to the table. Silence filled the room as they all watched her near. By prying observation, Caoilainn noticed Alistair's ears turning the faintest shade of red. Morrigan makes you uncomfortable, doesn't she? It was amusing, but underneath the entertainment with his reaction, a small stab of jealousy sprang forth.
"I'm glad you agree, Morrigan," Alanna responded before continuing with the meeting. "Caoilainn, have you heard about our siege of Adamant in Orlais?"
"Vaguely," she admitted. "My research on the Inquisition took place after Adamant. I couldn't find much information on the matter. May Warden Commander de Chanson find peace with the Maker." Caoilainn had discovered about her death, but this had been reported to her from Weisshaupt. The circumstances of her passing were unavailable.
"Yes, our Spymaster is excellent at minimizing word of these conflicts from the public eye." Alanna nodded to the silent Leliana who bowed back. "What communication did you have with Commander Clarel de Chanson prior to her death?"
The rest of the room remained silent through this conversation though a heavy and suspicious tension formed. What is she getting at? Caoilainn wondered, consciously holding her neutral tone.
"She contacted us last year," Caoilainn offered, prudent with her words, well aware that all eyes were on her. "Clarel had written, saying she found a way to stop the Blight for good and needed all Wardens."
"And you did not respond?" Alanna asked with raised eyebrows, questioning the actions of the Warden Commander as objectively as possible.
"The First Warden at Weisshaupt ordered me to stand down," Caoilainn explained. "I did not trust Clarel's new ally, particularly because of the timing of this allegiance. So I did not question the First Warden's decision."
Her eyes darted to Alistair and subtly widened. Help me out, she thought with frustration. The line of questioning she was receiving was wearing on her. Alistair did not intervene.
"And have your Wardens experienced any symptoms of the Calling?" Alanna asked with testing curiosity. The question was insensitive and all too personal to ask a Grey Warden. Caoilainn was taken aback and responded to Alanna with a blank stare before she answered.
"Yes." It was a short and honest reply. "And with my guidance, my Wardens and I have been able to resist it." Caoilainn's decision that this portion of their conversation was over came quickly. Specific information about a Grey Warden's experience of the Calling would not be provided if it was unnecessary. "I have taught my Wardens well, Inquisitor and when we felt this false Calling a year ago, we quickly came together to unite our strengths and ignore it. Does this satisfy your concerns?" She turned the questioning back on Alanna.
Alanna stared at Caoilainn earnestly, frowning, measuring her honesty and strength as a leader. "It does," Alanna confirmed. The rest of the group seemed to sigh in unison, the tension of the meeting instantly relieved.
Eager to change the subject, the Inquisition's Commander interrupted the silence. "Now we must decide how to march, based on the information we have gathered. The goal is to allow the Inquisitor's small party to reach the Temple with as little hindrance as possible." Cullen's gaze scanned the attendees of the meeting.
"My spies have reported that Red Templar and Venatori armies are preparing their troops for a mission." Leliana briefed the table, her eyes nearly hidden in shadow under her hood. "We have concluded that they are rushing the Arbor Wilds. I am certain they will defend the temple from our entry until Corypheus arrives. With our new allies, we outnumber them, but only by a small amount."
Caoilainn frowned and her brow creased in thought. After a moment, she leaned over the table and took some unused markers without reserve. Methodically, she laid them on the War Table with purpose. "Send the Ferelden and Highever soldiers first, right through the center. The Inquisition army can strengthen them. Overwhelm the enemy. My Grey Wardens can attack from the outside in smaller numbers and that will leave plenty of opportunity for the Inquisitor to complete her mission."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Alistair chimed in as he moved around the table to stand next to Caoilainn, leaning over and reorganizing the markers she had placed. "I'll command my own troops, thank you. I propose the Ferelden army back up the Inquisition and Highever's. And the Grey Wardens attack from the other side of the enemy. Surprise them. In case they have any demony things about them, you'll spot them first."
Glancing at him from the side, Caoilainn squinted critically. Damn it. He's gotten good at this. Her mouth opened slightly, in preparation to retort his decision, but she realized it was just as adequate as hers.
The Inquisitor studied them both; their marital discord masked in their use of their strategy was amusing and trivial. "Commander Rutherford?" She asked, trusting him to objectively make the best decision.
"We'll overpower the army with the Inquisition, Highever and Ferelden troops through the center as one unit." Cullen's tone was official and decided. "And we will reserve the decision on how best to use the Wardens until we receive word from your scouts, Warden Commander."
Caoilainn gave a stiff nod and Alistair bowed his head to Cullen. Then Morrigan piped in, her confidence perceptible in the tiny smirk at the corners of her lips. "I would encourage our army not disrupt the grounds of the temple. Not only must we be careful of the Eluvian, the temple is said to hold many well-kept secrets."
Perturbed with Morrigan's cryptic speech, Leliana replied, her voice dripping with irritation, "and what does that mean?"
"If I knew the secrets they certainly would not be well-kept, would they?" Morrigan answered casually at the what she clearly presumed to be an obvious answer to Leliana's question.
As the discussion continued of the placement of forces and the information they had gathered on the enemy so far, Alistair leaned over to Caoilainn in observance of the group, and whispered. "Now someone really needs a bath," his voice teasing at their conversation from the bedroom that morning and her current disheveled state from practice.
Unable to hide the flush of her cheeks, her hand came to rest above her eyes, covering her face; she glared at Alistair to her side.
"Not now," she whispered an order. Her expression blended her stubbornness, enticement with his flirting, and a futile plea to allow her to save face in front of the council. The layers of armor, the sweat and grime from practice, and the militaristic wall she put up to block his affection teetered with instability.
"Whenever I want," he replied to her order with his own. The grin he gave combined with his raised eyebrow spoke multitudes of what he meant, brash and immodest to any witnesses at the War Table; it rattled her to the core. She couldn't resist it. His relentlessly smirking eye contact, the slope of his nose, the confident and proud lift of his chin, all made her blush bloom redder. The heat from her body was amplified by her clothing; her body temperature already raised by the armor. Unexpectedly, she giggled uncomfortably; the laugh quickly turned into a gasping cough and to hide her reaction, she leaned her face into his arm.
Alistair's other hand came to meet her head, caressing her hair and the arm she leaned against moved to pull her closer to him. The council at the War Table stopped their discussion in confusion and turned to look at Alistair, Caoilainn coughing into his chest. Alistair responded to their glances through a brazen smile. "Excuse us," he glanced down to Caoilainn then back up to the council. "The Queen just needs to get out of her armor."
Though her face was hidden, Caoilainn blushed even harder. Her complete and total embarrassment prevented her from apologizing to the Inquisitor and company for their interruption and Alistair's inappropriate behavior. I will never forgive him for this.
"Oh," Alanna responded in surprise. But quickly processed the message in his tone and hid her own amused reaction. "Of course. We will begin our march to the forward camp in the Graves tomorrow morning."
Alistair bowed his head and guided Caoilainn out of the room. And as the door closed behind them, she heard the giggles of the War Council.
As the distance grew between Alistair, Caoilainn and the War Room, her embarrassment was joined by frustration. Battling desires to fall over in laughter and smack the smirk off Alistair's face warred within her. She pushed away from him and in a low voice, so as not to catch the attention of those in the main hall, she scolded him as genuinely as possible through suppressed giggles. "Damn it, Alistair! For the love of Andraste. Why would you say that in the War Room... in front of the War Council?"
Alistair's grin prevailed through her cursing, but he did not answer. He continued walking silently toward their room near the tavern and she followed.
A few heads turned to watch the attractive, royal couple rushing through the courtyard. Alistair did not look the least bit disturbed by the flustered wife at his side. The sun was setting, and a bright and brilliant array of colors cast across the sky. Thunderclouds were rolling in from the distance.
"Answer me!" She whispered loudly; her expression both demanding and desperate as they walked side by side. In response, Alistair stopped right in the middle of the Skyhold courtyard and turned to Caoilainn. She met his gaze and opened her mouth, about to yell another diatribe. But before she could say anything, he picked up his discomposed and armored queen by her waist and slung her over his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her legs as he resumed his walk to their room. Her fists beat on his back through an uncontained fit of angry giggles.
"Damn it, Alistair! Put me down!" She yelled as he ruthlessly marched onward. It was quite a sight for the Skyhold courtyard.
The door to their room swung open and Alistair stepped in, setting her down before shutting it. Caoilainn gasped for breath, her face just as red as when they left the War Council meeting. Her laughter ebbed into authentic frustration. "Why would you do that?!"
Playful, teasing, his pleasure not the slightest bit hampered by her mood, he answered. "Simple, my dear. That…" he slowed his speech for impact, "was payback."
Something about his response caused Caoilainn's eclectic combination of emotions to reduce to a defeated fatigue. Standing in her armor, her hair even more disarrayed than before, she whimpered helplessly. Alistair waited to respond as what might have been a soft cry morphed into giggles before erupting into a complete and uncontrollable laughter. Alistair watched silently, appreciating the spectacle of Caoilainn's loss of control as she laughed. At first he was proud of himself for creating the response; his arms folded over his chest. Then he realized how much he missed the sound and how long it had been since he heard it.
Caoilainn, finally able to catch her breath, asked him lightheartedly. "I suppose I deserved that? Well, I surrender. You win this round." As she folded her anger to his humor, she looked to Alistair standing near the door with his arms crossed, silent and smiling contentedly. "What is it?" Her question was filled with innocent confusion.
Alistair made a loving and wistful confession. "I haven't seen you laugh like that in ages." It was soft, vulnerable in spite of his cruelly prankish machinations from earlier. His brash and bold demeanor subsided and a glimpse of the sentimental young man she fell in love with came through.
Bashful and nostalgic in her own right, she looked to the ground before meeting his gaze with a timid simper. Uncomfortable with the sudden closeness they were sharing and eager to lessen the intensity, she sighed. "Please don't use it as incentive to do that again. It was completely embarrassing."
He did not blink at the shift of energy, and their banter resumed. "Sorry, my Queen. But it had to be done," he responded charmingly, though she was sure he did not feel even the slightest bit of remorse for his behavior. "And I'll make it up to you."
"Is that so?" She gave voice to her skepticism. "How do you plan to do that?"
Alistair's smile widened just before he turned around and opened the door again. As his head stuck into the hallway, she heard him murmuring an order to what must have been a passing messenger for the Inquisition. The sound of the messenger's footsteps dutifully walking away outside of their small room provided little information of what he was doing. Alistair came back in and shut the door; her brow furrowed with concern.
"I said you needed a bath, didn't I? And you still owe me that peep show you promised," he answered vaguely. What is he planning? She wondered cautiously, unable to read the intention behind his self-assuredness.
"Alistair, I can bathe myself. Thank you." Wary of his plans, she attempted to relieve the anxious excitement she was feeling by taking back control, if only to follow decorum. Truthfully, the suspense of not knowing what he had in mind was quite alluring.
"Oh I know you can," he acknowledged with the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his tone. "But today, my Queen, you'll let me do it."
At the end of his statement, he effortlessly took off the outer collar of his armor and threw it the small distance to their bed. Then he removed his leather surcoat and did the same. This left him standing in a light tunic of which he rolled up the long sleeves. The shirt did little to hide his sinewy build.
Unsure how to respond, she stood still; her mouth hanging open as she watched him in fascination. Their heads turned to the knock at the door. Alistair stepped to open it, being careful with the angle of the entry and how much of the room the messenger could see.
"Hot water for the King?" Caoilainn heard from the hallway.
Alistair took a bucket of water from the messenger and brought it into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. He bent his knees to place the heavy bucket on the ground. Whispers of steam rose lightly from the water as it sloshed against the sides of the wooden container. Some of the water had already splashed to the floor. He glanced up at her from his crouching position at the other side of the room.
"All right. Armor off," he ordered.
Caoilann laughed. It was a combination of disbelief and genuine humor. "Really?" She asked, only to be met with Alistair's expectant smile. His steady eye contact strengthened the authenticity of his order. She grinned. Fine. I'll play this game. "Whatever you say."
"Whatever who says?" he asked as he stood up, grinning more wildly than before. A spark in his eyes had activated, and it made her stomach twist with anticipation.
Genuine enjoyment melded with her looming cynicism. "My king," she addressed him with a small and playful curtsy. Unsure herself if she was deriding his game or truly abandoning all hesitation to play. Being a woman known for her self-composure, her ability to navigate her role in power, there was something special about Alistair taking charge. Though I hate to admit it, this is fun. Even if it is just a phase.
Arms still folded again across his broad chest, Alistair watched Caoilainn as she stripped off her clothes from the other side of the room. She removed her gloves first, then her boots, followed by her leather breeches, and threw them to the floor away from her. She was left with her long and bare legs exposed underneath the Grey Warden tabard.
"Stop," Alistair commanded and Caoilainn froze. She glanced at him with confusion, obeying his order though with minor irritation.
"What?" Bluntly, she asked with a bite to her tone.
He lifted one hand in a motion to stop her words and he glimpsed to the bucket before meeting her gaze. "Tonight you're mine, Caoilainn," he explained with finality. His tone strict but his words soft. She could see the spark in his eyes even more alive than a moment ago. "And you will not question my orders."
The gaze was hard, and her already twisted stomach tightened harder. Her heart beat faster. He's commanding me.
"Yes, my King," she said with deference. An impassioned smile teasing at the corners of her lips. Caoilainn held her position, her arms at her sides, while Alistair observed. He scanned her body, appreciative and lustful from where he stood. The tense moment seemed to drag on. It was as if he wished to commit the image of her to his memory. Filled with a pleasant discomfort, an enticing anxiety, Caoilainn questioned if she was following his order correctly. The satisfied expression on Alistair's face the only sign of his approval.
"Continue," he ordered with no other explanation of his previous command.
"Yes, my King," she answered and returned to the duty of removing her clothing delicately due to the small wounds she gained that morning. Her belt and tabard came off next, then the chemise she wore underneath them, until she was left standing in only her small clothes. Uncertain, she paused here to meet his gaze again. His smirk had returned, but he withheld any other orders.
Ardent, aroused, and with unwavering eye contact, she examined his reaction as she slowly removed her small clothes. Finally, the naked Queen stood at one side of their small room at Skyhold and the King at the other, appearing quite pleased. A deep and waning orange light filled their room, heralding the oncoming storm.
The brisk air of the room tickled her skin, causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand on end. And her body responded in other ways. Alistair's grin and gaze wordlessly ordered her to stay where she was, unmoving as he studied her. Proudly, knowing he liked what he saw, even with her wounds from combat, she stared back at him with powerful obedience. It was her choice to stand there, to allow him to observe her. The subtle and passive use of her power contradicted the overt use of her authority as Warden Commander.
Eventually, Alistair's voice sounded. "Come here." His order carried no anger or belligerence. It was caring, kind, and ultimate, leaving no room for question, debate or alternative.
"Yes, my King," she murmured again and gingerly stepped to him. The stone floors were chilly to her bare feet and the air suddenly crisper. Dark clouds came over the fortress of Skyhold, forcing the already cool mountain air to drop in temperature and the room to darken.
Her steps slowed until he stopped her body by resting a hand on her hip. One hand held her chin as he mouthed the word, "stay," in earnest.
She nodded understanding and held her place near the bucket of warm water. The steam drifted up and contrasted the cold air of the room against her legs. She noticed this sensation as she watched Alistair walk to the sink basin in the room behind him. After gathering a bar of soap and a washcloth in one hand and lifting a small stool from under the sink in the other, he returned. He set the stool down with a soft thud against the floor and sat on it, facing Caoilainn who stood before him.
Uncomfortable again, she shifted lightly on her feet. Her thumb rose to her mouth and she bit the end of it awkwardly. Without interrupting, she studied him knowingly soak the washcloth in the warm water of the bucket. It was relieving and nerve-wracking that he did not seem to share the strange discomfort she was feeling. But why is this so uncomfortable?
The song of tinkling droplets hitting the water broke the silence between them while he wrung the cloth. And when he was satisfied with its dampness, he glimpsed at Caoilainn. Catching her breath, suddenly, as the unexpected impact of his warming glance, his hazel eyes, overwhelmed her guard in the cold room. The body heat radiating off of him and touching her bareness created the strongest longing, and not just for sex. But for intimacy. To be held by him. For his warmth.
She bit the end of her thumb harder.
Alistair's gaze traveled back to the cloth. "I didn't know you still did that," He remarked nonchalantly in observance as he rubbed the bar of soap with one hand into the washcloth in the other.
Unaware of her own behavior, she realized the placement of her thumb and whipped it from her face in urgent embarrassment. Biting her thumb was an old habit she thought she had outgrown when she became Warden Commander. Alistair used to say it was cute.
"I don't…" she replied earnestly, diligent to remember his command. "My King."
She waited tentatively for any reaction, hesitant and cautious while Alistair studiously lathered the soap. Prophet's Laurel and lavender. She inhaled the scent as she observed his methodical movements. His smile spread. He thinks it's funny. Relief. She exhaled, releasing the concern she may have been remiss in her action. That the moment might end if she did not uphold her duty to his satisfaction in this game.
"Thumb biting is permitted," he grinned mischievously without looking away from the cloth.
Is this still a game?
The question did not have a chance to linger. A clap of thunder rang through the room, quickly followed by the hum of rain falling hard outside the window. The sound vibrated on her naked body and a shiver ran down her spine. Alistair, still seated on the stool beneath her, took her hand. With subtle gestures, he directed her movement to face him fully. Tenderly, caring, his eyes wandered her body. What is he waiting for? Watching the tiny movements that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. A small shift in weight. The nervous flex of her hand. The steady rise and fall of her chest with each breath.
His hand moved to her leg. On the top of her thigh, a large blueish bruise had grown. She held her breath as he brushed it gently with his thumb before leaning in to kiss it. Soft lips met the skin of her thigh and she exhaled. This is far too gentle. Her stomach tightened, and she inadvertently lifted her thumb to her teeth again as she watched him work beneath her.
Then he took the cloth, damp, but still warm from the water, and draped it over his hand. His palm reached to her thigh, and he pressed against her while his other arm rested on his bent leg, supporting the weight of his upper body. Moving in slow, soft circles, the soap transferred to her flesh, tickling her senses. He traveled from her thigh down to her calf, covering all angles of her leg. Nerves wracking, his steady patience challenging her own. The struggle of standing still in the face of his undivided attention divided her completely. The most pleasant torture.
He stopped when he had more than adequately washed her entire leg and stopped to appreciate his own accomplishment. Then he dunked the cloth back into the bucket. Rinsing it of soap and soaking it with water. Then with the same method, he repeated the actions to remove the bubbles from her skin. Her clean, but wet leg tingled in the still air of the room.
Studiously, he continued the same actions on her other leg. At some point, she relaxed into it. Watching his focus as he cared for her. Stopping to kiss bruises periodically, his attention flowed, his movements chosen with eloquence. It was poetic. She had to admit the beauty of it. And this divided her even more. I don't need to be pampered.
When he washed the soap from her other leg, he repeated the steps to rinse and lather the cloth. His hand carried the soapy fabric to her stomach at his eye level. Her muscles retracted from his touch and her discomfort won over.
"Alistair," she murmured, forgetting their protocol. "I don't need this." Unease, the statement was almost a question. As if she wasn't sure if she meant it, nor if she wanted it to be true. The song of the rainfall continued, growing louder; thunder mumbled periodically.
Alistair stopped. Fluttering wildly, her heart reminded her of their agreement. It wasn't fear that took her; she knew beyond a doubt that Alistair was safe. But excited curiosity and yearning trepidation made her cheeks flush.
Purposely, his gaze traveled with the cloth as he rested it over the edge of the wooden container. Then sudden contact, his large palms grabbed her hips and with demanding tenderness, he leaned to her waist; his body rising from the stool. Warm lips pressed against her cool skin, titillating and provoking her senses. All too enduringly, his kisses continued, wandering up her midsection with forcefully soft pressure. He strayed from his linear path up her toned belly to kiss stray bruises and scrapes. And his head lingered between her breasts. She felt the smile on his lips as they pressed against her; savoring her shock and discomfort and appreciating the soft flesh of such a private location. She quivered. And his path resumed with the slightest reluctance until he reached her long and elegant neck, now standing upright before her. His breath. Hot air that teased and bullied her patience, goading her desire to run.
"I didn't ask," he whispered lowly into her ear. A strong boom of thunder shook the walls.
His whisper was electrifying; starting from her ear, continuing to her head and down to her heated core. Alistair distanced his mouth from her body and leaned over to grab the cloth from the bucket. Less than gracefully dunking it back into the water. And without wringing the fabric, he resumed washing her torso. The water splashed violently onto the floor in excess. Though his hand was more gentle, even softer than before, she felt the intensity in his motion.
She blinked slowly, another shiver running down her spine. The sound of rain was even harder. "Yes, my King," she moaned as he brushed the cloth along her upper body.
Delicate and precise attention applied as he cleaned her chest. And his hands followed his focus as he examined and cleansed the cuts on her arms with loving care. Combining the steady repetitive movements of the warm cloth on her skin brought her eyes to close with bliss. The rumbling storm outside serenaded them.
Diligently, she followed his order to kneel away from the bucket while he washed her hair, dipping her head back into the water. The soap created a magnificent lather in her long, ashen locks. She breathed in the aroma; releasing herself to relax into the massage he gave her scalp before rinsing her hair clean.
"There," he said simply. Based on the sound of his voice, he was clearly pleased with himself. Caoilainn had but a moment to think of this before he helped her rise. Her body wet, hair sticking to her skin, she shuddered. "Now we need to warm you up," he smiled. The spark in his eyes ignited to a fiery hunger.
"Yes, my King," she responded willingly.
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