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I was eagerly awaiting the next time I would get to see Caliban, the lord who ruled over my new planet, and the uncle of my fiance. The two had virtually nothing in common: my fiance was meek, mild, while Caliban was brash and demanding.
Even in appearance they differed. Carlon was light-eyed and blonde, with smooth pale skin and a slight figure that seemed to have never experienced hardship. Caliban was dark haired and broad-shouldered, with arms that could just as easily wield a sword as they could caress a woman.
And I would know, because on my first evening with the Great Lord, Caliban had taken me in his arms and given me the most passionate kiss of my entire life. I was still salivating for him the next week, imagining him on top of me in various parts of the castle.
Carlon slunk around the castle for the week, completely informing me. We didn’t even eat together. I ate alone. None of the sallow-faced servants, who seemed to despise their lord and anyone who associated with him.
Not that I had a choice. I was a Glitterling, a subspecies of human bred for our psychic abilities. Raised in the academy, I did not choose who I married: a deal was brokered, my masters decided the match was suitable, and I was exchanged.
Carlon’s palace was enormous empty, nothing like the stately courts I imagined. A few servants glared at me while they bustled around. But there was no one who played music on the instruments covered in dusty sheets. There was a library full of books but no students. A planetarium with no astronomers.
I felt like I was living among ghosts. I could imagine the great center of culture and learning it must have once been, and now was no longer.
“I saw there were stables outside,” I asked one of the servants. “Might I take riding lessons with the master?”
“No stablemaster anymore,” She responded and walked away. But I followed her.
“Please, might I have your name?”
“Dor.” She said, in a voice that made me wonder if this was some local swear word.
“Well, Dor, maybe you could tell me how to occupy myself. I seem to have nothing to do here, and my fiance has little interest in passing time with me.”
“Can’t you just meditate,” she said with a huff, “isn’t that what your lot does?”
“Well it doesn’t exactly work like that,” I said, trying not to mimic her palpable irritation. “Glitterlings are still humans, and therefore are social creatures. We need others around us, to speak to, to play music with, to dance with. It’d be like trying to run this castle alone, possible but exhausting.”
She snorted, “Then why not just make an heir for the viscount, and you can sing with them?”
I’d love to, but you’ll have to tell your great viscount not to ejaculate onto my face after four seconds of vigorous thrusting.
But perhaps I can show her the power of a Glitterling — just an inch. It will exhaust me, given how little socialization I’ve received, but perhaps if I can remember Caliban’s lust I can channel some energy that will make her more receptive to my plea.
I take Dor’s hand, “What are you doing!” She says, glaring at me.
“Just give me one second. You’ll not regret it.” I close my eyes and breathe in as she does.
For just a moment, her entire body relaxes. But as soon as it happens, it’s over. Her tension floods the room, I resist the urge to let my legs buckle to the ground.
“What was that! Do it again.” She demands.
“I can’t,” I say, visibly winded. “It’s called an aura. And it’s why I need those things I mentioned — music, art, stimulation. Glitterlings are still humans, we’re just more attuned to psychic and social energy. But we can’t just generate it out of nowhere. Sitting in this empty place. I’ll go insane.”
“Does the Viscount know you can do this?”
I shake my head sadly, “For the price he paid, he should.”
*
I am informed the next morning by Dor that we will be dining with the Great Lord in a week’s time. I am obviously thrilled but try to conceal my delight, and I wonder if Dor has put the idea into Carlon’s head after observing my power.
I’m still uncertain of how to navigate Carlon, how fickle he might prove to be. I have barely seen him since that first day — and that disappointing first night. He sets off to handle some important matters before dawn, and returns from them after I’m asleep. No one will tell me what these matters entail nor why they require a full day.
All I am certain about is that the thrill escort şişli of knowing I will finally get to see Caliban again is enough to keep me warm for another week of a cold and distant Carlon.
The morning of our dinner, Dor meets me at my room to help me dress. I’m surprised to see her holding a large, furry garment.
“What is that?”
“Your gown for the evening.” She says dryly.
“I don’t understand.”
“The Viscount says you should wear this tonight, Lady Everild.
“But I haven’t been to a tailor since I’ve gotten here.”
She doesn’t respond, just stares at me without blinking.
“Well I’ll take it, I suppose.”
The fit isn’t perfect but it’s surprisingly not terrible, though too tight around my bust. It’s beautiful, a glimmering soft pink with a white fur ruff around the sleeves and plunge neckline. I can’t wear my normal slip under it, and instead put on the thinnest pair of undergarments.
I imagine Caliban ripping them off of me in front of Carlon, asking for a kiss and then sweeping me deep into his arms. How thick and consuming he will be, the bold intensity of his love.
Carlon is silent in the coach on the way. The ride is long due to the heavy snow. I ask him about his week of business and he sniffs, mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath. We spend the next several hours together in silence, but at least I have new scenery to peer at through the window.
How cruel that he is the man I have been promised to. How bittersweet that his great uncle is the one I long her.
*
When we enter Caliban’s lands, I am hardly able to read my eyes from the carriage. Rolling hills covered in white snow and then his grand castle, a shining sculpture of black obsidian.
“Impressed by my uncle’s holdings?” Carlon says, meanly.
“Only admiring the planet I’ve seen little of,” I reply, unaffected. I don’t add because you keep me trapped in your miserable castle.
When we enter the castle I’m careful not to let my jaw hang open. It’s the welcoming I expected from Carlon: rows of sharply uniformed footmen who look well-fed and well-groomed. Not a small mob of sourpusses in rags. When the carriage is pulled forward, one of the footmen springs forward to help me down. Carlon simply ignores me, pushes past me to be first inside while I curtsy and thank the kind footman.
Inside, the castle is even more magnificent. Fine art covers the walls, thick rugs on the floor. We are seated so they can remove our snow boots, exchanged for soft fur slippers that caress my toes with each step. A harpist plays music that greets us, a massive fire roars in the fireplace.
How different this is than Carlon’s estate. One would never know it’s far below freezing outside amongst the warmth of this home. The courtiers smile and thank the servants, music and fire roars.
Carlon’s home is a tomb in comparison and Carlon the heartless miser who rules over it. Why can he not pay to keep his castle warm, pay his servants to be better dressed? Why did he spend a fortune to buy me and keep me imprisoned in his unhappiness?
And then the Great Lord Caliban there, in the center of the room. Standing like a king. His eyes glint, his dark hair shines. My pulse quickens. He bows to greet us and Carlon mumbles a hello while I curtsy.
“A joy to see you both again. Carlon, might I kiss your bride hello?”
I try not to let my happiness pour out of me. He steps forward and presses a kiss onto my lips. To the outsiders it might appear chaste and sweet, but we both know its power. I am again drowning in my desire for him, aching to feel his tongue on mine, craving the wetness of his saliva, but it’s all too brief. Over before I know it. And then more courtiers come in, and I curtsy, and my miserable groom mumbles.
Dinner is also torture. I’m on the other end of the table from him. One of the courtiers engages me in conversation, and though he’s friendly and handsome enough, I spend the entire time wondering if Caliban is looking at me, if he is jealous that some courtier has won my attention.
At least Carlon is across the table, which is too wide for me to be expected to speak to him across it. He stares dully at the rich food while the woman next to him sits in miserable silence. One of Caliban’s wives, I believe. The poor woman must have been forced to tolerate this man for so long. And yet she only suffers a glimpse, and then can return to Caliban’s strong beyoğlu escort arms. I have to live under Carlon’s torturous rule, living in hopes of a single kiss from Caliban.
I cannot believe this is the future chosen for me.
As dinner draws to a close, Caliban stands with a smile. His eyes fix on mine, and I try not to blush with lust for him.
“My wife, Meneren, will have the ladies join her in the salon. I’d like the men to accompany me in the drawing room — and Everild, why don’t you join us? I want to get to know the woman who will be my new niece.”
My heart leaps into my throat but I simply bow my head and follow them out of the room. I glance at the ladies, who do not meet my gaze.
*
I don’t touch the wine that’s being poured liberally in the wood-paneled drawing room. The fire roars, leaving the room lambent, warm, and cozy. I sit next to Carlon, who indulges heartily in the alcohol and holds my left hand like it’s a scorpion. Caliban eyes me from across the room, reclined on a deep leather couch.Ten or twelve other courtiers stand by, idly chatting, when Caliban interrupts.
“Lady Everild, your husband has been keeping you to yourself. Come over and join me.”
I look to Carlon, who nods. His eyes are already heavy with drink. I stand up and cross the room, feeling how tightly my dress has me confined. He stands up to greet me, towering over me. My legs tremble. His face is unlike any I’ve seen, strong and beautiful. His eyes are a rich, dark green and I set my own on his.
“A beauty you found, Carlon. I’d like to give her another kiss for luck.”
My heart pounds. I cannot turn to look at Carlon, but Caliban’s face tells me he’s given an approving nod. Not that I would care.
Caliban takes my hand and presses his mouth against mine. It’s hot, smelling of smoke and honey. His lips are rough and demanding. He doesn’t release me, and I realize this isn’t a cordial peck. This is him staking his territory to his little nephew. He is telling Carlon that though I am the Viscount’s wife, I will be the Lord’s lover.
He slides his hand to my waist for just a moment before lowering it down and squeezing my ass. I feel his hard, heavy hand through the thin fabric of the gown. His fingers spread wide to feel more of me.He doesn’t let go, uses his grip to pilot me further into him, pressing my breasts against him as our kiss continues.
I don’t want to seem like I’m enjoying it too much in front of Carlon or these strangers. But I don’t want to resist either. I just follow his lead, standing still while his hands group my ass and waist. Our mouths never open but it’s fiery nonetheless. It must have been pathetically obvious how attracted we are to each other from the moment we made eye contact at the start of dinner, but any pretense is gone.
The man who is supposed to be my uncle, my lord, my king is making out with me in front of the man who is to be my husband.
And I don’t stop him.
When we finally break apart from a kiss that only lasts seconds but feels both like a lifetime and not even close to long enough, my chest is heaving, my dress barely able to contain my body. Carlon simply nods and continues to drink while Caliban pulls me to sit on his lap.
“I’d like your wife to entertain me, Carlon,” He shouts. Carlon nods, looking at the ground. He’s so pathetic it is becoming embarrassing.
“Bring in some of the musicians,” he snaps at a courtier, “I want music!”
Within a minute, three musicians arrive and begin a jaunty tune. I barely notice it, because Caliban has wound his hand around my neck. His other tight is on my thigh. I rest my own hand on his powerful chest, the other on his back. His skin is red hot, his muscles strong and rope-like even under his fine, thick tunic.
He leans over to whisper in my ear.
I’ll get your husband drunk enough so that you must stay the night.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Look at how he leers at you. Jealous of how he knows only I can sate you. I have half the mind to fear your clothes off here.”
“I would not resist.”
“You minx,” he says, and squeezes my thigh. “Let’s get him drunker. I cannot wait much longer.”
And judging by the hardening in his pants, he isn’t lying. I look over at Carlon. He is exhausted but his eyes are still alert, staring at me not with jealousy–but with excitement. He sips his drink while staring at me, his eyes tracing each of my movements. When I güngören escort rub my hand against Caliban’s neck, when he moves to whisper something in my ear: Carlon stares at us, his face unceasing.
“Another round!” He barks to a servant, and beckons him closer. “Bring a bottle of wine to my nephew so he may refill his glass as he pleases. We’re toasting his upcoming nuptials. Get the dancers. Let’s celebrate. Prepare the guest rooms: the snow is too heavy and I don’t want footmen driving any of these revelers home in the dark cold.”
Four scantily clad women enter the romance and begin a dancing performance. They are also offered chalices of wine. It’s only Caliban and I who remain sober as the party begins to slide into debauchery.
And when Carlon’s eyes begin to slide close, Caliban gets more aggressive with me. The courtiers have joined the women in drunken dancing, some of them leering at the women. I watch as a dancer with swollen breasts and a long golden braid of hair runs her own hands down the curves of her dark body, showing to the room how much she adores her own splendid form. She takes a courtier by the hand and swivels her hips against him. He stands there, dumbfounded by her beauty, until she turns to face him. He immediately sinks his head into her breast, kissing them and dragging his tongue across her clavicle.
We were taught many things at school: this was not quite one of them.
Caliban notices me watching and he places his hand onto the small of my back, the other under the tip of my chin.
He gives me a hard kiss on the mouth, and then with his hands running up and down my back, drives his tongue deep into my mouth. I accept it, my eyes flickering over to Carlon, slumped on the couch, every few minutes.
I am longing for Caliban to play with me, to fondle me, to feel my skin, but even in the depth of his lust he will not be so crude in front of guests. Instead the musicians continue to play, the dancers to grind against each other and the men who stand there like furniture, as we kiss each other ferociously. Our mouths are wet with the taste of the other, hungry for more of the other’s body. He rubs my thighs, his hand running deep into the crease of my leg. I’m on fire.
His hand clenches the flesh between my thigh and my sex, so tightly it almost hurts — almost. He breaks the kiss only to whisper in my ear.
“I’ll send you and your lord to separate rooms. Keep your pussy warm for me. I’ll be there for you soon.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He pulls me into another passionate kiss. I gyrate my hips against him, feeling how hard and intense his love is for me. I’m sweating with desire, panting for him, imagining him shoving me down and taking me as he wants. As I want. As I have been made, taught, desired to be taken.
His mouth moves against mine. I feel his lips cover me, his tongue folding against mine. We swirl our tongues together, as if trying to swallow the other one. The chaste kissing between friends is no more: this is the passion of lovers desperate to consummate their desires. I want him on every part of me, but satisfy myself in his mouth, sucking on his hot, warm tongue. He has sent the servants out of the room, and the others are too wild in their antics to pay us any mind. It wouldn’t matter anyway. He is the only thing I can focus on, as I feel his hands run up and down against my hips and waste, as our mouths battle each other for more, more, more.
Two other courtiers are passed out on the couch. A group of them are fondling each other and the women, drunkenly and sloppily kissing, pausing only to drink more of Caliban’s wine. How quickly the night has progressed into madness. Caliban snaps his hand and two servants rush in, their heads bowed as they watch the people that rule over them debase themselves in lust and drink.
With them, I help bring Carlon to his room, kiss his head and whisper good night. His eyes blink open and he mumbles his name.
“The snow is heavy, my lord. Well travel home tomorrow morning when you’ve had some rest.” I murmur.
He nods wearily, and lies flat on the soft bed.
My heart is pounding as one of the servants guides me to my bedchamber. It is nothing like my cold, empty quarters in Carlon’s. The wallpaper is an ornate green that glitters like emeralds. The bed has a similarly lush, forest green cover, with gold thread and soft, down-filled pillows. The fire is roaring and my feet slip into a thick carpet. The wall is covered in tapestries and paintings, a shelf full of books in different languages and glazed pottery from all over the galaxy.
Caliban is truly nothing like his nephew.
And I held my breath, waiting for him to arrive to me.
AN: Just one more part of this little story for now, hope you’ve enjoyed it
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