How Time Serenades

 

The Golden Beek Tavern was incredibly busy this fine midday. The usual riff-raff and gossipers were present, but there were also out-of-towners and ambassadors from far flung countries who were in dire need of a drink. One table held a group of mercenaries, and Amahle swore that she caught the faces of some familiar brigands gathered at the corner table. The energy of one group fed into another, thus creating a seamless cycle of loud laughter and general excitement. So long as the mood stayed high and the ale kept flowing, Amahle was more than happy to sit among the bustling crowd.

An arm was thrown around her shoulders, and the man next to her filled her tankard with a laugh and a hard pat on the back. Another of her drunken tablemates looked at her with a discerning eye before shaking his head.

     “Can’t quit peekin’ at ya, lad. You’re pretty enough to be a missus.”

     Someone belched in a fashion that was both impressive and repulsive before saying, “Lass or no, you’ve no chance in hell, Sancha!”

     The one named “Sancha” started to speak, looked at Amahle again, and then nodded with deep bobs. “Aye, all right. Fair!” He pointed at Amahle’s tankard. “More drink for you, then?”

     Amahle raised the mug, feeling its weight in her rough hands. “I think it’s full enough.”

     “Uh?” Sancha leaned towards the tankard until he was close enough to put his nose in the liquid. He stared into the dark brown pool before turning his head one way and then sharply another. “AH!” He shouted victoriously as if discovering a fabled prize. He then stared up at Amahle. “Right you are then!” He slapped the table with a throaty laugh before returning to his conversation with his compatriots. As strange as the behaviour was, Amahle couldn’t deny that it was a little charming.

Somewhere on the other side of the tavern, the sound of singing was growing louder. Amahle passively listened at first, but once the voices rose above the general din, she lifted her head to find the source. The culprits were a group of men who looked to be a mix of guards and mercenaries. An interesting sight to be sure, but not the strangest Amahle had seen in this tavern in recent memory.

That was part of the charm, she thought. The little unexpected things she saw here were always entertaining whereas the food was mediocre by comparison. The rooms on the inn’s side were serviceable and lacked any noteworthy features. As a bodyguard, she was bound to see many things while on the road, but few were able to be as engaging or amusing as what happened in these tavern walls.

To her, the company and the atmosphere were unparalleled. She took a dainty sip, careful not to spill her almost overflowing cup, as she watched the singing group stumble their way towards the exit. One of the guards closest to the door slapped the wood a few times hopelessly, but when the singing became louder, he seemingly found his strength and shoved forward with all his might—

Only for the door to open at the same time. The guard stumbled forward, and the other bodies he was hanging onto messily followed his lead. It threw off the singing to comical degrees, causing the other patrons to laugh at the misfortune. Even Amahle couldn’t help but find enjoyment in this human recreation of Ancient Tower as they all toppled forward just as the bricks would in the child’s game.

A new figure stepped forward hardly a moment after. A nobleman, it seemed. Amahle’s brows lifted. Now, there was a handsome man; from his attire, which was a strategic mix of durable wear and finery, she could tell that he was a traveler. And a well-versed one at that. From the way he looked around the tavern, it was clear that he was looking for a place to sit while also scoping out his escape options. The traveling satchel hanging from his shoulder and resting against his hip was obvious, but the barely hidden pommel of a dagger between his cape and lower back was a bit harder to spot. Interest. Her eyes tracked him as he walked over to sit where the singing batch of bricks had been.

Amahle raised her hand and then tried to catch a waitress’ gaze. Thankfully, someone was quick to respond to such a gesture, and Amahle ordered another tankard for herself as well as a plate of food for the nobleman.

While the food was just above serviceable in most cases, Amahle knew which dishes were tastier than the others. She was a frequent enough visitor to have memorised something so trivial. When her second drink came, the other men lamented their missed opportunity to woo her. She smiled at them all, gathered up her drinks, and then stood up.

     “Have fun, gentlemen,” she purred with clear glee. Underneath her feminine tone was a soft, masculine resonance that left her voice smoky and entrancing. She ignored the small thread of pleasure she felt as the others watched her go.

The hurried whispers on how to keep her around were soon lost to the overwhelming throng of noise. Amahle waded through the worst of the tavern’s active swell where even the waitresses danced like folk-tellers to serve different tables. She raised her drinks above her head and thanked every star in the sky for her height. As a swordswoman, she prided herself on her agility, but she had yet to learn the secret behind being able to navigate the unpredictable swarm of drunken patrons with little difficulty. Perhaps she should visit more if only to turn this place into her impromptu training grounds, but she would ponder such a possibility later.

A body bumped into hers, causing her grip to tighten on the tankards and a spark of annoyance to flicker when she felt a splash of ale on her forehead. She prayed to every power that nothing else spilled. After what felt like an age, she stepped out on the other side of the mass and sighed with great relief once she was able to move more fluidly.

It only took a cursory glance to find the nobleman from before who caught her eye. He was tucked against the lip of an alcove and was resting rather comfortably despite the number of bodies and noise filling every corner of the tavern. Amahle smiled as she marched her way over and eagerly joined the nobleman at the table. Any other time, she wouldn’t dare without making some kind of formal introduction at least, but circumstances being what they were…

Amahle placed both drinks down heavily, pushed one over to the nobleman, and… furrowed her brows.

She recognised this nobleman— woman! Well, in truth, wasn’t it too soon to say? Regardless, she knew this face, and from the handsome smile she was met with, the noble recognised her as well.

“It’s been a while.” Ooh, the noble’s voice sent a pleasurable chill down Amahle’s spine. Even when speaking louder, the other patrons should have washed out that dulcet voice with ease. Instead, Amahle heard it clearly and without mistake. She wondered if other people felt the same way when she spoke. (If not, then she would have to work harder…)

     She gave the noble’s face a once over again. “…Ten years, hasn’t it? It was… at the knight’s ceremony?”

The noble’s smile quirked an inch, took on a more knowing quality, and Amahle suddenly felt as if she had misspoke and made a fool of herself!

     “Exactly so.” The noble leaned forward and reached for one of the tankards. “Though, if you don’t mind my being a bit pedantic, it was actually the night before the ceremony. When one of us couldn’t let the other go.”

Amahle’s cheeks flared with colour now. Ah, but to have forgotten such an event when it now came to life so vividly in her mind. Aren’t I the fool? she thought as she tried to calm her racing heart. The noble’s fingers brushed over her own, and after a flustered laugh, she finally had the wherewithal to actually let the mug she had been holding go. The noble winked and pulled it closer.

So now, there was a new, awkward hurdle that Amahle must overcome. Though she had put together why the noble was so familiar to her, she was having a much harder time trying to remember a name. She thought to ask, but that’d be giving up too quickly. She curled a hand against her thin lips as she went into deep thought.

Maybe taking in the finer details of the noble’s handsome appearance would help. Full lips, deep freckles and tawny skin that looked well-loved by the sun even this late into the day. She remembered gentle kisses to a face that was ten years younger, her fingers gracing the place where a scar was not yet present. She remembered kissing that thick bridge rounded nose in hazy worship as… Ahem.

She came back to her senses enough to try and remember if the cut notched into the noble’s short, bushy brow had been there before or not. Looking closer now, it appeared old to her, old enough to count as a scar in its own right. Yes… She remembered back then seeing the young not-yet-noble being bandaged up after taking a blow to the head. Hopefully, it hadn’t been severe; she had only noticed the commotion in passing, but it never occurred to her to ask properly when they finally met.

While entertaining, the slowly returning memories offered nothing of quality in the way of names. She remembered long walks in the knights’ courtyard; she remembered late night training sessions. She remembered a shy kiss from her own self delivered to the person before her. Though, no name. She was vexed.

Okay, the one memory that was shared out loud so far was the night before the ceremony, and though Amahle knew they had spent smaller moments together prior, there was a reason the noble pointed out that moment in particular.

Right, the noble had been a groundskeeper then and had joined the ceremony in hopes of trying her fortune to be an official knight. Nerves had gotten the best of her so she left the apprentice’s camp to get some air while Amahle herself was wandering the night and enjoying her time alone. Chatting had turned into casual flirting while they wandered aimlessly side-by-side, and then the next thing Amahle knew, she was taken in hand behind the groundskeeper’s shed and was jerked off to her splendid and rapturous end. She remembered explicitly (and frustratingly) that they didn’t kiss, but every lustful word spoken into her ear felt like a promise she had never heard before.

Ah. If Amahle wasn’t too careful, she would get excited all over again, but her arousal would be a fine price to pay as she finally remembered the name she moaned to the stars.

     “Greysen, yes?”

     The noble — Greysen chuckled pleasantly. “You remembered.”

     Amahle sat up, smug. “Of course I did.”

     “And here I thought you would have forgotten lowly old me.”

     Amahle scoffed now. “I would never! I’d…”

     “Sorry, love,” interrupted a waitress, rightfully breathless as she finally delivered the order Amahle placed in Greysen’s stead. “Here you go: one pork should feed two, but I know you can polish it off all by yourself.” The waitress grinned at Amahle, who blushed messily.

     “Hush,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

     Too bad that only won her a laugh. “Soup’s on me; I’ll be bringing you that in a bit. Full house tonight!”

     “Take your time,” Greysen replied, tilting the tankard slightly in acknowledgement. When the waitress left, Amahle returned her attention to her tablemate, who raised a finger. “‘Grey’ is fine, by the way.”

     “Is it truly?”

     Greysen shrugged with a sly smile. “Before our separation, I felt that we were close enough. Friends, yes? Perhaps a bit more.”

     Amahle adjusted herself slightly but hoped that Greysen didn’t read any further meaning into it. “Yes. I’d agree so.” After a beat, she looked away from Greysen’s features to take in the sharp clothing. “You must be doing quite well for yourself. Your clothing is fit for travel, but I’m curious: what house do you belong to?”

     Greysen laughed. “A house…” The tankard went up again, and a long drink was taken. Thankfully, there was no scorn in Greysen’s voice, only humour. Amahle was intrigued. “I’ve nothing so fine to my name.”

     “No house? Did you not become a knight after all this time?”

     “No.” Greysen grinned while setting the tankard down carefully. Manners and elegance, not nerves. “I had been taken in after the ceremony and have had several mentorships since, but I’ve failed to prove my mettle each time.”

     Amahle frowned. “I find that so hard to believe… Especially since you’re dressed like a lord, at least in part. Do you truly have no rule? Is there no one you hold dominion over?”

     “Only my past self,” Greysen admitted, plucking now at the small cape draped over a broad shoulder. “It was a benchmark that tested my greatness, and I have surpassed such trials. I make my living otherwise.”

     Amahle laced her fingers together. “I suppose I just can’t fathom how you could have possibly failed. You seem so made for it.”

     “Let’s just say there are loyalties I’m just not made for, and as it turns out, there are classes and expectations that women knights had that I, well, didn’t quite take too kindly to. As it turns out, that type of nobility doesn’t suit me in social practice, but—” Another, sly laugh came. “—receiving gifts and benefits as I travel far and wide? Sometimes, it doesn’t hurt to be ‘Lord Fairwaters’ for a while.”

     “Lord Fairwaters.” Amahle picked through her memories to see if she had heard such a name even in passing. Her specialty was traveling, after all, and when she did have higher status clients, they tended to gossip about Lord This and Serram That and Madame Whoever. She came up with nothing in the end, but she supposed that wasn’t too surprising, considering how much nobility—fake and true, it would seem—there were in the world.

     Greysen continued, “I am ‘His Grace’ sometimes, and ‘Sir Fairwaters’ others. Most have kept it simple at ‘My Lord’ or ‘Ser-slash-His Lordship.’”

     “Ah, so have you…?” It was only because they were reuniting that Amahle didn’t broach the question as she usually would have. She felt a kinship with Greysen, however, and hoped that the meaning would come across without being so explicitly stated.

     And it was, as Greysen made a noncommittal gesture with her hand. “While I’ve never renounced my womanhood, I found that I’ve become addicted to such trappings. Being free of it while also being it has opened more possibilities for me than noble masquerading ever has.”

Amahle nodded. Being on the road allowed one to discover themself and twist the very nature of “identity” to one’s comfort, and while she had never been so terribly challenged herself, she was now face-to-face with a deeper, more layered understanding of “the self.” Greysen walked the fine line without ever truly belonging to anything, but in doing so, she had discovered a truth about him-and-herself that, frankly, Amahle found rather attractive.

Maybe she might have that midday tryst after all.

     “Do you want to share?” Greysen asked, gesturing to the pork.

     Amahle’s lips went up in an automatic smile, seeing the movement of Greysen’s hand, but understanding of the question came seconds later when she realised what the noble was doing with said hand. “Oh, this? Sure.”

     “‘Oh, this?’” Greysen imitated. “What else could I have meant?”

     “Our memories, of course. We’ve so much to discuss.”

It wasn’t the most graceful shift in conversation, but Greysen didn’t seem as though he minded at all.

In fact, he led the charge as there were a few fond memories he kept to himself. He tapped at the meat as he talked before ripping it apart with his hands. Greysen reached over and did the same with the starter bread on the table and haphazardly made sandwich halves that they could both share. Amahle smiled, remembering some details more clearly than others and playfully interjecting every now and again.

Once the soup arrived, Amahle almost suggested that they share it too, but there was only one spoon. Well… Even if that ended up being the case, she wouldn’t complain if Greysen didn’t.

     “What’s your weirdest experience on the road so far?” Greysen asked with a smirk.

     “My weirdest? Ah, now that’s a question, isn’t it.”

Greysen had a terribly handsome smile. Amahle remembered when her hair had been in long, thick twists, but now they had been shorn into kinky curls at the top of her head. Daresay, Amahle liked this look better than the previous.

     “I’ve an answer for you if you’ve one for me.”

     “Oh.” Amahle swallowed down a spoonful of soup before tapping the utensil against her lips. “Trying to sweeten the deal, are you?”

     “Is it working?”

     “Ha! As if you’ve to try very hard. I will say the weirdest I’ve experienced was… Ah. Ah!” Amahle wagged the spoon, and Greysen’s short brows went up curiously. “It happened with the group I came here with, actually.”

     “Oh?”

     “This was a long time ago, maybe three summers ago, yeah? Ah! So. It was day three in our trip from Pattersfield to Oldsmith, we had to pull over and make camp in the dodgiest neck of the woods. Our caravan? In tatters. Nothing in particular happened to it on the trip, but the old couple who sold it to us actually gave us an old bandit’s carrier. So it had seen its own fair share of adventure. The wheels were terrible—though they had given us spares. Two spares for eight wheels! The floor of one wagon was more shoddily held together than the other. We had to pull over at this point because we weren’t sure we were going to make it.

     “And I’m thinking ‘This is it. This is how we all get robbed, and I’m going to get stabbed trying to defend our wares. Whosits and whatsits are going to see our shitty wagons from the woods, and that’ll be it,’ right?”

     Greysen smiled. “Right.” He bit into his bread.

     “It gets to be about… mid-to-late evening when I hear chanting and stomping and all sorts of things, yes?”

     Greysen looked fully interested now. He lowered his food to the plate. “Witches? Or amateur practitioners?”

     Amahle holds up a finger, quickly bidding for patience. “I tell the boys to stay there, yeah, and go to check it out. As I’m creeping through the trees, the voices sound like they’re all around me. I heard awful singing, wild yelling. I think to myself ‘I should go,’ but I know I won’t have a moment’s peace if I turn tail now. So, I keep going. And going… And going…” She leaned in slowly towards the end, her voice lowering. Greysen leaned in as well. “Can you guess what I saw?”

     “What?” came the enraptured whisper.

     “Bandits.” Amahle said it conspiratorially. “Drunk off their tits bandits.” Greysen laughed as they both sat back. “Oh, they were having a grand old time! I’m thinking to myself the worst of the worst, but they’re drinking their night away, probably having pillaged some unlucky caravaners just earlier. They were swimming in their own loot. More than a couple were terribly dressed, and the one that was doing the singing was buck naked there in front of me.”

     Greysen snorted her amusement. “And what did you do then?”

     “Nothing! Turned my ass around and marched back to the group. The bandits ended up being so piss drunk that we were able to get back on the road by the next morning without any issue.” Amahle slapped a hand on her heart. “Oh, I’ve never felt so alarmed in all my life.”

     “But now, you have quite the story to tell.”

     “And a hell of a story it is!” She nudged the soup towards him without comment, but did so in a way that was clearly an offering. “What about you?” she asked in return as she finally took to her pork and bread.

     Greysen smiled and then ducked his head. He looked at the soup and brought it closer so that he could stir the spoon almost sheepishly. “Well, now it doesn’t feel appropriate to say.”

     Amahle raised her brow. “Oh…?”

     “It’s.” Greysen tilted his head slightly, thought on it, and then shook his head. “Well, let’s just say it’s far more boring by comparison.”

     “That’s not what you were going to say.”

     “Is it not?” Greysen met her eyes as he took a spoonful of soup. “Who’s to say?”

Amahle’s eyes were locked on him because she wasn’t about to let him go so easily, but she watched as his lips curved around the spoon as he withdrew it. How could something as simple as eating be so… sensual? She followed how his tongue traced the curve of his lips to clean up any remnants, and she felt her inner thighs shake again. Ah, just when she thought they had gotten past that.

     “Or is it a case that you’re shy, ‘Lord Fairwaters?’” She smirked when Greysen’s eyes met hers.

     The little smile that Greysen gave back was… Intoxicating. She took another morsel of soup before casually replying, “We both know that’s not the case.”

Such confidence. Amahle felt tempted to squash it. After all, she wasn’t as shy as she had been ten years ago; she had grown more adventurous in all manner of ways. She brushed her leg against his.

     “I’m inclined to believe all sorts of things. You say being a noble doesn’t suit you at all, and yet your tongue is as heavy as theirs when it comes to sharing the actually interesting things.”

At first, he didn’t reply. A spoonful of food here, another bite there. He nudged the bowl over to her, allowing her to finish the rest as he downed another throatful of ale.

     “What do you know about harmonic flowers?”

     Not much, if she was being honest. “Never been much of a horticulturist,” Amahle replied as she leaned over the table. She did take over the soup bowl, preparing herself for what he would say next.

     “Harmonic flowers only ever grow in groups of four to six. Some say they’ve seen as many as eight; others an entire field full. But I know they’re vine plants and only ever grow at what would be eye height on the average person.” Greysen spoke calmly as he turned his tankard with the tips of his fingers. “What’s interesting is that they’re typically dangerous plants for humans, animals, or creatures, but when they grow in bundles, they do something… fascinating. They work together.”

     She paused here to take a long, thoughtful drink and finish off her mug. Amahle ate quietly, a little confused as to where this was going but staying attentive nonetheless. “And why would we care? Because they produce interesting fruits or curious poisons.” He leaned in now, meeting Amahle’s eyes and lowering his voice to that same conspiratorial whisper from before. “Or intoxicating nectars.”

     It was starting to click now what his “weird” story might have been.

     “It’s said every wet season these flowers over ripen and shed viciously. Some spore; others relieve themselves of their petals. Others release a toxin on their vines. It’s hard to say which will do what— well. I was sent out by a scholar to grab a bundle from a forest nearest his tower, and I obliged as he was my friend and all. And as it turns out, he knows the exact location of where harmonic flowers weep nectar. His could very well be the only of its kind as far as we know, but I was so taken by the oozing substance that I had to touch it. I had to taste it.”

Why was Amahle’s heart going so fast? A sensible part of her wanted to believe that this was a hilarious story that was about to twist into a misadventure, but instead Greysen shrugged and fell quiet to finish eating his food. Why, she almost kicked him out of frustration. He began downing his food ravenously as if he had somewhere to be, and she stared at him incredulously.

     “What? That’s it?” He continued to eat. “I’ve never met such a cocktease in all my life. Grey, if you don’t—”

     “Finish your food, Amahle.”

It was the first time he said her name, and she was rendered speechless by how commanding his voice was. A hot wave of heat enveloped her, made her stomach drop needfully. It reminded her of the detached sternness of her teachers who scolded her for acting up, and even then, she knew she had a particular liking towards authority. For him to take such a tone now. She licked her lips as he did the same, though for different reasons.

     “Perhaps I did take after my true noble peers,” said Greysen flippantly. She turned her attention to the other well-dressed travelers who were well into their cups by now. “Even if no one care hear us, I feel that this is a story that mustn’t be told in public.” She then looked at Amahle. “I wouldn’t want you to miss how it ends, after all.”

     There was promise in those words. Amahle caught on quickly and put on a smile. “Well, they are the best gossipers. They know what setting best befits a story, no?”

They both finished eating, and because Amahle had done a lot of talking earlier, she still had more to go through. Greysen, on the other hand, finished his food and flagged down a waitress for payment. He went through his satchel as one braved the wave of bodies to come to their table, and once she arrived, he dropped a small, fat coinpurse into her hand. Then, he beckoned her down to ask a question.

     Amahle watched him as she went through her portions, and this waitress rose with a snort. “Oh yeah!” she said before patting him hard on the shoulder. “You’re fine.” And before Amahle could say or ask anything herself, the woman was gone. …Huh. She could only wonder what that was about, but when her eyes met Greysen’s even that little bit of curiosity soon flew out of her mind.

When she wiped her hand against the back of her mouth, Greysen took that as a good sign and snatched up his bag. She nodded for Amahle towards the entrance, and the two left together. The sudden shift in volume was almost disorientating. It felt like they had entered an odd place. Where it had once been midday, it was now growing late. The twilight hours were approaching, and all but the most fundamental businesses were closing down for the night. Those from out of town were arranging themselves into groups to wander the town and take care of final business. Greysen, on the other hand, was taking a sharp turn left away from the tavern.

And Amahle followed, ever curious as to what would happen now. She was still interested in that story as Greysen had left her on the proverbial edge of her seat. She closed the distance between them in two long strides and then poked him in the arm.

     “Well?”

     He looked around. They weren’t entirely alone, but they were entering the side of town where activity was at least sparse. Here, there were inns and a few last minute good stores, and most people weren’t ready to turn in yet. “Well,” he said, “to continue from there. Let’s see… Ah, yes. The nectar.”

He slowed his steps, and now they were passing some of the smaller storehouses and sheds. Another block after this would be the stables and, after that, the inn where she was staying; she wondered if he had lodgings there as well.

     “It flowed in such thick rivulets; the jars he had given me would fill easily given what I had saw. I was fascinated by what I saw, and again, I only wanted a taste. A little sample and nothing more. I’ve never been too greedy.” Greysen’s eyelids dropped. He rolled his jaw with careful slowness. “At least not until that moment. Once that honey hit my tongue, I became a fool possessed. I felt my skin break out in gooseflesh, but I had this… gnawing hungry growing inside of me.

     “And so, to satisfy the craving, I took another taste. Then another. I grew hotter as I began to scoop the honey into my mouth. I stripped my humble clothing when the heat became too much, and suddenly, I needed more. So much more than the honey could provide. I was aching for satisfaction.”

Amahle’s tongue was heavy in her mouth. The Greysen in the memory wasn’t the only one who was aching; Amahle felt her own need building as his voice became breathy. He led her off the road and around a blind corner. Here, there were naught but fields just beyond. They rounded the storehouses, and Greysen nudged her into the recess. His bag dropped to the floor, and Amahle almost felt herself crumble to her knees as well.

Could he read the need so openly on her face, or had this been his plan all along? His hand coasted along the insides of her thighs, skating over her leggings until he found her swelling bulge. He leaned in to press his lips to her jaw and ear, and oh, this was reminiscent of the past…

“Were I in my right mind, I never would have thought to debase myself in such a way. But it was also… freeing in a sense. With my fingers slicked with honey, I touched myself in a way I hadn’t had a chance to in months. My first release burned away the worst of my cravings, and I felt my mind returning by the second. But I… Perhaps I needed that break. Perhaps I wanted to break further. I cannot say.” Greysen rubbed her palm slowly over Amahle with just the right amount of pleasure to make her moan.

“But I indulged. I ate again of the flowers’ bounty and felt my senses flee once more. Over and over until my cunt trembled and begged for my mercy. The taste of the flowers’ honey and my own was like nothing I had ever experienced before.”

     “And that—” Amahle’s breath caught when Greysen tugged her leggings down to her thighs, just enough to free her aching length. “—Does that count as a story that happened ‘on the road,’ though?”

     He smirked. “I admit I’m being a bit lax with my own rules, but it did happen while I was traveling. The scholar was a bounty I had picked up on the way when I was in need of more discreet employ.”

     She sighed through her teeth and pressed her head against the rough wooden wall behind her. “And how long ago was this?”

     “Just the other week.”

     Oh gods.

     Full lips traced along the length of Amahle’s neck before lowering down to kiss the pronounced hill of her throat. Greysen sighed against her. “I admit, I had other intentions for telling you this story.”

     Amahle almost didn’t—couldn’t—say anything when he began stroking her length, using the generous pre already beading her tip to help ease his way. “Y-yeah? And what’s that?”

     “While we were talking, I was remembering the promises I made to you all those years ago, and I hadn’t had a chance to fulfill a single one. And I was hoping to see if I was reading your lingering stares correctly.”

Well, Amahle had never been told that she was subtle. To punctuate that point, she bucked her hips up into his grip and quietly moaned when he squeezed her in return.

     “And so I did. I wished to take you back to my room and, perhaps, give you a live reenactment of that night.”

     “H-how did you… k-know… ah, know that I…?”

     “I didn’t,” he said as he kissed her chin and cheek. “It’s just serendipitous that our paths crossed again. In truth, I have a small chest to sell to more promiscuous contacts while also keeping a bottle or two for my insatiable self. Now that you’re here, however. I wish to make the most of it.”

     Amahle’s head was spinning. She whimpered when he teased the head of her cock, and right as she curled a hand over her mouth, Greysen laughed darkly in her ear. “And that reaction there reminds me that I must fulfill my first promise to you.”

     Her mind was hazy. She could only remember some of what he said back then, and that was only because some of his words had followed her into her deepest dreams. “And that’s…?”

     “To turn you into the Wailing Ghost of Wahldra.” Greysen rounded to her front and stared into her hazy eyes. “People will hear you call my name and know not from where your voice comes.” He smirked. “Perhaps not until you yourself do.”

And then, Greysen was down on her knees, moving with such indisputable confidence that that alone had Amahle feeling like a maiden. So much for her no longer being shy. She had hoped that she would be able to have more of a presence with him; she had hoped that this time she would be the seducer, but there was no such thinking now, was there? Having this handsome noble-in-name before her like this was enough to make her willfully submissive. She would happily take direction if meant being rewarded by the wet heat of Greysen’s mouth like she was right now.

“Grey…” She moaned, helplessly overtaken by her clear skill. Though she had had a good number of people give her service like this in their time apart, there was something about what he did that was just… leagues apart from the others. He made her thighs tremble, her heart race, her throat bob with moans restrained. The movement of his head was leading, though never forceful, and when she began to rock into his wicked mouth, he took her easily down to the root.

But before she could have too much fun with that, Greysen pinned her hips against the storefront and took charge once again. The wet noises of his attention were obscene and unashamed. Amahle had a lot of pride, she was learning, as she believed she had mastered herself to be the cool yet somewhat vocal lover. Her moans were a treat; her voice was always level until she was about to fall apart. It took much practice with many partners as she knew she could sound far more broken.

“Ha— ah, Grey! Grey!!”  Her voice ran from her as if wanted by the guard. When she tried to muffle herself, the whimpers sounded far more pitiful and were far more frequent in their appearance. He teased her slit with his tongue, either by using the very tip to elicit a tingling sort of pleasure or by holding her shaft still so that he could run the flat of his tongue against that dripping place. Amahle’s eyes rolled back, too overcome to continue to watch him proper.

And at the same time, her mind wondered what Greysen would have looked like in his own throes, completely maddened by a satisfaction that felt all-encompassing. Touching himself with lecherous fervour, coming and coming until he hit his breaking point and then going well past.

“Hh—! Gah!” His throat felt like heaven. Two of his fingers encircled the base of her cock, squeezing with rhythmic pressure to coax out her orgasm. And it was rising within her. Even if Greysen never used his hands, Amahle would be hurried along by his tongue alone. She was shaking all over and pumping her hips to explore the depths of his mouth.

She looked down at him, and he stared at her, the charming brown of his eyes was lost to the deep black of his pupils. Amahle came because of that, knowing that he was feeling good in part because of her. Even though he welcomed her completely, she had enough control to pull her hips back until his lips were wrapped around her tip. Feeling that drag of his tongue only worsened an already intense release, and Amahle was trembling by the end of it.

She saw stars; she could count them. She could feel their heat on her face because she was free-floating. All sensation left her as ecstasy pulled her from her body. “Was all that for me?” Greysen whispered against her lips, his voice filled with the praise he didn’t yet say. He kissed her then, softly but it was enough to guide her back into her material form.

Amahle brought her hands up to his face, cradling the young lord, the noblewoman, the mysterious enchanter who had once again fallen back into her life.

     “That’s one down,” Greysen said as he rolled his hips against her exposed ones. “I’ve so many more to go.”

     “Shall we retire to my bed then?” Amahle nipped at his hips as she rocked their bodies back and forth. “No, yours, yes? You said you had something to show me…”

     “That and more.” He claimed her again. This time, he prised open her mouth with his tongue to share the phantoms of her spend.

Amahle wanted nothing more than to crush Greysen between her legs, to make the noble to proper accountability for if he was going to lay claim to her, he would do so now and he would do so well. They parted only when Amahle’s moans returned. Between their kissing and the distracted humping, she was feeling the stirrings of arousal again. Meaning that Greysen had had enough of the little affairs. He wanted something bigger from her.

And so, she broke away. Amahle righted her clothes as Greysen watched with lustful attention. Afterward, the noble swept down with a common’s casualness to swing the bag onto her shoulder, and she tugged Amahle along with her other hand. “Away we go then. We’ve not much time to waste.”

They would have to talk more about how to stay in touch; perhaps they could force their fates together by traveling as a set. Amahle entertained these ideas because they distracted her from the animalistic wanting that was crawling up her loins. When they both had their minds and maturities well at hand, they could discuss those things. For now, the only hands she worried about were Greysen’s and the blissful, wonderful things they would undoubtedly do to her in sweet and soon.