His hands rose and encircled her long, fine neck as if he was going to strangle her. His fingers played lightly along the line of her jaw, then crept around and stroked the nape of her neck. They crept lower, found the hook that held the gown, and slipped it open. Tarassa shrugged her shoulders, and the gown slipped from her body and flowed down off the cushions onto the floor with a faint hiss.
Somehow that hiss was one of the most exciting sounds Blade had ever heard. After it died away he could see all of Tarassa's equally exciting body. Her olive skin was evenly tanned from head to foot. Her breasts held their subtle curves through every movement. Her flat belly seemed to flow down into superbly turned thighs with a neat triangle of dark hair nestling between them. Blade ran his hands down her spine to cup and stroke her firm buttocks. She gasped and lowered herself until her body was resting against his from head to toe, her hair flowing over his face and her lips still nuzzling the side of his neck.
She seemed to want to ride him, but this was not Blade's pleasure at the moment. For once, it mattered to him to take a woman the way he wanted her. She was a princess and the ruler of Parine's thousands of subjects, but here and now on this couch in her palace she would for once submit to the will of another.
Tarassa suddenly found herself being gripped by two arms with steel muscles. The long fingers of two large hands closed on her so gently that they could not have bruised, but so hard she hadn't a chance or a hope of escaping or moving except by Blade's will. He rose, and she rose with him. Then he was turning her over, lowering her onto her back on the cushions with enormous strength and determination and yet also an enormous gentleness. She felt herself in the grip of a will so powerful that it didn't need to show off, but merely proceeded straight to its goal. She was that goal, and the realization filled her with an excitement she had never known or even imagined possible.
Blade sensed that excitement in the woman he held and rejoiced in it. His own arousal was mounting with terrible force and terrible speed. A fight to wait while the woman under him rose to meet him would be a fight he was certain to lose. For once he would not have to wage that fight.
Blade thrust with enormous force and eagerness into the princess. He felt her match that force as her arms and legs clamped tightly around him, match the eagerness as her cries of delight echoed around the chamber. He pressed upon her, driving her body down as deeply into the cushions as he drove himself down into her.
Such fury and excitement could have only one ending. That ending came for both of them with a sudden force that was still more terrible than what had gone before. The princess screamed as if she were in deadly pain. Her body jerked and twisted under him; she would have writhed and heaved herself about desperately if Blade's weight had not been upon her.
Then Blade soared up to his own peak and passed it. He let out a great gasp instead of a cry and held to the princess like a drowning man holding onto a log. He heard her gasp in turn as his arms locked around her like steel bands and his legs thrashed wildly between hers, as if he were struggling to drive himself still deeper into her and pour out the last of his enormous desire and excitement. He would have controlled himself if he could have, but for the moment that was far beyond him. He was as helpless in the grip of his exploding desire as a child in the arms of its nurse.
The explosion came swiftly. It passed as swiftly. Blade found the strength to roll off the woman, and she found the strength to roll toward him so that they lay together, her breasts and thighs against his shoulders and buttocks. It was in that position that a quick, infinitely relieving sleep came over them.
The sleep lasted only an hour or so. Then they rose, bathed, and returned to the couch for a more leisurely, more tender joining.
They spent the rest of the day and all of that night in the bath chamber, sleeping, bathing, making love, eating and drinking from the silver platters and cups brought in every few hours, and talking. As Princess Tarassa had promised, Blade had ample opportunity to tell of his adventures in detail. Whenever the princess thought his interest in storytelling was fading, she would draw him to the couch. Somehow he always rose from there ready to continue telling his tale and answering her questions as fast as she threw them at him.
It was obvious that Tarassa was not just gratifying her personal curiosity. In this chamber she was a woman, indulging in all the pleasures she was capable of enjoying and giving all that she was capable of giving. Yet she was still the ruler of Parine, ruler of a small and lonely land whose safety depended heavily on learning all that could be learned about those who might become its enemies. Blade had seen more of the inner workings of the Empire of Saram than anyone who had come her way in many years. Because of this, she would have spent hours or days in his company if he had been foul-mouthed and ugly, or even seventy years old, diseased, half blind, and impotent. That she was able to find so much pleasure in doing her duty was an extra gift.
Often she made reference to things that Blade did not understand without immediately explaining them to him.
«Would you say that His Magnificence Kul-Nam is mad?»
Blade sipped wine and nibbled on a rough sandwich of flat, dark bread and goat's-milk cheese while he searched for the right words.
«I would say that he is not entirely sane at the moment. He is likely to become less and less sane as time goes by, but how rapidly I do not know.»
«Does his present madness affect his ability to rule?»
«It seems to be making him dangerously sensitive to anything that seems to threaten his dignity, let alone his power. It has already led to some unjust and unwise moves. Remember that rebellious town?»
She nodded. «But he is not yet unfit to rule?»
«Ask a question I can answer,» he said, slapping her playfully on the rear. Then he went on, soberly. «He is not the best ruler that Saram might have. But so far he is not so bad that civil war, chaos, and the onslaught of the Steppemen would be preferable. If it were left up to me, I would probably grit my teeth, hold my nose, and do what I could to keep Kul-Nam alive and on his throne until there was someone better to put in his place.»
Tarassa nodded. «You sound very much like Count Durouman.»
«Who is Count Durouman?»
«Oh, a nobleman who commands a squadron in the Royal Fleet of Nullar. He was a friend of my husband's, and I have taken his counsel on several occasions.»
Blade was absolutely certain that Tarassa had told him the truth about Count Durouman. He was just as certain that she had not told him the whole truth. He made a mental note of the name, for some occasion when he could catch Tarassa off her guard.
Blade found no such occasion that night, and after a while he gave up listening and waiting. No matter what pleasures Princess Tarassa might allow herself, the statesman and the ruler were always there along with the woman.
Eventually they fell asleep in each other's arms. When they awoke it was dawn. Blade knew that, because sometime during the night a panel had been opened in the ceiling of the chamber. Pale pink dawn light and a cool, scented breeze crept in.
Tarassa was sitting beside him, propped up on a stack of pillows, still entirely naked. She had a carved board across her knees and a piece of parchment spread on it. She was writing on the parchment with quick, bold strokes, dipping her pen in a silver inkpot held out to her by a kneeling servant girl.
Finally she folded up the parchment, shoved it under her pillow, and dismissed the girl. Then she turned to Blade, who was watching with an expression carefully intended to show a polite lack of curiosity.