Maybe I will.
You belong to the princess.
Perhaps I could take two…
Blasphemous. The princess would act hotly at such a suggestion, which would not bode well for the smaller female.
It would be better if I forgot Asha and what we have done.
Yet it is all I wish to think about.
I wonder how Asha would react to a courtship gift. Would it tint her cheeks pink, extending her lips into a wide smile? Would it make her knees spread apart for me?
I think so.
There are no courtship rituals for Tempest women, but there is no shortage of gifts in the way of land, precious gems, and soft wisps of cloth which are used to make fine gowns for the noble ladies.
With each of these gifts, there was never any gratitude from the princess. Only demands.
Asha and the princess are as different as two women could be. One soft; the other hard. One warm; the other cold. One worthy…
No—both worthy.
My thoughts feel treasonous and not at all like my own, but that is the way of things when it comes to the Penticari.
It is the way I am with Asha.
I want her. The weak thing that she is. I want every part of her.
Which is why my mind is in such conflict, because she is the only thing that has ever made me question honor.
Asha stumbles over a root, nearly falling.
What quiet grace she has while she weaves is lost in the greater world, replaced with a clumsiness that should shame her more than it does.
Still, I want her more than my next breath.
Even more than I want the princess, Tempest help me.
When the sun nears the horizon, we stop for the night near a creek.
Together, we wash in the waters, as Asha is most eager to clean the sweat from her skin.
I do not tell her how intoxicating I find the aroma.
The sight of Asha’s nudity, which she does not hide, has my cock painfully hard, forcing me to look away because it would not be good for me to grow distracted.
Once we are clean, we eat smoked meat wrapped in bread, with cups of mead, which makes Asha more relaxed than I have ever seen her. When she requests more of the intoxicant, I hesitate, relenting only when I see her pretty face marred in frustration.
I have never seen Asha drink, though many of the women do, and it brings me joy to see her smiling widely with each small sip.
After our meal, we erect a tent. She giggles when she drops the rod that needs sheathing half a dozen times. If it were Amber being so careless, I would show her the sharp side of my tongue, but I much prefer a carefree Asha to a worried one.
After setting up the campsite, I uncork a vial of terragulf urine to mark where we are, so that no beasts draw near.
“What is that?” Asha asks, slurring her words ever so slightly.
“Terragulf urine.”
