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“Listen.” She lifted her head proudly. “Your Alder King won’t fulfill the task, that’s more than clear. It isn’t important if he’s the problem or if I am. That’s trivial and meaningless. But I want to fulfill the contract. And get it over with. Let someone else impregnate me to beget the child you care so much about.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And if I’m the problem—” she didn’t change her tone or expression “—it means you’re mistaken, Avallac’h. You lured the wrong person to this world.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zireael.“
“If, though,” she screamed, “you’re all repulsed by me, use the hinny breeders’ method. What, don’t you know? You show the stallion a mare, and then you blindfold it and put the jenny in front of it.”
He didn’t even deign to reply. He passed her by unceremoniously and walked off along the avenue of statues.
“Or you, perhaps?” she yelled. “If you want I’ll give myself to you! Well? Won’t you sacrifice yourself? I mean, they say I’ve got Lara’s eyes!”
“Go ahead,” he commanded, voice sounding rather unbothered.
Ciri hesitated. “Go ahead...?”
“You said you wanted me to breed you, did you not? Fine, then. Go ahead and take what it is you crave so badly that you would behave in such a humiliating and degrading manner in the garden. But if you really want this, if you’re so desperate for it to be over with… you do the work. I won’t help you.”
Ciri's face grew hot and red with embarrassment and anger. How could Avallac'h be so arrogant and condescending even when initiating sex?
After her outburst (that Ciri was starting to regret, in hindsight) Avallac’h stared at her, expression blank and unknowing. “Follow me,” he ordered, not betraying a hint of emotion, and led her into the palace. She followed him through winding corridors to what appeared to be his private apartments. Avallac’h closed the door behind them and sat down on a large fabric sofa, one that spanned the length of the room and wrapped down the other wall. He relaxed into his spot and rested his arm across the top of the cushion in a leisurely manner, and then ordered her to mount him in a tone so casual one might think they were talking about the weather.
He was challenging her. Or perhaps trying to call a bluff.
If she backed down now he'd tsk and say, “That's what I thought,” in that tone of his. The one he always used on her when she got upset and worked up. A condescending sort of parental tone that made her feel like she was six all over again being scolded by Mousesack for breaking his orbs, by Calanthe for missing a ball to play knucklebones with the street kids, or by Vesemir for not doing her bestiary readings. Somehow Avallac’h excelled at making her feel small and childish.
But it was clear: He didn't think she would do it. He didn't think she had it in her. He was underestimating her now like he always had. And if she relented and apologized to him as she knew he thought she would, he would once again demand she have patience and understanding for Auberon as the old Alder King continued to neglect his duty and blow his damned bubbles. Ciri would not live the rest of her life in this place, and she would not give Avallac’h the satisfaction of winning this argument.
So she stumbled out her smallclothes, and with an awkward clumsiness, climbed onto the couch and straddled his hips. She wondered at first if she was being too forward, going too fast, doing this all wrong. How does one even initiate an encounter such as this? Should she have started with disrobing herself, or him? Should she have gotten on her knees in front of him and pleasured her with her mouth first like she saw the whores at pleasure houses do? Should she kiss him? People liked that, she knew. At least all the people who desired her seemed to. But Avallac’h was no person, and he may not appreciate the gesture as humans do.
Avallac’h’s eyes widened at first, like he was surprised she'd get this far. But he quickly recovered. That arrogant smirk was back. He still didn't believe her. “Well, Zireael?” He was goading her.
Ciri thought about what to do next. She had never been the instigator before. Everyone had always come on to her… Kayleigh, Mistle, Auberon. People were always touching her, it was rare she touched back. She wasn't sure where to start. If she was with Mistle, what would she do?
She settled down and hiked up her dress so her thighs were exposed. This wouldn't get very far if Avallac'h was flaccid, and if he was anything like the other Aen Elle she had encountered, getting him hard would prove to be a challenge, if not impossible. And Avallac'h especially . He was always so clinical, so calculating. When she described her time with Auberon to him and he offered advice, when they spoke of sex, barely a hint of anything passed his face. He always listened intently like she was describing a puzzle he had to solve, not a hint of embarrassment or flush would reveal itself.
But she could see now, straddled on his lap with her dress hiked up, that his eyes had flashed down. It was very quick and she almost thought she imagined it, but he looked at her. That's more than she'd gotten from him in weeks, gotten from anyone. Auberon never looked at her when he touched her. His eyes usually seemed glazed over like he was imagining he was somewhere else.
Seeing that tiny little recognition gave Ciri the confidence she needed. She slowly moved her hands from her thighs to his thighs, up his waist, torso, dragging her hands up his chest, catching them at his collar which was fastened all the way up his neck, and began to unbutton his shirt. He didn't look down again. He didn't move at all. He stared at her intently with those aquamarine eyes, not even blinking. She wondered if he was trying to stare her to death, or scare her into stopping. Fat chance. She was as stubborn as he was patient. As she unbuttoned his collar she began to rock her hips back and forth, not so fast to cause chaffing, just enough to get the heat going. She could feel his cock under many layers of clothes. It was there alright, be it flaccid. It's okay, she told herself. What did Avallac'h always say?
Calm yourself.
Be patient.
So she would take her time with him. Even if nothing came of this, at least she’d make him miserable for a few hours so he’d understand what she was having to endure with Auberon.
As her confidence grew and she got used to the motion of things, she began rolling her hips in a circular motion, occasionally changing the direction to mix it up. She wasn’t sure if she was getting him aroused, but she was beginning to feel things, and those things were quite pleasurable. Grinding against a warm solid body was so much more gratifying than doing so with a soft cold pillow (and she had done that many times as a girl, always the excitable young thing). Even a body so miserable and grumpy as Avallac’h’s.
She had gotten his collar completely undone and pushed his shirt open to reveal his chest, exposing just a glimpse of his porcelain skin stained by ink. She knew he had tattoos, but had no idea they were so extensive as he was usually completely covered. Her hands explored under his shirt, fingers spreading to feel more. Cool hands on hot skin.
And then-
He grabbed her wrists. She froze. Avallac'h's expression had finally changed… to a scowl . She wasn't sure whether he was annoyed or aroused. Sometimes with him both were one and the same. Regardless, she preferred angry Avallac’h to indifferent Avallac’h. Sometimes it scared her how empty his eyes could become.
“This is very unbecoming, Zireael. You’re grinding into me like a varh'he in heat. Elven women would never behave in this manner.”
“I'm not an Elf.” Ciri cut back, voice harsh. “Something you all love to keep reminding me. I am a dh'oine, remember? If you want to fuck an Elven girl, go find one. But I don’t think you do. You like that I’m this way. You like that I’m improper. It excites you, doesn’t it?” Her eyes grew wide and blazing with a righteousness and satisfaction.
One of Avallac’h’s hands shot forward like a python and latched itself around her throat. Ciri had only said those things because she was angry, but his reaction was very telling. She had hit a nerve somewhere. The ever calm, ever reserved Avallac’h was on edge. She should be afraid. She knew that if he wanted to, he could have throttled her like a fledgling. But seeing him unnerved like this excited her. He had an unsettled look about him as if she had struck him herself.
She gave him a dark and sickly smile as she began rolling her hips again, and let her now free hand wander back down to his trousers to begin undoing his laces. The anger in his face betrayed confusion in his eyes, but he didn’t let go of her throat.
“Calm down,” Ciri said, echoing his previous sentiments, even managing to match her tone to his. “You told me to take control, didn’t you?”
She could feel him start to get hard underneath her. She didn’t know how, but she had done it. She had gotten a rise so powerful out of him that he wanted her.
But it angered him that he wanted her.
Avallac’h wasn’t sure how he had let it get this far. He thought it would be funny to watch her squirm. She’d get embarrassed and flustered and apologize like usual. He could admit to himself he found it cute how worked up she got when he upset her. She claimed to hate him but was clearly desperate for his approval. She was a lost little bird in search of a nest, and clung to his side desperate for a false feeling of safety and comfort, despite knowing he was her captor and this place was a cage. Occasionally she’d wake from the spell and realize what was going on, who he truly was, and what this place is, and she’d snap like a dog. She’d yell and scream and throw a tantrum like the child she is. But a firm chastising and finger wagging later and her head would be bowed in shame as she pleaded for forgiveness. He was hoping to get a similar reaction out of her this time. But she had risen to his challenge in ways he hadn’t expected. Now he was regretting ever offering.
Ciri was unlike any woman he had ever been with. Far less experienced, and far more feral. Her emerald eyes were gleaming mischievously at him, the corner of her mouth pulled upward into a sly grin. And the unicorns called him the fox?
She truly was an unruly brat. He couldn’t tell whether she was smiling because she was excited, or because she was winning . And she was winning, wasn’t she? He could feel his trousers getting tighter, his body getting harder. He thought it would have been more of a challenge to get him to this point.
When was the last time he had gotten hard without taking medicinal herbs to help along the process? When was the last time he felt his pulse rise, his heart quicken, or his breath hitch? When was the last time he lay with a woman really and truly desired, and not one he simply settled for?
Ciri had finished untying his trousers and slipped her hand inside, cold fingers around his hot shaft. He flinched at her touch. She began to stroke him, something she had learned from those perverted rats she ran with, no doubt. She was clumsy with him, and he could tell from her poor technique she had never touched a man there before. But she was very good at pretending she knew what she was doing. Yet unpracticed as she was, he felt his breath getting caught in his throat as she caressed him. Her skin on his seemed to put his body aflame and each touch was searing agony.
He let go of her other hand he held hostage so he could wrap both hands around her neck. He held her in place just a few inches away from him, close enough to feel her labored breathing tickle his skin, but no closer. He was afraid of what she would do if he let go.
Afraid she might try to kiss him.
Despite how far this had already gone, he couldn’t let her do that. He was terrified if he let that happen, he might forget what Lara’s mouth felt like.
Lara.
Avallac’h never desired anyone, but he desired her. Too bad the feelings weren’t mutual.
She had let him kiss her once out of politeness. Or perhaps she was trying to convince herself she wanted this, wanted him. But it never went further than that. He would never touch her unless she asked, and she never asked. And then she left. And he would never know any part of her, except that one kiss.
If Ciri kissed him he would forget what that felt like. He knew it. And he wouldn’t let her take the memories of his beloved.
Ciri ran her now free hand up his chest again and pushed his shirt back off his shoulders. She was fascinated by his body and how much ink there was. Avallac’h didn’t seem like that type of man to get a tattoo, but these markings were more than just ink. They were ritualized, like they seemed to mean something. She knew it was magic. He no longer made any attempts to stop her exploration, and so she traced her fingers across the markings on his collarbone, wrapping up to his neck.
She felt him shiver beneath her, and it caused her heart lurch forward. The idea that someone would desire her, especially someone like Avallac'h, was an exciting notion. He had been alive decades longer than her and done and experienced things she could scarcely imagine, yet shivering beneath her he felt her captive. And it made her feel powerful. She could feel her own wetness beginning to spread.
She fully released his cock from his trousers and rested it against her stomach, rubbing up and down, slowly, methodically, as it slid against her clit, her own wetness providing lubricant. A stifled groan rumbled in Avallac’h’s chest, something feral and wicked. He was holding himself back intently, committed to ‘not participating’ as he had promised Ciri at the beginning of this game. But she could see in the flash of his eyes and the quickening of his breathing he was slowly but surely losing that composure.
She felt him grow in size between her folds as he got harder, tip glistening with precum and shaft glistening with her own juices. He was thick and girthy, and from hilt to tip at full length he reached right below her belly button. The sensation of his weighty cock resting against her stomach sent shivers up her spine and down her legs.
When his tip brushed against her belly Ciri felt his hands quiver around her neck. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him like a submissive dog, and the green in her eyes flashed. He narrowed his eyes like a predator and squeezed ever so gently. A light raspy groan slipped through her lips, and then a weak and wheezy inhale. She was struggling to breath but said nothing, although her breathing became louder and more labored. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she grabbed his wrists with shaky hands to steady herself and lessen the choking sensation as she quickened the pace of her gyration. Her whole body was quivering now, her upper abdomen twitching, and she squeezed her eyes shut to fully immerse herself in the sensation. She felt she might become completely undone just from the feeling of his cock rubbing against her bare skin. Once she coughed, though, he loosened his hold on her neck again, allowing her to take a deep delicious breath.
She opened her eyes and peered at Avallac’h. He was still staring at her, eyes impenetrable and intense, yet beads of sweat were pilling around his brow. He was feeling it too, she knew it. He cock was straining, flushed pink, and growing bulbous. He looked like he might explode. The veins in his arms had popped out as his muscles flexed and tightened, trying to keep steady his hold on her neck. And his breathing was slow and methodical, a deep inhale and a long exhale, like the breathing techniques for meditation she was taught by Geralt. At one particularly angled thrust the tip of his cock dipped into her entrance, and he almost gasped. He reflexively squeezed her even tighter than before, causing Ciri to make an intelligible garbed noise, then a squeak and choking sound. The lightheadedness she now felt only intensified the burning between her legs and the stirring in the womb. It was both painful and pleasurable.
She was starting to get nervous. It was almost time, and although she talked a big game, she had never actually had a man inside her. The most she had ever done was heavy petting and fingering. She and Mistle used to kiss and lick each other down below. And of course, she had orgasmed. But she had never been penetrated.
And now she was wondering if it would hurt. She knew Aen Elle were taller than humans, but she hadn’t considered they’d be larger down there. Ciri had seen plenty of penises, having grown up with a bunch of men in Kaer Mohren, and then running rough with the rat pack. They had no shame, and she had seen many shapes and sizes. But Avallac’h was large. Larger than anything she had seen before. She wondered if that pertained to all Aen Elle.
Oh, shut up, She scolded herself. You’re almost there. Don’t back out now, you coward. You may never get this chance again.
She attempted to sit up to reposition herself, but the hands around her throat hindered her movement.
“Zireael,” Avallac’h’s voice was different. It was rougher. Deeper. “That’s enough. You’ve made your point.”
“I’m not trying to make a point,” Ciri argued, “You told me to do this. You said I had to, to leave.”
“With Auberon. Not me.” Avallac’h’s features were tight as if he was in pain.
“Auberon doesn’t want me. You do.”
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”
Ciri felt her heart drop, her blood pressure rise, and her eyes sting. She didn’t know whether she wanted to cry because she was angry, humiliated, or sad. It was one thing to degrade her, to look down on her, or to pity her. She hated all those things, but she had learned to tolerate them. It was another to turn on down when she was completely exposed and vulnerable before him, having been shamelessly grinding herself against him for the better part of a half hour, chasing an orgasm like some horny animal. It was like what had happened with Auberon all over again, and it was too much.
“You don’t want me?” Her voice cracked, and she immediately cursed herself for sounding so pathetic and whiny.
“That’s not it.” His voice was low.
“Am I so repulsive?” She was spiraling. Once she let that single crack spread, it all came flooding out.
“You’re not.”
“Is it my scar?”
“No.”
“Because I’m human?”
A pause. Then, unbelievably, “No.”
“Do you think you’re betraying her? ”
He was quiet.
“You don’t owe her anything. She left you. She didn’t want you.”
His eyes flashed. Hands tightened. He was angry. “You–”
Her voice, weakened and raspy, yet still firm: “But I want you. Here. Now. How long are you going to live in the past?”
Ciri raised both her hands and wrapped them around his. The anger in his eyes left almost immediately.
“I want you,” she repeated, this time in Elder Speech, slowly, making sure to enunciate every word just as Auberon told her to. The grip on her neck loosened as his face softened, just enough for her to weave her fingers between his. Despite his cock tucked between her folds, this was the most intimate thing they had ever done together. And Avallac’h ripped his hands away as if he had been burned, as if her touch was poison.
She took the opportunity to position himself at her entrance, and then quickly fall down on top of him before he could say another word of protest. Her slickness provided easy entry, so easy that she had moved too quickly and accidentally completely buried him within her, from tip to hilt. He was engulfed.
They both gasped and Ciri fell forward onto his chest, thighs and cunt clenching desperately around him. She cried out weakly against him.
It was a mistake to take him in all the way at once. She had never done this before and didn’t realize quite how tight it would be. The lubrication made it so it wasn’t painful, but he was so, so deep. No finger had ever been this deep inside her. She was surprised he fit all the way in her, but she could feel his tip pressing, pushing against her womb. She had never felt so full before, and she could feel her body stretching and contracting around him. Like it was trying to suck him in even more, as if that was even possible.
Avallac’h rested his hands on her hips, and Ciri placed hers on his torso to steady herself and push herself back up into a sitting position. She shakingly lifted herself back up, halfway off his cock, then lowered herself back down. Again, too fast, too deep. She squeaked, then cursed herself for sounding so childish and unwomanly. She was doing a terrible job at this, wasn’t she? She must look so foolish to him. Her face flushed pink from pleasure and embarrassment and the unbearable heat she felt.
“Easy,” Avallac’h said softly. “Gentle now. Don’t rush.”
The change in the tone of his voice made her face turn pink to crimson red. He spoke softly to her before, but never quite in this way. And his voice had been warm in the past, but now felt like an embrace around her. For once he didn’t sound like he was condescending her.
“Slowly, Zireael.”
She followed his instructions and began moving up and down as he coaxed, his hands leading her hips. When she tried to go too fast, he would firmly hold her into place, like he was trying to stop her from hurting herself. He kept her at a slow and steady pace, moving her as if he was instructing her in a dance, and his expression was soft yet determined.
He had told her she was on her own to do as she pleased and that he wouldn’t help her. But he lied. He was helping her now, coaching her, training her. Encouraging her when she would go the right pace, and discouraging her from going too fast and hurting herself.
He was holding her up with a vice-like grip, not letting her go more than halfway down his member before having her rise again. “You have a small frame, Zireael. Don’t put something in yourself you can’t handle.”
“I can handle it,” She shot back, more defensively than she intended. I can do anything those Elven maidens can do. “I can take it. Don’t hold back, Avallac’h. I can take all of you.”
“I can feel you, Zireael. You’re shaking. Are you in pain?”
“No,”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Ciri insisted. “I’m shaking because… Because I feel… good.” She turned her face, not bearing to look him in the eyes.
“Look at me,” He said, voice low and commanding.
She turned her gaze back towards him.
“Continue,” He ordered. “And don’t look away.”
She began her motion again of rising and falling. Pushing deeper than he encouraged. She refused to be treated like a delicate flower ready to break at any moment. She could handle this, and she could handle him.
As they continued on and she found herself stretching more and more, she could feel quivers beginning to spread through her body. Starting in her womb and spreading downward, through her groin, thighs, legs, and all the way down to the tips of her toes. Her breath started getting heavier, hitched. Eyes glossy. Face flushed. She could feel her hair sticking to her face and neck, and to the open parts of her dress in the back, her skin gleaming with a light sweat.
Now that she had a handle on movement and pace, Avallac’h moved his hands upwards from her hips to her shoulders, feeling her flesh. He grasped the straps of her dress and pulled them down, letting her dress fall and puddle around her hips, exposing her small, supple breasts. He didn’t touch them, he only watched as they rose and fell with her movements, more strands of loose hair getting stuck to wet skin. Ciri moved her hands up from his torso to his shoulders, holding on to support herself as she continued on.
“I’m impressed with your endurance, Zireael. I can tell you’ve trained your body well, you have excellent stamina and breath control.”
“And I’ve always been an excellent rider, ” Ciri replied with a devilish smirk.
Avallac’h found himself smiling back against his own desires. He couldn’t help himself. She was unbearably unfunny, and yet the confidence in which she spoke somehow made the joke work.
Avallac’h sank back further into the couch as he watched her ride him, wet skin glistening in the orange light of sunset. Her stomach distended and retracted and she convulsed her muscles, clearly intentional, finding different ways to feel him inside her, and to move him around within her. She was quite shaped and muscular from all her training, and it was none more obvious than in her abdomen, which she had perfect control over.
He glided a hand across her stomach and rested it on her lower abdomen where he felt himself move inside of her. When she lowered herself down he felt himself push out against her walls, abdomen ever so slightly bulging outward, and when she lifted back up her stomach flattened out again. He felt a shudder of excitement knowing he was so deep inside her, that he was claiming her in this way, and that no one could stop him. Not Eredin, not Auberon, and certainly not Geralt. How would Geralt feel, he mused to himself, knowing that his precious Child Surprise was gleefully riding him with abandon, moaning and mewling like a kitten in heat? Humans were such excitable creatures.
After what felt like a lifetime, Ciri’s legs began shaking more violently, and Avallac’h felt a heat rising deep inside him as well. His skin was lit aflame. It was time.
“Ava – I think I – I’m going to –”
He grabbed the sides of her face and pulled her closer, resting forehead and forehead and chest on chest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as she rode out several waves of orgasm. Avallac’h released deep inside of her.
He had fallen back on the sofa, sinking into the cushion, still inside her and completely satiated. She had melted in his arms, completely pressed against him chest-to-chest, with her cheek resting over his heart. He could feel her chest move as she breathed in and out. Their skin stuck together. And the room, large as it was, felt unbearably humid.
She was completely weakened and drained. But something had awoken in Avallac’h. It had been almost 200 years since he had been so completely aroused before, and so completely satisfied after. Maybe it was true, what he had told Geralt about lustful Humans inspiring lust in Elves… Because all he wanted was to take her again. But this time on his terms.
“You’ve done excellent work, Zireael.” He spoke, breath tickling her ear. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you. But it seems all that pointless training at Kaer Mohren wasn’t so pointless after all, was it?”
He gently rolled her off him so he could stand up. She whined a word of protest as he slipped out of her, leaving her cold and empty. She felt his seed trickle down her inner thigh and spill onto the couch.
“But now… it’s my turn.”
He leaned over and unceremoniously ripped the rest of her dress off, pulling it down over her legs, and tossing it aside.
He thought Ciri might protest the loss of control (she was so bossy, after all), but she only nodded weakly in agreement, so exhausted and spent she didn’t even open her eyes.
He helped lift her up and had her place her hands on the top of the couch to steady herself, ass up and legs spread. Without warning he entered her, hard, and she was knocked forward into the couch, air leaving her lungs in a breathless gasp. Knowing now how much her body take, he had no interest in holding back. He didn’t stop. He pulled out and reentered just as quickly.
He made her squeak before. Now he wanted to hear her scream.
In and out. Harder. Faster. Rougher. He wove his fingers into her tangled hair then roughly yanked her head back. She was gasping, panting, crying. Crying his name, and to his disbelief, begging him to go harder. She was quivering from head to toe, her arms and legs jelly from their last round, and could barely hold herself up, but she kept begging for more.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” She breathed.
And he complied.
Avallac’h had never been a rough lover, and his tristes were never particularly exciting. Well, maybe they had been a couple hundred years ago, but he could no longer remember. Occasionally he tried the odd foreplay, but it always bored him so much he’d stop in the middle and push them away. He could hardly recognize himself now, nor understand his burning desire for this small-framed d’hoine, with the bad temperament and dirty mouth. She was completely inferior to him in every possible way (except perhaps as it pertained to the Elder Blood), but he found himself in the throes of worship. She made him feel a burning deep in his soul he had never felt before. Not even for Lara.
Lara made him yearn and ache. He wanted to spend a lifetime with her. But he never wanted to bend her over and fuck her until he saw stars, until she begged him to stop. He never felt aroused by the idea of filling her up with his seed and seeing her stomach growing full with his babe.
Zireael. Cirilla. Starry-eyed daughter of chaos. What had she done to him? She must have broken something deep in his mind. Or maybe she awoke something that was always there, that he taught himself to suppress.
He watched her shoulders shake beneath him, beads of sweat roll down her back, and her hair fall forward over her face, exposing her frail neck that was now purple and bruised. He bent forward, chest on back, and kissed that neck. Nibbled on her shoulder. His hands roamed her stomach, up to her breasts and cusped them tightly. They fit perfectly in his hands like they were made for him. Her frame was so much smaller than his that he completely engulfed her body with his. She shuddered violently beneath him, undoubtedly riding out another orgasm, but he wrapped her arms around her waist and held her up so he could finish.
He had his way with her for hours. Or maybe she had her way with him. He wasn’t sure what direction was up by morning. He had the endurance of a nearly 600 year-old Aen Elle, and she had the endurance of a warrior, a Witcher. They had come several times throughout the night, but they found pleasure in holding back that release and teasing one another to the brink of collapse, until it hurt. They kept challenging one another, who would go farther, who could take more. Ciri had cried and then sobbed. And now she was so spent she could hardly move. And he was the same.
She lay naked on her stomach, arms spread out across his bed like she owned it. Somehow, they had made their way to his room. Which he had never planned to allow her to see, let alone enter. And to his bed that had never seen a human occupancy in its existence.
“Do I have to keep visiting Auberon?” Ciri asked.
Her womb was filled to the brim with his seed, and when some had leaked out, he had shoved it back in with his finger. There was no way she was not with child now. But if for some reason it didn’t take, he would simply fill her up again. Hells, he might do that anyways.
“No.”
“Will he be angry at us?”
“Doubtful. He’ll probably be relieved. He never wanted to be your chosen mate, anyways. I convinced him to do it, for the good of our people. It was actually supposed to be me who mated with you.”
Ciri’s head perked up in surprise. “Why?”
“It’s complicated, but it boils down to DNA and genetics. My genes are more desirable in combination with yours than the Alder King’s are. It would produce better offspring with more consistent and powerful magic. It’s the same reason I was engaged to Lara.”
“If that’s the case, why did you send me to him? Why didn’t you just have me?”
“It was to reintegrate the Elder Blood with our royal line, and-” A pause. “I didn’t want you.”
“You didn’t want me?” The pitch of Ciri’s voice raised slightly, betraying the tiniest hint of hurt.
“I didn’t want to want you,” He corrected.
She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why not?”
The truth is he feared Ciri before he had ever met her. Not because of who she is or what she was capable of, but because of who was reflected in her dazzling emerald eyes: Lara.
His love for Lara had plagued him for a lifetime, and her untimely death was a gaping wound that would never heal. To meet her predecessor, let alone to breed with it, would have been more than he could bear. And so he pitched a coupling to Auberon instead. It’s to reintegrate the blood into the royal line. It should be you, Auberon, and your children, and your children’s children. I’m not worthy. And Auberon, as much as he detested the idea of coupling with a human, craved the power of the Elder Blood for his own, so he conceded.
He started, carefully choosing his words. “I need to remain impartial. I’m the only expert geneticist on Elder DNA we have. I run the experiment, I cannot become part of it. I can’t be tangled up in this. In you.” He paused, then continued, voice so low Ciri could hardly hear him, “I can’t be with you and be impartial.”
But, a dhiabhail, it’s too late for that, now…