Claudia Dain by The Fall

found, for a moment, a measure of joy, of joviality, of pure play, and it had tasted very sweet.
    By such confections a woman could fall, she knew that very well. She would not fall to him, losing her heart, her name, her pride of place in the skies of legend. Not for him. Not for any man. Not even once.
    She had not conceived this game, but, thrust within it, she would surmount it. Victory was all that mattered, and no cost was too high to own it.
    "Juliane?" Lunete asked, calling her back from her thoughts.
    "He may not have kissed her, but he did something to her," Avice said with a chuckle intended for all to share. All did share in her chuckle, but their eyes were worried. All except Avice's.
    "What did I read in him?" Juliane said, shaking thoughts of Ulrich and his too blue eyes from her mind. "I read in him a man who plots to win even when the sword has pierced his heart. A man who laughs when trodden upon. A man who smiled when, by purest chance, I used his hand to wipe the mud from my boot."
    "You did?" Lunete said.
    "You did not!" Christine exclaimed.
    "I did!" she said, laughing.
    And it had felt glorious, as had his wry smile at her bold affront. Strange man to be so mild when so vilely insulted. He played with more heart than most she had encountered in her years at this game.
    "Did you mind his kiss upon your throat so very much, then, that you would take such a revenge against his bold claim?" Avice asked. The brazier was behind her, her features hidden in shadow. The rest of them were on the bed. Avice stood alone, heating herself by the flames. She was ever cold and always sought the fire.
    "We should not have made that wager," Marguerite said somberly. "We pushed him to it."
    "You did not push him to anything, and do I look harmed to you?" Juliane said. "He lost his temper, a simple thing for a man to do, and he won his wager by force and not by skill, which tells me something of the nature of the man in this game we play. As to revenge, there was and is no need. He stirs nothing but my increased desire to win. This game will play most well."
    "Are you certain you are not angry? We did not think it would go so far," Christine said. "Though it was a kiss of passion, was it not?"
    "If fury is passion, then yea, it was," Juliane said.
    "And you felt nothing?" Avice asked, lifting out her skirts to capture the heat. It had been warm all through the day, yet the stones held the chill of December even in July.
    Had she felt nothing? Nay, she had. Something. Something dark and burning and buried. Something, some fiery pulse, some... exhilaration. He opened doors in her that must stay closed, stirring passions that ought not dwell in her, unleashing heat when all must stay cool and distant, cold and unreachable.
    But there was nothing as to that. She would master herself. He would ne'er take a kiss from her again, nay, nor a touch.
    "You looked... frightened," Lunete said.
    "Upon all the saints, I was not frightened," Juliane answered, thankful that here was a question she could answer in all truth. She had not been frightened by that violent, stolen kiss upon her throat.
    She had been aroused.
    * * *
    "Now, speak to me of that kiss."
    Ulrich knelt before the lord of Stanora, his head bowed. They were in the quiet solitude of the lord's solar. Alone. The day was behind them and the night stretched forth, the dawn a dream of tomorrow.
    "I ask your pardon and your forgiveness, lord," Ulrich said, not lifting his head. "I make no excuse. Your mercy is all I may rest upon, and I will rest easily in whatever judgment you choose to make."
    Silence greeted this abject apology. Dark and heavy silence which was, in time, broken by a chuckle of laughter.
    Ulrich kept his head bowed, but he felt the beginnings of a smile twitching at his lips.
    "The tales of you are true, then," Philip said. "You are most fluent of speech, your manner most smooth. Tell me, and lift up your head; I shall not smite you, though I have the right.