lady’s maid to my home. No wonder this Chiron suggested a woman who wears the shoes of Egyptian prostitutes.”
Hedwig’s eyes narrowed, and Freya espied a green glow surrounded her ringed fingers under the table. She gave the Sea Witch’s thigh a sharp pinch. Hedwig settled for sneering at Etainen.
Freya didn’t speak again until she’d won. “You got slaughtered just like a tribal rebel. Whee! Let’s play again.” She was feeling giddy. Hedwig’s potion was a strange thing, indeed. “How do you like that, Etainen?” She puncutated her words by slamming a fist on the table. “How does losing feel? I wouldn’t know, so I have to ask.”
“I think I shall have to hire another tutor for you,” Etainen said. “One to teach you how to be a better victor.”
“Um, yes, of course.” Freya’s head was swimming. “Swimmy, swimmy, swim, swim.”
“What?” Etainen said.
“Hedwig, is this supposed to happen?” She should feel worried; instead, she could describe the feeling she got only as fluffy. Fluffy? “I’m feeling all kinds of happy, as if I’m in a big ocean of blueberry ale, only not drowning, and the ale is fuzzy and warm. Headache is there sometimes, but then it gets happy again.”
“The potion is working just like it’s supposed to.” Hedwig pinched her thigh under the table, harder than Freya had pinched hers.
Freya rose, unable to concentrate on hnefatafl. There were so many more pressing worries. “I want to dance. How do they dance in Rome, Etainen? Can you show me?”
“No one’s won the game yet,” he said, looking away from her. Why didn’t he like her still? He was supposed to like her. They were supposed to be gazing at each other with glazed eyes, murmuring sweet nothings, not about each other, but around Rome. Freya gave his broad shoulder a shake. Could he tell she was using the hand on him to steady herself?
“You said you gave her a potion,” Hartwin said, yanking her from Etainen by the shoulder. “What kind of potion?”
“A calming—”
Freya grabbed Hartwin’s hands. “Come on, let’s dance if Etainen’s going to be a squish-fun.”
“Er, there’s no music, Frey,” Hartwin said.
“I know a mouse that lives by the sunny stream,” Freya sang. “It ripples all day long like a pleasant dream. The little mouse goes eep, eep…” She continued with one of her favorite childhood songs. In fact, it was the only one she had learned before her singing instructor quit. Something about night terrors.
“Uh, maybe I should remix that potion if it’s doing that.” Hedwig covered her ears as Freya kept on singing.
“The little fish goes bloorble urrble, bloorble urrble.”
“This is Freya’s normal singing,” Faramund said. “Only she usually never sings.”
“I can see why.” Hedwig rolled her eyes as Freya kept on singing.
****
Siegfried was downing his wine faster now. That sound, that horrible sound continued. He tried to focus instead on Hartwin and Hedwig. The Remi soldier was still badgering the bold maid about the potion.
“Leave me alone about it already,” Hedwig finally snapped. “Do you want to sit here and listen to her cry and whine? I sure don’t.”
Siegfried decided that his bride was becoming more and more dislikable with each passing second. He needed to find something positive in this, anything to make this bearable. He remembered her kiss in the market. If she were eager to play the whore for Pompey, she could do the same for him.
He snatched her onto his lap, her round ass against his cock. Her eyes were very wide before he kissed her. Her lips tasted of tart ale with an aftertaste of something like white wine. She sagged against him. Her kiss was not as fierce as earlier, but slower this time. He drank in her sigh, her nipples hardening against his chest. That toga fabric was so deliciously thin. If he slipped a hand up her thigh, he was certain she would be slick, ready for him.
Her men would never allow him to
Hedwig’s eyes narrowed, and Freya espied a green glow surrounded her ringed fingers under the table. She gave the Sea Witch’s thigh a sharp pinch. Hedwig settled for sneering at Etainen.
Freya didn’t speak again until she’d won. “You got slaughtered just like a tribal rebel. Whee! Let’s play again.” She was feeling giddy. Hedwig’s potion was a strange thing, indeed. “How do you like that, Etainen?” She puncutated her words by slamming a fist on the table. “How does losing feel? I wouldn’t know, so I have to ask.”
“I think I shall have to hire another tutor for you,” Etainen said. “One to teach you how to be a better victor.”
“Um, yes, of course.” Freya’s head was swimming. “Swimmy, swimmy, swim, swim.”
“What?” Etainen said.
“Hedwig, is this supposed to happen?” She should feel worried; instead, she could describe the feeling she got only as fluffy. Fluffy? “I’m feeling all kinds of happy, as if I’m in a big ocean of blueberry ale, only not drowning, and the ale is fuzzy and warm. Headache is there sometimes, but then it gets happy again.”
“The potion is working just like it’s supposed to.” Hedwig pinched her thigh under the table, harder than Freya had pinched hers.
Freya rose, unable to concentrate on hnefatafl. There were so many more pressing worries. “I want to dance. How do they dance in Rome, Etainen? Can you show me?”
“No one’s won the game yet,” he said, looking away from her. Why didn’t he like her still? He was supposed to like her. They were supposed to be gazing at each other with glazed eyes, murmuring sweet nothings, not about each other, but around Rome. Freya gave his broad shoulder a shake. Could he tell she was using the hand on him to steady herself?
“You said you gave her a potion,” Hartwin said, yanking her from Etainen by the shoulder. “What kind of potion?”
“A calming—”
Freya grabbed Hartwin’s hands. “Come on, let’s dance if Etainen’s going to be a squish-fun.”
“Er, there’s no music, Frey,” Hartwin said.
“I know a mouse that lives by the sunny stream,” Freya sang. “It ripples all day long like a pleasant dream. The little mouse goes eep, eep…” She continued with one of her favorite childhood songs. In fact, it was the only one she had learned before her singing instructor quit. Something about night terrors.
“Uh, maybe I should remix that potion if it’s doing that.” Hedwig covered her ears as Freya kept on singing.
“The little fish goes bloorble urrble, bloorble urrble.”
“This is Freya’s normal singing,” Faramund said. “Only she usually never sings.”
“I can see why.” Hedwig rolled her eyes as Freya kept on singing.
****
Siegfried was downing his wine faster now. That sound, that horrible sound continued. He tried to focus instead on Hartwin and Hedwig. The Remi soldier was still badgering the bold maid about the potion.
“Leave me alone about it already,” Hedwig finally snapped. “Do you want to sit here and listen to her cry and whine? I sure don’t.”
Siegfried decided that his bride was becoming more and more dislikable with each passing second. He needed to find something positive in this, anything to make this bearable. He remembered her kiss in the market. If she were eager to play the whore for Pompey, she could do the same for him.
He snatched her onto his lap, her round ass against his cock. Her eyes were very wide before he kissed her. Her lips tasted of tart ale with an aftertaste of something like white wine. She sagged against him. Her kiss was not as fierce as earlier, but slower this time. He drank in her sigh, her nipples hardening against his chest. That toga fabric was so deliciously thin. If he slipped a hand up her thigh, he was certain she would be slick, ready for him.
Her men would never allow him to
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