The Art of War by David Wingrove Page B

of pure delight, pass through him at her words. My love … How often he’d dreamed of her saying that. He smiled, then set the brush down.
    ‘Nothing, my darling one. Sleep now. I’ll wake you when it’s time.’
    He picked up the tiny, dragon-headed pot and shook sand over the paper to dry the ink, then lifted the sheet to blow it clean.
    ‘Is it business?’
    He looked up again, smiling. She had raised herself on one elbow and was looking across at him, her dark hair fallen loose across the silk of her shoulder.
    Li Yuan folded the sheet in half and in half again, then put it in the pocket of his gown. He looked away a moment, towards the garden. It was dark outside; black, like a sea of ink pressed against the glass.
    He looked back, smiling. ‘No.’
    ‘Then come to bed, my love. It’s warm here.’
    He laughed softly. ‘Yes, but I must get ready.’
    There was a meeting of the Council that afternoon and there was much to do beforehand. He ought to begin. Even so, he hesitated, seeing her thus. It was his first morning with her, after all. Surely his father would understand?
    She was watching him silently, letting the darkness of her eyes, the silken perfection of her naked shoulder bring him to her. He stood, then went across, sitting beside her on the bed.
    She leaned forward to greet him, her left hand moving between the folds of his gown to touch and caress his chest. As she did so, the covers slipped back, revealing her neck, the smooth perfection of her upper chest, the magnificence of her breasts. He looked down at them, then up into her face again.
    ‘Fei Yen…’
    Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widened, smiling. ‘Husband?’
    He laughed again, a brief sound of delight. ‘Husband… It sounds so different from your lips.’
    ‘Different?’
    He shivered, then leaned forward to kiss her, gently, softly, holding her to him momentarily. Then he released her and sat back, looking at her again. Like something undeserved.
    There was a small movement in her mouth, then she laughed. ‘I have a present for you.’
    ‘A present?’
    ‘Yes. Wait there…’
    Li Yuan reached out and took her arm gently, stopping her. ‘Hold, my love. Look at you!’ His eyes traced the form of her. ‘What need have I for presents?’
    ‘But this is different, Yuan. This is something I chose for you myself.’
    ‘Ah…’ he said, releasing her, then watched, his heart pounding in his chest as she turned from him, throwing the sheets aside, to reveal the slender curve of her back. She scrambled across the huge bed, then came back, a slim package in her hand.
    ‘Here…’
    He took it, but his eyes were elsewhere, drinking in the beauty of her.
    ‘Well?’ she said, enjoying the way he looked at her. ‘Open it.’
    He hesitated, then looked down, tugging at the bow to free the ribbon, then pulled the wrapping aside. It was a book. He opened the pages, then blushed and looked up.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘It is a chun hua ,’ she said, coming alongside him, draping her warmth across his side and shoulder. ‘A pillow book. Something to excite us when we’re here, alone.’
    He turned the pages slowly, reluctantly, pretending he had never seen its like, strangely appalled by the graphic nature of its sexual images. ‘Fei Yen… we have no need for this. Why, I have only to look at you…’
    ‘I know,’ she said, turning his head gently with her fingers and kissing him softly on the cheek. ‘But this will keep our love fresh and powerful; will raise us to new heights.’
    He shuddered, closing his eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of her warmth pressed up against him, the softness of her kisses against his flesh. He could smell the scent of their lovemaking on her skin. Could taste it on his tongue.
    ‘I must get ready,’ he said almost inaudibly. ‘The Council…’
    In answer she drew him down again, her kisses robbing him of his senses, enflaming him once more, making him surrender to her.
    Prince Wang