“Stop that.” She chastised him. He was a hulking mass of a man. A foot and a half taller than her, nearly two-hundred pounds more in weight with the body of a warrior. The thick hard muscles that lined every inch of his copper-toned skin were crafted through years of training and hard labor. His warrior’s body was in turn covered in scars and tattoos in equal measure. She was his opposite in almost every way. She was fair where he was dark. A girl where he was a man. Five and a half feet tall where he towered more than Six and a half feet. He was muscled as though he planned on wrestling rancors for a living, she was skinny–not as skinny as she had been– but lean nonetheless. Her hair was a shade of fresh honey and tied back into a tight formal braid. His was a dark wild tangle and was currently being torn from his scalp a handful at a time.
“That hurts, Bec’irah.” He told her through gritted teeth as another of her attempts to guide the comb through his hair ended with it getting caught and yanking him so hard he thought he’d fall from the chair right after a blood hunk of scalp came off with the comb.
“It wouldn’t if you’d take proper care of yourself.” She chided. “By The Force Declan, I cannot believe your mother would’ve let you make such a mess of yourself.”
Cérmæ’s Wisdom, she grows bold. he thought as she tried to use his mother to shame you.
You coddle her.
“Often as a boy I would wear my hair down and wild.” He refrained from explaining his reason for doing so was to convince one of the courtly girls to brush and braid it for him.
“But you're right she would have a fit to see the state of it.”
“Hush.” She told him when another growl rumbled in his throat as the comb caught once again. A few more hard pulls and the comb was free. Declan winced as she brought the comb to his hair again and to his immense relief the teeth passed through his hair without getting caught once. A few more snarl free passes and she seemed satisfied.
“Are those new calluses?” He asked her as she fiddled about with his hair. She had insisted that he needed it braided and that she should get to braid his hair since he was the one that braided hers.. “Been practicing with your bow?”
“You told me I should.” She answered and he could feel her temperature rise. “Were you aware Dominus has a son?” She practically blurted out at him.
“I was. About your age right? His name is…something with a ‘Z’ right?” Declan asked weary of where exactly this conversation was going.
“Lorenzo.” She told him much too fast for his comfort.
“Lorenzo, right. What about Lorenzo?” Bec’irah got awfully quiet and her hands stopped working in Declan’s hair for only a moment but a moment long enough for him to notice.
“Well he came into the training yard while I was practicing. I went to leave and he did bid me stay and so I did.” It seemed she thought the faster the words came out of her mouth the less trouble she would be in for them. Declan said nothing and let her continue her story.
“At first we did not speak but after a moment he remarked on how well I was shooting and decided we should make a game of it. The pressure he said would make us both better.”
“What were the terms of this wager?” Declan asked skeptically, liking her recounting less and less with each word uttered.
“We each got ten arrows and would take turns firing, high score after all twenty was the winner and could ask the loser for any boon within their power to grant.”
“You won, I hope.” Declan said doing his very very best to keep his voice even despite the fear that gripped his heart..
“No…” She admitted shyly and Declan’s heart leapt into his throat.
“What did he ask of you?” Declan demanded. He should have been gentler.
“He asked only for a kiss and nothing more Declan, I swear it. He is a sweet boy and handsome. He was kind to me in this. Our lips touched only for a moment. It was soft like morning mist and his breath smelled of mint and honey but he tried nothing more than that.” He could feel her temperature rise again. Could hear the quickening of her heart. Could smell the shift in her pheromones as she swooned all over again at the thought of her afternoon with The Master’s son.
And if he had?
“We spent more time together after. We walked the grounds, through the gardens where you and I met. He held my hand and told me of the heroes of Islimore. William Blackmoore, his forebearer. He explained his God’s and when I told him they sound much like your God’s, Declan, he said that Lupo used to sacrifice animals and babies to their Gods. That doesn’t sound right and I told him as much. He did not rage or call me names, he just smiled and touched my cheek and we went about walking. He is celebrating his fifteenth name day tomorrow and asked that I look my best. That is why I had you do my hair and why I wanted to do yours.” She admitted.
Declan grew silent after she finished speaking. Many thoughts were running through his head and they all worried him.
Declan knew the Nerezza boy. Knew of him really. Declan and Sero had put on an exhibition of their fighting skill for the boy when he turned thirteen and Declan had of course seen him around the grounds of the manor, training in the yard with sword and bow. He was going to become a knight and fight beside the prince, he would boast. Perhaps he would, the boy was tall and strong for his age and by the look of it he gave his trainers all they could handle in the yard, and yes, he was also handsome. He had the same dark hair as his father and the soft blue eyes of his mother. His hair he allowed to grow long on top, the sides he kept shorn tight and oft kept the long hair tied back in a slick ponytail. The shadow of a bead had begun to creep on his cheeks covering the scar that nestled in the dimple on his chin. The boy may be handsome and sweet and smell like mints but he were still a Nerezza and House Nerezza was The Fayth. Arezzo had said so many times. His father was some high ranking priestly type and he would not doubt have some thoughts of his own to find his son playing kissing games with a Lupo girl, even a half Lupo girl.
“Declan are you mad?” Bec’irah asked him softly.
“At you? No, little sister.”
Only at myself.
