Havoc's Daughters

Chapter 12 - Day 2 (night): Imrys - unpleasant dreams

Imrys was sitting up, heart pounding, ears straining when he opened his eyes on darkness.

Where…? Oh, yes.

Unlike his royal chambers at the palace in Kingsport, the night camp was alive with sounds. Insects shrilled and creaked, picketed horses stamped and shuffled, booted feet passed outside to be hailed by sentries on watch, and everywhere he heard snoring like the coming of the tide or of muted thunder.

 Or not so muted thunder, Imrys admitted, as Glynam honked and snorted across the anteroom. But he’d grown accustomed to these disturbances over the past nights and was far too tired to be troubled by them. And none of them would have left his body tight with need.

 A soft groan seeped through from the other side of the canvas wall dividing the tent in two. Lania slept there now, in the chamber meant to be his, in the bed meant to be his. Yet again, this night, the remnants of sleep fled at the thought of her so near, with her hair spilled ink across his white pillow. She, too, was meant to be his.

But not until after the harvest, until the start of the winter court season when they were to wed. And not if it became generally known she had been running about the countryside unchaperoned, that she had been here in his tent. In his bed.

Lania groaned again and Imrys sat up, unable to stand lying there listening.

A thin strip of light filtered in past the flaps leading to the world outside. It banded Commander Varandes’ dark face as he stood in the shadows, and Imrys realized the Guard Commander must have been gazing out through the gap. But not now. He’d turned his face away from the light and had his head cocked in the direction of the inner chamber. He looked over when Imrys stirred, then his gaze returned to the darkness where Lania struggled alone with some slumber demon. His walnut features were at their most stoic as he looked again at his king, and all the reasons why Lania must be left to her unpleasant dreams ambushed Imrys.

She’s having nightmares, he scolded himself, memories of the last few days, or fears for her family. And all you can think of is how it would feel to have her in your bed. Beside you. Under you.

Imrys drapped the light blanket over a raised knee, uncertain how much Varandes could see in the darkness. He tugged loose the linen of his shirt, where it stuck to his skin with sweat, and lay down again, untying the neck to bare his chest to the slight coolness of night. His hands were hot on his own skin, but he laced them across his abdomen to prevent their straying beneath the blanket. Not with Varandes watching.

Burying his face in his pillow wouldn’t shut out the sound of his betrothed’s slumber. It had never worked for Glynam’s snores, and Imrys had half a fortnight’s.efforts to be sure of it.

Bedding rustled with the nocturnal tumblings of a small body. Imrys recalled the fine linen sheets with longing, amazed how, just a few hours before, he’d considered the simple cot hard and uncomfortable. That was before he’d followed Commander Varandes’ example and rolled up in his cloak on the ground. Imrys grunted, shifted, and reached beneath his hipbone to add yet another rock to the small pile near his head. He wished he had privacy to do something to relieve his other source of discomfort.

Lania had always been a sensual little creature. Imrys remembered her first season at court, as a four-year-old. She had insisted on wearing her velvet dresses inside-out, until Questre had taken her in hand. Then there was the time she drapped her silky, Tonoman, shearling cloak over the low pouf of a topiaried yew, sprawling on that shifting cushion with abandon….

While J’Lian’s cold gray eyes watched him.

He’d been twenty, no innocent, and rather shocked to realize his ten-year-old future bride would be a pleasure to bed…when she was older.

J’Lian, on the other hand, though twelve and presumably innocent, herself, appeared to know exactly what he was thinking. She hadn’t been fingering her knives, but the promise was there.

J’Lian is dead, he reminded himself. But it was small comfort, as she’d died in his defense after ordering him to safety.

Guilt and inadequacy were poor bed-partners, but less restive than Lania’s sighs. Eventually, he slept.

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