[more previously]

        A war camp, especially one with women and children, is a noisy place, yet an abrupt silence was falling in the direction of this part of his camp, and looking up he understood why. Princess Dara was riding in his general direction, it had been two nights previous and pitch dark when she, and not Her Double, had last been here walking beside him, and he had vaguely gestured where his quarters were.

        He never posted standards of power and position; they were vain and lead the enemy straight to the head of his army—himself. On vague occasion in battle, if he did post fake banners, usually beside an ostentatious looking structure, it always attracted heroically intent assassins and cutthroats. There was no way, except by knowing, which well-traveled, fairly uniform-sized tent belonged to the General.

        The Princess was riding the Sacred White Mare without any gear, and had taken to fidgeting with some leather tie or such on her shoulder. Not once did she ever gaze up from her somewhat earnest activity, as the animal turned, apparently of its own accord, and took Dara straight to his tent. He was several yards away and behind, hidden from her view, although she was visible to him.

        Her arrival was a slightly eerie demonstration, since most anyone seeing Belloche would have assumed that Tor's tent was where he and his men now stood, by the horses.

        She dismounted and plainly ordered the restless animal to remain, as she walked around and came towards him. He met her part of the way. Krel and the others stiffly and formally welcomed her, from a distance, then left him alone with the disconcerting young woman. He turned 'round to Belloche, who was noisily straining at his frustrating hobble, to be with the mare.

        In a deadly swift gesture, Dara flung, from a wristholder, a slender blade, that cut the leather binding the fidgeting beast's forward ankles before it ran off in pursuit of her runaway mount.

        "Belloche!!" The animal half turned but did not heed him, as it pursued the female of his species out of camp and off across the grassy plain.

        "They will be back."

        She said it quietly in the High Court tongue of her Nuban father, with absolute guileless conviction. He hoped she was right because Belloche was his most favourite mount, especially in battle, and his most treasured gift from Celaden.

        Tor retrieved her knife from out the ground and barely saw her heel, as she slipped into his quarters. He followed her in, dropping the flap for privacy, and allowed her the same privilege she had given him their first night, to roam the darkened "room" freely. His private tent was simple and a little Spartan, no luxurious gold, feathers, or sleeping platforms, just a battle cot and other things of necessity, except a floor of various carpets and the small, gold, lionheaded goddess statuette from Egypt given him after he had become well known and feared.

        "Ah, General, Sekhmet The Destroyer goddess. Interesting. I was told that you have no religion." So, she too, of course, has spies.

        "I do not. Other than war. That's Krel's gift, a brotherly joke."

        "For General Tor ... 'The Destroyer'."

        He did not like it, his "pet name" but hearing the Princess say it bothered him more than having anyone else say it. The appellation had come to him early and grown, and was as if part of him now. King Celaden had ordered his people to never mention in front of Queen Sera's People the name given to his most favoured general by those they had previously conquered. Tor had advised him that it would not matter, that such a thing had wings of its own, as he softly acknowledged her words.

        "I am called that." His tone sounded to her ear as tinged with regret and guarded by resignation.

        He, for his part, could not move, in fact, he could barely breathe. If it had been anyone else but her, he would have pretended casualness and charm, irreverence even about it. But not with her. Plus, if any of the King's people had-.

        "None of your people spoke of it, not that I know of. You have your spies and I have mine."

        He smiled and nodded, knowing such insights as hers, such brazenness as to come to his headquarters before the talks, virtually unarmed and now unmounted would … coming from anyone else, alarm him. That was not true, he was alarmed, but not for his men, but for himself.

        "Thank you, Princess, for protecting my people in this. Our king was afraid the … label might--."

        "Alarm us?" It was odd that she chose that exact word.

        "Yes. I asked him not to concern himself with it; but, I serve at his pleasure."

        She did not blink or seemingly add any guile or cuteness to her manner or speech.

        "And, what do you serve at my pleasure, Tor?"

        She had a way of neutrality, of completely blanking herself that he had already noticed, so he could not read now if she were angry, sad ... happy. Except when he made love to her, then she did not hold her passions tight and hidden.

        He was normally excellent at reading people, and Krel often asked him for his opinion of women's attitudes, because his younger brother knew that though he himself was a "fine catch" there were just as many, more even, who wanted him in order to get to Tor. Not Their King ... but Tor, who had always attracted attention, just by being. His expertise about women, even about things, which most husbands did not know or want to know, Tor knew. Alone, Krel sometimes called him "the Midwife". Actually, Tor found that particular name much less offensive than "The Destroyer" though the latter was far more greatly deserved.

        "I serve My Princess however she wishes."

        Her demeanor did not change in the least. Celaden would probably put him to the sword himself for flubbing this Treaty by slighting the Queen's right hand, her sister, their Shaman Prime. Having lain with her for two nights had not made him an expert in her mind or her heart. For all he knew, in his ardent desire to have her, this Princess Dara may actually have no heart....

        He did not believe that possible; but, still, she was a royal, and heartlessness was often a given trait.

        "If I have ... offended you somehow, My Princess, I apologize and beg you to tell me what I did ... or did not do, so that I may not do it again ... or, if I have pleased you, that I will do it a--."

        He tried not to laugh at himself but it was funny, and she thought so too, as her hearty laugh fell on his eardrums like soft bubbles. She came to him and stretched up to rub her nose across his bearded chin, then to brush her lips against those same soft, black hair ... so near his hungering lips.

        "You may merely call me Dara, even in the presence of others. However, I must belatedly chastise you."

        "What for, Your Highness?"

        "For leaving me, these two morns, to awaken with you on my mind and to find you gone. For many tribes, lying in a woman's bed and then exiting it ... without leave is a declaration of hostility. With the ardour you burned me with these past two evenings, and now in seeing your quarters, I would think that you would not have been so eager to leave my side and come back to this austere dwelling."

        "I ... did not wish to leave."

        "Then why did you?" She saw that he did not fully move but did pull back in posture, formalizing whatever thoughts were going through his handsome head.

        "I realized how my action could appear; but, I ... I ... did not wish to ... overstay." He also did not wish to mention other lovers in her presence but he feared he could not afford to be anything but honest and hope it would not be held or used against him. "It has been my experience that many women ... of your rank and station may enjoy my company in the cool discretion of darkness but are less ... pleased with the same in the bright daylight. It was paramount to me, not to offend you in the latter manner, and so I-."

        "Abandoned me to warm and amuse myself."

        Her sharp sense of humour was, at times, not as formal and "sane" as her sister, Queen Sera, wished, that was quite clear. For he had seen a few frustrated glances from her sibling's direction the past days; however, with the language sometimes hampering them, and ... well, he just was not certain if she teased him or was seriously upset. High Court Nuban was not as familiar to him as his own Egyptian Blacklander tongue.

        "I did not wish to offend you, Princess, I ... thought it best...." Her languid movement to step back from him, to give him a better view halted his tongue.

        She undid the shoulder lacings of her loose, sideslit, leather dress, which fell and left her naked except for the riding leggings harnessed on her. The leg coverings also were loose, without a seat or crotch, strapped together around her hips so they would not fall. She placed her cool body against his. The feel of her nude body against his hot bare chest was more than he could bear and forced him to his knees, which brought his mouth equal to her breasts, and he made her pleasure and his own as he alternated sucking one and then the other into his mouth.

        The coldly strategic part of his brain noted dimly for the third time in seeing her full beauty, that her body had never borne a child to another, which pleased him.

        He kissed then cupped her warm, fragrant crotch in his palm, as he loosed his pants with his other. His fingers slipped into the humid valley before him and it was already swollen hot, overflowing, and ready for him. She slowly turned from him, exposing her flawless equestrian bottom, as she went down on hands and knees before him. He fondled her rump, kissed, nibbled, and licked it, then slid into her when she arched her back in signal to receive him.

        If the Treaty between them brought him nothing more than this, he would be content.

                * * * * 

        They were dressed again; his eyes were on her lying on his cot, playing with the Sekhmet. His past did not seem to bother her, which was good because it was not something he preferred talking about, despite not being able to avoid it. He did as he did for His King; and he was very good at it, which was bad for others.

        "Lie beside me, Tor."

        He did as she requested. The cot was small but steady enough for two, which had been proven many times. Dara gave him the statuette and he reached back to put it on the floor, and she took his hand when it returned, slipping it under the front flap of her dress. He combed her soft pubic hairs, delighted to be getting more of her aroused scent on him, as he heard the horses returning outside.

        The talks would begin soon ... she opened her legs and guided his hand deeper.

        "While you are here, My Lord Tor, sleep in my bed every night, do as you wish with me, when you wish. And do not further hold back and restrain your passions ... or seed. I would be entirely filled with you to bursting, and am yours for the length of your stay, and I sincerely pray that it is a very long stay."

        She purposefully turned away from him, onto her side, resituating herself for him, as she pulled the back flap of her dress aside; again, he was blessed with the sight and feel of her beautiful, round derriere revealed above her riding leggings. He very much enjoyed having this sort of intimacy with her. She was more ... woman than any other he had ever had--others had only taken his body or taken hold of his mind; but, this ... this one woman seized both. Despite knowing what and who he was, she welcomed and accepted ... all of him.

        And, this all encompassing desire ... and love? for him, seemed to Tor, entirely undiluted by political concerns and distractions, or more personally—by sinister guile.

        She undid him, completely, and he was glad she could not see his face.

        They made love again, front to back, spooned together on his battle cot, before separating to formally dress and meet again at the talks, to do what was formally required of them publicly by Queen and King, and assiduously scrutinized by everyone of both sides; then, after evening meal, he retired again to her side in her bed. This was how their days grew into weeks and passed, work days separate from their love nights. It was common knowledge among All Their People that Tor had Dara's complete favour. And she his.

        Except that among His People was the fear that Their General, the feared Destroyer Himself, who bent his knee to no one, neither man nor woman, save Their King, was now bending to the will of the Mare Goddess' Witch.

        [End of Excerpt]

Watchtower, Book 1, Excerpt 2

Watchtower, Book 2, Excerpt 1