At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 09

It was impossible to gauge just how serious he was (a common hazard around the King, since it was in flux so often), and whether this was another playful suggestion or a command that was dangerous to disobey. It could easily have been either, both, or none of the above. He was smiling, but that never signified the absence of a threat, and his gaze was sharply focused on her.

It did make her hesitate, for a fraction of a moment. But then she slipped her legs out of the pool and moved herself out of arm's reach, an all but (hesitantly) challenging glint in her eyes.

"You're already in the water, whereas I still have my clothes on." What remained of them, after what happened in the lake. Really, if he wanted her in that pool with him, he ought not to have aimed to surprise her as he did. "So no, I'll stay where I am, thank you."

She had a feeling that she was only adding fuel to the fire at this point, egging him on with all these playful taunts and teases. She could see as much in his eyes - he was not used to being denied, even when his directives were playful in tone. On one hand, giving him what he wanted was sure to expedite matters; by now she had no doubt he'd seize it either way. On the other, there was something about him - and this teasing of his - and that promise of being encased in him utterly (again) - which sent nervous palpitations flitting through her.

His hands settled on the stone edge, and with an easy push, he raised himself out of the steamy waters and pulled himself back onto dry land. He shifted to stand, utterly nude, without even the faintest look of embarrassment of the fact, water dripping down his (well-formed) shoulders and chest. And for the split second that she glanced at it, before blushing and looking quickly away - she could also see his cock, jutting and erect.

"If it's the shift that's the problem, you ought to have spoken up earlier," he said blithely, despite knowing this was not the real motivation behind her coyness. He stepped toward her, a smirk playing. "Generous as I am, I am happy to help you out of it."

What happened to 'suit yourself,' anyway? The only thing consistent about him was his inconsistency. The logic to his supposed retribution hadn't escaped her comprehension, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to be petty about it. All in that playfully adoring way, of course. Anything to give her a little bit more time, if not just for the sake of it.

And yet, she could not help but keep her gaze pinned downwards to her hands, which began again to fidget gently with one another (a bad habit), not when the rest of him was so... like that. Her pulse fluttered with his approach, and while Alais had reached her objective where her instinctual reactions were less abhorrent to her than before, the natural flustering was not something she could contain. How could she contain it when he - looked like that - stood like that - with the water forming that sheen over his -

Her heel shifted a step backwards, a little beyond her own notice. She managed to persist in her mild, if not only marginally faltering, tone, "Will you be procuring towels as well?" If he was already determined, it might've been worth testing the true extents of his so-called generosity.

He appeared to be lulled into some sense of complacency as he observed the effect he had on her. She took advantage of this. Suddenly and without warning, her fingers shot up and tickled him just as in the morning, immediately producing his surprised laughter. The act was conducted as swift as lightning and lasted all of seconds before she turned tail, picked up her skirt, and started a mad dash away from him, her feet dancing along the edge of the pool and her breath light upon her lips.

"The towels are important!" her voice rang out as she fled, hardly a beat away from stammering.

She didn't stop until she was on the other side of the pool, peeking from behind a stone boulder to observe the look of incredulity on his face. His expression might as well have said, "Really, again?"

But as before, his shock was fleeting, and soon he took on a more (playfully) calculating look as he studied her from across the water.

"You're going to regret that, Alais." Funny - if he had said that on any previous day, it would have been threat enough to make her nervous. Now she could take it for the light ribbing that it was.

He did, however, call for his squire, and only a few moments later saw her request answered. A tall, lanky young man skittered into the cave, took one glance at his naked master, and quickly lowered his gaze. What followed was a rather awkward dance, on the squire's part, of attempting to place the towels as close as possible to the couple, without catching sight of anything inappropriate, before bowing and hastily excusing himself. Alais couldn't but suppress a giggle or two. Was it so unorthodox to observe one's King in the nude? For her, it obviously was, but it seemed that much more amusing when someone else was so afflicted.

"You have your towels now, Alais," said the King, once this was done. "Are you not pleased?"

Her nervous giggles disappeared as soon as he stalked toward her, and towels or not, she did not feel quite ready to face him. She resumed her mad dash around the pool, and it was not long before she heard him give chase - his heavy footsteps echoed in the cavern, amplified by the water.

Alais faltered only when all forward paths were obstructed by water and stone. She might have made the nontrivial jump from one rock ledge to the other, slightly more elevated one, but it was too late. He had her in his grip by the time she gathered the sufficient willpower to leap, prompting her to laugh nervously by the (hardly unanticipated) turn of events. He too was laughing from the chase, but his strength was no less diminished; his arm encircled her waist fully, ensnaring her in his grasp.

"Why do you always have to make things harder than they have to be?" he said, into her hair. He smiled, kissing her chin. "It's no use, anyway," he continued, his tone teasing, but the sentiment likely sincere. "I always get my way, in the end."

His free hand drifted to her side, making good on his promise of vengeance, and tickled mercilessly there - far longer than she had him. The warm and intimate contact already had her palpitating madly in spite of herself, and his dreadful, dancing fingers had her writhing from him as much as possible - that was to say, not very far at all.

"Because if I don't make it hard, no one will," she explained between breathless gasps, cheeks burning with hot blush. It seemed reasonable enough. She doubted any of her maids could have mustered the whimsy for... all of her exploits against him, and if he disliked it, it wasn't as though he was sorely lacking in his options. Whereas Alais only had him to entertain herself with - such were the double standards of the day, more widespread than even His Majesty's eccentric court - so she might as well do as she did to make the most of it, no?

Not that it was in her nature to incline toward alternate companionship. She had more than enough trouble as it were with just the one.

Only when the King was satisfied by her squirming did he subside, only to shift his attention to the hooks on that fine shift, fiddling to unclasp them and deprive her of the garment. Where she might have once frozen her limbs in panic, she only kept squirming against him, like some lizard seeking to slip away, and making it a tedious affair to grasp onto each individual latch. Perhaps she was shaking from the aftermath of that merciless assault.

In response, his grip only tightened, incrementally, with every one of her jerks and spasms, acting as a deterrent to her writhing. Still, it took him some time to unhook all those clasps from her shift - but it took significantly less, when it was done, to grip the cloth and unabashedly give it a proper tug, so that it tumbled into a disheveled heap around her feet. The rest of the undergarments followed, as unceremoniously as the first.

"Much better," he said, his arms wrapping around her again shortly thereafter, lest she use the momentary freedom to escape.

It had been some time since he'd held her like this, skin touching skin, feeling the raw warmth of each other's bodies. She had little time to properly feel abashment before his lips pressed against hers, in that way again, the way that so easily dissolved her thoughts and the world around her like they were nothing. The kiss left her reeling and dazed, to the point where her heightened consciousness vested less focus in that distressing effect of her nudity. She still (perhaps naively) thought of her body as a private thing, not meant to be seen by those who were not herself or long trusted maids. Or perhaps her hypothetical husband. Butthis was her husband now, wasn't he? - and one whom she loved - as invasively warm all this touching felt.

When he pulled back, a mischievous smirk flickered across his lips. Then, without warning, almost casually, he picked her up - and tossed her into the water.

*****

In the ensuing splash, Alexander found that he was laughing again, unable to help himself. It was awful, and terribly unchivalrous. But was it not also unladylike to tickle him so maliciously (could tickles be malicious? he was convinced they could be)? There was a little more forethought that it might have seemed to his actions, at least; he'd chosen a particularly deep section of the waters so that there was no risk of even scraping the bottom.

The splashes turned to ripples, gradually calming as the seconds ticked by.

It only then occurred to him that she might not be able to swim. That...would be truly unfortunate. There were ledges close by, and she was not too far into the center to not be able to make for them - but it was entirely possible she might panic and flounder. If so, then he'd have to rescue her again from drowning, which was far too often for his tastes.

There should have been bubbles and ripples, not this eerie, sudden stillness that overtook the waters only moments later. Given his general suspicion of people, it did occur to Alexander that she might have been doing this on purpose - holding her breath somewhere down below, body curled up into a ball to facilitate sinking - simply to mortify him. But she might also have struck her head on something (though on what escaped him), in which case he could not afford to rely completely on the other possibility. He hesitated, logic warring with uncertainty, but was not able to hold himself off for long, not when he could definitively make sure with one easy move.

He dove in, warmth submerging him once more, and swam toward the direction he'd thrown her. Nothing. He surfaced, newfound (but now almost familiar) panic beginning to settle in.

And she chose that exact moment to resurface, her drenched hair and head finally popping up for a sharp, revitalizing intake of air. On the other far side of the spring. "You're the worst," she accused solemnly (not really (not at all)), with what had to have been one of the least threatening insults he might have ever received.

Again - far more often than he was accustomed to - Alexander experienced a flurry of surprise-annoyance-amusement, though also no small dash of relief.

"You sly little thing." He was grinning, however. He supposed it was fair, since he had thrown her unceremoniously into the pool, and the novelty of her approach still had a way of fascinating - and perhaps charming - him.

As he drifted toward her, she only floated back and back and back, moving further away; she seemed to be a perfectly competent swimmer. Alexander paused, eyeing her. The more she danced out of reach, and the more she fought and resisted him (even if it was ostensibly playful now), the more his desire seemed to sharpen. He was used to having his wants - carnal or otherwise - satisfied immediately, and all this teasing and taunting only added another layer of impatience to his lust.

And he was not above being tempted by the challenge. Instead of keeping to the surface, he dove, plummeting deep enough that his shape and motion would be mostly lost, absent a faint, quickly moving impression. Like an unseen shadow, he converged, and by the time he revealed himself, one arm had already reclaimed her waist, pulling her back into the embrace they they'd only just relinquished a few minutes before.

"I'm hardly the worst," he said, into her ear. They were back at the shallower side of the pool, thanks to her meandering, and he was able to comfortably stand; he imagined she would have a harder time, given her stature, but his grip on her kept her easily above water. "I merely wanted to make certain that my lady was enjoying herself to the fullest."

Ostentatiously bashful, she pulled her arms over his shoulders in a gently, congratulatory hug, for having caught her (twice now). Her cheek rested lightly over his collar, her chin dipping a little under the water. "There. We're both in the pool. Happy now?"

It was still odd for him, this act that she had conjured. He preferred it, certainly, but that didn't mean he had gotten used to it quite yet; some part of him expected her to veer off into a different trajectory before long anyway, so there was little reason become accustomed to it. But he liked the way her arms lightly encircled his shoulders, and the softness with which her cheek rested upon his chest. It felt tender and delicate - a different man might have felt wistful, that it was not real. But Alexander was not the sentimental type.

"Happier," he replied. He felt the flare of playful vengeance flicker away, now that he held her in his grasp, and she was where he'd wanted all along - curled up close to him, even. His touch took on a gentleness of its own as he caressed her hair, watching the wet tendrils slip between his fingers.

He merely held her in this way for a few minutes, feeling the soft comfort of her body, and the fullness of her youthful curves. Alexander's own body was lean and hard, and crossed with many battle scars - some faded and others new, including the fresh nick on his arm from the recent attempt on his life. He was not, despite the way he seemed to carry himself, immune from injury, as testified by a few particularly knotted scars that traced his stomach. His embrace of her therefore necessarily involved contact with rough, calloused skin, but there was a gentleness with which he held her, enveloping her in the double warmth of his body and the waters beyond.

"Aren't you?" He pulled back, but just a touch, letting his fingers find her chin. "I thought you were in love with me now, Alais," he said, amused every time he used her terminology. "Shouldn't you be happy as well?"

"I am happy," she returned. She reached for his hand, callous and firm as they were, with her own soft fingers. 'Catching' was probably overestimating the rigor of the otherwise light and pleasant gesture. "But... this is still new to me... it is natural for me to be a little flighty, isn't it?"

As if on cue, she ducked her head beneath the waters and darted away from him - lightning fast in contrast to the pacification from his ministrations a split second ago. He reached for her, but she was already gone, and when he felt a tap at his shoulder, he turned to see nothing but misty waters. Only belatedly did he catch sight of her, merrily treading water on the other side of him, like some evasive sea creature who had gotten the better of him. This time, she swam backwards and around, directing a sheepish smile his way. As if to say (for all her grace, she was not a naiad who could speak amidst water): I'm sorry, but what were you expecting?

He laughed, turning to face her. "Natural to be nervous, perhaps. Not so to constantly evade me."

"The evasion is part of it, being nervous..." Now who was being patronized. Still, her tone was still largely defined by that light, if not bashful lilt of playfulness she seemed to have mastered so inexplicably well.

He watched her as she circled closer, not without some curiosity. She had many faces, this new wife of his - it seemed almost impossible that someone who had been so detached before was now vivacious and playful, without it seeming strained or artificial. How could someone exist at two ends of these extremes, and with such ease? (He conveniently forgot to think of himself, in these considerations, with the typical flavor of hypocrisy he was so accustomed to.)

In any case, his frustration was growing, and would soon come to a fore - there was only so much baiting and escaping that Alexander could take, even in a good mood - but it was held at bay for now, through some reserves of willpower. Still, if her intention was to fan the flames of his desire, it was certainly working. Should she have immediately succumbed, he would have enjoyed her nonetheless, but this disposition of hers kept him repeatedly surprised and caught off guard.

He waded forward, slowly, his eyes fixed on her. He wouldn't let her escape again.

*****

In fairness, Alais thought, there was nothing desperate to her escape attempts as before, with so much more bounce in her movements, and gone was that palpable terror of an animal being backed into a corner. If the heart of her disobedient acts were in the right place - if it was all to engage him further, then what reason had he to hurt her? It was possible again that the present level of his tolerance was due to the novelty of her disposition ... either way, it was the safest disposition at her disposal.

And she was nervous, uncomfortable - skittish even. For all the ferocity of their first lovemaking, it was only the once; in the grand scheme of things, she was still inexperienced. It still felt... weird, uncomfortable, and unwholesome to be otherwise exposed. In a cave. Prudence was generally not a thing she thought herself critical with, but there was still a wide rift between her normal degree of open-mindedness and being intimate - in a cave. She'd like to think she would've been prepared and ready for another event in the bedchamber, but no. He had to have it in a cave.

"What are you so afraid of, anyway?" the King was saying, as he drew ever closer. "Not of me, I hope," he said, with that smirk he was so fond of sporting. "Not when you enjoy my attentions so."

He was going slower this time, and in response, she did stop drifting away. For all his sharklike circling, a shark he was not (not right now, she supposed). And the whole fleeing and evasion antics were starting to get overdone by this point; even she could see that.

When he was finally before her, he reached out, slowly, as if he thought he might spook her by moving too suddenly. His fingers closed lightly around her wrist.

She still had her other arm crossed a tad defensively over her breasts. "You're good at making people afraid," she accused. He knew very well that he did - he seemed to find diversion in it, really. "And for your information, I never said I enjoy your attentions. You can't prove anything," she challenged, using the hand he had so commandeered to poke him squarely in the chest.

The poke in the chest barely made it an impact, but her accompanying words did. "Can't I?"

Using that grip around her wrist, he tugged her forward. The effect of the kiss did not seem lessened for its recurrence - it had the same heady, powerful feel for her, only magnified by all that chasing and delay. His hand had shifted from her hand to her waist, and the other joined it, encircling her, as if subconsciously already preparing for another evasion.