Haley Thistle
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Banshee Boyfriend: Fitzhugh (rough draft)
🕑 Added 2020-09-09 20:00:59 +0000 UTCMy father is a general, quite a powerful one. Some even say he could become the next king if he wanted to, but despite his influence and hold, I believe my father to be quite lazy. I’m sure at one point he was ambitious and worked hard, but from what I have seen, he has become more interested in keeping a hold of leashes than gaining any more power. He enjoys comfort, and because of that, most of what makes him a force now, is the idea of others.
It isn’t just my father. My mother, too, has grown used to the easy life. She does not fear what is beyond her door like the rest of the world does. War is a common thing now, most people are struggling to make ends meet, food is being rationed in some parts, and yet my mother will whine when the cake is not frosted the way she likes.
Yes, I benefit from this lifestyle too. I don’t have to be afraid daily, I don’t starve, I don’t have to suffer at all. What happens to me is not something to compare to what happens beyond the gates of my home. Since I am a general’s daughter, I am seen as a commodity. I had been entertaining suitors since I was thirteen, which was an absolute nightmare to me. My father would bring in these men to see me. People who could keep him in comfort, who would wear one of his leashes.
I had learned a trick to deal with his suitors, one that had served me quite well. I didn’t speak. Not a word at all the entire time they were in my presence. I would sit there, like a doll. For a while they would talk, about themselves, for me, whatever they liked. After a while, when I gave no praise or reply, things grew quiet. They would sit in silence, caught in the grasp of my dark brown eyes. I made no expression, no sign of approval or disapproval. Everything they saw from me was a mirror reflection back on themselves. They would soon want to leave or else chance unraveling. Despite this, I still had suitors.
Nowadays, there was a story going around about a death scream on battlefields. Just before battles were to start, there would be a scream that would ring out loud enough for both sides to hear. Sometimes, there wasn’t even anything planned. There would be a silence, nothing going on, and the scream would rattle the world. The scream always preceded great casualty, not just the usual death toll, but something worse. The last time it was heard was at a medical unit, the camp was full of wounded, but no one was near death. Then the scream was heard, and a few days later, the entire camp was on death’s door. Something ravaged the wounded and the staff alike. The entire camp was gone by week’s end.
This death scream particularly troubled my father. It was becoming a threat to him. People were afraid to hear the scream, and as such, were more reluctant to follow battle plans. He brought in new advisors and a political propagandist to combat this influx of fear.
There was an evening I thought the house would be asleep. I snuck down from my chambers into the parlor where I wanted to pour myself a drink. Lately I had sought out the librations to help me sleep, not a good habit, but one I had a predilection for thanks to my mother. I set my candle aside, only to realize there was a man sitting in the chair right next to the liquor cabinet. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he chuckled.
“I didn’t realize you would be coming, I would have dressed for the occasion.” The man chuckles. It’s the political advisor my father had brought in, Fitzhugh Rothschild. He’s a former soldier turned strategist, as well as the creator of the new war slogan, ‘the scream of victory’. He is extremely beautiful. Quite possibly one of the most handsome men I had ever come across. He’s very tall and has lithe, willowy limbs, and fine sharp features. His pale eyes stand out against his tan skin, and his long dark hair hangs freely around his bare shoulders and chest. He only has on pants from what I can tell.
“You’re not getting drunk on the job are you, Mr. Rothschild?” I open the liquor cabinet despite his presence and reach inside.
“Are you, Lady Ozoro?” His eyes scan over me in my nightgown.
I pull out the bottle of my choosing and lay aside the glass stopper. “Is this how you think of your remarkable slogans?”
“You find my slogan offensive?” I hate to admit how charming his smile is. “I worked very, very hard on that.”
“A scream of victory.” I toss the bottle back, not fooling with any sort of glass. “I’m sure the children fighting this war will find it very evocative.”
His dark eyes look over me, but not in a way that the suitors I have faced for ages do. He’s looking for something rather than at it. He eventually looks into my eyes and his pale green eyes send a shiver down my spine.
“Your father makes it very easy to be lazy here.” He stands up from the chair, moving his hair away from his body. “I’m sure you’re aware of that.” He, too, sticks his hand into the cabinet to take out a bottle.
“My father prefers the easiest path in most things.” I sit down while Fitzhugh refills his glass.
“Oh, how awful for you.” Fitzhugh mocks.
I glare at him through the dim light of the candle to see him smiling at me. I roll my eyes and lean back in the chair.
“Poor little rich girl,” Fitzhugh sings as he comes to sit across from me. “Sneaking drinks when no one is looking.” He tilts his head back, and that cascade of dark hair falls over his shoulder again. “Are you bored?”
I grimace at him then scoff. “Yes.”
“What can you do around here besides drink?” He sniffs. “Aside from scaring off suitors, as I am told.” His smile curls at the corners.
I raise my brows. “It’s not hard.”
“How so?” He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “What do you do?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Nothing,” he mouths. “What? You just sit there? You don’t talk?”
“I stare at them, silent as an angel.” I smirk a bit and set my bottle aside. “It takes most a long time to realize I have done none of the speaking. But soon they all come to realize that silence is all they’re going to have.”
He licks the corner of his mouth. “You don’t even try to get anything out of them? No money? Jewels? No dresses?”
I nod. “I don’t need them. I would rather see them go away angry than take anything of value.”
Fitzhugh laughs and raises his glass. “Congratulations on your enterprise, Lady Ozoro.”
This becomes a regular event. Fitzhugh and I share drinks in the dark of night when the rest of the house is asleep. We share stories, we challenge one another. I find myself drawn to his beauty, his cunning mouth, that beautiful long hair. I know I am a fool, but beauty like his is hard to come by in this world.
“You remain silent around suitors, correct?” He asks me.
I don’t even look up from my glass. “I give them the stone treatment, yes. Why do you ask?”
Fitzhugh’s smile perks up. “You talk to me. I was just curious.”
“You’re not a suitor, or at least I hope you aren’t.” I set my glass aside. “You’re just some guy I found sitting alone in the dark.”
“Perhaps I wanted you to find me that way, Lady Ozoro.” He tilts his head to the side, letting his hair shift and fall from it’s precarious perch on his shoulder.
“I don’t doubt you being so devious. But what on earth would you be plotting?” I move closer to him, staring him dead on.
He turns his head, still smiling that wry smile. “Every plot begins in the dark, Lady Ozoro.” He slips his fingers under my chin. “You should know that by now.”
I kiss him one evening as the full moon illuminates the room. He is a talented kisser, and I find myself on my back beneath him. His hands undo the buttons of my nightgown, and his warm mouth sinks over the dark peaks of my breasts.
“You’ve done this before,” I say breathlessly.
He chuckles, lifting his head from my tit. “I would tell you, but I am afraid it would make your head spin.” He grasps my breasts with both hands, squeezing and kneading them gently.
“Are you a whore, Mr. Rothschild?” I chide him.
“Yes!” He answers exuberantly. He leans down again, kissing me then moving his lips down my neck. “You smell divine, and your skin is so soft.” He drags his tongue down to my breast again, nursing upon them.
“Tell me,” I moan.
“About?” He opens the rest of my nightgown so I am laid bare beneath him. His fingers stroke up and down the center of my chest, to my belly. His pale eyes focus on me while his bottom lip gleams with spit.
“Tell me about being a whore.” I stretch and pose for him, seeing his smile grow.
Fitzhugh leans down. “Well, if you must know, it is such fun. I’ve had many women and men, all of them offering their own special pleasure.”
“Men?” I bite my lip in surprise. “What’s that like?”
He grins wickedly at me. “I can show you right now what it’s like.”
I run my fingers through his hair and tangle it around my fingers. “You’ve wanted me in this position since the beginning, haven’t you?”
“That’s what I always want.” He takes my legs, cupping the back of my knees. “To fuck, to know pleasure, to feel the body of a great woman wrapped around me.” He looks down and grins, seeing my folds and plump mound. His fingers trace me, finding my engorged clit waiting on his touch. “Didn’t you only see me for my pretty face too?”
I bite my lip as his fingertips swirl around me. “That’s all you're good for.”
He sucks in a breath between his clenched teeth. “You have no idea how right you are, Lady Ozoro.” He kisses me again, sinking his mouth around mine. His tongue slips between my lips and I suck on it. His fingers push inside, coax my honey to spill from within.
“Fitz,” I moan into his ear.
“Ozoro,” he echoes back. “I don’t want you to remain bored, my dear,” he growls. “Let me entertain you from here on out.”
From there on out, Fitzhugh and I maintained a strange friendship. Not just during the night, but sometimes in broad daylight did he keep his word. He would sneak away from meetings with my father and we would meet behind the garden. He would come into my room and would wear my corsets or heels. I was inexplicably drawn to him, and I craved him constantly.
Then, there came an evening when my father told me Fitzhugh had asked for my hand in marriage, and that he chose to accept it. I was too old, he said, I needed to get married now, he claimed. He didn’t want to wait again and so, Fitzhugh was to be my husband.
“I don’t want to marry you,” I say to Fitzhugh that night.
He’s laying naked in my bed, wearing my favorite bustier and lace hose. “I don’t want to marry you either.”
“Then why ask my father for my hand?” I scoff. I climb in bed with him.
Fitzhugh sits up to kiss me. “You and I make a great pair.” He strokes his hands down my shoulders and licks my lips. “If I am going to be married to anyone, it may as well be you.”
I take his cock into my hand, stroking it slowly. He breathes deeply against my neck and buries his moans there. I bite my lip, feeling him surge in my palm. “So this would be a marriage only for appearances?”
“I suppose,” he pants. “But I’m sure you and I could get along swimmingly.”
I look him in the eye and frown. “There’s a reason you want this. Isn’t there?”
He cups my cheek in his palm. “There’s a reason you want it too, Ozoro.” He sweeps his thumb over my bottom lip. “I don’t mind giving it to you if you give me what I want.” He presses his thumb against my tongue. “You and I will work together from here on out.”
I squeeze the base of his cock and he hisses. Looking into my eyes, he smirks back. He releases my tongue and kisses me.
“Are you going to continue being a whore?” I ask him.
“Of course,” he purrs. “But, you will be my favorite. How does that sound?”
I straddle his lap and take him inside me. “I don’t care,” I moan. “Just tell me, what is it you want?”
Fitzhugh sighs and wraps his hands around my waist. “Right now, I already have it.” He then looks me in the eye, his expression sharp as a knife. “I want to take your father’s place,” he whispers to me.
“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” I moan.
“Do you care?” He rolls his hips, moving deeper inside me.
I kiss him, unable to control my urges. As I pull back, my head is swooning. “Who are you?” I pant.
“I’m trouble.” He throws me down onto the bed, rocking his hips hard and pummeling me into the pillows. I forget for the night to think of anything else except his prowess and beauty.
The wedding is an event to remember. No expense is enough to show off for my parents. Fitzhugh and I play the part of a happily married couple. I am blushing, demure and beautiful, while Fitzhugh is handsome, strong and devoted.
That evening, which is to be our honeymoon at the family chateau near the ocean, Fitzhugh has arranged for some of his friends to join us as well. He celebrates exuberantly and I get to watch. He wears my garters and hose, smiling at me while he is bent over the bed.
I come and sit down beside him, watching the burly man behind him take him roughly. “Having fun, husband?”
“Oh, dear wife,” he snarls in pleasure, “this is the happiest night of my life.”
I look up at the man behind him, recognizing him as one of the king’s nephews. He had been a highly decorated soldier at one point, but was called back to the palace for some rather vague injury.
“How’s your uncle?” I ask him.
“Don’t speak to him, wife,” Fitzhugh moans. “He’s not here for talking.” he sits up, kissing me while still being driven into. “Don’t worry about anything here. Find someone and have your own fun.”
I return his kisses, then gaze around the room. There are bodies everywhere, it’s almost as bad as one of my father’s battles. I take my new husband’s advice, finding an Orc of substantial merit and taking him as mine for the night.
Come morning, I’m in bed alone with my husband. He sleeps close beside me, his hair spilled out around him like a pool. I suppose I can get used to this. I never wanted to marry to begin with, but if I had someone who felt the same as I did, then perhaps I could survive it.
“What has you thinking so early?” He yawns as he stirs. “Did you not enjoy your new friend last night?”
I sit up in bed and look down at him. “You still haven’t told me who you are. I only know you wish to hold the same power my father does.”
“Does it matter?” Fitz poses in bed, stretching out his arms and legs. “We’re married.”
I frown down at him. “Just don’t hurt my father.”
Fitzhugh sits up and kisses my shoulder. “I won’t,” he whispers into my ear.
A few days later and he’s gone, having left with his caravan of friends. I don’t mind really, in fact, I am looking forward to having the chateau to myself for a spell. I have no one to perform for, no mother to judge how I look, no father to feign interest in. It was just me. I could walk around with my hair as I pleased, unencumbered by skirts and corsets and shoes. The chateau was empty, save for a very meager staff.
I wrote him letters, if only to keep up the appearance of a doting wife. He never sent anything back, but writing kept me busy. It helped me to figure out my days when I could see them written down on pages. Even if he didn’t read them, they were at least some comfort to me.
Fitzhugh was gone for several weeks, and in that time, another scream was heard. This time, it was heard near the Elysium bridge, a huge structure that the King had commissioned when he took the throne. It was built with towers that held prisoners, as well as executions. I had considered it a haunted place. So many deaths had happened there, so many lives ended in the rapids below the bridge. I don’t understand how people could see it as a place of celebration when the nooks and crannies of the cobblestones were stained with blood.
The day the scream was heard, was just a day before the King was set to visit and oversee a series of executions by enemy soldiers from the Headless tribes. There was widespread panic about it. The scream had never been heard in such a place. It had always been on battlefields, hospital camps, places where death could be expected. But not in the city, especially not when the king himself was due to visit.
They tried to convince the king it was too dangerous, but he didn’t believe in the scream. He believed in that slogan that my father had spread, that Fitzhugh had created. ‘The scream means victory’, so the king understood it as a blessing for his visit. He was just excited to see the execution.
There was a rescue mission for the enemy soldier. The army of the Headless came in like a wave, overthrowing soldiers from the kingdom left and right off the bridge. The king was very nearly rescued, but bombs went off. The bridge was destroyed, the king was assassinated, the scream had proved it was not for victory. The scream, foretold death.
I felt relieved when Fitzhugh returned home. I quickly rushed to meet him at the door when I saw his carriage coming up the road. I never expected to run to meet someone like this, but I needed him then. I was frightened and, to my shock, he gave me comfort. I threw my arms around him, surprising him as well.
“My, my, a loving hug from my wife? Who ever heard of such a thing.” He embraces me back, burying his face in my hair. “First letters, now this. I’m a very lucky man.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.” I pull back from him, looking into his face. I touch his cheek and he smiles affectionately at me. “I was so worried.”
“What for?” He tosses his hat aside.
“The King is dead,” I say breathlessly to Fitzhugh as we walk down the hall.
He takes off his coat, throwing it wherever. “How dreadful, and he had no heirs.” Fitzhugh tuts. “Well, I suppose his nephew will be too busy to play with me anymore.”
“The one who was here on our wedding night?” I stand up as he continues to undress. “Is he the heir now?”
“I suppose so!” Fitzhugh takes one of my robes and puts it on. “I’m so tired, wife. Come cuddle me while I rest.”
I watch him suspiciously. “Did you know about this?”
He lays down on the bed, resting his arm over his eyes. He sighs heavily. “What makes you think that?”
I crawl onto the bed and smooth his hair aside. “Did you?” I play with the silky locks between my fingers, gently tugging until he looks up at me. His pale eyes are so lovely, but he’s looking for something again.
Fitzhugh places his hand against my cheek, holding it tenderly. “Ozoro, you must have so many ideas in that pretty head of yours.” He smiles softly, giving me a sweet kiss. “What do you think I am, my wife?”
I lean in closer to him. “Husband, I have been asking you that since the day I met you. But you won’t tell me.”
“I don’t think you would believe me,” he sighs and his hand slips away, falling back onto the pillow. “So why share at all?” He yawns sleepily and closes his eyes, letting his cheek fall onto the silk pillow.
“Because the King is dead, and the new one has been intimate with you.” I lay down beside him with a heavy sigh. “I would like to know if I sleep with death at night.”
Fitzhugh chuckles. “Oh, trust me, you would know.”
A few days later, the chateau is once again filled with people, but unlike our wedding night, the air is serious. Even the sea is gray that afternoon. I see men all around in their uniforms with their eyes focused. Fitzhugh speaks about the scream like an omen, something he laughed at back at my father’s place. The very slogan he created is now brandished about like a prayer.
That evening, I find him in the dark alone, much like the first night we met. He’s naked, his hair draped all over his form. I stand before him and he barely looks at me.
“Do not ask me questions tonight, dear wife,” he sighs heavily. “I am exhausted with thought from today.”
“I can tell. I have never seen you behave in such a way.” I tilt my head to the side. “How do you explain yourself?”
He looks up at me and reaches out a hand. “I could use a friend, dear wife.”
“I am serious, Fitzhugh. This meeting today was not the sort of congratulatory pat on the back you had with my father. You fed him on compliments and assurances, when today you put on an act of concern and dread. I don’t believe either.” I lean down, putting my hands on each arm of the chair. I lower myself to be over him yet eye level with him. “You told me once that plots come from darkness, that’s when I knew you were up to something. You knew I was bored, you knew I would play along. You were right about me. Tell me if I am right about you.”
He smiles. “No questions asked. You are a good wife.” He sits up and kisses me. “I won’t have to lie when I say you’re obedient.” He brushes his fingertips against my cheek. “My mother would adore you.”
“I met your mother.”
He grunts as he sits up. “You met a person.” He takes his glass and finishes off the liquid inside. “My family would not have been allowed in your home, so I didn’t invite them. They are the ones your father was hellbent on pushing aside when he was aiming for the comfortable chair he rests in now.”
“The throne of the Headless,” I murmur.
He stands, and I swear his skin seems white in the shadows. “My father, my mother, my other mothers, and my brothers,” he murmurs. “We all descend from the Headless.” He scoops his hair away from his face. “My family and I have been working to pay them all back.”
The throne of the Headless was a way of describing the tribes of monsters that lived in the kingdom. They were said to be descended from the Headless Horsemen gods of old. My father, indeed, used pushing back the tribes and the line of Headless back to gain their land and resources. The tribes were dispersed and scattered, but still very much present, but they no longer had what they once did.
I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you chose me to get back at my father. I suppose I was as good as dead.”
“Oh, goodness no. I like you. I wouldn’t kill you,” he waves it off. “It’s better to have you and piss your father off than kill you, anyways. This is years of torture. Imagine if we had a child!” He throws his head back and laughs.
“But my father doesn't know. You don’t even look-” I stop myself.
The way he looks then is soft and demure, almost frail. “My mother used to wail at the oddest of times,” he murmurs. “She would let out a cry and hide herself. But we could still hear her screaming through the halls, my brothers and I.” He reaches out and I am certain his skin has turned white. “She never wanted us to know what it meant.”
“Banshee,” I whisper.
He presses his white finger against my lips. He steps closer to me and I can see his eyes are black and hollow. His jaw is stretched down and his mouth looks crooked and able to stretch open wide. His long hair coils around his arm and tickles the sides of my face.
“Still not asking questions, wife.” His voice is an echo in the mountains. It rings and breathes, both quiet as a mouse, but as loud as cathedral bells.
“You’re the scream,” I say with certainty.
He kisses my forehead. “Ozoro, I did not give you credit.”
I step back from him, looking him over. His limbs looked longer, his back hunched. He still was beautiful though, just strange. “How very nice to meet you.”
He chuckles. “Not afraid?”
“More pissed off, than anything.” I cross my arms against my chest. “You could have told me.”
“I regret telling you now.” He sits back down in the chair. “But I am exhausted.”
“Plotting a coup and all, I am certain.” I sit down across from him. “You will keep your promise not to hurt my father.”
“I have to, you’re my darling bride.” He sighs heavily. “I never planned to harm him. Only to destroy him.”
“Ruining his reputation may be a good start, as I’m sure that’s what you’re doing.” I watch his hair float around him like a ghost. “I mean, here I am.”
Fitzhugh looks aside. “With his friend, the King, dead, and my friend, the King, taking his place, it won’t be long. I didn’t even need you, but for some reason, Orzo, I wanted you.”
I raise my brows. “That’s a surprise.”
“You’re telling me.” He smiles. “It was when you told me you treated your suitors with silence. I liked you then.”
“I know.”
“You’re such a smart, beautiful woman, I am lucky to be in your presence.” He lifts his head again and holds his hand out to me. “Can you forgive my plots, my darkness?”
I take his hand and he pulls me into his arms. “I think I can muster it.”
He strokes his fingers through the tight curls of my hair and down the nape of my neck. I knew I liked him too, that I wanted to be here with him, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He would have to earn all my sweet confessions later.
Fitzhugh takes me further north where he has a home in the mountains. It is a place he shares with his brothers, one older and one younger. Fitzhugh’s family was an odd one, it started with his father, a mortal man, who married three women of Headless descent. His first wife was bicorn, his second a banshee, Fitzhugh’s mother, and the third a fae.
His reasons for coming here are to hold banquets for select people the new king suspects of treason and spying. It was Fitzhugh’s job to find out the truth. His plans were to lull them into a false sense of security, get them drunk, and pull the truth from them with his charm.
“What will you do if they affirm the king’s beliefs?” I ask.
“You might hear me scream,” he says with a smile. He takes my hand. “Come now, let’s find our chambers.”
He takes me to a completely rough room where the furniture has been built to suit the curvature. The bed rises from the center of the room with the curtains draped all the way down from the ceiling, surrounding a massive stained glass artwork.
“We might be here for a while, dear wife. I hope you can find something to enjoy here.” He tosses his hat and jacket aside, eager to get out of his form fitting uniform.
“I’m sure there are ways to pass the time here.” I look around the room, inspecting the bureau and wardrobe. They curve so they fit snug along the wall, but the doors and drawers all open easily.
Fitzhugh undresses completely, walking around the room naked. “You’ll have more time with me. But perhaps that’s not what you would want.”
I give him a cheeky smile. “Don’t you have supposed traitors to entertain? How will you ever find the time to spend with me?”
He sits on the edge of the bed. “There could be days between traitors where I will be free to do as I want.” He pats the bed beside him. “We are married, why not enjoy it?”
“Is this a marriage? I thought it was a sham.” I stand before him, looking over his naked form.
“Come now, Lady Ozoro.” He lays back and poses on the silk for me. “I like you. How many married folk can say that?”
I hike up my skirts and climb into bed. Fitzhugh helps me undress, removing the layers, the corset, kissing my skin and the marks left behind. “You smell divine.”
“We’ve been traveling all day, I don’t know how that is possible.” I take my hair down from the protective silk and fluff it out. “My back is killing me, my thighs are sore.”
“Let me rub them.” He presses his back against mine and bites my neck.
I lean back against him. “You only have one thing on your mind.”
His laugh in my ear is a wicked thing. “I have so much on it usually, that when I get to dust that shelf off, it’s a relief.” He pulls me into his lap and spreads my thighs. “You and I have so much fun.”
I bite my lip as his fingers trail down my body. They rub my mound, pulling the hair there. I lean against his chest, breathing deep as his fingers plunge deeper. “We do,” I moan.
Fitzhugh kisses my neck and shoulder. “I promised to keep you my favorite. It hasn’t been hard to do.” He dips his fingers inside me,spreading them to open me and stir me to a froth. “I’ve found such comfort with you, Lady Ozoro.”
“Are you trying to make me confess to something too?” I giggle and lay my head back on his shoulder.
He kisses my cheek. “It would be nice to hear you say I am your favorite.”
I sit up, removing myself from him. I look him dead into those pale eyes before dropping myself down. I kiss his belly, his thighs, and I drag my tongue down his shaft. He moans above me, arching his hips for me. I take him into my mouth, bobbing my head gently.
“Lady Ozoro,” he breathes. “You could have just said so.”
I moan against him, raking my hands up his body. He feels stiff and heavy against my tongue, a feeling I have come to enjoy. I pull up, suckling the tip before I release him with a pop from my lips.
“Of course you’re my favorite,” I scoff. “You fool.” I stroke him, rubbing the tip against my breast.
Fitzhugh sighs. “I like the praise is all.”
I throw him down onto the bed and mount him, taking what’s mine, what feels good. His fingers dig into my hips, the harder the better. The more I make him moan, the more I enjoy myself. I have come to enjoy the feeling of him being near me, not just now when we indulge.
I lay down beside him, and I find myself comforted by his presence. He may be quite thin compared to me, but he makes me feel safe.
“Now we have earned a bath,” he chuckles.
I huff. “Lay here a while, it feels nice.”
He wraps his arm around me and rubs my shoulder. “I’ll need your help, Ozoro,” he murmurs.
“What do you mean?”
“I need you to help me when they arrive. You’re good at finding secrets. Having you help me would make it so much easier.”
“You’re asking this now?”
“I kept chickening out of it!” He sits up and smiles at me. “You and I make a fantastic team. If we work together, I’m sure it’ll be easier to find out what I need.”
“I’m not some spy like you,” I grumble. “I’m just a woman.”
His eyes narrow upon me. “I figured a woman would understand.” He comes close, pressing his forehead against mine. “You’re not just anything, Ozoro. You don’t understand the power you hold. Let me show you.” He stands up and goes to his luggage stacked in the corner. From inside, he takes out a bundle of letters.
“You kept the letters I sent you?”
He clutches them to his chest. “How could I not? A letter is a precious thing.” He comes back to the bed and lays his head in my lap.
I run my fingers through his hair as he unwraps the leather band around the letters. “I thought that when you never wrote back, you didn’t care.”
“I didn’t write back because I knew I would bleed my heart all over the page, and if someone got ahold of them, then I would be in danger.” He takes out a letter, one where the envelope looks well worn. “This one is what made me realize that you were something more than even you realized.” He clears his throat as he prepares to read it. “My friend and husband-” He stops and looks up at me. “Love that.” He snaps the page and starts again. “My friend and husband, it has been a few weeks since you left our marriage bed. I’ve changed the sheets and yet, your memory remains. Not because of acts we’ve done, but because of the wine stain you made when you thought wine in bed was a good idea. It wasn’t. The only good idea with wine is to use it to find the truth. Wine brings out the natural nature in people, and my dearest husband, your true nature is a moron. Your friend and wife, Ozoro.”
I furrow my brow. “What at all in that letter makes you think I have any power?”
“It’s your idea,” he laughs. “Using wine to bring out one’s nature. It’s what gave me this eccentric little plot to begin with. Wine and sex shows a person’s values.” He rises back up and looks me directly in the eye. “Ozoro, my lovely wife, together we can find the truth, and we can bring justice to my people.”
“I’m not a spy,” I say with a shake of my head. “What makes you think I can do what you do?”
He cups my face between both palms. “You’re frightening, Ozoro. You easily intimidate. But you’re also very soft and sweet, you can allure. You’re absolutely perfect.” His kiss pulls me close and he wraps me up in his arms.
Several nights later, the first set of supposed traitors comes to the house. I know them actually, he had been a suitor of mine years ago. The other was an advisor who once worked with my father, I knew how he was on wine already. The reason he had left my father’s employ was because I stabbed his foot with my heel when he got a little too close for comfort. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so bad working with my husband.
I pull Fitzhugh aside and tell him this. The ex-suitor had blathered on and on about his education and how he had been top of his class, but somehow he barely knew how to read. The advisor was a lush and would drink anything placed in front of him, and would sleep with anything with a pulse.
He kisses me in triumph. “I would like to formally thank you in bed tonight,” he grins. “You’re an absolute treasure trove.”
“You’re lucky I’ve dealt with my father and his business all my life.” I pat the top of his head. “Come now, let’s go.”
The evening starts out slow, as both men seem hesitant to be here. Fitzhugh impresses them with food and wine, eventually getting them to warm up enough to talk.
“I’m surprised to see you married, Lady Ozoro.” The ex-suitor has started his blathering. He’s been going on and on for a while now, and I can tell from the look in Fitzhugh’s eye that there's not enough wine in the world to make him enjoy this man.
I look at him, already expecting what he’s going to say. “Really? What makes you say that?”
The ex-suitor smirks at Fitzhugh. “No offense to our host, but when we would meet, you were quite the frigid bitch.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Maybe there was a reason for that.”
“Of course!” He’s forcefully holding back his laughter. “And the reason is quite simple; you’re a woman!” He laughs, the advisor chuckles. Fitzhugh just smirks.
“How would you know, my lord? From he sounds of it, not a one would come near you.” He busts out in a mocking chortle then shakes his head.
The ex-suitor goes silent, sipping away at his wine.
“You insult my wife, what’s going to stop you from insulting our king, hm?”
“King,” the advisor scoffs.
Fitzhugh gets an amused look in his eye. “You don’t sound enthused, sir.”
“Our king died.” he jabs his finger onto the table. “The one who sits on that throne is no more deserving of it than any of us sitting here at this table. He’s a Headless sympathizer.”
“You find fault with that?” Fitzhugh asks.
“There’s a reason the tribes were disbanded, and a reason we kept them from reforming on what was once their land.” The advisor sips his wine.
Under the table I take hold of Fitzhugh’s hand, giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze.
“Have some more wine, maybe it will make you fun to talk to,” Fitzhugh says with a convincing laugh.
Later that evening, Fitzhugh and I are both assured that the ex-suitor is just an idiot, wrapped up in politics he doesn’t understand. If anything, he’s an unsuspecting scapegoat. But the advisor is different, he holds resentments towards the new order, the new king’s sympathy to the line of the Headless.
Fitzhugh takes me to bed and kisses me. “I’ll return to you later. For now, I want you to stay here. Lock the door, and don’t let anyone in. Got it?”
I place my hands on his biceps. “What are you going to do?”
He kisses me, hard and passionate, it’s the kind of kiss that makes me levitate off the ground. He reluctantly pulls back. “My job. I’ll return later.”
I lock the door behind him and undress for the night. As I lay in bed, I am roused by a horrible, ghastly scream that comes from every crack and fissure in the walls. It bleeds out like smoke, filling my head until my thoughts seem choked and gagged. I hold pillows around my head until it ceases and then there is a pounding at the bedroom door. The ex-suitor is screaming in panic, begging for entrance.
“It’s here! The scream is here! My lady!” He sounds like he is sobbing.
I know the origin of the scream, though; it belongs to my husband. He knows when death is near and he wouldn’t scream for any other reason. Perhaps, though, he did do it on purpose to punish the ex-suitor for his comments at dinner.
“I didn’t hear anything,” I shout back. “Go to bed, sir, or sleep before the fire if you wet it.” I lay back down in bed while he continues to blubber and pound at the door.
Even later that evening, the ghostly visage of my husband comes through the door. His pale white skin and hollow eyes give me pause, but I relax as he locks the door.
“That moron is asleep out there,” he scoffs.
“He’s been crying out there ever since you screamed.” I pull back the blankets. “What on earth did you do?”
He sneers. “I didn’t get to do shit. That poor fool died of a heart attack when I screamed.” He climbs into bed beside me. “I fucking ruined it.” He lays down and I curl up close beside him. “I at least went through his things, found some papers and plots.” He rolls over onto his side. “Maybe I shouldn’t have screamed. I could have gotten more from him.”
“Why did you?”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “To thank you.”
I kiss him, laying him back in bed and climbing on top of him.
“Not like this,” he whispers. “Let me change for you.”
I place my hand over his mouth. “I want you like this,” I whisper. I drag my hand down his chest. “Just as you are, the real you.” I kiss him again, lovingly and tender. “I never would have expected you to want to hide yourself.”
He breathes softly, rubbing his hands up and down my legs. “I didn’t want to frighten you. I know who I am, but I also know I am much more beautiful in my other visage.”
“That’s not why I like you.” I say sternly. “Not now, anyways. That face may have worked when we first met, but now, there is so much to you I enjoy besides that face.” I smile at him. “I still think you’re beautiful, even now.”
He swallows hard and takes several deep breaths. “Lady Ozoro, you’re going to make me blush.”
I rut myself against him, feeling him becoming aroused and hard. His body warms to the touch, and his hair winds itself around my wrists and legs. His cock has taken on new dimensions as well. It’s more curved than before, with a slender hood that tapers down into these thick ridges. I can feel him deeper inside me, I can feel more of him. His sharp fingers dig into my hips, urging me to move faster and harder.
He and I move as one that night, not just urging each other over the edge, but willingly climbing to fall together. His body and my body have no beginning or end, rather, we are complete, a full circle. His touch is mine, mine is his. I have never felt so perfectly entwined with someone before. It’s frightening and breathtaking, but I cannot stop from wanting this feeling. I never want it to end, I never want to let go.
Come morning, he is still wrapped around me, his hair holding me like his arms. He pale body stands out against my skin. I smile to myself and, as he stirs, I turn and look into his eyes.
“When did we fall in love?” He asks softly.
I kiss him. “Doesn’t matter.”
He lays back down and I place my head upon his chest. His breath is slow and even, but I know his mind is churning away.
“I’ve never been in love,” he says suddenly. “I never wanted to.”
“That’s funny,” I yawn.
“I’m serious, Ozoro. What have you done to me?” He sits us up so he can look into my eyes. “You do love me too, right?”
I smile at him, starting to giggle. “I do.”
Fitzhugh smirks. “Why are you laughing?”
“Not sure. But it is funny, don’t you think?” I place a soft kiss on his cheek. “We agreed this wasn’t going to end up this way, and yet, here we are.”
Fitzhugh brushes his fingers against my face with a smile I had never seen before. “You know what? I’m not mad about it.”
Comments
Jennifer Lynn Bolan
ahh! This s a delight!
