Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(6)

They were approaching. He forced himself to remain in his casual pose on the couch, quelling the desire to turn and watch her come through the tent opening. Instead, as the guards and female slaves entered with her, he took another swallow of his ale and studied the map which laid out his next attack plan.

In his peripheral vision, he did note she was at the center of the women’s protective circle, to ensure there would be no incidental brush of contact from one of the men.

“Guards, leave us,” he said. As the guards filed out, leaving only the women around the queen, he appeared to keep his attention on his battle plans an additional, unbearably long ten seconds. In reality, he closed his eyes, drew a deeper breath. Yes, he could smell her. He’d know her anywhere.

Setting his goblet on the side table, he leaned back and gestured, so the women would bring her before him. He would look at his prize now. Assess his conquest.

When they complied, and his eyes fell upon her, his brain simply stopped.

She wore a dress that was a waterfall of slim golden chains, fixed to a gold collar like a cuff around her neck. Some of the chains were connected under her arms to give the “dress” a front and back, but there was nothing under that curtain of glittering strands. As the women made her turn to show him all sides, the chains split at the tips of her breasts, showed him glimpses of thigh, hip and sex. When she was brought to a halt, the chains settled, a shimmer of color and flesh.

Her hair was down, a flow of silken gold, a lighter color than the jewelry.

It was no wonder he’d had to lay siege upon, invade and take a whole castle to obtain her. In no universe could he look at the vision before him and think he would have won her with anything less than a full siege, an inarguable show of strength.

He was ready for battle. A different, much more pleasurable kind of battle.

He’d left most of her garb to the discretion of the slave girls, having no desire to interfere with their excitement about dressing their lord’s newest possession. There was only one item he’d specifically mandated, and seeing her wearing it made his heart hammer blood into his cock.

She wore a falcon’s hood. Or rather, a head mask designed like a falcon’s hood, the supple material shaped over her delicate nose like a beak, the crown of the mask embellished with a plume of feathers. Jesses were wound around her wrists, the tiny bells making noise as she moved. Though she could see nothing, because the eye flaps of the hood were securely closed, the lower part of the mask was like an open skirt of more looped gold chains, separating at the bridge of her nose and accentuating the shape of her jaw, the fullness of her lips.

Her fingers in the jesses were tight, though her shoulders were back, just as they’d been when she sat on the horse. The posture only directed his gaze to her exposed nipples, taut from either nerves or the friction of the tiny chains moving against them.

He wanted to act like the barbarian she thought he was, toss her down and suckle those peaks, drive into her cunt and take her.

Instead, he held his position and spoke. “Leave her. You did well.”

The women dispersed, whispering and giggling. He noticed she showed no reaction, aloof. They’d been instructed not to speak to her, but he was sure she hadn’t stooped to begging them for answers to her questions. She was the real thing. A true royal, and she would adhere to every aspect of that to drive home what she considered him.

A dirty, filthy barbarian.

His lips curved in a wicked grin. She was about to get dirty. And he was going to make sure she liked it.

He rose, circling her, letting his fingertips glide along her skin, capture and stroke the golden chains. He tugged on them, enough to put pressure against her slender throat from the attached collar. She quivered under his touch.

“It’s difficult to conceal attraction, isn’t it? My slave.”

She stiffened. “Revulsion can make the skin shudder as much as attraction.”

“Is that so?” As he completed the circle around her, he passed his hands through the waterfall of chains so his palm brushed the curve of a buttock, her hip. He dropped his touch, easing his fingers between her legs. But before he could tease the truth from the treasure he sought, she shifted.

She stomped her wooden-soled slipper on his insole, sending a bolt of pain through his foot. At his curse, she jerked away.

Fuck, he really should have remembered that move. At least she hadn’t been wearing spike heels this time.

Despite the mask blocking her sight, she made a dash for the open flap of the tent. He lunged after her and caught her around the waist. She’d given no thought to the risk of hurting herself from such an attempt. Brave, but foolish.

“Not wise, slave. My guards would stop you.”

“How?” she retorted hotly. “You forbade any of them to touch me.”

He grinned. Sharp-minded and using his own words against him. She shoved at him, but he ducked under the move, and folded her over his shoulder, straightening and lifting her off her feet. She spat several curses at him, as he enjoyed spreading his hand over her quivering buttock. He dug his fingers into soft flesh revealed by the convenient parting of the golden strands of chain. She might have great strength of spirit, but she was no match for him physically.

Striding to the center of the tent, he put her down before the support post there. When she attempted to yank away from him, he grasped her wrists and hooked them to one of the chains hanging from the post. The dangling jesses were the long ends of straps buckled around her wrists, and the cuff part of the straps had D-rings that allowed for the quick attachment. The chain had some slack, but not enough to let her go more than several feet from the sturdy pole. Even with the mask blocking her sight, she could likely figure out how to unhook the chain, but he wasn’t going to give her enough time and space to work that out.