The Golden Dynasty (Fantasyland #2)(120)

“I don’t care what it is, just as long as you’re happy with it because it’s the only one you’re gonna get, big guy,” I muttered back and heard him chuckle in my ear but felt his mouth leave that area after it brushed skin.

Nice move and I loved to hear Lahn’s amusement.

But I was not being amusing.

I lifted one side of my cloth so I could slide my eyes to him to see he was still grinning and I informed him, “I’m not kidding. I don’t like puking as in, really don’t like it.”

I watched his eyebrows go up in a face that was still smiling. “Puking?”

“Hurling, calling Buick, heaving, throwing up, vomiting, puking.”

He chuckled again.

I found nothing funny.

I dropped the cloth and announced, “After this, birth control all the way.”

Through another chuckle I heard Lahn ask, “Birth what?”

“Birth control. After little Lahn or little Lahnahsahna makes his or her entry into this world, you’re sheathing your sword, big guy.”

An amused but confused, “Sheathing my sword?”

I lifted the cloth again, glared at him then moved my glare down to the area being discussed and just to make certain he got it, I gave a little nod in that direction.

He got it. I knew it when he roared with laughter.

Again, I found nothing funny.

I dropped the cloth and tried not to let his big body shaking the bed make me hurl.

Finally, he quieted his humor but remarked, “I’ve heard of this practiced in the Northlands. We do not practice the same in the Southlands, my queen.”

“Well, you’re going to be a trendsetter,” I returned on a mutter.

“Trendsetter?”

“Setting the fashion, being the first.”

His hand still at my belly slid up, curled around my breast and his voice was partly amused, partly serious when he informed me. “I’ll not have anything between me and my golden queen.”

I opened my mouth to say something smart but he kept talking as his hand slid back to my belly.

“And we will have many children, many warriors to serve Suh Tunak, many golden princesses so their father can behold your beauty on more than your face.”

That was sweet and all, really sweet but… I did not think so.

“That’s sweet, Lahn, but I’m being very serious.”

“Then I will be serious as well and tell you I will not use these… things.”

“Then you’ll pull out before the festivities culminate. It isn’t full proof but it’ll be something,” I muttered.

Suddenly, the cloth was gone and Lahn’s face was in mine, his big body looming over me and I noticed immediately he no longer thought anything was funny either.

“I will not spend my seed on your skin.”

Uh-oh.

I stared in his face and knew I said something very, very wrong.

“Lahn –”

“A warrior’s seed is his essence; it is the future of Suh Tunak. It is not wasted unless used to deliver the worst insult he can give or released on the body of a Xacto. Traitors, enemy warriors weak enough to get captured alive, spies foolish enough to be detected, they receive wasted seed. And a warrior does not plant his seed in Xacto and you, my golden queen, are not Xacto.”

Okay, it was safe to say this conversation had taken a drastic turn down a road I did not want to go. So I had to detour us, pronto.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He glared at me. Then he clipped, “Okay.”

“I, uh… didn’t know,” I said quietly.

“Now you do.”

I sure did.

I lifted a hand to cup his bearded jaw and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby. I won’t speak of it again. I just really don’t like being sick.”

“I don’t like it either. It means I cannot take your xaxsah in the mornings. I like to take your xaxsah in the mornings. What I do not like is having to wait until the evening.”

Hmm. Clearly my apology hadn’t put him in a better mood.

So I sought to better his mood and suggested softly, “How about you try to take my xaxsah with your lisa and we’ll see how it goes.”

“I do not wish courting you being sick with my mouth between your legs, Circe.”

Okay, well, that didn’t work.

I rolled into him, fighting the nausea as I ran my hand down his chest and then wound an arm around his back, whispering, “Lahn –”

Suddenly, he pulled in breath through his nose and he did this so sharply, I shut up.

When he expelled it, his eyes locked with mine and he whispered, “We ride on Maroo in two days.”

I closed my eyes and tipped my head forward.

I knew this and I didn’t want to talk about it. Not then, not ever. I’d be living it soon enough.

A second later, I felt his lips on my forehead so my eyes opened to see the beautiful column of his throat.

Against my skin, he said, “We could be on campaign a month or we could be on campaign a year. And you will be here and I will not.”

All right, he wasn’t pissed about the birth control discussion, he was worried. That was good. What was bad was, for my husband, I needed to talk about this and I didn’t want to.

“I’ll be okay,” I said gently.