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Sorceress Page 4


  “You could stay.” Lily kept trying to read his expression. The face was the same, the reckless confidence in his own predictions the same, but this Lorre, who had worn the shape of a dragon and nearly killed and then saved a king, was not the man she remembered.

  “No,” Lorre said, rather ruefully, regarding the king’s bed: Will appeared to be explaining recent events to an open-mouthed Henry, with occasional emphatic hand-gestures. “I think I should be—elsewhere.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Where magicians go,” Lorre said, cryptic as ever. But he smiled a little, and it felt real. “I’ll check in once in a while. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I don’t,” Lily said.

  He laughed again. “I know.”

  “I do wish you luck,” she said, surprising herself. “And—happiness. Whatever that means for you. Wherever you find it. I hope you do.”

  This prompted that new rueful expression again. “I’d say the same for you. But you don’t need it.” He touched Merry’s hair lightly, a goodbye touch, though not a forever one. “I’ll come back. When I can.”

  “I know,” Lily said, and watched him leave: a literal vanishing, a simple and unusually anticlimactic flicker away into air.

  She stood considering the empty space for some time after he’d gone. After he’d gone wherever magicians went. Whatever that meant to him.

  She heard Will’s almost noiseless step behind her, then, and turned. He was smiling, the first time she’d seen him really unguardedly smile, and the emotion warmed his eyes, changing the color in mesmerizing ways.

  “Henry will be fine,” he said. “He’s sleeping. Thank you. For everything. I wanted to say—I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She winced at the banality of it. “Should I…I could go. Home. If you want. Since Henry—since the king will be all right.”

  The light in his eyes faded, just a fraction. “If you want,” he echoed, and then added, “But. Lorre. I don’t like him—”

  “Of course you wouldn’t, that’s understandable—”

  “He might have been right. About one thing.”

  Lily blinked at him, confused; she had thought he’d been too occupied to be listening to her conversation. A loop of brown hair fell, frizzy and equally confused, into her face. If she moved she might break whatever spell this was; she did not move.

  “He was right,” Will clarified, “that we need a magician here. A sorceress. Someone to advise us on magical problems. To face down dragons, if need be. So you could stay. If you wanted.” He reached out, brushed the stubborn hair from her face. His eyes, she decided, were the color of dark honey when they were happy.

  “If I wanted,” she said, the warmth of his hand lingering on her skin. “What makes you think I would?”

  Both his eyebrows went up; but he caught the invitation in her tone, and the honey got brighter and more molten.

  “I suppose,” he suggested, “I could promise you gold—do sorceresses need gold? One might assume so, at least for baby clothing—or I could promise not to pursue your…Lorre…for revenge, though I imagine that’d be a marvelously futile quest in any case. Or I could ask you. What you want. What would convince you to stay.”

  “He’s not my Lorre. He’d hate hearing you say that.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Sorceresses do need gold. We can’t make it out of thin air. At least I can’t. Was that you asking? Ask me again.”

  “Yes.” Will put the hand back out, cupped her face, stroked a thumb over her cheek. “I am asking. Not for the kingdom, or for protection, or because Henry adores you even though he’s only barely met you. For me. Because I want you to stay. Please.”

  “You even said please.”

  “I did.”

  “Was that difficult for you?”

  “You have no idea. I’ll say it again. Please. I want you. Say you’ll stay. With me.”

  “In that case,” Lily told him, feeling the answering sparkles all through her bones, utter weariness and anticipation and coruscating joy, “I’ll need a workroom. A distillery. Space for an herb garden—”

  “You’ll stay.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  He grinned, leaned in, and kissed her.

  The kiss was hot and sweet, not demanding but certain; Will tasted like sugared tea, and Lily realized that her royal bastard had an unexpected weakness for sweet things; she laughed into the kiss, and felt Will smile back. He kissed with experience, sure and patient and taking control but gentle about it: inexorable delicious licks and nibbles and teasing. She fell into each sensation fearlessly, joyously, taking him closer and wanting more. She was not an innocent either; she knew what she liked, and she’d missed the fierce radiant craving, the heady pool of golden desire deep inside; but this wasn’t only familiar, this was new, because it was Will.

  Will, who kissed with his whole attention, thoroughly devoted to the art of pleasure. Will, who’d stayed at her side in a field with a dragon, who trusted her.

  He wove hands into her hair, pressed closer, murmured, “Sorceress,” into her ear; but he was laughing. Lily left a kiss at the corner of his mouth, and arched up against him: bodies aligned and wanting, both of them, his lean muscle and that lovely rigid length she could feel, the same arousal that quivered down her spine and in every breath. She wanted him. She wanted to learn all of him: that arousal, that tempting chest, the sounds and expressions he made when lost to ecstasy.

  They’d have time. She knew they would.

  Will’s eyes were dark and hot too: a smokier richer amber. “You’re smiling.”

  “Thinking about plans.” Lily wound a leg around his, coaxing him to settle against her. “For the herb garden. For you.”

  “In the herb garden?”

  “Maybe. Or a bedroom. Or your bedroom. Does it really have mirrored ceilings and gold-embroidered scarlet sheets?”

  “Ah, you’ve been listening to rumor.” He twined a strand of her hair around a finger, bent, breathed while nibbling her throat, “One mirror. Standing by a wall. The scarlet sheets are true. No embroidery, but they’re silk.”

  “Decadent,” Lily got out. Her knees wobbled. “I could appreciate silk sheets.”

  “I’ll introduce you.” He slid a hand slowly down her arm, to her waist, and up: giving her time to move or protest, though she did not, and he smiled. The hand found her breast, cupping through her shirt; even through fabric his hand was hot. “It’s a marvelous bed.”

  “As long as…oh…” She lost all thought for an instant; his fingers were doing devilish things with her nipple, even with the shirt in the way, and her entire body sang with need. “As long as we’re the only ones in it.”

  “My bed?” He leaned back to look at her. “There’s been no one for quite some time. I’ve enjoyed myself, and fed the Court gossips, but half of it’s exaggerated.”

  “The other half?”

  “I made it up. Reputation matters, you know.”

  “And you want me,” Lily said, believing it. The girl she’d once been would not have; here and now, framed by the purple-patterned carpet and the gold-striped wall-hangings, evidence of Will’s want pressing incontrovertibly into her hip, she did believe it.

  “I do. You amaze me, and you argue with me, and you’ve never been afraid of me, and you can face down a dragon with your magic and your heart. I want you.” He kissed her left eyebrow, added, “Imagine what that’ll do for the reputation. Being the Grand Sorceress’s lover.”

  “The Grand Sorceress,” Lily said, “will turn you into a mouse if you don’t kiss her again,” and she practically melted against him as he did.

  Henry, back in the bedroom, said, “Will? What’re you doing? Did you convince her to stay?”

  Their eyes met; Lily put a hand over her own mouth to hide the laugh that wanted to leap out, born of pure delight. Will leaned back and yelled around the doorframe, “I think I have, and what’re you doing sitting up,
you should be resting!”

  A pillow flew their way and missed.

  Will kissed her again, swift and brilliant, and ducked in to pick it up and likely shout at his brother about overexertion. “Coming? You can meet Henry properly.”

  “Yes,” Lily said, breathless with happiness. “Yes.”

  She did not follow immediately, though. She leaned against the wall, sharing space with supportive striped hangings, instead. Merry was comfortably asleep, dreaming baby-dreams.

  Living in the palace, she thought. Meeting the king. Being a Court magician.

  A workroom without leaks and crumbling walls, a library, a place to experiment; a place where Merry could have warm soft clothing that hadn’t been worn by someone else’s children first, and good food, and gilded staircases to run up and down. Magic welcome, perhaps: practiced openly, without judgment.

  Students, any and all of them, anyone who wanted to learn.

  The heat of Will’s lips, still present on her own, and Will’s hands, sparking that answering heat from her body. A lifetime of wild wondrous kisses and considerate teacups, delivered to her workroom because he’d arranged for that. The kaleidoscope of potential futures spun itself into giddy color.

  Those futures wouldn’t be simple, or easy, or without work. The Court would need to learn to trust magicians. Magic had nearly killed—and then saved—the king. Kissing that king’s beautiful ambitious half-brother in public—and in private—wouldn’t help with the politics.

  But, Lily thought, I have saved a king. And faced down a magician. I am a magician.

  The thought felt right. So did the word. So did the world, in all its bewildering wonderful future glory; and she caught herself smiling, as she moved to follow Will into the bedroom.

  THE END

  Author’s Note

  The first version of this story was my first-ever published romance, in fact—several years ago, and with a different title—and I hope you like it! I’ve taken advantage of this revision to do some editing, cleaning and tidying, rewriting some dialogue, and overall polishing, but it’s very much the same story I poured my heart into. It may not be quite the same style as it’d be if I wrote it for the first time today, but I think it has that kind of shining bright-eyed exuberance that first stories have: that sheer excitement of getting to do this, to tell this story, to fall in love with the characters as they find each other and face a dragon and their own fears.

  I do have plans for at least one and possibly two more stories in this world—the second one is Lorre’s story, and asks the question: what does the world’s most powerful (and arguably amoral) magician do now? (The answer involves a very attractive young knight named Gareth who comes to request magical help for his quest, and a discussion about the significance of names.)

  As always, I write with music! For the revisions and editing, this time around, that playlist included:

  The Longshot, “Devil’s Kind”

  Buzzcocks, “Fiction Romance”

  Paramore, “Now”

  OK Go, “I Won’t Let You Down”

  Pixies, “Gigantic”

  ABOUT K.L. NOONE

  K.L. Noone loves fantasy, romance, cats, far too sweet coffee, and happy endings! She is also the author of Port in a Storm and its upcoming sequel, available from Less Than Three Press, and numerous short romances with Ellora’s Cave and Circlet Press. Her fantasy fiction has appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword and Sorceress anthologies.

  With her Professor Hat on, she teaches college students about Shakespeare and superhero comics, and has published academic articles and essays on Neil Gaiman’s adaptations of Beowulf, Welsh mythology in modern fantasy, and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels.

  For more information, visit twitter.com/KristinNoone.

  ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

  JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!