Page 47 of Legacy of the Heirs
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Elisara
Tendrils twisted up and around them both as if the gods who blessed them with this celestial tie ensured they stayed as one. Elisara knew if she looked down, she would see the spiralling shadow and light, but she wished to focus on nothing else but Kazaar's lips against hers or the taste of his tongue as it gently teased her. A twig snapped in the not-so far distance, and Kazaar moved his head from hers. She groaned at the sudden coldness on her lips, where his mouth should be.
“You lost; we share a tent,” he whispered, in her ear as his hands gripped her waist and gently lowering her. He stepped back and retrieved his sword.
“Dinner is ready,” Vlad called, appearing from behind the trees two seconds later. Elisara combed her hair with her fingers and picked up her sword, brushing Kazaar’s shoulder as she walked past him, sending tingles up her spine. Vlad glanced between the two of them and then at Elisara’s torn shirt. He lifted one eyebrow with a grin and opened his mouth to speak.
“Thank you, Vlad,” Elisara called, her voice breaking as she wobbled with each step towards him.
“All okay?” he asked, and she nodded enthusiastically.
“Fine. We were sparring.”
Vlad hummed. “Work up a sweat?” Elisara elbowed him in the ribs.
“She lost,” Kazaar called from behind, forcing Elisara to walk through the trees towards the tents and blazing fire. The weight of those words weighed heavily on her; she had lost more than amere spar. She had lost the protective shield fortified around her and the promise to keep her heart as one of ice. She did not want to get burned, yet here she was, with every part of her on fire as she thought of him.
***
Tension crackled around the campfire, though Elisara imagined she was the only one who thought so. The men, Kazaar included, jested amid discussions of training and military tactics, though Elisara was barely listening. Instead, she sat with a rigid back, conscious of the spark fluttering within her every time Kazaar’s knee bumped against hers as he reached for more food or stoked the fire. Her mind kept rewinding their kiss, and each time, she focused on a different part: his lips, his hands, his hips as she wrapped her legs around him. If Vlad had not arrived, where would it have gone? Elisara did not think she had the strength to stop herself.
“Are you coming?” Kazaar’s deep voice asked beside her.
“What?” she exclaimed. Her face flushed as she shifted on the tree trunk. Kazaar tilted his head and peered down at her with amusement in his eyes. Vlad leaned against the tent pole behind Kazaar, grinning.
“To the tent,” he continued. “We are all turning in for the night.” He offered his hand, waiting for her to accept it. Elisara placed her hand in his and felt incredibly small as he helped her rise, especially when she stumbled into him. She was never this clumsy. She cleared her throat and signalled for him to take the lead. Elisara glared at Vlad when she walked past.
“I hope you sleep soverywell,” Vlad said.
“I hope you don’t get killed in your sleep,” she said with a sickly sweet smile. Vlad laughed before retiring to his tent. Elisara stared up at the night sky, cursing silently to herself as if this was the first time she had ever kissed a man.
Kazaar held open the tent flap, the soft glow from the lanterns illuminating the side of his face. His expression held no traces of his former amusement, and his eyes focused intently on her as she brushed past him into the tent. The tent must have been from the Lord of Marnovo; it was as grand as any royal tent she had entered before. The space was as large as a guest room in the castle, with the same opulent blues woven into the fabric. While Elisara stood upright, Kazaar’s head scraped the fabric above as he entered behind her and tied the tent shut.
The embers of a fire glowed in the centre, emitting warmth throughout the space. Lanterns rested atop a vanity, where to the right was a large bed roll propped atop the crates in a makeshift bed. The only bed, Elisara realised, as Vlad had originally planned for her to rest here alone. Elisara sat awkwardly on the edge of it and crossed one leg over the other. She reached below her knees to untie the bootlaces wrapping around her calves yet paused as the mixed aroma of spices and pine drifted towards her. Kazaar towered above Elisara, his legs touching hers.
“Allow me,” he whispered, kneeling before her. Kazaar Elharar, the commander of Vala, knelt before his queen and, with a gentle touch, began unlacing her boots. Her mind recalled the soft pull of his fingers when he untied the back of her corset on the Isle. Had that been their turning point? Saving one another’s lives? While being so close to him on the bed had felt awkward and uncomfortable then, being this close to Kazaar now felt right. He glanced up at Elisara, and her breathing faltered. He smiled, acknowledging the memory she had projected and slid the boot off her leg before undoing the other.
Elisara said nothing but watched Kazaar in silence. She expected it to feel awkward, but it felt comfortable—right. After sliding the second boot from her leg, he massaged her calves and trailed his hands higher until gently uncrossing her legs, his eyes questioning. She opened them wider, a shiver trailing up her spine as they locked eyes. In one quick movement, he tugged her to the edge of the bedand knelt between her, lingering his hands on her hips. She took a sharp breath as his chest pressed against hers, arching her back in response, desperate to keep him close. She was a moth to his flame, desperate to bathe in his warmth as his hands travelled up her sides to reach for her exposed flesh where his sword had sliced the fabric.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, brushing the skin below her neck.
“No.” Her breathing halted as his fingers slid beneath the tear, grazing the raised moon on her collarbone. When she sighed, Kazaar leaned closer, and Elisara parted her mouth for his lips. He shifted at the last minute and instead planted kisses along her neck. Elisara’s head fell back, her hair tumbling behind to allow him better access. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips kissed a path towards her chest, his warmth melting into her. In one tug, he ripped the tear in her shirt, which fell free, exposing her white brasserie and stomach. She expected to feel awkward at being displayed for him and having a man take full control, but she relaxed, falling into the touch of his hands as they gripped her waist, keeping her from lying back on the bed, completely at his mercy.
The flames in the lantern flickered, turning Kazaar’s dark locks a burnt orange. He lowered his head to kiss down her body, and she reached for him, brushing her fingers through his hair to free it from the leather band. Kazaar looked up at her as his hands shifted, his thumb trailing the waistband of her leathers.
“Yes.”Elisara sent the word clearly to him, and the corner of his lips lifted as he unhooked the leathers. She leaned back and lifted her hips, allowing him to drag them off her body at a tantalising pace, revealing the white undergarments beneath. She shifted her elbows to prop herself back up, but Kazaar splayed his large palm against her stomach, holding her down.
“Stay still, angel,” he murmured, his breath tickling the tops of her thighs. She leaned back and splayed her hands against the bedsheets. “Good girl,” he breathed, kissing the skin meeting the apex of her thighs. Elisara shuddered at the gentleness of his touch as he glided his thumb over the thin fabric separating his hand fromher.
“Tell me what you like, angel,” he whispered against her skin, stroking tantalising circles on just the right spot. She moaned at his touch, which felt like lightning crackling across her skin, desperate for release. His fingers paused their movement. “Answer me.” Caellum had never asked Elisara’s preferences before; she was always in control.
“That,” she whispered, hoping he understood as she thought of his hand again. He did. Her undergarments were rough against her thighs as he dragged them down her body while Elisara undid her brasserie. A sound close to a growl tore from Kazaar’s mouth, and she glanced down at him to find his eyes on her chest before he refocused. She gasped as his fingers met her bare skin again, repeating the slow circles from before.
“You must learn to be quiet for tonight,” he murmured, continuing his pattern. Elisara suddenly remembered where they were. “Next time, I want to hear every curse from those pretty lips.”
Next time.
