Hearts of Ice: The Sunsurge Quartet Book 3 by Hair David

Author:Hair, David [Hair, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781784290924
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2019-03-20T16:00:00+00:00

22

Making Love and Treason

On Gold and Trust

Men kill for gold and yet they cannot eat it, or hammer it into a useful tool. All they can do is exchange it for something else, so its value is only what you get in exchange. The sweat, time and blood to acquire it is only worthwhile if we can have confidence that the gold will yield the value we expect. Maintaining that confidence is the prime – some would say only – function of the Treasurer.

CALAN DUBRAYLE, IMPERIAL TREASURER, PALLAS 918

Pallas, Rondelmar Decore 935

Lyra Vereinen, Queen of Rondelmar and Empress of the Rondian Empire, clutched the sheets, her back against the chest of her Knight-Commander Solon Takwyth, gasping at each movement as his loins slapped her buttocks rhythmically, his shaft swollen and intense inside her.

‘Get there . . .’ she panted as Solon heaved, ‘get there, get there–’

He reached his trigger-point, his big hands grasping her breasts as he thrust deep and pinned her on her front, his full weight crushing her as she lay spread-eagled, his sweat and heat basting her back. She fought for air as he rode out a heaving climax, then he groaned and sagged onto her with a weary, pleased sigh.

‘Out, out,’ she panted, jerking her hips and gasping in blessed relief as he pulled out and rolled away. ‘Unghhh . . . Dear Kore, Solon . . .’ She gave up, breathless and utterly spent.

She’d woken as the first roosters crowed outside to find his hands teasing and his body poised, her weary moan taken as assent. That was an hour ago. Magi could energise themselves beyond the capacity of normal men – Solon boasted of it – but she wasn’t a mage and couldn’t always rise to the moment as he did, especially not for the fourth or fifth time in one night.

‘Don’t wake me next time,’ she complained, then her addled brain realised what she’d said. ‘That’s not permission to take me in my sleep. It’s a plea for rest.’

I think we’ve only had three hours’ sleep – for about the tenth night running.

Solon grunted a little sourly and tried to embrace her, but she pulled away, her thighs and stomach aching, her nethers feeling raw and pounded. She sniffed her body and wished she hadn’t, yawned and closed her eyes, craving a little more sleep . . .

. . . and the nursery bell rang.

No, no, let me sleep . . .

But her son needed her, so she groaned and rose, while Solon climbed out of the other side, looking mighty pleased with his efforts. He looked good in the half-light with his cropped hair and beard that went some way to hiding the scars marring the left side of his face, powerfully built, deep-chested and bulky: a manly frame. But she wasn’t feeling wholly appreciative just now.

‘Honestly, hadn’t we done it enough already for one night?’ she complained.

‘You didn’t seem to be having a totally miserable time.’

She was past blushing over such matters, and that of course had been half the point of this liaison.

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