Chapter 20: The Summons at Dawn
The castle was a tomb of grey stone and colder silence. Kerr moved through it like a thief, which, he supposed with a grim twist of his mouth, he technically was. The rich scent of Landra’s chambers—velvet and sex and expensive perfume—still clung to his skin, a stark contrast to the damp, mossy chill of the stairwells. He could still feel the ghost of her body against his, the urgent clasp of her, the serious worry in her whisper. It’s not good.
He knew it wasn’t. Knowing did nothing to quiet the storm in his head.
His bare feet were silent on the flagstones. The servants’ corridors were his childhood map, etched in muscle memory. He paused outside a familiar, unadorned door, listening. From within, the soft, rhythmic sound of deep sleep. He eased the door open and slipped inside.
The room was small, warm, smelling of lavender and baking bread. A single candle had been left burning low on the bedside table, a sentinel against bad dreams. In the pool of soft light, Nan lay on her side, the blankets rising and falling gently. The sight unknotted something in his chest.
He shed his clothes, letting them pool on the floor. The chill of the room raised goosebumps on his skin. He lifted the edge of the thick quilt and slid in behind her, molding his body to the soft curve of her back.
She stirred immediately, a lifetime of light sleeping never quite forgotten. A warm, knowing hand reached back and found his hip. “Kerr?” Her voice was blurred with sleep, but held no surprise.
“It’s me.”
She rolled onto her back, her face a landscape of soft shadows and gentle lines in the candlelight. She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling. A low, rich chuckle escaped her. “You’re mad, my boy. Haven’t changed a bit from when you were twelve and scared of thunderstorms.” She reached up, her palm cool against his cheek. “Sneaking into my bed for comfort.”
“Not scared of thunderstorms anymore,” he murmured, leaning into her touch.
“No,” she agreed, her fingers tracing his jaw. “You’ve got different storms now.” Her other hand drifted down between them, her touch finding him already hard, thick and insistent against her thigh. Her eyebrows rose. “Maker’s breath, Kerr. You still have somethin’ left to give? I’m still full of you from earlier.” She said it not with complaint, but with a kind of awe.
He said nothing, just dipped his head to kiss the soft hollow of her throat. She sighed, her body softening, yielding.
“S’alright,” she whispered, her arms coming up around his broad shoulders, holding him with a strength that belied her years. “I never could say no to you. Not when you were a babe, not when you were a lad, not now.” Her hand guided him to her entrance, hot and impossibly wet for him already. “Come on then. Bring it out. Fill me up. However much you need to… to get your head clear.”
He needed it. Needed the simplicity of this, the absolution in her open acceptance. He shifted, sitting back on his heels. With strong, sure hands, he turned her fully onto her back and pulled her toward him, positioning her at the bed’s edge. He swung his legs over the side and stood on the floor, towering over her. Her knees fell open, a silent, waiting invitation.
He entered her standing, a long, smooth, devastating stroke that buried him to the hilt. A sharp, choked cry was punched from her lungs. His rhythm established immediately—not frantic, not lazy, but a perfect, piston-like cadence, deep and measured, each drive a calculated conquest.
It was too much, too good, too right. Nan’s eyes flew wide, staring past his shoulder at the ceiling. Her back arched off the bed. “Oh! Oh, sweet Andraste—” The climax took her in seconds, a violent, shimmering wave that clenched around him like a fist. She gasped, her hands fisting in the sheets.
He didn’t alter his pace. Not a fraction. The perfect, rhythmic pounding continued, an unrelenting metronome. Before the first tremors had fully subsided, a second orgasm coiled and broke, wracking her body with a silent scream. Then a third. She lost language, muttering incoherent gibberish—prayers, curses, his name, all melted into a stream of desperate, pleasurable sound.
Her eyes rolled back. Her heels dug into the small of his back, pulling him deeper, begging for mercy and more in the same instinct. The bed frame began a soft, steady knock against the stone wall.
He felt his own end approaching, a tight, hot coil at the base of his spine. He locked his eyes on her face, on the tears of overwhelm glistening in her lashes, and let go. The release was a torrent, a floodgate opening, pumping into her with thick, pulsating jets. Her belly visibly shook under the force of it, a soft quivering that fascinated him. Her eyes fluttered shut, a long, broken sigh escaped her, and she went utterly limp, passing into unconsciousness with a faint smile on her lips.
He didn’t stop.
Leaning over her, he took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard, flicking his tongue over the peak. His hips kept moving, pumping through the stunning waves of his own orgasm, milking himself until he spilled into her again, a second, smaller eruption that made her spent body jolt.
Finally, he stilled, buried deep, breathing ragged gulps of air. He released her nipple, watching it gleam in the candlelight.
Nan lay motionless, staring into nothingness. A serene, vacant smile touched her lips. Her firm, rounded belly trembled with the recent violation. Every muscle in her body was spent, utterly vanquished. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin.
Kerr slowly pulled out and collapsed onto the bed beside her, on his back. The storm in his head was gone, replaced by a numb, hollow silence. He listened to her breathing, deep and slow. The candle flame guttered, threatening to die. Outside, the first bird began to tentatively chirp, a herald of the dawn he could no longer outrun.
Outside, the first bird began to tentatively chirp, a herald of the dawn he could no longer outrun.
Nan’s breathing evened. She turned her head, her face still half-pressed into the damp linen. Her voice was a thick, satisfied murmur. “You’ve been cumming in me for ten years,” she said, the words muffled by the sheet. “And you still fuck me stupid.” She smiled, a slow, wondrous curve of her lips. “Every single time.”
Kerr stared at the timber beams above. A faint, weary smirk touched his mouth. “Got to keep my skills sharp,” he said, the joke falling flat even to his own ears. It was just something to say. The hollow silence rushed back in, louder now.
He pushed himself up. His body felt heavy, used. The cool air bit at his skin. He found his clothes in the gloom and pulled them on, each motion mechanical. Nan watched him from the bed, her eyes soft and knowing. She didn’t ask where he was going. She never did.
“Your father will be looking for you soon,” she finally said, stating a simple, inescapable fact.
“I know.” He fastened his belt, the leather cold in his hands. “I’ll be at the morning assembly.”
“See that you are.” She pulled the quilt up to her chin, a nest of warmth against the creeping grey light. “And Kerr? Wash your face. You look… well-loved.”
He nodded, a sharp gesture. He crossed the room and paused at the door, his hand on the latch. He didn’t look back. “Thank you, Nan.”
“Go on,” she whispered.
The corridor was no longer empty. The faint clatter of pots echoed from the kitchens far below, a distant percussion of waking life. He moved quickly, a shadow among the gathering greys. He took the back stair, the one that emerged near the family’s private baths.
The water in the stone basin was frigid. He splashed it over his face and neck, scrubbing roughly at his skin as if he could scour away the night’s scent, its sweat and salt and secrets. The shock of the cold was a blunt truth. His reflection in the polished metal mirror was blurred, a stranger with hollow eyes.