In Which Jadin Follows the Job Description

September 15, 1170

Jadin pushed open the stable gate, still massaging his back with his free hand. Why had he insisted on delivering that message to the king himself, again? He knew he couldn't resist that voluptuous, strawberry-blond scullery maid, even if she did tend to pound his spine into a jagged mess of curves and bends. Jadin couldn't say he didn't like it at the time, but damn did it ever hurt afterwards! He would have to start limiting his visits to the castle if he wanted to keep his good posture.

"What are you doing here?"

Startled, he looked up, then felt his face melt into a grin; the castle did also house lovely young ladies who wouldn't put out, despite how their garb might have implied otherwise. "Camaline? Why the hell are you dressed like that? Not that I'm complaining, mind..."

Camaline pursed her lips--shame that she wasn't about to kiss him, really. "I'll have you know that I was visiting a friend?"

"By 'friend', you mean 'remnants of a pagan tribe', right?" He looked her up and down once more; his face must have looked pretty damn stupid by now, but he was past caring. "I mean, really--who dresses up like a virgin sacrifice just for a friend?"

The princess scowled, her full mouth bearing her perfect, pearly teeth. "I am not a--"

"Wanna prove it?" He looped his finger into his belt and nudged it downward.

Appalled, Camaline gaped at him. "I was going to say that I am not a sacrifice, you dolt!"

Jadin smirked. "We can remedy the other thing too, if you like."

"Jadin, I wouldn't touch you with a lance."

"Funny you should say so, seeing as I have one right here."

Camaline sighed. "I said a lance, you idiot--not a dart."

"Well, I'd hate to see what sort of oversized darts you've been throwing, then." All she could do was roll her eyes and shake her head; Jadin took a few seconds to bask in his victory before speaking again. "By the way, has your father seen that dress?"

"Would I be here talking to you if he had?" Oh--perhaps she wasn't quite as frigid as he'd thought. "I left a cloak in the tack room."

Jadin laughed. "A little warm for a cloak, but your father probably won't question it. Now, who is this friend of yours, and how can I obtain the status I need for you to wear something like that when you visit me?"

She sent him one last cool glance, then turned around and headed toward the tack room. "None of your business--and you can't."

"Oh, you're cold!" he called as she closed the door behind her. "Maybe you do need that cloak!"

He half-expected her to barge back out with some comeback, but she never did--a pity, considering the near-translucency of that gown. "Fine; ignore me. See if I don't tell Sparron about this..."

"Jadin? Who are you talking to?"

He turned around; any annoyance he felt toward Camaline vanished at the sight of that smile. "Xeta! What are you doing here?"

"I came with my brother." She shut the gate, then drew nearer; that warm feeling in his face that she tended to inspire crawled throughout his flesh once again. "We came to visit Leara, but I don't think the two of them appreciated having me around, so Lorn said I might go home if I could find a groom to accompany me."

A stray curl had managed to free itself from her braids; Jadin reached forward and brushed it behind her ear. "I could take you home if you want."

Xeta sighed--not the exasperated sigh of girls like Camaline, or the resigned sigh of wary adults, but the pretty, musical exhale that fell upon his ears like warm honey on his tongue. "Oh, that would be out of your way."

"Nonsense! I could use the fresh air."

"It's a little late in the afternoon, though." She batted her lashes, the sapphires beneath them even brighter in their dark shadow--and Jadin had once thought his own eyes were blue. "Your father will be wondering where you are."

Smiling, he reached out and tapped her on the nose. "Yes, but I'm not sure he could live with the shame of having a son who could have escorted a pretty young lady to the safety of her castle, but didn't."

Leaning back slightly, Xeta breathed a hint of a giggle. "Who are you to presume to think for your father?"

"I'm his heir." He took one of her braids in hand and twisted it around his finger; he had felt silk that was not so soft. "It's in the job description."

He dropped his hand her own and began to sway them back and forth. "So, shall I have your horse saddled? Or would you prefer the company of a handsome young groom to that of oafish old me?"

"You're not even a year older than me," she protested. Then, with a sly smile, she added, "The oafish part might be debatable, thought."

"Well, I won't argue with you there."

Xeta's eyes narrowed once more--God, he could never get tired of that color. "I can't imagine you would, seeing as you were the one who raised the point in the first place."

"Fair enough." Jadin chuckled, then wrapped his arms around her form and pulled her closer. "So, will you ride home with me, or not?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know; is there a more agreeable alternative?"

Jadin shook his head. "Not for me, at least--but it is not my job description to presume to think for you."

"True, but in this instance, you have my permission to guess." She looked him in the eye and inched a little nearer, her lips as full and round and inviting as those of a thousand icy Camalines. "What do I want you to do right now?"

That was not so difficult to guess. He dipped her to the ground and kissed her.

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