Almost Lovely, Defiant Bride
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The Sorcerer held the vial up to the candle, satisfied with how much essence had been drawn from the crude peasant blouse.
He’d kept it for years before boiling it down.
Glimpsing at the cauldron, he was satisfied that not even a shred of the garment remained. He had extracted every last drop.
The Sorcerer swirled the liquid, admiring its hue. Even after several years, the essence of that young man still retained the dark red of virility.
He knew she would come.
Yet the sound of her first step gratified. Her gait whispered down the spiraling tunnel.
The Sorcerer didn’t move, relishing a mounting excitement he hadn’t known in a long time, waiting for the daughter of the village Patron to appear in his Caverns.
She was almost lovely, a bride presenting herself on her wedding night.
The gown she wore was simple. Pure white muslin with a plunging heart-shaped neckline, the bodice hugging her torso and hips, skirts swelling to her ankles, sleeves flaring from elbow to wrist.
Her golden hair was braided into a long rope falling to her waist.
Her only jewelry was the crystal stargaze hung from a silver chain resting above the modest swell of her breasts.
She stood before him with her shoulders back and head high. Her demeanor was proud, giving the Sorcerer pause before he greeted her.
“I see you didn’t take long to decide.”
“I will accept your offer,” she said. “But you must agree to one request.”
“Go on.”
“Before I lay with you, I want you to take my heart.”
The Sorcerer didn’t answer right away.
He stroked his beard peering at her hands; the traitor of nerves. He looked for clenched fists or twitching fingers, and saw her palms lying at her sides, naturally draped in the folds of her skirts.
“That’s not the way I do things,” he said. “I always take the heart after-”
“Then I will lay with you until I learn every secret you could possibly teach me,” she said, waiting two beats before concluding.
“And I am sure I will pleasure you greatly.”
This he hadn’t expected.
The promise made the blood rush in his veins with a quickening he hadn’t had in too long to remember.
But there was no mistaking her defiance.
The Sorcerer looked into her eyes, noticing for the first time how blue and clear they were. Their depths were pure ice as she gazed at him, waiting for his answer with a touch of disdain.
The girl no longer had the despair that sent her to the river, ready to toss her life away.
The Sorcerer hesitated, uneasy with the sudden change in her.
Then an image of the girl riding a stallion burst into his mind.
Legs gripping flanks, her figure formed with the soft curves of a woman and the hard muscles of a peasant.
She had a sinewy grace unique to a woman, especially when she rode, her body moving in harmony with the beast.
Years would pass before she learned everything he knew.
She would belong to him.
“I think we’ve come to an understanding,” he said, holding out his hand.
****