Coral gets lost in his eyes, considering the life she always wanted but seemed to elude her. She imagines that is what her parents would have had, if it weren’t for the Battle. A cold breeze bites into her thoughts, the wind whipping the grass around her. Peeling away from his eyes, she feels a change in temperature; she looks to the sky, seeing that it has darkened.
“It looks like rain, we should get back,” she says softly, packing up the empty bottle into her bag and using the cloth to cover the herbs.
Vadim pulls his jacket back on silently, taking the basket, leaving her to carry her bag. There is no more conversation between them, just awkwardness hanging in the air as they set back to Severton. They are almost there when the sky opens up and rain dumps down on them. Coral hikes up her skirt, breaking into a quick run, Vadim following easily at her heels as they return to the shelter of the inn.
There is a roaring fire at one side, torches now lit to brighten up the place. Several patrons have found their way in, all scrambling to their feet to bow at the Prince as he walks through the door while shaking the rain off of his soaked jacket. He glances at Coral to see her hair is saturated, the earthy green fabric of her dress now dark with water, causing her to shiver. Finding the innkeeper he quietly asks him, “Do you have any rooms available? Perhaps somewhere for us to dry out in private?”
“Of course my lord, I have one open,” the man says, turning on his heels at once. They follow him up the stairs and to the furthest at the end of the hall, overlooking the front of the building and the street below. The innkeeper adds a few more logs to the fire in the room.
Vadim hands the man several coins, “For the use of the room, until we can continue home.”
The innkeeper bows, “If it doesn’t show signs of letting up after a while, I will bring you up some more food and wine.”
“Thank you,” Vadim says, seeing the man out and closing the door behind him.
Coral stares out the window over the street, watching the relentless rain beat down on the dirt, mixing it into mud quickly. There is a flash of lightening and the following boom of thunder makes her jump.
“Coral,” Vadim calls to her. She turns around to see that he has removed his jacket and vest, draping them over the backs of chairs near the fire; he has also taken off his boots and socks, remaining only in his short pants and white billowing shirt. He walks to her, gently grasping her by the arms to lead her to the fire. Taking her bag, he sets it by the basket, “You must get out of your wet clothes or you will catch your death.”
“I… I don’t have anything else to wear,” she stammers out.
“Then strip down to your shift,” he tells her, more than asks her.
With shaky hands she unlaces the back of her dress, turning away from him as she starts to peel the wet fabric off of herself. Having soaked through and into her shift, she can see the sheerness of the white fabric now leaves very little to the imagination. Vadim walks up behind her, draping a blanket over her shoulders; he sets her dress over another chair and guides her to the couch.
Grasping the blanket tight over her body, she sits down, watching him unlace her boots, peeling them off along with her socks. When her feet are free she draws them up and under the blanket, trying to warm her icy body. Vadim sits beside her on the couch and stares into the fire.
“How long does it usually rain here?” she tentatively asks.
He doesn’t speak for a while. “It will most likely last until morning.”
She frowns into her blanket, “Quell…”
“If it is raining here, it is raining in town. When we do not arrive for dinner, Quell will know that we took refuge in Severton for the night. He will understand,” his voice is quiet.
Coral glances around the room, only seeing one large bed. Her heart starts to beat faster, warming her blood but soon the nervousness takes her over. She rises, carrying her satchel and the basket to the large table. Sitting in the unoccupied chair she pulls the vial out and busies herself with muddling seven leaves, stuffing them into the vial before stoppering it and shaking it. She knows it needs to sit for a while longer but she opens it up so that she can smell it-there is the cool, fresh aroma of the spearmint leaves but also a dark, musky, earthy smell of the other ingredients as well. Combined, she breathes it in; the smell makes her think of the forest on a warm summer’s night, something alluring about the mystery of it. Quickly she puts the lid back on.
Trying to pass the time, she pulls string from her bag and bundles the clusters of herbs that she harvested throughout the day, to prepare them for drying once they arrive at the castle. Just as she finishes, there is a knock at the door.
Vadim opens it for the innkeeper, who walks in with a large tray full of food, a bottle of wine and a pitcher of water for them. He sets it down on the table where Coral was working, paying no mind to her mounds of flowers and leaves, instead only offering a mild apology, “It appears that the rain will not let up tonight, my lady. Perhaps in the morning you will be able to return home.”
She nods, watching him leave, her attention caught by Vadim as he shuts the door. Taking the bottle of wine and a bowl of stew, he returns to his spot on the couch. Hesitantly, Coral does the same, sitting beside him again, placing a large loaf of bread between them to share.
He looks at her, offering a smile with the bottle of wine, “Are you going to tell me what is in the vial?”
Taking the wine she drinks a long swig, letting the burning liquid seep into her body to steady her nerves, “It is just a tonic the doctor wanted me to mix up.”
He watches her while he eats, “The doctor wanted you to mix up a tonic, using an herb that neither he nor apparently any centaur has knowledge of? You are going to have to give me more than that, Coral.”
Glancing at him, she swallows her stew; she bites some bread, “He said I should keep it a secret.”
“Does the King know?”
She nods.
“Would you… would you tell Quell if he asked?” Vadim’s voice is quiet, curious.
She senses that he is slightly hurt, perhaps because they never finished the conversation he wanted to start earlier; sighing, she concedes, “In one of the older books the doctor has I discovered a recipe for a decoction to… aid women. In mating with a centaur.” She can feel her face start to turn red so she grabs the bottle of wine and takes another drink.
His brow furrows, “I don’t understand-what does it do?”
She clears her throat, “Well, as I understand it, the elixir prepares a woman’s womanhood to receive a centaur’s…” she lets her voice trail off.
“Oh,” he says, surprised. When she catches his eye, he continues, “that… that could change everything.”
Nodding, she finishes her stew, “You sound like the doctor.”
He laughs, “I see. Does it work?”
“I don’t know, I just added the final ingredient.”
“So… you plan on testing it on yourself,” he says, “with the doctor?”
“Oh heavens,” she coughs, choking on some more wine, “No! I mean, if it works, I’m not sure having a centaur around is the best idea.”
“All right,” he reaches over and grabs the vial from the table, “then test it tonight, with me.”
Her eyes grow wide, she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
Shaking his head, he calmly states it, “There should be someone with you when you test it, in case something goes wrong or you don’t remember what happened. If you shouldn’t be around a centaur, then having Quell with you would be a bad idea,” he shrugs, “we will be in this room together all night and I can’t think of anything else to do. Do you drink it?”
Feeling the wine swirl around her blood, she boldly looks at him, “It is a topical. The book said the mate was to apply the decoction.”
He looks at the vial, “So I rub it into your shoulders?”
When she doesn’t respond, he looks up. “Oh,” he says, his eyes locked on hers, “I… understand.”
She looks away quickly, “If you can step out of the room for a moment, I will apply it and let you know when to come back in; then I will describe the effects to you, in case I don’t remember-” she is cut off when he stands, putting the vial into his pocket. He reaches down, his hand waiting for hers.
Unsure what he is getting at, she places her hand in his, rising up as he pulls her forward. He leads her around the sofa to the bed, where he turns and faces her. The expression on his face is blank, but his voice betrays his desire, “Do you trust me, Coral?”
She cannot maintain his eye contact when she answers, dropping her gaze down to his chest, “I am not ready to choose a mate, Vadim.”
His hand cups her cheek, thumb running over her chin, “I know. I just want you to trust me, as you trust my brother,” his voice is but a whisper.
She looks up into his dark eyes, her heart beating quickly. When she opens her mouth to speak, no words come out; she nods.
Vadim leans down to her, his lips tenderly pressing to hers, so gentle yet so unsure. She melts into the lushness of his mouth, feeling the blanket slip from her hands and fall to the floor. It is all the signal Vadim needs as he reaches forward with his other hand, grasping her hip and pulling her to him. She can feel the heat of his body as it presses against hers, the hardness of his cock as it grows down his leg. Her hands slide under his shirt, fingers tracing the firm muscles under his skin upward, until he is forced to break their kiss as she lifts his shirt over his head.
Vadim turns with Coral in his arms, tipping her backwards onto the bed and scooting up with her. Nervously, she lies on her back, Vadim on his side but leaning over her body as his hand traces from her waist, up to graze her breast through the thin fabric. Her nipple hardens at the attention, a shiver running down her spine. Slowly his hand creeps back down to her thighs, pulling the fabric up until her pale, thin legs are almost entirely bare. He can feel the heat of her cunt through the mounded fabric.