The Romance on the Violet Sword

Before long, the savory aroma of buttered stew, herbed potatoes, onions, and carrots permeated through the abode. Aria was a carnivore at heart, and James an herbivore. But for all that had happened in the last day, she was grateful to be eating at all.

"What would you have done had I not arrived, James?" she inquired, spooning a serving of stew directly to his lips.

"I don't know, Aria..." he said, returning the favor. "You so often remind me why I need you. I could have died."

"That makes me happy to hear, but it shouldn't..."

He smiled as they traded spoonfuls. "I remember we did this back on the barge in Valhassa."

"Yes. I'll never forget when the boat jerked, and I got soup all over your face!"

"Gods, don't talk about that," he laughed.

"Why? It was funny."

At this, James had nothing to say. And so they fed each other in silence for some time.

"You know, Aria... When you returned to Valakov's army, I... I thought I might have to fight you one day."

"...think nothing of it, James. I made a mistake, is all. I just... I just wanted... to dream a little longer."

The dream of heroics, of peaceful reform, and justice in a city that really needed it. Little did she know at the time of the army's fathomless corruption. When Aria entered Armad for the first time, she witnessed first-hand the depravity that gripped its people: young children halfway to starvation while fat lords wheeled by in extravagant carriages; soldiers storming households unable to pay Valakov's exorbitant taxes, taking their children from their parents as restitution.

Worse yet, there were the whoredoms in alleys not too far hidden. Sex, which in her household had always been referred to as "making love", made her flush beet-red whenever her mother casually spoke of it at supper. (As a woman with seven children, she clearly bore no issue with it.) But it had never been cast in a negative light until that day.

Still, she was not discouraged by the city that her father oft described as a paragon of civilization. No, she could not be sure what her father's intentions were. Maybe he wanted to show his children what Armad should be rather than what it was. So that one day his offspring would see the degeneracy of Devlan and be motivated to dispel it. If so, Aria took every last morsel of his bait.

"I wanted," she began. "To see if Devlan could be saved. I knew that the root of the trouble lied with its ruler. But I still joined the army because that was the best place to make a difference. With my sword, I could fight all those who would harm the country, whether they came from inside or out.

"But what is 'the country', James? Is it the buildings? Is it the ground beneath our feet? Is it the government that rules it? No, it's actually the citizens that we serve. For without citizens, a ruler is nothing more than a man with delusions of grandeur. There can be no Devlan without them.

"To save Devlan, we have no other choice but to see Valakov Stromiskar and his regime removed entirely. And I shall be glad to do it with force."

"Full glad am I to hear it," James replied.

"I'm sorry for being indecisive until now."

"There is no need to apologize. It takes a certain courage to betray one's own country. And their dreams."

"No. I did not betray my own country," Aria said, shaking her head. "Nor did I abandon my dream! I think I've never followed it until now. It is Valakov that has betrayed his own country."

James conceded with a smile. He had been feeling somewhat shy tonight–perchance a side-effect of not having seen Aria in a while. But he ignored his predisposition and reached out to her cheek. He ran his fingers through her burnished, wavy locks, entranced by their softness. Aria held his hand with him, relishing a touch she had not felt in many moons.

"That reminds me, James," she whispered coyly. "I saw that while you were dressing my shoulder earlier..."

"Saw what?"

"Is that really all it took to make you erect? My bare shoulder?" she teased.

The knight turned as red as a pomegranate.

"N-no! I-I mean, it wasn't that. It was your, um—"

"My what?"

"Your... breast."

Her brow rose. "Oh, I had no idea you were so... reactive?"

"When I was bandaging your shoulder, I had to remove the strap, since it snapped. To properly bandage you. I'm sorry."

"No, I understand. Thank you, James. There is no one else I'd rather have bandage me. Except maybe a doctor," she laughed. "Still, you got an erection even as I lay there bleeding. For shame!"

James's eyes shifted in discomfort. As often as he expressed his affection, he was still shy about sexual matters.

"Sorry," she said, looking down at her bowl. "I got carried away. There is no shame in it. If you need to, you know, take care of it..."

"Aria, you're embarrassing me! Those things are not yours to worry about!"

"I was about to say, it's really better to, um... to handle those things with someone than by yourself."

Aria could hardly stop her running mouth before the both of them flushed scarlet. For fear of appearing overt, Aria kept her words to herself, and they finished their meal in silence.

When James finished cleaning up the kitchen, Aria went to the red settee by the roaring fireplace. Warm relaxation bade her sleep despite all that had transpired that day, until she felt James sit beside her. Then the awkward air left from dinner evaporated and—once again—she felt at peace with herself.

The wood-carved miniatures lined upon the mantelpiece cast great, flickering shadows on the wall, and the couple felt as though they were surrounded by huddling onlookers. She was not bothered in the least; rather they made her feel cozy and safe, like the bearskin carpet under her twiddling toes. She glanced over at James's cute feet and felt like playing footsie, but she thought better of it.

"The second carving to the left," James muttered. "That looks like Renoir, doesn't it?"

"So it does. I wonder where she is now."

Small talk about a friend they met long ago. It was anyone's guess what mansion she was looting now, but it didn't matter much. The hearth was so comforting that Aria felt herself drifting again.

The, James's fingers nudged her supple chin to face him.

He leaned down and kissed her. Aria's heart fluttered, her eyes shut gingerly, and every other sense activated all at once. Warmth pervaded her being, the light smacking of male and female lips audible in the empty apartment. She drew in a deep breath through her nose and whiffed his scent still somehow tinted with that of a saddle.

Then, James released her, leaving Aria's enraptured lips transfixed in the still air.

"What have you done," she murmured, her anticipating eyelids not yet open. "I was about to fall asleep, and now I'm wide awake."

"Sorry. I didn't want you to think I don't love you."

"Don't apologize. Finish what you start. Please."

The second kiss was rich and sultry. Passion hijacked her senses. James pulled Aria closer as she breathed deeply through her nose, utterly engrossed. And Aria's hand—her good hand– which had hitherto been grasping the quilt with excitement, pulled James even closer. Then she slipped her tongue in his mouth and repeatedly sampled him in a veiled, steamy tango. What could only be described as saucy decadence overflowed like liquid heaven.

When their kiss ceased in the quiet apartment, there was left a feeling that they probably should not have done it.

"Aria, you're acting unusually promiscuous. It's not becoming," he said, their noses nudging.

"I'm just doing what my heart tells me to do. We kissed like this back then. In Salamandria back in Marcellus. I didn't stop a sound."

"I never forgot it. We should go no further than this. You're injured. It's not right."

"I don't care. I want to make love with you, James."

"Aria..."

James was a paradigm of chivalry. The very reason that Aria loved him was the same reason that prevented him from giving in to his feelings and desires. Perhaps he had too much self-control. Or maybe too little? James himself did not know. Maybe when he remembered, in his youth, Von Richtor's perversion tormenting the maids of the castle, the sheer injustice of it forever robbed any carnal desires he may have had.

Aria knew his hesitation.

"It's not the same. It's nowhere near the same, James. I do this–we do this–because we want to. We're not just... having sex. We're consummating our love."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Well, then, I won't force you. Just do as your heart tells you to."

Something about her final words broke through. The way they rolled from her lips, tinted with her trademark inflection, touched him just right. Her lustrous lashes opened intently. And with those bright, blue eyes revealed, she left her fate entirely to him.

He had not done as his heart told him to, like his beloved had suggested. No, it was a realization that he should do what her heart desires, because—yes—that is what drove him. And if she should satisfy his own desires–and he knew she would–so much the better.

As his loins stirred, they shared another kiss. The knight rose with Aria's reedy frame in his arms. Then he carefully laid her upon the plush bearskin rug, where her fears—and dreams—melted into insignificance.

Chapter 4: The Virgin's Night

A FINE, beaded sweat streaked like a star over the swell of Aria's breast. She breathed deep as her long body lay eagerly sprawled on the rug.

"It's good that you're nervous, James," she whispered. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't."

"Why?"

"It's comforting to know I'm not the only one."

Despite the roaring hearth, there was an evening chill that licked their unclothed flesh, and Aria desired to wallow in his body heat, even as she patiently watched the young man remove his shirt.

"Here, let me help," she said, sitting upright.

James resisted at first, but Aria made it clear that their undressing would be a mutual affair, and fumbled with his buttons.

"Why here though?" she inquired with curiosity.

"Huh?"

"When you picked me up, I thought for a moment we would go to the bed. Not that this rug isn't nice."

"...I thought it odd to do this in my mother's bedroom."

"Oh..."

James's final button came undone, and Aria divested him of his shirt. What lied beneath was a toned chest peppered with scars.

She traced a jagged scar on his pectoral.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked.

"There are nights."

"I see... it may be unavoidable," –she wrapped her arms around his shoulders– "but that doesn't mean I'm not concerned. If something hurts, James, please tell me."

She brushed her cheek down his chest, then applied her lips to his sculpted pecs, where the scars that emblazoned his chest–his fiery emblems–were strewn across. She began to kiss those scars, as if to wash away the pain from them.

She paused for a moment, gazing upon a scar that ran across his left nipple. The knot looked innocuous enough, having little function on a man's body. But it was James's body. As such, it was hardly exempt from her ministrations. She kissed his nipple, glancing at James's profile every other second to see if the sensation was pleasant to him. She ran her tongue across its peak, fondling it, nibbling it lightly. James's breath quickened as he peered down at her, stroking her wavy locks.

"You're quite a tease, Aria," he quipped. "My turn..."

Aria surmised he was going to undress her, but he did everything but. He pulled her close and dove right for her quivering lips still fresh with the taste of his skin. Aria in-turn pulled him close, his chest pressing hard against her bodice.

Their passion swelled then. Again and again, Aria breathed deep through her nose, their tongues wrestling like serpents. Her mind, once rational, melted into a hot mess.

Before long, James moved downwards, and his lips made contact with her nape from whence she gasped. He began necking her carnally, sampling her delicate skin; wanting to hear cries of titillation spill from her lips so that he knew she liked it. Aria could nary stop her own plethora of reactions that shook her sapphire earrings with every quiver.

"James...!" Aria whispered yearningly. "H-have you done this before?"

James continued his advance, saying nothing—for that was another story, albeit an embarrassing one. And he thought better of it than to tell it now.

Aria did not pursue the subject. Her arms sought around his muscular back, reaching up for his tousled, auburn hair. James's palms skimmed her slim waist, his face buried in her shoulders. Neither could escape the other's embrace, for they were each other's prisoner.

Then, just by coincidence, his fingers slipped under the strap of her bodice. So enthralled by her scent, he had forgotten.

His lash brushed her earlobe as she whispered: "Would you help me remove it?

They met face to face, their noses touching. The young knight's eyes—burning with an unearthed lust–trailed to her ample bosom that seemed poised to burst from its confines.

"There are laces in the back," her lips trembled. "Three of them."

"Are you well, Aria?"

"I'm just excited, is all. Please continue."

With her beckoning, James reached under her shoulder blade, fumbling around for the knots and laces that held her top together. Nibbling on Aria's ears, his fingers carefully pulled and untied each lace one by one.

Then Aria guided James's hand to her left shoulder. He tucked his thumb under the strap and slid it aside. Breathless gasps escaped her lips, her eyes closing in euphoria.

His other hand reached for her right shoulder strap—except it wasn't there. It had been cut in the battle, and in its place was the bandage he had wrapped earlier. Gently so as to not hurt her, he gripped in his hands her bare shoulders that shone like lustrous alabaster, then kissed her deeply as her purple bodice was finally shed.

Her heart raced as she promptly covered her naked bosom. But James did not stop to stare; he continued to neck her.

Even in the throes of lust, Aria thought, he truly was gracious.

When James's fingers brushed the small of Aria's back, she suddenly felt her hair stand on end. But she understood his gesture and allowed him to set her torso down on the rug. Aria felt the caress of his lips move down from her clavicle, trailing downwards like footprints in the beach.

A single arm veiled her breasts that rhythmically rose and fell in the hearth's glow. For a second, James sought approval. But Aria merely returned a coy smile. Words here were but a formality. With a loving kiss to the very same hand that veiled her modesty, she willingly bared herself to him.

The lustrous sheen of her skin. The spellbinding curves of her voluminous breasts. The much coveted cleavage between them, glistening with her sweat. And the sensitive, pink knots topping each peak, growing erect like strawberries on a cake.

Her immaculate, feminine beauty captivated him, and he could not help but indulge.

He buried himself into her valley as his nose tickled her creamy, white flesh. He gently knead her breasts, massaging them as though balls of dough. He knew he was doing it correctly, because the gasp that escaped from Aria's lips could not have suggested otherwise. Her heart and mind raced, desperately trying to cope with the stimulation that was only magnified by her fierce love for him.

And when his lips traveled over her left nipple, the flat of his tongue met her areola, and leisurely buttered its rim. When he engulfed her nipple whole, fondling and flicking with his tongue, Aria's back arched with pleasure.

"Haah... Mmm..!"

The stiff peaks of her breasts felt as thimbles to James. And he longingly drew them further into his mouth, as if attempting to draw out a sweet milk. Though he received nothing but her rousing moans, they were more than sweet enough for him.

"Aria... you... are so beautiful."

"James," she muttered his name, entranced.

Her moans continued as he explored her body. Calloused fingers passed over her slender, yet muscular waist, grazing strong muscles that peasant women did not develop. He brushed his cheek over her stomach, kissing her belly button in a loving manner all the while stroking her long torso. And though his every action incited all forms of shudders and gasps, James fast approached an area that Aria had decided only her husband was allowed to become familiar with.

When James hit the waistband of her underwear, a nervousness crept down Aria's waist and she locked her thighs together as if a hibiscus at twilight.

"Aria, we can stop if you want to."

"No, I just..."

"I don't really want to stop though," he admitted, his face suddenly flushing.

"Me neither, but... don't laugh, okay?"

"W-why would I do that?

He kissed her again on her lips. Slowly, the resistance faded, and she slacked her thighs, nervously allowing him to gaze upon her underwear freckled with a charming pattern of purple swords.

"My mother made those," she explained, her face so red hot that she swore she would faint.

But James had no intention of laughing. He took her knees in his palms and slowly spread her thighs apart.

"I think they're very charming," he said. "Every part of you I discover is more charming and more beautiful than the last, Aria. I would kiss every part of you forever if you would let me."

Her blush was furious. Again, she did not know how to respond. She squeezed his hand instead, as if to grant him permission to do just as he had said.

He did. He continued his advance and buried his face between her inner thighs, running his tongue along her skin while just avoiding the fabric of her underwear.

It shredded her modesty into confetti. Her quick pants and moans filled the apartment, thoroughly absorbed in his teasing.

"Gods... James...!"

She called his name like a Corinthian chant, torn between telling him to stop or continue. From between his laps, James glimpsed an expression of longing that Aria could not hide.

You are so beautiful.

He could no longer humble himself. Seizing her bottom, he lifted her waist and buried his face deep between them. The sweet and sour scent of her femininity rushed through James's system as he ravished her.

Greater sensations released themselves from Aria's body, leaving her mouth agape with heavy gasps. She shuddered when his tongue glided through a damp indentation, veiled only by thin cotton.

"Ah!"

It was coming– the prelude to a delicious pressure she had brought about on her own before, but this time it wasn't the same. Not even close.

The peak of his nose tickled the little meadow of hair hidden beneath. His lips nibbled gently on her plush skin through the cloth, moistening it until he could see glimpses of pink just beyond, and he too kissed that as if it were a sweet fruit to be savored little by little

"Ah... oh..."

A sudden shudder and gasp signaled to him that he had unwittingly struck her weak spot. But he had no intention of stopping here; the discovery of such a space only encouraged him despite not knowing where said space was. He stole a glance at Aria, wondering if she might give the answer.

"Here...!" she mewled. She guided his hand to the curtain of her undergarment and slid it aside.

Glistening with her rare nectar, she revealed the pink petals of her flower to him: her plush cleft of Venus, the rosy lobes of her cloven vulva; the modest, violet silk directly above them. Though a virgin, every part of her was a grown woman. And her lover's male instinct begged him to make love so that he might witness Aria's ecstasy.

"Here, Aria?"

"W-what?" she panted.

"Your clis."

"My–oh. Yes."

It was the hooded bud hidden between her petals—said in the old Devlani tongue, her clis. It lay between her index and fore finger until she lightly nudged it, silently communicating that such a place was not to be taken lightly. And James, being as gentle as he could, applied his lips to the pearl, kissing it, flicking it with his tongue, and suckling it sweetly while he spread her lips apart.