The Grey Ones
The Open Cage: XIII

JUNIPER

She tried to relax, tried to settle in, but it was difficult when her heart kept hammering against her chest. His arm was heavy around her and his hand that rested on her belly was so big, she was sure her entire waist could nearly fit between his thumb and his index finger.

Terrible shivers traversed her body as he caressed her, and she could feel his breath in her hair. She was happy, ecstatic even, that he put his arm around her; she only wished her heart would slow down so that she could enjoy it. It had slowed some—indeed, she thought it would burst right out of her chest when she undressed—but it was still throbbing violently against her ribs. Surely, he felt it, too.

She had never before been so close to a man, let alone someone like the Vasaath. She felt his warm and firm body against her back, and the more she thought about the shape of him, she deeper she blushed. It was a curious feeling, but not a bad one. In fact, it was the best feeling she had had in a long time.

But it was impossible for her to sleep. She bit her lip, searching for something to say. “How can you tell each other apart if you carry no names?”

He sighed heavily. “I thought we agreed that we should sleep.”

“Yes,” said she, “but I’m not tired.”

Again, he sighed. “We do not keep names, no, but we have pet names, monikers.”

“What?” Snickering, she turned her head to look over her shoulder. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but she felt his breath against her face. “You never told me that.”

“It depends on who it is,” he said. “A person of high rank would never have a pet name. Amongst soldiers, however, one must have one. Theyʼre all kasaath.”

“What was your pet name? Before, I mean?”

“Sleep now, Juniper.”

“Is it a secret?”

“No, it’s just irrelevant.”

She bit her lip again and turned back to lay down. “So, it was something embarrassing, then.”

He sighed yet again, deeper this time, louder. “No, it was a regular moniker, like any other. Now I am called the Vasaath, nothing else.”

“Was it a pet name you had been given as a child?” She knew she shouldn’t press it, but she was incurably curious. “Like Scrapper, or Bisty?”

“Juniper, it’s not—”

“Or perhaps it had something to do with something you’ve done! We all embarrass ourselves, somehow. Were you clumsy? Or shy?” She giggled. “Perhaps you were the runt of the litter? It could have been—”

“It was Nightrunner,” he muttered. “My moniker was Nightrunner. Eraadan.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t quite as exciting as she’d anticipated. “Why?”

“Because I spent the nights training,” he said against her ear. His dark voice resonated within her, and made her feel all sorts of wonderful ways. “I wanted to be the best and the strongest soldier I could possibly be.”

“So you never slept?”

“I adapted,” said he. “And my hard work paid off. Now, I don’t have to train after nightfall—I can sleep, if you’d let me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and a yawn suddenly escaped her. Sleep was indeed needed. “Good night, Eraadan.”

He tugged her even closer, trapping her effectively against him, and growled playfully into her ear, “You would do better not to utter that name again, my lady. I am the Vasaath. Is that understood?”

The corners of her mouth twitched, and she gently grabbed his big hand that rested on her torso, intertwining her fingers with his. “If you wish.” Hearing the general’s grunting response made her suppress a swift chuckle.

There was no more conversation between them that night. The strange intimacy—so singular yet so familiar—caused disarray inside of her but she felt perfectly comfortable, perfectly safe. She had trouble falling asleep, she was simply too excited, but the tiredness won in the end.

She woke up as she had fallen asleep: tightly nestled in his arms. She shifted slightly, stretching her feet and toes while yawning. She didn’t remember the last time she had felt this rested, or slept this well. The Vasaath was sleeping soundly next to her, and she slowly turned in his embrace to look at him in the faint morning light that seeped in through the thick canvas.

His face was serene, peaceful, and she was surprised by how non-menacing he looked while asleep. It was captivating and magical. Carefully, she let her fingers trace his lips and the shape of his strong jaw. He was a beautiful creature, powerful and majestic, one she didn’t even dare to dream about before she met him.

Without thinking, she carefully brushed her lips against his, only lightly, wishfully, barely touching them. She imagined them soft and warm, and she wished they would claim hers.

Quickly, she pulled away, her cheeks burning—how inconsiderate of her! And how unladylike of her! Panic rose within, and she wished he would not wake and taste her lips on his—how offended he would be! But he did not wake.

She stared at him for a few moments, waiting for him to stir, before she relaxed and gently touched her lip, breathless and giddy. She sighed, looked at him for a moment more, before placing her head in the space between his chin and his chest and let his steady breaths lull her back to sleep.

She woke again when he moved, and she sighed deeply as she felt him shift. She moved with him, not wanting to part from his heat. His hand, now resting on her back, started to slowly caress her. His fingers gently combed through the tips of her hair, causing violent shivers all across her body.

She pressed herself closer to him. “Is it morning already?”

“Yes.” His throat vibrated deeply, and she could hear that he was drowsy. “Unfortunately.”

“We could stay here the whole day,” she suggested.

He hummed approvingly. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Then he sighed. “Alas, we have work to do, obligations to fulfil.” He sighed and stirred again. Slowly, he parted from her, and sat up by the edge of the bed.

She watched him keenly; his shoulders were slumped down, his elbows were resting on his knees, and his head was bowed. When he straightened and stretched, the muscles in his back and shoulders moved majestically under his skin. He yawned, sighed, and rose.

She kept watching him, remembering the feel of his chest against her. He was meticulous as he armoured himself, and it fascinated her. Despite the savagery she had heard of as a child, this man had proven to be sophisticated, fiercely intelligent, tender, and sweet—and he was truly a gentleman, all wrapped in a guise only sinful girls dared to even dream of.

Although she had desired him to kiss her, and touch her, she was glad he had not. It proved her father wrong. It proved that he was better than Lord Christopher. It proved that he cared about her and respected her.

When he was fully armoured, he turned his attention to her. “Will you join me for tea?”

Juniper stretched again. “Yes, I’d love to.”

“Very well,” he nodded and left the chamber.

She yawned again, sprawling across the bed, and allowed herself to smile from ear to ear. She was fully aware that this wasn’t the marital bliss she might have dreamt of as a little girl, but after this night, how could anyone deny the tension between them?

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