Rhianon-3. Palace in Heaven. Natalie Yacobson

my errands,” he said softly. “Crawl, eat the bodies of fallen warriors, and make sure the next battle doesn’t start before Menuel has amassed enough strength.”

      “Do you need a breather?”

      Even if there were cunning overtones in his subordinate’s ingratiating voice, Madael condescendingly ignored them.

      “I need a night to think,” he said as he left.

      She was awakened by the sound of a harp. Strangely, the wistful sound filtered through the purple curtains of the tent. They were supposed to isolate the sound, but now they let it through easily. Or maybe it was the music in the tent itself. Rhianon reluctantly opened her eyes. She wanted to sleep and dream of his snow-white wings, but the sound was tearing her from her blissful rest. It was such a clear reminder of what was left behind. Her lost kingdom, the cruelty of the Regent, the unwanted marriage, and… unhappy minstrel under the window. The remnants of sleep immediately slipped from her. Rhianon rose and sat down on the bed. The sound seemed to come from everywhere, seeping through every curtain of the tent and was so dreary, as if it were not a harp at all but a lament.

      “Who is there?” She asked, but there was no answer. Then Rhianon looked around carefully. She did not sense the presence of invisible servants or anyone else. But someone must be here, or music could be coming from the heavenly realm itself. She was curious and uncomfortable at the same time. The sound sent shivers down her spine.

      Rhianon suddenly remembered the minstrel Arno. It seemed that at that reception where the faeries had come to avenge themselves, his harp had made the same strained, pitiful sounds. Now they had become almost pangs. She suddenly envisioned a very different picture, a boulder by the sea, a lady, redheaded as autumn, sitting and waiting for someone, while something dark crept up on her.

      It was coitus with the fallen. Rhianon shuddered. It didn’t seem so beautiful to her. She imagined a woman’s body writhing on the ground, covered in a hideous rotting mass with wings blackened with burns. And the woman screamed. No, that is not what she wanted. Rhianon turned around in horror. She was horrified and turned back, as if she could not bear to think of Arno, as if he were somehow part of the nightmare, as a leper carried a contagion with him.

      “Get out!” She whispered to the invisible musician, and surprisingly, he obeyed her.

      When she awoke the next time, Madael was leaning over her, winged, amazingly beautiful, his skin glowing under his unbuttoned collar. At the sight of such beauty, all fears receded at once. There was nothing black and nothing frightening about him. It was only light and emptiness. Could it be that the celestial fire had scorched all the senses from his gut, leaving only an outer glowing shell? Rhianon felt deeply hurt. Why could he not simply fall in love with her, as any man would if he were in his place now? Everyone who saw her fell madly in love with her. That was her peculiarity. She was used to it by now, but it might not have affected him. She suddenly felt like hitting him, hurting him, saying something insulting. But Madael spoke first. He spoke a few phrases in a hissing language she did not understand, and Rhianon frowned.

      “Do you understand anything?” The next remark was already spoken as usual.

      She only shook her head.

      “What did you say?”

      “Oh, it is nothing.” He shrugged, and his wings fluttered in time with them. It was as if the wings were alive behind his back, and yet they felt the vibrations of the body to which they were attached.

      “I had an unwanted guest… I thought so,” she remembered the music coming through the tent. The sounds poured like a torrent of water, enticing and merciless. They made her fear and weep.

      “He won’t come again,” Madael lowered himself quietly onto the bed, and the tone of his voice made it clear that this was a promise. Rhianon felt a pleasant shiver as long fingers ran over her shoulder. In her sleep, her shirt slid down and it was exposed. Rhianon looked almost bewildered at the unbuttoned lace collar and the transparent batiste. It hid almost nothing, but she suddenly wanted to take it off as well. It was as if Madael’s tempting gesture told her that a beautiful body didn’t need garments. She obeyed and took off her shirt. She expected him to be embarrassed, but his transparent gaze remained calm. His hands rested on her skinny shoulders. She did not have to bandage her breasts; they were so small that they could not be seen under the camisole. And Rhianon was easily mistaken for a boy. Of course, since she didn’t have to undress in front of the others. Even now the warrior who had captivated her demanded nothing of her, but she wanted to do it herself. She gently touched his hands guiding them down. A moment more, and cold, velvety hands rested on her breasts. Rhianon shuddered. The desire became unbearable. He was still looking into her eyes, but he didn’t dare kiss her, and then she reached for his lips herself.

      “Tell me about you,” she asked, already catching his breath. How is it that you are made so beautiful that no one can resist you?

      It was almost an encouragement. She was seducing the devil. But he obviously wasn’t used to flirting.

      “I didn’t choose how to be,” he answered in sudden seriousness. “I just got it, and with it the pain of knowing I was alone because there was no worthy match for me. Now there are you. But no matter how hard I try, I cannot be your friend, because you see me as a supreme being.”

      “Then be my god,” and she nestled herself against his lips. The time for talking was over, at least for an hour or so. She kissed him gently at first, then harder. How many moments passed before he realized he had to respond? Her lips, soft as rose petals, were suddenly unexpectedly commanding. This is what it’s like to make love to an angel, hands that kill mortals, light as if they were mowing rye, gently caressing you, lips that can breathe out flame, breathing into your mouth the scent of lilies. Rhianon had never imagined anything more beautiful. It was worth living and dying for. Even the feeling of being made not of flesh but of marble only excited her. Her hands slid over the smooth, cold skin. She still couldn’t feel her nipples on the smooth chest. She had hoped there would be at least some smooth, golden bumps, but she found none. However, when her hand slid lower, Rhianon was not disappointed. Only a slight startle struck her, something hard and aroused beneath his belly that bore little resemblance to what humans had. It was more like a piece of marble, cold and sharp, the kind of male organ only a statue could have, not a man. She was afraid it would hurt, but Madael whispered something soothing in her ear. As before, the words sounded in his heavenly accent, but Rhianon guessed they meant something affectionate. He quickly tucked strands of unruly hair behind her ears, threw off the rest of her clothing, and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

      “Does it please you to be a prisoner now?” Madael tipped her lightly onto her back and leaned over her himself. Powerful arms braided with gold bracelets rested on either side of her shoulders. Strands of long blond hair hung down to touch her face.

      “Oh, yes,” Rhianon felt something hard press against her stomach and involuntarily moved her knees apart.

      He stared at her for a moment, as if painfully aware of all the human frailty of his captive. Her slender, almost lean body, her golden curls spread across the pillow, her small breasts and fragile arms. She tried to put her arms around his neck. He was so close and at the same time seemed out of reach with his wings spread over the bed. They hid them like a canopy, all the threads of which glowed with a ghostly, unearthly light. Rhianon wished it were him who lay below. She wished she could see his head on the pillows and press his fluttering wings to the bed. But perhaps they could try it out later. After all, now was only the first time.

      When she felt the first powerful thrust, she cried out, but there was no pain. Strangely, it felt as if a piece of marble or the edge of a sword had jammed into her, but there was only pleasant warmth all over her body. She leaned toward him, as if she could feel the intoxicating sensations of pleasure. In a moment they were already moving together, registering each other’s rhythm. He was careful at first. Then the thrusts became stronger. It was as if he wanted to win another battle. She was