Eroma

  She was taken aback. “How did you know?”

  “A girl with spirit like yours would not bluff.”

  “Well, then you know I’d rather die than be taken.”

  Pedro smiled. “Relax. I am not here to marry you, or to rape you. I am here because I owe your father the King a favor or two.”

  “The best favor you can do me is to depart instantly, leaving me unmolested.”

  “I would like nothing better. But I am obliged to fulfill the favor first.”

  “What favor?”

  “I must train you to defend yourself physically, intellectually, emotionally, and magically. Only when that is accomplished will my geis be abated. Until then, we both must suffer.”

  She considered, losing some of her apprehension. “How did you come to owe such a burdensome favor to my father?”

  “He spared my life. I met him on the battlefield, he defeated me, and withheld the terminal cut.”

  She glanced at him cannily. “Prince, no one ever defeated you in combat. We do know your reputation here.”

  “No one has defeated me in mortal combat,” he agreed. “But this was magic.”

  “My father used magic against you?”

  “He did, and thereby preempted the advantage.”

  “But you are also the leading magician in your realm.”

  “I thought I was,” he agreed, somewhat ruefully. “I misjudged your father’s power. That mistake should have finished me. Instead he spared me, and our match was technically a draw. Only the two of us know the reality.”

  “That it wasn’t really a draw,” she said thoughtfully.

  “At that point I owed him. It is a matter of honor.”

  “Honor,” she said musingly. “I did not know that your ilk knew its meaning.”

  “We do. We may be enemies, but we honor the code. That is why your father sent me here, to meet you alone. He knew he could trust me in this respect. You must give yourself into my hands for the duration of the training.”

  “I’ll do no such thing!” she said imperiously.

  “Then perhaps you should so inform your father.”

  She reconsidered. Evidently that was not a confrontation she cared to attempt. She changed the subject slightly. “You said a favor or two. There’s another?”

  “There was an assassination plot against my father that might have succeeded. Your father intercepted it and notified me. I relayed the information to my father, who arranged to nullify it and save his life by seeming coincidence. That was a second debt.”

  “My father signs people up for debts to him?”

  “No. Nothing was ever said, and neither debt is known.”

  “Then why—” She stopped. “Honor.”

  He nodded. “Hence, when he requested a favor, I came.”

  “Why do you think he did it?”

  “Your father is a supremely practical man. He figured he stood more to gain by putting me under obligation than by killing me. In the second case, he preferred to see my father remain in power, than to see me become king prematurely by default.”

  “Especially when it made you doubly indebted to him.”

  “True. I am still learning from him.”

  “What of the second favor?”

  “I will honor that too, when the time comes.”

  “What is it?”

  “I do not know.” He shrugged. “I do not need to know. It is not a matter of choice.”

  “This training you mention—does it include sexual?”

  “It does. You must be competent to prevent any man from taking any sexual advantage of you, even if you are confined naked and weaponless in a cage with him.”

  “Naked in a cage!”

  “And in less extreme situations.”

  She considered again. “Why would my father assign such a chore to an enemy prince, of all people?”

  “Because I am the most competent trainer available. He insists on the best for his daughter.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Believe it. Your brother is a nice boy, but incompetent as a prospective ruler. The throne will, in time, go to you. Your father means to see that no one can outwit or outmaneuver you, for the good of your kingdom. I will see to that.”

  “You’re that competent?”

  “I am.”

  “And who can outwit or outmaneuver you?”

  “Your father.”

  She burst out laughing. Then, abruptly, she sobered. “You’re not joking.”

  “It is not a joke,” he agreed.

  “I remain unconvinced that this is wise, or that you can teach me anything useful that I could not learn from our own competent servitors.”

  “Perhaps a small demonstration is in order, then.”

  “Perhaps it is,” she said defiantly.

  Pedro lifted an ornate dagger in his right hand.

  Fotina stared. “That’s a twin to mine!”

  “No.”

  She felt her chest, searching. “That’s my dagger!”

  “Yes.”

  “But I never let go of it! I was holding it to my breast. How could you get it?”

  “The same way I could get hold of your breast,” he said, advancing on her. He fixed her with his gaze.

  “Impossible! I’d never allow—” She broke off, appalled.

  His left hand was on her bared right breast.

  She slapped it away and retreated. “You manifest lecher!”

  Pedro smiled. “And a very nice breast it is.”

  She regrouped. “You can show me how to hold on to my knife and keep my breasts to myself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I used magic.” He let go of the knife and it floated in the air. “I slipped it gently from your grip while you were distracted and summoned it to my hand. You may have it back now.” The knife floated to her hand.

  “And the other?”

  “Magic, again. I distracted you with my gaze and masked my left hand. I will repeat in slow motion, without the distraction.”

  “Do that,” she agreed, seeming sure that there was some other trick.

  His hand disappeared. The lapel of her robe moved as his invisible fingers touched it. Her breast was bared. He laid his hidden hand on it, masking its touch. Then he banished the invisibility spell.

  There was his hand back on her bared breast.

  This time she did not flinch. “And, lacking magical ability of my own, I can prevent this how?”

  “First, the knife,” he said, removing his hand and covering her breast. “You must bind it to you. Put it to your breast.”

  She obeyed, more curious than concerned.

  “Press it close. Invoke this spell: My dagger, know my flesh. Never cut it hereafter. Never leave it. Protect me always.”

  Fotina repeated the words.

  “Now cause the blade to cut you slightly, staining it with just a little blood so that it knows you.”

  Again she obeyed. A drop of blood from the inner curve of her breast clotted on the edge of the blade.

  “By this my blood I bind you to me. Invoke.”

  She repeated the words. When she said “Invoke,” there was a sparkle across the knife and her bosom. “Oh! It stung!”

  “The spell was not activated until that final word,” he explained. “You have bound the blade to you. It will not hurt you or leave you unless compelled by significantly stronger magic. You are unlikely to encounter that in servants or peasants.”

  “Could you take it?”

  “I could take it,” he agreed. “But I am the second strongest magician in this kingdom.”

  “After my father,” she agreed. She shook her head. “I did not even know he knew magic!”

  “I learned the hard way.”

  “Now, my breast. How can I keep some lesser man’s hand off it?”

  “This requires more magic.”

  “I don’t know magic! I’m a mundane girl.”

&
nbsp; “Anyone can do magic,” he said. “Some are better than others. Few people practice it to any degree, because magic is a tool as potent and dangerous as fire. Some seemingly trifling error can lead to disaster. The average person utilizes little if any, so as not to harm himself or others. But with proper instruction a person can learn spot spells that can serve well in need. Your knife spell is an example. Had you misspoken, your knife could have thrust itself through your heart.”

  “You could have made me kill myself with my own dagger?”

  “Had I not been bound by the geis,” he agreed.

  “You used that word before. What does it mean?”

  “It is an obligation of honor.”

  Fotina sighed. “It seems I must trust myself to your obligation of honor. What is this other bit of magic?”

  “I will teach you a spell to surround yourself with slippery repulsive gloss.”

  “Just what every girl most desires: to be repulsively slippery.”

  “You will be able to reverse it at will.”

  “What, to attract a man’s hand to my breast and make it stick there? I can do that without magic.”

  He smiled. “There are times when it could be useful. Suppose a man is attacking you with both hands? You could draw his left hand to your right breast and hold it there while you use your left hand to block his knife and your right hand to scratch one of his eyes out.”

  She started to laugh, but cut it short, as before. “No joke, again,” she said soberly.

  “Any man who touches you with malice deserves what he gets. That is the mark of an independent woman.”

  “And you are quite serious about this training.”

  “I do mean to accomplish it successfully. Only then will I be free to go my own way.”

  “How long do you figure this chore will take?”

  “Perhaps a year.”

  “A year! Suppose I have other things to do, like traveling, dancing and dating?”

  “You will do these things with me.”

  “You dance?”

  Pedro snapped his fingers. Music sounded around them. He bowed slightly and held out his hand to her.

  Bemused, she took it. He brought her into his embrace and moved her in a formal dance step. She matched him automatically, and they did a nice little waltz.

  Pedro gave no sign how much he enjoyed holding her like that. His role was that of a cynical trainer, not a boyfriend.

  The music faded and the dance ended. Fotina looked at him with a new appreciation. “It seems that you do know more than combat and magic.”

  “Now the spell. You will have to be nude when you make it, lest it taint your clothing.”

  “I wouldn’t want my clothing flying off,” she agreed. “Not unless I was in a really seductive mood.” Without argument she disrobed and stood naked before him. She had clearly lost her apprehension about him and his motives. She was, not incidentally, a stunningly beautiful young woman. Pedro felt the impact despite his knowledge that it was merely her avatar, and his experience with her IRL. Now, more than ever, he could not afford to be unduly influenced by her appearance.

  Pedro spoke a spell that summoned a ball of translucent gel. “You will define this as you did the service of your knife,” he said. “You will spread it across any portion of your body you want protected, and then invoke it.” He handed the glob to her.

  She took it. Immediately it spread out around her hand and wrist, flowing along her arm to her torso.

  “When it reaches your face, close your eyes, mouth, and nostrils, and put your fingers in your ears. In a moment it will set; then you can clear your ears, open your eyes and mouth, and clear your nostrils. Those will be the only places it doesn’t fully cover.”

  “What about my cleft?”

  “Fingers similarly in necessary openings.”

  She did as directed, and soon was almost completely covered in gloss. She invoked it. Nothing happened. “Well?”

  “I approach you using no magic,” he said, expending his left hand toward her breast. It did not touch; instead it slid around to her side, never touching her skin.

  “Are you faking that?”

  “No. You may, if you wish, call in a servant to try it.”

  “I am calling the bluff.” She clapped her hands twice. A maidservant appeared. She paused, but then pretended not to notice that Fotina was standing naked before an armed enemy prince. “I have an itch on my back,” Fotina told her. “Please scratch it.”

  The servant tried. Her hand refused to touch Fotina’s flesh. Confused, she tried again, with no better result.

  “That will do,” Fotina said. “Depart.”

  The woman left, shaking her head. “Tell no one,” Fotina called after her.

  “You just ruined the maid’s story of the day,” Pedro said.

  She was only faintly amused. “How do I reverse it?”

  “It is a matter of will. Focus on the gloss and say mentally, ‘Reverse.’”

  She focused. “Now try it.”

  “I attack you without magic, slow motion,” he said. His own knife appeared in his right hand, while his left grabbed for her arm.

  She lifted her left hand to block his right forearm. Meanwhile his left touched her arm and abruptly flattened against it, locking against her skin. He drew it back, but it was stuck. Her right hand came up to slap his face.

  Then his hand jumped off her arm. She had re-reversed the gloss.

  Pedro stepped back. “I believe you have the idea.”

  “Thank you.” She fetched her clothes and dressed.

  “Now we must begin. There is much to cover.”

  “I am ready.”

  “We shall see. We’ll start with running and math.”

  “I am physically fit, and I know my math.”

  “We shall see. Don shorts and shoes.”

  She did not argue further. She changed before him, and in moments stood in a sport bra, shorts, and running shoes.

  “Put on a hood,” he said.

  “Why? I ask not with resistance but to understand.”

  “So you will not be recognized.”

  She nodded and donned a pink hood.

  “That won’t do. No peasant has such a hood.”

  “Then let’s run naked with our faces magically masked.”

  “That will do,” he agreed. He stripped. His avatar was quite well constructed. He cast a spell to fog his facial and genital features, and another to fog hers.

  They walked out of her suite, down the stairs, and to the rear portal of the castle. No one noticed; the spell of obscurity was around them both. They crossed the moat on a small boat, then jogged along the service road to the local peasant village.

  The peasants were going about their business. They paused to see the two naked runners, then returned to their tasks, their curiosity magically dulled.

  “I am coming to like this,” Fotina said.

  “There is no need for the training to be unpleasant. What is the square root of twenty?”

  “A scant 4.5.” She concentrated. “A generous 4.47.”

  He nodded. He tried her on cosigns, derivatives, and logarithms. She handled them competently.

  He picked up the physical pace as they ran through the village. She kept it, running well. She was indeed physically fit.

  “You have your choice of two offers from another monarch. One will pay an increase of one gold piece every six months, the other will increase four gold pieces a year. Which will be more profitable?”

  “The latter. It’s twice as much.”

  “Reconsider.”

  She did. “First half year, both are even: no increase. Second half year, the first has one gold piece, the second none.” She paused, reflecting, then continued. “Third half year, another two gold pieces versus none. Fourth half year, another three, totaling six gold pieces versus four. The first deal is better.”

  “When making deals with other kingdoms, that insight may be significant.”


  “I see that,” she said appreciatively.

  “What is the closest planet?”

  “To what?”

  “That suffices.” She was a smart girl.

  They completed a wide loop around the village and returned to the castle. Fotina was clearly winded and tired, but she did not complain. That was another good sign.

  They showered and dressed. Fotina summoned the royal chef, and Pedro informed him of their diet. There was nothing easy about it; it was lean and mean. They were in training.

  That night they rested on parallel mats on the floor, simulating the rougher conditions of solitary travel.

  “I am perplexed,” Pedro said. “I do not fathom your father’s full rationale. If you are to be an unmarried queen, this training makes sense. But you will not be. You will marry advantageously and serve another king, who will cherish and protect you. This training is overkill for that.”

  “Indeed,” she agreed. “Unless you are the one I am supposed to marry.”

  “You would be delightful. I am favorably impressed with you. However, royal marriages are not for delight. They are for commercial and political advantage. Why does he believe I would marry you, when I can make more advantageous liaisons elsewhere?”

  “Maybe he assumes I am enough your type so that by the time my training is complete you will become smitten with me and make a liaison for love instead of advantage.”

  “He is not such a fool as to think that I would be such a fool.”

  She laughed. “Already I know you well enough to know you are not insulting me.”

  “I am not,” he agreed. “We both know the cold equations of marriage.”

  “Could that be the second favor?”

  He paused, taken aback. “That might be. But marriage is not a favor that can be required that way. I would have to want it.”

  “And do you?”

  “I wouldn’t mind it. You are a smart, winsome princess. That alone does not suffice.”

  “If it is my task to win your love, to the extent that you will act foolishly and marry me, thus bloodlessly neutralizing you as an enemy, perhaps you should give me a fair chance to do it.”

  “Fotina, I like you well enough to want to avoid hurting you. Therefore, I must remind you again of reality. You have no fair chance.”

  She paused to ponder. “You are isolated from your household during this chore. That means no dating, no mistresses. That surely aggravates you. Suppose I become your mistress?”