"J. V. Jones - The Book Of Words 1 - The Baker's Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones J. V)

and then proceedeed to unlace her gown. This took some time, as his hands were stiff and the lacing
intricate, but he endeavored, for he could not risk cutting the laces-that would arouse too much suspicion.

Eventually the ties were loosened and he rolled her onto her back. He pulled the front of her bodice
down, revealing the pale curves of her breast. Although he had all but given up the pleasures of the flesh
these past years, he could not help but respond to the sight. Poets and minstrels were forever harping on
about the queen's beauty, but he had always remained unaffected by it-until now. Ironic, he thought, that
she had to be out cold before he could find her desirable. He chuckled mirthlessly and lifted her skirts
around her waist.

He loosened her undergarments and pulled them off, spreading her legs. Her thighs were soft and
smooth, a little cool perhaps, but that was only to be expected, a side effect of the drug. Baralis found the
coolness not unpleasant. He was, he realized with relief, sufficiently aroused. He had feared lack of
performance; after all, the queen's fare was not to his normal taste. If he had any preference at all it was
usually for the young, the very young. Her thighs might be soft, but she was no newly broken maiden and
the mark of years could clearly be seen in the delicate blueness of her veins. She was beautiful, though,
her legs long and slender, her rounded hips an enticement to any man. Unlike most women her age, her
body had been spared the ravages of childbirth. Her breasts were still high and her belly flat as an
altar-stone. He slipped down his leggings and entered the queen.

He was sure she was in her fertile span; he had spied on her often enough to know what time of the
month she bled. He had heard of men in the past having the ability to sense which stage of her cycle a
woman was in by just being in the room with her, feeling the ebb and flow of her menses as palpable
force. Such illustrious accomplishments had eluded him, however, and he was forced to rely on more
prosaic methods.

He had gleaned the knowledge he used this night from the wisewoman of the village he grew up in.
Many young boys besides himself had been keen to know the best time to take a maiden without risk of
begetting. He had been the only one to ask what time was best for begetting. The wisewoman had
looked at Baralis with foreboding on her old, careworn face, but she had answered him anyway; it was
not her habit to question motives.

Baralis had waited fourteen days from the onset of the queen's bleeding before making his move. But
that was nothing-he had planned and waited years for this. Everything he had done in the past and would
do in the future depended on this night. For years he had studied the portents, the signs, the stars, the
philosophies: tonight was the time. He would be altering the course of the known world and securing his
own destiny. The stars glittered brightly for him this night.

His attention returned to his task. He was nervous at first, but there was not a flicker from the queen, so
he continued on more forcefully. He knew the quickening of desire and was surprised by its familiarity.
As his excitement grew so did his abandon, and he pushed into her with all his strength. He had not
expected to enjoy it and was surprised when he did. Eventually he reached his climax and his seed
flowed deep within the queen.

As he withdrew from her, a trickle of blood escaped from the queen and ran lazily down her inner thigh;
maybe he had been a little rough, but no matter. For the second time that evening he drew bloodied
fingers up to his lips. He was not surprised to find the queen's blood tasted different: sweeter, richer.
Ouickly, he wiped the remains of the blood from her thigh. He pushed her legs together and pulled her
skirts down.
 Before he pulled up her bodice, Baralis traced his hand over the arc of her left breast, such pale