To Live Again: In her Hands {Lord of the Rings / Thranduil fanfic}

18. Game. Set. Match.

Halls of the King :Greenwood the Great SA; Two night before the Wedding Feast.

"Off," I ordered, prodding Clara's exposed hip with my toes.

She glared. Her chin raising defiantly.

I almost relented...almost.

"That is unfair," she grumbles, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You play unfair."

"'Tis the rules," I remind her.

Lounging back on the settee, I reach for my glass of wine. I swirl the contents once before downing the dregs.

"And, I never play fair, I am royalty, I don't have too...now take off your underslip."

She growls, and I laugh.  Well, this was her request. She wanted to make her 'princess lessons', as she calls them, more engaging.  I merely suggested that without clothes, anything could be made more thrilling, even learning languages. 

So, the game was born. 

For every phrase she could accurately translate and respond fluently in return, I would remove an article of my clothing.  But, for every conversational mishap she made, then I would demand she remove a piece of her clothing.

So far it had been a fairly tense game. I'd made the foolish mistake of underestimating my wife. In the early rounds I lost all of my outer garments without her losing so much as a slipper.

I upped the game fairly soon upon realising my mistake. Selecting much more intricate phrases for her to decipher.  We even added more rules - for every sentence she slaughtered I got to put back on the last article I took off. 

This had tipped the game in my favour, but only just.  Presently I only retained my left sock and boot, and the soft, woollen leggings for under my leather, trousers.  I was the under distinct impression Clara enjoyed nothing more than getting me out of my armour. 

But I had her whittled down to nothing but her underslip and a pretty pink scarf, which she was using as a head band. The only reason I had not demanded it's removal was because of the view it allowed me. She had a very tempting neck.

Angling my chin into my palm, I barely contained my wicked grin as Clara lifted up the edges of the silken material pooled at her thighs. With a disgruntled huff she yanked the dress over her head and threw it on the accumulated pile by the fire. Securing her arms around her bare chest, she tucked her knees under the fur blanket, and impressively kept her cool. 

"It seems that your highness has won."  Clara kept her back straight and proud as she nodded toward me.  "I've nothing left to remove but my dignity."

"Consider this a lesson in politics just as much as a lesson on language," I muffle my reply from behind my fingers as I artfully position the cushion on my lap.  Clara raises a knowing eyebrow.

"Feeling exposed, love?" She smirks and leans forward, teasingly allowing her arms to slip from her chest just a little.

I clear my throat and meet her confident gaze with my own.

"Very."

She laughs - a flirtatious sound - and drapes her hands gently on my ankles, before drawing them up to rest on my hips.

"I guess even highborn princes have insecurities, huh?" Clara asks calmly as she carelessly snatches the cushion away.

I swallow but maintain a blank gaze. She leans closer, her body resting on mine, her eyes dancing mischievously as she rakes them over every inch of me. My lips press into a hard line. She is playing a game now. A game she is far too confident she can win. Why I want to challenge her is beyond reasoning? I would really prefer to lose. I blame my wild spirit. It won't be ruled...not even by her.