The War of The Magi : Book One

Chapter Sixteen

Magnar had already brought their dishes and their glasses into the kitchen. He had let her finish the last bit of his own mead after much pleading from her end. He was apprehensive to leave her alone in the tavern, but his assumptions were correct that the mead would affect her greatly. When he returned, she had her head resting on her outstretched arm, her eyes blinking, slow and heavy, at him. He walked over to her, long and confident steps breaking the distance in mere moments. Senea watched him, her eyes moving upwards once he reached her. "Does mead typically make you tired?"

Magnar shook his head, his hand idly scratching the stubble on his chin. "Not for me. We should get you to your room." He bent down and picked up the bag and upon seeing her struggle to stand, extended his arm for her.

She took it, albeit apprehensively, and moved with him as they made their way up the stairs. She could faintly hear the clinking of dishes coming from the far side of the tavern and felt a pang of remorse and longing, the memories of her own tavern saddening her mood. Magnar had felt the shift in her mood and furrowed his brow. He knew that he shouldn't have let her have the mead and mentally cursed himself for assuming she would be happy, even for the briefest of moments.

When they arrived at her room, the click of the lock the only sound besides their breathing, Senea forced herself to sit upright on the bed despite the aching calling of it for her to sleep. "Magnar," she whispered as he rummaged through the bag to lay out the clothes and to see if Gwen had placed a night shirt for him to use in there. He looked up, brushing his hair back with a free hand. "What would happen if I left?"

No sooner than the words escaped her mouth, her hands reached up and covered it, her eyes wide with surprise in herself. "I'd come and find you." He saw the evidence of tiredness in her wide open eyes.

Magnar half expected her to fight, or to even argue, but she merely pulled her hands away from her mouth and nodded in defeat. "Would just you come or would you bring the whole army?" That laugh escaped his mouth again and Senea couldn't stop herself from grinning. Her little joke lightened the thick mood that sprawled out between them.

"I would probably go by myself but I wouldn't unshackle you this time."

"So you'd arrest me again?"

Another laugh was shared between them. The tension was completely eased out now and Magnar walked closer to her, night shirt in hand. "I suggest you get some rest." The apparentness of her drunken state was clear. She had trouble keeping her head up, her eyes closing and opening in a drawn out process, but she still didn't lie back onto the bed. Magnar stepped closer to her, squatting in front of her, his head just barely under her own. "Senea?" he asked in a quiet singsong voice.

"Why don't you give out compliments?" she whispered. Her words were starting to slur together. "You know, girls like to hear them. Boosts their spirits. Make them feel happy."

His one eyebrow moved up, a smile crossing his lips. "Because I don't like girls; I like women. Women are less vain in that sense. They don't need to hear how gorgeous they are, especially not from someone who truly cares about them."

Senea blinked. "But I'm," she pointed to herself, her finger digging into her chest as she slurred out, "a woman. Women enjoy hearing that they're pretty. Especially from someone who truly cares about them. Not sure what kind of women you've been with, but even Derrick sits there and praises Mistress every night!" Magnar bounced slightly on the balls of his feet to distract him from laughing at her. Seeing him holding back a laugh, she wrinkled her nose and attempted to slap him, but her fingers just grazed his cheek.

He feigned hurt, letting a playful gasp leave his mouth. "Do you want me to tell you that you're pretty?"

"Only if you mean it!" She went to slap him again but this time let her fingers rest on his cheek. She bent closer to him and squinted. "Go on then," her voice commanded.

He sucked in his breath as she leaned closer. "You're not pretty, Senea." He heard her draw in her breath, saw her brow furrow, and felt her fingers leave his cheek. "You're indescribable."

Her furrowed brow changed from anger to confusion. "Is that," she paused, her free hand holding her cheek now, "a good thing?"

When he nodded, he earned himself a bright smile from her. Her eyes were fully shut now, but her body wavered back and forth. "Why don't you go to sleep?" Senea simply nodded her head and leaned forward.

Magnar was shocked at what happened. Her lips were pushed against his, her nose smashed in the crevice of his nose, and her arms were limp against her side. He ever so gently placed his hands against her arms, his eyes wide. Magnar held her there, his mouth just barely opened. Her breathing was steady and her mouth hung open and half pressed against his lips.

He lifted her up like a child and laid her down, her head collapsing on the pillow unceremoniously and her lips were gone from his. Magnar pulled the blankets over her as best he could, and moved out of the room as silent as he could manage. Once the door was shut and he left the room, he leaned against the heavy set door as his fingers touched his lips in a feather light stroke. He swallowed down his own spit, still tasting the mead that lingered on her lips. He closed his eyes and released a genuine smile. The smile was soon replaced with a disheartening frown and he turned his head towards the door, wishing he was able to look through and see her.

It was at that point that he bolted away from the door, shaking his head. Once he got to his room, just right next to hers, he had changed and sat on the bed. His thoughts were running wild. On the one side, she was drunk and tired and in no way knew that she had fallen on his lips. That's all what it was - she had merely fallen on his lips with her own.

On the other side, her lips were the softest Magnar had ever had the privilege of kissing. Had he even kissed back, he wondered. Truthfully, he had. He had made the motions of holding her there. He had pursed his lips and tasted her. He had lifted her up and carried her without parting. Worst of all, he had wanted more of the kiss. Since the moment had passed, Magnar's thoughts drifted to what he had thought about once her lips had hit his.

He sucked in a long breath and released it. He wouldn't think about that. He refused to think about how he wanted to lengthen the kiss and slide into the bed next to her and spend the night with her.

He felt a heated pang deep within his belly that quickly moved to his groin. Magnar let out a quiet groan, his head falling back on the pillow, eyes never leaving the ceiling. All what he could see was the woman he meant to protect.