The Silvermoon Embassy: Coming Together
Copyright© 2026 by SerynSiralas
Chapter 1
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Silendiel, prim and proper noblewoman of Silvermoon City, has found herself forced to move into the recently night elven embassy. Cryptic warnings of danger on the horizon from the ambassador and priestess keep her there, with her beloved, towering, massively endowed sentinel, Neryn, where they begin to strain against life among the other kaldorei. Soon, however, the past rears its ugly head. Silendiel must come to terms with her love, and against the consequences of her own past misdeeds.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa Consensual Lesbian Shemale Fiction Fan Fiction Futanari High Fantasy BDSM DomSub Light Bond Rough Sadistic Group Sex Interracial Anal Sex Exhibitionism Oral Sex Public Sex Size Slow
In a manner most undignified, one Silendiel would never have accepted but a few weeks past, a thick, sluggish trail of throaty saliva and her beloved’s seed bubbled from her taut, stretched lips and made its way up her face. Directed by gravity towards the ground, though it would never reach its destination. The back of her head, strong, unyielding fingers curled around it, sank into the side of the mattress upon which she lay as Neryn pushed the final two, fat inches of that behemoth cock into her maw.
A forest of drooping, messy, slipping lines connected her reddened, near bruised face and the sentinel’s skin. Muscled pelvic area, and those massive, weighty balls, both of which came, every moment, closer to settling against Silendiel’s face again. None of those breaking, falling strands had the required time to splatter against her face, much less to the floor, before Neryn had forced herself back in, again, to the very root. Depressing the mattress behind her fingers, behind Silendiel’s head, with the steady, crushing force with which she bottomed out in her most refined noblewoman’s face, and throat.
Silendiel could not fight back a clenching, hacking cough, her throat bulging around the monster of a cock so thoroughly hammered down into her. So closely married to Neryn’s nuts, and body, the little burst of strangled sound and air produced nothing but more bubbling, sloppy saliva, instantly absorbed into the mess which bound them together. Allowed, now and then, when Neryn merely rested her crushing weight of muscle against Silendiel, rather than gyrating back and forth, to gather and slip downwards. Towards Silendiel’s ears, soaking into the roots of her blonde locks.
Upon her stomach, her hands rested. Fingers curled, straining as nails pressed into her palms. Wrists trapped in padded leather cuffs, connected by a thin, silvery set of chains. She could not stop her treacherous fingers from digging into her own skin, could not prevent her toes from curling, her legs from rising, as the grip of her head made her delve ever deeper into the experience of being unable to breathe. How long had it been, now? She tried to recall, tried to make the normally reliable, silent, invisible part of her that measured time spit something out, but found it shaken, subdued, by the titanic, thick dick that now dominated her entire being. A minute? Two? The thought dissolved when Neryn, yet again, leveled strength against Silendiel’s straining lips, pressing herself into her little sun’s throat with all possible might.
The root of that immense shaft already enveloped by Silendiel’s lips in the deepest possible kiss, nose squashed, there was no more to conquer. No more for Silendiel to give, offer up willingly. And yet, she desired nothing more than for Neryn to do exactly what she was now doing. Freely taking what she wished.
An odd sensation of the world disappearing, her mind shrinking without warning from an uncharted expanse into something small, defined, and ever diminishing, came upon her. Well-known, tearing strands of black and red manifested, making her chest prickle. Making it empty, somehow manifesting a void despite the behemoth cock she knew made its home there, now. Nothingness ate at her, at her mind, and prompted her body to begin to jitter. Struggle. Disobey her, for, as much as she was of great import and grace in this, her home city, in Neryn’s quarters in the embassy, or really anywhere they were alone and in each other’s arms, grip, she wished nothing more than to do what her beloved sentinel wanted from her. Demanded of her.
What seemed but a moment later, Silendiel gasped, sobbed for breath, saliva, seed, and tears mixing as she heaved great, wretched gulps of air in. Precisely at the right moment, on that fine knife-edge between unconsciousness and mere descent into it, Neryn had pulled back. She must have, even if it had been so late that Silendiel could not determine how long had passed. How long she had struggled thoughtlessly, such that time had no real meaning. Until her beloved gave her breath again. Time returning, and so did breathing. In torturous, halting gasps and coughs.
Neryn’s grip remained. Sturdy. Fingers expertly woven into golden locks. That broad, powerful cockhead, that steely shaft, hovering but a few inches from Silendiel’s lips. Neryn had never once complained. Never uttered a word. Silendiel knew, regardless, that it was her finest duty, her deepest desire, to please the savage, the purple-haired, red-marked, toxic flower-woman. Her sentinel. Even as she coughed again, unable to speak, she wished for Neryn to plunge back into her mouth, and her throat, and to remain there for as long as she wanted. Trusted the kaldorei to take precisely what she desired, and yet never to take too much. Wanted only for Neryn to find release, to pump herself utterly empty, for it to be something Silendiel earned the both of them. Closeness. To have sated the large, feral creature. Her beloved.
Beloved.
She knew, from the determination felt in Neryn’s movements, that she would not, this time, be allowed freedom until that raw, punishing climax had been reached. Did not desire that freedom. A single, vulnerable, quietly moaning breath escaped her, encouragement, as the kaldorei pressed that massive, weighty cock-crown into her mouth again, crushed her tongue to the bottom of her mouth again, drove up against and past the opening of her throat, and continued. Inch upon inch of that hugely fat monster of a cock was ground, plowed, hammered down her throat, and deeper still. Until, at last, the mess on her face was once more blessed by Neryn’s muscled form. By those heavy, churning balls.
Knowing that she would accomplish little, perhaps nothing, Silendiel nevertheless tried to please her beloved. Strained to rhythmically clench her throat, pressed her conquered tongue against the top of that behemoth shaft, and tried to rise from her position on the bed, on her back, against Neryn’s form, already pressing her head into the side of the mattress once more. She arched her back, just so. Tried to use her feet against the soft bedding in order to press harder still, up against the sentinel’s body, deepening that obscene kiss around the base of her cock.
Neryn held herself in, bottomed out, for perhaps ten seconds, during which her little sun, small and noble Silly, worked as best she could. But it would not be her efforts, in the end, that coaxed orgasm from that statuesque frame. Rather, as uncaring of Silendiel’s refined features as she had learned the sin’dorei seemed to wish her to be, Neryn withdrew but a few inches, and hammered back in. Repeated this staccato, hard thrust, wet, smacking sounds of the bruising union between them filling the room. Not that anyone would hear – the rest of the embassy was either still asleep, or likely busy in a way not dissimilar to Silendiel and Neryn’s.
For one long moment, Neryn’s muscled form impacting Silendiel’s delicate face again, and again, and again, she worried if she might actually suffer lasting damage from the strength poured into her. Upon her. A thought that always seemed to manifest in her turbulent mind when Neryn took to this merciless, insistent kind of thrusting, and yet, in the middle of it, those heavy nuts, that behemoth cockshaft ramming into her over and over and over again, its urgency was again renewed. As if, this time, it would be different. Would she now, at last, break her nose upon her beloved’s efforts? Would she be able to find it within herself to be upset with Neryn, even if it happened? No doubt, Neryn would be upset. Apologetic. Silendiel, for as mad as it was to realize it, would not be. It was a realization that stuck with her as she was compressed between her sentinel and the mattress again, and again.
Once more, a strangled, spattering cough escaped her, and with it, more of that thick mess rolled from her lips. But, as Neryn moved back and forth with such speed, sinking less than two of those mammoth inches in for every pistoning, hard thrust, the strands had near no time at all to form. Silendiel still tried, largely in vain, to rise, to push back against those brutal thrusts, but found herself unable to find the purchase and strength necessary before her body was shaken by another impact. And another.
And another.
One final thrust before the rhythm collapsed, a straining, unguarded moan released from Neryn above. A kind of vulnerable sound which had never seen the light in their first few, tenuous days together, but now came about in these brief moments of exposure, in which Neryn reached a long-sought peak of pleasure. Crammed in to the absolute hilt in Silendiel. The finest, most sure sign that she had done well, that she had brought her beloved to that apex which she alone had the right and chance to lead them both to.
The crushing weight leveled against her face in the moment after was the harbinger of what was soon to come. Muscle tensed to near the point of pain, Neryn’s honed physique pushed to its limit as it seemed almost to strain against what was happening, holding back until it no longer could, until the dam broke. So closely was the sentinel pushed up against Silendiel’s face, her features mashed and pressed near flat, that she felt the first quake of muscle. Force supplanting into her, as the initial, hardest load was marshaled, and then hammered into motion with brutal might. Neryn’s huge, fat dick packed on another fraction of an inch in girth, that thick cumvein bulging, pressing Silendiel’s upper lip a little further apart in order to force entry. That continuous rope pumped down Silendiel’s throat, sweltering, copious, at last freed in a fat pillar of potent seed, the vast load pounding into her with bruising force.
Another came, but a heartbeat later. A third. A sluggish, jackhammering rhythm of ropes, each forced into her, splurting into her stomach with great force, Neryn’s body producing more, and more, and more. Each rammed into Silendiel with frighteningly steady, mechanical precision. With strength that, though she had experienced just this multiple times before, always left her marveling. And, each time, worried whether she would finally be unable to take the endlessly molten, copious, thick strands of cum.
Her flat stomach grew to a little bump, something diminutive, unnoticeable, upon the third load reaching it. And, from then on, Neryn straining, gasping with each deeply sating, steady burst of pressure, her core muscles clamping down again, and again, Silendiel’s belly only rose. That little bump widened to the rhythm of the colossal loads pumped into her, and then rose. To a little hill, to a small dome. Her cuffed hands rose upon it, her stomach rising, growing rounder, endlessly. To the point of looking pregnant, and then beyond. With steady, constant, hard jerks of movement, each thick strand finding a home in the growing ocean within her belly, the dome filled out.
Silendiel could not see the result of her beloved’s pleasure, but knew it intricately. Her eyes remained closed, pressed up against those risen, hefty balls, her face warm from the many, hard impacts, from being used as a rest for just those nuts. Crimson, she suspected, from the most base, cruel exploitation she had ever been subjected to. Had sought out. Sought every moment she remained with Neryn. She shuddered, then, spreading her fingers against the smooth, taut skin of the great bulge of her belly, wishing instinctively to cradle it, but, wrists still captured, unable to do so.
For another few moments, Neryn’s breath gradually coming down, finding a more relaxed pace, she remained as she was. Bottomed out, Silendiel’s straining, over-taxed form trembling around her, not because the noblewoman wanted to rebel, but because some things were beyond controlling. The desire for breath. The fight for it, if denied. Neryn let out a relieved, almost laughing breath, the fingers behind her little sun’s head relaxing just so. Still maintaining their grip enough that she could begin the agonizingly slow, self-indulgent process of thrusting two inches back, and one forward. Taking her time, so that Silendiel could be certain that she had offered every possible shred of pleasure to her sentinel. Working backwards, little by little, until Neryn felt the clamping, punishing grip of Silendiel’s throat slipping. Milking another few fat drops of seed from her, left behind in the blood elf’s mouth, as her beloved retreated further.
Already then, even with her lips still grinding over the smooth, broad cockhead, her nostrils worked to both take in and expel breath. When Neryn withdrew enough that her mouth was, at last, free, she heaved in a great gulp of air, and then coughed another out. Continued in that fashion for several long, difficult moments, until the tension of trying to find equilibrium between breathing in and out dissipated, and she fell back down against the bed. Neryn’s bed. Her face a red, smeared mess of hints of makeup, of tears, of thick saliva, of jizz. Too much, in that moment, for her to fix, to do anything about, and so she merely laid there.
The one thing Silendiel always regretted, upon having given Neryn those deep, eternal moments of orgasmic bliss, was that she was so spent as to be unable to move, for a little while after. Having been thrust into complete submission, there was a part of her insistent upon the idea of cleaning the kaldorei with her tongue, but a part continually disappointed. Having been fed what she knew would end up as a whole day’s meal, she was too weighed down, too pleasantly weak and exhausted, to put forth the effort required to yet again serve her beloved. She could only lie there, breath gradually growing quieter, gathering strength. Perhaps, some day soon, she might persuade Neryn to present her with the task, so that she might do it without having to move a muscle. More than a few muscles, at least.
However much the thought appealed to the shameless part of her mind, that was a creature sectioned off much of the time. Crawling out of its enclosure when she wished to spend time with her beloved sentinel in that particular way of theirs, enabled only by her physique, exceptional even for a kaldorei. As Silendiel breathed, the hedonist thoughts were captured once again, stuck into a cage too small. Stuffed into a corner both dark and forgotten, at least for a time. She could focus, for a while, exclusively on the pleasantly sedating feeling of having served her protector. Her much-adored flower, statue, her love. It was a word still trapped inside her mind, that last one, but one she became more and more accustomed to as the nights rolled by.
Almost certainly intentionally, Neryn settled those heavy, fat balls upon Silendiel’s face. Against her lips. Enveloping her chin, and mouth, and nostrils. Not, of course, because she had any particular desire to do so, at least there was some vague notion of plausible deniability permeating the shared, immaterial fabric between them – their connection. No, it was only because Neryn had to be close, had to lean in, if she were to undo the straps that held Silendiel’s wrists in place, trapped by the padded cuffs. One was removed, then the other. Not even a mark on her, not a line, a scratch. They served perfectly. Just as the space between Silendiel’s firm breasts served to direct the slowly softening monster now laid between them, up against the colossal dome of her stomach.
Naturally, Neryn would never think to demean her so, not on purpose. An accident. One which they both, tactfully, avoided mention or thought of. Their unions were swift, and hard, and for the purpose of pleasing one-another. Not to carry out some elaborate dance of power and considered degradation. Not at all like the hard discipline, frequently enforced seemingly to indulge in the act of discipline itself, that the Captain weighed Liriel down with.
Without thinking, Silendiel pursed her lips against the weight impressed upon them, granting Neryn’s weighty nuts her favor by that kiss. A slip-up, nothing more. There was a pleased, slow sigh from above, and then her beloved sentinel took a few steps back, having removed the cuffs. Dropped them on the carpeted floor, unceremoniously, after which she sat on the edge of the bed. Next to where Silendiel still lay, head over the edge. A possessive, warm hand came to rest on her comparatively frail shoulder, maintaining their connection while she gathered herself.
A minute, perhaps two, later, Silendiel swallowed, and then let a breath held a few seconds too long slip from her nose. She reached a hand to brush against Neryn’s forearm, and, that signal given, was granted the pristine cloth they always kept nearby, now. Wiped it over her face, slowly, section by section, skin more scraped and wiped than it was gently cleaned as she removed the clinging, cooling layer of mess that yet remained. Carefully. Neryn did it for her, sometimes, but, when the lieutenant part of her took over, when day to day operations pressed her, she became less conscious of caring for Silendiel after their unions.
It would be easy, then, to be annoyed. Silendiel had been, the first few times, until she had grasped what was going on. It seemed all the more important, when Neryn was preoccupied with her duties, that they spend time together, that they relieve the pressure she imagined the large kaldorei felt, if she were unable to couple with anyone. To physically reinforce their connection.
Silendiel rolled, with difficulty, until the massive dome of seed upon her stomach reached a tipping point, depositing her on her side without the customary grace and refinement she otherwise infused into every possible movement. Shuffled a little closer to her sentinel, pressing her lips to the lavender skin of a strong forearm. A little higher, then, until she had to use her arms to raise herself off the bed. Straining, then, lifting the great weight pumped into her stomach, in order to sit and continue her upwards journey. Upon pressing her lips against Neryn’s shoulder, she lingered there, and caught her beloved’s eyes. Piercing white, but with a tint. Trouble. Some kind of trouble.
Struggling, as ever, to move with Neryn’s grand blessing in her belly, Silendiel nevertheless rose up to her knees, one arm curled around her bulging stomach, the other, its fingertips feather-light on the sentinel’s skin, resting against her upper arm. She leaned in, pressing against Neryn’s side as a kiss found its way to the kaldorei’s neck, and then another one, against her jaw. To her lips, at last.
Weeks ago, now, the priestess-ambassador of the embassy, Iralis, had asked the both of them to come live at the embassy, rather than in the Flameborn mansion – Silendiel’s home. She had learned, then, however frustrating it might be, that it was usually a reasonable idea to listen to the priestess’ suggestions. In the mansion, where there had been no competition, no obvious demonstrations of the unions of other pairs like them, she had rarely thought of keeping Neryn sated. However temporary their stay in the embassy, though, they were now faced with several sin’dorei servants, and their kaldorei mistresses. Not only Liriel. And, seeing the exploits of the others, seeing how they, too, might serve Neryn, Silendiel had begun to feel something profoundly unusual.
Insecurity.
Did Neryn feel attracted to any of the other servants? Some of the very people she imagined they had demonstrated their union to, back in the mansion. Did any of them desire Neryn? Silendiel had certainly experienced not direct advances from some of the sentinels, perhaps, but certainly a kind of showing off no doubt meant to attract her. Meant to attract someone interested in precisely the kind of maddening, overwhelming thing they could provide. Something that would, inevitably, fall short of Neryn’s attention, of course. But would the servants, the lowborn, fall short of Neryn’s estimation?
To give Neryn what she wanted, to give Silendiel what she wanted, too, it had therefore become their ritual to start and end the day together. Regardless of whether Neryn showed outward signs of wanting release, and attention, or not. She never objected, and Silendiel always sought the crushing closeness of her beloved when available.
Day and night, in the embassy, was largely turned around. To the extent that they could do so, they lived as they did on Kalimdor. Nocturnally. With few exceptions, generally made when they had to interact with the rest of Silvermoon City. Thus, in what would have been Silendiel’s evening, clothed and cleaned with cold water from the basin in Neryn’s chambers, brought by Neryn as the sun rose, before they slept, they descended to the large room now used as a mess hall for the sentinels to eat, the sun sunken below the walls of the city.
Not that Silendiel needed to eat, or felt at all like it, having had to put on one of the outfits she had had made after it became clear that she and Neryn were not a temporary fling. A dress, of a sort, but one that wrapped around her upper body, and came together around her hips, very low, held in place on her back with straps. Its purpose was to allow her to be clothed while still bearing the fruits of Neryn’s copious orgasms, and though the display of so full a belly might cause questioning in other places, in the embassy, no one needed to ask. More importantly, perhaps, no one judged her for it. She descended the stairs next to her beloved, then, slowly, carefully, and with arms wrapped around the lower curve of that more-than-pregnant-looking belly, one of Neryn’s steadying hands on her shoulder.
It was to Silendiel’s surprise that both of them, her and Neryn, actually did catch several odd looks upon entering the mess hall. Not greetings, not any sedated nodding, no salutes, but rather expressions she could categorize as challenging. To Neryn’s authority. Openly defiant expressions, here and there, seemingly only diminished with a direct look from the Lieutenant.
They reached the spot they usually used, the two seats at the end of the long, central table around which all the sentinels using the hall sat, and just as Neryn rounded the end of the table, always unoccupied, reserved for Tessa though the Captain never used it after having found Liriel, a sentinel rose. Silendiel knew her only distantly. Name started with E, but that was the extent of their relationship. To her surprise, though, in Darnassian slow enough for her to keep up with it, the sentinel spoke to Neryn.
“Do you need any help directing the woman, Lieutenant?”
At this, quite to Silendiel’s surprise, having gotten used to Neryn as a relatively peaceful and sedate creature, Neryn halted. Turned, taking half a step closer to the sentinel who had spoken, lips on the cusp of parting to reveal her teeth, and the fangs beneath. Much more pronounced in kaldorei than in sin’dorei, and, in Neryn, larger still. A random twist of fate. But, in that moment, it helped her red and purple visage go from toxic flower to fanged beast. Near enough, anyway. The transformation was so sudden that Silendiel did not even rise to being referred to merely as ‘the woman.’
So the two stood, less than a foot apart, Neryn almost growling with rage, the sentinel stolid in the face of that emotion. For over ten seconds, at least, after which she made a face that Silendiel could only interpret as exasperation, brushing past Neryn with her utensils. The sentinel’s footsteps thumped as she left the mess hall, disappearing down the hall, Neryn remaining standing. Deliberately, degree by degree, she scanned the suddenly rather silent hall, from sentinel to sentinel. Satisfied, eventually, she turned to Silendiel. With a look, and a tone, that she had not often used. Perhaps not ever.
“Gather a plate for me. Bring it to my quarters.”
Narrowing her eyes just so, Silendiel looked up at Neryn. A long life of being obeyed, rather than commanded, had instilled in her a natural pigheadedness that reared the instant anyone tried to command her. It was automatic, and not something she minded, generally. A hard look between the two later, though, she perfunctorily gathered a somewhat haphazard meal from what was nearby on the table. A hunk of cheese. Red grapes. Thin slices of meat of some description, she did not know for sure what. Beef, perhaps, though Quel’thalas had few oxen.
This in hand, one arm cradling the bulge of her belly still, she felt herself almost to waddle as she turned and moved alongside Neryn. Neryn, who did not walk at her pace, for once. Who did not remain near, for support, as she always did. Who instead walked ahead, and seemed annoyed at Silendiel’s slow progress down the hall.
Almost, Silendiel spat some remark about Neryn only having herself to thank for the slow pace put forth. No one said she absolutely had to pump herself empty in Silendiel’s stomach, after all. No one except Silendiel’s insisting lips. Instead, she sighed. Tried to hurry, but to little success.
In Neryn’s quarters once more, Silendiel placed herself in a sofa, Neryn sat at the end of her table to eat the meal gathered her by her blood elf. In silence, for a long while, save for when she stood and poured herself a glass of water. A jug that she had brought herself, along with the glasses, while Silendiel had rested in bed, wiling away time she for some reason had to spend in the embassy.
“Why did she say that?”
Neryn did not respond to Silendiel’s question immediately. Elbows on her knees, leaned forward over the inadequate plate of food, chewing on a large mouthful of cheese, she sighed through her nose.
“Your priestess asked me to stay here, and so, I indulged her. Indulged you,” Silendiel said. “But, clearly, it is having some impact on your perceived station.”
With a look approaching disgust, a brief sneer contorting her lips, Neryn employed one careful, meticulous finger to push the plate away from her. Scraping across the table inelegantly, it came to a stop halfway down the flat surface after a final push. Neryn looked up, her eyes as white as mountain snow in the morning sun. Tired. Annoyed. In a way that made Silendiel feel as though it was not directed at her, even if she knew herself to, unquestionably, be involved in whatever was going on.
At length, she shifted a little closer on the sofa, still rather graceless due to the extra weight, and then reached for Neryn’s hand on the table. Picked it up, or, rather, encouraged Neryn to move it, too sturdy for her to easily shift it otherwise. As a natural consequence, the night elf turned her hand, and allowed Silendiel to rest hers in it, instead of having to keep up the charade of holding it up.
“What is it, my dear?”
“It is ... that,” Neryn said.
“My dear?”
Neryn nodded. She raised her other hand, tracing the tip of its index finger down the back of Silendiel’s hand, until it reached the wrist. Then repeating that gesture, adding the middle finger. Soothing. Caressing. She seemed not terribly eager to say anything more.
“The way I speak to you. Act around you?”
Once more, Neryn failed to reply verbally. The long, measured look she gave Silendiel, the silence somehow of an assenting nature, the slight sinking of shoulders, lips flattening just so, all of it came together to form a response out of the individual parts.
“The sentinels think that I ought to act your most lowborn, subdued servant. Is that it? That I should be Liriel, in all but name?”
“They are obsessed. Focused,” Neryn said, a note of fire to her voice. After a moment’s pause, she added, simply: “Idiots.”
Though given to agree, at first blush, Silendiel nevertheless narrowed her eyes just so. It was a small outburst, all things considered, but not the way Neryn ever spoke about her own kin. Not how the sentinel spoke about anyone at all, really. Too obedient to her priestess, too protective of her kin. It spoke of their connection, and though that thought made some little chink of armor fall from Silendiel’s heart, melting in the heat, it was dangerous.
“A sentinel’s servant—”
“Partner,” Neryn interjected. Gaze intensified, smoldering for a few seconds, as she stared down Silendiel in a way that might have made many others shrink.
“—ought to care for her,” Silendiel continued, after having returned the look, unaffected save the pause, trained in surviving much more brutal social encounters than what Neryn was capable of. Her beloved’s strength was physical, her political and interpersonal maneuvering much more primitive. “Provide meals. Clean. Take care of her things, equipment.”
With a gesture that radiated something approaching petulance, Neryn nodded.
“And every time you have brought up food, or a filled washing basin, or anything else, they have all judged you,” Silendiel said. “Judged me.”
“Yes,” Neryn said, after a second’s delay. She vented a slow sigh through her nose.
“Very well,” Silendiel said. She breathed in, and held that breath for a moment. Clearly, her worries about Neryn’s loyalty in the presence and proximity of so many other comparatively small sin’dorei had been misplaced. It was nothing to do with them. Not, at least as long as she kept up her current desires, kept Neryn close, and sated, to do with carnal relations at all. “I will begin doing those things for you.”