Wielding a Red Sword by Piers Anthony Read Free Book Online Page A

you,” she retorted.
    You lie
, he thought back at her, for beneath her overtanger at the situation was a covert pleasure at his assessment of her body. She was a true woman, subject to fits of vanity; she wanted to be almost irresistibly appealing to all men, while obliging only that one she chose, at her convenience.
    Damn you
! she thought, and her sudden rage was like a crack of thunder.
    He smiled, somewhat bitterly.
This is the nature of this castle
, he reminded her.
To force us together, to set up feedback. To make me desire you, and you to appreciate that desire, until we both are lost in mutual admiration
.
    “But we are royalty, not animals,” she pointed out. “We have no need to succumb slavishly to feedback.”
    He decided to change the subject, for it was treacherous. They
were
disciplined human beings, and she was evidently as dedicated to her other love as he was to his—a trait he admired in her—
    “Watch your thought!” she snapped.
    So it behooved them to cooperate to avoid the obvious temptations. He must
not
look at her flesh, or think any appreciative thoughts about it, no matter how luscious—
    Animal
! He wasn’t sure whether that was her savage thought or his. This business was trickier than he had anticipated!
    “True,” she agreed.
    “I will turn my back and pump while you wash,” he sang, having a bright notion. “Then you can do the same for me. We need never gaze upon each other’s flesh.”
    She considered. She didn’t like it—her feeling was consistent with her thought—but saw no better alternative. “Let’s experiment. You pump while facing away, and I will wash my hands.”
    “A-a-a-agreed,” he stuttered, then cursed himself for forgetting to sing.
    “Prince, we can surely discover significant things to detest in each other,” she said, sympathetic. “We need not be ashamed of that which we have no power over. Speak as you will; it is not an issue between us.”
    She forgave him his stuttering! Mym was for the moment overwhelmed by a surge of gratitude. So few of either sex ever bothered to understand—
    Stop that
! she thought fiercely.
I don’t want your feeling
!
    She was trying to do the proper thing, which was to maintain her alienation from him. He understood perfectly and was trying to do the same himself. But her compassion for his handicap cut through to his deepest self-image; he could mask but never quite abolish his gratitude.
    “Oh, pump the pump!” she cried in frustration, struggling with imperfect success to stave off that gratitude.
    He turned about, reaching behind him to grasp the handle, awkwardly. His gaze fell on the wall he now faced.
    It was a wall-sized mirror.
    Mym sighed. The builder of Honeymoon Castle seemed to have thought of everything. Well, he could simply close his eyes.
    “Better a blindfold,” she said.
    They tried that. He draped a blanket over his head and pumped, while she set about her business.
    “Oh!” she exclaimed abruptly.
    Cold water, no doubt. He kept pumping—but now his thoughts focused determinedly on speculations about what flesh the flowing water must be touching to evoke such reaction. He tried to divert his mind, but there was no way now not to think about what he shouldn’t. Clear water, glistening breasts—
    “Oh, this is worse than just plain looking would be!” she exclaimed in frustration. “Take off that blanket!”
    But I’m trying to control my
—
    She reached across and tore off the blanket. Mym blinked. There before him was a bare bosom every bit as grand as the one he had been trying not to imagine.
    “Might as well get this over with,” she muttered, her spoken words almost blotted out by the underlying anger she broadcast. She stripped the rest of the way, while Mym, bemused, watched, ashamed for the admiration he was unable to suppress. She was indeed the perfect woman.
    In due course she finished and dried and dressed. “Now it is your turn,” she said ferociously.
    Mym