Chapter 28.3- The Seadragon's Roar

I couldn’t tell for sure. I couldn’t tell anything for sure. I walked into the room after her, swinging the door shut, near wincing at the way it slammed. It felt like everything was heightened now. In this silence between us, that lasted an eternity, all the world seemed to make its presence felt. The moonlight streaking through the window was so bright I had to wonder if it had always been so or if the moon itself had abandoned cloud cover to watch this.

The sound of the key turning echoed through the room as I locked the door. My head snapped in her direction, expecting to find her looking at me and asking what the hell I was doing, but there was none of that. She was arranging the sheets, making the bed with more ease than I would have expected from a noble lady. Particularly one from a Great House— our servants had servants.

“Do you mind if I borrow one of your tunics?” I flinched as her voice cut through the silence. She hadn’t even turned away from the bed she was making. At least that meant she didn’t get to see me just standing there staring at her. I moved further into the room, trying to find something to do with myself.

“Sure.” I said. I’d died a virgin in my last life, so situations like this one were alien to me. Well, I wasn’t as uninformed as people in this world would have been. I’d watched a fair amount of porn— more than a fair amount, if I was being completely honest. And books. I’d read all the best books on the subject: she comes first, slow sex, all of it. If it was about sex and was written by someone who seemed to know what they were doing, then I’d read it.

I decided on a course of action and walked to the wardrobe. I opened it, and found my chest of clothes already open. I hadn’t done much unpacking, always having better things to do with my time. Pate had been Mother’s servant than mine so he hadn’t helped there and the camp followers had more than enough on their hands with the Stormlanders to handle so I hadn’t been comfortable putting my shit on them. I found a tunic, a comfortable one that was well fitted for my frame but would be large on hers. The muscle I’d put on in the stormlands, unlike in Igneel’s case, hadn’t been lost to the war campaign.

I felt my body jolt as our fingers touched as she took the tunic off my hands. And next thing I knew, she was taking off the buttons on her gown, hands reaching backwards doing interesting things to her chest.

“Help me brother” She said, turning around. I must have been red as a freshly picked Cider Hall apple. Still, I did my duty as any good brother would: unbuttoning my sister’s gown, one meddlesome button at a time, fingers shaking all the while.