King Dom Comes by Breanna Hayse

patted his shoulder, "it is not aimed at
anyone, nor can she harm you or any of the men unless you threaten her life.
Right now, she cries for herself and her tender bottom."
    "Is
she truly a witch, Sire?"
    "I
know that not," Dom sighed. "But if she is, I promise to teach her
how to use her gifts to help, not harm."
    "What
of you? If she turns her cry upon your blood, she can kill you."
    "She
cannot. Please gather the men away from the carriage, so that I might explain
outside her hearing. My father told this to me," Dom said, from atop his
horse. "The banshee of her clan cannot destroy those who mean her no harm.
Nature will not permit it. As long as you are loyal to the crown and seek no
injury to either me or our country, you will be safe."
    "How
would being loyal to you protect us from that?" a man asked, rubbing his
skull as Shannon's cries began to cause them headaches.
    "You
are the blood elite who know of my gifts, and the only ones I trust to keep my
secret from a fearful and over-zealous society. She is connected with me. I
have dreamt of her, and have seen her in the water viewing. Since meeting her,
I must believe that the fates have brought us together for a purpose. So, to
answer your question—to protect me is to protect her. My bloodline and my
gift make me immune to her cries. Just like your blood magic allows you to
sense if I am in danger, you need only to think pleasant thoughts of me and the
headaches will cease."
    The
men nodded, glancing back and forth at each other. One by one, their headaches
were resolved. The wind began to calm, and Shannon's plaintive cries grew dim.
With a nod and a wave of his hand, Dom ordered the journey to begin.
     
    ***
     
    Shannon
mixed a pinch of oil of peppermint to a mixture of rose, lavender, bay and sage,
and then applied it to her temples. She massaged gently, closing her eyes and
deeply inhaling the scents. She groaned as her bottom bounced uncomfortably
against the seats of the carriage. Even with thickly stuffed cushions, the ride
was excruciating. She clutched her aching posterior and rubbed gently. How dare
that man lay his hands upon her!
    She
wrapped her shoulders in the shawl give to her by the king. "You wait, Dom
Moarte," she growled, kicking her legs upon the bench before lying down
upon her side. "You will pay dearly for this mistreatment. Why does my
scream not remove you and your men from here?"
    The
answer to her question disturbed her as greatly as the pain to her bottom. She
knew that her screams failed to work because neither Dom Moarte nor the escort
of soldiers were a danger to her. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but
the combination of her anger and the agony induced upon her backside prevented
her from resting. The wine was weak, just enough to make the water drinkable,
but she sipped sparingly to delay the inevitable need to relieve her bladder.
The thought of Dom assisting her with her personal needs was revolting, and
Shannon was determined, come hell or high water, to avoid accepting his
assistance as much as humanly possible.
    Several
hours into the ride, her personal needs began to call for attention. Shannon
looked desperately for a chamber pot or clay vessel under the seats. There were
none. She eyed the small door on the carriage floor, made to spill the contents
of the pots through, and wondered if she could squat without falling. Holding
her breath, Shannon flipped back the little door, lifted her skirts and opened
the ties of her braies. She held her breath and tried to hold herself steady.
The carriage jostled, and Shannon fell on her bottom, jammed snugly between the
two sets of benches. With a discouraged sigh, she positioned her body over the
open window and released her water onto the moving ground.
    To
her horror, the carriage drew to an immediate stop. Shannon struggled uselessly
to regain her footing.
    "You
should have told us that you wished to stop and relieve yourself," Dom
said, opening the carriage door. "I must