Author's note: I'm probably going to burn for all eternity for this, but here goes. Sofia is an ADULT. Repeat, an ADULT. 20 years old and about to be married. That kind of Adult. Forgive me for I have sinned.
Cover art used by permission of the artist.
In my mind this runs for three chapters. If I don't die of mortification and people seem interested I'll write the remainder whenever time and inspiration present themselves. Please don't hate me, if you don't like to read "M" rated material DO NOT READ THIS.
….
It was perfect.
The gardens would be done up exquisitely. The crystal tableware, the golden goblets, the intricate white laces lining the aisle. Amber had planned every single detail, down to the magically derived lilacs covering the ground. There would be enchanted roses falling from the sky, hovering stars at each reception table, and one dazzling magic show performed by the Royal Sorcerer of Enchancia. Exactly as a princess's wedding should be. Everything about Sofia's special day would be magical, except the groom. And that right there was the problem.
As the days passed and the date drew nearer, she felt a certain pull within her chest. An uneasiness that time, rest and spirits couldn't dull. Amber had dismissed the notion as distractive, her mother had reassured the girl it was simply pre-wedding gitters. After all, Prince Desmond was a handsome man from a respected kingdom, and he seemed to care deeply for her. She had thought him nice, but never one to be labeled as a true romantic she had simply believed those types of feelings were better left to those like Amber, who swooned in the night for some unrealistic perception of male perfection. But here she was, sweating through a restless night, pillows tossed and sheets turned down, not two days from her wedding.
He'd been avoiding her.
It started slow. A cancelled sorcery lesson, an extended trip to visit his parents. The distance had been growing steadily, creeping upon her unnoticed until one day they passed in the hall like lonely ships in the night. He had been mired in a spell book, and hadn't even looked up to greet her with his normal sarcastic address. She'd stopped dead in her tracks and watched the man continue onward. Somewhere along this path their lives had taken the special place their friendship held had fallen away. Now alone in her room with dawn fast approaching it seemed like the walls of society were closing in all around her, sucking the life from her body and the air from her breath. She rose and walked the halls, an aching need not fully realized gnawing at her psyche like a splinter in her brain. Breakfast, and more wedding plans. The castle was in full tilt. Not a minute to spare. Overwhelmed, she finally collapsed from the pressure building inside and was brought to her room for rest. But sleep would not come, and the uneasiness grew into a longing desperation. For escape. For release. For a satisfaction she may never know.
She needed to see him. To reaffirm their friendship. That, even though she was to marry and move away from this castle they would still remain the best of friends. But she couldn't escape to his tower. One step outside her door and the relentless march of wedding would consume her. She had been afforded the afternoon to rest though…
No one would suspect it. A conjured peasants dress. A magical tan upon her skin. Blackened eyes, and hair to match. She looked a traveling sorceress in the mirror's reflection. The perfect disguise to move unseen in plain sight. No longer cautioned by the Amulet of Avalor, its bequeathment rescinded upon her entrance into adulthood, and no longer advised by her cherished rabbit, long since passed to the great beyond she ventured out her door. Snaking through the halls, she was half way to the gardens and her quarry when the castle steward happened upon her.
"Excuse me Ma'am, are you here for the wedding?" Baileywick had caught her in his sights.
Eyes bulged, but her identity remained a secret. "You could say that."
"Very well. Please come this way. What did you say your name was?"
A sideways glance, and an ill-thought out plan partially collapses. "Sssss... Sasha?"
"Very good then." An escort to the gardens, but he seemed unawares of her true identity. There stood Cedric, conjuring ill-shapen lilacs in the afternoon sunlight.
"Cedric, we have an early visitor. Her name is Sasha." The sorcerer's head turned, and the disgruntled man postured before them. His eyes were hollowed and cheeks slightly sunken, the pressure to perform obviously weighing on his psyche.
"Baileywick I haven't the time to widdle away the hours babysitting random interlopers who arrive a day early. I'm supposed to conjure an entire forest of flowers, not nannygoat a two-bit sorceress for the afternoon." Arms were crossed and his wand waggling in the breeze.
"Perhaps she can help you Cedric." A kindly smile from the steward, "I'll leave you here ma'am. Good day."
A quick nod to the steward, and a groan from the sorcerer. "Ugh, alright Ms... what was it again?"
A shy turn of the head. "Sasha."
"Sasha, as in Sasha the Sorceress? You're Serious?"
A nervous smile, "Um, yeah."
An eye roll, then suspicious glances. "You've got to be joking. Alright Ms. SASHA, if you can conjure lilacs you can stay. Otherwise I'm turning you into a centerpiece for this forsaken wedding."
He returned to cursing at the foliage, and sadness crept into the princess's heart. Forsaken wedding. He was staring at her, "I'm waiting Ms. Stacy."
A gentle giggle and the man was set on edge, "It's Sasha Mr. Cedric."
A sudden cough, and the sorcerer's head fell to one side. A step closer, then two, the fires of mischief visibly ignited within him. "So Ms. Seraphina.."
"It's Sasha Mr. Cedric."
"Oh yes yes, indeed it is. You do carry a wand I presume? After all, every sorceress carries a wand." He circled like a vulture surrounding its prey. Had he figured her out? It was exhilarating, the feeling of being hunted. A little modern mystery right there in the gardens. What was the harm in letting the charade play out, if only for the afternoon? Nothing less than reaffirming a friendship in her mind's eye.
"Uh huh." Her wand drawn and lilac's conjured, the man grinned widely.
"Oh I see. Well then Ms. Sarah, I suppose you can help me collect pollywogs down by the river. I need them for the centerpieces but I've been led to believe my normal apprentice is a bit tied up at the moment."
"It's Sasha, and sure! I'd love to help you out."
A stroll through the gardens, and a pair of dispositions lightened considerably. "Can you tell me Ms. Samantha what pollywogs would be used for in a floatation potion? Hmmmm?"
A large grin, "It's Sasha Mr. Cedric, and that's easy. You need to collect the slime." A fire lit in his eyes.
Down by the river he laid against a tree, and began cleaving into a small book's pages. A confused princess watched the display, unsure of what to do. Had the mystery worn thin for him? Perhaps she should reveal herself.
"Mr. Cedric..."
"Well go on Ms. Sabrina, catch the pollywogs. I myself am going to read under this tree for the afternoon."
A pouted lip and furrowed brows. "That's not fair."
"Oh it's not is it? Let me tell you what's not fair. Being forced to slave away, devoting my skills and energy to a wedding that should never happen, THAT is the definition of unfair."
What? The princess stood there, shoes removed and knee deep in the waters of the river while the impassioned sorcerer clutched at the grasses around him. "Why shouldn't the wedding happen Mr. Cedric?"
A gigantic huff, and robed arms were crossed by the royal sorcerer. "Because, it's simply wrong. If you can stand there and tell me… she… loves him, really and truly loves him with all the depth her soul can muster, then I'll say no more."
Arms fallen to her sides, there were no words of truth that could reaffirm that statement. A sarcastic chuckle from the angered man, "I thought as much, Ms. Stella. She loved that old deceased rabbit of hers much more than the man whose supposed to lay beside her for all her days."
Pollywogs circled around her legs and she tapped their bodies along the top of his vial while bathed in the suns golden rays. The vial full, she moved to stand before him below the birch tree. "I collected what you needed Mr. Cedric."
He rose and took the vial from her shaking hand, wrapping his gloved fingers around her own. Perhaps their friendship was unmendable. His angered blistered forth, that even a stranger as she was so disguised would be privy to his displeasure at her life's choices.
A glance away, "I'm sorry Mr. Cedric. Maybe she doesn't know what to do."
"Oh, and why would that be? Don't tell me you've been married Ms. SueEllen."
An irritated glance back at the curious man, "It's Sasha, and no. I've never been married, but maybe she just feels like this is what's expected of her." A turn of the head to stare at the gentle rolling waves of grass and a minute to admire the quiet solitude of their surroundings as the gentle breeze blew her disguised hair about her shoulders.
He turned and started to walk off into the distance, away from the palace. Confused, the hidden princess called out to him, "Wait Mr. Cedric, where are you going? The castle is that way."
Stride halted, the sorcerer pivoted, that only half his face could be seen. "I suppose you could go back to the castle, if that's what you wish Ms. Sybil. All that really matters is what you wish after all. But then the afternoon will be over, the sun will set, and the march of time will bring forth tomorrow." He turned fully around to face her, "Is that what you wish Ms. Serafina, do you long for tomorrow?"
Her arms shook, but the truth could not be denied. "No."
A gentle smile from the sorcerer, and he stood waiting for her. Pulled forward by an indescribable force she slowly walked up to the man waiting for her in this field. An arm was extended, and they walked deeper into the meadow, and farther from time's cruel march toward her meticulously planned future.
Circling past a few trees, the riverbed came back into view. The sorcerer paused for a minute, drawing his wand. A half smile accompanied the devilish glint in his eyes, and before them he conjured a veritable sea of butterflies, each a different hue of the rainbow. Sunlight streamed through the trees, reflecting off their patterned wings, and it was as if they'd walked into the dazzling haze of perfect serenity. Awestruck, the disguised princess stood there, arms extended as butterflies of all shades landed upon her. She turned, overjoyed by the display before her to Cedric, who was smiling brightly at her reaction. "You're amazing Mr. Cedric."
The sorcerer closed his eyes, and invaded the personal space he afore granted so religiously. "Indeed, the compliment suits me. However, is it enough?"
"Is what enough Mr. Cedric?"
He shifted his stance, conjuring a rose that floated in the air. He took it in his hands, then gently extended the flower toward her. She took it into her hands, and it proceeded to change colors to match the varied hues of all the butterflies flying about the glen. "Is it enough to live within the roles we've been assigned Ms. Savannah? Does... the princess... want to live within the script of her life as written by others?"
"I don't know. Maybe she's always tried to be everything that people expect her to be. Maybe she's always felt the pressure to be the perfect princess, do what she was told, and never step out of line no matter how tight the walls constricted around her."
The wisps of his breath upon her ear. "So, you mean to tell me... she... doesn't want this fate, but feels compelled to see it through."
"I guess so. Maybe she doesn't even know what she wants, but can't escape the feeling of being trapped no matter how hard she struggles against it."
His arm had snuck around her, drawing the disguised princess closer to his frame. "So then, Ms. Scarlett, does she long for things she shouldn't? Perhaps even, forbidden magic to transcend her reality."
She turned her face up to gaze upon him, and was met with longing in his eyes. "Yes."
His lips were soft. So gentle, so inviting, and with the distinct aftertaste of lemongrass. The kind he always added to his teas. One kiss became two, and then another, and then another. His hands found their way around her corset, gently gliding up her sides as if to measure every inch of her. A shifted stance and he'd fallen to one knee, taking her along with him and drawing her lengthwise up into his lap. A trail of kisses down her neck, and his eyes were screwed shut as if unable to look upon her newly exposed beauty. His hair looked so inviting, and small fingers wormed their way into it, running lengthwise along the sides of his two-toned tresses.
Soft lips upon her chest, and pleading whimpers to free her bosom from its prison. Lost in the ecstasy of freedom from the moral code, the charted path, the boundaries her reality sought to constrain around her she pulled her sleeves down and liberated the objects of his desire.
His gasps of pleasure at their manipulation set her body aflame, tingles running down her spine at his audible pleasure. His kisses trailed lower, and in turn her gasps echoed across the hillside as he orally worshipped her physical femininity.
His hands, ever trailing lower, then danced up the curves of her dainty legs beneath her conjured undergarments. Massages of his hands across her backside were given, the tension palpable as she gripped into his shoulders, curling her hands around them and digging deep into his shoulder blades.
One fluid rolling motion, and it was her turn to play submissive as he hovered above her wrapped in her tender embrace. All boundaries of pure friendship crossed, his hands sought out the heat of her sex while she made her lips dance along his freshly exposed shoulders, the loosening of his shirt an unspoken priority.
A gasp and eyes rolled back into her head as long thin fingers danced in places only husbands should explore, executing their performance art in desperate search of an ovation for their effort.
Ovations did come, as waves of euphoria coursed through her veins and cries of pleasure escaped her lips. He lingered in the moment he'd produced, grinning wildly at the feeling of her convulsions around his touch. But then he dove into her with kisses, desperate in their need, longing with each drawn breath, whimpers in the afternoon breeze of an animalistic urge long unfulfilled. The gentle graze of his cloaked essence parted the guardians of her temple, this simply, torturous agony. Hands searched across her partially exposed skin, passionate kisses were strewn along her clavicles. Begging, pleading, yearning desires unspoken reigned supreme as the gate to her temple was put upon.
That he might be the one to fulfill himself upon her altar was all she cared to think of or acknowledge, that in this perfect moment society and obligation were nothing, reason a trifle by comparison.
A deep moan of satisfaction from his lips, and the walls of her temple were breached. Their folds parting like waves upon the rocky shore to make way for his spear. The agony of rupture with the ecstasy of his delight, vociferous and ringing loudly through her ears upon the isolated hillside.
Instinct drove him onward, the need for fulfillment devouring their reason. Words finally escaped his lips.
"yes." He danced inside her between the moans.
"Yes." She clawed at his back underneath his silken vestments while drawing him deeper within.
"YES." His face contorted and breath quickened along with his pace.
"YES!" A deep need to smother her face into his shoulder took hold, and she screamed her newly found pleasure into his skin, the reverberations of her release shuddering around him.
"OH YES!" His hips buried themselves into the softness of her inner thighs, and a deep groan of primal satisfaction emanated from him as his spear quivered inside her.
...
"Sofia."
...
He'd uttered that name and despite that wonderful, euphoric, ephemeral nature of the moment reality came crashing back in. She was set to marry in less than a day, to a man who was most assuredly not the one pulsing his seed inside her. Panic at what might happen gripped her. She would let down her family, her friends, everyone that mattered in this world she'd tried so desperately for so long to please. She would be the pariah, stigmatized and labeled a failure. Without a word she retracted her hips and wiggled away from his spent phallus. For his part it took Cedric more than a few moments of gasping for air to realize she was fleeing his arms. "Wait, WAIT! I'm sorry I said that name, I-" She hadn't even taken the time to reassemble her undergarments and was running back toward the castle. She managed to slip her exposed top half back into its place and flew back to her room undetected. Being cloaked in an unfamiliar face had distinct advantages.
But OH! The guilt. Guilt at having betrayed the sanctity of her body before marriage, guilt at allowing a man other than her destined husband entry, and Desmond! What would he think of her transgressions? The reality of her indiscretion consumed her, and she collapsed onto her bed weeping while the distinct feeling of moisture toyed with her mind, his remnants upon her sacred places ever present at the forefront of her thoughts.
Day passed into night, and doubts crept up into her mind, refusing to be silenced. Had he known it was her? Really known it to be true? She'd been disguised after all. His eyes had been glued shut throughout, perhaps he was simply imagining himself upon Sofia the princess, and using the girl before him as an instrument.
The thought refused her intense desire for its banishment. He had lusted after her, but may not have realized the woman who succumbed to him was indeed the princess of the land. The idea brought her a modicum of comfort that her transgression may not be discovered, but a whole new world of agony as now she wondered if simple lust drove him forward. There had been no declarations of love, no words of undying affection. Simply the need for something different, something unsafe, something dangerous. Flirting with disaster, and she had found it in that man who set himself apart from the rest. He was different to a fault. So dark, so mysterious, and so incredibly taboo.
The hours ticked away, and there was no visit from the sorcerer. No visitors of any kind. They were allowing her this final peace before the events of the next day.
Unable to sleep the entirety of the evening Sofia sat and gazed upon herself in the mirror. What did she want? What was her life to be? Set along the perfect path with a noble husband, the fineries of life and an endless stream of social obligations? Or was it to be something more, or rather something less. Quiet anonymity in the arms of someone who truly loved her seemed a more palatable fate. But did he love her?
Maids were assembled, hair brought up and smoothed into perfection, and the white trappings of a supposed virgin bride assembled upon her. It was almost time, but still the sorcerer hadn't come. Her father, in finest regalia not seen since his own wedding 12 years prior stood upon the threshold to her chambers.
"Sofia, it's time." He stood there gazing down upon the girl, her confidence all but shattered at this decision predestined for her. "Sofia, you look as lovely as your mother when we were married. I'm so proud of you."
Panic gripped the girl, and she walked with unsteady footing toward an unwanted fate. Where was her sorcerer? Would he truly let this happen? Was it simple lust, disjointed from responsibility or obligation? She'd afforded him that option, as her disguise could allow for the feigning of ignorance easily. There she stood upon the altar before the object of her non-desire, who had dressed in representatives of all the splendor he hoped to shower down upon her throughout the remainder of their lives. Not a trace of her sorcerer was to be seen. Should she throw away this seemingly pleasant fate on the hopes of something not quite tangible?
It was in this moment devoid of magic she prayed that her savior might come and demonstrate an ounce of commitment; that he might carry her away from this life of respectable servitude, away from an ideal she no longer upheld. She closed her eyes and whispered to the stars cloaked by sunlight above.
"Please Mr. Cedric. Please."
Nothing was perfect.