Greenhorn guards learned the hard way to not mock Lord Cedric when his morose march became more of a sashay. He was not advertising a change from masculinity to femininity (necessarily) but a change in hormones nonetheless.

And he didn't enjoy nasty gossiping that involved him, of all people.

"Tch! Tch! Tch!" Frost shook his head and watched as the more seasoned, more mindful guards helped up a lad, whom the noble had caught speaking rudely. His entire body collided with and dented the hall's wall soon after.

"Every autumn, we get a lecture," said the hunter, "and every autumn, at least one bloke still makes the same damned mistake."

Sashaying was not an invitation to whisper vulgar things about Lord Cedric - hell, Frost even recalled a lad who tried getting fresh on him. No, the sashay was a warning to everyone:

It's mating season. Get out of my way. Stay out of my way. You filthy bastards. Get out of my sight.

Frost wouldn't say it aloud, of course, but he always thought Prince Phobos a fool for not letting the noble take a holiday back to his homeland, even just for two weeks. Let him rut. Let him get out all that energy. The shifter'd been working hard most his life for the Prince and kept the land working like damned clockwork.

Give the snake his due! he thought. Let him shag his brains out and come back relaxed. He'd make a better worker with a little bit of down time.

But oh! Noooo! Everyone just had to deal with it. Everyone. Even Prince Phobos had witnessed some rather embarrassing moments during transactions with other rulers and representatives: snake bits slipping out in the throne room at random, the deaths of a few guards because Cedric couldn't keep his temper in check, propositioning maids and lads in the halls—

—oh! And let's not forget when he tried mating with the young sultan of Jibirazzah and, when his affection wasn't requited, nearly ate him in that not so sexual way. Oh, yes! He nearly ate some people, and a few servants over the years had gone missing: always around autumn, and sometimes (rarely) their barely recognizable clothes found floating in the tunnels.

Prince Phobos sometimes, but not always, helped keep Cedric in check. But the Prince wasn't affectionate by nature at all. And as much as he enjoyed scandalous sex, he had no intention of helping Cedric every autumn.

"With a new batch of Guardians frustrating him left and right," said Frost over a brew with colleagues, "Lord Cedric's bound to be more dangerous than a herd of Hermeunta boars."

The men at the table chattered fearfully after Frost spoke, groaning their woe-is-me's and praying to their gods that they wouldn't 'disappear.'

"Just stay out of his way," growled Frost. "Trust me, it's a hell of a lot easier than you think."

As he finished his draught, an arachnid shifter crawled to their table.

"Frost, Lord Cedric wishes to see you," it hissed.

The men stopped drinking and eating. They gazed at their comrade as though a death sentence had been declared for him. Frost snorted and dismissed their fears. Probably wanted a quick word with him, an assignment of some kind. He'd be back to brag about how right he was: a little extra caution with the noble, and he'd be fine.

Oh, Cedric had an assignment for him all right! The arachnid shifter led him down halls he hadn't tread (or at least no memory of treading; he did like to nip a few pints of beer after a successful hunt, and drunken wandering was not unfamiliar to him). It knocked on a tall door (with pictures of what Frost reckoned were Cedric's people) and scurried off as though a devil chased its heels.

Shit…

The doors groaned open, and the hunter peered inside. Aside from smelling a bit musty, it was a nice chamber—kind of what he expected a noble to dwell in.

"Frost?"

"Uhh…" It sounded like Cedric, but a little more… what'd blue bloods call it? Falsetto or something… "Yeah. Yeah, my lord."

Well, she looked like Cedric when she got up from the oak bureau, dressed in some hot-scarlet dress that was just a smidgen transparent.

"Uhhhh…"

The woman smiled.

"Yes, Frost, I'm still Cedric."

"Uh… Yeah… It's a bit hard to tell without… erm! you know…"

"The parts that make me Cedric rather than… Cecelia."

"Yeah…"

The shifter smiled and raised their hand. The doors shut, sealing Frost's fate.

"His Highness has given me two days to… meditate and cool my mood," they said. "I thought that perhaps you'd like to keep me company."

Ah… hell…

Not that they weren't pretty to look at. Honestly, the noble ought to have shifted a lot more often into a lady, especially wearing that get-up. Still, the shifter was a shifter, and Frost didn't know at all what their rutting was like; probably rough and nasty as—

"May I kiss you?"

"Huh?"

"May I kiss you?" they asked, teeth gleaming.

"You mean… you actually ask? For somethin' like that? Heh! You really are a noble, ain'tcha?"

The lady laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, bestowing a tender peck on the lips. Frost smirked, feeling a little hotter in a most bawdy place.

"You, uh, always change when you've got company? I mean…"

"I change into whatever my guest prefers," said Cedric.

"And you know I like ladies?"

"Yes."

"But… well… Suppose… That is, if it never leaves here… I wanna try your lady parts first and then… your lad parts? As long as we keep it secret an' all?"

The concern on their face vanished instantly into the most joyous smile that Frost had seen on the noble.

"My! My! O' great hunter, you crave the flesh of both kinds of quarry?" the shifter tittered.

Frost's smirk widened. "Maybe. Now, I know I've got the stamina! How 'bout you?"

"We have two days. And I'm quite creative," purred Cedric.

Frost caressed those curvaceous hips and growled, "I think I found a reason to enjoy autumn."

Disclaimer: The author has written this W.I.T.C.H. fanfiction solely for entertainment. No money has been made, and no profit in any form shall be gained, from writing this fanfiction.