Febra awoke, realizing the noises she'd heard had come from herself. One hand traced her curves, while the other moved over the furnace between her legs she'd stoked with her sensual, fevered dream. The springy moss on which she lay tickled her nose as she sighed with a ghost of disappointment. So many years since her mother had died and such sounds had made her feel safe and loved.
Of course, her father still loved her, but he was gone so often. He no longer took Febra on his visits to other kingdoms after that one piggish ruler's advances on her. They'd barely missed a war declaration after she'd plowed a knee into his open riding breeches, a move which her father had supported.
Now, she often trained alone in the forest, slashing limbs and throwing knives into tree trunks, twisting her nubile body around as quickly as she could. Then, she often napped, preferring the forest and the amiable animal to the lonely castle.
She sat up from her moss bed, her forest friends circling her like a furry sentry. She almost had an audible intake of breath as she perceived a boy with broad shoulders sitting with his back to her. Instead, her training led her to resume her moans and mounting sighs, as though she still lay in rapture, while she reached for the knife in her boot.
The boy rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, seemingly in reaction to her exclamations. It gave Febra a feeling of power as she put her fingers around the handle. She bit her lip and, with the grace and stealth of her animal trainers, she slipped the blade from its leather sheath and pressed its point against the boy's back.
"Whoa, take care with that, Maiden. I mean you no harm," the boy said in a rush, raising his hands to show no weapon.
"What are you doing here?" Febra demanded. She tightened her grip on the knife pricking his spine.
"I was walking through the woods and came upon you. You began moving and making noises. I was afraid it might draw someone with ill intentions, so I've been guarding you."
"Guarding me?" Her cheeks warmed in anger at herself. Her erotic dream had made her vulnerable? As a warrior in training, it was unforgivable. "Turn around, slowly," she ordered, dropping her voice to a menace.
The boy lowered his hands and turned to reveal a slightly round, stubbly face under his battered cap, with pastel blue eyes and shining blond hair. He gave her a tentative grin, locking his gaze on her china-doll features.
Her intake of breath at his young virility, even from a warrior was understandable. Even the fox responded to him, scampering over to lick his hand. He smiled down on the kit as he patted her head. "See? They know I can be trusted. He raised his eyes back to the flustered maiden. "I'm Derek. Who are you?'
He didn't recognize her as the princess. This pleased Febra. She thought of the song her father sang to her about the flower for which the White Kingdom was named. "I'm Edel."
His light red lips quirked up in a bright smile. "Edel, short for Edelweiss?"
She nodded, pulling back a tendril of her ebony hair and leaving her hand behind her neck, an unconscious tease for him to touch its softness.
"A popular name in this kingdom, I suppose," Derek said, instinctively reaching out a hand as if he would touch her, before quickly dropping it to his lap.
"Are you not from this realm?" Febra asked. She cocked her head in an adorable pose that set Derek's heart galloping.
"Uh, no," he answered. "I'm from Tarik's kingdom, the Diamond Realm. Or, as I call it, the Dim One's Realm." He leaned closer to her, whispering his joking sedition.
Febra snickered with him. That explained why he didn't recognize her. Her revulsion at that name and the memory of the king pressing himself against her ripening body and her satisfaction at making him groan and double over all returned to her. It occurred to her that Derek's eyes were the same hue, but it wasn't fair to compare him to that boar. Derek was nice, and she agreed with him about his king. She picked up a fluffy brown bunny to rest in the nest of her warm thighs and rubbed her cheek on its fur.
"What are you doing in this forest?" she asked, as she continued the caress of the rabbit, thinking Derek would like it. Instead, he frowned.
"I came to petition to the king as a scholar. Tarik denied me when I went before him and said I should go to the diamond mines."
"But my fa—I mean, King Rodrigo is traveling with his ambassadors." She shivered as an early fall breeze whistled in her moss cot and seemed to swirl around her, ruffling her black hair and wafting the perfume of it to young Derek.
"So I learned." He breathed in the scent of the maiden and removed his cloak, draping it over her shoulders.
Her eyes lingered on the top of his tunic. Through the loose lacing she glimpsed his sternum and the prominent male lump in his throat. A silence fell on them and the forest seemed to suspend activity, as the young couple leaned toward each other, north and south poles of adolescent magnetism.
A giggle from above them broke the spell and they jerked their heads to the sound. Their spot was beneath a hill, a shelf of earth, onto which a woman ran and lay down a pouch. While she would have had to step to the edge and look straight down to see them, the curious teens were able to watch as a dark-bearded man rushed toward her.
His leggings, belted tunic and assorted weapons identified him as a huntsman. He grabbed the woman in a possessive kiss.
"Lon," Derek whispered through clenched teeth. Febra turned to him. He placed a finger on his lips and inched closer to her. "He's from my village. He's vicious. Likes torturing animals and doesn't make much difference between them and people."
The tall, light brunette woman pulled away and ripped open her blue satin gown and underthings, exposing breasts like pale melons with dark, clearly excited peaks and slender curves.
"I'd recognize those beauties no matter your disguise," Lon said with a husky chuckle, lowering his head to the woman's chest.
Febra dropped her eyes to her own bosom in a natural female comparison, pleased to see it pointed and prominent as well. Her muslin skirt ballooned around her, but she knew beneath it that her stomach was smaller and flatter than that of the impressive woman above her. Her glance sidled to Derek. He'd said he was a scholar and he might as well have been taking notes, as intently as he watched the older couple touching and suckling.
The woman rubbed the front of Lon's leggings until he groaned. "Yes."
"Beg," she ordered, pushing away again. She stalked the clearing in her open dress while Lon fell to his knees and lowered his head.
"Please," he moaned. He stuck his hand in his tights. Febra's eyes grew wide as she watched the knuckles of his fist moving up and down, pumping his erection.
She squinted, her heart beating apace, wondering what was happening when the woman snapped a low-hanging limb from a fat-trunked beech tree and stripped it of half its leaves. She returned to the prostrate huntsman, slapping the bare stick in her hand. "Show yourself," she barked.
Lon rose and removed bow and crisscross of leather securing his blades. Febra frowned. A fighter should never surrender his weapons. She bit her lip at the expanse of chest with its own black forest of hair. Her cunnus twinged and contracted when Lon dropped the green leggings, revealing the first cock she'd ever seen, sticking out to an unbelievable length.
Next to her, Derek shifted on the moss cushion and she turned her head to catch him looking down at his own bulging leggings, apparently making a male comparison.
They both startled when the woman whacked her stick on Lon's bare buttocks, making them twitch. He threw back his head with an expression Febra couldn't decide was of pain or pleasure.
"Why should I let you touch me?' the woman snarled, prodding the naked man with the stick, like a lioness playing with its prey. "You failed to do what I asked of you, didn't you?'
"But, my queen," Lon stuttered as she struck him again.
"Silence! Did I ask you to steal the diamonds?" The woman threw her hand on her hip as she circled the trembling huntsman, pulling back that side of her clothes to display her long, slender nudity.
"Y-yes, my queen, but—"
"—But, indeed. I was forced to do it myself and risk discovery before I could escape!" She flailed him twice, her lips twitching in a sadistic smile as Lon howled and his buttocks reddened.
Derek gulped and shifted again. Febra looked down at her hands, trying hard not to observe the act in the private amphitheater.
"Please, my queen. I beg your forgiveness. I will never again fail to carry out your command, anything you command." Febra marveled at the clutching, strangled sound of a basso whimper.
"Anything?" asked the woman. She stood close behind Lon, poking the end of her crop at his anus.
"You may be assured, my queen," he groaned.
"Hmm, very well."
Febra lifted her eyes to see the woman standing in front of her subject.
"Kneel," the woman ordered.
On his knees, Lon's mouth aligned with the woman's pubis. She took his large hands and placed them on her round buttocks, pressing herself closer to him. Like a trained animal, the burly man took no action until his domina looked down on him with a sneering smile. "Taste."
The obedient man snaked out a red tongue and probed and laved. He chomped at her opening and squeezed her buttocks until the woman moaned and fell to the ground.
Febra cocked her head, conscious of a change in the couple. Lon shifted as he lay over the woman. She pulled his head down for a lingering kiss. While the caning had made Febra uncomfortable, she couldn't suppress her interest in a basic missionary coupling like she'd heard women of the court giggling about. It reminded her of the night she'd seen her mother and father.
The woman's dark honey hair splayed out on the green grass as she moved in tandem with Lon. His strong buttocks tensed, his bracing arms bulged and Febra warmed, nearly moaning with the woman when she raised her legs, bounced rapidly and shouted her fulfillment to the forest.
She gripped Lon in a sweaty vise as he pushed and held and gave a prolonged groan.
"Gen—"
"—No, not that name," she interrupted him. She pushed him away and stood, pulling her dress closed and taking a ribbon from her hair to wrap around herself like a belt. "We should be on our way."
The long-suffering huntsman sighed and donned his clothes and weapons. "What name will you use?"
"Haven't decided," she answered, scampering away. Lon grinned and sauntered after her.
"Umm, I'm sorry you had to watch that," Derek said when the couple left. "I didn't want Lon to hurt you."
"I understand," answered Febra, standing and brushing off her skirt. "Are you sure he's dangerous? He didn't seem so bad."
Derek shrugged. "I suppose it could have been rumors. I've never seen him torture an animal, but I've never seen him do those...other things either."
"Yes," Febra said with an awkward titter. "That was..."
"Yes, it was." Derek still sat on the moss, almost as if reluctant to stand. The young couple grew silent, looking down at the ground.
Febra broke the lull. "Are you going to petition King Rodrigo again? I might know someone who can help." It didn't seem right to tell the young man from another realm that he'd been watching the sex act with a princess.
Derek shook his head, yellow wisps of hair swishing with his movement. "No, this was my last chance. I should have known better than to hope for something more than the mines. You should have seen King Tarik's disgust when I appeared before him."
"Why should he be disgusted?'
"Most people are, or at least uncomfortable."
"That's silly," said Febra. "There's no reason you should make anyone uncomf..."
Derek rose to stand before her. She looked down at him, at least two heads shorter than she.
"Yeah," Derek said with a nod, slamming his cap onto his yellow hair, his blue eyes drooping. "No reason." He turned and slumped away.
Febra opened her mouth to speak but didn't. She gathered her blades and headed home to the castle, looking back up the hill where she and the charming but very small young man had watched the passionate, mysterious couple.
As she left the area, the woman ran back to retrieve the forgotten pouch. The setting sun glowed in the reflection of a mirror sticking out of the bag. The woman pushed it back in and flung the pouch over her shoulder.