by Wes Havoc
The barmaid shrugged, twisting her lip. “They were meant to. But they don’t. Not here, not anywhere else. They are crooked, every last one of them. The sheriff, the superiors… They’ll just solve the cases they are bribed for. And only if it’s an easy case. You see, this one of the missing girls… Two of them were from poor families so they couldn’t do anything. But the third was the daughter of the Duke of Beichelles.” She took another spoonful of stew and chewed on it as she spoke. Cleo held back a smile. If she or her sisters ever did that sort of thing inside the palace, they would hear the scolding of their lives. “He definitely paid the guards. But it would be too troublesome, you see,” she curled her nose in disgust. “Leave the castle, perhaps fighting a monster? No, it’s not worth it. So they didn’t do it.”
Cleo sighed, looking at the soft palms of her hands. She had known her life had been gilded, but not this much. Not this bad. She didn’t even want to know what the people thought of the royal family. What they thought of her.
“I wonder what can I do to fix this. To help.” She muttered more to herself than to Isolda.
The barmaid’s rough hand came to rest over her wrist. “You’re already doing it. Your efforts mean a lot. Adventurers like you, real adventurers who take on quests to help people, you’re the ones keeping everything together and to a bare minimum.”
Cleo cocked her head, “Have you met other adventurers around here?”
She thought of the quest which requested at least five people to take on. More people meant a stronger group and she could take on more dangerous creatures and face bigger challenges… But she wondered if she would ever find herself in such a group. She didn’t think she could trust others.
“I have. Not many, but I did. There’s this girl, she’s older than us, very tall…” Isolda licked stew from the corner of her lip. “She uses Belisk as her base, I’d say. She comes every fortnight or so, gets a bunch of quests and leaves. I think her name is… Beatrice? Something like that.” She grinned as she held the spoon halfway to her mouth. “You should wait around to meet her. You two could collaborate.”
Cleo tilted her lip up. She could definitely work with another woman. “That’s a great idea. Perhaps I will.”
“What are your plans now?”
“I commissioned a pair of pants. I’m waiting for them to be ready. Guess I’ll find another quest until then.”
Isolda slid a glance to her half-ripped skirt. The slit left her whole thigh exposed. “Yeah, I guess a pair of pants is a good idea. But don’t you want to put something else on? Your skirt is torn.”
Cleo had thought about it. She had ripped the long skirt around her knees to create a makeshift bag to carry tentacles back to the sheriff as proof of her doings. She had cut the cloth with her sword and though it came out uneven, it was not that bad.
Once she thought how dismayed her mother would be for seeing her like so, she felt like she’d keep the skirt like that.
“I’m good,” she answered Isolda, brushing a hand over the fabric. “I don’t mind it. The pants will be ready soon anyway.”
Silence covered them for another minute as Isolda scrapped the end of her bowl. With a clank, she dropped her spoon to snap her fingers as she turned to Cleo, wide eyes upon her face.
“I have it! I remember people along the Eastern part talking about a beast hunting sheep.” Isolda turned completely to her, stretching a smile. “It hasn’t hurt anyone yet, but the farmers are scared. And, of course, the sheep are their livelihood. You could do it. I mean, hunt it down.”
If it was hunting sheep and not humans, it possibly was not that powerful or dangerous. Cleo leaned to her, her interest piqued.
“I remember seeing a notice of the sort. Do they know what kind of creature it was?”
Isolda’s brows tipped up, paired with a hesitant smile. “They believe it’s a werewolf.”
An unconscious, inexorable shiver ran down Cleo’s spine, lust pooling in her lower belly.
What a coincidence. A werewolf was exactly what she looked for.
2
The Eastern wall opened to an expanse of grass so large it was all Cleo could see. The battered road took her away from the city and into the fields around it, where all the food grew. To each of her sides, she saw farms of every kind. Large fruit trees, some with nothing more than green leaves, some heavy with fruit. Tall corn stalks and the beginnings of pumpkins. She saw people tending to all of them, be it fruit or vegetable.
Bent over their pastures, both men and women, from young children to wizened old people worked on the fields. Dressed in humble attires, the neutral colors were stained with the dark, rich brown of earth. Many wore large-brimmed hats and blotted their foreheads with cloths even if the day was not warm.
Cleo wondered about these people’s lives. She never needed to work to pay for her livelihood. Even if she hated how her father treated her like an asset, her family never left her to fend for herself. She never felt the acute pain of long hunger or sweated with any form of exercise other than training with her sword.
Some people straightened their spines to watch her pass, though their eyes held no recognition or interest. They would bend over their plantations once more moments later.
Amid the fields, she also saw simple houses - mere shacks made of timber that her family wouldn’t see fit even for their horses. Her stomach churned thinking that these people actually lived in such wretched conditions.
She would have to think of something. She wanted to help.
Cleo felt weak and powerless. Even with her title as Her Royal Majesty Princess Cleo de Veaux, she had already felt powerless inside her own home. Powerless against her own fate. Her duty, as her father told her.
She knew she’d have to give baby steps to do something to help these people.
And, for starters, she had to find a sheep farm.
* * *
Cleo strolled under the sun as it drifted westward. Field after field she passed, the town wall shrinking behind her. The animal farms stretched further than the others. One of them stretched endlessly, grazing cows to the horizon, small calves drinking their mother’s milk. The princess extended an arm over the wood fence to scratch the head of a dark brown cow. It kept on grazing, its ears moving gently to the sides of Cleo’s hand. She grinned, such a simple experience making her glad.
On the horizon, the dark line she first had seen became clearer with every step she took. The forest apparently bounded this part of the city’s territory. A farm to each side of the road, both bearing fences to separate their pastures from the forest line.
One field was dotted with cotton-like animals. Cleo approached the fence, beaming like a child to one of the sheep. It blinked dark eyes at her as she held back the sudden desire to dive her hands in the tall fur.
With the corner of her eye, she noticed a man standing up, lifting his hat from his face to peer in her direction.
Cleo cleared her throat and pushed her shoulders back.
She was in here, after all, to hunt, not to play with sheep.
Walking beside the fence until she reached a gate, she waited for the man to reach her. He dragged his feet, holding a staff to his hand. As he got closer, Cleo could notice his face tanned and wrinkled with hard work and time under the sun. Hoary hair escaped over his ears, under the brim of the hat.
“Morning, lady,” he greeted in a hoarse voice, then cleared his throat. “Are you lost? The city is up the road.”
Cleo paused her hand on the hilt of her sword, tilting her lip up. “Not lost, good man.” The movement of her hand over the hilt drew his eyes, and the man furrowed his brows. “I’ve heard you’re having some problems with a werewolf.”
The man cocked his head slowly, looking her up as if he thought he had to be dreaming.
“Who is it, pa?” Someone called from inside the farm. Cleo peered over the man’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of someone standing on the doorframe of their sh
ack.
The man paused, turning his head and taking too long to decide what to say.
“An adventurer,” offered Cleo, smiling.
“An adventurer, ma,” he called back, turning to her with a lifted brow. “Why don’t you come in, lady? You must be parched for walking from the city.”
Cleo accepted a glass of water after she entered their house. She chose to ignore the gasp the old woman let escape after they met. Silence covered them for a number of minutes. The place was muted. No bustling crowd, no voices or yells, just the sheep and the wind.
“I’m Martha,” the woman offered, trying a smile. “This is my husband Rufus.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Cleo smiled, holding the empty glass between her fingers. “I’m Cleo. Thanks for the water,” she offered the glass back.
The woman bobbed her head as if she didn’t quite understand it before taking the glass and putting it away.
“You said,” Rufus sat, taking his hat off. “You said you were an adventurer, miss.”
“Exactly. I’m spending some time in town, waiting for an order and saw fit to solving some cases while I’m here.”
“I see…” He voiced, though he didn’t seem to believe it so. “Is this… Perhaps, is this your first case?”
“It is not.” It was the third, but that was not the question.
Martha touched her bottom lip with a forefinger. “Cleo… Where have I heard this name before?”
Her heart raced. As far as she knew, no one looked for her. If her father had put a bounty on her, she would’ve seen it. It would have been up in one of the boards.
Perhaps they weren’t missing her just yet. Perhaps her family expected her to go back home with her tail between her legs, asking for forgiveness. Or worse - they expected her to just die already, in the hands of some bandit or monster, and they would say it happened because she was too strong-headed…
“It’s not a very common name, is it?” The man covered his chin with a hand, his gaze lost as he too seemed to try and remember it.
It was not a common name, indeed. In fact, it had been given to her to honor her great-mother, and she knew she was not just the second Cleo in the royal line… Oh, how foolish she had been. It would’ve been so much easier to use a fake name.
With her heart on her throat, she croaked “You must have heard about my recent adventure. I killed a river monster that had been kidnapping women in the forest.”
Feeling the side of her lip trembling with anticipation, she watched Rufus snap his fingers. “That’s it!”
“You’re the adventuress?” Martha gasped, covering her heart with a hand.
Holding back a relieved sigh, Cleo grinned with all her heart. “I am. As I said, I’m in town for some days, so I thought it would be nice to help out around here.”
The two looked between themselves with a hopeful glance before it dropped to a hesitant one. The woman twisted her fingers.
“We are thankful you fought of us, miss,” Rufus started.
“Very grateful,” the woman nodded.
“But… You see, it’s not because of you. But it’s a werewolf. Foul, aggressive beasts.”
“Very dangerous business,” the woman kept on nodding.
“You’re so young. You have your whole life in front of you. Getting married, having children, you know… We wouldn’t want to risk your life over that.”
Cleo clenched her jaw. “You shouldn’t worry about it. It’s my job to hunt these monsters.”
“I know, of course. But still, it’s hard to think a girl the same age as my daughter might be dead because of some sheep.”
“Yes, just a couple of sheep every fortnight. It’s not worth your life.”
The princess closed her fingers on the cloth of her skirts. She clutched the material in frustration. They just had to say yes and give her some details, what was so hard about it? She was there to help. They weren’t even the ones who would pay her.
She understood their worry, but then what? She’d leave them to let the creature eat their sheep until they were all gone? Until the farm broke?
“I appreciate the worry, but it’s unfounded. You said you had a daughter, right?” She stared at the man until he nodded once. “Very well, what if I decide to accept your offer of leaving, and then no one will come to solve your problem, because I’ve seen that notice is some months old. I’m your only chance and you’re asking me not to risk it. Then the werewolf gets tired of eating sheep and develops a richer taste. Say, for human flesh. And start with your daughter. What then?” Cleo leaned forward and the two leaned back. “By the time I killed that river monster, three girls, at least, had already been killed. And no one did a thing. Are you going to wait for some other adventurer to come here? Are you going to hope the werewolf never attacks you?” She leaned back once more, crossing her arms. “I believe your odds are very poor. You’re risking too much because you think I can’t take on the werewolf.”
“That’s… That’s not…” The man stuttered before clearing his throat.
“The male adventurers who would come, though they don’t, can also get married and have children. Why are they any different than me?”
The two looked between themselves and swallowed.
Martha sighed, “You’re right, miss. I’m deeply sorry. We should be thanking you for at least trying. No one has come to our aid to this day.”
“It’s just… not usual to see fair ladies like yourself trained on the sword, miss. I wouldn’t want you dead because of some sheep, you see.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she smiled. “I’m tougher to kill than that. I take pride in my skills of coming up with good plans to take on these monsters by myself.”
The old couple nodded again, slower this time, but in their faces, there was a hint of hope. Tiny, Cleo could perceive, but it was there.
“You’ll be doing an immense thing for us if you can banish this wolf from the woods, miss. We’re more worried, as you guessed, of it killing someone.” Martha paused a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “We’ll help you however we can.”
“Good. Then first, I need to know everything you know. When was the last time it attacked, for example? You said it does it every fifteen days?”
Rufus cocked his head, “Yeah. It’ll probably show up tonight, or tomorrow. You came in good time, miss…” He chortled. “Or bad timing, I guess.”
Cleo grinned, crossing her legs. “Bad timing for the wolf, indeed. I’m finishing this business as soon as it shows its ugly face in here.”
3
Cleo watched the first stars blink against the dark sky.
She could’ve gone back to the city and waited for the sun to set. The werewolf wouldn’t come out during the day.
But Martha and Rufus had been adamant about her staying with them. They served her lunch and told her about their daughter - working hard in town - and how they had inherited the farm from a distant aunt and managed to have their own sheep…
Though Cleo had thought that way of living was precarious, it actually had been an improvement to these people. The thought gave her goosebumps on what the rest of the kingdom had been living through as she had a different silk dress for every day of the month.
She spent the afternoon listening to such stories and avoiding questions about herself as she caressed the soft fur of any sheep that approached her. With the setting of the sun, she heard the couple whispering a protection prayer before they bid their farewells to her.
Guilt flooded her.
Of course, she had wanted to help. She wanted these people free and safe, and that involved killing any beasts attacking their flock of sheep.
But Cleo knew the main reason she came this way was the memory of the thick cock of a werewolf pressing against her.
Of the many things Cleo had learned about the world and about herself, this one took the spotlight: she was fucking lewd. She liked watching, she liked being wat
ched, she masturbated herself on the slimy tentacles of a river monster, and almost came with a werewolf licking her and pressing a huge cock against her tight cunt.
She had had an almost-okay first-and-only time with a guard back in the castle. It had been filled with pain, devoid of pleasure and ended as soon as he came on her thigh. From everything she had learned to that point, all of these had been expected.
Anatomically speaking, she was surprised anyone besides herself could make her feel such lust.
She still thought something was wrong with her… But she’d leave that to be figured out later.
Now, she held a torch Rufus had made for her in a hand as she crossed their field. The dark night laid over her a deep shadow, though it made the stars glint brighter.
Cleo looked up, noticing for the first time something odd - she saw no moon.
Wasn’t there supposed to be a full moon hanging from the night sky?
She halted, looking around herself. The silence draped down like a heavy, winter cover. The wind seemed to have stalled, unable to move the leaves of the forest. She swallowed.
As she stood alone in the empty field, standing in the middle of the only light, she noticed another odd detail. How was the werewolf able to show up twice in a month?
There was no full moon every fortnight.
She touched her bottom lip with a finger, trailing her mouth absent-mindedly. That indeed posed Cleo with a problem. Was there more than one werewolf? How was a werewolf able to transform out of full moon?
Letting her mind wander back to her first night as an adventurer, she wondered about the sky… She couldn’t recall seeing a full moon. The trees to each side of the road were too close to let her peek up into the sky.
Also, it seemed everything apart from the pleasure was hazy, as if her brain didn’t care enough to remember anything else.
Cleo breathed out, letting her hand drop to the hilt of her sword. Whatever animal it was, whatever creature… She would slay it.
