Tales of Enchantment 2: The Quest

by Kai Andersen

  He kissed her thigh, pulling the soft flesh into his mouth and effectively distracting her from her thoughts. Her pussy throbbed. After laying her back down on the bench, he moved until he was sitting beside her upper body. He bent his head, and she tasted her own juices on his lips. Instead of being repulsed, she thrilled to the added dimension of intimacy between them.

  “Say my name!” he demanded against her lips.

  She moaned and cupped his cheek, loving the rough feel of his skin under her fingertips.

  “I want you to know --” His tongue teased the shell of her ear. “-- that it’s not the gods who are responsible --” His tongue stabbed into her ear, sending streaks of pleasure through her. “-- for this, but me. Rodin. Say it!”

  His name sent a splash of cold water washing over her. She pushed him away. “No!”

  He sat up slowly, his green gaze driven as it roved down her body, lingering on her breasts and her dark bush. His eyes met hers, and she caught a glimpse of the haunted pain in them before it was masked completely.

  He reached out.

  She trembled.

  He gently buttoned her dress, taking care not to touch her more than he had to, evidenced by the careful way he grasped each button and slipped it into its partnered hole, then moved quickly to the next one. He helped her to sit up and then rose to his feet.

  “I guess that prince was the one on your mind, then,” he said, his eyes hard. He stood and sat back on the bench, his body angled away from her.

  She stared at his wooden profile, her thoughts and emotions tumbling erratically.

  She could no longer run from the truth: She was attracted to Rodin, desired him, even. But how could she desire him when it was Michael she wanted, Michael who could give her the crown, Michael who’d had to work hard to gain her response? Even now, it was Rodin’s lips she wanted to trace her tongue over, to soften them and to feel them over her lips again, to have his tongue inside her mouth, stroking her, making her feel cherished and desired and wanted.

  How could she tell him that when she didn’t understand herself, when she didn’t know why?

  Chapter Seven

  “Serena, it’s been seven days! I can’t take this anymore!”

  Giselda paced back and forth across the sitting room in her stepbrother’s apartments.

  Serena was seated in the overstuffed armchair in the right corner of the room, yarns of wool in the basket at her feet. “These things take time, dear. Sometimes there are detours along the way, or they may have been riding a bit slow, stretching the two days to three or four --”

  “And they could have been captured, slain, and roasted over a fire for an ogre’s dinner!” Giselda’s agitation instigated her imagination, conjuring up several horrible fates that could have befallen Michael and his companions.

  “You’ve been cooped up in the castle for the past four days; no wonder these silly thoughts have been going through your head,” Serena chided. “Here, take some of these blueberry cookies; they’re fresh from the oven.” She nodded toward the plate on the table beside her. “It’s not chocolate, but it might calm your nerves.”

  Giselda saw the inviting presentation of delicious-looking cookies and reached out a hand. “Hmm ... Delicious! It positively melts in my mouth.” She released a blissful sigh. “You baked these?”

  “No, it was Mrs. Goode-Heart.”

  Giselda shrieked and dropped the cookie like a piece of hot coal.

  Serena looked up in alarm. “What is the matter?”

  “I will never, never take in anything handled by that evil woman!” Giselda shuddered.

  “Don’t be silly! Mrs. Goode-Heart is a loyal servant and as good as her name. She would not poison --”

  “But that time at the lodge --”

  “Except for Frederick’s courtship, I do not remember anything of that time.” Serena’s voice was firm and brooked no argument.

  Giselda shut her mouth.

  She remembered with shame the atrocious plan she had participated in to drive Frederick and Serena apart. Giselda blamed everything on her desperation then to be the crown princess, and consequently, the queen of Mithirien. After all, Frederick was not her real brother. But then, there was never any possibility of him being hers, the truth of which she had forced herself to see in the past few months.

  The point was that she also remembered with distinct clarity the night her princessly resolve was turned into fainting mush with one touch of that witch’s hand, after which Giselda had awakened the following morning with a pounding head. From then on, she’d determined to put as much distance as she could between them. Hell, one thousand leagues wasn’t far enough! As to touching anything that had gone through those wicked hands ... Giselda shuddered.

  Serena was saying, “If you don’t want to eat anything, why don’t you take out that poor mare of yours and have a nice ride in the countryside --”

  “You’ll come with me?”

  “I can’t.” Serena looked shy for a moment. “I was going to tell Frederick first, but ... We’re going to have a baby.”

  Giselda was delighted, and she ran over to clasp Serena’s hands. “When?”

  “Oh, in about six or seven months.”

  “Excellent! I’m going to be an aunt.” Giselda grinned, and then she looked at the basket of wool with new significance. “So that is why you’re knitting.”

  Serena grimaced. “Trying to. I still can’t get the hang of it. I was more into cooking than knitting.”

  “Your cakes are the best.”

  “Now, why don’t you go and have a nice ride with Rodin? You can expend some of that nervous energy and --”

  Giselda did not want to see Rodin, not after what they had done, not after what she had done. Her cheeks flamed at the thought of her response to him, at how she had pressed herself more fully against his mouth.

  “I know.” Her eyes lit up. “I’ll bring some of our soldiers and go after Michael myself. Thanks, Serena. Bye.”

  “Wait!”

  “What?” Giselda half-turned, her foot tapping incessantly on the floor.

  “I don’t think you should bother Father about this --”

  Giselda forgot her impatience. Her eyes widened. “You mean I should sneak off on my own? Why, Serena, I didn’t know you were so sneaky and naughty.” She nodded. “Yes, naughtier than me.”

  “Of course I don’t mean that!” Serena’s knitting needles snapped against each other. When Giselda’s teasing tone registered, Serena’s lips pulled together in a sheepish smile. “You shouldn’t tease a pregnant woman so, Gi. It might have harmful effects on the baby.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t think of that --” Giselda’s horrified cry broke off as Serena burst out laughing. Her own lips curved. “Why you --”

  “As I was saying, I just think it is too early for you to be bothering Father about it.”

  “It has been seven days, Serena! Seven! Father said it would take only five!”

  Serena bit her lip, a look of indecision crossing her face. She ducked her head, but not before Giselda had seen her expression. “Serena, why do you have that look on your face?”

  “What look?” Serena laughed, but the laugh was awkward and uncomfortable. “I wasn’t aware there was any ‘look’ on my face.”

  “You’ve always been a lousy liar, Serena, but I’ll let it go this time only because I have to go --”

  Serena’s loud sigh cut her off. “No, it’s not right that you don’t know about this.” She lifted her head and looked straight into Giselda’s eyes. “We’re not supposed to tell you this ... We don’t want you to worry, you see ... But I’m sure that he’s fine and --”

  “Serena, would you just get to it? I’m getting more worried and confused by the second.”

  “Some quests may last for five days, but not this one, Gi. It could take Michael several months, even a year --”

  “A year!” Giselda listened with rising incredulity.

  “Yes, well. For o
ne, no one really knows the exact place where the bird can be found. For another --”

  Giselda shrieked. “You mean, Michael is really on a wild goose chase?”

  “No. I believe the bird exists, but as I said, nobody knows for sure where --”

  “At this rate, I could be wrinkled and toothless by the time he gets back.”

  Uncontrollable laughter burst from Serena. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad, Gi. Maybe a few months ...”

  Giselda wailed. “I don’t want to wait a few months! I want to marry him next week, tomorrow, now! And what if trolls are hunting them this very minute, or ogres are roasting them even as we speak?” Grim resolve filled her. “No, enough of this quest nonsense. I will go bring him back now.”

  Serena called after her retreating back. “Be careful of what you say.”

  * * * * *

  “Your Majesty, please allow me to go.” Giselda hated the pleading note in her voice, especially now, with the court in full attendance. She even went so far as to kneel in front of the king’s throne. There was no help for it. She had to make sure Michael was alive and safe.

  “You should learn patience, Princess,” the king boomed. “Just wait, and before you know it, he’ll be standing right in front of you.”

  “But it has been so long already --”

  “It has been but seven days. Moreover, quests do have a tendency to drag.”

  Giselda clenched her teeth to keep from blurting out that he had lied to her about the duration of the quest. She knew her father had done it out of love for her, but still ... “What if something bad happened? How would we answer to the king of Ermont?”

  “Prince Michael signed a waiver --”

  “Does that absolve us of all responsibility?”

  The king sighed. “I know you’re worried, Princess, and it’s a fine sentiment, but what you are asking ... Let’s make a compromise, shall we? I will send my finest warriors to bring him back, golden bird or no. Then, we can have the wedding.”

  “But Your Majesty, I want to go myself --”

  “You are ill-equipped for rugged terrain, Princess Giselda. On that, my decision is final. Now, get up and stand aside.” Turning toward the assembly, where his ministers had gathered for the morning’s work, he thundered, “For this mission, I send Rodin, the best warrior in Mithirien. Rodin, step forward, lad.”

  Rodin, his face impassive, stepped out from behind Frederick and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  “You are to take as many men as you need in search of Prince Michael of Ermont. Once you find him, no matter the status of his quest, you are to return with him at once to the castle.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. But I have a small request.”

  “Speak.”

  “I wish to go alone.”

  Giselda refused to even look at Rodin as she protested, “Your Majesty --”

  “Let us hear him out, Princess.” Turning to Rodin, the king continued, “State your reasons, young man.”

  “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I believe speed is of the essence. Bringing additional men would just slow down the process, in addition to multiplying the provisions we would need to have with us. I know the land like the back of my hand, and I have confidence that I can bring the prince back by myself.”

  “What does the crown prince say?”

  Frederick stepped forward and bowed before replying, “I have faith in Rodin’s capabilities, Your Majesty.”

  “Then so be it. You will leave tomorrow morning at first light.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rodin set out before dawn broke across the sky, neither wanting nor needing the farewells and good wishes that the people were sure to utter as they sent him off on his journey. It wasn’t as if this were a relaxing trip or even a voluntary one. No, his heart wasn’t in it. But his king had commanded, and he obeyed.

  What irony that he had to bring back the almost-betrothed of the woman he loved -- his rival, so to speak. Yes, he loved Giselda, haughty, unreachable princess that she was. But there was nothing he could do about it, nothing he could do to change the circumstance of his birth, nothing he could do to win her heart. And even if he, by some miracle, caused Giselda to love him, he couldn’t imagine the king giving his beloved daughter over to a nobody like him. All the factors were against him. He wasn’t a nobleman; he had no wealth to speak of, no title, no lineage, no royal blood. The moment these feelings for her were borne in his heart, they were doomed.

  Never mind that she had responded so sweetly to him that day in the garden. His body tightened as he remembered the intoxicating scent of her arousal. He could still taste her on his tongue, on his lips. He closed his eyes and saw her again as she lay on the bench after that explosive orgasm -- her long, dark coppery tresses in direct contrast to her pink gown (a wonderful creation, that!) and creamy skin, brown eyes half-closed in languor and satisfaction, and a dreamy smile on her lips. Wanton, open, and generous. Her legs had stayed open to his gaze and to his touch, and it seemed that there was a question in her eyes.

  Before he could decipher what it meant, he had been distracted by the tempting sight of her pale thighs and dark mound, and he had bent his head to kiss a particularly soft spot.

  His unruly cock reacted to the memory. It hardened, and he cupped it through his breeches, feeling its throbbing warmth through the fabric. He desperately needed the release he had denied himself ever since learning of his feelings for her.

  Four months. Four long, hellish months. Or thereabouts.

  He reached in and allowed himself a few quick strokes, sighing as he imagined Giselda’s hot mouth sucking on his cock. He smeared pre-cum along his cock. Her fingers encircled him in a tight grip. He stroked, enveloping his cock with his fingers. She caressed him with her hand, following her mouth as she moved up and down his hard length. His breath shortened. Giselda’s languid eyes gazed up at him, her mouth full of his cock. He felt the tension build ... build ... build ...

  His horse whinnied softly beside him.

  Rodin cursed and withdrew his hand. He couldn’t believe what he’d almost done. In the stables, in full view of anyone who could have walked in ...

  He ached, so badly that he wanted to finish what he’d started. But it was Giselda’s mouth he wanted on his cock, her tight sheath he wanted to bury his cock in, and not his hand.

  Impatient and angry with himself for wanting what he couldn’t have, he led the horse out of the stable and outside the castle. Then he swung himself into the saddle and rode his horse hard past the outlying villages and over the rough terrain, careful to keep his direction due east. He had brought with him only the barest necessities so as not to be slowed down. He just wanted to get it all over and done with.

  A few miles past the villages surrounding the castle, the beautiful countryside stretched out in a wide expanse of green before him. Craggy mountains loomed in the distance, and trees stood together in clumps to his right. But the beautiful scenery was lost on him as he whizzed by, his whole being focused on his mission. So far, he hadn’t seen any sign of the prince or his companions, or any villages from which he could seek information.

  He stopped at midday to replenish his strength and to allow his horse to graze and rest a bit, though he chafed at the delay. But it was practical. If he drove himself and his horse into the ground, the trip might be delayed even longer.

  After resting for a bit, he decided to move. He resaddled his horse and was about to swing up when he heard a slight rustling noise in the bushes behind him. He stilled, patting his horse on the nose to silence him. A small white rabbit peeped out and then hopped toward him. He relaxed. It came to an abrupt stop when it caught sight of them, but before Rodin could unsheathe his knife, it turned and disappeared into the underbrush.

  Oh, well. Happy life, rabbit.

  Not wanting to waste any more time, he swung into the saddle and navigated his horse out of the trees. Once in the open air, he spurred the horse into a gallop. He wanted to cover as m
uch ground as possible. He hoped to find the prince resting in the upcoming village, maybe screaming bloody murder because of a sprained ankle, and then it would be Rodin’s pleasure to drag him back to the castle.

  By nightfall, however, he was ready to admit fatigue. He had traveled hard for most of the day, his horse was foaming at the mouth, and though the prince had stopped to rest in the last village, he had already moved on. Maybe Rodin would have better luck the next day.

  He scouted around for a suitable campsite, eventually setting up his small tent in a secluded area where the trees formed a protective circle. He got a fire going, and soon the delicious smell of a roasting fat rabbit filled the air. He knew he should be filled with anticipation at the prospect of filling his empty stomach, but all he felt was bone-tired weariness, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

  A twig snapped.

  He stiffened, all his senses on the alert.

  The sound had come from behind him.

  His right hand crept to the hilt of the sword hanging at his left side.

  The leaves rustled.

  In one swift motion, he unsheathed the sword and rushed toward the sound.

  Chapter Nine

  Giselda’s heart was in her throat when she saw Rodin charging at her. She had only wanted to see what he was cooking so deliciously. She hadn’t been aware that she’d moved forward, until her foot had stepped on a twig.

  “No! Stop!”

  He checked his forward motion, balancing precariously on the balls of his feet. “Giselda?” A wealth of shock was in his voice.

  She stepped out into the light of the campfire, her eyes going hungrily to the meat roasting on a nearby spit. His furious voice brought her eyes to his face. “What are you doing here?!”

  She found her voice, although she was shaking inside. “Such welcome, Rodin. Since you didn’t bring any of your men, I thought you might need help. So, here I am,” she said brightly. “But can we continue this discussion later? I’m hungry.”