Chittering laughter preceded the appearance of the other eleven. All of them came in pairs of twins – five, to be exact – and then at last came the eldest. She was so unlike the others who were all blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and Max wanted her immediately. Her dark hues, her black hair, and her dusky eyes were just his type, and he at once forgot all the other princesses. She came forward in her silk nightgown and silenced the chatter of all her sisters.
“Now, now, let’s be kind to our guest and welcome him as princesses should.” Her command over her sisters was total, and they all curtsied before Max.
Max’s discomfort fled from him as he looked on the eldest princess, the way her gown hung off her breasts and clung to her hips. Her slim, bare feet and painted toenails delighted him, and if the codpiece had been tight before, it was excruciating now. It was in dire need of adjustment, but Max dared not reach down and grab himself in front of twelve princesses. He wondered how it would be if he slammed the dark-haired princess against the wall, threw up her nightgown, and took her like a real man, not like some limp-wristed, gentle prince.
“I am Alaren,” the eldest said, coming forward and extending her hand toward Max.
Max took it and kissed it, and her skin smelled of lilacs.
“Maximilian Wargrave, late of the Phoenix.”
“You are about a dangerous business, Maximilian Wargrave.” Alaren’s dark eyes danced in firelight of the drawing room. “My father will execute you. You shall not rise like the phoenix at dawn if you fail.”
Max knew that, but he feared no headsman. The dagger hidden in his boot was insurance against such an end.
Chapter Two
Alaren’s breath hitched. The feel of Maximilian’s rough, callused hand on hers was like a fire-brand on her flesh. He was tall, taller than any of the princes who had come here over the past months. His shoulders were broad, and his dark hair curled over the edge of his high, stiff collar. His skin was tanned, clearly from having spent much time outdoors. He wore his clothes uncomfortably, as though he had never been in anything so confining. Alaren could not help herself; her gaze dropped to his bulging codpiece. She could see that he barely fit as it was, and the thought that he was aroused at the sight of her brought a rush of wetness to her pussy.
“And these are my sisters.” Alaren waved her hand at the blonde group surrounding her. “Princesses Lily, Violet, Rose, Saffron, Orchid, Honeysuckle, Iris, Marigold, Buttercup, Hyacinth, and Lavinia.” The last princess, the only one aside from herself without a twin, was the only one whose name Maximilian repeated.
“Princess Lavinia.” He bowed over her hand, too, and Alaren was surprised at herself. She was angry with Lavinia for her flirtations, for her holding Maximilian’s hand too long.
Alaren interposed herself between Lavinia and Maximilian. “So, Mr. Wargrave, late of the Phoenix – or do you prefer Maximilian?” She pushed Lavinia back toward the bedchamber. “You know you’re tired, sister. Go, and rest.”
Lavinia tittered, and she and the others swept back into the bedchamber, closing the door. Alaren was left in the wide drawing room with Maximilian.
“I usually go by Max,” he said.
Alaren smiled. “I like Maximilian.” She leaned toward him, letting the loose locks of her black curls brush his arm as she made a show of looking past him. “So you know why you have come here?”
Maximilian’s breath was ragged, and Alaren was pleased. Clearly this earthy soldier knew his way around a woman. “I’ve come because your father the king has run out of princes to massacre.”
“Massacre?” Alaren shook her head. “Hardly. Most of them were here because this way they could get a good bride without paying a brideprice.”
“Didn’t any of them want to help the poor, bewitched princesses?” Maximilian’s teasing voice pulled her eyes toward his face. He had a beard, unfashionable and sexier than should be possible, and his scruffy appearance, despite his obviously new clothes, warmed Alaren all the way to her core.
“Most of them didn’t even think that there was anything to it,” said Alaren. She fixed Maximilian’s green eyes with her own dark ones. “They just assumed it was a group of sisters poking fun at their father. They didn’t expect any … magic.”
“Ah.” Maximilian did not look away, not even to laugh at her mention of magic.
“Why do you have a beard?” she asked before she could stop herself. “I thought soldiers had to be clean-shaven.”
“I’ve just retired, princess,” said Maximilian, and Alaren felt his rough clasp on her wrist. “I’ve been used to living by my wits out on the field, and I know better than to go to war without doing my reconnaissance.”
“What?” Alaren’s breathy voice surprised her. Why should she be so aroused by this man’s touch?
“I mean, princess, that I want to find out everything you can tell me about your ‘curse’.” Maximilian’s pressure on her wrist increased, and Alaren felt her pussy growing positively wet. “What happens to you every night?”
“Alaren, you’re not to keep our savior all to yourself.” The door of the bedchamber opened once more, and the flood of blondes poured out again. “We all get to have dinner with him before we retire.”
The words were Lavinia’s, and Alaren sighed. Her sisters had silk robes on over their nightdresses, and one of the flower twins – even Alaren was not sure which – was holding out to her the red silk robe she always wore.
“Thank you, Iris,” said Alaren.
“I’m Honeysuckle.” A poked-out tongue was Alaren’s only reward for her thanks.
“Dinner?” asked Maximilian. “And then bed? At what – sunset? I thought court ladies kept more dissipated hours.”
Alaren threw her robe on over her shift. “We would if we could, Maximilian.” Despite Honeysuckle’s delay of her, she did not lose her place by Maximilian’s side, even if Lavinia was on his other.
“You see, good soldier.” Lavinia’s blue eyes twinkled. “We are already overcome with weariness.”
“Overcome?” Maximilian glanced at Alaren. “Right.”
“No, really, sir.” Giggles behind them carried, and Alaren sighed again. Her flower-twin sisters were good-hearted enough, but terribly silly.
“We go to bed early,” said Alaren. “Every night right after dinner we retire to our chamber. It is, as you can see, four stories up, and the windows are too narrow for us to climb down.”
“I already noticed that.” Maximilian’s quick green eyes sparkled, and Alaren could not help herself. She pressed closer to his side, letting her hand brush his thigh. His muscles were strong, taut beneath her fingers, and she could just imagine how he would look bare-legged. No scrawny, thin sticks here. Maximilian was most definitely a full man.
“Our door is locked from the outside,” said Alaren, trying to cover the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. “We can’t get out that way.”
“But yet,” said Lavinia, tugging on Maximilian’s other hand, “we wake each morning more exhausted than when we went to bed. Our slippers are worn clean through, and we have to spend the rest of the day recuperating and resting, just to be ready to face another night.”
“And you don’t remember anything?” Maximilian’s question was sharp, and Alaren couldn’t meet his eyes.
“No,” said Lavinia firmly. “We don’t. Not one blessed thing.”
“That’s a pity,” said Maximilian, but he was not looking at Lavinia. “I’d have hoped such fresh and blooming flowers as you are would have better heads on your shoulders.”
Alaren opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again at once. Lavinia was glaring at her behind Maximilian’s back.
“You should go,” whispered Alaren then. “Go while you still can.”
Maximilian shook his head, and Alaren felt his rough hand brush against hers. “I’m not going anywhere. I like the prize, and I’m going to win it.”
Alaren licked her lips. The way Maximilian spoke, the determined set of his s
houlders, the gleaming green of his eyes – she was wet as spring. She dropped her eyes to his chest. It was a little too broad for his shirt, and the cloth strained across the front. “I want you to win.”
“Sister!” Lavinia’s unwelcome voice was shrill in Alaren’s ears. “It won’t do to become too attached to our would-be savior. There’s no help for us – or for him.”
Alaren nodded, but she kept her eyes fixed on Maximilian.
Dinner was a torturous affair. Alaren had wanted to sit beside Maximilian, but somehow Lavinia had maneuvered Honeysuckle and Iris into the places on either side of the soldier. Alaren contented herself with sitting across from him. She watched the way he ate, quickly and neatly, but with great gusto. His mouth closed over a round strawberry, and its juice dribbled into his beard. Alaren nearly came just thinking about her juices dripping into his beard. He licked his fingers after a particularly creamy bite of cake, and Alaren wanted him to be licking her cream off his fingers.
Blood burned in her cheeks as she saw him wink at her. He knew! The arrogant soldier knew what he was doing to her! He could tell she wanted him, and he was torturing her. The realization did not, as she had expected, quench her desire. Instead, Alaren found she wanted him even more. She wanted to touch him, to be touched by him, and she resolved to ask her sisters if they could let this one go.
“Come, Alaren.” Someone was pulling on her hands, and Alaren blinked to realize it was Lavinia. So absorbed had Alaren been in watching Maximilian make love to his food with his mouth, she had not noticed that dinner was over.
Alaren elbowed her way to walk beside Maximilian back to the bedchamber. The rooms and hallways were swarmed with pages and footmen, or else Alaren might have dared more. As it was, she kept herself pressed to Maximilian’s side, allowing her fingers to wander from his thigh to his firm, luscious buttocks.
He pressed back against her hand, and his chuckle warmed Alaren to her core. “I didn’t realize princesses were so bold.”
“Only because we are so grateful to you for trying to break our curse.” Alaren could not meet his eyes as she lied.
“So you do this with every prince who tries?” asked Maximilian, raising an eyebrow.
“Ugh! No!” Lavinia, still on Maximilian’s other side, shook her head. “They may not be old – except for Theobaud of Delphiny – but they’re skinny, useless creatures.”
“Ah.” It was the second time Maximilian had said it, and Alaren felt a twinge of fear-touched pleasure that it might indicate he was penetrating something of their secret.
She wished he were penetrating her. The thought brought her up short, and she knew she would beg her sisters to let Maximilian go.
“What happens next?” asked Maximilian. He had not stopped leaning into her hand, and now that they stood at the doorway of the bedchamber, with all the attendants farther off, he let his own hand wander free. It slid up her backside, tracing the curve of her ass, and he squeezed her round buttock.
“I, I mean we, change for bed.”
“I thought these were your nightgowns.” Maximilian’s roving hand was effectively screened from any eyes by Alaren’s own body. “They’re thin enough.”
Alaren wished her gown was nonexistent, so that that rough, callused hand would be on her bare skin. “No, these are our dressing gowns. We don’t have the energy to dress properly any longer. We just wear these shifts with robes while dining.”
“And for sleeping?” Maximilian’s hand slipped upward, skimming Alaren’s flank beneath her scarlet robe.
“We wear … proper nightgowns.” Alaren nearly lost her sentence as Maximilian’s hand brushed across her nipple.
“I can’t imagine anything flimsier than these dresses.” His breath was on her cheek.
“Come on, Alaren.” Lavinia tugged her away yet again, pulling her inside. “Our savior needs to have his pallet made up in front of the door.”
“We will see you again before we go to bed,” said Alaren.
Maximilian nodded, but she caught the gleam in his green eyes.
Watch me, she mouthed.
And then Lavinia had pulled her into the room. Alaren made sure that she was the one who closed the door. Only she did not close it, not all the way. She left it ajar slightly, and she saw Maximilian on the other side, his gaze fixed on her.
Alaren dropped her scarlet robe to the floor and turned her back to the doorway. Slowly, one ribbon at a time, she unfastened her dressing gown. When it was unlaced, she turned back to the door, letting the white satin fall slowly off one breast. As her rosy nipple was revealed, Alaren caught the brightened gleam in Maximilian’s eyes. She uncovered the second one just as slowly, and as the white satin slid down to her hips, she caught sight of Maximilian adjusting his codpiece. When her mound, bare and glistening and hairless, came into view she thought she heard the slightest of groans.
“Alaren!” The door slammed all the way shut, and Lavinia was in front of her. “Get ready! We can’t be late, and that soldier took far too long at dinner.”
“I know.” Alaren quickly put on the appropriate night-wear, then draped her scarlet robe back over it. “But can’t we let this one go? He’s not like the others.”
“What do you mean?” One of the flower-twins shook out her loose, blonde hair. “He’s good-looking, in a scruffy way, but he’s just another man.”
“Though maybe not as much of a stuffed shirt.” Iris’s admission brought nods.
“He’s a soldier,” said Alaren. “He’s an honest man, a good man. He doesn’t deserve to die.”
“He knew what he was signing up for when he took our father’s offer.” Lavinia’s blue eyes gleamed. “And I, for one, don’t want to face the alternative.”
“Eww.” All the flower-twins were nodding now, and Alaren bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She had lost. Even if she didn’t go along with it, her sisters were too many. They would force the wine down Maximilian’s throat.
“Oh, savior!” The door opened, and they all poured out to surround Maximilian.
Alaren stood a bit off as one of the flower-twins pushed a cup of wine into Maximilian’s hands. “Drink with us!” The giggle grated on Alaren.
“Yes, drink! A night-cap to settle us!” Other cups were produced, and the girls all drank. They fixed Maximilian with their concerted gaze, and even Alaren could not look away as he lifted the cup to his lips.
He drank.
Alaren sighed. “Good night, soldier,” she whispered. “Sleep well.”
Maximilian seemed to smile at her; he must have heard her. But then his eyes grew heavy, and he collapsed to the floor, snoring loudly.
“Damnation!” Honeysuckle stepped back. “He didn’t even make it back to his pallet!”
“We have to get him there,” said another flower-twin.
“Of course.” Lavinia’s eyes danced. “Alaren and I can do it. You girls gather the stones.”
Alaren knelt next to Maximilian’s head. “He’s heavy.” She tried to slide her hands under his shoulders.
“Big,” said Lavinia.
They both grunted and tugged and pulled.
“This is hopeless, Alaren,” said Lavinia. “He’s too massive to move.”
Alaren could not help herself. Her eyes darted to Maximilian’s codpiece yet again. Massive was right. “You go to the shoulders, and I’ll move to his waist. We can let his feet drag.”
“Right.” Lavinia took Alaren’s place, and Alaren slipped her hands into the hollow beneath the small of Maximilian’s back. His muscles felt like iron beneath his ill-fitting shirt, and Alaren felt need coiling low in her belly. She had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted this low-born soldier. His cock was far too large for its codpiece prison. Alaren could tell that perfectly well, as his cock was quite close to her face. She envisioned herself unlacing that codpiece, freeing its oversized prisoner, and taking his length down her throat.
“Alaren!” Lavinia’s sharp rebuke drew her back to the present
. “Come on. He knew what he was doing.”
Alaren shook her head. “Go on. I’ll be right there. He won’t wake now, not with the wine in him. I just want to say goodbye.”
“Whatever. Just hurry.” Lavinia swept back into the room.
Alaren glanced around. The hallway was deserted. All the doors everywhere were locked, with soldiers and guards on the outside of each locked door. Her father had begun to fear collusion with the servants, so she and Maximilian were alone.
She leaned over his snoring face and pressed her mouth to his, temporarily silencing him. She allowed herself one swift caress of his cock through his codpiece.
“If only,” she whispered.
Then she slipped back into the room. It was too late now. Her sisters had drugged him, and Maximilian would wake up to find that dawn had come.
“Hurry up, Alaren.” Lavinia was the most anxious of the twelve. “The stones are ready.”
Alaren nodded, taking a deep breath. Even though her sisters did not have to go, she did, and they might as well come along with her. She looked around at the small circle of white stones. It was a faery ring, and the stones had each and all been gathered from beneath an oak tree on the night of a full moon. Alaren pulled out one, long black hair from her head and dropped into the center of the circle.
“Moon-white stone, unlock the gate,
Take me back to meet my fate.”
The incantation was short, a childish rhyme really, but it had power on Alaren’s lips. The floor inside the circle fell away, and a curving staircase led down, down to their fate.
Chapter Three
Once everything was quiet again, Max guessed it would be all right to stop snoring. So he did. He opened one eye just far enough to see what was going on in the room. As he suspected, the princesses had all fled into their bed-chambers. Max slowly sat up, undid the high, tight collar of his shirt, and pulled out the wine-soaked sponge he had lodged there earlier in the evening. It was the oldest trick in the book and the easiest way to avoid getting poisoned. Every man who had tried to solve the mystery had failed because he had blacked out and not remembered anything come morning. Obviously, that was the work of some sleeping drug. Max had made the right call; the princesses had spiked his wine. Max stroked his cheek and chin, pleased at the advantage his beard had given him.
The Twelve Naughty Princesses (Naughty Fairy Tales) Page 2
