by Jack Porter
Without saying a word, I climbed back up the stairs and closed the hatch.
Jacob was standing there, a curious expression on his face. He must have known what I’d been up to, but there was no judgment about him at all.
In fact, he was more concerned about me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking between me and Sir George, who had fluttered about in the cellar while I expressed my anger, only returning to my shoulder when I was done.
I nodded. “Are you happy to look after our guest by yourself for a while?”
“For how long?”
“I will be back tomorrow.”
Jacob nodded, and that was that. I didn’t have anything more to pack. I already had my satchel and my sword with me, so I took my leave and headed out into the day, leaving my problems largely behind me.
9
I thought I had left the bulk of my frustrations and anger in the cellar, in the form of bruises on Rolf’s face. But it turned out I had plenty more where that came from. As I walked through the sludge, the air filled with light moisture that couldn’t really be called real rain or even drizzle, I found myself muttering in quiet rage.
Normally, I would have taken the time to chat with a few of the townsfolk on my route. But this time, I just stalked directly from the Goose and Quill to Meghan’s small cottage, replaying the conversation with the old man over and over in my head.
How dare he.
In the end, it was true that the spymaster’s words had left me unsettled. It seemed like I was caught in the middle of a swirling mass of plans, all of which were tied to the King.
Anwen had been part of an assassination plot. The old man had apparently been working to that end as well.
And just because my father happened to be King Arthur himself, I was caught in the middle.
I didn’t want any part of it. Well, perhaps that wasn’t strictly true. I wanted to help Anwen, but no more than that.
Thoughts of assassination, of plots to overthrow a King, these things were too big for me to consider.
And yet…
As I walked through the mud, my boots sticking ever so slightly with each step, part of me knew that at least some of what the old man had said was true.
King Arthur was the cause of much misery throughout Camelot.
Likely, many of the townsfolk would be better off if he were to be replaced.
There was no real argument about that.
But what the old man hadn’t said was equally true, and it carried weight as well.
King Arthur was Camelot’s rightful king. What right did the old man have to try to usurp him?
What right did I have to take his place?
I shook my head and spat out another curse. The simple answer was that I had no right. Even if I wanted to be a part of such a plan, which I did not.
For better or worse, Arthur was the king.
And the old man–I didn’t even know his name!
I had hoped that the walk through the city might be enough to calm me down, but the thought turned out too good to be true. By the time I had made it to Meghan’s front door, I had wound myself up to the point where my shoulders were tense and Sir George was looking around for potential threats. Instead of knocking right away, I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to let go of the thoughts that were causing the issues.
Even so, when Meghan opened the door to let me in, my first words were not a smile and some mindless pleasantry, but a challenge.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.
The enchantress had taken her youthful, beautiful form, and even as I blurted my question, I couldn’t help but admire her. All the women I knew were beautiful, in their own ways. But Meghan was special enough that few could match her.
Although Anwen was one who could. And perhaps Lady Emmeline’s student, the woman who had hadn’t yet turned up to the tavern. Elaine. If it weren’t for those two, Meghan would have been in a class of her own.
She was entirely unfazed by my question. She simply took a moment, nodded her head, and gestured for me to come in.
“So, you found out who you are,” she said. “Come in, unless you want to stand out there in the wet all day. I guess I should be grateful that you’re not all beaten up and on the verge of collapse.”
I felt immediately chagrined at my rudeness and stammered an apology, which she waved away. “Although it seems you’re not completely hale and hearty,” she said, taking one of my hands to study the knuckles. “What did you do, beat up the side of a barn?”
The enchantress smiled as she spoke, and I knew she didn’t really want an answer. Instead, she led me to her table and sat me down in her chair. “As long as you’re here, we might as well take care of those scrapes and bruises.” She looked then at the cut over my eye, the one Rolf had given me, and clucked her tongue in disapproval. “You had someone stitch that for you? I guess it will do, although I don’t know why you didn’t just come straight to me. Are there any other wounds you’re hiding?
She didn’t wait for me to answer, but instead turned toward the part of her cottage where she kept her herbs and powders.
“Never mind,” she said. “I guess I’ll see for myself. Take off your coat and shirt, and I’ll see what we’ve got.”
I hadn’t actually intended for her to see to my wounds. In my mind, they were already on the road to healing. But Meghan’s tone brooked no argument, and I realized that my mood had already begun to shift.
By the time she returned with a selection of ointments and other medicinal supplies, I had done as she asked.
She examined me with a practiced eye. “Not so bad,” she allowed. She took my hand in hers and dabbed at the knuckles with a cotton swab dipped in a liquid that somehow felt warm and cold all at once. “So,” she began as she worked. “Now you know. Why don’t you tell me why I didn’t tell you who you are?”
I took a deep breath and swallowed the last of my frustration. Then, for the first time, I gave the question some thought.
“Because it doesn’t make any real difference,” I said.
At this, she paused what she was doing and looked at me. “Almost,” she said. “It doesn’t make a difference if you choose not to let it.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but she had already returned her attention to my hands and was applying a soothing ointment to my damaged skin.
“And?” she prompted.
“And it’s potentially dangerous.”
“How so?”
I thought about the old man’s intentions and of Anwen’s plot. “Because there are people who would seek to use me if they knew.”
This time, Meghan simply nodded. She switched her attention to the cuts Rolf had left me, as well as some of the bruises. “Anything else?”
“And King Arthur himself,” I said.
“What about him?”
“You said he had all his bastard children slaughtered.”
“That I did. But it was more than just slaughter. It was an attempt to use their blood to augment his own.”
Meghan paused her ministrations and looked at me with as serious an expression as ever she had worn. “The king is obsessed,” she said. “He is the last of the Pendragon line, and he can sense the dragon inside him. But he has never been able to coax it out. He wants to be like his grandfather, a man who could turn into a dragon at will. And he will sacrifice anyone to bring that dream to fruition. Even his own children.”
At Meghan’s words, I felt something stirring within me.
“The dragon within,” the enchantress had said. A magnificent beast that lived in King Arthur’s blood, and therefore in my own. I felt a surprising kinship with Sir George, and my blood had seemed to vibrate within the proximity of the dragon caught beneath the castle. At the same time, I remembered something else. A sense of power, of my blood almost burning at the moment of my hanging. I hadn’t thought much about it at the time–there had been a lot
going on–but now, at Meghan’s words, I couldn’t help but wonder what it meant.
If it meant anything at all.
“How?” I asked finally.
“What do you mean?”
“How is King Arthur trying to awaken the dragon within him? What does my blood and my existence mean to him?”
Surprisingly, Meghan smiled. “For the answer to that, you would have to speak to his sorcerer. But from my understanding, he seeks to concentrate the blood of his bastard children and infuse it with his own. Rumor is that he keeps a dragon beneath the castle for the same purpose.”
It was my turn to nod. “He does. I’ve seen it.”
Meghan looked at me with surprise, but she didn’t ask for more information. Perhaps she didn’t truly want to know.
I found that she was holding onto my hands, although not for any medical purpose. “And now, Mordred, Bastard son of King Arthur, you know who you are. You know the secret I have been keeping for most of your life. What are you going to do with this knowledge?”
I thought about Meghan’s question for long moments. Then I barked a laugh, my frustrated malaise all but gone.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “In fact, in a way, that’s why I am here. I had hoped you might help me figure it out.”
The enchantress continued to smile. At the same time, she shook her head. “Only you can figure that one out,” she said. “But maybe there is a way I can help. It’s a lot more difficult to figure out how to solve a problem if you’re tense. Perhaps I can find a way to help you relax.”
I found myself smiling even more broadly than before. As she stood, still holding my hands, and helped me to my feet, I thought I knew exactly what she had in mind.
10
We were standing near one of the benches that she used to prepare meals and food. And when Meghan kissed me, instead of pulling her toward the bed a few steps to the other side of the cabin, I pushed her against the bench, letting her feel just how happy I was to see her.
When Meghan didn't object, I lifted her up until she was sitting on the edge and gathered her dress up around her hips. She made quick work of my pants, pushing them down past my hips, but before we did anything else, I turned her around and leaned her over the bench.
Meghan braced herself with her hands against the wall, and I slid inside, pushing her dress up farther so I could watch myself move in and out.
With this new arrangement, I had trouble waiting, and found myself thrusting into her perhaps more quickly than I would have if we'd been on the bed. But since she didn't seem to mind and was encouraging me with low moans, I pulled out of her until I was almost all the way and then pushed back in, and then grabbed her hips and pulled them up so I could get a better angle.
And from there, it was all hoarse sighs and breathy whispers and more than my own share of grunting. Finally, I felt my pleasure building to the point of no return, and although I wasn't sure if Meghan was close, I continued to thrust into her until I felt the climax break over me, and my knees almost buckled. Grasping onto her, I held her tightly as my body shuddered and quaked.
I hadn't felt this good in a long time, even the night before with Ember. And I thought maybe it had something to do with the feeling of victory after my battle with Rolf, seeing Meghan again, and even knowing who I was.
When I finally released Meghan, however, she was smiling, but not in a way that suggested relaxation.
"I am not yet done with you, Mordie," she said. "Is that all you have to offer me?"
If I hadn't known her better, I would have thought she was angry with me for not making sure she had felt the same pleasure as I did. And in all circumstances before this, I had always seen to her needs. But the smile on her face had turned to one of mischief, and so I grinned back.
"I can definitely offer you more," I said. "Just give me a little bit of time. Or, if you wish, lie back on the bed, and my tongue will take care of what the rest of me cannot."
Meghan’s smile grew broader. "I have a better idea."
With that, she took my hand and pulled me over to the bed. I shuffled a bit, trying to step out of my breeches before sitting down.
And soon, I was completely naked. Meghan followed, pulling her dress over her head and letting it fall to the floor.
I heard a slight scuffling above and glanced up to see Sir George jumping to the rafter that would place him directly over the bed. I waved him away, not wanting him to spoil anything with his voyeurism.
“Away with you,” I hissed quietly. But the infuriating little creature merely flapped his wings and settled himself with his head hanging down over the rafter to keep watching. And I was sure that he been watching us before, when I had bent Meghan over that bench.
Then she joined me on the bed, and I forgot about Sir George. Her hand trailed down my chest, tickling my skin as it made its way lower and lower. I watched, fascinated, as she took my cock in her hand. She closed her eyes then and muttered a few words under her breath. I couldn’t catch what she was saying, but they didn’t sound like any words I knew.
Her fingers lightly ran along my length, but instead of feeling just her soft touch, I felt a pleasant tingling sensation that began building. Then I noticed that her other hand had gone between her own legs, and her fingers were gently running up and down her soft folds. And I wondered if she was giving herself that same tingling sensation.
Already, I was beginning to respond to the tingling, growing hard beneath her hand. But instead of looking to me, she kept muttering under her breath and stroking me until my cock was as hard as it had ever been.
I grinned and made to grab for her, but when Meghan opened her eyes, they were so full of lust and hunger that I paused just to look at her. She looked me up and down, and as she did so, the intensity in her eyes grew.
And then Meghan straddled me and seated herself on me, her warm, wet entrance seeming to pulse around my cock. I gasped and thrust up into her, and she smiled.
And then she began to ride me, slowly at first, her eyes still looking into mine, and I knew that this lovemaking session would be a little different than our previous ones. She rode me for quite some time, and I had my hands on her hips to encourage her. But even though I just spent myself inside her a few moments before, I felt ready to go again, and yet I knew I could last as long as she needed me to this time.
Meghan began to gasp and moan, but still she rode me, and I lifted my hips to meet her, thrusting deep inside her, our bodies creating the perfect rhythm. The pleasure was building, and my thighs were shaking. She seemed to be similarly close, and I felt her grow wetter around my cock. It drove me mad, and I grunted as I thrust into her, wishing I could gain a bit more leverage to pound her harder.
The enchantress seemed to want the same thing, for in one expert move, she wrapped her legs around my waist and flipped us over. I found myself on top of her, her hands going to the wall and my feet finding some purchase on the bedpost at the end of the bed.
And then I began to thrust into her harder, and she raised her hips to meet me, her lips parted, and her breath came out in time with my thrusts. And she was vocalizing her pleasure, her walls squeezing around me, encouraging me even further, her nails digging into my back as she brought one hand to my shoulder.
And still I kept moving over her, hearing the slap of flesh against flesh, and my own moans and grunts as I sought to bring her to completion.
Finally, Meghan came with a harsh yell that would have woken the neighbors if she had any. And I followed right behind her, my own yell echoing hers. Once again, I spent myself deep inside her, this time my cock pulsing so forcefully that I thought it would never stop.
Eventually, we were both worn out, and I moved off to pull her on top of me, and we both lay panting and in the hazy afterglow of our fucking.
When I looked up to the rafters, Sir George was still peering down at us, his wings arched upward as if he was intensely curious. Meghan must have seen them too because she began t
o laugh, and I joined in.
Sir George, obviously feeling that we were laughing at his expense, gave a little shriek and scurried farther along the rafters, finally hiding himself from view.
11
I lay on Meghan le Fay’s bed staring up at the rafters, with the enchantress’s naked form still draped across me. All my irritation—with the old man, with Rolf, and even with Meghan herself—had vanished, to be replaced by a sense of calm, peace, and tranquility. Yet the questions I needed to answer hadn’t gone away. They were still there, still looming large in my mind, and I knew I needed to answer them if I was going to stay in control of my life.
“You once told me that I could be more than I was,” I said into the silence.
At the sound of my voice, Sir George poked his head out from his spot in the rafters and stared down at me, and I wondered if he was looking forward to an encore performance.
If I’d had something to throw at him, I might have done it. Just to let him know there was a cost to his voyeurism.
“I did,” Meghan murmured without moving.
“What did you mean?” I asked her.
At this, the enchantress shifted just enough so that she could look at me, her chin resting on her hands on my chest. Her dark eyes were full of hidden knowledge. But instead of answering my question, she asked one of her own. “Dear Mordie, what are you looking for, exactly? Do you want me to tell you what you should do? Are you looking for me to provide you a purpose?”
The way she said it, I knew she was thinking about my rules, just as I was. Rule number one was make your own damn rules. And rule number two was to know what you want.
Although perhaps that wasn’t the best way of expressing it. Knowing what you want was too small a concept.
Perhaps Meghan’s words were a better fit.
Define your own purpose.
I gave a small shrug. “I guess I am.”
Just because it was on my mind and seemed relevant, I told her about my meeting with Rolf’s spymaster, what he had said about deposing King Arthur, and what he wanted of me.
