by Loki Renard
“Father!” Madeline’s cry of dismay was more woeful than any she had given when Gregory thrashed her. “You cannot give me to him.”
“You have given yourself with your actions,” her father insisted.
Madeline bit her lower lip as her eyes filled with tears. There was no arguing with a king, especially not under her mother’s withering stare and her sister’s disappointed gaze. Familial shame left her powerless to do anything but nod in silence.
“Go to your chambers. I have called for the abbot. You will be married tomorrow.”
She curtsied and left the presence of her family, feeling quite numb. To be married to a knight. No. That she could not allow. A knight was less than a prince, less even than a lord. What chance did a knight have of ever becoming king? None. If she were to marry Sir Gregory, she would forever remain nothing but a princess, and a fallen one at that.
Unable to face the prospect, Madeline took a right turn instead of the left that would have taken her back to her chambers, and made her way down to the stables.
Only one squire was about, and he did not dare to say much to her, for her expression was quite thunderous, her pretty features twisted with anger. It was not fair. She had done nothing to earn a life sentence in the service of Sir Gregory. Yes, she had been foolish, yes, she had been rude, but she had not given her maidenhead to him and rumors be hanged, she would not see herself marry such a man. Even Elizabeth had found a prince. If she had been forced to marry the first man she consorted with, she would have been married to a cook.
It was not fair. Madeline felt the inequality of her situation to her very core and she would not tolerate it. If her family thought best to pawn her off to the first man who so much as laid a hand on her, then she would seek her own fortunes instead.
She stopped before a black stallion who nickered at her and flared its nostrils to pick up her scent. “Is this Sir Gregory’s mount?”
“It is, your highness,” a trembling squire said, bowing so deep he was addressing his toes, not her.
“Saddle him,” she insisted. “And say nothing of it, or I will have your head.”
The squire was too young to know that he would be better served by disobeying her orders. The sight of a princess overwhelmed him most completely, so he wasted no time in doing her bidding. The stallion was quiet as he was saddled, but Madeline saw the fire in its eye. Its shoulder was as tall as her head, but she was not afraid. She had ridden many chargers in her time and was no stranger to a spirited animal.
Once the animal was prepared, she took the reins in her hand and ordered the squire to give her a boost. His hands were trembling as he laced his fingers together and let her put her fine satin slipper upon them for a moment as she leaped lightly up into the saddle.
It took only the lightest application of her heel to send the stallion out of the stables and round toward the gates, open for the passage of the jugglers and traders and minstrels coming in for the grand wedding. There was nothing subtle or secret about Madeline’s escape; many dozens of people saw her canter past, and though she wore her hood low over her brow, there was no mistaking a princess in her satin gown. For once, Madeline had not bothered with subtlety or disguise. What was the point when she was in a state of disgrace?
Knowing her actions were ill-advised and scandalous, Madeline nevertheless committed fully to them. If she were to be the scarlet princess married below her station, she could just as well be the runaway who was never heard or seen from again. She was glad that Sir Gregory had not lost his head, but she would not give her hand to a man who thought nothing of beating her for her misdeeds.
She rode out from the castle and down through the township beyond. Sir Gregory’s charger was agile and able-footed and seemed to understand her purpose, for it surged powerfully toward the patch of green in the distance framed by the walls that surrounded the castle town, picking up speed as he went from a canter to a gallop in the blink of an eye.
A peasant pushing a cart load of cabbages came across her path, seemingly unaware of the great mountain of flesh and bone thundering toward her. It was too late to pull the stallion to a halt. There was nothing for it; Madeline gathered herself up and held on as the great stallion launched himself into the air, clearing the cabbages and the peasant with little trouble. Madeline let out a great shout of glee, echoed by the cries of the townsfolk who had seen what happened and were most amazed by it. Not a leaf of cabbage was harmed, nor a hair on the peasant’s head as Madeline and her mount thundered out to the green plains beyond.
The sun was yet to set, but was low in the sky, casting its golden red rays over the sky and lighting the clouds dramatically. Madeline fancied she could hear horns and trumpets as she made her triumphant escape from the bonds of matrimony. The stallion seemed to share her excitement, lifting his head and whinnying as they both reveled in his speed.
Farmland surrounded Griffon Hold, but beyond that were verdant plains and beyond that, a forest that bordered the western side of the kingdom. Madeline and her mount made great time through the farmlands, the animal’s hooves falling powerfully on well-laid stone roads.
It wasn’t until she reached the very last farm that she dared look back. Griffon Hold was full of splendor in the sinking rays of the sun, but she could not stop to appreciate the view. A stream of riders was leaving the lower gates, presumably to capture her and bring her back to the knight she was now promised to.
Madeline would not have that. She knew as long as she remained in the open she could easily be followed. That meant there was but one destination for her and her mount—the forest of souls. It was called such for the thickets of silver dead trees at the border that stood with mournful mouths open in what seemed to be eternal expressions of horror. There were many tales of the forest, some about ghosts, others about bandits, and still others about headless kings who sought to reclaim their throne. Madeline threw caution and superstition to the wind as she made directly for the forest, gaining it long before the riders could catch up with her and the fine stallion who seemed to understand her urgency.
A fine mist lay across the forest floor as Madeline rode in through the most oft-used trail. It was heavily laden with leaves, which the horse’s hooves sunk into. It left a very noticeable trail, which would not do at all. They walked a ways into the embrace of the trees, but when they came upon a creek, Madeline made the decision to guide her horse into it and ride upstream some way. There would be no trace of their path then; even hounds would lose the scent if the king’s men had the foresight to bring them. Sloshing up through the stony waters, she was glad for the stallion’s height and willingness. He carried her several miles upstream without complaint, though the waters must have run cold and the dimly lit forest was filled with all manner of strange sounds.
“Rest your weary feet and drink,” she said, letting the reins out when they reached a soft eddying pool where the banks widened and the river ran shallow. The horse took advantage of the opportunity to both drink and then wander to the side of the bank and graze on the grass there.
With some quiet time to think about what she’d done, Madeline started to wonder if she had perhaps been a little rash. The topic of marriage had been broached many times before of course; a princess had little to do with her life than be married. She had also known that it would not likely be her choice as to who she married, but with Elizabeth marrying the prince of Navarre, Madeline had hoped for an equally powerful match.
She knew little about Sir Gregory, but a knight fought for his king. Marrying him meant that she would likely never leave home; she would probably live out her days in the same chambers she had grown up in. Madeline had greater aspirations than that. Elizabeth would soon have her seat of power, and all that Madeline could look forward to was being under the thumb of a knight with a penchant for punishment.
“A ridiculous proposition,” Madeline said to the stallion. “You understand, of course.”
The horse nibbled at grass, happily
unconcerned by her turmoil. As the moon started to come up and the sun slid away, the cooling of the glade started to become uncomfortable. Madeline had not planned for the cooler evenings. Usually she would have a warm gown to don, and a maid to put a covered pan of hot embers in her bed to warm the sheets. There were no maids and no gowns in the forest, and Madeline’s silk gown, whilst pretty, was not enough to keep her warm.
She dismounted and left the stallion to graze upon the bank. The mist had turned to a wet dew that soaked her slippers within steps, chilling her toes. Despairing, Madeline looked about for some warm nook or cranny. She spied a large tree with sprawling roots ringed by bushes, which was less exposed than the open grass.
Curled up in a woody embrace, Madeline closed her eyes and tried to sleep. With cold air biting at her nose and toes, she tucked herself into the smallest ball possible and prayed for morning.
Unfortunately, sleep did not come easily to the shivering princess. Each minute seemed more torturous than the last. She began to think of the tales she’d heard, of wandering kings with bloody stumps where their heads once were. Every sound in the depths of the wilds sounded as though it could be the shuffling steps of a decapitated monarch. She did not know what was worse, her fear or the bitter cold, but both were fast becoming mortal threats when a splashing down river made her sit bolt upright.
The stallion lifted his head and nickered in the direction of the sound. He did not seem concerned by it, so Madeline reasoned it probably was not a predator, nor a ghost for that matter. Were horses afraid of ghosts? She imagined they probably would be. They were afraid of most things.
Light reflected off the water as a mounted rider drew closer. The bearer was holding the light high and back so that his face was in shadow. It could be a barbarian or a bandit. It could be death itself coming for her. Chilled fingers seemed to creep about her heart as her own cold hands clasped her dress close for comfort. Slowly the band of light fell first over the stallion, then over her. She looked into it, her eyes wide as the shadowy figure swung itself down from the horse it rode and came toward her.
“Princess, you do have a talent for finding trouble.”
Sir Gregory’s voice purred from the darkness. He lowered the torch and his face was lit in a halo of light, which made him look more imposing than ever for the way it highlighted the hollows of his eyes and the hard slashes of his cheekbones.
Relief and annoyance flooded Madeline in equal measure. “Why did you not call out to me!”
“A wise man does not go shouting around in a dark forest,” Sir Gregory replied. “Tracking you was no easy task, princess. The hounds lost your scent at the river.”
“Yes,” Madeline said. “I took to the water for that very reason.”
“A goodly idea if you were being pursued by those who wished you harm, not quite so good an idea when it lands you in the middle of dangerous woods without proper clothing.” He crossed to her and grabbed her up in his arms. “Are you hurt?” His breath was warm against her cheek, his body imparting instant heat to her chilled frame.
“No,” she said. “I am cold, that is all.”
He wrapped his cloak around her, using the heavy fur and the heat of his body to warm her bones. “Foolish princess,” he chided. “Why did you do this?”
“Because I will not marry you,” she shivered as he sat down where she had been lying, holding her in his lap.
“So you ran to the woods? You wish to be taken by some commoner, bandit, or enemy instead?”
“I will be taken only by a man worthy of me,” Madeline frowned. “I have no intention of being a knight’s wife. I was born for greater things, you understand. I have ambition.”
“I see, the princess has airs,” he chuckled. “The king is furious, you understand.”
“What does it matter if he is furious? He has given me to you, and you have found me.” Madeline was too cold to maintain the level of defiance she would like. Sir Gregory was warm and he had undoubtedly saved her from her ill-advised adventure, but she could not be happy about the situation.
“I have found you,” he said, brushing stray hair out of her eyes. “Which is fortunate, for these woods are crawling with bandits and your father’s enemies.”
“So far I have seen nothing besides a few fish and a snail,” Madeline shrugged.
“Lady Fortune has smiled on you, but she does not always smile,” Gregory replied. “When dawn comes, we will make haste back to the castle.”
Madeline offered no argument. She was basking in the warmth of his body, protected from elements, beasts, and bandits alike. A knight might be less refined than a prince, but his body bore testament to the exertions of his calling. Every part of him was imbued with strength, and curled up against his thighs and chest she was compelled to touch him, though she tried to do so subtly so that he did not know she was tracing the lines of his biceps and the hard plane of his stomach. Her hands wandered for long minutes, familiarizing themselves with the body of the man who would be her husband.
Perhaps she was not as subtle as she would have liked to imagine, for after a time his arm wound around her waist and his hand cupped her breast. Madeline stiffened slightly, surprised by the boldness of his touch. For a moment she thought to open her mouth in protest, but his thumb began to stroke the underside gently back and forth and she felt a tingling that was not limited to the breast he was touching, but made its way down between her thighs where it danced about her clitoral bud. She felt his lips on the back of her neck, tasting her skin in a passionate kiss that further stoked the storm in her loins.
“When we are safely home, you will be punished for this rash attempt at escaping your duty,” he murmured against her ear. “I intend to strip you bare and whip your bottom until you repent.”
“You will be whipping a very long time,” Madeline replied, biting her lower lip to stop a moan from escaping as his thumb brushed against her nipple. “I regret nothing.”
“You would certainly have regretted it if I had not found you. The chill would have taken your toes, fingers, and nose and the wolves would have had the rest.”
His fingers closed around her nipple, erect beneath the silk sheath of her dress. Madeline let out a little gasp and looked up at him. His gaze glinted bright in silver light, full of desire as his fingers squeezed the nub of her nipple gently, making sensation dance through her body.
“You are a wild and impetuous young woman,” Sir Gregory purred. “But I am equal to the task of taming you.”
His other hand looped about her waist and slid between her thighs, his fingers pressing against her clit through her dress. Madeline let her thighs part as he started petting her there, moving in slow circles that stoked her desire all the more. She was deep in the forest, alone with a man who had been given the rights to her body and who now seemed intent on exercising them. The silk of her gown smoothed the touch of his hand as his fingers swirled between her thighs.
He shifted her in his arms and pulled the bodice of her dress down, exposing her breasts to the moonlight and to the unfettered touch of his hand. He wasted no time laying claim to her there either, letting his mouth drift across her breasts, his tongue tenderly toying around her nipples in a way that made her legs part all the more. Madeline gave no thought to her maidenhead as he stoked the erotic fire that had been burning in her belly since their first meeting.
Slowly, he eased her away and stood up. She did not know the reason for it, until he loosed his britches and let the thick length of his manhood stand free in the moonlight. He was large and long, greater in girth than Madeline had imagined any man could be.
“To your knees, princess.” He crouched down a moment, wrapped his hand in the back of her hair, and drew her up so that her mouth was level with his crotch.
“Kiss the cock that will claim you,” he instructed, pinching her bare nipple as he pushed the great flared head of his cock toward her waiting mouth.
Caught in a haze of intrigue and lust, Madelin
e looked up into his bright blue gaze as she brushed her lips against it, finding it hot with blood.
“Open your mouth.” His hand was tangled in her hair, his other still petting her breasts as he began to feed his fleshy sword between her lips and into the hot, wet embrace of her mouth. Madeline found herself most aroused by the act, not because the touch of his cock on her tongue gave her mouth special pleasure, but because having him inside her made her body tingle with the possibility of other more intimate intrusions. The nub of her clit tingled and sang as he thrust his hips slowly forward, filling her mouth all the way to the back.
“You are like velvet, princess,” he groaned, his hand locked firmly in her hair, keeping her in place as he slowly made full use of her mouth. “And so sweet when you want to be, so delightfully compliant when your quim is wet.”
His words made her blush, but they held truth. His touch was intoxicating; everywhere his free hand drifted, she felt as though she was being caressed by liquid fire that did not burn, but left her weak and wanting more.
Sir Gregory made bold use of her, stroking his cock over her tongue with increasing speed. She was but a vessel for his lust as he held her head closely and thrust himself forward, so deep that the thick head of him almost hit the back of her throat. She made a little noise of complaint and he withdrew, but only for a second before sliding back in.
“This is how it will be between your thighs,” he promised. “But it will be all the better for you, princess.”
Madeline reached beneath her skirts and rubbed at the hot nub between her thighs. She was slick with arousal and her fingers worked at her quim quite desperately as Sir Gregory made free use of her mouth, his cock pulsing between her lips. He was coming close to his climax; she could sense it in the urgency of his thrusting and the masculine growls that filled the dark forest around them.
“Taste me, princess. Drink my seed.”
She was not prepared for the flooding essence that filled her mouth. It seemed to erupt most suddenly, spurting from his member in a torrent that slid over her tongue and down her throat before she could decide otherwise.
