“I always quite enjoy it when they allow me to best them at arm wrestling,” she mused, adding as she lifted her chin to proud effect, “And, for that matter, when I defeat them fair and square in foot races. Ha!”
It had been a full two moons, she figured, since she’d last seen Magnus and Eirik, the two having embarked on an extensive trade mission that took them to the farthest reaches of Europe, to give of and sell the precious goods crafted and created in the Clan of Sigrid.
In the wake of their absence the ever loyal brothers had blessed their queen with endless correspondence, pieces of ivory parchment inscribed with lengthy and very affectionate notes, that told her at length of their travels and successes in the world of fair trade.
As much as she’d enjoyed their missives, returning them with notes of glowing praise that commended their efforts and accomplishments, she missed the men who wrote them. And she rejoiced at the fact that, in little more than an hour, they would stand before her in the main room of her longhouse—honored guests at a grand feast that she had ordered prepared in their honor.
As she cast her gaze around the feasting hall that headed and distinguished her royal longhouse, she reveled in the grandiose beauty of this place, a common meeting room and hall of celebration for her and her people. Her eyes widened at the sight of the expansive silk woven tapestries that adorned each timber made wall: murals that depicted scenes from nature in the form of emerald leaved forests and gem blue seas—all captured in their most radiant beauty beneath the glow of a golden sun.
Her gaze then shifted to the sprawling fireplace that formed a full wall of the longhouse, a blazing feature encased in stone, and featuring a mantle lined with polished samples of glass and silver pottery--many of which has been crafted in her very own village. And she took in her breath as she angled her head forward to admire the height and expansiveness of the longhouse ceiling, a sheltering covering that she had hand painted with the likeness of a brilliant, ebullient rainbow.
Indeed, Astrid oft figured that—if she hadn’t seen it in her destiny to become a Viking queen—she would have become an artist instead. She strongly suspected, though, that being a queen was just a bit more lucrative in today’s competitive market. And in this way, she figured, she could afford to surround herself with objects of beauty that could at some point be captured in the frames of paintings and tapestries.
And as her gaze now shifted toward the center of her feast hall, she soon came to behold what she considered to be the most beautiful accents of her Clan; divine attributes that took the form of warriors and gentlemen.
With their towering, statuesque forms, Magnus and Eirik likened bronzed statues in their carved features, long, flowing hair and carved muscularity. And both shone resplendent in their full and shining battle armor, with golden helmets atop their heads and tight, glimmering chain mail shirts that both encased and adorned their bulging muscular chests. Both carried brilliant scarlet hued shields that bore images of lush, fine-feathered swans: the symbol and crest of the Clan of Sigrid. And both carried their long, sharp swords ever ready at their sides--always prepared to defend if needed the honor and dignity of their beloved clan and queen.
As Astrid approached the brothers, standing, as they were above the main feasting table that they were invited to share with their queen, she couldn’t help but note that the brothers’ differences shone just as beautiful and brilliant as their similarities.
Magnus, the captain of her guard, bore a silken mane of reddish gold hair that shone like pure fire in the incoming light afford through a nearby window. His wide, expressive eyes shone darkest ebony in this same ethereal light.
Much like the fairest morn compares to the endless, darkest of nights, his younger brother Eirik bore a fall of golden hair that seemed kissed by the sun itself; a long, silken mane that proved a stellar showcase for his sparkling emerald green eyes.
Both brothers answered her signature beam with dazzling white-toothed smiles, clasping her offered hands and bowing deep before her in a gesture of respect and greeting.
“Magnus! Eirik!” Astrid clutched their hands in his, adding as her voice lowered to a confidential tone, “I have missed you both, so very much. Welcome home, my gentlemen.”
Magnus nodded.
“We are so pleased to be here, my queen,” he told her, accenting his words with a second deep bow, “We have missed you, as well, and are so very glad to be home.”
“We did little but think of you during our trip,” Eirik agreed, accenting his words with the adorable pout of his full, moist lips.
Astrid shook her head.
“Pshaw, dear boys. Don’t be tellin’ me tales,” she admonished them in a playful tone, adding as she wagged a teasing finger in their direction, “While sailing the seas of Europe and Scandinavia and visiting their classic countries, seeing the greatest cities, the finest architecture, the most beautiful nature made vistas of the world, I doubt seriously that you gave a thought to the queen back home.” She paused here, adding as she leaned inward to fix the brothers with a curious, pensive look, “At the feast today you truly must tell me everything you saw during the course of your travels: the lands and the waters, the palaces and temples, the theaters and the feast halls. I wish to hear of the people that you met who most intrigued you, and all of the adventures that you had throughout your journey.”
Magnus chuckled.
“Rest assured, milady, we have many tales to tell you of the adventures we enjoyed throughout the course of our travels,” he assured her, adding as he swooped inward to erase all distance between them, “I daresay, though, that the most intriguing person we know stands right here before us. And we do believe that our greatest adventure, one that will bring us our greatest pleasure and most ultimate satisfaction, just so happens to involve that very same enchanting woman.”
Astrid arched her eyebrows.
“You wish to have an adventure with me?” she asked, adding with a shrug, “Does this mystery adventure take the form of a journey?”
Eirik nodded.
“Aye, of sorts,” he assented, tone low and mysterious. “A journey that you are able to enjoy right here in your homeland, one that is certain to introduce you to any number of rare exotic delights. Experiences that you are sure to savor and recall long after the journey’s end.”
“If, indeed, you do choose to end it,” Magnus interrupted his brother, adding in a lower, softer tone, “Once you see what we have to show you, once you enjoy this most exhilarating experience, you might find yourself desiring more. And as you know, my lady, it is always our duty first and foremost to please the queen.”
Astrid pursed her lips.
“Well although I do enjoy the recreational activities that the three of us commonly enjoy—archery, foot races, javelin tossing—I am not sure that any of them are quite so thrilling as this new adventure that you describe,” she mused, more to herself than to the watching brothers. “I am now most curious to know, my gentlemen, of what you speak. Perhaps you can inform me morn tomorrow, as I look over the tokens and tributes that you have brought me from faraway lands.”
Eirik clapped his hands before him.
“Aye, that would be the perfect time—and rest assured we have many beautiful and valued gifts to present our sacred queen,” he bowed his head, adding as he stared deep into her eyes, “First, though, we hasten to offer you a special token—one that is perhaps our most meaningful and personal.”
A shocked Astrid took in her breath as her golden-haired warrior swooped inward to erase all distance between them, pressing his full, moist lips tight against hers for a warm, affectionate kiss.
Immediately mirroring the actions of his brother, an emboldened Magnus himself surged forward and seared her gaping mouth with a second kiss; his a bit harder and hotter as the combined force of their affections served to steal her breath.
For a moment Queen Astrid stood frozen in her place, a wave of unbidden heat suffusing her being as she expe
rienced the after effects of the heartfelt gesture that felt more like a sensual advance—making her heart and pulse race in one accord as she clutched her hands before her.
“Aye, if two simple kisses serve to ignite me to such a dramatic and alarming degree, then I really do need to get out of the longhouse more,” she mused in silence, adding aloud, “Ye have kissed the queen.”
Eirik frowned.
“We mean no disrespect,” he reassured her, he and his brother watching her face for some sign of a reaction.
They exhaled moments later, as their beloved Queen Astrid found cause to grace them with her warm signature beam.
“No disrespect taken, Gentlemen. In fact, I quite like it!” she praised them.
Lurching forward with a purposeful air worthy of her royal station, Astrid blessed both of her guardsmen with brisk but warm kisses; once again tasting their full, sumptuous lips as they murmured their encouragement—intermingled, she couldn’t help but notice, with a wee bit of complete and utter shock.
“Do feel free to kiss me again, anytime you like,” she urged them, adding as she squared her broad muscled shoulders and lifted her sturdy chin to most commanding effect, “I hereby decree, as a matter of fact, that you each grant me one kiss upon your return from every queen-appointed journey. For the remainder of your natural lives.”
The brothers guffawed outright.
“Oh my queen,” Magnus assured her, swinging her hand in his, “If you so choose, my brother and I have so much more to offer you than mere kisses.” He paused here, adding as he stared deep into our eyes, “Some gestures of tribute, my queen, are best performed in private—so that you can feel free to lose yourself in the feelings and sensations that they may produce.”
Astrid’s eyes flew wide as she considered this notion, trembling outright as her psyche flooded with unbidden images of some erotic art that the brothers had secured for her on their last journey to Paris. Suddenly she pondered the illicit images captured in vivid, illustrious watercolor on a brass framed canvas; visions of beautiful, passion struck couples entwined in various intriguing positions, on luxurious silk clad beds, sandy bronzed beaches, and in the expanse of dew-kissed meadows that shone bright emerald in the light of the sun.
It had been so long, she mused, since she’d known the type of exquisite ecstasy captured and conveyed in that forbidden artwork--since she’d even felt the touch of a man. It was an idea she often pondered, though, as she lay still and alone in her bed each night.
“It is an idea that I perhaps ponder too much. And one that I should not be considering while standing at the dead center of my royal feasting hall, in the presence of all my warriors and consorts—not to mention all of the grey-haired matrons that I see each week at temple,” she mused now, blinking hard as she asked of her warriors, “Gentlemen, could we please cease kissing for just one moment—and could you lend me the free use of my hands—as I call for the commencement of our royal feast?”
Moments later the queen joined her guardsmen at the center table in the feasting hall; a long, wooden table lined with hand carved serve ware that included trenchers, goblets, trays and bowls that overflowed with the makings of a grand royal feast.
And as the brothers enjoyed a sumptuous dinner of rich venison, fire roasted potatoes, fresh fruits handpicked from the fragrant meadows of their fertile land of Birka, and refreshing ale served up in ceremonial horns, they fed also their leader’s keen curiosity in regards to their recent journey.
“So tell me first, my Gentlemen,” Astrid pressed, leaning forward to pierce them with an inquisitive stare, “The moment that you set foot on the earth of each country you visited, did you do exactly as I bid you?”
Magnus nodded.
“Yes, Milady,” he answered her, adding as he lifted his sculpted chin with open and evident pride, “We delivered the gold coins and silken clothes that you gave us to orphanages and shelters for women in every country. Then we traded the valued goods that you sent with us—the silver, the honey, the amber—for those things that our clan and village need most.”
Eirik grinned.
“Aye, we now have all of the timber and furs needed to last us throughout the coldest winter,” he reported, tossing his blond hair in a leonine flip that seemed to express his pride. “And, as you always direct us my queen, we did not steal, plunder or pillage in our quest to secure the finest goods this world has to offer. And as always we acted as protectors of the citizens we met, particularly the maidens who crossed our path.”
Astrid nodded.
“Aye, this is what I always have taught you. Honor and defend the women!” she declared, raising her goblet high in their honor. “I always have vowed to expel any warrior who dared to violate or molest a female. And you two always see fit to extend this edict—to guard and protect even the most common thrall or karl, especially if she be of the fairer gender.”
Magnus shifted on his bench.
“Aye. You set a fine example for us, milady, by at all times insisting to keep thralls and karls as your paid servants, instead of treating them as slaves. And you always teach us to treat every woman and girl just as we would treat you,” he concurred, adding as he exchanged an uneasy gaze with his brother, “It was, as a matter of fact, in service to a maiden that we raised our swords on this trip. Eirik and I were walking the streets of London town one balmy evening, in search of a decent ale house that welcomed Norse folk, when we came upon a woman being beaten and assaulted by a cretin of the streets.”
Astrid frowned.
“Assaulted?” she repeated through gritted teeth, balling her fists beside her as she felt a rash of angry color flood her fair cheeks. “Do you speak of rape?”
Eirik nodded.
“We do, milady,” he affirmed, adding quickly, “Yet rest assured that we bested the assailant. When he ignored our commands to stop, we pulled his body upward to free his victim—then skewered him in a sensitive part, to ensure that he would never again molest a woman. Indeed, we assured that he never again could attack a woman in this heinous fashion, even if he chose to do so.”
“We pierced him where it counts,” Magnus clarified, arching meaningful eyebrows in Astrid’s direction.
Once again Astrid’s goblet came up in a stirring salute to her favorite warriors; this time accompanied by a joyful whoop that brought smiles to the faces of her fellow feasters.
“Aye!” she cheered them on, taking a hearty swig of her honey tinged ale as she added, “I cannot tell you enough, dear gentlemen, just how very much I value and adore you, my two gorgeous guardsmen!”
Eirik chuckled.
“We thank ye, milady,” he replied with a wink, adding in a lower tone, “We also are most pleased to learn that you do indeed find us handsome. This will ensure that you enjoy even more the gift we have to give you on the morrow.”
Setting her goblet on the table before her, Astrid leaned forward to fix her warriors with a sharp, curious look.
“All right then, enough mystery,” she insisted, adding as she inclined her head in the direction of her beaming guardsmen, “What exactly do the two of you have planned for your queen?”
Magnus shrugged.
“Well my queen, it’s a might difficult for us to describe in mere words the gifts we have to offer you,” he revealed, adding with a flirtatious wink, “We’d rather show you instead, so why not just us on the morrow for a picnic in the meadow behind your longhouse? Allow us to prepare a grand meal for you, much as you have offered us today, and present to you our finest gifts—our endless and adoring tokens of our love and appreciation.”
Eirik nodded.
“Aye, tis a plan,” he agreed, adding as he narrowed his emerald eyes in Astrid’s direction, “There’s more than one way to worship a queen, ye know.”
Astrid thought a moment, and then nodded.
“Aye Gentlemen, I will join you at noon on the morrow, on the crest of my royal meadow. And I must admit, my curiosity is at a peak!” she decl
ared, adding silently, “Among other things.”
Chapter Three
The next day Queen Astrid ventured free and barefoot into the emerald-hued grasses of rolling meadows; vast Swedish green spaces lined and dotted with exotic growths of pearl pink roses, lavender violets and pure ivory daffodils.
The beauty and ebullience of these floral gems was rivaled only by the spectacle of a pure azure sky—one that came a light today with the luminous beacon that only be called “sol,” the Swedish word for sun. The queen cast her head back to bask in the rays of this lush, majestic beacon.
Suddenly the Viking queen felt more like a young, carefree lass, that today wore a crown of daffodils, as opposed to a golden helmet, as well as a flowing silk dress of cornflower blue that fell graceful to her bare feet.
“I hope only that my two gentlemen friends can tolerate the sight of their queen in such—ahem—informal attire,” she mused; even as she wriggled her toes in the dew kissed grasses beneath her.
She sighed relieved moments later, as she spotted her two favorite companions as they relaxed in the grasses of a nearby bank that bordered a crystalline pond. Indeed, it seemed that these two honorable warriors themselves seemed ensnared in a casual mood, and in place of the shields, helmets and chain mail shirts that typified their usual apparel, they instead wore….
“Very little, as a matter of fact,” she observed, eyes flying wide as she noted that Magnus and Eirik wore nothing more than skin tight breeches culled from the finest, slickest leather.
“My goddess,” she murmured, admiring the broad, hard, and delightfully bare chests of her handsome young guardsmen.
Both Magnus and Eirik boasted massive bronzed pectorals and flawless sculpted abdominal muscles, along with broad muscled shoulders and long, strong arms that seemed made for holding and loving a woman.
Finally tearing her gaze from the surface of their massive, sun kissed torsos; she stared instead at their flawless faces. This was a bad move, as she now discovered that the two of them were watching her, watching them.
ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) Page 62
