The Dragon's Mistress (Dragon Erotica)

by Tessa Black

  The Dragon's Mistress Book One

  Tessa Black

  Smashwords Edition

  All Rights Reserved ©2013 Tessa Black Books. First Printing: 2013.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The Dragon's Mistress

  Book One

  Tessa Black

  Guinevere was not ready to be married off to the prince of Dalbin. She was not ready to be a Queen. She wasn't sure that'd she'd ever be. She was known among the folk of Aspen as the king's first son—a jibe at her predilection for danger. Guinevere enjoyed hunting for foxes on her massive black horse Taerion, as well as archery in the king's field at the crack of dawn. She preferred spending her time among the spindly trees and woodland creatures, learning the ways of a simpler, more primitive life over the ways of a princess. The king and Queen preferred that she was gone as well; she was prickly, like a beautiful rose with harsh and unsightly thorns. She was not pleasant company for her siblings or tutors.

  That is why on the day of the king's announcement she was as shocked as the rest of the kingdom. She had only been informed that very morning that she would be marrying Aden, the prince of Dalbin. She could hear from her window the cheers from beyond the castle wall's just out in the market square. Surely, she realized, her father's advisor had just informed them of the news, which probably meant that the King and Queen still had hope for a male heir. It was what the subjects wanted to hear. Bitterly, she thought of her stepmother's expanding stomach and ripped the necklace she had given her from her neck.

  'To remind you that you are now a lady,' her stepmother had said as she clasped it around her neck on her twelfth birthday.

  She chucked the necklace across the room, angered by the laws that kept her from ruling Aspen. She was stronger than most men, and more severe, certainly. But the few that could get over her delicate features and her narrow waist couldn't get over her dark hair and round, black eyes, features that no one in the kingdom possessed but she. They were convinced she was foreign-born, and there were rumors that lingered in the market square and on the wineskins of passing travelers that she had been found on the hunt, the child of a careless forest nymph.

  What they did not understand was that her father was gravely ill, and if he didn't have an heir of twelve years soon, his nasty queen would rule the nation. Her stepmother had made it clear to her that Guinevere would never rule as long as she had a say, and that once her father died all her decisions for Aspen would be based on the interests of the kingdom of her birth, Heathfurrow.

  Guinevere gripped her arms around her shoulders and shook with anger. Her long hair trembled against the tips of her long, slim fingers.

  "I will not submit to this," she hissed, glaring at the bright sun that cursed her, gracing the hum of excitement out on the cobblestone of the market's square.

  Two days after the announcement Guinevere made it her mission to corner the royal warlock, Cameron. He spent much of his time locked away in his wing of the castle, so after his weekly meeting with the king and his advisors she waited for him in the corridor before the Warlock's Wing. She waited for him, her back pressed against the cool, stone wall, in an elegant dress. It was a deep emerald green that pinched at her waist, broidered with gold at the low neck and at the bells of the large openings for her wrists. It was much different from her normal, shapeless, brown gown, and though she didn't see the Warlock Cameron often, she was certain he would notice the difference.

  She looked up and smiled to herself when she heard footsteps echo down the hall. Cameron came down the corridor and his eyes widened at the sight of her. She couldn't deny that he looked quite good himself; he was certainly the youngest warlock the kingdom had ever seen, but nobody knew by how many years. He was not large, but of good stock, and when he moved she could she the lines of his hard body beneath his drab, brown robes. She had seen him grow over the years, from the balcony that hung above the courtyard where he practiced as an apprentice. Her desire for him went back as long as she could remember; he was the only one who could cause her cheeks to heat with just a glance. She took in a deep inhale, attempting to steady the butterflies that erupted in her stomach. He could not have the best of her today.

  "Princess," he bowed as he approached her, his long blonde hair falling into his eyes. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

  "I would like to request that we meet in your quarters," she said, pushing herself off the wall and placing her hands on her hips.

  "I--"his green eyes widened once again. "Princess, as much as I am a servant to your bidding, I am bound to thy word of His Majesty first."

  "Has he ever commanded that I steer clear of your quarters?" She asked, cocking a brow. She could feel her heart pound furiously against her chest. Though she showed no sign of it, she was secretly petrified. She knew she could get Cameron killed for this if anyone were to see her disappear into his room.

  "No, I admit that he has not," he lowered his eyes and brought a hand up to rub his neck.

  "Then you shall take me to your quarters, or alas, I shall tell the kingdom that I am round with your seed," she said maliciously, feeling the nerves quiver inside of her.

  "But...Your Majesty," he waved his palms before her defensively. "Surely the midwife will see it to be a lie."

  "Not until after you are cold," she spat, a swell of confidence growing inside of her. Though she knew that she shouldn't, she was well aware of what it took to make a child. Many years of snooping around the servants quarters and watching animals copulate in the forest had taught her. She couldn't deny that sometimes in the middle of the night she awoke feeling feverish, a wet stream between her legs. On more than one occasion a dream of the warlock was the cause.

  "As you wish, Princess," Cameron bowed, a twitching hand pressed to his chest. Though she knew that this was dangerous and foolhardy, Guinevere wanted more than anything to be the ruler of Aspen. If she could not do it as a queen, then she would do it as a king.

  Cameron led her to his quarters, pulling open the elaborately decorated wood door for her. He waved a hand before him and Guinevere pulled up the trailing fabric of her dress and held her head high. Though she had been forced to practice walking in her dresses she was still no good at it, and it did not behoove her to get any better.

  "Please, Princess," Cameron said, closing the door behind him. "Have a seat."

  Guinevere was surprised at the size of his sitting room. The windows were large like her own, and the red curtains that were closed over them were embroidered with silver patterns. There was a large, dark wood table with tall matching chairs, and a bowl of apples and a jug of wine in the center. Guinevere did not expect that the Warlock entertained often but it appeared the contrary. She took a seat at the table and he sat across from her.

  "So, Princess, what have you come to such a humble warlock for?"

  "If I understand your powers truly, then you are being quite modest." Guinevere took the jug of wine and sloshed it into her cup. She knew that Cameron had not offered her anything because it would not be proper, but she wanted to make a point that all the taboos were on the table. She took a long, steady sip from her goblet and smiled, grateful for its heady properties.

  "I have come to ask that you cast me a spell," she said, her goblet hitting the table with a commanding thud.

  "What kind of spell, Princess?" A spark of bemusement lit up his eyes.

  "I want to rule Aspen. As you are a
ware, there is but one thing that stands in my way," she said, malice curling up on her pretty lip.

  "And you want me to cure you of it?" Cameron said, his head nodding slowly as he came to an understanding.

  "Yes. I want you, with your ethereal powers, to make me my father's son."

  Cameron paused. He gave her a small smile and then stood from the table, taking stroll over to one of the large windows. He pushed a curtain aside to watch the horses in the stables, stamping their feet and neighing at the flies that were undoubtedly causing them grief.

  "Princess, while it is my duty to serve His Highness and his kin, I cannot lead you to believe that your request is more than a dream. It is beyond me, truly."

  "And for what reason is that?" Guinevere snapped impatiently.

  "Come to this window, Your Highness. There is no one out to see us," he added when he saw the pause on her face. She pushed her chair back and joined him at the window, the long trail of her dress threatening to send her to the floor.

  "Horses? You called on me to look at horses? My dear Warlock, though you may not be aware of my affairs, I am well acquainted with the stables." she scoffed, throwing back her luxurious black hair over her shoulders.

  "No, Princess. I did not call you over for the view of the stables. Rather, look beyond them. What stands behind the King's Forest?"

  She studied the large, purple mountains and shuddered. Though she had spent many days in the forest, even she, the impetuous "first son," knew better than to approach those imperial structures.

  "The Mountains of Hellspring," she said, quietly. The rumors and legends about the godforsaken Mountains of Hellspring were vast. There were stories about unspeakably large and grotesque creatures, of spirits and haunts that could steal your soul just by looking at you.

  "Precisely," Cameron nodded. "Princess, in order to do magic this strong I would require a certain gem that has been stolen from the Kingdom many years ago. It is the Stone of Aspen. But the unspeakable guards it. The Dragon Mortagon."

  "Doesn't he dwell at the base of the mountain?" Guinevere asked, her eyes still trained on the goliath roll of mountains. "One would not have to go through the mountains themselves."

  "This is true. But no soul has ever returned from Mortagon's lair. I cannot do that for you Princess, even if you threaten my life. I will die either way, and your way, though it involves disgrace would not be nearly as painful.

  She raised her eyes from the window to meet the face of the tall warlock. "Then I'll do it. I'll retrieve the stone. I have nothing without it," she said harshly.

  "Princess," he said lowly, lowering his head slightly. Guinevere caught a whiff of the Warlock's scent, a mix of sage and lager, and she felt her knees go weak. "I cannot permit this. This is not a task for the most skilled warrior, much less a Princess. I will be forced to tell His Majesty and send the royal guards after you."

  "And what if I promised you something well worth your silence?"

  "Princess, this is your life..."

  "I will kill myself. I will drink hemlock if you send the guards after me," she said quickly, her gentle face hardening. "But if I succeed, if you help me and equip me with your magic..."

  "Then what, Princess?" Cameron looked worried and haggard. His brows dropped in concern. He brought a hand to his head and rubbed his temple.

  "Then we can act on my secret passion," she whispered, bringing a hand up to his neck. A jolt of nerves shot through her body, and she had never believed that she would actually be so bold. But she knew the way men looked at her when she dressed like a Princess. Try as they might to hide it, She knew her power.

  "Princess..."

  "Just once." Guinevere pulled his neck down so that his lips came near her's, his trembling exhales gracing her lips with a sultry heat. "Before I am truly the first born son of Aspen."

  There lips met and Cameron gently gripped his hands around her waist. Guinevere kissed him with the passion that welled up inside her body, begging for a kiss worthy of all those torrid nights alone with the sheets tangled between her thighs. She pulled his lips into hers and raised her hands over his face, sliding them up into the tangles of his soft hair. Cameron's hands moved slowly up her body, the heat of his hands teasing her body through the bodice of her dress. His fingers paused beneath her bosom, and she pulled his hands up with her own, guiding them over her ample chest. He cupped them gently, and she moved her mouth over his neck, taking his skin into her supple lips.

  Cameron breathed heavily as he moved his fingers over Guinevere's hardening nipples, and she moved a hand down his stomach, pressing her fingers against his navel. She could feel him hardening against her, and she longed to grip it and feel it slide against her palm.

  "Princess," Cameron gasped, pulling away.

  "I have felt a passion for you for years, Warlock Cameron. Do not deny me."

  He took several steps back, releasing her from his grasp. He looked out the window quickly, relieved to see that there was still no one but the agitated horses.

  Guinevere brought a hand to her mouth, the heat from his kiss still tingling on her lips. She never wanted the sensation to leave. "You must help me Cameron, or you will never have me. Do not take my threat lightly. I will end my own life."

  Cameron could see the severity in her eyes and nodded. "Very well. I already have blood on my hands. Though I mourn for you, Princess. I wish that you would choose to live," he said, brooding as he shut the curtains over the window, the crimson light from the diaphanous fabric covering his body.

  It was the day after her father had left to Dalbin. He was expected to negotiate some trade and to return with the Prince. Guinevere knew it was perfect timing so she and Cameron had prepared accordingly, equipping her with the necessary charmed objects. It would be several days before any one in the Royal Court realized she was missing; her tutors were used to her taking off, spending days in the forest and returning without so much as an excuse. She was wild and they had little hope for her. They were happy that the Prince would have her. They were eager to have the Princess off their hands.

  Cameron hid with her behind the stables, well before the crack of dawn. "I should be going soon," he whispered. "But here is one last tool." He handed her a rolled up scroll. "It's a map of the King's Forest."

  "I know my way around," Guinevere scoffed.

  "This map is special. If you trace your finger along it, it will heat to your touch where there is danger. I know there isn't much that could harm you in the forest you have seen, but you have not gone as far as you may think. Past the Peril River you enter the Land of the Dead Man. Spirits and creatures from the mountains stalk this land at night, looking for lost souls. Please, do not doubt their magic. It is stronger than mine could ever be."

  The sun's light filtered to through the forest trees to the east, casting a beautiful orange glow behind Guinevere’s head. Cameron caught his breath and fought the lump forming in his throat.

  "And if they find my body? Won't they realize the magic in my things? Will they condemn you?" her brows creased in concern.

  "Heaven forbid, but if such a fate befalls us the gifts I have given you will perish and burst into flames. But I can sense the danger in your way, and if it becomes too great and there is an opportune moment..." he reached down a hand to tentatively take hers. "I may be forced to interfere." Guinevere threw her arms up around his neck for one last kiss, pressing her body desperately against his. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, anxious and greedy for his taste. He pulled back in shock, a bemused expression on his stunning countenance.

  "Now, Princess...we should not be caught in such a compromising position. Be off; I shall have you once you have the stone," he grinned, a small sadness in his eye.

  "You do not believe that I will succeed—no matter. I may not. But please know that I have loved you since the moment you first came to court."

  Cameron's green eyes weakened. "Then run away with me. Forget this godforsaken scheme."

&
nbsp; "My love for you is surpassed only by my love for Aspen," Guinevere reached a hand up to Cameron's face and stroked his hard jaw gently with her thumb. "Trouble is coming and I sense it. I am not sure how much longer my father will last, and I cannot let the kingdom fall into my stepmother's rule for a moment. I must rise and become what Aspen needs."

  Cameron nodded and stepped back, fighting the tears brimming in his eyes. "Then I must go. And so should you. Until next," he knelt down and bowed his head like he was nothing more than another subject. Guinevere could feel her heart breaking at his formal behavior.

  "Until next," she responded, turning to enter the stable without looking back. By the time she led Taerion out of the stable Cameron was gone. She clambered up on her horse and tied her pack around his rump. She patted him, and with a swift kick they were gone, galloping off into the orange glow between the trees of the King's Forest.

  The first day was uneventful. She reached the small, nameless pond where she had spent many lazy days dipping her feet in and munching on an apple or wild berries. She bathed in the waters to relax her nerves, well aware that by the next night, she would approach the Peril River for the first time. After she bathed she fed the horse oats and set a fire to cook the hare she had caught earlier in the day. She severed some tree branches and created a small shelter for the night.

  The next morning she caught some small game that she cooked immediately, for she was certain she would not want to call too much attention to herself with a fire in the Land of the Dead Man. By dusk she could hear the rushing of river water and she knew, with a knot of dread forming in her stomach, that there was no turning back.

  She set up her camp at the base of a tree a good ways away from the river—she knew over the noise that she would not be able to hear something if it were stalking her.

  She was asleep for a matter of hours when she was awoken by a rustling in the nearby darkness. She jumped to her feet and whipped out her sword, holding it with her two hands out before her. The commotion woke up Taerion, who stomped his hooves in excitement.