She was also breathtakingly beautiful – no doubt one of Melisande’s more treasured toys, a thought which made him growl low with an uncommon surge of possessiveness. She was shorter than Lestophales, but still taller than most human females who were sent here to serve, giving him hope that their first time would perhaps not be so difficult for her. Her hair was the color of fresh straw, long and smooth as it trailed down her back, and it swayed with sensual invitation against the curve of her hips as she walked. He felt himself grow hard as he watched her and then cursed his very nature as he reached down to gently cup and massage himself in an effort to ease the ache that had already begun. He was a carnal beast by design thanks to that bastard god Hippolyte, and always battled with his inner hunger in an effort to maintain at least some sense of former dignity. But still, in the end, he ruled a race of people who copulated with veracity and insatiable greed, so that when this one had arrived and caught his eye he’d immediately declared her his own – not simply because his instinct drove him to dominate and mount her, but because her almost child-like innocence drove him to want to protect her.
“One has to wonder what such an arousing and beautiful creature did to deserve Melisande.”
Jasper chuckled as his 2nd in command and close friend, Kanaleth stepped outside to join his Prince. He came to stand beside Jasper and hand him a small glass filled with burgoney, the Satyr’s equivalent of whiskey.
“I have learned that being fair of face does not mean fair of soul, my good friend.” He accepted the glass, raised it in toast and nodded as Kanaleth raised his own drink. “Here’s to good friends, good health, and good women.”
“I’ll drink to that!” and Kanaleth quickly drained his glass, while Jasper merely took a small sip.
“Have you had a chance to speak with her?” Jasper asked, his eyes going back to follow Lestophales and Rhynea where they strolled leisurely along the garden, each of them looking amazingly ethereal in the twilight glow of the setting sun.
“No, but Lestophales has not left her side. I’m confident – as should you be, my Lord – that Lestophales will do her every honor and kindness as she prepares to meet her new Prince for the first time.”
They were quiet for a time as they each watched the women below. Jasper continued to sip slowly from his drink as his eyes followed them, unflinching and hungry. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and his friend could hear the self-loathing.
“From the moment I saw her, I’ve thought of nothing else. All I can think of is how she smelled, the softness of her skin. I close my eyes and think only of losing myself in her, to the point that I fear I may hurt her unintentionally should my desires overrule my good sense. It should not be this way, and it is this that reminds me of the animal I now am. She does not come to my bed because she wants to, and yet damn my soul to hell I do not care, for I’ll bury myself deep and please us both until she no longer begs for me to stop and starts begging me to fill her forever.”
“We are what we are, my Lord. By no desire of our own we’ve each found ourselves transformed into beasts by Hippolyte and his bitch. To disobey means pain and endless torture to those we love while we are forced to watch. No one can fault you for doing what you must to keep us all safe.”
“No,” Jasper ground out between clenched teeth. “But it loathes me to find for the first time that I have no heart for guilt and only a compelling need to sate my lust.” His friend gave his arm a firm squeeze.
“There is still a man of honor inside, Jasper. When the time comes, you will honor this one no less than those who came before her. It is no sin to find a moment of happiness in an existence rife with pain. Enjoy this gift, respect it as I know you will, and find peace in knowing that your people sleep safe for another cycle.”
Jasper nodded and finished the last of his drink. Kanaleth was right. There was no point in fighting what was his nature. Better to allow things to take their course and do what must be done. The first time was always the most difficult physically, and was at least made somewhat easier by the bathing and oiling process (for what person did not relax and find peace from a slow, soothing massage?), good food and strong wine. It was what came after which was so dangerous and frightening. It was a Satyr’s blessing – or curse, as far as Jasper was concerned – that any woman filled with their seed would almost immediately go into the lusting period, driven almost to madness with the need to be mounted night and day. Often times it was so strong that the man or woman would forsake food and drink, and would moan and cry piteously if they were not copulating, sometimes with multiple partners. It was meant as a means of making the process easier on those who were not of their kind, so demanding is the sexual appetite of a male satyr. But often times it did more harm than good, and by the time the condemned’s sentence had been served, they were so damaged mentally that they were good for little more than their non-corporeal souls, which Melisande could and would harvest and store in her ghastly cupboard and gardens for use in future potions and spells.
In the distance thunder began to rumble as the familiar gray of the evening rolled in to wash out the brilliant orange of the evening sky. Dinner would be ready soon – a small gathering that would include himself and Rhynea, Lestophales and Kanaleth. Roast pork and vegetables stewed in a brandy sauce, hot loaves of bread and warmed wine would be the mainstay of tonight’s menu, and after that –
Well, after that would be for he and Rhynea alone to know. And may the God’s give him the strength to let her go when her service here was at an end.
~8~
The gardens had been breathtaking, and by the time they’d arrived at the bathing pools, Rhynea’s color had returned to normal and her mind felt more clear than it had in ages. It was both frightening and beautiful here, the lush, colorful gardens and velvet lawns sitting precariously atop a high cliff, surrounded on all sides by jagged, narrow paths that could only be navigated by the sure footed Satyr’s whose cloven hooves hugged the stone steps and rocks imbedded deep in the earth. The sunset had been brilliant, but it’s final glory had been snuffed out by a sudden wash of gray as storms moved in, and Lestophales had told her the storms came at this time each day and lasted until dawn. For every thing of wonder and beauty, there was a counter of something sinister and dark, and Rhynea found it fascinating and frightening, all at the same time.
“The palace is huge,” Rhynea remarked as they walked, the shadow of the imposing fortress blending with the evening clouds, yet still she could feel it’s massiveness behind her.
“The top apartments are for Prince Jasper alone. But we all live within the safety of the castle walls. Prince Jasper rules here and we are quite safe in that respect, but the night storms can be unpredictable and dangerous, and more than one of us has been swept away over the edge of the cliffs to be lost to the horrors below.”
The Morg, Rhynea remembered, but she did not press Lestophales again since the woman had clearly not wanted to discuss the matter when asked earlier.
“How many live here?”
“Hundreds – I cannot say for certain.”
“And are they all like you?”
Lestophales hesitated, but her smile did not falter.
“Yes, all who live here are Satyrs.”
They had come at last to another grand building, and though they had come by way of the gardens, Rhynea could see that this portion was actually still part of the sprawling castle. Lestophales pursed her lips and whistled softly, a sound as pristine as the birds she enjoyed listening to outside her window as a small child. In response, the massive oak doors began to creak and swing inwards.
“Come,” Lestophales urged by placing a soft but firm hand at Rhynea’s elbow as the first drops of rain began to fall. “The temperature will be dropping soon and a warm bath will help fight off the evening chill.” Rhynea allowed herself to be guided quickly inside, unable to keep herself from jumping and gasping out loud when the large doors slammed shut with unnerving finality behind her.
Taking Rhynea’s arm in her own, Lestophales gave her a reassuring smile as she turned down a smaller hallway and down a richly carpeted flight of stairs. After walking through a small maze of intricate turns they stepped through a simple arched doorway and into one of the most breath-taking baths Rhynea had ever seen. The bath itself was immense, more pool than bath, its water clear and inviting as small tendrils of steam snaked slowly up from its surface. The edges were slightly raised and she saw that a set of 3 small, smooth steps let up to the edge at one end. Four grand columns stood sentinel at each corner of the pool (no way Rhynea could ever think of this as a bath!) and between them were draped thin, gossamer curtains that danced gracefully in the warm breeze created by the heated air that was piped in through a complex set of pipes overhead, fed by the many fireplaces that had lined the walls of the large hallways upstairs.
“It’s beautiful,” Rhynea breathed as she took it all in. Thick, plush, rose-colored carpeting covered the floor; large, green plants in ornately painted pots lined the walls, and all around were scattered large cushions, raised chaise lounges and thickly padded tables where Rhynea assumed she would be told to lay for massaging and oiling.
“Here,” Lestophales said from behind, holding out a large, gilded challis filled with spiced wine. Rhynea accepted and immediately felt her anxiety rise once more, the large cup reminding her of why it was that she was here. Her surroundings were opulent and indulgent, and she could see that no quality was spared in the making of this place, but in the end it was still a prison, still her purgatory, and before this night was over she’d be force to spread her legs for a beast and pretend for all the world as if she were happy about it.
“Thank you,” Rhynea answered tightly. She took a large swallow and smiled, the taste of the wine sweeter than any she’d ever known. “It’s delicious,” she said, and took another large swallow before giving the cup reluctantly back to Lestophales.
“Too much at once and you will not last until after dinner. The wine not only relaxes you, but it also encourages arousal.” Rhynea giggle and then hiccupped, and Lestophales had to laugh in spite of herself. “Here, turn and let me help you out of your clothes and into the water.” Before she could speak, Lestophales nimble fingers had unhooked the small clasp that held her thin dress up at her shoulder and Rhynea shivered as the thin material slid easily down to the floor, leaving her to stand completely naked before Lestophales approving gaze. “You are quite beautiful,” she said with a smile. “It is no wonder you caught the eye of our Prince. Now, up you go,” she said somewhat playfully so that Rhynea giggled again, already slightly tipsy from the wine, and allowed Lestophales to help her up the small set of steps and then down into the bath.
As Rhynea slipped into the warm water she began to relax more, smiling and turning to spread her arms and float peacefully on her back along the surface. She could hear the sound of voices, muffled slightly as her ears dipped just below the surface of the water, and then felt the water itself begin to shift and bob as two others moved to join her. She stopped and stood then, the water lapping lazily against her waist as she pulled the hair back from her face, tiny rivulets of water teasing as they slid from the tips of her breasts. She smiled at the two who had joined her – smaller, less glamorous versions of Lestophales, then moved as they directed and closed her eyes as they began the task of soaping and bathing her.
It was a symphony of sensation as she sat there, the wine dulling her mind just enough that she was able to relax and find pleasure in their strokes. The cloths used was thick and soft, and she sighed softly when they moved her to the edge of the pool and bent her gently over, that they might clean between her legs with firm, pressing movements that made it hard for her to keep from grinding against them. Small hands beneath soaped cloth slid over and underneath her breasts, across the flat surface of her stomach and over the full curve of her hips. Four hands that lathered and swirled, from the tip of her nose to the pads of her feet, to be followed by a thorough round of washing her hair.
When they had finished, the two smaller woman (both Satyr’s, she noted as she caught small glimpses of smoothly polished horns beneath their hair, much like Lestophales, and those same, oddly sensual cloven foot) helped her from the pool and wrapped a warm thick robe tight about her as they led her quietly towards one of the large padded tables. Rhynea looked anxiously about and was immediately calmed to see Lestophales reclining on one of the chaise lounges, watching intently as she sipped her own glass of wine.
Using the large robe to pat her dry, Melisande was lifted onto the table and allowed another sip of wine before she was gently pushed down and a warm, soothing mask of cucumber was placed over her eyes. As the wine warmed her blood, confident hands warmed her skin, oiling and massaging in a series of sensual circles, the subtle scent of rosewater teasing her nostrils as expert fingers rubbed and smoothed along tired, tense muscles.
She wasn’t sure how long she had lain there before the sound of bells began to echo in the night, rich and full, and Rhynea opened her eyes to look over at Lestophales.
“We’ve been called. Dinner is served and our Prince is ready to meet our guest of honor,” Lestophales said as she stood and came to stand beside Rhynea. “We must get you dressed, Rhynea. Dinner smells delicious and already the musicians are turning their strings.” Rhynea’s heart began to pound and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. But then Lestophales smiled at her and brushed the hair from her eyes with a gentle caress against her cheek, and she felt suddenly safe again. “Be at peace, Rhynea, and trust in me. All will be well. I promise.”
~9~
When Lestophales and Rhynea entered the dining area, Kanaleth and Jasper were waiting for them. The room was actually very cozy and inviting, with a richly carved, intimately set table for four in one corner of the room and a large, more open grouping of large leather chairs and a couch in the open where a large fire roared in an elaborate stone fireplace. Thick panes of hand-cut glass boasting intricate artwork covered the windows, and each time lightning snaked across the sky, the brilliant colors of detailed scenes would come to life.
“Ladies, welcome,” Kanaleth said warmly as they entered, and came to give Lestophales an affectionate kiss on the cheek. Rhynea could only nod, left speechless and barely noticing him as her eyes met Jasper’s for the first time. He was a towering mountain of muscle and brawn, with hair the color of midnight and eyes that were as green as the Aegean sea back home. Unlike both Rhynea and Kanaleth, his own horns were more elongated and smooth, polished onyx that protruded out quite a ways, and seeming almost phallic in nature. He wore only the equivalent of what she thought of as a Scottish kilt, and she could see the undeniable outline of his massive shaft, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the sight of it, afraid they all would see her gawking.
“I trust Lestophales has made you feel welcome?” His voice was surprisingly smooth and deep, and it tickled somewhere deep inside of her as he spoke.
“I – that is – well, yes, yes of course. Lestophales has been a very gracious hostess.”
“Good,” he nodded and she shivered, seeing already the flame of his desire for her as it danced within his eyes. “Shall we?” he asked, holding out a hand to indicate the table that was laden down with food. He moved and placed his large palm in the small of her back and she felt the heat of it sear through
her gown. She could not speak and so simply allowed herself to be guided along, muttering a quiet thank you as he held her chair for her before sitting beside her and immediately pouring them both a generous cup of wine.
“Did you enjoy the gardens?” he asked as he poured, and Rhynea felt herself begin to almost immediately relax. This was no beast. Despite his appearance – which, she noted upon further inspection included a soft, silky fur that covered most of his body – he seemed almost gentleman-like and most certainly educated as he talked.
“Yes, they were lovely. It was moving, really. So much beauty and ugliness side by side.” She felt him stiffen beside her and was quick to add “I find it fascinating that you are able to cultivate such lush gardens in while surrounded by such treacherous canyons and cliffs.”
He nodded at that and she relaxed once more.
“I hope Lestophales has properly warned you about going out alone?”
“Yes,” she said, and shivered at the thought of the unknown Morg, her imagination likely much more frightening than the truth she tried to reason with herself. She lifted her cup and took a healthy gulp. Jasper watched and raised one eyebrow, amused.
“You enjoy your wine,” he noted, and she hiccupped.
“No, I enjoy your wine,” she replied, and then she giggled at her own joke. Jasper found himself smiling again, warmed by her spirit and amused by her slight slurring of words.
The Gathering Storm Page 5
