Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  He slept better with her by his side.

  He liked talking with her, about everything from the mundane to the workings of the kingdom.

  Yet, he sensed a distance in her.

  It wasn’t anything he could point to and say, this, this is wrong. Sometimes she would get a look on her face. A fleeting expression of sadness, or almost pain would cross her features at the oddest moments. Then she would seem to push it aside and firmly fix an smile upon her lips.

  He tried to pursue it.

  “Cella, sola, tell me what is wrong,” he asked once.

  “Nothing,” she responded. “Why would there be anything wrong? We are here, together, enjoying each other’s company while we are at the Keep. I love spending each night in your arms.”

  “I see your face, and you look so sad sometimes.”

  “Why would I be sad? There is no reason. Now, should we not be going to the main hall for dinner?”

  She was right, they had to leave.

  She had avoided the subject yet again.

  How could he be so frustrated and yet so happy at the same time?

  Now, he was on his way to visit King Graydon. They had planned to go riding, but the weather had turned miserable. It was cold and nasty, sleet pouring from the skies, alternating with outright snow. They didn’t mind riding in the cold, but being cold and soaked was an entirely different matter.

  Instead he was meeting Graydon in the King’s own rooms.

  Arto entered the private wing of the Keep. It was devoted to Grayson, his servants, and guards. This was where the council meeting room was, the private meeting rooms where Graydon would entertain emissaries, his own personal quarters, and those for his servants and guards.

  The guards let him pass without question. Of course, he was a regular visitor and well known to them all.

  Doan, Graydon’s man, directed Arto to the King’s personal rooms. As with Arto’s, there was a sitting room adjacent to his bedroom. It was not used to receive visitors, as Arto’s rooms were. It was the King’s personal space.

  The room was done in shades of rich reds, cream, and black. It was evident that the King lived in this room.

  The chairs and sofa were large to fit his frame, well stuffed and lived in. Books were piled on the table nearest his favourite chair. Small paintings of his parents were on the mantel, along with a larger oil of a hunting scene. There was a statue of his first warhorse and a one of a gerto from a Jorval artist.

  The room was comfortably warm from the low fire. Graydon had a coffee service set up with some snacks on the sideboard for the two men to help themselves. Tuengo, a strategic board game, was set up.

  “Waiting for me to hand you your royal arse, your Majesty?” asked Arto as he entered and spied the game.

  “You’re all talk, Arto. As I recall, last time I handed you your arse.”

  The two men grinned at each other.

  Arto poured himself a mug of coffee and settled into the chair opposite Graydon. The king took two pieces of the game, put his hands behind his back, and then held out his two closed fists.

  Arto pointed to the man’s left.

  “Damn it!” exclaimed the king, exposing the dark piece. “You move first.”

  They settled into the game. It was a lengthy battle between the two experienced players.

  “So, I’ve heard some interesting court rumours about you.” Graydon broke the silence between the two men.

  “Really, Sire?” It must be interesting to have Graydon mention it. The man normally took court gossip with a very large grain of salt.

  “Apparently, you are not pleased to be saddled with the, ah, burden of Lady Cella.”

  Arto’s head shot up at that and his eyes bored into Graydon.

  Anger lashed through him, the room suddenly smaller and his vision clouding with the thought that someone would speak such a lie.

  “If this is true, my friend, I will relieve you of it.” Graydon looked back into Arto’s eyes calmly. “I thought after that first night seeing you together you were happy with her, but if I was mistaken I will fix things. I can easily send her to Anglesly and she can interact with the crowd that the Countess has in the manor. I had only asked for you to fetch her. If you are tired of her as your lover—”

  “No.” It was almost shouted, but not quite. “I don’t know where this stupid gossip is from, but it is not true, my Liege.”

  “I’m pleased you’re happy. You have to admit, this is a rather unusual situation for you, of all people.”

  “That’s true, Sire.” Arto tamped down the emotions roiling inside him. He tried to pretend nonchalance. “I’m sure I will tire of her by the time her year here is up.”

  Graydon chuckled. “Of course.”

  They played for a while longer. The advantage switched back and forth between the two men.

  “According to gossip, Lady Cella hates it here. She finds Kerban distasteful in many ways. The food, people, artisans, all is not up to her standards.” Graydon’s voice was casual, but Arto knew for him to bring it up he was concerned.

  “I don’t believe that, Sire. She has never given one small indication that she is less than content with her situation. Each day she happily speaks of her work at the Lithalla and her friendship with Valina. Tors reports that she is pleased with Kyna and Nia and that she praises them for seeing to her every comfort. She has said to Lord Vigo and Lady Lyr how much she has enjoyed her limited exploration of the city.” Arto was confused at where these rumours were coming from.

  “That’s good to hear. I have heard conflicting bits of gossip and wasn’t sure what to make of them. Doan thinks the source is the gentlemen and ladies that are currently visiting for year’s end and have no other duties to attend. Those that spend most of their time in the commons area.”

  “Sire, I doubt Cella has spent more than a few hours there since she arrived. What would they even know of her?”

  “Perhaps that’s the issue. She is not there, they don’t know her, and the gossip starts.”

  “Perhaps.”

  After a few more moves, Arto spoke again. “I’ve heard some interesting rumours myself,” he said with a snort.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, the younger knights are all in a state about a white tiger that has been seen in the King’s Bush. They’re all talking of an expedition to hunt for it.” The King’s Bush was an area just outside the city, set aside for riding. Some hunting occurred, but there were few deer left in the forest.

  “Hmm, I would say that if there was truly a tiger in the bush, it should be left alone. Surely such a miracle would be a gift of the Goddess and not to be harmed.” Graydon’s voice seemed casual, but Arto had noted the very slight stiffening of his shoulders and minuscule hesitation when reaching for his piece to move.

  “Do you have some information on this tiger that the rest of us don’t know of?” Arto pressed.

  “I’ve heard the rumours as well. Who is to say if they are correct or not? Tigers are in the mountains near Srian, perhaps one has become lost.”

  “Really?” Arto remained suspicious.

  “More likely it’s a goat that someone’s imagination has turned into a tiger. Wasn’t the infamous white stag from a couple of years ago a missing horse?” Both men laughed at that. The hunting enthusiasts in the court had tried to catch the elusive stag for weeks before realizing it was a mare whose owner had trimmed her mane and tail just before she escaped.

  Play continued between the two men. They could hear the wind howling outside and the sleet pattered against the windows. Graydon narrowly won the first game and they set up to play again.

  “What of Dochir, Sire? Why is he here?” asked Arto. He still had issues with the warrior’s presence around Cella.

  Graydon sighed. “My friend, I need to ask you to trust me. I truly believe that Dochir is not a threat.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, Your Majesty. He is following her and I need to know why.”
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  “Following her?”

  “He seems to ‘happen upon’ her quite frequently. I think he is following her and I want to know what his game is.” Arto’s voice was hard. He was convinced that Dochir had some ill intent toward Cella and Arto was having none of that.

  “He is unique. I have spoken with him at length once and will do so again. I need to think more about the Srian people before I discuss it with you and the council.”

  Arto clenched his jaw. He knew better than to push Graydon when the King had been so closed mouthed about the man the entire time. Instead he made an aggressive move in the game and went on to win.

  * * * *

  The Year End celebration in Kerban was a quiet affair. It was devoted to gratitude for all that had happened the year before and looking forward to the year ahead.

  There was a meal in the main hall for all in the Keep to attend, servants included. In most noble houses, it was tradition for the staff and servants to be served from the large buffet first by the highest-ranking nobles.

  King Graydon made it a point to help serve the buffet to the guests, and many of the upper nobility served the buffet as well. Arto explained this to Cella and the two donned aprons and pitched in.

  Cella didn’t mind at all. She was happy to return the care to the servants who looked after her so well, even if she recognized that it was in a very small way compared to the rest of the year. She had opted to make sure that glasses were kept full at several tables assigned to her.

  She tried not to notice who was serving and who was not. She told herself it wasn’t really any of her concern. Her own actions were the ones she was answerable for, not others.

  But still, she was human and it was hard not to notice that the gossipy, preening group from the common rooms, led by Suro, made a large show of helping in the smallest way possible for the least amount of time.

  It didn’t matter.

  Cella focused on making sure that the lowest of the servants, the youngsters who were up early to tend the fires, clean the pots, and do the dirty work were well supplied with wine and cider. It was their due to be waited upon for this one night of the year, and, though her feet were aching, she would give them her best.

  As the bulk of the Keep were satisfied, she was able to join Arto and much of the council for some much-needed sustenance. She picked up her plate and headed to the buffet, noticing that King Graydon was still there, dishing out potatoes and peas.

  Cella gave a little curtsey as she held out her plate. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Surely you have served everyone in the hall by now?”

  “I think so, Lady Cella. I’ll look after Arto there behind you and then serve myself. I must confess, I’m quite hungry now.” He smiled as he loaded Arto’s plate with food.

  “Allow me to serve you, Your Majesty,” Lady Suro’s melodic yet simpering voice startled Cella a little. She hadn’t seen the gossipy gerto slithering up behind her.

  Suro stood far too close to Cella for her liking, but she couldn’t really move without it being obvious she was trying to get away from the woman.

  Cella watched the King school his features into the same diplomatic mask he used for Mogren. “Thank you, Lady Suro, but I am always the last to help myself. I would prefer to stick to the custom.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. You and Lord Arto are so honourable to always adhere to our traditions. I do enjoy giving back this evening to those that care for us every other day of the year.”

  Suro turned to Cella. “Of course, being a visitor here, no one really expects you to participate. I’m sure you’ve had a fine time watching our topsy-turvy evening.” She cocked her head to one side and gave a condescending smile.

  “It’s a lovely tradition and I’m glad to be a part of it this evening,” Cella returned politely. Frankly, she was hungry and wanted to extricate herself and go eat.

  “Cella opted to be serving drinks this evening,” Arto noted. “As did I. She is far too polite to say, but if my feet are hurting and I’m hungry, I’ll be she is, too. Please join us when you are ready, Sire.” He bowed and led Cella away.

  They sat at a table at one edge of the hall. Arto poured Cella a glass of wine and settled in beside her. Lady Valina, Vigo and Lyr were seated with them.

  “You certainly threw yourself into the spirit of things, Cella!” Valina exclaimed. “Did you have fun at all?”

  “Yes, it’s a wonderful tradition. I hadn’t heard of it before. It’s rather fun to do it for a night, but I think I would have to get tougher feet if I was to do it more often.” Cella laughed at herself.

  King Graydon joined them and conversation stalled as they began to eat.

  As they satisfied their hunger, talk gradually resumed.

  “Our next tradition is to write down some of the things we are grateful for, and then burn them in the fire as an offering of gratitude to the God and Goddess,” Valina explained as she handed Cella a piece of paper and a pen.

  “Is there anything in particular a person is supposed to write?” Cella asked as she pondered what to put on the page.

  “Whatever you are most grateful for, big or small. It could be that a loved one survived an injury, or a new baby in the family, or that your business had good fortune,” Lady Lyr elaborated.

  “Or that you bred a particularly fine crop of horses this year,” added Arto with a wink.

  “Do we share these with each other?” questioned Cella.

  “No, they are to remain between you and the God and Goddess,” Lord Vigo answered as he wrote a few more words on his paper.

  Cella considered what to write. She was certainly grateful for her family, the achievement of becoming a Master Enchanter, and very grateful for coming to Kerban.

  Wasn’t that a surprise? She had been so terrified to come, yet in the few weeks she had been here, she couldn’t imagine not participating in the malairte.

  She was grateful for her relationship with Arto. That was a given. Who else this year had ever thought to give her so much? He saw to her every comfort and put himself between her and the gerto without a second thought. He even tried to protect her when she really didn’t need protecting.

  Best of all, he had taught her to ride under the worst conditions she could imagine, and she had come out stronger for it. Her ability to ride had somehow unleashed courage she didn’t know she had.

  She was enjoying their day-to-day life here in the Keep as well.

  Breakfasting with Arto while they were still in their robes was a wonderful luxury. At the end of the day they had a ritual of sitting and chatting before heading down to dinner in the great hall together. She was always interested in what he had accomplished and he, in turn, always asked about her day, her work, and her students.

  She was grateful he was her lover. He encouraged her to explore aspects of her sexuality she would never have thought were important to her. Oh, she knew he loved his bedroom games, too, but not once did he ever let her think they were anything but optional.

  She smiled a little as she thought of some of their carnal pleasures. He still hadn’t given her an erotic spanking yet, nor had he taken her ass. He insisted that she be adequately prepared to have his cock in her back passage. There had been quite a bit of play with the glass plugs. Thinking about it had her pussy heating and growing slick.

  She pulled herself back to the task at hand.

  She had to remind herself, that though Arto seemed to enjoy their time together, she was still his duty.

  She was grateful to have met many of the people here in Kerban—King Graydon, Lovina, Hirt, Valina, Dochir, Vigo, Lyr, her colleagues at the Lithalla, and many others. She was grateful to have survived her injuries. She was grateful for her horse.

  Her little paper was scribbled full and she folded it like the others at the table.

  She looked across the table at Valina, who was finishing. She had a little blush on her face. Cella caught her eye and Valina winked saucily at Cella, sliding her eyes over to Arto.r />
  Both women giggled a little.

  “Are you finished?” Valina asked Cella.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “The let’s go place our offering in the fire.” Valina stood and offered her hand to Cella.

  Cella looked at Arto, wondering if she should wait for him.

  “Go on,” he urged her. “I’m not quite done, and Valina would like some company, I think.”

  Cella joined Valina.

  They went to the roaring blaze in the largest hearth in the hall. At one side of the fireplace was a faceless, stylized stature of the Goddess, at the other, a similar one of the God.

  Valina steered Cella into the small queue forming at the side. “We go one by one and say a little prayer of thanks as we throw the offering into the fire. I’ll go first,” Valina offered.

  She stepped up, bowed her head for a moment, and then tossed her paper into the fire. It quickly turned to ash and Valina stepped aside to make way for Cella.

  Cella repeated her actions, praying her thanks to the dual deities of Kerban, and walked back to the table with Valina.

  The hall was large and there were many people celebrating. As they walked back, Valina was saying something, but Cella was having a hard time concentrating. She was starting to feel a little overheated and woozy.

  Actually, she was starting to feel nauseous.

  Her stomach began to churn slowly and Cella suddenly knew the evening was not going to end well.

  Chapter 16

  Arto watched Cella return to the table out of the corner of his eye. He had followed shortly after they left to make his own offering and finished quickly. He moved to catch up with the two women.

  Valina was talking about playing Tuengo with Cella tomorrow.

  Arto noticed that Cella’s steps were a little unsteady and, even in the low light, she seemed a little pale.

  “Cella, is everything all right?” he asked as he moved closer.

  “Actually, I’m feeling a little unwell,” she replied, and he could now see a little sheen of sweat on her brow.