Brightest light and broken thoughts assail our senses. Fronts of thick, heavy clouds approach us on every side. Every color of the rainbow floats softly through our vision. Quickly, the images stir and change. At first of our family, and our home. The commotion, the screaming, the terrible hatred of it all flooding back into us. Each part of our life stacks on the next like paper. Each is bound together as the pages of a book.

There, the first time with a man. The first hand to touch us. The first tongue. He was one of the servants. A guard was next. Stray gentlemen of the court. Stray ladies. The first time each of them touched us we gasped in our delight, in our fear. Wondering if we'll be caught. It's paradise to feel that again. We love these visions as much as any. To relive such bliss is a special gift. Soon, though, it fades and we are torn back through the dancing light and cold wind that is the river of our life.

Turn back the pages. Darkness and light streak the sky as though we are traveling the night sky. Images in the darkness are formed in the pinpricked light of the stars. The armies of from the western frontier are gathering. The ritual slaughter of our consecrated Queen's virginity which launched a war of six decades. The clouds turn black, and angry.

When will this end? It is taxing to see like this. If it goes on much longer, it could hurt us. Stop. Please stop. There is a figure in the window is mocking us. The black silhouette stands in the light of narrow arch. All we can see of it is the white flash of luminescent eyes as it tilts its head skyward and cackles silently. Hair shifts and sways atop the creature's head, but we cannot really see how much, or how long, except that it can pass before the light of their eyes.

We aren't sure who it is. Is it now? It passes. What we see now is yet to come. We are in a bed in a large stone chamber. The room's décor is not familiar. Nothing about the place is known to us. The vision is blurring, and everything is confused. It is difficult to see clearly into the beyond, so it cannot be far off. Perhaps the prophecy is nearing completion. Could the shadow-clad figure be the monster from the Queen's prophecy?

The silhouette looms on top of us, now a senseless vacuum of light. A darkness, a shadow in the shape of a person. We are naked. Completely naked. Even the sheets tossed aside, our body glows warmly in the flicker of fire. The light comes from candles, torches, or lanterns. We know we are frightened, but not sure why. It could be the one atop us, but it could be something else. Its arms are over ours, holding us still.

Excited, afraid, but not at all in pain we wait patiently beneath it. We do not struggle. Writhing a little in anticipation, perhaps, we want it, even. It cannot be the beast Shad'Dreth. We would never allow it to take us willingly. Never.

It penetrates us and we inhale deeply, gasping a little in our pleasure. The gender of its scent is evasive, even mysterious. The powerful figure works in the depth of us. This is destiny. It's too clear to be a dream, to be fantasy. These sensations are too perfect, we could not have imagined them. The feel of the hard organ inside of us makes our body curl, the wetness of us, the power of its strokes, and the violence of our lust for it.

We have been waiting for so long. Thank the source that we know now. The monster will not have us, and we will not suffer the union. Oh, it bites us. It knows us. Our fantasies. Our whims, our wills. It does what we want. It's strong, smooth hands caress our flesh an hold us.

The image of our lover is still unclear. The body is almost unstable, shifting and changing its shape just slightly as it moves above us. In some moments more feminine than others. Dextrous, shadowy fingers massage us above its point of entry. We cannot believe it. Freedom exists. The prophecy will be broken, one day.

Diffusing like a drop of ink in water, the images twist and blur as they expand, breaking apart into darkness. Another life sweeps us up. The sky, the grass, the trees are all flying past. We are looking forward. An imperial stallion is running beneath us, carrying us swiftly down the sloped meadows of Mount Delana. Our village is waiting for us in the shaded grove a few miles on. Everybody will be out to welcome us.

Soon they'll receive the hawk we sent, and they'll know. They'll run, but it won't help. We'll intercept them about the same time as the invading army catches up with them. An entire division, rampaging through the valley. No... No.

Fading again, the canvas melts as the echoes of her leave us. Soon there will be another. The lingering voices of the days before the war are loud today. Every wicked thing they've said tonight rings sickeningly true. It... it wasn't our fault. We weren't there! We couldn't help it! It's not possible to countermand an order if your generals cannot hear you. This is maddening. Our voice, our face, our name all usurped and betrayed. We hate him. We hate her. And her! We hate this! We hate this, we hate this, we hate this, we hate this, we hate this...

This is not fair. It's not usual, but it is unique. It's most definitely cruel. Who does this to a sixteen year old girl? The only cruel thing our family ever did, and it was to us. Why us? The Grand Duchess calls it a punishment. She says that we lost right to choose when we would not marry the beast, that we have much to answer for.

What now? What's next? And whom? Fuck. Another memory of... ah... that feels good. What is he doing to her? To us? He's inside her ass, ours. It hurts, but she loves it and so do we. Fuck! He's pushing in deeper. He wants her to feel it, and centuries later, we do. We are certain that our unconscious body is moaning as she does, as we do in this land of dreams.

She was a virgin, as we are. Fuck. We love this. The loss of virginity is always the best sex. Okay, we all know that isn't true. It's rarely the best, but it's something of a fetish to us, since we have yet to lose ours. We make a twisted, moaning face and wrap our legs around his muscular buttocks to pull him inside us as we grow accustomed to the feeling of his large organ. His powerful thrusts sink into us harmlessly but a little painful. This feels amazing. This is distracting.

We need to focus. We have to plan. They're going to force us. The union is to be carried out soon. This is a problem. Ah. Oh, oh! Fuck, that feels so good! She takes him into her like a champion harlot, and we feel every inch of her joy. It is impossible not to see his. He takes her for what she is, and what she will become. They gasp sharply, and together as he works in her, and both shudder when he finishes deep within.

We know her. She'll become a courtesan at first. Eventually a concubine, and one day a princess. It's as easy to recall the day they met at court as it is to remember the first day we stepped outside the castle walls... or the last. We can recall the masque they danced at as well as the night our sistren called out in fright, a wolf in the darkness.

This is the next terrible memory to surface, and does so as the great lady's earliest pleasure fades from our sight. Growing hazy again, the images blacken and decay, leaving us in a dark bedchamber. Six beds, six sisters, six princesses. Each of a different station, each meant for something different, but all are of one blood. There we lay. Dreaming of our princes charming, or dashing heroes. We woke to a terrible scream. Daphina was the first to wake.

She wielded her voice like a blade in the hands of an expert swordswoman, and slashed open the night. Each of us saw it, before the door burst open, firelight streaming in like warm sunrise. Now illuminated, there was no evidence of any disturbance, let alone a creature. Funny. It looked somehow similar. The shadow on that wall and the figure in my window. Definitely the same... What is it? Perhaps whom...

Madness! Folly! That's all this is. Nightmares! We can't possibly be this thing that we so clearly are. How is it real? We'll have none of it! We will not have it! A girl who bears the memories of her people! Ha. Cursed princesses. Then again, here we are. Shackled in a tower, adrift in an ocean of psychological noise and clutter. With the memories, regrets, dreams and longings of others appearing in our mind as though the were our own, it certainly feels like a curse.

Memory storms are taxing. Very taxing. We can already feel control slipping through the fingers of our struggling mind. The shifting, turbulent nature of the noise is overwhelming. That's how one asserts itself beyond the others. With this many thoughts and voices it is only the waves and swells of one entity. A singe voice, of the people.

The storm is subsiding, but we are still pulled under its powerful current and tossed here and there by its whim. We see ourself. It's us. The first time we saw this room. Dragged into the chamber, kicking, we bite one of the guards. It does no good. It is ignored. We are stripped naked. Forcefully, they tear each piece of clothing from our body shackle us to the wall by tired ankles.

Why did he do it? We'd love to see his face when he finds out that we are no innocent flower. Our first time was with a guard. He defeated our virginity with a single, well-timed thrust from behind as helped us bathe. Helps us bathe... Yes. That's right.

Oh... we sink into the steam and hot water of the deep bath. A pale gray, the water saturated with rich minerals for the skin. It reaches our shoulders in the center, and we stir in the waves his entry creates. We bid him closer to us. Through the water he cannot feel the rising heat in our body or see the color in our cheeks.

“Wash us,” we order him.

He obliges without hesitation. He obliges with enthusiasm. The wet cloth in his hand is warm with the heated water. It runs over our back as he wrings the towel over us. His muscular frame and looming figure complimented his smoothly shaved head. His skin is the color of unadulterated coffee. We seize his long arms, coil them around the pale creamy color our own and sigh with contentment. Aljaran is our favorite. He would have become our personal attendant, if we still made use of one, but it makes very little since anymore.

Aljaran wraps us up and puts his lips on our neck. He kisses us and bites very lightly. We love to play with him. Our games in the bath have always been exciting, but today there is something different. His intent is not just to please us, today he wants something from us... He wants something from us. We want it too.

Warm hands run over the outside of us. Soon, a strong finger is inside, and it is not our own. The deep, breath gasp from just above it is one of pleasure, excitement. Our body tingles inside and out. We want nothing less than all of him.

Without delay, as if he can read our thoughts, he pulls us back and sits us in his lap. In anticipation, we do our very best to relax the relevant muscles, but it's not easy. The way he stimulates us, and kisses us we are nearly unable to accept him. He removes his finger and we close up instantly, almost orgasmically.

The bristles of his ceremonially and perfectly trimmed goatee tickle the skin of back as he presses kissed against our spine, one vertebrum at a time. Each moment is bliss, every act of desire forbidden. Gently, and insincerely we wrestle against his grasp, but he only holds us tighter. It's perfect. Exactly how imagined.

The next we know, we feel him against us harder than ever. He pushes forward. We aren't asking for it. We aren't even sure we wanted it, but we let him. We can always stop it, if we want to. He would never force us, he would never do anything to hurt us. Indeed, he may love us. He kisses our neck again. Hands drop to feel our breasts, and take them whole. Our hard nipples slip between his third and fourth fingers, where they are pressed and squeezed as firmly and painlessly as our breasts.

One more second, and he's inside us. We felt it. We felt all of it, but it took him no time at all to bury himself within us. As deep as is possible. Gasping in our pleasure, our hands manipulate our own pleasure as he begins sliding in and out of us. He makes us hot, wet, thrilled and scared.

Nothing could be as perfect as this. His love, his self is warming us from within. We feel nothing but affection and passion for him at this moment. We are holding him tight as he holds us. We rock forward and back, moving his hardness in and out of us. The force of him is incredible.

It is not a creative encounter. Maybe it shouldn't be though. He lasts a time, but we do not move very much. We stay in one position and as he fucks us and we play with ourself, we grow close to our climax. It will be a strong one. All our most sensitive parts are being stimulated.

Oh yes, here it is. A sharp tingling skewers us from within and our skin flushes. It is a powerful experience, lusting for him, feeling him, and as we cum we clamp him down inside of us.

“Princess...” he whispers in our ear as he begins.

We feel every amazing discharge within us as we writhe and squirm in your arms, in ecstasy, in love. Each stroke into us brings another flood of rich, hot fluid. Gasping and crying, we sink into him, finished. After two more soft spurts of cum, he is done as well. Tears of pleasure running down our face, we roll about in his lap, post-orgasmic and in sexual, emotional rapture.

By giving ourself to Aljaran we are defeating the prophecy. Or so we hope. Once again, the image breaks, and sends us hurdling back into the seething mists of memory. The Duchess was not amused when she found out. She threatened Aljaran with death, but we arranged a pardon, through our sisters consent. Instead he was banished and left at the edge of our lands to fend for his own life, and never to return.

The extent of our encounter with Aljaran still vague and unknown to the Duchess, she locked us away, rather than having the courage to abandon her hopes of marrying me to the beast. The prophecy states that we we will be joined on the seventh night of the fifth cycle of this year.

The storm is calming. We think we can see the horizon through it. It's us. The image we see. We are shackled to the tower, and left there. Nobody has been in to see us in weeks, perhaps longer. We suppose they're confident in the security of the chamber. It's a long way down, and there's only one window. The door was sealed by the Duchess' vile magics.

Her corrupted influence over natural energies is the only reason she is married to Archduke Aderon. He took her as a prize of war, then put power her to work. In time, though, she wormed her way through the outer layers of his heart, and made her home within. Within the year, she had become his fifth wife, and inside the next, the other four had all met with accidents which claimed their royalty, or their lives.

Hopelessly in love with her now, the Aderon is slave to her whim. That is how we were captured and came to be imprisoned in this cold, broken tower of shame and hatred. Aderon was once our father's most trusted vizier, and indeed, his closest friend. That's why he became steward to the throne. We were meant to ascend the day after our imprisonment. They came in the night. Gagged and quiet, they took us to the Duchess' keep and she sealed us inside.

So, there we are. Shackled, chained and knotted to the cold metal of the walls. There we sit, unable to escape and barely able to move. Consciousness slowly sinks back into our body. The tattoos over the lids of our eyes start to wrinkle and warp.

As our eyes flutter open, we sink back inside and see from within them again. It's getting stronger. Our charge is nearing the surface. If we cannot be repaired, then we'll be taken whole, and swallowed by the vast ocean of voices and memories, lost forever.

Needless to say, we are happy to see somebody at the window. There you are, and we don't know what is happening, but it doesn't matter. They'll be coming at any time, so whatever you're here to do with us... or to us, won't be any worse than what she has planned. Please, help us. Please, please take us away from here.

Dark and handsome, you swagger toward us with your wiry, but masculine physique. A man in our prison? A man to rescue us? It's almost arousing how much insult this could add to the Duchess' injury.

The light changes suddenly, and it is obvious that you're a woman. You draw a great, intimidating knife. Not a dagger, but a jagged, misshapen thing, edged with teeth and hooks. Do it. Whatever it is, we're ready. Do it!

For a very long moment, you do nothing at all. Inspecting us, as though making sure the merchandise is up to your standards of quality, you glare downward. Perhaps this is not as excellent as we had hoped.

'Hello there,' we think calmly at you. It's obvious you cannot hear us. We do wish we could ask you what you're doing here, though. There's tape over our mouth, shackles on our ankles, and complex knots behind, restraining our arms straight behind us, wrists together, and palms flat together.

It's not hard to notice our suffering, and you quickly swoop down next to our shivering, starving body. As you investigate the restraints, you discover that we are tied to the wall by the hair, and moving us pulls it painfully.

Dashing and handsome, our lips curl up when you brandish your terrible blade again. It is long, and sharp. The reflective surface of the blade catches the sun, and blinds us briefly. Green eyes beg you to hurry. We know they'll be back anytime, and they'll be bringing... Well, we'll try not to think about that. When my sight returns fully, I see your face. Your blue eyes almost glow at me from behind your straight brunette hair. A few errant strands have escaped the tail behind your head and fallen in your face. It's long enough to rest on your excited breast, still gasping from the challenge of the ascent.

“Sorry about this,” you say sincerely as you rip the tape off of our face in a swift motion. We taste the blood from where it took a piece of my lip, but the bleeding stops presently, and the metallic flavor which fills my mouth fades soon after.

Still a little cautious, we ask you softly and hurriedly “Are you here to help?”

“Of course I am,” you tell us, as you begin sawing the knots to free our arms.

“What about the irons?” We ask.

“Don't worry. I'm just doing your arms first so that you can work on getting all of that hair free while I work on them.”

“You brought tools?”

“Don't leave home without them...” there is a momentary pause, “Anymore.”

As you cut the final knot, the ropes fall to the floor, tied into a haphazard sort of a cage, slightly rigid from it's remaining tension. We stretch our sore elbows and wrists, which are in considerable circulatory distress after being tied for so long. Immediately, you sheathe your knife and take a small roll of leather from your satchel. It gives shelter to the slender tools of a master locksmith, or, perhaps more likely, a thief. In the end, it doesn't matter to us. We just need to get out, to be away from here. We can deal with the next thing after.

Thunderous footsteps are rumbling in the distant base of the keep. We know they're coming. Shad'Dreth is near. Her guards are already late to take us. What could be keeping them from such a simple and important duty? They will haul us down the stairs, drag us into the pit below, and shackle us to its cold, damp wall. That's how mother always described it, anyway. The Archduke, the Duchess and their guards are approaching, and you'll surely be executed if they catch you.

The metal and stone of the wall are burning where the edge of the door once was. Hurry! It won't take her more than a few minutes to recreate the door and for the guards to take us.

Just as we undo the last knot in our hair, we hear the click of a lock, and smile as you free us. A second click, and that smile turns to ash as six guards in crimson burst into the room, bayonets approaching your throat. Flowing behind them in my family's royal vestments are the Archduke and Grand Duchess.

You lean in close and whisper, “Close your eyes, hold your breath.”

We do as you tell, and you shield our eyes and nose with your hand. We hear a the breaking of glass and a deafening crack fills our ears. Even through our tinted eyelids and your hand we can see the flash. The next sound we hear is of eight bodies or persons hitting the floor, completely limp. When we open our eyes and remove your hand, we see the Archduke, his wife, and their guards unconscious on the floor.

“That was handy,” We admit, very impressed.

“Well, I only had the one, so we had better get out of here fast.”

“We'll never get out the door,” we say, dragging one of the men out of doorway and locking the door behind us when we step back in. “There's more guards between us and the ninth floor than anywhere else in this tower. We'll never get to the bridge. Somebody will have heard the racket. They're on their way.”

“You sound like you have a suggestion.”

“You didn't have a plan?”

“Out with it.”

“The moat outside.”

“Are you sure it's deep enough? It's a very long way down,” you remind me as though I didn't think of it.

“Before this was our prison, it was our bedchamber. This isn't the first time we escaped from this tower, but we promise, one way or another, it's going to be the last, so let's go!” we say, commandingly.

We step up to the ledge and look down. They say don't do it, but we can never resist. Thirteen stories, straight down. It's quite a view from up here. We will miss it. It was hard to enjoy the last few though, being bound and taped like that. We take in this perspective of the breathtaking greenscape for the what we truly hope is last time.

As you swallow hard, and prepare for the jump, I stop you with my words, “Hey, aren't we supposed to owe you something for the rescue?”

Before you have time to ask what the hell we're talking about, we take you and kiss you, bending us over your back, just slightly. We love the fairy tales we grew up with, and, as a princess, we like to see those types of moments to their fullest. The very second we come out of the deep kiss and open our eyes the next slew of guards burst in. They look to see their Lord and Lady collapsed upon the floor and one takes aim with his gleaming, gold rifle.

Just as the first shot flies between our faces, we dive, hands together. The descent is terrifying, exhilarating, and orgasmic. We're not exaggerating. The warm summer breeze running through our dress and caressing every inch of our feminine body is starting to tingle. The nipples on our chest are cooled and hardened into diamonds by the passing atmosphere. We look at you, both of us facing downward and heading fast for the water, and we scream with excitement. Our heart is pounding like it never has before, and we love every second of the powerful adrenaline filling our blood.

We can't see anymore. Vision has been overtaken by sparkling stars amid a cloudy darkness. The sensation is almost too much, and somewhere around the fifth floor, our body overwhelms us with orgasm. As we tighten up, feeling the pleasure ripple through every muscle in our body, we scream in excitement. Just as soon as we can regain ourself we are hitting the water, and you follow almost in sync. As the frigid, dark water opens to us, we make the fastest U-turn toward the surface that we can. The icy liquid chills both of us.

When we emerge, soaking from the moat on the other side, you quickly mount the motorized steed on which you rode to my rescue. While it lets you approach, the hideous metal creature begins snarling loudly at us when you do so, and we do not wish to climb onto it's back. We hesitate, but you pull us toward you, leaving no choice but to swing a leg over it, lest our whole body tip over it at the waist. We wrap our arms tightly around you, just below your perfect breasts. The engine of your mount roars with great intent and soon it begins to run.

Together, we tear across the valley, ripping the ground and the green behind us. We mutter prayers of atonement under my breath alongside the prayers for safety. We had to run, but in all our musings, we never considered that this metallic monster would be the final vehicle of our escape. Rifle charges continue to fire past us, blowing small holes in the foliage of the shrubs your pet destroys with its horrible mandibles.

Once we pass the treeline the shots cease, and neither their horses nor camels can keep up with us. We do not think even the sky hunters could catch us now. With the pursuit gone, we become acutely aware of the trembling beast between our legs. Its rumbling breath is shaking its back very quickly. The vibration is working its way through us our thighs, and beyond.

We can scarcely imagine the velocity we must be traveling at. We must be miles into the dense wood by now. The wheels of its jaws are narrower now, holding us higher from the ground and narrowing the creature's stance so it could pass more easily through the trunks. The speed and the excitement combined with the vibration against our completely exposed sex is sending us toward another crest of spectacular, if unexpected pleasure. We clutch your body tightly now, as we tense up around you, our ankles pass your shins, locking against them. Oh! No. Not right now. Yes, right now! We're going to cum again!

We bite our lip and thrust our hips down, against the seat. With us behind you, moaning through teeth and lip, it's obvious you can tell what's happening. We do not have to see your face to know that you're grinning. This is all so exciting. An hour ago we sat in our room, bound and silenced, awaiting the end. We really didn't have any idea how we would escape the grasp of the Shad'Dreth this time. The Archduke was mad, but he ruled by fear, and effectively so. The crest of his house is the Iron Fist of war under two crossed executioner’s axes, over a field of black.

We know that in some ways, we are very naive. We know it will be hard out here. Survival will not come easily. It wouldn't, if we had been let outside, though. We never left the castle. It's hard to understand why any parent would keep their child locked indoors for an entire lifetime, but it's important to understand that our city has been under siege for twenty-one years.

That's since before we were born. We escaped a few times as a child, and once or twice in our later years, but we never went far. We may have been just a girl, but we were still a Grand Princess of the Northern Kingdoms. Unlike our five sisters, we figured out at an early age that by simply reminding people of that title we were able to wield a tremendous amount of power.

At first, we used that title to exert my authority on servants and laborers. Nothing cruel, in fact we would always send their families extra rations of food and medicine in exchange for their continued silence. Mostly we asked them to help in procuring substances, trinkets or entertainment. Much more for entertainment as we grew older. All sorts of things we liked to do with them...

Anyway, when we wanted to get out of the castle, we would have them smuggle me out in many creative ways. Once father died, and the Archduke was named steward to the throne, we didn't have much left to do besides wait for our ascension. Well, we guess we're maybe getting ahead of ourself. Our head is still spinning with the speed of travel.

Slowly, we decelerate and gradually come to a halt in a very small clearing. Thick shrubs and brambles surround us on all sides, offering us excellent cover. The beast beneath us is rumbling still, but quieter. You stroke it's snout as though it has been good, then touch it carefully behind the neck and it sleeps. It sinks slightly and leans to one side when you dismount. You help us gingerly to the ground, and smile. we're shivering. You're shivering. The wind of the ride, along with wet dresses had made us both very cold. As you tend briefly to your steed, we immediately start gathering firewood.

Now that we're not moving, we can feel the warmth of the twilight returning to our chilled body. In response, we strip off the dress, efficiently. We hate that thing, anyway. It's a ceremonial shroud, more than anything. For the sacrifice. We have never been willing to go through with the ceremony. We still cannot fathom what they thought they were accomplishing.

The prophecy clearly states “The chosen sacrifice must choose herself to step through the window. The chosen will go willingly into the world of the devil Shad'Dreth. There the demon will have her innocence, and she will be ravaged.”

After mother first described the process to us, we never wanted any part of it. Ick. Ouch. No.

“Thank you, but we'll pass,” we said to her. They admitted it, and left us be, but once the Archduke and Grand Duchess had seized power, the throne had other plans for me. For the last weeks, we have truly been a prisoner in the home of our family.

When you turn back to us, and see our naked body, you tremble. We can tell the difference between it and your shivering from the cold. “Take off your clothes,” we tell you, “It's warm out.”

There's a moment of hesitation, but you do it. We're still cold from the damp of our clothes. We've almost got a fire set up, but no source of ignition. You kneel and set alight the dry grass and leaves at the heart of the small, but organized pyre though we do not see how. In a few moments only, we're sitting on a blanket from one of your saddle bags, and our clothes drying on a nearby rock. It's not long before we have to move the blanket further back from the fire. The heat is pleasant, pleasing, relaxing.

We lay back against you. Forgetting the world around us feels good. It feels right, perhaps more accurately. It's been a very long day, and none of the foreseeable days to come look as though they will be short, or easy. The smell of your body is soft in our nostrils, and strands of your wet hair caress my breasts and hard nipples as you lean over us. Our mouths collide for a second time, and the pleasure of it runs through our body like an electric current.

The kiss is the last we remember, until waking in the starlight. We roll over, and find you snuggled up against us, the embers of the fire still burning a little, and keeping us comfortable. As we turn against you, we smile at the feminine moan you emit in your half-sleep, rolling back toward me. When our faces are toward each other again we kiss you once on the mouth. You don't quite wake up, so we move to your neck, just below your ear. You stir further, and you wake when we kiss your neck where it meets your shoulder. We smile, and you smile back.

Like sparkling icicles, or gleaming daggers, stars litter the sky. A brightest crescent illuminates the dark between the pinpricks of light along side its sister, as full and round as the sun she reflects. Together they hold up the sky, and smile down at us. Abruptly, our stomach reminds us of its desires, and indeed its needs. A loud rumble echoes from within it as it contracts and shrinks.

“Hungry?” you ask us.

“Starved! we haven't eaten days,” we tell you.

You're already returning from the saddle of the beast, offering a small bundle of food, “It's not the best, but it's what I've got. At least it's nourishing.”

As a princess, we are accustomed to eating well. At least we were, but for the last months we've been eating bread and water, along with small doses of many poisons slipped to us by loyal servants, that we might build an immunity, just in case. Food that our body wouldn't immediately identify as toxic is so appealing that we can barely control ourself. As we devour the slightly sweet, very dry bread, you laugh a little.

“Laughing at our starvation?” we ask you, gently.

“No, not at all,” you assure us, “You're just eating with such enthusiasm.”

“What of it?” We say grumpily, through the crumbs of another hunk of bread we've stuffed into our hollow mouth.

“It's just that where I come from, people don't get that excited for anything short of surviving an imperial raid. Not on the outside, anyway.”

We frown. We're sorry about the raids, but we've been at war for decades. What do you expect of us? Still, “We appreciate what you've gone through, but also hope you're not after an apology.”

“Of course not,” you say.

“Because we are the Sovereign Princess of the Northern Realms, and we will not be judged by the likes of you, your kind, the Grand Duchess, or anyone else.”

“Good for you,” you tell us, indignant.

We look at you, quizzically.

You continue, “A lot of good it will do you out here in this wood.”

The thought only now occurring, we ask “Where are we, exactly?”

“The northwest of The Gray Wood.

We're close to the Eidoni River. You can hear it when the breeze is still.”

We close our eyes to listen for a moment and hear the soothing sound of rushing water. We've never heard a sound so beautiful. Our family has for twelve generations maintained its dedication to the natural preservation of their lands. We are the eldest living member of the Sephorin Dynasty, and yet we've never heard the sound of the world. We smell it on the air, and smile.

“That's amazing...” our voice trails off as we open open eyes, and see you looking at us.

“It's amazing how happy you are about everything.”

“Everything's new...” we remind you, “We spent our life barricaded inside a besieged fortress.”

“I suppose.”

“What are you smiling about?” we ask.

“I just don't get the opportunity to see that kind of joy very often. It's nice to be reminded every now and again that people are capable of feeling that way.”

“Glad we could help.”

“I'm glad I could help.”

We smile, and scoot closer to you on the blanket, my savior of the hour. You put your arm around us, and we look into the glowing bed of embers. After a few more moments, we look to you and think to speak. No words come out at first, but in a moment they come back to us.

“Why...” we fail again, but quickly formulate, “Why did you come for us?”

“Well, that's my confession,” you begin ominously, “That wasn't what I was doing there.”

“What do you mean?” we ask.

“It's not as bad as it sounds...” you're hesitating, and we don't like it.

“Go on.”

“I'm on assignment. A contract, I guess would be the best way to put it.”

“How's that?”

The wave-bladed dagger from the left of your belt isn't the leather sheath on your thigh anymore. The moon reveals its location. Mostly concealed beneath your hand, a wandering finger allows it to shine in the light. A contract. A contracted killer. An assassin. We don't think we can Snow White my way out of this, so we prepare for the worst. The long blade of the dagger is a vicious sight when drawn, narrow and delicate, yet strong and fearsome. The perfect weapon for a woman of your trade. The other knife is still in it's hard scabbard, too irregular for a soft sheath.

“I'm obviously, a thief,” you say.

“And you were after?”

“Any number of things. The most important were these.”

You hold up a long chain bearing a small, jeweled timepiece, then the wedding diadem of the Grand Duchess, and next the Archduke's signet ring.

“Three treasures for the cause. Two for gold, and one for the war effort.”

“And us?” we ask.

“Yes, of course. In honesty, you were the only item stated in my contract.”

Ignoring for the moment the content of your mission, we ask regarding you “Military?”

“Former,” you say.

“Rank?”

“Specialist Captain.”

“More than that.”

You sigh. “2 nd Division, Eleventh Brigade, 102 nd airborne company.”

“A dragon rider.”

“I actually rode a phoenix.”

“You were at the Battle of Elysi Fjord.”

Your eyes narrow. “Do you mean the Kireth Valley Massacre?”

So that's what your people call it. Huh. Thinking for a moment, we guess from your limited perspective, that makes sense. We wish you could know the truth, but it's unlikely you would believe us.

“Maybe we shouldn't talk about politics,” we say, backing off.

“What about now?”

“Hmm?”

“Now that you're no longer with the services. Assassin?”

“Contractor.”

“Do those contracts include wet work?”

“They do not.”

“Clandestine? Espionage?”

“Yes, and yes.”

“You're not betraying any protocols?”

“No. I'm independent now. Not a big fan of taking orders anymore. Or giving them,” you tell me, your tone somewhat harsh.

“I understand,” we tell you sadly.

We were at the battle, too. Standing on the great terrace above, we orchestrated the troops. We led them to a great victory, but only at a great price. We wonder if you know. Did you see us? What would you'd say if we told you they were all still alive. That they are only sleeping. Sleeping beside the still, breathing bodies of my family. Waiting to be kissed, as it were.

Why do you think the Archduke locked us away? The Duchess, really, is the answer to that question, but she obviously had some kind of a motivation. We still can't believe that our subjects would believe her venomous lies. That woman can spit poison. No, not poison. Disease. Poison isn't contagious. She's a sickness on the Principality. Still, we are tired, cold, and for the moment, in exile. One problem at a time, we suppose.

“You're just a thief?”

“Mostly a thief,” you correct.

“A thief of secrets is still a thief.”

“Axioms from the Archduke?”

“My father, actually,” we snap at you, this time quite annoyed.

There's silence for a time. We can't read you. Did you respect him? Did you hate him like you hate the dukes? Was he just another in a long line of politicians to you?

“I'm sorry about that,” you say.

Quietly, we listen for a moment, then say “Let's move on.”

“Alright. What should we talk about?”

“No, you lummox, I mean let's put out this fire, roll up this blanket and go. Something isn't right,” we say.

“What do you mean?”

“There's something getting closer.”

“I don't hear anything.”

“It's not anything that I hear...” we pause for a moment, then insist “We need to go. Now!”

“We leave at dawn. We can't ride in this dark.”

“There's a full moon!”

“And that's dense jungle on all sides, please tell me you don't want me to drive in there.”

“Yes. Now!”

“Not going to happen!” you scream at us.

Why are you resisting? You obviously know who we are, so you have to know what we can do. We do know that the voices of the Council of Nobles may not have reached Iraxia, at least not loudly enough to make an impact, but if you were in the war, then there's also no way that you would fall victim to their propaganda machine. Something's coming, and it's getting closer.

Our eyes and face moving around frantically now, sniffing the night and listening to the the air as we cast about for the source of our rising heartbeat. We know it's nearby, and that it will be with us presently. Why are you dragging your feet?

“We're telling you. Something's coming!” This is the final warning we have the opportunity to speak aloud.

A moment later, two men burst from the foliage on either side of us. The knife in your hand flashes quickly, and they stop just long enough for you to strike one, as we leap up and take the other one by the throat. We wrap our slender fingers round his sinewy throat and attempt, feebly to throttle him.

As a princess, we're trained for a lot of contingencies. Our father taught us how to handle a sword, but defending ourself naked, in the dark, on unfamiliar terrain against two armed men, without a weapon of our own is more difficult.

Yours falls to the ground, asleep, like the guards in the tower had. We haven't been so lucky though. There is a muscular forearm across our airway, and we won't move for fear of losing what little breath we still have. Our heart is pounding. Save us. Again. Please.

The first step. Your last blade is drawn. A short, stout leafed blade glowing in the moon's full bright. He steps next. Turns his foot, really. One heel pivots to counter your movement. In the black of closed eyes, we see your next move, legs crossing and sinking to the other side. He turns again, this time with a half step, but leaves us where we are. His grip tightens to adjust for the movement and we straighten to accommodate his brutish arm. Another step and he'll lose you for just a moment.

One more step... You're going to take it. He knows it. His finger tenses, and we don't need to feel it to know that he's going to take the shot while he has it. One more second. Even behind their shield, we can feel our eyes filling with saltwater. He aims. You begin to lift your foot. We see in our darkness the flash, but don't hear it. He hasn't fired. Just as it fades we drive hard an elbow into one of his ribs, and the shot rings out. A live round pulses through the night, slashing the thick green of the canopy.

The sound of shaking leaves and beating wings fills the night as the man recovers. Our painted eyelids frighten him for another quarter step when he turns back to us. You're gone. Swallowed by the forest.

He wants us. He won't kill us. Whomever his master is, they need our eyes, and they won't work for anybody but us, praise destiny.

Our opponent's breathing has grown heavy. Labored even. Some combination of fear and the blow to his chest, we should think. He wrestles us back into his arms, despite our attempts to evade his grasp. The next thing we know is a rustle of vines and branches a quiet moment before his grip slackens and he releases his breath, slipping to the ground, unconscious.

“That's a handy trick of yours,” we say, admiring your capability. Barely able to choke the words out, we wheeze a little in the night air. It isn't surprising at all how much it hurts to talk, but as always, we don't care for it. We like to talk. It's not that we don't like being choked a certain amount too, but there's a time and a place for that.

“Thanks,” you tell us.

“You knew.”

“I did.”

“We were running our mouth.”

“You were.”

“Next time, tap us three times like this, and we'll shut right up.”

“Yeah? I should touch the Sovereign princess without prior consent?”

“Hey, we're the first to admit that a lifetime in one castle has left us a little naïve.”

“Naive? I suppose, but capable.”

“Thank you...” we accept the compliment, but it's not all that easy. Nobody has ever appreciated our abilities. We were always 'not ready' to test ourself in the world, according to mother and father. After the Duchess seized power we never had our liberty again.

You interrupt our thoughts. “Help me tie them up?”

“Absolutely!” our answer slips out a little too easy. Spending so much time as a captive, we've developed a bit of a tendency toward enjoying holding others against what would strictly be described as their will. It's really not that we enjoy the suffering of others. Okay, maybe just a little. If it's somebody who's done a bunch of bad things, especially if they were to us. Not a sadist, but after recent events, it shouldn't be surprise a if we get off at least a little on revenge.

“Well, get on it!” you tell us, “There's rope in that satchel.”

“Alright,” We respond, and head for the sleeping beast. It doesn't breathe at all. Incredible. We approach its saddle bag and open it. The rope is obvious and well coiled, sitting on top. We take it and unwrap it as we return. Dropping one end to the ground as we tie a large, heavy knot in the other, we notice the second guard stirring. He must not have gotten the full dose. We look at you, but you're using the other end to lash the first man to a tree.

“Say... Are you ready to preform an interrogation yet?”

“Not yet, why?”

“He's waking up.”

“What are you talking about, he's dead asleep.”

“Not yours! This one,” we say, pointing.

The 'oh shit' look on your face almost makes us laugh, even at this inappropriate moment. Almost. Out of nowhere, he's gained his strength, and suddenly there's a hand wrapped tightly around our ankle. We yelp, and you're six, seven meters away. Determined to prove a point, we do not allow him to trip us, and keep weight over the ankle as we turn our foot and step. Feeling like we might have preferred to break his wrist, instead we exercise some restraint and merely break his grasp.

“Watch the knife!” you yell distractingly as you run toward the skirmish.

The stars had shown it to us a moment before, but even they had been telling us something we already knew. As the dagger comes, we throw the knot in the rope, not at his fist, but at the leg he intends to cut. Simultaneously, we lift it and exactly as we had hoped, the rope strikes the knife out of his hand like an arrow serpent striking its paralyzed prey off a perch.

We then step around him and coil the rope around our shoulder in a great circular arc before projecting it toward the correct part of his shoulder. Crude, but effective. We drag him upright and shake my head at him, 'no'. He actually nods in understanding and we can't help but squeak a little laugh in amusement.

Together, the two of us sit him against the same tree, on the other side from his companion and tie him to the trunk as well. Our dress is dry now, so we take a moment an return to it, slipping it over us for modesty's sake. We put hands on our hips and smirk. When we return you hand us the weapons and we watch the captives while you dress.

The first to fall is still soundly asleep, but the other is eying you as you return the coverings to your naked body. We walk up to him and turn his head away with a single finger. Lifting an unshod foot over his masculinity and pressing menacingly, we shake our head at him again. This time he ignores us and turns his head back, smirking. We slap him and jab him in the testicles. Not hard enough, apparently, since he is still smiling.

“It's okay, Princess,” you tell us, “I don't care if he sees.”

You don't? Maybe it doesn't matter. We were both naked for the entire fight. Still, it's hard for us not feel like it's more than that for you. A total lack of modesty. A lack of modesty not befitting a princess, but the kind which makes us ache with envy.

Just as you are dressed, and preparing to begin questioning him, our eyes slam shut and we look into the darkness. We have to go. Now.

“Time to go!” we tell you.

This time you listen. Moments later six more men are approaching, armed to the teeth. With no other choice we leave everything behind and jump onto the still back of the monster. As soon as you touch it the beast growls loudly at our pursuers, and we disappear into the night. Unable to learn who wants us we hate them for interrupting us. By now, they've untied their compatriots and examining what we've left behind in great detail.

We ride for hours, perhaps even a day. The time moves quickly, as we do. When you decide it is safe to stop, the creature beneath us slows, and grinds to a halt. We dismount without your help, and you are different. Very different. In many ways you are the same, except... a man. You're a man!

There could be no switch. We did not fall asleep or into a vision for even a second. You've definitely transformed from woman to man. In our shock and surprise, we remove the dagger from your belt and put the point to your throat.

“What are you?”

Your response is as vexing as the change itself, “A mystery.”

“What does that mean?” we ask.

“Nothing,” you tell us in your deeper, but equally disarming voice, “I don't know. I change. There's never been a pattern to it, and I was hoping to just find a place to drop you before it happened again. I couldn't very well leave you in the wild, though.”

“Well, thank you for that, but we don't understand. We must know what magic drives this transformation. Who cursed you?”

“You're welcome, no idea, and I don't like to think of it as a curse.”

“We apologize. Despite our knowledge, this is foreign to us. Are you... functional?” we ask, a little embarrassed.

“Yes,” you say. We can tell you're a little uncomfortable talking about it, but it's important that we know.

“In both bodies?”

“Yes, can we talk about something else?”

“Of course. As long as we can come back to this.”

“You may. It's alright, but right now I don't want to talk about it. The process of the change tends to make me a little hostile and confused.”

“Alright,” we say, “What do you mean, 'a place to drop me'?”

“Well, as far as I know you don't have anywhere specific to be, and honestly, I travel alone.”

“What about your contract?” we ask, desperately confused.

“It doesn't specify what to do after stealing you. As far as I'm concerned you're free to go once we find you a safe place to rest a bit.”

“Free to go? Where would we go?”

“Anywhere you want.”

“We want to go home.” we tell you.

“Well, you can't do that,” you say, solemnly and concretely.

“Maybe not yet, but we will return.”

It's the only way to wake them up. The only way to end this awful war. We have to go back and dethrone the usurpers of my family's reign. Now, all that matters is our revenge.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere in particular. I don't have another contract lined up. Probably to one of the royal courts of the outer realms so that I can line up a new job.”

“Does that mean your available for hire?”

Our words have surprised you. You've never considered working for a mark before now. The situation has never arisen.

“Well, that's... unexpected.”

“We're often like that.”

“What would you have me do, milady?” you follow up, the last word a bit of a joke.

“Nothing much. You know, just get me the things I need to build a new identity, raise an army, and liberate my homeland.”

“So, pretty run of the mill?” you joke, not yet aware that I am serious.

“I don't know what you're used to.”

“Wait, that's really what you want?”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I can't do that. It's far beyond my abilities.”

“Mine too, but this way we'll have twice the chance of success.”

“Twice nothing is nothing.”

“Be that as it may, we will take on this challenge. You said that our safety mattered to you.”

“It does. Everybody's does. Including mine.”

“I can pay you well.”

“How could you possibly compensate me for dying?”

We sit for a moment, and think.

“What if we said that we can see? If it is known that you will survive?”

“I'm Iraxian. I don't believe in your visions.”

“We see,” we say, disappointed, “We would have offered you a seat in our court, when we have taken back what is ours. You would have had money, nobility, and moreover, the chance to end this fucking endless war.”

Our last few words pique your interest, as we knew the would, “How do you propose we go about doing that?”

“I'm not sure yet, but once we sit rightfully on our throne again we will end it. It will not matter how, we will see it done, even if it kills us.”

“See, that's the part I'm not excited for.”

“We won't let anything happen to you,” we tell you truthfully.

“We'll see.”

Silence falls between us and cuts the conversation like the blade of an axe. Both of us sit in quiet meditation, trying to find our place. For the moment, it seems that it is with the other. In the harsh sunlight, we sit, waiting for your answer. Nothing happens.

Everything about you is changed, but only a little. The differences were almost negligible at first. After the initial shock of seeing you, we could tell that your figure had only changed as much as it had to. Your breasts have receded, and your trousers are clearly fuller than they had been before. Your hair has shortened as well – perhaps not necessary for becoming male, but certainly necessary for us to be attracted to that male. A small, well trimmed beard has appeared on your face.

The eyes in your skull have even faded from a bright, shining blue, to a dark, mysterious blue-gray, the color of storm clouds over the horizon. We are dazzled. We are honestly, in awe. You are a beautiful sculpture of the male form, though you made a very handsome woman as well. Slowly, gradually, we are overwhelmed by you.

Hours pass like this. Both of us just thinking. The moment is nearing. Your masculine body is driving us mad... What can we do but imagine it in us. Over us, around us and beside us.

This is not right. What is happening? We are not so easily swayed by men or by women. Never have been. Something is acting on us, affecting our senses, our reasoning. It does not matter. We need you. We have to have you.

We stand, and stride around the great boulder we were sitting on. You stand, and meet our gaze. The oncoming seconds are incredible. Nearly unbearable. Fingertips meet, intertwine before palms kiss. In another fraction of a second, lips meet and are electrified. A warm embrace wraps us both in the other.

In a wonderful moment we kiss you again. This time deeply. You taste different than you did as a woman. Your scent is unfamiliar as well, but intoxicating. Discovering your body for the first time, a second time is a strange experience to us. We like it, though. We like you, honestly, and not just because you rescued us from the clutches of the Dukes.

In the moment, we nearly fall forward in our exhilaration, but you catch us. What is wrong with us? How is it that we need you so badly? It doesn't matter, really. We do need you, and that's what matters now. Take us, please.

We kiss you again. Touch you rougher, and encourage your hands to do the same. They do, but it's all that they do. Take us, please.

Nothing we do will make you go further. Your male form is true, but your masculinity may fall into question. Not that there's anything truly wrong with that, but we need more from you than holding us as we kiss, delicately. Why won't you take us?

Taking matters, or rather one matter in particular into our own hand, we reach for the middle of your legs, and seize the hardening organ between them. All we want is you. We know it's a lot to ask, your body, your lust, and maybe one day your love. These feelings are certainly unfamiliar, but definitely not unwelcome.

“Why are you hesitating?”

“Are you serious?” you ask us bluntly, “You're the Crown Princess of the Northern Kingdoms. In line to become High Queen.”

“So? We have made it very clear that we want you. NOW!” we say, taking your shoulders, and pushing you down to the ground.

“Wait!” you yell, stopping us in our descent.

“What for?”

“Please,” you say, “Be careful with me. This part of me... this form has never met with the lust of another.”

We pause, a little startled. We would have had no idea from your smile, your swagger, or your confidence, but honestly, we love it.

“We will treat you well,” we say as we touch your chest.

Our hand runs over it, fingers caressing your flat breastbone. It's time. We rip your shirt open, but so precisely that there is no damage. You are gasping as we kiss you. Your neck is mine, and we bite it as though we may drag you to our home for later. Only if you wanted, though.

Now we are atop you, making you moan in anticipation of us. Your trousers are swollen with your passion for us. Unbuttoning them fiercely, we are greeted strongly by the hardened shaft inside.

“Princess... Please.”

“Please... what?” we ask you, smiling.

You gasp sharply instead of answering as we take your throbbing rod into our delicate hands. Your breath is shallow and quick. It draws quickly into your lungs as we work on you. We see that you're not going to last and last.

“This is very new to you, isn't it?”

“It's strange...” you mutter between labored breaths, “I've never had so much as a drop of sexual desire in this form. Not until I met you.”

We smile at you, “Strange? Maybe. We think we like it, though.”

Our touch is driving you wild, and we can't restrain our smiling. Smiling turns into laughing, and we're glad that you don't see it as an insult. We lean forward, kissing the head of you, then slipping it between our lips before you finish moaning. The moan turns into a heavy wail of pleasure, not quite orgasmic, but I know that will come soon.

“That's so... different.”

We would imagine so, but don't waste any time talking about it. We won't let your pleasure fade unless we have to. You're pulsing and jumping in our mouth. Don't hold back. We want you to do it. Our tongue slides over your sensitive scrotum as we lick and suck you into our throat. The power we hold over you is an incredible high.

“Oh no. Stop. I think... I think I'll cum if you keep that up! I'm going to cum!”

At first, the confused tone in your voice eludes us, but after a moment's consideration, we understand. We think you're right, though. The sounds coming from your diaphragm are impressive. We didn't know a human could make a sound like that. It is powerful and lust-inspiring. We only want you more now, and you obviously want us with all of your heart and body.

“Oh no. Oh yes. Oh... Princess! I'm going to... I'm!”

Without further delay, the first powerful ejaculation surges from you into my mouth. Hot, smooth, salty and sharp, you coat our tongue. The second hits the back, and we choke just a little, but do not mind. A third, a fourth and a fifth fire off as you bellow immensely in intimate ecstasy.

Relishing each drop as though it were sacred, we swallow your amazing gift. The taste changes in the back of our throat, a little bitter, but not objectionable. Far from it, even enjoyable. We don't let the hard head of your shaft slip from our mouth as we do, and you shiver and shake realizing what we are doing with your seed.

Every inch of you is quivering under our attention. It's clear that even though we've done more than an adequate job satisfying your quaking sexual desire for a moment, it hasn't faded. This is it for your virginity, you know. Our eyes say as much, and yours acknowledge them. We are so pleased to be able to do for another what was once for us.

A little of you is left on our lips, and chin. The moment is perfect, really. Spontaneous, exciting, inappropriate timing. Rolling about the lush green grass together and a blowjob that both of us loved. Now for the real fun. Every part of you is as hard and toned as ever.

Since you are so ready and already slick with our mouth and yourself, we climb atop you, stripping ourself of our dress, and casting it hastily aside. Very flexible, our legs splay wide. Split across you, our legs stretch to the ground nearly flat as we lower ourself onto you. The moment of penetration is bliss. We writhe and coil into one another, making the singular instant last forever in our mind.

You skewer us with your long, thick pole and we groan. First in anticipation, then in sensation. As you fill us, we are reminded of Aljaran, and how he took us into our new world. We want you to take us and show us what you're made of, but we know you won't. That can wait, but this cannot.

In a heartbeat, we start riding you, and in another flash we are sliding up and down you like a dancer of the court on her pole. We make you wriggle beneath us, feeling the wet of us, the heat that surrounds you. That tingle is starting to well up again, from the base of you. We don't expect you to go again, but we still don't expect you to last. We want everything for you tonight.

The pleasure is nearly unbearable. New sensations and fears are overwhelming us both as we ride you and drive you closer to the edge. Feel us, and let us bring you to your climax. We have never felt quite like this, our spirit is ecstatic, yet quiet, focused.

We put our arms around your neck and lean back, bringing you up. Now we are sitting astride your lap. We kiss you, and do not let our lips separate. Voices mingle inside our mouths as pleasure mounts. Moaning at first, then crying, then screaming. It's coming. We will cum for you. Cum in us. Please. It's the only thing we want from you now.

Give us what is ours, and yours and forever. We lean back and pull you on top of us, lips and tongues still locked together. This is right. This is what we wanted. You're on top of us now, driving your erection into us hard. Nailing us to the ground, you're close. As you do, we begin massaging ourself as you work in us.

Nearly there. We are ready. Are you? Our eyes pierce your gaze and ask you to cum. It is no challenge to you, and as we shriek into the sky above us, you begin to fall as well. This time your hot cum is flung deep inside us, and we burn for it.

Shot after shot of hot, sticky mess screams into us. It fills us and surrounds the very source of it in a thick, warm reservoir, squishing against you, and making you cry. Your body is trembling our arms as we hold you. For long moments we stay together, breathing hard, with you inside of us, but then, before our very eyes, you change. The organ within me shrinks back into you as your beard does. Your hair grows quickly and beautiful, round breasts begin to expand from your chest.

“Wow,” you say.

“Wow is right.”

“That was something. Thank you, Princess.”

“We're certain we enjoyed it as much as you did,” we say, massaging ourself, and feeling the gift you've left inside us.

With no more words, your beautiful feminine self slips down our body from where you face us, and kiss our stomach. Then our pubis. Then...

Your tongue is riding up and down the line of us. It slips between, feeling your alter-body's slimy leavings on the outside. Momentarily, it penetrates the outer barrier and stimulates our lust again. First it goes above to make us moan, then you dive into our depths, licking and drinking. Your finger presses against our dirtiest arousal and forces us to the beginnings of another crashing orgasmic tsunami.

Growing more and more attached to your touch, we whimper and lust for you. All is well, and right with the world when you make us cum. For long seconds, perhaps a minute we shiver and convulse in response to your perfect tongue digging the cum out of us. Do it. Drink it all, as though it were another's. We love watching you at work. Making us cum is apparently an advanced skill of your female form. Fuck! Fuck, that's amazing. Do it just like that...

Intense and powerful, the flame burns bright but not long and soon, we finish. We've had many orgasms in the last days, and we are done now. Once you've cleaned us out we push your head away gently, and we stand, brushing the grass and soil from our body. We help you up and do the same to your naked flesh before we begin to dress.

As we don our clothes, we ask “Where are we going?”

You don't answer yet, looking pensive. When we are finished, you silently repack the bags on your saddle and wake your mount. We climb atop it behind you and wait for your response, enjoying the resonant purr of the metal.

“I'm not sure where you'll be safe, just yet. I've had dealings with the Margrave of Ealiastre, and I suspect we'll be secure in the company of he and his court for at least a short time,” you speculate.

“Close enough,” we tell you, “Let's go.”

Slowly, we begin riding away, toward the edge of another forest.

“We'll have to cross the Greenway, and it won't be easy to return,” you warn us.

The Greenway. The furthest edge of the Northern Kingdoms. Beyond it lies the eastern deserts and the Sand Empire. Perhaps... perhaps it's time to leave. We will not be victorious if we stay here, we cannot even survive. It is exciting, but it will be difficult to come back.

“Take us. When we reach safety, we will form a new plan.”

As though acknowledging an order, you say “Yes Princess,” then you turn to us, as the beast's gravelly voice massages our thighs again, and ask “Hey, what's your name?”

“What do you mean?” we demand, as your pet brings us closer to the mouth of the corridor.

“Well, I can't just call you 'princess' forever,” you say.

“We are Eliavere, Grand Princess of the Sephorin, ruling family of the Northern Kingdoms,” We tell you, still trying to wear our regal authority. Unsure if it is insult or true ignorance we ask, “And you are?”

You look at us and smile softly, as we have come to expect. “I'm Shaden, First Monarch of the clan Drethor. Abdicated.”

As the last syllable falls from your tongue our eyes widen, and the creature begins to run. It runs so fast that we cannot escape it, or you. A thousand worries flash through us, alongside unprecedented quantities of adrenaline. The breath of the powerful beast shakes through me as before, but we're now too distressed to truly enjoy it.

'Shaden Drethor,' the name rips through our mind like a bullet. 'Shad'Dreth?' we wonder. Truly, we know. Filling to the tipping point with questions that we cannot ask, we laugh at the cruel irony of the prophecy. 'Who are you, really? What's happening? Where are you taking us? What do you want with us? What do we know? What can we do?'