by James Hunt
She moaned. Gayne took it as a sign and moved to the other nipple, ravaging it like he did its mate. Niyana could take no more. She fought at her belt strap and pushed her trousers off. Gayne followed her lead and did likewise; his hard throbbing member sprang free to spank her on the thigh. Niyana stifled her giggle, and grabbed both halves of his small butt to pull him into her. She didn't need any preparation, the moment his lips found neck she was ready for him.
With simultaneous gasps, he entered her. His hard member slid effortlessly into her wet pussy. Niyana moaned into his neck and held him tightly as he started to slowly slide in and out of her awaiting womanhood. Gayne was breathing heavy from the excitement, and he let himself fall into a constant rhythm of fluid motion. Niyana let her erotic gasps escape with each thrust; she was enjoying this, but wanted him to enjoy it so much more. Suddenly his lips sought out hers hungrily. Want, desire, joy, happiness all fueled the passion in their kiss. For this moment they were not soldiers, not prisoners marked for their sins, not hunted and running, there were no cares of the world that could intrude on that kiss.
Niyana broke free in a gasp of joy. Her lover immediately went to her exposed neck and lavished his lips over the sensitive curvature of her jaw. She arched her back into his kiss, thrusting her chest up to steal his attention away from her neck. Gayne could take directions, and trailed his lips down to her arched chest where he kissed her erect nipples. His tongue licked at them one after the other, before sucking them into his mouth wantonly. One arm wrapped under her arched back to steady her while the other braced him against the floor as his tempo suddenly turned feverish. She felt his cock twitched suddenly inside her. Gayne pulled away arching his back as a loud moan of pleasure erupted from his lips.
His pulsating member erupted inside her. She felt his warm cum against the walls of her womb, and that sensation pushed her over her peak. Her breath caught in her throat as the spasms of intense passion flooded her body. Together they came until Gayne collapsed on top of her, spent. His chest heaved in gasps of exertion and pleasure. Niyana pulled his head to her sweaty chest and cradled it under her chin. Gayne's talented hands roamed over the curves of her sweaty chest and stomach, exciting forgotten nerves and sending tingles through her already aroused body. She purred contently against him and he sighed contently in response.
There they lay, happy for this one brief respite from the world. It allowed them to drift off into content sleep until the morning.
The soft glow of predawn slowly took away the darkness of their tent. Niyana looked at her lover's face. This gentle boy turned warrior named Gayne. She lifted a hand to his cheek and caressed it softly as he slept. They lay facing one another, and she took the moment to remember the beautifully pleasant days of their youth. She remembered the gardens, where he would hold recitals among the flowers. It was a beautiful place to sit and be surrounded by peace and harmonious song. She remembered the games they played as kids, but not like it was with her brothers. They liked to play rough, but she wasn't allowed to play rough with Gayne, he was like a delicate flower back then.
Carefully she lifted the hair from his forehead, and the mark of Yvarna glared at her. It made her stomach wrench up and all the murderous, vile thoughts she fought to repress suddenly came to the surface. Yvarna was a curse. It was placed on those who committed grievous crimes against the Lunarian people. No mere bar squabble, or petty theft of property earned an Yvarna. It required approval from the Crown, and the Crown was usually reluctant to place it due to its severity and unforgiving nature. Murderers, traitors, or similarly corrupted Lunarians received the Yvarna. The mark was a forced conscience; if they strayed from the path of virtue it burned them down to their soul. If they did not recant their action, it killed them. Only an act of great piety or heroism removed the Yvarna and broke the curse. It was very rare; most prisoners lived out the rest of their lives still with the mark. Looking at this mark on poor Gayne's forehead broke her heart. Niyana closed her eyes and gave the tears leave to run down her cheeks. The mark had taken her gentle, innocent friend and turned him into a harden warrior. He had been taught how to scout, how to fight, and how to kill. She wondered if he had killed yet, and found herself silently praying that his soul hadn't yet been tarnished with that. Even if the man survived the punishment, he would never be able to play such sweet songs as he did before. They had taken his innocence from him, and made him a thing of war.
Niyana opened her red angry eyes to find him gently looking back at her. Her expression confused and startled him and he looked away.
"I'm sorry, Sir." He breathed and meant to turn away before she held his head and kissed him softly on the lips.
"Gayne" she breathed softly as their lips parted. She settled back in to gaze at his beautiful face. Her fingers caressed his cheeks and jaw softly. His confusion was pushed aside as he smiled appreciatively, but behind his eyes she could see him thinking and trying to rationalize this situation.
There it was. She saw it. That glimmer of recognition in those soft blue eyes. She smiled at him. His gaze started to search her, her ears, her eyes, her nose and cheeks. It was if he had known them but didn't know it until now. She hoped he would know her, she wanted him to so badly, but she knew that would compromise her secret. Niyana was sure she could trust him, but a vicious voice in the back of her mind was afraid of the opposite outcome. She cringed and forced that thought back into the depths of her being.
"My lady?" he whispered when she turned her gaze away for that moment. His hand touched her cheek and she looked back up to his face with love in her eyes now. No, she would never harm her friend, her lover, her reason now to continue on the path Kreth had set her on and to free her people from her brother's wickedness. For Gayne.
She wouldn't respond, but she leaned into his touch and welcomed it. Her eyes closed and she felt the hands of a musician feel the notes of her skin as it caressed her jaw, neck, and shoulder. It lifted and she opened her eyes to look at him again. Contentment, she could stay like this with him forever if the world would let them. His fingers touched her ear, and gently caressed the elongated ridge in a sensual manner. His touch was true to his profession and she made a musical sound as a high pitched gasp escaped her lips despite herself. The forefinger stroked the underside of her ear and she sighed deeply as a warm tingling sensation flooded her nerves. Her lips curved slightly into a coy grin when the feeling subsided.
"So, you can play a woman like an instrument, can you?" she teased him. She remembered she used to tease him a lot when they were growing up. He was more of a younger brother to her than her real family. The boys were off learning how to govern and be diplomatic, when she and Gayne were left to their gardens and their songs. Her comment made him pause, and she regretted it. That glimmer of recognition had grown, and his eyes looked worried as he searched her again. But those eyes suddenly turned cold, and it made Niyana's heart shudder.
"Eymara, never teased me like that. She thought musicians were a waste." Gayne tried to explain with a cold voice. He was withdrawing from their lover's moment and steeling himself for the confrontation building. "Who are you my lady? You are not Eymara..." Niyana closed her eyes and felt the pain of carelessness. The dreadful moment she had hoped to avoid was now here.
"My lady may have killed Eymara, and you may kill me." He said sternly. "But I have mastered many animal calls, and my impression of the Harpai's shriek will have the entire camp upon you before my heart stops." Niyana looked hurt as he finished.
"Gayne," she nearly sobbed as she touched his cheek. He recoiled. "I would never hurt you. I have never hurt you." She needed to gamble now, but couldn't come out to say it. She met his gaze and held his searching light blue eyes with her fiercely calm green ones.
"My lad..." he started before the missing piece finally fell into place. "Y-your g-grace?" he stammered. "Ni?" he almost cried as recognition and grief wrenched his heart and voice at the same time. Niyana quietly kissed him.
"Y
es, love?" she whispered into his ear and held him as his shoulders shuddered with the barely contained sobs. Their reunion had come, and it was more painful for him than she had hoped. Her mind quickly shifted gears from the pleasant joy to the tactical analysis of what could have happened during her absence to make Gayne this way. What orders did he have, would he kill her? Would he turn her in? Why did they give him the Yvarna? How would it react?
"You have to run." He muffled into her shoulder and hair, as his voice regained its composure. "Run far from here, far from us, far from me," She held him tightly at that moment when she understood his meaning. He had indeed been ordered to recapture her, if not kill her outright. By admitting this to her he had broken his duty. Her heart steeled at that moment and all joy left her. The warrioress reemerged, and the princess fell back into the shadows of her soul. "I knew in my heart you hadn't betrayed us to the Zecairin, but that was our charge. They, they needed me to recognize you...recognize your body. To prove that you were dead. I refused, and they cursed me. Now... I have no choice." He whispered painfully, anger flushed to his cheeks, and his jaw locked. "You have to run, now!"
"I will," she whispered. "But not now. Hold me for a little longer, love." She whispered and held his head to her chest. He resisted at first, fighting an internal struggle, before finally wrapping his arms around her body and holding her close. For that moment they had finally joined soul to soul, identity and identity -- the princess and the minstrel, the warrior and the scout, the hunter and the prey.
"I love you Ni," he breathed into her warm skin, his voice oddly calm. Resignation to their fate, and that this would be their last meeting, had finally settled into them both.
"I love you too, Gayne." She kissed him on the forehead. Unknowingly on the mark of the Yvarna his bangs tried to cover. It was hot to the touch and almost singed her lips. Horror flooder her face when she realized what that had meant. She held a hand to his cheek and it was cold and clammy. The curse was killing him.
Gayne stifled a whimper as the pain grew. The mark would burn him from the inside out and create a fever from which there was no cure but one - one final cure. Niyana held him tight as his temperature quickly rose. His skin was uncomfortably hot and growing until it would burn her.
"R.ry.." he panted.
"Shhh love. I'm here. I won't let you go." She stifled the pain in her voice and forced herself to sooth him. Slowly she rocked his body soothingly, trying to give some measure of comfort to her dying friend.
"Ni," he managed to blurt out. His temperature was almost scalding her now, but she refused to let him go. He had made his choice, he choose to protect their secret, to protect their love and the memories of their past. Gayne had refused to let that be corrupted by the curse of the Yvarna, even if that meant betraying his king. She would never let him go for that. "D-do it Ni. I want you to do it." He wheezed. But before she could respond, the final exhale of breath came, and Gayne went limp.
He was gone.
Niyana held him to her, and allowed the tears to fall. There she sat and cried her pain out. The princess returned, and the warrior stood by solemnly. It could not deny the sacrifice this brave soldier had made in the name of his loyalty. But when it felt she had grieved enough, it placed a gentle hand on The Princess and they changed places without a word. Her sobbing eased, and she laid the body down to the ground reverently. She placed a hand on his chest and closed her eyes to concentrate on the spell.
A magic glow enshrouded his body. Niyana felt connected to him then in a way physical touch could never accomplish. But she wouldn't let herself be tempted. This would not be the end of Gayne, she decided defiantly. There was a power greater than her ability that could bring him back. But all she could do for now was to preserve the soul. The same soul that was now visible in the soft pale blue glow around the body. She pulled it into her being, and held onto him tighter than any lover's embrace.
When the ritual was done, the glow was gone, and Niyana felt him inside her mind. There he slept in her consciousness until she could find a way to repay his sacrifice. The Warrior and The Princess leaned down as one over the corpse of Gayne and placed one final farewell kiss.
"Until we meet again," she whispered with the bitter tears threatening to overtake her again. So she fought them back, but this was the single greatest pain she had faced thus far, and it brought with it all the other terrible sacrifices, embarrassing tortures, and suffering she had felt at the hands of her brother's agents. Her hands clenched into fists until the nails bit into her palms. Her shoulders shuddered silently in rage and despair and it threatened to boil to the surface. Tears were shed, but they held no sorrow or grief, only anger. She needed to get away, she needed to run! Both The Warrior and The Princess understood this and they willed her to get up and move. But something else made her stay; something else pulled her into the other direction. The internal conflict broke free of her disciplined restrain.
Niyana threw back her head and screamed. The torment of her soul erupted into the air. Birds everywhere panicked and took flight. Small animals bounded from branch to branch and along roots and grass fleeing the monster suddenly released.
The Lunarians froze in their routine and watched the exodus all around them. They had never heard such a wail and seen such a gut wrenching effect. Fear immobilized them and made the color run from their cheeks. They had the same instincts of the animals fleeing the area, but their reason told them not to follow their lead. Instead each face looked to the source and the tent where the wail had come from.
A soldier came running to investigate, his thin curved swords were already in his hands. All the elves held their breath and watched and waited. He threw open the flap of green canvas just as an arrowhead exploded out the back of his skull.
The unspoken alarm spread in that same moment; Lunarians scrambled to gather their weapons to deal with the attacker. But three more had already fallen to the storm of arrows leaving that tent. A hornblower was taken out by a shot to his throat in mid puff, blood gurgling out of the wound as his powerful lungs released their charge. Two stewards preparing the roast were shot in the chest and collapsed. They clutched the shafts out of fear and tried to pull them free. Something invisible sapped their strength and made their faces turn cold and eventually very still.
Up above the camp in the trees, three sentries loosed their own shots at the tent. Their arrows pierced the fabric everywhere a person could hide. Their adversary jumped free at the last second and they filled him with arrows before he hit the ground. Five shots protruded from his naked body, and a fatal one in the neck left him very still. The deadly attack was over and the few that survived the onslaught cowered in their safety, unsure if this was truly the end.
One of the sentries climbed down and silently padded over to the arrow riddled corpse with his knife and sword drawn. Like a hunter cat testing a prone animal he made swift progress across the camp but circled the body in case it moved. He kicked the bow away with his boot, and for good measure, he loped off the head with one clean stroke of his sword.
"He's dead!" The sentry shouted. He sheathed his weapons into their leather homes on his belt, and too soon. A blur of bare skin and blonde hair appeared from the air beside him - he caught but a glimpse before something hit him. What he saw next made no sense, it was his own body twirling through the air as the ground rose up to meet him, and then he thought it was funny it was way over there. The morbid conclusion never reached his dying brain cells.
The remaining two sentries drew quick shots at the ghost that suddenly decapitated their comrade and then vanished. Their shots passed through empty air. This was their true enemy they realized too late, and she was more skilled at magic and tactics than they were. In a few bloody moments this ghost killed every Lunarian in the camp except these two and the cowering steward under the large fallen tree trunk below them. These two shared the same tree, but perched on opposite branches of the thick old oak. Below them the bodies lay still and the cook
fires still crackled. The camp was eerily quiet now with no sign of the ghost.
"Look for movement. She might pick up a bow." One shouted to the other as he scanned the bodies of the fallen. His partner was trembling in his perch; the vibrations could be felt through the trunk of the tree.
"Shut it! You'll draw attention!" the timid archer hissed back. The first one wanted to argue but stifled it, he couldn't argue with the logic of silence. They moved their aim slowly, sweeping their bows back and forth over the carnage. Below them the steward sobbed fearfully. Long, dreadful moments passed with no activity. It was all the trembling soldier could stand.
"She must be gone! She would have killed us or her by now." He hissed. "I'm climbing down!" he shouldered his bow and started to descend. Slowly and cautiously at first, but as nothing came at him he grew quicker and more anxious until his feet touched the ground. His partner watched him below with his arrow trained on him to catch anything that might appear nearby. Once on the ground, the Lunarian soldier ducked under the fallen, moss covered oak.