“I am not certain,” she answered him, straightening up, for she had been hunching over her book. “Perhaps. Is it time for dinner yet?”
“Past,” he told her. “Prentice, you need food if you are to keep up your strength,” Dillon told the scholar, and with another snap of his fingers a steaming plate of food and a goblet of wine appeared before Prentice.
“Oh, my,” the scholar said, sniffing appreciatively. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I do not believe I have ever been treated to such a fine meal.” He took a sip from the cup. “And certainly I have never tasted such a fine vintage as this would appear to be.”
“Cinnia will come back on the morrow if it pleases her,” Dillon said, and then he and his wife were gone from the scholar’s room. They reappeared a moment later in the little hall. “Sit down,” Dillon instructed his wife, and with a wave of his hand her supper appeared before her. Taking a decanter of wine from the sideboard, Dillon filled an empty cup, bringing it to her. “Now eat, my queen, and afterward you will tell me what little bit you have discovered this afternoon.”
Cinnia began to eat. “That was so kind of you to give Prentice his supper,” she said as she buttered a bit of the cottage loaf before her. “I don’t think he eats a great deal, and certainly the quality of what he eats is poor, for he seems to consider his personal care a very mundane matter,” she noted, popping the bread into her mouth.
“I agree,” Dillon said. “The man is too thin, and he will need all his energies to search through so many books. We were fortunate to get as many out as we did.”
“The chamber is gone then?” Cinnia asked as she spooned hot stew into her mouth. “Your uncle is certain of this?”
“If Cirillo says it is so, then it is so,” Dillon replied. He sat by the hearth as she ate, for the evening was cool and damp, indicating rain ahead.
Suddenly Cinnia’s green eyes grew wide, and she stared across the chamber. “Dillon!” she pointed, the spoon dropping from her fingers.
He looked to where she indicated, and saw a small crystal sphere floating to him. Dillon held out his hand, and the round object settled itself in his hand. He looked into it and smiled. “Good evening, Grandmother,” he said, fighting back his laughter. He beckoned to Cinnia with his other hand, and she came quickly from her place to sit next to him and look into the ball.
“Do not good evening me, Dillon. Where is Cirillo? He was to be gone a day, and now two have passed. Is he all right? I must speak to him at once!”
“Cirillo is fine, Grandmother. He and Kaliq are enjoying an entertainment at the dragon’s castle this evening. I did not go, for I wanted to wait for my wife, who has been with an esteemed scholar from this world seeking the cause for our problem. This is Cinnia, Grandmother. Cinnia, my grandmother, Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries.”
“You are a pretty thing,” Ilona said. “Is my grandson telling the truth?” She sent a hard glare in Cinnia’s direction.
“My husband would never lie to you, Queen Ilona,” Cinnia said. “You know that is so. My husband is noble and loyal.”
“You may call me Grandmother,” Ilona said. “Aye, you are very pretty.”
“Cirillo is perfectly safe here, Grandmother,” Dillon assured Ilona. “But he may have to remain with us for a time, for while I am a fine sorcerer, and my father’s magic is beyond everyone else’s, faerie magic more often than not requires faerie magic to undo it. Without Cirillo’s aid we would have lost certain valuable books today that may help us. It was my uncle who saved those books. He is certain there are faeries here in Belmair. I can ask him to reach out to you tomorrow, Grandmother. May I keep the crystal sphere?”
“Of course!” she said impatiently. “That is why I sent it. And it was not easy I can tell you. Something actually attempted to block me from reaching you. If you have faeries in Belmair they are bad faeries, Dillon. Be careful. Oh! Your mother sends her love. She’ll visit soon.” Then Ilona was gone from the crystal.
“Gracious!” Cinnia said. “What a forceful woman your grandmother is.”
He laughed now. “Aye, she is very forceful. My uncle is her only son. He will inherit her kingdom one day. He has never left Hetar before, and she is naturally worried for she dotes on him, but then so does my mother.”
“She is very beautiful, and seemingly ageless,” Cinnia said a trifle enviously. “Does your mother look like her?”
“They are more often than not mistaken for sisters by those who do not know them,” Dillon told the girl. “My mother is almost full faerie in her blood. You will like her, and someday when Belmair is safe again I will take you to Terah to meet the rest of my family. They will love you, Cinnia, as I am learning to do.”
“You said that your uncle and your father were being entertained by Nidhug? Why did you not join them? I hope you have not offended the dragon,” Cinnia said.
Dillon began to laugh, and he laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. Finally he regained a mastery of himself as she looked oddly at him. “Nidhug would have been more offended if I had joined the others,” he assured Cinnia.
“Why?” Cinnia pursued the matter.
“Because Nidhug, Cirillo and Kaliq are at this very moment in your dragon’s bed. Cirillo has temporarily given her the form of a voluptuous mortal woman, and she is enjoying the very vigorous and passionate attentions of my father and my uncle. She is, my uncle says, a most lusty female,” Dillon explained.
Cinnia’s eyes closed briefly, then opened again. “I have never thought of Nidhug in that manner,” she said. “She is the guardian of Belmair, not a lusty female.”
“She is both,” Dillon said. “Late yesterday, my uncle took on the form of a male dragon, and together they flew across the sea to her favorite den where they made dragon love before returning here to make love as two mortals.”
“Oh, my!” Cinnia said, her pale skin coloring.
Dillon put an arm about Cinnia and nuzzled her soft black hair. “It seems to me a rather delightful way to spend an evening,” he murmured. “Shall we retire to our bed, my queen?” he asked her, his eyes locking onto hers.
“Yes,” Cinnia said without hesitation. “Why should Nidhug have all the fun?”
Chapter 6
NIDHUG WRITHED IN the throes of ecstasy that her mortal body was enjoying, a large cock in her female channel, and another one between her lips. Mortals, she decided, really knew how to have fun. Harder! Suck harder! She heard Cirillo’s silent command even as her body began to spasm with the ultimate pleasure Kaliq was giving her. But she obeyed his directive, and a moment later his juices slid down her throat in static bursts of lust fulfilled. With a single groan the trio of lovers lay panting as the wildness slowly receded.
“Dragons,” Nidhug observed, “can only entertain one lover at a time. I must say this mortal capacity for multiple lovers, while at the same time quite fascinating, is also very exhausting.”
“Actually,” Cirillo said, “you could take three lovers at the same time, for you have a third orifice a hard cock may explore.” Rolling her over he demonstrated with a finger exactly what and where he meant.
Nidhug squealed and squirmed away from the faerie. “I do not think so!” she exclaimed indignantly. “I have my limits, my dear Cirillo.”
With an amused smile Kaliq arose from the bed. “I shall leave you two now,” he said. He kissed Nidhug’s ripe lips, and then her hand. “Thank you, my dear. Cirillo has given you a delicious an
d seductive female form, and I very much enjoyed sharing it with the both of you.”
The dragon eyed the Shadow Prince. He was an elegant male with a beautiful body, and she had enjoyed his attentions. For all Cirillo’s charm and youth, it was the Shadow Prince’s expertise that had given her the most incredible pleasure she had ever known in any sexual encounter. “I have enjoyed your company, too, my lord,” she told him as he quickly dressed himself.
Kaliq turned, and gave her a warm smile. “Good night, my dear Nidhug,” he said, and then with a flourish of his long cloak he was gone.
Sensing he might have lost the advantage, Cirillo leaned over and began fondling his lover’s large breast. “Mortal or dragon,” he murmured softly in her ear, “you are every bit the perfect lover, my dear Nidhug.”
“I shall miss you when you are gone,” the dragon replied, “and envy my darling Cinnia her nights with the king. Will you stay with me until your departure?” she asked, skillfully soothing his faerie ego. “And before you leave me I should like to see that wonderfully handsome ice-blue dragon once again.”
“Now that you have experienced both mortal form, and your own,” Cirillo queried her mischievously, “which do you prefer?”
“I am of the dragon race no matter the shape that houses my essence,” Nidhug told him. “Should I have to choose I should choose being what I was born to be. A dragon. This mortal body is too frail, and I feel weak and helpless in it although I must admit that I enjoy pleasures far more as a mortal than as a dragon. Still there is a certain advantage to being able to breathe fire,” Nidhug told her faerie lover with a smile.
Cirillo laughed. “I understand,” he said. “And in either form you are a marvelous partner, my dear Nidhug,” he repeated. “I hope that your mistress gives my nephew as much delight as you give me,” he told her as he stole a kiss from her ruby lips.
Had he had the opportunity at that moment, Dillon would have told his uncle that he was more than content with his young wife. With each sensual encounter they had Cinnia grew less shy with him. This night she lay naked in his arms almost purring as he kissed his way about her body. There was no inch of her flesh he did not kiss, and having done so he now began anew, this time using his tongue to pay his homage. Cinnia stretched and sighed.
“Does this please you?” he inquired softly, his tongue teasing at her navel.
“It tickles,” she answered him.
“But does it please you?” he asked again.
“I did not say it didn’t,” she replied.
He laughed softly. “You are bedeviling me, Cinnia.”
“Am I?” She squirmed slightly beneath his tongue.
“Aye, you are,” he said. “I see I shall have to retaliate, my queen.” He quickly slid between her legs, pushing them up, his dark head moving from one side of her thighs to the other as he taunted her with his wicked tongue.
Cinnia felt him spread her nether lips open with strong thumbs, and caught her breath. This was a form of lovemaking that Cinnia loved almost as much as when he put himself inside of her. His tongue slowly licked at her, and she began to tingle from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. “Oh, yes!” she told him. Why was he waiting? But then the very tip of his tongue touched that sensitive little nub.
Her sharp intake of breath told him he had found her pleasure jewel. He encircled it several times with just the point of his tongue. Then taking it between his lips he sucked hard on it, and she began to whimper.
“Oh, yes! Yes!” she half moaned, encouraging him.
She was salty, yet she was sweet like honey. The scent of her filled his nostrils and roused his passions. When she shuddered with her first release Dillon did not wait. Pulling himself up he sheathed his manhood within her, reveling in her cry as she wrapped her body about his, clutching at him frantically.
“Please! Please!” she cried to him. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
His mouth found hers as their fingers intertwined. Their tongues frantically dueled with one another as they found their rhythm. Their loins moved in measured cadence; long, slow strokes that made them desperate for more. Quick hard thrusts that eventually brought them to a climactic and fiery explosion of pleasure again and again and yet again until they finally fell away from each other, burning, wet with their exertions and thoroughly sated.
When he was finally able to speak Dillon said to her, “Sorceress, what is it you have done to me? I possess you, and it is not enough.”
“Have you fallen in love with me?” Cinnia asked him boldly, propping herself up upon an elbow so she might look down into his handsome face.
He thought a moment, and then said, “Aye, I think that I have, my queen.” His hand reached up to gently stroke her lovely face.
“I have never been certain that love really existed,” Cinnia said. “Whatever there was between my father and my mother, if it was love, is unknown to me, for she died shortly after I was born. And yet, Dillon, while we have known each other but a short time, you say you love me.” She looked deep into his bright blue eyes. “And I believe that what I feel for you is love, too. Have we bewitched each other, Majesty?”
He smiled up at her. “Perhaps, Cinnia, it was something that was just meant to be,” he suggested. “I don’t want to question it. Do you?”
“What if it is only lust we feel?” she asked.
“I am a man who has known enough women to know that what I feel for you, my queen, is not lust. You, however, must believe in the calling of your heart, Cinnia,” he told her. “Only you can be certain whether what you feel for me is love or lust. But I shall believe that you love me for it pleases me to do so.” He drew her down so that her dark head rested upon his shoulder.
“Will you give me a child?” she asked softly.
“One day,” he told her. “But not yet. First we must learn the mystery that plagues Belmair, and then we must attempt to solve it.”
“How?” she said.
“Tomorrow we will think on it, my queen. For now we will sleep,” he replied, and safe within his embrace Cinnia slept until the morning.
Prentice, the scholar, however, had slept but four hours. He was awakened several hours before the dawn in the darkest hours of the night. There was someone, he sensed, in his chambers. He could hear the rustling of papers, and arising swiftly from his cot, he called out, “Who is there? What do you want?” Fumbling for a lamp, he shook it, awakening the glow worms who powered it. They blazed brightly, illuminating the scholar’s chamber, and Prentice’s eyes peered myopically as he carried the lamp toward his table, which was half enveloped in dusk. A movement caught his eye. He saw… He could not quite make it out, but there was something there. “Show yourself!” he called again in what he hoped passed for a commanding voice.
“Where are my books?”
“Who are you? Let me see you,” Prentice said, half relieved he was not imagining things and there actually was someone or something there.
“Where are my books? Give me my books!” the disembodied voice said again.
“Any books in my chambers belong to the Academy. As I am an Academy scholar I am entitled to peruse them,” Prentice said. “Who are you that you invade my private chambers, and will not reveal yourself to me?” Where was his courage coming from? the scholar wondered even as he spoke.
“I will have my books!” the voice insisted.
Prentice had now located the voice. It was coming from beneath his table. Stepping back a few paces he
reached for his broom, which was in a corner.
“I can destroy you, bold scholar,” the voice told him.
“My master the king, and his father, the great Shadow Prince Kaliq, will then seek you out and punish you,” Prentice said. Then he swooped his broom hard beneath the table. “Get out from underneath there!” he said. “Show yourself to me!”
There was a shriek, and the scholar briefly saw his visitor before it disappeared in a puff of angry dark blue smoke. Prentice wanted to disbelieve what he had just seen, but he could not. Instead he found his cup, commanded it to fill itself and then sat down with his tea to calm his rattled nerves. After a few minutes he decided that as unnerving as the encounter had been, it had also been very exciting. With this quest to learn about Belmair’s past magic, his life had suddenly become almost adventurous. He felt the skin of his gaunt face stretching into a smile, and a little chuckle escaped him. Relaxed now he dozed briefly in his chair. When he awoke again and glanced at the clock upon the wall he saw that it must certainly be dawn, or near it. Standing up, he shook out his robes and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. Then he ventured forth from his chambers.
He climbed the three flights of stairs, one wooden, one stone, one marble, to the grand foyer of the Academy. It was virtually empty of course, for the hour was early. At the great bronze doors he waited patiently until the doorkeeper, sleeping in his chair opened his eyes, and jumped up.
“Why ’tis Master Prentice, isn’t it?” the doorkeeper said. “Haven’t seen you in several years. Are you actually going out?”
“I must see the king at once!” Prentice said, and the doorkeeper immediately unlocked the door, pulling one aside to let Prentice through. At first the bright light of the new day hurt his eyes for he had not ventured from his chambers in some time. What was that lovely smell? he wondered. And then he chuckled at himself for a fool. It was air, fresh with dew and the scent of early-summer flowers. The scholar hurried through the park and gardens of the royal enclosure, reaching the drawbridge to the royal castle, which was down. It was always down, for Belmair was a peaceful world. Swans and their recently hatched young swam in the broad moat among pale yellow water lilies and delicate lavender water hyacinths.
The Sorceress of Belmair Page 15