by Andersen,Kai
“Oh, no, I didn’t think of that --” Giselda’s horrified cry broke off as Serena burst out laughing. Her own lips curved. “Why you --”
“As I was saying, I just think it’s too early for you to be bothering Father about it.”
“It has been seven days, Serena. Seven! Father said it would take only five!”
Serena bit her lip, a look of indecision crossing her face. She ducked her head, but not before Giselda had seen her expression. “Serena, why do you have that look on your face?”
“What look?” Serena laughed, but the laugh was awkward and uncomfortable. “I wasn’t aware there was any ‘look’ on my face.”
“You’ve always been a lousy liar, Serena, but I’ll let it go this time only because I have to go --”
Serena’s loud sigh cut her off. “No, it’s not right that you don’t know about this.” She lifted her head and looked straight into Giselda’s eyes. “We’re not supposed to tell you this ... We don’t want you to worry, you see ... But I’m sure that he’s fine and --”
“Serena, would you just get to it? I’m getting more worried and confused by the second.”
“Some quests may last for five days, but not this one, Gi. It could take Michael several months, even a year --”
“A year!” Giselda listened with rising incredulity.
“Yes, well. For one, no one really knows the exact place where the bird can be found. For another --”
Giselda shrieked. “You mean, Michael is really on a wild goose chase?”
“No. I believe the bird exists, but as I said, nobody knows for sure where --”
“At this rate, I could be wrinkled and toothless by the time he gets back.”
Uncontrollable laughter burst from Serena. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad, Gi. Maybe a few months ...”
Giselda wailed. “I don’t want to wait a few months! I want to marry him next week, tomorrow, now! And what if trolls are hunting them this very minute, or ogres are roasting them even as we speak?” Grim resolve filled her. “No, enough of this quest nonsense. I will go bring him back now.”
Serena called after her retreating back. “Be careful what you say.”
* * * * *
“Your Majesty, please allow me to go.” Giselda hated the pleading note in her voice, especially now, with the court in full attendance. She even went so far as to kneel in front of the king’s throne. There was no help for it. She had to make sure Michael was alive and safe.
“You should learn patience, Princess,” the king boomed. “Just wait, and before you know it, he’ll be standing right in front of you.”
“But it has been so long already --”
“It has been but seven days. Moreover, quests do have a tendency to drag.”
Giselda clenched her teeth to keep from blurting out that he had lied to her about the duration of the quest. She knew her father had done it out of love for her, but still ... “What if something bad happened? How would we answer to the king of Ermont?”
“Prince Michael signed a waiver --”
“Does that absolve us of all responsibility?”
The king sighed. “I know you’re worried, Princess, and it’s a fine sentiment, but what you are asking ... Let’s make a compromise, shall we? I will send my finest warriors to bring him back, golden bird or no. Then, we can have the wedding.”
“But Your Majesty, I want to go myself --”
“You’re ill-equipped for rugged terrain, Princess Giselda. On that, my decision is final. Now, get up and stand aside.” Turning toward the assembly, where his ministers had gathered for the morning’s work, he thundered, “For this mission, I send Rodin, the best warrior in Mithirien. Rodin, step forward, lad.”
Rodin, his face impassive, stepped out from behind Frederick and bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“You are to take as many men as you need in search of Prince Michael of Ermont. Once you find him, no matter the status of his quest, you are to return with him at once to the castle.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. But I have a small request.”
“Speak.”
“I wish to go alone.”
Giselda refused to even look at Rodin as she protested, “Your Majesty --”
“Let us hear him out, Princess.” Turning to Rodin, the king continued, “State your reasons, young man.”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I believe speed is of the essence. Bringing additional men would just slow down the process, in addition to multiplying the provisions we would need to have with us. I know the land like the back of my hand, and I have confidence that I can bring the prince back by myself.”
“What does the crown prince say?”
Frederick stepped forward and bowed before replying, “I have faith in Rodin’s capabilities, Your Majesty.”
“Then so be it. You will leave tomorrow morning at first light.”
Chapter Eight
Rodin set out before dawn broke across the sky, neither wanting nor needing the farewells and good wishes that the people were sure to utter as they sent him off on his journey. It wasn’t as if this were a relaxing trip or even a voluntary one. No, his heart wasn’t in it. But his king had commanded, and he obeyed.
What irony that he had to bring back the almost-betrothed of the woman he loved -- his rival, so to speak. Yes, he loved Giselda, haughty, unreachable princess that she was. But there was nothing he could do about it, nothing he could do to change the circumstance of his birth, nothing he could do to win her heart. And even if he, by some miracle, caused Giselda to love him, he couldn’t imagine the king giving his beloved daughter over to a nobody like him. All the factors were against him. He wasn’t a nobleman; he had no wealth to speak of, no title, no lineage, no royal blood. The moment these feelings for her were borne in his heart, they were doomed.
Never mind that she had responded so sweetly to him that day in the garden. His body tightened as he remembered the intoxicating scent of her arousal. He could still taste her on his tongue, on his lips. He closed his eyes and saw her again as she lay on the bench after that explosive orgasm -- her long, dark coppery tresses in direct contrast to her pink gown (a wonderful creation, that!) and creamy skin, brown eyes half-closed in languor and satisfaction, and a dreamy smile on her lips. Wanton, open, and generous. Her legs had stayed open to his gaze and to his touch, and it seemed that there was a question in her eyes.
Before he could decipher what it meant, he had been distracted by the tempting sight of her pale thighs and dark mound, and he had bent his head to kiss a particularly soft spot.
His unruly cock reacted to the memory. It hardened, and he cupped it through his breeches, feeling its throbbing warmth through the fabric. He desperately needed the release he had denied himself ever since learning of his feelings for her.
Four months. Four long, hellish months. Or thereabouts.
He reached in and allowed himself a few quick strokes, sighing as he imagined Giselda’s hot mouth sucking on his cock. He smeared pre-cum along his cock. Her fingers encircled him in a tight grip. He stroked, enveloping his cock with his fingers. She caressed him with her hand, following her mouth as she moved up and down his hard length. His breath shortened. Giselda’s languid eyes gazed up at him, her mouth full of his cock. He felt the tension build ... build ... build ...
His horse whinnied softly beside him.
Rodin cursed and withdrew his hand. He couldn’t believe what he’d almost done. In the stables, in full view of anyone who could have walked in ...
He ached, so badly that he wanted to finish what he’d started. But it was Giselda’s mouth he wanted on his cock, her tight sheath he wanted to bury his cock in, and not his hand.
Impatient and angry with himself for wanting what he couldn’t have, he led the horse out of the stable and outside the castle. Then he swung himself onto the saddle and rode his horse hard past the outlying villages and over the rough terrain, careful to keep his direction due east. He had brought with hi
m only the barest necessities so as not to be slowed down. He just wanted to get it all over and done with.
A few miles past the villages surrounding the castle, the beautiful countryside stretched out in a wide expanse of green before him. Craggy mountains loomed in the distance, and trees stood together in clumps to his right. But the beautiful scenery was lost on him as he whizzed by, his whole being focused on his mission. So far, he hadn’t seen any sign of the prince or his companions, or any villages from which he could seek information.
He stopped at midday to replenish his strength and to allow his horse to graze and rest a bit, though he chafed at the delay. But it was practical. If he drove himself and his horse into the ground, the trip might be delayed even longer.
After resting for a bit, he decided to move. He resaddled his horse and was about to swing up when he heard a slight rustling noise in the bushes behind him. He stilled, patting his horse on the nose to silence him. A small white rabbit peeped out and then hopped toward him. He relaxed. It came to an abrupt stop when it caught sight of them, but before Rodin could unsheathe his knife, it turned and disappeared into the underbrush.
Oh, well. Happy life, rabbit.
Not wanting to waste any more time, he swung into the saddle and navigated his horse out of the trees. Once in the open air, he spurred the horse into a gallop. He wanted to cover as much ground as possible. He hoped to find the prince resting in the upcoming village, maybe screaming bloody murder because of a sprained ankle, and then it would be Rodin’s pleasure to drag him back to the castle.
By nightfall, however, he was ready to admit fatigue. He had traveled hard for most of the day, his horse was foaming at the mouth, and though the prince had stopped to rest in the last village, he had already moved on. Maybe Rodin would have better luck the next day.
He scouted around for a suitable campsite, eventually setting up his small tent in a secluded area where the trees formed a protective circle. He got a fire going, and soon the delicious smell of a roasting fat rabbit filled the air. He knew he should be filled with anticipation at the prospect of filling his empty stomach, but all he felt was bone-tired weariness, physically, mentally, and emotionally.
A twig snapped.
He stiffened, all his senses on the alert.
The sound had come from behind him.
His right hand crept to the hilt of the sword hanging at his left side.
The leaves rustled.
In one swift motion, he unsheathed the sword and rushed toward the sound.
Chapter Nine
Giselda’s heart was in her throat when she saw Rodin charging at her. She had only wanted to see what he was cooking so deliciously. She hadn’t been aware that she’d moved forward, until her foot had stepped on a twig.
“No! Stop!”
He checked his forward motion, balancing precariously on the balls of his feet. “Giselda?” A wealth of shock was in his voice.
She stepped out into the light of the campfire, her eyes going hungrily to the meat roasting on a nearby spit. His furious voice brought her eyes to his face.
“What are you doing here?!”
She found her voice, although she was shaking inside. “Such welcome, Rodin. Since you didn’t bring any of your men, I thought you might need help. So, here I am,” she said brightly. “Can we continue this discussion later? I’m hungry.”
He sheathed his sword, his face grim. “You bet I’ll get to the bottom of this.” He led her to sit on the log in front of the campfire. Her mouth watered. “No spoon and fork and golden plate, Princess.” His voice and eyes mocked her.
She had been worried that he would explode at the sight of her, not to mention the awkward way they had parted that time in the garden, that she felt a tremendous relief at his milder-than-expected response. She decided to ignore his deliberate mockery. “I use my mouth to eat, Rodin.”
“No banquet with two dozen dishes, either.”
“I’m not in the habit of practicing gluttony.” She made an impatient sound. “Can we eat first and talk later? I’m soooo hungry.”
“Right.” He sat beside her and took the spit from the fire. He cut the meat in half and handed one part to her. “Enjoy your dinner, Princess.”
“Thanks.” She bit into the meat and fanned her mouth. “Whew, hot.” A moment later, she bit and tore off a portion, munching and chewing with gusto. “Mmmm. Delicious.” She turned to Rodin. “You’re a great cook.”
“You’re awfully easy to please,” he drawled, his tone somehow making his words ironic. “Do you know what you’re eating?”
She held up a hand. “Please, I don’t want to know. My stomach is more important right now than some fat, cute little creature.”
Rodin muttered something about “how accurate,” but she couldn’t be sure she heard right. They ate in companionable silence for some time before Rodin asked, “You’ve been following me?”
Giselda swallowed at his hard voice. “You can’t send me back. It’s almost night, and I’m scared of the dark, and I have a poor sense of direction, and I just know I’d get lost, and --”
“Princess, just answer the question.”
The hint of amusement in his voice assured her. “Yes.” She ate some more and then said, “I was hiding out in the stable since last night because I didn’t know when you would leave. Although ...” She took a bite of meat. “... why did you stop so long in front of the stable doors this morning? I was afraid --” She stopped when he choked. “Are you all right?” At his nod, she continued. “Anyway, I didn’t want to take the chance that you’d leave without me. So I wasn’t able to take any provisions. I ate some apples that I picked from the trees during lunch, but I haven’t had a proper meal since last night’s dinner. That’s why I’m so hungry.”
“The prince means that much to you, does he?” His voice was somber and reflective. “Enough to endure a hungry stomach and a grueling ride across unknown territory? Eating wild animals without the benefit of tables, chairs, or cutlery? Or is it the crown?”
Giselda’s anger flared. “You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it to you.” In truth, he wasn’t far off the mark. She had been worried about Michael because she had imagined being queen of Ermont someday. But more than that, she was worried that if something bad had happened to Michael, then everyone might blame her father because of the stupid quest, and the king of Ermont was sure to be mad. And what if he started a war with them because of that? She would feel so guilty, because Michael was on a quest for her.
“And that sums everything up.” Rodin’s murmured voice held a tinge of bitterness that pierced the fog of her fury.
She suddenly remembered her words, and how he would have construed them. “Oh, Rodin, I didn’t mean it that way --”
“Save the explanations, Princess,” he said harshly. “I don’t have any illusions about what and who I am.”
Giselda straightened her shoulders and said firmly, “Look, this is going to be a tough journey as it is --”
“Who says you’re coming with me?” Rodin shot back.
She clutched at his arm. “Rodin, you can’t send me back!”
“Watch me. If not tonight, then tomorrow morning.”
“But I’ll get lost and --”
“I’ll deliver you safely back to the castle before I continue on my mission.”
“Please, Rodin, don’t send me back.”
He shrugged off her hands and studied her in the light of the fire for some time before he asked, “He means that much to you?”
She was silent for awhile before she admitted, “Y-yes.”
His mouth tightened. “All right. But you do your share of the work -- tending to the horses, cooking, and whatever else there is. You also do everything I say. No arguments, no complaints.”
“Yes.” She ate the last of her meat and beamed at him.
“I must be mad for doing this.”
“I heard that, Rodin, and I promise not to turn you over to the
local infirmary for those with a loose screw or two.”
He laughed, though he stifled it as soon as a sound escaped his lips. “You’re ...” He shot her a puzzled look. “You’re improving.”
Giselda paused in the act of licking her fingers, thinking over their conversation. He was right; she wasn’t as slow in her thinking process as before. There was something about bantering with Rodin that challenged her and stimulated her brain cells.
“See, the fresh air is even stimulating my thinking capacity --” She broke off when she noticed Rodin’s intense gaze on her mouth as she licked her fingers. In that instant, heat engulfed her. Mesmerized, she pulled out her forefinger slowly and pushed in her middle finger, her lips pursing as she sucked.
His eyes blazed, and then he turned his head away.
Disappointment settled deep in her stomach. For a moment there, he’d looked as though he was about to pounce on her.
She asked abruptly, “So, are we going in the right direction?” At his blank look, she elaborated, “Will we find Michael in the direction we’re going?”
“There’s a good chance. The prince and his bodyguards stayed for a night in the last village, and this was the direction they were seen to have taken. When we get to the next village, we’ll establish if they’ve been there. If not, we’ll backtrack and take another way.”
She nodded. “That’s a good plan.” The pensive air that had come about him puzzled her. “I hope we find him soon.”
He poked at the campfire logs with a piece of twig, but stayed silent.
The fire crackled.
“This thing about the golden bird -- do you think it’s true?”
Rodin shrugged and continued staring into the fire. “I heard of that legend years ago, and there have been sporadic reports of sightings around the village of Lundren -- where we’re heading, by the way -- but ...” He shrugged again. “So far, nobody has been able to capture it.”
Reports of sights. Just reports. Nothing concrete.
“Then this quest is absurd!” Anger and frustration crept into her voice.