GREY EYES, GREEN EYES

Feature Writer: TarnishedPenny

Feature Title:  Grey Eyes, Green Eyes

Published: 13.04.2023

Story Codes: Demonic

Synopsis: A dragon, a demon and a prince walk into a bar. Sort of … A small fantasy of sex, swords and sorcery. It shouldn’t be necessary to state this, but all involved are at least 18 years old. In human years. Please enjoy.

Grey Eyes, Green Eyes

The seated figure bent forward and added a small twig to the fire, waited a moment to see how much smoke it would make, then added a second. Again he checked for smoke, a scraped-up pile of dirt at hand ready for instant smothering.

The hands adding the twigs had long, slender fingers. A gold ring circled the middle finger of the right hand; the crest on it well-worn, indistinct. Their palms were heavily calloused, as if belonging to one accustomed to survival only by the heaviest sort of toil and one finger was missing its final segment. The hands were however an odd mix of hard living and fastidiousness, for the nine remaining fingernails were surprisingly-well groomed, clean and carefully shaped to square ends.

The fire picked up a little and the figure in its worn grey cloak settled back between it and the rock face. Some, he knew, would build a big fire against the rock, work hard to feed it and risk unwanted visitors drawn by the light. He on the other hand would be as warm from the reflected heat of the small fire without having to worry nearly as much about what it might attract. He knew he was a match for most things in this forest, but still preferred to avoid being noticed.

A thin improvised mattress of layered pine branches stretched out along the rocks, a worn grey leather pack resting at its head. A short, heavy-bladed sword in its scabbard leaned against the pack, hilt close to his hand. A man-tall wooden staff leaned against the rocks to his other side.

The man shrugged his shoulders inside his padded jerkin. Examining himself, he frowned and swept sand and leaves from the knees of worn baggy trousers. The boots into which they were tucked were clearly of superior workmanship, but now retained little of their former luster.

“You’ve come down in the world, Aldar,” he muttered to himself.

The smell of the broth over the tiny fire reached the figure’s nose. Leaning forward again, he looked in the copper pot, nodded to himself and pulled it off the fire. Cupping the hot vessel in a fold of his cloak, he settled again in his seat and pulled a wooden spoon from the top of one boot.

One hand casually brushed off the cloak’s hood, revealing the wearer’s head. Thin-faced, yet with strong features, he carried a well-trimmed, pointed beard and mustache, mainly grey amid rusty remnants of youth. Deep lines in skin darkened by the sun emphasized how long it had been since that youth had passed him by; his grey eyes were almost buried beneath thick eyebrows framing a long, aquiline nose.

Bending forward, he ladled a spoonful of thin broth into his mouth, sucking in air to cool the too-hot liquid. He put down the pot for a moment, pulled his pack towards him and, rummaging through it, pulled out a well-traveled partial loaf of barley bread. Reaching into his right sleeve, his left hand brought out a thin-bladed bronze knife with a bone handle. The blade featured intricate engraving, now almost obliterated by time and much use. After cutting off a frugal serving, he returned the knife to his sleeve and the remainder of the loaf to the pack.

He continued his meal, dipping the hard bread into the soup and saving the last crust to wipe the pot clean. Setting the empty vessel down by the fire, he began to run his fingers over a scattering of rocks he’d moved aside when constructing the bed. Selecting a small smooth stone, he began to whet the edge of the sword, running it up one side of the blade, then up the other.

From time to time, he stopped to thumb the edge to check its sharpness. Eventually satisfied, he set the stone aside and began to hone the sword’s edge on a scrap of hard leather pulled from his pack. He paused from time to time to check his progress by shaving his forearm with one part of the blade, then another. The fine hairs fell easily to the razor-sharp edge.

Returning the scrap to his pack some minutes later, he rolled his head on his shoulders, as if stiff. A low crack  brought first a grimace, then a low smile of relief. He looked up, regarded the evening sky for a few moments, pondered the death of a falling star.

Leaning back against the rock face, he grasped his staff by the middle, examined a couple of low-relief carvings on it. Keeping the sword across his lap, he spoke without looking up, his voice loud enough to carry.

“All right now. You’ve been watching me all this time. How about you show yourselves? I prefer neighbors I can see.”

The silence grew, if possible, even deeper. A few seconds later, two slender figures, one a handbreadth taller than the other, stepped noiselessly into the small circle of light. Both were cloaked in worn but carefully mended homespun cloaks, hoods covering their faces. Below the hems of the cloaks could be seen the cross-gartered cloth leggings worn by both sexes of the region. Their feet were covered with home-made turnshoes, each fashioned from one piece of hide stitched into form and then turned inside-out to protect the welt.

The man sat unmoving, his hand resting lightly on the sword hilt.

“Show yourselves, I said.”

The two figures turned briefly to look at each other before, as one, sweeping the hoods off their heads. Two rather dirty faces were revealed, both with long hair carelessly braided and falling over one shoulder. The shorter one had fair hair, that of the taller one was a coppery-brown. Both appeared to be in their mid-teens; there was clearly a family resemblance in more than just their green eyes.

“So, neighbors, what is it that you want?” His voice was deep in tone, low in volume and without menace, but clearly not without wariness.

The two again looked at each other.

The shorter one spoke in a high voice, the local accent evident. “Shelter, good sir.”

The man waved his hand around the clearing. “Not much shelter here,” he smiled lightly.

The shorter one glanced at his taller companion, shrugged.

“Good sir, you are a soldier, from the looks of it…”

“Was,” he grunted. “The war’s over.”

“Not for such as ourselves.”

The man grunted again, nodded briefly. Peace between empires might have been declared, but there was but little comfort in that to the thousands of unpaid and hungry troops on both sides suddenly dismissed from their employment. Nor to the peasants, merchants and pilgrims trying to live in the lawless chaos that was the Marches.

“Again,” he said, not unkindly this time. “What is it that you want of me, lads?”

Together, wordlessly, they sat down on the dirt, almost a matter of collapsing. Aldar could see fatigue in their faces, streaks on their dusty faces, ones he was sure they would not admit were evidence of dried tears.

“Our family was… destroyed,” said one.

“We’ve nowhere to go,” said the other.

The man nodded. It was a common-enough happening these days. The only reason, he thought to himself, that corpses were not more common along the roads was that the wounded generally crept into nearby bushes for shelter before dying.

“Well, you can see that I haven’t much at all. I don’t think I can feed you, lads.”

One brightened. “Oh, but we have food!”

A dirty hand emerged from under a cloak, holding the body of a large hare by the hind feet. From under the cloak of the other was produced a basket half full of greens and mushrooms, a wizened wild apple resting on top.

The man laughed, a deep rumble. “And how did you come by all that, may I ask?”

The two flushed under his gaze. The short one answered heatedly. “We’re not thieves!”

The other said, rather more loudly, as if for emphasis, “We… we were out of the village, tending snares and gathering legumes when the bishop’s soldiers came.”

The man’s hand left his sword, went to his mouth in a sign for silence. “Hush now! Softly! Voices carry and I have no desire to bring vermin down on us, be it bears, bandits…” He paused, smiled wryly. “Or bishops.”

He thought for a moment, apparently considering his options, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “For this night only, you can stay. Can you cook?”

“Yes. A bit.”

“Then one of you skin that coney and the other fetch some water from the brook over there.” The two started to rise. “But first, drop the cloaks. I want to see you better.”

Again, the two looked at each other. Apparently acknowledging their lack of alternatives, the tall one shrugged. Setting down the food, they rose, reached up and unpinned their cloaks, pulling them off their shoulders.

Both wore homespun thigh-length tunics, secured around their waist with knotted belts. In accordance with universal custom, a short but sturdy utility knife was sheathed on each belt, along with a small leather pouch. The two would have been unremarkable in a score of surrounding marketplaces.

“Turn around — slowly,” he directed. They did so, puzzled.

Looking them up and down, the man gave a low grunt. “So, not lads then?” he said softly.

Both figures pulled their cloaks up in front of them, as if to shield the owners from his eyes. An undeniable tear trickled down the cheek of the shorter girl. Both looked desperate.

“But you’re not armed,” he smiled, thinly. “One needs to know. All right, dress yourselves — it’s getting colder. Now let’s make dinner. I’ll get the fire going again.”

Between the rabbit, the mushrooms, the greens and barley bread crumbs as thickening, the three of them produced a stew which, if not a gourmet treat, was at least more substantial than the broth he had been sipping shortly before. After tasting it, his hand slid into his pack, emerging with a twist of much-folded paper. From it he produced a large pinch of brownish salt. Thus seasoned, the stew proved more to his liking and the three finished eating in silence.

With the meal over and darkness falling, the three cleaned up their limited camp.

“You two may make your bed over there, he said, pointing. The ground will still be warm from the afternoon sun. You have time to lay down some branches for a bed.”

The two girls glanced at each other briefly before their gazes returned to him.

“Actually, sir…” said the taller, beginning to smile.

“… we would prefer to sleep in your bed,” the shorter continued. She too began to smile.

“How old are you?” he asked.

The two rose, began shedding their clothes as they walked slowly in his direction, leaving a trail of discarded garments behind them.

“Old enough,” they said in unison.

Lush hips and very shapely breasts were separated by slender waists. Aldar’s hands could have spanned either one of them.

He shook his head. “I think not. Get dressed and come back in five or ten years.”

“It’s not our fault that we’re dirty,” the shorter one said.

“There’s no bath hut here,” added the other.

“I’ve not complained of that,” he retorted. “Now, I said for you to get dressed!”

The two glanced at each other briefly, nodded as if agreeing to a question unspoken.

Cat-fast, the two leapt. In mid-air, their forms flickered briefly, shifted.

Their figures changed little, but their slim legs now tapered off to scaled, taloned feet; their fingers ended in wicked-looking claws. Small horns rose from their temples.

Their unnaturally pale faces were dead, devoid of all emotion or expression; there was not a shred of humanity, warmth or mercy in them. Deep-set eyes were shadowed in dark sockets. An observer, provided by some miracle he or she survived, would be hard-pressed to say what colour those eyes had been. Their lips were full, but in contrast to their pale skin, were deep, almost blood-red.

The two stank of mold, corruption and slow death.

The pair landed on him and Aldar’s arms were slammed back against the rock wall. He flexed his arms, testing their hold. The two proved to be implausibly strong; his tentative stretch barely shifted them or him.

The short one smiled at him, licked his neck with a very long tongue, nipped the skin with needle-like teeth.

Her companion licked his face several times, then whispered to their captive, “Oh yes, hungry for something else, we are.”

“I have gold,” he said, looking rapidly from one to the other.

Both of them giggled slightly. “Now what would we want of that coldest of metals?” the blonde creature hissed.

“Let me go,” he said flatly, “and we’ll say no more about this.”

“You won’t, for certain,” one replied.

The other smirked, giggled. “But we might play a little first.”

Aldar sighed but appeared curiously unafraid.

He blinked, slowly. When his eyes opened again, they were bright yellow, with vertical slits for pupils. He smiled thinly and shook himself like a wet dog. The two creatures on his arms quivered like bells on a horse.

He closed his eyes again and stiffened. Beneath their claws, his thin form altered, grew. Lean muscles gained definition, bulked.

The two demons, fearing to let go, could only cling tighter to his arms as he stood. They felt their feet leave the ground as he grew taller.

Aldar’s nose and chin faded as his face lengthened into a lizard-like snout. Great spiral horns grew from the back of his head, leathery wings spread from his back. Beginning over his heart and rippling outwards in a circle of Change, his skin morphed to fine bronze-coloured scales, gleaming in the flickering light of the tiny fire. The tips of saw-edged fangs protruded from his thin lips. Bony ridges framed his eyes.

Towering over the two demons, the dragon was beyond magnificent, awesome in both beauty and menace.

A small puff of flame spurted from his nostrils as he opened his eyes. Suddenly, lightning-fast, he twisted out of their grasp and grabbed them by their throats, effortlessly holding them in front of him. His own claws were extended in his anger, but the legendary furore draco  had not yet possessed him and their carefully-controlled tips barely dented the demons’ flawless skins.

“I am beginning to understand why the bishop sent his men after your clan,” he said, looking from one to the other. His voice was so deep as to be as much felt as heard. The two stared at him, eyes wide in shock. In panic, their hands began to claw futilely at his forearms until he closed his fists in unconcealed threat. The two promptly ceased their attempts to escape and his grip eased, allowing them to breathe again. He gave both a shake for emphasis.

“Do… not… try… my… patience… again,” he warned, speaking very slowly for emphasis. The words came almost as a hiss through reptilian lips.

The two nodded, or at least attempted to and, without releasing them, he lowered them so that their feet touched the ground.

“If you attempt to flee, I will  catch you,” Aldar warned. “You do not wish me to have to catch you. Will you sit if I release you?”

They nodded meekly and the dragon’s hands relaxed. Wordlessly, they folded their legs beneath them and sat, letting their wings wrap around their bodies.

The dragon loomed over them, then sat himself.

“How long have you been preying on travelers here?” he demanded.

The two glanced at each other, concluded that deceit would be as futile as physical resistance.

“As long as either of us can remember, Lord,” the blonde whispered. “More than 50 years.”

“It is all we know, Lord,” added the other. “How else for our kind? Are we to live only on grass and berries?”

“Have you not even heard  of the Great Convention?” Aldar demanded.

The smaller creature hung her head. The other looked away, then spoke softly. “Please, my Lord, my sire taught me that it was a foolish thing, a craven surrender by a carnivore to its prey, something not worthy of our race.”

“Your sire was a fool, child,” the dragon muttered. “His failure to at least be discreet in his predations has cost him dearly — and you no less so.”

His sighed at the surliness on their faces, shrugged as he remembered his own far-distant youth.

“Still, for your kind, daughters of Nyx, you two are still young. After all these years, I forget the impulsiveness of youth — fifty years is scarcely time to learn survival, much less wisdom.”

He leaned forward. Both women’s eyes opened in apprehension.

“Listen to me!” he commanded.

“The Great Convention. It is not written down, nor even formally agreed to by all concerned. It is merely a consensus among our kind,” and here he waved a great talon back and forth between them, “which has kept us alive for thousands of years.”

“Consensus?” asked the tall one, daring greatly.

Aldar stared at her. Smoke trickled from his nose.

“Consensus, a general agreement.”

“Among who…?”

“Ah,” the dragon rumbled. “At last, the key question. Among the survivors. Our survivors.”

“I do not understand, Lord.”

“The Mage Wars almost ended our kind, child. For while each of us is more powerful, more lethal than ten, a hundred, even a thousand humans, the humans still won. Not every fight — how could they? But they won every so often — and that was enough, for like rodents, they bred fast and their numbers seemed endless.

“And it didn’t help us that, despite their short lifespans, petty feuding and ridiculous rivalries, they were still able to cooperate better than our kinds. We were solitary or, at best, lived in small groups. They would form whole armies, with men of a dozen duchies and kingdoms working in concert under one leader.

“Just one of us slain was a victory for them, even if a thousand of them died to achieve it. We were building a mountain of their skulls — but there were fewer and fewer of us each solstice to salute those mountains.

“After hundreds of years of ‘winning’, we Higher Peoples had almost been exterminated. The survivors among us withdrew, went into hiding. The Great Convention became the term used for an unspoken understanding among us to cease living in the open, to remain unseen.

“It has worked, to some degree at least. In their fleeting generations, humans began to look on the Higher Peoples as mere myth, something to frighten children with. ‘A vampire? Don’t be silly, sir, it must have just been a deranged human. A dragon, my child? Nonsense — there are no such things. The sun must’ve been in your eyes.’

“And so, it remains — until some arrogant, ignorant fool  ignores it and draws attention to not only himself, but to his clan and, sadly, to all of us.”

The two demons remained sullen. The taller of the two scowled at the insult to her late sire’s memory.

“Watch your manners,” the dragon growled, “His refusal to abide by the Convention has led you to where you are now,” he paused, “While we are at it, I would have you in your human forms.”

The two stared at him, almost defiant.

“Now!” he snarled, leaning forward.

They shrank back, clearly terrified. Wings folded against their backs, disappeared. Horns receded; and scaled toes were replaced by human feet. In seconds, Aldar was facing what appeared to be just two quite bare, very dirty young women. They reached for their clothes.

“Not yet,” he commanded.

His voice rippled with overwhelming authority and the two froze in their nakedness.

They watched as his form too transitioned, half-way back to human. The lizard face, talons and wings disappeared, leaving a lean, tall human form still covered in scales. The dragon eyes remained too, and the two shrank from his gaze.

Not bothering to dress, he again settled down with his back to the wall, one hand motioning the two women to sit in front of him.

“Let us first understand each other,” he growled, “Your attack failed. Did your fool of a sire bother to teach you the consequences of such failure among our kind?”

The eyes of the two grew wide, then fell to the ground in front of them.

“We are compelled to serve you, my lord,” one whispered.

“For how long?” he demanded. “Under what limitations?”

“Until you tire of us, my Lord, until you release us or kill us,” the other answered, resignedly. “And without limitations.”

“Indeed,” he growled.

“What are we to call you, Lord?” one asked.

“‘Lord’ will do for you two. Do you think I would be foolish enough to provide you with my soul-name? How much power do you think I give my bond-servants?”

The two were silent, accepting the reproach.

“On the other hand,” Aldar reflected softly, “You two will reveal your own soul-names,” seeing the hesitation on their faces, he barked sharply, “Now!”

“Darla, Lord,” said the blonde, “Eldrin, Lord,” whispered her companion.

Aldar could sense no hint of deception.

He waved a hand in front of them. Luminous figures roiled in the air between them and the clearing was suddenly full of the smell of ozone, the very air charged with his power. The two shivered in submission, realizing the extent of their over-match.

“Well then, Darla, Eldrin,” he commanded, “We will seal this traditionally. How ironic that you will get some of that which you sought to take originally.”

Bringing his left hand to his mouth, he bit his thumb. Blood pooled on its pad.

“Darla first,” he directed. The blonde figure looked at him uncomprehending, but when he pointed to the ground in front of him with his right forefinger, she rose and approached him.

“Kneel.”

She did.

“No. Kneel on the backs of your hands.”

With some awkwardness, the girl did so. The position was one of utter submission. Her head and neck were stretched well forward, completely vulnerable.

His hand swept her hair off her neck, gathered it, grasped it as a tether. With his bleeding thumb, he wrote an arcane symbol on her nape. The woman wiggled as the blood seethed and began to boil, but he held her firmly by the hair. In seconds, all that remained was his sigil branded into her skin. The dragon watched it impassively as it faded, then vanished, apparently leaving her nape as it had been.

“Sit up,” he commanded.

She did so. The look in her eyes was dazed, uncertain.

“Now you,” Aldar directed, pointing at the taller girl.

She hesitated, then, weeping, knelt before him and the process was repeated. Aldar sat back, surveyed his new servants. His teeth showed, but there was precious little humor in his smile.

“You have been bound to me,” he said pointedly, “My magic, my blood and my will now own you both, command you both. Do you not agree?”

The two nodded. Both were weeping now at the shock of their unexpected defeat and sudden subjugation.

“My first order is that you remain in your human forms at all times unless otherwise commanded. I really don’t care to look on your true manifestations. Do you understand?”

The two nodded slowly. They were unsure of all that was happening to them, but could sense in him an irresistible power.

“Secondly, you will not harm me or cause me to harm myself or allow harm to come to me if in your power to prevent it. Nor will you attempt to harm yourselves or each other. You will not try to escape or allow the other to do any of these things. Do you understand?”

The two nodded sadly, the totality of their bondage becoming clearer to them.

“Good. My third order is this.”

Here the man reached into his bag and, after some fumbling, drew forth a grayish egg of village soap. He tossed it towards the two. It was caught by Darla.

“You both stink. There’s a stream over there behind you. Go wash.”

“What, in the dark, Lord?”

“In the dark. You two are not as blind as you wish me to believe.”

“Yes, Lord,” they chorused, resignation clear in their voices.

“Nor,” he said sternly, “Am I as simple as you seem to think.”

Pouting but obedient, the two disappeared into the darkness.

Aldar listened to their muffled and low yelps as they entered the glacier-fed stream. His face seemed to relax. He smiled to himself — perhaps the first smile in a long time which a human being would find amusing.

Presently, the girls returned, now shivering and wet.

Aldar, returning to his position against the rock wall, had broken out a worn blanket to supplement his cloak and was huddled within it. A still-scaled arm reached out from its folds and recovered the precious lump of soap, placing it on a rock to dry.

The two demons stood before him. Their options, they knew, were minimal. Their arms were tight around their chests, more for warmth than modesty. The latter was in any case no more natural to their kind than to cats.

Ancient eyes examined them carefully and they looked away. Curtly he ordered them to turn around. The low light of the small fire flickered over apparently youthful flanks and buttocks as they obeyed.

After a long glance, Aldar flung open his blanket in invitation.

“It getting colder,” he said, not unkindly now, “Come get warm by a dragon’s fire.”

Timidly, unsure of what to expect, the two approached. Kneeling first, they turned and slid under his arms. He closed the blanket.

“Oh!”

Their surprise was real, shock turning to horror as the young demons realized what the dragon carried between his legs.

The blanket fell away in the struggle. The naked women were attempting to flee when a snake-fast hand captured each of them by the neck. Implacable, inescapable strength turned them back to face him. Their eyes were down-turned, frozen on what was rising before them.

“Enough,” he said in a bottomless voice.

Golden eyes blinked at them; a fringe of scales around his neck rose slightly, fell again.

“It waits for the next to disobey me,” he rumbled, “Now pick up the blanket and cover us.”

The two fumbled for the cloth, scarcely relaxing as his body transitioned fully back to human. Looking from one to the next, he smiled. Still keeping a grip on their necks, he allowed his body to recline on the improvised mattress.

“Lie down next to me,” he commanded, pulling them down as he spoke.

Covered with the blanket and a head on each shoulder, he felt them shiver against him. He smiled softly to himself at their squirming efforts to avoid touching him.

“Lie still,” he demanded and felt the two young bodies slide closer, coming to rest against him.

He raised his eyebrows in the darkness as first Darla and then Eldrin again broke into very uncharacteristic sobs. The day had been traumatic for them. Eventually, they slept. Eventually, so did he.

xxxxx

The next morning, it was Aldar who awoke first, a head on each shoulder, a warm weight against his body on either side.

Looking down at their sleeping faces, he could almost believe them to be real women — quite pretty women, come to think of it.

The early morning air was cool and he found himself content to lie in their warmth and watch the clouds drifting overhead. It was pleasant and, in his human form, he could feel a slight stirring in his loins. His mind began twisting back and forth as he gradually came fully awake.

Aldar had sworn off bond-servants an eternity before, finding them more trouble than they were worth and being unhappy with the ethical strictures they imposed on him.

Now, damn it all, he found himself stuck with two  of them! While comely enough — tempting, in truth — a millennium of experience told him to be wary of the troubles such temptations inevitably brought.

He’d enslaved the two on impulse, partly in self-defense and partly in anger at their presumption. Now, having rested, having had time to think, he was unsure of his next course of action.

The dragon was, oddly enough, a philosophical and deeply moral creature. That his moral code didn’t often mesh with those of other beings was at times inconvenient, but it still guided and shaped his behavior.

Two of the Higher People had fallen into his lap. Vicious and self-serving, they clearly had no more common sense than his left boot.

Eldrin murmured softly in her sleep, shifted beside him. He felt her pubic bush move against his thigh, felt his sex growing hard. He too had his human side – or at least something simulating a human side. He had, after all, spent a long time practicing it.

For all the weaknesses it brought, Aldar had learned to appreciate some aspects of it. But, although he took a moment to run his hands along the flanks of both girls, finally cupping firm buttocks with extended fingers, now was not the time.

Turning away from the facade of his human form and its encompassing inclinations, he reflected on last night’s events. It seemed clear now that he’d acted with unseemly haste. Dragons are eternal and their deliberations should be…

Or had he? He paused his thoughts, redirected them, examined them with millennia of experience.

There seemed to be a limited number of choices. Last night, he could have merely chased them away with a display of strength. On the same note, he could simply release them from his service this morning.

He frowned – then or now, freedom for these two untamed cubs would bring them to one adamantine destiny — a mob with torches and pitchforks or its military equivalent. No matter what warnings he gave, no matter what promises and oaths these two delectable creatures (and here he indulged himself with another caress of perfect skin) might give him, if left to run free, they would inevitably be hunted down by frightened and enraged humans. And that would mean not only the loss of two of the People, but also a violation of the Great Convention, a raising of human awareness of Their remaining existence. And that  posed a threat to himself and all his kind.

He sighed. Even dragons can mourn pointless waste.

As a second alternative, he could have killed them last night. It was still an option. His hands ran up under the blanket, flowed over warm soft skin, settled on their slender necks. A quick squeeze, jerk and twist – they wouldn’t even know they had died. It would be simple; it would avoid the mob, the hunt – and for him, the renewed risk of exposure. And these two were not of his line; no covenant stayed his hands.

That said, whatever their species, despite their dangerous, ignorant ferocity, they were still possessed of Higher blood, something infinitely too valuable and altogether too rare to be casually sacrificed or tossed away.

Aldar sighed, put the thought aside. It might come to that, he decided, but not quite yet.

The remaining possibility was both the easiest and the hardest.

The two demons were in their human form pleasing enough to his eye. Indeed, more than just pleasing, for Aldar’s breath sucked in deeply as the sleeping Darla shifted beside him, her movement drawing both blonde hair and soft breast against his chest. He looked down at her, saw a small pink tongue-tip slip between her sleeping lips. His hardness increased.

He turned his head to the other side, saw Eldrin’s green eyes were now open, staring at him. Hesitant, she tried to smile, had to lick her own lips first.

It was a pleasant-enough smile, Aldar thought.

“Lie still, girl,” he whispered, “Your sister still sleeps.”

With that, he closed his eyes and tried to finish his thoughts. The two would come with him, then, act as his human servants until …

Until what? Until they had accumulated hundreds of years of wisdom and judgement? No, that was hardly practical. Aldar was mildly amused that he didn’t really know how long their kind normally lived. in any case, their staying with him over the long term was impossible.

The two were prime specimens, he thought, would be accounted mother-ready by their sort in another decade or two. Perhaps he might find a nest of them somewhere, pass them to their own kind to raise? It would be difficult to locate a nest, but none of the Higher People could afford to ignore their own. Breeding success was too erratic, far too slow not to take every chance.

Aldar thought to his last mating, at the height of the Mage Wars. He and she, far above the green valleys, above even the lichened mountains – swirling, playing, eyes on nothing but each other. A caressing, soaring, spirited climb until the chill air around them had thinned, the stars had become visible and the horizon was plainly curved. Then, at last, she had pulled him into a wing-folded coupling, talons clutching scales, hips locked together, down through mile upon mile of tumbling bliss, into a volcanic explosion of mutual orgasm ending only when wings unfolded at the last moment to avoid the up-rushing reality of rocks and trees.

The screams of their mating triumph were still echoing from surrounding cliff faces when she flew off, leaving Aldar behind. He had heard nothing of her since, nor indeed of any other female of his own species. The Covenant worked both for and against his kind. It could be that he was the very last.

Aldar’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft hand on his thigh. Turning his head, he saw a slight smile on Eldrin’s face, remembered that her species was indeed voracious — in all things.

“As she is still sleeping, may this one ask how my Lord is this morning?” she whispered, her fingers drifting over his thigh onto his now fully-erect, well, yes, manhood.

“I told you to be silent,” he replied softly.

“Oh, you would be surprised at how quiet I can be, my Lord,” she laughed quietly, “Unless my Lord doesn’t wish …”

By then her fingers had surrounded his length and were pulling soft skin over rigid core. As her thumb reached his swollen head, she swept it gently over the sensitive triangle underneath.

“Shall I stop, Lord?” she whispered, very softly.

Aldar thought for a moment.

Why not?  If they were to journey together, it might as well be enjoyable. These two could not hurt him. Their presence might bring comment later, but for now…

Saying nothing, he replied by letting his head fall back on his improvised pillow.

Eldrin may have appeared naïve to a being of Aldar’s perspective, but she was anything but stupid. Before drifting off to sleep, she’d had time to reflect on her situation. Yes, she was now bound to him by both spell and custom, but that did not necessarily mean that her time of bondage had to be terrible. Indeed, she thought, sliding her hand along his length, there could be some advantages…

Be pleasant,   she told herself. The parchment whisper of her mother’s voice drifted through her memory. Males can be influenced, won over, even if only briefly.

She smiled; her fingers began to stroke a little harder, a little faster. Without disturbing her stroking, Eldrin shifted, raised her head and rested it on her elbow.

At the shift in her body, Aldar opened one eye, turned it towards her. Seeing his attention, she giggled again, less softly now. Her thumb began to circle and roll over his head at the top of each stroke.

Aldar smiled slightly. He had to admit that Eldrin was good, very good, at this.

As if reading his mind, the girl smiled.

“We have many appetites, my Lord — and many skills.”

With that, she half-rose, knelt beside him. Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she ran the very tip of her forefinger along the underside of his hardness, lingering on his slit before falling off him entirely, leaving her other hand beginning the same journey.

“Many skills,” she repeated.

Leaning closer to his groin now, she could smell his masculine odor, healthy human male, overlaid with something else — hot bronze, perhaps. She found it surprisingly pleasing to her nostrils, realized with a start that what had begun as an ingratiatory task had become alluring, almost exciting. It occurred to her that, despite her new-bound state, it was she  who had the power at this moment. That, too was intriguing, unprecedented — using power for pleasure.

To her surprise, she felt a weight forming in her loins, a tightening of her nipples, turning to pebble hardness when Aldar’s hand clasped one of her buttocks, squeezed softly.

Aldar tucked his other hand behind his head as a rest, allowing him to watch the girl.

Soft fingers circled his crown, down along his shaft, twisting and swirling as they went. One hand clasped his sac, softly rolled his tender eggs; the other stayed on his rigid phallus, squeezing, stroking, playing.

She clasped it harder, slid her hand down his length, watched as the skin bunched under her slow-moving fingers. Aldar growled softly. She froze momentarily, then, realizing it was a sound of pleasure, restarted.

Reaching the base of his cock, she eased the pressure, allowed her fingers to trail over and around his sac, tickled behind it with her nails. Aldar’s hand on her bum squeezed harder in response.

Hand now on the middle of his shaft, Eldrin began to pump him faster, her hand floating up and down over him, twisting the skin as she moved. Her other hand gently pulled his balls away from his body, stretching his taut bag.

Aldar could feel his arousal build and groaned softly in appreciation.

At the sound, the smaller blonde form on his left shifted. Darla’s breathing changed, paused altogether for a moment. Her eyes opened to see Eldrin’s flying, flowing hands on Aldar’s prominent sex.

Darla had independently arrived at much the same conclusion as Eldrin in the middle of the night. It seemed clear now that the man, if not the dragon, could be pleased. Her life, she had reflected, might depend on that.

The girl turned her head to see Aldar staring at her. Hesitant, but encouraged by his clear enjoyment of Eldrin’s efforts, Darla rose to her knees on the other side of his prone figure.

Tentatively, she leaned towards him, pressed her lips to his. Some males, she knew, liked that. She felt his tongue sweep over her lips and opened her own, met tongue with tongue. He tasted of sunset, smoke and old wine.

The girl’s eyes opened wider when she felt his hand clasp the back of her head, pull her in towards him. His tongue pressed deeper into her mouth, twisted around hers, explored her teeth.

His hand released her head and she pulled back slightly. There was a smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he said. His eyes closed for an instant of enjoyment at Eldrin’s hands, then opened as his arm pulled Darla’s mouth back to his.

The girl’s whole body shivered. While hardly innocent — not in her society — she had never known a kiss could be so consuming, at one and the same time so demanding and so giving. Her excitement increased as his hand moved from her head and found her dangling breasts. The young woman gasped as strong fingers closed gently on her soft orbs, felt her arousal soar. She hissed in pleasure as Aldar caught a nipple between two fingers and pulled gently.

Wanting more, Darla slid her hand down over his chest, over his stomach, under Eldrin’s quick-moving hands. Further down, she felt the root of his cock, slid further down to clasp his sac, gently squeezing and playing with its contents.

She felt the chest under her arm begin to buck as Aldar gasped, heaved, shuddered with his orgasm. His growl was deep, primal. Hot jets coated Darla’s hand and forearm. She yelped slightly as his hand squeezed her breast, then both it and his mouth fell away.

Aldar gasped, trying to catch his breath. His eyes closed, he could feel the two women shift, again lie down on either side of him.

Looking across his heaving chest, Eldrin noticed Darla’s hand still cradling the dragon’s balls. She turned her head on his shoulder, whispered into his ear.

“Have we pleased our Lord?”

A slow smile crossed Aldar’s face. Strong arms pulled the two women into him, hugging them deeply and, for him, tenderly. His eyes closed.

The women’s eyes met for a moment. Each gave a slight smile before lowering her head to Aldar’s shoulder.

The road was dusty, rutted and potholed, but quite passable for those on foot.

“Who is this prince, Lord, and why to we seek him out?” Darla asked.

The three, in human form again, were wearing clothes washed hurriedly in the stream and drying on their bodies as they walked. Aldar was finding the girls’ seemingly nonstop chatter pleasing, like the twittering of the birds in the forest trees.

Until now, he had told them little, merely emphasizing the need for haste. Now, for some reason, he decided to answer.

“His name is Reigen,” he said, “I was in his service.”

“Do you still serve him, my Lord?” asked Darla.

“No. For him I have nothing but vengeance.”

His tone was sepulchral and, the implications of a dragon’s vengeance such that neither of the two pressed further.

The few leagues the three had covered by late afternoon was the furthest voyage either of Eldrin or Darla had ever taken. It was an adventure to them, especially when, towards nightfall, Aldar had selected a camping spot not far from the side of a small pond and, to their delight, released both of them from their human forms, instructing them to ‘find something for us to eat.’

The two pouted at his pointed clarification.

“No humans!”

Still, hunting was hunting and the two soon returned to the tiny fire he had set, carrying a still-quivering fawn, terror in its eyes.

“That’ll do,” he growled, “But kill it now. Quickly.”

Again pouting at having their amusement denied, they obeyed, returning to their human forms in obedience to subsequent direction. The pair looked about for their clothes, only to see them hanging on nearby tree branches.

“It’s warm enough,” he growled at their protest, “And they’ll be better tomorrow for airing tonight.”

“You,” he directed Eldrin, pointing at the fawn, “Roast it. There’s salt here.”

“The fire’s small for roasting, Lord.”

Aldar looked around, decided they were well off the beaten track, unlikely to be discovered. In any case, there were three fighters now.

“Build it up, then.”

Pointing to the other girl, he said. “Fetch the soap.”

Hanging his clothes on a branch, he strolled down the path to the pond and waded into it. The small blonde woman hesitated, saw him stare over his shoulder and hastened to join him. To her relief, the water in the sunlit pond was warm.

Aldar stretched his arms to the side, allowed himself to fall backwards into the water with a loud splash. He emerged and stood, wiped the water from his eyes. He looked at Darla.

“Wash me, then.” He extended his arms and legs, his eyes fixed on her slim figure.

Darla was surprised. This was hardly what she had expected when he had captured her. Tentatively, she wet the egg of soap in the water, worked up a lather and laid the soap carefully on the grassy bank before turning to Aldar. Hesitant, her hands stopped a finger-breadth from his chest.

“Go on.”

She blinked, began to spread the soapy foam over him with her hands. Aldar merely stood, accepting her service.

His back, his arms, his flanks. Her hands lingered over his buttocks, washing, caressing.

Aldar’s eyes narrowed, a smile on his face.

Kneeling behind him, head just above water, her hand slid forward, between his legs, soaped his low-hanging sac. Slim fingers fondled its contents before her hand withdrew, began washing his thighs.

“Wait.”

He dipped under the water, rose. He again shook his head, turned towards her. His length, half-hard, hung just in front of her eyes. A drop of water formed on its end, stretched, then fell off. Soaping her palms again, she looked up, a slight smile forming on her own lips.

Giggling in spite of her nervousness, the girl stood. Deliberately putting on a broad smile and ignoring his sex, she began to run soapy hands over his chest, up over his shoulders and neck, then down over his abdomen. Lingering for only a moment, her fingers trailed lower.

Laughing openly now, her eyes locked on his, her frothy hand surrounding his manhood, fully hard now. She slid her hand back and forth, felt it pulse slightly in her palm.

Laughing himself, Aldar’s hands swept over his chest, gathering soapsuds and, covered with lather, caught her breasts, lifted and squeezed gently. The girl moaned softly as her soft flesh flowed under his long fingers. She felt a knot build within her, a catch in her breath, a soft swelling in her lower lips. His hands rolled and pulled her nipples and the young woman quivered as she raised her lips towards him.

“Lord?” she whispered. Her eyes were very wide.

They grew wider as Aldar began to wash her, firm hands sweeping lather over her chest, stomach, shoulders and back. At his command, she dipped into the pond, rose. Strong arms around her waist lifted her, placed her on the bank, found the soap and continued washing her.

His gentleness was surprising to Darla, her confusion as real as her rapidly-growing enjoyment.

Aldar caught her in his arms, pulled their slippery bodies together. The woman gave a shrill shriek as he again deliberately fell backwards into the water, dragging her down with him.

They surfaced a moment later, water streaming over hair and bare skin. Aldar spun her in his arms, turned her face-down on the bank, pushed her down onto the grass with his body.

Darla gasped as his spongy head probed at her opening, gasped louder as he penetrated slightly, paused, then glided forward into her. His hands sank into her hips, holding her steady as his length moved deeper, filling her liquid depths.

“Lord…” she hissed.

Her fingers clenched the grass on the bank, her soft bottom pushed back against his stomach. Within her, the knot caught fire, its warmth flowing through her body, irresistible as an avalanche, as Aldar took his time with deliberately slow, deep strokes. He closed his eyes, focused on the sensation of his engorged head and rim being caressed by the girl’s silky lining.

One of his hands left her hip, reached around, squeezed a breast before sliding down between her legs.

Aldar’s exploring finger could feel his hardness sliding in between her lower lips. He pulled back his hips and felt his finger on his slippery length as it emerged. His fingertip searched further, found her nubbin, swirled it gently in time to his slow thrusts.

The woman began moaning, low, wordless sounds as her dragon lover’s unhurried, relentless thrusts pushed her lust higher and higher. She gave a cry and fell forward, her soft breasts flattening against the grass. Her body heaved, shook as her orgasm consumed her.

Still Aldar continued to slide in and out with his meat, tease with his finger. The girl’s cries became louder. Her body writhed beneath him, shivering with a level of pleasure she had never known.

Without warning, he stopped, pulled out. A hard palm slapped one cheek.

“Enough,” he said. “Go fetch your sister.”

Orgasmic echoes still possessing her, the woman found it hard to rise.

“She’s not my …” she panted.

“Are you not sisters?”

“No, Lord. Third-cross-cousins.”

“It doesn’t matter. You take over cooking. Send her here, now.”

His flat palm struck her other cheek, sending it rippling beneath the blow. Darla pulled herself upright, turned. She looked down to his jutting organ, just above the water’s surface.

“Yes, my Lord. But …”

“Go.”

Aldar watched the girl’s pale bum sway as she trotted up the path, a hand-print on each cheek. He leaned back against the bank, smiled, blew a small ring of smoke from his nostrils. This was turning out better than he had thought possible.

In a minute, he heard soft footsteps on the path. He waited, not turning around.

Eldrin stopped just behind him. Looking back over his shoulder now, he smiled at her, indicated the soap.

“Wash yourself.”

“Again, my Lord?” she stammered. “Just last night…”

“Wash. In your human form, you will, whenever possible, wash daily.”

Reaching over, he tossed her the soap, watched lazily as she entered the pond, soapy hands spreading suds over face, then arms, then breasts, before she stood on tiptoe to raise her sex above the water. Slender fingers slid between her lower lips.

“There!” he growled, a low command.

Questioning, her eyes rose to meet his.

“There. Don’t stop. Keep stroking.”

Eldrin, her face framed now with dark, wet hair, blushed for perhaps the first time in her life.

“My Lord?” she whispered.

“You heard me,” he replied, “What you are doing. Go sit on the bank. Don’t stop.”

Trembling, the girl obeyed. Her finger trailed along and between her labia, stroking, spreading a slickness which rapidly became more than soap. A long arm took her by the knee, turned her to give him a better view. The girl watched as his hand seized his swollen, slippery cock, stroked it slowly.

Was it this that had left Dara smiling like that when she came to fetch me?   she wondered.

A warm breeze drifted over her breasts. She saw the clear look of approval on his face as her finger circled her clitoris, slid between lips dewed with her own need.

His hands came up to her breasts. She moaned when they caught her full nipples, long and hard now with her desire, pulled gently.

“Don’t stop.”

“Lord …” she gasped.

Her breath began to come faster now. She was unable to meet his eyes, could focus only on the growing joy within her.

Aldar’s hands left her breasts, closed around her waist. Lifting, he laid her half-way over the bank on her back. His knee nudged her legs apart and she could feel the breeze on her exposed sex.

Stepping forward, his tip searched for, found and probed her opening. Eldrin gasped as he pushed forward with his hips, slid full-length into her. He bent down, his body pressing hers against the grass. His mouth ground against hers. Eldrin’s hands closed behind his head, pulled his lips in harder, her tongue playing with his.

The girl moaned as Aldar’s tool distended her sex, pushed her excitement higher, further, brighter. A growing heat built in her breasts and belly, shimmering waves rolling through her before suddenly exploding into an incandescent blaze. She shouted in high ecstasy; her feet splashed in the water as she shook with its power. The girl had had many lovers of her own kind, but had never felt such bliss. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him towards her as her delight flooded over her.

Aldar abandoned his former leisurely strokes and began hammering into the girl, harder, deeper. His balls tight against his body, he finally gave a low cry of his own, buried his full length into her, pinning her to the ground. Eldrin could feel him begin to pulse and surge within her. His body sagged, flattening her breasts under his hard chest.

They lay there for some time, breathing hard, before Aldar withdrew. He stroked his hand softly along her jaw, a small, gentle smile on his face.

The sight of it astonished the girl more than anything that had happened. Tenderness been never been part of sex for her. In her experience, love — even fondness — was unknown; coupling was often conquest, at best convenient mutual release. The dragon’s one soft smile, if not revolutionary, then was at least revelationary.

“Lord?” she whispered, staring wide-eyed.

He smiled, more broadly now, and Eldrin’s mind filled with wonder.

In response, he leaned down, kissed her lips gently and felt her arms come up to lock around him.

xxxxx

Four days into their journey, Aldar continued their quick pace.

“May I ask a question, Lord?” Darla asked.

Without breaking stride, he turned to look at the pale-haired woman.

“Yes?”

“Have you a …  rendezvous with this Reigen? Is there an open challenge? Is he expecting you?”

He stopped. His eyebrows raised in mild surprise. To him, Eldrin had seemed the brighter, more perceptive, of the two.

“No, we have no formal appointment …”

He paused, thought. The two were bound to him; apart from that caution developed over millennia, there was no reason not to tell them.

Very well, then …

“Reigen was my… employer, one of the leaders in this war,” he spoke as if it was still in progress, “I was hired as his soothsayer, which was foolish, for no creature can foretell fate, and also as his magician, which was less so. He and I had a contract, which he broke. Worse, when I asked for my due, he sent his reply back to me written in the blood of my messenger, my servant — my friend.”

The rage in Aldar’s breast surged and his features half-shifted. He snorted a blast of smoke through a long scaled muzzle and the two women backed away, half-expecting his wrath to encompass them.

He took a deep breath and slowly regained his full human form.

“There is a debt, you see. Debts are to be paid — and collected.”

The two shivered at his last word.

“Lord?” ventured Darla, “Why do we walk? You have wings. So do we. We could be atop his dwelling in not very long.”

Aldar sighed.

“Reigen will have doubtless hired another sorcerer,” he sighed, “His new wizard will have cast a screeing charm to give warning of any but birds in the air and there will be strong wards on his castle. I might breach those wards, but only at the cost of alerting Reigen, his new sorcerer and his allies. If we are to enter, it cannot be through force or magic. No, we must be invited in, welcomed.”

“‘We’, Lord?”

“‘We’. Every fall, tradition calls for Prince Reigen to throw his castle gates open for a public masque, an open ball for all to attend. All attending will be in costume, so our wearing a disguise will raise no eyebrows.”

“Hence your hurry, Lord.”

He nodded.

“And we are we to accompany you?”

He stopped in the path, looked at the two of them. There was a smile on his face, but it was not one the prince would be pleased to see.

“You most certainly are. Reigen is… not a gentleman. You two could draw his eyes away from me even if dressed in gunnysacks.”

He chuckled dryly. “You won’t be, if it matters.”

xxxxx

On reaching the capital, Aldar led them down twisting streets, past numerous inns, finally stopping at one which towered over the street. Above the door was a stylized dragon and Aldar chuckled at the impudence of the thing.

The innkeeper, seeing three ragged and hardly clean strays entering, initially attempted to brush them back out into the streets. A small gold coin produced an instantaneous improvement in his perceptions; Aldar and his ‘nieces’ were ushered into an impressive room with a fireplace and actual glass in the window. A very large four-poster bed filled half the room. He sniffed, looked about, decided it was clean enough, feigned mild disapproval before finally accepting it at a reduced price.

Within a few minutes, a sleepy drudge had arrived to light the fire.

Two pallet beds were produced, if only to ease the corroded conscience of the innkeeper’s wife.

The innkeeper, blessing himself for not having insisted the trio leave when he first noticed them, brought in a tray with goblets and a tall flagon of white wine.

“Faltarine, m’Lord,” he smiled, producing a silver goblet and pouring a small sample before passing it to Aldar.

The latter held the goblet to his nose, sniffed. To his sensitive nose, the wine had never been within a thousand leagues of Faltar, but it was undoubtedly the inn’s best. He nodded in acceptance.

“It will do,” he said, “Now, innkeeper, some other things. Soap, hot water, towels, a meal and, oh, a seamstress.”

The man had been nodding as he listened, mentally tallying costs and profits. At the word ‘seamstress’, he looked up, puzzled.

“A seamstress, m’Lord?” A moment later, Aldar could see comprehension sweep across his broad face. “Ah – m’Lord has lost his baggage?”

“Yes,” Aldar lied smoothly, “Our pack train was hit with a flash flood crossing a ford. I and,” here he waved the two girls, “will need new clothes in time to be properly received for the prince’s ball.” His eyes bored into the innkeeper’s.

“Of course, m’Lord, of course!”

“A skilled  seamstress,” Aldar said. “I will also need informal gowns for myself and for both of the young ladies. And footwear and some sundries…” He let his voice trail off.

“Certainly, m’Lord!” The delighted innkeeper, calculating his cut, sent his mind racing through his contacts in the city.

“We will bathe first, eat in an hour, then receive your seamstress. Go now.”

xxxxx

Another drudge produced a shallow tin bathing tub and began ferrying buckets of steaming water from somewhere.

The three bathed in the uncomfortable but serviceable tub, Aldar first. Naked, he lounged on the bed, admired the sight of the two girls as they washed. He had, he admitted to himself, allowed his mind to lean too far to the austere recently. Human form had some benefits and carnality was close to the top of the list.

There was a knock at the door.

“Wait,” he called loudly as he tossed towels at the two wet women, gestured them onto the bed and drawing the bed curtains around them. He wrapped a towel around his waist.

“Come in!” he said. The door opened to reveal the innkeeper with another flagon of wine, followed by two servants bearing trays of food. The man looked around for the girls, noticed the drawn curtains and suppressed a knowing smile.

“I have found your seamstresses, m’Lord,” he said, “Given the short time, I took the liberty of engaging two. I trust that meets with your approval?”

Aldar merely grunted, motioned to the serving girls to put the food down. “One hour,” he said. The innkeeper nodded and left.

xxxxx

The seamstresses had come, had measured and had left. The presence of two young women lodging with a middle-aged man might have scandalized members of almost any other trade, but not seamstresses. Their profession took them into too many back rooms, too many bedrooms for them to be shocked. Indeed, the sketchier the circumstances, the more profitable the sewing. Everybody needs clothing. Everybody pays. It was enough.

Usually.

Aldar had ordered an informal gown of current fashion for each of them, along with a replacement set of traveling clothes. In addition, he’d ordered a formal, full-length court gown for himself, telling the dressmakers to produce something ‘interesting’ for Darla and Eldrin to wear to Prince Reigen’s ball — something ‘eye-catching’.

Having thus stressed the requirement for provocative dresses, Aldar to his inner pleasure found the barely-concealed cynicism of the two seamstresses as satisfying, as comforting as he might ever have wished. If these two harridans thought he was a high-class procurer trying to pander the young women to the notoriously lecherous prince, so would everybody else.

Including, hopefully, Reigen.

xxxxx

An evening meal having been concluded and the landlord having left another flagon of wine, Aldar barred the door behind him and turned to his companions.

“Tomorrow will be stressful for both of you. There will be far more people than you are used to, the scents and noise far more than you have experienced. Control yourselves.”

The two nodded dutifully.

“You will remember that you are bound to me — and to my orders. In particular, you will not  change into your true forms without my specific direction. Is that absolutely clear?”

The women nodded again, rather more solemnly.

“Good,” he smiled, “There will be food and drink — help yourselves, but limit your wine. I want you sober when the time comes.

“There will be dancing. Most of them will be circles, men and women holding hands and stepping to the music. It’s easy to do and you’ll need no lessons. Just make sure you stay together.”

Again the two nodded.

“I will attempt to bring you under the prince’s eyes. If he asks to talk to you, make yourselves inseparable — hold each other’s hands perhaps. I want Reigen to see you as a matched set.”

“And then, Lord?” Darla asked.

Her smile seemed quite real.

Aldar’s voice was soft but laden with ill-concealed bitterness.

“Then you and I will, sooner or later, be alone with him.”

Both women smiled now. These smiles were rather less human.

“Now,” he said, grim smile turning to a happier one, “How to amuse ourselves until tomorrow?”

Eldrin looked first at Aldar, then at Darla.

“Perhaps, Lord, you might make a suggestion?”

For the first time, Aldar thought, the sparkle in her eyes was not predatory. His eyes examined the youthful forms, lingering here and there. His smile grew as he rose, strode to the four-poster bed.

Heavy embroidered bed curtains to keep out drafts hung from wrist-thick oaken rods running between the tops of the bedposts. Impatiently, his hands pushed the curtains to either end of the bed, exposing the mattress and bedding. He patted the bed with his hand.

“Up.”

A pointing finger emphasized the command, then …

“No, on your feet, facing me. Closer — hold onto the rail.”

Obediently, Eldrin and Darla stepped to the very edge of the mattress, upraised hands clutching the upper frame to maintain their balance. Their handhold was high enough to make them stretch just slightly, but even the shorter Darla had no difficulty maintaining a firm grip.

Aldar smiled again and for a second the two women shivered at the momentary and partial emergence of the great lizard, a subtle shift in his facial profile, a brief, baleful gleam in yellow-tinged eyes. Then the dragon had faded and the man returned.

“Good.” The women relaxed more at the absence of reptilian tones in his voice, “Stand still.”

He raised his arms, let gentle fingers trail up their shins, across knees, along the outside of their thighs, fingers on hips, thumbs tracing softly-padded pelvic ridges.

The two glanced at each other as Aldar leaned forward, softly sniffing their skin as his hands flowed over their forms. A hand clasped each by one buttock, squeezed, caressed, pulled their torsos towards him.

Their glances became more puzzled as the very tip of his tongue flowed over Eldrin, up her inner thighs, bypassing her sex to follow the gentle crease between thigh and groin. Moving to Darla, his tongue traced the same course.

The demons had the notoriously high libido of their kind. They were used to sex, to copulation, but gentleness and foreplay were as foreign to their kind as was the concept of love. Mating was — for both parties — generally akin to consensual rape and evaded being worse only because both sexes were capable of sudden, monstrous violence if pushed too far. Orgasms were normal, but were generally taken, not given, and the act was typically rapid and hurried, something to be completed before the other’s own lust and patience faded.

Even after their experiences on the journey, Aldar’s gentle caresses left the two perplexed. Still, his hands felt very good as they tenderly slid up shapely legs, stroked slender waists, cupped firm breasts.

His face moved from one girl’s sex to the other’s as his hands lifted, weighed and mounded their breasts, thumbs circled nipples now taut with their own need. His hands descended, slowly, ever so softly, following their inner thighs before again rising over their stomachs, returning to their breasts, capturing nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling, toying, stretching.

Darla groaned softly as a long tongue explored her labia, swirled around her pearl. A moment later, Eldrin echoed the moan as Aldar’s mouth moved to her. Her hand dropped to his head, but he pulled away, eyes staring up at her.

“Don’t let go.”

The words were low, but full of iron; her hand quickly returned to the rail above her head. His hands pushed the women’s further feet apart, returned to softly fondling their bodies as the man buried his face deeper in Eldrin’s sex.

Darla’s eyes turned to Eldrin, saw her become flushed, watched her chest rise and fall more and more rapidly, noticed the engorgement of the tall girl’s breasts, heard Eldrin gasp softly as a long finger began to explore her depths. And then Aldar had moved to her and Darla’s eyes closed at the gale of sensations under Aldar’s hand, lips and tongue.

Eldrin shivered as his hand squeezed, swept from one breast to the other, felt the heat within her begin to shine. Her lower lips, swollen now, glistened as she shifted her body. She heard a soft cry, saw Darla writhing where she stood, her head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth half-open in an expression of pure bliss.

Aldar pulled away, grasped the two around their waists, lowered them from the bed to the floor. Two soft, feminine forms molded themselves to his, two faces lifted, two mouths opened as his lips sank first to one, then the other, tongues meshing and playing.

Released by his arms, the two sank to their knees.

Two pairs of hands rose to his cock, tickled behind his great balls. Two tongues swept over his length with broad, lingering strokes. The man ran his hands through their hair, clasped their heads to him.

Eldrin shifted, took his crown into her mouth, began licking and bobbing over it as Darla in her turn carefully sucked a testicle into her mouth and pulled away softly with a low pop  before returning to claim the other.

Eldrin pumped the shaft still outside her mouth, harder now and quicker, soft skin flowing over his length. Her hair rose in a copper nimbus as her head danced over him, cheeks hollow with suction.

Close, very close to his pleasure, the man rose suddenly, lifted the two to their feet and pushed them forward, bellies and breasts against the mattress. He fondled firm bottoms with his palms, squeezed, gave each a slight slap, smiled at the ripples his hand raised in their flesh.

He stepped closer, cock in hand, took aim with one hand and slid forward in one long, smooth motion, burying himself to the hilt in Eldrin’s welcoming depths. She gave a soft cry, half-lifted her body off the bed, but fell back as he seized her hips and began to drive into her, his balls against her thighs at each stroke. The girl began to utter a series of high shrieks, her voice growing louder and higher each time Aldar drove home.

Eldrin gave a soft moan of disappointment as he pulled back and slid into Darla. Again he began pounding into her, exultant hardness stretching delighted softness. The girl’s buttocks shivered each time his belly slapped against her bottom.

Darla felt her stomach clench, gloried as her pleasure-swollen nipples were dragged over the rich, embroidered silk of the bed cover, then Aldar drove in particularly hard and her world turned to fluttering, iridescent bliss. His hand ran over her back and bottom, fondling, then he was gone, diving back into Eldrin.

Resuming his pounding, he felt his balls slapping against her bottom, felt her inward muscles ripple over him. Eldrin began sobbing in her joy, her hands trying to pull him in deeper, crying out as his cock surged within her, pulsing and jerking with his own breathless release.

Then the two had been lifted, deposited on the bed. Instinctively, they wrapped themselves about his form, their orgasms gradually fading as the night grew darker.

xxxxx

The new clothes were delivered late the next afternoon.

Eldrin’s and Darla’s jaws dropped when they first inspected the ball gowns. Demons they might be, but their female human sides had a strong influence in some areas and luxurious beauty was one of them. Their squeals of delight in turn delighted the old dragon.

The blonde Darla was garbed in a high-waisted, ankle-length gown comprised entirely of pale lace. It had long sleeves, but a deeply-scooped neckline framed her substantial cleavage. Essentially transparent for much of it, the gown stopped just short of being lingerie only because the holes in the lace closed in in some areas, becoming opaque over breasts, buttocks and sex. A harem-style veil of the same lace completed the outfit.

Eldrin’s dress was of a fabric Aldar had not seen before, some sort of silver lamé. Sleeveless, with spaghetti straps and a deeply-plunging neckline, it flowed over her body, clung to it like a coat of paint, opening up only at the knees to permit her to walk. A red jeweled domino mask completed the outfit.

In both cases, it was clear that the women wore nothing beneath the gowns; the costumes were as much gift wrap, as much open display, as they were clothing. Even with thousands of years to have grown jaded, Aldar could feel a tension in his groin.

For Eldrin and Darla, this was luxury beyond comprehension. Their hands ran over their bodies, smoothing out every crease, before their eyes flashed up to Aldar’s.

“Thank you, Lord!” the two breathed, almost in unison.

The happiness in their voices was palpable.

The dragon smiled.

“The seamstresses said they would send a hairdresser,” he said, “You will be careful not to mind her touch.”

The two nodded, still crowding each other in front of the sole mirror.

“We will dine at the palace, I suspect,” he said, “Be careful of the dresses in the meantime.”

It was only then that he permitted himself to don his own court gown — long, made of a dark pearly satin. He tried on the small black domino mask, laid it aside.

There was a knock at the door, the hairdressers.

xxxxx

“The landlord will have a carriage for us momentarily,” Aldar said, looking at the two.

The latest women had not only trimmed and arranged the girls’ hair, but had applied some minimal makeup – something even more daring for the time than the dresses. A small bottle of perfume had been produced and applied to their earlobes, wrists and cleavage.

Delighted, Aldar had happily overpaid the hairdressers before ushering them out.

In a reversal of currently-popular elaborate hairstyles, Eldrin’s hair had been left long and straight. Caught with a small braid at the angle of her jaw, her lustrous mane flowed like a river over her shoulder and chest, half-concealing her right breast. The combination with her gown shouted of sophistication.

Darla’s long locks remained over her back. Two small braids on either side of her head wreathed the rest of her natural blonde curls before melding into one large braid down her back. The arrangement was more complex than Eldrin’s, but the effect against her creamy skin exposed by gaps in the lace was stunning.

Aldar watched with amusement the two young women preening in front of the mirror. The two were utterly desirable and they knew it. Aldar smiled to himself; their nipples pressing against the dress fabrics were plain to see. Reigen would find them irresistible.

Waiting until he heard the carriage on the cobblestones below, Aldar gathered them into his arms, pulled them in for a strong hug. The two smelled of soap and perfume and Aldar knew how they would be received at the palace.

“It’s time,” he said softly, “Mind your manners.”

xxxxx

Their costumes bought the trio easy access to the castle, the guards giving scarcely a glance to Aldar; their eyes stayed on the two girls.

The hall was filled with people, all but the guards and servants in elaborate costumes. He smiled inwardly as the expanding ring of jealousy, indignation and sensual interest as his women became noticed.

Aldar was also pleased to sense any number of glamour charms being used. He himself had spun a very low-level cloaking charm, one which did little more than disguise his height. So many other spells in one place would make his less noticeable. Between it, the robe and a domino mask, he felt his identity secure.

There was no reception line in the great hall; standing and making polite conversation with all comers was hardly Reigen’s style. Instead, a bewigged flunky merely directed them to table of refreshments.

The prince was easy enough to find in any case. A surge of masked sycophants surrounded him like surf on a shoreside rock. Fleshy and essentially chinless, the only regal thing about Reigen was his garb.

Knee breeches of baby-blue silk fitted over white knee socks and matching low shoes with jeweled buckles. A heavily-embroidered long-skirted blue coat fit over a lilac vest. The coat was fitted with a dozen stars and orders, several of which, Aldar knew, had been created quite recently – including a prominent, diamond-studded ‘Victory’ medal for the just-fumbled war. Reigen wore scent; the chubby hands clutching a gold goblet were fitted with too many rings. His expression managed to encompass being both bored and rapacious at the same time.

Those eyes indeed lit up when they fell upon Aldar and his ‘nieces’. Waving others aside, he smiled almost graciously as the three approached.

“Lord Prince,” said Aldar, bowing. Beside him stood the two carefully-coached women, eyes modestly downcast.

“Rise, sir. We have not, I fear, been introduced.”

“My lord Prince,” Aldar said. “I am a traveler through your pleasant land, Armen by name. May I have the honour of presenting my nieces to you, sir? This young lady is Darla.”

The young woman curtsied, rose. Her eyes remained downcast.

“And this is her sister, Eldrin.”

She, too, curtsied, rose.

The smile on the man’s face brightened.

“Nieces, you say, Armen?”

“Yes, sire. My sister’s daughters.”

The man’s eyes roamed without shame over the two girls, openly eyeing their scarcely-concealed curves. Behind the prince, Aldar saw a look of ill-concealed fury on the face of another woman, presumably one with a prior claim on the prince. Well, that was her problem.

The prince took another deep gulp of wine. His eyes twinkled from over its rim, back and forth between Eldrin and Darla.

“Do you dance, ladies?” he said.

A flunky took the goblet, waved towards the orchestra. Obediently, it struck up a dance. The prince extended his arms to the girls, then looked at Aldar.

“Unless their uncle objects, of course …”

Aldar smiled graciously. “How could one such as I possibly object, sire? It is not every girl who will someday be able to say they have danced with a prince.”

The prince laughed and, holding a girl in each hand, stepped onto the dance floor. Others quickly followed his lead, forming a large circle of dancers, alternating men and women an arm’s length apart.

The men turned, bowed to the women on their right, who curtsied in return. The men turned to their left, bowed and accepted curtsies. Holding hands, the circle skipped left, then right.

Aldar could see Darla and Eldrin trying to keep step. He smiled. It was a simple dance; they would have no trouble.

The men stepped inwards until they were almost touching each other. Each gave a little hop, clapped his hands, spun in place and returned to his place. The women repeated the move.

Holding hands again, both men and women stepped to the center until their shoulders were touching.

Aldar smiled as the dancers moved inward, wondering if Reigen would take advantage … And, of course, he did. His hands slipped around the waists of both girls, slid down and gave each plump bottom a quick squeeze as the circle opened again.

Aldar looked for any sign of anger or Change on their faces, satisfied himself that the two were controlling themselves. The music grew louder, the smile on the face of the potbellied prince wider. The dance continued for some minutes, Reigen never missing a chance to run his hands over the two women.

The dance ended and the dancers broke into a round of applause, couples quickly returning to their seats, relieved to be free of the possibility of similar unwanted attention. A courtier was waiting with the prince’s goblet. Red-faced, the man took a deep drink, looked around. “Here!” he cried. “Wine for my friends, here!” More goblets — pewter in this case — were produced.

“So, Armen,” he wheezed, “Where are you from and whither bound?”

“We are from the high mountains, sire. We are on our way to find employment for my nieces in the valley kingdoms.”

“Employment, you say?”

“Yes, sire. With the lamented death of their parents and my likely departure in the service of my own baron, it will be necessary for them to find something suitable for gentlewomen — governesses, perhaps.”

“Ah, life can be so sad.” There was precious little empathy in the prince’s tone.

Aldar watched, certain of what the prince would say next, curious only as to how he would phrase it.

“Perhaps …” the nobleman said.

“Sire?”

“Life’s vicissitudes can be so very distressing, Armen. Your tale wounds my heart. Perhaps… well, we might possibly find a spot for them here at court.”

Aldar’s smile was no less brilliant for being a sham.

“Truly? That would be most generous of you, sire. What sort of position?”

Not taking his eyes off the girls’ bosoms, the prince replied. “Can they sew? Do they have any musical skills?”

“Sewing is their special skill, sire.” Aldar dodged away from music as there was too much chance of their being asked to demonstrate on the spot.

Behind them, the orchestra restarted. After watching a moment to see if Reigen would be on the floor and deciding not, couples emerged and began another circle.

Reigen waved his hand over one ear.

“Perhaps,” he shouted over the music, “We might consider discussing this in a quieter setting? This ball is beginning to bore me in any case.”

His eyes lingered on the two women’s forms.

“Of course, sire.” Aldar extended his hands to his ‘nieces’, “Come, girls.”

Aldar wondered what plans the prince had for him. Was it to be a strictly cash offer or was it to be a quiet knife in the back?

No matter; his guard was up. He and the two women allowed themselves to be led upstairs, past rows of sentries whose weapons bore the satiny patina of long use. On the way, the prince picked up Ambrose, his seneschal and treasurer. Ambrose had the haunted eyes of a man who had seen far too much.

The prince’s private apartment was as luxurious as it was tasteless, a whore’s concept of heaven.

“Come in, come in!” the prince insisted, “Ambrose, some wine for my guests!”

“You are most kind, sire,” Aldar said.

“But we are all friends here, Armen.”

His eyes again slithered over the figures of the two young women.

“We among friends,” he repeated, “Surely there is no need for masks and such.”

As if to set the example, the prince removed his plumed hat, tossed it to one side and fell into a chair.

“Of course, sire. Again, the Prince is most gracious.”

He turned to the women, nodded.

The two glanced at him, smiled. Darla removed her veil and Eldrin her domino mask. Putting them aside, they again curtsied to the seated figure. The prince hardly noticed that Aldar kept his own mask on.

Ambrose returned with a silver tray holding four goblets, one gold and three silver. Having served his master first, the seneschal then served Aldar and the women. The dragon sniffed, detected nothing dangerous and faked a small sip.

“Again, my thanks, sire.”

“Mmm?” The prince was having some difficulty listening to Aldar, his attention being entirely focused on the two utterly enticing women.

Aldar smiled to himself as he saw the perspiration on the prince’s face.

Who would have thought that these two could appear innocent, demure?

His smile turned wicked when the two moved slightly to stand by the window. There was still enough light outside to silhouette their figures through their dresses.

The prince’s breath caught; he stared for some seconds, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before deliberately turning away from the sight. He rose, took Aldar by the elbow, led him a few steps away from the women.

“How much?” he asked quietly.

“Sire?”

Aldar allowed a little bit of a flush to rise onto his human face.

“Come, come, Armen. We’re both men of the world. You are no more their uncle than you are mine. How much?”

Aldar’s stomach churned for a moment at the goat-like lechery so obvious on the prince’s face.

“Ah,” he said softly, “The Prince is most perceptive.”

He let his words trail off, as if considering how much he might dare ask.

The prince smiled, leaned in.

“How about a knighthood?” he asked, “‘Sir  Arwen’ has a nice ring to it, surely?”

Aldar closed his eyes for a moment, looked down at the man.

“You are most gracious, sire, but ribbons and titles buy no warmth, satisfy no lender.”

“Ah, a true businessman.”

The pudgy nobleman made little effort to hide the scorn in his voice.

“One does as one must, sire.”

“Indeed, which brings us back to my original question, man. How much?”

Aldar thought for a moment.

“Perhaps some information, sire.”

“Eh?”

“In the right places, information can be worth a fortune, sire.”

Aldar allowed himself a thin smile.

The greed on the prince’s face was suddenly tempered with caution.

“What information?”

Aldar leaned in close, whispered.

“Where is Jamry’s head, Reigen?”

He pulled back, removed his mask, allowed the shallow cloaking spell to fall.

“Remember me, Prince?” he hissed.

Horrified, Reigen stumbled backwards as Aldar’s body began to change into its real form. The pudgy figure tripped, fell, scuttled backwards into a corner, terror on his face.

Ambrose darted for the door, a shout building in his lungs. He had scarcely taken a step when a scything blow from Aldar’s forearm caught him across the throat, silencing any cry he might have been contemplating.

Aldar’s hand caught the gagging Ambrose by the neck and lifted his feet off the floor before shaking him like a cat with a mouse. The soft crack of the man’s neck breaking was scarcely audible over the sound of the fire and Ambrose’ face went blank. Ignoring the corpse as it fell, Aldar shrugged off his gown and stood in his naked glory.

He crouched before the quivering man. Scaled hands reached out, seized the man by his jaw, turned his face to stare directly into burning yellow eyes.

“Remember me, faithless prince?” he repeated.

“Aldar? I … I thought … I mean, you’re dead! They said you were dead!”

“Liar,” whispered the dragon. “Oh, sad, sad little man. You can’t even lie well, can you?”

He stood, his head now almost touching the ceiling of the apartment.

“This is not about the money, Reigen. You know that.”

The prince simply stared, not comprehending. What else could it be about?

“This, pathetic worm, this is for Jamry, my servant.”

A look of puzzlement crossed the prince’s face, then his jaw dropped.

Now he knows.  Aldar thought. Good. Understanding the reason for one’s doom is important.

From below, the sound of the orchestra continued, drums and swirling music audible throughout the palace.

The dragon spun on his heels, overcoming the burning bloodlust within him. Instead, Aldar looked down at Eldrin and Darla.

“Change,” he commanded, “This one is yours.”

“But… Lord, what of the Convention?” The hesitancy in Darla’s voice was ill-suited to the clear hunger in her voice as the women stared at the cowering nobleman. “Did you not say…?”

“It is a shame,” the dragon said, his eyes running over the apartment, “A true shame that the prince’s furnishings should have been made of such inflammable stuff.”

A slight puff of flame rolled off his thin lips. His eyes locked onto Reigen as he spoke.

“That he, his seneschal and his guests should have perished in an unfortunate sudden blaze will be believed. Go ahead.”

The room suddenly filled with the stench of death. Needle-sharp talons grated on the floor.

Reigen moaned at the transformation — the two winsome girls he had thought to bed tonight had become living nightmares. The two crouched, tight as wound springs.

Aldar’s eyes flicked back to the figure in the corner. His voice rose above the sound of the music below.

“Feed!”

THE END