The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The plan had been that Gabrielle would return to the castle in exactly the same way that she had arrived, though a rarely-used side door, near the kitchen. The kitchen staff would be preparing dinner for the entire castle, and would be too busy to take notice of one more poorly dressed maiden, especially since she would have Angela to greet her and guide her through.

Of course, the plan had also assumed that she would return well before dusk. When Gabrielle entered the castle kitchen, Angela was pale as a ghost and looking to be near a full nervous breakdown.

“Gabby!” she cried, then looked into the larger kitchen behind her, afraid that people might have overheard. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is everything well?”

“Did I miss dinner?” Gabrielle whispered in kind. ”Was my absence noticed?”

“I covered it,” Angela said. “You are grieving tonight.”

Using her mother’s death as a lie already. Gabrielle felt it sting, but she pushed her feelings aside. A queen can only feel so much, the Lady of the Fire had been fond of saying.

“I wanted to be among my subjects to learn more,” Gabrielle said softly, “but I had not expected to learn anywhere near as much as I did. And it was quite the education.”

“God in heaven,” Angela whispered as they went through the kitchen. “What happened to you out there?”

“Later,” Gabrielle whispered, wary of being seen. “There’s too much to say.”

In the bedchamber, Angela looked with awe at the dress. “It looks like you were dragged through the dirt!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Gabrielle said from the wardrobe, as she searched for a proper garment to wear to dinner. “At least, I don’t think it was. It’s still rather hazy.”

“What’s still hazy? What happened?”

“I’d enjoyed myself all afternoon, and had just about had my fill of the adventure, when I came along this group of traveling players putting on a show in the South Square. The last among them was this woman, calling herself the Mistress of Slumber, and she ... did something to me.”

Angela gaped. “What did she do? Are you all right?”

“I’m not sure what she did,” Gabrielle said. “My memory of it is like being asleep, sort of.”

“Sort of?” Angela was growing more pale by the second.

“I was so relaxed that I couldn’t control myself. I remember how it felt, but what actually happened ... it’s all a fog.”

“I think I’ve heard of this woman,” Angela said. She did not leave the castle as often as she would like, as was the burden of being Handmaiden, but she received much information about the outside world from the servants. “That group of players has been in the kingdom for several days, and she closes out every show. They say she’s a witch who puts people under her spell and makes them cluck like a chicken or howl at the moon!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Gabrielle said, pulling on one of her more modest house-dresses. “I felt like a different person. Still me, but different. I can’t explain it.”

“And she kept you under her spell until after dusk?”

“No. I had to find her, after the show. I needed for her to explain herself.”

Angela went to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. Her eyes had gotten saucer-wide. “You went back to her? Gabby, you must stop taking such risks! You could be under her spell even now!”

Gabrielle shook her head. “I don’t think it works that way. I wanted to know how it does work — that’s why I went after her, that’s what I wanted her to explain — but instead of explaining, she just put me to sleep again.”

Angela gave her a skeptical look that she had seen all throughout their shared childhood. “If you ask me, you’re lucky to be here. You could have been her slave all night.”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that,” Gabrielle said again. “I don’t remember the details, but I know how I felt, and I never felt like her slave.”

“Why are you so calm about this!“ Angela said. She was not shouting, but as Gabrielle’s mother had liked to say, a shout was in the neighborhood. “You don’t know how it was for me, in that kitchen with the sun low in the sky and you nowhere in sight! I had such horrible thoughts!”

Angela blinked hard, the closest she would ever get to tears. Crying was not her way. “And the worst — I’m so ashamed to say this, m’lady — the worst thought was not for you, but for myself! Everyone would believe that I had betrayed you...”

“Oh, Angela,” Gabrielle said, and now it was her turn to do the embracing.

Eventually the queen pulled back and looked Angela in the eye. “It’s a good thing we did today,” she said. “It was dangerous, but it was good, because I learned. I learned about the people, about my kingdom, about myself. And that’s what we wanted, yes?”

Angela nodded. “Yes, it was.”

“And I know you may not like this, but I want to meet that woman again. The Mistress of Slumber. Whatever talent she has, this kingdom could benefit from it. It will make me a better queen if I can know what she knows.”

“It seems quite the dangerous risk, Gabby.”

Gabrielle smiled at her. “That’s why I have you, isn’t it?”

Visitors to the kingdom always believed that the royal family dined on nothing but chicken. In truth, this was rarely the case, as Vessian birds were far more valuable alive than after the slaughter. Instead, that night the kitchen had prepared a magnificent salad for Her Majesty, deploying the finest lettuce and tomatoes purchased from the Saxons.

There were two guests for dinner: the Minister for Agriculture and Percy Runier. They had arrived uninvited, and Gabrielle might have turned them away, but after the disastrous Council meeting she decided she needed to save face. If she had been in the castle that afternoon she might have been able to deal with them then, and not forced to eat with them later: just another unforeseen consequence of her little jaunt that day.

They’d gotten right down to matters before anyone’s plates were even clean. Such was the consequence of salad. “Begging Her Majesty’s pardon,” the Minister said, “but after our gathering this morning, I had hoped to offer some advice on the finer points of our trade with the nearby kingdoms.”

Gabrielle suppressed a grimace. That morning, the Minister had reported a batch of bad chicken feed from Spain, and asked for advice on the compensation he should request from the Spanish kingdom that had sent it. The queen’s first guess at the right amount had, to the obvious chagrin of everyone in the room, been wildly off the beam. As had her second guess. And her fifth. “I thank you, Minister,” she said. “I had hoped to learn more about this matter on my own, prior to assuming the crown. Fate was unkind, I suppose.”

“We all wish for more time, do we not?” Runier said. “For our loved ones and ourselves alike.”

“Aye,” Gabrielle said. There was a moment of respectful silence from the two men, in honor of the Lady of the Fire. In the midst of that silence, Angela kicked her on the ankle, under the table. Gabrielle did not need to look over to know the meaning of that kick; Angela’s thoughts on the handsomeness of the Runier men had been expressed many times since she’d come of age.

“Yes, well, this is my concern, Your Majesty,” the Minister said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Our time is short, and only so much of it can be spent on building a better industry for our children.”

They spoke for well over an hour, and it was not nearly as painful as it could have been. There was condescension, because they were older than her. But there was also sympathy for the difficult position that she was in, and respect for the political challenges that she would face as the head of state.

Also, there was math, which had ever been her favorite amongst the lessons she had received as a girl. Runier had focused on this part, for his knowledge of the subject outstripped even that of the tutor she’d had as a princess. He would draw her attention in the middle of one of the Minister’s monologues with a gentle touch on the arm, and offer a brief lesson on the theory involved. Gabrielle received a grant many kicks on the ankle from Angela during these lessons.

She bid them both farewell, and after they left she turned to Angela, who was gathering oils for the bedchamber torches. “How did I do?”

“Better than this morning, by the looks of it,” Angela said. “How do you think you did?”

“Not bad,” Gabrielle said, “considering I never did remember the Minister’s bloody name.”

That was the last warm day of the year. The temperatures dropped that night, to a degree that had fooled all the almanac-makers and signaled the first thrust of winter. As the temperature dropped outside, the Queen of de Vess dreamed.

Gabrielle was in a dark corridor. There was a torch burning, far down the hall, providing her just enough light to intuit how far away the walls and ceiling were. It was drafty in the corridor and she was wearing the scullery maid’s dress with no shawl. Gooseflesh was beginning to crawl over her breasts, and she had decided to walk towards the torch when a voice spoke to her, saying, “Are you lost?”

Gabrielle looked down. A large black cat was at her feet, nuzzling her ankles. She knelt to pet it, and it turned to look at her. Its eyes were a deep blue, like she imagined the ocean to be in her happier dreams. “I think so,” she said, somehow knowing (as we always know in our dreams) that it was the cat who had spoken to her.

“You should go,” the cat said. It spoke without opening its mouth. “Back to the castle with you.”

The voice was familiar, as were the words it was saying. “Prudence?”

“I’m sorry,” the cat said. “I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Morphelia.”

“The Mistress of Slumber,” Gabrielle said. As if in response, the cat leapt onto her shoulders, nuzzling her neck and her cheek, purring all the while. “Am I asleep?”

“Do you think you’re asleep?” The purring did not change the cat’s voice.

“I don’t know,” Gabrielle said. Like so many of us, she was incapable of seeing her dreams as dreams while she was having them. Her brow furrowed. “I feel strange. Something is strange. I don’t know.”

At that moment there was a rumble, something immense shifting its weight nearby. Gabrielle stood. “What was that?”

“Don’t worry,” Morphelia the cat said. “He’s just a restless sleeper.”

“Who’s He?” Gabrielle asked. She looked the other way down the hall, but all she saw was another torch, about as far away as the first one. No doors. No corners or turns.

“Anyway, He’s in the next room,” the cat said, as though it had not heard her question. “He can’t see you.”

“Maybe I should go, all the same,” Gabrielle said. She wasn’t scared, exactly. Moving on just seemed the wisest decision. She began walking down the hall. The cat managed to stay perched on her back and shoulders, somehow; who knows how cats can do such things? It continued purring as she walked, the sound and motion a warm, furry massage on the back of her neck.

“Oh, it’s too late to go,” the cat said. “Sometimes people slip into the dark places without any effort from me.”

There was something familiar there, in those words. But it wouldn’t come, so she kept walking, the cat all but wrapped around her neck. She didn’t mind it at all, it was like a furry shawl to keep her warm against the draft. Although it’s not easy walking with a cat like this, she thought. She’s so heavy. Must be a fat little kitty.

There was another great rumble, filling the entire hall. Gabrielle didn’t mind, because he was in the next room, so he couldn’t see her. The kitten purred, a warm caress from her shoulder blades to her collarbone.

“His spell is so strong,” the cat said.

“Mmm,” Gabrielle said. It didn’t really matter what the cat said. Just keep walking.

“You should rest,” the cat said. “You’ve been walking for so long.”

The wisp of a thought (So long? But I just started!) passed through Gabrielle’s mind, but she couldn’t hold on to it long enough to say more than “Hmm?“

“It’s been a long walk,” the cat said. “Rest.”

Gabrielle looked. The torch did not appear to be any closer than it had when she’d started. It would be a long walk. Time to rest.

She sat cross-legged on the stone. The cat hopped off of her shoulders and into her lap. It told her, “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gabrielle said absently. And it was better. The stone was more comfortable than she had expected. There were few things in life better than a nice warm kitty in your lap. It would be easy to rest here.

“Do you think you’re asleep?” the cat asked. Its eyes were blue and deep. So deep.

“Yes,” Gabrielle said.

Angela woke just before dawn. It was cold in her bedchamber, that awkward sort of cold where you wanted to get out of bed to do something about it, but you also wanted to stay under the covers where it was a little bit warmer.

“Bloody hell,” she murmured. She had to get up. she knew she had to get up. A month ago she had been one step ahead of a princess; now, she had to be two steps ahead of a queen. Such tasks were not done by layabouts.

Someone banged on her door hard enough to make her jump. “Miss Angela!” a female voice pleaded from the other side. “Are you up?! Please wake up!”

“I’m up!” Angela called out, leaping out of bed. The Handmaiden was not officially in charge of the servants in the castle, but Angela had known the Queen for so long that the servants all offered her the respect that foot soldiers would offer to a general. They would bang on her door only in the event of an emergency.

She threw on a robe over her nightgown, and was still cinching it tight as she opened the door. On the other side was a young maiden wearing a work dress and an apron. Angela recognized her as one of the kitchen servants, the one with the flowery sort of name. Lily, maybe, or Rose. “Miss Angela, you have to come quickly! There’s a problem with Her Majesty!”

I was a fool to let Gabby leave the castle yesterday, Angela thought. “What’s wrong with the Queen? Is she missing?“

“No, Miss Angela,” Lily-or-Rose said. “She’s ... well, you should see for yourself.”

Lily-or-Rose led her down into the kitchen. There were supposed to be a half-dozen servants already inside, preparing the kitchen for the day’s work. The servants were there, but not a one of them was working. They were staring at the kitchen’s newest inhabitant.

Queen Gabrielle was standing in the doorway that led from the kitchen to the dining hall. Her back was straight and her neck erect, but her shoulders sagged and her arms hung at her sides. She wore her nightgown and nothing else, the sheer Turkish silk leaving only a few of the queen’s particulars to the imagination. The crown was not on her head, and she looked like she had come straight from her bed.

“How long has she been here?” Angela whispered.

“I’m not sure, Miss Angela,” Lily-or-Rose whispered back. “No one wants to admit that they didn’t notice her at first.”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

The young servant girl looked scandalized by the very thought. “She’s the Queen, miss! We’re just the kitcheners.”

“Bollocks,” Angela whispered. She strode across the kitchen floor, calling, “Surprised to see you up so early, Your Majesty! Do you need something?”

No response. Indeed, there was no sign that Gabrielle had even heard her. Angela stopped a few feet away from the Queen, then side-stepped across her line of view. The gray eyes were pointed straight ahead, and they did not follow her.

“M’lady? Is something wrong?”

Still no sign.

Angela abruptly took a long step forward, putting herself right into the Queen’s personal space. Had a subject stepped so close to the Crown, they’d be in irons before the sun set.

“Gabby!” she said, quietly enough that she hoped none of the other staff would hear the nickname. “Wake up! You’re scaring me, so wake up right now!”

“Nnn,” Gabrielle said. Her lips didn’t move and the eyes stayed glassy, but she’d made a sound. Angela would have wagered her life on it. Her best friend was trapped in there somehow.

Angela’s father had been the sort who was constantly on the lookout for witches and faeries and bridge trolls. One of the very few things he had taught her was, there existed only one way to free someone from a spell, short of finding a priest to do it for you. He’d also said it didn’t always work, but frankly, Angela was out of ideas otherwise.

She grabbed Gabrielle’s left earlobe between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted hard. As she did this, she drove her thumbnail into the soft flesh of the lobe itself, scratching deep.

Gabrielle inhaled sharply, gasping for breath, in a way that would have been familiar to anyone who had been in the South Square the day before. Her entire body started, pulling her ear in such a way as to draw blood from the scratch Angela was making, and she cried out.

Angela released the earlobe and grabbed Gabrielle by the shoulders. “My Queen!” she said, having just enough wherewithal to avoid the nickname. “Is everything all right?”

For a horrible moment the gray eyes were still blank, then they moved in their sockets and seemed to spot Angela for the first time. “Angela! What... Why did you...”

As one hand went to her ear to see if she was bleeding (she was, though not badly), Gabrielle became aware of what she was wearing. Soon thereafter, she became aware of the entire kitchen staff staring at her. Angela could spot precisely that moment because it was the moment Gabrielle’s face turned bright crimson. She pulled Angela close and hissed into her ear, “Get me out of here.”

“Well, I’ve only known you since we were six,” Angela said sarcastically. “Did a lot of sleepwalking before then, did you?”

They were in the Queen’s bath chamber. Gabrielle had insisted on a hot bath, as if to scrub the shocked looks of the kitchen staff out of her mind. Angela tended the fire, to keep the water just short of scalding. “No, I didn’t,” Gabrielle said, “but we have to tell the Ministers something. People sleepwalk. It’s a normal thing that happens.”

“My father never thought that,” Angela said. “He thought it was the first sign that the fae had grabbed a hold of one’s mind. And we know there are a lot of people out there who think like him.”

“We only have to convince the Council,” Gabrielle said.

“No, we only have to find that vile enchantress and put the fear of God into her until she leaves town!”

“Angela, you can’t believe Prudence did this.”

“Oh, ‘Prudence,’ is it now? You’re that close?”

“Have a care,” Gabrielle said. “That’s your queen you’re speaking to, no matter how young she was when you met her.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.” Angela’s sarcasm had turned bitter, but she thought she was showing good restraint by not diving into the bath and slapping Gabby’s face soundly. “This is different than my father babbling about grotesqueries that he had never seen in the flesh. A hundred people watch that woman enchant every day! I should ignore that?”

“No, Angela. No, you shouldn’t.” Gabrielle splashed water into her face. It was hot enough to make her face sting, and that was good. Stinging was what she needed right now. “I think you should go into the South Square and find that woman. Tell her that Amanda Darling sent you. Talk with her in private, tell her what happened. Tell her that I must meet with her, now.”

“And what if she tries to enchant me?”

“She’ll have no need to, if you are your regular charming self.”

“And the Council?”

“If anyone else asks, we say that I have started sleepwalking because I am upset about my mother’s ... passing.” Her voice shook a little on the last word. “It’s close enough to the truth.”

Angela made an effort to divorce the sarcasm from her voice. She would make one last sincere push. It was that important to her. “Gabby. I do not understand why you do not see the danger here. This woman has had a glimpse into your secret heart, has done some damage there, and your solution is to expose yourself still further to her.”

“Not my secret heart, Angie,” the queen said, matching her nickname for nickname. “She saw something else. Something I can’t even see. And if there’s any damage in there, I’m not sure it came from her.”