The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“She will be here soon, my Prince.”

Felic stared out over the valley. “I know.” He squirmed slightly.

“You have doubts?”

Felic hesitated, then turned to the speaker. “No. Definitely not.”

They smiled, or... seemed to smile. The castle spirit had a humanoid form—feminine if one squinted—made up of countless blue ribbons caught in the whirling currents of its ‘body’. Only their eyes, a brilliant green, conveyed some sense of mood. “No, my Prince.”

Prince Felic bit his lip, then glanced out over the balcony again. Far below the great Castle Azure, hewed of smooth blue-gray stone and inscribed with runes on every available inch, the city of Azure hummed with life as townsfolk went about their days. Azure was a verdant landscape, with as many trees as buildings—some with buildings built around or inside the trees, in fact. The valley was vibrant with bright greens and deep blues...

... and the unhallowed reds cast by the distant moon upon the waters.

He swallowed. The moon peeked just over the northern mountains, a pale crimson in the daylight. The mark of the Queen’s first conquest over their world.

“She’ll be here soon?” he asked. His lips were dry. “You’re sure?”

He felt cool metal nudged into his hand. He turned and smiled in thanks as the castle spirit nodded. Felic took a swig of the cool spring water. “We cannot see beyond the castle, of course, but we are speaking with the Captain right now. They have been sighted near the city gates. An hour, perhaps, or less. That is all you have.”

“Thank you.” Felic drank heavily to hide his nerves. “And... when she arrives. We will be ready?”

“As ready as we can be. The question is, will you be?”

Felic stared up at the pink moon. Even staring at it too long was said to be dangerous—they said it could fill your mind with the Queen’s madness, make you do terrible things if you slept beneath it. But a Prince could not be seen to show superstitious fear.

“It’s the Parliament’s decree,” he said simply. “I can only obey.”

“Ah. Naturally.”

Prince Felic turned and exchanged a wry look with the spirit. The Parliament had not issued an independent decree in years—not since the Queen had arrived to the north and declared war upon their world. His mother, Queen Felicia, had believed that democracy was more of a peacetime practice, and had made reforms accordingly.

The Parliament was a paper tiger, a paperwork dragon. Power had to be concentrated in one strong voice. His mother had been that voice once. Now he was. Now he had to be.

“Horace is coming,” the spirit said. “He is going to try to talk sense into you, I think.”

“My Prince!” called a rough voice. Felic turned slowly, adjusting his simple—but trailing—purple cloak, to see the Captain of the Royal Guard racing down the hall towards the balcony. Horace was red-faced, breathless. He had probably run this far on impulse.

A handsome man in his prime, Horace had earned his stars under the Parliament’s rule, and had grown old under the reign of ‘Queen Felicia the Determined’, and the rule of war under her leadership. His dark dreadlocks were streaked with gray like steel cables, and his eyes had a perpetually haunted quality, as if he were always a little out of place. Horace had earned his current rank in battle against the Queen in the northern theater, largely by being the only commander to make it out alive and whole.

“Captain Horace,” Felic said, barely holding in a sigh. “What news?”

“Word is that she has already breached the gates.” Horace was already panting as he stopped at the entrance. He leaned against the wall for support. “My Prince, I must... must counsel against this. Rainvale has never needed to resort to consorting with... with...“

“With the Wildflower Kingdom.” Felic gave a tight smile.

“They are our direct adversaries in trade.” Horace straightened. “And their ways are in stone and mortar, not rune and green!” He spoke the old mantra as though he’d been practicing it the whole way up. “The old Parliament would never...“

“We were rivals once,” Felic said, nodding. “But they are our fellow adversaries against the Succubus Queen.“

“But to settle for this... this humiliating...“

“Captain Horace.” Prince Felic mustered all his mother’s teachings into a weary frown. “Are the men unhappy with my decision?”

Horace’s shoulders rose, then slumped. “No, My Prince,” he muttered. “They are—we all have full confidence in your strategy.“

Outliving the rest of his contingent meant that Horace was also one of the only Royal Guards who remembered a time when a royal’s word was not the law and religious dogma of the nation. It made Horace rather nice to talk to, in Felic’s view, but there was a time and place.

“But?” Felic prompted.

Horace rubbed his forehead. “Prince Felic, my concern is not with alliance. My concern is with the... unfair nature of this alliance.“

“Captain Horace,” the spirit said, their voice resonating with magical energies, “the Wildflower Kingdom is offering us full access to their arcane libraries, direct aid in acquiring weaponry, and a full mutual defense pact. Considering how our so-called ‘allies’ to the south have ignored our calls entirely of late, this is hardly a neglectful response.”

“But the choice they’ve made...” Horace looked like spiders were crawling under his armor. He stared at Felic desperately. “My Prince, it is beneath you.“

Felic grimaced. Speaking of doubts. “It is a political marriage, Captain.”

“To a seventh-born!” Horace shook his head. “Not only is she nowhere near succession—whereas you are set to be king—a seventh-born, Your Highness!“

“An auspicious number,” the spirit said primly. The spirit tended to be a bit sensitive about criticisms of witchcraft, which was, considering their origins, understandable.

Horace wasn’t having it. “A witch’s number. There’s a reason we only even heard they had a seventh child two years ago. It is a mark of shame, of danger. Especially so soon after... after the Queen’s arrival.” He grimaced and sketched a quick rune upon his forehead.

In Rainvale, there were two ways to refer to a Queen. One way was with reverence and respect, fear and adoration, and this was how to refer to the late Queen Felica. She was called Queen Felicia, or the Determined Queen. Sometimes ‘Old Bullet’, if you were old enough to remember her campaign into the Wildflower Kingdom. Nobody ever called her the Queen anymore.

And then there was the Succubus Queen. There were all kinds of nicknames for her—Moon Temptress, Crimson Lady, Miss Sweetness. Her followers called her simply Lady Love. Most just called her the Queen.

Felic said nothing. He glanced up at the moon, then at his feet. His nerves were returning, and he had to conceal them them as best he could. There were only two people in this entire castle who could tell when the great Prince was hesitant, and one was the literal castle, and the other was Captain Horace.

“Your word is law, my Prince,” Horace said carefully. “But it is a mark of disrespect. You are first-born, and known to your people as an unrivaled leader.”

“What is so wrong about witches?” the spirit asked, still sounding a bit catty. “We aren’t like the Wildflower Kingdom. We do not fear magic.”

“But they do, and that’s what makes it disrespectful,” Horace said impatiently. “And I mean no offense, Spirit, but magic has no place in the throne room! We should refuse any offer below first-born. They cannot pressure us when the Succubus Queen will no doubt be at their doorstep the moment we fall.“

“Fortunate for them she has not already. The spirit glanced out over the balcony—an empty void to their limited senses, Felic knew. “Fortunate for them that the succubi still fear to fly across the Balm.”

The Balm was a river springing from Rainvale’s peaks and winding around the Wildflower Kingdom’s capital, and the main reason for their historical rivalries with the Wildflower Kingdom of the plains below. It was ruled by the sirens, friends to the Kingdom. Neither Old Bullet nor Moon Temptress had ever managed to land troops on the far side that weren’t drooling and begging to listen to just a few more sweet songs.

“Anyways, my Prince.” The spirit’s ribbons formed a billowing skirt so it could curtsey. “Your bride has arrived at the castle gates.”

“Ah. Excellent.” Felic mindlessly accepted the refilled goblet from the spirit to wet his chapped lips. “Then let us meet our guests. They should not be kept waiting—seventh-born or not, a noble-born lady has a certain... delicacy that needs accommodation after a week on the road.”

“Fuck, I am starving.“

“My lady...”

“No, I mean, seven gods above, I am hungry as a mountain bee.” Princess Jenne shot the castle guards a bitter glance. “I don’t suppose there’s any manner of...”

“Refreshments will be provided when the Prince is here,” the lead guard said primly, not meeting her gaze. There were seven of them—a number Jenne had noticed the valley folk were quite fond of for special occasions. Seven towers for Castle Azure. Seven tapestries on each wall of the hall they’d walked down to reach this waiting room. Seven doors leading out. It felt rather serendipitous, really. Like they’d been waiting for her all these years.

It was a nice fantasy.

Jenne shot her four attendants a weary look. “He keeps you all on short leashes, does he?”

The guards were as stiff as statues.

One of her attendants—Myrtle, a tall, slender blonde chosen for this journey primarily for her experience with valley folk ways—leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You will find that this is common in the kingdom, my lady,” she murmured. “Ever since Queen Felica’s rule.”

Jenne’s nose wrinkled slightly. Old Bullet had tried to conquer them once, long ago. It hadn’t taken. “So they’ll just do everything he says, is that right?”

“Mm.”

Princess Jenne sighed. She stopped pacing and sat back down in her chair. This required a slight hop, as Jenne was rather slight. At just below five feet tall, she was the shortest in her family, but had the widest hips and the worst reputation. She brushed back her wavy black hair—done up in a plump, bouncy topknot—folded her arms and waited.

She remembered what she’d been told with crystal clarity. The Prince is already willing, but if you fail to do anything less than charm him, the whole alliance can still crumble. His word in the valley is law. Nothing you or your attendants can do or say will stop them from rejecting you if that is his decision. Do not fail.

Prince Felic was like his mother. A despot. A warrior king in the making, one who could resume his mother’s mission at a moment’s notice. The hope was that this marriage would soften him slightly

But as the guards made way, and the warrior king in the making entered the room, Jenne blinked.

Oh.

He was... well, quite a handsome fellow, wasn’t he? Tall and chiseled, fit and yet... soft, somehow, in a way that pleased her. His dark hair was curly and nicely-styled, and his big green eyes—it was so rare back home to see a pair of genuinely human green eyes—and such a gentlemanly posture. She knew the men of Rainvale were expected to follow strict codes (after all, with the exception of the late Queen, men were expected to generally rule), and that cool, clean regality complimented a pretty face so nicely.

Jenne swallowed, feeling her face heating up. Do not fail.

She was pretty. Prince Felic felt his heart quicken slightly. He hadn’t expected that, from the stories. Sure, the diplomats had called her a great beauty, promised a spellbinding testament to the female form, but with all the rumors, he’d half-expected some kind of half-skeletal necromancer. The diplomats hadn’t mentioned her lovely round face, those bright, amber-brown eyes...

Prince Felic’s breath caught as he realized he was halfway to ogling her impossibly wide hips—so amply shown off by those scandalously form-fitting violet pants. He coughed and bowed very low. Lower than he’d planned, really. “My Lady.”

“Oh, bless you!” Lady Jenne sprang to her feet and bowed as well. “My Lord, Prince Felic, I presume?”

“Ah. Yes.” Prince Felic rose. “I am Prince Felic, of the—” He halted just a moment, searching for the standard introduction—the territories he was supposed to list off—gods damn it, why was his mind so scattered—

“And I am Lady Jenne,” Jenne said, smiling brightly at him. Her voice was bright and chipper—and quick. “It’s an exquisite pleasure, Prince Felic, really, a gift beyond compare! Ah, to finally meet the great ruler of Rainvale. Such a gift.”

“I... yes, yes, of course.” Oh, gods, did I just say ‘of course’ it’s a gift to meet me? Felic’s face flushed slightly. “Th-That is to say, the feeling is mutual. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess Jenne.“

He remembered to emphasize ‘princess’. That had been an early decision—by Wildflower Kingdom rules, she wasn’t actually designated as such, as she had no real claim to the throne. Calling her ‘princess’ would both flatter her and exaggerate her importance, which might... might help in future negotiations. Or something like that.

It was hard to focus on all the legalities and niceties he had been educated on when Jenne was talking, though, and she talked fast.

“Oh, so kind! Your castle is a lovely sight after a week’s travel, I must say, and your city’s a delight. It’s a divine measure of your rule, I think, really, to see so many smiling faces on your faithful subjects.“

“I... thank you.” Felic cleared his throat. It was time to invite her to the feast. The kitchen has been tasked with creating the most exquisite feast imaginable—hopefully worthy of one of your—

“And the loyalty of your servants!” she went on, positively gushing. “It leaves me dazzled, my Prince! You truly have a piece of paradise woven for yourself and your subjects here, and I just know I’ll treasure this visit for the rest of my life. Indeed, I pray I might have occasion to return.” She winked.

He laughed slightly. “Princess Jenne, you are very... very kind. Now, the... the, ah, ki—”

“The runework is remarkable, too. Really, very advanced. My head thrums with its power.” Jenne gave a funny half-smile, putting a finger to her lips and swinging her hips to one side. “Well, anyways, I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely famished.“

“Ah. Yes.” Felic nodded quickly, mind racing to keep up. “Yes, the kitchen has been...”

“Oh, how rude of me,” Jenne exclaimed, slapping her forehead. She glanced back at the four women with her—unlike them, they were dressed in lovely diaphanous red skirts and wore fairly minimalist silk wrappings for tied tops. Felic had paid them little mind, but he’d noticed his guards having a bit more trouble sticking to that level of discretion, as they were all quite... generous. “These are my attendants, by the way—Myrtle,” she indicated a tall bespectacled blonde, who gave a gracious smile and curtsey, “Amanya,” she indicated a shortstack brunette, who giggled and curtseyed, “Nualia,” she indicated a particularly busty woman with lavender hair, who was already curtseying very low, “and Lleva.”

The last attendant, a redhead with the build of a barmaid and the eyes of a firepit, smiled. She gave a slight curtsey, but never broke eye contact with Felic.

Something about that smile made Felic feel uneasy. It was a bit... too friendly. He quickly looked back to Jenne.

Jenne was talking again, of course. “Now, I know what you’re thinking—only four attendants to cross the mountains? Heavens to Hyacinth! But as it happens, I only left with three originally! Yes, we were lucky enough to happen upon a friendly lot of merchants embarked on the same journey as we, and fortune smiled on us when we encountered Lleva—a tailor of unspoken talent!”

“I aim to please My Lady,” Lleva said quietly, smiling down at the floor.

“Indeed! And as my wardrobe was, well, always a little bit lacking...” Jenne pulled a face. “Would you believe I was originally going to be wearing my older sister’s wedding dress? Absolutely unacceptable, especially for such a long trek, and quite forward at that to show up wearing a wedding dress, no?“

Felic laughed slightly, his cheeks heating up. Forward indeed.

She laughed as well. “No, no, it wouldn’t do. So we hired Lleva on.”

She paused, seemingly for breath.

“The roads are very perilous,” Felic cut in, smiling slightly. He knew it should bother him how rude Jenne was being, but it was honestly a little refreshing. He had so few people ever talk to him normally, and here she was disregarding all etiquette and just... talking. Was it even rude? Or was this just how normal people spoke to one another?

“Oh, indeed!” Jenne nodded eagerly. “But those merchants were well-guarded, and Lleva felt quite safe with us.”

“That’s not what I...” He trailed off as he noticed Jenne’s weighty gold earrings jangling slightly from her nodding, drawing Felic’s attention to two notched, pointed ears.

Witch ears, grown longer and longer from spells cast.

Of course she had no fear of bandits. Felic cleared his throat, recovering some nervousness. “The kitchens have been... cooking a great deal,” he said.

“Oh, exquisite! That’s just splendid.” Jenne beamed. “You have the loveliest castle I’ve ever seen! Please, please, I would love to see its banquet hall! The very thought has me weak at the knees and ready to drop and propose on the spot.“

Felic laughed despite himself. He beckoned grandly. “Then you shall see it.”

“... and so in the end, as it turned out, the lady wasn’t even a dryad!” Jenne shook her head ruefully. “She was just a, ah, woman of easy virtue who’d gotten cursed and decided to make her new living as a confidence woman.”

Felic giggled. “The farmer must have been furious.”

“Oh...” Jenne gave a sly smile. “Fortunately for the lady, the farmer was rather unable to complain by that time. The curse’s pollen had him terribly distracted. I got both of them to promise to leave each other be in exchange for unweaving that nasty little spell.”

“Princess Jenne, you are very kind.”

“Am I?” Jenne winked. “I may or may not have been the one who cursed her to begin with.“

Felic nearly choked on his wine. “No!”

“Yes!” Jenne raised her glass with a wide, wicked grin. “Oh, yes, I fear that lady had rather deceived one of my less cautious broth—”

“My Lady!” hissed Myrtle, glancing up abruptly from her own conversation.

A pause.

“Mm.” Jenne blinked innocently. “I’m afraid I can’t quite recall the rest of that story, my Prince.”

“Felic is fine.” He winked and raised his goblet. “We are equals, here, my Princess.”

He’d drunk a little more than he’d planned, though not enough to become truly tipsy. He gazed at Jenne from across the banquet table, a little drunk on something that wasn’t wine. Decorum dictated that the fiances must sit on opposite ends—especially if they were to be seen as equally powerful royalty. And Felic was determined to flatter her, to recover from his earlier stammering. It seemed to be working.

“Oh.” Jenne batted her eyelashes, visibly blushing. “Felic, then. But... I do hope you don’t mind if I still like to hear you say ‘My Princess’ on occasion. My Prince.”

Felic knew he was blushing too. He raised his goblet higher. “To My Princess, Princess Jenne,” he declared. “And to our kingdoms’ lasting peace.”

The two Parliament leaders, several wealthy landowners, Captain Horace, and the four attendants were the only others at the feast, and only two of the latter—Myrtle and Nualia—had chosen to sit down. The other two were chatting with the guards and kitchen staff, Amanya giggling as Lleva and a chef shared some apparently very funny joke.

At his call for a toast, he noticed the two heads of Parliament and one of the landowners give a jolt. They were rather red-faced, now that he thought about it. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one drinking more than he’d planned. Perhaps they were having trouble staying discrete when sitting right next to the witty Myrtle and demure Nualia, who had proven gifted conversationalists.

Or perhaps they were unused to women from the Wildflower Kingdom, who occupied a much more prominent place in their own society and were happy to be flirty and forward. But they all raised their glasses for the toast.

Jenne smiled widely. “It pleases me to hear you say such things, My Prince,” she said, sipping her wine. “And your people’s loyalty really does do you credit.”

“Yes.” Felic nodded automatically as he noticed how brightly one of the kitchen staff was blushing. Amanya was being awfully flirtatious, judging by her posture. “I mean, I am blessed by the faith of my people. Is it not that way where you come from?”

Jenne giggled. “No, no. Of course, orders are followed, but never with such dedication. And I... well, my situation is different.“

“Seventh in line.” Felic shook his head sadly. “It must be frustrating.”

“Oh, in many ways it is freeing!” Jenne beamed. “The lack of responsibility has always been wonderful, I say—no expectation that I take court with the rest, little talk of meetings, or decorum, or political marr...” She trailed off, biting her lip. “... matters. But... well, being seventh carries other drawbacks.“

She reached up and ran a finger over her pointed ears, almost unthinkingly.

Jenne was nothing like how Felic had expected. She was beautiful, she was clever, she was kind to her servants as well as his (she had insisted they be allowed to sit at the table if they wished, a custom Felic found bizarre but wonderful, and totally different from how things were run here regularly)... but he could see pain there, too.

Jenne was an extremely powerful witch—she had already demonstrated her powers to the guards, showing off fireballs and beautiful lighty shows, conjuring up the smells and spices of her homeland to liven up the meals—but somehow, she seemed vulnerable, and Felic no longer feared her.

She kept feeling her ears, biting her lip. Felic swallowed. Her own family treated her like a danger, but she reminded him more of the Beast from the old fairy tales his caretakers had read him—the fearsome creature who transformed in the end to a beautiful human to be wed, soothed and comforted by their faithful lover.

Only in the stories told in Rainvale, it was always a male Beast and a faithful peasant girl. And poor Jenne didn’t need to transform. She just needed love. Gentleness.

Instinctively, he wanted to let her hold him, to let her protect him so he could comfort and protect her. She was so small, and yet so powerful, and yet so... so..

Felic realized he was staring at Jenne with a dumb, glazed-over look. She was staring back at him, her smile slowly recovering. “M-My Prince?” she asked.

“Mm.” Felic nodded quickly. “Ah. I believe we’re out of wine.” He glanced for a servant. “Jasper?”

“Oh, Felic, let my attendant get it. Your servants deserve to relax a little bit—I mean, they’ve been standing stiff as planks all dinner.” Jenne beckoned to the attendant Jasper was talking to. “Lleva, dear?”

Felic noticed Jasper stiffen slightly in offense, and he knew the man was offended. “Sir,” he said quickly, “perhaps I should accompany her, to be sure she finds her way. The cellar is dark.”

Felic considered it for a moment. He could tell Jasper wanted to reassert the servants’ place—they resented Jenne’s implication of overwork—but he could also tell that Jasper had been practically drooling over Lleva all supper, and he was watching that swaying ass as it departed for the cellar door.

“Actually, maybe I’d best go,” Felic said, rising. “I have a particular wine in mind, but I can’t recall the name.” He smiled and bowed to Jenne. “Besides, I think the cool air would do me some good. It, um, appears to be a little bit hot in here.”

Jenne giggled at his feeble excuse for the blushing. Her dimpled cheeks grew rosier.

Felic gave Lleva a sparing smile, but she paid him little mind, already bustling to the cellar. In truth, while he could use some fresh air, he really, really wanted to avoid any ugly indiscretions between his staff and Jenne’s. He trusted Jenne, but he did not necessarily trust her attendants, or the Wildflower Kingdom. A lot could be learned from a waiter begging for a touch.

Besides, such a scandal would make Rainvale look... easy. Especially as Lleva wasn’t even a formal royal servant.

“So, what does the bottle look like?” Lleva asked casually as she opened the wine cellar door. Felic’s eyes narrowed, noticing that Jasper had given her the key to it. Careless indeed, Jasper, he thought irritably.

““It’s...” Felic paused, uncertain. He just had to think of one of the bottle brands, but in truth, he hardly ever drank wine. He only rarely went to the wine cellar itself.

As they embarked down the spiral staircase, the castle lamps lit automatically, eliciting a slight impressed, “Ooh,” from Lleva. Did the Wildflower Kingdom really not have self-lighting lamps? Felic knew they didn’t exactly have a castle like his, but it was strange to imagine how differently they ran things.

As he was distracted, the redhead shot him a smug look. “Is his Highness unsure what he wants?”

Felic’s breath caught. For a moment, he struggled for words, which only made her orange eyes grow wider, her eyebrows arch higher. Nobody ever, ever talked to him like that. Not even the castle. Not even Horace. She was... mocking him.

To his further embarrassment, Felic realized he had no idea how to respond. Did he reprimand her? Was he reading too much into it? Where Jenne’s informality seemed friendly and familiar, Lleva... her tone was unlike any he’d ever heard directed at him. By anyone.

And, he thought, heart racing, he still hadn’t answered her.

“It has grapes on it,” he blurted.

“Ooh.” Lleva nodded, turning to face him as she descended the stairs. The lamps lighting behind her were almost mesmerizing, flicking to life every few seconds as she wound down into the depths of the castle. “Grapes. Are these grapes as green as your eyes, m’lord?” Her eyes glimmered, crimson as her hair. “Or as red as mine?”

“P-Purple,” he stammered, nearly tripping. Oh, perfect, he was going to trip and crush her to death.

These Wildflower Kingdom women were all so short compared to people of Rainvale. Lleva was half his size. So why was he terrified of her?

“Purple,” she repeated, licking her lips. Her purple-painted lips, as richly violet as the sapphires studding his diadem. “And are these grapes ripe and plump?, m’lord?“

“Um.” Felic blinked. Hadn’t... hadn’t her lips been red earlier? It was a trick of the light.

“Well, um. Naturally.” Calling him ‘lord’, too. It was inappropriate. He was a prince. ‘Highness’ would do, but ‘my lord’...

“Mm.” She pouted. Her lips suddenly seemed just a little bit fuller, plumper. Or she just wanted him to notice them now. Or, Felic thought, heart racing, he just noticed because he was a pervert and she was going to notice his slight bulge any second now... “Nice and plump and soft. But where can we find that, m’lord?“

They came to the bottom of the stairs as Felic struggled for an answer, and Lleva giggled, turning away, swinging her hips with every step. Felic’s eyes were trained on those hips as though she’d wound a spiderweb around them and tied it to his neck. He followed her, heart pounding with nerves.

The wine cellar was a vast complex, full not only of drinks, but of all kinds of stockpiles of foods and spices both common and exotic. In the event of a siege by the Succubus Queen, it was critical to be well-supplied.

As Lleva stopped to look over several racks of wine, humming thoughtfully, Felic took the opportunity to slink away in shame.

He had never been flirted with, and never so brazenly, before today. Jenne’s flirtation had made him feel wonderful, good and soft and bashful and... lovely. But Lleva’s flirtation made him feel dirty. Wicked. Faithless. Weak.

He hurried down the rows, searching for a bottle that would satisfy what he’d told Lleva. In hindsight, he wished he’d said the bottle had a farm animal on it, because gods, what was up with all these farm animals? Who saw a picture of a chicken or a pig and said, ah, wonderful, time to get drunk on this?

He wandered through the stacks, eyes darting from bottle to bottle with a strange sense of urgency, as if Lleva was about to leap out of the shadows at any moment. Finally, he found a bottle with a picture of a curvy goblin maid holding up a clump of red grapes, a coy smile on her face. A bit lascivious, but it would do. Felic reached for the bottle.

The lamp above him flickered slightly.

“Ooh, what a pretty bottle,” purred a voice behind him. “Such a nice label. Are you... trying to tell us something, ‘My Prince’?” She made her voice a mocking rendition of Jenne’s.

Felic’s breath came in unevenly as he tried to turn around, only to feel... feel...

Hot breath on his neck. Lleva was on her tippy-toes, moaning sweetly in his ear, throaty gasps that made his cock throb. “Red like my eyes. Pretty, pretty eyes.”

Felic found himself speechless. He felt her hand slipping along his side, snaking beneath his pants... oh gods no no no no... But he couldn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything. He knew what she was about to do, and for some reason, everything just felt so nice and fuzzy... smelled so sweet and smokey...

“I was going to play with little Jasper,” Lleva cooed, her soft, plump lips smacking lovingly on his neck, her hand caressing his thigh. “But you wanted to come down here, didn’t you? My Prince.”

“Um. I.” Felic tried to tell himself to jerk away, begged himself to push her off. To be used like this, to be—to be a mere substitute for a servant’s indiscretion... oh, gods, and he’d been worried Jasper would be this weak, but she was so, so warm... just one touch, please, just one...

“You wanted to sample your bride’s hot little servant,” she hissed in his ear. “Isn’t that right? Go on.” Her hand stroked along his thigh, closer and closer to his bulge. “Go on! It’s okay that you fell this easy.” Her voice was soothing, melodic. “It’s okay...“

“Get off me!” Felic finally burst out. He reached back to try to shove her away, but somehow, she managed to catch his arm in hers, to trap it behind his back.

“Are you sure?” she cooed, planting one more kiss right where his neck met his shoulder. Her fingers started to skitter closer. “Are you suuure—“

“His Highness was clear,“ said a cool, resonant voice, and Lleva went flying away from him like he was made of lava.

Felic spun around, panting. Lleva stared at him—smoldering red eyes, burning cheeks—then at the ribbon which had been bound around her wrist.

The castle spirit spun into being behind her. “Forgive me, my Prince,” they said, sounding genuinely cross.“My attention was divided, and I could not tell how willing this was. I should have checked in sooner.”

“She should have,” Felic panted, hurriedly turning back to adjust his cock in his pants. He frantically wiped at his neck, trying to clear away the lipstick, but all he felt was her saliva. “I—I am—”

He had no idea what to say, and he could tell Lleva knew it. Her expression was bold and knowing, just like those bright red lips. She opened her mouth to speak, and Felic felt unbearable fear of her simple words.

“Lleva!” snarled a voice from up above. Felic nearly jumped out of his skin at the power in that voice.

The color instantly drained from Lleva’s face.

Princess Jenne came bounding down the stairs, so fast she had to cling and swing from the handrail as she went, fast enough that Felic was a little bit worried she would slip hurt herself. Her eyes blazed with anger, twin topazes in an inferno as she stalked towards them.

“M-My Lady!” Lleva said, giving a nervous laugh. “I—it’s not what it—”

“Oh, you’d do well to be quiet,” Jenne hissed. She looked like she wanted to slap her, and Felic noticed her fingers curling, her ears twitching like a cat’s. Was she about to cast?

Instead, she turned to the castle spirit and bowed low. “Thank you, honored castle. I hope we can talk more later—I have heard many stories of the Azure Spirit, and you honor us with this appearance. Thank you for apprehending this... this.” She gestured toward Lleva as if she wished she could shoot fireballs from her fingers.

Legally, that was to say. She probably could do it physically.

She spun to face Felic, and Felic flinched, quickly taking down the wine bottle so he could hide his fading erection.

But to his shock, her eyes were wide with guilt. “Forgive me, My Prince!” she said miserably. “had I known—oh, but I should have known—damn it all!“

Felic had never heard another royal swear before. But Jenne seemed to be holding back, if anything.

“I—My Princess,” he said, biting his lip, “I didn’t... I mean, I...”

“Oh, of course I don’t blame you!” Jenne shook her head so fast her earrings jangled together like windchimes. “And you mustn’t! Ooh, I wish I could—” Her fists clenched as she glanced back at Lleva. “Get her out of my sight! If, ah, if you... to your common servant’s quarters. She will not room with us in luxury. I will deal with her on the morrow.“

“Of course, Princess Jenne.” The castle spirit sounded slightly pleased as they released Lleva’s wrists and tapped her on the shoulder. Her face was ashen with dread as she plodded back towards the stairs.

Jenne turned back to Felic. “Oh, Felic, I—Lleva is a wildflower girl. Her father was human, but her mother...” She clenched her fists. “Some creature of the prairies, a goblin, an alraune... or perhaps further back than the mother. Grandmother. But she holds some of the same presence.“

“I-I see.” Felic stared. He’d never heard of ‘Wildflower girls’, or of the descendants of the Fae and various other creatures that frequented the prairies having any special powers. But suddenly, those little changes to her lips, the way her touches had... made him feel...

“Of course you can’t blame yourself,” Jenne said angrily, clasping his hand in both of hers. “This is my responsibility for bringing someone of such ill habits on such an... such an important quest. Please, please, you must forgive me. But if you don’t...“

“Of course I do!” Felic burst out. “I mean, Jenne, I only wished to ensure she couldn’t ensnare any of my servants. But I didn’t know she could... well.” It was true, he realized, and it sounded noble. But remembering the way he’d almost melted for her—her, a mere servant—it didn’t feel noble at all.

But Jenne clearly did not agree. Her eyes were the size of saucers, as some unspoken relief rushed through her. “Oh, of course! I mean, I had—I had imagined, that you would not seek out her attentions on your own, especially with how... of course, I had known that you would never deliberately seek temptation.“

But nonetheless, her shoulders had lightened, and there was a new gleam in her eyes as she squeezed his hand. She was so much smaller than him, and yet he found he could refuse her nothing.

“Still...” she murmured, giggling slightly, “she certainly did get further with you than I’d have... I mean, um, you certainly did grow, didn’t you?“

Felix’s heart stopped dead.

He stared down at her as she grinned up at him, visibly savoring his mortified blushing. “I mean...” She winked. “My Prince, if you will pardon a briefly indecorous comment when we’re both so very off-balance, I am...” She glanced back down at his bulge and trailed off, as if suddenly remembering herself.

There was a pregnant pause. Felic found his cock grow slightly, and Jenne giggled nervously. She released his hand and danced already. “Come, my Prince!” she sang. “It... it wouldn’t do to spend too long down here. Let us return at once and resume more polite conversation.“

He watched her go up the stairs, heart thudding with every sway of her ass.

Felic had to spend a solid thirty seconds thinking about the driest brand of royal etiquette before he was ready to return to the dining hall.

At least, he consoled himself with a nervous giggle, that particular problem definitely wasn’t Lleva’s doing anymore.

In fact, after all this, he realized he was feeling more excited about marriage than ever.