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In the Shadow of the Dragon (Corsair and Xana)

The little moan of pleasure Astrid uttered ignited an aching lust in Ellistar, as did the way her legs spread open in her sleep. He peeled the blanket away carefully, trying not to wake her as his lips found hers. Her mouth opened, accepting his tongue as he moved his hardened meat against her sleek thigh. She moaned again, her hips slightly and back arching a little as his thumb circled her bare nipple once more. "Are you dreaming of me?" he whispered, slowly drawing his nails down her belly. "Will be."

He cupped her mound, enjoying the feel of her juices on his palm and the whimper she made as he stroked his middle finger along her slit. The whimper became a moan as he pressed his finger slowly into her, stroking slowly and deeply, exploring the soft flesh of her inner walls. When she pulsed gently around the finger he withdrew it, then just as slowly pressed two fingers into her. Then he shifted a little, tracing her hardened nipple with his tongue as the wet sound of his two fingers stroking in and out of her slit filled the air.

Was that a flutter of eyelids? Was that gasp she uttered, and the firm grip of slick muscle around his fingers a sign that she was nearly awake? Heart pounding in his chest he withdrew his fingers, running them over her clit one last time as she moaned again. Then he pushed up on his knees, gripping his dick with fingers slick from her juices, shuffling around to crouch between her thighs as she shifted in her sleep. Biting his lip to keep from moaning as well, he stroked his meat with slow, firm strokes to harden it further. As he stared at her, erotically sprawled before him in the semidarkness, he was struck by the image of finishing like this. Of letting her awaken to his cries of pleasure, and to the feel of his seed splashing across her bare skin.

No, not now. Maybe another time, when she could be awake to appreciate it fully. For now, he wanted to feel her clenching around his aching cock as he orgasmed. So he bit his lip and kept stroking, pressing the head of his shaft against her slick, swollen lips. Despite his efforts to stay silent he could hear his breath coming in small gasps now, matching the speed of his hand on his cock. Moving his hips a little more, he pressed just his head into her slit and groaned at the feel of her wet heat. But his hand didn't falter, kept moving as if her intended to jerk himself off into her body. "Astrid..."he groaned.
 
Ellistair leaned over her, pulsing cock in hand. He leered down at his prize, spread open and inviting his final conquest. Tracing her curves, his gaze traveled up her body before crimson eyes reached hers. His smile showed fangs, a gleaming razor that threatened her with implications. Savoring this moment of defeat, he brushed the tip of his cock against her cunt, and to her great shame, she was dripping for him. And then he entered her.

"Astrid..." , he groaned.

Fluttering eyelids finally opened to find her husband hovering above her, stroking himself into her wetness. Her husband, not some dream imposter. “Ellistair?” she murmured, sleep blurring her vision. His fist kept rubbing against her opening, against slick lips stretched around his thick head and grazing her throbbing clit. Terror and arousal of her dream lingered, mingled with his actions until relief broke through. Astrid pulled her husband closer, deeper inside her, and against her, needing the warmth of his skin on her and the reassuring comfort of his kiss. The kiss deepened, driven by memories of the dream and her own relief it wasn’t real, unwilling to let him go.

“Ellistair…love…I need you…” She cried, legs locked tight around his waist. Nails dug into his shoulders, holding and keeping him close. Still, her hips ground against his, writhing along his shaft and chasing the pleasure that was no longer shameful. Thoughts and concerns were distant, faint against the burning need to climax and the longing she still felt for her husband. “I love you,” She gasped, building ecstasy driving her mad. “I love you, I–”

Vicious pleasure overcame her, distorted by sleepy confusion. Nails drew blood as they bit into his back and time slowed as each pulse of blood throbbed over her nerves. Ellistair fucked her through the trembling bliss, hard, each stroke stretching out her moment of rapture. “Ellistair…”
 
Ellistar pushed into Astrid with a gasp of pleasure, groaning aloud as sleepy words of need spilled from her lips. His arms shook as he strained to hold himself erect while she tried to pull him down to meet her. The bite of her nails in his back was a stinging counterpoint to the slick grip of her walls around his shaft, encouraging him to take her faster and harder. The feel of her climax was intoxicating, as was the sight of her body arching as she drove herself up onto his meat while loaning and gasping by his name.

“Astrid...” he gasped, sliding his hands beneath her back and lifting, pulling her body against his and letting gravity drive her deeper into him. “Astrid...”. he groaned again, voice indistinct as he hit and kissed at her throat and shoulders, leaving tiny bruises in his hunger for her. His hands dug he to her rear as he lifted her up his shaft then drew get her down, lifting his hips to thrust into her as he did. “Astri!” he finally shouted, bulging in her with one final thrust. His orgasm took his breath away, leaving him gasping and grunting as his pleasure erupted into her.

Finally, muscles shaking from the exertion, he collapsed on top of her. For a moment he lay there, half supporting his weight on trembling arms as sweat trickled down his back and his cock gently pulsed against her slick walls. “You,” he wheezed, pausing to taste a droplet of sweat that had landed between her breasts, “are amazing.”
 
Astrid was still shuddering when Ellistair flooded her with his seed, a warm conclusion to a bewildering bout of passion. Finally, she felt awake, if exhausted from their third session this night.

“You,” he wheezed, pausing to taste a droplet of sweat that had landed between her breasts, “are amazing.”

Astrid laughed, banishing the fading nightmare from her mind. “You are incredible. I could get used to waking up like that.” His cock slipped from her as she pulled him into another kiss, intending for passionate but settling on affectionate. After riding horses and then riding Ellistair, she was a touch sore.

“This is nice,” she decided, curled up against him. A quiet life without the rules and expectations of the court. Just the two of them, together. But he was meant for more, and now, as his wife, so was she. This could never be more than a temporary refuge. “We have to do this every once in a while. Just the two of us.”


Morning came without any further nightmares. The fire was embers, and the morning chill drafted into the stony cabin. Ellistair was so warm, it was difficult to leave his side, but the downside to spending time alone with him meant no servants. If they wanted to eat this morning, someone would have to cook it, and since he chopped the wood yesterday it was only fair for her to do so.

So she threw a couple more logs on the fire and got the cabin warmed up. In the early morning hours, the rabbits were active, and it wasn’t hard to pick off a couple. She’d been hunting since she could hold a bow, after all. So roast rabbits would be breakfast, with leftover’s from last night. No wine though, at least not for her.

While the rabbit cooked, she heated some water over the fire. She’d need to drink moon tea, and if such things were illegal in Landis, it would be best to do now, while they were hidden from pry eyes watching for her pregnancy. Ellistair would understand, wouldn’t he? He had agreed the entire thing was stupid, but he had evaded her when she asked about children. Someday, she decided, watching with a smile as her husband stirred, in a few years after they had a chance to enjoy each other. Just not yet. She gulped down her tea as he sat up.

“Morning love. Breakfast is almost ready, then I suppose we need to head back to the castle and prepare for our trip?”
 
Ellistar woke slowly to an empty bed - an empty nest of furs, to be more accurate - and a Delinda city’s smell of resting meat. “Morning,” he yawned in reply, stretching and rubbing his eyes and blinking and finally sitting up. Then he yawned again, and scratched his scalp. “That smells wonderful,” he finally managed. “Better than the cold meats I had the servants pack for breakfast.”

He glanced around, trying to remember where he’d left his clothes, then shrugged and clambered out of the firs. It felt odd, walking around naked as he grabbed a bucket, but there wasn’t anyone here but himself and Astrid. And by now, it seemed foolish to stand on ‘modesty’ with her. “I’m going to go clean up,” he said, heading for the door. “Back home n a minute.” And with that he went outside, enjoying the pleasant coolness of the morning and the warm rays of sunlight on his skin. Whistling a happy little tune, he dipped the bucket in the stream and poured it over his head.

“Ssshhhiiiiit!” he gasped out, eyes wide as icy cold water sluiced over his skin. He gasped and blew, shivering as he scrubbed down, then made his way back to the cabin with quick, jerky steps. “Cold,” he gasped out as he entered, “water... cold...”. Teeth chattering, he wrapped himself up in the furs and huddled by the hearth. “And, yes,” he answered, finally replying to her earlier question. “I’d love to stay a few more days, but duty calls. But...” he flashed a quick grin, “at least we’ll have servants handy to draw baths for us.”
 
Astrid sighed longingly at that last point. When she first left Fairtheora, she assumed she’d miss the hot springs within the mountain, but the servants had proven capable of heating a tub to the near scalding temperature she preferred. Perhaps castle life wasn’t all bad.

Joining her husband by the hearth, she pulled the charred rabbits off the fire and offered him one. “So, we are head to Euthoria first? That’s your Grandmother’s family, isn’t it?” She tore into the meat, chewing thoughtfully, “How long will it take to arrive? I must admit I’ve never ridden in a carriage before. On a cart a few times, back after I broke my leg at 11. I suppose I could take a few books with me, to pass the time while.” She considered her options over another bite. Maybe some books of royal courts and political machinations. Fantasy or not, it just might possess the knowledge she’d need to navigate courtly politics.

Once breakfast was done, it didn’t take long to pack their things and prepare for the ride back to the castle. Astrid pushed her mount, not out of any desire to get back quickly, but for a last taste of the freedom of wind in her hair. Oh, she’d miss the comfort of pants when she had to return to wearing dresses and corsets. But that was the last thing on her mind as Ellistair father awaited them at the city gate, features distort by barely concealed rage. The expression made his already stern face positively hard, and Astrid wondered how that man made such a handsome son. Ellistair must have inherited his good looks from his mother. “I hope this little dalliance was fruitful, Ellistair, and I pray you know better than to make this a regular occurance.”
 
Ellistar felt his gut clenched at the sight of the reception party - his father, and a few of his political allies. The fury in his eyes couldn't be missed, and the disdain in his voice cut like a whip. But,he had driven home the lesson that a king needed to be able to mask his emotions. So he drew a deep breath and put on his best light smile. "Greetings, father. We are certainly well and healthy, but I suspect it is far too early to know if an her has been sired."

"You still have obligations, son.". His father's gaze was cold. "it would not do to snub the Noble families anticipating the honor of your visit."

"Indeed not," Ellistar agreed with studied casualness. "My grandfather the king reminded me of my duties as well, and urged me to see to the planning as I saw fit.". It was a risky move, playing his grandfather against his father, but a rising indignation drove him to do it. "And I believe the great houses will understand the desire of a man - a royal heir or not _ to spend time with his bride."

"Do not test me, Ellistar," his father warned.

He wanted to wither before his father's haughty anger, but a curious thing happened it was as if Astrid's presence lent steel to his spine. Squaring his shoulders, he returned his father's gaze. "I assure you father," he heard himself say, " that when I set out this morning I had no intention of causing a scene before the Great Gate in full view of the common folk."
 
Astrid bit her lip to hide the smile forming after Ellistair stood up to his father. That was the man she married, the man who braved Verrier himself to ask for her hand.

Reynart was not impressed by his son’s sudden confidence. He glanced over at her for a moment, disgust distorting his expression before turning back to Ellistair. “And yet you allowed your bride to ride a horse, and dress in pants, utterly unbecoming of a princess, and future queen of Landis. As if that wouldn’t cause a scene.”

“Women on the mount ride horses all the time,” She argued, trotting forward until she was beside her husband. “Strong, healthy women give birth to strong, healthy sons. The woman of Lands would do well to learn from our wisdom.” The lie came even easier that time, where it hardly felt like a lie anymore. Perhaps there was some truth to it, even if the women of Fairtheora weren’t so concern with birthing sons.

By now there was murmuring from the gathering crowd. Astrid smirked. Perhaps there was no need to wait until they ruled Landis to change everything for the better. If the common folk could only hear her message, they’d follow her.

Reynart glared at her, his expression one of quiet contempt, before turning his attention back towards his son, “Ellistair, I expect that you will have your wife dress appropriately when you meet the other noble families. And do remind her this isn’t Mount Fearfire. We have standards here.”
 
Ellistar’s back stiffened at his father’s words. “You’re right, of course,” he said quietly, hating the triumph in the man’s eyes. “This isn’t Fearfire. This is Landis”. His father smiled now, savoring the moment. Mouth dry, Ellistar went on. “A tributary kingdom, was me that we rule at the sufferance of the Lord of the Twelve Kingdoms.”

The triumphant expression faded, just a little, and Ellistar allowed himself a small smile of his own. “I shall, of course, ask the Princess Astrid to respect our customs. But tell me father, what are our expectations of lesser nobles who receive their liege as guest?”

His father’s eyes hardened. “Remember your place, son,” he hissed.

“The customs of the lesser are to yield to those of the greater,” Ellistar continued, refusing to look away. “That is the custom of Landis, is it not?” He swallowed. “And there is no greater in the Twelve Kingdoms than the Court of the Dragon.”

“We will speak more on this matter later,” Reynard snarled, wheeling his horse around. “See to the preparations for your grand tour.”
 
When they finally had returned to the privacy of their room, it was a damn challenge not to rip Ellistair’s clothes off. Damn, her husband was hot! Well, confident, possessing a way with words that rivaled her favorite trickster heroes of literature. Of course, she already knew that, knew it from the letters they had exchanged in the year before getting engaged. His words had won her heart and continued to inspire affection towards him.

But there wasn’t time to show her appreciation. Instead she took a hot bath while her husband made the arrangements for their trip. As it turned out, she didn’t get another chance to spend time with Ellistair, not before she was dressed in a fine, if constricting, gown and shuffled into a carriage. The carriage was finer than she was used to, with her only frame of reference being the carts containing the Tribute to Lord Verrier, that her father escorted to the mountain. Carved walnut made up the base, and thick velvet served as curtains, covering the windows, as well as lining the cushions within.

It took three days to reach Euthoria, three days sweating in the carriage stuffed with four other women. At least Astrid spent afternoons riding beside (or often in front of) Ellistair, which drew such concern from her ladies in waiting, and slight jealousy from Hilda. Since they arrived on the evening of the third day of traveling, Astrid was on horseback as the Royal Party was greeted.

“Welcome, Nephew,” Duke Kanimir Pilnova greeted. A tall, thin man, with greying blond hair, standing by a younger man who shared many of his features. Kamil Pilnova, Astrid recalled form Hilda’s lessons. “Your bride lives up to her lively reputation.” His laugh was a forced thing, his distaste better concealed than Reynart’s had been. “We have a feast prepared, as I am sure you are all quite hungry after your journey.”
 
A troop of guards. A carriage for the princesses and their ladies in waiting. Three more carriages for the other attendants, and carts to carry luggage and other accoutrements. By the time everything was ready, Ellistar felt like he was leading an army. Three days later, as the walls of Euthoria came into vie, he realized how wrong he had been. An army would have been better disciplined. “Astrid and I could have made this journey in half the time,” he grumbled.

“Perhaps,” chuckled Sir Ostred, a laughing, hard-eyed man who’d been his companion and bodyguard since they’d been boys. “But then you wouldn’t have been dripping with regal ceremony. It would have just been you and your lovely young wife, unattended and ble to do whatever you want.”

Ellistar snorted. “Yes, of course. Whatever was I thinking?”

“You were thinking of your duty,” Ostred replied with a grin. “Which is why I’m the luckier one. You’ll be killed by someday. But I’m a landless bastard, so as long as I keep you alive I can be as utterly irresponsible as I want.”

“As if you ever would,” Ellistar chuckled.

“Keep telling yourself that while I’m off whoring,” Ostred replied as they entered the inner walls of the fortress. “But first, I’ll get the soldiers and hangers-on settler.”

For an instant as he dismounted and handed his reins to a squire, Ellistar wondered which of them really was the lucky one. Then he caught sight of Astrid emerging from the carriage, and remembered that he really was. So, offering his arm to his bride, he advanced towards his uncle. “Duke Pilova,” he said, watching the older man offer a shallow bow.

“Welcome, Nephew,” the Duke answered. “Your bride lives up to her lively reputation.” The chuckle that followed was strained. He was, after all, of one mind with Crown Prince Reynart about allowing a foreign-born woman with no land or titles to marry into the royal line.

“She does, I assure you,” Ellistar answered cheerily. “And, of course, allow me to introduce my sister the Princess Hilda.”

“Delighted,” Kamil answered for his father, bowing and raising Hilda’s fingers to his lips. She hid it well, but Ellistar noted the slight stiffening of her spine - Kamil was one of her many suitors, and not one ah particularly encouraged. Kamil must have noticed as well, though, as his smile was playful. “You grow lovelier with each day that passes.”

“We have a feast prepared,” the Duke continued, “as I am sure you are all quite hungry after your journey.”

Yes, he was. And no, he wasn’t in the mood for a feast. “We thank you, Duke. It would be our honor to accept your invitation.”

Kamil offered his arm to Hilda. “Perhaps i May be accorded the great pleasure of escortingbyou, my lady?”
 
“You grow lovelier with each day that passes.”

“You are too kind, Cousin,” Hilda acknowledged, navigating the fine line between rebuffing his advances and offending a prominent noble house.

Kamil offered his arm to Hilda. “Perhaps I may be accorded the great pleasure of escorting you, my lady?”

Hilda took the offered arm, “But of course.” She managed with just a hint of exasperated boredom in her voice.

Astrid rolled her eyes towards Ellistair, emoting in the ways Hilda wouldn’t dare when Kamil took her arm. Oh, but she did appreciate the opportunity to stretch her legs and feel the cool breeze of early evening. And a hot dinner did sound nice, even if she’d rather have her husband, alone in and in a bed. But they had appearances to make.



Dinner was dreadfully dull, but at least it was filling. Ellistair’s Uncle, Duke Pilnova, droned on and on. His wife, a slight woman with bone-white hair and ice blue eyes, hardly spoke, just smiled and nodded.

“Hilda, have you given much thought to your own marriage?” He prodded

“Oh, it’s all anyone can talk about, aside from my own marriage to Ellistair,” Astrid interjected. All night Hilda had evaded the not so subtle prodding from Kamil, and Astrid thought she might step in to spare her sister-in-law.

Kanimir laughed, a fake sound that grated on the ears, “Well, I suppose it is only natural to turn our attention to the youngest Camden as the question of marriage comes up. You know, Princess, my dear Ilona was already a mother at your age. Tell me, since we missed the wedding and didn’t get to see her, is duchess Aevell with child yet?”

“Not so far as I could tell,” Hilda offered, eyes down on her food. She cut her chicken into shreds, before scooping a serving into her mouth.

“Ah, what a pity. Well, I am sure you won’t have the same troubles,” he noted, sipping at his wine. “Still, it’s probably best to get started right away. That goes for you as well, Princess Astrid, though I am sure you and Ellistair are already working on it.”

Astrid forced a smile, as fake as Duke Pilnova’s laugh, before drinking deep of her wine. Not anytime soon, she thought, and this time she was careful to keep that to herself. “Forgive my asking, since I am still so new to Landis, and learning your culture, but, if seventeen is a good age to marry and begin a family, when is too old? Thirty, thirty-five?” Astrid tucked a piece of chicken and green beans into her mouth and chewed, slowly, watching for Kamil’s response.
 
Dinner was tedium punctuated with irritation at Duke Pilnova’s efforts to wheedle information and spiced with Kamil’s efforts to ingratiate himself with Hilda. The last was particularly infuriating in Ellistar’s opinion. Sure, on paper, Kamil was a good match for his little sister. But the man was twice her age and, to be diplomatic, needed a more traditionally-minded wife. Hilda would probably throw him out a window.

The thought made him chuckle.

“What amuses you, my Prince?” The Duke asked, curious.

Shit!. Ellistar thought quickly. “Not amused, precisely,” he answered carefully. “I am simply enjoying the conversation between your son and my sister.”

“Ah, yes,” the Duke agreed, nodding. “It is good to see them getting along so well. Has the King made any final decisions regarding an alliance?”

Fuck!. “The King has not seen fit to take me into his confidences upon the matter,” he replied. “Save his command that Princess Hilda join the Princess Astrid and myself upon our tour of Landis.”

In the background he heard Kamil bring up the subject of pregnancy, and suddenly he was gripping his goblet with white knuckles. He trusted Astrid, of course, but she still didn’t quite understand the customs of Landis...

“Forgive my asking,” she replied, deflecting the question in a way that eased her husband’s nerves, lsince I am still so new to Landis, and learning your culture, but, if seventeen is a good age to marry and begin a family, when is too old? Thirty, thirty-five?”

Or not.

To Ellistar’s surprise, Kamil responded by laughing even as the Duke sputtered indignation. “You have wed a firebrand, my royal cousin!” he declared, lifting his goblet in salute. “And I have no fears that you will be anything but a magnificent queen!”

“It was...” the Duke began.

“A fine and fair question, Father,” Kamil interrupted before sipping his wine. “And one deserving of an answer.” Setting the goblet down, he regarded Astrid carefully. “Men are capable of siring children long after their hair has grown silver, my Princess. But women... well, bearing children becomes more difficult with the passage of years.”

He sipped his wine once more. “Still, I can understand how such a Mitch could appear unusual to someone from a different kingdom. They are, after all, not always the norm within our own - and frequently, such marriages are for political advantage rather than love.” He offered a small, sad smile. “But love does grow within them, from time to time. And, who knows? Perhaps an older husband would work harder to earn the loyalty and devotion of his younger bride?”
 
Astrid knew he was right. Her father was…well, past the point of using numbers to count his age, but it’s not like her mother was particularly young either. She knew he was right and was still irritated by his answer. No wonder Hilda had been so dour about her future prospects, when the pressure to marry young and bear children came from every direction.

Everyone was quiet for a time, eating in a silence that simmered with strain, until the Duke broke it. “Prince Ellistair, I would like to extend you and your men at arms an invitation to join me on a hunt, tomorrow morning. It shall be a glorious opportunity to ride through the lush forests of my lands.”

“That sounds promising,” Astrid decided, finishing off her wine. “Is there good hunting in these parts?”

Duke Kanimir looked aghast at her response. After a few moments of started silence, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Apologies, my lady, but in Landis it is said to be bad luck to have a woman join a hunt.”

“Why, because she might embarrass you by outshooting you?” Astrid knew she shouldn’t have gone there, but the sight of the Duke choking on his food made the offense worthwhile. Kamil laughed again, breaking the tension.

“It seems Landis has much to learn from the ways of Mount Fearfire.”



Once dinner had ended, the Duke and Duchess retired to bed, but not before encouraging Kamil to give the guests a tour of the castle. Ellistair and Astrid snuck off shortly after it started for obvious reasons, leaving her alone with her persistent suitor. Hilda had finally managed to escape Kamil’s presence, with the excuse that the trip here had been very tiring, and she had hoped to catch up on rest in a real bed while she had the chance.

The fact that he bought that excuse proved he knew nothing about her, because if he had, he’s know she was quite comfortable in the wilderness. Still, she was glad of the brief respite, wandering the corridors alone with her thoughts. Until she came upon a courtyard, mostly abandoned at this time of night, save one familiar man.

Ostred. Ellistair’s good friend and bodyguard. The first boy to make her think that, perhaps, not all boys were gross. Too bad he was far too far beneath her station for they ever to be anything more than the occasional lingering glance. At least she didn’t have to put on the act of princess around him.

“Shouldn’t you be out drinking and whoring?” she teased leaning against a stone railing that separated the courtyard from the corridor.

“What makes you think I haven’t been?” He shot back, face lit in that cocky half grin that made her stomach flutter.

“You don’t smell of cheap perfume or cheaper wine.”

“Why Princess Hilda, I am a bit concerned by how closely you are smelling me.”

Hilda was thankful for the shade of the moon, covering, the blush that crossed her cheeks. Huffing, to conceal her embarrassment, “Well, if it’s in your plans for you evening, you’ll want to call it early. As I understand, you will be leaving early in the morning to accompany my brother hunting. I will be rather looking forward to sleeping in. Unless Astrid decides to drag me along to prove a point.” She laughed, not entirely sure she was joking.
 
“Because, of course you’d be opposed to that,” Ostred replied dryly, smirking just a little. “Going our hunting is hardly the sort of thing a proper young lady of the royal blood would engage in. Still,” he added, smothering an elaborate yawn, “you do have a point, m’lady. I’ll want to get moving. The prince your brother made it abindently clear he won’t need my assistance this night.”

Sketching a bow, he strolled off down the hall. Then he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Try not to spend too much time thinking about me whoring, all right?” Then, with a little wave, he was off.


“I’ve already sent the beaters ahead,” Duke Kanmir said as the pages saddled his horse. “We should be ready to depart.”

“It’s fine weather for a hunt,” Kamil declared, eying the cloudless blue sky.

It was, but Ellistar still felt disappointed. He’d been expecting a real hunt, for boar or bear, armed with sword and lance and accompanied by a few loyal retainers. Hells, that was why he’d brought Ostred - the man was an excellent shot and a good hand with a boar spear. But... beaters?

“Not much sport in just shooting them,” Ostred hissed softly.

Ellistar sighed. “Maybe better selection for the table, though.” It was feeble, but he had to try.

“Still boring as fuck,” Ostred countered. Then he elbowed his prince. “Maybe I’d better rephrase that, way you were walking this morning?”

“Behave,” Ellistar snorted, elbowing Ostred back.
 
“This is boring as fuck,” Hilda complained, pulling the needle through the fabric.

“Hardly,” Astrid challenged, rethreading her needle.

To Hilda’s surprise, the princess had some skill in even the more feminine arts, though Astrid insisted that all people of the mount knew basic life skills. That neither sewing or hunting were men’s work or women’s work. Everyone needed to eat, and everyone needed warm clothes to protect against the weather, and everyone contributed. Still, the idea that she might even enjoy such tedium would not have occurred to Hilda. “Oh?”

“I mean, I’d much rather being doing that right now,” Astrid answered with a grin. Hilda rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry I know he’s your brother, and you really rather not hear all that–“

“And yet you keep bringing it up,” Hilda interrupted, her words quick with barbs. It did bother her, to hear constantly about her brother’s love life (when she wasn’t hearing it happen in real time, because neither her brother or Astrid were as quiet at night in the carriages as they believed), but it wasn’t just discomfort. Ellistair and Astrid loved each other and seeing them together was a constant reminder of what she’d never have. Her best hope in a husband was begrudging tolerance. “Besides, a proper lady doesn’t speak of her marriage bed so liberally.” That last sentence was spoken with mock severity, in Hilda’s best approximation of a stern tutor.

Astrid scoffed, “Is that so? Seems like all anyone around us can take about. Oh Astrid, have you consummated yet? Oh Astrid, are you with child yet? Oh Astrid, can we be absolutely sure you are only lying with Prince Ellistair? Oh Astrid, when will you birth the future king of Landis? If everyone is so interested, I might as well share all the juicy details.”

“In my defense, I’ve not raised one question to you, and yet I am the one who keeps having to hear all that. As if it weren’t bad enough that we are stuck here while the men get to ride and hunt.” Hilda grumbled, tossing down her half-finished piece.

“Then let’s join them,” Astrid said, placing her work down as well.

“Uncle Kanimir has already forbidden it,” Hilda reminded her.

“And the King has already given me permission to honor the traditions of Mount Fairtheora, to ride and hunt alongside my husband. I do believe the king’s permissions outrank a duke’s refusal.”

“Oh, that tradition you and Ellistair made up?” Hilda prodded, “You know that only works if you manage to actually bear sons.”

“But such things take time. Time enough for me to prove that I am just as capable as any man.” Astrid announced. Then she smiled, crossing both arms over her chest. “But if you really don’t want to on a hunt, we can stay here and keep sewing.”

Hilda frowned and sighed. “Do you have a pair of pants I can change into, at least?”
 
“What sort of devils are these?” gasped the stablehand, staring wide-eyed at Ellistar’s midnight-Black steed. The stallion stared back with slotted crimson eyes, then snapped fanged jaws at the frightened young man.

“Gifts from the Lord of Fearfire,” Ellistar replied, pulling on a mailed glove before offering his horse a carrot. “Our Lord wanted my bride to have steeds befitting Her station.” Cautiously he offered the carrot, and smiled as the horse chuffed and ate it. “There you go,” he murmured, stroking the horse’s neck. “That’s a good boy.”

Ostred three a blanked across the horse’s back, then followed it up with a saddle. “Good boy? I watched this one and his mates disembowl a deer and rip it to shreds.”

“Then we won’t need dogs as well, will we?” Ellistar laughed, still stroking the horse.

“Speak for yourself,” Ostred grumbled. “Me, I’ll cheerfully settle for something less I annoy.” He tured, then let out a low whistle. “Well, look at that.”

The Prince turned to find his wife and sister approaching in her bring garb as well, and sighed heavily. Much as he appreciated the way trousers flattered her figure, he’d hoped to spend one day in his uncle’s court without controversy. “Astrid,” he called, waving. “Are you joining us?”

“No!” the Duke said, horrified and scandalized. “A hunt is no place for a lady!”

Ellistar Star shook his head. “I fear,” he said dryly, “that was the worst thing you could have said.”
 
“I have been given special permission from his Majesty to honor the traditions of Mount Fairtheora.” Astrid insisted, causing even more scandal by saddling her own horse. Hilda half though her uncle might have a conniption.

His son, however, seemed to have more patience. At least, as he gawked at Hilda with eyes filled with more hunger than affront. “What tradition is that now?”

“Drakul women ride and hunt alongside our men, and go on to bear strong, healthy sons. And since our son could be kind one day, the king agreed that I should continue this practice.“ Astrid climbed up her horse with a practiced ease, and urged her horse besides Ellistair. Turning her gaze towards Hilda, she smiled. “The Princess Hilda is also interested in these traditions, so that she too can bear healthy sons for her future husband.”

Kamil raised an eyebrow, “Is that true, my lady?”

Know the rules and use them to your advantage. “I have been discussing the subject with my dear sister-in-law.” Hilda brushed her hair back her ear and giggled, making herself sound just slightly unsure. Calculated naiveté. “Besides, I had heard that an older husband might work hard to win his wife’s devotion and loyalty,” she reminded Kamil, batting her eyes. She felt like an idiot, but it seemed to work, as he nodded slowly.

“Well now, Father, perhaps the ladies should join us. It’s not we’re hunting a boar or anything dangerous,” Kamil excused, hardly able to tear his eyes away from Hilda, as she climbed up into the sadle. She trotted her horse beside his.

“Are you a good shot, Kamil?” she prodded, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She usually detested all these demure demonstrations, but if it was going to get her out of sewing and into something more exciting, perhaps she could keep up the act.

“Oh, I am fair enough with a bow, my lady,” He beamed, “As you will soon see.”

Duke Kanimir frowned, “Are you so sure you want to join us, Princess Hilda? Your Lord Father would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

“Oh, I am quite confident Kamil could keep me safe,” she gushed, smiling at him once more.

“Always, my lady.”

Astrid turned towards Ellistair, smiling a triumphant smile, and nudged him, “So, what are we hunting, if not boar? Deer?”
 
“You are utterly shameless,” Ellistar laughed, embracing his wife. “And I have yet to decide if you are an excellent or a terrible influence on my sister.”

“Excellently terrible?” Ostred suggested, watching Hilda pay Kamil along.

“Perhaps,” Ellistar agreed. “But today, I believe we are hunting... deer?” The last word came out as a question, directed towards his uncle.

“Deer,” the Duke agreed, nodding. “Other animals as well, should we come upon them.” He grunted, stringing a small bow of laminated horn. “We hunt from horseback. Have you much experience with horse archery?”

“A little,” Ellistar answered, looking at the bow curiously. “The lowlands favor mounted cavalry supported by foot archers, but my father and my grandfather the king believed I should learn something of the arts of war practiced by all of our bannermen.”

“The king is wise,” the Duke said with a smile. “How well do you shoot?”

“I can put a single arrow within a handspan of the bullseye at a canter,” the prince replied thoughtfully. “So, poorly by the standards of your warriors.”

“But quite well for a lowlander!” laughed the Duke, clapping him on the shoulder. “You shall have a bow, then, and your man as well.” He gave Astrid and then Hilda a resigned look. “What if you, my lady. Can you shoot. Or would you prefer a lance?”

“I can shoot!” Hilda huffed, before checking herself and looking at Kamil with large eyes. “Of course, I may need a skilled archer to demonstrate proper form..?”

Kamil straightened a little, puffing his chest out. “I would be delighted, my lady. Do you know what draw...”

“A hundred and ten pounds,” Hilda stated. “And I shoot left handed.”
 
Astrid nuzzled Ellistair, beaming under his affection. “What, I merely encouraged her to interact with her suitor.” By using her marriage prospects to make him more amenable to her desires. “Perhaps Kamil will prove himself open to Hilda’s idiosyncrasies, and a match will be made.” Astrid doubted that outcome, after the way Hilda cringed when she suggested Hilda play along but it was within the realm of possibility.

Astrid, for her part, was eager to show off. Her earliest and fondest memories of her father were horseback riding and hunting at his side. And what a great way to show the men of Landis that women were just as skilled and tough as they were. She was competent with a sword and axe and the like, but particularly skilled in archery, and further talented in mounted archery.

“Shall we make it interesting, love?” Astrid suggested, stringing the bow she’d been offered. “Whoever makes more of their shots get to call the shots later?”


Hilda had trailed the group for a while, before following a stream that flowed from south to north. She found a couple rabbits and even a turkey along this route. Not a bad haul, so far. Had Ostred faired so well? Perhaps she’d catch up to him and find out. However, it was Kamil she came upon first.

“This is not so bad, is it?” he asked, riding beside Hilda. She’d been having so much fun, she’d nearly forgotten about him.

“The woods are lovely,” she noted, keeping her eyes forward. Clearly, he was trying hard to get in her good graces, but it was difficult to imagine wedding him.

“If we were wed, I would allow you to ride and hunt at my side,” he offered.

“Oh, you would allow me, would you?” It took great restraint to hold in her scoff.

Kamil missed the sarcasm in her voice, “Well, so long as it were safe. Until you carrying our son, at least.”

His words turned her stomach, reminding her of her duty. “Shh, I think that bush ahead stirred.” It hadn’t, but her words had the desired effect, as Kamil quieted, and raised his bow towards it.
 
Ellistar swore as his arrow missed the mark, grazing the deer’s shoulder and striking a tree. His wife McLean laughed, then nicked an arrow and led the fleeing animal. When he released, the deer started m led and then fell with the arrow buried to the fletching in it’s heart. “Methinks you exaggerated your skill, my Prince.”

“It’s... been a while,” Ellistar replied, with just a touch of a sulk in his voice. “And it’s not a skill valued in the Lowlands.”

“You should take it back up,” the Duke replied, gesturing past his guest. “Lest your lady wife show you up.” Ellistar followed the line of his uncle’s gesture and watched Astrid helping the attendants bleed the second buck she’d downed. “I’ll confess to some skepticism at first,” the Duke continued, watching as well. “But the Princess Astrid rides and shoots as well as any of my Cataphracts. If your sister brings half her skill and fire to a match with Kamil, then my grandsons will be heroes indeed.”

“If a match is made, of course,” Ellistar replied.

“Of course,” the Duke agreed. “But I have hopes of a royal alliance, and...”. A feminine cry shattered the air. Not a scream of panic, precisely, but...

“Hilda!” Ellistar gasped, pulling his steed around as he recognized the voice.


A few minutes earlier...

Kamil lowered his bow. “It seems, my lady, that your woodscraft is not the equal of your marksmanship.” He smiled at her, trying to take any sting out of his words. “But no shame - you have had a good hunt anyway. And...”

The leaves rustled , this time for real. As they did the wind turned, bringing a scent that mingled a heavy animal musk with a dry, leathery stink. Kamil raised his bow again, irritably trying to calm his suddenly skittish steed as he did. “Something,” he said dryly, “is not right...”

A spikt, scales bear-shape exploded from the treeline, and Hilda screamed in spite of herself even as she rose her bow. Kamil was already faster, releasing his arrow as the creature bore down on him. It glanced along the horn-covered muzzle, drawing a thin line of blood. By the time Astrid could draw and fire, the beast’s heavy paw tore the head from Kamil’s steed with a single below. Kamil hit the ground with a cry, his right leg trapped beneath the corpse of his horse.

Her arrow struck the monster square in the side and bounced, deflected by layers of fur and horn and thick skin. It turned on her with a snarl, and she barely kept from her steed before the bear-thing disemboweled it with a swipe. Her horse went down, screaming and thrashing as huge claws tore intestines free.

“Fly, Lady!” Kamil yelled, awkwardly firing and bouncing an arrow off the beast’s back. “I will hold it while you save yourself!”

“No!” Astrid yelled back, drawing her blade as she dove away from another sledgehammer blow. It was a good sword, but it felt ridiculous in the face of the thing that confronted her.

“Lady Hilda, please!” Kamil yelled, shooting again. The third arrow was as ineffective as Hilda’s slash to the beast’s flank.
 
The distant cry grabbed Astrid’s attention, and Ellistair’s gasped confirmed her concerns. Something had shocked his sister, and despite what Landis thought of women, Astrid knew she was too spirited to scare easily. So she jumped back upon her horse, and followed Ellistair towards the source of the scream. Another scream filled the air as they approached, the dying wail of a horse.

Riding the horses brought from Mount Fairtheora, Astrid and Ellistair were the first on the scene. And that scene was a horrific sight, with vast pool of blood beneath the two mangled horses, and the massive bear stalking towards Hilda.

“Off your horse; let it fight the bear,” She called to her husband. These horses would fight, rather than flee, though Astrid wasn’t sure the two together could take down the bear. A common bear, perhaps, but not this beast. But they would prove distraction enough to rescue Kamil and Hilda.

Astrid leapt from her horse, and hacked at thick, strong tree branch. “Help me with this.” Together, they chopped it free of the tree, and carried it towards the pinned Kamil.

By now, the dire bear snarled and snapped at the dire horses charging it. They fought like wolves would, one taking its attention while the other struck unaware. Still, the bear managed to claw one in the flank, spraying blood and fur. A deep wound, but not fatal, as the horse lashed back with hooves, a brutal backward kick that snapped bones.

Wedging the branch between the horse and the ground, Astrid called Ellistair and Hilda over, “Help me lift the horse off him. Hilda, pull him out once we lift the body. On three, one, two, three!” Using the branch as a lever, the horse corpse rose a couple inches, just enough for Hilda to pull him free.

Ostred rode up then, spear in hand, and a few attendants arrived behind him. Hilda helped Kamil onto the back of another horse, the older man struggling to support his own weight on his injured leg, and Hilda joined Ostred on the back of his.
 
The bear bellowed in pain and rage, swinging a sledgehammer paw at one of the draconian horses. “It’s not going to stop,” Ellistar murmured. “Not while it sees living prey.” He thought frantically. Running seemed like a good decision, but it wouldn’t help. Their horses would be faster in open terrain, but not in the heavy forest they’d ridden through. And dumping their game wouldn’t distract it.

No. There was only one way out. “Ostred!” he shouted, trotting towards his bodyguard. “Your spear!”

“Seriously?” Ostred snapped. “I should...”

“You should keep my sister safe,” he snapped back, grabbing the spear. “And you should get ready!” With that he headed back across the clearing, gripping the weapon with both hands. “Astrid!” he called now. “I’m about to do something either terribly heroic or terribly stupid, and I’m not sure which it is.” Grinning rakishly, he shifted the fourteen foot oak shaft in his hands. “Since I know you won’t obey if I tell you to flee, would you be a love and do your best to help me kill that thing when I give you an opening?” He tapped the back of his neck. “Go for the spine, or the throat.”

Kissing her quickly, he trotted into the center of the clearing. “Hey!” he shouted, throwing a Rick at the bear. “Come and get me, you son of a bitch!”

“What is he doing?” Hilda gasped, leaning into Ostred’s broad back. Just so she could see better, she told herself.

“Prince Reynard never let you go boar hunting, did he?” Ostred replied, straining to keep his voice light as he watched Ellistar throw another Rick and shout more. “Watch.” As he spoke he drew a bearded axe from a scabbard in his saddle. “Oh, and get ready.”

With an angry bellow the bear charged, bearing down on Ellistar like an avalanche. The prince braced the butt of the spear in the dirt and leveled the point, swallowing hard. Then there was no time for thought as the bear struck, driving a foot of razor-sharp steel and three feet of oak into its chest before striking the crossguard. The impact sent Ellistar skidding backwards, struggling to maintain his grip as the shaft bowed and the butt plowed a six foot furrow in the earth. “Hurry!” he shouted, hanging on for dear life as the maddened beast swiped at him. “Kill this fucking thing!”
 
“Right.” Astrid turned towards Ostred, hand out expectantly, “The axe.” The dire bear might have been trapped, but it still had a nearly three-foot arm span with his claws, and would kill her if she got close enough to hit it with her sword. The bearded axe would give her the reach she needed to strike the bear.

Ostred hesitated for a moment, before handing over the weapon. “Letting you have this makes me a terrible bodyguard, you know.”

“You’re keeping a princess safe,” Hilda quipped, unable to tear her eyes from her brother and his stupid bravery. Or brave stupidity? “A knightly deed of the highest order.”

Reach or not, her advance could still be thwarted if the bear snapped the shaft. So Astrid approached from behind, steadying her nerves against the thunderous roars the beast emitted, along with raking claws directed at her husband. There was no time to worry for him now, and besides, worry wouldn’t save him. Only action.

Knuckles whitened over the grip, and Astrid only gave herself enough time to breathe deep before swinging the weapon. The blow connected, but did not slice through, meeting the resistance of strong muscles and hard bone. The bear bellowed in response, it’s pained rage carrying the sound throughout the woods. Again, it struggled to break free, clawing the spear, and just missing Ellistair.

Even worse than its pained cries was the splintering of the shaft, the creaking of wood rose until it that snapped. The spear was built to hunt a common bear, weighing as much as 800 pounds. Not this beast, somewhere north of 2500 pounds. No more time for that thought, now. If the spear broke, Ellistair would die. With that fear fueling her, Astrid reached back to ready another swing.

Wind whistled as the blade cut through it, becoming a sickening (and yet, relieving) thud as it met flesh and bone. One more mournful wail, one more instance of thrashing, before it stopped with a promising finality. The bear slumped over.

Astrid watched for several heartbeats, hearing nothing but the sound of breathing. Hilda’s, Ostred’s, Ellistair’s, and her own. Would it move? Would it twitch? Would it roar back to life and slaughter them all? Nothing, the beast had been felled. Fear became tentative hope, then triumph, and Astrid threw herself at Ellistair, laughing and kissing him until the tension passed. Even Hilda clung to Ostred, feeling him relax as the bear stayed still.

“Perhaps the woods are not the best place to celebrate our victory,” Astrid laughed. Retrieving her horse, Astrid now checked the extent of her injury. Deeper than Astrid liked, causing a slight stagger in her gait. She could recover, but it would be better not to put any strain on her. Offering up an apple to the mare, as recompense for prodding her tender flank, Astrid walked her horse over towards her husband, mount his own stallion.

“I suppose I will have to ride behind you,” Astrid teased, climbing up Ellistair’s steed. Seated behind him, pressed into his strong back, she brushed lips against his ear and whispered, “Even if I am more familiar with you riding me from behind.”
 
The cracking of the spear’s shaft was the loudest thing Ellistar had ever heard, louder even than the agonized, angry bellows of the bear. He gripped it tighter, trying to hold it in place as the beast strained to reach him, and watched in wide-eyed horror as Astrid kept onto it’s back and began hacking away with an axe. It started to rear back to claw at her, and he twisted the spear in it’s ches. “Look at me, you son of a bitch!” he shouted.

Astrid struck again, and the bear sagged and fell. Ellistar abandoned the spear, hurling himself clear as a ton of monster slammed heavily into the forest floor. Breathing hard, he rolled to his feet and drew his sword. It wouldn’t do much, not if it rose again, but at least he’d die trying. But the only sound was the his labored breathing, and Astrid’s gasps, and the angry whinnies of the horses. Heartbeats stretched out to infinity as he waited, watching carefully for movement.

Nothing happened.

Cautiously, he stepped forward and prodded the beast win the tip of his blade. Then he stabbed it, forcing the point a handsbreadth into the shaggy, leathery hide. No response. “It’s... it’s dead,” he managed, feeling suddenly weak with relief. Astrid replied by shouting a victory cry and throwing herself into his arms, clinging to him and kissing him with a wild enthusiasm that he returned, lifting her and spinning around as he kissed her back.

“Hey,” Ostred called with a laugh. “Your sister and I are still right here. Maybe wanna cool it, just a bit?”

“Perhaps the woods are not the best place to celebrate our victory,” Astrid laughed, easing her grasp.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ellistar laughed in return, kissing her once more. “Maybe there’s a hunting lodge nearby..?”

“Get a room, you two!” Ostred laughed.

Hilda, with a touch more reluctance than was strictly proper, slipped from the back of Ostred’s horse as Astrid went to tend to her wounded steed. “We should skin it,” she said, examining the carcass.

“Make a terrible rug,” Ostred countered, sounding dubious. “The scales and horn plates would be rough on your back.”

“Who said anything about my back?” replied the princess, stooping to hide the flush in her cheeks as she said it. “I’m not much for trophies, but it should be stuffed and mounted. It’d look impressive in a hallway somewhere.”

“It’d fill a hallway somewhere,” Ostred countered.

Ellistar climbed up into his saddle, stroking the predatory horse’s neck soothingly. “Good boy,” he murmured.

“I suppose I will have to ride behind you,” Astrid teased, climbing up Ellistair’s steed.

“I suppose so,” he replied, enjoying the feel of her body pressing into his.

She brushed lips against his ear and whispered, “Even if I am more familiar with you riding me from behind.”

A thrill of desire, strengthened by the adrenaline still surging through him, made him grow immediately hard. “I don’t know about you,” he whispered back, “but I’m in a mood to ride long and hard.”

“By the mountain,” gasped the Duke, as he rode into the clearing. “What... what happened here?”
 
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