She stopped in her tracks as she entered her chambers once again. The chieftain had to stop short in order to keep from crashing into her. She stood amazed at the man who greeted them.
There, in the mellow torchlight of her bedchambers stood her master, the Inquisitor. Only it was the King. In her absence, he had cut his hair to nearly shoulder length. Though the cut was ragged from the blade, it hung wet and luxurious and regal against his neck. His beard that had sprung wild and untamed was nearly gone. He had shaped what remained of it crisply around his lips and chin, making a dark O around his mouth. The princess thought he must have taken considerably more time on his beard, noting his misshapen hairstyle. He wore the heavy fur robe and his shadow cast long on the floor. Silence reigned for a moment as the two men stared at each other. At last, it was the King who spoke.
"Yes, cousin... It is I."
A great bellow as the outlander chief ran to his kinsman. They embraced heartily, Tymrill's booming laugh bouncing about the stones of her chamber.
"By the Gods!" exclaimed Tymrill. "It is good to see you, cousin. So many of our kinsmen gave you up for dead so long ago."
"Not dead, you old dog!" returned the King heartily. "Though I might as well have been."
"The curse?" asked Tymrill.
"Lifted!" shouted the King, gesturing to the princess. "By my new Queen." Tymrill raised his eyebrows in surprise, and then turned to her, bowing very low and graciously.
"Long may she reign at your side." said the outlander, kinsman of the King.
As Tymrill straightened up, his eyes caught hers, and his face colored, remembering her mouth around him after the tournament.
"I have much to discuss with you, cousin..." began the King. "So much have I missed. But that will have to wait."
"I need your help... there is something I need you to do." he said, clapping a hand on Tymrill's shoulder.
"Name it, cousin!" exclaimed Tymrill.
"High above us lies remains of..." he hesitated. "Of my former Queen. To be sure, she is most likely only dust by now. But you must take pains to remove even the smallest grain of her. Nothing must remain within these walls. This you must do before the sun leaves her chambers."
"Syr'Va'ahl's plan has worked." the King continued. "She is gone, but her spells and bindings may still yet exist. I have not the strength to withstand any ambush or attack she may have lain in her defense. My limbs are still weak from their long slumber, and all of my stores are at an ebb. My magick is depleted, and I may sorely need it, if I am to regain my throne" As if to illustrate his point, he swayed on his feet, and they helped him to a chair.
"And..." added Tymrill softly. "There is the matter of your son. He may not look kindly upon your return... or the death of his beloved."
- - -
Dawn broke over the eastern mountains, an explosion of light rocketing between the craggy peaks. The light spilled over the rim and down into the valleys, marching along the lowlands and farmlands until it set the stones of the castle ablaze with golden color. Sparkles of sunlight danced upon dew covered leaves and grass. The entire land shouted with light and color; as if a great blanket of sorrow had been torn away.
As the morning sunlight crawled up the castle walls, it found an opening and shone inside. A young man growled angrily at the encroaching day. He rolled over in his bed, pulling his blankets over him. The comely lass beside him gave a complaint at being uncovered so rudely.
"Quiet,wench!" he spat from beneath the bedclothes. "Can you not see I am trying to sleep!"
She scowled and left the bed. She began to gather her clothes, wincing as she bent to retrieve her bodice. Her backside ached and her thighs and sex felt raw and hot. Her bedmate had certainly taken all he had wanted. But he had found striking her much more amusing, and had spent the small hours of the morning caning her backside with a stiff reed.
She tried to dress as quietly as she could, hoping to be away before he was awake. Alas, she had only gotten her skirtings tied 'round her before he sat up and beheld her through sleepy eyes. Her body was naked from the waist up, her round breasts moving up and down as she drew in breath. She could see he was very hard underneath the covers, his eyes roving over her bare skin. Despite herself, the morning chill stiffened her nipples as he looked upon her. A smile slid across his face, but it gave no comfort.
She tried to cover herself, but he commanded her be still. He sat up against the headboard, arms stretched out along the rail. His chest was broad, with a patch of light hair. His arms, though strong enough, did not seem fully grown to her eyes.
Like a boy who does not know his strength, thought she. Not like a man who knew how to act properly. As he looked upon her, she felt her face burn red.
His face was quite handsome, features smooth and refined. His hair chestnut, long and silky down his back. His face could not yet grow a proper beard. His jaw and chin were covered over with stubble, but seemed patchy in places.
