Athaniel's Libation

© 2023 E.P van Gelder. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it's been copied without the author's permission.

The intrigue is ramping up just as Athaniel's self-control takes another hit. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed editing it!

I hope it's not too rough. It's a busy week because it's my birthday weekend. (Which clearly starts on Wednesday) But I didn't want to wait till well into next week when I can drag the remnants of my hung over body to a computer again. Enjoy! Signing off with the tssk of a cold beer.

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Princess Mala was perched on the divan when I walked through the door, clad in an emerald dress so dark it was nearly black. Back straight as a spear, as if comfort were some unforgivable sin.

"Why are you here, Lord Athaniel?" Her question was cold iron. I hadn't even closed the door behind me.

I paused and held her gaze. If she was aware of the suddenness of her question, nothing in her black gaze betrayed it.

Turning to close the heavy oak door I answered. "I'm an envoy?" I couldn't keep the question from my voice.

"No." She tilted her chin up. "Why are you here?" Each word was a dagger, piercing me to the spot.

I took one step into the room and stopped there. "I'm a hostage."

Silence held as she waited, unmoving, for me to continue.

"I'm here so my people can live."

Now she nodded. The first movement I had seen her make. "One life for many." Her observation fell heavy as lead.

I crossed the room slowly until I stood over her, looming, yet still I felt caught in her snare. Anger stirred, unbidden.

"Something like that." The words came out in a low growl.

Head cocked, she studied me. "And you're content to live out your days here, far from home, always a stranger?"

I turned from that unblinking gaze to stare instead at the window where the last light was dying.

"My days will outlast all of this."

"If... you live."

I swung back to face her. "What do you want?" I snapped. "Or have you merely come here again to revel in my torment, Princess?"

The sharpness of my words glanced off her. Silence again, while she contemplated something known only to herself. Then she blinked, a decision made. "Our interests may align, Prince Athaniel."

It was inevitable, I suppose. She didn't seem the sort to do anything without purpose. The gift she had made me of her servant wasn't just out of curiosity, or some kind of voyeuristic gratification, of which she had shown none.

I had been waiting for her to reveal why she was so intent on charming me. And clearly, now she had deemed the moment had arrived. Whatever came of this evening, I would go to my cushioned bed tonight having made either an ally or an enemy.

Most likely both.

But if I had to choose who my friends here at the court really were, Mala seemed my best option. Not that there were many other candidates, with most of the court made up of drunken idiots and their vindictive humor.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Care to explain?"

Another pause, our conversation proceeding as if we were treading onto a freshly frozen lake, unsure if the ice would hold.

Then, without so much as a blink, she spoke on. "This peace you've come to uphold...it won't last."

I shouldn't have been surprised to hear those words really. But still they shook me and their consequences started to tumble through my mind like wet autumn leaves. But I should push those away for later.

"How can you be sure?"

She shrugged, shaking her head slightly. "It's implicit."

"Implicit?"

She dropped her eyes to her hands, folded neatly in her lap like captive birds. Delicate hands, fine-boned. Those hands, had I dreamt of them? A sudden jolt of recollection hit me. Fortunately, there is nothing like politics to douse any spark before it can kindle a blaze.

"Waentsin proposed the peace treaty with your people," she said, "because the Duke of Marless threatened to break from the kingdom."

It made sense, of course, and we could have known this, if we'd ever bothered to familiarize ourselves with the fluctuations of power in the world of human.

"So he needed to gather his forces here in Kinborg. But when that conflict is resolved, there's no longer any need to maintain the peace."

She lifted her gaze to meet mine. "None."

"But that still doesn't explain why our interests align. Why tell me this?"

She didn't answer, just sat gazing at me with that lonely look, back straight as a rod and eyes inscrutable. My gaze traced the line of her jaw, the tendons of her neck where they disappeared beneath the sharp wings of her collarbone. It was all I could see, the rest hidden from view under the thick velvet. But my eyes seemed bent on taking what they could. I could see her throat moved when she swallowed.

"Will you tell me, Lord Athaniel, of your home?"

A flash of annoyance--was I to get no answers, only more interrogation? I shifted restlessly, as if to rise, but she simply sat, unmoving, unflinching. Brittle.

And then I understood. She was as much an outsider here as I was. Alone, impossibly young, and in no position to trust lightly. Her cold manner was a shield, and not one easily lowered. I closed my eyes briefly, breathing deep of calm.

"What would you like to know?"

"How is it different?"

I huffed a small laugh through my nose. Where to begin?

"It's as though...there's more air to breathe. More light to see by."

The hint of a smile, more in her eyes than the corners of her mouth. "That's very poetic. I've heard your homes are built in the trees?"

"Yes, we don't build in stone like this." I gestured at the walls around us. "Our homes are open, to let in the sun. We've no need of walls for defense. The cliffs themselves keep us safe. Or... they used to."

She nodded, but made no comment on my slip of words.

"And you live there with your... wives?"

"My consorts. We don't like the term 'wives.'"

She nodded, her brow furrowed in thought.  "Why is that?"

I shifted on my seat and pulled a cushion from under my backside to throw it on the flagstone floor. "Wives, servants... you humans treat each other like property to be bought and owned."

She glanced away, color rising in her cheeks.  "I can't disagree." She spoke to the armrest of her seat. Then her eyes found mine again.  "And you are different."

I gave a curt nod.  "Yes."

"How do you know your consorts will stay with you?"

"I don't.  They're free to leave."  I shrugged.  "But we are bound by nature."

She cocked her head, studying me as if I were a puzzle she meant to solve. "Is this because of your 'magic cum'?"

I choked on my wine.  "My what?"

"Freya's words.  She said after swallowing your seed, her desire rose to new heights.  She felt drunk on your cum, delirious."

I swallowed hard, heat suffusing my skin.  Not just at Freya's words, but that she had shared them with Mala.  Mala, who had watched with those intractable eyes as I claimed Freya, fed her my 'magic cum' and made her mine.

It took effort to calm myself, to still my pounding heart.  "That sounds about right."

"It seems she's addicted to your cum as men are to drink."

I nodded, wishing this line of questioning away. We were skirting altogether too close to the most sacred ritual of all. And no one would appreciate it if I decided to divulge, even that the springs existed. But I needed to say something.

"It has that effect."

"So that's how your consorts are, as you say, 'bound by nature'?  Because they're addicted to your cum?"

"If you want to be crude about it, yes."

Her gaze held mine, hard and unwavering.  Her back stiffened.  "So they're bound to you, addicted to you, but you are not to them?"

I grimaced. "My consorts are not simpering wenches following me about for a taste of cum."

She arched a brow, waiting.

The Rite of Zinithra, most sacred of our customs, was where our families were joined.  Only then could a child be conceived.  It was the foundation of our world.

I balked at sharing such secrets with a human.  Bad enough I was here, sharing my seed with human women like ale at a feast.  What would she do with this knowledge?  My mind conjured a vision of filthy beards defiling that sacred place, fouling it with their presence.

I shook my head.  At least some boundary remained.

Mala seemed to sense she'd pried too deep and relaxed, giving me space.

"Do you miss them?  Your consorts?"

I flinched.

"Off course I miss them."

She considered me with a long, thoughtful look.  "You really are far from home."

I rose and retrieved Zanael from the mantle, taking comfort in her familiar weight.  "I lived there for thousands of years, yet already it feels like the memory is slipping away from me."

"Tell me more about it."  She paused. "I've heard you're ruled by a queen."

"My mother, yes."

"So does that make you heir to the throne?"

"No.  That would be my sister."

She chose her words with care.  Every pause gave me time to stare.

"Because she's older?"

"No. Because she's female."

Her gaze remained calm, opaque.  "Do you resent her for that?"

I snorted.  "Why would I?  Besides, it's hypothetical.  At least for a few centuries yet."

She pursed her lips, thinking.  "So... Waentsin demanded a hostage, thinking to control the heir but..."

"I'm no more valuable than any other fadal male."

I turned to her.

"And what about you?"

She cocked her head slightly. Raising an eyebrow like she was surprised I dare ask anything private of her.

"Do you resent being passed over as heir to the throne because you are a woman?"

She looked away, as if to hide her face. The room was so silent I could hear her breath as she huffed through her nose. When she looked back at me her mask of calm was wavering.

"Only to be ruled by dogs? Yes, I resent that. I detest it. We..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment and she swallowed.

"We... give them life." The words dripped from her mouth, viscous with anger.

I stared at her, dumbfounded at the heat in her words. Not so cold after all.

She looked aside to the cabinet that was against the wall behind her seat. It had a collection of bottles that I had, thus far, ignored.

"Be a gentleman and poor me a glass of wine?" she asked, her voice low.

I got up and walked over to the cabinet. I scanned the collection of glass bottles and the row of glasses in varying sizes, unsure which to pour into which.

"What would you like, princess?" I looked back at her and she was staring at her hands like she had discovered a new world there.

"Wine," she said shortly.

I looked from one bottle to another. Most contained liquids ranging from pale yellow, to deep amber in colour, with one that was a deep red colour, almost black. "Which one is that?"

She looked up at me, her face drawn, tired. "You don't know what wine looks like?"

I shrugged, spreading my hands apologetically. "How would I?"

A small smile broke through the tenseness of her face.

"Two thousand years old and you don't know what wine looks like?"

I shook my head. "No." I was staring at her smile. My mouth quirked into an involuntarily grin. It took an effort to turn around to poor her the wine. Had I ever seen her smile before?

When I finally did turn, I picked a glass at random and filled it with the red, velvety liquid. It smelled... warm. Like dark fruit and condensed sunlight. I sniffed the glass, then turned back to find her observing me with a bemused expression.

"We all have our talents," I said, and walked around the divan to hand her the glass. Which she took from me gracefully, inclining her head in thanks, then finding my eyes with hers.

"So I've seen."

My cock had grown at least two inches by the time those words had left her mouth.

Were we... flirting?

"Half the women in Kinborg are dying to bed you." She observed.

I groaned. "I can't..."

She cocked her head, questioning. "Why not?"

I looked at her. The challenge in her eyes.

"Just because it happened with Freya doesn't mean I'm going to make the rounds. My kind would consider it... unsavory."

"Do you?"

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say I would never stoop that low again. I wanted to say all those things. But arousal was my setting my veins on fire and so I stammered. "I..." And then realized I didn't know what to say.

"You have strong appetites?" She said with a smile.

"You could say that." I said. "There is also the allure of the forbidden."

"Ah..." She said. "I know." Her eyes slid down my body.

I let her look, her eyes caressing my skin, and sucked in a jagged breath.

"But," she said, her voice slow like honey. "every woman you're with will become addicted."

"I...exactly. I can't do that to them. They have no idea."

"I think they do." She shook her head at me, gently berating. "Women tell each other stories. To titillate themselves. To fill the lack.... The frenzy of desire? The wood wives? These are favorites, believe me. They all fantasize about it. And now... here you are, all lean muscle and intense gaze. The story has become real."

I stared at her. "They used to bring us their daughters." I said. Not sure where the words came from.

Her eyes held me without blinking. "So the story goes."

I looked down on my hands and noticed they were shaking. It was so wrong. This was wrong. The lazy swelling of my cock... was definitely wrong.

"They all want it." She continued. "Every women in this keep."

What game was she playing? Was she deliberately tempting me? Trying to fan the flames of my arousal? I could only imagine one reason why she'd do that. I looked up at her, fighting back the urge to touch her already. "What about you?"

She regarded me, her expression turning cool again. "I want you to have sex with Innifer."

It took a moment for the words to travel from my ears to my brain.

"Innifer." I stated blankly.

"I'm sure it will be no bother for you. I've seen you glaring at her tits like they are at fault for all that's wrong with your world."

"I wasn't glaring."

She looked away with a smile, swirled her wine and took a sip.

"And," I added. "it is their fault."

She turned her face back to me. "Is that so? Then I think you and I have many interesting conversations still to come."

"I'm all yours," I said, leaning back on my hands.

Her eyes dropped to the contorted bulge tenting my breeches and then looked up at me.

"How touching."

"Could be."

Princess Mala observed me. Though still a child by the measure of my people, she possessed an unnerving self-possession.

"I will not sleep with you, Athaniel."

"Very well," I sighed, disappointment warring with relief. Her refusal spared me further folly, yet still I yearned.

"I've no wish to end up like Freya."

I bristled at the mention of my recent paramour. "Yet you were happy to lead Freya here to end up... like Freya."

"I keep my wits about me," Mala replied calmly. "So Freya doesn't have to."

"And Innifer?" I pressed.

Mala shrugged, saying nothing.

"Why Innifer?" I demanded.

Mala weighed me, considering. "To remove Waentsin," she said at last.

I sat up straight, manhood forgotten. "How will bedding Innifer remove Waentsin?"

"If you fill her enough to breed, his claim is ended."

The truth struck me and I gawked at her, aghast. "You mean for me to get your sister with child?"

Mala swirled her wine. "Waentsin rules only through marriage to my sister. An heir would cement his power. But so far she has not quickened, for all her display.

"I understand the mechanics, Princess. But you are asking me to have a child. With a human."

She shrugged.

I rubbed my face, attempting to think clearly. "You would leave your kingdom without an heir?"

"I will be heir," Mala said, raising her chin high.

Such conviction in one so young.

"You are brave."

"Bravery is for fools. I seize what choice I may, and face the consequence." Her words held a bitter fire.

"And you expect me to face the consequences as well?"

"What else remains to you?" she demanded fiercely. "Dally here forever, fucking a new maid every day, whilst your people toil and die?" She spoke truth. My journey had but confirmed what I already knew-- Humans spread like a plague, consuming all in their path. We should have intervened when still we could. Now the tide was risen too high. Unchecked, all would be devoured. It was only a matter of time before Waentsin would ride out again and wipe our kind off the face of this world like we were boar grease, dripped into his beard. I must act, but was this the way? A child?

"How would this save my people?"

"Peace," said Mala, "with your folk to guide men's new kingdom."

A pretty dream, for one so young. Too large for alone fadal, let alone a princess scarce weaned. Yet still I yearned to make it real.

But I shook my head. "I cannot go and have a child with a human. It is appalling. I shouldn't be sharing my seed with any of you!"

"You did so with Freya," Mala said, a hint of bitterness marring her usual composure.

"A mistake."

"You'd have done so with me, just now, had I offered."

Her words cut, true though they were. I gazed at this slip of a girl who saw so much and showed so little.

"But you did not offer, did you?"

She looked down at her glass. Then, with one slow, measured movement, she put it down on the floor. With glacial grace she rose and walked to the in the back of the room. It swung open and with an angry click, it shut behind her.

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I missed home. The cool shadow of the trees. Somewhere to gather myself and think. To find some kind of guidance in myself. There was no time to take Zanael to the garden. Going through the stances would center my mind, at least, and calm me down. And hopefully also distract me from the continuing sensation of heaviness in my cock.

The bath, even with the water cold, had offered no respite. And there was no time to cave in and arrange for that respite myself. I cast around for my pack. It was nowhere to be seen but after a quick round of my room, I found it, mostly empty, on the floor of a large, hulking wardrobe.

My clothes hung in a neat row in the same wardrobe. Someone had come in and gone through my things. It felt invasive, and for a moment, I felt anger rise in my throat. But then again, it wasn't like I had taken care of it myself. So who was I angry with?

Glad I wouldn't have to don my sweaty breeches again, I picked a new, clean, outfit for the evening meal. It wasn't hard to choose; they were all more or less the same simple cut and the same soft fabrics.

I dressed in front of the mirror, a rare novelty. It's not like my kind isn't vain. We live for beauty. But I had always had my consorts. And who needs a mirror when you have the eye of your loved ones?

Mirrors were a human contraption. And so I watched myself with the eyes of a human. I saw a man who was all angles, his bones somehow sharper than theirs, his skin tighter, his eyes brighter.

A knock came on the door, and I quickly stepped away from the mirror. The door remained shut. A knock came again. "Lord Athaniel?" I heard Forna's muffled voice.

I quickly walked over to the door and opened it. "Forna," I said in a simple greeting.

"Lord..." He paused, his eyes shooting back and forth between mine and my chest.

"Excited for another evening of entertainment?" he asked after he'd gathered himself.