"Estalon!" came the abbot's shout from the courtyard. Peering out the window of his dormitory, the naked initiate hissed in frustration. His teacher seemed mad about *something* - and Estalon had slept in yet again. Whatever the young priest's virtues were, a timely waking was not one of them.
Estalon turned away from the window to face his dresser, a loud slapping noise echoing in the stone-walled room as the lanky young man's cock impacted his thigh. He sighed and adjusted his titanic dark-brown member, getting it ready to stuff into a breechclout.
"Now, Estalon!" came the abbot's angry shout from the courtyard, the barrel-chested bull of a man capable of impressive volume. Disregarding his breechclout for now, the initiate threw his priestly robes over his head, running out of his chambers blind while he worked the robes down his body. His feet tripped over the tray of food that had been left out for him, and the half-naked man tripped in the stone corridor, banging his elbows and knees as he tumbled to the floor.
"Owwwww..." Estalon moaned, wincing. Slowly getting to his feet, the priest checked himself to see if he was hurt. Probably bruised, but not really injured. He pulled his robe over himself more fully, the rich cloth tenting over his crotch given that his inhumanly large endowment wasn't restrained by undergarments. He headed down the steps to the ground level, moving slowly at first.
Out in the courtyard the abbot wrapped a hand around Escalon's shoulders, pulling him close and pointing a finger in his face.
"Listen, a very important guest has arrived, and she wants to see you. I want you to be on your best behavior-"
"
She?!
The school is for men only."
"I told you, Escalon, she's important."
"But it's against the rules of our order-"
"Listen here, son." said the abbot, pulling Escalon by an arm around his shoulders into one of the seminary school outbuildings. "It's the crown princess, Marguerite. She's come here, on important business, and wants to talk to you. When the crown says something, we do it."
"Princess Marguerite? The warrior-princess of Astarte?" gasped Escalon. "W-what does she want with me?"
"I'm sure she'll tell you. Let's go."
Escalon and the abbot pushed open the wooden doors, entering into a large chamber used for visiting dignitaries and nobles - but never before for a female guest, to his knowledge. The chamber was extremely well-apportioned, not opulent, but every piece of furniture and art was tasteful and of the finest quality. The chairs and cushions were comfortable, the bed extremely so, and the room cool in summertime, like now, and insulated during the winter. Carved wooden icons of the horse-god, Gugal, the Heavenly Steed, sat on all four walls. Looking out the window was the princess, wearing a silver and gold tiara tastefully studded with a few diamonds, as well as a well-made traveler's outfit emblazoned with the seal of the royal house. She was still wearing her riding boots. As she turned around, gracefully, with a fencer's poise, Escalon couldn't help notice her body. Her tight riding pants clung to an ass that was both athletic and womanly. Her waist was narrow, but her shoulders were surprisingly wide, though that might have been the way her top was tailored. The young initiate himself stood just over six feet tall, barefoot as he was, but the princess was slightly taller than him in her riding boots. Overall, her presence exuded beauty, power, and grace... everything one would expect from a princess.
Before she could see him ogling her body, Escalon brought his eyes to Marguerite's face just as she turned around, her pale skin and midnight black hair gorgeous in the dim light of the unlit room. Her features were fine and elegant, regal and fierce but without a hint of cruelty or harshness to them.
The princess's eyes flicked over the abbot briefly, and then hung on Escalon, looking him up and down from his feet to his face. Something about the way her eyes traveled over him made the young priest blush slightly. Marguerite took a sip of wine from a golden goblet before walking toward the pair of clerics and setting it down.
"Barefoot?" she asked, looking down at Escalon's toes underneath his robe and arching an eyebrow
"Please, your highness, forgive the young man, he means no disrespect-"
"I didn't ask you, abbot." said the princess, cutting him off.
"Your highness." said Escalon, bowing in respect. "I was in a hurry to make it here. I'm used to going barefoot, in any case. I run twice daily barefoot around the school grounds."
"Oh?" asked Marguerite, crooking an index finger and pressing it to her lips while cupping the elbow of that arm in her other hand. "Is that to build endurance?"
"Er... yes, your highness. And to commune with our god."
"I suppose Gugal is known for his unflagging endurance and speed in service of the Queen of Heaven."
Marguerite, of course, referred to her goddess, Astarte, the Queen of Love and War, the most powerful of deities. The princess was an ordained holy warrior of the goddess, a feat few women ever achieved, and no woman of the royal line in over a century before her. Gugal was the goddess's horse, divine in and of himself, her faithful steed and helper, who had his own cult, of which Estalon was a part.
"Yes, your highness." said both men at the same time.
Marguerite's eyes flicked over to the abbot without moving her head, almost lazy in her affect.
"Leave us. I would talk to this young priest alone."
"Your highness, I-"
