Lorelei's Note: This story's tags spoil the direction it's going in. It also contains some major dubcon/noncon elements. Real-life con-noncon requires a lot of trust, safewords, and other things a fantasy can fudge a little. Enjoy the kink responsibly, and enjoy the story!
This story is set in my Glowpebble Path setting.
~ ~ ~ ~
Prince Hellebore stalked down the long, winding hallways that led to the boiler room, muttering darkly under his breath. Water dripped from his shoulder-length red hair onto the smooth, cold marble floor. He tried to keep on the right-hand side of the halls, away from the great stained glass windows. Each depicted a member of the royal line performing some great feat of heroism, and none of them were dressed as he was now.
Well, except for his Great-Great-Great-Great-Uncle Anton, whose 'great feat' involved collaring the Demon of Sandport. But his state of nudity at least had him in a dominant, manly pose.
As he passed a corner, he saw several chambermaids blinking wide eyes at him. He flushed and ducked his head, hurrying for the stairs.
He was going to
kill
those goblins.
Or at least, he corrected, biting his lip, give them a very stern talking to.
He was dreading it, though. The boilermaids for his chambers were... always difficult with him. Always insolent, always teasing him.
He gritted his teeth. He'd never heard of his father or uncle having this much trouble with their servants. Did these goblins have no loyalty to their prince?
~ ~ ~ ~
Hellebore slammed open the door to the boiler room. Or, well, briskly opened it. It was a rather heavy door. It opened into a short open staircase.
Their boiler room was built into the castle dungeons, just below ground level. The walls were of old, mossy stone bricks, and the marble floors gave way here to old rough-cut basalt, lumpy and cold against his bare feet.
The room was lit by the warm fiery glow of the East Wing Furnace, a great demonic-looking behemoth of black cast iron built into the wall. The holes of the four butterfly vents glowed red like the eyes of a gigantic spider. They cast pretty reflections off of the dangling glass trinkets and gewgaws hanging from the ceiling, causing little reflected motes of light to race across the walls like the glows of fluttering fireflies. Great fishing nets ran up the walls and the side of the staircase. Little potted herbs grew all around the furnace, though how they grew down here Hellebore could only guess. He noticed a wide bunk bed in the corner, the bottom bed perfectly made to the point he doubted it had ever been used and the top a tangled bird's nest of sheets, pillows and blankets.
He hesitated. He'd never actually been down here before. Not that he was intimidated by the boilermaids, just--
"Can we help you, Highness?" chirped a voice in his ear.
Hellebore jumped with a cry and nearly lost his footing, spinning to face the little woman who had just sprung onto the railing beside him.
Or, rather, to face her tits, which were at eye level. They were still jiggling from her sudden motion, flawless and smooth, seemingly totally immune to gravity--not unlike their nimble owner.
He tore his eyes away and met her gaze. "Vesyc," he said, his voice sharp from ill-concealed nerves. Her ill-concerned curves weren't helping.
"Good morning, Highness!" chirped two other voices in tandem, and he turned to see two other goblin women clambering up the stairs--one, Eneko, on all fours, the other, Catanya, staying carefully upright and poised as she smiled up at him with bright, glittering eyes.
The boiler goblins were a very particular variety of goblin, as he understood it, though he'd never met any other kind. They were short--the smallest, Catanya, was barely at his hips on her tiptoes--but as generously curvy as little goddesses, with breasts that could make a cowgirl jealous. Proportionately, at least. At the same time, they were lithe, muscular and fit, more supple than their jiggling thighs suggested, with a catlike grace that matched their fuzzy catlike ears, whisker-like freckles, feline eyes, and flicking cat tails.
They definitely weren't drop-dead gorgeous or anything. They definitely didn't have the kinds of bodies that could make men drool, the kinds of intense gazes that could leave someone dazzled and flustered, the kinds of lips that could...
Well, not that Hellebore would care, anyways. He wasn't here to ogle them, he was here to
complain
.
Catanya was their 'ringleader', and it was on her that he tried to focus--not on delicate, agile Eneko with her pillowy painted-black lips and dainty hands, not on Vesyc with her especially massive tits and wide, childbearing hips. No, his eyes were on Catania's--her gleaming crimson eyes that sparkled in the flickering firelight, her lips painted a deep blue, her skin, in contrast to her green-skinned companions, a smoldering scarlet.
Smoldering. Childbearing. Pillowy lips.
Hellebore's fingers tugged anxiously at a loose thread in the towel. He hated that he thought of such things about them, of course. They weren't sexy, they were
obnoxious
. But...
But it was like they were
trying
to make him think about them... that way! Those sheer tube tops, low-cut and clinging to their curves as if struggling not to slip down at any moment... those hips-hugging hotpants... they were ostensibly to avoid cinders catching their sleeves or trouser hems, but he
knew
it was to accentuate their curves, to bare as much cleavage as possible.
"Highness?" Catanya prompted, smiling slightly.
Hellebore flushed, remembering he'd been asked a question. "Yes, you can." He raised his head imperiously high, just as the King always did, and tried to project some of that cool-fire menace into his voice. "Do you have any idea how cold the bathwater is this morning?"
He heard a yawn, and spun, scowling, to face Vesyc. She blinked at him, head tilting innocent to the side.
These impudent, lady creatures. He felt his cheeks reddening, especially when he realized Eneko was taking the opportunity to ogle his ass.
"Too cold?" she guessed, her expression as pure as sweet black night, when he whirled on her and drew his towel tighter around himself.
I've ever done a single thing wrong in my life,
those eyes whispered.
"It's
freezing
," he snapped. He gestured to the furnace. "How long has that been running? It's meant to be lit to a blaze before sunup!"
"Oh, gosh!" Eneko put a finger to her pouty lips, frowning between him and the furnace. "Well, it's lit now!"
"Yes, but--the water needs time to heat up before it should be pumped into my baths!"
She blinked big blue eyes. "Are you sure it wasn't hot, Your Highness? Maybe you just imagined it?"
"No, I--" He sputtered in outrage. The nerve! They would never talk to their King this way. "I did not
imagine
it! The water was--it was positively lukewarm!"
"We must have slept in, Your Highness," Catanya cut in smoothly as Eneko, hand on her hip, was opening her mouth for a retort. She swept a dramatic bow. "We
beg
your patience and forgiveness. It won't happen again."
He huffed. "Well, I should think not."
He almost wanted to leave it at that. They'd apologized. The matter was settled. But would that make him appear weak? His uncle always said his mother was always too soft on the servants.
He drew himself up tall. "Very good. You understand, I trust, that the place of the boiler goblins is to serve the Royal Family--and you, in particular, are here to serve your Prince. It should not be an inconvenience to... h-hey, stop that!""
He'd caught Vesyc trying to peer down the front of his towel. The goblin drew back, teetering on the railing, and giggled. "Oops! Sorry, m'lord, was losin' my balance, is all."
He squirmed. He was suddenly very conscious of his attire compared to theirs. The Prince didn't have to worry about modesty before his servants. His uncle always stressed that his servants' only purpose was to serve him, and they had no right to complain. Still, he felt distinctly like the goblins were enjoying it a
little
too much.
