Author's Note - 'Trevilan Chronicles' are unconnected short stories set in the same world as 'The Prince's Potion,' this one takes place around five years later. Though not necessary, I strongly recommend reading those stories prior to this one. I realize my stories are not for everyone. If you're not interested in exaggerated sex organs, incest, inbreeding, and medieval/fantasy settings, this may not be for you. Thank you for the continued support and feedback!
All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older.
Trevilan Chronicles - Panther & Fox
Cylas Zalor walked barefoot along his beachfront property. The sun was low in the sky and made the waves appear a deep red. It was quiet at this hour, near the end of summer on the southern coast of Trevilan, where small communities like this one enjoyed the peaceful silence this time of year brought after the tourist season ended. Cylas sat down and picked up a clump of sand; let it fall through his fingers as he regarded the sunset. He thought about how good the last five years had been.
Despite the plague that had ravaged Trevilan, he, for whatever reason, had prospered. He was the current ambassador of Balmudia, and had been living here, about a day's ride from Castle Velcin, ever since he'd been appointed by the king, nearly five years ago. His predecessor had tragically died on his way home, that vile plague had already reached his home kingdom, and the rich former merchant Cylas, already based here in Trevilan for two years prior to the plague, was the logical successor.
A lot had changed in that time. He was forty-five now, old in these parts, and looked his age. Still handsome and in good shape, there were now white wings above his ears in his otherwise messy brown hair... he supposed that had come with the job.
And the years.
Frankly, he was happy to have any hair at all, with his genetics being what they were. His father had been bald by the time he was his age, and then had dead two years later from apoplexy.
Cylas had therefore wanted to age well because of his father. He looked after himself. He always tried to stay in good shape, maintain a healthy weight, given that he was a little taller than average, at just over six feet, and, despite swearing never to get married again after his divorce, still had a healthy sex life.
He smiled and enjoyed the sunset alone.
This little beach community, home of the official Balmudian consulate, wasn't a particularly busy area, but he could see why they had chosen to build the estate here. Compared to the long, harsh winters of the north, this place was the complete opposite. Long summers and short winters. Beautiful beaches with an extremely agreeable climate. It was just close enough to the castle for his official business but far enough to separate itself from the comings and goings of busy city life in the capital.
This little town had naturally enjoyed a thriving tourist scene prior to the plague, but the last five years were very slow. It was starting to bounce back but the young families and partying youth stopped coming. The population inevitably dwindled, once the foreign money disappeared, and most townsfolk had to commute back to the capital or pick up subsistence farming.
Still, Cylas loved this place, even if it was slowly dying. He stayed up to date on all the local gossip and goings-on. His eye still lingered on young flesh, slim as the pickings were. There were still a few lovely daughters walking around, who always seemed interested in the rich foreign noble living in the big house near the beach. He had
dethroned
a few willing virgins over the years,
slain a few dragons
. The women of the village affectionately referred to his ample member as
the battering ram
, his penchant for breaking maidenheads being the stuff of local legend.
Sure, he got lonely from time to time. Cylas had left his family in Balmudia to take work in Trevilan, that was almost eight years ago now, and it had eventually cost him his marriage. He hadn't grieved for very long. His wife hadn't seemed to either, remarrying less than a year later. Part of the reason he had taken the job in the first place was to get away from that woman and her very controlling family. The only thing he really regretted about moving here was that it had cost him his relationship with his daughter, Amyzek. His only child.
Amy was eighteen, but Cylas hadn't laid eyes on her since before the plague. Of course, they wrote to each other often, but it was far too risky for him or her to visit during the dark times. Cylas dipped his hands in the waves and wiped the sand off. He squinted and tried to picture what little Amy might look like today. He still had her most recent letter in his pocket.
Amy was now of age and, since most of the heavier quarantine measures in Trevilan had lifted, she had begged him to book her passage to Trevilan, so that she might live here and continue her education. Cylas could not have been happier at the proposal and had made all the preparations. He had written several letters to the royals of Trevilan, Balmudia, and his family. It was all arranged. The weeks had flown by and the waiting was finally over. His plans were coming together. He would retire in the next year and wanted nothing more than his daughter to be here with him.
Tomorrow, Amy's ship was due to arrive at the harbor in the capital.
Cylas stood up and walked along the beach, thinking about everything that his daughter's arrival meant. He was going to be a father again. He would get to really care for someone else again... and not just himself. But it also meant he would have to clean up and stop fooling around all the time. He'd have to get serious about his duties and obligations as representative of Balmudia, and then pass the baton to some new noble willing to do the work.
To be fair, the job had pretty lax during the plague. Balmudia and Trevilan were on good terms; the plague had oddly enough settled any tensions between them. Sure, trade could always be better but there was little helping it with such strict rules in place. Now that things were finally starting to pick up again, Cylas figured it was a good time to call it quits, let someone else do the hard work of forging stronger ties... and for him to try being a father again.
Amy's arrival, no doubt, would also mean an end to all the parties.
Cylas was fairly well known in this beach community, possibly throughout the high society of Trevilan, for his exclusive gatherings at the beach house. Lavish dinner parties, opulent masked balls, orgies. Cylas liked to party and most of his friends, his secret network of wealthy nobles (
and even a few royals
), also liked to party. They liked to drink, dance, and fuck... and be seen fucking. Sure, the masked nature of these parties gave his guests some amount of anonymity, but Cylas always knew who was who. He had invited them. Once a month, he brought in the goods: wine and spirits, food... young girls and boys from the surrounding area, and let the evening run rampant.
They had had to be very selective and even more secretive during the plague years, but more recently his small collective had been able to loosen up and go back to their more open arrangements on his private property.
Once a month he hosted the gathering, and so far, there had been no outbreaks or incidents reported. It certainly seemed that the Velcin vaccine had done its work, both here and across the kingdom. Cylas could say nothing bad about the infamous inbred royals. One of them regularly frequented his events. Her obscene tastes were well known to Cylas.
The Velcin's had seized on curing the disease and made good on their promise to rid the land of it. He was truly in awe, as most people were, that they actually had done so in less than five years... considering many figured it was a herald of the end times. The second lease on life put everything in a new light. Cylas had a second chance to reconnect with his daughter. He wasn't going to waste such an opportunity.
It was getting dark now and he started to make his way back up the beach. Most of his official work was clued up and he even had a few good replacements in mind. He still had one more party to host, a week from tomorrow, but that couldn't be helped. It was going to be the grand finale and he was sure to make it a good one. He had to figure out what to do with Amy being here... but time enough to work out the details. He was actually more excited to see his baby girl than the party.
Next day, Cylas rode into town and made his way to the harbor front. It was beautiful, sunny day and the green-copper roofs of the brick buildings shined brightly. There were vendors and store fronts along every cobblestone street. A testament to the endurance of Trevilan. Even the fish markets were a hive of activity and it was a welcome sight. Even if the detestable musky smell permeated everywhere. Cylas couldn't begrudge the docks. The place had resembled a ghost town the last five years. It was good to see everything back to normal once again. He was far too late for the market by this hour, the place would be picked clean, but he was right on time for the ship from Balmudia's arrival.
He tied up his horse and walked along the busy pier. If there were any measures in place, you wouldn't know it from the size of the crowds milling about. He soon spotted the familiar vessel of his homeland, by its white and blue sails, a diminutive sloop with a single mast. Less than fifty feet and not in the best condition, but just the sight of it made him homesick.
Cylas and his family grew up in southern Balmudia. He had lived next to the bay; the ocean always had a strong connection to his family. His heart felt full when he was close to water. He didn't think he could live there now; the place would never be the same after the plague. He had been spoiled by Trevilan winters, if they could be called that. This tropical paradise along the coast was probably going to be his place of retirement. Sure, he would miss the compound, his ambassadorial home, but he had been eyeing a few properties in the area and would be sure to seek his daughter's opinion as well.
Speaking of his daughter, Cylas spotted a small group of people exiting the vessel, making their way up the dock. He saw five of them and, he was ashamed to say, he couldn't decide which one was Amy from here.
Truth be told, he hadn't seen her in over five years, but still, they all looked like adults; none appeared to be his daughter. He swallowed, was this nervousness he was feeling? Butterflies in his stomach? It had been a while since that happened. He approached the dock to meet off the crowd. They were all men, varying in age but no sign of Amy among them. 'Excuse me,' he asked the man at the front of the group. 'Is that the ship from Balmudia?'
'That's right, sir,' the man replied. 'Are you... looking for someone?'
'My daughter,' Cylas said, clearing his throat. 'Amy. Do you know if she was on board?'
The man shifted his eyes and blushed. 'Er, yes. Your daughter. Amy. She's... oh! There she is just coming now.'
