The Dragon's Mistress (Dragon Erotica)

Guinevere was not ready to be married off to
the prince of Dalbin. She was not ready to be a Queen. She wasn't
sure that'd she'd ever be. She was known among the folk of Aspen as
the king's first son—a jibe at her predilection for danger.
Guinevere enjoyed hunting for foxes on her massive black horse
Taerion, as well as archery in the king's field at the crack of
dawn. She preferred spending her time among the spindly trees and
woodland creatures, learning the ways of a simpler, more primitive
life over the ways of a princess. The king and Queen preferred that
she was gone as well; she was prickly, like a beautiful rose with
harsh and unsightly thorns. She was not pleasant company for her
siblings or tutors.

That is why on the day of the king's
announcement she was as shocked as the rest of the kingdom. She had
only been informed that very morning that she would be marrying
Aden, the prince of Dalbin. She could hear from her window the
cheers from beyond the castle wall's just out in the market square.
Surely, she realized, her father's advisor had just informed them
of the news, which probably meant that the King and Queen still had
hope for a male heir. It was what the subjects wanted to hear.
Bitterly, she thought of her stepmother's expanding stomach and
ripped the necklace she had given her from her neck.

'To remind you that you are
now a lady
,' her stepmother had said as she clasped it
around her neck on her twelfth birthday.

She chucked the necklace across the room,
angered by the laws that kept her from ruling Aspen. She was
stronger than most men, and more severe, certainly. But the few
that could get over her delicate features and her narrow waist
couldn't get over her dark hair and round, black eyes, features
that no one in the kingdom possessed but she. They were convinced
she was foreign-born, and there were rumors that lingered in the
market square and on the wineskins of passing travelers that she
had been found on the hunt, the child of a careless forest
nymph.

What they did not understand was that her
father was gravely ill, and if he didn't have an heir of twelve
years soon, his nasty queen would rule the nation. Her stepmother
had made it clear to her that Guinevere would never rule as long as
she had a say, and that once her father died all her decisions for
Aspen would be based on the interests of the kingdom of her birth,
Heathfurrow.

Guinevere gripped her arms around her
shoulders and shook with anger. Her long hair trembled against the
tips of her long, slim fingers.

"I will not submit to this," she hissed,
glaring at the bright sun that cursed her, gracing the hum of
excitement out on the cobblestone of the market's square.

Two days after the announcement Guinevere
made it her mission to corner the royal warlock, Cameron. He spent
much of his time locked away in his wing of the castle, so after
his weekly meeting with the king and his advisors she waited for
him in the corridor before the Warlock's Wing. She waited for him,
her back pressed against the cool, stone wall, in an elegant dress.
It was a deep emerald green that pinched at her waist, broidered
with gold at the low neck and at the bells of the large openings
for her wrists. It was much different from her normal, shapeless,
brown gown, and though she didn't see the Warlock Cameron often,
she was certain he would notice the difference.

She looked up and smiled to herself when she
heard footsteps echo down the hall. Cameron came down the corridor
and his eyes widened at the sight of her. She couldn't deny that he
looked quite good himself; he was certainly the youngest warlock
the kingdom had ever seen, but nobody knew by how many years. He
was not large, but of good stock, and when he moved she could she
the lines of his hard body beneath his drab, brown robes. She had
seen him grow over the years, from the balcony that hung above the
courtyard where he practiced as an apprentice. Her desire for him
went back as long as she could remember; he was the only one who
could cause her cheeks to heat with just a glance. She took in a
deep inhale, attempting to steady the butterflies that erupted in
her stomach. He could not have the best of her today.

"Princess," he bowed as he approached her,
his long blonde hair falling into his eyes. "To what do I owe this
pleasure?"

"I would like to request that we meet in your
quarters," she said, pushing herself off the wall and placing her
hands on her hips.

"I--"his green eyes widened once again.
"Princess, as much as I am a servant to your bidding, I am bound to
thy word of His Majesty first."

"Has he ever commanded that I steer clear of
your quarters?" She asked, cocking a brow. She could feel her heart
pound furiously against her chest. Though she showed no sign of it,
she was secretly petrified. She knew she could get Cameron killed
for this if anyone were to see her disappear into his room.

"No, I admit that he has not," he lowered his
eyes and brought a hand up to rub his neck.

"Then you shall take me to your quarters, or
alas, I shall tell the kingdom that I am round with your seed," she
said maliciously, feeling the nerves quiver inside of her.

"But...Your Majesty," he waved his palms
before her defensively. "Surely the midwife will see it to be a
lie."

"Not until after you are cold," she spat, a
swell of confidence growing inside of her. Though she knew that she
shouldn't, she was well aware of what it took to make a child. Many
years of snooping around the servants quarters and watching animals
copulate in the forest had taught her. She couldn't deny that
sometimes in the middle of the night she awoke feeling feverish, a
wet stream between her legs. On more than one occasion a dream of
the warlock was the cause.

"As you wish, Princess," Cameron bowed, a
twitching hand pressed to his chest. Though she knew that this was
dangerous and foolhardy, Guinevere wanted more than anything to be
the ruler of Aspen. If she could not do it as a queen, then she
would do it as a king.

Cameron led her to his quarters, pulling open
the elaborately decorated wood door for her. He waved a hand before
him and Guinevere pulled up the trailing fabric of her dress and
held her head high. Though she had been forced to practice walking
in her dresses she was still no good at it, and it did not behoove
her to get any better.

"Please, Princess," Cameron said, closing the
door behind him. "Have a seat."

Guinevere was surprised at the size of his
sitting room. The windows were large like her own, and the red
curtains that were closed over them were embroidered with silver
patterns. There was a large, dark wood table with tall matching
chairs, and a bowl of apples and a jug of wine in the center.
Guinevere did not expect that the Warlock entertained often but it
appeared the contrary. She took a seat at the table and he sat
across from her.

"So, Princess, what have you come to such a
humble warlock for?"

"If I understand your powers truly, then you
are being quite modest." Guinevere took the jug of wine and sloshed
it into her cup. She knew that Cameron had not offered her anything
because it would not be proper, but she wanted to make a point that
all the taboos were on the table. She took a long, steady sip from
her goblet and smiled, grateful for its heady properties.

"I have come to ask that you cast me a
spell," she said, her goblet hitting the table with a commanding
thud.

"What kind of spell, Princess?" A spark of
bemusement lit up his eyes.

"I want to rule Aspen. As you are aware,
there is but one thing that stands in my way," she said, malice
curling up on her pretty lip.

"And you want me to cure you of it?" Cameron
said, his head nodding slowly as he came to an understanding.

"Yes. I want you, with your ethereal powers,
to make me my father's son."

Cameron paused. He gave her a small smile and
then stood from the table, taking stroll over to one of the large
windows. He pushed a curtain aside to watch the horses in the
stables, stamping their feet and neighing at the flies that were
undoubtedly causing them grief.

"Princess, while it is my duty to serve His
Highness and his kin, I cannot lead you to believe that your
request is more than a dream. It is beyond me, truly."

"And for what reason is that?" Guinevere
snapped impatiently.

"Come to this window, Your Highness. There is
no one out to see us," he added when he saw the pause on her face.
She pushed her chair back and joined him at the window, the long
trail of her dress threatening to send her to the floor.

"Horses? You called on me to look at horses?
My dear Warlock, though you may not be aware of my affairs, I am
well acquainted with the stables." she scoffed, throwing back her
luxurious black hair over her shoulders.

"No, Princess. I did not call you over for
the view of the stables. Rather, look beyond them. What stands
behind the King's Forest?"

She studied the large, purple mountains and
shuddered. Though she had spent many days in the forest, even she,
the impetuous "first son," knew better than to approach those
imperial structures.

"The Mountains of Hellspring," she said,
quietly. The rumors and legends about the godforsaken Mountains of
Hellspring were vast. There were stories about unspeakably large
and grotesque creatures, of spirits and haunts that could steal
your soul just by looking at you.

"Precisely," Cameron nodded. "Princess, in
order to do magic this strong I would require a certain gem that
has been stolen from the Kingdom many years ago. It is the Stone of
Aspen. But the unspeakable guards it. The Dragon Mortagon."

"Doesn't he dwell at the base of the
mountain?" Guinevere asked, her eyes still trained on the goliath
roll of mountains. "One would not have to go through the mountains
themselves."

"This is true. But no soul has ever returned
from Mortagon's lair. I cannot do that for you Princess, even if
you threaten my life. I will die either way, and your way, though
it involves disgrace would not be nearly as painful.

She raised her eyes from the window to meet
the face of the tall warlock. "Then I'll do it. I'll retrieve the
stone. I have nothing without it," she said harshly.

"Princess," he said lowly, lowering his head
slightly. Guinevere caught a whiff of the Warlock's scent, a mix of
sage and lager, and she felt her knees go weak. "I cannot permit
this. This is not a task for the most skilled warrior, much less a
Princess. I will be forced to tell His Majesty and send the royal
guards after you."

"And what if I promised you something well
worth your silence?"
"Princess, this is your life..."

"I will kill myself. I will drink hemlock if
you send the guards after me," she said quickly, her gentle face
hardening. "But if I succeed, if you help me and equip me with your
magic..."

"Then what, Princess?" Cameron looked worried
and haggard. His brows dropped in concern. He brought a hand to his
head and rubbed his temple.

"Then we can act on my secret passion," she
whispered, bringing a hand up to his neck. A jolt of nerves shot
through her body, and she had never believed that she would
actually be so bold. But she knew the way men looked at her when
she dressed like a Princess. Try as they might to hide it, She knew
her power.

"Princess..."

"Just once." Guinevere pulled his neck down
so that his lips came near her's, his trembling exhales gracing her
lips with a sultry heat. "Before I am truly the first born son of
Aspen."

There lips met and Cameron gently gripped his
hands around her waist. Guinevere kissed him with the passion that
welled up inside her body, begging for a kiss worthy of all those
torrid nights alone with the sheets tangled between her thighs. She
pulled his lips into hers and raised her hands over his face,
sliding them up into the tangles of his soft hair. Cameron's hands
moved slowly up her body, the heat of his hands teasing her body
through the bodice of her dress. His fingers paused beneath her
bosom, and she pulled his hands up with her own, guiding them over
her ample chest. He cupped them gently, and she moved her mouth
over his neck, taking his skin into her supple lips.