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The queen worries about her younger son, and the king loses his temper when she works up the gall to confront him about it. After he storms off, she invites a certain guard of chivalrous demeanor to visit her. Together, the pair engage in some very illicit comfort until they both howl into the night. The following morning, Prince Ander worries that something is wrong.

Trigger Warning for some verbal abuse and implied physical abuse as well as intimidation in the beginning. No one gets hit in the scene, but it is implied to have happened in the past. If reading that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, but you still wanna read the saucy bits, search "Reyla" on this page and you'll land right at the good stuff!

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A chill wind rattled its way across the rooftops of the city, swirling and twisting aimlessly until it made the leap over the low wall surrounding the palace grounds. From there, it rolled over rows of decorative hedges and dormant, leafless trees to collide with the palace itself, riding up along the stonework before spiralling off into the evening. The streets of the city itself bustled with activity, but the noise didn't carry so far as the wind did, stopped by wards erected long ago for the comfort of the royalty and nobility housed within. Here, all was silent.

Tall, slender, and regal, the queen sat on her balcony high above the royal gardens. She paid the cold no heed as the flurries fell around her. Snowflakes collected on the rich, green cloak that shielded her wings and back from the worst of the wind, but did little to protect the gentler, lighter scutes of her belly. She lifted a forefoot to catch them, watching as they dotted her blue scales with white, only for the heat of her touch to melt them away. A small, pained smile played on her muzzle as fondness joined the sadness in her eyes. She could remember a time when first snow, when any snow, would have filled her home with the shouts and laughter of jubilant children. The groping quiet that leaked slowly out of the doorway behind her sounded stark and frozen against the memory. Barren and sad. No voices disturbed the stillness, and the stillness gnawed at the roots of her heart.

Brenna heaved a sigh and watched her breath rise in a short-lived puff that agitated several flurries in their descent. They muttered silent ire at her as they drifted past her muzzle, which brought her faint humor. Ander had once told her that the flurries seemed to berate him for breathing at them and scaring them so, and the remembered innocence of a child's mind, that snowflakes should seem to fuss over being blown about by people as they fell...

Her smile twitched slightly wider for a moment, fond and distantly amused. The sorrow in her eyes grew with her smile, though. She let another steaming breath escape through her nostrils. More fussing snowflakes fluttered past.

"I wonder if he's noticed the snow."

She scarcely realized that she'd lent the thought voice, but she felt the weight of the words keenly all the same. Snowfall wouldn't bring him the same happiness that it once had. Still, she hoped at least that he saw it, and that it would bring him some small comfort. She knew her little boy was safe, but she hated to think of his pain.

Voices drifted through the open door, big, deep, and adult, far from the childish cries whose absence haunted her so. Nearer, they drew, but still distal, echoing down a hallway and across an empty room before reaching her ears. Another voice rose, younger and smaller, but full of confidence. Aiden, her older son, happy, bright, and apparently heedless of his brother's absence. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Perhaps it was wrong for it to hurt her so much that her eldest child should be so unhurt. And yet, hurt her it did.

The older voices laughed in response to whatever the younger had said, very near now. She caught the end of a parting remark, and the door to her bedchambers closed. A low chuckle rumbled in her husband's throat, bright and mellow.

"Won't you come in from the cold, love?"

She didn't answer. Her talons rose of their own accord and tightened the cloak around her shoulders, but not because of the cold. She could read the expectant edge through the warmth and cheerfulness in his voice and knew that he hadn't simply come to socialize. After a moment, the sound of his footfalls on the light dusting that had already gathered on the balcony warned her just before her husband was suddenly at her side. He could move so quietly for so large a dragon. Gracile and proud. There was a time when she loved that about him, how his movements were broad but purposeful, possessed of a certain refined poise that seemed incongruous with his larger frame. It had been the thing that first attracted her to him. His strength had been a quieter one then. Or perhaps she merely hadn't known any better yet. She preferred to think that he'd changed over the years, but she wasn't really sure anymore. He laughed quietly and brushed the snow from her cloak with a wing before laying the wing over her back and nuzzling his cheek against hers. One of his horns grazed over the thin silver circlet on her head with a tiny scuffing sound.

"You're going to get buried out here."

His body was even warmer than his voice. Too warm. She felt and ignored the urge to flinch away, leaning slightly into the touch instead, pretending. Nevertheless, he seemed to be in a truly good mood, and without even any wine on his breath, perhaps he would be pliable enough to see reason. It had been three days now, and it might be that the incident had faded enough from his memory that he no longer cared about it. Perhaps she could try.

Making her decision, Brenna leaned hard against his flank, nuzzling him in return, and he gave a happy rumble, as though nothing at all were amiss. As though they were the happiest, closest pair in all the world. The two of them stared out across the city, toward where the sun would just be setting the sky ablaze with fiery colors were it not blocked by clouds and falling snow. As it was, the grey-silver sky merely darkened anticlimactically as the daylight faded into the dark of nighttime. She pulled a resolute breath into her lungs. The chill of the air burned slightly, but she ignored it. The burning was nothing compared to the ache in her soul. Nothing compared to the anxious fear tightening behind her ribs.

"Faorell?"

He tensed at the strain in her tone, but relaxed again. Slowly.

"Yes, love?"

She deflated slightly at the suspicion in his voice, and hesitated, knowing that he'd already guessed. Curse his fickle perceptiveness! He could miss so much, only to notice exactly the wrong thing and figure out exactly what was coming. She braced for an argument, determination rising like fire in her belly. Suddenly, he sighed.

"I won't hurt the boy, Brenna," he said, veneer completely restored, showing no hint that he was anything but happy and contented. The picture of kingly bearing, calm and collected, possessed of a dignified gentleness. All false. The easy smile on his face seemed to mock her. She had come to greatly dislike his easy regality. The wind cut through her scales, rasping across the snow in agreement.

She relaxed herself, deliberately cooling the heat in her chest from flames to mere embers. If he meant to be reasonable, then perhaps reason could be had. Perhaps it even hurt him, a little, to feel the absence of their younger son. Perhaps, behind the mask, there was something left of the man she loved. Scarcely-dared hope tinged her voice.

"He wasn't trying to be insolent, you know."

He tensed again, agitated, and she fought the urge to dodge away from his side.

"I've already said that I won't hurt him."

A growl sharpened his voice to a knife's edge.

"Why are you still defending him instead of just having him brought back from whatever little hidey-hole you've sequestered him in?"

This time, she did pull away, but only slightly, turning her head to look him in the face. He returned her gaze with eyes so hard that he might as well have openly glared. That was a talent of his, glaring without glaring. To anyone who might have caught a passing glance at their balcony, had they the eyes to pierce through both the gloom and the falling snow, their exchange would have looked affectionate, nothing but an intimate conversation between lovers. Such a watcher would have averted their attention quickly, embarrassed, never knowing the truth. She hated how well he maintained appearances.

"Well?" he challenged, his eyes growing harder, but his smile remaining soft and warm. Fake, so very fake.

Brenna was not a brittle person. She did not become angry easily. She prided herself on her composure. More than that, she knew better. But now, she could feel it slipping, her slow, drowsy temper rousing with indignation, burning with an unholy fire that drew far too close to hatred. Fear of her own voice worked icy fingers through her veins, pushing and pulling, crawling painfully through. She fought to keep her voice level and uncolored by her roiling emotions.

"Because you're still angry over it."

"I told you that I won't touch him."

"And you think that's fair and just?" her words boiled free, unfettered and hard, "A father that will not touch his son? You think that's love?"

Surging emotion carried her away from his side.

"How is it right that you haven't given your son a hug or a touch on the shoulder in years that he hasn't flinched away from in fear? What kind of father promises merely not to hurt his own child?"

The king let loose with a true growl, a low, dangerous sound that pulled one corner of his upper lip back over his teeth, a wordless threat. The fingers of fear in her veins turned to daggers, stabbing through her blood, but he caught himself before letting anything else escape from his precious veneer of regality. His voice hardened.

"What would you have me do then, Brenna?"

Huffing, he turned sharply about and stomped through the door, as though he thought his question were an argument-ending remark. Brenna shivered, suddenly very exposed to the cold, hating her boldness as much as her fear, teetering. Emotions warred in her heart, all so dangerous. They threatened to break through the dam she had so carefully locked them behind and spill out of her throat. She likewise spun about and strode in, leaving the door open lest she slam it.

"Forgive him," she urged, half enraged and half pleading, "Remember that he's just a child, that he won't always know when he should and shouldn't speak."

"He shouldn't be in places where he must be careful of protocol, then. There was no reason for him to even be there."

"Is it wrong of him to love his father? How can I bring him home with you like this? When his very next misstep around the father he adores will land your teeth on his throat? Why won't you remember that some part of you still loves your son?"

He pretended to ignore her, thumbing through a stack of old letters from her little-used desk in the corner. The dam in her heart fractured and she lost her grip. Her bared fangs flashed bright rage.

"Stop fumbling with meaningless papers and listen to me, Faorell!"

Her shout hung on the air, resonating across the tension with a silent, breathless hum even after the sound of it had faded. Fear lanced her heart and her blood froze entirely. She widened her stance, bracing herself, debating whether she was willing to try using the claws that clenched at the tiles beneath her feet, whether this would be the time that she lost herself entirely. Whether this would be the time that she fought back. He threw down the stack so that it slammed half onto the desk, flipping off of it and scattering. An inkpot fell, hitting the floor with a crack and slinging its contents in a long arc. She flinched, talons etching stone. He stared at the pages beneath him, muzzle twitching, chest heaving. A heavier huff pushed from his chest. His breath quieted, and he reached down slowly, gathering the paper and straightening it again into a neat stack before setting it much more carefully onto the desk. The inkpot he left. A gust of wind circled about the room, able to enter but not escape.

"Brenna, you know that I would never..."

His voice, already very soft, trailed. He turned and faced her with another deep huff. Tears burned behind Brenna's eyes, pressing through, fleeing. His eyes were full of regret, but not as much as they should have been. Not with the right kind of remorse.

"But you have."

She could manage only a whisper, fighting too hard against the pressure in her throat. Trembling. Tears fell, deafeningly loud in their silence, accusing. His head likewise fell, remembering, ashamed, for once, or else finding it necessary to pretend to be. Her voice scarcely carried her words, nearly soundless.

"That's why I've had to hide him away all these times, Faorell. Because you already fucking have."

His muzzle twitched again, head rising, eyes hard and filling with all-too-familiar fire. She ducked reflexively, ears folding back against her neck.

"Watch your tongue, woman," he growled. She looked up at him, tense, waiting, saying nothing, debating again the usefulness of her clenching talons, perhaps of her teeth. Whether she would shout for help this time. If anyone would hear her voice through the wards in the walls. She knew that they wouldn't. She feared what might happen if they ever did.

He took a step forward, straightening to his full height, glaring balefully into her soul. She winced. Another step, almost calm in his rage, focussed and intent. Another step, and another. Her heart sledgehammered at the inside of her ribs. His eyes shifted, staring through or past her. She ignored the prickle at the nape of her neck. The door to the balcony was open. She could make it, probably, turn and sprint off while he wasn't expecting it, leap over the banister, snap her wings open, flee into the night. Would he fly after her? Would he let her go? Could she leave Aiden here, vulnerable to his wrath?

She cried out as he jerked his head away with a snarl, carrying the movement into a swing of his talons that caught the edge of a bookshelf and snapped the wood, which splintered under the blow without quite flying apart. He struck it again and it buckled, spilling books and loose parchment. She edged toward the doorway behind her, not quite willing to turn yet, flexing her wings as much as she dared. He glared at the bookshelf as if hating it for giving way so easily. As though his claws hadn't been strengthened by years of war. As though it should have fared better, somehow, than flesh and bone might have. Perhaps considering how bloody the blow would have been if directed at her. Perhaps, she thought, daring to feel a twinkling of relief, that very consideration was what gave him pause. She still flinched hard when a bookend slid at last from the ruined shelf and toppled to the floor.

"This," he declared, not quite to her so much as to the room, "isn't worth my damned time."

The prickling at the nape of her neck intensified as he turned to look just past her again. She sank a little further toward the floor, hoping he wasn't staring at the open door, that he hadn't guessed that she'd thought about fleeing through it.

"Bring him back or don't. I don't really care which," he growled. "Either way, have fun being all alone. I'll warm my own bed tonight."

Punctuating the statement with a heavily stomped forefoot, he whirled and stormed out of the room, yanking the door open and shutting it behind him with far more firmness than necessary. She waited, frozen in place, holding her breath, heart beating once, twice, three times, four. Ten. Twenty. Finally, she decided that he must really be gone and collapsed, letting air flood into her screaming lungs. She clenched at the floor again, etching thin lines into the stone with her claws, trembling, failing to quite bite back a sob. Tears flowed more freely, hot and hateful upon her cheeks.

Anger burned in her belly, at the world, at her husband. At herself. She choked briefly on self-loathing, swallowing it with great effort and burying it beneath empty thoughts. Her gaze found the remains of the shelf, and she stood, walking over and inspecting the damage. Nothing had been broken, aside from the shelf itself. Nothing important, at least. She'd stopped leaving important things out where they could be broken years ago. Books were fine, though. Books didn't typically break very easily, and these were no exception. She began to stack them up, but stopped herself.

Why? What was the point? The staff would find the mess if she left it, of course, but it wasn't like they wouldn't find the splintered shelf anyway. She'd have to send for the carpenter in the morning to have it repaired. Or, more likely, replaced. The palace hadn't kept a carpenter on retainer _before _her husband had been crowned king.

Her mother had always told her that if one wanted to know all of the secret things going on in a palace, then one should ask the people who changed the bedsheets. These days, Brenna figured one could learn more about the happenings here by asking the ones who fixed and replaced all of the broken things.

Forget it.

A bitter laugh caught in her throat, not quite managing to escape before dying. It left a sour taste on her breath.

This isn't worth my damned time.

It wasn't like the staff didn't know already. It wouldn't really make a difference. They would just continue to maintain the politely feigned ignorance that they'd displayed up to this point. She might as well just leave the mess for them to clean up.

Mechanically, her legs carried her to the balcony door, and she closed it without much thought. She latched it and walked across the room, pausing to consider at least wiping up the spilled ink before it dried, or else sending for someone to do so. But it too could simply be left until morning. Let it be found. Let it stay. It wasn't like he was going to come back and see it. Perhaps if he did, being faced with a lingering reminder of his rage would do some good. She shook her head, adjusted the lay of her cloak, sucked in a long, calming breath, and opened the door.

"Reyla," she called.

"Yes, your highness?"

The guard already stood at attention facing her bedchamber door, amber eyes betraying the concern that her silken voice managed to mask. She ventured a step toward Brenna, careful and measured, proper, eyes searching. Brenna smirked, dropping her gaze from the depths of that gaze down to her jaw, and lower, dragging it across her charcoal-feathered neck, imagining the slopes and lines and fluff-softened edges that lay hidden beneath tabarded armor.

"Is there something you need, your highness?"

Are you alright?

The real question hung unspoken. Brenna didn't much want to answer it. Instead, she cast a quick, wary glance up and down the lamplit hallway, but they were alone, as befitted the lateness of the hour.

"Did you see which way the king went, Reyla?"

"Yes, your highness. He went west," she pointed down the hall to the queen's left. Good. That meant he really had gone to warm his own bed. If not for the king, then no one but the faithful guard posted at her door would come this way, and if heaven truly held any kindness, the man would tire himself with wine and the rigorous company of his own clumsy talons and then sleep soundly until morning. Her smirk deepened, and she stepped back into the room, beckoning.

Reyla followed, closing the door behind her and sliding the bolt into place.

"Are you well, your highness?"

Her attention swept around the room as she asked, assessing, cataloguing. She paused an especially long half-second on the bookshelf, letting her politely neutral expression tighten a little as her tail gave an agitated flick. Her paws flexed, retractable talons peeking out, stark ivory against her night-dark toes.

Brenna knew that the question was genuine, but she couldn't bear to answer it truthfully. Not right now. Not yet. Her muscles refused to quite relax from before, and she wanted physical comfort far, far more than she wanted to discuss her husband's latest rage. Not that she could bring herself to directly say that either. She had been raised far too properly to explicitly declare such a thing anyhow. Of course, she'd also been raised too properly to be doing anything at all like what she hoped she was about to be doing, so she might as well toss that justification out the window.

"A little lonely," she said, turning gracefully about and walking slowly to her bed, swaying her hips just enough that she could sense the blush on Reyla's face, feel the undivided attention that fell on her rump. Pausing, she reared, unclasped her cloak, and let it slide sensually from her shoulders.

"Perhaps you could assist me with that?"

The line was truly awful, like something out of one of those particularly trashy books that she'd never been allowed to read while under her parents' roof, and she knew it. She also knew that it would work. Armor creaked with the shifting of Reyla's weight, and her helmet hit the floor with a dull clunk. Brenna thought she heard Reyla lick her lips as she pulled back the sheets and crawled onto the mattress, lifting her tail strategically for a sliver of a second. Reyla coughed, and Brenna knew that her scandalous flash had been seen. She gave a long, suggestive sigh, shifting her body to settle into the mattress.

"This seems... improper, your highness."

But Reyla was already crossing the room and tossing her tabard aside heedlessly. Brenna curled onto her side, hindlegs splayed perfectly to suggest the cleft between them without actually showing it. Her loins stirred faintly as she watched Reyla's slow, infatuated approach. Reyla stopped, feigning a struggle with the clasp of a pauldron. Brenna smiled at the melodrama.

"Is something the matter, sir guard?"

"I seem to be having an issue with my armor, my queen."

Excitement flared in her chest at Reyla's tone, how her words seemed to pucker and flex.

"Come closer," she purred, "let me help you."

"How truly noble..."

Reyla's feet carried her toward the bed at a pace that was just slow enough to stoke a fire in Brenna's belly.

"...that royalty should stoop to help a lowly guard such as I."

Brenna rolled, reaching out to seize the offending strap and using it to drag Reyla up against the side of the bed. She brought her snout up to within a heartbeat of touching Reyla's and gave her most lascivious whisper.

"What will you offer me in return for this noble deed?"

Without waiting for an answer, Brenna rolled back onto her side, using the momentum to pull at the strap as if to haul Reyla up onto the bed. Reyla played along with the familiar game, hopping slightly to make the height and flopping onto her belly atop the mattress. She gave a sound of mock surprise when her wing brushed against Brenna's belly. Brenna pretended to be scandalized by the touch.

"Sir guard, you are correct. This is highly inappropriate," but she yanked the clasp apart, found another and did the same. Armor sagged, coming undone much more easily than it ought to.

"Why are so many of these clasps unfastened, sir guard?"

Mock scandal dripped from her voice.

"Comfort, my fair queen, comfort."

Turning her head, Reyla fixed her with a long, salacious gaze. She gripped the final clasp and undid it, letting the leather chestpiece fall to the bed, only to sweep it off onto the floor with a dismissive wave of one raven-plumed wing. The gambison beneath still hid too much of her feathers, but it fit more loosely than the armor, and Brenna's heart jumped at the sight. Her hips jumped as well. Tingling heat moistened her secret places. The faint smell of her companion's excitement began to reach her as if in reply. Brenna squeezed her thighs together, shivered in the pressure.

"How dare you expose yourself to me like this, sir guard?"

Reyla's gaze flicked down the length of Brenna's uncovered body from nose to tailtip, circling back to drink in her hips and chest more slowly, savoring the slopes and curves. She worked her lip behind a single fang and bit at it sensually.

"I am your humble servant, my queen."

The straightness of her face and the evenness of her tone drove Brenna closer to frenzy than it really should have. Her heart fluttered airily, and she failed to keep her desire from coloring her own voice.

"Yes..."

She reached around to find the collar of the gambison and tugged at the laces holding it in place. Following the cue, Reyla worked the laces that split the sides up to her wings, loosening them until Brenna could slide the whole thing up and over her head. The heavy cloth caught for a moment on Reyla's short, thick horns, but Brenna managed to free it without damage.

"Yes, you are, sir guard."

Without the armor, Reyla looked so much smaller, still sturdier and thicker than her, but not truly bigger. At least, not in the way most men might say that they were bigger than their lovers. While Brenna was actually slightly taller, Reyla was sturdier, stronger, and far more densely muscled, as a guard ought to be. As benefitted her plumage, she was a dragon built to withstand the much colder winters of lands much farther north. Her feathers failed to quite hide the slight bulges of her tensed, quiet strength. Unable to keep herself from touching, Brenna thrust her claws into the thick fluff of those shoulders, surging forward to grab at Reyla's horns as well and pull at her plumed ears with her teeth. Reyla's measured expression broke, as if snapping itself over the hitch in her breath and crumbling.

"Shit," she breathed. Brenna pretended to be scandalized again.

"Such foul language!"

"Forgive me, my queen," Reyla said, rolling over to press her shoulders into Brenna's chest with a moan. Brenna hummed excitement and wrapped herself around her companion from behind, pressing her crotch against the soft feathers of those muscled hips and wiggling it from side to side, grunting at the delicious friction.

"I shall have to extract a price from you first, sir guard," she purred. That said, she whispered a quiet spell to dim the lamps to a more appropriate brightness for the sorts of activities she had in mind.

"I dearly hope..."

Laughing, she hooked her ankles around Reyla's and gently pried her hindlegs apart so that she could curl her tail around to tease at the sensitive insides of her lover's thighs.

"...That you can afford to pay it."

She dragged her tailtip up, circling wide around the heat of Reyla's entrance to rest briefly against her warm belly. She hummed in her throat, pretending to be puzzled, and dragged her touch downward again, as if searching for something poorly, tracing the crease of Reyla's hip, veering just in time to follow the base of the tail to that most forbidden of holes. She pressed against it, cooing as her lover gave a sharp huff that shook them both, followed by a quick, sucking breath.

"My queen..."

Brenna's hips rolled at the helplessness of the whisper, further dampening the plumage gripped between her legs. She pressed her tailtip against the pucker a little more firmly for a moment more before dragging it slowly, sensually upward until it just barely met the lower extreme of Reyla's slick outer folds.

"Ah!" Reyla gasped, the muscles of those powerful haunches tensing up and squirming against Brenna's underside.

"Why, sir guard!" Brenna exclaimed in mock surprise, "You aren't a 'sir' at all!"

"Oh," Reyla laughed through her words, squirming in Brenna's grip. "Oh, I am found out! My queen, tell no one my secret, please, or I am ruined!"

This line too, was ridiculous. It all was. They knew it well. They delighted in it. Brenna gave another roll of her hips and delicately traced Reyla's soft, slick lower lips with her tailtip, drinking in the playful, quavering moans the act coaxed from her lover's chest.

"Worry not, sir guard..."

She adjusted her angle to press the side of her tail onto those folds and pushed inch after slow inch across them until Reyla jerked her hips with a shudder. Brenna lay her head gently upon Reyla's cheek and reversed direction, pulling her tail slowly down over that same place to extract a low, whimpering breath. She pressed extra hard with the tip at the very last instant as she pulled it away, raising it up to their faces and staring contemplatively at how the scales glistened. Reyla's breath quickened, pupils dilating and tongue lolling out as the scent hit them both.

"...I can extract the price from a lady just as well as from a sir. Perhaps better."

She dipped her head forward to drag a long, slow, sultry lick over her tail, unable to keep a groan from sounding in her throat at the faintly sweet, metallic tang. Her hips rolled again. Reyla moaned long and low at the display.

Brenna's eyesight hazed as she went further, wrapping her muzzle around her tail and suckling at it, washing at those scales with her tongue. Reyla voiced an unrestrained whimper, nudging at the base of Brenna's horn with her snout and shifting her haunches needily. Slowly, so slowly, Brenna drew her tailtip from her mouth with a breathy laugh. She moved her tail low again, wet the inside of her lover's thighs with her saliva, drew it inward, laid it against that secret, sweltering heat, and pressed. Reyla yelped in surprise as the tailtip parted her folds and found an inch of depth. She moaned and squirmed, squeezing, trying to hump against the intruding appendage, and beginning to pant shamelessly. Brenna pulled it away again, chuckling, and stuck it back into her mouth, working her throat and tongue at the underside of it in long, exaggerated movements.

Again, her hips rolled, and again, and again, settling into a pulsing rhythm. Her tail left her mouth, with a soft, wet sound, and she followed it down with her gaze as it returned to press into Reyla's nethers. She worked her claws into the feathers above Reyla's collarbone, kneading through it to prickle at the warm flesh beneath. Reyla moaned again and clutched at the side of Brenna's head, bringing their cheeks together. Her entrance clutched at Brenna's tail, and she gave it a little more depth, then pulled it back out again. And back in, and out, falling into a rhythm with her gyrating hips and going deeper, deeper, ever-so-slightly deeper each time. She began to pant with excitement herself. Reyla's tail wrapped up and around, laying firmly against Brenna's back in a feeble attempt to pull the two of them closer as they watched the show being put on betwixt her thighs.

Brenna worked her other forefoot into the plumed crest between Reyla's horns for a moment, found the position less than satisfying, and dropped it instead to massage slowly at Reyla's belly. Reyla melted, curling into herself, leaning her head downward. Brenna laid her chin between her horns and rubbed lower, head swimming as the electric fire in her own loins mounted ever higher. She teased at that crest with her teeth, tugging softly. Her breath deepened, drawing the strong, earthy scent of her lover in through her nostrils. She churred, lessening the depth of her tail-thrusts progressively, teasing. Reyla huffed in weak protest, humping more earnestly to try to make up the difference.

Brenna's cheeks burned with pleasant, maddening heat, a faint echo of the heat swelling between her legs, in her belly, spreading, spiking electricity through the veins of her haunches and racing suddenly up her spine. She froze, lips drawing back, trembling, balancing upon the knife-edge of a release she hadn't realized was so close.

"Reyla..."

If Reyla moved, that would be it, she would topple and plunge. She would take Reyla with her if she did, send them both spiralling into the depths of bliss together. Reyla was frozen with her, tensed, clearly aware of the power she held. Brenna waited for one heartbeat, two, seven, ten, but Reyla didn't move. She whimpered faintly, but didn't jerk, or jolt, or give a long, torturous roll of her hips. She didn't send them over the edge. As soon as Brenna could trust herself to do so without setting herself off, she dragged a long, slow lick over the top of Reyla's head and down the length of her snout in wordless thanks. She also pushed her tailtip deeper and gave the very end of it a little flick in search of that elusive bundle of nerves. Her forefoot drifted downward, feeling for that other, less secret bundle of nerves with a gently pressing digit.

A gasping jolt informed her that she had found both marks. She drew another lick across Reyla's muzzle and rolled her hips yet again, easing herself back into a slowly hastening rhythm. In and out, press and release, back and forth, rolling, circling, pushing, pushing, pushing. Reyla trembled and squirmed, breathing wordless sounds that rang in Brenna's ears like the sweetest music. Brenna gave her tailtip another flicker, swirling it this time ever so slowly, and Reyla tensed, eyes scrunching up, impossibly, unbearably, gloriously close. Brenna relented, relaxing a little, allowing her lover to have relief rather than release. A sigh pulled itself from Reyla's lungs, full of heat and burdensome need.

"Please, my fairest queen," she begged, "extract your price with a sweet kiss of your lower lips upon mine."

Brenna laughed a gentle, teasing laugh at the sheer absurdity of the line, thinking that Reyla read perhaps too many of that indulgently sultry sort of book that they occasionally shared. It was something that would only sound eloquent when one was extremely horny, and, horny as she was, she thought it was immeasurably sweet. She swirled her tailtip about nimbly within Reyla's depths again rather than answer. It seemed like the sort of response one of the characters from those steamy stories would give.

Reyla arched her back, pressing deliciously into Brenna's steadily grinding hips.

"Not yet, sir guard," Brenna teased, nipping at Reyla's muzzle, "Not just yet."

Brenna reached up with both forefeet and wove her fingers between the digits of Reyla's forepaws, swinging them playfully for a moment before pressing them against Reyla's chest. Reyla huffed wistfully at the loss of that friction on her nub, but Brenna made up for it by treating her to a sudden, deep thrust of her tail, curling the tip around again just right so that it hit That spot perfectly. Reyla squealed, an almost painfully adorable sound that filled Brenna with surging pride. Her walls clenched in ecstasy, quivering around Brenna's tail, juddering, helpless against the tides of her climax. Her wings flexed and shoved in the confined space between their bodies, desperately seeking to stretch and flail.

Brenna cooed at her affectionately, possessively, as she writhed in her grasp. She wiggled her tail, not content to simply allow her lover to ride out the climax, but lengthening it as much as she could. Wave after wave of pleasure twisted Reyla's body until, at last, her spasms subsided into shudders, and that finally into stillness. Her breath came low and heavy, carrying a hint of a moan with each exhale.

Brenna twitched her tail idly, lazily stoking at fires she knew would relight before long. Her lover gave a low, put-upon huff, but also made a sound of protest when Brenna stopped. She resumed her stoking with a smug hum.

"My queen?"

Reyla's voice came hoarsely, almost a non-sound, carrying no real meaning except for rising pleasure. Her hips shifted, rocking gently, and then less gently, and then not gently at all. She pressed her head up into Brenna's chin with a moan.

"My queen..."

Brenna continued to stoke and prod, twisting her tail this way and that, drawing it in and out, brushing it occasionally, strategically, against that hidden bundle of bliss. Her steady, rhythmic ministrations stirred Reyla up slowly into a squirming frenzy, until again she was a writhing, moaning mass of twitching muscle and fiery need.

Extricating her tail once more from Reyla's depths, Brenna ignored her lover's faint cry of protest and pulled, rolling Reyla onto her back and standing over her. She pinned Reyla beneath her forefeet and stared deeply into the amber of those hazy, unfocussed eyes, watching her pant weakly, watching her writhe. Reyla moaned hungrily as her eyes focused and she became aware of her position, hips gyrating against the air.

"Please?" she mouthed, wiggling her hindquarters as she wrapped her tail around the base of Brenna's and tugged.

Brenna grasped Reyla's forepaw again with her own, playing briefly with the retractable claws by pressing against the pads. Reyla murmured something shaped rather like another plea. Crooning, Brenna planted a gentle kiss on Reyla's forehead before guiding the paw firmly down her body to set it against the scutes of her lower belly. Her breath hitched at the exotic touch of the pads upon that secret, sensitive flesh.

"Lower," she commanded, eyes drifting shut in mingled anticipation and bliss, "You shall extract the rest of the price from me, sir guard."

She murred as Reyla obeyed, rubbing in slow, maddening circles before abruptly reaching the rest of the way down and curling those delightful pads over her heated entrance, cupping the fleshy mounds that flanked it and squeezing hard. Brenna jolted with a happy cry and ground into those rapidly slickening pads. A digit slipped briefly between her folds, drawing a gasp. Reyla took her turn to laugh as she twined their tails together, hips still pumping longingly at the air.

A second paw joined the first, reaching in with a digit to tug at the hood at the peak of Brenna's entrance and pull it back so that a second digit could get at the sensitive nub beneath.

"S-sir guard!" she stuttered, breathless. Two digits slipped in this time, while the one traced lazy circles around her nub. Her haunches tensed, muscles coiling tight, toes curling and claws digging into the bed as her eyes screwed shut. Her hindlegs stretched, trying to escape the pumping, grinding digits between her thighs, lifting her higher and higher until they strained and shuddered and she teetered on her clawtips, but she could not escape that torturously pleasant touch. Laughing again, Reyla pinched her clit between two digits, and Brenna yelped, all but collapsing on top of her.

Painfully, mind-swallowingly close, Brenna grasped Reyla's head and pulled her into an abrupt kiss, deep and passionate. Reyla leaned into it, pressing in and working her jaw with at least as much urgency as she worked her paws. Gods! Even her tongue was thick and muscular! A shuddering thrill traced quick fingers up and down Brenna's spine. Closer, closer, building, her hips rocked shakily against Reyla's attentions. Rising, climbing, higher, higher, too high! She reached down and yanked Reyla's paws away from her crotch, giving Reyla just enough time to moan questioningly into her mouth before pressing their sexes together and grinding madly. Reyla growled her thrill around Brenna's tongue before pushing it out of her mouth with her own. Growl rising into a keening cry, she sucked in Brenna's lower lip and bit at it passionately. The pleasant pain toppled Brenna, breaking her and launching her into the greatest heights of bliss, even as she felt Reyla's hinds judder and kick and latch themselves firmly around her hips at the same time. Sweet success. Rolling, grinding heaven.

Starbursts exploded behind Brenna's eyelids. Reyla bit at her lip again, shuddering. They clutched at each other's necks, pulling, squeezing, clenching in time with their hitching breath and their spasming hips. They rode the rhythm of it together, writhing as one creature, soaring beyond the sky. The room and the bed faded off into a distant buzz. All was molten pleasure, coursing, pulsing, carrying them along like leaves helpless upon the gale and somehow still building. Brenna threw her head back, and a roaring cry ripped itself free of her lungs, even as Reyla roared with her. Their voices trailed into warbling snarls as, finally, the pleasure peaked, letting them drift from those lofty heights. Slowly, so slowly, they descended, fading back into themselves. Brenna's head fell limply onto the pillows next to Reyla's. They breathed. Slowly, rhythmically, they breathed, synchronizing with each other, resting.

With a long sigh that rather fancied itself a moan, Brenna rolled off of Reyla's chest and onto her belly, pressing up close to the soft heat of her flank. Reyla responded with a similar sound, appending to the end of it a small laugh and a quiet little, "Fuck!"

Reaching down with a wing and drawing the blankets up over them both, she rolled onto her side and curled herself around Brenna. Following her cue, Brenna shifted her shoulders and hips until she was on her side with her back pressed up against Reyla's chest. She was treated to a lick behind the ear for her cooperation.

"You know, I could do you just like you just did me," Reyla challenged, gently stroking slow circles across Brenna's scales, "you wouldn't even stop me. You'd just melt."

Brenna pushed her hips back with a defiant wiggle, daring her to hold good on the threat even as comfortable drowsiness pulled at her eyelids. A tiny part of her hoped the threat was genuine.

"But I won't do that to you. You look so peaceful. It'd be a shame."

With that, Reyla began gently nipping and nuzzling at Brenna's neck, but differently this time. Slowly. Affectionately. Brenna recognized the action and laughed.

"You can't preen scales, Reyla!"

"Watch me."

Her muzzle moved lower, starting at the front of her left shoulder and starting to work it's way around in a slow, attentive circle.

"You're the only person I know who could have the strength to stay so tense after a release like that."

"It's a talent," Brenna tried to answer, but the last half of it morphed into a low breath as Reyla augmented her preening with a deep press of her paw, abruptly releasing the tension her shoulder had been holding onto. She moaned her thanks.

These days, she was usually able to ignore it, but that shoulder never had quite worked right, not after... She clenched her jaw, trying not to remember.

"He's not here," Reyla soothed, catching the subtle movement, "he can't hurt you right now."

Brenna didn't answer. She was tired of Right Nows. They had a nasty habit of passing before she was ready to let them go. Or, sometimes, of not passing swiftly enough. She tried to think on the good ones, but failed. Reyla found another site of knotted muscle and eased it away. Brenna coughed quietly.

She wanted this Right Now to stretch on forever. More, she wanted not to have to dread its end. She wanted to go away, far away, someplace where she could always be wrapped in warmth and safety. She pressed back against Reyla, who shushed at her soothingly. The sound made her feel like a small girl again, curled in her bed in a room whose walls had never yet failed to protect her. She'd had simple dreams then, silly, girlish dreams. Her peers daydreamed about being princesses or successful merchants, but not Brenna. She had dreamed of a charmed, idyllic life.

She could have that, she thought. She could have peace and safety, if only she could work up the courage to chase it. She could leave. They both could. They could scoop up her children and leave this palace and all of its wretchedness forever. She had a distant cousin in the land of Nelbion across the sea, with whom she'd often played as a girl, but that her husband had never met, and thus, probably didn't know of. Her cousin would help them, she was sure of it. She could help them get a cozy little cottage by the sea, where they could raise her sons in peace and freedom. Aiden would return to being the sweet child he had once been. Ander would play in the surf, fearless and free.

She allowed a breath to leak wistfully through her teeth.

"You know what, Reyla?"

"You want that cottage by the sea that you dreamed of as a girl?" Reyla asked, as though it were a guess. Brenna's mouth dried out.

I want the cottage and you, she wanted to say, but the words couldn't squeeze past the lump of fear swelling in her throat. She bit her lip, frowning.

Reyla nuzzled at the top of her head, pressing closer against her back beneath the blankets. Brenna let herself melt into the touch, deliberately refusing to think about how their relationship could never grow, how they could never be anything more than lovers. She refused to think about the possibility that Reyla might only see them as just that, only a pair of secret lovers in a foolish tryst that had no logical endpoint, the only goal of which was to avoid getting caught for as long as possible. Her attempt at refusal left her thinking about it even harder.

Reyla nuzzled her again and tutted at her gently.

"You know you'll feel better if you just tell me," she prompted.

"I just... I really want that cottage."

And you.

Longing surged, almost dragging a sob from her throat. Even if she could have that. Even if Reyla would run away with her, would raise her sons with her, would love her... he would never let her have peace. He would search, and he would find them, eventually. Even if he didn't, she could never be truly happy, always fearing that each sail on the horizon or traveler on the road might be him or someone that he had sent, constantly dreading the day when he caught up to them.

She huffed, letting the wish wither again. Most of the pain fell away with it, at least, relaxing into a quiet longing that she found far easier to bear.

"I don't blame you," Reyla murmured, wrapping her forelegs more tightly around Brenna's middle and nuzzling into her cheek, "It sounds like a peaceful, happy life."

Brenna wove the digits of a forefoot with the toes of Reyla's paw and held it a little more tightly against her. Even if she could never have that, this was nice. She could have this, right here, right now, this peace and this safety. Reyla began to preen at her scales again, the touch so gentle and soft. Brenna's eyes drifted closed beneath those affectionate ministrations, and she surrendered herself to sleep with a gentle, bittersweet sigh.

***

Ander woke on his own for the first time in quite a while, mildly confused. Daylight drifted through the window, too bright, he thought, for it to be much earlier than he normally awakened, though it might have only seemed that way because the snow amplified the morning light that streamed through the clouds. He glanced about the room to see if he was really alone, but the door was shut, the fire was low, and the curtains still hung half-drawn where he had left them the night before. Miss Nira definitely hadn't been in to wake him yet.

Occasional flurries drifted by the glass, sparse, straggling behind their fellows who had already blanketed the world. In the distance, temple bells began to sound the hour. He sat up and listened, ears perking. Eight tolls rolled in from across the city, bouncing dully over snow-padded rooftops. Confusion tilted his head to the side as he emerged from his blankets. Eight tolls.

That made it a full hour later than usual.

Bemused, he walked across the floor and added a log to the small fireplace, coaxing the feeble flames into the new wood with soft breath and a quiet spell. Once it had caught, he added another log. Satisfied that the fire would stay lit for a while yet, he opened the door and trotted across the hall into the washroom, humming quietly to himself as he took care of his business. That done, he made his way downstairs, wondering if something was going on. Neither Thrande nor Miss Nira tended to do things differently without a reason. Unease churned in his gut. He didn't like not being sure if something was happening.

The smell of sausage and coffee greeted him as he mounted the middle landing, and Thrande's low, quiet voice drifted up to him from below as he descended the lower flight, followed shortly by a quiet laugh from Miss Nira. Ander found them both in the parlor.

"Good morning," he ventured, trying not to shuffle his feet. They shuffled anyway.

"Oh, you're awake."

Miss Nira gave him a bright smile and waved him over to his favorite spot by the hearth, patting him affectionately on the shoulder as he sat.

"Let me get you some breakfast."

With that, she slipped away into the kitchen. Ander glanced at the half-empty plates on the floor, one in front of Thrande and the other where Nira had been sitting, rather closer to Thrande than usual.

"How are you this morning, Ander?" Thrande asked, offering a brief incline of his head, "Did you sleep well?"

Ander shifted, flicking his ears around toward the sound of clinking dishes from the other room. Thrande's eyes seemed brighter than they normally were, his expression lighter. That was good, probably, but still different, and that different-ness was what unnerved him. Miss Nira returned and set a plate in front of him, jolting his thoughts from his grip and pulling his mind back to Thrande's question.

"I did," he said, hesitating for a moment before, "You must have slept quite well yourself, Thrande. You seem much happier than usual."

Nira choked on her coffee, sputtering.

"Are you alright, Miss Nira?" he asked. She coughed, but smiled, stifling a laugh.

"Yes, yes, Ander. I'm fine. I just... tried to swallow the wrong way."

"She must have had an incredible night's sleep as well," Thrande rumbled, "forgetting how to drink like that."

Confused, Ander gave him a glance, feeling very much like he was missing something. Thrande didn't seem to notice the look, merely cocking a brow at Nira, who did a poor job of pretending to wipe her mouth as she hid her face behind a napkin. Her eyes gleamed with a hidden smile. Thrande chuckled to himself before sipping at his own coffee, his eyes flashing with rare mischief.

Ander didn't get the joke. Perhaps they really had simply slept well, but that failed to answer very much. He took an uncertain bite of sausage, not able to pay much attention to its taste. Questions swirled, cycling through his mind. He grabbed one and went with it.

"Were you going to wake me up soon, Miss Nira?"

"Certainly," her answer came a little too quickly, "You just seemed to be sleeping so very deeply. We figured a little extra rest couldn't hurt."

"Okay," he nodded, unconvinced, but not wanting to press. He took another bite.

"Ander," Thrande started, drawing a deep breath through his nose, "there is something that perhaps you should know about."

He cast a look at Miss Nira before continuing.

"We've been... discussing how to tell you, Ander, and we figured that there was no reason not to let you sleep at least until we'd figured it out."

He pulled in another deep breath, and Ander tensed, shuffling his wings uncomfortably.

"We may have to move to another location soon. Something seems to be coming, and your mother-" Thrande caught himself and paused, seeming to reconsider his words, "...the queen wants us to make sure that you stay safe."

Tension had returned to the bodyguard's shoulders, even more of it than usual. Ander thought he saw a hint of something other than concern in his eyes. Was it regret? Guilt? But Thrande blinked, and whatever it had been was either gone or thickly veiled.

The weight of a stone settled uneasily into Ander's gut, bubbling. He tried to soothe it with more food. It didn't work. The tense silence pressed harshly on his shoulders after seeing them both so much happier than usual, their high spirits now thoroughly dampened. He wished he hadn't asked anything. He should just duck his head and be quiet, say nothing more. Maybe if he did that, the mood would smooth over, or at least nothing else would be said until he could finish eating and leave. But he couldn't. Too many questions clustered in his head, squirming, wrestling with each other over the right to flee upon his breath.

"Where will we go?" he asked, swallowing pointlessly at the lump in his throat and hating himself for his lack of control.

"We aren't sure yet," Thrande answered, taking obvious care to keep his tone gentle, "Arrangements are still being made."

Fear prickled at the base of Ander's skull as the questions refused to relent, refused to be satisfied. Swelling and multiplying instead, they began to pound at the sides of his skull until another beat its way free.

"What's coming?"

He shrank into himself, pulling his wings tight against his flanks.

"What are we running from?"

Something flashed in Thrande's eyes, but Ander barely saw it. Too much worry bubbled in his gut. Too much pressure filled his thoughts. Miss Nira laid a comforting touch on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," she soothed, "It's probably nothing. We're just... being cautious."

She met his eyes with a kind, gentle smile and gave him a reassuring squeeze. He breathed in and out, and most of the questions fled silent and unspoken upon that breath, chased away by her touch. One remained though, the worst one, the hardest one. It prickled along with the fear at the base of his skull and snaked its talons between his every other thought until it too managed to find his tongue and use it to escape the prison of his mind.

"Is it my fault?"

"No!"

He jumped at Thrande's unexpected shout.

"No, Ander," Thrande repeated, softer, "Never. Please don't blame yourself. It isn't your fault. I'm sorry. We shouldn't have told you until we knew more."

He cast Miss Nira a meaningful look, and she nodded.

"He's right, Ander. There's nothing to worry about right now. You just focus on breakfast and let us concern ourselves with your safety."

Ander worked his jaw. He hoped it turned out to be nothing. The possibility that it might not tortured him. The food barely seemed to have a taste at all, but that snaking fear whispered to him that they would be upset if he didn't eat, and so he forced himself to. Both Thrande and Miss Nira made attempts at small talk, with each other as well as with him, but he found himself barely able to listen and even less able to respond. They frequently cast him worried looks, and guilt over their concern settled into his stomach with the weight of another stone. He fought down the rest of his food as quickly as he thought polite.

With his plate finally empty, he excused himself and went up to his room. Uncertainty and fear followed him up the stairs, stirring uneasily, allowing him no escape. He knew that neither Thrande nor Miss Nira would ever do anything to hurt him, but that was suddenly a far smaller comfort than it should have been.

Something was wrong. And, for once, he was almost more afraid of what it might mean if it wasn't his fault. What danger other than his own foolishness might be looming? What could drive them to flee from the safety of this apartment. He tried not to think about it, with little success.

The noise of the city drifted in through his window, but this time, it did nothing at all to soothe him.

***