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Morgan Tyrfang stood in the castle courtyard, iron blade in hand. The young snow leopard's azure cape billowed in the wind as he shot a fierce glance at his opponent; an adolescent lion with a matching blade, determination in his green eyes. A few yards separated the two as they anxiously readied their swords. The courtyard was filled with spectators; soldiers, stablemen, and castle servants alike; however neither feline gave this array a second glance as they both awaited the signal. There was a call somewhere from Morgan's right, and at this sound they both lunged, charging at an equal pace, before their blades met with a metallic clash in the middle of the training arena. Morgan struck first as he aimed a blow at the lion's leggings, deftly blocked by the lion. Morgan stepped backwards quickly as he attempted to put more distance between the two, but the lion saw this hesitation and lunged, a small war-cry escaping his maw as he swung his blade at Morgan, aiming high. A brief smirk spread on the young leopard's face as he ducked, iron swinging over his head. He took immediate advantage of this, hitting the lion square in the chest with the hilt of his blade, sending his opponent tumbling to the ground with a crash, his sword spinning out of his paw as a roar of excitement escaped the captivated audience. Morgan spun his blade around as he stood tall over the felled lion, deftly aiming the point of the training blade at the exposed nape of his foe's neck.

"Hold, hold!" The lion yelled, his fur damp with sweat. "I yield, I yield!"

Grinning, Morgan sheathed the practice blade as he extended his paw to the panting lion.

"Well fought, Riley." Morgan said, pulling his friend to his feet, offering his shoulder to allow him to steady himself.

Riley laughed, panting as he bore his weight on the snow leopard's shoulder to catch his breath.

"Not as well fought as you, Mog." He grinned humbly at his friend. "If I'd have known any better, I'd say you had planned to hit me with your hilt from the start!"

The crowd had already begun dispersing as Morgan opened his maw to respond, but he was cut short as a voice approached from behind. The weathered voice belonged to the Master of Arms at Ashfield castle, an Alsation by the name of Symon Reedbow.

"You can do more with a sword than slice and dice, Sunfur," he lectured Riley, the young lion immediately avoiding eye-contact. "You'd do well to remember that."

Reedbow let out a hearty chuckle, as if he'd just said the funniest thing in the world, but Riley Sunfur certainly didn't seem to find it all too funny as the youth blushed through his golden fur.

"Oh, let him alone Symon," Morgan said as he reprimanded the battleworn canine. "I'd wager he's learnt his lesson without you shaming him publicly!"

Reedbow sighed, making a gesture of submission.

"Aye, whatever the young Prince demands. That was well struck, your Grace." He gave a short bow before turning to leave.

"Oh, and by the way," he called as if just reminded of something. "Your uncle wanted you to know that your father; pardon; our King, wanted to see you in his chambers at half past the hour. He said there was something important he needed to discuss with you. Good day, your Grace."

"Thank you, Symon." Morgan called after the Alsatian before turning his attention to his friend, his usual golden fur a distinctive reddish hue as he cast daggers after Reedbow.

"Temper your emotions, Riley. You know as well as I do that Symon only speaks to ruffle your fur. Why, in the years that we've been training you've bested me just as much as I've bested you."

Riley sighed, his fur softening as he relaxed at the prince's words.

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks Mog."

The two felines glanced quickly into each other's eyes, ocean blue meeting emerald green. Riley grinned at his friend as they moved to leave the courtyard.

"I know you have business to attend to," Riley began once they had entered the castle, "but my sister would skin me alive were I not to remind you about your meeting tonight."

"Now that is something I would not forget in a hurry," Morgan answered joyfully, before adding: "do let Rose know that I will be there."

Riley raised an eyebrow.

"Now, I know that she has suffered her first heat and can make her own decisions, however do remember that she is still three years our younger. I don't know exactly what you two are getting up to and," Riley laughed, "frankly, I don't want to know. You have always been there for us, Morgan, so I know you'll treat her right. She is the only blood of mine I have left in the world."

"I know, Riley my friend," said Morgan as he moved in the direction of his father's chambers.

"I know. I will treat Rose as the flower she is named."

The two fifteen year old felines shared a reassuring glance, before finally moving in their separate directions.

King Reynold Tyrfang lay solemn as Morgan entered his bedchambers with a soft knock.

"Morgan, my son, is that you?" The King tried to call, his voice weak as it fought against the wind outside.

"Yes, Father." Morgan answered. "How are you feeling?"

The elderly snow leopard let out a small laugh, one which quickly turned into a short cacophony of coughs.

"I've felt better, my son, but I'll survive...Well, I'm alive for the moment, at least."

"Is Uncle Kyle treating you well?" Morgan questioned, concern clear on the young leopard's face.

"Yes, yes, I have a constant supply of medicine." He slowly sat up, and, after reaching for the small cup sitting by the side of his large bed, gave it a small sip, grimacing.

"Awful tasting stuff, isn't it? No matter. I suppose you're wondering why I called you here?"

Morgan nodded.

"I have something extremely important to tell you, however let me first tell you a story. I was never one for stories myself, but this has an important moral, and one which is relevant even now." A youthfulness briefly flashed through his eyes at this statement, however this fleeting energy retreated to reveal the tired eyes of an elderly snow leopard. Morgan listened patiently at the end of the bed as the King continued slowly;

"Long ago, Ashfield was a land ravaged by dragons. These creatures took what they wanted without mercy, destroying towns and flattening the countryside. However, there was one King who chose to stand against these beasts. This King commissioned two special blades; blades cut from basalt, infused magickly with blood from a dead dragon. These sharp, stone blades were so dense and so powerful that they could shatter steel and easily crack a dragon's scales, something that had never before been achieved in this world. Whilst they were cut from the same stone and were near identical, the blades were each combined with different metals. One was infused with silver; icy veins running through the blue stone. It was emblazoned with a sigil of our moon on the hilt, and was given the name 'Luna'. The other blade was infused with gold, a fiery contrast with an emblem of the Sun etched into it. This one was named 'Sol'. The terrible weight of these weapons, however, required enormous strength to wield and as such both blades were enchanted with a sample of the King's own blood. This enchantment meant that the King and those who shared his blood would be blessed, able to effectively wield these heavy blades with little effort. The King took Sol into battle, leaving his wife and two children, as well as Luna, behind him as he lead the vanguard against the dragons. He was slain in battle, but not before slaying all but one dragon. The war was over, and whilst the kingdom eventually managed to catch and trap the dragon responsible for the King's death, Sol was lost to the ages."

The King took another sip of tea, coughing softly to himself.

"I have heard that one before," Morgan began, filling the pause left by his father. "I've known it since I was a cub."

"And so you should know it," remarked the King. "The kingdom in this story was our own, around 150 years ago. Luna is sitting within my armoury, and the dragon responsible for the death of my great-grandfather is securely chained, fastened within our dungeon. However, my point is to remind you that a King must sometimes make sacrifices for the good of his Kingdom."

Morgan gave his father a quizzical look.

"What do you mean to say, father?"

The King continued.

"Currently, the political situation with Ristmoor, our neighbor, is in a dire state. Whilst our force is greater in number than theirs, I wish to avoid conflict. I have seen too much death in my life. As a sign of goodwill to the people of Ristmoor, I have signed your betrothal to Princess Cara of Ristmoor Castle."

Morgan's jaw dropped at these words.

"But fathe-" He began before his father silenced him with a hand gesture.

"This is final, my son. Please understand what I ask of you."

Morgan took a deep breath before answering.

"Yes, father, I..." He forced a smile. "I understand."

"Good. I am pleased." The King responded between coughs. "You are to leave in half a moon's time, at the end of week next. I shall send you with a small party; three of our five King's Shield to ensure your safe travel through the mountain. Magnus Sommercoat, Magnus Thornbury, and Magnus Bramble should serve as sufficient company, and I am certain that these wolves will find you safe to Ristmoor."

"Yes Father. Is that all?"

The King placed his tea on the bedside with a small cough before lowering himself slowly into the cushions of his bed.

"Yes, yes, that is all. All that talking has worn me out. Thank you for understanding, my son." The King smiled weakly, before closing his eyes, attempting to return to rest as Morgan quietly took his leave.

Morgan encountered his uncle as he left the King's chambers. Kyle Tyrfang was the younger brother of King Reynold, and Morgan was pleased to see that he carried another tray of his herbal tea towards his Father's quarters.

"Hail, young Tyrfang! I certainly hope all is well." Kyle called.

"If only they were, uncle, but I only just received news of my betrothal to Ristmoor!" Morgan fumed. "Why had I not been informed of the political situation between ourselves and Ristmoor earlier?"

"Apologies indeed, young Prince, that you were not informed sooner. I myself was only aware of their unrest last week past, and took it upon myself to immediately inform our dear King." A smile crossed the snow leopard's face only for a few moments, a smile that suggested to Morgan that perhaps something else was amiss.

"Well, I must be off," Kyle said, motioning to the tray in his paws. "Your Father will be expecting his tea."

"Indeed, don't let me halt your progress uncle."

You already are, Kyle thought bitterly through a scowl as Morgan turned to leave.

A notion crossed the young Prince's mind. "Would you mind, briefly, uncle, what manner of tea is that?"

"Why, this is a simple concoction of thistle, dandelion and elderflower." A smile crossed his maw, the same as before.

"I made it myself."

-~-~

It was on a hill overlooking the ocean to the north, just outside the castle walls, that Morgan had planned to meet with Rose Sunfur. Morgan left the castle just before sunset, sneaking out via the kitchen door at the back of the keep's wall so as to not attract attention to himself, before beginning the short climb. The hilltop was covered with trees, providing seclusion from potential onlookers, and it was here that the twelve year old lioness was already waiting in the grass, leaping to her feet as she saw Morgan approach.

"Morgan!" She called joyously as she ran to the snow leopard, embracing him as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees above.

"Rose," he began, holding her small frame close to his body.

"Is something the matter, Mogs?" Rose asked, glancing up at the tense Prince.

"I have some awful news."

Morgan grimaced, holding the lioness at arms length as her golden fur shimmered in the evening sun. He swallowed before continuing, holding her emerald gaze with his gentle eyes.

"My father has arranged for me to be married to the princess of Ristmoor."

Morgan had planned to say more, yet the tears welling in Rose's eyes held him back. He quickly pulled her close to his chest once again, tenderly stroking the soft fur of her neck as she burst into tears.

"No, please, don't cry my love! I'll-" He paused, lost in thought as her sobs dampened his blue gown. Rose managed to respond.

"You do what you need to do, Mog."

"No, I'll talk to my father on the morrow; there must be another way!"

Rose pulled backwards, her fur wet with tears as she glanced upwards to meet his eyes.

"T-truly?"

Morgan smiled at the young feline, before sitting himself down on the soft grass in the clearing, motioning for Rose to do the same.

"I'm sure my father will understand. You yourself are of noble blood, and I'm certain this misunderstanding between Ashfield and Ristmoor can be resolved through other means."

Rose leapt at the snow leopard, embracing him as the two lovers rolled in the grass.

"Oh, Mogs!" She started giggling, though she was interrupted occasionally by her own sniffling.

"How are you feeling?" Morgan asked, finding himself astride the young female. He let his paws run through the soft fur of her arms, trailing them towards her fertile hips.

"Better now," she replied smiling, melting at his touch.

They kissed deeply, sunset filtering through the trees as white met gold. Morgan fell to the ground next to Rose, his paw falling tenderly onto the young lion's breast in the process. Rose let out a moan of approval as Morgan massaged her small bosom, their mouths still locked as the leopard fondled the small feline. Her moans were soft, her body writhing before he trailed his paw along her dress, purposefully sliding it under and along her inner thigh. Morgan leant back, their kiss broken, a small trail of saliva linking them together as his paw found the delicate entrance to her warmth, guarded by a thin layer of cotton. Morgan grasped the material, already damp with her longing, slowly sliding her underwear out from under her dress.

Morgan whispered softly into the young lion's ear;

"I love you."

A gasp escaped the lioness' maw, her eyes filled with longing as he pressed gently against her clitoris with his paw. Shivers traveled down her spine, echoing throughout her entire body.

"Oh, Mogs..." Rose moaned, writhing in pleasure at his touch. "I love you too."

Morgan deftly rolled his fingers over her sex, delighting as she tensed and relaxed in time with his movements, and before long Rose was softly squealing beside him. She gently bucked against his finger, her body eager for him as he kissed her neck. The entrance to her inner body was dripping with desire and as such Morgan's lubricated finger slid easily into the small lion's moist sex. She was warm and tight, pulsing gently around his furred paw as Morgan slowly dragged his finger along her walls. The snow leopard felt comfortable inside the lioness, purring as he gently nuzzled her with the tip of his muzzle, and it wasn't long before Rose let out a loud cry, her body gently convulsing as Morgan brought the young lioness to a climax. Morgan held his finger inside Rose as she orgasmed, savoring the warmth as her walls spasmed around him.

They held this position for the next few minutes as Rose's breathing returned to normal, Morgan tenderly kissing her neck as the two lovers embraced in the fading light. He eventually withdrew his paw from between her legs, the fur of his finger damp with the female's juices. He briefly licked at his wet fur, savoring her taste before wiping the excess on the grass.

The sun set over the ocean in front of them, visible clearly through the trees from their vantage point.

"I'll talk to my father first thing on the morrow," Morgan whispered reassuringly.

However, the opportunity never came.