Demon Prince of Mangala Ch. 03

"So, did you see him?" Yelena said, putting a new bottle of wine on the small table between them and lowering herself into the wing back chair opposite.

Nataliya jumped slightly at her friend's return. She had been drifting in pleasant reverie, staring intently into the dancing orange flames - the warmth of the fire and the half-bottle of sweet wine she'd already drunk conspiring to make her feel warm and fuzzy. So far, she had been forced to relate every nuance of the banquet at the Azarov Kremlin to her friend and, just prior to her disappearance on a hunt for a further bottle of wine, had reached the point she most, and least, wanted to discuss.

Somehow she knew there was little chance of Yelena missing it out.

"See who?" Nataliya unconsciously mirrored her friend's posture.

"'See who?'" Yelena mimicked. "Who'd you think?"

Smiling, Yelena's dark eyes danced with reflected firelight. She glanced quickly about - making sure they were still alone in the intimate room - before she leaned forward in the chair, her voice dropping to little more than a whisper.

"Prince Andrey, that's who," she said, quietly.

Nataliya nodded, her face suddenly wistful.

"Yes, I saw him," she said.

"So, what was he like?" Yelena pushed her chestnut brown hair back off her face, sipping her wine and settling back as if for a story.

For a long moment Nataliya made no reply, staring pensively into the fire. When finally she spoke, it was with a distracted tone.

"God, Lena, he was beautiful," she said.

Unconsciously, Nataliya found her hand drifting to her lips, touching herself where he had kissed her - as she had done so often since. Her eyes resumed the faraway look that had become so common since that night.

Yelena looked at her friend curiously. "Go on... So what happened?"

Nataliya paused momentarily, weighing up what to say.

"He kissed me," she said finally.

"What?" Yelena jerked forward in her chair, a look of mingled concern and interest on her face.

Nataliya shrugged, shaking the incident off. "It was nothing, just a little kiss."

"This is Lord Prince Andrey Zmeyevich we're talking about. You know, 'The Demon of the Azarovs'. I don't think there is such a thing as a 'little kiss'. Do your parents know?"

"God, no. And you can't tell them - they'd go mad!"

"Was it just a kiss?"

"Hell, yes. Just a peck really."

And I haven't been able to think about anything else all week, she added silently.

"Was it nice?" Yelena giggled, softly.

Nataliya looked at her. She had been close to Yelena all her life; no - more than that - she was Nataliya's older sister in all the ways that mattered. She had never felt the need to keep anything from her - but how do you explain, even to your best friend, that you have been masturbating yourself to orgasm after incredible orgasm every night dreaming about something so silly? She found herself smiling slightly at the thought.

"Yes," she nodded, her voice distant. "Very nice... Like something in a dream."

Yelena was silent for a long time after that, her eyes looking at her friend with a fresh understanding.

"He's had quite an effect on you, hasn't he?"

Unthinking, Nataliya took her lower lip between her teeth, nodding slightly.

Yelena noticed the gesture: Nataliya had been biting her lip like that since she was a girl - whenever she felt shy - though of late the gesture had become more coquettish. There was clearly a story here and she meant to have it. Though, knowing Nataliya, she would be better served by following an indirect route.

"Does he have strange eyes, like they say?"

"Yes, I suppose. They're like sapphires - but bright, like they're lit from inside," she said, smiling. " Like crystals before a candle flame - sort of sparkling."

She realised that she was gushing and stopped herself.

"They're really nice," she finished weakly.

"So, tell me how this kiss came about?" Yelena smoothed her long dress down, almost matronly.

"It was nothing. Really," she said.

But despite her efforts to stop her friend, Nataliya desperately wanted someone to confide in. So, slowly, but inevitably, she found herself telling Yelena everything about the evening.

"My God! That's so amazing. He actually asked to kiss you?" Yelena relaxed, finally satisfied she'd got everything there was.

Nataliya nodded. "Yes... It was..." she searched for words. "Fantastic."

"So, when are you going to see him again?"

Even though she'd known and expected this part of the conversation, Nataliya's stomach still lurched and she felt her eyes fill: this was the part she couldn't face. Every time she thought of not seeing him again her stomach cramped - aching with a longing she couldn't describe.

"I'm not, obviously," she rubbed at her eyes as if the smoke from the fire was bothering her. "He's hardly likely to care much about a minor family like ours, I doubt he even remembers me."

She felt sick. Even saying it was painful - God, it was just a kiss! She noticed that Yelena was looking at her with genuine concern on her face.

"Well I guess there's only one way to find out," Yelena said eventually.

Nataliya didn't reply for a time, her desperation making her quick to reach for even such a flimsy hope but not so overwhelming that she wasn't frightened of being disappointed.

"What way? How?" Suspicious.

"The Guards."

"What?" Nataliya knew that Yelena's boyfriend was a soldier in the Azarov Guards, but failed to see how this offered a solution.

"Some of the Guards' regiments' officers hold parties at the various barracks in the kremlin. There's quite a crowd, apparently. I'm sure there's one a week, in fact. Vasily has told me all about them."

"I don't follow you."

"The Azarov Guards!" Yelena made a frustrated face, as if Nataliya was dense. "Prince Andrey is one of the crowd, silly. Vasily says that he rarely misses a party. He is an officer as well as a seducer of young, innocent, noble daughters you know,"

Nataliya blushed furiously, prompting a knowing smile from Yelena: So, we have proceeded from kissing to dreaming of him between your legs, she thought. Ah, my innocent little Natasha.

"I'll get you an invitation... Vasily will sort it out, I'm sure."

"But..." Nataliya thought of all the problems. "My parents, they'll never allow it."

"Tell them you're coming here..." Yelena smiled broadly, as if the whole thing was settled. "They'll never know - you stay here all the time. Now, what are you going to wear?"

"What, but..." Nataliya's head was spinning. She knew how much she wanted to see Andrey again, but she'd never lied to her parents before. Not over something this important, anyway.

"Do you have a party dress? Blue I think," Yelena leaned in closer again, looking intently at her face. "Yes, blue, to go with your stunning eyes. You'll be fabulous."

"Uh... Lena, I don't know."

"Do you want to see him again?"

Do I? It's all I think about, she thought. If only you knew what it was like.

"Yes. Of course... But..." she said, shrugging nervously.

"Backbone, girl. Let me sort out a dress... You'll need to come here for fitting so your parents don't find out. I'll get Mariya to fit it. She's excellent," Yelena started ticking off things to sort out on her fingers. "Oh, I'll be your chaperone. I want to meet this Prince of yours."

******

Inevitably, a week later, Princess Nataliya Fyodorovna Rostova found herself sat next to Yelena and her boyfriend Vasily in a Berezin family flyer, a squat black machine reminiscent of a bulky dragonfly, as it swung low over the Azarov Kremlin. The massive red walls of the outer fortress were glowing crimson in the fire of the melting sun and everything below them was tinged with ochre. Above them, the sky was touched with the first purple of the approaching evening.

It was what Yelena called 'fashionably late'.

At Yelena's insistence she was wearing a deep blue dress that was considerably shorter and tighter than she was used to, barely covering her ass, and which left her shoulders entirely bare. Yelena had styled her hair, a brown so light that it was almost blond, so that it fell smoothly to just below her shoulders and applied only a little make-up to her lips and eyes. Despite the attention, the new dress and the company of her friend her heart was beating like a drum and she was feeling more than a little nervous.

The party to which Vasily had secured them invitations was being held in the Palace of Butterflies, which doubled as the officers' mess for the Guards Infantry. In the week that had passed she had learnt that it was a fairly regular affair - the officers finding barracks life at the kremlin tedious beyond compare and feeling the need to regularly let off steam. Like her, this was Yelena's first party - she had only been with Vasily a matter of a few months and was only starting to learn his social circle.

"There's the palace," Captain Vasily Vasilyich, a slim, professional looking officer with fair hair and a winning smile, pointed at a large building set in the open area beyond the Stygian walls of the Azarov keep itself, but inside the massive red outer walls of the city. From this distance Nataliya could see little, but she felt her stomach lurch. At this point she thought 'Palace of Butterflies' quite appropriate.

The flyer set down on a platform in the outer courtyard. To reach the palace the three of them had to walk across the paved open space of the parade square. Lined on all sides by a mix of barracks buildings, townhouses and palaces, the square was far from empty. It was clear that the open space saw service as a market place - an eclectic scattering of stalls were still selling as they walked through - general public space and as a thoroughfare to pass more easily around the huge kremlin. Crossing it, Nataliya found herself the subject of considerable scrutiny. Self-consciously she found herself tugging repeatedly at the hem of her short dress.

"You look fabulous. No man could resist you," said Yelena, taking her hand.

It was true, Yelena thought, Nataliya looked stunning. The dress was tight enough to show off her willow wand figure - clinging appealingly to the curve of her slim hips and hugging her small tits - and short enough to expose her long, creamy legs; it also complemented her eyes beautifully, if any man got that far up. Of course, her nervous innocence would probably draw them in like wolves to a doe - something she would have to watch out for.

In due course they reached the palace: a broad, two story building of yellow stucco set with tall, white framed windows on both floors. It opened directly onto the paved square over two shallow steps. Standing at the bottom before the front door it was clear that their invitations were entirely unnecessary - the doors lay wide open and entirely unsupervised. From within they could hear distant sounds of singing and shouting, and, momentarily, the sound of smashing glass - followed by a roar. The three of them stopped, this wasn't what she'd been expecting.

"Is it always like this?" Yelena asked Vasily.

"Uh... It can get a bit rowdy at times." He sounded unsure.

As if on cue, two men appeared at the door dressed haphazardly in the uniform of the Guards, although neither had a jacket and one's shirt was partially untucked. The two stank of drink and were carrying a third man in an equally dishevelled uniform. To Nataliya's horror, once they reached the door they threw him out into the street with a roar of amusement. The third man, also stinking of drink, was clearly too drunk to stand and lay crumpled in a heap where he fell - something the other two seemed to find wholly amusing.

"Ah, Vasily, you old rogue!"

One of the men clearly recognised Yelena's boyfriend and in moments the two of them were holding him around the shoulders and leading him in to the house while he tried to smile reassuringly at Yelena from over his shoulder. Reluctantly, Yelena followed, clutching Nataliya's hand tightly and smiling a little nervously.

Inside, the palace stank of drink. The entrance hallway was cluttered with myriad items of discarded uniform, as if their wearers had just dropped them on the floor, or draped them over any available surface without thought or regard. From an adjacent room, Nataliya heard the squealing laugh of a woman and the shouts of more men. She looked at Yelena - this was probably not a good idea.

Slowly, trailing in Vasily's wake, they picked their way into the palace through the clutter. On the left they passed a large room containing the debris of a large meal - servants and slaves struggling to clear the mess of leftover food from the tables. In the middle of the chaos a group of young men and women, some in dishevelled uniforms and others in civilian clothes, were playing cards, a pile of roubles and drinks scattered on the table before them. Nataliya noticed several other people slumped in chairs or on the floor about the room. Around them, the unobserved servants and slaves were helping themselves to the neglected drinks and leftover food.

At the end of the entrance hall was a grand staircase twisting back on itself along both sides. Following Vasily's small group they ascended with a degree of trepidation, paying little attention to the scattered battle honours and portraits of senior officers that littered the walls of the stairs. Eventually they arrived at what appeared to be the main hall of the palace - a long room above the entrance doorway stretching the full length of the building. On a raised stage at the far end, a small troupe of players were playing lively peasant music against a surrounding cacophony of noise and singing - some following the players, others engaged in their own songs and oblivious to the disharmony they created.

Nataliya was relieved to see more women in this room - including some dressed in frocks such as she wore - but it was clear that they were late to the party, most of the people present were drunk or substantially on their way to being so.

The room was filled with the glow of the dying sunlight, tinting the room in patterns of gold and red. Dotted with candles, the near part of the room was set out much as her own drawing room back home, but on a larger scale: sofas and easy chairs were thrown around the focal points of several fireplaces or gathered about low tables, which were scattered with empty or mostly empty glassware and bottles. A bar was set up partway along, opening into the rear of the palace and the furthest end was an impromptu dance-floor. There was a large crowd in the room wandering loosely about with, or looking for, drinks or clumped in groups around sofas or chairs. It was not immediately obvious whether Andrey was present or not.

Feeling decidedly uneasy, Nataliya and Yelena found seats on a sofa near a tall window that afforded a view back over the square through its damask curtains. In moments, Vasily returned bearing bottles of vodka and glasses and quickly served them. It was apparent by his glazed eyes and flushed face that he had had several drinks already - forced upon him by his erstwhile comrades. Yelena looked decidedly nervous.

"Vasily! Is Prince Andrey Zmeyevich here?" Yelena was forced to shout over the noise, Vasily leaning in close to hear.

"I don't know... I'll find out, hold on... Wait here, okay?" And with that he drifted back into the crowd.

Tentatively, Nataliya sipped her drink. She was not used to such strong liquor and at first it burned her throat on the way down, but after a while she found the foul tasting stuff to bring a pleasant warmth. In fact, it was quite nice, she thought.

"Uh... This isn't what I was expecting, Natasha. But if we find him, it will be worth it," said Yelena, looking less sure than she tried to sound. Nataliya nodded, trying to look relaxed. The drink seemed to help.

An age and several glasses of vodka later, Vasily returned empty handed.

"He's not here," he said. "I think he was sent on a mission yesterday, or the day before. Maybe last week. Something about the wastes or something. Nobody knows for sure. Sorry."

Nataliya felt crushed. All the preparations, all the hiding from her mother and father, all the fitting and fuss with the dress - all for nothing. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and brushed it away. She was being silly, she knew, but somehow that didn't make it any better.

Yelena gripped her hand. "I'm sorry, Natasha. Shall we go?"

"No. Lena, I'm being silly. This was always a long shot. We'll stay, perhaps there'll be someone else," she said, forcing a smile.

Yelena looked around uncertainly, but assented.

Several several vodkas and a few hours later and things started to go seriously wrong.

At some point - the drink made her a little fuzzy - she and Vasily had left the main room to seek a little more privacy. When they returned it was clear that Nataliya had attracted more attention than she knew what to do with.

Night had fallen and the room was both darker and quieter than before, although a few groups of hardened drinkers remained. Most of the men in the room appeared to be gathered about Nataliya. She was sat on the same sofa she had shared with her when they arrived, but now she shared it with several of the more roguish looking officers - who were judiciously plying her with alcohol.

Several more were gathered in a wider circle watching their comrades' progress with hard, glinting eyes and lustful glances - sitting on the arms of sofas or settled on chairs. To her eye, Nataliya was clearly drunk and oblivious to her danger. All the time, more of the less savoury element in the room were been drawn to the scene like flies to honey. It was exactly what she had feared might happen.

She tried to push her way through to her friend but found her way firmly blocked, the crowd laughing as they linked together to push her back. Struggling to attract Nataliya's attention, she saw one man put his hand on her thigh, pushing her dress a little higher. Distracted by conversation with two others, Nataliya absently brushed it back down, only for a third man to slide the sleeve of her dress down to much lascivious sniggering. Yelena started to panic.

"Vasily! Help me! Get Nataliya out of there, she's in trouble."

Vasily stared open mouthed, more than a little drunk himself. Exasperated, Yelena pushed him forward.

"Help her!"

"Come on! Let her go..." Vasily shouted at last, trying to force his way through. "Hey!"

Without ceremony or regard he was shouldered aside with considerable force, aggressive cursing following him as he recoiled. He tried again, but several of the rogues turned on him pushing him firmly aside.

"Fuck off, Vasily!"

"Get your own woman..."

Yelena looked around desperately, if she didn't do something fast she knew that Nataliya would be unlikely to leave in one piece - or with her virginity intact. But Azarov Kremlin was far from the lands she knew and there was nobody here that she could turn to. Except...

Moving quickly, Yelena approached a young servant who was passing, collecting glasses.

"You!" She fumbled in her purse, speaking all the time. "Do you know where Prince Andrey Zmeyevich lives?"

"Yes, Highness." The boy, for he could have been no more than sixteen, his skin pale and spotty, stared at her as if she was dense - obviously everyone knew that.

"Go there quickly, get a message to the prince," she pulled out two roubles, a wage of at least a couple of days for the typical servant. "There are two roubles now and another two if you get back here in twenty minutes. Ten if you bring the prince."

"But what message shall I give?"

"Tell him..." she glanced quickly over to where Nataliya was slowly waking up to her predicament, struggling drunkenly to push away the hands of her admirers and seeking vainly to rise, a panicked look on her face. "Tell him Princess Nataliya Fyodorovna, the girl he kissed on the balcony, needs his help - needs his help now!" The servant looked over at Nataliya, comprehension dawning. "Be quick! Please."