Little Fur-Skin

He firmly but harmlessly caught her by the arm, and led her out of the room, toward his own. A quick call sent a servant after the pair, and he requested several furs, blankets, and soft cushions or pillows brought to his bed-chamber. The woman attending him scurried off to fulfill the order, and Dastran brought his guest to... his closet.

The princess stood rigidly, blinking at the small room that at the moment, held much of the king's clothing and shoes. It was not illuminated, and though large for a closet, it was small for a person.

"Here you shall live and sleep, to be at my command when I need you, Fur-Skin," Dastran declared, giving her the sureness that she seemed to pull from him. "When not needed by me, you may aid the cook in whatever tasks he requires of you, but in the mornings I wish you to lay out my clothes, fetch my breakfast, fill my pitcher, and see to my toilette. At night you will slumber here, as my pet. Does that seem amenable, my dear? To be my pet, and serve me as a loyal creature?"

The princess turned her eyes on the king. Part of her wished to rail against him, to refuse his scandalous and rather ridiculous demands, but a greater part of her could weep in relief. Surely no one would believe a king's daughter would cast herself so ignoble as to serve at a man's feet! Much less as little better than a dog. Tears formed in her eyes again.

"I could ask no better place," she cried, falling at once to her knees. Fur-Skin took up his hand and kissed his knuckles. Debasing herself to remain hidden away might sting a while, but it would keep her safe. "I will live as your pet, and serve your whims and needs," she mumbled. "You have my word."

Dastran bent and stroked her cheek.

"Cry no more, little Fur-Skin," he commanded, sweetly. "You might live so humbly, but you will not be abused." She believed him, with all her heart.

The servants arrived with the items, and the king bade them fetch his clothes and shoes and move them to the next room, a small salon he rarely used for any such purpose. Instead it would become his dressing-room, and once the closet was empty and the task completed, he let the servants go and made up a nest of soft things for his pet in which to sleep. Her bow, quiver, axe and dagger were hung with care in his room, and her pack she tucked away carefully in her new space. She removed the food from it, though, and it was taken away to the kitchens.

Once all was settled, the king ordered Fur-Skin to introduce herself to the cook, to help him with whatever he required, and to return to their room for supper. The woman agreed, and stepped into the kitchens to begin afresh, not a princess but a foundling in an obscured life.

The cook was an ornery sort, but not cruel. He set about having his new charge chop wood, fetch water, sweep the hearths and tend the fires, and generally perform a good deal of mean and dirty, but honest, work. Fur-Skin learned quickly, and did not fall idle with her tasks. By supper-time, the kitchens sparkled, and the cook was pleased.

"Perhaps you won't be a useless hairy animal after all." He tittered at his own joke and dismissed her. Before returning to the king's chamber she washed her hands and face, grubby as they were with work, and fetched the meal he'd ordered just before she'd finished for the day.

When the Fur-Skin arrived with food and wine, as commanded, the king praised her. She set the dishes down upon a table and offered him roasted meat, potatoes and root vegetables, berry cobbler, and wine- and filled him a plate of whatever he asked. When the meal was presented, he bade her sit at his feet.

"In the evenings, Fur-Skin, if I do not take supper in the hall, we will take it here, together, and as you are my pet, I will feed you. Stay there, between my feet, and be sure to take what I offer." The woman felt an odd shiver pass through her.

"If that is what you wish, Highness," she answered meekly. The man chuckled, and tore a morsel of meat with his fingers.

"Call me Dastran, pet. I am your master now and I wish you to address me by name." Another shiver passed through her as he brought the succulent bite to her lips.

"Oh... Of course, Dastran," she replied, even more hushed than before. The bite under her nose smelled marvelous, and her hunger after the long day was great. Hesitantly, she parted her lips and allowed him to place the meat on her tongue, and she gently took it with her teeth. While she chewed, he cut himself a piece and ate, and when she was ready for more, he fed her again. Then he brought the wine to her lips and helped her drink, after taking some for himself.

As he fed her, nourished her body and soul, Fur-Skin felt weariness set in and distress flee. The young king's presence was soothing, and the more he gentled her with the simple exercise in trust, the less she feared. Before long, Fur-Skin absently rubbed her cheek upon his knee, holding his calf with her arm while she waited for his next gift of food. He fed her everything by hand and gave her wine and water to drink until both of them had taken their fill. She was practically asleep on his feet by the time he rose and helped her into the closet and onto the soft furs.

"I'll wake you in the morning if you do not rise before me," he said before leaving her alone. "Soon you will adapt to the rhythm of the day and I shall expect you to rise first, but for now, rest, little Fur-Skin."

"Good-night, Dastran," she mumbled sleepily, as she fumbled to make herself comfortable in the dark place.

"Good-night, pet," he returned, smiling.

Blessedly, she drifted away, and slept the night through in peace.

When she awoke, she did so well-rested, and was surprised to find herself so... happy. It wasn't an overwhelming pure joy, but it was a thorough contentment. A tiny seed of hope had come to life and bloomed in her soul, and sheltered within the tight confines of her dark closet, the princess finally felt secure. How could anyone find her there, in such a tiny, undignified place?

Fur-Skin rose and made herself again the plain animal from the wood. She bound her hair and covered it well. No one at Dastran's castle knew her identity, and she intended to keep it that way.

Emerging from her closet, the princess found the king still abed. She crept on her hands and knees until she found his garderobe. After making her ablutions, Fur-Skin washed up and took the pitcher with her, to refill it is the king had commanded. She passed his bed on light feet, and looked upon him in the early light. Pausing, her breath caught.

Dastran slept, barely covered by his blankets. His legs stuck out of a tangle as he sprawled on his back, covered only across the lower belly to thighs. He snored lightly, his shoulder-length, dark hair spilled on his pillow. The woman remained stuck for a moment, her eyes raking across his bare chest and handsome features. Truly a breathtaking man, she thought. Not only fine-built, and sensual, but demonstrating compassion and wit. He'd smoothly worked her situation to his liking, and had tried to provide her with anything he had to give. It was not his fault that her life had become so dire.

The spell broke as she remembered all that she had to escape, and she moved into the day. He still slumbered as she left.

Fur-Skin returned with fresh water for the king's toilette, and his breakfast would arrive in half an hour. When she entered his room, the man stirred and began to sit up, stretching himself, quite forgetting his nakedness.

"Is that you, Fur-Skin?" he yawned. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, H- Dastran, thank you. I've brought fresh water for your morning needs. Breakfast will come soon, and while you freshen yourself I will lay out your clothes, as you wished." The king smiled wanly.

"You do not shirk orders, do you?" He jibed. Finally waking fully, he noticed the state of himself and chuckled. It would not do to rise in naught but his skin, with his morning cock-stand at that! He did not want to shock her. "Find me my robe, Fur-Skin," the man commanded, as much for her comfort as his own. She hastened into the next room to locate the garment, and when she found it, she sped back to give the king his modesty. After handing over the robe, she quickly turned around. Dastran again chortled, and he stood, drawing the soft fabric over himself. Tying it closed, he appreciated the redness he could see creeping up her cheeks, nearly completely obstructed from the angle at which he stood. Dastran sauntered around her and lifted her chin with his fingers, smiling down at her cockily. "I suppose it would be the gentlemanly thing to tell you, Fur-Skin, so long as you are my pet and dwelling in my closet, you may catch me from time to time in my natural state. Just know that I am a man of integrity. I would never bring you to harm, my dear."

His softness moved her, almost to tears. Already she'd begun to trust him deeply, and he'd proven those words. As king, in taking her for poaching his game, he could have ordered her imprisoned, fined, executed, or... he could have taken payment from her body, against her wishes, but no. He had done nothing but offer her shelter, feed her, and essentially employ her, though said employment was... a tad unconventional. She was lower than his maid or valet. Yet, her debasement was of her own choosing, for he'd offered her so much more.

"I know," she uttered, raising her hand to meet his. "I trust you, Dastran." Like she trusted no other. But not enough, yet, to confess her origins.

His smile was its own reward then.

"Oh pet. That makes my heart sing." Regally, he took her hand to his mouth and chastely kissed her knuckles. He would have liked to taste her more fully, but only when and if she chose that. Letting her go, he turned to the garderobe. "I'll be back shortly, Fur-Skin. Have my clothes ready for me so I may dress before we eat.

"Of course, Dastran." He dipped his head to her, grinning cheerfully, and vanished into the smaller room to perform his morning ablutions. The woman went at once to what would now be his dressing-chamber, and selected an outfit for him she hoped would please. Rich, emerald-toned breeches that were light-weight but well-crafted- a tunic in a complementary shade of black embroidered with green and silver in intricate designs of vines. She drew out a black leather belt to fit the waist of the tunic, and leather slippers that looked comfortable, with stockings and garters to go beneath. These things she laid out on his bed, and waited, holding his hair brush, twiddling it between her fingers. Dastran had magnificent, glossy dark hair, almost ebon, and it was mussed with sleep.

The king emerged, relieved of his body's needs, and washed. He felt briskly awake and looking forward to the day. Fur-Skin awaited him at the end of his bed, squirming in place, fetching cheeks aglow. Her selections for his raiment pleased him.

"I am delighted by your choices, pet. But tell me," he began, with a playful air, "did you select these clothes because you thought they would please me, or because you wished to see me in them...?" Whatever her answer, doubtless it would tell him something more about her. To his glee, her blush deepened.

"I thought the colors would complement you, Dastran," she awkwardly stated, almost calling him 'Highness' once again. "The green and black together... Your hair and eyes." She flushed a deeper scarlet, the color extending from the bit of her exposed throat all the way to her forehead. Pleasure of a different sort also coursed his veins. She'd noticed him. And his eyes then dropped to the brush she held.

"Is that for me, pet?" He asked, gesturing to her hands.

"I... I wondered if perhaps you'd... like me to b-brush your hair for you when you dressed," she squeaked, feeling more and more exposed. Oh, he was such a handsome man! If she yet dared, she might just ask him to make love to her. But she was afraid of letting him touch her that way- afraid of what she might relive.

"How sweet, Fur-Skin," he breathed, sensing and seeing the physical signs of her attraction. So, it was mutual. He still wouldn't act on his, not until she was comfortable, and open. "You may brush my hair before we eat. Will the food arrive soon?" Hastily, she nodded. "Excellent." The king turned, and swept his clothing up in order to dress. The time would allow his pulse to quit racing as well- no sense in betraying his arousal before she was ready to know how much he felt for her. "After we have dined, you may return to the kitchens."

"Yes, my Lo- Dastran."

While he vanished into the dressing-chamber to get ready for his day, the princess admonished herself silently. What a flirt she was, so tenderhearted for this king! If she were to keep acting the part of the poor waif, it would not do to lose her heart to a man who could not take someone of low station. She might be royal in truth, but it was between identity and safety, and she did not yet want to risk the latter. Perhaps in time, when she was surer of her future. Fur-Skin swallowed. She needed time, and Dastran certainly seemed inclined to give it. He also seemed inclined to return her affections, which was surprising. But why else would he be so kind? Could common pity really move a man to take a strange woman for a 'pet', and move her into what was in essence a cupboard for a home? There was obviously something more at play in his mind.

It was possible he already knew who she was, and was simply allowing her the ruse in order to help her feel at ease.

Fur-Skin's heart pounded. Truly, it seemed more than possible. A king, and a neighboring king at that, would know of political happenings beyond his borders. A princess's disappearance would not be a quiet matter, and her father would not have simply ignored it. She'd assumed he'd look for her, certainly, but what if the reality was worse than even that? What if she'd imperiled all the lands outside her kingdom by running? Nervously, the princess licked her dry lips. Her choices since her father's madness were fewer then, and urgent. Fleeing was the best she could do for her own wellbeing, but mayhap she'd gone about it wrong.

She could have pleaded on the mercy of a neighbor. She could have sought sanctuary, or even pledged a troth of dire necessity to another prince or king for marriage, to outwit her father. Instead, she became a prodigal, a rough animal, and vanished, leaving her homeland to an uncertain fate.

Damn. Had she been so lonely so long, that complete exile was the only solution she could foresee?

Dastran emerged from his rooms, dressed and splendid, and his beauty stunned her from her thoughts. The woman gulped. The choice had been made; her path had led her here, and so long as he stood in the room, she could not regret it. He sat, and she began at once to stroke the brush through his lustrous hair, a task she enjoyed immensely, simple though it was.

A knock came soon, and the opening of the door revealed the servants, bearing their hearty fare.

"Hungry, pet? Come, little Fur-Skin, let us break our fast, together." Dastran sat, unaware of her inner questions, and when the food and drink was set before them, he waved her to sit once more at his feet, to enjoy the ritual of feeding her every delicious morsel by hand.

It would become their daily pleasure- taking their meals together in this fashion that allowed them both to experience something they hadn't felt in too long. For Fur-Skin, it was to be cared for, and for Dastran, it was to build closeness with someone dear. The emptiness inside them both had begun to fill as their bond formed.

Days passed, and then weeks. The former princess settled into her new life with an ease that surprised her. She found that she didn't miss the material abundance of her old lifestyle, nor did she really want for anything. Dastran provided all she needed, and more. His presence was a constant boon, as he was level-headed, just, wise, and kind. Each day she woke and helped him get ready for his duties, then worked in the kitchens until she was so weary sleep came undisturbed. Each day they shared breakfast and supper; Fur-Skin had grown accustomed to sitting at his feet, eating from his fingers, and relished those moments with her new king. She'd begun to see him, as she'd feared, with a different light in her eyes.

Though she burned, she was still frightened. Frightened he might reject her, though she knew in her heart he wouldn't. Mostly she feared that what had happened at her father's hands might taint her in his eyes, or at the very least, ruin her ability to enjoy Dastran as a man. So, she kept her longing locked up tight inside.

Dastran, however, already knew his mind.

He spent his days brokering alliances with the kingdoms surrounding his, and within a fortnight's contact. The mad king had escalated and was busy gathering his forces. Conflict might come at any time, so it was imperative that any potential target of the disturbed man unified to stand against him. Publicly, Dastran (like the rest) denied he had any knowledge of the Princess Otivia's whereabouts. In truth, he had no solid confirmations of that fact, just very strong suspicions. Privately, the young man confided to his allies that he had good reason to believe the princess had fled of her own accord- and Dastran sowed the idea that Otivia had been subject to her father's unnatural desires. Did he come to you as well, looking for a bride? He asked. Was he seeking a woman of great beauty, with golden hair, like his former wife? Like his own daughter?

"Yes," they all replied, suddenly aghast. "Is this why he's so determined to have her back? Did he mean to wed his daughter?" At that point, Dastran would sit back.

"I cannot be completely certain," he would tell them. "But he never did reveal his bride when we gathered for the wedding, and he's cared for nothing but his daughter's absence since."

That was all it really took. He forged unity among the besieged lands, and he cleared a path for aiding his precious Fur-Skin to reclaim her life, whenever she wished.

There was peace in her mind and soul for a time, but fears have a way of seizing fast when you've finally dropped your guard. For the princess, it was in sleep. It had been since she left; survival and work during the day had kept her from dwelling on it, but at night...

Living with Dastran had quelled it for a little while, but nothing lasts forever. The princess's subconscious would not be stifled.

"You can't deny me, princess. We will wed." The hands- his hands were on her body. Rubbing. Gripping. His mouth, biting. Kissing. Suckling. Her own breath was ragged in her ears. Hardness pressed into the flesh of her backside. Grinding. She fell apart into shards of explosive pleasure, unwanted yet undeniable. "See? You love me, daughter. You want me. I will have you soon, so soon." Wetness seeped through to her skin.

Otivia screamed.

"Fur-Skin!"

She woke abruptly, groggily, fighting the air, her voice strained. Someone was in her room. She screeched.

"Fur-Skin! It's me, it's Dastran, please calm down." Approaching on his knees at a crawl, the man held up his hands, and he kept himself low. His voice was steady, calm, but solid enough to drag her out of the dream. The king's heart was pounding. The sound of her pained howl had torn him from a sound sleep, and subsequently, shredded him to pieces. There was no other option than to leap out of bed and rush to her. "Fur-Skin, you were screaming in your sleep!"

"Ah, uh?" The bewildered woman grunted. "What? No..." Realizing where she was, the princess burst into noisy tears. Dastran rushed forward and knelt at her side, searching until he found her hand. She squeezed, unable to stop sobbing. Her tiny closet was dark, but the floor was soft as he knelt on it; soft for all the furs and heavy blankets and pillows he'd given her. He might keep her as a 'pet', but she was not maltreated by his hands.