Lovers' Veil

In his hand, his shaft grew harder and longer, its head swelling, turning purple and satiny. Leofrick kept fondling himself gently, unhurried. Though he watched his own image in the mirror, his mind called up the image of the gorgeous young woman from the clearing.

Leofrick sighed in pleasure and lay back on his bed, closing his eyes, focusing his entire awareness on the dual pleasures of the memory of the nude young woman and the feelings generated by his hand stroking his brawny cock.

In his mind, the prince returned to his prior fantasy. He imagined the young woman on his bed, her slender, graceful legs spread apart for him. He pictured himself in place between her svelte thighs, his cock sliding into her womanhood. He imagined her pert breasts flushing, her breath quickening, as he made love to her, their gazes locked together.

Leofrick felt the warm liquid satin of his secretions and eagerly wiped them up, using them to quell the building friction. Refocusing on the fantasy playing out in his mind, he tightened his grip on his hefty shaft slightly and increased the speed of his stroking.

Visualizing the young woman lying beneath him, her supple legs wrapped around him, drawing him deeply into her body, he stroked himself faster and faster.

His orgasm hit him without warning, washing over him, submerging him in mind-numbing pleasure. He groaned, teeth gritting together, lean hips bucking, as his hand moved even faster on his long, thick shaft, coaxing his seed into a powerful series of jets that arced to patter down on his chest and stomach.

He lay there, gasping for breath, spent and sweating, still clinging to the fantasy in his mind.

"I don't know who you are," he whispered to the image of the young woman in his fantasy, "but I swear by the gods that I will find you!"

Chapter 2

Princess Rhyannon Ensorcelledlight hastened through the light-and-shadow dappled woodlands of Gnomehearth Forest. Her panic fed her speed, which, in turn, fueled her desperation, which fed her panic. It was a cycle that kept her going at top speed, rushing ahead with little thought than to escape.

He saw me! That human saw me! How? How is that possible? How could he have seen through the Veil to Faerie? He's a human! That shouldn't be possible!

Still nude, not having bothered to stop for her clothing after realizing that the human had been watching her bathe, Rhyannon was nearly dry now, the flight-induced breeze of her getaway caressing her bare flesh. She could feel her waist-length hair fluttering behind her. It, too, felt nearly dry now.

She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see him following her, attempting to chase her down. Her surprise at his absence made her stumble. Rhyannon slowed, catching her balance. Still wary, she continued on toward the castle, casting frequent looks back.

How could he have seen me? I didn't cross the Veil! The geography on this side and the human side are the same. But the races are vastly different. We Faerie races can peer through the Veil at times, with proper preparation. We can even cross over to the human side if we truly need to. But humans can't. It's nearly unheard of for a human to cross and those have nearly all been instances in which a faerie has crossed over and brought a human back. The two sides of the Veil are just slightly offset from each other. But it's enough to keep most humans from even being aware of our presence!

Rhyannon looked back once more. Still seeing no sign of the human, she slowed her pace more, allowing her breathing to return to a more normal rate.

Most humans regard us as being nothing more than myth and legend. Did that human know what I am? Is that why he was spying on me? And how was he able to see me to begin with?

She pondered her questions all the way back to the castle, unable to answer any of them.

Upon reaching the castle she and her father called home, Rhyannon swept by the honor guards, not speaking to them, still lost in her thoughts. The guards, dressed in opulent silk and parade armor of the finest crystal, took no notice of her blatant nudity, only nodding at her politely as she went by them and into the entry hall.

She hurried along, making her way quickly as she could upstairs to her chambers.

Going directly into her bedchamber, Rhyannon stood before the ornate, oval standing mirror. The piece was so tall that it towered over her. Her father had offered to have it removed in favor of something more befitting her small size. She had refused, smitten with the intricate scrollwork on the mirror's heavy frame. The carvings were of many overlapping layers of ivy vines, fully leafed out, twinning together in braids and other designs. Hidden throughout were minuscule images of faeries. Rhyannon loved looking at the ornate work, trying to find the hidden faeries. According to her father, the mirror had stood in place since the construction of the castle many centuries earlier. It had belonged to Rhyannon for her entire life. Yet, after nearly thirty years of looking at it, she still discovered new faeries hidden in the scrollwork from time to time.

She gazed at her reflection, frowning. Her flight through Gnomehearth Forest had left her covered in dirt and bits of leaves and other woodland detritus. Her long blonde hair was a tangled mess. Her frown deepened as she took in the full extent of the mess she had become.

Sighing, Rhyannon stepped to a side table and grabbed up a highly-wrought comb that had been hand-carved from a single piece of golden wood. Returning to the mirror, she set to work on her hair, combing it out, ridding it of bits of leaves and twigs.

Upon finishing with her hair, she replaced the comb on the table and took up a pitcher of water, pouring part of its contents into a matching basin. Wetting a soft cloth, she returned to the mirror and watched her image as she wiped her skin clean.

The human wore clothing. It's true! They do cover their bodies with fabric and hide themselves from each other!

She couldn't help but laugh at such a ludicrous notion.

The stories must be true; humans must consider nudity to be shameful. How silly! Was that why he was watching me? Because I was naked? But if he found my nudity shameful, why would he watch and not turn away?

As Rhyannon washed, she thought more about the human she had discovered watching her in the clearing. She envisioned the look of pure wondrous adoration that had been on his face when she had first turned and spotted him.

He was quite handsome. Even by fey standards. Though he was far too tall. I wonder how his body would look stripped of those ridiculous layers of clothing?

Picturing the man naked in her mind, Rhyannon found herself envisioning a perfect, lean body endowed with amply-large genitals.

She was amazed when her mouth began to water at the image in her mind. She focused on her reflection in the mirror before her and was surprised to see her pink nipples tightening into fleshy buds of arousal. Slowly, she reached down, smoothing her dainty fingers over her pubis, dipping lightly into the swelling folds of flesh. Moisture greeted her exploring touch. She massaged herself lightly, sighing with bliss at the pleasure.

He was quite handsome...

Returning the cloth to the basin of water, Rhyannon stood once more before the mirror, looking at her reflection. In her mind, she pictured herself on her bed with the human man. In her fantasy, she lay on her back, legs spread, guiding his full shaft into her body. Her attention on the daydream was so great that she began to see it overlaying the real vision of the mirror and her reflection before her. She watched her image as her nipples grew harder. Satiny moisture dripped from her folds. The musky scent of her arousal only served to entice her even more.

Rhyannon backed slowly from the mirror, still watching her image in the glass, until she felt the plush comforter covering her bed brush the backs of her legs. Slowly, parting her legs slightly, still staring at her reflection, she sat.

Spreading her legs further, she ran her hands lightly over her inner thighs, shivering at the sensations, imagining it was her voyeuristic human who was touching her so intimately.

When she returned her fingers to her sex, she found that she was dripping wet and swollen with arousal. Lying back, she closed her eyes and concentrated, dividing her attention equally between the sensations her touch sent washing through her burning flesh and the imagined fantasy of making love to the human.

One hand stole to her chest, toying with her hardened nipples, as her other moved over her sex, fingers flexing, massaging. Her breath quickened and her hips squirmed.

Finally, after long minutes of joyful work, Rhyannon gasped, her spine going rigid with pleasure. A small squeak of sheer delight escaped her lips as hot, fragrant liquid ran over her busy fingers, coating her hand and inner thighs.

After catching her breath, she smiled warmly and rolled over, pretending she was turning to hold her human lover.

Incredible! That was simply incredible!

Allowing herself a time to bask in the warm feelings her touch had elicited, and for her fever of desire to cool somewhat, Rhyannon reluctantly rose. Taking up the cloth once more, she washed herself again, ridding herself of the drying, sticky secretions of her playtime.

Dropping the cloth back in the basin, she took up a long train of thin, diaphanous green silk and wrapped herself in it. She was just tucking the end into a fold of material to keep the garment in place when a heavy knock sounded on the thick wooden door of her chambers.

"Coming," she called, moving through the sitting chamber to the door.

She opened it to find her father, King Oakenmace Ensorcelledlight, standing in the doorway. Though not much taller than Rhyannon herself, King Ensorcelledlight was layered with sculpted muscles that showed beneath his own translucent silken wrap. His beard, full, bushy and white-blonde, bristled as he watched her. Beside and behind him stood Leurre.

The changeling was tall, far taller than most beings in faerie, nearly six-feet-tall.

Almost as tall as my human.

Leurre was skeletally-thin, gray skin, rough and wrinkled, was drawn tautly over his frame. His eyes were deeply-sunked and gleamed with sickly bruise-purple light. His mouth was wide and nearly lipless. The changeling wore nothing but a simple loincloth of tattered black canvas.

"Father," Rhyannon said coldly, ignoring Leurre.

The changeling slipped passed the King and pushed by Rhyannon, intruding into her chambers.

"Greetings, betrothed," Leurre croaked at her in his harsh, broken voice.

Rhyannon winced at the endearment, spinning to face the emaciated being. She made no effort to hide her repugnance or contempt when she spoke.

"I've told you not to call me that. I'll not marry you. Not ever. You disgust me, you slimy piece of troll feces!"

King Ensorcelledlight followed the changeling into the sitting chamber. "Hush, daughter! Be more polite to your husband-to-be!"

Her only reply was a appalled snort.

"The marriage has been arranged since you were a child. It stands firm to this day. You will become Leurre's bride on the night of this year's Samhain, during the full moon ritual," her father said.

Rhyannon stared at the King, pointedly ignoring the changeling. "Why are you here, Father?"

Before the King could reply, Leurre stepped forward, placing a light hand upon her shoulder. She jerked away, nauseated by the touch.

"I merely wanted to see my bride-to-be and pay my respects," Leurre crooned hoarsely. "We are to be wed soon. It is my right to see you."

He tried to embrace her, but Rhyannon twisted away, her stomach churning at the thought of touching the vile creature.

"Out!" she ordered. "Both of you, get out. Father, please, get out of my chambers. Leurre? Get out of my chambers, our castle and my life and never come back!"

"Rhyannon, he has every right-"

She cut her father off, saying, "No! Where I'm concerned, he has no rights."

King Oakenmace Ensorcelledlight's face darkened. "Listen to me, daughter. Listen well! I am not only your father, but your King. You will do as I tell you. And I'm telling you that you will marry Leurre on Samhain. He is here now, because I have invited him to the castle. He lives here now."

"What?"

He held up a hand, forestalling more protests. "He is to be your husband. You are my daughter, Princess of this realm. One day I shall be gone and you will then be Queen. As your husband, Leurre will become King."

"No!"

The King went on as if she had not spoken, saying, "Leurre has come to us now to begin learning how to properly rule. He shall live here, in these chambers with you, after you are wed, anyway. I've invited him here to the castle to settle in and begin the learning process now. Of course he won't share these chambers until you are wed."

"Father..." Rhyannon was so angry that she had to pause to find her voice before continuing. "Yes, if he were to marry me he would indeed be our King someday. Which is why he wants to marry me!" She caught the fleeting look of greed that passed over the changeling's drawn face. "That's his sole reason for wanting me! He knows he'll be next in line for the throne if he marries me!"

"Nonsense!" Leurre said softly. "I love you, Rhyannon."

"There," the King said quickly, pointing at Leurre. "You see?"

"What I see, Father, is that if I were to marry this... creature...you would soon meet an untimely end. And I'm sure I'd follow soon after!"

"Beloved!" Leurre interjected, "how can you say such things? How can you even think them?"

"Rhyannon!" her father nearly bellowed, outraged. "You apologize to Leurre at once!"

"I'll do nothing of the sort! Now do as I said and get out!"

"No," the King said sharply. "We shall not. Again, I am your father and your King. I have ever right to be here. Leurre is your betrothed and that gives him right to be here. He has every right to visit his intended. You two need to know each other better before you are wed."

"I know all I need to know about him and more, Father. I will not marry this piece of filth!"

"Rhyannon-"

She cut him off, speaking louder, saying, "And if you try to force me to, I swear by the gods that I'll kill myself on the eve of Samhain!"

Both Leurre and the King stared at her in shock for long moments as she seethed silently at them. Her father recovered first.

"Rhyannon, mind your tongue! Apologize at once!"

"Your Highness?" the changeling said softly, "it's alright. She's just nervous. I forgive her harsh words. She's young and the prospect of marrying looms large before her. I forgive her easily because I know how she feels. I, too, am nervous. We will have plenty of time to spend together after we are married."

"I meant what I said," she told them. "I'll not marry this vile...thing...and will kill myself if you try to force the issue."

Leurre's only reply was a sly grin before turning and leaving her chambers. The King looked after the changeling, watching him go, before turning back to his daughter.

"You will marry him."

"No. I will not. You may be my father and my King, but not even you can force me to marry Leurre. Call the wedding off, Father. If you don't, I swear to you that you'll wake on the eve of Samhain to find my cold corpse in these chambers."

He stared at her for a long moment, his mounting anger obvious in his posture and expression. Finally, without a parting word, he turned and exited, slamming the thick wooden door closed with a sound that echoed down the hallway outside.

Rhyannon stared at the door for several seconds, hot tears filling her eyes. She turned and flung herself onto her bed, weeping openly. Her soft cries turned to hard, wracking sobs before finally subsiding into sniffles and whimpers long minutes later.

She forced herself up, wiping her eyes, first with her bare hands, then with the sheer gossamer material she wore wrapped around her. Standing before her mirror, ignoring for once the convoluted scrollwork, she stared into the glass, struggling to compose herself. She wished desperately for a way out of the arranged marriage.

I meant what I said, though. If they try to force me to go through with the marriage, I will die by my own hand.

Chapter 3

Prince Leofrick Wykeham lay on his bed, atop the lavish quilts. He lay naked, on his back, his enlarged shaft rigid and hot in his hand as he stroked it quickly, using his own secretions as lubricant against friction.

In his mind, he was once again making love to the beautiful young woman whom he had seen bathing in the clearing stream the previous day. He whispered sweet devotions to her as he worked his manhood slowly, arousing it to greater length and firmness. Each time he felt himself nearing climax, he would slow his hand, trying to prolong the exquisite feelings of ecstasy that rolled through his fevered body, forcing away all other sensations, swallowing him body and mind.

Finally, at last, he could no longer hold back. His lean body inflexible, his back arced, his teeth grinding together, he began to climax. His burning seed landed on his bare stomach and chest, seemingly fiery hot. His hips bucked as he moved his hand quickly as he could, moaning soft words of dedication to the memory of the mysterious young woman.

Spent, he lay still, lungs heaving as he sought to catch his breath. His eyes remained closed. In his mind, his fantasy played out through its conclusion and he imagined himself holding the lovely woman, cradling her against him. He could almost feel the heat of her bare flesh pressed against his own.

After a while, he forced himself to rise from his bed. Pouring water from the pitcher into the basin, he wet a cloth and began to wash himself clean. He continued to think of the woman as he worked.

"Who are you?" he asked her memory. "I don't even know your name, yet I've become obsessed with you! I don't think I shall know peace until I've found you!"

Unable to force thoughts of her from his mind, the Prince finished washing and dressed in a linen hunting shirt and leather pants. Dressed, he left his chambers and descended the stairs, making his way to the small dining room where the servants had laid out breakfast. He ate swiftly, scarcely chewing or tasting his meal, then left the castle proper for the stables. He had the stable boy on duty saddle a horse for him and mounted as soon as could, turning the steed toward Knavesmire Woods.

"If Bryce Cartwright or anyone else asks," he told the stable boy, "you've no idea where I've gone. Only tell them if I've not returned by evening."

"Yes, my Prince," the young boy responded.

"Good lad."

Leofrick rode steadily, wishing to hurry, yet not wanting to overtax his mount. He made his way to the clearing in which he had seen the enigmatic young woman the afternoon before. Upon reaching the clearing, he slowed his mount to a walk and moved in the direction of the stream, casting careful looks at the ground. He could plainly see signs of his own passage, left during his search for the woman the prior day, but no sign of the woman herself.

Perplexed, he rode across the brook, checking again the place where the naked young woman had scrambled up the embankment. He found nothing. Riding a short ways further, he still saw no sign of her passing. Mystified, he turned his steed to the far tree line, aiming for the general place he thought the woman had entered. Reaching the trees, he dismounted and tied the reins to a tree, leaving the horse to graze on the verdant grass.