Songbird of the Shattering

Prince Doyle and Lady Carina's marriage had been arranged through no fault of their own. Prince Doyle (of the Far Isles) had a hopeless reputation as a bore, and Lady Carina kept getting on the princess' nerves because suitors would show up for the princess (of the Southern Isles) and end up chatting up Lady Carina. It wasn't that Lady Carina was more beautiful than the princess -- goodness, no -- as the sacred medicine woman and advisor to the princess, Lady Carina was supposed to be invisible.

Yet, when suitors arrived for the princess, their eyes immediately went to Lady Carina as if they knew her. Their eyes strayed from her shorn, black hair to the loose-fitting linen gowns she wore -- from the bangles and bracelets that clanked whenever she walked, to the enormous golden earrings that twinkled in candlelight. Her tattoos were most fascinating. They snaked around her arms in abstract decoration, as if she was a piece of painted pottery -- broken only by a thin golden scar that stretched from her hairline to the bottom of her jaw, striking through her left eye and causing it to glow gold, even in the dark. All these fascinations aside, it was also just perhaps that the princess could be a bit chilly with visitors, and they preferred to take their chances on the free spirited, wild woman than the 'ice princess'.

Okay, the princess was a massive bitch. Like, the first time a guy showed up and got starry eyed at the sight of the strange, magic tattoos on Lady Carina's arms, the princess had a hissy fit and bitched and moaned until her dad (aka the King) agreed to marry her off to the most absolutely boring and well-educated prince in all the kingdoms. Doyle had no battle scars, no kingdoms that he had conquered, and worst of all he seemed dead set against colonialism.

Just in case this wasn't miserable enough, Lady Carina would no longer be permitted in the royal courts. The other ladies were, to be honest, a little relieved. Lady Carina talked a lot of shit about the monarchy (forbidden) and also general feminism as well (extra forbidden) and also just, like, birth control (extra EXTRA forbidden). The other ladies didn't want to get in trouble with the princess, so they avoided Lady Carina.

Prince Doyle arrived at the Southern Isles early the day before their wedding was to commence. His knights had coyly planned a night of revelry for his bachelor party. Even though Doyle was a notorious homebody, he agreed to go along with the knights' plans and the troupe found themselves a little after midnight at a tavern filled with orcs and young wizards chanting for,

"GOLD STAR! GOLD STAR! GOLD STAR!"

All at once, the lights went low. Doyle spun around. He'd read all the books in his library, but nothing of paper and ink could have prepared him for this.

"Lads, it's gotten dark," he said dumbly (he was admittedly a few drinks in).

"Shut up and just enjoy the show," laughed one of his knights. "Cut loose for once in your life, eh, Doyle?"

Doyle blinked through the haze of magic smoke to the stage that was in the back of the tiny tavern. The orcs and wizards around him (and a few witches in the audience as well, he noted) cheered as the music began -- a deep, sonorous bass beat with the sounds of castanets or snapping in the background. There was a sigh from behind the curtains, and then suddenly, a long, slender tattooed leg emerged from behind the curtain. Doyle's mouth fell open as the rest of Gold Star's body followed. The tattoos were delicate in design -- flowers, birds, constellations -- but there were scars of gold that broke up the tattoos, as if the woman had been made of pottery and shattered, only to be pieced together again. She had pinned back her black hair and decorated the sides with a sort of sparkling gel that caught the light and glittered, no matter which way she turned. Her gold eyes were glowing in the semi-darkness and she was dressed in a glittering gold two-piece that was covered in fringe.

"Holy fuck," said Doyle. "Who the fuck is that?!"

"Watch your mouth, prince," laughed one of his knights.

"Oh. Sorry for cursing," Doyle said.

"I meant, watch your mouth because your jaw is on the floor," his knight laughed even harder.

Doyle nodded, not really hearing him, as the music picked up in tempo and Gold Star began her song.

"He tells me I'm too magic

I make him tongue tied

Tie him to my bed and lick him

...That's what that means, right?"

Doyle's mouth dropped open a second time as the woman onstage stripped out of her fringe two piece. She jerked her thumb through the strap of her bra and shed that, too.

He could not stop staring as she recited more lyrics.

"Want a man who's hard to please

Please a man to please who's hard

This pussy knocks him out

I've got him singing like a bard..."

She shook her hips, every inch of her glowing and sparkling as if she'd been painted with gold flakes. She laughed and cheered, careless and free, as the wizards in the front row threw bills onto the stage.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Doyle," muttered the knight next to him.

"I think I am in love," Doyle said helplessly.

"You are the prince and it is your bachelor party," the knight said. "I'm sure we can figure something out if you want to meet her."

"If I get any closer to her, I will not be able to resist worshiping her," Doyle said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She is the most powerful woman I have ever seen."

"Dude. Chill," laughed the knight. "You gotta calm down. Seriously. You gotta calm down before -- "

"I heard we have a special guest out in the audience tonight," Gold Star shouted, her voice sharp and sure.

"Oh, no," Doyle said, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"Too late," muttered the knight.

"This next one's for you, Prince Doyle," Gold Star shouted as the spotlight swung around to pierce Doyle's eyes and illuminate his spot in the audience. Doyle felt real terror mix with the alcohol in his blood, which was also fraught with arousal and emotions he'd kept locked away for years in the Forbidden Section of his personal library. Without really thinking about it, he got up and sprinted out of the bar, vomiting in the alleyway.

He looked around himself blearily. He didn't know his way around this kingdom and he wasn't in his princely attire (he had to blend in on a night such as this). If he asked anyone where to go, they'd likely laugh at him or worse. So he stood helplessly in the alleyway until a voice said,

"Psst!" from the stage doors.

Doyle whirled around. A tattooed hand beckoned to him from the darkness, then two gold eyes peered at him through the haze. Her laughter -- somehow both disgusted and pitying -- was worse than anything she could have said aloud in insult. He turned to stumble away.

"C'mon, don't be an ass," she laughed. "It happens to the best of us. Doyle, right? Why don't you come back inside? I'll make you some mint tea to settle your stomach."

"Oh, my gods," he moaned, seeing that it was indeed Gold Star.

"I promise I won't bite. Unless you ask nicely," she said. He shook his head. Her eyes went wide with surprise at the rejection, then she shrugged. "Suit yourself." she said, and vanished into the dim daze of the back hallway.

"Wait!" he called out.

The golden eyes reappeared, peering out at him through the darkness.

"Just tea?" he asked.

She laughed again. "Just tea," she promised. He nodded and followed her inside, down the short hallway to her tiny dressing room, which was decorated with illustrations of fairies and herbs, mushrooms and exotic birds. He caught himself staring at a particularly busty fairy and turned red.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, not sure where it was safe to look as she faced the MagicKettle™, turning it on.

"Sorry about what?" she asked, not really paying him any mind as she looked through a hidden cabinet of dozens of different types of teas and tisanes.

"Uh. Sorry for gaping at you. Sorry for puking in the street. Sorry for making you rescue me."

"Oh, Doyle," she said, waving her hand to dismiss his worries, "I enjoy being looked at. I love what I do. I will admit, I don't love puke in the street, but it couldn't be helped." she smiled over her shoulder as she plunked a tea bag into a handmade mug.

He swallowed hard and nodded. "I'm getting married tomorrow," he informed her.

"Oh?" she asked, distracted as the kettle quickly boiled.

"Yes. She's an enemy of the state. Or, that is to say, an enemy of the princess, which is about the same thing." Doyle muttered.

"You don't say!" Gold Star said as she poured two cups of mint green tea for them. She handed him the mug as it steeped.

"Oh. Um. Sugar?" Doyle asked. Gold Star batted her lashes flirtatiously and placed a hand on his thigh.

"Yes, dear?" she cooed.

"Oh! Goodness me, I meant, do you have any sugar? Or any honey for the tea? My gods, woman, your hands are warm enough to -- "

"I knew what you meant," she laughed and fetched three sugar cubes from a tiny bowl in her secret cabinet. She plunked two of them into Doyle's tea without asking, and then popped the third into her mouth before he could protest.

"You'll get cavities that way," he said, sipping on the piping hot tea. She laughed.

"I'll take my chances," she said.

The tea instantly soothed him, taking the taste out of his mouth and coating his throat in a relaxed balm of mint and nettle. With the taste gone, the fear and the adrenaline went with it. Doyle was left feeling dejected, exhausted, and grateful to this stranger.

"Why did you help me?" he managed to ask, even as his hands were shaky from sudden exhaustion. She looked at him, again in surprise.

"I need a reason?" she asked.

"In my experience, yes," he said.

"Well, in my experience, it doesn't hurt to be kind to strangers," she said, a little stiffly. Then she relented: "I... I feel as if I know you, in a strange way."

"What strange way is that?" asked Doyle.

She shrugged. "I haven't put my finger on it, yet. But you should probably get going. You have a wedding tomorrow, don't you?"

"Oh. Yes. That's right," he said, setting down the nearly-empty mug of tea and getting back on his wobbly feet. "Well. It was lovely to meet you, Gold Star. I'm sorry again for being such a mess, I would like to pay you back -- "

"I'm sure you'll find a way to pay it forward, instead," she said, again dismissing his worries with a dimpled smile. "Now, go on. I think your knights are probably getting worried."

His gaze lingered on her gold eyes for a moment too long. He wanted to kiss her, but it was all wrong -- the smell of vomit still hung on his clothes, he was still half-drunk -- but she was so beautiful, and so gracious, and so kind, and monstrously beautiful --

"Doyle, you in there?!" came a shout from beyond the door.

With one last generous smile, Gold Star opened the door.

"Yes, yes, get him out of here before he gets himself in trouble," she laughed. Doyle was intoxicated with the sound of her laughter, with the smell of her perfume, with the look of her glittering gold eyes. He looked over his shoulder as his raucous knights paraded him down the hallway.

"Will I ever see you again?" he shouted as they surrounded him and Gold Star.

"Sooner than you think!" she said, and then he was whisked away by the knights.

***

In the morning, Doyle's headache was compounded only by his shame. As he took a vigorous hot bath, he tried to cleanse his mind as much as his body. As he donned the royal wedding garb, he wiped the nervous sweat off his brow and tried not to think too much about Gold Star and how much he had ached for her, and how much he'd wanted her. She was so effortless in her beautiful monstrosity, so shameless and free.

He wished he could see her again, but now it was too late. Too late. Too late...

The words seemed to echo in his head as he stood in the solemn church of the Perennial Gods. He was dressed in his finest furs and it had never felt like such a costume. He wished more than anything he could run for the exit, but his sense of duty prevailed. After all, he'd only seen her once. He had barely laid eyes on her. It was nothing more than desire, lust. After all --

The music picked up to a crescendo and the doors opened as the bride (covered head to toe in a hideously ugly white dress and veil) walked quickly down the aisle. Doyle swallowed his worries and fears and recited the generic vows that had been assigned to them. He felt misery mounting as he turned to face the woman who would now be his wife.

This poor, innocent girl would never know what he had done. He swore it to himself. She would never see that side of him -- he would never let her know how wretched and depraved his desires were -- she could never --

He caught a flash of gold in the corner of his eye as Lady Carina wiped away a tear of silent laughter. The priestess cleared her throat, and then continued on her boring, tired speech about solemnity and partnership in the Isles. Lady Carina leaned over to him and whispered,

"Doyle, could you perk up just the tiniest bit? I know you want to get to the main event in the bedroom but you look like you're about to keel over."

Doyle's eyes could not have gone wider. He was sure he recognized that voice. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head or see if he was dreaming, or had imagined it. Maybe he was still drunk. It had happened to his knights, or so they'd told him.

"Are you...?" he asked cautiously.

"Am I what?" she hissed back. "Gorgeous? Talented? Poetic? Monstrous? Tattooed head to toe? A kintsugi witch? All of the above?"

"Are you Lady Carina?" he whispered, his voice so soft he could barely hear himself. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure the whole congregation could hear it.

"I sure hope so," she muttered, "Or this whole wedding is about to get really weird."

"Are you... are you also... Gold Star?" he asked, his voice hoarse with longing.

"I told you I'd see you sooner than you thought," she cooed.

Without thinking (let's be honest, Doyle wasn't doing much thinking these days) he turned to her and pulled back her silky lace veil. She grinned up at him, her face adorned with flecks of gold and a brilliant, devious smile.

"It is you," he breathed, so quietly the church couldn't hear. Well, I mean, they wouldn't have been able to hear anyway, because the priestess (seeing that Doyle was ahead of the program) cued up the orchestra and they began playing the 'First Kiss March' in double time.

"I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," the priestess said, hurrying to get her words out before Lady Carina threw herself at Doyle, kissing him with enough passion to elicit audible gasps of shock from the crowd.

"Let's get out of here," she muttered to Doyle, then she turned and waved at the crowd before hustling back down the aisle. He followed her, hand in hand, a brilliant smile splitting his face. "Bye, everybody! Thanks for coming out to see me off!" she shouted as she cut through the paparazzi and sightseeing crowds that had gathered at the entrance of the church. She reached the horse-drawn carriage and Doyle clamored on behind her a moment before she shouted,

"In other words, see ya, suckers!" and snapped the reins. The horses took off at a brisk pace with Doyle, howling with laughter, sitting beside her. They quickly cut through the crowds, out through the city, past the venue for their wedding party.

"Your knights are there, already drunk on the wine I had ordered for them," Carina informed an incredulous Doyle. "They were in on the whole thing. Your knight Evan is a good lad. He was in on the plan."

"The -- the plan?" Doyle asked.

"Yeah, well, I needed to be sure you were as good as they all said," she said, shrugging. "You know, some of your knights have been coming to my show for years. I even dated a guy who jousted in your regiment. I'm not ashamed of what I do for a living. In fact, I think I'm rather proud of it."

"I am too!" Doyle said emphatically. "Gold Star... you are a star. You are a goddess draped in -- "

"Let's not get too poetic just yet," she laughed. "We haven't even had a proper honeymoon fuck yet. Save it for the pillow talk, okay, lover boy?"

"Honeymoon --?" Doyle couldn't make himself say the words. She glanced over at him as the horses clip-clop-clipped through the forest.

"Oh, baby, yes, we are going to have fun," she laughed.

They reached a tiny cottage on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean.

"Is this where you live?" he asked as she disembarked from the carriage. She kicked off the high heels on her way up the walk.

"Yeah," she shouted over her shoulder as she shed the veil, the clunky earrings, the bracelets that resembled shackles more than anything else.

"I love it," he said earnestly, "But Carina... wait."

"What?" she asked in surprise, turning over her shoulder, trying to unbutton the front of her dress.

"Isn't it customary for the husband to carry his wife across the threshold?" he asked.

"You can do that when we fuck at the palace," she said with a shrug and a smirk. "This is just my apartment, Doyle, we don't need to do anything fancy."

He finally allowed himself to laugh, and chased her into the house as he loosened his tie. "Did you see their faces?" he asked, chuckling, as she helped him out of his shirt.

"Hm. Wasn't really looking at them," she said.

"Oh? What were you looking at?" he asked.

"You," she said, and kicked the door shut before tackling him to the ground.

Doyle gazed up at her in awe as she reached for his belt.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured.

"Yeah," she said, pushing a stray hair out of her face as she struggled with the buckle.

"And talented," he continued.

"Mm," she said, "This buckle is a bit finicky. Ah, there we go."

"And powerful," he went on.

"Thanks, babe," she said, sliding the belt off and unbuttoning his trousers.

"And -- and -- and --!" but he never got out what the next adjective was, because instead he could only gasp, eyes wide, as Carina slid a hand down the front of his pants.

"Wow," she said, grinning as she carefully handled him, "Good for you, husband."

"I'm going to need you to be a -- ah! -- a little slower in the way you t-touch me," he gasped out, "Because if you get any quicker I fear I may burst... Carina... oh, Carina..."

"Did I say you could cum yet?" she cooed.

He looked at her in a daze. "No, you didn't," he admitted.

"That's right," she said, her grin widening. "You can cum when I give you permission. Now, you're a good boy, Doyle. You're a well-educated man. You're well-behaved. You like rules, right?"

"P-please..." he moaned, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm. That's good," she said. "You're polite! So good. Such a good boy,"

"Oh, my gods..." he moaned, his breath starting to come in short little gasps. He grit his teeth, trying to tamp down the edge.

"Doyle?"

"Y-yes," he managed.

"You're close, aren't you," she cooed. It wasn't a question, not really.

"Yes," he gasped out.

"Do you want to cum for me?"

"Yes," he moaned.

"Look at me, Doyle."

"Yes. Yes," he said, forcing his eyes open to see her delighted grin.

"Alright," she murmured, dipping her head down and giving his cock a generous lick that made him throb, "You can cum in my mouth. Cum for me, Doyle. Cum in the back of my throat." She dipped her head lower and took him into her mouth, using her long tongue to massage the tip.

"Please," he begged. "P-please... please..."

"Mm-hmm," she moaned, and that was all it took. He tipped over the edge, calling out wordlessly. She bobbed her head, sucking and licking enthusiastically as he felt every nerve ending in his body light up in sparkling gold, gold, gold. The climax was explosive. She had been laughing only minutes before but she wasn't laughing now -- all her focus was on swallowing him down, pleasing him, pleasuring him.