The Black Queen Pt. 03: The Maze

Restraining his fears as best he could, he approached the woman again and examined her, reaching out to gently touch her shoulders. Yet his hands faltered and fell to her voluminous breasts instead, and though he half expected to feel the softness of flesh, there was nothing but hard, unyielding stone beneath his gripping fingers.

He soon realized what he was doing, and his face grew warm as he quickly withdrew his hands.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady," he said with an apologetic bow. "That was intolerably forward of me." It struck him as rather foolish to address a statue, but if there was indeed something uncanny at work and the statues were somehow aware, he thought it best to avoid drawing their ire.

He stepped back and looked from her to the minotaur, silently daring them to move again. Neither did, but he was still not reassured. Even if it was just his mind playing tricks, he was still caught within the high walls of the clearing and surrounded by strange statues. At a loss, Stefan cupped his hands to his mouth and began to call out, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Hello! Anyone? I'm trapped in the maze!"

The sharp crack of a twig interrupted him, and with a start he looked over to see that the minotaur now loomed a good deal closer than before. There was no mistaking it now. The statue had clearly moved. And not only that, it had advanced toward him with its horns lowered, as if to gore and maim.

With a rising panic, Stefan turned and ran, leaping at the closest wall and grasping at the ivy in an attempt to climb up. But the frail vines gave way and he fell to the ground, his shoulder striking a stone hoof. He looked up to see the minotaur now looming over him, its great fists raised as if to strike. Stefan scrambled away and put his back to the wall, wishing that he'd never left his room, never left his home at the inn. Behind the minotaur he saw that the woman had also moved, facing towards him now with one hand raised as if she were beckoning to him.

He stared at the bull-horned statue and did his best to think. So far the statues had only moved when he wasn't looking--and, he realized, they were only the ones he had touched. Keeping his eyes locked on the minotaur, Stefan began to walk backward in the direction of the beckoning woman, wondering if she could help him somehow.

Just as he was thinking this, a pair of cold, slender arms encircled him from behind. He felt the hard press of the statue's breasts against his back, and he looked down just in time to see one stone arm cross over his chest while the other reached lower, the feminine hand sliding down over his tunic and towards his groin. But even as he watched they froze in mid-motion, her perfectly sculpted white limbs glinting coldly in the moonlight.

Remembering his peril, Stefan raised his eyes back to the minotaur. It seemed no closer than before, however, and had in fact turned aside as if intending to circle around him. A moment later he felt the woman move again, embracing him tightly as she tugged down the front of his trousers and took him into the cold grip of her hand. He tensed in alarm, but her fingers were deft and gentle, circling, caressing, her stone skin feeling porcelain-smooth around his languid member.

A gentle breeze once again blew through the clearing, carrying with it the faint sounds of a flute. Stefan felt the weight of the woman's chin on his shoulder, felt the touch of stone lips at his ear. He steadied himself as best he could, determined to keep his gaze fixed on the minotaur. As animated as the woman was, she seemed to pose no danger. In fact, her intentions seemed rather friendly, even amorous.

Whether it was the strangeness of his situation, the statue's gentle touch, or a trick of some fey spell, Stefan felt himself responding as the woman began to stroke him. Her cool hand moved slowly up and down along his length, coaxing him to full stiffness as she continued to hold him firmly against her.

Stefan's breath came quicker as his pleasure rose. There was a soft feminine giggle from behind, though it sounded hollow and distant, like it came from far away. The statue's hand moved faster, its smooth, nimble fingers caressing the sensitive tip of his manhood as her other hand slipped down to gently cradle his scrotum.

His release quickly came. Stefan gasped and shuddered, his seed spurting high and far in curving pearlescent strings before falling sharply to land on the grassy soil. Even through the haze of his climax, Stefan still managed to keep his eyes locked on his horned adversary. Suddenly, the woman moved again, circling one arm around his chest to hold him tight as she placed her other hand right over his eyes, completely blocking his vision. His head was trapped in the crook of her neck and shoulder, and Stefan's bliss turned swiftly to panic as he found that he could barely move at all.

He tugged wildly at her unyielding arms before coming to the realization that he was well and truly stuck. He stood still for a moment, panting, staring into the statue's hand as the heavy thumping footfalls of the minotaur drew steadily closer. Then, finally remembering to shut his eyes, he exhaled as far as he could and managed to squirm free from the woman's grasp. At the last moment it felt as if she might have released him, but in all his fear and haste he couldn't quite be sure of anything.

Stefan rolled to one side and looked up. There, standing only a few paces away, was the minotaur. Its head and arms were thrust back in a silent roar, perhaps enraged that its quarry had eluded it once again.

With his heart still pounding in his chest, Stefan decided that he'd had enough excitement for one night. He tugged his trousers up and retreated back the way he had come, this time doing his best to keep both the woman and the minotaur in sight. He put his back to the wall and began to move along it, feeling blindly for some hidden opening in the stonework, some crack or crevice he could use to climb out. He caught himself on a branch of razor-like thorns that tore both his sleeve and the flesh of his arm, drawing warm trickles of blood as he pulled himself free. Then his hand fell on a protruding stone, and with a soft click and a grinding rumble, a small section of the wall began to swivel around beside him, vines and all.

He slipped through right before it closed and fell to his knees gratefully on the other side. Just then he heard the familiar sound of huffing, inhuman breaths and saw a shape moving towards him in the darkness. As Stefan steeled himself to confront this new terror, the shape slowly materialized into a sad-eyed basset hound who regarded him dolefully for a moment before shuffling up to lick his hand. Relieved, Stefan couldn't help but laugh as he stroked the ears of the fearsome beast that had been stalking him through the maze.

After a moment he noticed the glow of a lantern and saw a white figure approaching along the path. For a moment he feared that it was another statue come to life, but then he recognized the flowing robes and pale features of Selene, the white handmaiden. She came up to where Stefan was sitting with the hound and looked at him curiously, shining the lantern on his face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her silvery hair gleaming in the moonlight.

Embarrassed, Stefan got to his feet and recounted his adventure and narrow escape, although he kept the more prurient details to himself. The young woman listened thoughtfully, and then to his dismay she strode up to the rotating wall and felt along it until she found the catch.

"Come then, let us see your monsters."

He followed close behind as she entered the clearing, ready to take her by the arm and run if necessary. But to his amazement the statues were all back in their original positions as if nothing had happened. He approached the statue of the woman and glared at it, willing her to give up her secrets. But she remained silent and still, with just the barest hint of a furtive, knowing smile on her lips that had not been there before.

The handmaiden turned and led him to a shortcut out of the maze. Stefan took note of the path as well as he could, hoping that it would aid him if he were ever to get lost again. She escorted him all the way into the castle, not stopping until they were outside the door to his room. He was thankful to have a guide. His nerves were still frayed and he didn't quite trust his own senses. Finding the way through all those silent, shadowy halls on his own seemed a near impossibility in his present state of mind.

Once safely at the door to his bedchamber, the white maid stopped and turned toward him.

"Whatever you might have seen tonight," she said, fixing him with her pale gray eyes. "I think you have learned that it is not safe to wander about after dark, even in the castle. I ask that you refrain from doing so in the future."

Humbled, Stefan assured her that he would. She turned to go, then stopped and gently touched the torn, bloodstained sleeve of his shirt as if only then noticing it.

"You're hurt." The handmaiden frowned as she began to tear the sleeve away, revealing a latticework of nasty open scratches as Stefan protested weakly.

"It's nothing, really. I'm fine."

She ignored him and continued until all the cuts were exposed, then began touching them gingerly as Stefan watched, dumbfounded. Her fingertips glowed blue-white as if with witchfire, but her touch numbed rather than hurt, feeling something like a like a blend of ice, fire, and a soothing breeze. The pain in his arm lessened, then ceased, and her fingers came to rest on his shoulder as Stefan felt the warm touch of her other hand against his chest.

"You have a good heart," she said, looking slightly to one side as if distracted. She was only a few inches shorter than he, and Stefan was suddenly aware of how close her beautiful face was to his, how her head was tilted slightly upward and to one side, her pale pink lips parted and exposed. The urge to kiss those lips was sudden and strong. Yet he resisted, though whether it was due to astonishment or fear he could not say. Then the distant boom of a slamming door echoed throughout the hall and the white maiden released him, moving away without another word.

Once inside his room, Stefan examined his arm in a kind of daze. The scratches were gone. All that remained to show he had ever been hurt were a few faint white lines, like tiny scars. Stefan went to his bed and wrapped himself tightly in his blanket, feeling not entirely safe and not entirely sane.

Sleep was a long time in coming.

* * * * *

The Princess stood on the balcony, feeling the cool night wind tugging almost playfully at her hair and gown. Far below her the lights of the castle burned like earthbound stars. She smoothed a strand of golden hair away from her eyes and smiled humorlessly at the thought of leaping to her death, something she could no longer do even if she wished. The Queen had appeared in her tower room the night before and fixed her around the waist with a fine silver chain. The Princess could feel it even now, the onyx clasp resting cool and heavy on her skin halfway between her navel and the line of her pubic hair. She had already tried to take it off but it would not rise any higher than her breasts, with the chain stopping and holding fast as if held by an invisible anchor.

"This will bind you closer than any rope," the Queen had said. "And while wearing it you will obey any order given to you."

Seeing the doubt on her face, the Queen smiled. "Take your nipple between your fingers and squeeze it."

To the Princess' horror her hand obeyed. It rose as if of its own volition and pinched her left breast, causing her to gasp in astonishment and pain.

"Obedient at last," the Queen had said, her voice now surprisingly gentle. "You must think me unbearably cruel, but all I ask is obedience." The Princess trembled as she felt the Queen's fingers lightly caress her chin before lifting the girl's face towards her own. The Princess met her gaze evenly.

"So beautiful," the Queen mused, as if to herself. "And so tainted. What am I to do with you?"

The Princess could feel the shame and anger even now. She was indeed tainted, tainted with the blood of a betrayer. Her father had been king of a neighboring realm and a sworn ally to the Queen. Yet he had devised an ill-fated plot to depose her. As punishment the Queen had taken both his head and his only child, intending that no heir would remain to take the throne of his disgraced kingdom.

"We shall let the Fates decide," the Queen said at last, releasing her. "When next the moon waxes full, the Tournament will begin."

The Princess watched as the Queen turned to leave, her dark gown swirling. She paused at the top of the stairs and smiled coldly.

"Until then, my child, I have something... special in mind."