The Dark Chronicles Ch. 04

Morgayne was still spread wide on the bed, her legs wide and her hands tied high above her head. Energy spun between her tied together places and rippled to the ends of her limbs, crackling into the ether. Artur lay above her, his rod a burning heat along her belly, the root of it hard against the tip of her cunt. He wrapped one arm around her neck and pulled her face to his. Artur's heated balls were hard up against the open wetness of her cunt, and his cock along her belly, a sliding fuck, a sliding fuck.

He slid above her, their bellies slick with their sweat, and Inside them both long pleasure began, churning and building from deep within their centres. His churning seed and her blood on the high moon began its count to her beginning days. Morgayne's time was not here, not yet, so no magick wasted but her body a promise and her mind left behind. Artur mindless as he fucked upon her flesh, the thick hard slide of his cock up and down, up and down, until with a massive gasp he arched his back and, pressing his swollen balls deep to the wet slide of her cunt, shot a great stream up between her breasts right to her throat.

With a massive surge, her climax came, and with one huge thrust of her body Morgayne snapped the links and ties of her hair. She pulled her legs up to Artur and wrapped them around his back, and both hands cradled the back of his head. Morgayne's kisses devoured his mouth, and she gripped his body to hers, tight and tighter. No goddess, no priestess, no king; just the hot embrace of her brother, the only man she knew, the only man she loved.

"Call me Gayne, so it's just me." Her whisper and sob was on his throat, and Artur held her body against his, and gently turned her so she lay beside him, their bellies still held firm and his beautiful cock between them, its heat a long sticky place and her breasts held close to his. He cradled her head against his chest, stroking over and over the top of her head. Her hands pressed against his chest like a cat's, and slowly the tension drained away from her body and she slept. Artur pulled the feathered cloak around them for warmth, and later in the night reached for a thick animal pelt and made it all around them.

Later still in the night Morgayne woke, and she was on her back, Artur's head nestled into her shoulder, his hand resting softly, cupping her breast. Morgayne stroked his tangled hair slowly, and ran her finger around the dried spirals on his face, silently. He stirred, murmured something in his sleep then settled again. She could feel the heat of his cock, soft now but still hot, against her thigh. She shifted slightly on the bed and, still cradling his head to her breast, cupped her hot sex in the palm of her other hand, letting the weight of her thighs trap her hand there. And she comforted herself, her sex untouched by man nor woman but only her brother's mouth and her own fingers. Morgayne held Artur's head to her chest, so if he awoke again in the depths of the night, he would hear her heart beat.

"I'm here, Artur," she whispered, "I'm always here."

* * * * *

On the morrow, Artur made it clear to Maerlyn that Morgayne was a part of his court. "Maer, you will respect her. If you cannot, stay away. I play no favourites."

"With the lady's grace, sire, I will be kind; even if she be not kind to me."

"Politick, Maer?" Artur looked upon the mage with an eyebrow raised, a wry smile on his face. "Take care. You might believe it."

"Believe it sire? I say it, and what truth in words?"

"Try at least, Maer. My sister might surprise you." Artur turned as his sister drew near. "She might not, too."

"Maerlyn, do you doubt me?" Morgayne's voice was honey smooth, sending a shiver up the old man's spine. She touched his arm with her fingers, and they were warm. "Oh, Maerlyn, don't fear me. I'm just a girl, unformed." Her eyebrow rose, the same as her brother's, teasing the man.

"Not a girl, lady, not unformed either, as I believe my eyes."

"Maerlyn, you tease. You flatter me." Her laugh was high and light, and Maerlyn knew he was bewitched. He knew too, that she toyed with him.

"Stop, the both of you," said Artur. "Such sweetness, bees will fly from your mouths."

"Buzz, buzz," replied Maerlyn.

"Oh, my flower," added Morgayne. "I shall wear yellow, and live in a hive."

Artur looked at them both, and shook his head. "Well it is I love you both, and will walk between you. Yet you battle on, and surely 'tis sport?"

"'Tis not love, sire, that I know." Maerlyn looked at the priestess Morgayne. "And your sister knows it too."

"Ah, no matter. I'll walk the middle and take good counsel from you both." Artur dismissed the feud between his sister and the magister from his business. "I speak of counsel. Sister, I bid you travel with me to Breton, to parley the Lord De Grance and plan our kingdom's trade. This next week. You do it?"

"My pleasure, brother, by your side." Morgayne glanced across at Maerlyn, who was watching them both closely in a way she had seen before, his eyes cast down as if he saw nothing but his feet. But Morgayne knew the magician well, and thought he missed nothing, nothing at all. Maerlyn caught her glance and pondered it. His ankle itched, but he did not scratch it until after she was gone.

* * * * *

A week later a small ship sailed from the port where Artur, Maerlyn and Lot landed in the days before the rock and the dagger pulled from it, and Artur's crowning as king. Artur in command, the vessel made its way down the Severne channel and south west past the long foot of the country, off into the deep Atlant where warm waters streamed up from the south. The ship made good way, a steady wind at its sails, and the thrusting peninsula of Breton was soon ahead of them. The Lady Morgayne sat regal before the mast, imperious and proud. Sailors scurried on the deck and in the ropes, and were in awe of her.

"What is the intent with De Grance, Artur?" Morgayne asked. " What trade you seek?"

"Tin and lead, sensible metals but dull. They can be worked and beaten for gutters and pipes, buildings to be made and fancily fitted. Tall trees, too. Cut and floated in huge rafts across the sea." Artur thought back to his trading runs to the cold countries east of Lot's islands, and the books and ledgers that recorded it all.

"And in return? What do we buy these tall trees and metals all with?"

"This moment I am not sure of it. Maerlyn thinks wool from the sheep's back, all spun and woven; I think it knowledge and craft might be best. Smaller ships can run a man fast, and he sell his cleverness. People need clever hands and will buy them. We'll see. De Grance is a fair man, and will offer us well."

"His little daughter, Miryamme. Is he offering a bride?" Morgayne looked at her brother, wondering if he sought a queen yet, or was content with his sister beside him.

"I had not thought it," replied Artur. "Besides, she is still just a girl, too young for a king. A pretty poppet to be sure, but no, I had not thought it."

Morgayne said no more. She would inspect the child for her own mind, knowing that a longer look was sometimes worth it. She knew Artur would need a suitable girl eventually, and some legiances grew slowly. If Miryamme was a poppet still, then a dowry set aside now would do De Grance no harm. Morgayne smiled wryly to herself. A dowager princess already, at my tender age, playing courts for my brother. If I meddle and grow old with it... I should prentice myself to the old meddler himself, and make sport at the same time. She shook her head and laughed quietly.

Artur glanced at his sister and saw there was a plot being made. He also saw a wildness in her hair from the wind, and colour high in her cheeks, for it was cold. An image of the strange house in the treeless valley, and the solitary line of footsteps to it, flashed into his mind; and he gazed upon his sister in her dark beauty. Ahh Gayne....

Morgayne looked up at her brother from where she sat, as if hearing a call from a distance. Their eyes met, and held for a long moment and a moment longer. Her eyes were as black as cold water on a moonless night, Artur's shading to a deep blue grey, changeable with the sky and cloud, and the shifting colour of the sea. They held a mutual gaze, and neither looked away until a shiver of wind caught and rattled the sails. Artur looked up to judge the wind, and leaned into the steering oar. The sail filled, and the small ship surged ahead on the sea, a small chop rising as the land drew near.

Some time later they steered up a small inlet to a protected space in the lower reaches of a river. On one shore there were long timbered quays with a number of ships and other craft tied up. On the far shore, defensive timber palisades marked the boundaries of De Grance's fort. It was an impressive structure, a series of single and two storey buildings climbing the slope up away from the water's edge, and a short jetty jutting into the inlet. Artur turned the steering oar hard over and brought their ship in a long circle, turning it around and bringing it alongside the jetty.

Artur, dressed in his travelling furs and a long ceremonial cloak, strode down the gang plank of the ship, his head high and strides long. He was still a young king, yet he walked tall, reminding the older Duke who had drawn the dagger from the rock and made king. It was a simple gesture, needing no words, but a quiet reminder of the power of the king.

Morgayne, too, imposed her presence on the place, her black cloak all feathers falling, swirled around her in a curious slow motion, her jet black hair plaited in a long rope down her back and all looped back up and braided. The sailors were superstitious, and marked with their fingers the crescent of a watching eye on their foreheads, to keep them safe. Morgayne saw the men mutter, and a tiny smile creased the corners of her mouth. She might call up mermaids from the deep, to torment and drive them mad, or perhaps rats and spiders in the hold.

"Morgayne, don't think it. We return by sea and need the crew." Artur warned his sister and bade her stop, knowing her look.

"Ha, Artur, you spoil my games. I get bored. How to jape and jest, when my own brother sticks in the mud and wears clod's feet? Who can I play with tonight?"

"Oh Gayne, you always played with me when you got bored and restless." Artur caught himself and quickly looked around. His use of her private name slipped out before he caught it, a not thinking thing. Morgayne looked at her brother carefully, no emotion in her eyes but a stillness there. She reached out slowly to touch his hand, just the tip of her fingers in a slow caress.

"I did, didn't I, brother." Her voice was a whisper, half talking to herself. Her forefinger moved down the side of his hand, and slipped away. "Go brother, be the king and make ceremony with the lord here. Treat and trade. I will to my own business make, and not bother you."

"What business, Morgayne? Make care with your conjure, or use it not at all, if it pleases thee."

"Fear it not, Artur, I will be innocent. I'll see the poppet, and be like her older sister, all sweet. She can show me her dolls." Morgayne turned away, and walked ahead down the gang plank. On the quay, De Grance greeted her as a priestess, honour given. He took Morgayne's hand in his, brushing it to his lips. They made small chat for a moment, and then she turned to Miryamme, who stood shyly behind her father.

"Come, sister, show me around your father's kingdom. We don't need to hear these foolish men." Miryamme's eyes opened wide, hearing the priestess dismiss her father in such a bold way, and the king too; and being called sister. She could never be that brave, not even once, and would never speak to her father like that. And never the king. Miryamme was astonished at Morgayne's words, and looked up to the older woman in wonder. She wanted to wear black feathers, but knew she never would. Morgayne looked back at Artur with a steady gaze, then turned to the young girl, bending down to hear her words. "Show me your places, Miryamme. Every girl has her favourite places."

Artur went with De Grance to the main hall of the fortress and parlayed trade, metals and gold, timber and wool, and the payment for it. They bartered it mostly, carefully judging the surpluses and needs of each their own province, and served it well.

At the end of the long evening Artur withdrew to the main guest quarters, several rooms connected by a private corridor running high on the outer wall, facing inland to the forest. He sat on a low bench, his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front, his heels resting on a small stool. He wrapped his cape about him, protection from the cold, and dozed. In the trees beyond, owls called, who who, and a distant wolf howled and was answered by its mate. As he dozed, Artur shed the king and became the man, distant from his crown and duty. No matter, nothing mattered, and he was at peace with himself, a mortal man. In his falling dream, he ran and came to a door. "Gayne," he whispered, "are you there?"

"Yes Artur, you know it, I'm here." Morgayne's low voice broke through his doze, and her fingers lingered on the back of his hand. "Come in from the cold, brother, we make our bed."

In a daze, not knowing if he was sleeping or awake - his sister's voice low, whispering like his dreams whispered in the night, he moved into the chamber. Morgayne stood in the middle of the open space between the door and the bed, holding out her hands to him. Her eyes, normally jet black with a piercing gaze, were softer, a hint of a smile at her temples.

"What is it sister, that gentles your mood?" Artur stepped towards her, and placed his hands on her hips, a quiet possession and his own mood settling like still water in a sheltered lake.

"The little poppet, Miryamme, with her innocent prattle and bright eyes." Morgayne reached to her brother's collar, pulling loose a knotted cord. "She's sweet and young, and made me forget my politick and sorcery. We chattered about nothing and she was a sweet little sister." Morgayne peeled back Artur's shirt from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. "She will suit you, brother, when she comes to age."

Artur lifted his hand from Morgayne's waist and pulled upon the spiralling ribbon that held his sister's shift in place, slowly pulling it through the loops until it dropped to the ground in a spiral. "What of you, sister, who cares for your future?" He moved his hands inside the fall of the shift, moving the cloth aside from her torso and stroking up her sides to cup Morgayne's slight breasts. She took in a breath and her fingers shook, and she pressed them to his chest.

"Do not worry it, Artur, it's always you. The little one can wait for her king. You're my brother now, uncrowned."

"How long can we do this, Gayne?"

"Long enough, Artur. You are king, and can bid it; even if reluctant priests forbid it."

Morgayne knelt before her brother, unbuckled a wide leather belt from about his waist, and dropped it to the floor. She eased both hands inside the cloth, and eased the breaches down his firm thighs, and they dropped. Artur stood naked before his sister and she was on her knees. With both hands she held his thick erection for a short time, then, placing one palm gently under his heavy balls, and, holding his shaft in her other hand, she lowered her lips to the head of his cock, and took him in her mouth, holding him there, so still. Artur closed his eyes, and rested both hands at the back of her head. Morgayne held him in her mouth and her eyes closed. Neither moved, and then Morgayne began a slow stroke of his shaft. Artur's eyes closed, and the room was quiet.

Morgayne caressed the soft head of her brothers prick, and she wasn't a priestess, he wasn't a king, just brother and sister, separated so young. Their innocent comfort ripped from them, and adults now, they made a safe place in De Grance's fortress, a loyal place to the king.

In a tiny alcove above the room, Miryamme watched them and saw the naked man and Morgayne, who was like an older sister to the younger girl.

In the room, Artur touched his sister's hair and moved her from his heat. "Stand, Gayne, you kneel before a king, but you stand beside your brother ." He reached for her hands and she stood before him, his high shaft pressing up against her belly, she stood so close. Artur place his hands upon the bones of her hips, she was too thin, and then he found a cord, and her skirt fell away, leaving her naked before him, her long dark hair falling a long fall down her back.

In the tiny alcove above the room, Miryamme gasped, knowing now it was Morgayne from the rock. Miryamme had not realised it before. In her father's place, the lady was regal, tall and proud. At Artur's coronation, his strong hands upon the dagger and Miryamme couldn't look, there had been a quick black shadow, Morgayne some skuttling, spiderous thing, dropping to the earth and smearing sticky mud all over her belly. Miryamme didn't understand it, she was too young, an unformed girl, but Morgayne who played her sister, what manner of badness was this?

Miryamme crept away silently, her eyes never leaving the bodies of the two below.

In the room, brother and sister held each other, and Morgayne shifted wide her thighs. Artur placed his cock between her legs, and his hot heat rose and was cradled by her sex. Her lips were swollen and wet, her sliding juice was viscous and thick, for her eggs were upon her and she was calling, calling. Artur's cock throbbed, and a silver bead rose up his shaft and glistened at the tip.

"Come to bed sister, come curl before me, and I keep you warm." Artur looked at the thin body of his sister Morgayne, and remembered how she held him on the straw floor of a room in Tyntangel, his head resting on her breastless chest.

"Artur, is it you?" Morgayne's voice was small, all befuddled, and he held her.

"It's all right, Gayne, I'm stronger now, it's always me."

"Artur?"

"Yes, sweet sister, what is it?"

"I don't know men, they fear me and run frightened from me."

"You scare them, Gayne, but you've never frightened me."

Artur took her by the hand, and led her to the bed. He placed her on her back and gently spread her thighs apart. Dark curls of hair shadowed her cleft, and hid it from his eyes. But Artur didn't look upon her sex. His eyes held hers as he climbed upon the bed, and placed himself over her. Artur took his shaft in his hand, and nestled it between the lips of her shadowed cunt. He looked down upon her face, and held her eyes, unblinking.

Artur sunk himself into his sister as if he'd been there one hundred times before, but they were always dreams. Morgayne's eyes darkened to black and opened wide as he slid inside her in one long, soft movement. When the base of his shaft pressed up hard against her sex, Morgayne's mouth opened in a silent O. She shuddered, a little orgasm rippling through her, and her eyes rolled back.

Morgayne brought her thighs up around her brother's waist and opened herself beneath him, her only trusted man. Artur began to move within her, and soon she writhed beneath him, her breath coming in fast pants as he thrust deep into her. He gripped her hands above her head, stretching out her long body as he lay his whole length upon her, fucking her slowly and then faster, faster then slower, sliding into her sacred flesh. Morgayne shuddered beneath him and another orgasm rippled through. With a high cry she shuddered again, and began to thrust back against him, urging him higher on the bed, deeper into her panting flesh. She came again, and this time the clench of her cunt began to suck upon his heat, pulling his flesh higher to her womb. Artur fucked up high into his sister's womb.