The Hexhunt

Tasty Muffins

Elemiel awoke with the greatest reluctance. She had been having an extremely pleasant dream that involved tangled limbs, pressed lips, and tingling, humming skin covered in goosebumps. She stretched catlike across the silky sheets of her bed, a smile curling across the gentle bow of her lips.

"Asper," Elemiel murmured, her eyes shut as tightly as a newborn kitten.

She reached for the man she'd taken to bed the night before, intent on bringing the fantasy running through her head into reality. The elven woman's fingers closed upon nothing but soft sheets, and she groaned in exasperation.

"Asper, I have a serious case of morning dew, and I demand that you come here and touch me. Do that thing with your tongue that you did last night, and I'll return the favor by licking you in the place that made you whimper."

No answer came. To her great irritation, Elemiel did not feel the touch of the knight's deft, sword-callused hands on her skin.

"Don't be shy," she purred, cajoling. "Honestly, a great many of the world's problems would be solved if men just went ahead and admitted they liked a finger or two up there." She chuckled. "Or a tongue."

Still nothing.

Elemiel finally relented. She cracked open one eye, but instead of the knight's muscled back, broad shoulders, or annoyingly strong jawline, she saw only an empty bed. The imported starweave silk sheets were still pressed into the shape of the knight's finely-made body, although the covers no longer held his warmth.

First, Elemiel was irritated. Then, she was annoyed that she felt irritated. She blew out a breath and sat up on her elbows, peering around her spacious bedchamber for any sign of her lover. The elf wasn't certain why she was so disappointed to find that Asper had gone. After all, she'd had a multitude of men and women in this bed, not to mention on the chaise over by the window, and the thistledown-upholstered settee by the entrance to her walk-in closet. Oh, and the Sunlander carpet had seen some action as well...

The elf shook her head, the glossy lavender and black tresses of her hair sliding across the graceful slopes of her bare shoulders. The point was that she'd had a lot of fun in this bedchamber, and with a number of diverting partners. Her dalliance with Asper, pleasurable though it was, shouldn't have been any different.

"And it isn't," Elemiel spoke aloud as if to convince herself. "Aside from being more infuriating than most," she amended.

The elf thought of the way his gray eyes looked in the lamplight; sometimes hard as quartz-flecked granite, sometimes as soft and unfathomable as a bank of fog rolling through an elfholt. She pictured his hands, and how his long, nimble fingers seemed more suited to an artist than a warrior. A sweet, rapturous heat coiled through her veins at the memory of the molten pleasure those fingers could bring. And his cock... gods, the things that she wanted to do with his cock! The things that she had done, and would eagerly do again given half a chance...

"Oh, by Solana's Sainted Tits," Elemiel groused, kicking aside the covers and gaining her feet, "get a hold of yourself, woman." She was acting like an elf maiden with a silly crush. It wasn't like her in the slightest to moon over some knight, nephew to the Queen or not.

But, ah, what a knight.

It had been a blissfully sweet joining of bodies and minds. Asper seemed to know what she wanted before she did. Everything he touched of hers felt like it had been dipped in honey and lit by a summer sun. Every time she looked at him, gasping for breath as his clever fingers or wicked tongue had stroked another climax from her shuddering flesh, there was his roguish grin, the joyful laughter warming his eyes.

A heavy, pleasant heat settled into Elemiel's core, and she felt a curling, tightening sensation below her navel. She pictured the bunching muscles of Asper's chest, their strong planes dusted with the man's soft, dark hair. She recalled the sensation of running her fingers through that hair, and the faint smell of leather and sword oil that clung to his body like perfume.

Good gods.

Asper DeNallare wasn't at all what she'd expected when she had caught him sneaking into her party. Had that only been a handful of days ago? It seemed like a lifetime, packed with more adventure and pleasure than... well, than Elemiel had experienced in a distressingly long period of time.

Elemiel cast a look towards the ottoman at the foot of her four-post bed. She eyed the sapstone dildo that rested on the cushion, gleaming invitingly in the soft, gray-silver predawn light. The elf was sorely tempted to grab the toy and take care of herself right then and there. Elemiel had an interesting day ahead of her, and it was far better to face such a thing with a clear head and cooled cunt.

The only thing that stopped her from taking up the false cock and having at it was the risk of Asper coming into the bedroom and finding her with legs splayed. It wasn't out of any sense of propriety, or something silly like the risk of humiliation. Elemiel was an elf, after all. She wasn't some blushing human lass to be embarrassed at satiating the pleasures that her flesh so naturally and reasonably desired.

No, she stayed her hand because she was still annoyed that Asper hadn't been in bed next to her when she woke. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of walking in to find her punishing her pixie, so to speak. He had to earn a show like that.

And why on earth are you so annoyed? a voice inside of her asked.

Do shut up, she replied.

It wasn't as if last night had been anything more than sex--good sex, yes, but she and Asper didn't owe each other anything. There was certainly a spark there, goddess yes. But still... She glanced over at the vanity, where a small portrait of Erik, her late husband, sat in a circular frame. The elven woman padded across the carpet to stand before it, tracing a finger down the painted edge of his face. She sighed, then worked her shoulders as if she could physically shake off the maudlin mood that had come over her.

"Right. That's enough of that," Elemiel declared tartly to no one in particular. "I need strong coffee and a mind-melting orgasm, in that order."

Elemiel swept out of her bedchamber and into the boudoir, snagging a diaphanous dressing gown the color of Synestrian wine along the way. She flung it about her shoulders, careless of the fact that it did very little to hide the lush fullness of her body.

The elven woman paused as she unhooded one of the glowstone lamps. It illuminated the richly appointed room far better than the tepid early morning daylight. The glowstone light fell on the sumptuously upholstered furniture, fine rugs, and the masterfully painted oils hanging on the walls. Elemiel was especially fond of the paintings, being an avid patron of a certain dark-haired artist with a keen eye for tasteful nudity. The walls of the boudoir were adorned with a variety of pretty ladies and handsome men in various states of lovingly rendered carnal embraces. The creativity of the positions was rivaled only by the skill of the artist's execution.

Alas, the sideboard was bare of the usual silver-chased coffee service, and the air lacked the rich aroma of roasted beans she'd expected. It was early in the morning, true, but her servants were well aware of her preferences, especially when she was entertaining.

The elven woman sighed. It seemed that if she wanted coffee, she'd have to go get it herself. Her annoyance deepened, and a frown creased Elemiel's face. Where was everyone this morning?

Something seemed... off. A sudden thought entered her head like an unwelcome party guest. What if Duke Ditherington and that disreputable little rat Sharky Houndstooth tried to pull something? Elemiel had concluded that Ditherington, now discovered, would go to ground to lick his wounds. But what if he chose to do exactly the opposite? Elemiel didn't have the first inkling of what the Duke's true plan was, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility he'd tack on a bit of revenge.

Elemiel had household guards and the Sapphire District was regularly patrolled by the City Watch, but Elemiel knew just how slippery Sharky and his lackeys could be. He'd demonstrated that by breaking into the Museum last night. The elven woman tried to tell herself that her fears were unfounded--why would they take Asper, but leave her asleep in the bed? But rationality fled from the distressingly vivid image of Asper's irreverently handsome face streaked with drying blood that rose in Elemiel's mind.

The elf walked over to a dresser and opened a drawer, retrieving the stiletto dagger blade she kept there. As soon as her graceful fingers closed around the leather-wrapped hilt, her fear grew into resolve. She might not have been on a quest in a very long time, but a boardroom was not so different from a battlefield. If Sharky had tried something, he'd find her no easy prey.

Bolstered by the knife in her hand, Elemiel slipped out of the door of her boudoir and into the hall. The corridors were empty, but she reminded herself that was to be expected at this ungodly hour. The muted silver of the early morning light cast deep shadows around the plinths and sculptures displayed in niches that Elemiel passed.

Her bare feet were soundless on the creamy marble of the floor. In the elaborate gardens of the grounds outside and beyond, all was quiet and still. It was commonly said that Yvlynes never truly slept, but at that moment the capital city of Divony certainly seemed at least to be dozing. The hush was almost sepulchral and left Elemiel feeling as if she were the only person in existence, which did not soothe the fervid streak of worry racing through her brain.

Elemiel shuddered and clutched her delicate robe about her body. The elf was not made for the quiet solitude of these early watches. She craved conversation and stimulation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the sound of voices raised in song. The stillness was not precisely anathema to her, but given the choice, Elemiel would pick an elegant dress and a packed ballroom to show it off in every time.

Elemiel crept forward into the unnerving quiet and wondered where Asper had gotten to. In all likelihood, she was being completely ridiculous. The knight had probably just departed to relieve himself. Perhaps he had even gotten lost. Despite herself, the thought made Elemiel's lips twitch. Now that would be a delightful and hilarious turn of events. To be fair, the house was almost obnoxiously large. When he'd first purchased it for her, it had taken Erik several weeks of exploration until he hadn't become lost on the way to the privy.

The elven woman reached the end of the hallway and approached the stairs. Elemiel paused on the landing, resting one hand on the banister as she cocked her head to one side. Her gracefully pointed ears picked up the sound of raised voices from below, ostensibly from the kitchen.

Elemiel descended the stairs, knuckles white on the grip of her knife. The noise from the kitchen grew louder as she approached, resolving itself into laughter. Relief and annoyance flooded her body. She rolled her eyes and put the stiletto on a nearby sideboard, feeling more than a little silly.

Aha. So this is where everyone has gotten to this morning. And of course, Asper was at the center of it.

Buttery golden glowstone light poured out into the hall from the kitchen's doorway, along with the tantalizing scent of baked goods and the sounds of mirth. Elemiel leaned her shoulder against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her prodigious chest. She peered into the kitchen, and her mouth tilted into a smile at what she saw.

Asper stood at the large stone-topped counter in the center of the space. The sleeves of his nightshirt were rolled up, and flour dusted his forearms. An audience of a half-dozen servants were arrayed about him hanging onto his every word. Scullery maids, housekeepers, and kitchen staff all listened with rapt attention to the story the knight was telling. Even Talina was there, a wry, half-smile on her lips as she chuckled along with the rest of them.

"It was around that time," Asper continued, "that the bard came down the stairs, dripping wet. He walked over to the bar, ordered a whiskey, and said to the innkeeper, 'Well, I think you're going to need more than a mop and some towels to clean up room six.'"

A gale of laughter greeted the conclusion of Asper's story. The cook guffawed and slapped him on the back, perhaps forgetting for the moment in her mirth that she was technically striking a member of the royal family. Asper didn't seem to mind, chuckling as he continued to knead a ball of floury dough on the countertop. He grinned, and when he at last spotted Elemiel lounging in the doorway, his face lit up like it had been struck with a sunbeam.

"Madame Elemiel," he called out across the kitchen, "I'd say that I'm sorry if we woke you with all the noise, but I try not to lie as a general rule." He gave her a cheeky smirk. "The truth is, I was hoping you'd join us."

"Is that so?" the elf said, pushing away from the doorframe and stepping inside of the kitchen. "Was my bed so devoid of suitable diversion that you had to strike out and seek your own?" The dregs of her fading fear and annoyance made Elemiel's voice sound brittle to her ears, so the elf raised an eyebrow in an expression of arch imperiousness and forced a grin onto her face to try to take the bite out of her words.

Asper only threw his head back and laughed again, the sound like the joyous peal of a bell. "Ha! I only went looking for the lavatory, but I'm afraid that I got turned around in this maze of a house--by the way, Elemiel, this place is more convoluted than some of the wings in the Emerald Palace. You should really consider having a map made or something to help guests. Maybe a tour guide?--then I smelled the wonderful magic your chef was working in the kitchen and was distracted by her excellent muffins."

The chef--a tall easterner with curly brown hair named Navilia with a talent for flavors who had reputedly studied under the famous Vikka Vixenleaf--smiled at Asper. Elemiel blinked at the woman's fawning expression. Navilia's stern and unyielding manner had resulted in the kitchen receiving the nickname of the 'dragon's lair' from the rest of the household staff. Yet here Navilia was, batting her lashes at Asper like a Tin Town strumpet.

"They're a big firm handful," the chef said with an astonishing lack of guile, "but His Highness has a remarkably strong grip."

The corners of Elemiel's eyes crinkled, and Talina cleared her throat. One of the handmaids tittered.

"The muffins," the chef clarified hurriedly, her cheeks turning pink. "I'm talking about the muffins, of course. Lord Asper was helping me make them. Ahem. Now, why are you all lollygagging about my kitchen, anyway? Back to work, the lot of you. There's plenty to be done!"

The servants dispersed before Navilia's displeasure like a school of fish fleeing from a wavedrake. While Asper went over to the sink to wash up, Talina sidled over to Elemiel. The well-muscled woman wore a self-satisfied grin on her dusky face.

"How was last night?" she asked, then spoke again before Elemiel could reply. "Just kidding, I heard exactly how much fun you and the Sunstriker had. The words, 'wholesale rutting,' come to mind. In fact, I'm fairly certain all of the servants heard how much fun you had as well."

The elf's lips twitched. "Only the servants? But what about the neighbors? Did I not set any dogs to barking?" Elemiel tutted. "I must be losing my touch. I'll endeavor to be louder the next go around."

"You're hilarious," Talina said. "You're also up uncharacteristically early," she observed, one of her eyebrows rising in an unspoken question.

Elemiel shrugged. "There was a dearth of both male company in my bed and hot coffee in my mug. I got bored."

Talina's eyebrow climbed further up her forehead, making a run for her hairline. She stroked her chin with her callused fingers. The woman knew Elemiel too damn well to be deceived.

"Oh all right," Elemiel admitted, "when there was no sign of Asper this morning... Well. We crossed Ditherington and Sharky both last night, you know. My mind immediately jumped to some unpleasant conclusions."

Talina nodded her understanding. "It's been a while since our last proper adventure, hasn't it?" she said. "We've gone soft, you and I." Talina lifted her chin in the direction of the oven, where the delicious smell of baked goods wafted from. "Too much fine living and buttery muffins."

Elemiel sniffed. "Speak for yourself, Tal. My muffins are as firm as ever," she said, casting a glance at where Asper stood, washing the flour from his hands. Both women spent a pleasant few moments staring at his bottom.

"Gods, but he has a nice ass," Talina observed.

"Firm enough to bounce a doubloon off of," Elemiel confirmed. "I tried it last night."

"You did not!"

"I did, and now there's a gold coin lost somewhere behind my bed for a lucky maid to find."

Asper finished washing and came over to stand by them. "What are you two talking about?" he asked.

"Currency," Talina said innocently. She flashed Elemiel an insouciant look. "I'll make sure the carriage is ready to bring you to the Palace. Just don't delay too long," she admonished, her gaze lingering on Asper. "It wouldn't do to keep the Queen waiting."

With those words, Talina turned and left the kitchen, heading presumably for the stables. Elemiel turned to find Asper staring at her.

"You know," he said, folding his arms across his chest, "my Auntie is well known for being a very tolerant monarch. It's still early, and I know she wouldn't begrudge us a few minutes of tardiness. 'First thing in the morning' could be interpreted in a variety of ways."

"I cannot believe you just called the Queen of Divony, 'my Auntie.'"

"It's all part of my irreverent charm," Asper replied with a shrug.

Elemiel didn't say anything. She just reached out, grabbed Asper by the front of his shirt, and pulled the knight in towards her. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, perhaps imagining she was going for a kiss, but the elf drew him down a bit more and dragged her tongue across his cheek, gently licking the side of his face.

"Pleasant," Asper chuckled when he stood up straight again, "but unexpected."

Elemiel wet her lips with her tongue. "You had a bit of pastry cream on your cheek," she explained.

"Thanks for cleaning me off." Asper's expression was pure mischief.

"Upstairs," Elemiel instructed. "Immediately."

"Certainly, mistress elf," came the knight's impish reply.

Elemiel followed Asper up the stairs, her eyes glued to his bottom. In an effort to prevent herself from stripping off his pants and inhaling his bollocks there on the stairs--and likely traumatizing any new hires on her staff--, Elemiel asked a question.

"How did you learn to bake?" she inquired. "I imagine growing up in the Emerald Palace meant there was a veritable army of cooks and chefs at hand to produce whatever you might desire to eat."

"I have many surprising talents," replied Asper, "as I think you discovered last night."

Elemiel just rolled her eyes.

"Truthfully though," the knight continued as they strolled down the hallway to Elemiel's bedroom, "there are no servants on the trail when you're out questing. It pays to have a diverse set of skills if you don't want to be eating hardtack and wormy biscuits every meal in the wild." Asper paused. "I imagine you know that better than most. You were Golden Bower's bard before you married your late husband if I'm not mistaken?"