The Jabberwock's Treasure Pt. 02

"Oh," said Vorpal. "But never one-on-one, I should think."

The prince shook his head. "No, often. My mother... uh, introduced me to many ladies. We often had tea together."

His voice was soft and Vorpal sighed. "Really, you should speak up. You're rather hard to hear, you know."

The prince blinked at her. "Uh, well, what I was saying -"

Vorpal sat up. "It's no use shouting. Come here." She patted the couch beside her.

The prince's eyes went wide. "What, really?"

Vorpal rolled her eyes. "Yes, really. I've already almost finished my second drink and I don't really wish to lean across the table and fill my own tankard again. It'll be far easier if you're beside me. Anyway, I'll be able to hear you easier. You do mumble, somewhat."

The prince held his drink, unsure, until Vorpal patted the couch again. He slowly got up, grabbed the table to steady himself.

Ah, so the awkwardness of sharing her couch was less than that of trying to argue himself out of her request. Good.

"Come on," she said. "I don't bite. My tentacles don't either, although they do sometimes have thoughts of their own."

The prince glanced at them, alarmed, but Vorpal just chuckled. "I'm joking. They're as much me as my legs or my wings. Come now."

The prince say down at the edge of the couch. Vorpal sighed.

"Well, that shall have to do, then." She quickly downed the rest of her drink and handed him the tankard. "If you would be so kind..."

Naveen took it and was careful to not pour so much head on the drink this second time. He was happy to have something to focus on, to distract him from the sudden closeness of the jabberwock. Before, when she'd been asleep and he had approached her, it had been different. Those striking amber eyes had been closed, the full lips pursed, her impressive body far less confronting when at rest. Now, however, he felt every shift of her body on the couch, felt the weight of her beside him, the heat of her body, the smell of it - a gorgeous scent, of her own fragrance mixed with the gentle sweetness of the make-up she had applied. His heart was beating hard as he handed her the tankard. She shifted closer to him to take it. Her talons closed around it and she flashed a particularly bright smile at him.

"Well done. It seems you've become an expert at drawing ale as well."

He blushed and leaned across the table to get his own drink. Vorpal beat him to it, grabbing the tankard and sliding it across to him, making sure that she brushed his side with her chest as she did so. She grinned at him again.

He drew the tankard up and had another drink.

"So," said Vorpal. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Your question?"

"About tea. With those lovely ladies your mother tried to set you up with."

The prince laughed. "Lovely? No, not lovely."

"So, ugly?"

"Oh no," said the prince quickly. "Well, I mean, I would never call anyone ugly. But it was the way they... uh, acted towards me. Like I was just a..."

"A treasure?" said Vorpal.

The prince startled at the word, but then he nodded. "Yes. That's exactly it. A thing they could collect. I mean, if they married me, they would take my name and with it the prestige of my family."

"Is that such a bad thing?" asked Vorpal. "To be considered precious?"

"I only want someone who likes me for who I am," he said. "Not my name."

"Well, I like you," said Vorpal. "And your name means nothing to a creature of Wonderland."

She took another deep drink, but stopped mid-draught when she noticed the prince had stopped talking. She looked at him. He was staring at her.

"What?" she asked. "Do I have foam on my lips this time?" She licked them.

"Uh, no," said the prince. "It's just what you said. That you like me."

Vorpal blinked. "Well, what's not to like?" she said. "Beautiful, talented, can pull ale well? You're a fine catch, name or no name." Her heart began to race. Oh gods, she'd gone and said it, hadn't she? But her dismissive answers seem to mollify the prince and he went back to focussing on drinking from his tankard without spilling anything.

Well, she'd told the truth, hadn't she? She did like him, and not just as a treasure. He was not her treasure, of course. At any moment, Dovedale could reappear and collect him for the Queen of Hearts. She would never see him again. Well, not like this, anyway. He would be an incubus, the Queen's incubus.

The thought horrified her. She threw the rest of her drink down and filled another. The prince watched her, no doubt surprised she hadn't asked him to draw the ale for her.

Her heart was throbbing. Oh, she was getting drunk. But she felt like being drunk. She took another long draught.

She glanced across at him, sitting there, legs closed together as he drank, like any well-bred young princess taught to keep her knees together at all times. He had beautiful legs, it was true, and in the trousers she had looted for him, they were slim and muscular.

She reached across and placed a claw on his thigh. He had gorgeous thighs, that slender but masculine shapeliness that young boys have, so different from her own thick thighs. She had longed to touch them, and now the thought they might be taken away from her at any moment filled her with a desperate courage.

She gave his thigh a squeeze. The prince jumped, spilling ale down his front.

"Oh no," cried Vorpal. "You've spilled your drink."

The prince stood up, horrified, staring down at the sodden front of his white shirt, still holding the dripping tankard in his hand.

"Oh, come here," she said. He really was at a loss. She took the tankard from him and set it down on the table, absent-mindedly licking the excess foam that stuck to her claw. She leaned across and began to unbutton his collar. The prince's eyes went wide.

"What... what are you doing?"

Vorpal sighed and rolled her eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing? You need to get out of this wet shirt and dry yourself."

"Uh-" Naveen was about to say something about how he could do it himself, but his shirt was already half unbuttoned. The jabberwock's claws, for all their vicious appearance, were agile.

"Don't squirm," she said. "I like my ale cold. You must be freezing."

Vorpal leaned closer, as though trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but the truth was she could not take her eyes from his chest. His nipples were hard beneath the translucent material sticking to his skin. Yes, this was the chest of a male - how had she ever mistaken him for a girl? - but then it was delightfully smooth and surprisingly hairless, the chest of a boy in many ways.

The last button came loose and she let her claws lazily slip under the edge of both sides of the shirt. The boy was still staring. Let him stare! Like she was going to let his sit there and freeze. His mother wasn't here to take care of him, so she would do it.

Wait. Her thoughts we muzzy and she felt her heart pumping in her chest. She was much drunker than she realised. She shouldn't be doing this. This was dangerous.

But the smooth coolness of his skin against the back of her claws would not let her stop. She slid both sides of the shirt open, peeling it from his skin. He just watched her, wide-eyed. Those hard nipples appeared, hindering the removal of the shirt for a single heartbeat before she flung both halves of the shirt open.

Vorpal, in a daze, stood up. A surge of dizziness gripped her, but she fought it and carefully negotiated herself behind the boy-prince. He turned to look back at her, but she leaned close, not letting him.

"Lift your arms," she said.

With a moment's hesitation, he did as she asked. She slipped one side of the shirt off his arm, and then turned her attention to the other. She leaned even closer, the ale clouding her thoughts, setting her blood on fire. The pale expanse of his back was maddening and she pressed her chest against it, as though to steady herself. Well, she did need some steadying, it was true. The ale had gone completely to her head. She brought her lips close to the nape of his neck, left them hovering there.

"There," she breathed. "Isn't that better?"

Naveen closed his eyes. He could feel Vorpal's breasts pressing against his back, the hot ale-sweet breath rhythmic on the skin of his neck. Her scent! Her fragrance was everywhere. He remembered then what others had said about jabberwocks, about their breath which could make a human lose control, which breathed lewdness and desire like fire into their bodies.

He was hard between the legs, it was true... but hadn't that happened long before, even before she'd touched his thigh? The gentle way she had spoken to him, her eager eyes, her voluptuous body, the heat in her every word. Everything about her had urged the reaction in his body and now... and now she was pressed against him, almost embracing him from behind like a lover would, like that old woman from Polove had - but where her arms and chest had been thin and bony, the cloying smell of her like flowers left too long on a grave, the jabberwock was warm and soft, her fragrance spicy-sweet. He shivered, not from the cold, although he was cold, and lay his head back.

Bare skin brushed Vorpal's lips when he did so. She gasped, pleasure striking her, melting her marrow. No. No, this was too much. He was offering her his neck to be kissed.

A kiss. A kiss would not be too much, surely? She was owed something, some exquisite little delight to remind her of the treasure she had held but for a short while.

"Please," she murmured, so soft she doubted whether the prince had even heard it, spoken though it had been so close to his ear. Were the words for herself, for the boy? Or for the Queen of Hearts herself, a plea that...

She pushed away the fingers of despair that attempted to touch her, breathed deep instead of the scent coming from his body, that clean masculine scent. She melted right down to the marrow and parted her lips, the tip of her tongue darting out, fast so that she should not think twice and stop herself when she realised the danger of what she was doing.

Firm smoothness, hotter even still than her tongue itself, and his flavour - a flavour linked in some mysterious way to the scent that was dissolving her brain away. She pressed her lips with it - a kiss rather than a lick. No harm in a kiss? No harm...

Naveen gasped. Ah! What was she doing? So... so this was a lover's kiss. Not for the cheeks or the forehead or even the lips, a kiss against his skin, a kiss bringing with it the fiery moisture of her tongue.

Please, she had said. He wanted to echo that please, but he feared her derisive laughter, feared this was all some game. But her words... her words before had been so gentle.

The pressure of her lips returned, and then another time, and with it came the little dart of hot wetness.

He sighed, and leaned forward, baring more of his neck.

Vorpal's heart raced. No, a single kiss had not been enough. A single taste of him had not been enough. She knew now that she would not stop. Her heart danced in her chest, her blood surging. She squeezed her thighs together. No, she could not stop now - she would not stop! The thought of being alone, of leaving him untouched on his own couch, watching from her high and lonely hoard, untouched herself, left tight and itchy and wanting...

She heard his gasp, heard his low sigh. He was opening himself to her kisses, wanted more. But no more kisses. No, it was simply too...

Vorpal brought her lips to the softness underneath his ear, the kiss turning into a hesitant lick. He shivered. She licked again. Yes, licking was better.

Her tongue danced across the tender maze of his ear, then, and the prince could no longer keep his voice restrained. He cried out, a little cry, as her tongue dipped into his ear.

There was no more pretence now. Vorpal slipped her arms around his neck, hugged him to her as she kissed and lick his ear, the back of his neck. Her claws - so gentle! - slid down onto his nipple, cupped his chest and squeezed.

It was Vorpal's turn to sigh. Oh, the smooth fullness of his chest! Why, why had she taken so long to finally touch this beautiful creature? He did not move away - his gentle gasps, the panting of his open mouth as she caressed his neck with eager lips. He wanted this as much as she did.

"My beautiful prince," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

The ale surged up her spine to the back of her head, bubbling through her brain. Every part of her was hot, so hot! Since when had ale brought on such wildness? Maybe Dovedale was right... maybe she was a lewd lizard at heart, her lust kept crushed down because she was afraid.

She'd laughed, but beneath the laughter she had bridled at the Cheshire Cat's words. Her? Afraid? She feared nothing.

No, no... it had not been true. The words had angered her, because there was truth in them. She was afraid. Afraid she would be hurt.

Dovedale... that wily Cat. She had not seen her for many days. Not since she had come with the ale and told her that the Queen would be a while longer before she...

Before the Queen...

Vorpal, heart racing, felt the cold stab of ice in her heart. No. The ale had not melted it away after all. It had merely clouded her mind, made her forget. But now the cold truth of the matter tore that veil of hope and lust away.

No.

The ale. The ale Dovedale had brought her. Her gift.

Her claws, still full of the prince's delightful flesh, fell slack. Her lips froze mid-kiss and she pulled away. The prince, panting, turned in confusion, his eyes still hooded with pleasure.

"Wh- what's the matter?"

All the fear and despair the ale had swallowed up rushed back, a flood that sickened her. She wheeled away. That Cat! The ale... it was not just the tea and the cakes of Wonderland which often were filled with a virtue that clouded the mind and fired the blood.

Fear turned to anger. She lashed out with her claw, no longer a gentle clasping hand but a vicious talon, the weapon of a dragon which could slash through stone and iron. And now it smashed aside the keg of ale, parting the boards of the barrel and sending a foaming flood of gold and white across the table.

The prince leaped from his seat, still half-naked, his beautiful chest heaving in his shock. "Vorpal?!"

Her name. The first time she had heard it pass his lips. Oh, if only she had been able to hear her name spoken again, gasped out in the heights of his delight as they lay together! But no... no, that was not allowed to her. His cries would be heard by another, by the tyrant who would mould his body and his spirit to her.

The cruel truth of it sent her mind spinning. Dovedale... why? Why did you try to...?

Ah, but the politics of Wonderland were labyrinthine. Dovedale, for all her frivolity and her whimsy, was a creature of Wonderland. Like many, she wanted more than she had, wished to curry favour with the Queen of Hearts. But Vorpal was not going to stand in her way... yet for one driven by a secret lust for power, surely everyone was an obstacle? And so, when Vorpal had been honoured with the task of acquiring the Queen's latest treasure, no doubt the Cat had bridled at the injustice in secret. Shouldn't she have been honoured with the task herself? Why give it to that failed jabberwock, that sad, repressed spinster who spent her days in her lair, fantasising of all the things she was too fearful to do? And so Dovedale had hid her resentment, and all the while she had readied a most delicious revenge...

The Prince was still staring at her. His eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, were wide with fear and confusion and Vorpal remembered that moment so many days ago, when her anger had flared forth and she had overturned the table, torn and scattered the books.

"Vorpal? What's the-"

"Be quiet," she hissed. Equal parts rage and despair coursed through her - rage at her own weakness, at Dovedale's betrayal, despair of what could never be, of the beautiful moment of happiness so suddenly torn from her. Her tentacles whipped and coursed high in the air, the part of her body which always reacted strongest to her emotions. Her wings splayed out, dark and wide, and she rose to her full height.

Naveen fought back his rising terror. What had happened to her? From such gentle sweetness to such seething rage in a heartbeat! He thought he had come to understand her heart, thought he had finally felt her true warmth. That touch, those gentle claws and the soft kisses she had peppered across his skin - they had not belonged to the hunger of a predator, had not been the cynical trick of a being driven only by lust. He had felt that sort of touch before, knew it well, from those awful old women. Vorpal had been different.

But Vorpal was a monster, after all. Not a human. Who knew what strange and alien thoughts lurked behind those yellow eyes?

But no. No. That Vorpal he had seen, the one who had laughed and chatted so gaily and who had sat there, entranced by his playing - that was no illusion, no trick. He was sure of it. He was a virgin, it was true, but he had learned much about women, about the way they thought and acted. Vorpal was a jabberwock, but also a woman.

He stood up. Vorpal stared at him, her eyes flicking wildly across his face. He stepped away from the table and she stepped back. Did... did she fear him?

He came around the table, slowly, like one approaching a wild beast. She did not take another step back again but watched him, her eyes never leaving his. He stopped at arm's length from her and her lips parted. A sigh? No, the exhalation of breath. She had been holding her breath the whole time.

"Vorpal. Please. I just want to- "

He reached out for her and the jabberwock in terror slapped his hand away.

"No!" she cried. "Don't touch me!"

The blow had no doubt been meant to be little more than bat, to stop him from touching her - but her strength sent him spinning with a cry against the mound of her treasure. With a shimmering shower of tinkling coins he collapsed, gasping, clutching his stinging hand to his bare chest.

Vorpal looked at him in horror. She lifted a trembling claw, the one she had struck him with, hating it, hating what she had done. Everything she had done. The prince lay there, hurt and terror in his eyes, slumped against her treasure mound.

Her treasure. Her treasure.

She turned and fled, not wanting him to see the hot tears that had sprung from her eyes, not wanting him to hear the sobs forcing their way up her throat. She stumbled to the cave-entrance, letting the tears now he couldn't see them pour out freely to cover her eyes with a stinging veil. She grabbed the great stone door and rolled it, finding it a struggle for the first time. Gods, this pain in her heart, this despair weakened her physically as well. What a curse it was! A disgusting curse.

She pushed the rock one final time in frustration, let it roll shut the final few feet. She was already in the air, her great dark wings beating hard, taking her away from her pain. But no - she knew she would never be free of this pain. For the first time in her life, she had let her guard down, and now...

She flew high, until the ground became a patchwork canvas of colours. Wonderland. She looked to the horizon. The Queen of Hearts' castle with its exquisite mass of delicate towers, decorated with silver and gold filigree, topped with gaily coloured flags which flicked the air. A fortress, though, for all its childlike beauty - just like the Queen herself.

Vorpal flew. She flew until the tears stopped, until the sharp wound in her heart dulled into a heavy ache. A long time had passed. The air was cold, now that she noticed it, the sky's cerulean blue becoming the darker amethyst of oncoming night. The sun lay on the horizon, just behind the Queen's castle, silhouetting it, stripping it of the childish fairytale details, revealing the stark shape of the fortress hidden beneath.