The Kiss of Princess Jessica

Synopsis: A farm boy saves his princess, and their relationship deepens.

Author's Note: A story I wrote for a client. Enjoy! Let me know what you think. This story was a bit more of a struggle to write than usual.

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THE KISS OF PRINCESS JESSICA

Section I.

The Princess lay sprawled in the mud, her dress torn and blotched with blood. A young man cried out angrily, his eyes scanning the darkness. And an assassin hid in that darkness, waiting for a second chance to strike.

"COME OUT AND FIGHT ME YOU BLOODY COWARD!"

The young man was Ryan of the River Rhondor.

Icy rain stung at Ryan's eyes like shards of broken glass. When a sudden crash of lightning split the thunderhead looming above, Ryan finally glimpsed the flash of silver in the assassin's hands. Though hooded and cloaked in black, his wicked grin was unmistakable.

Ryan could feel his fear tearing a hole in his stomach. But with the life of the girl he loved at stake, he could not afford to hesitate.

Ryan blinked. And in that second the assailant bolted forward and shoved him roughly into the mud. Straddling him, the assassin swung the dagger straight across Ryan's neck.

"Guh...!"

He stopped it.

Blood trickled through the young man's fingers as he grabbed the blade just short of cutting him. With a great snarl, Ryan summoned all of his rage and hate and kicked his attacker off of him.

Granting his enemy no quarter, Ryan leaped to his feet and hurled himself at the assailant. He ploughed into him, shoving the hooded man into the mud with a resounding splash. Ryan reached for his opponent's dagger, snarling with pain as he felt the assassin slice his shoulder. But the young man yet persisted. And when at last he pried the knife from his opponent's fingers and flung it away, Ryan swung his fist and struck the assassin a decisive blow on the jaw.

"Guh!"

Again and again, Ryan beat and gored at the hooded man's face until smatterings of fresh blood painted his hands a grisly red. When at last the assailant's body became limp and still, Ryan finally caught himself and realized he had won.

The Princess stirred. Her wavy, chestnut hair had become undone. Her royal green dress had been torn at the shoulder, and her arm had been cut. But to Ryan's relief, she was alive.

"Ryan! You're hurt!" She cried out.

Ryan winced, clutching his shoulder.

"I-I'm alright," he replied.

"No, you are not alright! I'll call for the chirurgeons! Guards! Marcus! Anyone! Help!"

The young man Ryan had never experienced such anger--such hatred--in all of his years of living. As a skilled fisherman and farmhand who embraced peace and condemned all temptations of violence, he thought himself above such feelings. But when he realized the imminent danger--that an assassin of all people had breached the castle grounds and intended to do harm upon the Princess--all strings of logic snapped in twain, and the soul of a berserker erupted from the depths of his heart.

The dream ended. And Ryan opened his eyes to a silent morning and his own empty bedroom. The robins and the doves sung and chirped outside his window. He blinked groggily and stole a glance around: there were the walls of treated red mahogany; bottles of vinegared vegetables and fish lined the shelves; and tools--lots of tools--fishing rods, nets, and shovels were stacked in the corner. His bed gently rocked to-and-fro, a characteristic exclusive to moored houseboats.

Yes, this was the home of a fisherman and farmhand.

Ryan's struggle with death had now become a recurring dream he now could not forget even if he wanted to. With a sigh, he threw his blanket back over himself, hoping to fall back to sleep, until he heard a familiar voice calling for him from outside his door.

"Ryan! Ryan, are you there?"

The voice was deep and rattly, like a mess of coins in a metal bowl. Ryan groaned under his sheets.

It was the Captain of the Guard himself, Sir Marcus of Blain--Ryan's Guardian.

"Ryan, you're there, aren't you?" He called out once more.

"Wh-what is it, Marcus?" Ryan mumbled. "I'm resting today."

"Ryan? I can't hear you! Open this door!"

The young man groaned, somehow pulling himself together despite the frigid morning. The fresh bandage he applied last night was tinged with blotches of red, but the searing pain on his shoulder was finally beginning to fade. Nonetheless, Ryan was more lethargic than usual. He slowly stood and slipped on a pair of torn trousers before briefly glancing at the green-eyed reflection of himself in a bottle of spirits.

This was Ryan of the River Rhondor, 19-years-old, and a young man whom had seen little of the world, but nonetheless scorned it for taking away more than it gave. He was low-born, raised in a houseboat under the bridge leading into the castle. His mother died when he was three. And his father Leigh from whom he had learned most of his trade had been drafted into the war. Three years had passed since then with no word of his father's return. Some said he had died in battle. Others claimed he had deserted in search of a better life.

The one shining light in Ryan's life was the Princess Jessica. She had been flirting with him and teasing him since they were sixteen, and while he didn't show it, after a time he began to harbor certain feelings for her. Before long, Princess Jessica began sneaking out of the castle on random evenings to visit him in his boat under the bridge just to see what he was up to.

It wasn't until the night of the assassination that Ryan realized how much he had grown to love her.

That night, Jessica had--as she had always done--slipped out of the castle's underbelly in the cover of night for a visit. Through some twist of fate, a Welmish assassin meant to take her life on that night. And had she not been assailed right outside Ryan's houseboat, the assassin might have slit her throat right then.

"Ryan, are you up, boy?"

"Y-yes, I'm coming!"

Ryan slipped on a pale-green tunic and brown trousers. Then he briefly combed his curly, brown hair with his fingers. He was a rather shy sort and not particularly proud of his appearance. His face and body had been bronzed by the sun from his years in the fields. His sullen cheeks were dotted with sun-kissed freckles. And dense, corded muscles rippled throughout his young body, earned through years of pulling fish nets out of the Rhondor River.

Taking a deep breath, Ryan opened the door.

"Good morning, sir," he said.

"There you are boy!" Marcus bellowed. "How is your shoulder?"

"It's--" He paused. "--a little better."

"Good. Wash your face. Put on your best smile. And perhaps--" He glanced down at Ryan's bare feet. "--put on some shoes?"

"Might I ask for what occasion?"

"An occasion of great importance, boy. The King has summoned you."

Section II.

Ryan rarely entered the Castle of Redhorn.

For centuries it stood against invaders from the lands to the West and the islands to the East, having been built on a bluff by the Sapphire Sea. When King Redhorn I took power after a long and bloody civil war, the Kingdom finally entered a lasting period of peace.

King Redhorn sired a son. And that son became King Redhorn II. With the Desert Princess of Tartaraan, he sired three daughters, the eldest of whom they christened Princess Jessica--the very same Princess that Ryan knew so well.

The doors of the throne room swung open, and Ryan entered with Sir Marcus at his side.

Banners of red and gold spilled like drapes over the walls and stained-glass windows. Flaming braziers hung by iron chains weaving across the cavernous, dome-shaped ceiling. A red carpet stretched on for dozens of feet from the entrance all the way to the man sitting on the throne.

King Redhorn II was in his late 50s now, more rotund than he was in his youth. His brown beard was now striped with grey. Draped in purple robes and gold bangles, he was a man of power and control who deeply valued his family.

Ryan was intimidated by him.

"Your Majesty!" the chamberlain announced. "Ryan of the River Rhondor has arrived! He is flanked by Sir Marcus, the Captain of the Guard."

Ryan presented himself, arms at his side and straight as a plank of wood. The King had been reading a stack of yellowed parchment, seemingly disinterested until Princess Jessica who had been standing beside nudged his shoulder.

"Ahem!"

Ryan's heart skipped a beat. Princess Jessica was elegantly dressed in a red gown with silver heels. A silver necklace draped over her rather showy decolletage and ample bosom. Her wavy, brown hair was tinged with highlights, tumbling lavishly down bare, alabastrine shoulders. Her lips were pink and full. And her eyes were of the very same tourmaline hue as her father's, yet they shimmered in a fashion all their own.

Their eyes briefly met; Ryan hadn't spoken with her since the night of the assassination attempt, and doubtless the King was now aware of his daughter's daily visits to him.

"Father," she stammered. "Th-this is Ryan, my friend. The one who saved me."

"So," the King's voice resonated with a low rumble. "You are Ryan of the River Rhondor, the boy who my daughter has been visiting for some time now."

"Y-yes," Ryan answered simply.

The King looked him up and down, as if to appraise his appearance.

"You are rather taller than expected," he said. "But good arms, and a good face. I can see why Jessica likes you.

He chuckled. But Ryan still visibly trembled in his boots. The King thus continued.

"As this is our first meeting, I would be remiss in not introducing myself. I am your King Redhorn II. And I have summoned you here before me to express my gratitude for saving my daughter."

Princess Jessica watched them only a few feet away from the dais. Her face was tinged with anxiousness.

"Yes, the assassin was captured and interrogated. Without a doubt, he was Welmish. He was sent to kill me, but when opportunity knocked, he decided to kidnap my daughter instead. His mistake, as we both know."

"Is he still alive?" Ryan asked.

"He will be drawn and quartered on the morrow."

"I-I see."

"Who is your father, boy?"

"My father was--is--Leigh of the River Rhondor," Ryan replied. "He was sent to fight in the war."

"Ah, yes. The Fourth Legion. I'm so sorry."

Ryan winced. Although he kept it to himself, for him a mere apology wasn't enough.

"You may spite me for this war, boy, but it is my right to wage it, whether you approve or not. In any case, I am yet a kind man, and so you will be rewarded for saving my daughter. I have prepared a sum of gold that, for you, should be quite a prize. It should be enough to move out of that decrepit dinghy of yours."

Ryan furrowed his brow.

"My father built that boat. It's all I have left of him."

"Is it now? Shame that is all he had to give."

"Father!" Princess Jessica interjected. "Don't speak to him that way--!"

"Calm yourself, Jessica..." The King sighed. "I mean no offense, boy, but I sincerely wish my daughter would not associate with one so lowborn. And yet I find my daughter--who I have regrettably raised to be a free spirit--visiting you anyway! I don't approve. Nonetheless, I would demand that you provide a safer and more worthy abode for one of her station. Is that clear?"

"I--"

"And lest you misunderstand, you are her subject. As she will one day be your Queen, I permit Jessica to socialize with her future subjects. And when she is wed--as I soon expect her to be--I trust her visits to you will end entirely. Do you understand?"

The blood drained from Ryan's face. For many years, he stowed away the terrible thought that some other man might take Jessica away. That Jessica's weekly visits--an innocuous friendship that he hoped could be more--might finally disappear. Now, it seemed that day might finally come.

"Yes, my King."

"Furthermore, should I find my daughter doing ought else with you--" His face turned dour. "Your fate shall be the same as that assassin's."

Section III.

"How dare he! How dare he tell me how to live my life!"

Princess Jessica flung into a frenzy, so flabbergasted that Ryan feared she might tear off her tiara right in front of him. "I swear I will not marry who he says I will! I swear it!"

Despite the King's words, Ryan found Princess Jessica again visiting his home that very night. A light rain fell upon the castle grounds, and the Princess had donned a burlap cowl and slipped away from her tower unnoticed. At the eleventh hour, Ryan heard her familiar knock on his door, and he was surprised--though secretly pleased--to see her again.

At her insistence, she bade Ryan sit down while she cleaned and redressed his wound. He sat on the edge of bed while she knelt beside him, cleaning the dry blood with a wet rag. A single candle lit the room.

"Tis true, though--" she sighed while cleaning his wound with a hot towel. "--suitors have been visiting me of late. The Prince of Thrane visited just last week and offered a sizable dowry. I believe my father was quite impressed by his forwardness, but I didn't care for him. Not once did he initiate conversation with me. I felt like an object to be bartered."

"I-I see," Ryan replied. "Royalty have their own troubles too, I suppose?"

The gently-flickering candlelight caught her smile.

"That they do," she replied. "It is often thought that the nobility have no troubles, but that's most certainly false. I've told you that many times, Ryan."

"I-I'm surprised you visited, considering your father's words to me," Ryan said. "You could have brought attendants. What if another assassin appeared?"

"Oh, stuff it, worrywart. I don't want my attendants here. And another assassin is unlikely to strike so soon after the last."

"Princess, that was an attempt on your life--"

"And I have you to protect me, don't I?"

Her smile was sweet as honey. As the flickering flame danced in her brown eyes, Ryan's heart skipped a beat.

"Speaking of which--" she started. "--my father offered you his reward. But what of mine?"

"Reward?" Ryan raised a brow.

"No need to be modest, Ryan," she said matter-of-factly. "As I am a Princess, and your friend, I can offer anything you like! Tell me what is in your heart, Ryan. I will give it to you!"

He froze. What was in his heart? He could not dare to say it.

"I don't want to give you gold," she continued. "How droll would that be! And knowing you, jewelry and rare spirits would not interest you. So tell me, Ryan. What is it you desire?"

"I... desire no reward. I simply saved you because... because you are my... because you are future Queen. That is all."

"Good grief, Ryan." She finished tying his bandage. "You have suffered injury on my behalf. I am compelled to compensate."

"No, really--"

The Princess Jessica stared daggers at him. She rose to her feet, brow furrowed, hands on her hips.

Her next line sent every liter of his blood to his head.

"Ryan, do you know the touch of a lady?"

"Wh-what?"

"Have you been pleasured by a woman before?"

"My Princess, I... don't wish to answer that question."

"Your answer tells me plenty," she smirked. "Do you have any idea how cute you are when you're embarrassed?"

Ryan felt his face go hot as a lamp. He knew Princess Jessica was not the promiscuous sort, but when discussing pleasures of the flesh with her, he sometimes wasn't so sure.

"I have never lain with a man, but I sometimes wonder what that would be like, who it would be with," she mused. "Perhaps a strong, serious man. A warrior, perhaps. A man whom I could trust. And cares for me... enough to shed his own blood for me. That is the husband I would want."

Her doe-like gaze was on him as she loomed closer to his face. Ryan shifted uncomfortably, shimmying away, until Ryan suddenly found himself with his back flat on the bed in a thoroughly awkward position. She crawled over his body, and Ryan suddenly got an eyeful of her ample cleavage.

"Do you know anyone like that, Ryan?" She whispered coyly.

He gulped.

"N-no, I don't, really..."

"Did my father get into your head that much?"

"I... Princess, we can't. The King would kill me."

"I was rather impressed. I'd always considered you just a farm boy. I teased you for it. But when you saved me that night, and I saw you beat that man into submission, for me, I--" She blushed fiercely. "I loved that."

The two of them lay frozen in place for some time while the rain pattered on the window. Ryan could not even muster the ability to speak as he struggled to process what was happening. Only in his deepest, darkest dreams did he imagine taking Princess Jessica to his own bed.

"Ryan, tell me what you desire," she demanded. "I can't give it unless you ask. So ask."

"I..." Ryan opened his mouth. "P-perhaps maybe just a kiss."

"Oh my," she grinned. "A kiss where?"

Ryan felt her fumbling as she slowly unraveled the ties of his tunic.

"Here, maybe?"

Ryan was speechless as Princess Jessica kissed his exposed clavicle.

"Mwah!" She grinned, leaving lip-shaped stamps there. "Was that good for you? Or did you want more?"

"Ah..."

"Here perhaps?"

She peeled back the drapes of his shirt further, revealing the short hairs of his chest.

"Mwah!" She kissed his skin again, exaggerating the smacking of her lips. He shivered as he felt her nose tickle his hairs. "How about that?"

The Princess unraveled the last tie at the bottom of his shirt. All at once, the fabric fell away and exposed his bronzed abdomen, belly button, and the sharp contours of his masculine hips. Even Princess Jessica took a moment to marvel at his figure.

"Mwah!" She left another kiss just below his belly button, leaving a glossy stamp of pink lipstick. Ryan suddenly felt a rush of lust in his groin, but he dared not nurture it.

Then Jessica began to pull down his pants, revealing his throbbing bulge in his underwear. He turned beet red.

"Princess..." Ryan panted. "We must go no further... the King..."

Princess Jessica crawled up to his face, her lips inches away from his own.

"If my father says you are to be my subject, then perhaps I should treat you as one?"

"Y-yes... I mean, no..."

"And as my subject, you do as I say?"

"Jessica, please..."

"Princess Jessica."

"P-Princess, I--"

She shut her eyes and kissed him. Her tongue slipped past his lips and briefly touched his own. And every muscle in his body--except for one--melted all at once as he savored her taste. It would have been pure delight had Ryan's thoughts not been mired with doubt and guilt.

The scent of wisteria perfume filled his nostrils. And before he could stop himself, his hand reached for the soft swell of her right breast. Princess Jessica jumped with surprise.

No sooner had he done so when Ryan felt a sudden grip on his crotch. The Princess had imprisoned his balls in her fingers and taken them hostage, clutching them through his pants.

"No, Ryan. As your Princess, I am giving you your reward. You must not interfere."

"Ah... u-understood..." He grunted. "Please... uh..."

"Please what?" She teased him. His erection began to throb in his trousers.

"You're squeezing... a little hard..."

"I--? Oh-oh...!" She slackened her grip.

The Princess turned away, briefly flustered. As much as she enjoyed having control over such a man, she had no intention of hurting him.

"S-sorry. I'm not... I've never done this before. So Ryan, please tell me what you want? Or I won't do it."

"I..." He gulped. "I want... Pl-please take me inside."

"Inside? Inside what?"

"Your mouth. Th-that should be enough."

At first, she seemed delighted. Then a devilish grin grew upon her face.

"No, I don't think so."