Yes, M'Lord

Sun was streaming in past the ramparts as the guardsman marched Gwen through the castle. Each beam they passed through was like the parting touch of a lover, an all-too-fleeting reminder of what she would soon lose if her step-father had his way.

Not that she intended to give in that easily.

"Honestly, Lady Gwendolyn," the guardsman huffed. What was his name again? Rufus-something? Gwen could never keep the King's lackeys straight. "Is this any way for a princess to behave? And mere days before your future-husband arrives!"

"Hmph," Gwen turned her nose up at the sky. "I think any lady who doesn't enjoy a summer's swim is a fool, and her husband a fool for marrying her."

Rufus-something bristled. "Enjoying nature's bounty is one thing, but to make a wanton, shameless display of yourself in front of the peasantry—how can you expect to rule them if they see you in such a state?"

"Maybe I don't want to rule them," Gwen stuck out her tongue. "Maybe I'd much rather be a farmer with my own land and my own dreams instead of the prize breeding stock of some stranger who purchased me from my father."

The guardsman flinched as though he had been struck, the visor from his helmet nearly falling in front of his eyes. "I will pretend I didn't hear that," he said. "For both you and your father's sake."

Gwen rolled her eyes. She never understood how people could act so scandalized by the truth. Ever since the King had married her mother, it was obvious he had made a fairly robust trade out of marrying off Gwen's many sisters for political and monetary gain.

At first, Gwen and the other princesses had pleaded with their mother to see the King for what he was, but she was apparently too love-struck to comprehend their warnings. Then, one by one, the many sisters had been sold off. Curiously, for all their late-night talks of refusal and rebellion, Gwen always saw them smiling on their wedding day, and watched with mounting disgust as they cheerfully submitted to their new husband's whims. Some of the princesses didn't even wait until the altar to have a change of heart: they would come to Gwen in the night singing songs of praise for their soon-to-be-captors, extolling the virtues of a marriage despite despising it only a morning prior.

But not Gwen. Her spirit was a fire that would never go out. She terrorized the guards and other maidens in the castle, running wild in the fields and letting critters loose in the ladies' quarters. She did everything possible to make sure no passing suitor would even THINK of her as a potential bride, much less attempt to win her over. Her bright golden hair was frequently strewn with the twigs and leaves of the woods; her cream-colored skin often marked with the dirt and dust of her adventures; her fine dresses she forwent in favor of a crude brown tunic, which was currently soaking and clinging to her hips and breasts, a most honorable mark of her recent escapade. From top to bottom, Gwen made sure she seemed not so much a princess as a nuisance, and had thus evaded betrothal all the way to her eighteenth birthday.

Alas, she should've realized nothing good never lasted in her step-father's kingdom. And so it was that he finally managed to find a suitor for her: a hulking, nomadic warlord from the mountains, who cared little for courtly decorum so long as his wife would serve as his eager, frequent carrier of his seed. Gwen couldn't think of anything less appealing. At least her sisters got a proper castle out of the deal.

Yet here she was, her barbaric betrothed on his way to the castle to claim her, and she on her way to her prenuptial health exam. It was a humiliating exercise, a tradition by which the princesses were poked and prodded to ensure their good health before marriage. All her sisters had gone through it and, though none of them complained afterwards, Gwen still didn't plan on going quietly.

"Doctor Whitlock!" the guardsman called, banging on the dark red door that lead to the Royal Physician's chambers. "I've brought your charge." He shot an annoyed look at Gwen, who returned it with a sneer of her own.

The door creaked open, revealing a man of tall stature, with tanned skin, twinkling eyes, and dark, disheveled hair. "Ah, Lady Gwendolyn," he said as he stepped aside with a sweep of his robes. "Do come in."

"Hey!" Gwen jolted as Rufus shoved her into the room. "Watch it!"

"She's your problem now," the guardsman huffed.

Whitlock smiled. "I'm not sure I see it that way, but thank you."

Gwen glared at the guardsman as the door shut, rubbing the spot on her back where his rough gauntlet had pushed her. "I certainly hope you have a finer touch," she growled to the doctor. "Otherwise they'll be needing another physician for what's left of you.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Whitlock held his palms up. "I'm just going to ascertain your health prior to the wedding. It should be a painless procedure."

Gwen harrumphed, crossing her arms and pacing uneasily around the room. It was a curious space, befitting of a curious man: a circular chamber at the top of the west-most tower, filled with potted plants, overstuffed bookshelves, and odd instruments of glass and iron. It shed little clarity on its resident, whose physique, mannerisms, and lack of lineage made it impossible to discern even his age or origin, both of which were subject of much gossip among the courtly ladies.

Well, whoever he was and wherever he came from, he was her step-father's man, and that made him the enemy, Gwen decided. Even if his wide, arched windows indicated a similar appreciation for sunlight as hers.

"Now then." Whitlock approached her. "If we want this to go quickly, I'm going to have to ask you to disrobe please."

Ssst. Gwen spat at his feet in response, halting the doctor in his tracks. To her surprise, he didn't rear back in disgust or admonish her for her crudeness. Instead, he paused only a moment before continuing forward, his eyes drawn to something in her hair.

"Oh my," he said, plucking a small, soaking leaf from her head before she could react. "I see you too are a frequent guest of Lake Dundee's waters."

Gwen blinked. "How did you know?" she asked. The guardsman had only just pulled her ashore this morning—there was no way news of it could've reached the doctor so quickly.

"This water-clover," Whitlock answered, holding up the plant in question. "It only grows on those banks. Besides, it is no doubt the prettiest spot for a quick dip, wouldn't you say?"

The suggestion of a smile tickled Gwen's lips, but she quickly suppressed it. "I didn't take you for much of a swimmer," she retorted. "You seem more like a caged dog than a fish."

"Ah well, the King does keep me busy." The doctor shrugged. "But I am first and foremost an avid student of nature. Much like yourself, I'm sure. Tell me," he paused, as if following a thought that had just occurred to him. "Are you fond of flower-gathering by any chance?"

Gwen scoffed. "What, because I'm a lady? Please. I would never waste my time with such a useless occupation."

"Oh, I can't agree." Whitlock shook his head. "I think it is a fascinating practice, one that can yield many surprising revelations. For example..." He sifted through a nearby shelf before lifting a small potted plant. "Consider this specimen."

Gwen stared at the flower he held before her. It was a weak-looking thing, a thin stem of green that curled into a pea-sized bud, petals of lavender barely visible within. "Looks rather ordinary to me," she stated.

"Indeed. At first blush, perhaps." The doctor reached into his robes. "But watch closely at what happens when I add a few specks of pollen." He withdrew a tiny vial, and sprinkled some yellow dust on the plant.

Instantly, the flower sprung open, a cloud of fragrance slamming into Gwen's face. Her nose twitched, and she sneezed, the world around her seeming to shudder from the force. She shook her head to clear it, but the aroma clung to the inside of her nostrils, each breath filling her with its strange, overpowering sensation.

"Um..." she mumbled, staggering. The world hadn't stopped swimming after the sneeze—if anything, it felt even less stable the harder she fought for balance. "I think...something's..."

"It's a powerful scent, no?" the doctor said with a teasing smile. Was it just her, or did his voice sound different? "It's perfectly normal for you to feel a little off-kilter. Here, why don't you have a seat?"

"Y-yes," Gwen sat heavily in the chair he offered her. She was right: there was something strange about his words now. Each syllable seemed to carry a subtle echo underneath, as though her mind were still processing what he had just said moments after he said it.

"There we go," Whitlock continued as Gwen tried to keep her head from lolling to the side. "The effects should dissipate if you let them. Just take a few nice, deep breaths and relax."

At a loss, Gwen instinctively obeyed, taking nice, deep breaths as the doctor demonstrated. Still, that strange scent remained in her head, a fragrant fog billowing between her thoughts. After the third exhale, she couldn't tell if the aroma was getting weaker, or if she was just getting used to its presence.

She did feel relaxed though. Very, very relaxed.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" Whitlock asked, stepping behind her as she nodded dimly. "You were so tense when you walked in here. Do I frighten you, princess?"

"N-no..." she exhaled, trying to work her heavy eyelids into a defiant glare. "I'm not...scared of you."

"It's perfectly normal," the doctor continued, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. "Most people are nervous when they first step into my chambers. They're often more worried about my treatments then the ailment I'm trying to fix. Isn't that funny?" he laughed.

Gwen's lips quirked into a smile before she could stop them this time, a faint chuckle escaping her. It was as if her body had given up waiting for her mind to decide on a suitable reaction, and was simply acting on the prompts it was provided. A part of her knew she should be aggravated by this realization but...

She drew in another deep breath, sending a fresh cloud of sweetness into her brain. It smelled nice, she finally decided, forgetting her concern in an instant.

"But you're different, aren't you, Lady Gwendolyn?" Whitlock asked, his fingers gently massaging her skin as they glided up her shoulders and neck before working their way back down again. "You know that, as a physician, my duty is to my patients' health and happiness, right?"

"Mhm," Gwen hummed in assent, her back straightening slightly to accommodate the doctor's touch.

"I knew you would understand. You trust me, don't you, Gwen?"

"Y—" Gwen hesitated. Wait, did she trust him? He had been pleasant to her so far, but...something was off. He was the King's Royal Physician after all—she should be suspicious of his every move. Even if his words dripped with honey, even if his hands were working wonders on her aching muscles...he was still...she was still...

"Come now, princess," Whitlock gently chided. "I'm a doctor, remember? How could I retain my title if I was untrustworthy?"

Gwen tried to answer his question, but it was hard for her to think through the haze enveloping her. His touch felt so good—firm, yet delicate, as though he were coaxing the tension out of her. It slowed her already lethargic breathing to a crawl, ensuring each inhale came with a deep dose of intoxicating scent.

"I'm a doctor." Whitlock repeated. "That means I make people feel better. And I'm making you feel better, aren't I?"

"Yes..." That much she knew was true.

"That's because you are my patient. And doctors care for their patients. And I care for you deeply, Gwen. Don't you believe me?" The doctor's voice quavered a little, as he feared Gwen really would reject him.

"I..." Despite herself, Gwen felt a stab of guilt pierce the pleasant cloud surrounding her. "I believe you." She answered.

"Oh, praise the gods," he responded. "So surely that means you can trust me, right?" the doctor pressed.

"Y-yes," Gwen nodded.

"Could you say that for me? 'I trust you.'"

Gwen blinked. She could tell it was an odd request, but all this talking was making her head spin. Better to just go along and get it over with. "I...trust you," she finally replied.

"One more time if you please? I want to be sure you mean it."

"I-I trust you." The words were came easier that time, solidifying in her mind.

"Again."

"I trust you," she repeated plainly. "I trust you," she said again unprompted, hoping to dispel the look of concern on his face.

"Ah, thank you," Whitlock said, squeezing her shoulders. "Your words do soothe me, princess."

Gwen sighed as the sharpness in her gut was replaced by dull relief. Why had it taken so long to convince him? Of course she trusted him—he was her doctor, after all.

"Now," Whitlock clapped his hands. "Please disrobe."

Gwen stood in an instant, her hands unfastening her clothes before she had even fully registered the command. By the time she felt a twinge of hesitation, it was already too late: she was stepping out of her soaking tunic as it slid to the floor, her naked, pale skin glowing in the sun. She shivered slightly, drawing her arms up to her chest—even in the warmth of the light, the cold air tickled goosebumps onto her naked flesh and made her nipples stiffen.

The doctor smiled as he circled her. "Excellent. Thank you. Come over here now. Remember, no need to be nervous—you trust me, remember?"

"I trust you," Gwen repeated automatically as the Whitlock took her hand in his. She offered no resistance as he guided her to a wooden tub. It felt as though she were moving through a waking dream: surrounded by confusion, yet trusting that this was all as it should be. Somehow.

"Step inside please," Whitlock commanded. Gwen did so, smiling as the warm water lapped at her calves. It wasn't enough to thaw her completely, but it still helped to...

SPLASH. Gwen flinched as Whitlock dumped a bucket full of hot, soapy liquid on her head, soaking her completely. "What the—" she exclaimed, the shock almost enough to completely wake her from her aroma-induced stupor.

"Don't be alarmed, princess. 'Tis only an herbal bath." Whitlock's soothing voice explained. "A special concoction of mine to soothe your skin and wash away any impurities."

"Oh..." Gwen let her arms slide back down to her sides. "I see..." The water beneath her was fizzling slightly now, a thick steam rising up past her thighs and up through her head.

"It also has a rather interesting effect when paired with the flower pollen you just inhaled," the doctor continued with a smile. "I'm sure you'll soon be able to tell what I mean."

"Interesting...effect?" Gwen responded. No sooner had the words drifted out of her lips than she felt a strange warmth rising in her body. It wasn't a sensation she was used to, not like the heat from a fire or even that of a fever. It was something else, a delightful stirring that flowed from her chest down to her...to her...

"That's right," Whitlock murmured, his hands once again began rubbing her shoulders, lathering the herbal soap into her skin. "Just relax. And let me make you feel better."

"Better..." Gwen gasped, her lips lingering open as the doctor's fingers slid over her breasts and gently kneaded their delicate flesh. She felt the heat inside of her increase, a pleasing yet anxious feeling swimming through her, the doctor's touch sending euphoric ripples across her soft, sensitive body.

"You're very beautiful, Gwen. You know this, don't you?" he murmured.

"Beautiful..." Her head felt so drowsy, and the doctor's words kept slipping from her tongue as she tried to follow them.

"Yet in the past, you've always tried to keep that hidden from the world. Why is that?"

Gwen frowned. Why did she hide her beauty? She knew she had a reason for it, but recalling it felt so hard. "I...I didn't want...men to...like me."

"Really?" the doctor reacted with surprise. "Why not?"

"Um...I didn't want a...uh...husband."

Whitlock laughed. "But that's absurd! Of course you do."

Gwen hesitated. "I...that's not true..."

"Come now, Gwen, would I lie to you?" The doctor smiled, gently touching her cheek and guiding her gaze to his. "You trust me, remember?"

"Trust...you..." Gwen drawled, barely able keep her eyes focused as she stared into the doctor's twinkling pupils.

"Exactly. Just as surely as I am a doctor, you are a princess. And what do princesses do? What did all your sisters do?"

Gwen lips curved into a pout. "Marry."

"And did they seem happy?"

Gwen thought for a moment, difficult though it was. Her sisters did seem awfully pleased walking down the aisle, the furrowed brows and worried grimaces of days prior replaced with docile, dreamy smiles.

"They did, didn't they?" Whitlock pressed, lightly tugging on her nipples.

"Ah—!" The sensation caused her back to arch and her mouth to open, a gasp of pleasure escaping her. "Yesss." She finally answered.

"So you see? It's only natural for you to want a husband. That's what makes princesses happy."

"Um..." Even through the syrupy scents and absorbing sensations, some part of Gwen pushed against this conclusion. Yet she couldn't find fault with the doctor's words. Just a vague, faint feeling that they were wrong, somehow.

But that couldn't be the case—she trusted him.

"Close your eyes, Gwen," the doctor commanded. "And picture your husband with you now. Imagine that my hands are his."

Before she could even parse the request, Gwen's eyes were already fluttering closed. She could sense him, her husband. She had only seen him once before, yet somehow she could picture him towering over her, his dark, dangerous eyes devouring her naked body, his strong powerful arms wrapped around her, grasping her softness in his huge, inescapable hands.

"You can feel him, can't you?" the doctor intoned, his voice growing low as Gwen felt her husband's palm gliding down her belly.

"Yes..." Gwen answered. Her thighs quivered as his fingers circled the sticky, aching folds between her legs.

"You can feel your body respond to his touch. You can feel it yearn for him. You want him."

"I...want him..." Her voice was no longer her own. Her words no longer her own. All she could concentrate on was the dripping need in her cunt; the way her weak, pliable body shifted and squirmed and yielded to her husband's touch.

"You need him."

"I..." Gwen's voice gave out as her husband's fingers slid inside her. "Need...him..."

"You will do anything for him..."

"Do...anything..." Even as the sentence reverberated in Gwen's foggy brain, she couldn't form it with her own lips: every movement of her husband's hand scattered her words with pulses of pleasure.

"Focus on that sensation. You cannot fight it, Gwen. Surrender to your body. Obey its nature."

"Surrender...obey..." Gwen felt her hips roll with the euphoric waves flowing through her, giving in to the new rhythms that ruled her body. She felt the anticipation within her build, and build, and build until...

"Open your eyes, Gwen."

Gwen blinked her bleary eyes open, then stiffened as the doctor withdrew his hands from her. She whimpered, the tightness in her cunt almost unbearable.

"There, there," Whitlock cooed, stroking her hair. "You'll be ready for your husband soon. Then you'll be happy like a princess should. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Gwen mewled in assent. Whatever her misgivings about her betrothed were before, they had been all but burned away by the inferno of desire coursing through her.