Legend has it, if you stand in front of a mirror, shuffling an enchanted deck of cards, you can open a doorway between dimensions.
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Prince Teodric of Springport remembers the promise he made his father: to *not* try to reenact the legend of dimen...
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An hour after she left us to our own devices—mainly roaming about the eerie castle halls and ignoring the chills crawling up my arms at the gloomy atmosphere—Queen Gwenore summoned us to her throne-room.
She'd made up her mind. She was going home.
"I will join you for part of the journey back to Acewood, tomorrow," she said, while guiding us to her dining room where she stated we'd have dinner and discuss terms. "But I'm sure you have other queens to visit, and I won't be accompanying you for that."
Along with supper, she offered us lodging for the night. Her castle's comforts were...different from Diamond Castle. Not lesser, but without the abundance of glittering gems and the servants scuffling about, it felt less luxurious. Not to mention the negative aura about the whole place, either cloaked in darkness or illuminated by brassy sconces that sent sinister shadows to dance across the cracked walls.
We dined at a lengthy, black-wood table, with tall ebony candles in iron holders as the only decoration. There were no paintings or frescoes on any of the walls, no statues, no vegetation in sight. Each room had high ceilings and was majestic, yes; but so incredibly depressing.
The food was much more accommodating than the space. We ate clubs—which tasted as heavenly as Ysac had claimed—drenched in a spicy sauce that made my lips pucker and prickle. Ysac laughed at me when I took my first bite and hissed; and I laughed at him when his face turned red as a tomato. We also had fried buffalo, crisp greens, and a syrupy cream for dessert. Every morsel was succulent and left a sweetness on my tongue that made me tingle on the inside.
Gwenore, at the head of the table, sneered at Ysac between bites, and sometimes stared at me. She swished the burgundy liquid in her black goblet, and as she nibbled at her meal, she asked me questions; pressing queries about me, my home, my origins. Most of the questions I didn't know how to answer. "What is the preferred mode of transportation where you come from?" or "what is your most grown crop?" were the ones that stumped me most.
While Ysac and I had agreed earlier that we'd lie about where I was from, we hadn't created a detailed backstory for me. So anytime I attempted to reply, Ysac nudged me under the table, warning me to be wary. And every time he touched me, I froze—not because of the touch, but because of where it occurred. Always on my thigh, always high up, and always sending shockwaves through me that made me happy the table would conceal the hard issue developing between my legs.
Any contact with him—even something as brief and impersonal as an elbow jutting into me—woke up sensations I didn't understand.
Gwenore, unaware of our under-the-table situation, fixated me and chewed, her somber lips pressing together. But there was nothing seductive about the motion, like it was with Astrida. Gwenore carried little emotion in her icy eyes, and even less enthusiasm in her voice.
At least she didn't have a crush on me, like Astrida. The less animation my heart and cock went through right now, the better.
"I told you; she's reserved. She isn't used to having visitors, so when she does, she gets...curious. Prodding," said Ysac, as we guided ourselves down the open corridors of Club Castle. The middle of the building was a courtyard of half-dead plants and rock fountains spouting weak wisps of water. Its cobbled ground was uneven and unpleasant to walk on. The last remnants of sunlight shimmered over the tiny pools of liquid and shined over minuscule gems in the stone.
