The Princess and the Huntsman Read online

  The Princess and the Huntsman

  By

  Patricia Green

  Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Patricia Green

  Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Patricia Green

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Green, Patricia

  The Princess and the Huntsman

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Period Images and Bigstock/Nature78

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter One

  King Dent turned away from his chancellor, rubbing his gray beard and narrowing his faded green eyes in thought. He rose from his comfortable library chair, having weighed his options judiciously. The writing desk wasn’t far, and he seated himself behind it, taking up quill and parchment. His chancellor waited patiently nearby. As he wrote the proper address to his friend’s son, he carefully considered what to put in the letter.

  To Prince Gammon of Carlisle from King Dent of the Isle of Ring, my most cordial salutations. I have a proposal for you that could be quite beneficial to both of our beloved kingdoms. I make no jest herein, but wish you to give this proposition serious thought…

  The king wrote for a while, crossing out lines occasionally as he went. Finally, pleased with his letter, he pushed it toward his chancellor. “Send in the scribe and have him do his work. We want this letter to be beautifully wrought as well as carefully written,” he commanded in the imperial plural.

  “Aye, sire.”

  “Oh, and Bees, this must go with the swiftest horseman and the steadiest boat.”

  Bees nodded and hurried out.

  King Dent looked over his letter once again, knowing that the scribe would transmute it to the finest calligraphy and give it the polish it needed to make the perfect impression on the young prince. “Verily,” he said to himself. “This is the proper course.”

  * * *

  “I refuse! You cannot make me, Father! I shall die first!” Anger made her voice shrill, but Princess Brandywyn had no cure for it. She had tried to be patient, but her father’s insistence on her marriage was too much to bear. She wanted nothing in her life so much as to be alone. Safe. Unfettered by love and all it entailed.

  King Dent looked upon his daughter, frustration written in the redness of his face and the set of his jaw. “You must marry, Brandywyn. We shall not live forever.”

  She stomped her foot on the red carpet before the throne, unconcerned that the young man she was faced with was listening to her rejection. “I tell you, I shall not do it!”

  “Brandywyn…”

  Pointing a manicured finger at her father, she yelled, “You promised! You promised that I would not be forced to marry. You promised that I would have my choice!”

  “Aye, that is true enough. But you have had a dozen men to choose from, all from the best families, and all well-prepared to take care of you. Why can you not choose?”

  Brandywyn’s temper abated a bit. “I do not love them, Father.” She gave him a steady look. “I might never love again. I could not bear to lose someone I love again.”

  “Now, my girl…” Dent held out his arms and Brandywyn ran to him, happy to be locked in his ermine-clad embrace. “Your mother, gods safely keep her, would not be pleased that you do not marry. ‘Tis a woman’s place to cleave to a man and bear children. Do you not want children to love?”

  “No, I do not. I never want to love again. ‘Tis enough that I love you, Father.”

  “And we love you, daughter. Very well…” He let her loose and she took a step back, wiping the tears off her face. “We shall not force you. Please consider how lonely you will be with no one beside you, and do not tarry long in making your decision.”

  Sniffling, Brandywyn nodded. Her intention, however, was to make no decision at all.

  Her father turned to the young man, standing uncomfortably to one side. “You have heard her decision. We apologize for your disappointment.”

  “My father forced the hand of my younger sister, sire, and she is unhappy and shrewish. I would not wish that on Princess Brandywyn, or myself, for that matter. May I take my leave?”

  The older man nodded. “Aye. Gods preserve you and keep you safe.”

  The young prince nodded, strutting proudly from the room. If he was disappointed, he hid it well, and Brandywyn respected him for it. Nonetheless, she had no room in her heart for suitors. Love was too dangerous. She had been devastated by the loss of her mother just four years previous. Brandywyn couldn’t get over it. If that made her shrewish and difficult, then so be it. If she tried hard enough, she could remain unresponsive to others’ fretting.

  The problem was that her father was becoming impatient. Soon, he would hear no more of her excuses and break his promise to give her a choice. Perhaps she could join a house of worship, become a holy sister, or the like. But she felt no calling to the gods—the cruel gods who had taken her mother before her time. Brandywyn felt as little as possible.

  “May I go now, Father?”

  “Aye, sweet daughter. Know that I am disappointed, however. Pray give that some thought, do you love me as well as you say.”

  Guilt washed over her, but it did not change her mind. In fact, the emotion made her angry with herself. She had every right to refuse to marry. Someday, she would be queen and no one would try to force her to do anything ever again. If she was lonely, why… she would take lovers! Or maybe not. She had her books and her music. They’d have to be enough. The rest of her life would be loveless, for she had no wish to lose another loved one. Not ever again. ‘Twould be heartrending enough to lose her father someday, but she did not want to think about that. ‘Twas too painful and sunk her deeper into fear and anger.

  Instead of answering him, Brandywyn turned and left the audience chamber. A servant hurried over to lift the train of her gown, lest it be spoiled by the rushes on the floor, but Brandywyn had no patience for the servants and pulled away her gown, giving the page a surly look. Why did no one leave her alone? Could they not see she was seeking the peace of solitude?

  As she walked along the marble-walled corridors, she was approached by a pair of giggling ladies-in-waiting. Carmen and Lir were two of her younger ones, and prone to blushes and giggles often. Brandywyn generally avoided their company when she could.

  They approached and curtsied low. “Your Highness! Your Highness! We have a secret! A secret we would share with you,” gushed Lir, the younger one. She was pretty in a fragile way, but rather silly and immature.

  “‘Tis not much of a secret, Lir, do you spread it around so.”

  “Oh,” said Carmen, “but, Princess, this is a secret that we cannot keep from you. You will like it. Oh, aye, Your Highness will like it.”

  Brandywyn arched a blond eyebrow. “I will, hm? Well then, do tell it and get on with it.”

  They each took one of her arms and hurried her away to one of the spare bedchambers in the large palace. It was in the west wing, the one reserved for guests. “Come, quick, or you will miss it!”

  Skeptical, but with rising curiosity, Brandywyn allowed herself to be spirited away, and into a guest room. It was an opulent room, one prepared for high dignitaries. It had many tapestries on the walls and a few framed portraits of importan
t family members and hunting dogs. It was to one of these dog paintings that the two giggling women drew her.

  Lir moved the painting aside and there was a hole in the wall. The walls were thick, but not so thick that she couldn’t see clearly into the next room. There was a man standing there. He was stark naked, but being attended to by his valet, who was brushing and folding his clothes.

  The man was tall, of regal bearing, broad-shouldered and dark haired. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but they seemed dark. He wore a small beard, which was very stylish for the day, and proved that he was a man of wealth. His hair was long, the upper half drawn back in a tail, the lower half left to swing free and lie upon his shoulders. The man was impossibly handsome. Brandywyn wished she could see him more clearly.

  It was just like her father to bring in two suitors where one had been rejected before. Would this one be brought to the audience chamber for her to abuse, too? At least, after surreptitiously watching him, she would know what she was dealing with.

  He shooed the valet off and was left alone in the room. After a moment, he moved to open the door a bit. In walked a buxom and saucy servant with long raven hair and ripe lips.

  Brandywyn gasped. There was something going on here. Something quite naughty. She pulled back away from the peep hole, but was unable to stay away for more than a few seconds. Peering back into the room, she saw the man bend to kiss the young woman. It was a deep kiss. And as he kissed her, he slid his hands over her shoulders and down to cup her breasts. Now Brandywyn was sure of what was happening, sure that she shouldn’t be watching. She stepped back, biting her lip, and turned to her eagerly waiting ladies.

  “How did you know of this?” She spoke softly, though she was pretty sure the man next door would not be able to hear her.

  Carmen nodded toward Lir. “Lir’s sister’s waiting woman found out that one of the maids was called for by a prince to…”

  “To satisfy his carnal needs,” said Lir with a deep, crimson blush.

  “Aye. Upon asking a few questions, Lir’s sister was able to piece together this assignation, and she told Lir.”

  “We looked through the hole she spoke of, Majesty,” Lir explained. “And we saw the prince disrobing. We came to find you immediately. This secret hole is too good not to share.”

  “Hmm,” Brandywyn said, debating whether to be angry or join them in their conspiracy. She opted to do something in the middle. “You two go off and pray to goddess Fatua. Spying is a sin, I am sure.”

  They looked at each other, crestfallen, but finally both nodded at her. “Aye, Your Highness, we shall do as you say, of course.”

  “Hurry off,” Brandywyn admonished, shooing them away with a gesture.

  They curtsied low and backed out of the room.

  After the door closed, Brandywyn reached for the concealing picture, thinking to put it back, but hesitated. Unable to help herself, she looked into the adjoining room again.

  Now both of the parties were naked, and the prince was touching the serving girl all over. He squeezed her ripe breasts, pulling at her hard nipples, and after a moment, slid one hand down to the private place between her legs. The woman threw her head back, and Brandywyn could almost hear her moans of pleasure.

  Brandywyn didn’t even realize she was pulling her own skirt up until cool air wafted over her thighs. She pressed her eye against the hole again. As she watched the prince touch the servant, she wiggled one hand into her own tight bodice to caress her breast. Her nipples were hard, like the woman’s, and she teased them as the prince had teased the servant. Little gasps were the only sound Brandywyn made as she manipulated her breast. It felt so good! It sent a wave of pleasure from her nipples to her nethers, in tiny splashes, like drops of rain sliding down the windowpanes.

  In the other room, the prince gave the maid a resounding smack on the backside and propelled her toward the bed. She skipped along, willingly enough, despite the red handprint on her behind. It was at that point that the front of him showed, and Brandywyn’s eyes opened wide. He was erect! So that’s what it looked like. She’d heard whispers and murmurs, some ribald jokes about a man’s poker, and, of course, she’d seen horses and dogs rutting, but she had never seen it on a man before. Why, it was straight, nearly touching his flat tummy, and at its base was a thatch of curly black hair. She even saw that, resting between his thighs, he had ballocks. They looked very firm, hanging in their sacks like two ripe plums on a tree.

  Brandywyn’s hand slid up her thigh to her secret place, as she held her skirt up with the other hand. Gingerly, tentatively, she slid one finger over her lightly haired mound, then down, lower, to where her two fleshy sides met. She watched as the prince climbed up on the bed and once again put his hand between the girl’s legs, pressing fingers into her. Her private parts were wet, slick, and he alternated moving his fingers inside her to stroking toward the top of her slit.

  Brandywyn separated the two sides of her slit and touched one finger there. A jolt of spiky pleasure was her reward. Bending a little at the knees, she moved her fingers down further between her legs. She was wet! It was slippery as melted butter on her fingers. Following the movements of the prince, Brandywyn pushed a finger inside her, and once again, that pleasure raced up her belly, leaving her hot and achy with something she had never experienced before.

  The prince was mounting the woman next door. He got between her thighs and Brandywyn watched as he guided his pole into the woman until it was invisible to Brandywyn’s lascivious gaze. He began to move, and Brandywyn tried to imagine what the thick rod would feel like, pressing into her like her own fingers were doing.

  He moved faster after a minute, and Brandywyn increased the pace of her frigging, occasionally touching her little, hard nubbin at the top of her slit. It made her tremble through her limbs and gasp. She gasped so loudly, in fact, that she was afraid the occupants of the next room would hear her. Brandywyn moved her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, smelled the wetness from her quim, and licked her lips where her fingers had touched. She tasted strange and sweet. Blushes heated her face and neck, but that didn’t stop her from moving her wet hand back down to touch her nubbin again. The pleasure she felt was strong, nearly overwhelming, and her knees trembled.

  Inside the room next door, the prince was moving faster on the serving girl, poking her deeply and then withdrawing, only to poke her again. The woman was thrashing around. Did it hurt? But, no, she ran her arms gently over the prince’s shoulders, and her hands eagerly down his back, pulling him in closer, tighter. It definitely didn’t hurt.

  Brandywyn longed to feel that coupling. It looked like sensual fun. And in the prince’s case, it surely would never lead to marriage with a servant. It was sinful, but men were randy people. She had learned that by overhearing what was said in the great hall during supper and around the palace. Maybe she, herself, was a randy person, too, because that roiling sense in her middle was growing apace.

  The prince used more force and then pulled out entirely, putting his hand on himself and pushing, pulling it, until it spurted white spatters over the woman’s belly.

  Brandywyn was overcome at that point, as he found his pleasure; she was shocked and so excited that her fingers raced over her slit. Pressure exploded into something so good, so delicious, that she moaned with pleasure.

  The prince collapsed on his lover’s body, and after a moment, he rolled off, lying on the big bed with an arm over his eyes, breathing hard. The woman in the bed looked tired, and not particularly happy. Maybe her body hadn’t reached that climax that Brandywyn had.

  Brandywyn, her breath calming, dropped her skirt back in place and watched for another minute. Nothing much happened, so she pulled back away from the peep hole.

  As she placed the picture back over the hole, hiding it carefully, she thought about what she had seen, what impact it might have upon her decision to accept a prince as her mate. Maybe this prince… but no, he had left the serving woman unfulfilled. Th
at did not seem fair, and did not appeal to her at all. Maybe all men did that, in which case, Brandywyn would be better off with her own fingers.

  Once again, Brandywyn hardened her heart against marriage. She would rely upon her own resources and not become dependent upon another, especially someone who could hurt her so deeply should she fall in love with him.

  * * *

  Later, in her well-appointed music room, Brandywyn looked around for her harp. Spying it back in its place, not where she had left it, she frowned. The servants again. They were wont to organize her life in the most infuriating ways. Could they leave nothing alone?

  “Tarntra!”

  A door opened, and gently closed, as Brandywyn’s old nurse entered the room. “Aye, Princess?”

  “Why is my harp moved? Have I not told the servants to leave my things alone?”

  Tarntra nodded sagely. “Aye, you have. I told them otherwise.”

  Rounding on her one true friend in anger, Brandywyn prepared to take her to task, but her fury was lost when she saw the concern and love on Tarntra’s lined face. Ever kind, despite Brandywyn’s rages, ever gentle with her, and yet implacable when Brandywyn felt most out of control, her Tarntra was like the mother she had lost. Faced with that unconditional love, Brandywyn broke down in tears.

  “Oh, Tarntra, oh, I am so unhappy.”

  Tarntra took her in her arms and held her tightly. “I know, precious girl. I know. Time will heal it, but you must cooperate.”

  “I do not want to cooperate. I want to be left alone.”

  “To wallow in your misery and bitterness? Will that bring your mother back?”

  Head resting on her nurse’s plump shoulder, Brandywyn shook her head. A spill of light yellow curls bounced against Tarntra’s breast. Brandywyn hated her curls, despite the fact that so many complimented her on her looks. She hated everything about herself. The gods had deserted her, left her motherless. She knew she was unpleasant to be around. Yet, she could not stop her bad behavior. She needed it to keep people away.