Fairy Tale: Winter's Bite

Chapter 10: Proposition

Canis took a few minutes to pack some of his belongings, after which, he followed his Royal entourage from his Regal Military Academy dormitory suite. They emerged from a hole in the crumbling architecture of a seventeenth-century Quebec City building and coasted toward the ground, through the harsh and erratic winter wind, and entered the Range Rover idling on the cobblestone.

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By midafternoon, they had arrived at the Aerial Palace. Canis followed Crux up the Grand Staircase but halted midair at the landing between the stair flights branching east and west.

Crux, heading east, paused in flight and turned to listen.

"Tell my mother that I'm very tired from our journey and prefer to be left undisturbed until evening. Though do make certain my chamber is tended to right away."

At Crux's weak nod, Canis nodded back once with authoritative finality, turned in the opposite direction, and fluttered to the West Wing.

He went inside his chamber—the most lavish suite in the palace other than his mother's—and removed his traveling clothes. He put on his most flattering crimson robe. His many full-length mirrors reflected a kingly fairy-male with neat black hair, pale skin, and eyes as dark as a starless night sky. He used to be bony and grotesque, but maturity and a grueling fitness routine had finally given him the muscle tone that would be expected of both a prince and military leader.

He removed his sword from his trunk and watched his body ripple with perfection as he fenced his reflection.

"You may enter," Canis commanded in response to a tap on his door.

Lyra entered his chamber, arms full of fresh pillows, linens, and towels. She curtsied and went about her chores. And she was exactly what he was in the mood for—someone docile, sensitive, and gorgeous.

She stripped the old linens from his bed and let the fresh ones fly high in the air. Her enticing curves begged to be touched. The academy had been all work and no play—and how he had longed for opportunities to play.

When he could no longer resist, he laid his sword on his bureau, eased up on the maid from behind, and ran his hands down her sides.

"Did you miss me?" His whisper in her ear became a covetous nip.

Lyra swept her hair aside so that his lips, tongue, teeth could descend her neck unhindered. With closed eyes and a sweet sigh, she backed against him until it was gloriously uncomfortable. "Not as much as you missed me, apparently."

She had always tried so hard to please him, to stand out from the others, and it wasn't even necessary. She was and always would be his favorite.

His mouth continued to roam about. And his hands worked assiduously on the buttons in the front of her uniform. Gluttonous for more skin, he also unclasped the flap of fabric that connected the dress around her splendid white wings. The uniform slipped off her narrow shoulders and rested midarm.

He was deftly exposing, cupping, and fondling her bare breasts, making good use of every single finger, when she wrested herself from his grip. She took to the air for a beat and after a graceful twirl, landed in a provocative position in the center of the bed. Her blue eyes, as deep and vulnerable as the day she had offered her virginity to him, expressed her faithful and unequivocal yearning.

As she finished the job of undressing herself, his robe dropped to the ground. He bounced on the bed in pursuit of her. They played a game of cat and mouse until he finally caught hold of her arms. She giggled and yelped in surrender when he pinned her underneath him. Her arms went slack beside her head. He won, easy. She let him win. And he didn't care. Any victory was worth celebrating. And if he could exert the bulk of his energy elsewhere, then all the better.