Fairy Tale Love

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Fairytale Love - Tarot: King of Wands Copyright © 2005 Carys Weldon Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2005 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.Extasybooks.com

Dedication: To my lover, my best friend, and my husband…Tony. Thanks for holding my hand and my heart through it all, and making my dreams come true.

Tarot Card: King of Wands The King of Wands is pure fire energy, but strangely enough, he has the least to do with actual creation and creativity. His forte is not in dreaming up ideas and implementing them himself, but in taking an idea and changing the world to match his vision. As such he is a natural leader and commander of all kinds of people. They flock to him to hear what he has to say and leave just as eagerly when he gives them something to do for him. Like the rest of the Kings, the ruler of the Wands suit will appear in two ways in your life: either as a person or as a part of yourself that must be awakened. As a person, the King of Wands is the ultimate leader who looks forward to challenges because he enjoys the rush of adrenalin that solving a difficult problem can induce. He not only dispels his own fear but that of others, by ensuring them that they shall succeed. He is not all talk, though; when the going gets tough no one hangs in there longer than he does. The King of Wands has a deep and innate respect for other people, and his compassion extends farther than most people would expect. For a King, he has a

remarkably good relationship with the common people. When he is unable to assist by himself, he will empower and enable others to help in his place. As with all of us, the King's faults emerge from his strengths. Most of the time he does not show enough restraint to know when assistance is not needed or wanted. He can sometimes make things even worse by doing what he thinks is the right thing—and he always thinks that what he is doing is the right thing. Most of the time his high sense of ethics proves him right, but in those few times where he is on the wrong side of the argument, he can do more harm than good. But one thing that can never be said of him is that he walks away from problems, whatever they are. He will defend another man just as vigilantly, if not more so, than he would protect himself. An inner spiritual change is often heralded when this card appears. The King of Wands invites us to act as he would to solve our problems. His vision is one of ideal reality, and his vision is that humanity might always be better than it is. He is the warrior of light who stands up for something that matters, and his appearance is an invitation for you to do so as well. If there is a cause you wish to support, but you are unsure of your position, you may proceed with the knowledge that your base of power is strong. Enjoy the King's power and authority, but be sure to use it for productive means. Take your responsibilities seriously, think of new ways to do things, and never stop believing in yourself.

Carys Weldon

Introduction am bored.” “Iaccompanied

Granden’s announcement lazily a barely concealed yawn. He slumped in his throne-styled chair, rested his goateed chin upon his fingers and feathered through the pointed hair there. His other hand plucked just as idly at his long and velvety crimson robe. He sneered a little at the elfish point on the end of his left shoe. Golden gifts from the queen for favors rendered. He’d ripped the bells off the tips at his first opportunity. Spying a thread, he reached down to pull it. “You devil. You are always bored.” His sister Marinda didn’t appear to be very concerned over the matter. She was in the throes of building an opalescent castle out of fairy dust, a creation made possible by a selection of imprisoned fairies she kept in a glass case. The tinkerbells furiously pouted, pushed against the crystal of their partitioned prison, and shook their fists in the air at her. Studiously, she ignored their displeasure. The melody, angry as it was, created a beautiful sound—dainty and intense. 1

Fairytale Love

Marinda hummed along with it, stopping briefly to suggest, “Get a hobby, Grand.” He firmly stated, “I have a hobby.” Debating on leaving the room, Granden watched his sister’s cruelty with distaste. Marinda’s brows went up, and so, unfortunately, did her hand and the fairy in it. The dangling duster in her fingers bounced her head, pried a foot loose, and was almost free when Marinda frowned and readjusted her hold, uprighting the beautiful little princess. Smoothing the fairy’s shimmering skirt folds, Marinda said absently, “Yes, but placing women under your love spell is hardly worth bragging about. It’s been done to death, Grand.” The fairy pushed at Marinda’s hands. Granden pried himself from the overstuffed, high backed piece of carved art where he spent much of his time. “It beats snaring fairies, Marinda. What good are these…things…you create, anyway?” The room was filled with magnificent structures; high towers, all twinkling, luminescent, opalescent, dust creations that could be swiped into nothingness with a wave of a hand through the fragile thread lines of reflecting sparkles. A virtual fortress of fantastical fairy proportions. Marinda put the fairy back into the case, took her time in selecting another. She lifted the fairy up, much as she’d done to the other, inspecting the tutu for damage. “This one was the hardest to catch.” Finding a slight tear, she held her latest capture even closer to her own watery baby blues—eyeing her with some 2

Carys Weldon

concern. She reached out and fingered the torn layer—then looked at the shimmering dust on her fingers. Rubbing them to feel the silk and iridescent talc, she asked, “Ever wonder what it would be like to be a fairy?” Granden rolled his eyes. “I can unequivocally say no to that one.” “I do.” Almost pining, Marinda sighed. “They’re so beautiful.” Granden smiled behind her back. Slipping his wand from his sleeve, he zipped it through the air, and said simply, “Done.” Marinda blinked, looked around and asked, “What is done?” Granden's smile turned wicked as he watched his sister, in the blink of an eye squeal, toss the fairy in her fingers up into the air—and shrink inside the folds of her gown. It became nothing more than a heap in her chair from which she had to climb her way out of. The fairy somersaulted upward, tumbling with the force of Marinda’s fling and Granden caught her— just barely—on the tip of his short, glass wand as she started her downward sloop and roll. She hit it with a bump to her head, a-straddle of it. Clinging with both arms wrapped around it, she tinkled her tail and shoes angrily as he lifted her up, much like Marinda had done, for an inspection. The fairy reached up, frowning full pout, and adjusted her crown. “Well, well. What have we here?” Granden’s 3

Fairytale Love

tongue slipped back and forth over his bottom lip as he figured out just what he had. “The princess Isabelle, no less.” He tsked a couple of times and shook his head. “How on Ziabell did you get caught?” Ziabell, of course, is the world upon which these fantastical creatures live. It is a sinful, magic place— where anything is possible, most things are probable—and if they haven’t happened yet—you can expect it not to be long in the wait. Isabelle furiously made noises, but Granden didn’t understand a word. Marinda, on the other hand, was screaming her head off, and nothing she said was pleasant or repeatable. Grand told the fairy, “Hold on, please.” Not that she could do otherwise. Marinda had whisked pretty much every speck of dust off her. It would take hours for her to work up enough dust to fly, or anything else for that matter. Reaching out, Grand plucked Marinda’s naked but now winged body up by her luxurious mop of black hair. He shook his head, “Fairies never have black hair. Not good ones, anyway.” Marinda squealed, letting loose with another string of oaths… and so he shook her up a bit, telling her, “Stop that, Marinda. It’s quite annoying.” That shut her up. Now, comparing the two—the lithe and fair daughter of the fairy king, and his own dark, voluptuous sister—Granden said simply, “I trade.” 4

Carys Weldon

Marinda screamed, swinging herself upward to sit on the perch of his finger. “You can’t trade me. I’m your sister!” She looked over at Isabelle, whose mouth was pursed shut in displeasure. Marinda pointed at the fairy princess. “You think the fairy king will be happy with you over this?” She threatened. “You’ll be plagued with buzzing in your ears, grit in your food—” She would have gone on with a long list of possible retaliations the renowned fairy king, Jadder, was capable of if Granden hadn’t interrupted. “Sounds like he’ll have to weigh a hundred possibilities before annoying me.” “You are beyond annoying!” Marinda leaned forward and bit her brother’s finger. In reaction, he swung that hand wildly—and she flew through the air. In seconds, she tumble-drifted through the mist of fairy creation—which cushioned her fall—into a prison of her own making. She was well and truly stuck behind the bars of fairy dust in the largest keep in the whole room. Granden said, “Uh oh,” with amusement. “Perhaps I should have mentioned that these… fortresses that you build… are enchanted. I did a little research.” Marinda’s hair cascaded down over her Lady Godiva style, covering all her womanly assets in modest fashion. “What do you mean… enchanted?” “Before long, fairy understanding will sweep your mind, and you will see the world you have created. It will blend with all that is…what you have always called…fairytale.” Almost sadly, he said, “There is 5

Fairytale Love

only one way out of there, Marinda…someone there must learn to love you…enough to set you free.” He tsked some more. “All the pity…we know how long that will take, considering.” Considering that her reputation for cruelty to fairies had reached far and wide. No one on Ziabell could have missed the tales of torment and capture, imprisonment and more. Marinda collapsed onto the silvery floor in tears. “I hate you, Grand. I do.” “It’s that ugly type of talk that will seal your fate, Marin. I’m sorry. Learn your lesson. See you in a thousand years or more.” He turned his back on her dilemma and examined Isabelle once again. “You protected yourself before I cast my spell?” His surprise was evident as he carried her to the top of the glass case—where many of her cousins dwelt—and set her there. “You should have grown to my size by now—and lost those wings.” Isabelle crossed her legs and arms, pouted her lips and squinted at him meanly. “Really…you should thank me.” Her expression changed to confused interest. Granden gestured toward his sister—whose prison was already becoming more solid in appearance. Vines and other foliage were growing up around it— as if from nowhere—encasing it. He said, “I’ve saved your…relatives from torture at her hands. And I’ve given them recourse opportunity. That is a fair enough trade for your favors. Is it not?” Isabelle swiveled her head—watching the ‘keep’ 6

Carys Weldon

become ensnarled by the vining. Because she was a fairy princess, she could see the interior workings of a full-staffed castle kingdom as it were enveloped…as Marinda was discovered. The trade. Could she give herself up selflessly to stop the evil Marinda? Turning soulful, mossy-pond-colored eyes toward Granden, Isabelle let a tear fall, and another, and so on…until her magic was all spilled out upon the glass around her. And she began to grow, while her wings shrank. Sadly, Granden watched her. This was no triumph. A fairy princess with no magic, no joy in her heart— given only to him by trickery—a prisoner of his own making. Like all the rest of his ‘hobby women’, she would never love him for real. Isabelle slipped off the case. Even at full size, she was petite. Without a word, she turned her back on Granden, smiled tenderly at her captive cousins, and lifted the lids—one by one—freeing them. They rose up above her, flapping their wings, sprinkling dust over her. That cloud rose and spun, encircling her, draping her in fairy robes of fantastical pink and blue misted fabric, laced with silver and gold. Isabelle reveled for several seconds, basking in the gifts of enchantment, the encompassing circle of love that floated around her, warming her to her soul. She was loved. Her sacrifice was sung of. Fluted fairy sounds rose up in crescendo—filling the room. An orchestra of sweetness. Joy. Granden envied her that love. Within seconds, though, feelings of elation danced through the room. He assumed it was some fairy-magic-induced 7

Fairytale Love

euphoria meant to cheer up Isabelle. It worked. She smiled. And he did too, at the sight of her pleasure. The first stirrings of lust for the fairy princess rolled through Granden’s loins, causing blood flow to his own instrument. The wicked thought that he’d like to sprinkle something over her, too, came to Granden’s mind. He tamped back the vision that sprang to life, filling his brain—of him standing over her, waving his personal wand with importance. He envisioned her on her knees. The truth was, the second the fairies began to dust the room, he had begun to feel his arousal grow. The fact that fairies were sensual beings—scantily clad, flitting, bouncing in jittery flight—had escaped him before, but now he had multiple fantasies dancing in his head, replacing the vision of Isabelle on her knees, looking up at his long, physical staff in wait of his sprinkling. From many life-sized fairies attending his naked body, fulfilling his every need—to Isabelle. His brain and body skittered between the images. Finally, it was as if something in him settled. As if she were invading his thoughts, the bevy of fairies in his brain parted. They had softly tickled and caressed his skin. They had kissed him all over until the point where all his body felt sensitized. They had paraded, in the blink of an eye, in pure and naked form, posing, sucking his fingers. Indeed, working their way over his body with their tiny, sucking lips. Titillating him with their tiny tongues. But then Isabelle appeared in his vision and the 8

Carys Weldon

rest disappeared. They simply faded into pastelcolored flowers vaguely visible on the walls of this place of fantasy. He mumbled, “What is happening? Where are we?” Isabelle smiled. “You are living a fairytale. This is true fantasy. Your heart’s desire is within your reach.” Granden’s only desire at that moment was to grab hold of Isabelle and show her a few things. How blessed he was in physical attributes, for one. His lips were well-versed in prose and pucker. His fingers well-trained in tease and taunt. His tongue? An instrument of lap and lave. He told her, “I know how to please a woman.” She giggled softly. He insisted, “Let me show you.” She teased him by asking, “Tell me.” Images of a thousand things he’d like to do to her swam through the tissues of his brain. He snatched at one. “I would lay you back—” “Where?” “Here. Anywhere.” Isabelle asked, “Would you put me on a cold floor?” A little confused, Granden said, “Yes. No.” He would put her on a cold floor. He’d put her anywhere. Anywhere she’d let him. And then he’d put himself inside her. He didn’t care where. Isabelle asked, “Which is it?” “Does it matter? Let me tell you what I would do to you?” 9

Fairytale Love

“It does matter. If you would choose a cold floor, I can expect certain things from you. If you lay me back on a bed of flower petals, then I would expect another.” Granden said, “You’re ruining this fantasy.” She laughed. And the sound was music in his ears. He reached for her, “Just let me hold you.” She sidestepped his reach. He begged, “Just for a second.” She asked, “Can I trust you?” He lied. “Yes.” She stepped forward, to willingly walk into his embrace, just as she’d willingly walked into his fantasy. But the moment his arms closed around her, she knew he had lied. He had no intention of letting her go. And worse, like a traitor to herself, she didn’t want free. You see, the fairies of Ziabell are very free. Their affection is well-known, well spread, well desired. But Isabelle was there for a reason. It wasn’t for the fulfillment of her own desires. She pulled back. Granden held tight. She requested, “Let me go, like you promised.” An odd thing had happened to Granden’s heart. The close proximity of the fairies, their dust, and the feel of the fairy princess in his arms—had cracked something wide. Granden’s truest desire—to love and be loved—had been hatched. He muttered, “I don’t think I can.” Plaintively, Isabelle said, “Please…set me free.” She had to fight her way loose, though. When she 10

Carys Weldon

managed to slip from his arms, she put some distance between them and breathing heavily, said, “You can’t hold so tight. It takes my breath away.” “You take my breath away.” Granden was serious. He was entranced. Enamored. “You also make my blood surge.” He reached down, adjusting himself through his robe. The pounding and throbbing going on in his manhood was reaching, beat for beat, up through his body. Isabelle entreated, “Tell me about your lust.” Granden wondered if this was too good to be true. Was he still under the fairytale spell? Was this princess asking him to talk dirty to her? To expound on his perverted fantasies? He said, “I dream of you, and your cousins…blessing me…with your attentions.” “Blessing you? Come now. Is that how you think of it?” “You want it truthfully?” She nodded. Vulgarly, he said, “I want to rip your clothes off you, lift you to my waist, prop you on my cock and fuck you.” For good measure, he said, “And I want to do it fast and hard.” Again, he touched himself through his robe. “I’m aching now, just at the thought.” She gave him his vision. His wish. At least, she made it available. She said, “Go ahead.” As he reached for her, she asked, “Will you bruise me?” Granden blinked. “No. I—” but he frowned. He 11

Fairytale Love

hadn’t thought of this rough lovemaking, sex taking, as a violent thing. She said, “I just need to be ready. You know, if you will break my—” “No.” He interrupted her. Else he’d have known she was going to say…heart. She wanted him to love her. To lust for her was fine. But making love to her was different than taking her forcefully. Isabelle had her fantasies, too. And they included a sweet loving. She closed her eyes and told him, “Do what you will.” Granden didn’t like the sounds of that. He said with a grumble, “That doesn’t sound very inviting.” She peeked at him. “What did you want? Taunting cries of wanton desire?” “That would work. Yes.” They both grinned. At that moment, the spell was broken. The sound of fairies, still buzzing round the room and their heads became loud again. Isabelle turned full circle, sweeping her arms out, gesturing that she would be all right. She encouraged her family to leave—to return to their own place. Silent communication, punctuated with bells, marked their reticence. Granden suggested, “Perhaps you should see what you can do about helping Marinda become more lovable.” The fairies all fluttered in place. The thought was stunning to the lot of them. “It’s not impossible.” Isabelle explained, “We are locked into a reciprocal spell. You must help her— to 12

Carys Weldon

help me.” In a flit, they were gone. By then, Marinda’s fate was sealed. All the structures she had created were entombed in heavy foliage, impenetrable except by fairy magic. Plucking one leaf, sniffing the mint of it, Isabelle turned to Granden. She licked her lips and said softly, “Thank you.” “For what?” Granden’s eyebrow reached for new heights. Isabelle’s voice was husky, whispery soft— seductive. “You let me show my love—for my people—in a way that I could not have asked for.” It was a bittersweet peace she had. He could see that. Granden winced. “I dislike the thought that you are a sacrificial creature.” Sourly, he turned away from her. In his fantasy, she came willingly into his arms. He told her, “I simply wanted to teach Marinda a lesson. How long will it take, do you think…?” Isabelle watched his retreating back, smiling ever so slightly at the pause in his step when she didn’t answer immediately. He never turned to look at her again, though—just waited near the door. She tipped her head and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “That is entirely up to you, I think.” Granden threw his hands in the air, muttering, “Women! They are all alike.” And then he disappeared, muttering, “Answer everything with a riddle. Ha! I hate that!” Isabelle waited until he was out of hearing range before saying, “You, too, need to love.” She turned to 13

Fairytale Love

look at the castle kingdom. “This could take longer than I bargained for.” **** You see, Isabelle had willfully planned her capture. She knew that the only way to stop the evil Marinda was to trade places. But to do that, she needed help from the King of Wands. That had been easy enough to get, as was evidenced by her new status as a fullsized being. Magic always trades against itself, though. To teach Marinda love, there had to be a full circle. And that was Isabelle’s task. To create a circle of love. Thankfully, all the fairytales revolve around that, and she had the full support of her fairy friends. Isabelle sighed. The only fairy who had been against her plan—was her father. Jadder had opposed it vehemently. Forbade it. And he certainly didn’t want Marinda in his keep. Isabelle lifted Marinda’s clothing and folded it without thought, her mind bouncing back to Granden. How could she love a man who was about as unlovable as his sister? Who obviously didn’t want her affections now that he ‘had her’? Isabelle sighed over the manifestation of his lust, whispering, “He doesn’t know that I’m not under his spell.” A small smile crossed her lips. She knew he was confused about that. Whether or not it was his spell or hers that ruled the castle. “I wonder how long it will take for him to figure it out—that I came willingly into his arms.” 14

Carys Weldon

Indeed, she had fixed his wands. All of them. And Granden had a fine collection. He was known far and wide for them. He’d stolen most of them, hornswaggled the rest from other unsuspecting souls. Granden and Marinda were very much alike. Both needed to learn to love and be loved. How to respect and edify.

15

Fairytale Love

Chapter One just get my undo wand.” Granden went “I’llstraight to his wand closet, a huge and well-

stocked wand chamber. There he ran his finger over nearly every one. Nothing sang to him, though. He panicked a little. Wands always hummed, vibrated or sung when there was work to be done. Before long, Granden had picked up every one and tried for simple spells—anything. That’s when he figured it out. “The magic is bound.” “There’s a troubling riddle.” Isabelle smiled from the doorway. “But then…you are a master of riddles, aren’t you?” She advanced into the room, running her fingers lightly over the wands in the first display, not too different from what he had done. “Oh, you are a King of Wands. Aren’t you?” Warily, Granden replied, “I’ve been called that.” His personal wand leaped to life again. Isabelle took her time perusing his collection, glancing over her shoulder at him from time to time, pretending not to notice the rise of the tent in his robe. All the while, Granden watched the fair and 16

Carys Weldon

beautiful princess with scrutiny. Finally, he accused, “You did this.” Isabelle turned to him. Her glance went slowly from the wands to his crotch. “Why is it such a surprise that you have been bested at your own game?” “Bested? I hardly think that—” Isabelle put a finger to her lips. “Shh.” Moving toward him, she asked, “Do you find me attractive?” She tipped her head back so she could look up at him. He really towered over her. Grand frowned. “Of course. Your beauty is legendary. What man could not find you attractive?” Though fabric was between them, his cock reached for her, rubbing softly. Neither of them addressed that fact, or looked down, but both of them swayed slightly, enjoying the feel of it. She asked, “Would you kiss me, then?’ Granden grunted. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “If your magic is ruling my castle—” His cock poked at her now. She frowned. “Why do you analyze everything?” He didn’t answer. And it took her a minute or two to get calm. His close proximity was making her flush. Her emotions were a little out of control. Up and down. In and out. The sexual thought assailed her, made her close her eyes and visualize. The tender feel of velvet sliding against skin. Him slipping into her, taking long, slow strokes. Gentle ministrations of romance. Nibbling kisses below her ear. 17

Fairytale Love

Granden did analyze everything. And he was definitely trying to figure out what was going on with the fairy princess. Her eyes had glazed over before her head tilted back and her fingers trailed up over her own body in the throes of her own little vision. He wondered desperately what she was thinking, what could make the tiny nipples come to attention. What caused the scent of her femininity to rise between them? He inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of her juices. It was different than anything he’d ever known before. He instantly longed to drop to his knees and press his nose between her legs. Perhaps kiss her there. Sighing as his vision overlapped hers, she asked breathlessly, “Don’t you want to kiss me?” Granden’s lips twitched. “Of course I want to kiss you.” As much as he wanted to set her aside. And get away from this strange mixing of fantasy. He had never wanted to drop to his knees for a woman, and he firmly resolved not to start now. He didn’t trust this fairy princess. Not if she’d protected herself before his spell. And now he found that she’d put the ki-bosh on his wands. She was too wily. And this invasion of his brain— He asked suspiciously, “Why would you want me to?” Isabelle laughed, then. A tinkling crystal sound. “Who said I wanted to kiss you?” Sadly, she said, “You’re the one who wants that, I think.” “Correction. I wanted to kiss you.” Granden was doing his best to put away thoughts like that, but his 18

Carys Weldon

cock wasn’t lying down easily. It reached for her again, of its own accord. “Go ahead.” He backed up. “I don’t think so.” She leaned up on her tiptoes. “Then I’ll kiss…you.” Granden steeled himself. Before her lips reached his, he slid right into another one of those fantasies. He imagined her lips parting, her tongue reaching for the depths of his mouth, sliding over his lips, tangoing with his tongue, her lips sucking on his— Instead, she kissed him chastely. A soft press. He opened his eyes in surprise. Reality was nothing like the fantasy. Isabelle wanted the imagination to come true. But she needed him to help her, to angle his head, to lift her up—so she could kiss him like that. When he didn’t, when he just stared down at her, as if he was trying to figure her out again, she sighed. “I guess this is going to be a long thousand years.” “Maybe more.” Granden wasn’t too happy about the thought that the only wand he had that seemed to be working, and overtime at that, was the one attached to his person. He groaned, “It’s gonna be a long thousand years. You’re right.” It occurred to him one more time. I am not going to kneel before this princess. Not now. Not ever. She won’t command me. I will command her before this is all said and done. She heard his thoughts, of course. Aloud, she asked, “What? You think you put a spell on me? That the magnificent love spell is already worming its way 19

Fairytale Love

through me?” He could hope. She discouraged him, to say the least. “What woman would want that cast upon her? I mean, really. Your reputation is as bad as your sister’s.” Granden admitted sourly, “It looks like time will tell.” But the truth was, her words ripped his heart open. She was telling the truth. Fairies never lie.

20

Carys Weldon

Chapter Two

J

adder kept a close eye on Marinda. He didn’t trust one hair on her head. So, for a thousand years, they ate every meal together. They spent every waking moment with one another. She slept on a pallet in his bedchamber—with guards at the door. And they rarely talked. Those conversations were usually blunt. Jadder would ask, “Want some?” She would say, “Of course.” He avoided her fingers. She avoided his. They never looked at each other. At least, not openly. But a thousand years couldn’t pass without some changes occurring. Marinda’s tantrums…yes, she was prone to them…became less and less frequent. They didn’t get her anywhere but hungry and thirsty. Fairies flitted about Jadder’s domain. They attended his every need, serving him like the king he was. Yet, he never took it without appreciation. He smiled kindly at everyone. Everyone except Marinda. But he, too, was prone to fits. Rages, really. 21

Fairytale Love

From the moment he’d first heard her name, he’d been in a mood. And truth be known, his first glimpse of her had sent him into a legendary rage. No one really knew what had set him off, exactly. But heard tell of having sent many fairies to look at the beautiful Marinda. Which, of course, is when they were caught. Since many of Jadder’s attendants had spent time in Marinda’s glass case, they were not quick to serve her. She had to learn manners. She had to show gratitude—else do without the next time they came to serve the king. Over the long years, Marinda’s beauty, which had already been noteworthy, became truly unmistakable. She began to glow. Some would say that it is because she was becoming more fairy-like, the longer she was with them. And that is very likely. She certainly became more sensual. Her moves became measured. Her hips rolled smoothly when she walked. Her wrists, too, rolled through the air when she reached for things. She swayed when she hummed to herself, dancing a lonely little dream. Jadder watched her dances under cover and cloak, pretending disinterest. But his self-imposed celibacy began to wear. After all, Marinda spent a thousand years in Jadder’s chambers…stark naked. With nothing but her glorious hair to cover her. Occasionally, it fell across Jadder’s forearm when they both reached for something, a platter or pillow, for example. They often sat on the layered pallets together, pretending to sleep… sharing fairy dreams. 22

Carys Weldon

Everything Jadder dreamed of doing to his dark beauty…she felt. When he laid his head back, closed his eyes and caused a picture of her dancing to spring into his head…her body would sway—or writhe, as it were, if she was lying down, too. His arms would slip around her, clasp at her waist. His nose would nuzzle at her nape, and he would move with her, rubbing his body against hers. As much as he pressed against her, she would lean against him. The dance was sure torture. His erection rubbed liquidly against her backside, seeping profusely, as he dreamed of bending her forward, sliding it into her. Letting her support herself by leaning her hands against the wall…Jadder’s fingers would move to her hips, holding her while he gave her…a child. Or, at least, repeatedly tried. Jadder’s fantasy dance became frustrated. His watching of her became less covert. He wanted to put his hand to her stomach, feel a babe move within. When he thought of that, Marinda clutched her belly, and looked over her shoulder at him. Finally, one day she had to ask, “Why do you do that?” He feigned innocence, “What?” “You know what.” Jadder shook his head. “You don’t talk to me for how long? A thousand years… and…” “That’s not true. I talk to you every day.” Corrected, Jadder said, “Asking for more nectar is hardly conversation.” 23

Fairytale Love

Marinda was surprised. “You want more conversation?” She rounded on him. “I can’t even think any more without you…” she pointed at the side of her head, “In here. You’re making me crazy.” “You make me crazy, too.” Marinda’s head jerked at his admonition. “Crazy mad.” “I’ve outgrown that.” “Right.” She knew she could set him off. She’d done it more times than she could count. All she had to do was turn a cold shoulder to him, block him out of her head. “What? You think you can provoke me? I think after all these years…you’ve worn out your games, Marinda.” She moved her lips, mimicking him. “This isn’t my game. It’s Granden’s. And if you were smart, you would have figured out how to get rid of me by now.” Jadder said quietly, “Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to get rid of you?” Marinda’s lips slapped shut. Actually, it hadn’t. Jadder said, “I suppose it’s time I told you…out loud.” Marinda was afraid to hear it, whatever it was. But she already knew. “Stop.” Jadder shook his head, coming toward her. She backed up, but there was really no place to run to. When he got close, for the first time in all their years together, he physically reached out to purposefully touch her. Hesitating mid-air, his fingers itched for 24

Carys Weldon

the feel of silk—the ebony tresses that covered her. Marinda trembled in wait, almost afraid. The fantasies they’d shared had been too good. Would this be a let down? She half expected, at any minute, for him to pull back and slap her—for all the years of ignorance, selfishness… and cruel disinterest. For all the years, she’d taken his dreamy lovemaking and given nothing in return. Quietly, he asked, “Marinda…” She flinched. “May I touch you?” Her flip tongue responded quickly, “You’re the king. You can touch anything you desire.” He drew his hand back. Sadly, he told her, “I can’t seem to touch your heart.” He walked away from her. Confused, Marinda padded after him. “What do you mean?” Jadder shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” He climbed up onto his bed and curled up against a pillow, in obvious preparation for a nap. Well, Marinda had a long time to think about that. Years. Years where a sadness, true loneliness stood between them. Where his back faced hers repeatedly. Only after hours of sleep would their dreams reach for each other. Somewhere…eons down the road…Jadder got ill. So ill, in fact, that every fairy blessing they could gather had been poured on his head. It looked like he was going to die. The fairies gathered around his bed—and Marinda was forced to the edge of the crowd while they talked. 25

Fairytale Love

They talked about bringing Isabelle back. Marinda felt guilt grow. All those years, she’d secretly savored the adventure…the tiny attentions of the fairies…and the ever watchful eye of Jadder. Good at protecting her heart, Marinda never let on. She cared with all her being for the fairy king. She was sick, herself, over his illness. But what they discussed now—how to trade her back—simply destroyed her. She couldn’t imagine going back to her other life. Lifting her chin, Marinda turned away from them all. She wouldn’t go. She couldn’t leave Jadder. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the wall. Tears dribbled out of from her eyes, ran down her cheeks in long streams. Silent agony tore at her. How could she leave him? Jadder, in a coma of sorts, felt her grief. His fingers crawled across the bedding, looking for her. He whispered, “Marinda, don’t cry.” She wiped her tears. Even sick as he was, his dreams reached out to her. She grumbled, “I won’t go.” The fairies, horrified, flitted out of the chamber in a fit. Marinda heard the murmuring of her selfishness that buzzed as they went. She didn’t care. She practically crawled to Jadder’s side. And that is when she curled up against him, in truth, for the first time. Resting her head on his chest, she cried for him. She cried for wasted years. She agonized over the one thing that she thought might save him. Return of the fairy princess. Her last 26

Carys Weldon

prisoner. Self-recrimination overtook Marinda, as she finally realized that her joy in living the fairytale had been a selfish thing. She cried herself to sleep. Somewhere in the night, Jadder found the strength to wrap an arm around Marinda and connect their dreams. Marinda clung to him. She coiled her leg over his, spread her hair over his body—which in dream state was unclothed. The silk of her hair slithered across his manhood, teasing him to erection under cover of darkness. Marinda occasionally turned her lips to Jadder’s chest and place a spare kiss. That’s how it began, anyway. His fingers tightened. Indeed, his whole body became rigid when her kisses became more frequent, and her hands began to rove. Exploring Jadder’s body—a totally new experience for Marinda. He had stroked and fondled her repeatedly in his dreams, sharing with her the sensation of his desire for her. But Marinda, it is sad to say, had never reached to him. She had simply reveled in his attentions, marveled at the tender ministrations, and gentle display of romance that every nuance of finger touches afforded her. Jadder sighed in his fantasy. Marinda rained kisses over him, becoming more and more amorous as the night wore on. Her touch firmed, circled around his chin, as she leaned up to kiss his silent, sleeping lips. She traced her tongue over them, and then kissed again. 27

Fairytale Love

She dropped a dozen little pecks along his jaw line, dribbled them past the edge, and strayed toward his throat. There, she began to suck. The arousing of her body happened as she moved over him. Amidst the parting waves of her hair, her heavy circles of her breasts weighed against his smooth chest. Her nipples rubbed against his skin, tantalizing her—bringing to mind the myriad of times that he’d cupped them with his hands, drawn them into his mouth. Jadder had worshipped Marinda’s body in her sleep—so many times. And now, in desperate heartache that he might leave her, she returned his lovemaking. She crawled between his legs and dragged her lips from place to place, all the way down his torso. Pressing her lips, then her cheek against him frequently in the midst of her attentions, she fought the words that pried at her lips. How could she be in love? The very thing that would set her free of his hold? The one thing she had fought for a thousand years and more. If she allowed herself to love, she knew it would all end. Facing this caused tears to resurface. With true reverence, Marinda began kissing her king again. The lingering of her lips became more pressing. And she found that she’d worked her way down until her lips found his manhood. As always, it was erect, ready for its purpose. She kissed the head of it. Cradling it in her hands, she looked it over. Strong. That was what came to mind. The staff of a king. The bearer of his children. 28

Carys Weldon

She kissed it again. And then she leaned forward and kissed his lips, whispering, “Give me a son and I…” She couldn’t say the words out loud. She couldn’t say that she would go willingly from his presence. But she was in love with him. She wondered if magic itself had gone to sleep. Surely, the spell should have never been in force. For Marinda had fallen in love with Jadder at first sight, as he had her. That didn’t mean she was going to admit it. And be cast from his presence? Made huge again? Desperately, Marinda climbed onto the sleeping king, straddling him while he lay there. She eased her body folds over his erection, moaned a little at the pressing feel of it as she settled herself around it. Very slowly, she moved up and down, coaxing his body fluids from him. Part of her wanted him to wake, to feel the glorious slide of wet upon steel. Part of her was afraid that he would, that he would rise up and cast her off. This was no dream. She prayed that he would release in his sleep. That his cum would fill her, and climb to the place where it would take root. To that end, she worked feverishly in her rising and rolling hip action. Somewhere in the midst of it, Jadder rallied. His hands found her hips, and he helped her make the action more of a jerk and pound than a teasing ebb and flow. She gasped, “You’re awake!” Immediately, she fell forward to kiss his face. Again with the raining kisses, she muttered 29

Fairytale Love

repeatedly, “Oh, Jadder! I was so afraid for you!” He appealed, “Marinda… I think I’m dying.” She squealed, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling her halfway up, forcing his face into her bosom. Jadder groaned, took a nipple into his mouth and bucked beneath her. She rode him and his grinding with passion. Unlike all the dreams, that were silky soft sweet whisperings of gentleness, this coming together was hot and groaning, covered with sweat. It was a furious climax they reached, hard to get a hold of, fed by their desperate desire to hang on to one another. When she tensed inside, lost in the spasms of ecstasy, it forced his cum to erupt inside of her. It pumped and pumped with geyser-like force, held in capped pressure for a thousand years. And when Jadder was finished, he passed out. Marinda stayed atop him, loving the feel of his cock inside her. She never wanted to leave his bed. She curled up over him, laying her head on his chest, and whispered the great and terrible words, “I love you, Jadder.”

30

Carys Weldon

Chapter Three

F

eeling the pull of magic, Isabelle worried her lower lip, watching Grand. A thousand years, he had repeatedly tried his wands. None of them worked, but the one he was most attached to. He’d played out nearly every fantasy he could think of— taking advantage of every dreamtime. And in those dreams, Isabelle did everything he commanded. When he pushed her to her knees, demanded that she climb under his cloak and suck on his cock, she did as she was bid. He often dreamed of lying on his bed… “Isabelle, come…administer to me.” Servile and solicitous, Isabelle would appear. “What is it you want?” Rubbing himself, holding his cock up for her to see, he responded, “I want your lips on this.” Even in his dreams, she would hesitate, ever so briefly. But still, she did as she was asked. She climbed up onto the bed between his legs and serviced him. Carefully, she handled him with gentleness, slid her lips over the knob and did as she 31

Fairytale Love

was told. “Suck harder. Now deeper.” He demanded, “Lick all the way…up and down. Suck the balls in. Now the shaft again.” Often times, he held her head down, bucked into her mouth, squirted cum into her throat. He always insisted she swallow his juices, lick the length of him some more—bring him to readiness so he could fuck her slowly. You see, Granden knew that entering her body without first unloading would be too quick. Even in his sleep, the smell of her wafted through his senses. He longed to plug up the slit between her legs, to get the thought of her, of fucking her, out of his senses. He was consumed with the thought of it. Thus, their thousand years had been spent primarily in trance. Every time she moved, he’d drift off, catch them up in another fantasy. Every episode began with his grabbing her, bending her over, throwing her onto the bed and savagely dominating her. Or commanding she come to him, make him cum, pleasure him. With the pull of magic, came the drying of leaves on the fairy keep. Granden never went near the room. And when Isabelle ventured in that direction, more and more, called by the magic spell that was unweaving—he would command her come to him. He would close his eyes and put another grinding act into motion. Isabelle had her hand on the doorway to that room when he called her again. His sex slave. He’d often 32

Carys Weldon

thought it over the years. She couldn’t help but twist her lips when he called psychically, “I need you.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool stone near her hand. She knew that her father had succeeded in his end. She did not know to what cost. But the withering leaves told the truth, that Marinda was now a prisoner only because she had not done her part. Soulfully, Isabelle turned her face to the heavens and asked, “What more can I do?” A voice whispered, “Do not come when he calls.” “But I am bound.” “No more.” “I can’t… not come.” As much as Grand’s requests seemed subservient, the truth was, Isabelle loved him freely. She gladly worshipped his body. As always, she went willingly. “He must come for you.” Tears welled up in Isabelle’s eyes. She whispered in agony of heart, “He’ll never come for me. Please… I need more time.” But it was not to be. The voice of magic was too strong. In a fragrant wind, it swept through Granden’s castle, whisked Isabelle up in a whirlwind, swirled her around and around until she was dizzy…shrinking…growing her fairy wings again. The wind dropped her into the fairy place where Marinda had spent her thousand years.

33

Fairytale Love

Chapter Four felt the wind. In a climate controlled place Marinda where never was there a hot moment, unless friction is created a-purpose, the coming of the breeze immediately forced panic into Marin’s soul. Clinging to Jadder’s body, she begged, “No! Please! Not now!” She bargained for a few spare seconds by saying, “He didn’t hear me!” The thought of leaving Jadder, and never having told him how she felt, scratched up through Marinda’s belly, making its way out of her throat. She screamed, “I love you, Jadder! I love you!” The wind tunnel echoed her words, whipped around her ears with the repetition of the words. Marinda was plopped on the ground outside the fairy castle, and landed on her hands and knees. Crying loudly with hacking and rasping in between, she begged the magic to return, to take her back. When Isabelle didn’t respond to Grand’s request, he came looking for her—wondering what she could be doing that would keep her from attending him. In his search, he could not mistake Marinda’s wails, 34

Carys Weldon

even though it had been a thousand years, and more, since he’d heard her tantrums. Grand picked up the pace of his search. Something within him refused to go to the room where Marinda’s cries were tearing from her body with wrenching sobs and apologies. He had to find Isabelle! From room to room, he physically searched. He closed his eyes repeatedly, hunting for her in the dream fashion he’d called to her so many times. He couldn’t sense her. She didn’t answer. Finally, the truth was made known to him when the King of Wands found himself in his wand chamber. The last room to look for Isabelle. A place she frequently sat, humming a little fairy tune. She wasn’t in her usual seat. Her fingers were not running over his precious keepsakes. But they hummed. Every one of them hummed loudly, or shook so hard that the whole room vibrated. The quaking caused him to reach out to steady himself. And there, he accidentally knocked his glass wand off. In slow motion, it flipped over itself through the air. He grappled for it, tripped, and fell face first. The wand bounced and shattered. Granden scrambled to his knees, picked up the pieces, wracked his brain for a way to put it back together. Marinda’s voice behind him, “Cast another spell, Grand. Send me back.” Her tears and sniffles punctuated her words. 35

Fairytale Love

About ready to cry himself, Grand twisted at the waist and held out the remains of the glass wand. “I…don’t think…I can.” Marinda’s eyes grew wide. Her lips grew silent. Her worst fear was right before her eyes. Granden looked like a lost little boy, sitting there on the floor with his broken toy. For several seconds, time ticked by. They stared at each other. The realization of what they’d lost tumbled through them. They knew a physical withdrawal from the very thing they craved. At about the same time, they both scrambled, shaking wand after wand, commanding, “Reverse the magic!” But to no avail. That spell had served out its usefulness. They couldn’t call it back. It had swept out with the wind. Defeated, they slumped to the floor. And yes, Granden cried then. Marinda crawled over to him and put her arms around him, rocking him. Granden told her, “I miss her so much—I ache.” “I know. I know.” Marinda whispered. She knew exactly how he felt. And she knew that it was out of her hands. But that didn’t stop her from trying to think of another way to fix things. Finally, she asked, “Can you pull yourself together, Grand? We have to think.” The truth was, Grand’s every thought—for so long—had been about Isabelle. Applying himself to any other issue was a struggle. Marinda put her hands to her brother’s face and 36

Carys Weldon

looked him in the eye. “Grand. We can fix this.” She willed him to suggest the one thing…the very thing that could call the fairy king, or at the very least, his daughter…out. Marinda hated to speak it out loud— to let anyone know that she’d thought of it. Grand wiped away his tears, trying to read his sister’s mind. It wasn’t hard. Within minutes, the two of them were plotting the snaring of fairies. The thing was, they had nothing original. They were pretty sure the fairies would see the traps and stay clear of them. They sat for days, waiting. Checking the traps. No fairies. The whole time, they tried continuously to breach the stone walls that had risen up in their minds, breaking the communication of fairy dreams. Discouraged, Marinda said, “It was only a fairytale.” Granden agreed, “Love is only a spell.” Marinda nodded, “A terrible one.” Granden asked, “If it’s a spell, why do I still ache for her?” Marinda turned to look at her brother. “How did you spend your time?” Granden shrugged. Marinda prodded, “Were you bored?” Grand readjusted in his throne seat, shaking his head. “Not for a moment.” “Neither was I.” “What’s it like… in their world?” Marinda had to think a minute. “Fairies are strange 37

Fairytale Love

creatures.” “Why do you say that?” “They spend their whole time—serving others.” Marinda and her brother lapsed into silence, both remembering the service they’d received. A long time later, Marinda said softly, “I loved him, Grand. I never thought I could say the words out loud. And when I did…I ruined it all.” She began to cry again. Grand had nothing better to do, so he commanded, “Come here.” She went to him, put her head on his knees, and let him pat her head while she cried out all her heartache. Marinda wailed for the telling of her stoic resistance, her stupid silence, explaining that she knew what would happen. The second she cared— that magic knew—she would be wrenched from Jadder’s presence. She cried profusely, her apologies for ruining everything. Grand pondered the whole experience. He asked, “So, you didn’t talk much? In the whole time?” Marinda sniffed. “No. We closed our eyes and made love. Or rather, he made love to me.” Granden asked, “Did you tell him what you wanted?” She shook her head. “They can read our thoughts. You have to guard them carefully.” “I figured that out.” “Did you know that they hold council meetings, to discuss whose heart’s desire they will grant?” “How often do they do this?” “I know that they are going to do it again soon. If 38

Carys Weldon

Jadder recovers.” Then she started up the wailing again. “I have to get back to him! He might need me.” Granden said, “She said that to me.” He tried to remember Isabelle’s words. Something about his heart’s desire. A riddle? Abruptly, he stood up. He knew what his heart’s desire really was. To have Isabelle back in his bed. Stepping around Marin, he went to the fairy keep. It barely shimmered. Dried leaves were crumbled all around it. Calling out to magic, he said, “I know my heart’s desire!” Magic whispered back. “Selfish!” Grand blinked. Yes. It was true. He wanted Isabelle back. But there was more. He had to dig down for it. Honestly, he said, “I have to repay her.” Magic hissed again, “Selfish! You try to trick!” Grand shook his head, arguing, “No! I honestly want to see her again…so I can tell her…” Magic was silent for the space of several minutes, waiting for him to say the words. Grand regrouped. “I need to tell her…” He looked sadly into the fairytale castle, asking, “I love you, Isabelle. Couldn’t you tell?” Marinda stumbled to his side, put her hand in his, leaned her head against his arm and whispered, “I loved Jadder, too. I guess fairies don’t understand us.”

39

Fairytale Love

Chapter Five

I

sabelle sat on her father’s bedside, holding his hand. Jadder was very weak, having given so many years of love to Marinda—without real return. The only thing that had rallied him at all was the last moments she’d given him. They came right as he’d sought respite in death. He’d waited so long…and given up. Isabelle said quietly, “They just don’t know how to love.” “It was an impossible task.” Jadder smiled weakly. “You did your best.” Isabelle fought back tears. “I served him every way possible. I really thought that would make him love me.” “Sometimes… we need more time.” And it just isn’t there. Isabelle asked, “He only desired me. After all that time. I don’t think another thousand years would have mattered.” Sadly, she turned and asked, “What would you do…if you had more time?” “I would have told her how I feel. I would have 40

Carys Weldon

said the words, instead of showed her.” Isabelle sighed, “Me too.” Jadder shook his head. “From the moment I laid eyes on her, I was enamored. There is no dark beauty like that amongst our people. She was magnificent.” “So was he.” The place began to shake. Every fairy trembled in their booties. Grand and Marinda shivered. Wind came from nowhere, swirling them up into a tornado of sorts, spinning them crazily. They lost their bearings. They lost their clothes. Those landed in a heap on the floor beside the fairy keep. Marinda and Grand had no way to stop the magic. And truth be told, they didn’t care to. If Magic wanted to do away with them, then they were ready. Without love…they didn’t want to live. So, being whisked in circles and dropped naked to the floor of Jadder’s bedchamber a little surprise. All the fairies gathered round. As soon as Marinda realized where she was, she kissed the floor, scrambled toward Jadder, who had sat up to see. He reached for her. And she sobbed against him, “I love you, Jadder! Thank Magic you’re alive!” Raining kisses being her forte, Marinda created a downpour. Now, Granden found himself in that one position he’d sworn never to take. He was on his hands and knees in front of Isabelle. His instinct was to rise to his feet. He wavered. He put one foot up, as if to rise. 41

Fairytale Love

Then he bowed his head and said quietly, “Isabelle, I am your slave.” Even the humming of fairy wings ceased. Silence was so loud that no one dared breathe. Granden added, “Let me show you…how much I love you.” Isabelle winced. His lovemaking, as it were, had been nothing less than lust taking. His gaze searched her features then, and his lips promised, “I will worship you with all that I am.” Sincerely, he said, “A thousand years and more… I will revere your body for an eternity.” Still, Isabelle wasn’t the judge at this trial. If she had been, she would have waived this thing—her heart’s desire. She would have run gladly into his arms at first sight of him. Isabelle would have never left her lover’s side. But Magic ruled Ziabell. And it was Magic’s turn to ask another question. In softest voice, Magic asked, “And how would you do that?” Granden said, “This will take a long time.” Isabelle tentatively suggested, “Could he demonstrate?”

42

Carys Weldon

Chapter Six

A

gain with the wind. Up and away, Grand and Isabelle were sucked. And then, for an eternity, he repaid her favors. And he did it in this vein… Grand dropped to his knees before Isabelle, pressed his lips to her feet and worked his way up. Along the inside of her knees and thighs, he would ask, “Do you like this?” And when she giggled, he would suggest, “Would you like to lay back?” Sometimes Isabelle would say yes. Sometimes she would remain standing, or sitting—in his throne. Always, Grand would slide his tongue up between her legs, lave over the folds that covered the opening to her body, lick her in lapping pleasure, and tongue her deeply in long strokes. Isabelle never failed to beg him to rise up and climb inside of her. But showing unbelievable restraint, and desire to please Magic, so that he was never again removed from Isabelle’s presence, Grand often selflessly pleasured her. Yes, his cock dripped continuously in want of 43

Fairytale Love

sliding inside of her, of having her run her lips and teeth over him. And sometimes, he sat on the cold stone floor at her feet, just so the cold penance against his manhood would remind him of all the times he took without giving in return. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t stroke himself while he licked into her, while he suckled the juices that he craved. Or that he didn’t spill onto the floor at her feet. He considered it a tribute to her beauty. She sighed after he did that once, and told him, “This is a fairy tale.”

44

Carys Weldon

Chapter Seven

J

adder and Marinda were given another chance, too. Her professed love healed his ill health. It took several episodes of proving to do so, but Marinda did them willingly. Her efforts went like this… “I remember the time you did this to me… No. Just lay there. Let’s see if I can do it to you.” Jadder laughed, “You can not enter me, as I did you—in our dreams.” Still, she insisted on fondling him, kissing him in the same manner with which he had demonstrated to her. And when they were both dripping between their legs for completion, she would climb onto him. But make no mistake, Jadder was no longer on his deathbed. Secure in the circle of love that Marinda wrapped around him, his ability to perform…expanded. The time for which their lovemaking occurred…lengthened as the shadows of the day. And he rolled her repeatedly to her back, while staying inside of her. Rising up above her, sliding her 45

Fairytale Love

legs wide, Jadder made love to Marinda in all the ways he knew how. But mostly, he begged her… for one thing. As his cock unerringly sought its mark, he asked, “Please tell me you want my child. That I can give you…” By then, his stroking into her caught up his whole concentration. And hers, too. But once, after many years of this unfinished business, Marinda managed to ask, “Give me what?” Groaning into her with one last, hard, stroke, Jadder said, “Give you a token.” “A token?” Marinda arched beneath her husband, rolling her hips so she could climax with him. “Yes..” The token of the fairy king is seldom given. It is the seed of his loins. The seed that will bear fruit. When it is unleashed, the woman to which it is given…is inundated with orgasm after orgasm, spasm after spasm. She is literally wracked with the throes of this consummation, filled with all the essence of the fairies. And if she didn’t have wings before, she quickly learned how to fly.

THE END

46

About the Author

C

arys Weldon writes her romantic tales from a hollow in the Ozarks. She loves variety, whimsy, shadows and suspense. She also loves to paint— whether on canvas or on paper. She says, “A vivid picture is worth—taking a second look at. Go ahead, search for hidden meanings in my work. I love innuendo, subliminal messagery, and anything ponderous.”