King and Northern Beauty
Copyright© 2025 by Laxu
Chapter 1
The Empress Dowager made a quick, imperious gesture with one hand, the soft jangle of the golden bracelets adorning her wrist sounding a compelling note through the long room. Slowly silence spread on both sides of the table as one of the gorgeously plumed ladies hovering behind the seated women rustled forward to help the old empress to her feet.
Cassandra swallowed, and carefully placed the piece of fruit she had been peeling on the shimmering plate in front of her. Absently, she noticed that she had managed to carefully remove every piece of the skin and white pith from only a quarter of the orange, in what had to be a record for the slowest peeling in the history of oranges. She had been purposefully drawing out removing the skin from the fruit, knowing that if she ever reached the stage of placing a segment in her mouth, she would look like a cow endlessly chewing the cud as she attempted to pulp it enough to squeeze down her tight throat.
Helene’s hand under her elbow steadied her as she rose on her shaky legs. ‘I will not look at him’, she vowed silently to herself, while Helene shook out the soft, silken folds of her gown, but her eyes betrayed her, darting shyly across the table, to where the men remained seated.
The Great King was seated cross-legged, lounging on his cushions with the graceful posture of one who spent most of his life on horseback. He was leaning forward, one wrist resting on his knee, supporting the goblet of wine cupped in his right hand. His half-closed eyes met hers, and the gleam in them made a faint tinge rise in her cheeks. She blinked, looked down, and tried to distract herself from the future by concentrating on stilling her hands, making herself carefully arrange them in a graceful pose clasped before her thighs, so that she could not fidget.
As the other ladies rose around them, Cassandra’s gaze remained slightly unfocussed, directed at the floor, while her mind carefully replayed, again and again, the sharp-cut memory of those lean, strong fingers cupped in a casual embrace around the curve of the wine goblet. The gleam in his dark eyes. The curve of those cupped fingers. That gleam.
A faint tingling seemed to heat the ends of her nipples and Cassandra took in a long breath, turning obediently to the Empress Dowager, who was clapping her hands for attention.
Across the table, a soft, sibilant, “Hagl-at!” of appreciation was murmured by several of the men, their eyes fixed on the swelling curve of the girls’ breasts. King Aurther’s mouth twisted slightly in acknowledgement of the approval voiced by his lords, even as he felt a quick pulse race down his cock, watching those soft mounds press against the bodice of her gown.
“A pair of fresh young buds Now swell to golden peaches, I would that I could gather The sweet harvest with my lips!”
Makhar, on his left, softly sang the chorus of the verse lamenting the coldness of the beautiful Northern lady, which had first caught the attention of the King. Em Feliz, further behind, leaned forwards to sigh, “Our poor Aurther. Sweating over the harvest all afternoon.”
The King cracked a grin as the four friends around him broke into wicked laughter, and felt another sweet pulse down his hardening cock. He could see that her nipples were already slightly erect, and he imagined sliding his fingers inside the front of her gown, to gently tweak the swollen nodes. The girls’ cheeks were scarlet now, and she trembled slightly as she gathered her dress to follow the empress. Although she couldn’t know the words in Zanim, she must surely know the tune to her own lament, and the soft male laughter was hardly innocent.
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