Dance of Crows - Book 1
Copyright© 2025 by Es_Orik
Chapter 1
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1 - In the era of men, elves, dwarves, dragons, and gods—a war that threatens to shake the foundation of the world brews!
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Military War Incest Sister
LEILANI I
The sun sat high at the zenith of the sky and its light poured into the ancient walls in a blaze of gold glory. The glaring streaks pierced through the arched windows, illuminating the pale marble floor of the nursery. Young lords and ladies were gathered around the large chamber, garbed in their finest silk attires, for today’s lesson was unlike any other, led by Her Majesty, Leilani Reisia, Queen of Thornvale.
The sunlight danced upon the intricate patterns of her crown and melded with the rich, dark waves of hair that tumbled down her back like a river of obsidian. Her dress, crafted from rose-colored silk, draped her form with effortless grace. She was a vision of timeless beauty. Her fair skin glowed with soft, ethereal light, as though kissed by dawn itself, and her eyes held quiet depth, like the waters of an unending sea.
Seated on a finely carved mahogany, she embodied a regal poise; the young lords and ladies were entranced, falling silent as they awaited her words.
“Salukk, little ones,” her voice was soft as a summer breeze, drifting across the room and accompanied by a practiced smile. “Today, I shall guide your studies. I trust the scholars have begun lessons on the Din of Creations, yes?”
The children nodded eagerly and their eyes widened with anticipation.
Her smile stretched subtly, like a ripple upon a still river. Their innocent enthusiasm warmed her heart. Yet, she glimpsed beyond the present, envisioning future scholars, warriors and lords in those youthful faces, each destined to carve their paths through the annals of history, or fade quietly into the forgotten pages of time.
“And can any among you recite the first script?”
A boy, full of bright confidence and zeal, raised his hand to answer. “Life begets life, as recorded by the Assari. Thus, all creatures of the world are born of the Divine, from the thunderous giants of the wilds to the humblest insects.”
“Thank you, Harlan.” Queen Leilani’s gaze softened as she bestowed a fond smile upon her cherished son. Born seven seasons past, he mirrored his father’s proud visage, with fair skin and hair as pale as the silver moon. His eyes gleamed a deep brown, reflecting both keen intelligence and child-like wonder.
“The Assari recorded the Dragons as the first born life,” she continued. “Savage beast though they were, it was said they possessed many blessings from the Divine. But their kind has not been witnessed in thousands of years. The last of the Dragons is believed to have perished during the Great Purge, thus a new era of life was ushered in.”
“Man,” A little noble proclaimed.
Queen Leilani masked her surprise with practiced grace and cast a glance towards the frail figure of the scholar across the room. He stood in his ash-colored robe, his hair concealed under a black coif, and his expression inscrutable behind the round spectacles perched upon his nose. His presence bespoke profound wisdom and secrets untold.
“The Citadel enacted minor reforms, Your Grace,” he explained.
Her mask almost slipped, almost. “I see. Thank you, Elder Rowen.”
At that moment, the chamber door opened, and a man entered. He was the captain of the guard, a mountain of a man encased in gold-plated armor, with his helmet hiding his face, and his gauntleted hand never straying from the hilt of his sheathed sword. His dark cloak billowed behind him as he crossed the room, and the echoing clang of his armor fell silent as he halted before her, bowing low. “He has returned, Your Grace.”
Her eyes shimmered with relief and unguarded joy at the news. “Forgive me, little ones. Our lessons must wait for another day. Elder Rowen will see to the rest of your studies.” Rising from her seat, she turned her gaze to the scholar. “I would also have words with you after your duties here, Elder. It appears we have much to discuss.”
“As you command, Your Grace,” he replied with a deep bow.
She swept from the nursery and her silken gown whispered against the stone floor behind her, a retinue of guards and handmaidens trailing in her wake.
Though concerns about the Citadel’s conduct lingered in her thoughts, like shadows at dusk, they could not dampen the light in her heart.
Her eldest son had returned, and the joy of reunion played openly upon her lips.
VAETAL I
Ornamented with fine, elegant furnishings, the throne room stretched long with high ceiling and narrow width, yet spacious enough to contain the small crowd that had gathered today. Dark banners hung along the hallowed walls, and a crimson carpet ran the length of the hall, its fine embroidery showing the royal crest in glimmering threads of gold.
A throne carved from ironstone rested on the dais, and prince Vaetal knelt before his father, King Allanon, who sat upon it. Thornvale’s councilmen stood on either side of the hall, all eagerly awaiting the news he had returned with.
“Welcome home, Vaetal.” His father’s heavy voice shattered the silence.
His regal appearance was less imposing than his wife’s. With his face unshaven, he wore a black-sleeved tunic made of thin leather, and a belt wrapped around his waist. Dark, close-fitting breeches of wool covered his legs and leather boots finished his appearance.
The gold crown atop his head was all that signaled lofty dignity.
“Thank you, Father,” Vaetal spoke in a gentle voice.
He was covered in armor, save for his head, as he had removed his helmet. He was the spitting image of his mother. Smooth-faced, with long pale hair, piercing brown-flecked hazel eyes, a well-chiseled chin, and pointed nose. His features were polished, fair and fine, an appearance his father always said was wasted on a man.
“How did you fare?” His father asked.
“Three kingdoms have pledged their support, Father. Duror, Lorn, and Maselle. They will join the effort against the fae folk. Astana of the South has requested an audience before offering their commitment. King Hader and his envoys will arrive within a fortnight. Only the northern lords of Cytherea refused.”
“That was to be expected. The northerners are a reclusive people. It has long been said they share blood with the fae.” For the first time, his father showed a smile. “Well done, my son. We shall have a banquet to honor your return.”
“If we can speak alone, Father,” Vaetal said.
For a moment, his father stared at him in wonder, then he spoke. “Everyone leave us.” His smile fled as he gave the command.
Immediately, the command roused the crowd to action as council members and guards hastily disappeared from the room. Alone together, his father rose from the throne and slowly climbed down the carpeted dais.
“Speak your mind, Vaetal. Speak freely.”
Vaetal rose. “Father, before I left, I asked if you were certain of this. I ask you again now. The fae are no threat to us. Their attacks are confined to the edges of their forest. We can redirect caravans and trade routes. A war with them is unnecessary.”
“To do nothing is to show weakness,” the king said, his gaze never flinching.
Vaetal cast his gaze aside, then returned it a moment after to meet his father’s burning stare. “We can offer an ultimatum ... or try to broker peace.”
“You cannot broker peace with murderous thieves, Vaetal. For too long I have turned my eyes away from their repeated affronts. No more. This feud shall end.”
Vaetal knew his father’s heart was like an unyielding stone, carved by old grief and older pride. There was more hope in shifting mountains than in swaying it. He also knew the depth of his father’s hatred for the fae, a hatred carefully stoked by the Citadel.
He spoke of affronts, of incursions, but Vaetal knew they were lies.
The provocation had begun on their side. All his father sought was a reason, and it had been handed to him. The alliance formed with the other kingdoms, some of whom harbored an even deeper loathing of the fae, betrayed the truth of his intent.
It would not be a war born of necessity.
His father sought not justice or to correct a wrong, but complete destruction, as their ancestors had once tried—and failed—to complete.
His father placed a hand on his shoulder. “You carry your mother’s heart. But I need you fully by my side in this, Vaetal. As you have always been.”
Duty-bound, he had journeyed across the realms for forty-eight days despite his reservations. Duty-bound now, he gestured affirmation with a nod.
“Of course, Father.” he whispered.
“Good. You’re dismissed. I imagine your mother is eager to see you.”
Vaetal lowered his head in a bow and turned away from his father, moving toward the large door. He pushed it open and came upon his bondmate waiting in the passage.
“You’re still here,” the prince said, surprised.
Dorean’s face showed a grin and he removed himself from the wall he had been resting against. Like himself, Dorean was still in armor but without helmet.
Their appearance were complete opposite, Dorean was of auburn hair, tawny eyes and his features more rugged. Born a commoner, he had been chosen as Vaetal’s bondmate by the Citadel, a lofty position bestowed upon an infant with the closest birth proximity to that of a royal. They had been raised as brothers, and Dorean’s life was entwined to his.
A fate Vaetal despised.
“Where else would I be?” Dorean replied.
“Your fine friends at the brothel must be missing your company.”
He laughed richly. “They can wait a while longer. There are more important matters at hand.” Dorean’s voice grew serious. “How did it go with your father?”
Vaetal began moving and Dorean walked alongside him. There were few secrets between them. His bondmate had been first to know he opposed his father’s plan.
“Like it went the last time. His hatred blinds him.”
“What else can be done? You are his heir, surely there is a way to—”
“Nothing else can be done now, Dorean. We just follow orders given and do what is expected of us. That is all.” Every word that parted from his lips was a struggle, even he could not fully believe what he uttered.
“I know you do not mean that, Vaetal,” Dorean said, looking upon him and reading his thought. “You sound as though a common soldier.”
Vaetal offered no words.
“Five kingdoms are willing to put aside their differences and unite to exterminate a race. You would not be the Vaetal I know if you didn’t feel opposed,” he said. “You’re a good man, a man of honor. I do not believe you will let it die in the line of duty.”
“I do not know what else to do, Dorean,” Vaetal admitted. “I have no power over my father’s mind. His hatred of the fae folk is too deep. The Citadel encourages it.”
“What of your uncle? Does he side with your father?”
Vaetal was unsure, hence delaying bringing the man into his confidence. “I do not know his mind on the matter.”
“Perhaps we should speak to him.”
“Perhaps.”
Footsteps and the clang of metal echoed through the passage, then his mother’s figure and her retinue of guards and handmaidens appeared before them.
“Vaetal,” she crooned in elation and wrapped him in a loving embrace.
“Salukk, Mother.” He held her close to his metal covered chest and the restrained tension he carried after the meeting with his father began to ease.
His mother withdrew after a moment passed, then she gazed up at him, studying his face. It was very like her. He knew he didn’t look his best. The long journey still clung to him, his looks were tattered and unkempt, and his eyes weary from days of riding.
Still, save for his pale hair, he was truly her mirror.
“Your Grace,” Dorean said with a bow of reverence.
She found his eyes and smiled at him. “Welcome back, Dorean.”
Dorean nodded and glanced at Vaetal again. “If you’ll excuse me, I have friends that urgently require my attention.”
“Of course, cannot keep them waiting.” Vaetal chuckled and Dorean walked away with a grin, leaving him alone with his mother.
“Friends?” his mother asked in a whisper.
“Not the sort you’d like to associate with, Mother.”
“Oh, say no more,” she said as understanding dawned, then gave a swift glance to her guards and handmaids. They ceased their following and dispersed. “Come, I shall escort you to your quarters. You look a mess.”
A sharp grin washed over his face. He had expected this from her.
“I missed you too, Mother.”
She slid her arm around his, clinging to him.
LEVERIA I
The forest swelled with trees older than the lineage of men, their trunks vast and rough like stone pillars carved by forgotten gods. They stretched high until their tops vanished into veils of mist, where glimmers of hidden lights flickered like distant stars. Their broad, translucent leaves shimmered with shifting colors as a gentle breeze whispered, steeping the forest in quiet serenity.
“We should not be here,” muttered a jittery outlaw, his gaze darting to each sound that broke the stillness. “This land is cursed.”
The air trembled. Birds flitted unseen above the mist and small creatures rustled beneath the ferns, but they were not his fears. No, his fears lay with the silent owners of the forest, for the heavy greenery that surrounded them felt watchful. Patient.
“The Six Realms want our heads on spikes, I’ll take my chances with the fae,” his companion responded. A bulky redhead, his voice much stronger than his friend’s.