Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of rolling green hills and silver rivers that sparkled like spilled moonlight, there lived a proud and prosperous King. His hair was white as snow, his beard neatly trimmed, and his broad shoulders carried the proud bearing of a man who had once ridden at the head of great armies. Though the years had softened his step, they had not dimmed his love of grand gestures, nor his desire to see his only son happily wed.

The Prince was everything a royal heir ought to be: tall and athletic, with dark hair that fell in perfect waves and intense grey eyes that could make even the boldest courtier look away. He dressed in silks of midnight blue and silver thread, and walked with the easy grace of one who had never known want. On the morrow he would marry his princess, a maiden of gentle beauty and virtue. She was young, wide-eyed, and polite to a fault, her fine dark hair braided with pearls, her skin pale and soft as cream; her breasts were small, but beautifully shaped, pert beneath the delicate lace of her gowns, and she carried herself with the quiet grace of one untouched by the world’s coarser pleasures.

The kingdom rejoiced at the match. Banners flew from every tower, minstrels played in every square, and the scent of roasting meats and honeyed cakes wafted on the warm summer breeze. Yet the King, ever thoughtful of his son’s happiness, had arranged one final, secret gift for the wedding night.

In the deepest chambers of the royal tower, the court wizard – an ancient, stooped man with eyes like polished jet – had worked his most delicate spell. The gift was a bed: four tall posts of polished oak, draped in white linen embroidered with golden threads that caught the candlelight like stars. To all outward appearance it was an ordinary royal bed, grand and inviting. But the moment any living soul lay fully upon its mattress, an enchantment would awaken: a warm, irresistible tide of pleasure would rise within them, teasing every nerve, swelling every secret place, until orgasm followed orgasm in sweet, relentless waves; the delight would build and build, never quite sating, never quite exhausting, until the first rays of dawn crept through the curtains, at which time the spell would at last release its hold.