Prologue: The Changeling's Seduction

Chaun – Lor-Khev, The Magery of Thosi

The tavern watched me, enraptured by my song and skill. My fingers danced across my lyre, a far too fine instrument for the rough Maiden’s Cherry, while my words echoed through the common room. It was a bawdy song I played—the high epics of court would not go over well here, even with my skill. The men, mostly farmers and laborers, clapped while they enjoyed their pint and a fondle of one of the many buxom barmaids flouncing through.

Five years ago, I would have been playing in the refined court of Gruber, Prince of Kivnar. That was before my affair with the man’s wife had been uncovered. I had taken on Prince Gruber’s form when I visited his lusty wife—Adelaide savored the wicked delight of cuckolding her boorish husband with a changeling that looked just like him—when the Prince himself unexpectedly walked in.

All in court knew I was changeling. I made no secret of it when I arrived. They had welcomed me then—I was a graduate of the Bardic College of Az.

That welcome ended when the Prince witnessed me cumming in his gasping wife. Our love affair was doomed. I didn’t blame my sweet Adelaide for claiming ignorance. She would have faced death for cheating on the lord of the Princedom of Kivnar.

If it wasn’t for a bewitching song I had sung, drowsing Gruber, I would not have escaped.

For five years I had been a fugitive, wanted in every one of the Princedoms of Zeutch and blacklisted by the Bardic College. No great lord or royal court would hirer me. I was forced to parley my skills in any low establishment I could.

At least there was always a pretty wife for me to seduce and an oblivious husband for me to cuckold.

It was in my blood. I was a changeling. My race, spawned by Las’s seed, had an urge. I could look at a woman and, if she had been wedded beneath the god of marriage’s grace, I recognized it like a glow about her. An intoxicating glow. My body would instinctively know the form and manner of her husband. I would steal into her bed and take her, the woman never knowing it was not her husband who fucked her. She would be too thrilled at his sudden skill in bed.

If she conceived a child, a new changeling would be born.

My powers also worked on unmarried women. I could assume the form of their lover or just enjoy the woman in whatever appearance was convenient. I would enjoy myself greatly, but it lacked the thrill of cuckolding a man while wearing his own appearance.

We were not a popular race. I rarely appeared in my natural state—jet-black skin, silvery hair, violet eyes, a graceful body, pointed ears like an elf, and a face sculpted to the perfection of masculinity. A face that would make even the most prudish woman part her thighs. Persecution would find me if I wore my true appearance.

Today I wore the face of a Hazian, dusky and handsome, exotic enough for the barmaids at the Maiden’s Cherry to giggle and flutter their eyes at me. If a married woman didn’t enter, I would take one of or maybe two of the barmaids back to my room.

I missed my Adelaide, but I was a changeling. Even when my Adelaide and I proclaimed our love in her bed, I had other women I visited. But she was the woman. In five years, I had not met one that could rival my sweet Adelaide.

A touch of regret and loss entered my song. I corrected. If I made the crowd weep in their beer, Master Reisain would be most displeased.

My eyes swept the bar as I played and froze at the red-haired woman who entered the tavern. She was out of place, a noble lady slinking into the slums. Her cloak was a fine red fringed with gold, and her dress was its match, equally vibrant and showing off an impressive bosom that wanted to swallow my gaze.

The woman shone silver. Married.

My cock hardened. A lusty strain entered my voice as I watched her cross the room. She ordered wine, sipping the ruby drink from the nicest glass the tavern owned. The wine stained her lips red. I wanted to kiss them.

I knew who I would spend the night with.

I serenaded her with bawdy songs as she sipped her wine and watched, a smile playing on her lips as she shifted in her seat. My music worked on her, slowly building the lust inside of her. Color blossomed across her fair cheeks, matching the fire of her hair. She shifted as my music sank into her flesh, warming her, preparing her.

She was entranced by me. Her dark eyes never left mine as I played for hours, only pausing to sip my own wine. The form of her husband was locked in my mind. A strong man, tall and proud, with dark hair and eyes. He was muscled, but not from labor. He was a warrior. He carried himself with bold confidence, a man of action, a man accustomed to violence and taking what was his.

The woman stood when I finished play, clapping with everyone else. The crowds began drifting from the inn. And so did the woman. She payed for her wine and walked with the sway to her hip through the rough men. None grabbed her. She carried herself with confidence, giving hard stares at any man who came too close.

They all backed away.

The barmaids struggled to get my attention as I placed my finely wrought lyre into my case. I hefted it and crossed the room, trailing after the woman. I had marked her. I could follow her across the city. I could find her anywhere before sunrise.

Sunrise always broke a changeling’s spell.

Her path led to a finer inn, the Merchant’s Rest, more fitting for a woman of her station. She was on the third floor, my eyes flashing up to a large balcony. The inn’s finest room. She was nobly born. A traveling duchess or baroness. Was her husband with her?

No. She would not have frequented such a low establishment if he was.

There were times when nobly born ladies sought rougher men, hoping their brutishness would give them a thrill in the bedroom. If she hadn’t fallen into my spell, I was sure she would have brought some uncouth farmer back to her room only to have her fine breasts pawed by grubby hands.

Those breasts deserved better.

I ascended the stairs and reached her room. I took on the form of her husband. I reached into my pouch and pulled out my troubadour’s chest. It was magically enhanced by a Tuathan witch named Bebhinn. It swelled in size to a full clothing chest. I opened it and found an outfit fit for a lord. I dressed swiftly. Her husband was a tall man, one of the tallest I had ever mimicked. The strength of his flesh filled me. My hand itched for a sword. I dressed in the velvet doublet of a lord, an embroidered codpiece over tight hose.

With boldness, I threw open the door.

The woman was naked on her bed, her hand rubbing between her thighs. Her large breasts—each fat, dark-red nipple pierced by a gold ring—heaved as she pleasured herself. Her head had thrown back, her moans so sweet.

“Delilah,” I spoke, the name her husband would address her as rose from my thoughts.

The woman gasped, her eyes widening as she gazed on me. Hope and longing flashed through them. “My Lord?”

“I’ve missed you,” I said, speaking in her husband’s rich baritone, my accent similar to Secaren, like the woman’s, but different in subtle ways. “I couldn’t bear to be apart from you.”

She sat up as I moved closer, her hands reaching out for you. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I...” She swallowed. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

I let my eyes flow down her body. “And you ... You look as beautiful as the day I tamed you.”

I had no idea why I said those words. Sometimes they just came to me.

Delilah moaned and seized my neck. She pulled me down to her hot kiss. Her tongue thrust into me. My music had done their work. Her body was primed to explode. She needed release, so she didn’t question why her husband was here.

My tongue probed her mouth. She clung to me, her fingers tightening in my hair. Her pillowy tits pressed against me through the doublet. I let her pull me down atop her in the bed, her body lithe and squirming beneath me.

My hand cupped a breast. She moaned into the kiss as I kneaded her pliant flesh. My fingers moved up, brushing the tops of her nipples. Her husband had pierced this nipples when he tamed her.

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