MARSIL'S VICTORY OVER THE TITAN was celebrated by not only the entire populace of Calipsos, but the foreign visitors as well. The King was so happy he organized a banquet in his honor.
The walls of the Ivory Castle rang with varying tales of Marsil's exploits. Some of them, highly exaggerated. The Lords said he'd bested Vandal with his mere teeth. The Ladies gossiped he'd torn the man apart from the limbs. All this considered, Marsil had become a legend in the space of a fortnight.
The castle halls were robed in grandeur and the banquet chamber was decorated in red veils. The King's feast was unlike any other. Kingsguards stood statuesque all over the place and the invitees flocked towards the celebration.
In the silent room of a dressing chamber stood Arlon the king, with his hero of a son, Marsil. Flickering candles dotted the room's area and cast shadows about the room.
"Are you ready, son?" Arlon said to Marsil.
They stood together in front of a large mirror. Arlon admired Marsil's tunic. He had specifically chosen it for the occasion. It was a dark high-collared cape that moulded his lean muscles. Swirls of silver threadwork spun around the material, making it glow in the candlelight. Underneath the robe, Marsil had on tight-fitting pants and obsidian-black boots.
Arlon noted that his son was a handsome man. The women would swoon at his arrival; if not from his valor upon the sands, then from the sheer beauty of his person. Marsil was slightly taller than Arlon and his silver hair had been brushed back to a sleek perfection. The strands looked glossy with bath oil and glinted the palest blonde in candlelight.
"Son?" Arlon asked again.
Marsil blinked once, then turned around from the mirror to face his father. His colorless eyes pierced Arlon as he replied.
"Yes, father."
Arlon smiled at his godly handsomeness and lifted his right hand to deliver a pat on his shoulders. His boy was a man now. That was why he'd arranged the feast. The banquet was quite different from the royal balls, and Marsil would be surprised once they reached the courts.
Arlon moved swiftly across the room for a small bedded stool by the corner. On the soft cushion lay a mask. Arlon grabbed it and walked back to Marsil. He stretched out the mask to him. When Marsil narrowed his eyes, he opened his mouth to explain.
"We still have to hide you, my son. Many in the kingdom are not quite acceptable of vampires..." Marsil gazed down at his father's hands. The mask was a shined silver craft. It was beautiful, and Marsil could tell it had been smelted from the remnants of his broken helmet. He slowly stretched out his hand and collected it.
"... besides," Arlon continued. "I'm sure the ladies will take delight in your continued mystery."
Marsil smiled at his father's words. It was true. The crowd had been wild earlier, chanting his name until the arena rang. The word 'Silverheel' filled the coves of every pub and the beds of every whorehouse. The women had openly pulled away their garments to reveal different shades of feminine skin. Marsil had been locked away all his life and didn't know how to react to the cream sway of their tits. He'd just stood there at the centre of the sands, baffled at the wanton sight. They'd offered him their breasts like flames to a god.
Arlon's squinty blue eyes pulled him out of his reverie and Marsil lifted the mask to his face. The craft was a perfect fit. It was metal but doused with white metal which made it so light it almost went unnoticed. It covered only the front half of his face, and since it perfectly framed his face, no strap was added to bind it to his head behind.
Marsil turned back to the mirror and met with a young man he couldn't recognize. Just a moon ago, he had been starving to an inch of his life in an old man's cellar, but here he was, robed as a Prince in the finest black vestments with silver adornments. The surface of the mask was as smooth as a babe's behind and it gleamed whenever it caught on candlelight.
His pale eyes glowed from the twin hollows of the mask. As he stood in front of the mirror, Arlon noted his son was the perfect description of male beauty. Marsil wasn't lax or bent. He was beautiful as a Faerie, which made Arlon think that he might actually be.
The silver mask hid out his pale features and rose-pink lips. Anyone staring would only see dark hollows but nothing of the colorless orbs within. His silver mask and black robes were the perfect attire. Marsil was now a Prince.
A Dark beautiful Prince.
Arlon was still contemplating these thoughts when Marsil turned around.
"Thank you, father," he said, his voice deep but calming.
Arlon nodded and smiled at him.
"Shall we, my Prince," he played.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Marsil played in return.
The two men walked out with smiles and Arlon almost couldn't believe that Marsil wasn't his real son. It was as they walked across the high archways to the Banquet hall that Marsil asked the question bothering him.
"Father?" he said and Arlon turned to him.
They had reached the huge doors of the hall and two burly Kingsguards stood before them. Arlon stopped before the doors.
"What is it, Marsil?"
"Is this really a banquet or something else?"
Arlon smiled then. Marsil was as witty as he was skilled.
"No," he replied. "It's something more but also a surprise."
Marsil nodded and they both turned back to the huge doors. The guards left their positions and pushed the doors in. The woods slid in with only a slight creak and Arlon walked in, Marsil following behind. He turned to lock the doors but the guards had already shut it tight, moving to block the entrance once more. When Marsil turned around to gaze into this new hall, his eyes almost popped out of the mask.
Yes, it was a banquet, but like Arlon had said; it was also something more. Billowy red drapes hung from the archs above and the candlelight washing over the hall was willowy, sensual even. Like the depiction of a bride's room on her wedding night. The unmistakable fragrance of blossoms hung in the air but what really had Marsil uptight was the women all around them.
No wonder the guards were so rigid with the security of this place, he mused.
The women were barely dressed. Loose gowns clung in various enticing places. Their smiles were full of sin and could draw a man's eyes. Their blouses hung low, revealing the ampleness just underneath. Marsil could detect the shape of their breasts. He saw a particular woman with her legs spread wide. Her gown covered in between but he could clearly see...
Everything...
Marsil immediately pulled his eyes away. Arlon smiled beside him.
"Watch as the women eat you up," he said. It was true. The women's eyes were all over his tall, dark mystery as he walked with Arlon across the room. Many eyes clung low, right on his groin, and a few even licked their lips.
"But father," Marsil began, "Aren't these women Ladies of Great Houses?"
"Yes, they are," Arlon replied. He then inclined his head to a corner of the room. Marsil followed his eyes and this time, he was visibly stunned.
There were their husbands. The great Lords of Syveria. They were sprawled in groups, sitted on the plump cushions placed over the room as they tumbled in laughter and drank ale straight from the goblets. A few of them had no shirts on and shapely women with no blouse whatsoever served them more ale. The serving girls walked about with their tits on full display, perky with rosy nipples. Marsil would have gawped but for the mask over his face. Some of the men sat with their wives in their laps, laughing as they drank more and engaged in small talk.
These were the men and women who held name in the summerlands. They were the ones trusted by the king and only few had been allowed into the very bizzare banqueting.
Marsil was jarred back to reality when a tingling sound filled his ears. He turned and beside him Arlon held a small fork, tapping it against a silver chalice of wine. When had they served him? Marsil wondered.
The men and women in the room fell silent and their eyes turned to the king.
"Lords and Ladies!" Arlon began. "The young man beside me needs no introduction for he proved himself a champion in the arena..." Arlon paused awhile for dramatic effect. "...I GIVE YOU SILVERHEEL!"
At his words, all the men and women stood their feet, howling and clapping. Their eyes were misty and full of devilry.
"Get him some ale," a Lord roared by some corner and everyone burst into more laughter. Marsil smiled then but it was hidden in his mask.
His smile faded when he felt a small presence beside him. He looked down and nearly fell over. A young girl not much older than him stood before him. She had a tray with cups of wine in her hands but that was not what had his attention.
What held his gaze was much lower...
Her breasts were uncovered. He could see her entire chest, from the swell to the rosy buds. She smirked at his eyes and he knew he was staring.
"My Lord?" she said. "Ale for you."
Marsil quickly picked up a cup and he noticed she turned pink at his stare. The girl was pretty. So were the others strolling around in only skirts that hid nothing underneath. Their tits were out and the skirts were transparent. Marsil already saw everything, and even he had to admit, he felt a stir low on his groin.
He had never in his life been with a woman—being chained underground, but here he was in a single evening, with various kinds of nudity on display. He saw women with shapely bodies, breasts that begged to be touched. Then there were also the younger ones with svelte figures and playful eyes; all staring at him.
Marsil quickly pushed his mask to the side so that only his mouth was revealed. He then downed the ale. The wine was burning in his throat as it flowed down and it cleared his head a little. When he turned, Arlon was gone. He spotted him sitted on a bedding with a beautiful woman in some corner. She had lovely green eyes and he knew she was the Queen. Her three children were absent however. They hadn't yet grown to witness such occasion.
She smiled when a half-naked serving girl handed over a fruit bowl. Arlon picked up some grapes and was munching on them when a soft sound began in the background.
Marsil moved a small distance away to a shadowed corner and listened to the music. Another serving girl walked over, blushing furiously as he picked another cup. He was lifting it up to his lips when he spotted a group of girls clear out from an adjoining room to the center of the hall. The tables of banquet were arranged in a circle so there was ample space left in the centre.
Marsil's hand remained halfway to his lips as the girls stopped in the very centre of the room. The Lords lifted their eyes from their playing cards and the Ladies shifted in their laps. Marsil counted the women to be seven, all wearing white slips that left little to be imagined. The girls spread out and slowly began to sway their hips to the music. They danced around each other, their bodies caressing each other seductively.
Marsil downed his second cup.
His gaze moved briefly to one of the tables and he spied a Lord with his hand deep between his Lady's thighs. Staring at the man's excited eyes, Marsil got it all.
The dancing women were there to arouse the Lords and Ladies.
It was clear in their shinning eyes that it was working. The dancing girls lifted their hands to the tiny straps of their shift. Then they let the gowns fall.
Marsil heard a loud intake of breath from his right and turned. The Lord's fingers had disappeared under his lady's skirt, and it was moving. Marsil had never seen such erotic sight in his life. It was openly sexual.
The dancing girls lowered to a plush red mat in the centre of the room. The music increased in tempo and their bodies began to gyrate over each other. Then out of nowhere came three naked, ripped men. Their skin glistened gold and bronze as they walked across the chamber. They glided unabashedly to the group of girls and lowered also to the mat.
Marsil heard another moan from beside him. The man had fisted his woman's skirt and his plunging fingers clearly shown snug in her sex. Marsil longed for another cup of ale.
The new men began to dance with the girls. The girls spread out to each man. Some in two's. Some in three's. The men's garments also fell away and from there, it was pure passion.
Marsil watched with shocked eyes as one of the girls grabbed a man, right over his shaft. She angled him to her and slowly slid down on him. Soon, the sounds of their heavy breathing mixed with the soft music and the warm candlelight caressed their slick, tangling bodies.
When Marsil turned to look at the Lord and his wife, she was sprawled on all fours at the table's edge while he pounded into her from behind. They weren't embarassed in the slightest, for no one was watching. Everyone was locked in their own sultry tangle.
Marsil noticed he was aroused, painfully so. He pulled his eyes away from the exerting couple, past the dancing girls whose dance had changed into something else. This was not some ordinary banquet. His gaze moved until it rested on his father.
Arlon sat on a plush velvet cushion with scarlet sheets. He had a bowl of relish grapes in his hands and he wore a wide smile. His eyes were pinned on the orgy going on before him. His grin stretched wider with every echoed moan and deep groan. Marsil could tell his father was proud as he smiled down with mischief at the sex-fest going on around him.
The Queen however was nowhere to be found.