IT HAD BEEN A WEEK since Marsil's first breakfast with the Royal family. A family which he was now part of. He'd spent the days alone, exploring the castle while trying not to engage in more than a few words with the princess, Esabel. He was quickly learning that his attraction to her ran deeper than still waters. Luckily, the Ivory Castle in all its beauty entranced him away from her appealing form.
The Ivory Castle was a stately fortress of stunning architectural beauty to the center-west of Calipsos. Designed by the first guildsmen of the Seer Clave, the castle had walls of polished white stone but stronger than iron. When the sun was high at noon, the walls seemed to glow which gave the fortress it's name as the 'Ivory Castle.'
Since it was the Royal courts of the Summerlands and Keep of the royal family, the fortifications of the castle were rigid. The castle guards were trained intensively in the defence of its walls. Should an army break through the gates of Calipsos, a ready infantry of Blue Cloaks awaited them at the Ivory Castle.
The flag of the royal crest: an eagle with golden eyes, rested on the spire of the highest castle tower. It always billowed with the wind and was sometimes obscured by passing clouds. The tower was that high, and it was only rivalled in stone beauty by the Temple of the Graces, yet another wonder of Syveria.
The Ivory Castle was a mini-city in itself, built on sprawling grounds that covered hundreds of acres. It had the royal residence, the bathing pools, the dining halls, the royal ball room, the chambers for the castle servants, and the Crown's stables, all within its walls.
The high rise of the Ivory Castle, the Seer Towers, and the Temple of the Graces gave the summerlands a marvelous skyline that could be seen across the Emerald sea, all the way to the Isles of Mithos.
Marsil stood in one of the North wing chambers, spellbound in his surroundings. He looked on the massive room that had been given to him as his bedchamber. He couldn't actually believe he was now a Ward of the Crown and now had domicile in the famed Ivory Castle.
The room was larger than a pub, with finely spun red carpets interwoven with a golden threadwork. To the right corner was a large bed with space wide enough for half a dozen people. It was made with plush white covers that were soft as a dove's feathers. The entire room smelled like rosewood and clovers.
He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes, moving across the warm floors to explore.
There was a seating area at the furthest corner of the bedroom with a miniature library area attached to it. The reading desk was made of burnished pinewood, and risen before it were two shelves filled with books ranging from political history to darkest sorcery.
As Marsil stared at the books arrayed in musty paper, his eighteen years of life chained underground in Old man Geralt's cellar seemed a nightmare. A nightmare he didn't want to remember. But now with his father the King, he never starved.
Blood was delivered to him in a leather purse by one of Arlon's most trusted Kingsguards. It was not the pig's blood Geralt had sparingly given him. It was the rich blood of lambs, horses and cattle. With every slaughter for the royal family's dinner, the blood was drained off the animals into basins where they were hurriedly stored before the sanguine could curdle. The blood revived him in unimaginable ways and his veins felt like streaks of lightning under his skin.
Marsil continued exploring his new room to a closeted area a short distance away from the bed. He pulled open the smaller mahogany doors and the first thing to hit him was his full image.
The full length of himself reflected in a large oval mirror. His colorless eyes pierced back at him from the sparkling mirror surface.
Marsil lifted his hands to the bindings of his silver tunic and loosened them. His dark pants fell next. Then he stood straighter, utterly naked in front of the mirror. His skin was pale and slightly radiant. Coupled with his moon eyes, he looked like a spirit lost in transcendence. Like a mix between god and man.
Like a Faerie...
Staring at his snowy skin, his striking pale eyes, and bleached blonde hair, Marsil knew exactly why the people feared him. He looked like one of the Faerie Princes; a race of immortals believed to exist only in Legends. Ancients that could command the very elements of creation and transform their glowing bodies to the greatest beasts of all time.
The Lightning Dragons...
At the moment of his naked perusal, he discovered a pattern like silver scales running down the length of his body. He peered closer at the mirror but then it was just gone. Seeping back under his skin, like a demon hiding in the shadows and waiting to be revealed.
Marsil knew he was powerful.
Gryther, the sorcerer who'd saved his life at the arena confirmed it. He could now stroll around without hurt in the sun thanks to the wizard. The man had told him he was a descendant of the most powerful of magical bloodlines. The sorcerer had helped him defeat Vandal the Titan. It was only after the Death Games ended that Marsil knew that Gryther was the Wytcher from the posters hanging all over the city. The very Wytcher his uncle, Lord Commander Latchlon hoped to capture.
Marsil never told the man he saw Gryther. The reason being the fact that the sorcerer was the only person in the summerlands he had seen with eyes colorless as his. A man of magicks like him. While he didn't know for sure if Gryther drank blood, he knew the Wytcher had some answers.
Answers about who he really was...
A light knock sounded on the door, interrupting his train of thought. Marsil was reaching for a loose black garb to cover himself when the door swung open. He looked up and his eyes met with Esabel in the mirror. Even though he was still naked, she made no move to cover her eyes.
Their gaze held in the mirror for a moment. He became aware of the blood rush downwards and quickly put on the garment. He grabbed the ties, cinching it on his narrow waist. Their spell was broken and Esabel lowered her eyes too.
She had seen his face... His real face without the silver mask.
"What do you want?" Marsil growled. Esabel showed no retreat at his paleness or fright at his unnatural eye color. She seemed rather at ease with him. Too much at ease.
"I brought you some new vestments. They just arrived from the spinners house," she said.
Marsil gazed down at her hands and saw a neatly-folded pile of clothes. She walked to the bed and gently lowered it to the sheets.
"Next time when you knock, wait for me to call you in," he growled again. He noticed he was being brash but he didn't care.
He MADE sure not to care. 'Caring' could be dangerous. He waited for her to leave but she didn't. Rather, she began to walk slowly to him.
Marsil felt the bulge below grow bigger with every step she took in his direction. She stopped directly behind him. His height towered over her but her blue eyes levelled on his in the mirror.
"I don't judge you brother," she said. "Moon eyes or not, you are the most beautiful person I've ever seen..." After a while she added with a chuckle. "...and I've seen my father... Our father," she added again.
Her gaze dipped low and Marsil knew the exact moment she detected his cock. Her cheeks turned bright rose. He turned bigger before her eyes and she went redder. When her eyes lifted back to him, they were darker. Fiercer. And shiny with excitement.
Marsil knew he was a moment away from bending her over the reading table by the corner. It was the mere clenching of his fists that prevented him from doing so.
Esabel caught the struggle in his eyes. He was holding back his lust for her. She knew she should leave but rather than do that, she leaned closer to him until she was sure he could feel her breasts.
The peaks of her nipples brushed against his arms and Marsil clenched his fists harder by his side. Esabel lifted up, whispering low in his ears.
"Feel how hot I am for you, brother. I know you're also hard for me. Just a taste..." She trailed off when Marsil abruptly moved away.
He made no move to hide his raging erection as he walked to the wide windows. The curtains billowed and he stared out. The summer breeze cooled his blood a little and he said without turning to her.
"Leave, Esabel."
His desire for her aside, she was still his sister, and he was meant to protect her not fuck her. Arlon had accepted him into his family. Into his home, and Marsil could not bear to hurt him. Arlon had pride in him and no matter how tempting his drive was to Esabel, he loved the pride he saw in his father's eyes too much to break his code of honor.
When Esabel made no move to leave, he hardened his voice and thundered to her.
"LEAVE!"
She blinked rapidly at his tone and frowned as she walked out. Once he was certain of her retreating steps down the hallway, Marsil turned back to the room and released a heavy breath. He blood was roaring and he was risen large. For Esabel. Her sultry words floated in his mind.
JUST A TASTE...
He knew that there was only one thing that could remove the tantalizing scent of her skin from his thoughts.
Training.
Without another second wasted, he moved to the closet and picked out a flexible silver mail. Within seconds, he was clad and ready, marching out to the sparring grounds.