THE MORNING WAS IN ITS SLOW RISE when Syveria's Queen awakened.
She lifted up the bed and moved across the bedchamber to the windows. A mildly cold air blew in, whispering over her skin as she pushed apart the drapes. She pulled her shift tighter over her chest and breathed it in.
Beyond, from the windows of the Castle tower, she could see the rise of the four towers of the Seers, the estates of the kingdom's Noblemen, and business streets of the merchants; all painted a dull silver by the gray sky above. The sun had not risen yet but it was early morning.
Lorraine moved away from the windows and the curtains fell back in place. She looked to the bed where she met the form of her sleeping husband, Arlon, the King of the Summerlands. She smiled at his calm features, his mushed-up golden hair and his set jaw. She loved Arlon. She had always loved him, but she didn't desire him.
Lorraine longed for the kind of desire she could see in his eyes when he came back from one of his trips to see his Mistress. Growing up, Lorraine only had a single parent; her father, Lord Trucan Manderley. Lord Trucan was her guide and her Knight.
Her mother had died early from some extended fever and Lorraine had never truly known love. After her mother's death, her father devoted all of his time to his young daughter. He got her the best tutors in the land, the less expensive ornaments from the merchants—they weren't proficiently wealthy like the other great Houses; and he was always, always there every night by her bed to regale her to tales of legendary warrior battles.
Lorraine was intrigued from a young age at these told stories. She would awaken in the dead of the night once she was sure her father was asleep, light a candle, and creep past the hallways to the house library. There she would sit down comfy in a pile of books and read about such heroic exploits. She was drawn to the strategy behind the winning armies; what was said and done in the war council meetings before the actual battle.
The diplomatic conferences...
The witty exchange of powerful words...
Everything that made the winning party win.
Although, Lorraine discovered that in the scripts she'd read, women were hardly ever portrayed. If they were however, it was limited to a few sorry pages. So she began to tumble the library.
She would wander the shadowed aisles in her simple white slip and little candle. She would skim through great books of valor, taking a hundred words or two, drowning in the great tales of adventure while looking for a woman warrior mentioned in its pages. She found none. It seemed the Bards only wrote about men.
She did however find a volume with detailed scripts of warrior princesses and spirited women of the past.
Lorraine had been overjoyed. She was elated to discover that there had been actual women who'd risen in an empire that seemed to be a typical man's world, and she buried her head through long night hours in it's pages. She had been a young girl full of fire to change the world.
She'd read and read until the Dawn broke forth. Then before her father awakened, she would creep back to her room, torch in hand and settle down under the sheets. Her mind would spin with the tales of the stories she'd just read until she finally closed her eyes in sleep.
Lord Trucan was no simple man and knew exactly what his daughter was up to but he loved her so. She was brilliant that way. Eloquent and preserved. A green-eyed epitome of beauty with wits for ages. Right from the day he had discovered a particular femininity volume missing from his library, he knew his dear daughter had taken it, and he quelled the Butler's attempt to search for the culprit. Trucan Manderley knew Lorraine was meant for great things, and the moment he saw her stand on the dais in the Throne room that golden day eighteen winters agone, he knew she would change the world. His daughter, the Queen.
Lorraine, from a very young age had excelled in the Seer arts: the works of the heavenly bodies, their orbits and constellations. She loved to read, she loved to discover, and she loved to invent. It was her favorite pastime, but she also wasn't one of the contraptions she made. She was human and had desires too. She had been locked in her head for too long and seeing Arlon stride in occasionally with that lavender fragrance and satiated smile made her want something of like nature. Only it was impossible to find in a kingdom such as hers.
The men were either too old, broken drunks, or the better ones—married. She would have taken one of the Kingsguards whose eyes never could leave her tits but she figured fucking a Blue Cloak wasn't wise. The men gossiped more than the whores of Calipsos.
Lorraine pulled her eyes away from the bed and the sleeping form of her fair husband. She walked the small distance to the dressing room and pulled out a yellow calico. The garment wrapped around her figure perfectly and she slipped into small flat shoes. She didn't bother with stockings for she knew she would only be a while. She had to somehow take her mind off it's sultry path and what better way to do that than to dissolve into her art.
Lorraine had a secret chamber on the south wing of the castle. It always locked and always heavily guarded. This chamber was her laboratory, where she spun metal into something more, something useful; a mechanized machine. She spent her first years as Queen shaping and sculpting, merging and pruning. She was an inventor. A creator of sorts.
If the Seers won't let her into the Towers, she had to figure out a way to do everything on her own. The secret castle chamber was her way.
Lorraine grabbed a candlestand from one of the many dotting the room. The candle sat upon a silvery metal stick and was shrouded by a glass vase that brought out more of its light, enhancing it and protecting the flame from winking out. It was one of her first inventions.
As she walked down the baroque archways of the fortress, she recalled how the Seers had preyed upon the craft. They feigned fascination at the work while carefully studying it. Soon enough, many of such glassed candlestands filled the kingdom as the Seers openly claimed they invented it. Lorraine did not in the least care about their plagiarism. She had much better inventions which were hidden in her secret loft.
The sky was brightening overhead to an orange and blue summer morn when she pulled up the last stone steps to the craftsroom. The Kingsguards by the door gave a silent bow, then once again went statuesque. Lorraine put the light close to the door and turned the latch. A grating sound filled the air as the rings and gears of the lock began to weave together. She smiled as a loud click sounded and the door rattled open. Only her knew the combination to her room.
Lorraine glanced over to the Kingsguards standing by the door and walked in. The doors shut smoothly behind her.
She moved around in the faint darkness, across the shadows of machines she knew by heart for she had made them all. She grabbed hold of a metal shaft, pulling it down.
Bright lights immediately flooded the room and her eyes narrowed at the brilliance. No one, not even Arlon knew of this particular creation. She had found a way to harness the energy of fire into thin glass bulbs. It remained spectacular even though she had seen the glow many times. Tiny little lamps shone from strategic points of the small room and she stood in the middle of it all. The creator of the wonderful little stars.
Her eyes slowly became accustomed to the light's rays and that was when she spotted a shadow hidden behind one of the larger pieces. It was undoubtedly a person. Lorraine wondered how this mysterious person entered into the place. The only other way into the loft was through the small window to the right. The chamber was high up the castle walls and would require a great climb. This unknown person had to be skilled to pull such an effort.
Lorraine moved silently to a wide table and gently lowered the candlestand to its surface. She moved again, as silently as she could, to a corner where she picked up a metal beam. She lifted it high above her head and crept across the room until she was just a few metres behind the shadow of the hiding person.
"I have detected you behind the machine. You know I have. Now do both of us a favor and just come out from there."
Lorraine's voice was admittedly shaky but who wouldn't be afraid. She waited a few silent moments with the sound of her heart thudding loudly in her ears. Nothing moved.
"I will only say this once again before I call in the officers by the door. Come out into the light!"
Lorraine heard a brief scuffle, then a stifled curse.
"Shit!" she heard the voice say and her hands almost lowered the beam. The voice was light, stirring and undoubtedly female. A woman had climbed the high walls and evaded the Kingsguards? Lorraine wanted more than ever to find out who the furtively skilled woman was.
When the shadow pulled out slowly from the behind the contraption, her arms lifted higher in the air, ready to bring down the beam at any sudden movement. When the figure fully cleared into the light, her green eyes widened so wide the lamps shone in them. She lowered her hands to her sides and the metal beam fell off her fingers, clanking down to the floors.
Lorraine recognized the person. The figure was certainly a woman. A beautiful woman, and she recognized her. How wouldn't she? Everyone who beheld would always remember such face. Such lovely skin and soft brown eyes...
Lorraine had often seen her in the castle halls, walking with such mannered poise and groomed posture, but only in a manner of passing. Her eyes had normally strayed down the woman's sensual figure but she hurriedly pushed down any encroaching lustful thoughts. Her object of desire must never be a woman. Yet here she was, plagued twice by sin.
The woman before her was Rebelle Cranmer, the Lady of the White Keep.
Lorraine was aware she was gawking a bit but she couldn't help it. Lady Cranmer was a stunning one. But she didn't look particularly ladylike at the moment, under the lights.
Her brown wealth of hair was braided to shiny twist that hung dark and full to her back as a single dreadlock. She wore no skirts or silk, rather she stood robed in black breeches and a tight-fitting tunic that settled snug into the waistband of the breeches, tucked in tight. Lorraine could see clearly the mould of her hips, the arousing curve of her ample breasts and the line of her calves wrapped tight in dark leather boots. Lorraine smiled at this.
Her attire was the perfect blending wear. No one would spot her that high on the walls. If they did, they would just think it was some crow. Lorraine was drawn to the woman's mind and ingenuity. A woman brilliant, beautiful and dangerous.
Thrice deadly.
The women must've stared at each other for moments before Lorraine came to and quickly cleared her throat.
"Lady Cranmer, it's you," she stammered and wondered at herself. She never stammered. She was always composed and prim but with the beauty before her... Her palms were suddenly sweaty and she rubbed them together.
Lorraine watched Rebelle walk to her and she felt slightly warm.
"Please, Your Grace. Call me Rebelle."
Lorraine played with the word in her mouth and it felt balmy against her lips. As she stared into Rebelle's eyes, she could feel what she longed to feel with men. That desire she sometimes saw in Arlon's eyes, she saw it now clearly through her own eyes. For a woman.
Rebelle went on her knees before her and Lorraine shivered on her feet. Why she did however, she did not want to contemplate.
Rebelle lifted up after a moment. Lorraine looked down at her hand and spotted the metal beam. Their eyes briefly met before she walked over and placed it on the table to the side.
Lorraine found herself following Rebelle's shapely figure as she moved across the room. Rebelle abruptly turned, right when her eyes were on her and Lorraine went bright pink. If Rebelle took notice of this, she didn't show it and Lorraine was grateful. She was never this bothered before.
Rebelle looked to the window and Lorraine followed her eyes. The dawn was up in the sky and they could see the emerging glow of a rising sun. Rebelle turned back to Lorraine.
"Your Grace, I must take my leave. I do however humbly ask that my presence here remain a secret."
Lorraine surprised herself by walking close to her.
"I also ask that you keep all you saw here a secret," Rebelle gave a small nod as she continued. "...and please, you needn't be so formal. Call me Lorraine."
"You are the Queen?"
"Yes, I am, but you are also well gifted," she gestured to her dark clothing. "Besides if I get to address you as Rebelle, I think it only befitting that you do so too."
Lorraine didn't notice that she had been moving closer with each step.
It wasn't until she finished her speech that she discovered she was so close she could breathe her in. She held her pretty gaze as a familiar scent drifted into her nose. She knew the fragrance. She was leaning in when Rebelle lowered her eyes. A blush rose up Lorraine's cheeks as she discovered she had been too close. She moved a few steps away.
"I'm sorry."
Rebelle lifted up her eyes at this.
"I must go," after a short while, she added, "...Thank you, Lorraine."
The Queen stood in awe as her loft's intruder glided with ease over the window. A rope eased her all the way back to the ground and she disappeared off into the amber sunrise.
Lorraine Manderley-Pierran was inherently aware of the tingling in her lower belly following her uncomfortable encounter with Lady Cranmer. She had never felt such way. It was like a fist low in her, and she felt the urge to use her fingers down there.
A slow smile spread her lips at this. Rebelle was beautiful but Lorraine's attraction to her was more than the physical view.
A woman who could ascend such a tower without breaking a sweat was no joke.
Suddenly, she felt the urge to see her again, to gaze into her bright eyes and study more of her figure. Rebelle was shaped like a goddess but her scent. Lorraine wondered at it. It was soothing and beautiful, just like the woman who bore it. When the explanation came rushing in, Lorraine paled in the chamber light and clutched the table for support.
Rebelle Cranmer was the one fucking her husband. The fragrance matched. She had admired her husband's mistress.
Queen Lorraine slid to the stone floors and closed her green eyes, inhaling deeply and willing her mind to forget all about Rebelle.
She couldn't.