A Tale of Fur and Flesh (11 page)

“Please,” Lally whined.  “Wash my nether regions.  I
want them perfectly clean when you enter my cavern.”

“Are you sure?” the king asked, hugging her around
the waist.  “I would be no gentleman if I made no attempt to protect your
honour.”

Sliding against his body, she handed Aelwyn the
soap.  “My honour is not yours to protect, good king.  I wish to make love with
you.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “I
will do as you wish, princess.”

Why had he addressed her thus?
  Lally whipped around to face the king,
but in a whirlwind of lust, they somehow started kissing before she could ask.
His tongue undulated slowly while hers fought against it in violent thrashes. 
In Aelwyn’s hand, the smoothness of the fine soap caressed her lower lips. 
Lally wondered how much filth would be washed away.

Aelwyn released the soap and it popped up in front of
Allerleirauh.  His fingers swam in the waters of her cunt, teasing and
pleasuring, releasing bursts of tingling warmth throughout her lower body. 
Held aloft by her buoyancy and the king’s hands, she turned and wrapped her
legs around Aelwyn’s waist.  Coiling her arms around his shoulders, she kissed
his neck and sent her tongue travelling around his ear.  The king released a
deep growl, like a lion or a tiger.

Lally’s intense longing guided his entry. Leaning
back, she grasped his shoulders as she set her feet against the side of the
tub.  She controlled the in-and-out motion until Aelwyn pulled her up for
another kiss.  He kissed her like a man who might never kiss again:
Desperately, and with a hint of sorrow.

“Put me down,” she instructed, barely able to tear
herself from his devouring tongue.

“I knew you would have regrets,” he said.  “I’m sorry
if I pressured you…”

“Regrets?” Lally interrupted with a chuckle.  “I have
none.  I only wanted to change our poses.”  Gripping the sides of the tub, she
aimed her posterior at the king. “This has always been my favourite way to
fuck,” she said, hoping to shock him with her use of such un-ladylike language.

When Aelwyn did not enter her from behind, Lally
turned to see the king climbing out of the tub.  “King Aelwyn,” she said in
confusion.  “Where are you going?”

The king made no response.  Climbing onto his bed, he
closed the velvet drapes behind him.

“Aelwyn?” Lally called, hopping out of the tub and
down the stairs.

“You have insulted me,” he confessed.  “I thought we
were
making love
.”

As Lally’s wet hair dripped onto the marble floor,
her poor heart drowned in sorrow. “Forgive me,” she pleaded.  “I intended no
affront.”

Drawing open the velvet curtains, the king summoned
Allerleirauh inside.  Lying on the bed, he folded the dripping wet girl in his
protective arms.  “You might think it an over-reaction, but that word offends
me deeply.”

“I apologize.  The term is commonly used in…” Lally
cut her statement short.  She was about to say ‘in the South.’  To distract
him, she kissed his lips.  Raising her polished hand to his stubbly cheek,
Lally breathed in the clean scent of man.  The texture of his short hair was
unlike anything she had touched.  As her tongue wove with his, the fluidity of
their love coursed through her veins.

“Will you let me make love to you?” she asked,
rolling Aelwyn onto his back.

His fingers brushed Lally’s sides.  He smiled,
gleaming with affection.  “Please.”

Her golden hair drenched his shoulders.  Softly,
softly, her lips brushed his.  Softer still, her grasp met his cock.  Sliding
down against his body, she led the straining muscle into her cunt.  Lally felt
clean and fresh as a day lily, even as she writhed on him.  As she glided
against the king’s strong form, her nipples grazed his chest.  Aelwyn cupped
her bottom in his hands, helping the motion.  When those strong hands grasped
her waist, Lally began to tingle.  She dug her clean nails into Aelwyn’s
shoulders as he pushed her hips down.  Her hungry cunt devoured his cock in its
entirety.  She was full of him.

The king pushed and pulled on Lally’s hips until the
motion was entirely his.  A warmth rose from his body, drying her skin but
igniting her passion. The coarse black hair surrounding Aelwyn’s sex rubbed
against Lally, heightening her enjoyment. The tender lips of her cunt were
heated and aroused by the friction.

Falling forward, she sent an impassioned tongue to
ravage his mouth. Every thrust made her cunt throb with pleasure, inside and
out.  Lally couldn’t contain herself any longer.  She panted and moaned. 
Though her thighs were weak and straining, she threw herself against Aelwyn
again and again.  How could she stop now, when she teetered on the brink of
pure ecstasy?  The pleasure coursing through her veins came screaming from her
lips. “I can manage no more,” she said.  Her legs weak with thrusting, Lally
fell from her man.

“I can continue,” the king offered, rolling Lally
onto her front.  Like a shooting star, Aelwyn’s cock scorched through her
convulsive cunt.  He was everywhere at once, his pelvis driving swiftly against
her buttocks, fingers caressing her lower lips.  As Aelwyn panted and growled, Allerleirauh
breathed deeply of bed linens.  The scent of the king made her dizzy with tender
affection.

His strong arms grasped her in a deadlock.  “Kiss
me!” he pleaded.  She turned her head.  His tongue was frenzied and hard.  As
the motion in her cunt quickened, his growl became a whine.  His hips thrust
and ploughed and then came to a halt.  His tongue ceased its thrashing as
well.  A mutual sigh bonded them.  Entangled as they were, they hadn’t the
energy to move. Lally closed her eyes.  Summoning every ounce of will, she
said, “I have never made love in a bed.”

Chapter Eleven

What time of day was it?
  Impossible to say, cloaked as they were
in velvet curtains.  It was colder now.  The fire must have died down. 
Squinting, Lally barely made out the face of the man lying beside her.  Her
heart raced. 
Who was he?
  She was trapped in the prison of his arms and
his legs.  Then, as light filtered in through the curtain seams, she saw the
king’s loveliness. Like a child, he slept in peace.

Together, they had made love.  She now knew the
meaning of that term, and why the other had offended the king. She fucked
shepherds and villagers, the enchanted creatures of the woods, but not the
king. He loved her.  She loved him.  People in love
made
love.

But how could King
Aelwyn truly love her?  Her identity was the one part of herself she had held
back.  He could never know.  He loved her as Allerleirauh, the sober Northern
maid.  Even in the Northern Kingdom, they heard rumours of Lally’s escapades. 
What man could love her despite the raging whore she had once been?  All of
Wolf’s accusations and taunts had been right.  Lally would never be the great
leader her mother was.  She was doomed to a life below ground.  She would no
doubt die in the squalor of the palace kitchen.

Her eyes burned with suppressed tears as she
untangled herself from the king’s limbs.  When he stirred, she stopped in her
tracks.  He rolled over and fell into sleep.  Her heart barely dared to beat
for fear of the noise it would make.  Lally crept over to her dress.  Last
night it sparkled like diamonds.  This morning the gown seemed dull as a winter
sky.  She pulled it on, fastening five or six buttons.  Snakeskin boots in
hand, she reached for the door handle.

Lally scampered down the main staircase.  Where was
the door to the kitchen stairs?  Down this hallway or that?  Why did every
corridor in this Palace look the same? 
There it was
.  Allerleirauh
stepped onto the dark landing, shutting the door behind her.  At last she could
breathe easily!  Home again, home again.

“So you’ve come back, then?”  Berthe was standing at
the bottom of the stairs, hands on hips, a dirty rag thrown over her shoulder. 
She did not look pleased.

Disheartened by Berthe’s unwelcoming stance,
Allerleirauh crept barefoot down the stairs.  “Please let me be.”

“Well, put your stinkin’ shoes back on your feet. 
What kind of a kitchen do you think I’m running here?”

Lally ignored the cook and headed straight for her
little cupboard.  When she opened the flimsy wooden door, she saw only what was
missing.  “Where is my mantle, Berthe?”

The cook kicked at the cinders.  “Get your shoes on. 
Look at all this work you’ve got to catch up on!  I can’t run this kitchen on
my own, you know.”

Clenching her jaw, Lally asked again, “What have you
done with my mantle?”

“I didn’t figure you’d need it anymore,” Berthe
shrugged.  “Gave it to the husband to sell.”

“Why would you do that?” Lally cried.  “Those pelts
were filthy.  That mantle was worth nothing to anyone but me.  And it was
mine!  I made it myself.  It was mine, Berthe!  It was the only thing in the
world that was mine alone and now you’ve taken it and it’s gone and…”

Her throat burned as tears overwhelming her
faculties.  Lally fell to her knees. She was too distraught even to chastise
Berthe.  Her chest heaved.  Sobbing convulsively on the floor, she mourned the
loss of the ugly pelts.  Could she make another one?  She would have to.  There
was no way Lally could survive in this world without her disguise.

“Hush, now,” Berthe consoled.  “Put your shoes on.
We’ll go outside and work on the garden plot.”

“No!” Lally shrieked.  She felt like a child, but she
didn’t care.  “I shall never leave this kitchen again, not without my mantle!”

Berthe sucked her teeth, fastening the loose buttons
on the princess’s gown.  “Now you’re just being silly.  You, the prettiest girl
we ever laid eyes on, think you’re not good enough for this world?  Take a good
look in the mirror, child.”

Lally could only respond to say, “I wish I were
plain!”

Chapter Twelve

After three days and nights in her cupboard,
Allerleirauh could no longer remember what she was crying about.  When she
emerged, listless and drained, Berthe dried her tears.  “How are we feeling, my
poppet?”

Lally shrugged her shoulders, biting down on her
chapped lips.  “You never even said you were sorry.”

“I would like to feel badly,” the cook began.  “But I
do think you’re best without that ratty old coat.  Some things happened in the
past you’re not proud of.  So what?  You’re more than your past, daft child. 
When’re you going to understand?  There’s no one on this earth who doesn’t
deserve a good life.”

Devoid of all feeling, Lally stood before the fire
like a living corpse.  “What shall I do today?” she asked.

“Why don’t you prepare that bread soup the king loves
so much?” Berthe suggested.  “Maybe take a bowl yourself, lift your spirits a
touch.”

Nothing in this world could lift Lally’s spirits. 
She would be unhappy forever.

When the soup was made, the reluctant princess went
to her cupboard as before.  She stared at the golden ring Offal had given her
the day she took flight.  Her mother’s ring, the last of her possessions, aside
from the gowns.  What use had she for gold?  Lally was destined to live out her
days in poverty.  Let the king have it.  Into her own bowl, she poured a
generous serving of soup.  Into the king’s bowl, she tossed the gold ring also.

Brazened by lack of sleep and malnourishment, Lally
placed the two bowls on a serving tray. She didn’t wait for Liam.  “Berthe, I’m
going upstairs.”

Berthe smiled, as if she knew something Lally did
not.  “You’ll find the king in the Great Room.”

Propelled by some unknown force, the princess
ascended the staircase.  Why was she doing this?  Why, when she feared being
seen by the world?  Why, when she wished to avoid King Aelwyn?  Her feet
carried her through the hallway as though she were riding on the wings of a
dove.  The motion came from somewhere outside herself.  It was strong,
impossible to fight.

Sunlight cascaded through the windows of the Great
Room, filling the space with warmth.  King Aelwyn sat alone with a
leather-bound volume.  It was not until she stepped into the room that she
realized she had not put her shoes back on.  Barefoot, she approached the good
king.
Her lover.

Suddenly, a
brilliant light astonished her.  Her gown—her mother’s gown—shone again like
diamonds.  Its beauty infused Lally’s body with confidence.  Her shoulders
straightened and her gait grew firm as she approached the king.

“Bread soup, my liege,” Lally proclaimed, setting the
bowls down.  One for Aelwyn, one for Allerleirauh.

As the king looked up, his eyes glistened with
emotion.  “You’ve returned…”

“Eat your soup,” Lally interrupted, seating herself
across from him.

In silence, the pair drank a spoonful of soup, and
then another.

“My name is Allerleirauh, but it was not always so.”

The king nodded.  “My precious Allerleirauh,” he
replied.  “You’re welcome to tell me anything.”