DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of 100% FICTION and contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts between 2 consenting teenage boys. This story is based 100% off of my IMAGINATION and does NOT reflect the views of the celebrities mentioned. If this type of content offends you or if it is illegal for you to read this type of material, please don't.
What Happened to the Green Fairies?
Duchy of Upper Lorraine, France
Why Jacqueline had felt the urge to get up early the next morning just to see us off, I didn't know. But her mere presence annoyed me to no end.
I was by my horse, checking and rechecking my bow when she showed up, graciously wrapped up in a warm, fur rimmed cloak and a dress that made me fear that her cleavage would suddenly jump out and attack me.
She greeted me by pressing her lips against my freshly shaved cheek and I somehow managed to keep from making a face.
"Morning, Jacqueline," I muttered, keeping my focus on the bow as I testingly pulled the string taut and let it go.
"Shoot me un cerfe," she ordered with a white smile.
I had no desire to shoot her anything. At all. And without my permission my thoughts drifted back to the hare I'd shot months ago, which I'd ended up making into a meal for Brendon. If I'd shot him nothing but a hare, why should I shoot her a deer?
Without answering I swung myself into the saddle, giving her a small wave before I rode to Matt's side.
"Humour her," he muttered before shoving his heels into the sides of his horse, pushing it into a light trot.
I sighed, rolled my eyes and repeated his move.
Soon enough we entered the forests, a group of about twenty men, consisting of Matt and I, the duke, a few of his relatives, his thirteen-year-old illegitimate son, John, and some servants and soldiers. The forest seemed good enough. Harsh nature and terrain, very rocky and steep in its places, but it seemed like a good place for game.
The servants, who were on their feet, started going through the woods, making all sorts of noise to scare up the game and get it into range of our shots.
For seemingly the longest while we stayed in the group, not moving around a whole lot, and waiting for the game.
And soon enough it was getting boring.
I had my bow down again, testing it over and over. The twerp of the string finally got to a point where it satisfied me and I was back to being bored.
Finally somebody, presumably the duke, blew the hunting horn and the next second I spotted the game, running towards us at a quick pace.
I pushed my heels harshly into the sides of the horse, steering it with my knees as I reached behind my shoulder for an arrow, which I quickly positioned on the bow while I sought out an animal.
In the beginning I'd planned on just shooting some sick, poor beast simply because it was for her, but in the end my pride was getting the best of me and I sought out a magnificent stag, thundering after it as I drew the string taut, resting the arrow on my index finger. Slowly, I closed one eye and took aim a bit in front of the beast. Then I raised the bow and let go.
The arrow zoomed into the hind leg of the animal, slowing it down but not stopping it and I inwardly cursed at my inaccuracy.
I kept forcing my horse to run after the stag, though, and reached for another arrow, put it against the bow and repeated the tautening and aiming part as I manoeuvred around tree trunks with trained grace. Finally I let go of the arrow again and watched it fly through the air before finally boring into the chest of the beast.
Within seconds I'd reached the fallen stag and I quickly dropped off the horse, drew my hunting knife and cut the throat of the animal before, with bloodstained hands, reaching for my hunting horn and blowing it.
A few minutes later servants had gathered around me and were muttered impressed and appreciative words while they tied it onto a rod and prepared to carry it back to the castle.
"Je désire le bois du cerf," I told them quickly, admiring the impressive antlers.
"Naturellement," the one who looked to be in charge answered.
I smiled and nodded before getting back onto my horse.
Jacqueline might think the stag had been shot for her, but those antlers could be fashioned into a beautiful dagger hilt for someone else entirely.
Freshly out of the bath, I was sitting in the living potion of my quarters, wearing a relaxed, soft shirt and a pair of simple breeches, a piece of antler held tightly in my left hand while the right was holding my dagger, patiently working on dragging a shape out of the hesitant material.
I reached for the sandpaper next to me, starting to smoothen out the material to perfect softness. And frankly, I wouldn't settle for anything less than perfection with this.
The door opened, no knock or anything, and someone walked inside through the antechamber, quickly reaching the room I was in.
I suppressed a groan upon recognising Jacqueline.
She just couldn't keep to herself, could she?
"What iz it zat you're doing, George?" she asked curiously.
"Nothing," I answered with a sigh, dejectedly putting away antler and tools.
"Iz it for her?" she asked, a scowl suddenly on her pretty face while the pout came back into effect.
"You think I'd give a girl the hilt to a dagger?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She shrugged, deepening her pout as she slowly walked over and sat down next to me.
"Listen," I muttered insecurely. "I, er, I have to change before supper."
"Zat iz heures away," she said, her voice rising a few pitches.
"Then what is happening?" I asked, gesticulating with my arms. "You aren't supposed to be in here without a chaperone," I added, keeping the panic in my voice at a minimum.
She simply shrugged before leaning forward and pressing her lips against mine.
A part of me needed the closeness so badly after having been without Brendon for so long, spending every free moment yearning for him, but the thoughts of him mingled with the perpetual disgust I held for girls made me slowly push her away, shaking my head gently. "We can't do that," I muttered, Matt's advise of keeping it moral rather than disgusted coming back into my mind.
"Pourquoi?" she asked in a low whimper.
"Because things like that are to be saved for marriage," I answered simply, sending her a small glare.
"Iz zat to say zat you have never done zis before?" she asked, suddenly spitefully.
I rolled my eyes. "It's one thing for the man, but another for the woman. You know you have to stay pure until marriage. I wouldn't want to marry a girl who'd already been used," I muttered.
"Even if la seule personne to have ever touched me were you?" she asked, blinking her eyes coyly.
I suppressed a groan, resorted to shaking my head instead. "Even then," I answered. "You would place yourself in a position where you were nothing more but a scarlet woman to me."
She bit her lip lightly. "But right now I am even less zan zat, George," she argued. "You love her, you do not even care about me."
"I've never said that I loved her," I growled.
"You do not have to," she returned, a hurt look covering her features then. "I recognise l'amour when I see her."
I huffed and shook my head forcefully. "I don't wish to talk about it," I told her harshly.
"Zen let us not talk," she muttered, her voice suddenly husky and her eyes on fire as she suddenly changed from a seemingly innocent little girl into a skilled seductress. Her hand went to my crotch, grabbing onto me through the material of my breeches.
My breathing hitched in my throat. "Stop," I replied, my voice more of a whimper than anything and barely louder than a whisper.
"Pourquoi?" she asked again, staring up massaging motions.
"You can't do that!" I muttered, fighting to keep my strained voice from wavering.
"But I can," she whispered, kissing my lips again. "You do not need her, George. Teach me how, and I can do everything she does only so much better."
I finally reached out, took a hard hold of her wrist and yanked her hand away. "Jacqueline, I'm serious," I told her, making sure my eyes exaggerated my point.
Her lips tucked into the habitual pout before she got up and finally left my room, slamming all the doors behind her.
I leaned back, already slightly more at ease as I let out a relieved breath, grateful that the number of things her touch could do to me was limited.
After another few minutes I picked the antler back up and went back to work with it, making it take the wanted shape, making it smooth and soft before I started engraving the last two lines of Catullus' Song V. It just fit so well. With everything.
Jacqueline ignored me over supper, for which I must admit I was grateful. Perhaps I'd finally won the battle against her persistent nature?
As a result the grand dinner consisting of the venison from the game we'd shot went by rather peacefully and gave me all the more chance of missing Brendon's perpetual presence lingering in the corner of the room back home, gave me all the more time to worry for his safety back home. And made me, once again, loose my appetite completely.
Matt caught up with me in my chambers afterwards, sat me down to talk.
"Are you holding up?" he asked gently.
I nodded slowly.
He sighed. "Ryan, you need to eat," he told me.
I nodded again. "I know," I muttered.
Once again he apparently decided to be my older brother rather than my right hand man and gathered me into an embrace, letting me rest my tired head into his doublet. "He wouldn't want you wasting away without him, little brother. He's not that type."
I nodded. "I just can't help but worry," I muttered. "And I can't help but think that with every moment I spend here I'm giving her something that's rightfully his."
He sighed again, stroking my hair lightly. "It's only a few more days before we leave, Ry. You'll manage, I know you will." He held me out slightly to meet my eyes. "What you lack in bodily strength you have tenfold in your spirit."
I took a deep breath, nodded lightly and nestled my face back into his doublet. Right then I just didn't want to have to be strong at all, I just wanted to be in England, in my chamber in Cornwall, wrapped up in Brendon's arms and in the love I despised myself for being incapable of returning.
The mere fact that that just wasn't happening, though, drew tears to my eyes again and I blinked hastily, managing to keep them back.
"You can do this," Matt muttered again, giving me a small squeeze before he let me go.
"I can try," I whispered at the door he closed behind me. Then I stripped out of my clothes and went to bed early.
The next few days went by in a sort of daze.
I suppose you could say I withdrew from the world a bit, pulled into myself a bit more. My talk was limited to single word sentences, preferably single-syllable words too, and I spent most of the time caved up in the study or out practicing my archery skills.
Matt followed me, but apparently picked up on the fact that I wasn't in a talkative mood, so he left that be and comforted me the best he could through simply being around. He took me down to the castle smithy as well and helped me pick out a blade for the dagger.
It was a good one. Solid, hard steel. And it was fitted easily into the hilt I'd made.
I'd bought a sheath as well, beautiful but plain enough not to look too conspicuous on a servant.
Finally it was the last day.
And the most frightening of them all.
The betrothal ball.
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