The bronze-armored soldiers led Elaraion not through the grand, public entrance of the royal palace, but through a hidden, shadowed archway at the rear.
The air grew immediately warmer, perfumed with exotic incense and the faint scent of polished wood.
They ascended winding stairs, their bootfalls muffled by thick tapestries, then navigated a labyrinth of hushed corridors, bypassing bustling servant quarters and echoing antechambers.
It felt as if he were being drawn deeper into the palace's secret heart, a place of power and hidden desires.
Finally, they stopped before a set of carved oak doors, guarded by two more bronze soldiers, their faces impassive. One of the guards knocked twice, a soft, resonant sound. A moment later, a voice came within… "Bring him in and leave."
The doors swung inward, revealing not a public hall, but a chamber awash in soft, lamplit warmth. The air here was heavy with the scent of rose petals and something intensely feminine.
The soldiers gave him a slight push, ushering him into the room. The doors closed silently behind him.
He stood alone in the center of the vast chamber. His eyes swept across the opulence: silken hangings the color of a twilight sky, a massive four-poster bed draped in fine lace, chests of polished dark wood, and a large, sunken bath carved from gleaming marble.
It was a world away from the dusty streets and the grim brothel, yet the memory of the latter's raw sensuality still hummed beneath his skin.
A rustle. From behind a shimmering silk screen at the far end of the room, a figure emerged. It was Princess Isolde.
She stepped out, slowly, deliberately, utterly naked. Her fiery red hair, unbound, cascaded past her shoulders, a vibrant contrast to the porcelain-white of her skin.
Her figure was slender, yet exquisitely curved; her hips flared gently, leading down to long, elegant legs. Her breasts were perfectly formed, full and round, their nipples a delicate rosebud pink, hardened and jutting forward slightly in the cool air of the chamber.
And between her thighs, a lush, soft patch of reddish-gold hair nestled, a tantalizing halo around the plump, inviting labia of her vagina.
She walked towards him, her emerald eyes, usually so sharp and defiant, now softened with a profound tenderness, tinged with an unexpected sorrow. She looked him over, from his head, down to his travel-stained clothes.
"My poor, Elaraion," she whispered, her voice a melodic balm, full of an aching pity. "To be so gifted, yet to suffer such ignominy. To lose the race, and be given that wretched crown of shame… it pains my heart to see thee thus."
Elaraion stared, his breath caught in his throat. As Andreas, he had never once been looked at with pity, let alone desire, by a woman. He had been invisible, scorned. Now, this vision of beauty, a princess, was not only pitying his disgrace but gazing at him with an intensity that promised more.
Every part of him, from his suddenly pounding heart to the furious throbbing in his loins, screamed. His blood rushed, hot and dizzying. The sight of her unveiled flesh, the inviting darkness of her hairy pussy, the ripe fullness of her breasts – it was all overwhelmingly, intoxicatingly erotic. He felt a deep, animalistic urge to shed his clothes, to close the distance between them, to finally know the touch of a woman in such intimate depths.
His virginity, as both Andreas and Elaraion, was a heavy cloak, and the desire to cast it off, to be consumed by her, was almost unbearable. He felt as if he had been struck again by his golden arrow, his lust unleashed upon himself.
She closed the final distance between them, her steps light and graceful. Her hand, cool and soft, reached out and gently placed itself on his chest, right over his pounding heart.
The touch sent a jolt through him, a searing sensation that stole his breath. Her fingers trailed lower, tracing a path down his stomach, past his waistband, until they found his already-erect cock, still straining against his breeches. Her touch was firm yet exquisitely gentle as she cupped him, her fingers wrapping around his length.
A shudder ran through him. He moaned, a soft, involuntary sound. Her gaze, warm and adoring, met his. "My sweet Elaraion," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "Do you wish to taste me? To claim me as your own?"
He could only nod, mute with overwhelming sensation.
"Then know this, my love," she breathed, her lips brushing his. "For you, my heart, I would do anything. Anything you desire."
Then her lips were on his, soft, yielding, tasting of rose petals and something wild, primal. He gave in completely, drowning in the kiss, his arms wrapping around her bare waist, pulling her closer until her soft, naked flesh was pressed against his clothes.
He felt the soft give of her belly, the firmness of her hips against his, the surprising brush of her pubic hair against his thighs. His hand slid down her back, cupping the round, firm curve of her ass, pulling her even tighter against him, grinding his hardening dick against her soft pubic mound.