"My love?" Isolde murmured, her voice still thick with desire, her fingers tracing the tense line of his jaw. "Why do you stiffen so? Is not our union enough to calm your spirit?" She lifted her head, her emerald eyes, still clouded by the golden arrow's potent magic, gazing at him with unwavering adoration. Her nakedness was an open invitation, her body still radiating the heat of their shared pleasure. "Come, my Elaraion. Let us have another stroke, and you shall forget all earthly worries." Her hand, warm and soft, drifted down his chest, caressing his belly, seeking the proof of his continued desire.
He shuddered, not from pleasure now, but from the urgent call of duty and danger. He had to resist, had to pull away from this intoxicating trap. "Isolde, my princess," he said, forcing his voice to be gentle, yet firm, "I… I have a matter of utmost urgency. A life-threatening issue calls me away. Something I cannot, for your safety, yet reveal in detail."
Her brow furrowed, the first flicker of confusion touching her features since the arrow had struck. She tried to pull him closer, her strong dancer's legs wrapping around his, her pussy, still slick and swollen from their encounter, pressing against his thigh. "A life-threatening issue? But my love, you are safe here, with me. Whatever troubles you, I, your future queen consort, shall face it with you. Tell me! I will command my knights to… to address it for you. You need not leave my side." Her voice was a fervent plea, laced with the unshakeable certainty of her devotion. She truly believed her love for him was paramount, her desire to serve him absolute.
He peeled her arms gently from around him, pushing himself up. The chill air hitting his still-sweaty skin was a shock, grounding him. "No, Isolde. This task requires my attention. It is a dangerous path I must tread alone for now. But I promise you," he met her gaze, infusing his voice with every ounce of sincerity he could muster, "I shall return by nightfall. And then, we shall discuss our future, my love, as King Consort and Queen."
She hesitated, her lower lip trembling slightly, the magic of the arrow warring with an inherent sense of unease. But the enchantment held fast. "By nightfall then, my heart," she conceded, a sigh escaping her. She released her grip on him fully. "Chief Knight Guard!" she called out after wrapping herself in a robe, her voice regaining its regal authority, echoing through the chamber. "Escort Lord Elaraion safely from the palace! See that no harm befalls him!"
The oak doors opened, and the bronze-armored guards stepped in, their faces impassive. Elaraion quickly pulled on his breeches and tunic, the haste jarring after the languid hours in Isolde's bed. He gave her a final, lingering look, a strange mix of guilt and ambition in his heart, then followed the guards from the chamber.
The journey out of the palace was swift. As they approached the city gates, the air grew thick with the acrid smell of smoke. The distant glow from the capital, seen from Isolde's window, was no longer distant. It was a hellish orange blaze reflecting off the clouds.
"By the Ancestors' breath!" one of the guards muttered, pointing. "The beast ravages the Commoner's District!"
Elaraion told the guards to leave and then he plunged into the chaos of the outlying villages. Panic was rampant. Houses smoldered, their thatched roofs collapsing inwards. Distraught villager's face streaked with soot and tears, stumbled through the streets, clutching what few possessions they could carry. The scent of burnt timber and roasted flesh choked the air.
"Master! Master! Are you safe?" A familiar voice, rough and urgent, cut through the din.
It was Kael, his dreadlocks flying, scrambling over fallen debris, his eyes wide with concern. The loyalty arrow was holding, strong and true. He reached Elaraion, grabbing his arm.
"Yes, Kael. I am well," Elaraion said, his voice grim. "What news do you have of this beast?"
Kael gestured wildly towards the fiery sky. "It's a creature of dark sorcery, Master! They say it was conjured from the cursed lands of Ravenwall, a stronghold known for its dark wizards and necromancers! Whispers claim the vile wizard Otto rides upon its back, a demon of shadow and flame!"
Elaraion's mind raced. A magical dragon. A wizard. Otto. This was more complex than a simple beast. This dragon was controlled. He could just sire the dragon and get the victory for Aethelgard
"Master, you must be careful!" Kael urged, his voice laced with genuine fear. He paused, his eyes widening. "Wait... did I just call you 'Master'?"
Elaraion's blood ran cold. Just like that. Kael was broken free. Hera was already working, he knew.
Yards away, standing amidst the panicked commoners, a figure emerged from the shadows.
She was tall and slender, her posture unnervingly regal even in the flickering, hellish light of the burning village. Her gown, a simple yet elegant grey silk, seemed to absorb the light around her, and a thin, almost translucent veil covered her fiery red hair. Her eyes, even from this distance, glinted with an unmistakable, ice-cold fury. She held no weapon, no overt symbol of power, yet her very presence exuded an aura of immense, chilling authority. It was Hera.
Elaraion felt a surge of raw fear. His hand instinctively went to the Bow of Affection. He pulled it forth, and the world slowed once more.
TIME STOP ACTIVATED.
The screaming villagers became statues. The falling embers froze in mid-air. Kael, his hand still on his temple, his face etched with confusion, became a frozen tableau.
But Hera. She was already moving. Not fast, not dramatically, but fluidly, gracefully, unaffected by the time stop. Her emerald eyes, now blazing with cold, calculating anger, were fixed on him. A chill deeper than any mortal fear settled in his bones. She was not merely powerful; she transcended the very rules of his magic.
He had no time. He quickly pulled a grey arrow from his quiver, its ethereal light a stark contrast to the frozen, burning world around him. He nocked it, aimed at Kael's chest, and released it. The arrow hit, dissolving into a puff of mist.
He knew Kael could kill him.
TIME RESUMED.
Kael blinked, shaking his head. "Master?" he said again, the adoration and loyalty flooding back into his eyes, stronger now. "My apologies, Master. My head… a sudden throbbing. Forgive my earlier words." He touched his forehead again as if clearing a cobweb.
Elaraion ignored the apology. Hera was gone again, a phantom moving through the crowd, no doubt searching for him. He scanned the throngs of terrified villagers, mixing among them, becoming just another face in the chaos. Hera would find him. And when she did, she would come for Isolde. He had promised the princess he would return. And if Hera knew of Isolde's affection, if she suspected the arrow's true nature, Isolde would become a target.
"I have to get to that dragon," Elaraion muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on the soaring beast, its fiery breath illuminating the night. "I have to sire it. It's the only way to fight her." His heart pounded with a desperate urgency. His new life depended on it. Isolde's life depended on it. He would not fail. Not again.