Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Midnight Storm ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )

Chapter Six

 

Warning: Graphic Lemon Ahead!

 

Kyara sat in her room, sighing loudly to herself. She had been home for nearly two days and no attempts had been made. She had seen Aragon, briefly, and Gwennon, who was large with their child. There was sadness to Aragon's gaze, almost as though he regretted the actions that had brought him to this position. There was nothing for it, as he and Gwennon had conceived a child together.

 

She was already dressed for the ball, but was trying to muster the courage to walk the hallway towards the grand hall, which was always where the ball occurred. She would, of course, enter before her brother, who would be followed by his mother, and lastly, her father would come into the hall before they were all seated. Kyara didn't care about whom was heir except as far as the unavoidable conclusion that if Dogmath became king, he would have her killed. She would be killed so that at least, if he did not produce an heir, no progeny of hers would ever ascend the Unseelie throne.

 

She stood, giving herself one last glance into the mirror before she began the long walk down the hallway to her father's office, where they would line up to walk into the grand hall once all other guests were inside. Her father was there, with Donnan, his new Captain of the Guard. His father was dressed as Napoleon, the costume custom fitted to him. Donnan was dressed as a knight with chain mail, a costume that allowed him to carry his sword and still be dressed.

 

“Daughter,” the king said, taking in her appearance, “you look… ravishing, as always, although I doubt Azura will approve.”

 

Kyara shrugged, “She doesn't have to approve. I am an adult, not some doll to be dressed for her whim.”

 

Donnan frowned, “Hush, princess. It would not bode well should the queen hear your sentiments.”

 

Kyara turned to Donnan, “You are right, Donnan, but I can also no longer afford to appear weak.”

 

Azura and Dogmath came down the hall, dressed as Caesar and Cleopatra, a costume pairing that she had no doubt ordered. Azura was not educated, and obviously had no idea of the significance of the pairing; Dogmath, Kyara knew was well aware and wasn't happy about it. Everyone just kept a neutral face, trying to keep from chuckling. They lined up to enter the hall, Kyara first, followed by everyone else. By the look of her step-mother's narrowed eyes, she didn't appreciate the costume.

 

Balin and Ronan were dressed much the same as Donnan- it seemed the queen had ordered a theme among the guard. As she settled into her chair on the dais, she sought out Trunks and Kakarroto, who made a compelling pair. Kakarroto, an honorary guard, was too a knight, but Trunks was dressed at what Kyara could best describe as a romantic highwayman, with the velvet trousers, white linen peasant shirt, rapier sword, and black eye mask, complete with the hat and feather. Arissa had chosen well, as was beginning to be her reputation. The costume went perfect with his lavender hair, which he had left down. She smiled at him, but he looked away, muttering something to Kakarroto. The food was served, they ate. Once the food was cleared away, the ball began, music swelling to fill the room.

 

She found herself dancing with Ronan, who commented on her costume, “Lord and Lady, you'd be the most tempting jail bait if you really were underage instead of just looking like it.”

 

She smiled, “The queen chose… well,” she said, stifling laughter.

 

Ronan frowned, “I hate this thing,” he said, “it itches and it's heavy.”

 

Kyara chuckled, “Don't let the queen hear that, or she'll make you wear it at every opportunity hence.”

 

“She can't order me to do anything if I'm not here. I plan on returning with you, and your father has already ordered it so.”

 

“Balin, as well?” she asked, turning to another dancer and bowing. She was about to be passed on to the next partner, it was one of those regal dances where the women were passed around from male to male, each dancing with everyone who was there.

 

Ronan nodded, “He's eager to go, when we get back, we'll be training with Gohan, learning his techniques. Balin thinks it'd be a good idea if you… participate, too. He was quite impressed with your current skill.”

 

“And if Balin thinks it a good idea, you're going to follow.”

 

Ronan shrugged, “If I agree, yes.”

 

Kyara sighed, “No one really disagrees with Balin, except occasionally Donnan.”

 

“Even Donnan knows that Balin is superior, both as a warrior and politically.”

 

“No, Ronan, as warriors they are near an even match, and politically, the only thing Balin has above Donnan is temperament.”

 

Before Ronan could reply, she had been passed on. She continued the dance until she was paired with Trunks, who bowed stiffly.

 

“Either you're nervous, or you'd rather it not be I as your partner,” Kyara said, “and I'm voting for the latter, because you don't seem the type to be a besotted school-boy.”

 

He said nothing, just continued in stony silence, and Kyara finally stopped dancing. The music was about to end, anyway, “Cut the act, Prince Trunks,” she said, using his title to get his attention, “I do not know what I have done to offend you, but tell me and be done with it.”

 

“You're a blunt one,” he said, his voice toneless.

 

She sighed, “And you are acting like a spoiled little prince who hasn't gotten his way.”

 

His eyes narrow and he exhaled sharply, “I simply do not want to raise offense to anyone,” he said, “least of all Ronan.”

 

“Ronan,” Kyara closed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest, “let me tell you about Ronan. We were lovers once, when I was seventeen. He was one of my first- and definitely one of the first I would still claim to love, but there is nothing between us except the occasional… encounter.”

 

Trunks bowed, “If the princess says so.”

 

“Goddamnit, you're a son of a bitch,” Kyara hissed, “Do women just fall all over you? Of course, you're the fucking prince. A glance, and there is hope of becoming the mother of a potential heir, thus securing their position in society, whether you wed them or not. Well, you're not my prince, are you? Or maybe you want to be,” she finished suggestively.

 

She turned, walking away, out of the grand hall, and into the hallway. She was shaking with anger, and something else. She had to get a hold of her emotions. Now was not the time to lose it, especially not over a man she hardly knew.

 

“Princess,” Donnan said, “I have a note for you.”

 

“Donnan,” Kyara breathed, “who is it from?”

 

“Ronan gave it to me, and bid me find you. I know not who it is from as I didn't read it.”

 

“Thank you, Donnan,” Kyara said, taking the parchment from his hand.

 

She unfolded it and on the yellow parchment in purple writing said:

 

 

Kyara - please meet me in the library at 11 o' clock. There are many

Things that I need to tell you. Please come.

 

~Aragon

 

 

She stared for a few long moments, and then checked the clock on the wall; no one knew how it ran, but it kept accurate time. An hour from now. Concentrating a bit, the parchment burst into flames. She wasn't burned, but the note was gone. She re-entered the ballroom and looked for a way to kill an hour. She finally joined Ronan, Balin, and one of the few female guards, Malvina.

 

“Ronan, you gave Donnan a note for me?”

 

Ronan nodded, “It was given to me by Gwennon, who said it was from Aragon. She didn't look happy about it, but said she was sworn to give it to you.”

 

Kyara nodded, “I see. It passed through many hands before it was put into mine.”

 

Ronan shrugged, “Gwennon is due any day now, Kyara. She couldn't well go traipsing around the sithen looking for you.”

 

“You're right, Ronan. I shouldn't have doubted you.”

 

“What did this note say?” Donnan asked, and Balin nodded.

 

“He wants me to meet him in the library at eleven. He wants to tell me something.”

 

Donnan sighed, “I do not think it a good idea, princess.”

 

Balin agreed, “We all know of your feelings towards Aragon, Kyara. If it had not been for one night…”

 

“I know our laws, Balin. I will not have sex with Aragon. I can control myself to at least that extent.”

 

Balin nodded once. He trusted her. Donnan shrugged and Ronan looked positively confused, and spoke, “I am sure that Aragon has no intentions of seducing Kyara. He may not love Gwennon, but he will not risk that he'll be found out.”

 

“We all trust Aragon,” Balin said, “he is one of the guard, and he is not one loyal to Dogmath, but to the king himself.”

 

Kyara nodded, “I have nothing to fear of Aragon.”

 

“It is not Aragon I fear,” Donnan said.

 

Kyara stood on tip-toe, kissing him on the cheek, “I am honored with your concern, Donnan, but I am no longer the naïve girl I used to be.”

 

“I know that, Kyara,” he said, his voice soft, “and I regret every minute of being the one who took that naïveté away from you.”

Kyara smiled, “You didn't take it, Donnan. I just grew up. I need to go. I promise that should I feel I am losing control, I will leave.”

 

“I have your word on that,” Donnan said.

 

“My word,” she said.

 

Kyara left, making her way to the library. It was five until eleven and she wanted to be a few minutes early, to try and get a sense of the word. She pushed open the heavy wooden door of the library, which was dimly lit by random lanterns and candles. On a table sat two crystal glasses, each filled with wine, a note tucked under one of the glasses. Kyara opened the note, which was from Gwennon.

 

Please enjoy the wine. It is from my own personal stock.

 

She brought the glass up to her nose, smelling it, although she was not dumb enough to think that anyone would use a detectable poison. She and Gwennon had never been close, not even friends, really. Perhaps this was her way of making peace with Kyara. Letting Aragon say goodbye to her, and her to him. She took a deep sip, savoring the warmth of the red drink, the flavor of the ripened grapes, as it spread throughout her entire body. Another sip and the sensation was almost heady, although it took a lot more than a couple of sips of wine to get her drunk. The warmth spread out to her limbs, setting every nerve on fire, spreading to her lower body, which tightened in response, her nipples hardening from the chill in the room and something else. Suddenly, she knew what the wine was and set the half-empty glass on the table and stumbled to the door, desperate for fresh air.

 

Before she could reach it, the door pushed open. She waited, knowing that who walked through that door would either be her salvation or her demise. She let out a long breath as she saw it was Trunks, who looked around the room before his eyes found her. He seemed to look through her rather than at her as he spoke.

 

“Aragon sent me; I passed him in the hall just now. He was on his way here, but it seems that his wife has gone into labor. He asked me to tell you that he's sorry, but he can not be here.”

 

He came more into the room, looking around, “My mother would love this place.”

 

Kyara smiled, running her hands up and down her arms, unable to stop her eyes from following. He stopped at the table, looking at the wine, “Another occasional encounter?” he asked, a wry smile on his face.

 

Kyara shrugged, “Think whatever you want. I was just asked to meet him here.”

 

She bit her lips, digging her nails into her palms, trying to do anything that would distract her. Pain was always a good distraction, and she dug until she could feel blood dripping from her fingers, running down her wrists. Trunks picked up the wine glass, bringing it up to his lips.

 

“No! Don't drink the…”

 

Before she could finish, he had downed the entire glass and she shook her head, “Goddess help us.”

 

Trunks took a step forward then he felt it, so strongly that he toppled over the table trying to reclaim his balance on it and he had to reach out for the back of one of the red velvet chaise lounges. He looked at Kyara, his eyes a mixture of anger and fear.

 

“What- was in… the wine?” he growled.

 

“It's a… spell. One of my brother's favorites. He uses the wine to compel any woman to his bed… it's, for lack of a better term, an aphrodisiac. It renders Fey completely incapable of containing their desire. It only works on the two who have drunk it.”

 

Trunks' glare had changed from unfriendly to something bestial, something raw and feral, “Is there some kind of antidote?”

 

“Time, if you don't go mad first,” Kyara replied, “Or… giving in to the effects of the wine.”

 

Her skin was already beginning to glow softly, her blood shining like garnets on her white skin. It dripped to the floor and she shook visibly, hugging herself, smearing the blood across her upper arms and shoulders. Her body was reacting to the wine; she could feel the moisture between her legs and squeezed her thighs together, inhaling sharply.

 

“You're hurt,” he said, crossing to her.

 

“Don't touch me,” she said, turning away. If he touched her, it would be all over.

 

“Let me see,” he said, turning her, his gloved hands on her shoulders, but his body was tense, the words tight, carefully neutral, almost forced.

 

She opened her palms, showing him where her nails had dug small crescent shaped pits into her hands. The blood was trickling now, the wounds healing on their own. He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and ripped it into two long, thin strips. He bound her palms, tying them off. She hissed, but the binds were sound.

 

“There,” he said, “although you're already healing.”

 

His eyes caught hers and they locked for a minute. She turned away first, hugging herself.

 

“Kyara,” he said, removing his gloves, “look at me. Please.”

 

She turned and realized he had taken of his gloves. She shook her head, “Trunks, I can't control my magic right now. Sex is,” she stopped, “I don't want to hurt you.”

 

He looked at her, his eyes harboring nothing less than pure desire, as though he were predator and she were prey, “I can handle it.”

 

“You don't understand our… magic. You can't. You've never experienced it.”

 

“Then, show me,” he said.

 

The intensity had just about become unbearable. She wanted him- and he could have been anyone male, it just happened that Trunks had also drunk the wine. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his mask, until she pushed it off. Then, she ran her fingers down his face, over his eyelids, across his cheeks and jaw, to his lips. She did it while flaring her power a small amount, forcing it out through her fingertips. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

 

Trunks' entire body trembled, shimmering with the magic she had given him, small though it was. He cursed, wrenching her to him, his mouth finding hers, his tongue filling her mouth. Her mind gave in, succumbing to the effects of the wine. Her hands tangled in his hair as her tongue mated with his, twisting around it. His hands were at her waist, pulling her against him. He ground his hips against her, and she cried out, gasping. His hands were working the tie to her shirt, and once it was done, he pushed it off her shoulders, exposing the lacy white shelf bra. She pulled it the rest of the way off, discarding it on the floor. His mouth found hers again in a fierce kiss.

 

Everything around them melted until there was nothing but the other, the touch of velvet skin, the thickness of magic in the air, and the heady feeling of animalistic desire. Trunks pulled off his shirt, pressing her to his chest. Her skin was shimmering, catching colors in the candle light he had never seen skin catch before. Pale pastels of pink, purple, and blue highlighted her curves. This should have fascinated him, but it only made his need more urgent. She ground her hips against his groin, standing on tip toe to do so. He picked her up, setting her on the desk, jerking at the laces on his pants. Finally freed, he slid them off his hips, springing forward, long and perfect. His teeth grazed her neck, his hands sliding up her skirt at her hips, hooking his fingers inside her panties and jerked.

 

She cried out, her head falling back, giving him easy access to her breasts. His hands came up, cupping her breasts, his thumbs passing over her hardened nipples. Even through the lacy fabric of her bra, the touch ran through her, reaching deep to her core. He lowered his head, pulling the bra down, baring her breasts, seizing a nipple between his teeth. He rolled his tongue over it, biting it, one hand catching her wrists, pilling them above her head to the wall. The other hand slid between her legs, and she opened to him. He tested her with a finger, causing her to jump, sucking in a breath between clenched teeth. Her eyes were half closed, but they glowed like neon behind the thick, black lashes.

 

He positioned himself and entered her with a hard, shattering thrust. She screamed; it was exquisite pleasure and biting pain- he hadn't made enough room, and couldn't reach all the way inside her. He let her wrists go, taking a hold of her hips as he drug himself out the length he'd made it into her, surging back in, working to make room. Her magic came up, spilling out of her like the light that lit her skin, flowing into him. He shuddered; it was unlike anything he had ever felt before, like being swallowed by something thick and soft, something not solid. She couldn't control it; it poured out of her, sliding over him like a velvet shroud.

 

Her hands slid down his back, her nails biting into his skin. He thrust again, finally managing to bury himself completely inside her. It brought her, screaming to orgasm, and suddenly he had enough room to move. He didn't hesitate; his hands clinched her hips, pressing her into the table as he pulled out, driving back into her, hard and deep. Her ankles locked at the small of his back and he lifted her hips, deepening his penetration. He buried her face into the curve of her neck, murmuring her name, driving into her again and again, until her cries came at every thrust, every shattering movement. She was clenched around him, moaning his name. If there was any caution left, it fell away, drowning in their need for each other.

 

His skin took on its own glow, a golden hue of a late afternoon, close to sunset. He was pumping himself in and out of her, sweat glistening on his and her skin, shimmering brilliantly against the glow. She came again, clenching hard and he groaned, biting her shoulder, driving himself deeply into her as he emptied himself inside of her. His knees gave and he sagged against the edge of the table, collapsing on top of her, still inside of her. It was a long time before he pulled away, pulling himself out of her. She sat up on the table, looking at him as he fixed the laces of his pants. Fixing her bra, she looked at the torn and ruined panties on the floor.

 

Trunks looked picked them up, holding them out to her, “I am sorry,” he said.

 

She smiled, “It's alright.”

 

She took them, tossed them into the waste basket at the side of the table and he handed her the shirt, watching her as she put it back on. When she had finished, he kissed her again, a gentle press of his lips, then he pulled his shirt over his head. Kyara turned, noticed the hole in the wall, and the eye staring back at her. She screamed.

 

 

Dogmath was furious. He strode down the hall, screaming for Cadwallen, passing the door to the library as Trunks and Kyara emerged. He narrowed his eyes at her, a decidedly unfriendly gaze. It suddenly dawned on Kyara what had happened. Dogmath had set both her and Aragon up; hoping that they would drink the wine and… well, Kyara would have broken the vow she had made to Donnan, Balin, and Ronan. There would be no trial, just an execution. Two, actually. Hers and Aragon. Anger swelled up inside of her, overruling her fear. If she was going to survive, Dogmath had to die. She knew that now.

 

 

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