What have we stepped into?
43
VALEN
Horatio leads us out of the throne room and up a tall spiral staircase which climbs ever upward, winding like a serpent toward the heart of the sorceress’s domain. Each step creaks beneath our weight, though not from age—no, the wood here is very much alive. I can feel it pulsing faintly beneath my feet, as though the entire stair is part of some massive slumbering creature that breathes, slow and deep in its enchanted sleep.
It’s not too fucking surprising, I guess—after all, we are inside a tree.
A living tree—older than any structure I’ve ever seen. The interior gleams with sap-polished grain and the handrails curve like the ribcage of some ancient beast. Even the walls sigh softly around us—breathing, pulsing with some verdant magic that keeps the tree alive despite being hollowed out to form this twisted stronghold.
How in the Gods’ names is it still alive? What kind of sorcery does she wield to preserve a place like this? I wonder, but there are no answers—only more questions.
Horatio ascends before us, his black hair catching shafts of filtered green light from high, unseen windows. Irena walks just behind him, and I keep pace at her side—ready to jump between her and any threat.
She keeps her chin up, my proud little Princess, but her cheeks are still pink. Whether from embarrassment or remembered arousal, I don’t know. Probably a combination of both because I can smell it on her. That sweet scent of desire clinging to her skin like the perfume of the thorn roses blooming on the living walls.
Watching the Sorceress and her three knights as they pleasured her made her hot and needy—maybe she was even thinking of what we did last night together.
I think she needs more.
She hasn’t said it aloud, but her body has been telling me since last night. Since she came on my fingers, trembling and moaning. Since she took me deep into her mouth like she was born to swallow my seed.
Gods, the memory makes my cock twitch in my trousers.
I want to return the favor. Not out of obligation. Not even out of balance. No, I just want to taste her sweetness, to push my tongue deep into her tight little cunt and make her sob my name as she tugs at my hair. I want her to learn that taking pleasure can be even more powerful than giving it.
But not yet. Not here. The sorceress has rules—she made that clear enough when she dismissed us from the throne room. There will be time to pleasure my curvy little Princess… and when it comes, I’ll be on my knees gladly.
At last we reach the top of the staircase and step into a long corridor carved right through the belly of an enormous tree branch. The walls ripple with an undulating grain, smooth as silk, and the air is warm and heady with the scent of honeyed wood and blooming flowers. Thornmere’s magic hangs heavy here, even thicker than in the greenwood below.
Horatio leads us to a door formed from living bark and presses his palm to a carved sigil at its center. The wood shivers, unfurling like petals to reveal a room straight from a dream.
It’s a living bower.
Deep green vines climb the walls, bursting with luminous blossoms—white, blue, pale violet—all glowing from within like lanterns. The light they cast is soft and golden, bathing the room in an enchanted warmth that seems to stroke the bare skin of my back like a knowing hand as I enter.
The ceiling arches high above, woven with vines and flowering branches. The scent of lilac and night-blooming jasmine wraps around us like a blanket.
In the center of the room lies a massive round bed, its mattress formed from interlaced vines studded with flowers—pale pinks and creamy whites—as soft as clouds. The comforter—which is made of petals—ripples slightly, as though it’s breathing. I reach down and touch it—it feels warm—almost alive.
In one corner of the room is a carved wooden tub the size of a small pond, its basin lined in slick green leaves that catch the golden light.
“Thank you—this is lovely,” Irena says, her voice quiet with awe.
Horatio turns, nodding once in acknowledgement.
“My Lady-wife said you would enjoy this room.”
My spine stiffens.
“Why? Did she know we were coming?” I demand.
The knight gives me a serene look, unbothered by my suspicion.
“Of course. She knows all who journey through her woods, for she is the keeper of the forest. Just as she knew when I came to her door.”
“Oh—did you come to ask a favor?” Irena asks, clearly interested.
