Fae Queen's Pet (Audio Script)

Stories

The river is quiet on my wedding day, a smooth slick of water in the middle of the forest, disturbed only by autumn-colored branches drooping low enough to skim the surface.

Alder, elder, and birch. Oak and rowan. Hawthorn and wych elm.

The branches sag and sway, and vines hang from them, and here in this wide crook of river, the branches and leaves make something like a veil, shrouding a wide, flat rock from view. On that rock are carved prints—footprints and hoof prints—and it is on this rock that I will make a royal consort out of my pet.

On the far riverbank is my court and guests from other fae courts—along with visitors from even farther off, from other realms and dimensions. Through the screen of red and yellow leaves, I see demons and witches and gorgons and mortals…and even two of the merfolk, their tails swishing slowly and politely in the water as they hold hands.

The only person missing is my twin brother, Morven, who left the court earlier this year for places unknown. I miss him, although I’d eat tangled mermaid hair before I ever told him so.

All of the guests are here as friends, as diplomats and witnesses—even as enemies in some cases. As a young and still vulnerable queen, I know my attention should be fully on them. A royal wedding, after all, is a political event, meant to cement power and solicit awe, and if I’m to be a different and less arbitrary ruler than my mother, power and awe are non-negotiable tools I need to wield.

I know that, and yet my attention is elsewhere. On the place where the carved rock meets the bank of the river, where a path of soft moss and white sedum await the bare feet of my bride.

Janneth will be stepping onto this rock any moment, and it is only a lifetime of being molded for public spectacles that keeps me from parting the curtain of leaves and vines and dragging her out here myself.

She would laugh if she knew how anxious I am to stamp this claim on her, given that she’s literally sacrificed her entire life to join me in Faerie, that she’s already made a far greater pledge than anything a wedding can recreate.

A joining can always be unjoined, but what she’s done for me and Faerie can never be undone.

But it’s precisely that pledge that makes me want to give her everything in return. She already has my heart, my attention, my obsession—but there is one last thing I can share, and I can only share it if she’s joined to me by the laws of Faerie.

I cannot wait to fuck her while she’s wearing the crown I’ve given her.

At last, I hear murmurs and soft footfalls. On the other side of the forest veil is my bride with her retinue, and my heart swells in my chest and then beats harder than it has since I stood in a circle of standing stones with an iron knife in my hand.

I’m glad I’m not my twin brother, whose heart is visible through his glass; I’m glad my dress of dark red silk hides my own glass, hides my lungs spreading and shrinking, spreading and shrinking as I pull in breath after breath that seems to do nothing for me at all.

And then the veil parts and there is no air. There is no stone beneath my feet, no water around me. There is nothing but her, my perfect pet, the autumn sunshine slanting through the trees to pick out the gold in her hair, to glint off the piercing in her upturned nose. Her high cheeks and full mouth catch shadows, and her green eyes fringed in dark gold lashes remind me of the forest in summer, of the sun falling through the trees.

And her body…

Her body reminds me of being alive, of being in love. Her body is a topography of my every desire come to life, of plush curves and soft skin, of dips and valleys and dimples. And today, it is on display for me, as is our tradition. She wears a sheer white gown that shows me the well of her navel and the dark rose tips of her breasts. The shadowed place between her legs taunts me as she walks, and I think I will punish her for it, for being so unbearably lovely, for plunging me into a delirium of need every time I see her. I will mark her pretty backside for it, ride her even prettier mouth until I’m satisfied she knows what she does to me.

I will pin her down and remind her that I would eat her whole if I could.

The translucent silk of her dress drags softly against the moss and sedum as she walks, and her long, wavy hair tumbles around her shoulders. She’s completely unadorned and will remain so until I crown her as my consort.

By the time she reaches me, I’m almost out of my mind with wanting her near to me; she sees my restiveness and laughs.

“For an immortal being, you are not very patient.”

“I fail to see what one has to do with the other.”

“Maybe being a queen that means you’re used to getting what you want when you want it.”

A smile pulls at her pink mouth, and I’m bewitched all over again.

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“No, not a bad thing.”

My pet’s long eyelashes sweep down and then back up as she speaks, and her green eyes are soft and pupil-blown when they look up at me. Hungry and dazed even though she hasn’t even had a lick of fairy fruit yet, already eager for more and more and more.

My insatiable girl

“Are you ready?”

I brush my fingertips over her rounded cheek

“If you are not, you know I will honor your needs.”

“After last Samhain, I think it would be stupid to be scared of a wedding.”

She says it lightly, but I hear the curl of shame in her words, the tendril of fear.

A Seelie queen should not savor shame and fear so much, and yet it is like blood on the air, like wine on the tongue. Heat twists in my cunt as I take her jaw between my fingers.

“You are not stupid. You know that being my bride will come at a cost. You will have to rule with me, share duty and danger with me. You will be joined to me not only by your own desire, but by the des ire of the land. And that joining will be in front of everyone gathered here today. They will watch as you prove yourself as a consort must”

Any union can be dissolved in Faerie, of course, if one or more of the partners no longer wish to be inside it, but a royal union is made through the blessing of the land, and so its dissolution is a formal thing, a ceremony of severance. It is a serious thing, to wed a fae ruler, even without the perils of war and scandal and politics.

Janneth is wise if she is afraid today.

“Look at me.”

She says this as if I ever do anything else when she is around. But I lift my eyebrow to show that I’m paying attention.

“I am nervous.”

She bites her lip as she confesses this, then tries again.

“No, that’s not the entire truth. I am frightened. But not of joining to you, Morgana, only that you will regret joining yourself to me. I’m…I’m no one. Just a mortal. Just Janneth.”

I was wrong to be grateful for not having Morven’s glass chest earlier, because right now I’d pay any price for Janneth to see my literal heart, to see right inside me to my blood and bones and marrow and observe that her name is written on all of it.

My very existence is a signature of love for her now.

I lift her chin enough to expose her throat to me, enough for her to feel the strength of my will so that she knows I mean what I say.

“You are the only person in the world to me,”

I say simply.

“ And what I chose on Samhain night, I would choose over and over again. I would die a thousand deaths for you. A thousand thousand.”

I lean down and brush my lips against hers. They’re warm velvet, sweet to taste.

“You’ve given me your life and your future,”

I tell her, pulling away enough to speak but not so far that I can’t feel her breath on my lips.

“Let me give you what I can, even if a crown is a cheap answer to an entire life.”

“Okay.”

I still feel her uncertainty, her doubt. And then she does something that might as well be a tongue running up my thigh for how much it inflames me.

She lets me see it. She lets me see all the mess, however ugly and however slithering, inside her.

“Sometimes I feel perfect here, but I’m afraid one day I’ll be too much for you. I’m afraid that sometimes I’m still too much for myself. I’m ashamed of how far I’d go for the love of you, and I’m ashamed that I haven’t gone even further. Being too much and not enough—they are almost the same thing, aren’t they? And even this moment right now, I feel so needy, like I’m ruining our own wedding by dumping all of this at your feet”

I let go of her jaw and find her hand. My other hand has pulled up the hem of my skirt, and I guide her hand between my legs, to my naked sex. From the other side of the riverbank, there is very little reaction to this.

It is a Faerie wedding after all.

“Feel what you do to me”

She licks her lower lip as I press her hand to my wet cunt.

“Your too muchness, Janneth. Your neediness. So please. Be too much and beg forgiveness for it. Be not enough and beg forgiveness for that too. It all stirs me to wildness. But you must know—you must have seen over the last year here with me—that you are the shape of sublimity to me. It was your world that was wrong for you, not the other way around, but it’s no matter now, because you are where you belong. You are home with me, and I will build a new world for you every day so long as I can have you in return. You and your trust and vulnerability and curiosity”

Her fingertips push deeper, searching out my opening, and my jaw tenses as I force myself to remember there is a ritual before this ritual, words to speak before my new consort must prove herself to me and her new people.

“Thank you.”

She’s looking up at me still with that open face, still letting me see all the fear and shame flitting through her expression.

“If you can hold it all, then I’ll give it all to you, the good and the bad.”

“Both drug me. More than any fairy fruit. Both your best and your worst.”

It is sadistic, maybe, or cruel—or perhaps it is something indelible to being fae that doesn’t translate to mortal sensibilities. But her worst is as much a gift to me as her best, especially when she lets me see it, when she hands it to me with such trust in her eyes.

“I love you.

And I’m ready. I’m ready for this.”

I’ve been ready to marry her since that last Samhain night—or possibly even before. When she was sitting at my feet in the Sanctuary, maybe, or when I fed her the stag’s heart in my forest.

Or more likely, knowing me, it was since I saw her spread open before my throne. Soft thighs and a deep crease of skin at her hips. A slick, pink cunt which quivered at the slightest touch.

With some regret—allayed by the knowledge that we will fuck very soon—I pull her hand away and suck her fingers clean.

And then, linking my hands with hers, we move to the footprints carved onto the rock, the place where thousands of years ago, a stag encountered the first Stag King and offered him its heart. It is the well of power in our land, the center of our history, and where coronations and weddings take place.

And so the two of us, veiled by the forest and on the eve of Samhain, begin speaking aloud our vows in the ancient language of Faerie—a language reserved for ritual and the most formal of court occasions. Hearing its solemn tones in Janneth’s husky, musical voice makes something ache in my throat. Sacred meeting sacred, I suppose.

We hold hands and pledge, with the witnesses watching on the other side of the veil, to give each other counsel, comfort, and challenge. To give each other our loyalty, and to give the antlered crown the best and noblest of ourselves. We pledge ourselves to this land, the land that Cernunnos once walked, that his wild children played and spread over, carving out different courts among the moors, forests, and seas.

We pledge that our love will be tined, sharp, and ever-growing.

With the soft breeze and the distance to the far riverbank, our witnesses can hear us speaking but not our individual words. Nonetheless, Janneth’s eyes stray over to our guests as I say,

“And what will you offer to a ruler of Faerie? How will you serve your crown?”

The pulse is pounding fast at the base of her neck, and when she looks back at me, her cheeks are rose-flushed and her chest have stiffened under her dress. My little exhibitionist.

“I will serve eagerly.”

Ah, but she looks so beautiful on her knees before me like this, framed by autumn leaves and glittering water, her hair gleaming like spun gold over her shoulders. Her hungry, open face tilted up to mine.

Even though I know the distance muffles our words somewhat, I still lower my voice.

“You do not have to eat fruit today. For the ceremony. There are many ways we can do this, if you’d like to do this with a clear head.”

Despite choosing Faerie on Samhain night, Janneth still takes mortal salt with her meals, and still has mortal salt in her blood. Until her blood runs without it, she will age as a mortal and fairy fruit will affect her…powerfully.

I understand why she’s waiting, why this might be a harder thing to let go of than one’s home and history, but I also make sure to carry mortal salt everywhere we go, because there is a reason mortals should be wary of our fruit.

“We’ve made our pledges with a clear head,”

There’s a mischievous smile tilting her coral lips.

“But I’d like to think of this part as something like communion wine for me.”

I do not argue. I trust her own wishes and desires, and anyway, I like the idea of being communion wine for her very much. I lift my hands to the knots holding my dress closed and unhurriedly untie them, working my way down from my bodice to the final knot just below the line of my hips. I leave the gown on, hanging from my shoulders and its hem brushing the stone, but it’s gaping open now. I wear nothing underneath, so my sex is exposed, and my breasts could be too if the silk was pulled to the side.

She must come willingly to my flesh, willingly to serve, but once her soft lips graze the curls between my legs, I twine my fingers into her hair and pull her tight against me.

Through the veil, I see our guests watching, shifting, restless with low-simmering want. Most things in Faerie are carnal by nature—and fae courts pride themselves on making everything a display of excess anyway—so it isn’t the sex that makes a fae wedding unusual. It is that the guests themselves may only watch. They can’t take part, they can’t indulge themselves with other guests, and they can’t even gratify themselves while they witness. It’s part of what makes the banquet after a fae wedding such a legendary thing: all that muzzled lust, all that thwarted need, finally unleashed.

Janneth’s mouth moves over the rise of my pubic bone, pressing reverent kisses down to the seat of my pleasure—and the seat of my power, according to ancient fae beliefs—until she reaches the wet furrow there. She knows how I want to be serviced at first—that I want her to work for it a little—and so she doesn’t use her hands yet, she doesn’t reach up to part my sex to get to the hidden flesh. Instead she splits me with her tongue, searching out my opening until she tastes me, a silken invasion that makes my breathing hitch.

If I’d known what a good pet she’d make, I would have taken her long before I did.

Her tongue swirls hot and ticklish at my entrance, and I see the moment the fruit takes hold. Her already flushed cheeks are looking more fevered now, and her eyes are turning into dark, shiny mirrors.

And the hunger…like there’s not enough me for her to eat, like the only thoughts she can think are about fucking me. She does use her hands now, sliding them up my thighs and then pressing her thumbs to my folds to spread me. Standing, there is only so much she can reach, so much she can lick, but that’s hardly a problem when she’s this ravenous.

I tighten my hold in her hair and guide her mouth exactly where I want it.

“Suck,”

I tell her, a little roughly.

“Until I come.”