The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Truth be told, the feast is like none before. Roasted tiger meat cooked to perfection, gloriously seasoned vegetables and even some freshly baked bread. The women of Derven celebrate the upcoming marriage of their Princess and Namora does the best she can to partake in their joy, though she feels empty inside. She eats until she cannot eat anymore. As the seconds tick by, she can feel her patience, her fake happiness waning. Eventually she stands and stretches; when her two hunting companions make a move towards their weapons, she stops them.

“No, please stay and enjoy the feast. I wish to hunt alone tonight,” Namora offers a warm smile, using the remaining reserve of her acting skills to convince them.

Amyee and Cari look at each other nervously; the idea of letting the Princess hunt alone in the woods seems like a bad one. Cari finally nods at Amyee and the two wish Namora luck before she wanders alone into the woods.

The stillness of the trees offer Namora some reprieve from the feast. Though she brought her bow, it remains slung on her shoulder. Only her hunting knife is drawn in protection; she wishes a close encounter. If the tiger got the best of her, then she wouldn’t have to marry King Irron-if she got the best of it then she would be able to release some frustration. As if all of the creatures can sense her mood, she comes across none.

Namora walks deep into the forest until she can no longer hear the laughter and music of the feast. With only the moonlight to guide her, she finds a thick tree and begins to climb. The feel of the rough bark against her skin causes her some pain but she welcomes the feeling with open arms as a distraction to her emotions.

Once she is safely nestled in the crook of a branch, Namora untangles her bow and draws an arrow, resting both at the ready on her lap. She fiddles with her hunting knife, watching the breeze shift the shadows of the surrounding plant life. The passing of time has no meaning in the woods; the only way to gauge it is by the movement of the moon. As it creeps through the sky, the moon hits its high point and the silvery light washes over her tree, casting leaf like cut outs on the ground below.

Looking up through the branches, she sees the lonely moon, almost sulking in the sky. There are no stars tonight. She can sense that there are only a few more hours of peace before the sun rises and the Huntress Festival comes to an end. No doubt the other women have begun their final hunt but Namora knows that she is miles deeper into the forest than they will venture.

She considers her soon to be future: wife to a King who sees women as no more than a possession, a country without woods and grass and only a few precious weeks in the only place she has ever known. Feeling a deep emptiness inside, her stomach begins to ache and her heart pounds. As the burning rises up her throat and attempts to make it to her eyes she forces herself to get a grip. She can’t feel sorry for herself any longer; there is nothing she can do to change her fate.

Something catches her eye; she turns her head very slowly towards the movement. She cannot see anything in the darkness but the familiar musty smell of a tiger wafts over her. Carefully she puts the blade of her knife in her mouth, not wanting to make noise by putting it away. Her fingers wrap themselves around her bow and the arrow and she raises the two together in sync. As her body unwinds and straightens, she draws back the string, resting it against her cheek. Though her muscles burn from the tension, she remains still and ready for the tiger to show itself.

From the bushes, two menacing blue eyes begin to glow. Confused, Namora draws a sharp breath; the eyes jerk towards her, now knowing where she is hiding. It takes her a moment to realize that the familiar golden tiger eyes are simply reflecting the moonlight, appearing to glow a deep blue. As the tiger slowly stalks forward, the moonlight continues to shimmer against it, causing its usually brown fur to appear a deep blonde.

She slowly releases the tension on the bow so as not to send the arrow into the heart of the creature. Something makes her want to leave the creature be; alive and free in the woods, something she will never be again. The two sit, staring at each other. The moon creeps along the sky yet they do not move. It isn’t until the tentacles of the sun rudely begin to reach through the tree tops to touch every blade of grass, every particle of dirt, every fiber of being that the tiger disappears into the fading darkness, leaving Namora very much alone. CHAPTER 3: KING IRRON OF ALUMENIA

The week following the Huntress Festival passes by in a blur but not because the excitement of the townsfolk leeched into Namora. Instead, to her, each second lasts a year and with the slow passing of time she gives up the hope that she will be happy. She stops processing the chaos and instead withdraws into herself, numb to the various dress fittings, to the army of staff cleaning the castle, to the joyous presentations of cut flowers that adorn almost every hallway and room. She avoids her father, ducking into unused rooms or out doors or on occasion behind curtains because she knows that sad gaze could possibly cause her to cry.

She is finally forced back to reality when Eunice cinches Namora’s corset tight, the inability to gain a full breath causing her to sit down when she gets light headed. As the Princess, a model of beauty and modesty, she is supposed to be wearing one every day but she only does so on special occasions. While the women of Derven all remain fully covered and wear loosing fitting clothing, most do wear a corset in an attempt to accentuate their curves under the bulky fabric. The effect isn’t vulgar, like it is in the other countries but merely meant to change the hidden figure from a seemingly genderless body to one that suggests a woman lie beneath.

Eunice, Namora’s elderly handmaiden, escorts six ladies into her room, each carrying a different dress. Having just rejoined the conscious world, Namora realizes that she is to pick one to wear for her first meeting with King Irron.

She has never seen any of them before. They must have all been recently made, perhaps in celebration of her upcoming wedding. The cuts of the dress are on the verge of scandalous for a Derven woman: a few are sleeveless, others are cut low enough to show the skin beneath the collar bone. No doubt they are meant to show the Princess off to her new fiance, to tempt him with the thought of what lie beneath the fabric. Though it could be the tightness of the corset, Namora begins to feel woozy at the idea of exposing her skin to such a despicable man as King Irron. The last dress, a dark green velvety affair, though it seems to be impossibly form fitting is the only one with a high necked collar and long sleeves. She chooses it, deciding that exposing the curves of her body would be less embarrassing than showing her bare arms or neck to King Irron.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

The other ladies exit, leaving Eunice to help Namora get dressed. The old lady is forced to tighten her corset a bit more in order to get the slender dress buttoned up the back. Barely able to sit down without cutting off her entire oxygen supply, Namora takes shallow breaths to keep from passing out as the old woman fixes the Princess’ hair before carefully twisting her crown into place. The crown, a beautifully tarnished copper piece with blue and red gems, adds another six inches to her height. As she stares at herself in the mirror, Eunice entwines a few white orchids just below the crown before she slips out to leave the Princess alone.

Namora is fixated by the red jewels. The impossible color is one she has only ever seen in nature, never on a person. Being the Queen’s color, red is retired out of respect when there is no Queen. Soon she will trade in her crown for the even taller version that contains only the red jewels and when she does, she will have a wardrobe that consists almost entirely of that color. The thought makes her sick and she if forced to brace herself against the wall. She doesn’t feel ready to be Queen and above it all she isn’t sure that she wants Irron to become King of Derven. When her hands start to shake she leans her forehead against the cool wooden panel. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly, calming her nerves.

A soft rap on the door brings her back; she opens her eyes in time to see Laren enter her room. The shocked expression on his face emphasizes Namora’s transformation from the tough girl he trained to the elegant, feminine Princess before him. With a sad smile, he greets her with a bow.

“It appears that King Irron has entered Derven. They will be at the castle within minutes, Princess.”

She nods and follows him without a word.

Upon the castle steps, Namora can see that the city has been elaborately decorated in Irron’s color, gold, or at least it is the best attempt that the Dervens can muster, which means that the banners and streamers are yellow. She has only seen true gold once in her life, when her father took her into the royal vault on her fifteenth birthday to give her a necklace as her present. Her necklace was a beautiful silver chain with two gems, a red and a blue one, formed in the shape of a heart, but also in the vault there was a beautiful golden bracelet cuff. Though her father looked upon it with disdain, Namora couldn’t understand why until now.

In the distance, something bright catches her eye. The glare only gets brighter as King Irron’s procession weaves its way closer, like a golden snake in the grass. As the townsfolk fawn over the excessive grandeur that is probably an everyday occurrence for King Irron, Namora has to try hard to wipe the disgust off of her face. With his threat of stopping the peddlers from coming to Derven, the large flaunt of metal is a huge slap in the face for her.

The loud, metallic clanking and creaking comes to a halt at the base of the castle steps. Upon exiting the silver and gold box he rode in, Irron makes a huge show out of walking up the stairs to greet her and her father.

He stops before the King and bows too deeply, his voice thick with fake kindness, “King Nathanial, so good to see you again.”