There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

Zarina had been asleep, or, at least, she had been pretending to be.  The marmoset was curled into a tight ball, squeezing her eyes shut, irritation bubbling within as she tried to ignore all of the idiotic flirting that her bonded was doing.  She came from a species that mated for life - she remembered his time with Resplendence, all that the mare had meant to him, and she could not forgive his attempts to woo another when his mate still lived.  She could not fathom how he could have forgotten the mare that he had, at one time, thought to be the love of his life.  She loved her prince dearly, but she was furious with him for the ease with which he had allowed his mate and daughter to slip away.

And so she had not been entirely asleep.  In fact, she hadn't been anywhere near sleep at all.  She had been, shall we say, monitoring the situation to ensure that it did not get out of control.  For a while, she had thought that it was safe - he was trying to cheer up a pitiful young mare, and that would be the end of it.  She could sense the stirrings of desire in his gut (she cursed him for the link that they shared, but it did not stop her from feeling what he felt), but knew that he had the self-control to keep himself together.  After all, he had been tempted before, and he had never broken - not even under to influence of magic --

"Touch me," Myrrine commanded breathlessly.  --Don't,-- Zarina warned, alarmed at the sudden change, but her prince silenced their bond.  She could do nothing besides scuttle from his withers to the ground, determined to be nowhere near the pair for whatever came next (ew, gross, no thank you).

The stallion had been watching Myrrine with desire flaring in his violet gaze.  His question had been an innocent one - he had entirely expected her to laugh and offer some silly response in that flustered way of hers.  He had not imagined that she would turn to look at him that way, with need and doubt batting in her lovely hazel eyes, as though she were struggling to make a decision.  She floated closer to him - he didn't remember when that had happened, so entranced was he by the way she was looking at him - and ran her lips down his shoulder, onto his wing and over his feathers.  Heat rose in his loins as he sighed, lost in the electricity that she elicited in him.  This had not been his intention in the slightest, but if she was going to insist --

"Touch me."

It was the only command that the stallion needed.  He immediately shifted to press his muzzle gently against her cheek, tracing muscles slowly down her neck, his breath lingering hotly at each place he touched.  As he approached her withers, he pressed against her harder; when he arrived at the base of her mane, he placed a light nip above her shoulder.  He was losing himself in the smell of her, the taste of her, allowing himself to fall into the trap that she had set for them, that he had pushed her into.  It would be easy to let this happen, to allow the both of them this small pleasure.  He nipped his way slowly along her back, pausing as he reached her croup.  His chest pressed against her wing - it was a foreign sensation, this featherless wing, oddly brittle and delicate to the touch.

It was a small detail, but one that brought him up, however briefly, for air.  He remembered how she had come to be here, remembered how brief a time they had shared, remembered that she seemed to be a young mare (though her sudden demand had him questioning her innocence).  He hesitated, warring with himself.  If she wanted him, who was he to deny her?  He certainly wanted her.  Even so, he backed up a step, his shoulder brushing against hers, his maw lingering along her skin.  "Myrrine," he breathed, a gentle caress against her cheek. "Are you certain that this is what you want?" His voice was a deep, hoarse whisper that betrayed his intense desire.  His lips massaged her neck as he worked his way to her withers and back again.  He was a stallion, and he wanted this mare, but he was also a gentleman - and he could not take advantage of a young mare simply because she asked him to.

"Talk talk talk."

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