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haebinPlease enjoy the next chapter!!
And thank you so, so much for reading. It means a lot to me. ♥
Eyelids closed and slowly catching his breath, Trálír still felt the aftermath of his orgasm. This sweet, satisfying feeling flooded even now through his body and a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He had often lain in his chamber at night, and instead of indulging in meditation, he had thought of Anwyn and imagined what their first experience together would be like.
Trálír had already spent some very promising nights with other elves in his long life - contrary to that of a human.
He had enjoyed all the experiences of his past and lost himself in passion and sensuality with relish. But now to spend this moment with the person closest to him, to experience the love they shared, to feel his own body become one with Anwyn, was so much more than he could ever have imagined. His heart seemed to be bursting with so much devotion to her.
Anwyn…
A wistful sigh escaped his lips, and he missed holding his beloved in his arms, feeling her closeness, or even just listening to her breathing. Trálír opened his eyes to see which side of him she was lying on, but a bright light blinded him, and the pain that now burned in his eyes caused him to close his eyelids again.
Is it morning already? Trálír wondered, as the next thought immediately came to him. A thought that sent his body into a panic in the blink of an eye. Anwyn was still by his side, at this time of day? Here, in his chamber, in this castle?
What if... He immediately dismissed this emerging illusion that was forming in his mind's eye, because the only thing that mattered to him now was the urgency to get Anwyn to safety immediately. Nothing else mattered to him.
Trálír didn't know how to do that, but no one should see her here, near him.
He looked frantically to the left and right, but Anwyn was nowhere to be seen. Then his gaze fell on himself. Trálír noticed his naked body, the sheet wrapped around his ankles, and his flaccid member resting on his thigh. He felt the spilled semen below his navel and sank back into the mattress with a disappointed sigh.
“A dream,” he whispered disappointedly.
It was just a dream...
Trálír folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling of his chamber. He grimaced unhappily, because everything he had dreamed did not match with reality. And yet he still felt Anwyn's lips on his. It seemed to him as if her presence still filled the room. His fingertips continued to tingle from the sensation of touching her heated skin. The light of the morning sun fell through the gap in the drawn curtains that concealed the closed balcony door.
Shaking his head slightly, Trálír recalled the dream he had had not long ago.
It was not only his strong longing for Anwyn and his desire for the two of them to be together that had caused it, but also the fact that Trálír had been unable to carry out his original plan. When he had come up with the idea of spending the holidays with Anwyn at his uncle's inn, he had expected three full days. Due to the ominous visit his father had informed him about just a few days earlier, the three days had shrunk to a single night. If he was lucky and could somehow talk his way out of it, he might be granted two days with Anwyn.
At the moment, however, it looked as if Trálír would also leave as soon as possible once the guests had departed from the castle. He hoped that the visitors would leave early, as this would enable him to saddle Arod immediately and ride to Anwyn. He planned to take another horse with him, probably Rodwen, the mare Anwyn had ridden when they encountered the sea devils. They would reach Krautbach in the late afternoon, stable their horses at the inn, eat something, and perhaps stroll through the market square.
Trálír grimaced unhappily because he didn't want Anwyn to feel that he was rushing things so that they could retreat to their room. He had planned to dance with her, go for a walk, inspect all the stalls, find a little romantic corner, perhaps under a weeping willow, where they would toast their time together with a honey wine. Only when darkness fell did Trálír want to walk with his beloved into their shared chamber.
The next morning, he wanted to hold her in his arms, love her, kiss her, touch her, and not be torn from his sleep by the feeling of an approaching storm, forcing him to ride back to the Blackwater Lands.
He knew how rare these opportunities to spend the night with Anwyn were, regardless of whether they would give themselves to each other or not. The only thing he wanted was to know she was near him, to share a bed with her... to feel that they could share a future together.
Shaking his head, Trálír rolled his eyes, because he knew what his father and Tearlách would think of him.
You sound like a mixture of a young man who has lost his mind and a rutting ox.
Approaching footsteps in the long corridor could be heard, pulling Trálír out of his thoughts. Sighing, he sat up, and when his feet touched the bare floor, he shivered a little. He was grateful for the coolness in his chamber, for he suspected that this day, like the last few, would be unbearably hot.
As he walked over to the chest of drawers that stood under his window, offering him a view of the sea, which seemed peaceful at the moment, he thought of Anwyn's father and his friend. He smiled as he remembered that Conall had once been a servant in this castle and had now become a confidant.
Actually, he is my only and closest friend, Trálír corrected himself in his thoughts, for he had never been able to form other friendships. The closest he could come to that would be Fairre, the horse keeper. And he was considerably older than him.
He had even been able to form a closer bond with Doran, Anwyn's father. Yes, their start together had been difficult, and it had taken a long time for him to trust the ruler's son even a little, but Trálír had proven himself to be a loyal, reliable, and trustworthy man.
Lost in thought, he reached for a stoneware jug decorated with a floral pattern and poured the water into the stoneware basin standing on the dresser. He reached for a folded linen towel, shook it out, and dipped it several times into the water, then grabbed a bar of soap lying next to the tub, rubbed it into the damp towel, and began to wash himself.
The footsteps Trálír had heard while he was still in bed were steadily approaching, and as he reached for another cloth to dry himself, there was a knock at the door.
Before he could utter a word, he heard Andrick's voice.
“Sir? Do I have your permission to enter?”
Trálír raised an eyebrow in surprise. Andrick was his father's valet.
What could be the reason for his appearance? he wondered, then answered yes.
Trálír was still standing naked in front of his dresser with his back to the door, drying himself off, when he heard the door open and someone enter. Then he heard a clearing of the throat. Holding the towel in front of his lap, he turned around and saw an elderly elf standing in the open doorway, bowing politely.
His face showed no signs of his age, but in his green eyes Tralir saw the knowledge of past years. He also knew that Andrick was a decade older than his father.
He wore a black robe that reached the floor, and a wide dark red velvet belt encircled his waist, indicating his status as first valet.
The rest of the castle's valets and maids wore the same robe, but the differences in their positions were evident in the colors of the velvet belts they wore.
Standing beside him was an elf whom Tralir estimated to be just under 200 years old. When their eyes met, she bowed respectfully and curtsied slightly. She looked no older than he did, but in the eyes of the elven community, she had already reached adulthood a century ago. Trálír looked questioningly at the valet, who was holding a pile of clothes in his hands.
“Sir, forgive me for disturbing you, but your father sent me to dress you appropriately for the occasion,” Andrick began, nodding toward the garments in his hands, then striding over to the bed, where he laid the various items on the sheet, which he smoothed out first. The chambermaid closed the door behind her without a word, but then remained standing with her eyes cast down, not taking a step in his direction.
“I know about the visitor we are expecting, but I think I am quite capable of dressing myself,” Trálír remarked, raising an eyebrow reluctantly. He let his gaze wander over the garments now presented before him.
The finest fabrics were in the colors of a rich dark brown, a light beige, and a shade that reminded him more of the sand on the beach than a pure white such as the snow that fell in the cold months. Boots in a lighter brown, which ran slightly into a reddish tone, and calf-high, Andrick placed them on the ground at that moment.
“Your father commissioned this garment,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading. Trálír tried to suppress the sigh in his throat. He knew that the consequences of his refusal to carry out his father's orders were usually passed on to the servants.
When Tearlach and he were still children, their father had had no qualms about punishing them for their obvious stubbornness, as the ruler had called it. The firstborn shook his head slightly to suppress the images that were coming to mind, and his gaze met Andrick's, who took this as a denial of his words and turned pale. Trálír raised his hand reassuringly.
“Of course, Andrick,” he replied. “Hand me the clothes, I'll get dressed.”
The valet obeyed Trálír's words, took the clothes back in his hands, and then approached him. In a low voice, as if it were unpleasant for him, he said, “Let me help you get dressed. And Damays will take care of your hair.” He glanced over his shoulder at the chambermaid, who was still standing in place.
Trálír sighed.
“Very well, but please allow me to admit that I am still perfectly capable of putting on my own underwear.” A crooked grin appeared on Trálír's face, and he hoped that this would dispel the underlying concerns of the valet and the maid. He walked over to his wardrobe, but before opening it, he placed the still slightly damp cloth on his bedside table.
Opening the closet, he reached for a pair of underpants and slipped into them, then Tralir turned to see himself standing opposite Andrick, an apologetic smile on his thin lips, holding the tunic, which was the same color as the silk pants, in his hands.
Trálír allowed Andrick to help him put on the garments. First he slipped into the tunic, then into the trousers and finally into another tunic that reached down to his knees. The chambermaid now approached Trálír and the older elf without saying a word, reached for the light brown silk sash, put it around the ruler's son's waist and pulled it tight while Andrick put the waist tie, which was decorated with intertwined ornaments and made of the finest suede, over the sash and closed it.
The ornaments on it could also be admired on the lapel of his doublet and on his tight-fitting stand-up collar. When the valet knelt down to help his master into his boots, Trálír shook his head vehemently.
“Stand up again, Andrick,” he said in a dark voice, looking indignantly at the old elf, who looked up at him uncertainly. “I am not my father, and I insist that I can put on my boots myself. I will not let an older elf kneel before me.”
Andrick nodded uncomfortably and slowly straightened up with a suppressed groan.
“Forgive me for my inappropriate behavior, my lord,” he replied to the rebuke of the firstborn, who was still looking at him sternly, but when he spoke the following words, his voice was mild: “No elf will have to kneel before me for things I am capable of doing myself, Andrick. I thank you for your help, you may go now.”
The old elf nodded, but then looked at the chambermaid standing silently next to Trálír.
“Damays was ordered to braid your hair, my lord,” Andrick murmured, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
“Very well, then let her do her work,” he replied with a shrug, walking over to his desk and sitting down on a stool covered in dark red velvet. It was still quite dark in this part of his chamber, as the curtains in front of the balcony door were still closed. But before he could mention this, Damays had pulled them back and the room was completely bathed in the light of the morning sun.
Trálír felt her first touch as she gently took a few strands between her fingers and separated them from his hair, then began to brush it. Closing his eyes, he imagined that it was not the maid standing behind him but Anwyn. As much as he loved running his hand through her curls, each of her touches was just as loving when she brushed the hair that had fallen into his face behind his ear. When he wore his hair down, he had often observed her absentmindedly running her fingertips through his hair as soon as she felt unobserved. And she always had that loving, tender smile on her lips.
Trálír sighed unconsciously and felt the maid behind him braiding the separated strands of hair. She was good at what she did, because only a few moments later she had finished her work and stepped aside. Trálír gently touched the braided strands that fell into his half-open hair and nodded contentedly.
“You may go now,” he said to the maid, stood up, and walked to the balcony, opening the door to breathe in the fresh sea breeze.
I just need a moment, Trálír thought, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. Just a moment of peace before I have to play the perfect firstborn...
And thank you so, so much for reading. It means a lot to me. ♥
Eyelids closed and slowly catching his breath, Trálír still felt the aftermath of his orgasm. This sweet, satisfying feeling flooded even now through his body and a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He had often lain in his chamber at night, and instead of indulging in meditation, he had thought of Anwyn and imagined what their first experience together would be like.
Trálír had already spent some very promising nights with other elves in his long life - contrary to that of a human.
He had enjoyed all the experiences of his past and lost himself in passion and sensuality with relish. But now to spend this moment with the person closest to him, to experience the love they shared, to feel his own body become one with Anwyn, was so much more than he could ever have imagined. His heart seemed to be bursting with so much devotion to her.
Anwyn…
A wistful sigh escaped his lips, and he missed holding his beloved in his arms, feeling her closeness, or even just listening to her breathing. Trálír opened his eyes to see which side of him she was lying on, but a bright light blinded him, and the pain that now burned in his eyes caused him to close his eyelids again.
Is it morning already? Trálír wondered, as the next thought immediately came to him. A thought that sent his body into a panic in the blink of an eye. Anwyn was still by his side, at this time of day? Here, in his chamber, in this castle?
What if... He immediately dismissed this emerging illusion that was forming in his mind's eye, because the only thing that mattered to him now was the urgency to get Anwyn to safety immediately. Nothing else mattered to him.
Trálír didn't know how to do that, but no one should see her here, near him.
He looked frantically to the left and right, but Anwyn was nowhere to be seen. Then his gaze fell on himself. Trálír noticed his naked body, the sheet wrapped around his ankles, and his flaccid member resting on his thigh. He felt the spilled semen below his navel and sank back into the mattress with a disappointed sigh.
“A dream,” he whispered disappointedly.
It was just a dream...
Trálír folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling of his chamber. He grimaced unhappily, because everything he had dreamed did not match with reality. And yet he still felt Anwyn's lips on his. It seemed to him as if her presence still filled the room. His fingertips continued to tingle from the sensation of touching her heated skin. The light of the morning sun fell through the gap in the drawn curtains that concealed the closed balcony door.
Shaking his head slightly, Trálír recalled the dream he had had not long ago.
It was not only his strong longing for Anwyn and his desire for the two of them to be together that had caused it, but also the fact that Trálír had been unable to carry out his original plan. When he had come up with the idea of spending the holidays with Anwyn at his uncle's inn, he had expected three full days. Due to the ominous visit his father had informed him about just a few days earlier, the three days had shrunk to a single night. If he was lucky and could somehow talk his way out of it, he might be granted two days with Anwyn.
At the moment, however, it looked as if Trálír would also leave as soon as possible once the guests had departed from the castle. He hoped that the visitors would leave early, as this would enable him to saddle Arod immediately and ride to Anwyn. He planned to take another horse with him, probably Rodwen, the mare Anwyn had ridden when they encountered the sea devils. They would reach Krautbach in the late afternoon, stable their horses at the inn, eat something, and perhaps stroll through the market square.
Trálír grimaced unhappily because he didn't want Anwyn to feel that he was rushing things so that they could retreat to their room. He had planned to dance with her, go for a walk, inspect all the stalls, find a little romantic corner, perhaps under a weeping willow, where they would toast their time together with a honey wine. Only when darkness fell did Trálír want to walk with his beloved into their shared chamber.
The next morning, he wanted to hold her in his arms, love her, kiss her, touch her, and not be torn from his sleep by the feeling of an approaching storm, forcing him to ride back to the Blackwater Lands.
He knew how rare these opportunities to spend the night with Anwyn were, regardless of whether they would give themselves to each other or not. The only thing he wanted was to know she was near him, to share a bed with her... to feel that they could share a future together.
Shaking his head, Trálír rolled his eyes, because he knew what his father and Tearlách would think of him.
You sound like a mixture of a young man who has lost his mind and a rutting ox.
Approaching footsteps in the long corridor could be heard, pulling Trálír out of his thoughts. Sighing, he sat up, and when his feet touched the bare floor, he shivered a little. He was grateful for the coolness in his chamber, for he suspected that this day, like the last few, would be unbearably hot.
As he walked over to the chest of drawers that stood under his window, offering him a view of the sea, which seemed peaceful at the moment, he thought of Anwyn's father and his friend. He smiled as he remembered that Conall had once been a servant in this castle and had now become a confidant.
Actually, he is my only and closest friend, Trálír corrected himself in his thoughts, for he had never been able to form other friendships. The closest he could come to that would be Fairre, the horse keeper. And he was considerably older than him.
He had even been able to form a closer bond with Doran, Anwyn's father. Yes, their start together had been difficult, and it had taken a long time for him to trust the ruler's son even a little, but Trálír had proven himself to be a loyal, reliable, and trustworthy man.
Lost in thought, he reached for a stoneware jug decorated with a floral pattern and poured the water into the stoneware basin standing on the dresser. He reached for a folded linen towel, shook it out, and dipped it several times into the water, then grabbed a bar of soap lying next to the tub, rubbed it into the damp towel, and began to wash himself.
The footsteps Trálír had heard while he was still in bed were steadily approaching, and as he reached for another cloth to dry himself, there was a knock at the door.
Before he could utter a word, he heard Andrick's voice.
“Sir? Do I have your permission to enter?”
Trálír raised an eyebrow in surprise. Andrick was his father's valet.
What could be the reason for his appearance? he wondered, then answered yes.
Trálír was still standing naked in front of his dresser with his back to the door, drying himself off, when he heard the door open and someone enter. Then he heard a clearing of the throat. Holding the towel in front of his lap, he turned around and saw an elderly elf standing in the open doorway, bowing politely.
His face showed no signs of his age, but in his green eyes Tralir saw the knowledge of past years. He also knew that Andrick was a decade older than his father.
He wore a black robe that reached the floor, and a wide dark red velvet belt encircled his waist, indicating his status as first valet.
The rest of the castle's valets and maids wore the same robe, but the differences in their positions were evident in the colors of the velvet belts they wore.
Standing beside him was an elf whom Tralir estimated to be just under 200 years old. When their eyes met, she bowed respectfully and curtsied slightly. She looked no older than he did, but in the eyes of the elven community, she had already reached adulthood a century ago. Trálír looked questioningly at the valet, who was holding a pile of clothes in his hands.
“Sir, forgive me for disturbing you, but your father sent me to dress you appropriately for the occasion,” Andrick began, nodding toward the garments in his hands, then striding over to the bed, where he laid the various items on the sheet, which he smoothed out first. The chambermaid closed the door behind her without a word, but then remained standing with her eyes cast down, not taking a step in his direction.
“I know about the visitor we are expecting, but I think I am quite capable of dressing myself,” Trálír remarked, raising an eyebrow reluctantly. He let his gaze wander over the garments now presented before him.
The finest fabrics were in the colors of a rich dark brown, a light beige, and a shade that reminded him more of the sand on the beach than a pure white such as the snow that fell in the cold months. Boots in a lighter brown, which ran slightly into a reddish tone, and calf-high, Andrick placed them on the ground at that moment.
“Your father commissioned this garment,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of pleading. Trálír tried to suppress the sigh in his throat. He knew that the consequences of his refusal to carry out his father's orders were usually passed on to the servants.
When Tearlach and he were still children, their father had had no qualms about punishing them for their obvious stubbornness, as the ruler had called it. The firstborn shook his head slightly to suppress the images that were coming to mind, and his gaze met Andrick's, who took this as a denial of his words and turned pale. Trálír raised his hand reassuringly.
“Of course, Andrick,” he replied. “Hand me the clothes, I'll get dressed.”
The valet obeyed Trálír's words, took the clothes back in his hands, and then approached him. In a low voice, as if it were unpleasant for him, he said, “Let me help you get dressed. And Damays will take care of your hair.” He glanced over his shoulder at the chambermaid, who was still standing in place.
Trálír sighed.
“Very well, but please allow me to admit that I am still perfectly capable of putting on my own underwear.” A crooked grin appeared on Trálír's face, and he hoped that this would dispel the underlying concerns of the valet and the maid. He walked over to his wardrobe, but before opening it, he placed the still slightly damp cloth on his bedside table.
Opening the closet, he reached for a pair of underpants and slipped into them, then Tralir turned to see himself standing opposite Andrick, an apologetic smile on his thin lips, holding the tunic, which was the same color as the silk pants, in his hands.
Trálír allowed Andrick to help him put on the garments. First he slipped into the tunic, then into the trousers and finally into another tunic that reached down to his knees. The chambermaid now approached Trálír and the older elf without saying a word, reached for the light brown silk sash, put it around the ruler's son's waist and pulled it tight while Andrick put the waist tie, which was decorated with intertwined ornaments and made of the finest suede, over the sash and closed it.
The ornaments on it could also be admired on the lapel of his doublet and on his tight-fitting stand-up collar. When the valet knelt down to help his master into his boots, Trálír shook his head vehemently.
“Stand up again, Andrick,” he said in a dark voice, looking indignantly at the old elf, who looked up at him uncertainly. “I am not my father, and I insist that I can put on my boots myself. I will not let an older elf kneel before me.”
Andrick nodded uncomfortably and slowly straightened up with a suppressed groan.
“Forgive me for my inappropriate behavior, my lord,” he replied to the rebuke of the firstborn, who was still looking at him sternly, but when he spoke the following words, his voice was mild: “No elf will have to kneel before me for things I am capable of doing myself, Andrick. I thank you for your help, you may go now.”
The old elf nodded, but then looked at the chambermaid standing silently next to Trálír.
“Damays was ordered to braid your hair, my lord,” Andrick murmured, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
“Very well, then let her do her work,” he replied with a shrug, walking over to his desk and sitting down on a stool covered in dark red velvet. It was still quite dark in this part of his chamber, as the curtains in front of the balcony door were still closed. But before he could mention this, Damays had pulled them back and the room was completely bathed in the light of the morning sun.
Trálír felt her first touch as she gently took a few strands between her fingers and separated them from his hair, then began to brush it. Closing his eyes, he imagined that it was not the maid standing behind him but Anwyn. As much as he loved running his hand through her curls, each of her touches was just as loving when she brushed the hair that had fallen into his face behind his ear. When he wore his hair down, he had often observed her absentmindedly running her fingertips through his hair as soon as she felt unobserved. And she always had that loving, tender smile on her lips.
Trálír sighed unconsciously and felt the maid behind him braiding the separated strands of hair. She was good at what she did, because only a few moments later she had finished her work and stepped aside. Trálír gently touched the braided strands that fell into his half-open hair and nodded contentedly.
“You may go now,” he said to the maid, stood up, and walked to the balcony, opening the door to breathe in the fresh sea breeze.
I just need a moment, Trálír thought, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. Just a moment of peace before I have to play the perfect firstborn...
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Date: 2025-08-24 11:46 am (UTC)