The Scarlet Heart of Jaine Ch. 01

The Scarlet Heart of Jaine

by ObScarn

1.

It was already far later in the morning than she would've liked. The early risers had come and gone, giving her gentle nods and curious glances as they passed by. Everyone enjoyed seeing her walk about the town, but to see her so early? Surely, something was amiss. She did her best to avoid any suspicion by giving them the sweetest smile she could muster. It was a warm smile, one that made her eyes close as her cheeks rose up to meet them. So far, it was working. But with every new glance came the chance of a question she didn't want to answer. And it was now late enough that the average folk were beginning to start their day. The shops kicked their doorstops into place, the alehouse was replacing kegs, and the restaurants began to wipe away yesterday's menus and replace them with the new daily special. She hurried her step, ever so slightly.

Her chore coat felt odd; its lining worn out and shredded, having been replaced multiple times over the years. It was one of the biggest coats she had. It rested against her in an unfitting, baggy way that she wasn't used to. She often paired it with a vest or light jacket, but not today. There were plenty of other coats she could've chosen, but this one was familiar to the people of her settlement. Less chance for someone to have an excuse to look at her too closely. If they did, they might catch a glimpse at the fine, intricate hem of what she wore underneath. She rounded the corner of Outcropper's Avenue, barely avoiding what would've been a prolonged conversation with one of the new store owners. He was an older gent, handsome, but boy-howdy, he liked to talk. Any other time she would've let the new denizen talk her ear off. But not today. She had important business to tend to. Urgent. Maybe even dire.

It was hard to see the relatively new home from the start of the path; its construction was solid, and had been built in a very particular manner. Its back wall shielded its occupants from the high street, making one have to tread all the way down in order to see if anyone was home, just like she did now. She'd checked the home twice already, both forty-five minutes apart, and there had been no signs of who she was looking for. Not wanting to stand idly, she had circled her settlement, viewing each and every building in silence. Eventually, she'd settled on an old bench in a forgotten garden through one of the narrow alleyways. She sat and thought for half an hour, got up, and then repeated the circuit, only to end up back at the bench. Approaching now, she realized that she couldn't afford to wait any longer. This was her last chance.

Was she worried? A bit, yes, to tell the truth. The roads outside the canyon were dangerous, a lot of them still uncharted and ever changing. The main path was well travelled at this point, but one wrong turn and one might end up in who-knows-where. Anything could happen. But she didn't allow herself to dwell on it yet. She'd cross that bridge if it ever came. Still, her heart began to swell as she got closer to that building. Halfway down the cobbles, she saw a sight that both eased her heart of worry and replaced it with excitement.

The carriage was unmistakable. Its make, regal and bulbous, was stained a bluish-gray, its metal fittings and accents in a sparkling silver. A crest was emblazoned on the side, depicting a stork whose patina made it look both heroic and menacing in equal measure. Four figures could be seen. Three of them, all varying in height and build, were donned in silver armor with a blue tunic draped overtop. They'd more than likely be people she had some familiarity with; kind, trustworthy enough, but most importantly: dutiful. But it was the fourth figure that she was really interested in. It was this one that she had business. Urgent business.

It was not her husband. Nor was it her girlfriend. No, it was the other. Him. The King.

2.

They'd exchanged pleasantries right then and there, acting like old friends and business partners. While his entourage unpacked luggage and tended to the horses, the old man asked her how things were going there at the settlement. She'd responded with something absently positive, which he'd replied similarly in turn. She asked if he was ready to check the provisions for the upcoming trip, to which he gave a mundanely affirmative response. He then introduced her to a new royal guard, a real go-getter kind of lad, who looked at her with a small bit of flattering awe. She shook his hand and gave the warm smile she'd been giving all morning. The pleasantries continued.

But this wasn't the only conversation happening. There was something more. The king's eyes, little black beads (that were actually a dark-chocolate brown, something she knew well,) from under his heavy brow, looked longingly into her own vibrant greens. There were no words spoken in this hidden conversation, but feelings and memories. Heavy, bloated, pulsing and eager feelings paired with the slick, snug, and beautifully anticipating kind. Memories of a lifetime ago, before the king had brought himself and his kingdom into the realm they now share. Back then, her roles had been knightess and courtesan. And his own had not just been king, but enemy. Oh, how funny life is.

One of the men he'd brought was one of his most trusted, and had actually known her back in the earlier days. He was more than familiar with her and the king's "private relationship" and was quick to say a brief hello before ushering the others to any and all duties elsewhere. Good man. The king nodded to some of the passersby denizens who made their way down Outcropper's Avenue. Some of them had originally complained about the king's sudden and obtrusive choice of plot for a vacation home, but they quickly warmed up to him once they found out just how friendly he (and his pockets) were. Her husband, her girlfriend, and a few of her friends didn't like the old king for one reason or another. But anyone who cared enough to look a little deeper than the surface might find something to respect, if not like, about King Callohse.

The home was unnecessarily robust. The walls thick, the stone heavy, its foundations built with the idea of aeons rather than decades. It was a blueprint made by a king. It was warm, the guards having already set the fire for them. But they didn't stay downstairs any longer than it took for the king to toss his belongings onto the floor. His slippers came off easily, something specially fit for a man of his age. Her own low-cut work boots came off just as easy and revealed two cute, frilly ankle socks beneath. She noticed the king glance at these, perhaps seeing the dark purple gloss that revealed itself through the thin cotton. He took her by the hand and guided her from the entrance, past the living space and kitchen, and toward the stairs. It was a place she was well familiar, having visited many times in the two years it'd been finished. She felt joy and comfort everywhere in the settlement she had made, but the king's vacation house had been one of her favorite spaces within it.

As he led her by the hand, their surface level conversation continued. It was beginning to have a playful lilt, their masks of decency slipping. Partway up the stairs, the king's hand left hers in an excited jolt of speed. It was impressive to see the old man move with such haste. They'd first met when he was in his late sixties, her being twenty-four at the time. Because of the disparity between their realms, he would age another decade by the time they next saw one another in person. And that decade had been quite rough on him. When he made the decision to transfer himself and his kingdom into hers, the realm healed him. It did not remove his age, but it blessed him with vitality. For this, they were both thankful.

By the time she got to the top of the stairs, the old man was opening the blinds. His breath was a little ragged, which was to be expected, but he didn't seem to take notice. The dusk light shone against the tall crown which sat atop his naturally bald head; a truly bizarre feature of his when you considered his very bushy eyebrows and abundance of hair elsewhere on his round body. He smiled, his wrinkles deep from a lifetime of heavy decisions. For a moment, they just stared at one another. Her blinks were gentle, her smirk subtle but incessant. She was excited, but she was also far too composed to ever let that show prematurely. She'd been trained to kill, and trained to seduce. Decades of both made such things second nature. He was the one to break the silence.

"It's good to see you, Jaine."

"It's good to see you too, my king."

She thought she saw the faintest quiver of the old man's lip at her response. Instead of continuing conversation any farther, the king raised a wrinkled hand, one adorned with plenty of rings, and gestured to the bed. It did not have curtains like the one in her own home, which she'd actually based on the king's own bed back in his castle, but it was as sturdy and cushiony as the rest of the furnishings in this specially crafted home. Her footfalls were barely audible as they crossed the wood and onto the various furs and expensive rugs. They were directly facing each other again. He was taller than her, though not by much. His eyes searched all across her, like he'd just stumbled across a vein of gold in a coal mine. His eyes seemed to catch on something, his gaze having caught a glimpse at the very hem she tried to hide from all the others.

"May I?" He asks.

She thinks of making a joke about just lounging in her old, dirty chore coat, but decides against it. She instead gives a tilt of her head and smile of permission, pushing out her chest and shoulder for the king to free her of the coat. His hand was cool to the touch, his fingers soft and gentle. His rings, however, were quite cold. Regardless, she did not falter. He unbound the toggles while taking deep inhales through the bottom row of his teeth. When they were all unclasped, he grasped either side of the ragged collar and turned them over either bare shoulder. The chore coat dropped with a single, solid thud.

The old king hitched his breath, taken aback by her beauty. It was a reaction that never got old, and made her giddy every time. She hoped it didn't show. The garments that clung to her body were deep purple, but shone red in direct light. Rose golden hardware accented the velvet, fat knuckles of metal hanging off of finely crafted chains. The precious metal matched her hair, which she'd let fall loosely behind her. It was one of many outfits he'd commissioned and sent to her. She'd sent him pictures of her wearing it; little snapshots included in their secret-not-so-secret correspondence that she was sure to cover with plenty of official-looking paperwork whenever one of her partners might've passed by her table. The pictures, of course, were nothing compared to the real thing. They'd merely been a tease, a picture on the menu. And now that he was back in town, he was expecting a proper feast. She aimed to deliver just that.

3.

As he took in the sight of her, she could feel her heart beat heavier and heavier. She steadied her breath as stealthily as she could. It felt silly to be flustered by the old man. She'd wooed dozens. No, hundreds, at this point in her life. Maybe even thousands if she counted the drawings, pictures, and stories that'd spread around the realm like a plague. But this man... something about him. He really did have the power to make her heart skip a beat or ten.

After a moment of awe, she saw his face fall with surprise. That, and worry.

"Dear, you're not- your necklace... do you not want to-" The old man stammered, genuinely startled. It was rare to see him like this outside of a war room.

She giggled in response, revealing something she'd been hiding behind her back.

"After all this time, after everything, do you really think I'd forget?" In her palm was a leather collar, gilt and covered in gems. The centerpiece was his kingdom's crest, the stork, shaped and refined into a pendant. The stork's eye, as well as multiple squares against the red leather, were all gems of red. The stork carried a basket which held a diamond within it.

Relieved, he let out an exhale and spoke, "No, my sweet. I just thought that, maybe- maybe you did not want to try-"

She didn't let him finish. The truth was that, indeed, she'd thought about this deeper than she'd like to admit, but it ultimately resulted in her bringing these adornments anyway. There were complications, deeper thoughts, but those things would come later.

"No, my king. I just wanted you to be the one to place them onto me this time. Like the old days." She said, handing him the necklace as well as a bracelet of red obsidian.

He smiled goofily; stupidly. But handsome. He placed them onto her delicate, golden skin. She had a plethora of tattoos that she usually kept covered these days, but he happened to like tracing all those lines, and the outfits he'd commissioned ensured there were plenty of pathways for those old fingers to walk down.

The jewelry felt heavy on her body, though in a strangely comfortable way. After a brief moment, she could barely tell that she was wearing them at all. They were from his home realm and were especially important in his kingdom's culture. He'd given her the necklace and bracelet back in the old days, and she'd accepted them, and kept them safe ever since. They were important to him, and over time, they had become quite important to her, too. They were a representation of their history, as well as what might entail in the future. It was also a remembrance of a promise made long ago. One she intended to keep.

5.

She lounged across his lap, feeling his manhood poking at the small of her back. She looked up into his eyes, happy to have him so close again. She was close to allowing herself to be taken by him. But there was still a little farther to push before the tryst could properly commence.

"Sire, do you have all you need for our trip?" She asked, in part to tease him, and in part to keep her word to some degree. To account for supplies was the stated reason for this morning meeting, afterall.

"Yes, my sweet. I've brought flour, four casks of water, three boxes of freshly sealed provisions, a lockbox of varying currencies, as well as a separate lockbox of barterables in case there're those who aren't interested in the tender." The king said this in the most political-husband way possible. She felt less like a lover and more like a secretary, which made her snicker.

"Very good, my king. And you trust your new guardsman?" She placed a hand against his hairy chest, feeling the sharp slivers of his hair that shielded his softly aged skin.

"I do. He's... young, but not foolish. At least, as much as a young person can help such a thing." His left hand lifted and met hers, covering it and squeezing gently. "Though, of course, no royal guard could ever stand against a certain, mighty warrior who once graced my halls."

Every finger of his was adorned with varying metals and jewels, juxtaposed with her own that bore only tattoos and a single wedding band.

"Will your kingdom be alright in your absence?" She asked, her free hand reaching up and running a finger along his cheek, up to the large stork that looked down at her from his crown.

"Yes. I've left it in the hands of the usuals, as well as a few new friends who you've yet to meet. But, in due time, I hope that you will."

Her eyes traveled from the crown, down to his beady browns, to the exposed patch of white, silver, and black hair that her hand had been massaging, and she decided she was ready. The silence declared that her teasing was over. It was time for her to be with her man. She poked the crown playfully and readjusted.

6.

She knew he liked it when she put on his crown. It was cute, yes, being slightly too big to fit on her snugly. But it also proved to him that his regalness, the thing so deeply instilled into him since birth, didn't mean a thing to her. To her, he was just a man. A good one, with faults just as any, but a man all the same. She took it gently from his bald head and placed it on her own, feigning a ceremonial air. Her faux regality was broken when the crown fell forward, casting a few locks of her strawberry pink hair in front of her eyes. She laughed and caught it, placing it more firmly and prepared herself to please. Some amused chuckles emerged from the old king's round belly, but his face looked more serene than it did amused. He was happy to simply be in her presence. The same could be said for the woman wearing his crown.

Her demeanor changed from cute to sexy as fast as a blink. Her body twisted and her feet slid on the ground, using the hardwood to her advantage and gently lowering herself onto her knees. She crawled forward playfully, still smirking, and stopped at his legs. She eased him farther onto the bed with one instructive hand. He grasped at a nearby lounge pillow and tried to adjust himself comfortably, never daring to take his eyes off of her. Meanwhile, her hands found their own comfort as they rested on either of the man's knees before her, rubbing them patiently. Once he'd stopped his adjustments, she separated his knees slowly, ignoring a small pop from the left. Her hands slid against the soft, slightly fuzzy fabric of his trousers. She imagined it's the same sort of feeling she felt when someone slid a hand across her stocking-donned thighs. The king's mouth thinned and wavered a bit in response to her touch, his teeth finding purchase against the skin of his inner lip. There's a small few twitches from his crotch, like an animal beginning to waken from a deep, winterlong slumber. At this, her playful grin widened into a proper smile and she looked up to meet his eager gaze.

He looked down at her with the same love and adoration that she's seen on many. It's the look of a man unbelieving. The sort of look one gives on the crest of a mountain, about to watch the sun rise from a peak others might've died for. Her hands reached far toward him, slipping between his log-like legs and his pot-belly and into the hem of his stretchy, regal trousers. The make of them reminded her of the shorts her girlfriend often wore. She'd been on her knees peeling those garments down quite often, too. But instead of a cute pair of cat-print panties and a modestly trimmed bush peeking from underneath, there were no undergarments beneath the king's robes. Just a simple, inviting forest of the same silver-black hairs that shrouded a royal appendage which was already leaking in anticipation.

His member was firm in her hand, its thickness requiring quite the squeeze if she wanted any of her fingers to meet her thumb. He let out a sigh of pleasure, her soft hands surely a welcome change from his own old, tired ones. It'd been a long time. He'd once mentioned that he'd come down a lot more if the kingdom were closer. He'd been on the road for a few days, undoubtedly staying more hygienic than a commoner, but road washes could only do so much. The river was opposite the safer path to his kingdom, so its magical properties, as well as its basic benefit of easy cleanliness, wasn't granted to him or his crew. His musk was subtle, growing stronger when bringing her face closer to his curly thicket. But it was a smell that she enjoyed. The kind of sweetly powerful scent that fit within the same guilty category as petrol, burning chemicals, and gunpowder.

"Your hands, dear- Gods- so... so soft, Jaine-"

All she'd done was begin to thumb his shaft, finding the slick pieces of skin and letting her hands appreciate the man's surprising size. She hadn't even begun to stroke him yet but he was already closing his eyes in enjoyment and appreciation. She knew that it came from love. It made her happy, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel more determined. He wasn't allowed to be this far in yet. He had so much more to experience this morning. He'd agree to go as many times as she wanted; the gods knew they'd once fucked enough to require a healer. But she'd not let him start their long-awaited reunion on a misfire. She knew it would hurt his pride, and would feel like a bit of a waste. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. It'd been too long.