The Tale of Queen Arta Ch. 02 - Sex Stories

The Tale of Queen Arta Ch. 02

... intentionally broke the rules of court protocol.

One of the guards interjected, "You do not address the Queen before you are first addressed!" He raised a mailed hand to strike her.

Arta sighed internally, "There's no need for violence, good sir. This woman was invited and warrants hospitality." Looking at the degree to which the guards were struggling to pull the woman forward, Arta asked, "Dare I ask why she required such rough treatment?"

The redhead didn't give the guards a chance to answer, "I told them I needed to take in my plants before I left. These." She paused to spit upon the nearest, "Fools interpreted this simple statement as 'disobeying the Crown' and informed me 'disobedience has consequences.' They'll be lucky if I'm willing to sell them their get-hard potions again after this!"

The looks on the guards' faces were priceless, even to the Queen, as they tried to babble their way into explaining what really happened, that they don't purchase the woman's services, and even things that no one had implied or asked. Arta closed her eyes and smiled disappointedly. She cleared her throat.

"Gentlemen, I believe there has been some misunderstanding. If our guest will apologize for her side of this and you for yours, we can return to why I asked her here in the first place. No. Discipline. Required. For anyone."

The redhead's mischievous eyes glittered, "Oh, quite reasonable, my Queen. I, Orrea, do apologize for putting the needs of my plants above ...

... the needs of the Queendom." Her voice dripped with partially-veiled sarcasm. She was fortunate that the commentary amused Arta rather than displeased her.

The guards stammered together a pair of apologies that were about as coherent as their earlier statements. Arta nodded and waved them away before turning back to the redhead. She looked Orrea over, fascinated by the subtle way in which she plays innocent and displays... dare she call it omnipotence? Surely there was an end to the redhead's power, but her rough-spun cloak was matched with a silk lining, the dagger at her hip exceptionally crafted silver-inlaid steel countered by the twigs in her hair. The designed juxtaposition continued, details that would be thoroughly overlooked by less-attentive or less-observant eyes. Eyes that were not Arta's.

But Arta's eyes were not only focused on the belongings of the woman before her. No, she was also eyeing the very intentional way in which her clothing revealed her looks. She was buxom, heavy breasts straining against the supposedly cheap fabric that bundled around her clearly-thin waist. Her tunic also gathered around what had to be shapely hips and buttocks. Her legs were slender but toned and were the most on-display part of her body before they ended in the bizarre half-boot, half-sandal, whatever-you-call-them shoes no one else would dare wear. And then her face. A light dusting of freckles on her pale skin. Those brilliant, piercing, green eyes. Plump lips. And not a ...