The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

With a few hours left before dawn, they make their way over to the meadow, lying underneath the tree for perhaps the last time. Namora snuggles up to her horse and stares out into the darkness for her tiger. He doesn’t come.

. . . . .

The next day, Namora isn’t able to leave the castle. Preparations are being made for her trip and she is forced to spend the whole afternoon packing a trunk with Eunice. Though the old woman wants to pack enough to last the Princess a month in case of an emergency, she politely refuses, saying that if she needs a dress she will get one in Alumenia. They settle on ten dresses, even though Namora only wants seven, she lets the old lady win a little of their argument. Truth be told, she is hoping she doesn’t have to stay there longer than a week.

The two of them manage to get all of the dresses, corsets, undergarments and everything else into one chest. Eunice thoroughly assists her in the whole process; while Namora wishes to slip a few knives into the chest just in case, she isn’t able to.

She is forced to join her father and Laren for dinner. She misses their company but she doesn’t want to participate in the somber occasion. For the first half of the meal, no one speaks. Finally, her father breaks the silence.

“Advisor Laren and I will arrive in Alumenia in four days time. I suspect you invited your friend Amyee?”

“Yes, I asked her to be my matron of honor,” Namora says softly, transporting mashed potatoes into her mouth, even though she isn’t hungry anymore.

“Very well, she will ride with us. I don’t think there are many but there are a few of the town governors who will make the journey.”

“Who will be escorting me?” she asks curiously. Though she wishes it to be Franklin, at the same time she doesn’t want it to be. It will be nice to have a familiar face, someone to confide in but she also doesn’t want the reminder of her old, free life.

“Captain Franklin, Officer Gregory and Officer Jackson,” Laren responds.

“Only three? Shouldn’t we send a few more?” the King says, slightly nervous.

“Three will be more than enough, father,” Namora chimes in; it doesn’t matter if he sends an army, as she won’t be safe from Irron’s clutches in his own castle.

Her father sighs. He looks as sad as Namora feels.

“I would like to take Greystar with me,” she adds.

“Why? That beast is a disobedient, pathetic excuse for a horse,” her father grumbles.

“No one will ride him, Princess. Not that he would let anyone else even try,” Laren chimes in.

She pushes food around her plate. She makes her voice small, knowing that they won’t be able to say no to her, “It would just be nice to have a piece of home to take with me, that’s all.”

Another deep sigh comes from her father; she doesn’t look at him.

“I suppose he could pull the carriage by himself,” Laren suggests, “He is the size of two normal horses, it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Fine,” her father agrees. They eat the rest of their meal in silence, only breaking it to say good night to each other.

Though she goes to her room, she doesn’t stay in it for very long. Namora sneaks out as usual. She wishes just one more night of sleeping under the stars before she is destined to spend the rest of them deep within the bowels of a mountain.

She tries hard to sleep but it doesn’t come easily. Tucked against her horse, she stares up at the sky through the rustling willow branches. Slowly, her eyes drift shut.

Something wakes her. She isn’t sure if she heard a noise or not but she sits up startled. Greystar doesn’t rouse, deep in his dreams of open pastures. Down the hill, in the depth of the forest, she sees two glowing blue eyes watching her-her tiger. Quickly, they disappear.

She isn’t sure why she does it but Namora slowly gets up and stalks down the hill into the tree line. She is hesitant to enter it very far as she doesn’t have a weapon but something draws her in. She carefully picks her way among the forest debris, searching for her tiger. Then, like a ghost in the darkness, she sees the two piercing eyes floating amongst the shadows. Just as with the others, she can hear a deep throaty purr emanating from the beast. Against her better judgment, she takes a step closer. Somehow she gets the feeling that this tiger is different from the others. She is so close now, she reaches out to touch its soft, blonde fur.

The tiger leaps, knocking her down to the ground. Its huge paws pin her shoulders and though it continues to purr, the tiger begins to tear at her throat. Namora thrashes about, desperately trying to free herself. This tiger is different-this tiger is her hunter. He will be the end of her.

Namora’s eyes pop open, the white light blinding her; she thinks surely she must be dead. She feels pressure against her body; things slowly come into focus. Greystar stands above her, mashing his huge snout into her neck, whinnying and licking her anxiously. She places a hand on his nose, the other reaching up his massive head to tug at his ear. As the huge beast calms down, Namora realizes that she is still intact, still alive. It was a dream.

As the pair plod their way back to the stable, Namora contemplates her dream. Laren always insisted that there is something to be learned from them-all it is, is our unconscious mind’s version of poetry, trying to convey a secret message to us. She has never fully believed it but she considers the message none the less. Something unusual will kill me. No, that can’t be right, too obvious. It is my mind, it is my code. I am the tiger, so the tiger represents… my hunter. I will finally find my hunter. Oh heavens, I hope it isn’t Irron-no, it can’t be Irron, he is the sun… I was drawn to my hunter… like the brush tigers are drawn to me in life. Because they love me. I will find my hunter, drawn to him out of love… and he will slay me, end me, put me out of my misery. Namora sighs, dismounting Greystar once they reach the stable.

While she rarely ever washes him, leaving that to the stable boys, she chooses to do so today. She takes him to the stone pad and has to get a stool in order to drench him with several buckets of water. As she works the soap into his fur, she discounts her dream, her mind trying to crush out any false hope that her heart offers. That is a nice thought but my future will not be as easy as that. I will travel to Alumenia tonight. I will spend three days alone with Irron… then I will marry him. That will be my end.

It takes her at least an hour to completely wash the horse, dry him off and brush out his mane and tail. In the process, she ends up completely filthy. Instead of putting him back into his stall to keep him clean, she leads him to the pasture, wishing for him to have one last free run before he comes with her to Alumenia. Before she lets him go, she leans her forehead against his, tugging at his ear.

“Don’t go and get all dirty now. Stay clean and pretty for me,” she whispers to him.

He leaves her, trotting off into the grass. She watches him carefully; when he comes up to a puddle, he stops in front of it as if considering what to do. Slowly, he turns and picks his way carefully around it, before continuing off into the trees. Namora smiles to herself, wandering back to the castle.

It is lunch time but Namora is filthy. Slowly she makes her way to her room, intentionally trying to put off leaving as long as she can as she was supposed to leave right after breakfast. Eunice catches her right outside of her door.

“What in the-where have you been, Princess? Look at you! You are filthy!” the old woman squeals.

Namora shrugs, keeping her face blank though she wants to laugh, “Greystar needed a bath. He was really dirty.”

The old woman grumbles, dragging the Princess inside, “That is what stable boys are for-to give horses baths, so that Princesses don’t get dirty and need baths themselves! Now you stay right here and don’t you move an inch.” The old woman hobbles out of the room, frantically screaming at passing attendants to help her fill the bath water.

Namora smiles to herself, though she feels bad that she caused so much extra work for Eunice. It takes a while for an army of attendants to fill the tub, one bucket at a time. She waits patiently, standing exactly where she was instructed to. Her empty stomach rolls over itself, growling angrily at her. Though Eunice tells her to be quick about it, Namora takes her time removing her clothes and getting into the tub.

She sinks down to her neck, letting the hot water prickle her skin and remains there, soaking until the heat leaves the water lukewarm. Slowly, she washes her hair and body, taking enough time that the water grows cold. Only when the goose bumps form on her skin and her shivering body forces her, does she get out of the tub and dry off. She puts on a clean underdress before leaving the wash room.

“It is about time! You are already very late, Princess, you must hurry,” she holds out a corset for her.

Namora shakes her head, “No way am I wearing that damned thing. I will be sitting in a carriage for half the night-no one inside of there will care if I look like a woman or a dog.”

The old woman gives up, rolling her eyes, “Fine. What do you want to wear then?”Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

“My blue hunting dress,” she says. As Eunice opens her mouth to object, she cuts her off, “That is what I wish to wear, so that is what I will wear. King Irron might as well get used to me wearing plain clothing because I guarantee you I will not be wearing an awful, uncomfortable, ridiculous dress every day for the rest of my life.”

The old woman, looking slightly hurt and frustrated, throws her hands up, “Well then you don’t need me, Princess, because you can put that one on yourself.” She begins to tear up.

Namora swiftly walks over to the old woman and hugs her tightly, “I will always need you, Eunice.”

She laughs slightly, hugging her back, “Oh child how you remind me of your mother. She had quite the temper too and she never wanted to wear fancy dresses.”

They laugh together, hugging each other tightly. Hesitantly, they let go and say their goodbyes; Eunice leaves the room, Namora alone once more. She goes through the process alone, brushing out her long hair she only braids back the top part, leaving the length of it down to dry naturally. She pulls on her hunting dress, tightening the ribbons in the back before she affixes her crown on top of her head. It feels weird to her, wearing her crown with anything that is made of plain cotton but she doesn’t hardly care much anymore.