The Curse of Camelot Page 5

  The hag nodded. “Very clever indeed, Sorceress” she said.

  Even beneath all her ugliness, it was not difficult for Vivien to read the respect on the old woman’s face. It was the first time Vivien could remember being praised for single-handedly murdering Merlin, The Immortal.

  She was about to issue the old woman a final warning to take her leave and continue with her own rounds of the garden when she faltered. It felt good to be admired for once. Even Guinevere’s gratitude had been short-lived now that she was far too occupied fucking her way around The Round Table. Vivien allowed herself to imagine what Guinevere had been up to last night with the handsome Lancelet and felt a flutter at her cunt. My body needs some of that treatment.

  As if reading her mind, the hag spoke up, “So, my dear, if I may ask—why is it that Guinevere is queen when Camelot has you to thank for ridding the court of a king, who favored his knight over his wife? They should be bowing down to you, Sorceress, in gratitude for showing them the light and achieving what many thought impossible. Why is she the one with all the power?”

  Vivien stuttered out the beginnings of a sentence, but stopped when she realized she did not possess the answer.

  The old woman drew closer to her, so close that Vivien could see the broken veins inside the hideous brown wart on her cheek. “Is it because you enabled her to have the power?” she asked, releasing a waft of putrid breath.

  Vivien swallowed and nodded. It was true that Guinevere’s sexual hold over The Round Table Knights all came down to the magic of the pendant—the pendant that she, Vivien, had created.

  “I—I just wanted to be Sorceress, that’s all. I never wanted to be queen. It never crossed my mind.”

  “I think you’d make a much better Queen for Camelot than the bitter and twisted Guinevere,” the old woman whispered. “She’s only interested in getting her own back, in making everyone suffer for the way she suffered at the hands of Arthur. And that includes you, my dear.”

  For the first time since meeting the hag, Vivien became aware of the cold and felt a shiver bolt down her spine. She’s right. Guinevere was on a revenge mission, of that she’d never been in any doubt, but Vivien had gleefully played her part because she got what she wanted out of the deal—to be Sorceress of Camelot. But, now she came to think of it, Guinevere’s reliance on her had seemed to diminish in recent months, and rarely did she sense the queen’s gratitude for the part she played in overthrowing Arthur. In fact, now Guinevere possessed the pendant, she barely had time for Vivien, instead preferring to spend her time pleasuring one knight or another.

  “Of course,” the hag said, cutting into Vivien’s thoughts. “The hand who giveth, can also taketh away.”

  Vivien shook her head, willing away her disloyal thoughts. What had just gone through her mind? Guinevere was her queen, for goodness’ sake. She’d pledged an allegiance to her to serve her till death. They’d formed a pact to do away with Merlin and Arthur. Together.

  “Are you suggesting,” she spat at the old woman, “that I remove the pendant from Guinevere’s possession?”

  The old woman’s eyes opened wider, unblinking. “Rumor has it that even you, with all your power, cannot do that, for your spell ensures that the hand that removes the pendant burns instantly on contact. Although, I have to confess, this surprises me. I would have thought that a sorceress of your caliber would have had the foresight to create a way for you to maintain the power, to allow you the upper hand should your queen ever dare disrespect you. She is, after all, just a normal woman without you and your skills.”

  Vivien folded her arms in front of her chest and smiled. “Do you really think I’m that stupid that I didn’t think of that myself, old woman?”

  The hag arched an eyebrow and let out a low whistle. “I told them as much,” she said. “When the naysayers of Varlion accused you of not thinking ahead, I insisted they were mistaken, for I knew a sorceress of your standing would have thought of everything.”

  I could get used to this. Rarely did she meet others who recognized the full extent of her abilities. “Then you are correct,” she said. “Although I dare say even you could not begin to imagine the ingenuity that it entailed to create the chink in the pendant’s armor.”

  The old woman clapped her hands together, and for a fleeting moment, Vivien could have sworn the lines on her face appeared smoother, her lips plumper. She looked almost familiar, but she couldn’t be, for she did not hail from Camelot.

  “Oooh, do tell,” the hag said, making Vivien promptly halt her chain of thought.

  Vivien looked around to check if they were alone in the garden. Satisfied there wasn’t a soul nearby, she crouched lower to the ground to get as close as she could to the woman without being so near she had to breathe in her stench.

  “Werewolves,” she said, unable to keep the excited trill from her voice. Even now, years after creating her master plan, it still made her insides buzz to think that she’d devised such an infallible system to protect the pendant from falling into the wrong hands.”

  “Werewolves?” the hag repeated, pursing her lips. “I’ve come across a few of those beasts in my time. Vicious creatures. I’ve never seen one defeated.”

  “Exactly!” Vivien’s grin stretched across the muscles in her cheeks. “They pace the ground beneath the queen’s chamber every night while she sleeps to prevent any would-be thief from scaling the wall and stealing the pendant. She cannot wear the pendant for sleep, you see, for its power is so great it prevents its wearer from slumber. But removing the necklace leaves it vulnerable to theft, and believe me, there are plenty of folk who wish to alleviate its power from the queen.”

  The woman nodded, urging Vivien to continue. She was enjoying relaying the details to this peculiar old stranger and seeing how impressed it made her. She felt almost drunk on the woman’s adoration. It made such a refreshing change to be admired for her skills for once, rather than ignored or underestimated.

  Those imbeciles of Camelot wouldn’t dare disrespect her to her face—they were far too cowardly for that—but she knew they did it all too often behind her back. She only had to step foot into the village for the whispers to start, for women to turn their backs and talk to each other in hushed tones behind their hands and for the men to change direction to avoid having to cross paths with her. They thought of her as a meddling witch and made little secret about it.

  “If the werewolves are there to protect the pendant from theft, then how can that be the chink in the pendant’s armor, pray tell?”

  Vivien opened her mouth, then hesitated. She’d sworn to Guinevere she’d never disclose the secret to anyone. But then Guinevere had sworn to her in exchange that she’d never falter in her respect for her sorceress. And yet, over the years, how that respect had waned. No longer did Guinevere visit her every eve to talk through their plans together. Not since Vivien perfected the power of the pendant had she honored her with that privilege. Now Guinevere was obsessed with the blasted thing. Barely a night went by when she didn’t insist on wearing it, on summoning one knight or more to tend to her raging libido.

  Why should she remain loyal to her oath when her queen had faltered so despicably on hers? The thought of how she was treated, both by the subjects of Camelot and the queen, was enough to make up her mind to share the secret. At least this old hag might appreciate the genius behind it.

  “There is only one situation, in which the werewolves will not succeed in protecting someone from entering Guinevere’s chamber to steal the pendant,” she said to the woman, whose milky eyes shone in response to the share of confidence. “And that is if they mate in human form. Every day at midnight, they are human for thirty minutes before reverting back to beast form. If they were to mate during that half hour, their powers of observation would be severely compromised.”

  The hag’s hideous face broke into a grin, showing off her black gums and scant teeth. “Perfect,” she said. “Because everyone knows that sex with a werewolf
, even in human form, is the vilest, most repugnant act. No man worth his salt would ever touch a woman who had copulated with a hybrid canine beast, which means no woman would ever consider mating with one.”

  Vivien held her breath and leaned forward so her face was level with the hag’s. “Precisely. Which is why the pendant will never leave Guinevere’s possession. Clever, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Exceptional, my dear.” The old woman tapped the side of her hooked nose with a bent finger. “Fear not, Vivien, Sorceress of Camelot. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Vivien stood upright and turned her head from side to side, ensuring no one else was close enough to have heard their conversation. The herb garden was deserted, aside from a huge, lone crow cawing by the thyme bush. “Listen, I will pardon you this visit to the queen’s garden and will even permit you to fill your basket with herbs as long as you swear never to return. You must now depart. I bid you goodbye.”

  Vivien spun on her heel and began to walk away. When the old woman failed to bid her own farewell, she turned back, only to find a thick curtain of mist rising up from the patch of ground where the hag had stood.

  That’s odd. I only turned my attention away from her for a moment, and she was hardly spry enough to take such sudden leave.

  The first ray of hazy morning sunshine cut through the mist the hag had left in her wake and glinted on an object on the ground. Vivien reached down and picked it up. It was a long, spindly metal hairpin decorated with a single pearl. It had to have fallen from the old woman’s wispy hair as no one else ever dared tread this path.

  Vivien lay it across her palm to inspect it. It was the type favored by the noblewomen of Camelot. She dropped the pin into the pocket of her day dress and walked through the garden, headed for the castle.

  Chapter Five

  On hearing Guinevere’s urgent cries for her sorceress, Vivien bolted into the queen’s chamber. “What is it, Your Grace?”

  Guinevere was on all fours on top of her bed, panting for air. The pendant hung down from between her huge breasts.

  “Oh my Lord, My Queen, what have you done?”

  “It’s the pendant,” Guinevere husked, between labored breaths. “I’ve been wearing it since sunrise, and my breasts are full of honey, my cunt round and fat with milk. My body must be relieved of the liquid it carries to make the knights ready for battle, else I will suffer the consequences.

  Vivien ran over to the four poster bed and placed a hand upon Guinevere’s bare back. Her skin was hot and clammy. “You’ve been wearing the pendant too long, My Queen. Take it off at once. Your body needs a rest from its powers.”

  Guinevere lifted her head, and Vivien could see a sheen of sweat shining above her top lip. Suddenly, the queen screwed up her face as if a wave of pain overtook her. For a split second, her beautiful face contorted into the expression of a witch so evil she could turn day to night with her despicable features.

  “No!” Guinevere snarled before her muscles relaxed and her beauty was restored. “I want the pendant to fill me up, for this eve I will summon three knights at once to suckle my nipples and feast on my cunt. I want my body to be so almighty powerful, that it carries all the milk and honey needed to make a trio of Round Table warriors undefeatable in battle.”

  A trickle of her juices dropped from between Guinevere’s legs and dissolved into the tapestry cover on the bed. Vivien looked at the source of the drop and gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her reaction at what she saw. The lips surrounding Guinevere’s clitoris were so swollen that the skin covering them was taut and pink.

  “What if it’s too much, My Queen? I designed the pendant to feed one knight at a time, not a group of them. We cannot send them into battle still hungry for strength if the pendant fails to create all your body needs to sate them.”

  “Enough!” Guinevere cried, her pretty nose puckering from another swell of discomfort. The pendant will not let me down. It will fill my body with enough goodness to sate the entire Round Table if I so wish.”

  The crest of the pain must have passed, for her skin unwrinkled and she lowered her voice. “Act speedily, Vivien, before my milk and honey begin to leak from me and become wasted. I want Parceval, Gawain, and Tristan here simultaneously, in my chamber, to ease the pressure.”

  “Very well, My Queen. Consider your demand granted.” Vivien nodded and retreated backward, her moccasins sliding on the polished wooden floor.

  “Hurry, Sorceress, for I fear my body cannot hold out much longer before I have to place my own nipple in my mouth to relieve this terrible discomfort.” Guinevere placed a hand under her breast.

  Vivien’s eyes widened as she watched the drips of honey pool into Guinevere’s palm. Never had the queen pushed the power of the pendant this far before. Yes, many times had she worn it for longer than the four hours a day Vivien designed it for and had summoned two knights at a time to rid her body of the excess milk and honey, making them much stronger warriors in the process, but never had she worn it all day or attempted to sate three men with the sustenance it provided.

  “Hurry, you incompetent witch!”

  Vivien wrenched her attention away from the queen’s breasts to meet her eyes. Incompetent witch? Guinevere had never before insulted her so badly. Perhaps this was the side-effect of wearing the pendant for so long.

  “Yes, My Queen,” Vivien muttered before she ran for the door.

  “Wait!” Guinevere cried out. “Vivien, call for the housekeeper and let her summon the knights. Return to my chamber as soon as you can. I need you here to attend further to my needs.”

  Vivien ran to the staircase and hollered down for Cressida to call for the knights’ presence at the order of the queen.

  As soon as she’d issued the demand, Vivien scampered back along the landing. “Yes, My Queen,” she said, out of breath, and closed the chamber door behind her.

  “You took too long. I’ve started without you.”

  Guinevere sat cross-legged atop her bed. Both hands held one breast upward so that her nipple reached her mouth. A droplet of golden liquid glistened on the end of her teat. She placed the teat between her lips and drew, as if she hadn’t drunk for days.

  Vivien stood still, watching. With her legs spread on the bed, Guinevere’s gaping cunt was clearly visible. The once golden downy hair framing her slit had darkened from the milk, which dripped continuously from her center.

  I wonder what it tastes like. What glorious tastes possesses your milk that it makes the most handsome and strongest of knight unable to resist? Vivien’s clit stirred as her curiosity piqued.

  Guinevere released one hand from the breast that was in her mouth, and without ceasing to drink, she tapped her finger on her other nipple. Honey spilled out from the large pink teat in response to the stimulus.

  Oh my God, she wants me to take her breast in my mouth. That’s what the queen had meant by attending to her needs. Vivien didn’t move. Instead, she continued to gape at Guinevere, hoping her stalling would hurry the knights along. If only she’d have mixed that thyme concoction earlier, she might have found it easier to resist.

  It’s not right. I shouldn’t enter into sexual activity with her. God would judge me for it. If she simply refused, then Guinevere would have no choice but to wait for the trio of knights she’d summoned to relieve her.

  Vivien shook her head.

  Guinevere let her nipple fall from her lips and held up her other breast with both hands.

  “I order you to drink, Sorceress,” she said. “My breasts are heavy and full. I cannot wait for the knights. I need to release some honey now. Come over here and place your innocent mouth around my teat. I promise you, the taste is sweet and delicious.”

  “But My Queen, God does not grant us womenfolk to seek satisfaction from one of our own kind.”

  Guinevere stretched her mouth into a slow smile. “Oh, I think you’ll find, sweet virgin Vivien, that you and I are not of the same kind.”

  S
he looked down at the erect nipple on the end of the breast she held out to Vivien and gave it a light flick. Honey dribbled onto the pad of her finger. She let her enlarged breast fall onto her chest and placed the finger between her legs, inserting it inside her cunt.

  The queen closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure as she stimulated herself. She pulled her finger out and held it out for Vivien to see. It was coated with a pure white cream and had a swirl of golden honey running through it.

  “Here,” Guinevere whispered. “Taste it. Just one lick, and if you don’t like it, you need never take it from me again. I promise.”

  Wetness trickled into Vivien’s undergarments. She wanted so badly to taste the queen’s milk and honey that her groin ached with desire. She walked, one slow step at a time, toward her queen. When she reached the foot of the bed, Guinevere sat up onto her knees and stretched out her arm, her milk-coated finger aloft.

  “Try it,” she whispered, a sultry smile gracing those full lips.

  Vivien smelled the spicy, sugary milk before her. The cinnamon aroma floated up her nostrils and filled her senses with an urgent need to have the cream wash across her taste buds. She closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, running it from the base of the queen’s finger all the way to the tip.

  Vivien’s mouth zinged with sparks of burning fire and freezing ice all at the same time. The combination was strangely sensational, but after only a few seconds, it subsided, leaving her yearning pussy begging for more.

  “Like it?” Guinevere’s voice was like that of an angel floating in the distance.

  Tipsy with her queen’s ambrosia, it took Vivien a moment to work out what she’d said. When she finally did make sense of the question, all she could do was nod. She was vaguely aware of Guinevere holding up a huge breast and bringing a hard, darkened nipple to her lips. Weakened by a complete void of self-discipline, Vivien parted her lips and accepted Guinevere’s nipple into her mouth.