Kinky Temptation

Ysabel scrambled to her knees, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. She sniffed, trying to regain some composure but kept her gaze down.

"I… I have a friend," Ysabel began, her voice raw. She didn't dare look up, knowing the princess's piercing eyes would see right through the lie.

"S-she… she had a lover. A kind woman. But she… my friend… she didn't really love her. Not like that. Not as a person. She just… she just wanted…" Ysabel swallowed hard, forcing the words out.

"She wanted someone to take the place of another she couldn't have. A replacement."

She took a shuddering breath. "And the lover… she knew. She saw through it. And tonight… tonight my friend broke it off. Cruelly. I… She… said horrible things."

Tears began to flow again. "The lover… she asked why. Why she wasn't enough. And my friend… she… couldn't answer truthfully. Couldn't admit her weakness. So she… hurt her lover again."

Ysabel looked up, her face a picture of guilt and despair. "I… I don't know what to do. How to fix it. How to be better. I just… I feel like such a monster." She slumped forward, burying her face in her hands.

Rosalinda stared at Ysabel, her anger melting into a bewildered concern.

'Oh,' she thought, finally understanding. 'So that's why she was hugging… it. Because she's feeling guilty about mistreating her own… no, friend's lover?'

She shifted awkwardly. She wanted to offer comfort, advice. But she - Princess Rosalinda, who had never known love beyond her forbidden passion for her Mistress, had absolutely no experience to draw from.

Her mind scrambled desperately. What would Lyssandra do? Then she remembered the stories. The stories her mother used to tell her at bedtime, years ago, before the Queen grew detached to her.

Rosalinda walked slowly back to her bed and sat down, patting the space beside her. "Come," she said softly. "Sit."

Ysabel hesitated, then shuffled over and sat beside her, sniffing quietly, shoulders hunched.

"I…" Rosalinda began, her voice tentative. "I don't really know what to say. I'm… not good at this sort of thing." She took a deep breath.

"But… when I was little, and something was wrong or I was feeling bad, my mother used to tell me stories. Do you… do you want to hear one? It might not be about lovers, but sometimes stories help."

Ysabel wiped her eyes, looking at Rosalinda with surprise. "A story?" She blinked. "Um… yes. Yes, please. Tell me."

Rosalinda settled back, trying to recall the details. "Okay," her voice softening. "Once, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a princess. She was very beautiful, but very proud. Her name is Serafina"

"Serafina was renowned for her beauty – hair like spun gold, skin like cream, eyes like sapphires. But she was also terribly proud, and refused to consider any suitor her father presented.

'No one is worthy!' she would declare, dismissing them all."

Ysabel, sniffing quietly beside her, listened intently, her tears slowing.

"Her father, the King grew desperate," Rosalinda continued. "He called for a great ball, inviting princes from every kingdom. Serafina, ever defiant, locked herself in her tower.

'No mere mortal is my equal!' she shouted. But her father pleaded, and finally, Serafina descended in a dazzling gown, radiating disdain."

Rosalinda sighed dramatically. "She danced with each prince. But each one had a flaw she could not abide. This one had a weak chin, that one was clumsy, another spoke too softly."

Ysabel chuckled despite herself, imagining the haughty princess.

"Her father begged her. The princes begged her. But Serafina remained unmoved." Rosalinda leaned closer conspiratorially.

"Until…" she said, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. "The King called forth a lowly stable boy."

Ysabel gasped softly.

"'Serafina,' said the King, 'this is Tony. He is honest, hardworking, and loves you from afar.'" Rosalinda imitated the King's deep, regal tone.

"'Tony,' the princess scoffed. 'A stable boy? Absolutely not!'"

"But Tony… Tony was brave." Rosalinda smiled.

"'I love your spirit, Princess,' Tony said. 'And your eyes. And even your stubbornness. Because that stubbornness comes from a strong will.'"

Rosalinda paused, drawing out the suspense. Ysabel was completely absorbed now, her eyes expecting.

"And then," Rosalinda declared triumphantly, "Tony did the unthinkable! He leaned in… and he…"

She paused, letting the moment hang. Ysabel held her breath.

"He kissed her!"

Rosalinda leaned back, beaming. Ysabel blinked. "What?"

Rosalinda burst into giggles. "Right on the nose!"

Ysabel stared for a second, then threw her head back and laughed, the sound surprisingly loud and genuine in the quiet room. "On the nose?! That's not how the story ends!"

Rosalinda was cackling and clutching her stomach. "Well, it was… a… NOse… kiss zone! - The princess's face" She gasped, trying to speak. "And.. and... because she was so stubborn, her nose was always held high!"

They both laughed helplessly, the tension between them shattered by the absurdity. Tears of mirth streamed down Rosalinda's cheeks, while Ysabel wiped away the last of her sadness.

"I think," Ysabel choked out, trying to regain her composure, "I think the Queen's storytelling skills may have suffered a little in translation over the years."

Rosalinda snorted, still giggling. "Maybe… or maybe Serafina was actually really tall and he bumped into her nose!"

This set them off again, leaning against each other, shoulders shaking. When the laughter finally subsided to chuckles, Ysabel leaned back on the bed, gazing up at the ornate ceiling.

Her tears were gone, replaced by a thoughtful expression. She was silent for a long moment.

"You know," she mumbled, her voice quiet but steady. "That Tony… he wasn't scared of her pride. He just saw something in her that he valued, even the stubbornness. And he showed her."

Ysabel turned to Rosalinda, her eyes holding a new determination. "Maybe…" she said softly, almost to herself. "Maybe I've been too proud to see the good in what I have in the one who sees me. Maybe… just maybe, I need to be the one to see her value."

She took Rosalinda's hand, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, Your Highness." Her voice was warm with gratitude.

"Thank you for… for listening. For the absurd, wonderful story. And for being here. I know now what I need to do."

Rosalinda smiled shyly, squeezing Ysabel's hand back. She hadn't solved Ysabel's problem with logic or advice. But the story, in all its absurdity had somehow sparked a moment of clarity. And that, Rosalinda realized, was worth more than any words she could have found.

-

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Lyssandra turned back, expecting a response or a quip. But Miriel was uncharacteristically silent.

"Hmm?" Lyssandra pivoted on her heel, her cloak swirling. "What's wrong?"

She expected to see Miriel's usual calm expression or perhaps a look of weary annoyance. Instead, she froze.

Miriel looked like she'd been through a hurricane. Her pristine white robe was crumpled and wrinkled, smeared with dirt and sweat stains. Several long, green strands of foliage clung to her silver hair, which had come half-loose from its careful braid and now hung in tangled wisps.

Her face was pale, lips tinged faintly blue, and she was breathing heavily, bracing herself with one hand against a tree trunk.

"What's wrong?" Lyssandra repeated, her teasing tone instantly replaced by concern. "Saintess?"

Miriel lifted her head. Her normally serene eyes were wide with shock and residual terror, unshed tears glistening.

"What's wrong?! What's wrong with you?!" she yelled, her voice raw and shaky.

"We could have been killed a hundred times! You ran through thorns! Leapt over chasms! Ducked under branches at breakneck speed! I thought… I thought my soul would leave my body!" She took a trembling breath.

"Look at me! I'm a mess! I haven't slept! I haven't eaten! I haven't stopped to breathe for a day!" Her voice cracked, her composure shattering completely.

"Are you… are you even human?! Or some kind of… of jungle spirit?!"

Lyssandra stared at her, stunned. She'd genuinely forgotten how taxing the journey would be for a mere girl. The saintess looked utterly wrecked.

"Oh, come on," Lyssandra said, voice softer and laced with an apology she wouldn't quite voice. "Don't sulk like that, little mouse." She closed the distance between them, gently cupping Miriel's pale, tear-streaked cheeks. Her thumbs brushed away the lingering traces of tears.

"Chin up. It was the fastest way to reach this place," she said, trying to inject some reassurance into her voice. "Almost a full day saved, right? That's something."

Miriel jerked away from her touch, batting at her hands. "Yeah! Almost a full day of constant, bone-rattling running with nothing but wind and my own panic!" she snapped.

She started trying to straighten her hair and robes, her movements jerky with frustration. "Do you have any idea what that does to a person?! Do you?! Look at my robe! It's ruined!" She plucked futilely at a large leaf stuck to the fabric.

Lyssandra watched her, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth despite herself. She couldn't help it. The usually composed Saintess looked so delightfully frazzled. It was… endearing.

"Ohhhh," she cooed, a teasing purr entering her voice. "The little mouse is angry now? Baring its tiny, sharp teeth at the big, bad me? How adorable."

She reached out as if to pat Miriel on the head. Miriel slapped her hand away again with surprising force.

"DON'T!!!" Miriel glared at her, breathing heavily.

Then her face suddenly flushed an even deeper crimson, and she averted her gaze before clutching her abdomen slightly.

"I… I need…" she mumbled, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Lyssandra raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Miriel's face burned scarlet. "I need… I need to… do my business," she said through gritted teeth, her voice barely a whisper. "The journey…"

Realization dawned on Lyssandra. "Ah," she said, her grin widening. "Got it."

She stepped back and made a sweeping gesture towards a dense thicket of broad-leafed bushes a short distance away. "By all means. Go make your mark. I'll turn my back and cover my eyes."

She theatrically spun around, crossing her wrists over her mask. "See? Completely blind. Piss in peace!"

Miriel let out a strangled sound, halfway between a sob and a groan of utter mortification. Without another word, she hurried off towards the bushes, disappearing behind them.

Lyssandra chuckled softly and shaking her head. The Saintess was a mess… but she was a resilient one. She had survived the run, after all. And this little embarrassment? Lyssandra was definitely filing it away for future amusement.