Hush

Featuring Crown Prince Donnaghán & Princess Nuala:
Winter, Year 755 of the New Age
Glenmore, Donnaghán’s Winter Den

The day had been a long and tiresome one for the Crown Prince and it was with relief that he once again viewed the proud boughs of his beloved Oak.  

Beneath the light of Óganach’s full right eye, he and the small band of guardsmen that had joined him on a thorough inspection of the Blackwood border returned from their mission.  They were cold and tired, having trudged through the latest hours of the night through deep, fresh powder and light snowfall to make it home.  Their assignment had been a successful one, although had taken a few days longer than they had initially anticipated.  Ever eager to prove his readiness to protect and defend his kingdom, Donnaghán had led the procession to the southwestern most reaches of the Ridgeback up to the northeastern border, canvassing the entire patrol line for weakness.  They hadn’t met much trouble although at the Northern Passage they had spent a whole day pushing back some of Blackwood’s own menacing guards, who had set up stations far past their territory, to a more comfortable distance.

Donnaghán had met them himself, his hooked rack prouder and stronger this year than it had been the last.  He was well into his prime and his strength was with him.  The Blackwoods hadn’t stood a chance and he had, of course, been victorious.  He and his entourage hadn’t come out unscathed though, all of them proudly bearing field-dressed wounds as a testimony to their triumphs in battle.  Upon their return, the russet stag had addressed them directly.  For their bravery, the Crown Prince would see to it that each and every one of them would have their wounds healed by a daughter of Áillte.  But not just any princess.  No, these fine stags would be healed personally by his betrothed, an honor reserved only for the finest warriors.  But for stags who had put lives on the line for their kingdom, it was the least he could do to.

Urging them all to get some rest and assuring them that he and his princess would see to them in the morning, the cardinal-hued stag dismissed himself, stopping only to press his nose reverently against the chilled bark of the Oak before he turned toward home.  It was dead silent, the forest blanketed in white and all its creatures tucked away safely in their warm nests for the night.  Donnaghán walked quickly but was mindful of where he stepped.  It would have been a shame to wake the wood from such a peaceful slumber.  But his den wasn’t far, purposefully built as close to the Oak as was allowable.  Soon he too would allow himself to fall asleep under the spell of the forest.  The familiar shadows of the outer branches of his den soon loomed ahead of him and he couldn’t help but smile.  Finally, he would get to rest.

The two guardsman who had been assigned to watch over his harem while he was away bowed respectfully as Donnaghán approached.  The prince dipped his head curtly in greeting, waiting for them as they stepped aside to allow him entry.  Before he entered the den, Donnaghán couldn’t help but peer inside, apprehension furrowing his brow.  It was dark but he could just make out the shapes of the does he had claimed for his harem that season, huddled together for warmth and there - in the farthest reach of the den - he could just make out the iridescent form of his crown jewel; his princess.  The stag sighed in relief, his breath clouding up and around him until he tilted his head back and gazed up at the full moon.  It was bright and it was beautiful, Óganach’s right eye watching him unwaveringly from the heavens.  Donn sent a silent thank you skyward that she was where she was supposed to be - unharmed and safe - and, with a nod to his guardsmen, entered the den.

The does shifted as he walked over them, some waking just long enough to move themselves out of his way before falling back into their slumber.  On another night, he might have wedged himself in amongst them, enjoying their intoxicating aroma and the thrill of their bodies pressed against his.  But tonight, he wanted one doe and one doe alone - Nuala.  

When he reached her the prince simply stood over her, watching her sleep as his eyes burned with pride and desire.  She was curled deep into the fine, lush pelts of his personal bed and the princess’s ears twitched slightly as she dreamed.  The stag’s chest swelled at the fineness of his princess, scenting the air over her just in case things had changed since he had been gone.  But, despite the sweet smell of whatever flower she had chosen to fragrance herself with, he did not yet taste the intoxicating aroma of her coming into season.  Still, he didn’t let the disappointment ruin his mood too much.  There was always next season.

He clambered into the bed beside her, nudging her so that she would make room for him.  She stirred and looked at him in confusion, sleep clouding her senses until her eyes showed a glimmer of recognition.  “You’re home,” she whispered, the somnolence of her slumber evidence in her lilting whisper.  He did not bother to answer her, his presence answer enough, and waited as she edged to the other side of the pelts.  Carefully, he lowered himself into the furs, his rack held up and away lest he harm her but, when she did not join his side right away, he grunted.  “Come closer, Nuala,” he whispered, his tone lustful and low.  The cremello hide looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable.  Donn’s voice deepened as continued.  “I have travelled long and hard to return home to you, princess.  Is it so much to ask that my wife bed down beside me?”  The doe stared at him for a moment longer but before he could rise to anger (had she tarried but a moment longer he would have considered it insolence) the pale doe wiggled across the pelts and placed her body beside his.

Nuala’s touch was hesitant, not enough to satiate his appetite.  The stag reached over her, using his muzzle to pull her in closer to his body, burying her in his strong chest.  Mindful of his antlers, the stag kept her in the folds of his ruff, his brown eyes focusing on the stark contrast of his red hair against her pale, ethereal coat.  He could feel her heart pounding, the sound of her precious blood flowing through her veins, and he couldn’t help but notice the quickening of his own heartbeat.  “I desire you and your light this night, Nuala,” he spoke, his words deep and low and meant only for her.  She did not answer him, although the quickened rise and fall of her chest told him she had heard.  He buried his nose in her mane, the burning desire in his chest overwhelming as he deeply inhaled her smell.  The prince smirked as her hide twitched against his touch and, sure now that she too felt the electricity between their touch, he gingerly nibbled at her shoulder.  

The Crown Prince groomed her for awhile, reveling in the tensing of her skin as he feverishly worked his way along her neck.  He battled the lust that now boiled beneath his skin, his mind conjuring up a million different scenarios for when the proper time came, and he drank in her scent greedily.  Once, he bit down too hard as the image in his mind became too real and she squeaked as his teeth pinched her skin.  “Hush, hush, my little Swan Queen.  I didn’t mean to harm you,” he said, smoothing down the hairs he had disturbed with his nose as he regained control of himself.  The doe quivered against him as he cooed to her softly but remained silent, lowering her head and burying herself within the folds of the furs so that he couldn’t see her eyes.  The stag sighed and readjusted himself into a more comfortable position.  Donnaghán didn’t touch her again, watching until her rapid breath slowly eased into the rhythmic - and slightly fitful - rise and fall of sleep.  He turned his eyes to the entrance of the den, yawning as he did so.  It was still dark but, just barely, he could see the sky beginning to lighten.

His father would surely expect him at first light.  With only a few precious hours of night left to rest, the prince finally lowered his great head to the furs, his nose tucked beneath one of Nuala’s delicate, pink ears as he blessedly fell into sleep.