The Queen and her Knight- In the fairy tales and old stories, the queens were always subjects of great romance, won by handsome young princesses, and sitting next to their husbands to rule as equals. That was not your story though, was it? No. You were the beautiful daughter of a lord vying for more power in a kingdom rife with conflict, married to an old decrepit king who couldn't care less what you thought about matters of the state.

This castle that should have represented your rise to power, felt more like a stone prison, with labyrinthine hallways that never seemed to go where you thought they did. Your life here was misery. Until...

The handsome young knight came from the southern reaches of the kingdom. He was a skilled fighter who traveled through war and weather to get to the capital. He said he came to swear himself to your husband. To kneel before him and pledge his sword and his life. But even as he knelt, you saw a look in his eye, as he glanced in your direction. A look that said more than any words could. A look that made it very clear that he cared less for the rules of a king, and more for the rumored beauty of his queen.

It didn't take long before the knight came to your door, too late in the night for descent company, carrying a rose and a smile. And it wasn't long before you let him in. Now you revel in the maze of the hallways, always looking for new places to get lost, new ways to hide and not be found, new places to hide away with your new secret love and enjoy your fairy tale romance, even if it did come out of order.

The dark of night was setting in. You and your husband sit around a quiet table as he picks at food, coughing and wiping his mouth as wine dribbles down his chin. "Enough. I am tired. You are dismissed." he says, waving a hand to you. You perform your roll, giving him a bow, walking across the cable to kiss the stubbled skin on his cheek.

But when the door closes behind you, you do not return to your chambers. You sneak down the hall to the agreed spot. To be caught is death, but then again, what good is life without love?

A Gift to a Rival Lord- My carriage arrives just before the evening. It is a long journey from my lands, and my men and horses are tired. I wipe the tired ache from my eyes, stretching sore shoulders and legs, as the trumpets call out our arrival.

"shit," I mutter under my breath, as the round bearded man walks out from the castle to greet me. His face is full of false smiles, and I shape my own face to match.

"I hope your journey was not too hard," He says as he shakes my hand. I assure him it was not. He talks of weather and food, small talk before tomorrow's negotiations. Pleasantries that ignore our years of war.

"If you will excuse me," I say to him at last, "My men are tired, and I myself would not mind some rest before tomorrows... talks... Would you mind-"

"Oh, but of course. In fact," he gives a cheeky little wink "I'll show you to your room myself." He leads me down the hallways, up a spiraling staircase to the guest quarters, but when I reach to open the door, he stays my hand.

"Before you enter, you must know. I have hired for you a... gift. A sign of good faith." He opens the door, revealing you inside, dressed in sheer cloths and silks, waiting on my bed. I swallow. The sacred pleasures of this land are renowned world wide, but even I never dared to dream of tasting them.

"A gift much appreciated," I say to him, as I step inside, and let the door close.

The King's Maid- "Thank you, that will be all." I dismiss the meek handmaid as she lights the last of my candles, leaving the cavernous royal bed chamber dimly lit.

"Yes, my pri-" she catches herself. "Your highness." She bows as quickly shuffles off through the servant exit, her face blushing red. I don't mind. My position is new to all of us. As the door near the bed closes softly behind her, I lay back onto my over-large mattress. The red quilt on the bed feels an island of safety amidst the looming shadows on the edge of the candles glow. The gallant décor still left from my fathers reign is barely visible. A constant reminder of my place as his successor.

My body aches with stress. My mind is a fog of strategy and taxes and public opinion. My very being feels pulled apart like soft bread. I was never a social prince, but now that I was king, I would be required to marry soon, so the last few nights have been filled with eligible maidens, daughters of high lords and neighboring kingdoms, all cloying for a spot of importance. Every moment I could feel their piercing hawk eyes searching me for a way in, some way to endear themselves to my love. A faint touch, a sweet word, a daring neckline, peaking toward firm breasts...

Those breasts did look sweet. The thought of them stirred sensation between my legs. Why shouldn't I choose my wife off such a thing? It made me happy enough. I slid my hand under my trousers, feeling my growing manhood, rubbing it gently as I thought of what she might look like under her lavender gown. My hand grasps my shaft as I lower my trousers to my knees, laying back and taking a deep breath as I stroke faster, and faster.

I'm so caught up in my fantasy, I don't hear the servant door peak open, just a hair. I don't notice the little, breathy moans coming from behind the door, or the little eyes glaring out into my room.

A sudden crash rushes me back to my attention, I sit up alert, expecting mayhem with the guards- but seeing instead the servants door thrown open, and the humble handmaiden, crashed to the floor, her dress askew, baring a breast, her hand trying to escape the mess of fabric between her legs as she struggles to get back to her feet...

Fallen- The mood around the war table is sour, even as the weather is so sweet. The sun shines through the open arches and the sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs below soundtracks the angry yelling of the kings top generals. As the ragged and calloused men of war yell and scream about strategies while moving and knocking over the small pieces that represent our dwindling troops, I sit silent at the king's right hand. My cloak made of the night sky drapes across my chair, my ruby tipped staff rests across my shoulder.

I've long ago learned that these generals are distrustful of mages, assuming that I am here only because I used my magic to worm my way into the king's brain, even as they come to me for sacrifices and tidings for luck I cannot provide. Instead, I fight my wars in secret. Listening, learning, and making my moves when no one is looking. That is how I earned my spot at the kings right hand. How I turned the tides of wars past, and it's how I plan to turn this one, even as defeat seems eminent.

The door to the room slams open. My apprentice runs in. I hold a hand to protest as the Generals turn in anger, but he runs with wide eyes to my side, whispering something in my ear, just for me.

"If you'll excuse me," I stand up, quickly, "It appears you all have this under control." I bow to the king, and hurry out the door. I climb the stairs of my marble tower two at a time, rushing up to my study and bursting in, my apprentice close behind.

"How long?" I ask, my eyes wide.

"I came to you as soon as it happened." he says. I scratch my trimmed black beard, looking in astonishment at the center of the room at my snared trap.

In the center of the room, trapped in the circle of salt from snakes tears, you sit on your knees. A heavy iron collar with forbidden ruins is clasped at your neck and chained to the stone floor on either side of you. The impossible white of your tunic looks elegant and poised, even in tears and tatters as it appears now. The ropes woven from the finest tales and the silk of giant spiders binds your arms, and crosses between your breasts and back behind your feathered wings.

Finally, I have caught one.

"A fallen angel," I whisper. My patron will be pleased.