This chapter is ludicrously long, 33 pages on Google Docs to be specific, but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you readers enjoy it too! Also contained within is my first significant instance of female butt abuse on this blog (I think DeviantArt refers to it as "Hot Buns", but I respectfully disagree with the usage of the term), which can be blamed on me binge-reading a ton of /F stories with such content on my spare time. I don't know if I'll include more of it since the person affected doesn't deserve it, but maybe in future stories I'll give it some more love. Nonetheless, this story will be more skewed towards /M butt pain because gods, there needs to be more stories of it around the blogosphere. Special thanks by the way goes to FraggsterFly and HBunsArchive on DeviantArt, whose butt pain and humiliation stories were major inspiration for this chapter and the story it's part of in general.
Unfortunately, things will be going a little slower from this point forward, since I have a new project at work starting next week and have to focus on it. Most likely the third chapter won't be up until December. Still, I've already set up the general plot for the remaining chapters of this little fairy tale, and dammit, I'm going to finish and publish it if it kills me! >w<
Also, see if you can spot all the mythological and folkoric references I snuck into this chapter, I dare you! ;)
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Seat of the Lindworm Prince
by Skaea
Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.
Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.
Word Count: 8,383
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Chapter 2: Knock On Wood
It is no secret that dragons are hoarders. While preferences vary from species to species, shiny objects are among the most common things that can be found in the lairs of these fearsome magical reptiles, precious metals and stones especially. Most would say that this is because they are greedy beasts which care for nothing but material treasures, but the truth is somewhat less derogatory to the dragons themselves: the treasure they gather is a status symbol. The more riches a dragon accumulates, the more powerful and impressive it looks to others of its kind. The similarity to humans of wealth is uncanny, and given the unsavory reputation of such people, it truly is no wonder that dragons are said to embody the vices of humanity even if most would be insulted by such a comparison.
Before Shepherd Crosby’s daughter freed Prince Erland from his curse of being forever trapped in the body of a lindworm, there had been several accounts of wealthy aristocrats venturing in ornate carriages into the forest where he was reported to live… only to stagger back into the kingdom, their expensive clothes in tatters, rambling in mortal terror of the beast which had stolen everything they held dear. Their horses were also recovered, but were too traumatized to serve royalty any more and were sent off to the countryside to find new homes, their bejeweled harnesses nowhere to be seen. After the prince returned to his kingdom in his human form, an investigation into his former lair uncovered all of the missing wealth, along with documented evidence also cached in the cave that every single royal who had been robbed had in turn scammed and extorted their gains from other residents of the kingdom. The corrupt nobles were arrested and the contents of the dragon’s hoard returned to their rightful owners almost as soon as Erland established himself as the elder prince of Wyrmwood, in part because of his inherent selflessness and in part because from his perspective, becoming one of the kingdom’s leading figures meant that his hoard had, in a sense, expanded. It was no secret that he insisted on keeping track of Wyrmwood’s economy, for after all, if the kingdom was his, then technically, so was all of its treasure.
In the wake of his fateful conversation with Ingrid’s parents, Erland couldn’t stop thinking about that day’s events. Not the slew of accidents involving himself and almost everything pointy in the kingdom, no — what he was focusing on was far more worrisome than the throbbing sensation plaguing his buttocks on a daily basis. It seemed as though his hoard was being misused on a grand scale, and those responsible were getting away with it scot-free. His brother was most concerning, for he didn’t care about tax laws or spending policies like how Erland himself did; all he wanted was to drain the budget of the kingdom on what he wanted, mostly expensive imported goods as well as any means of bolstering his martial might. Throughout that fateful meeting, it was like he wasn’t even there, and the only instance where he had paid attention was when military spending was bought up. This wasn’t an isolated occurrence, either: the same thing happened in the meeting the following day, although this time, Erland decided to take Ingrid’s advice to heart, not wanting a repeat of the last time he’d bickered with Osmond. It was a lot tougher to resist the temptation than he thought, but he still managed to sit out the ensuing debacle and let it speak for itself.
In spite of the cabinet’s protests, Osmond had issued multiple decrees that the budget would continue to go into arming the knights of the kingdom and filling up the ranks of the army to an unprecedented scale. He had a “crusade against the forces of evil” to win, in his point of view anyway. Aside from the fact that this would drain the funding for the very infrastructure of the kingdom, if its neighbors saw it preparing to go on the attack for anything, they’d regard it as a threat, and there’d go any hope of diplomacy with them.
Erland, Ingrid, and Destin remained in their seats even as the meeting adjourned and everyone else left. It wasn’t until long after Osmond had gone when the elder prince stood up, whipped the crown off his head, and hurled it to the floor with an outraged yell of “THAT’S IT!!!”, his eyes turning acid green with slit pupils once again.
“I CAN’T TAKE THIS… THIS BULLSHIT ANYMORE!” he cried. “Day after day, Osmond proposes the exact same fucking thing! Not renovating the outer districts, not sheltering the poor, not even improving crop yields for the kingdom’s farmers! It’s always war, war, war like he’s repeating quotes from some speech he’s written beforehand! It’s despicable!”
“I agree, sire,” replied Destin. “But you musn’t let your anger overtake you, or it’ll have consequences you can’t foresee. I know you want to take matters into your own hands, but—”
Erland grabbed the hilt of the sword he’d bought with him this time (just in case) and tugged at it, trying to pull it from its scabbard. It was a few tries before he finally succeeded, waving it in the air angrily. “Whatever consequences come, I’ll deal with them in due time. But they’d be better than having him take over the kingdom and raise Hell with the world around us! He keeps saying that his choices are for the good of everyone, and that just because the realms to the south and beyond the seas aren’t having any of his fuckery he has every right to call them choice words that shouldn’t be spoken in front of children! What kind of selfish fucking asshole draws that conclusion?!”
Destin backed away fearfully. “But sire, I still think you shouldn’t stoop to his l—”
“Of course I won’t,” he growled, shaking his head. “But I can’t not do something about this, either. What I’d give to formally challenge him to an actual duel for the throne just this once, just to see if he’s really as tough as he claims!”
As much as Ingrid admired his enthusiasm, she wasn’t entirely confident, nor did she approve of where this conversation was going. Erland was stubborn and headstrong, always obsessed with doing the right thing, but he tragically lacked the experience for it due to his upbringing. In particular, he had little experience with weaponry, having spent almost his entire life fighting tooth and claw. If he tried dueling with Osmond, who’d learned swordplay since his youth, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
The cunning shepherd’s daughter decided then to try and humble her boyfriend before he began to behave as recklessly as their adversary. Drawing the dagger, she pointed it at him and asked, “Perhaps now would be a good time to demonstrate how good you are with a sword. If you can impress me, then maybe we can talk more about your idea.”
If Destin’s jaw weren’t hinged to his head, it would’ve hit the floor. “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”
Erland too sputtered wordlessly, his still-green eyes wide with shock. “But I — you — I can’t hurt—”
“It won’t be lethal, I promise. But if you dare to strike a deadly blow against me, I won’t hesitate to return the favor. Am I clear, sweetie?”
He gulped, realizing what he’d gotten himself into. But he raised his sword regardless, and started swinging.
What followed was a duel of awe-inspiring proportions, the two lovers exchanging blows with astonishing speed as they swept around the room trying to keep up with each other. Destin held back and watched from a safe distance, knowing that even though Erland wasn’t the best swordsman in the kingdom, he was certainly the deadliest — and not in a way that flattered the prince. It was amazing that Ingrid had dared to challenge her lover like this, especially with such a short blade as hers’, but she had been so confident when she’d declared said challenge that nobody had contested it. The prince was now learning the reason for her nonexistent hesitation: every single blow he tried to land ended up being parried by her dagger, its curved, almost semicircular cross-guard forming a pair of hooks along with its blade that could be used to catch and turn his sword aside. Her reflexes were so quick that he could barely keep track, but even if he kept his distance as best as he could, Destin still feared for Ingrid’s life, for one false swing could take her head off and there was more than a good chance of that possibility! But not only was the princess giving her lover a run for his money while wearing a noblewoman’s gown and heels, but it looked like she was winning. If anything, it should be her who’d take on Osmond in a duel, but sadly, women weren’t allowed to participate in ritualistic fights like this.
The two lovers finally found themselves back on the podium, weapons locked and their faces mere inches from each other. Ingrid had Erland’s sword in a clinch, and with one twist of her arm she sent it flying from his hand. However, in her first mistake since the duel had began, she’d misjudged the distance between them, the slash of the sword tip as it was wrested free ending up cutting her dress open. It fell and left her white bloomers for all present to see, startling her into dropping her dagger with a loud “YEEK!” She proceeded to bend over and try and lift the severed part of her gown up to cover herself, but in so doing accidentally headbutted Erland in the chest, causing him to fall backwards from the podium and onto the uncaring floor of the room — where his long-abandoned crown was waiting.
WHOAA-CRNCH-BMP-POINK!
“EEEEEEEYYYYYOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUCCCCCHHHH!!!! NOT AGAIN!”
For a brief moment, Destin winced and covered his own rear. Then he sighed in dismay and went to help Erland once again.
The defeated prince rolled over and curled up on the floor, moaning in agony with his crown once again embedded in his backside. Ingrid finally gave up trying to salvage her dress and picked up her dagger before sheathing it, having basically won the argument. Then she descended from the podium to console the poor man, feeling a little guilty for inconveniencing him.
“H-how did you — Where did you learn how to duel like that?” asked Destin.
“You don’t traverse the outer streets of Wyrmwood on your way to the market every other day for ten years without learning a few survival skills,” she replied, the relief that neither of them had gotten seriously injured finally washing over her. “Are you alright, sweetie?”
“I doubt it,” groaned Erland, rolling onto his stomach to lie face-down in shame. “If it helps, though, I’ve changed my mind regarding the idea of a swordfight, seeing as you’ve clearly gotten your point across.”
The other two couldn’t help but laugh at that one. Erland smiled as well, but said smile vanished as soon as they grabbed the crown and yanked it off with tremendous force.
SHRRRRIIPPPP!
“YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!”
**********
Three days later…
Queen Erika gazed out of the window of her boudoir, not really focusing on anything in particular but in general taking in the view of her beloved kingdom from one of the highest towers of the castle. She loved Wyrmwood very much, and she knew her husband would want her to choose the most noble and philanthropic of her children to take the throne. But her only child, for a time, was anything but noble, and given that he held more power than her these days, she could do nothing to stop him. Like a wilting flower, the kingdom seemed to be decaying from its outskirts inward, and it seemed the longer Osmond remained as the head of its authority, the worse it became.
The tormented screams of her other son were a daily occurrence nowadays, and if the sixty-year-old royal hadn’t witnessed Erland’s clumsiness first-hand multiple times she’d have guessed that he was being treated most cruelly at the hands of his brother. In a sense, she wasn’t wrong — her younger son by a mere hour had refused to acknowledge that the lindworm was his sibling, and no wonder, for he had spent his entire childhood thinking that he was alone in the world, so he took out his fury at having been lied to his whole life on the only target he could think of, and specifically said target’s posterior. Even she couldn’t comfort him, and she now understood in hindsight that lying to him about his relations would do more harm than good. There had to be a solution, but she was in no state to provide one, not now.
Perhaps the only way out of this predicament was to find the witch who had helped her bear children in the first place. She still felt horribly guilty for not heeding Oili’s warning: “Be sure to peel both onions before eating them.” If only she hadn’t been so hasty and short-sighted, she could’ve prevented all of this before it began. As it was, all she could do was send out some of her best dukes and duchesses into the woods beyond the kingdom to try and find the spore hag’s home. But alas, every single one had turned up empty-handed.
It certainly hadn’t helped that most of them were selfish, vain, or otherwise too unreasonable for their own good. The witch hated those kinds of people. The forest within her vicinity had refused to let any visitors near wherever she was located, and as for those who tried… well, she’d had to treat the wounds inflicted upon the hapless derriere of one of the more forthright maidens she’d sent into the forest the other day, who’d planned to drag the witch back to the kingdom by her cap as soon as she’d found her. The spoiled, daffy young blonde had somehow gotten stuck in a clump of tree roots, the woodland animals proceeding to rip her dress and bloomers off and then systematically maul her bare bottom with a slew of bites and scratches, the poor woman’s screams carrying all the way back to the kingdom. She returned stark naked and with an angry squirrel still clamped onto her left buttock, its incisor teeth sinking deep into her tender flesh; the rodent had to be beaten off with a broom handle, much to the lady’s further discomfort.
A few days earlier than that, a dark-haired lady in a long red gown had come to the queen with the promise to bring the witch back to the kingdom, by any means necessary. She’d had multiple knives concealed in almost every inch of her outfit, and she had punctuated her offer with one of them embedded into the wall several feet from the queen’s head. That had been enough to convince her to send the assassin into the forest… only for her to crawl back out mere hours later, caked in dirt and grime and with half a dozen of those fiendish little knives stuck in her ample behind like meat skewers. She rambled something about demonic pixies the whole time she was hauled off to the infirmary, to everyone’s confusion but nobody’s surprise. The forest seemed to cast illusions specific to each person who dared to plunge into its depths, eventually driving them mad.
And then there was when a young nobleman had tried his luck a week prior. He was a rich and sharp-dressed baron of just over twenty and already earning his keep as a stockholder of a prolific limestone mine. He thought he could convince the witch with promises of a better place to live than some dingy hut in the forest, but he had barely managed to make it a mile in before an animated tree branch clotheslined him and sent him sailing into the canopy, before is pants and undershorts were torn off and he ended up being spanked to high heaven by multiple thorny tree limbs before plugging a tree hollow with his naked butt. Said hollow was, to top it off, home to a swarm of extremely unhappy hornets. The luckless and incredibly agonized baron was rescued by some errant woodsmen almost an entire day later, and had to be sent to the royal infirmary as well, screaming bloody murder about wanting to burn the palace apiary to rubble. It was a wonder that his holdings weren’t seized after that disaster.
Upon remembering these and many more similar incidents, Erika wondered if she should just give up and let Osmond go his own way. Experience always has been the best teacher, she knew that much, but if her son was to take power for good, the already troubled kingdom would collapse for good along with him. But the mere mention of Oili now sent waves of panic and rage through everyone present, and rumors were now circulating that there would soon be someone who wouldn’t come back from the woods after being sent… because, after all, witches eat people, or so the stories go. Nobody wanted to try to find her anymore, not with so many people suffering horrific trauma to their rear ends during every single attempt. Tensions within the kingdom were now at an all-time high, and she spent more than a few sleepless nights fearing that an uprising was on its way.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on her door. For a moment, she wondered who in the castle had the time to visit her that day. Probably one of the maids, since they always had questions and complaints. But then she heard two voices calling for her, causing the queen to stand up a little straighter.
“Your Highness? Are you in there?”
“It’s us, we need to talk. It’s your younger son!”
“Come in, Ingrid and Sormr,” the queen replied. The door opened with a quiet creaking sound a mere moment later, and the princess slipped inside, the brown and black snake draped around her neck like the world’s strangest scarf.
“Thank goodness you’re here and willing to talk,” said Ingrid, wiping her brow. “I’ve been trying to find someone to confide my concerns to who isn’t afraid to provide advice.”
“I never turn a deaf ear to anyone in the castle,” replied Erika. “What happened this time?”
“Your elder son,” replied Sormr, “has just gotten fed up with basically everything his brother has been up to as of late. He told Ingrid this morning that Osmond has been proposing military expansion so frequently now that it’s a wonder he hasn’t been removed from cabinet session attendance! Erland wanted to challenge him for the throne, but Ingrid told me that he’s not good with a sword…”
“Erland’s been used to being a non-human creature for a score and a couple of months,” replied Erika. “He needs much more time still to readjust himself, but he should be fine after that. Osmond, however… Osmond’s behavior concerns me even more. I too wish I could do something, but he has more authority than I do now that I’m growing old, possibly infirm…”
“Don’t say that,” replied Ingrid, patting her shoulder. “You’re still our Queen. Don’t you have the power to decide who shall succeed your husband?”
The queen shook her head sadly. “I may rule the kingdom as a whole, but when it comes to managing it and its facilities, Osmond has taken over all responsibility. I wanted him to learn what it meant to rule the kingdom since I thought he’d inherit the throne, but his power went into his head years ago. If he wanted to banish me, he certainly could. There’s only one person I know who isn’t under his jurisdiction…”
“The witch,” replied Sormr, before flicking her forked tongue as though in thought. “Oili, the one who helped both you and Ingrid.”
“She used to have a place in the kingdom where she worked as an apothecary,” Erika said with a nod of confirmation. “But after my husband died, Osmond blamed her for failing to save him, even though she did everything she could. Whenever Oili visited us, Osmond made his displeasure with her very clear. And once Erland came into his life… well, that was the final straw. He closed down her shop, and she’s never visited the kingdom since.”
Ingrid shivered a little. “But she’s the only person who may have an idea of what to do, if the last few times she’s lent us her wisdom are of any indication.”
“Is that why you’ve sent people to try and retrieve her?” asked Sormr. “Almost everybody who came back was in very bad shape…”
Erika looked out the window, staring off into space. “Well, I didn’t send them, exactly. Once word got out, a number of nobles came to me and said they wanted to try and bring her back. I had to promise a handsome fee if they succeeded. All of the ones who’ve volunteered so far have failed, but that’s only increased the incentive. People want to make a name for themselves in this kingdom, in part so they can impress Osmond.”
“But Osmond himself was the one who drove her away,” said Ingrid.
“Not that anyone else knows it. Or cares, as long as they have the money. Too bad for them that she refuses to let anyone within a mile of her, which isn’t surprising if you consider that Osmond’s contempt basically shattered her trust in the kingdom.”
Sormr turned her scaly head to look up at Ingrid. “What if you went and talked to her? I don’t think Oili will listen to any of the royals now, but she might listen to you. She knows you from when you were just a shepherd’s daughter, and I don’t think she’ll see you as just another noblewoman.”
Erika perked up slightly. “Sormr speaks wisely, Ingrid. You’re the only other person Oili knows on a personal basis aside from me, and you’re in a better state to find her than I am. I think it could work.”
“I’ll come too,” added Sormr. “Whatever you aren’t aware of, I could fill in. At least I’ll try, based on what I’ve seen around the castle.”
Ingrid hesitated for a moment, and then her delicate lips curled up in a smile. “Perhaps it’s worth a try. I’ll pack my essentials, since it seems like it’ll be quite a journey. And don’t worry about any reward, Your Highness. I’m doing this to help you and the kingdom, and certainly not myself like all those luckless fools.”
Erika chuckled and adjusted the clip in her graying hair idly. “I don’t know how long it will take, but the sooner you can convince her, the better. Wyrmwood’s people are losing their patience with the nobility, and the last thing I need is for them to storm the castle with torches and pitchforks at hand.”
Ingrid felt her buttocks tingle, remembering the one time her father had accidentally jabbed her there when he’d first discovered her with the Lindworm Prince, but she curtsied anyway. “I’ll be back at the castle before you know it, Your Highness, I promise. And hopefully before any angry mobs get there first!”
**********
With this, the plan for the day’s events was set. Erland and Destin would see to the royal duties for the day from the relative safety of the castle, and more importantly, try to find any information that confirmed his suspicions about his brother’s spending habits. Ingrid and Sormr, meanwhile, would try and find Oili in the accursed woods, and hopefully be able to make her case to her or at least enlighten her on the ailing state of the kingdom. Erland expressed his disappointment that he wasn’t the one to return to his old home, but Ingrid was the only one aside from his mother who knew the spore hag in person and didn’t have an ulterior motive that could bring about her ruin upon setting foot in the forest. If anything, she’d have to be the one to make the trip, if only to save her brother from some of the most painful humiliation imaginable.
The enchanted pumpkin-shaped carriage stopped at the edge of the forest, Jorunn the stablehand manning the ebony palace horse that had been hauling it along for a good half-hour. As soon as she declared that they had arrived, the door opened of its own accord for Ingrid, armed with only her dagger and clad in a simple silken robe and the cheapest high-heels in the palace, to step out into the world beyond.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Jorunn. “Most of the people I’ve delivered out here, well… didn’t.”
“I’ll be honest with you,” replied Ingrid, Sormr gently coiled around her upper arm. “I actually don’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”
“We’ll wait at the local pasture for when you return,” said Jorunn. “Just… Be careful, alright?”
Both of her former passengers nodded, and then watched her spur the horse onward, waiting until the carriage disappeared in the distance before turning to face the woods.
“Please tell me you didn’t just jinx us,” said Sormr.
“I doubt I said anything that could imply that nothing bad would happen to us,” replied Ingrid, shrugging. “Well… Here goes nothing.”
With this, the two of them vanished into the trees, the nearly pitch-black shade swallowing them up within seconds. Only dappled light streaming through the canopy provided any illumination, and worse, there was no path in sight.
It was ten minutes of constant walking and turning this way and that before the two of them came to accept that they were hopelessly lost, as Ingrid had predicted. Not the best way to start things off, especially with the princess’s heels sinking into the soft ground. Sormr at least was able to hitch a ride on Ingrid’s arm, but even the keen smell of her forked tongue offered no aid whatsoever.
“Should we ask the forest if Oili is here?” the zaltys suggested.
“Ask the forest? Sounds like a great idea to me,” Ingrid replied bitterly. “Because the trees and rocks have ears and the patience to listen.”
Sormr chose to ignore her sarcasm. “It’s probably the only thing I can think of, though. I know this place is enchanted, but in a different way compared to Wyrmwood. Perhaps Oili will be able to hear us talking — maybe she’s even listening to us now.”
That thought offered no comfort as Ingrid soldiered on, her silks snagging on twigs and her shoes nearly slipping off her feet.
Another five minutes of struggling through the woods, and the princess soon began feeling like there were invisible eyes in the woods, watching her. She’d only felt like this a few times before, when she was much younger, but each time it turned out that those eyes had belonged to the lindworm she regarded as her closest friend. This time, though, the unknown entities tracking of her did not seem as cordial.
She stopped to lean next to a tree, gazing hopelessly up at the canopy and wondering what to tell her lover once she made it back. If she made it back. But before she could think of anything else, a sudden song made her nearly jump out of her ruby-encrusted shoes.
She looked up at the canopy to see a songbird in one of the branches, twittering and trilling without a care. In spite of her current state, she felt a pang of relief. She’d grown up with stories of how princesses could attract birds with their singing, and so she too started to sing a gentle melody that she remembered from her childhood. Sormr, however, was less than pleased.
“Uh… Your Highness? I don’t think you should draw any attention to yourself in a place like this.”
“What’s the harm in appreciating something beautiful, though?”
Sormr suddenly tensed up, having noticed something her companion hadn’t, and then recoiled and hissed in alarm. “Now you’ve jinxed us!”
“Why?”
The snake nodded her head towards the trees. The maiden looked up as well, and fell dead silent, her eyes widening. The canopy was now alive with birds of every color, shape, and size imaginable, including some she had no idea had even existed. And every single one was staring down at her.
Another story came back to her at that moment. This one involved a flock of man-eating birds from a southern country with bronze beaks like swords, which terrorized the land until a warrior with the blood of an ancient god slew them all. Looking up at the flock confronting her, she noticed that the biggest of the birds was as large as a hawk, with a straight bill as long and pointy as her dagger…
She didn’t get the time to reflect upon her poor choice of actions before one of the birds swooped down at her, presumably aiming at her face and eyes. With a squeal of panic, she turned and ran, only to feel a stabbing pain shoot through her left buttock that could only mean that its beak had a very different target in mind. “AIIEEEEEEE!”
She lost her sense of coordination, stubbed her toe on a tree root, and fell to the ground, Sormr flying off of her with a startled hiss. The snake was suddenly mobbed by a pair of ravens that flew down from the branches above, which seized her wriggling torso in their beaks before flying away.
“SORMR!” cried Ingrid.
“RUN FOR IT, YOUR HIGHNESS!” the zaltys cried back, writhing like a worm on a hook before she and the coal-black birds vanished into the treetops.
There was no time for Ingrid to cradle her wounded rear cheek. Another bird flew down and speared her other buttock with its short, sharp beak, eliciting a second scream from the princess, who sprang to her feet and bolted.
A fluttering of dozens of wings like a tornado in a library could be heard behind Ingrid as she tore through the trees, her silken gown being all but torn apart as it snagged on branches and thorns. The birds were gaining fast, and a few were even managing to peck and claw at her hair and rear end, the sparks of pain spurring her onward. In her haste she dove towards the nearest gap between the wooden trunks, hoping they wouldn’t be able to pursue her in such a confined space, but then things went from bad to worse. The narrow trunks seemed to flex, tightening the gap in a split-second and trapping her perfectly rounded and tantalizing bottom betwixt them.
“No! NOOOOO!” she cried in terror, struggling to free herself, but the trees exerted just enough pressure to keep her fast without hurting her. The fluttering became a roaring storm of wingbeats in her ears as the flock descended upon her.
She had only a second to shriek “THIS WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA!!!” before a dozen viciously sharp beaks sank into her lower cheeks at thirty miles an hour.
“EEEEEYAAAAAAAAH! OW OW OW OWWW! YEEEOWWWWCH! AIEEEEEE! OH NONONONO NOOO! STOP IT! STOOOOOP!”
There was no stopping the birds, though, as like a flurry of arrows they plunged their beaks and claws into the tender flesh of her derriere, even reaching between its jiggling fleshy globes and into the intimate places beneath, her silks offering no protection. Her screams were so loud that more birds scattered into the sky above her… only to swoop down and join in the relentless assault.
“HELLLLLLP!” she wailed into the woods, knowing that it’d do her no good. “SOMEBODEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEELLLLP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
For almost a half-hour of nonstop torment, there was no help whatsoever. But then, like some miracle of God, a familiar flash of green velvety skin made itself just barely visible in the shadows beneath the towering trees. Unfortunately for poor Ingrid, that was when the hawk-sized bird from earlier chose to dive-bomb her at top speed and spear the region between her luckless puckered asshole and her very intimate woman’s parts with its huge, needle-sharp bill.
“AAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!”
Oili flinched at the ear-piercing shriek, and then raised her staff, before slamming its lower end into the dirt. The birds scattered in all directions, and then the trees parted just enough to release their captive, who was in the middle of tugging herself free and ended up throwing herself across the gap between them by accident. She ended up diving straight into Oili and wrapping her arms around the sentient fungus, bawling her beautiful dark eyes out and wordlessly bemoaning her stinging, bleeding posterior. She was only barely aware that Sormr was draped around the witch’s neck.
“I apologize for your unfortunate circumstances,” said the witch, returning the embrace. “I didn’t realize it was you.”
“At least until I cleared things up,” added Sormr. “Those ravens brought me to her place, and I… Oh. Oh my goodness.”
Ingrid continued crying, her punctured, mangled bottom feeling like it was on fire.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” said Oili. Upon feeling the princess hug her even tighter still with a shriek of utter anguish, she hastily added, “Well, mostly okay.”
**********
“Of all the things I’ve seen since hatching,” said Sormr, “a life-sized gingerbread house in the middle of the nowhere is definitely a new one.”
The still-shaken Ingrid was too slow to respond, but she couldn’t help but agree. Oili’s forest cottage was made of enchanted, baked cookie dough, the delicate scent of ginger wafting throughout the immense clearing it was situated in. Rich, sweet icing as white as snow decorated its roof and walls in intricate patterns, and candies of enormous size were glued in place by said icing. Sugar glass windows were lit from the inside by what appeared to be a warm, cozy fire, and smoke that smelled oddly of incense rose from the chimney.
“There’s no need to worry now, Ingrid,” said Oili. “You’ll be safe from the perils of the forest as long as you’re with me. Thought and Memory have tea and cookies waiting, if you want any.”
Ingrid thought about refusing, considering the harrowing experience she’d had to endure just to get here, but then remembered that she was entering Oili’s home turf and decided to avoid offending her. It felt like she was sitting on a razor’s edge, and to continue the metaphor, one wrong move could result in her buttocks being sliced open. Knowing her encounter with those birds, a literal occurrence of such was a very real possibility.
Upon entering the cottage, the first thing Ingrid noticed was the pair of ravens perched on the pretzel-stick rafters. The two of them cawed in greeting as they descended, one of them landing on the coffee table, which was an enormous chocolate-chip cookie sitting on several sparkling gumdrops which were three feet tall. While the raven poured tea for two, Ingrid was more interested in the collection of gigantic marshmallows that served as a reclining cushion on the sofa. Without thinking, she flopped face-down onto them, the temptation to start stuffing her face beginning to tickle the back of her head.
That was when the other raven suddenly landed on her already punished posterior at that point, its hooked claws digging into the soft flesh of her left lower cheek. She yelped in alarm, memories of her misadventure less than an hour before coming back to her, but didn’t dare move out of courtesy — not even when the bird’s beak jabbed into her right buttock, and then bit into it and tugged at the badly pinched skin.
“MMMMMMPH!” The princess whined into the cushions, shifting a little in her prone position.
“Oh dear,” the raven said in a raspy male voice, releasing his hold on her aching rump. “She’s worse than we thought, if more than a little shapely around the bottom. Master, what do we do?”
Ingrid’s head snapped up at that point with a yelp of shock. “You can talk?!”
“And yet you never commented on the fact that a house made of cookies can exist in the woods,” replied the raven. “Please excuse my actions just now — I had to be sure you needed treatment.”
“The displeasure is all mine, thanks,” replied Ingrid, before her face sank back into the oversized marshmallow pillow.
“I suppose Master Oili told you about us,” the other raven cawed in a female voice from the coffee table. “I’m Memory, and my marginally perverted companion is Thought. I hope you don’t mind our presence after your, um, episode earlier…”
“Just keep your beaks away from me and we should be good,” Ingrid’s muffled voice replied from the cushions.
“Have a seat, dear,” said Oili, having taken hers’ at the table with a great clump of fungal roots balling up beneath her black and green body. “There’s herbal tea waiting for you. I see you are in desperate need of some relaxation.”
Ingrid wanted to lie down here and stew in her embarrassment for the rest of the day, but then she remembered who she was with and decided to oblige. Getting off the sofa, she felt the sparks of pain as Thought pulled his free from her bottom and flew away, and shuddered slightly at the prospect of having to sit down again. There was a marshmallow cushion on the other side of the coffee table from Oili, and the male raven snatched a bottle from a nearby shelf before landing next to it; holding it with a clawed foot and popping off the cork with his beak, he then poured some of its glowing blue contents onto it, and then motioned for her to join the witch, the birds, and the snake coiled up on the table.
Ingrid walked over to the table as carefully as she could, before gingerly sitting down upon the potion-soaked marshmallow.
“Ah ah ah ahhhhh!” Her yelps of sudden pain told her that the potion was, apparently, a stinging antiseptic which was now soaking into the wounds in her previously tortured rear. She dared not move lest she disrespect the witch, but luckily her discomfort didn’t last long, the agony giving way to a gentle cooling sensation that made her feel much, much better.
“From what I’ve heard,” said Oili, “your friend has been restored to the form you feel he should’ve had since birth.”
Ingrid sighed in sweet relief and then nodded. “You only knew this just now?”
“She learned of it just a few months back,” replied Memory, before dipping her beak into her teacup to scoop up some of her drink. “Queen Erika sent us a letter, but we weren’t sure it was really true until you and Sormr came along.”
“For a while we thought you went the same way as the rest of them,” added Oili. “I heard that the maidens who tried to exert control over the prince didn’t survive. It’s a shame that there are many, many men in this world who routinely get away with beating their spouses unpunished.”
“Erland is not like those people, though,” replied Sormr, looking up from the egg white she was drinking from a small saucer. “It’s Osmond who would do this if he married at all, and I can tell because he’s abusing his position as the de facto head of the kingdom. If there’s one thing Ingrid has taught us, it’s that her kindness and selflessness could do what violent force couldn’t, and that’s offer love and support to those who need it. I’m sure Erland can do that, but Osmond? Not so much.”
“So why are you here, exactly?” asked Thought. “If you think kindness solves everything, then can’t you just be nice to everyone in the kingdom?”
Ingrid shook her head. “I’ve spoken with the queen before, and she tried being nice to Osmond. But she’s given him everything he ever demanded in his life, and that’s made him blind to his own issues. He bullies people with impunity and if they don’t satisfy him, he incarcerates them. And now that Erika is old and Osmond is no longer just a boy, there’s little we can do to stop him.”
“You say ‘little’ and not ‘nothing’. Why?” asked Memory.
Sormr gulped down another mouthful of egg white. “Because Erland exists. I know most of us couldn’t believe it at first when Ingrid first took him to the castle, but there’s no denying now that he is Osmond’s older brother. He wishes to expose Osmond for who he really is, and he certainly has the power to do so now that the brothers are basically fighting for the throne. But we don’t know how we can do that without suffering Osmond’s retribution.”
“My husband-to-be is planning to search the treasury archives for records of Osmond’s financial activities,” said Ingrid. “But Osmond won’t be happy if he finds out that Erland has been sneaking into the place without his permission. Never mind that as a member of the royal family, Erland technically does have permission…”
“Which is why we need your advice, and possibly your assistance,” finished Sormr.
“But what’s in it for us, though?” asked Thought. Memory looked at him like he’d just cawed a profane word, a number of which he was well aware of.
“I thought it was common knowledge that I’m not wanted around the kingdom, though.” Oili’s black eyes had a stern glare at the royal and her scaly aide. “I assume Erika told you about what happened after Erland’s existence was made known to the kingdom?”
Ingrid swallowed her mouthful of gingerbread cookie, thankful that it was neither enchanted nor made of human flesh. “Your shop at the town square was closed down,” she recalled, feeling a stab of pity for the witch opposite her. “Osmond blamed you for his father’s death, and Erland’s curse was the final straw.”
The talking mushroom’s black pointed cap quivered as she nodded, releasing a puff of pale green spores from the green gills beneath. “Those who tried to bring me back only did so because they wanted to harvest the resources of the forest, not caring that it has an ancient magic that my fellow spore hags had given to it for our protection. I know you won’t like hearing this, but humans are selfish, pitiful creatures who only care for what makes them feel better, no matter how much it hurts others, even their own kind. Why do you think the magic of these woods turned on everyone who tried to find me in the first place?”
Ingrid bristled a little at Oili’s remark, but after a moment’s thought she had to admit that the witch was right. “We may be selfish, sure. But while we can’t control our natures, our choices are a different matter. It was my choice to listen to your every word, and come to my prince without any ulterior intent, which helped dispel his curse.”
“Well, part of his curse, anyway.”
Ingrid sprayed a mouthful of tea onto the coffee table. “W-wha? You didn’t — I — Now you’re telling me that there was more to it than—!?”
“A dragon emerged from the womb of Queen Erika,” Oili explained. “Though he is now human, a dragon he shall be again should he so choose. The spell I gave you that you employed upon Prince Erland couldn’t permanently transform him from beast to man, for no spell can alter a creature’s very nature. But as long as he is civil, a human he shall be; it’s when his emotions overtake him when the beast within shall rise once more.”
Ingrid sputtered incoherently for a few seconds, horror shooting through her whole body as though her recently punctured rear end had flared up in pain once again. “His eyes… They weren’t human… Oh God, if only I’d known…”
“Now now, sweetie. There’s no reason to panic. What I’m saying is that while the prince doesn’t realize it, he does have the power to overthrow his black-hearted sibling. But he doesn’t know it, and you need to coach him through it. I wish I could help, but… you know how Osmond is. He won’t let me into the kingdom if he can help it, and after those daffy nobles attempted to capture me I doubt the aristocracy would want anything to do with me, either.”
Ingrid looked desperate, but sounded respectful all the same. “Perhaps it would indeed be better to stay in this literally sweet little cottage out here in the forest. But you can’t just sit here and do nothing, not while your former place of work is dying. The royal family needs you, Oili! Queen Erika needs you!” She paused and sniffled. “I need you.”
Everyone looked at Oili with accusatory expressions, and the witch realized what she had just said. She gazed down at her empty teacup, one of her thirsty mycelium strands having drained it completely dry a while ago. “Perhaps I am indeed a coward for ignoring all of this like you wanted to accuse me of being. We witches are fallible too, and I can’t ignore that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t set things right, even after so much distrust. Even after I… I failed to save the king, no matter how hard I tried.” Her voice was racked with guilt, and nobody was oblivious to it.
“So, does that mean you’ll help us this time?” asked Sormr.
“We honestly don’t know what to do,” replied Thought. “Oili’s told us before that she doesn’t want to go back, even if she knows it’s a mistake.”
“We’re not familiar with the situation, and the last time we checked on the kingdom was a year ago,” added Memory. “So the best we can do now is investigate without doing anything significant.”
“But you have to at least try to do something significant, for goodness sake!” Ingrid looked increasingly insistent by the second, not to mention more than a little panicked. “You’ve helped the kingdom twice before, and surely you can do it again!”
“But how?” asked Sormr. “She can’t just waltz into the kingdom and curse Osmond, even after all he did to her! He has an entire army, and they’ll be coming for Oili if she even tried. That’s how much power he has right now!”
Oili raised a vine-like appendage, the five green tendrils terminating it arranged like a raised human hand in a gesture for everyone to stop talking. “Like I said, I don’t plan to confront Osmond. At least not now. But if he does try anything while we visit, he will live to regret it.”
There was dead silence for a few seconds. And then Ingrid’s eyes lit up with sudden hope.
“You mean you’ll come with us?”
“Only for this evening,” the witch replied. “I need to talk with Queen Erika regardless now that I’ve heard things have become more dire than ever. That and we have to break the news to your fiancé about his condition.”
“But you won’t come back to the kingdom, right?” asked Sormr.
“Unless Osmond somehow stops being a complete fuckhead, no doubt,” replied Thought. Memory picked up a tiny stirring spoon with her beak and tossed it at him, resulting in a small doink and a squawk of indignation.
“Enough, you two,” the witch commanded. “I insist that you come with me and investigate whatever is plaguing the kingdom, and I won’t tolerate your squabbling lest it add to our problems with it.”
The ravens nodded hastily, and with a statement of “Time then for our departure,” Oili rose to full height. Ingrid did the same, only to yelp in pain as the open air licked at the wounds in her buttocks.
“I’m going to need a particularly soft cushion for the ride back,” she said. “Luckily, Jorunn’s carriage has some of those on hand…”
It was another hour before the two women boarded Jorunn’s carriage, their animal companions perched on their respective shoulders. Jorunn and her horse had reacted in understandable trepidation at Oili’s approach, but after some reassurance that she meant no harm and was merely visiting the realm, they’d agreed to take her and the princess back to Wyrmwood.
The same potion that had provided comfort to Ingrid’s tortured rear during her stay at the witch’s cottage had been applied to the silken cushion she was now sitting on, and though she was a little indignant that said cushion was now awfully stained, her relief that her ride home wouldn’t be uncomfortable after all was very much palpable.
“I suppose I owe you an apology,” said Oili.
Ingrid bore a bitter expression on her face, as predicted from someone who’s had their bottom pecked to high heaven by a flock of aggressive birds. “For what? Lying to me about the true nature of my lover’s curse, or running away from your problems with the kingdom?”
Oili’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps it’d be worth holding your tongue at this time, and saving your thoughts for the real guilty party.”
The tone of Oili’s voice sent a shiver up the princess’ spine, and her head drooped a little. “My apologies. I was upset over the events of the past few months, and didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I don’t condone that, but I can understand why, so apology accepted. I made a mistake by shutting myself out of the kingdom, because I thought Osmond was the only one in power. Now that Erland is a part of the kingdom, though, that may change soon.”
Despite her indignation at the day’s events, Ingrid couldn’t help but smile, gazing out towards the sun setting over the treeline as the carriage made its way back to the palace.
“I’m glad for that, if anything,” she replied. “And I accept your apology, too. I just hope my boyfriend’s been doing as well as I have, or at least not getting himself in quite as much trouble…”
That thought offered no comfort as Ingrid soldiered on, her silks snagging on twigs and her shoes nearly slipping off her feet.
Another five minutes of struggling through the woods, and the princess soon began feeling like there were invisible eyes in the woods, watching her. She’d only felt like this a few times before, when she was much younger, but each time it turned out that those eyes had belonged to the lindworm she regarded as her closest friend. This time, though, the unknown entities tracking of her did not seem as cordial.
She stopped to lean next to a tree, gazing hopelessly up at the canopy and wondering what to tell her lover once she made it back. If she made it back. But before she could think of anything else, a sudden song made her nearly jump out of her ruby-encrusted shoes.
She looked up at the canopy to see a songbird in one of the branches, twittering and trilling without a care. In spite of her current state, she felt a pang of relief. She’d grown up with stories of how princesses could attract birds with their singing, and so she too started to sing a gentle melody that she remembered from her childhood. Sormr, however, was less than pleased.
“Uh… Your Highness? I don’t think you should draw any attention to yourself in a place like this.”
“What’s the harm in appreciating something beautiful, though?”
Sormr suddenly tensed up, having noticed something her companion hadn’t, and then recoiled and hissed in alarm. “Now you’ve jinxed us!”
“Why?”
The snake nodded her head towards the trees. The maiden looked up as well, and fell dead silent, her eyes widening. The canopy was now alive with birds of every color, shape, and size imaginable, including some she had no idea had even existed. And every single one was staring down at her.
Another story came back to her at that moment. This one involved a flock of man-eating birds from a southern country with bronze beaks like swords, which terrorized the land until a warrior with the blood of an ancient god slew them all. Looking up at the flock confronting her, she noticed that the biggest of the birds was as large as a hawk, with a straight bill as long and pointy as her dagger…
She didn’t get the time to reflect upon her poor choice of actions before one of the birds swooped down at her, presumably aiming at her face and eyes. With a squeal of panic, she turned and ran, only to feel a stabbing pain shoot through her left buttock that could only mean that its beak had a very different target in mind. “AIIEEEEEEE!”
She lost her sense of coordination, stubbed her toe on a tree root, and fell to the ground, Sormr flying off of her with a startled hiss. The snake was suddenly mobbed by a pair of ravens that flew down from the branches above, which seized her wriggling torso in their beaks before flying away.
“SORMR!” cried Ingrid.
“RUN FOR IT, YOUR HIGHNESS!” the zaltys cried back, writhing like a worm on a hook before she and the coal-black birds vanished into the treetops.
There was no time for Ingrid to cradle her wounded rear cheek. Another bird flew down and speared her other buttock with its short, sharp beak, eliciting a second scream from the princess, who sprang to her feet and bolted.
A fluttering of dozens of wings like a tornado in a library could be heard behind Ingrid as she tore through the trees, her silken gown being all but torn apart as it snagged on branches and thorns. The birds were gaining fast, and a few were even managing to peck and claw at her hair and rear end, the sparks of pain spurring her onward. In her haste she dove towards the nearest gap between the wooden trunks, hoping they wouldn’t be able to pursue her in such a confined space, but then things went from bad to worse. The narrow trunks seemed to flex, tightening the gap in a split-second and trapping her perfectly rounded and tantalizing bottom betwixt them.
“No! NOOOOO!” she cried in terror, struggling to free herself, but the trees exerted just enough pressure to keep her fast without hurting her. The fluttering became a roaring storm of wingbeats in her ears as the flock descended upon her.
She had only a second to shriek “THIS WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA!!!” before a dozen viciously sharp beaks sank into her lower cheeks at thirty miles an hour.
“EEEEEYAAAAAAAAH! OW OW OW OWWW! YEEEOWWWWCH! AIEEEEEE! OH NONONONO NOOO! STOP IT! STOOOOOP!”
There was no stopping the birds, though, as like a flurry of arrows they plunged their beaks and claws into the tender flesh of her derriere, even reaching between its jiggling fleshy globes and into the intimate places beneath, her silks offering no protection. Her screams were so loud that more birds scattered into the sky above her… only to swoop down and join in the relentless assault.
“HELLLLLLP!” she wailed into the woods, knowing that it’d do her no good. “SOMEBODEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEELLLLP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
For almost a half-hour of nonstop torment, there was no help whatsoever. But then, like some miracle of God, a familiar flash of green velvety skin made itself just barely visible in the shadows beneath the towering trees. Unfortunately for poor Ingrid, that was when the hawk-sized bird from earlier chose to dive-bomb her at top speed and spear the region between her luckless puckered asshole and her very intimate woman’s parts with its huge, needle-sharp bill.
“AAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!”
Oili flinched at the ear-piercing shriek, and then raised her staff, before slamming its lower end into the dirt. The birds scattered in all directions, and then the trees parted just enough to release their captive, who was in the middle of tugging herself free and ended up throwing herself across the gap between them by accident. She ended up diving straight into Oili and wrapping her arms around the sentient fungus, bawling her beautiful dark eyes out and wordlessly bemoaning her stinging, bleeding posterior. She was only barely aware that Sormr was draped around the witch’s neck.
“I apologize for your unfortunate circumstances,” said the witch, returning the embrace. “I didn’t realize it was you.”
“At least until I cleared things up,” added Sormr. “Those ravens brought me to her place, and I… Oh. Oh my goodness.”
Ingrid continued crying, her punctured, mangled bottom feeling like it was on fire.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” said Oili. Upon feeling the princess hug her even tighter still with a shriek of utter anguish, she hastily added, “Well, mostly okay.”
**********
“Of all the things I’ve seen since hatching,” said Sormr, “a life-sized gingerbread house in the middle of the nowhere is definitely a new one.”
The still-shaken Ingrid was too slow to respond, but she couldn’t help but agree. Oili’s forest cottage was made of enchanted, baked cookie dough, the delicate scent of ginger wafting throughout the immense clearing it was situated in. Rich, sweet icing as white as snow decorated its roof and walls in intricate patterns, and candies of enormous size were glued in place by said icing. Sugar glass windows were lit from the inside by what appeared to be a warm, cozy fire, and smoke that smelled oddly of incense rose from the chimney.
“There’s no need to worry now, Ingrid,” said Oili. “You’ll be safe from the perils of the forest as long as you’re with me. Thought and Memory have tea and cookies waiting, if you want any.”
Ingrid thought about refusing, considering the harrowing experience she’d had to endure just to get here, but then remembered that she was entering Oili’s home turf and decided to avoid offending her. It felt like she was sitting on a razor’s edge, and to continue the metaphor, one wrong move could result in her buttocks being sliced open. Knowing her encounter with those birds, a literal occurrence of such was a very real possibility.
Upon entering the cottage, the first thing Ingrid noticed was the pair of ravens perched on the pretzel-stick rafters. The two of them cawed in greeting as they descended, one of them landing on the coffee table, which was an enormous chocolate-chip cookie sitting on several sparkling gumdrops which were three feet tall. While the raven poured tea for two, Ingrid was more interested in the collection of gigantic marshmallows that served as a reclining cushion on the sofa. Without thinking, she flopped face-down onto them, the temptation to start stuffing her face beginning to tickle the back of her head.
That was when the other raven suddenly landed on her already punished posterior at that point, its hooked claws digging into the soft flesh of her left lower cheek. She yelped in alarm, memories of her misadventure less than an hour before coming back to her, but didn’t dare move out of courtesy — not even when the bird’s beak jabbed into her right buttock, and then bit into it and tugged at the badly pinched skin.
“MMMMMMPH!” The princess whined into the cushions, shifting a little in her prone position.
“Oh dear,” the raven said in a raspy male voice, releasing his hold on her aching rump. “She’s worse than we thought, if more than a little shapely around the bottom. Master, what do we do?”
Ingrid’s head snapped up at that point with a yelp of shock. “You can talk?!”
“And yet you never commented on the fact that a house made of cookies can exist in the woods,” replied the raven. “Please excuse my actions just now — I had to be sure you needed treatment.”
“The displeasure is all mine, thanks,” replied Ingrid, before her face sank back into the oversized marshmallow pillow.
“I suppose Master Oili told you about us,” the other raven cawed in a female voice from the coffee table. “I’m Memory, and my marginally perverted companion is Thought. I hope you don’t mind our presence after your, um, episode earlier…”
“Just keep your beaks away from me and we should be good,” Ingrid’s muffled voice replied from the cushions.
“Have a seat, dear,” said Oili, having taken hers’ at the table with a great clump of fungal roots balling up beneath her black and green body. “There’s herbal tea waiting for you. I see you are in desperate need of some relaxation.”
Ingrid wanted to lie down here and stew in her embarrassment for the rest of the day, but then she remembered who she was with and decided to oblige. Getting off the sofa, she felt the sparks of pain as Thought pulled his free from her bottom and flew away, and shuddered slightly at the prospect of having to sit down again. There was a marshmallow cushion on the other side of the coffee table from Oili, and the male raven snatched a bottle from a nearby shelf before landing next to it; holding it with a clawed foot and popping off the cork with his beak, he then poured some of its glowing blue contents onto it, and then motioned for her to join the witch, the birds, and the snake coiled up on the table.
Ingrid walked over to the table as carefully as she could, before gingerly sitting down upon the potion-soaked marshmallow.
“Ah ah ah ahhhhh!” Her yelps of sudden pain told her that the potion was, apparently, a stinging antiseptic which was now soaking into the wounds in her previously tortured rear. She dared not move lest she disrespect the witch, but luckily her discomfort didn’t last long, the agony giving way to a gentle cooling sensation that made her feel much, much better.
“From what I’ve heard,” said Oili, “your friend has been restored to the form you feel he should’ve had since birth.”
Ingrid sighed in sweet relief and then nodded. “You only knew this just now?”
“She learned of it just a few months back,” replied Memory, before dipping her beak into her teacup to scoop up some of her drink. “Queen Erika sent us a letter, but we weren’t sure it was really true until you and Sormr came along.”
“For a while we thought you went the same way as the rest of them,” added Oili. “I heard that the maidens who tried to exert control over the prince didn’t survive. It’s a shame that there are many, many men in this world who routinely get away with beating their spouses unpunished.”
“Erland is not like those people, though,” replied Sormr, looking up from the egg white she was drinking from a small saucer. “It’s Osmond who would do this if he married at all, and I can tell because he’s abusing his position as the de facto head of the kingdom. If there’s one thing Ingrid has taught us, it’s that her kindness and selflessness could do what violent force couldn’t, and that’s offer love and support to those who need it. I’m sure Erland can do that, but Osmond? Not so much.”
“So why are you here, exactly?” asked Thought. “If you think kindness solves everything, then can’t you just be nice to everyone in the kingdom?”
Ingrid shook her head. “I’ve spoken with the queen before, and she tried being nice to Osmond. But she’s given him everything he ever demanded in his life, and that’s made him blind to his own issues. He bullies people with impunity and if they don’t satisfy him, he incarcerates them. And now that Erika is old and Osmond is no longer just a boy, there’s little we can do to stop him.”
“You say ‘little’ and not ‘nothing’. Why?” asked Memory.
Sormr gulped down another mouthful of egg white. “Because Erland exists. I know most of us couldn’t believe it at first when Ingrid first took him to the castle, but there’s no denying now that he is Osmond’s older brother. He wishes to expose Osmond for who he really is, and he certainly has the power to do so now that the brothers are basically fighting for the throne. But we don’t know how we can do that without suffering Osmond’s retribution.”
“My husband-to-be is planning to search the treasury archives for records of Osmond’s financial activities,” said Ingrid. “But Osmond won’t be happy if he finds out that Erland has been sneaking into the place without his permission. Never mind that as a member of the royal family, Erland technically does have permission…”
“Which is why we need your advice, and possibly your assistance,” finished Sormr.
“But what’s in it for us, though?” asked Thought. Memory looked at him like he’d just cawed a profane word, a number of which he was well aware of.
“I thought it was common knowledge that I’m not wanted around the kingdom, though.” Oili’s black eyes had a stern glare at the royal and her scaly aide. “I assume Erika told you about what happened after Erland’s existence was made known to the kingdom?”
Ingrid swallowed her mouthful of gingerbread cookie, thankful that it was neither enchanted nor made of human flesh. “Your shop at the town square was closed down,” she recalled, feeling a stab of pity for the witch opposite her. “Osmond blamed you for his father’s death, and Erland’s curse was the final straw.”
The talking mushroom’s black pointed cap quivered as she nodded, releasing a puff of pale green spores from the green gills beneath. “Those who tried to bring me back only did so because they wanted to harvest the resources of the forest, not caring that it has an ancient magic that my fellow spore hags had given to it for our protection. I know you won’t like hearing this, but humans are selfish, pitiful creatures who only care for what makes them feel better, no matter how much it hurts others, even their own kind. Why do you think the magic of these woods turned on everyone who tried to find me in the first place?”
Ingrid bristled a little at Oili’s remark, but after a moment’s thought she had to admit that the witch was right. “We may be selfish, sure. But while we can’t control our natures, our choices are a different matter. It was my choice to listen to your every word, and come to my prince without any ulterior intent, which helped dispel his curse.”
“Well, part of his curse, anyway.”
Ingrid sprayed a mouthful of tea onto the coffee table. “W-wha? You didn’t — I — Now you’re telling me that there was more to it than—!?”
“A dragon emerged from the womb of Queen Erika,” Oili explained. “Though he is now human, a dragon he shall be again should he so choose. The spell I gave you that you employed upon Prince Erland couldn’t permanently transform him from beast to man, for no spell can alter a creature’s very nature. But as long as he is civil, a human he shall be; it’s when his emotions overtake him when the beast within shall rise once more.”
Ingrid sputtered incoherently for a few seconds, horror shooting through her whole body as though her recently punctured rear end had flared up in pain once again. “His eyes… They weren’t human… Oh God, if only I’d known…”
“Now now, sweetie. There’s no reason to panic. What I’m saying is that while the prince doesn’t realize it, he does have the power to overthrow his black-hearted sibling. But he doesn’t know it, and you need to coach him through it. I wish I could help, but… you know how Osmond is. He won’t let me into the kingdom if he can help it, and after those daffy nobles attempted to capture me I doubt the aristocracy would want anything to do with me, either.”
Ingrid looked desperate, but sounded respectful all the same. “Perhaps it would indeed be better to stay in this literally sweet little cottage out here in the forest. But you can’t just sit here and do nothing, not while your former place of work is dying. The royal family needs you, Oili! Queen Erika needs you!” She paused and sniffled. “I need you.”
Everyone looked at Oili with accusatory expressions, and the witch realized what she had just said. She gazed down at her empty teacup, one of her thirsty mycelium strands having drained it completely dry a while ago. “Perhaps I am indeed a coward for ignoring all of this like you wanted to accuse me of being. We witches are fallible too, and I can’t ignore that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t set things right, even after so much distrust. Even after I… I failed to save the king, no matter how hard I tried.” Her voice was racked with guilt, and nobody was oblivious to it.
“So, does that mean you’ll help us this time?” asked Sormr.
“We honestly don’t know what to do,” replied Thought. “Oili’s told us before that she doesn’t want to go back, even if she knows it’s a mistake.”
“We’re not familiar with the situation, and the last time we checked on the kingdom was a year ago,” added Memory. “So the best we can do now is investigate without doing anything significant.”
“But you have to at least try to do something significant, for goodness sake!” Ingrid looked increasingly insistent by the second, not to mention more than a little panicked. “You’ve helped the kingdom twice before, and surely you can do it again!”
“But how?” asked Sormr. “She can’t just waltz into the kingdom and curse Osmond, even after all he did to her! He has an entire army, and they’ll be coming for Oili if she even tried. That’s how much power he has right now!”
Oili raised a vine-like appendage, the five green tendrils terminating it arranged like a raised human hand in a gesture for everyone to stop talking. “Like I said, I don’t plan to confront Osmond. At least not now. But if he does try anything while we visit, he will live to regret it.”
There was dead silence for a few seconds. And then Ingrid’s eyes lit up with sudden hope.
“You mean you’ll come with us?”
“Only for this evening,” the witch replied. “I need to talk with Queen Erika regardless now that I’ve heard things have become more dire than ever. That and we have to break the news to your fiancé about his condition.”
“But you won’t come back to the kingdom, right?” asked Sormr.
“Unless Osmond somehow stops being a complete fuckhead, no doubt,” replied Thought. Memory picked up a tiny stirring spoon with her beak and tossed it at him, resulting in a small doink and a squawk of indignation.
“Enough, you two,” the witch commanded. “I insist that you come with me and investigate whatever is plaguing the kingdom, and I won’t tolerate your squabbling lest it add to our problems with it.”
The ravens nodded hastily, and with a statement of “Time then for our departure,” Oili rose to full height. Ingrid did the same, only to yelp in pain as the open air licked at the wounds in her buttocks.
“I’m going to need a particularly soft cushion for the ride back,” she said. “Luckily, Jorunn’s carriage has some of those on hand…”
It was another hour before the two women boarded Jorunn’s carriage, their animal companions perched on their respective shoulders. Jorunn and her horse had reacted in understandable trepidation at Oili’s approach, but after some reassurance that she meant no harm and was merely visiting the realm, they’d agreed to take her and the princess back to Wyrmwood.
The same potion that had provided comfort to Ingrid’s tortured rear during her stay at the witch’s cottage had been applied to the silken cushion she was now sitting on, and though she was a little indignant that said cushion was now awfully stained, her relief that her ride home wouldn’t be uncomfortable after all was very much palpable.
“I suppose I owe you an apology,” said Oili.
Ingrid bore a bitter expression on her face, as predicted from someone who’s had their bottom pecked to high heaven by a flock of aggressive birds. “For what? Lying to me about the true nature of my lover’s curse, or running away from your problems with the kingdom?”
Oili’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps it’d be worth holding your tongue at this time, and saving your thoughts for the real guilty party.”
The tone of Oili’s voice sent a shiver up the princess’ spine, and her head drooped a little. “My apologies. I was upset over the events of the past few months, and didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I don’t condone that, but I can understand why, so apology accepted. I made a mistake by shutting myself out of the kingdom, because I thought Osmond was the only one in power. Now that Erland is a part of the kingdom, though, that may change soon.”
Despite her indignation at the day’s events, Ingrid couldn’t help but smile, gazing out towards the sun setting over the treeline as the carriage made its way back to the palace.
“I’m glad for that, if anything,” she replied. “And I accept your apology, too. I just hope my boyfriend’s been doing as well as I have, or at least not getting himself in quite as much trouble…”
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