Take a walk.

As the evening creeps along, and the coalition forces stop and begin erecting their tents for the night, you go for a stroll, just past the periphery of the camp. Far away enough to shield you from prying eyes, not so far that your cries for help would go unheard if you were in danger.

Casting an eye out over the glens of Beatha, you try to organise your troubled thoughts.

Robert of Teyne still drew breath. You had decided not to risk ending his life, resigned instead to contend with any complications what he had seen may bring about. You'd never admit it to your family, but inside you knew Kara had been the driving factor in your decision to spare the demon-hunter. You couldn't bring yourself to see what his **** would do to her.

You knew Roland would be furious with you. Luckily, his wounds had kept him confined to his carriage, allowing you to simply avoid him for the present moment. Being to all outside appearances a simple mercenary captain, your cousin couldn't exactly send one of his people over requesting a meeting with the king of Itheria, either.

Long minutes pass as you limp back and forth, taking great gulps of the frosty air. You're considering heading back, when a rustling in a nearby thicket foretells someone's arrival.

You steel yourself, readying to shout for help, and make back towards the camp, until you see the familiar armour, the pale, freckled face.

“King Edward!” Sritti exclaims. “Didn't expect to see you out here!”

The scout has a brace of rabbits in one hand, a rustic, well-cared for bow slung over her shoulder.

“Sritti, yes?” you smile, making a show of not quite remembering her. In truth, after your encounter in the Spring last year, you would not soon forget her.

“That's right!” the Beathan commoner says, moved to the point of giddiness, just hearing her name on royal lips.

“You look like quite the shot.” you nod, limping closer, admiring her handiwork.

“Yes, well... I've no' had any complaints from the Deanians.” Sritti says, flashing you her gap-toothed smile. “Because they're all deid.”

“Quite.” you shoot back a quick grin in kind.

“I really should be getting back, Your Majesty.” Sritti says. “There's people as what needs these rabbits.”

You're overcome with a sudden lust, one that only intensifies when you think back to that wonderful escapade, your manhood buried in Sritti's thick, pale arse.

“Perhaps they might keep long enough for us to go on a little walk?” you say, your tone vague, your intent anything but.

“A walk?” the brunette asks.

“A walk.” you confirm.

“I'd love to, Your Majesty.” Sritti beams. “It's no' every day a foolish girl from the Isles gets to luxuriate in the presence of a king!”

The two of you move on, putting a little more distance between yourselves and the camp.

A moment or two passes, then you make your move on Sritti. You pin her against a nearby tree, your good hand cupping her pale, surprisingly innocent face, your hips against hers.

The scout moans excitedly, dropping the rabbits into the grass, shrugging off her bow, before reciprocating your affections.

You chuckle inwardly at the ecstatic glint in her eye as you come in for a kiss. For you, Sritti is a harmless diversion, a cheap cut of meat to tide you over until your next frolic with a more refined specimen of womanhood. To her, rutting with a king will be something she remembers the rest of her days.

“Take me, Your Majesty!” the Beathan pleads. As she pushes away from the bark behind her, unfastens her breeches and bends low for you, you decide to honour the scout's wish.

You ram your hard cock home with little tenderness. That sort of thing, you leave for women of distinction. Sritti can take it however, giving only the mildest of grunts as you fill her arsehole with your manhood.

You're a little unsteady, hunched over on your bad leg, but the prize of Sritti's arse, pale and thick, is enough to spur you on.

Hilting yourself in her, driving your cock into the brown-haired scout again and again, you drink in her moans and gasps. This is what your power over others truly meant. Not merely as a king, as a half-demon, as heir to the All-Sire. Pureblooded humans would ultimately all bend for you, in one way or another.

Your good hand roams up, cupping one of Sritti's breasts through her furs. It was a shame, you couldn't strip her bare, but having a tryst like this out in nature, in the snow, had it's limitations.

“Please, Your Majesty! Don't stop!” Sritti almost howls, lost in a haze of lust. In an ideal world, you might've obliged her. Unfortunately, reality could never be so pleasant. Your bodies betray you, and before long, you find yourself unloading inside the scout, frantically rutting your hips against her smooth, pale flesh.

“Your Majesty, that was...” Sritti is lost for words, something that admittedly did not take too much, as the two of you find your feet once more.

“I know.” you say, your lust, and demonic imaginings of the future sated, at least for now.

“Look...” Sritti chuckles, giving you a lopsided grin. She gestures down to the imprints in the powder. Two oblongs where rested her forearms in the snow, two more gouged into the fall by her knees and legs. Behind, a number of impressions, where you'd positioned your feet as you leaned over her and fucked her.

“Everyone in Beatha could tell you what imprints like these are.” Sritti says playfully. “We call 'em snow harlots.”

You share a chuckle with the scout, before stooping, picking up her brace of rabbits and passing the game to her.

“Maybe I'll come visit you in camp? I'm partial to rabbit stew.” you smirk.

“Oh, Your Majesty, these rabbits are nothing!” Sritti exclaims. “Not fit for a king.”

“Perhaps not, but...” you pause, only to reach out, slide your hand down the small of her back, squeezing one cheek of her thick arse. “This certainly is.”