The Warrior and the Petulant Princess

THE WARRIOR
and
THE PETULANT PRINCESS

by

Maggie Carpenter

ADULT ADVISORY

This book is for adults only, and contains scenes of spanking, graphic sex, bondage, sensory deprivation, and are fantasies only, intended for adults. This book is not for children, nor does it condone corporal punishment of children. This book contains scenes of nonconsensual activities, BDSM and other nonconsensual activities. This book does not support nonconsensual spanking or any other nonconsensual activities, sexual or otherwise.

Copyright © 2014 Maggie Carpenter

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Published by

Dark Secrets Press

Ebook Cover Design

Ashley@ Redbird Designs

Formatting

Polgarus Studio

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CHAPTER ONE

O
nce upon a time in a lustrous kingdom named Verdana, set amongst high-peaked mountains that glowed pink and gold when the two suns set, lived a strong-willed, petulant Princess named Lizbett, the only child of the kingdom’s sovereign monarch, King Handerah.

From the time of her birth Lizbett had been headstrong and difficult. Blessed with both beauty and brains she had learned at an early age how to twist her doting father around her finger, and outsmart those who had been given the unenviable task of watching over her.

Her mother, Nydal, as wife of the Monarch, was the Kingdom’s Ambassador and traveled a great deal. It was tradition that she fill this role, but when Lizbett took the throne her husband would be required to stay at her side, and an Ambassador would be assigned.

Whenever Nydal was home she too found Lizbett challenging. The ultimate result was predictable; Princess Lizbett grew to be fiercely independent, and she did as she pleased.

As she matured her beauty became legendary; sons from noble families and wealthy businessmen vied for her hand, and her father would encourage her, cajole her, even scold her, in an effort to convince her to say yes to one of them, but she would raise her eyebrows and state very simply “Oh, Father, they’re all so boring,” and with a flip of her very long, very curly, very red hair, that would be the end of it.

Much to his dismay he’d also received reports that Lizbett was discourteous to her adoring young men, and worse, gossip was beginning to spread through the Kingdom; Lizbett may be beautiful and possess high spirits, but she is less than agreeable to her eager suitors. The King did not like gossip, especially negative gossip about his daughter.

It was of great concern to Handerah. Not only was Lizbett at an age that she needed to find a suitable husband, she also had to carry the good name of the royal family into the future. She would have to raise her children, the future heirs to the monarchy, with the appropriate social skills and graces. He simply couldn’t understand why she was so willful, and why she gave none of the eligible admirers the time of day.

The reason behind Lizbett’s indifference was simple; her heart was already spoken for. Years earlier, when Lizbett was blossoming into womanhood, she had fallen madly in crush with a stable boy who had worked at the castle’s stables for the summer.

She had been enchanted by him from the first moment he had handed her the reins of her horse. It was an especially warm season; the double suns would cross low the sky, and the days were long and hot.

His name was Larian; his hair fell in long shimmering ringlets around his head, and his clear aqua eyes would sparkle into hers. In spite of his youth he was tall with alarmingly wide shoulders, and she would lean her head against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart as his fingers trailed down her back, making her shiver with a hungry need.

“You are so spoiled,” he would whisper. “When I am grown, and my life is my own, and I am practiced in the ways that will make me worthy of you, I will be back. Then I will teach you, I will teach you many things.”

She would laugh and giggle, then with her violet eyes wide and her hunger surging between her legs, she would beg him to show her the ways of a man and woman.

“No, you must wait. You’re too young, you’re not ready,” he’d whisper. “I have already been taught certain things, and I know that you have the craving of a woman, but you are still a child, and in many ways I am too.”

But he would kiss her and fondle her breasts, and when she would pout and stamp her feet in protest because he refused to do more, he would sternly scold her.

“I have told you, no. You are used to getting your way but you will not with me, Princess, it will not happen, not yet.”

“When?” she demanded.

“When I return,” he promised.

“You’re leaving? When? Where can you possibly go? You’re just a stable boy.”

He looked at her longingly, then tilted his head.

“One day you will come down here and find me gone, but you must not fret and you must be patient. I promise I will return.”

When that sad day happened, it was when the warmth of the suns was waning, and cold nights had begun to spill across the kingdom. At the usual time she had run down to the stables for a kiss and a cuddle, aching to feel her heart thrill, and enjoy the hot wetness that would suddenly drool between her legs, but he was gone. The stable master, Tholl, a man who was big and burly and knew his place, politely informed her the lad had been collected early that morning and would not be back.

“Picked up by who?” she demanded. “You must tell me.”

“I’m truly sorry, Princess, but I don’t know,” he replied, then frowning a frown she did not understand he lumbered away.

He did know, but had been sworn to secrecy the day the youth had first arrived, and again when he’d been collected.

She’d cried for days, then weeks, but the winter had set in, and there were balls and parties and dinners, visiting dignitaries and guests, and so she was distracted, but alone in her chamber when the darkness crept in, and the pink-silver twin moons would transit across her window, she would see his long locks and aqua eyes, and she would wonder what strange magic he had woven around her heart that she could not rid herself of him.

“You said you would return. When? Where did you go?” she would whisper, then slipping into sleep she would dream of him, and recall the shivers that would ripple through her from his touch.

The moons and suns crossed the skies many times, and the seasons came and went with annoying predictability, but still he lurked in the dark secret corridors of her mind, and when something reminded her of how her heart would beat as he held her, she would bristle with anger. How dare he promise to return and not do so?

Then the other feelings, the ones that made her skin tingle and pop into goosebumps, would surely wake from their sleep and leave her sad and restless.

One morning in early spring she decided to take her horse, Scarlet, out for a ride. Much to her father’s displeasure she insisted on riding like a man. Her stockinged calves would show quite plainly and the women of the court would gossip about it endlessly.

“Such a shameful thing to do
,”
they would mutter behind their hands, but Lizbett didn’t care. She liked to ride that way, and so she would, regardless of what the old biddies said.

The two suns were still rising, but shining as she set out, and Scarlet was full of pep and vim. The winter had begun wet and dreary, then the short, cold, snowy days had set in, and rides had become much too sparse for Lizbett and her mare, but with the onset of the bright spring weather she had ridden her every day, and they were both in excellent spirits as they made their way down the dirt road toward the fields. Not too far away was a waterfall that enchanted her; she’d not seen it since the previous summer, and with the spring thaws she was sure it would be cascading down the hill in breathtaking beauty.

She was trotting towards the bridge that would take her to the right trail, when she spied someone riding towards her. Rarely did she run across a stranger on the castle grounds, and whoever it was caught her attention, but not because she was surprised to see a stranger, but because he appeared to be a very impressive man on a very impressive horse.

He was mounted on a remarkable looking steed, big and black, with four white socks and a stunning white blaze splashed across his face. The horse was walking along quietly, unlike Scarlet who was jigging and tossing her head, behaving like the spirited, naughty mare that she was. As they drew closer Lizbett could see the man was dressed in fine attire that literally glinted, but with the East sun in her eyes she couldn’t make out his features.

The narrow wooden bridge was approaching, and with room for only one to cross, realizing the stranger would reach his side first, Lizbett gave Scarlet a quick kick, and the mare, delighted at the prospect of a heartier pace bolted forward. To Lizbett’s dismay they were just a few seconds too late, and arrived at the foot of the bridge at the same time the man began to cross; Lizbett had no choice but to pull the mare to an abrupt halt.

“Please, come forward, my lady,” the stranger gallantly called as he backed up his horse.

“If you were going to let me pass, why did you enter the bridge in the first place?” she called back.

“You were traveling much too fast,” he replied with the hint of a scolding tone. “It would not have been safe.”

A sudden pulsing raced through her heart; his voice!

It couldn’t be. No, Larian? No!

“I am not a child, Sir,” she said tersely, ignoring the thumping in her chest, not wanting to believe it could be him but desperately hoping it was.

“Perhaps not in passes of the moons,” he wryly remarked. “Are you coming across this bridge, my lady, or not?”

During the short exchange Scarlet had become increasingly agitated and was bouncing up and down, eager to move forward. Not wanting to push her luck with the feisty mare Lizbett loosened her hold on the reins, freeing up the mare to jig forward, but she was holding her breath; in a matter of seconds she would know if it was Larian, or just a stranger whose voice had a similar tone.

Afraid to look she kept her eyes down as the mare carried her across, but once safely on the other side she took a deep breath and slowly lifted her eyes; her heart stopped thumping because it stopped completely.

“Larian,” she whispered.

He had grown into a handsome, muscled man, the long golden ringlets had been trimmed close to his head, and his aqua eyes bored into hers as he stared at her.

“Good morning, Lizbett,” he smiled, “it appears I didn’t address you correctly.”

“Excuse me?” she frowned turning Scarlet in a circle because she refused to stand still.

“I referred to you as, my lady, but I can see that title doesn’t truly apply. The rumors I’ve heard are true.”

Emotions swirling, Lizbett glared back at him.

“How dare you? You…you…disappear for years, then we meet and the first thing you do is insult me?” she huffed, “I am indeed a lady, and you are no gentleman to suggest otherwise.”

“I am delighted to see you, Lizbett, of course I am, but saddened that it’s obvious you have lacked the proper guidance, perhaps the appropriate discipline.”