I Mary June Larkin, a humble serving girl, had always been instructed not to look up, never to meet his eyes. I was to be unobtrusive at all times, like part of the furniture here. Two nights ago I defied my training, I was unsure why, but I met his eyes. Eyes of the coldest blue, perhaps they could have been warm before his lady’s regrettable passing. However, I knew what they all said about him, he was Lo’gosh the Wolf, a gladiator, a hard man who didn’t compromise. I was, I confess captivated, and he too looked back at me. He didn’t smile, nor did he draw attention to the fact, that I a simple servant, held his gaze for long moments as I poured his wine.

Anne, my fellow serving maid, had noticed though, and she chatted me incessantly about it afterward in the scullery, telling me how improper it was. Warning me not to be so inappropriate again in the King’s presence, or she would have to inform the housekeeper.

I didn’t want to lose my job, to be penniless in the streets of Stormwind, or even worse, to be forced to sell my young body at the Lion’s Pride Inn, like many a fallen woman must resort to. I had a roof over my head, and steady employment, even if the days were long, and the pay was meager. I was determined that snitching Anne would not see me the next time our eyes met.

As a castle servant to the King, I had little time to myself. I woke at dawn, and worked hard all day at my duties under the direction of the housekeeper, often late into the night, especially if the King or the young Prince was entertaining.

Then I would don my wool nightgown, climb into my narrow straw-filled bed, and imagine him. My fingers would stray down below, or pinch my raised nipples to distraction. I would bite my lower lip, as I imagined him there, a resolute bull of a man standing over me, in all his Royal grandeur. My fingers would seek my warm slippery wetness, as I imagined him before me, breaking down the walls to my citadel of innocence.

So it was with shock and surprise that I discovered a note pushed beneath my door the next morning. The cream paper was heavy, and it was sealed with a wax seal, the King’s lion head seal. My fingers trembled, and my heart raced. A missive from the King to me, plain Mary a simple serving maid? This must be a ruse to trick me.

I cursed Anne, but I was intrigued.

“Meet me,” it said, in beautiful cursive. “In my chambers tonight. The guards will admit you.”

Was it really from him, or was it a trick? How can I know unless I accept...

I was at his grand door in the dark, I was in fact sweating under my gray homespun wool cape. The heavy garment was still too warm for this time of year, especially whilst taking exercise, but it kept me dry, for it had rained all day.

The lion-headed door knocker made a great booming sound, his royal guards clad in their blue and argent uniforms stared ahead unseeing. I guess he had written the note after all.

I stood in the ensuing vacuum of quiet waiting, listening. Butterflies in my stomach, and a hard ball of tension in the back of my throat. Only silence and dark to greet me, nervous breaths. Oh let him be here. My eyes scanned beneath the heavy wooden door, for any trace of light. Nothing, just the darkness and quietude.

I knocked again, this time more earnestly using both hands. I stood close to the door pressing my ear to the wood, I still could detect no movement from within. I almost fell inward as the door opened unexpectedly, the interior of this stately castle hall black as a bear’s sanctuary.

It was him, his Majesty, he was barefoot, topless, magnificent. His right shoulder was bound in bandages, from a recent injury in the tiltyard, and his right arm in a sling. His deep chocolate hair was loose, cascading in abundance over his broad shoulders, its full length well down his back to his waist.

I had never seen my ruler in such a state of undress, a primal savage, more the Lo’gosh the Wolf, than the King of Stormwind. I went to my knees almost, in a deep curtsy, I was shaking. It was one thing to serve at the King’s table, but this very private ‘audience’ was quite another. I still could not believe it was happening.

He smiled at me in the half-dark, his ice-chip eyes didn’t smile though, but the laugh lines around them did. Perhaps he did laugh more once? I mused.

“Welcome…” He said, as he held out his strong, large, hand, expecting mine.

I then clumsily registered he was searching for me to introduce myself. I replied most awkwardly, looking as stunned as a deer in the torchlight, as I placed my tiny fingers in his.

“Mary... your Majesty, Mary June Larkin.”

“Bold Mary,” he said, more to himself than I. He sounded amused. I wondered then, did he invite other maids who worked in the castle to his chambers too?

He took my hand and escorted me up the long hallway. His grip was firm. I could see just remotely, the warm light of candles burning somewhere up ahead. Moonlight shone in to bathe the flagstones, and the blue and gold carpet runners in silver, from the smiling face of Elune. Did she smile down on me tonight, I hoped so?

We passed beneath richly colored, oil-painted portraits, and luxuriant tapestries, featuring conquests and proud bejeweled depictions of great family lines. My eyes came to rest on her, Queen Tiffin Ellerian Wrynn, as she sat memorized in paint, looking wistfully down at me. Her gold spun hair coiffured to excellence, and her pretty fingers draped over one another, replete with rings of gold and precious gems. Her pale blue eyes regarded me even from death. It was quite plain to see her only son Prince Anduin was an image of her.

I felt the King’s hand on the back of my cape as I gawked at her in my guilt. The lit room now looming ahead of us, the King’s private chambers. I had little cause to venture there in my service, it was a place for valets, and the King's closest men and family.

He closed the door behind us and put his arm behind my back. I wondered where the house staff were, but the silence would not be broken by any questions I had. This was not his bed chamber I realized, but rather a quiet sitting room. A carved, lion-clawed, wooden table was laden with a selection of fine cheeses, fruits, nuts, olives, and a blood-red carafe of wine crowned its center.

I felt his hand leave the small of my back, as he made his way confidently toward the table and its offerings.

“You were bold the other evening Mary.” He said casually, swaggering toward the table, and poured two goblets of wine.

I may have been, but tonight the boldness had left me. I found it difficult to meet his piercing eyes.

“It’s quite an unusual trait for one of my house staff, and such a young one at that. How old are you, girl.”

“Err...Your Majesty, twenty Sir.” I struggled to get a grip on my uncooperative voice, so close to the most eligible, and powerful man in the kingdom.

He smiled at my hesitation, as he presented me with the goblet of wine. Turning from me to pick at the spread set before him on the table, and taking up his own goblet. My eyes strayed to the rich, red vintage in the golden cup, its sides encrusted in gems. Any of which would have purchased my family a cozy home.

“To boldness.” The King made a toast.

I clumsily complied, immediately raising my glass, and almost spilling my wine in my nervousness. What had I been thinking that night past? Was I simply here, so he could address me for my impudence. I was really beginning to wonder.

“So, Bold Mary.”

It seemed that was now my official nickname.

“Tell me more about this girl who dared to meet the eyes of her King.”

Oh he had put me on the spot, what was there to say that would not bore him? I was a nobody, with five younger sisters and an infant brother that we had buried last winter. My Father lost himself in his cups at every opportunity, and my Mother did laundry, often rubbing her poor hands raw with her endless work. I looked at him and didn’t rightly know what to say.

He sighed, and chuckled, a small sardonic laugh. His face creased in mirth as he gazed at me with his captivating stare. I needed to say something anything, he was expecting it.

“Well, your Majesty…”

He cut me off. “In these chambers Mary’ it’s Varian.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

My head swam. I had gone from a maid who was instructed never to look directly at the man, to a first-name basis.

“Um, well, yes, Sir, Varian.” Without the inclusion of the sir, I do not think I could have addressed him as he wished, I hoped he did not mind.

I continued timorously. “My family lives in Westfall, but with the refugees and the famine, my parents sent me to try and gain employment at the castle. I send my wages home so my siblings and my parents can live a better life.”

“Hum,” he replied, drinking from his goblet. He seemed very interested, far more curious than he appeared at the endless audiences and feasts he attended. “Most honorable, Mary.”

He caught me then in his animal gaze and I froze. My knuckles were white clutching at my wine cup. He walked boldly towards me, it felt wrong to see my ruler in this state of undress, but somewhat wanton as well. He stood tall above me, and I looked up into his fierceness. I knew without a doubt, what he wanted from me, but I was lost, a maiden still. I had not the practice nor wiles to truly pleasure a man, all I could offer my Sire was fumbling inexperience. Did he know, is that why he had selected me?

His muscular body was heated against mine, and I fought my overwhelming desire to touch his livid scars.

“Come,” he said, “sit with me, and finish your wine.”

Far away I heard the town clock strike the hour of one.

We sat on the fine, blue, chaise, and he poured himself more wine, offering more to me. I politely declined, it would not do to be completely beyond control. The situation I found myself in was overwhelming as it was.

Before I knew it, his hand was in my hair, the golden, straight locks of it sliding through his fingers. He had a small hint of a smile, drawn on his hard mouth.

“You looked like her before we had our son. Your hair, your eyes, your pretty, clear pink skin.”

He could only be speaking of Queen Tiffin. I suppose I did, if I wanted to dwell on it I could see the resemblance we shared at least in a passing manner. My mind was racing, so many assorted thoughts jammed into my head, all fighting for attention at once. He had chosen me, yes me, above all others. There were many pretty girls here who could have passed for his late wife, many more deserving of his attention than I.

“It’s hard to be a King,” he said. “I may be surrounded by wealth and luxury, but mostly I am alone. Made a stranger to all by my station, an untouchable thing, a God almost.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had not expected such a strong man to reveal so much of himself to me a lowly maid. So I merely sipped on my wine and listened. While he continued to play idly with my hair.

I should grasp this rare chance, was my first thought, perhaps he would gift me a bauble, one of such significance that it could feed my family for the year to come?

Then I wondered, perhaps he would marry me, and I would become the new Queen to sit by his side and bear him a line of Royal children.

However, I threw that idea out almost as soon as it entered my mind. He wasn't free to marry a common serving girl, she would have to have a pedigree, so I returned to my bauble idea. Mercenary I know.

He drew his ruggedly handsome face close to mine and regarded me closely. I blinked and did my best not to look away, or lean disrespectfully backward, as he suddenly invaded my personal space.

“You dared to see me the other evening Mary, something a King rarely feels.”

His deep voice was edged with palpable emotion and earnest meaning. I guess my rather ill-thought-out, flirtatious action, had appealed to him, but surely there were many beautiful Ladies at his court who would have done the same? I was, I confess lost and confused. Perhaps it was my slight resemblance to ‘Her’ that had triggered him?

He smiled, as he gazed into my eyes, he was an arresting man. I guess he was right, he may be powerful, but he was isolated. Never free to be himself with anyone. Especially not since the tragic death of his wife.

I nervously licked my lips and bit my lower one. This was my gambit, and I had to hope that it would be a success. His magnificent Royal personage was still so very close to me. I could feel his wine-laden breath lightly tickling my skin. I had no real idea how to flirt, or of the finer art of seduction, however, I decided I would give my feminine wiles free rein.

I raised my hand and traced the lines of the scars on his face with the softest touches of my fingertips. They ran deep, and I wondered if they still hurt or if perhaps they merely tingled. I felt his pain, I bathed in his his pride. I do not think I have ever felt such electricity and chemistry as I did that evening.

Not a sound, nor word, breaks the intensity between us.

He put down his goblet, and I surrendered mine, just like I was about to surrender my maidenhood. He escorted me upstairs via the spiral staircase made of marble, to his scarlet bedroom. I had I confess always dreamed it to be blue, those were the colors of his reign after all. This a place of dripping gold, fine crystal, and sumptuous velvet.

Slowly, and with difficulty using his one good hand, he peeled the layers of clothing from my body. First, the wool cape dropped heavily to the floor, followed by the laced bodice of my dress, which he fumbled with resolutely.

The white petticoats then fell about my knees, as did my stockings, and the confining corset came away last. Leaving me as the gods had made me. His bright blue eyes sparkled demonically in the half-light, as he appraised what he had just unwrapped.

It was a dream, just like the many dreams that had invaded my nights since I had entered his employ.

His fingers traced and caressed my expectant lips. My own hands had now sought his strong shoulders, to linger there under the softness and warmth of his unbound hair. My breath came in small gasps at the light touch of his fingers. He kissed me then, and I fiercely responded, his tongue invading my mouth.

If I had anything to say, the words were long gone as my mind froze under his onslaught. He ran his fingers through my now unbound hair, they snagged in it, he pulled my head back painfully, and unexpectedly, he was biting at my newly exposed throat. I arched my back as he held me upright, one of my legs drawn up in the involuntary rush of pleasure. Already I felt the first telltale glistening of wetness rise between my thighs.

I let him do as he pleased, to acquaint himself with my newness. Oh, how I had fantasized endlessly of his man’s animal unpredictability in my small room at night. I melted beneath his onslaught. He looked me in the eye then, through the dark fringe of his rampant mane, appearing all the victorious ravager, not the staid and responsible King. The sad widower who must show restraint.

I dwelt on his time as a slave in the arena, forced to fight or die. The perils he faced that I could not imagine, and I, a gift to him as a prize to be used by him that night. He was on me, over me, bearing me to his high ornate bed. He is conquering magnificence.

Swift surrender, acute weakness. I sank against him forgetting who he was, my Regent, and the most powerful man in the Eastern Kingdoms. Rutting like a scullery maid with the blacksmith’s boy, as the attraction we shared took effect. Lust, the great leveler.

His teeth and tongue were almost immediately at my throat and breasts. He was tasting my skin whispering indecipherable words. Those I could no longer heed as I swam in a sea of molten desire. Sinking under the cloud of fast-rushing ecstasy, shivering beneath the pinpricks of his orgasmic touch.

The chemical rush was heady and swollen with danger. I was a blind automaton whose only wish was to respond and receive. I gave to him, I forgot all he had ever been, and all I was. He and I were one. I clutched him to me, he was biting me rabidly seeking my offered pleasure, it wasn’t so difficult to let go, to give over my all to him.

I called his name as I felt him enter me, and I think he enjoyed hearing it instead of this title. His thickness and my newness added to the pain and the sensation. I moaned fullness, tightness coupled with explosive need. I clutched him with nails that tore, he hesitated and reciprocated with a dire hunger. Heaviness pressing downward, crushing me. I gasped, I cried, I tore at his flesh, I forgot all, and so did he.

He turned me over into the rumpled bedclothes, they were as a field of the sweetest roses garnered with bloody thorns. He was on his knees pulling me to him, my thighs spread wide. I felt the wetness of his saliva on his fingers, his most minor consent to my comfort as he prepared to enter my behind.

Somewhere in the deep annals of my mind I registered dimly he was doing this for his own preservation. The King could not afford the possibility of a string of royal bastards. However, I didn’t contemplate this for too long as his good hand was already toying with my sensitive right nipple, eliciting yet more moans of pleasure from my lips.

Again extreme tightness, much tighter than before. I moaned I cried, I pressed into him, wanting yet retreating from his hurt, his hands aggressively wrenching me toward him. A scream, his hand over my mouth, was it mine? Penetrating, tearing, sensation, a gasp, and at the same moment pure wanton ecstasy. I had never expected this to feel this way. Lost were my inhibitions, my morals, my cares. Yes Mary, you are as bad as he, as wicked as he, you hide yourself behind your pretense of good and light. You are not honest, you lie, this is what you truly are. His voice or mine?

Rending hurt, his animal grunts, my raining tears, and more unparalleled ecstasy. He did not relent, hard body slick with sweat, a rain of bites on my shoulders and back, the smell of freshly drawn blood, his hot saliva dripping on my skin as he covered me. The demon of my nights, my possessor, my match.

With an almighty shove, and his good hand clutching at my breast so tightly it felt like it would rupture he moaned. I could feel his hot seed spilling deep inside of me. I had served my King in a way I had never expected.

*****

I woke late in his bed entwined in his arms. The walls were rich red like blood. All was as it should be, I was in his world. A world I could understand, a world full of nothing but the basics. Where I could just be me, Mary, the uncomplicated. I didn’t need things in this world, I didn’t have to go places, I didn’t need to be thrust at new people I feared. Varian was the sum of all I wanted, and all I wanted to be.

He was still asleep, lying on his back. His abundant, wild brown hair was all about him on the red velvet coverlet. I found my hand wandering to his uncut maleness, followed by my lips, his impressive staff was hard in moments under my touch. His libido was seemingly so soon restored.

I was more confident than I had been with him last evening, he had awoken something nameless in me, a hot desire, a reckless need. Could I ever go back to being just Mary the serving maid? I was afraid of my answer.

I straddled his hard belly and sat on him, I found he hurt a little after the hard use of last night. Today though I was very aroused, this was taboo, yet I was here in this forbidden man’s bed, a lowly serving maid. I would enjoy this time, at least until he decided, for whatever political reasons he no longer had use of me.

He woke with a smile on his face, as I rode him to fruition. Yes, I was Mary the Bold.