The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The music drifted through the halls of Frost’s Keep, bouncing off the stone walls. It somehow seeped through the huge wooden doors and into the dining room, where the lady of the fortress, Merrida Frost, was midway through slicing her youngest child’s boar meat.

“Mother,” her son said, his face mirroring the confusion of his mother’s. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know, Rin,” she murmured, and called over a servant to investigate the source of the strange, haunting music. She rose from the table, passing the hand-hewn knife to her son, who resumed the task of carving the boar where she had left off.

Despite the biting chill outside, the dining hall always had one stone window open. Her husband Mik insisted upon it—“We are the Frost,” he would say any time she suggested closing it. “If we can’t tolerate a little cold, we will be completely unprepared.”

The words of his house, the house that she’d taken on as her own hung in the air, unsaid but deeply felt by both parties.

Summer will always end.

Through the window, Merrida could barely see anything but white. Had she been a newcomer to the frozen south, she would have assumed the heavens had opened, but decades of experience told her that the blizzard was just fallen snow, whipped up by the wind.

Narrow though the opening was, she could hear the music through it. The tune was strangely entrancing—she could only hear every third note, but they stuck in her head, somehow reminding her of a song from her youth while simultaneously intriguing her with its freshness.

The door to the dining room opened, and the servant scurried in with news.

“It’s a bard, ma’am,” the stalwart attendant puffed. “He seeks a place to lay his head.”

A bard? In Frost’s Keep? Merrida paused as she processed the news. Frost’s Keep wasn’t the furthest south point of civilization, but the only people who travelled past it were either lost or headed for bandit land. The castle was not on any trade routes, and there was no reason for a bard to pass through.

The music seemed to get louder for a moment, and almost before she knew what she was saying, Merrida Frost made a decision.

“Send him in.”

Everyone at the table eyed the bard uneasily. Rin, Merrida’s only child, wanted to speak his objections, but he knew that to cross his mother would be folly. Instead, he diplomatically bit his tongue and sipped at his wine.

His father had been absent for only two days—urgent matters at the capital had called for his direct attention, and so he was to be gone for almost a moon’s turn. Instead of accompanying him, Rin had been left in charge of Frost’s Keep, a practice of sorts for when he would eventually be its Lord…although it was known by all parties that his mother would have final say if a matter of true urgency were to arise.

Not, of course, that giving lodging to a bard was such a matter. But there was something suspicious about his presence so far south, not to mention the unsavory way that he kept appraising the woman who had permitted him entry.

In turn, Merrida was keeping a close eye on the bard. She wasn’t sure why she’d so quickly agreed to giving him board for a few evenings, except that refusing him would almost certainly have spelled his death. Summer, as her husband was oh so fond of reminding her, would always end, and the southfolk weren’t known for their generous ways. If she’d rejected him, he almost certainly would not have found lodgings elsewhere, and just a single night of exposure to the cold winds would have spelled his finish.

Mike, of course, would have said it was deserved…but, of course, he wasn’t there, and so the decision had landed on her.

The bard looked young, especially for one so talented. He couldn’t have been any more than twenty, and was relatively handsome, she supposed…if one was into the young, soft look.

And he certainly seemed grateful. As he supped at the hot bowl of soup, his eyes regularly threw her a glance; what started as looks of gratitude soon became longer and longer, until Merrida found a rare blush at the tip of her nose at the long stares she was receiving from her young guest.

Just as she was beginning to regret her generosity, he put down his bowl, and announced that as thanks for the meal, he was going to play the family a song. Before anyone could respond, a flute appeared at his lips, and he resumed playing the haunting song that had filled every room of the castle just a few minutes earlier.

Merrida opened her mouth to object, but hearing the music up close and so loudly seemed to cloud her mind, and soon she was simply smiling, enjoying the beautiful tune, allowing herself to swim in the images that it conjured up.

She saw the forest she’d spent time in as a child, the flash of color as birds flitted from tree to tree. For the first time that she could remember, she felt warmth on her skin. Despite being in a dark room illuminated only by the struggling fire and the tiny flickers of candles, dotting the walls, Merrida could feel the sun gently warming her up, and could hear the soft rustle of leaves above her.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, the images faded, and Merrida was brought back to stark reality. Several of the children had dozed off to sleep, and only Rin looked as though he was fully conscious, staring at his mother with concern.

“Lovely,” she said simply, immediately before a huge yawn escaped her. “Your efforts have certainly earned your keep, at least for the night.

“Now, to bed with us.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the bard said with a sly smile, and for the second time that night Merrida felt blood rushing to her face. Her face burned red as she realized the bard’s cheeky interpretation.

If Mik had been present, he would have taken a sword to the stranger without hesitation, and Merrida could see Rin’s hands itching to do the same, but she shot her son a glance, forcing him to relax.

“Remember,” she said dryly, striving to remain calm, “the soup was offered freely, but it was not accompanied by a drink—hot or cold.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the bard repeated, this time in a far humbler tone of voice. He avoided her stern stare, and Merrida allowed herself a slight smile, sure that her point had been made.

“Now,” she repeated, this time making sure that her intentions were crystal-clear. “To bed with us.”