The Rose and the Frost
by Pan
Chapter 1:
“Some women like big men, some like small men. Some like strong men, some like weak men. Manly men, dainty men, rugged men, beautiful men…beautiful girls!”
Ika laughed at the last item on the list.
“Pretty girls?”
“It’s true.”
A small smile appeared on Doemia’s face, and Ika couldn’t help but mirror it.
“But how did you learn all this?” she asked. “From your mother?”
The last remaining Frost held her breath, as her new friend looked taken aback by the question. After a few seconds, she laughed lightly, and linked her arm with Ika’s.
“Of course, sweet thing.”
Ika relaxed, a solemn look on her face. She hadn’t had much opportunity to laugh since coming to Queen’s Lament—her mother’s had been hanged; her betrothed had been devoured by a beast; and now she was engaged to the high priest! But here in the gardens, surrounded by flowers and sunshine, walking with Doemia…for the first time, she felt like perhaps there was laughter around the corner.
She was in the midst of taking a deep breath, preparing to ask another question, when she heard it. It was clear that Doemia did too: she cocked one of her perfectly-formed eyebrows, and tilted her head to the side.
“What is that glorious melody?” she asked softly. Ika didn’t have the words to respond, even if she’d known. The music was truly enchanting, and she didn’t wish to interrupt it.
Fortunately, Doemia didn’t seem to mind her companion’s silence. The two of them continued walking through the garden, the notes filling their minds.
It was soothing and compelling at the same time, and no matter where they walked, it seemed to always be just around the corner. The small crowd of wealthy New Eastlanders who spent their time in the gardens dispersed, and soon the two young ladies found themselves walking alone. The music felt like warm satin, slowly enveloping their brains. Aside from the occasional contented sigh, neither of the girls felt the urge to speak.
After almost half an hour of walking in peace, accompanied only by the soft tune, the girls turned the corner and found the song’s source. A well-dressed minstrel stood, playing the alluring song that filled their senses.
Despite being in a part of the garden that neither of them had seen before, despite the fact that they were alone with a stranger, the noble women smiled. In return, the man put down his flute and smiled back.
The three of them stood there for some time, staring at each other without words. The minstrel looked young—perhaps in his early twenties. There was something so familiar about his smile, but whenever Doemia tried to place where she’d seen it before the thought slipped away, and she was left with a sense of warmth and contentment that she hadn’t felt in many years.
Finally, the minstrel moved—he still didn’t speak, and the two royals-to-be felt no urge to break the silence. The stranger walked between them, his eyes tracing paths across their skin. Ika blushed slightly at the frank looks he gave her and her companion, but still wasn’t moved to to say anything.
It wasn’t long before his hands took the place of his wandering eyes. Ika gasped slightly at the feeling of the man’s touch; he touched her as no one had before. Gentle, yet forceful—as though he had the right. As though he was in possession of her.
She was glad that the crowd had dispersed, for had any of them seen a commoner treating a noblewoman in such a manner, they would certainly have objected. And Ika didn’t want anyone to intervene; of that, she was sure. The young woman shivered in pleasure as the young man’s talented hands danced across her body, touching and caressing her sides, her neck, her waist.
Her nipples hardened as his nimble fingers roamed her skin, and she silently begged for him to explore under her clothes. She’d never felt the touch of skin on her bare breasts, between her legs; before this day, she’d never wanted to.
Now, it was all she wanted.
As quickly as he’d begun touching her, he stopped. A soft moan of need emerged from Ika’s mouth—the first noise since the man had stopped playing his flute. She turned to see that Doemia was now being touched in a similar manner; just like Ika, she didn’t seem to have any objections.
Ika felt herself growing warm at the sight of the strange man exploring her walking companion’s curves, especially when his hands moved up to her bust. It wasn’t as full as Ika’s, but perhaps that was his preference? After all, if women could like all manner of man, perhaps men had similarly diverse tastes.
Whether she was reacting in jealousy or arousal, Ika didn’t know. They were both such new emotions to her, and she was still too foggy-headed from the music to better explore them.
The man stepped back, and Ika could almost feel the disappointment emanating from Doemia.
To her delight, his hands returned to her, and this time he didn’t avoid any area of her body. As his hands cupped her breasts, Ika couldn’t help but lean in, her face burning. When he moved his hands to her rear, she pressed that against him as well. All she wanted was more—more of his touch, more of his attention.
A hand brushed against her hair, and then his other hand against her lip. Her soft mouth opened invitingly, and soon she found herself sucking urgently on two of the man’s talented fingers. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more.
The minstrel could have taken her without objection. He could have taken both of them, of that Ika was sure. But instead he stepped back, wiped his fingers on her dress, and another soft moan of need escaped her.
The stranger returned his flute to his lips. His new tune bore no resemblance to the other tune they’d heard. This was a song of sadness, a song of regret. Almost immediately, Ika’s arousal faded, and it wasn’t long before she felt a single tear trickling down her cheek.
This song…this song was for her. It was a song of family lost, a song of loneliness. It was a song of receiving torment and abuse; without a single word being sung, Ika could understand the entire story being told.
It was a story she was all too familiar with, and Ika struggled to avoid losing herself in it. It was the song of everything she was trying to move past, everything that her life had become against her will.
Then, just as she thought that she could not be brought down further, Ika heard sobbing. To her left, the Rose heir was being deeply affected by the song. Ika wanted to go to her, to comfort her, to share her love. Doemia had clearly never been through such trials, and experiencing them just through the song was enough to make her break down.
Instead, she stood tall. She was, after all, still a Frost—the last of the Frosts, as the song wordlessly reminded her. If she went to comfort her friend, there was a chance that she’d similarly collapse, and she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d lived through them once, and she’d live through them again.
To her great surprise, the melody shifted. It continued to tell the tale of loss, repeating itself again and again…but with each repetition, the volume grew softer, until the loss was entirely erased from the memory.
Ika was horrified to realize that the loss hadn’t just been erased from the song; it had been erased from her mind. Her memory of loss had been plucked out and entirely removed. She was sure that she’d mourned someone, but who? Had she even grieved for someone, or had that part of the song just particularly resonated with her?
The tune moved on, conveying loneliness…and this, too, began to fade. Again and again, the song revisited the worst parts of Ika’s year; the hours she’d spent crying in her room, the nightmares she’d had of the beast that had killed her beau finding her, killing her.
Standing there, listening to the music, Ika was delighted by the new tone that the song had taken. The darkness had gone, and the resultant melody was light, happy. Joyous.
Just like her.
Since she’d left Frost’s Keep, she couldn’t remember a single bad thing that had happened. And now she got to live in the castle—the castle! Her life was like a dream, and she loved it.
The song continued, painting in memories to fill the gaps; she drank them in deeply. She was engaged, but not to the high priest. (Where had she gotten that idea?)
No, she’d been sent to the capital to train in being a proper lady. She would always have the spirit of the South, but her time in the capital had been to take the edge off. After all, she was to be wed to the finest noble in the land. And when they’d met…she would never forget that day. He was so handsome, so talented.
Ika had been prepared to spend the rest of her life with him, but she hadn’t been prepared to love him. And love him she did—deeply, immediately. He was everything that she’d ever dreamed of. She’d made a vow on that day; she was lucky enough to be wed to her one true love, and she was going to be the best bride she could be.
Her training had been surprising, but the image of her wedding day had never left her mind, and so no matter what it involved, she obeyed willingly. She learned to cook, to clean—the stuff typically done by servants. She learned how to bathe a man, how to keep house, and how to always present her best side. No matter what mood she was in, her role was to please him, after all.
And then, she’d learned the arts of the bedroom.
For the first few weeks of her tutelage, she’d had an almost-permanent blush. But she was a Frost, and she pushed through the embarrassment.
The women of the capital taught her how to serve. She learned to be submissive, obedient. She learned of pleasuring a man with her hands, her mouth. She was still untouched, but the teaching aids were extensive and detailed, and by the time her training was done, Ika knew that when it came to her wedding night, she would be able to leave her husband completely satisfied.
She couldn’t wait. Each night, she dreamed of pleasuring him. The women had taught her how to bring herself pleasure as well, and she never went to sleep without touching herself, imagining the acts that she was to perform on her husband.
Standing in front of her one true love, Ika felt like a new woman. Her love, lust, and devotion were entirely focused on her fiancé, and her primary desire in life was to please and serve him.
Ika’s husband-to-be smiled, and lowered his flute. He nodded his permission, and Ika flung herself at him. Their mouths met, and their tongues danced with joy. Ika understood that they weren’t to know each other before the wedding day—the old gods and the new disapproved of such things—but when his hands began to roam around her body, she knew that she couldn’t refuse him.
She would never deny him anything. Her body was there for his pleasure.
To her dismay, he gently pushed his young fiancée away, and his flute returned to his lips.
With the new melody, more memories came flooding back. This wasn’t the first time they’d sneaked off to the garden. In fact, since the day her training had ended—almost a month ago—they’d rendezvoused regularly in this hidden area of the capital, confident that no one would find them.
Then, while alone, they’d engaged in acts that would make the gods blush.
A wicked gleam appeared in Ika’s eye, and she fell to her knees. Although they’d done this dozens of times, it always felt like the first. She slowly, reverently loosened his trousers, and the familiar (yet strangely unfamiliar) sight of his hardness came into view. Her mouth suddenly watering, she licked up and down his shaft, before taking his entire member down her throat.