As In Rome

"HANDS UP!" Lance's commanding voice booms.."Straight out!"

For the umpteenth time that day, I will my fatigued arms to stretch out.

"Now release!"

I wring my wrists, slamming my palm out like a boxer's, willing with all my heart that something happens so I don't seem like a failure of an Enchantress. Nothing happens. Not even a spark of something. Clapping sounds out from behind and I look to see Yennara. She sits on an upholstered work bench, granting solitary applause to my non-existent sorcery. She's the only other person in the Guild's training room, apart from myself and Lance. I send her an appreciative smile. Am I not lucky? To have a cheerleading captain cheer for me even when I suck. I have to be the worst Caster in Mythronos' long history.

Yet, her warm brown eyes are stuck on me, my shirt damp and pants wrinkled from all the exertion, like I'd just conjured a camel into the room. She looks lovely though in her red and gold garb. Who wouldn't want such pretty thing cheering for them? Certainly not me. Lance walks over and takes both of my wrists in his large hands. "It's alright," he says, looking right at me and following my eyes when I try to avert them from his gaze. "You will do it. You are Queen." He pulls me close, his height all the more obvious. "Enchantress of the Celestine Court."

"Light of Mythronos!" Yennara yells in, adding her vote of confidence from behind.

Lance laughs. I smile.

"You will," he says deeply over me. I nod solemnly. These two have so much faith in me—or at least in who they think I am. I just hope I don't let them down.

My training as a Spellcaster—the novice level of mages mind you—began the very next day after Lance had suggested it. I couldn't wait to have him sweaty and at my fingertips. My rush to practice was solely Lance-ly. I'll admit I wasn't thinking much of the Spiritflame when I'd walked into the Guild that first day of training.

Beforehand, Yennara had let me in on a secret closet where the more visual dresses were stored. She'd told me that even Miss Chandle, my Governess wasn't in on this particular wardrobe of mine. Only the Queen's Lady-in-waiting were privy to such closet, as in the past, the less than modest drawers were used to hold 'dark underthings'. Her words, not mine. I remember thinking past Queens must've employed the wonders of this secret closet in wooing their Kings. After all, even royalty deserve healthy sex lives. Yennara had said with each new coronation, the new queen's Lady-in-waiting saw to it that her Mistress's box of unmentionables were suited to her tastes. Her words again.

She took it upon herself after my eighteenth to prepare this private dressing area in anticipation for a certain time. And so I'd found myself staring into a well-hidden loft of lingerie and sexy, sexy body huggers arrayed in tidy perfection on silvery racks. Mostly lingerie though. Additionally, the closet had only a single lamp, ramping up the mystique of dressing to kill. In mere seconds of displaying to me the fifty shades of Royalty, Yennara had handpicked short silver tights and a matching cream sleeveless shirt—exactly the type I'd need if the situation demanded quick undressing. I'd hesitated a minute but she'd pushed the clothes into my hand, brazenly slapping my ass and demanding I hurry up because the good Sir Lancelot hates tardiness.

She'd stared at me all the way to the Guild that first day. And although no one else is allowed into the room during my practice hours, Yennara is always at the...bleachers—if you will, leading me on with whistles and catcalls even though the best thing I've summoned so far is a yellow apple. Weird right. Magic must hate me or something. I mean the apple couldn't even be bothered to appear red.

It's been three days since I'd started Caster Training and while summoning edibles and shooting flames seems to be going at a snail pace for me, one thing isn't.

Seducing my loyal knight—turned gym instructor.

From the very first evening I'd walked in with Yennara's handpicked training garb, Lance's eyes had flamed. And not because of magic. The secret closet and Yen's fashion sense took the win. But Lance is nothing if not a man of honour, and so he managed to put down the urge to flip me over and tear at my short shorts or rip at the flimsy strip of cloth I had going for a shirt. But still...there were moments. There's just no taming the beast under his briefs. Moments when his hands will squeeze harder than is needed as he guided my hips to battle stance, making me feel the calluses of his palms on my ass even after his hands are gone. Moments when he'd roam the front of my damp shirt, teasing side boob and pinching a nipple quick as lightning. And then it'd be like he wasn't even there. Extreme moments of torture.

...for the both of us.

Lance has since given up trying to hide his erection. Since only I and Yennara are present during the training sessions, he doesn't bother any more. I suppose it annoys him enough already being heavy and unfulfilled. Why subdue it and subject it to more frustration then? He leaves it as it is—big and hard—jutting out before our feasting eyes. And I've seen Yennara lick her lips more than once.

I try to be good. Believe me I do. But it's hard not to rub against Lance's big golden body when he's so near his sheen of sweat rubs off on me. We all put our hearts into training, ignoring the most obvious evidence of desire, because it's the only way we can keep ourselves from doing otherwise. I figure Lance is some type of Superman though. I don't know what I wouldn't do if I were a man like him in a room alone with two horny beautiful, willing females. I certainly know what I would do. I mean...it's hard enough for me, and I ain't got no dick.

"It won't be long now." I hear Yennara from beside me.

She holds a white towel to my forehead, dabbing away at light sweat. Her brown eyes stare pointedly at Lance's heaving form. He's bent over a high wooden drum the men sometimes pull, catching his breath. Since he faces sideways, we are both granted a prime view of just how hard the man is.

"Better not be," I reply, catching from Yennara's lit eyes her insinuation.

It won't be long now before he gives in. There's only so much a man can take—even a man of honor. And if without doing anything we are such fever-pitch need, how much more when we...

"Such a red-blooded male!" Yennara whisper-sighs. She doesn't even realize she's said it out loud until I smile at her. She instantly catches herself, lowering her head.

"I would never, Your Grace."

"It's alright, Yen." I ease her, collecting the towel from her to wrap around my neck, perspiration making me extra sensitive. "I don't fault you for desiring him. I would be suspicious though if you didn't."

She raises her head, smiling and looking towards the blond knight once more. "Perhaps we should speed him along then."

My grin stretches. "Perhaps. Another trip to the closet would do."

And we share knowing grins. Because it's been three days. And I don't know if I can last another hour.

Yennara moves closer, taking my hands one at a time and pulling off the jade rings I have on to block any magical whiplash. They're useless for the time being as I've not used enough magic to generate a ricochet. "Might I suggest something to take your mind off him then?" Yennara whispers to me, reading my mind even as I eye the swollen ridge poking Lance's gray pants.

"A banquet," she goes on. "It's already dusk and the Nobles will have returned from whatever ventures. Organize a mild soiree to continue into early night. That way you can catch on news from the naval shorefront and equally delight yourself in royal pleasures. It will keep thoughts of..." She rubs the tension off my fingers, poking a glance at Lance. "...him at bay."

Evening time with lots of wine and stories, like in Ancient Rome? Sounds like a good plan.

"Do it." I say to Yennara.

Keeping my eyes on my personal trainer, I walk over to where he's keeled over. I stop only when I'm a fingersbreadth away. The need rolling off him is primal. I feel it. It swamps me in rich heady scent. The smell of hard sweaty male. His expression is pained as his blue eyes lift up to meet mine. It would be so easy to let go. To take hold of the massive head pushing out to my legs and give him no other choice. But instead, I drone out,

"Yennara is hosting an evening delight. Be there."

Giving him no time to offer an excuse, I start out the training room, leaving Yennara to follow.

I want him just as bad. But until we're both too mad to resist any more, this to and fro seduction is going to have to do.

Back in my bedroom, I let the bath pool swallow me whole. I hold my breath under the scented steamed tub until my lungs burn. I only break surface in order to stay alive. I take great gulps of fragranced air, remaining in the pool for another twenty minutes until Yennara appears before me with a lemon green cashmere gown held out her spread arms. I step out the pool and into the cloth. Thank God for cashmere. I don't trust myself around silk anymore.

The Nobles are already waiting by the time I walk in a cozy lounge area. Lords and Ladies—few of whom I actually recognize, even fewer whom I can name. The seating of the room is circular, with mini beds and long sofas and banquettes. And there's no door in sight. Only swishing silvery curtains breezing in the evening wind whispering in through great high windows from the sea. There are no thrones or crowns here. Handmaids are clothed in see-through, barely-there ensembles. Skimpy gowns that reveal more than they cover. This is a pleasure place. A Roman delight.

Yennara was right. It does take my mind off Lance.

The man himself is stationed standoffish by a near scarlet-robed sofa I presume is mine. It's wider than the rest and is positioned at the front of the room, like the crown of a curled Cobra. Picking up my cashmere gown, I slip into the sofa, reveling in its soft caress. It dips as I lie over it, meeting the excited stares of my trusted Nobles. A serving girl instantly appears at my side with a golden jar and pours into a small flute.

Saying nothing, she holds out the cup, dipping down. When she bows, I see behind her loose slip. Beyond her perky cleavage is nothing. Little pink buds rise to my eyes.

Nice. I feel like I'm in a scene from SPARTACUS. I halfexpect a Starz movie director to yell CUT right about now.

Nothing of the like happens. The serving girl blushes under my stare and I respectfully send my eyes elsewhere. The wine is liquid heaven when I lift the flute to my lips. It gives me the courage to face a roomful of intoxicated one-percenters. The bedding dips again and Yennara's fair vision fills my left. Looking to a particular statuesque unsmiling soldier, I pat my right. The bed dips a final time. And Lance slides robotically into my right. He's in a glorious navy blue tunic that brings out his eyes but his expression makes me wonder if he misses his golden armor. It takes a moment but he looks to the two women on the sofa with him; Yennara and I, and slowly, I see a smile break through.

It's the last bit of courage I need.

Facing the first couple in the love seat adjacent to mine, I grin to the man with swimmy eyes. "So," I say. "What's new, Lord Viridian?"