I'm headed straight for the castle
they've got the kingdom locked up

And there's an old man sitting
on the throne, That's saying
I should probably
keep my pretty mouth shut

She is of venusian curves and disheveled, angelic hunger; a curvaceous maiden, with allure written across her soft, lithe body sculpted of dainty muscle. She will move with a wariness to her gait, proud and yet impecably feline. Fierce and infinitely feminine. It is with delicious refinement that our maiden Esme, slinks beneath the hazy moonlight and up towards the cliffs.

There, she would sit by the edge of the cliff and observe the wintry scene storming below. It had been a long time since she had wandered back into this godforsaken place, but never has the beauty of winter looked more beautiful. The glacial winds would rake through Esme's soft, silken fur, but she doesn't mind the cold that caresses her body. It felt invigorating, and she all but invited any sort of thrill.

As of yet, his family here in Amaryllis was a disappointment. He stalked the peak, bored, letting the wind ruffle his thick, winter-ready fur. His mind is a whirlwind, ready to plan and act. But there is nothing, NOTHING, here for him right now. If his family will not provide, then he has to do things on his own.

As he paced the mountain, moving slowly and slowly farther up, his eyes alighted on her form. Pink fur, not unlike the color of a sunrise, and a lithe figure. The feminine lioness rested at the edge of the cliff that looked out over the world, letting the cold winds brush her fur without seeming bothered, despite her lack of fluff. Immediately he wanted her to belong to him.

So he approached, footsteps quiet against the stone and cold snow of the peak, stopping only when he was a couple of yards away. "Dangerous place for a pretty thing like you to be sitting," he offered, his voice smooth, not giving away his thoughts of possession. Instead, he tried to lay on the charm, a smile gracing his muzzle and his eyes soft as he watched her, eager to see how this would play out.

@Esmerée

code | image | image

this world is dying in our arms

it was not boredom that drove him higher on that particular day — with seven cubs at home he was hardly lacking in things to do — Alaric just needed a break. the past month had been far more eventful than he would have liked and the emotional (and physical) toll had been immense. the man was exhausted, but the burn in his legs was a welcome reprieve as he scaled the rocky mountainside. he had anticipated the lookout being vacant, the cold weather keeping away all except the most determined, so she was a surprise. another ghost plucked from his mind? Surely she looked ethereal enough as the wheat king took plodding steps forward. It was only when her scent filled his nostrils that he perked up, ears tipping forward in interest. he had not forgotten her — how could he? — but he drew to a stop a few steps away and chuffed quietly to announce himself. a part of him could not be sure it was her, and the recent experiences had loaned some caution to his manner. belatedly he became aware of another, only when the male spoke, drawing a venomous green eye. Alaric doesn’t speak, yet, but his posture becomes decidedly more tense..

code // art

I'm headed straight for the castle
they've got the kingdom locked up

And there's an old man sitting
on the throne, That's saying
I should probably
keep my pretty mouth shut

The breeze moved sharply along the snow-laden earth, feeling cool against her silken flesh; slipping across her body with all the slow ease of a vindictive lover. Esmeree would listen to the wailing, winter hiss, a purr leaving her own saccharine lips at the sharp caress that had danced up and down her spine. Cold. It was cold, yet she would remain unmoved. The world, so filled with beauty - with wonder. The scenery up above was stunning, breathtaking, ensnaring her senses, entirely.

And so, she is almost surprised to hear the low, male voice of another lion. She hadn't expected any sort of company as she slowly turns to face the strikingly handsome image of Adalwolf. "Maybe I like the edge," Another purr leaves her lips, sensual and husky, lashes fluttering against her violet eyes with a nonchalance that seemed both suggestive and effortlessly feminine. She would then turn back to the view below, careless and yet graceful, moving in ways that seemed almost deliciously reckless.

She dangles a slender paw over the edge of her perch, a single black talon tracing the hard ice that had encrusted over its jagged, grey surface. "It's beautiful, isn't it? The view," She murmurs under her breath, speaking to the male as she watched the great below, noting the different kingdoms of Amaryllis all situated together. It's then, that Alaric's scent engulfs her nose, intimidating, beckoning. A memory she has not yet forgotten, and never would.

"Alaric," Her words spill out, this time, truly surprised. The memories rush all at once - of their sordid affair, their heated moments shared in the Oasis. Their last meeting, however, was rather gloomy, as she'd left in the wake of his failed challenge. Esmeree watches the ashen lion stand before her, feral and masculine, as though she had never left. "I didn't think we'd see eachother again," Her delicate chin tips downward, a secretive warmth surfacing upon her smile although she is cautious. Her eyes then move upon the other male, the one with the wolf-like fur, curious and silently wondering of his intentions.

Esmeree turns to Alaric once more, an elegant brow raised, her voice soft and gentle.

"How are you?"

@Adalwolf @Alaric

His eyes skimmed over her body, drinking her in as his claws flexed to scrape the rock beneath, his interest a carefully controlled energy rushing through his veins. And then it was all ruined by the sound of a greeting from another. A male, come to interrupt his fun in this boring place. His head whipped to the side to watch the wheaten male approach, his eyes narrowed angrily. He didn't like it when his fun was intruded on, especially before he even got started.

He might have growled at the male, but the female's voice drew him back in and he returned his gaze to her, pushing the man out of his mind. "Like to liffe dangerously?" he asked with a smirk, taking a step closer and letting a low growl rumble in his throat - not one of anger, but one of desireI. He wanted to make her his.

But he was distracted again, when she addressed the man by name. The name sounded strangely familiar and he turned, getting a better look at this @Alaric. "Alaric...zounds familiar," he huffed, trying to think of where he had heard it before. Had his father mentioned an Alaric after returning from the war they had missed? That might be the case. He arched a brow in question at the male, wondering if he might receive an explanation and knowing he probably would not.

@Esmerée

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this world is dying in our arms

alaric watches, intent, realizing quickly that this was no apparition and that it was her. the scent that surrounded him was impossible to deny, and he, too, took a stroll down memory lane. once upon a time he had considered her his -- even if he knew it was foolish to think he could ever claim her -- and then... then she had left. disappeared after he had lost his first challenge, feeling shamed by her reaction. he had not lost a fight since. a possessiveness surged through the king, between the purrs and rumbles of desire, taking another of his own steps forward. he was parallel to the other, just as close to @Esmerée as @Adalwolf, but his focus was entirely on her. "you left," he rumbled, his voice almost accusing. beneath the mask there was a thread of hurt, but he keeps it well hidden. "you did not see me rise." he lifts his head and his posture is undeniably regal. "i am a king, now," and this, perhaps, is partly in answer to the boy's question, though he does not pay him much more than a quick look and an arched brow. another step, close enough that he can imagine the heat of her body in the frigid mountain air, close enough that he could nearly reach out and touch her..

code // art

I'm headed straight for the castle
they've got the kingdom locked up

And there's an old man sitting
on the throne, That's saying
I should probably
keep my pretty mouth shut

The arctic winds would continue to billow, to rustle against her cerise curves; sighing against her soft body, with a frenzied push and pull - but Esmerée enjoyed the subtle power that came with the cold, forceful breeze. It appeared the breeze would not be alone in the struggles for power, as she now lay in the middle of both large, and powerful males, who seemed to (lowkey) challenge one another. The attention delighted her somewhat, but the delight was tactfully hidden beneath her facade of ethereal gentleness. A female all for sensuality, pleasure had always been her game.

Should we all just fuck eachother and get over it?

She almost wanted to say, laughing - suddenly the air felt so very tense, very drowned in testosterone. She knew both men were potentially dangerous and yet she couldn't tell what either of them truly wanted. Being cunning and foxy, Esmerée kept to her bewitching ways, her demeanour subtle and mysterious. And, yet, she wasn't entirely oblivious to how both men behaved, how both of them seemed to look at her. She appears, for the very moment, easy and relaxed; the secretive tension unfurling in her posture, reserved for Alaric, only. Alaric had always been so passionate, so attentative and fiery in his persona in the past. She wasn't used to seeing him like this, with his emotions so artfully hidden from her. Did he change? Has so much happened to him?

"A little action always seem exciting, no?" An almost playful smirk curls Esmerée's delicate features, her slender breastline heaving with the bemused sigh; her vulpine gaze flicking towards the side, to drink in Adalwolf's dark features as she responds to him with a sharp reply. She liked how Adalwolf appeared, fresh with youth and readied with a male vigor. Had they been alone, together, they would have been young lovers, surely. But Alaric's voice would cut through the howling wind, his tone, icy and commanding, one of blood and iron. King? Esmerée resists the urge to gush, her coveting an intense secret. Her feelings for Alaric had never changed - she loved him, was mad for him - but Esmerée was like the very breeze that caressed her body.

Sharp, playful and fleeting.

And thus she had left Alaric once for his failures, only now to return to hear of his success. It pleased her to hear of it, that he had finally succeeded. Her smile deepens a touch, eyelashes unfurling above her intense, violet gaze. "O? King? I bet you have all the women now, don't you?" Laughter leaves her lips then, sultry and delicate, like a sharp silver bell.

@Adalwolf @Alaric

There was history there, between the two of them. If Adalwolf could not sense it, then he could certainly see the hints of it in the words they exchanged. His eyes took in the scene and his ears processed what he heard, curious about what he had to gain from this situation. Knowledge, power. He wanted it all. And he would harvest what he could here and now.

"A king?" he repeats, his brow still arched. "King of vhat?" The Rike had little time for prides, but that didn't mean they wouldn't align themselves with them here, or even join one for a time as they gathered their numbers and made a plan. So, knowing where this king was from would benefit him, and perhaps his other family members as well. And there was the familiarity of the name, as if he had heard it before. Perhaps when their father had been filling them in on the state of things here.

There was the frustration burning beneath his pelt; an itch he could not scratch. He had not wanted to be interrupted this night, upon finding the girl up here. The female responds to his question, a playful answer and a smirk to match. His eyes flare with want. Perhaps only partly an interest in her physically. Simply a desire to own and to dominate. And perhaps a little interest in seeing just what the girl has to offer in terms of amusement for a night.

"I can gife you action, schöne frau" he purrs in his accent, the words followed by a low rumble in his throat as he steps forward, his tail twitching behind him, to breathe in her scent. "But it seems I'm at a disadvantage here. You two know each ozzer, yet I know neizzer of you." He turns his gaze pointedly to @Alaric, but speaks to both of them. "Adalwolf Rike." He is curious whether or not the name will elicit a reaction from the two of them, or at least from the king.

After all, this land was filled with enemies. Best to see what side he was dealing with now, rather than later.

@Esmerée

code | image | image

this world is dying in our arms

a king of what, indeed. alaric does not answer the boy at first, his focus is on @Esmerée and her reaction to the news. if they were alone would it have mattered as much? would he have felt the intense possessiveness if it were only him and her? if this young cub was not here to toy with her affections and try to pull her away? the starke man was not blind, and he could all but taste the desire in the icy air. "the mire," he rumbles, finally, with a flash of vivid green eyes directed towards the boy. fleeting, because her question pulls him back. it brings a swell of emotion that he did not want to feel then and there, a rising tide of grief that he battled daily. fact of the matter is he had none, and while his den was far from empty (with seven small bodies to fill it) there was a very obvious piece missing. he would have answered her, would have given her a reason for the brief glimpse of sorrow she might have seen, but the boy once more snagged his attention. at first it is yammering he does not care for, a step and a promise that moves the wheat king closer to the delicate girl with a grumbling "down boy" -- she is not yours, alaric -- but then there is a name. ah, now. if anything alaric is more guarded, for he does not know where he stands with the Rike. his wife is dead, the connection to the family weakened (if not severed) and he knows damn well that he is no favorite of their jarls. now that his sister was dead in alaric's pride? it could damn well be the end of him if he gives up his last name, if odh had decided that he would pay the price for her death. "you know enough. alaric, high sovereign of the mire." it was a good thing he was so practiced in keeping his tone level, his emotions hidden. it was a good thing that neither of them would be able to pick up on the sudden anxiety he felt, the unease as this meeting escalated. he shifts his weight, watching esmeree again, because ultimately the direction this evening took would be up to her. a part of him wants to claim her, then and there, and drag her back to the swamp to catch up. he'd done it once before, after all, who's to say he wouldn't do it again?.

code // art

we dress like princesses
to go out and kill kings

And there's an old man sitting
on the throne, That's saying
I should probably keep
my pretty mouth shut

Esmerée is a woman of lust, passion, intense desire; all that subtle hunger bites at her satin breast, her want unfurling like a rose in nightly bloom. She wants both @Alaric and @Adalwolf, and she cannot chose.

Still, she lays atop her perch, languidly, refusing to draw nearer to any one of them. The cerise-kissed maiden cannot help the intense attraction she feels towards both men - both of them powerful, both of them ruthless; one young, the other much more experienced - and a helpless croon of temptation shall leave her silken lips, their satin curve parting in a deliciously, teasing simper.

"Oh, but we can always take turns getting to know one other, all three of us," She would whisper hotly under her breath, feeling the carnal heat rise to her breastline - her vivid violet eyes turning to face Adalwolf, and then flicking gracefully to pin their divine flame towards Alaric. The younger male looked lupine and handsome and Alaric looked regal and poised, but the sheer possessiveness emanating from Alaric dripped in such venomous waves. As Alaric moves closer to her with his 'down boy' tone of voice, Esmerée would only flick her tail playfully at his direction, a devilishly soft laughter threatening to erupt from her half-parted lips.

"Oh Alaric, no need to harm the boy," She taunts the wheat king almost playfully, winged lashes unfurling warmly above her intensely violet eyes. Finally, after all is said and done, Esmerée slowly picks herself up from her perch and shashays downward those icy steps. Her slender shoulder would seek to brush against Alaric's muscular frame, drawing near towards him to close the distance, touching him once, oh so briefly, if only to slowly pull away.

Her tail would seek to tap along his chin in the wake of her departure, but her gaze is pinned hotly on Adalwolf, her voice sharp and suggestive. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Adalwolf. My name is Esmerée," The silken drawl leaves her lips, and she would flash the younger male a soft smile before leaving both men alone.

"Farewell, gentlemen."

Exit Esmerée


Art © Aurora