The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

The color drains from her face, “This is your tent?”

He chuckles, shaking his head, “No. This is Quell’s tent.” Cutting off the conversation, his muffled hooves lead him out of the tent and into the night.

Coral stands there alone, trying to process everything. It never occurred to her that she would have a choice to mate with a centaur-she always assumed they would force maidens to do what they wanted. But now the question crosses her mind-would she? Her thoughts drift back to last night: the feel of his muscles rippling between her legs, his hand touching her face, his lips on hers, the way she brought pleasure to herself afterwards-was that something he would do for her? Her face begins to flush even though she is alone. She pushes the thoughts from her head and exits the tent. She needs a drink.

Reid stands several feet away and walks towards her when she reappears. She waits for him to tell her what to do but he just stands there, staring at her. Finally he speaks, “I’m just here to keep an eye on you, you decide where to go.” His back hoof stomps somewhat impatiently.

“Oh,” she says. “Have they started the feast yet?”

“Yes.”

“Are you… hungry? Maybe we should go there?”

Reid nods and turns to lead her towards the far end of the encampment. A large cluster of the party lingers there; humans and centaurs alike. Most centaurs are standing with plates of food, some around tall tables while a few are resting on the ground holding their plates. The humans stand as well, some conversing with each other, some with centaurs; there are several barrels that have been dragged out to be used as make shift chairs around a fire. Hesitantly, Coral walks towards a wagon; the sides have been dropped down, the entire floor covered with dishes of food. She takes an empty plate, followed by Reid and fills it up with a modest portion. Choosing a spot away from most of the crowd she sits on the ground alone, her legs crossed under her dress, the plate in her lap. Reid walks towards her only to see Quell approaching; a nod from the palomino frees Reid of his guard duty and he wanders off to talk to another centaur.

“May I join you?” Quell asks, looking down at Coral. He holds two mugs in one hand and a plate of food in the other.

Still embarrassed by her conversation with Rainer moments ago all she does is nod. The centaur kneels down facing her, offering her a mug.

She graciously accepts, taking it with both hands, “Thank you,” she mutters softly.

He sets the other one down, picking at the food on his plate, “I hope you do not think I am the reason you are here, Coral.”

“I know you aren’t, sir,” she says into her mug, draining half of the liquid before realizing that it is mead. She wipes her mouth on her forearm, the cuff grazing her face. Unnerved, she looks at it for a moment before setting the mug in the grass and tearing some meat off of a bone.

He chews on a chuck of bread, swallowing before talking, “Yet you are upset with me?”

She shakes her head, “No, I am just… trying to adapt. It will take me a little bit.”

Quell nods, “Rainer said that you would sleep in my tent tonight and that I am charged with your safety.”

“Is that what he told you?” she queries, a little embolden as the alcohol hits her veins.

“Yes… why, did not tell you?”

“Aye, he did.”

“But…?” He suspects she has more to say.

Fiddling with the meat on her plate, she takes a few bites. She knows that the centaurs don’t waste much time trying to state what they are thinking. They tell it like it is, bluntly. She can feel her ears burn; he will find out eventually so she forces it out of her mouth, “Sir Rainer believes that you are fond of me. He chose me so that I could be your mate.”

When he doesn’t respond she glances up at him, seeing surprise on his face. He takes a moment to drink some of his ale before saying, “If he didn’t believe you could feel the same way he would not have chosen you. But… I am fond of you, Coral. I am attracted to you, the way you are to me. Perhaps, in time, you could see me as your mate.”

She averts her gaze, stuffing food into her mouth. Coral isn’t exactly sure of what to say or do so she silently continues to eat, as Quell does, not wanting to push her. When she finishes her food she downs the rest of the mead, immediately feeling a little dizzy; the drink is stronger than she is used to. Drawing her knees up, her dress drapes down to the ground keeping her feet covered. She can feel the dagger digging into her skin as she finds somewhere to look; her eyes pass over the centaurs talking with humans, humans at ease amongst them. The pairing is jarring to her.

“What is your home like, master centaur?” She asks softly, trying to strike up a conversation because she can feel his eyes boring into the side of her head.

He sips his ale slowly, “Centuarna? Well, it is a large town nestled into a basin of mountains. I don’t know the exact number, but there are maybe five hundred of us who live there and half as many humans. There are a few fields to one side of the town but most of our crops are grown on the other side of the mountain.” He isn’t sure what to describe, “I live in the castle with my brothers, the King and Queen and a few others.”

Raising her eyebrows she looks at him skeptically, “Castle?”

“Yes,” he nods, unsure of her question, “It is like a large stone house though it is much less than one would imagine a castle. It is built into the side of the mountain so some of the rooms are more like caves with doors. The doctor’s surgery, as he likes to call it, is a large cavern in the lower part of the castle.”

Coral knows what a castle is though she has never actually seen one with her own eyes; she has read about them before but it usually involves a princess, a prince and a dragon. She never truly believed in dragons but if centaurs exist it only seems logical that other creatures do as well. A thought occurs to her, “So Sir Rainer is actually King Rainer?”

“Aye,” he says chewing on some food.

“And that makes you Prince Quell?”

He swallows, “Aye.”

“Why aren’t you addressed as such?” She asks, somewhat embarrassed at fumbling their proper titles.

“We are,” he says, “though generally we drop the titles around the time of the Atonement. I am sure you can understand that letting townsfolk know it is the King of the Centaurs coming to collect, would make everything a bit more dangerous.”Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

“I see,” she says softly, “I am sorry for my confusion, Prince Quell.”

“I would prefer you to just call me Quell,” he says, handing his empty plate and mug to a woman who comes to collect it. She takes Coral’s too, giving her a warm smile before wandering off.

She nods, “All right. Quell, I think that perhaps I will turn in for the night,” though it is barely dark and she is used to staying up until rather late she feels uncomfortable sitting with him in the encampment. Not so much because he is a centaur but because she is attracted to him, he to her, and several eyes have been watching the potential match since they sat down together.

“As you wish,” he says, rising when she does. He walks along side her to the tent, holding open the flap for her.

After entering he picks up her bag and medicine case and walks towards the partitioned off room on the left. It is sparse but more than she expected. There are several large pillows on the ground, a small table with a chair housing a basin and pitcher, a towel and a dimly burning lantern. Quell sets her items down against the wall, leaving her a walk way.

“I will be in this area here,” he points towards the flap a few feet from her own, “if you need anything, just simply ask. I am close enough that I can hear you clearly but far enough to give you some privacy.”

He lingers, gazing at her as if he is going to say something more but instead, he backs out of the room, letting the flap fall shut.

Coral knows she should try to process everything but her mind is warm and fuzzy with mead. She unlaces the front of her dress, slipping it off of her body, remaining in only her shift. She loosens her boots, kicking them off, finally able to unbuckle the knife that Piers insisted she wear; she slides that, very quietly, into her bag while pulling out her hair brush and a ribbon. Pushing off her wool socks she wiggles her toes, sitting in the chair to brush and braid her hair before tying it off with the ribbon to keep it out of the way. Taking the towel she dips it into the jar, wetting it just enough that she can wipe down most of her body, feeling almost as fresh as a bath.

Trying to decide how to sleep without a bed it occurs to her that the centaurs themselves probably do not sleep on beds. She knows horses sleep standing up and occasionally when they feel safe they will rest while kneeling or take a nap on their sides. She imagines that is what the pillows are for, to provide them with a little bit of comfort. Discovering a blanket she wraps herself in it before blowing out the lantern and lying on top of the mound of pillows. The angle is slightly odd, with her head elevated and her ass sinking downwards but it reminds her of the few times as a child when she would sleep against the sheep at night time.