Thread: In the Shadow of Camelot: A Femdom Arthurian Tale (Closed)

Quietly closing the heavy door behind him, Morgana hesitated in front of it, if only for the chance to be closer to him. My lord, I am more than content. Again, I must thank you for your hospitality and your warm welcome. No, he wouldn't be familiar with the frivolity of court, or 'etiquette' as he put it, would he. He was yet a boy, and unlike any other prince, he had not been groomed since birth to inherit his father's dynasty and all that came with it. But he was stretching his muscles and discovering his footing quickly - he was forced to. The finery could wait. It was hardly as important in a time of war. And that is precisely why you will make an excellent King, she remarked after a moment's pause, observant green eyes trained on his face, as though searching it for something. It was clear she was not afraid to speak her thoughts, even to he. Too many grow accustomed to the reverence, the fear, and the merry indulgence their status brings them and forget what it truly means to be King. Your humility sets you apart. It is a wonderful thing. Morgana moved, then, finally. Such proximity was beginning to feel stifling, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the fire crackling ferociously in the nearby stone hearth. She walked over to the table and placed her hands on the ornately carved back of one of the chairs, drumming her long fingers slowly and silently over the wood as though to distract herself from something. Sire, you worry yourself over nothing, she assured him, looking in his direction. True, any court loves a scandal, and will often conjure one up from nothing. But what is there to conjure from? An innocent supper between brother and sister is hardly food for rumor mongers. She smiled at him. She looked somewhat amused, as though he were a funny little boy who had just done something entertaining. In any case, my ladies aren't far they are in the privy chamber. Playing some game, I'd imagine, though they have real work to attend to, she said with an airy laugh. Morgana studied him for a moment, then waved her hand for him to come closer, which he would, of course. It felt easy, natural even, to obey her, especially when she seemed so comfortable issuing orders. She never sounded condescending - her voice was soothing and lyrical as ever. Perhaps it was that Morgana exuded a kind of feminine mystique, or power. Either way she was glad of it. When he was close enough, Morgana reached up, the sheer sleeves of her gown slipping back to reveal slim wrists, and she placed her hands on either side of his face and gazed up at him intently. His features were so reminiscent of her mother's. From his golden hair to his nose to his eyes, though Igrayne's had been slightly more grey. Something in her expression changed, softened maybe around the edges, if only for a moment. She removed her hands. Forgive me, Your Majesty, I just-- I can scarcely believe that I am meeting you. I have not seen you in almost two decades. To say that I have anticipated this moment for all my days would not be an understatement but my lord did not allow me leave, and truthfully, I would not have guessed where to look. She gave him a watery smile. So please, sire, forgive a lady's momentary sentiment. I hope that I have not made you uncomfortable. Shall we dine? She pulled her chair out then, and waited until Arthur was seated before she sat down herself. The chair at the head of the table was given to the King, while Morgana occupied the seat to his immediate right. Wasting no time in pouring herself a goblet of wine, she said, We could speak for days without addressing every possible topic of conversation...since we are not presently afforded the luxury of such time, let me ask you this, my lord What would you like to talk about?