Riding the Fae Knight Ch. 03

Janet had gone. The warmth of her body still clung to his skin, the taste of her still on his tongue. He lay sprawled on a bed of moss and sunlight, utterly spent, the ache of pleasure still blooming low in his belly. And yet his thoughts drifted, but not forward, back.

To her. To the Queen.

It had been years now. Or days. Or a heartbeat stretched too long. Time didn't move properly in Faerie, he no longer trusted it. But he remembered the moment everything changed.

He had been hunting. A foolish boy with a fine horse and an even finer opinion of himself, proud of the sword on his hip and the songs he'd earned in taverns. The forest at the border of Carterhaugh had seemed ripe for the taking, ripe for proving himself.

She'd appeared as a shimmer between trees, just was, suddenly, like a star fallen sideways through the canopy.

The Queen.

She wore white that bled into silver and lavender, gossamer that clung to every curve like mist over water. Her skin glowed like starlight through parchment. Her eyes were fathomless; wrong somehow, like looking too closely at the moon.

"You don't belong here," she'd said, amused.

"I go where I will," he'd answered, grinning. And when he met her gaze full on, the forest breathed.

She led him back to her court that night. Or maybe he followed. It wasn't clear. He remembers the goblets. The laughter like windchimes. The smell of wine and sweat and flowers that didn't grow in mortal soil. A dozen beautiful faces turning to watch him, assess. But she kept her eyes on him. And when she beckoned, he came.

Her bower was not a room. It was a dream given shape. A bed of tangled vines and velvet, suspended between trees. Light that had no source. Petals falling in slow motion, never touching the ground. Music humming in the air like a living thing.

She stood before him. Unclothed. Unapologetic.

"You want me," she said.

He did. He ached for her. His blood burned. His cock throbbed, heavy with want and terror. She approached slowly, circling him. Her hands undid his shirt, pulled off his boots, stripped him with intention. She kissed his throat, his chest, the trail of hair leading down. Her mouth was cold and sweet and endless.

"Say you are mine," she whispered against his skin.

"I am yours," he'd breathed, not understanding.

"Then I claim you."

She pushed him down onto the bed of vines. They curled around his wrists--not tightly, but enough to hold him still. Then she straddled him. Tam Lin groaned as her body took him in. She was hot inside, impossibly wet and tight, her muscles fluttering around him like something alive. Like she could milk him to death if she wished. He tried to move--she held him still.

Every time he tried to thrust, she ground down harder. Her rhythm was slow, torturous, claiming. The air shimmered. Stars bloomed in the leaves above them. The vines whispered in forgotten tongues. Her hair spilled around him like fog. Her eyes glowed. Every muscle in his body screamed with pleasure, but the longer she rode him, the more he felt it wasn't just his body she took.

She was drinking something from him. Siphoning. Sinking hooks in his soul. And he wanted it. He begged for it.

She kissed him with teeth and shadow and fire, and when he came inside her, she held his hips still, whispered a word against his throat, and sealed it.

When he woke, he was still naked. The court was gone. The forest quiet. And there was a mark: an ivy-shaped burn just over his heart.

From that day forward, he belonged to her. He could wander, hunt, even dream, but never leave. Never love.

Until Janet.

---

The leaves had nearly all fallen. Carterhaugh no longer whispered, it watched.

Each time Janet passed the edge of the woods now, she felt it. The hush. The pressure. The birds were quieter. The wind sharper. The year teetered on the edge of its dark half, and she knew: Samhain was close.

She stood in her room at dusk, window open, fingers cold, gaze fixed on the horizon. Somewhere beyond the fields and fences, the forest waited. So did he.

She began her preparations with still hands. Not spells and not prayers. Not magic in the way the Queen used it. Janet had never needed those things.

She started with her clothing, plain, but carefully chosen: a dark skirt for stealth, a wool bodice to warm her ribs, and a linen shift soft with wear. No corset. No shoes. She would need her feet bare to feel the earth's hum. She braided her hair back, firm and tight, but left a red ribbon at the end.

From her mother's cupboard she took three things:

A silver pin, long and sharp. A sprig of rowan, bound with red thread. And a bottle of saltwater from the sea, stoppered and wrapped in cloth.

From her own hearth, she gathered ashes and pressed them into a small pouch. Protection, the old woman in the next village once said, if your courage alone won't hold. Janet had courage. But she wasn't foolish enough to rely on it alone.

As the sun bled into twilight, she climbed onto the roof of the old barn and watched the stars emerge. She had always done this as a child, her private ritual for big decisions. Tonight, she asked the dark sky the question she already knew the answer to:

"Will I get him back?"

A shooting star cut across the black like a blade. Janet smiled.

Later, by candlelight, she wrote a note and tucked it under her mattress:

If I do not return, I went to Carterhaugh. Tell no priest. Tell only the midwife, and only if the babe kicks hard enough to bruise.

She placed her hand on her stomach then, flat and thoughtful. She wasn't certain yet. But something inside her had changed.

As she lay in bed, sleep slow to come, Janet whispered his name once - Tam Lin - and felt the air shift in the rafters. Not wind. Not breath. Just the forest. Listening.

---

The moon was high when Janet reached Carterhaugh. No lantern. No shoes. Just her breath, visible in the cold air, and the steady beat of her heart in her ears. Samhain had come.

The forest was silent. Not empty - never that. But watching. Every branch, every root, every moss-covered stone held its breath. Even the wind was reverent.

Janet stepped beneath the yew trees and whispered, "I've come."

The air shifted. She knelt beside the rosebush where they'd first touched. The rowan sprig was tucked into her bodice. The silver pin hidden in her sleeve. Ash pressed against her skin in its pouch. She breathed in the scent of earth and dying leaves and waited.

Then - hoofbeats.

They came like a storm: The Faerie Host. Not galloping down a road, but riding through the air itself. Hooves struck nothing, yet echoed like thunder. They shimmered in and out of sight, fae warriors, silver-eyed hounds, women with wings like frost-laced cobwebs.

And at their head, the Queen.

She rode a steed of smoke and bone, hair trailing behind her like a banner, naked but for the shadows that clung to her curves. Her eyes glowed, and her laughter rang sharp as sleet on stone.

She was beautiful. Terrible. Eternal. And beside her, chained by ivy and glamour, rode Tam Lin.

Janet's breath caught.

He was silent. Pale. His eyes unfocused, mouth slack. A glamour masked him, but she knew him by shape, by presence, by ache. She pressed a hand to her stomach and whispered, "Hold."

The Queen's voice rang out: "MORTALS BEWARE. The Hunt rides tonight. No soul caught may return."

But Janet stepped forward. When the third rider passed, she leapt. And seized Tam Lin from his horse.

The forest screamed. He landed hard, tangled with her in the leaf litter, heavy and limp. Glamour surged like fire across his skin. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Then it began. He changed.

First, he was a burning brand, searing hot in her arms. Janet hissed in pain but held fast, clutching him to her chest, the ash pouch smoking against her skin.

"Hold," she gasped. "I will not let you go."

Then, he became a serpent, scales slick and coiling around her limbs, tongue flickering at her throat. She gripped him tighter, digging in the silver pin, whispering his name: "Tam Lin, you're mine."

Then, he was a wolf, snapping and snarling, teeth inches from her face. She pressed her forehead to his muzzle, voice steady. "I know you. I know your heart."

Then, a twisted root, heavy and gnarled, pressing her to the earth. She kissed it. "Even like this. I know you."

Then, nothing. A breathless stillness. And at last, a man. Naked, trembling, and very human. He gasped once, then collapsed into her arms.

The Queen screamed. It cracked the sky. She stepped from her horse, bare feet hissing against the ground.

"You would take what is mine?" she spat.

Janet rose. Tam Lin clung to her, weak but conscious now, eyes wide.

"He was never yours," Janet said. "You used him. I loved him."

The Queen's eyes narrowed. She raised her hand. But Janet held up the rowan sprig. The Faerie Queen stilled. Bound by old law.

"You will not touch us," Janet said.

And she didn't. The Queen vanished with a sound like shattering ice, and the Host behind her scattered into the trees.

Tam Lin clutched at Janet, burying his face against her belly. "You held me," he whispered. "Through fire. Through fangs."

"I'll always hold you," she said. "Even if the world burns."

They made their way from the heart of the forest in silence. The moon had set, and dawn was still a promise. The world was soft and shadowed, quiet as breath held between kisses. Janet's cloak was torn, her skin scraped, and her hands still smelled faintly of ash and blood--but she had him. Tam Lin, whole and human. When they reached the clearing by the riverbank, he stopped. Turned to her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice low and rough from screaming through transformations.

She shook her head. "Not enough to stop me."

He stepped close. Brushed the hair from her cheek with aching tenderness. "You came for me."

"I always would."

Then he kissed her.

Not rushed, their first kiss as equals. His lips were warm and a little cracked. His hands were no longer guided by glamour, no longer tethered to some queen's whim. They were his hands now. And they were trembling.

He dropped to his knees before her like it was a prayer. Not a gesture of worship, but of thanks. He unlaced her skirt with practiced care, but this time no enchantment clouded his fingers. He kissed her hip, the inside of her thigh, trailing heat behind every press of his mouth. Janet gasped as he spread her open, holding her steady with strong, scarred hands. And then he tasted her.

He devoured her like he had been starving since the moment she first called his name. His tongue traced every slick fold, learning her all over again. He flicked over her clit, soft at first, then firmer, lapping in slow, hungry strokes that made her knees tremble. Janet moaned, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Tam - Gods, don't stop - "

He didn't. He sucked gently at her clit until she sobbed, thighs quaking, hips grinding against his face. She tried to pull away when it got too much, but he just held her firmer, tongue plunging into her, owning the sounds she made.

When her orgasm hit, it rolled through her like thunder, hot and shaking, drawn out by the relentless rhythm of his mouth and the pressure of his hands. She came with a cry, shattering and whole, trembling against him. He didn't let go until her body sagged. Then he rose. Mouth wet, eyes dark, cock hard and ready between them.

"You," he rasped, "are everything."

He turned her gently, bent her forward over the mossy stone beside them. Her hands braced against the surface. Her ass bare and flushed. She was still panting when he lined himself up behind her and pushed in. Long. Deep. Slow. She gasped. He groaned.

"Fuck, Janet--tight--"

She moaned as he filled her completely. No hesitation. No holding back. He drew out and slammed back in with a force that made her cry out, the echo bouncing off the riverbank. He gripped her hips, thrusting hard, deep, relentless. The sound of their bodies meeting - skin to skin, wet and raw - filled the air.

"You held me," he said through clenched teeth. "Now I'll never let you go."

Janet looked back at him, flushed and panting. "Then fuck me like you mean it."

He did.

Harder. Rougher. A rhythm as old as bone and blood. He grunted with each thrust, driving into her like he was carving her into memory. Her second climax crept up fast, brought on by the friction, the fullness, the primal sound of him losing control.

"Tam--" she cried. "I'm--"

"Let go," he growled. "Come on my cock."

She did. Screaming. Writhing. Clenching around him so hard it dragged his orgasm from him seconds later. He spilled inside her with a roar, hips jerking, face buried in her shoulder as he emptied everything he had: fear, longing, devotion - into her.

They collapsed onto the moss, naked and panting. The first bird sang somewhere in the branches.

---

It was late afternoon in the village, and the air smelled of woodsmoke and sweet onions.

Janet stood at the side of the cottage, sleeves rolled to her elbows, washing vegetables in a worn wooden basin. Her belly strained against the front of her dress: round, full, proud. The baby kicked sometimes when she bent over too far, reminding her gently who was in charge now.

The well water was cold against her wrists. Dirt flecked her apron. The carrots were stubborn and knotted from the poor soil, but they'd roast sweet if she did it slow.

A few of the neighbour women passed by, one giving a nod, another a soft smile. They no longer whispered like they once had. Janet had come back from Carterhaugh stronger, and that kind of strength demanded respect. She picked up the parsnips next, humming a little, the tune simple and familiar.

Then: footsteps on the path behind her. Boots. Steady. Confident. Her heart leapt before she even turned.

Tam Lin walked into view with a soft grin, two rabbits slung over one shoulder and a trio of plump game birds tucked in a leather satchel.

His shirt was open at the throat, hair windblown, and eyes shining like he'd just stepped from the forest again. He still moved like a hunter - fluid, deliberate - but the wildness in him had gentled since autumn. He belonged here now. With her. He set the bag down with a thump and crossed the yard.

"Trade you two birds for a kiss," he said.

Janet smiled. "Bit steep, but I'll consider it."

He laughed. That warm, rumbling sound that still made her knees a little weak. Then his eyes dropped to her belly, and his face softened even more. She dried her hands on her apron as he stepped close, one hand already rising to touch her. He was gentle. Always so gentle with her now, even after all their rough beginnings. His palm pressed to the curve of her stomach, fingers splaying wide as if to hold both her and the child inside.

"Were they good today?" he murmured.

She nodded. "Very active. Especially when I sat down."

He chuckled. "My child. Already impatient."

She laid her hand over his. They stood like that for a moment. No magic. No fire or glamour. Just breath, and warmth, and the quiet creak of birdsong over rooftops.

Then Tam Lin leaned in. He kissed her, deep and slow, like time didn't matter. Like he could pour all his gratitude into her mouth. Her fingers curled into his shirt. Her belly pressed against his.

The baby kicked once, softly. Janet smiled into the kiss. And didn't let go.