The Seer Had the Body of His Beloved

The king had not slept well for three nights. He tossed and turned in bed, listening to the castle’s silence, and began again: the enemy army’s flanks, the evacuation tunnels, the ambushes prepared in the forest. Everything was in place. His captains were loyal, his archers had a sure aim, his spies sent precise reports every dawn. And yet something gnawed at him from within, like a splinter you can’t see but can feel with every movement.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. The room was dark except for the low glow of the hearth, which cast long shadows across the tapestries. Three weeks earlier he had sent Catalina north, with her family. It was the safest thing; she was the one his enemies were after, and he could not risk revealing her whereabouts. He missed her weight on the mattress, her habit of reading to him in silence until they both fell asleep. He missed her voice more than her advice, and he desperately needed her advice. He also missed, though he would not admit it aloud, the way she climbed on top of him some dawns, took his sleeping cock in her warm hand, and slowly woke it until she had it hard against her own thigh.

He got to his feet, splashed cold water on his face from the washbasin, and made the decision he had been putting off for days.

He would go see the seer.

***

They had called her that for generations: the seer of the forest. She had no proper name, or at least no one knew it. Those who had consulted her described such different experiences that it was impossible to form a coherent image of her. Some spoke of an old woman with a cracked voice who knew things she could not possibly know. Others, of a young woman sitting among herbs and animal bones. A merchant from the lower city insisted that he had seen only a tree and a voice, and that it had nevertheless answered exactly what he needed to hear. They all agreed on one point: what she foretold came to pass. Without exception, without nuance, without room for convenient interpretation.

She was not cheap. Securing an audience had required discreet intermediaries and a bag of gold that would never appear in any ledger. But if there was anyone capable of soothing the splinter burning in his chest, it was her.

He let the horse wander along the castle’s back trail without pulling on the reins. That was what those who had come before said: you did not search for the path, the path appeared when she wanted you to find it. The forest was still and moonless. Damp cold pressed against his face and smelled of wet earth and pine. The king rode at a walk for what felt like half an hour with no fixed destination, letting the horse choose each fork.

And then, between two oaks, a faint glow. Blue-white. Barely perceptible, as if the trees’ bark held its own light. The king stopped his horse and watched it for a few seconds. The gleam did not move, but neither did it disappear. He turned that way, and the path began to reveal itself: a stone with an odd tint here, a branch bent to the right there, a gash in the undergrowth that seemed freshly opened. He came to an entrance in the solid rock at the foot of the mountain, dark and barely visible. He knew with certainty that it had not been there the day before; his forces had combed the area while setting ambushes. He tied the horse to a tree, unclasped his sword, and went in.

***

What he found on the other side was not what he expected.

A broad chamber lit by dozens of candles in iron candelabra. A small brazier in one corner, with lavender and something else he did not recognize burning slowly. A standing mirror with a carved frame, a high-backed bed with embroidered blue-and-gold cushions, a thick rug over the stone floor. In every essential detail, it was an exact version of Catalina’s room in the castle.

And in the center, seated in a carved armchair, was his queen.

She wore the crown. Dark braids fell over her shoulders. A long gown, of a blue almost gray and only barely opaque, opened slightly down the center and made plain that she wore nothing underneath. The fabric precisely outlined her full breasts, her nipples already hard and pushing against the silk, and in the hollow between her thighs he could make out the dark shadow of hair and the line of her cunt. Green eyes looked at him without blinking, with an expression that was not exactly Catalina’s but resembled her so much that the king found it hard to breathe for a moment.

—Were you coming to find me? —said the woman.

Her voice was crystalline, with a slight echo that did not suit the size of the room. The tone was Catalina’s. Only the tone.

The king cleared his throat.

—Depends. Am I speaking to my queen or to the seer?

—To both. —A small, almost amused smile—. Something tells me you came looking for both, though perhaps for reasons you do not yet distinguish yourself.

He stepped forward. The gown had the texture of silk, and the brazier’s fire cast its light in such a way that at times it looked almost transparent. The king forced himself to keep his gaze on the green eyes.

—There’s an imminent war. I have taken every possible precaution. My captains are ready, the ambushes prepared, my people instructed about the escape routes. But something inside me is not at peace. A feeling I cannot name and that has not left me in three weeks.

The woman rose from the chair with deliberate slowness. The gown fell and settled over her body as she moved, emphasizing every curve as she crossed the room with calm steps. He followed her movements helplessly. He noticed how the silk clung to her round ass with each step, how the fabric rode up between her cheeks and fell back again, and he felt a surge of heat go straight to his cock, which began thickening inside his breeches.

—All wars bring blood —she said—. The question that keeps you awake is not whether there will be blood. It’s whose.

—My people’s. I have no heirs yet. Catalina is safe in the north, and her relatives will not allow the enemy to cross toward her. But if the invader advances, those who depend on me will pay the price with their lives and their freedom. —The king clenched his teeth—. I have done everything in my power. But I do not know if it is enough. Should I evacuate now? Hand over an empty city and start from zero somewhere else? Or should I hold at all costs and trust what we have prepared?

The seer moved behind him without making a sound. He felt her hands on his shoulders, warm through his clothes. The scent was Catalina’s; that blend of almond oil and something faintly sweet he could not describe but recognized without hesitation. Her breasts brushed his back, her hard nipples marking two hot points through the leather, and a shiver went through him that had nothing to do with military strategy.

—Do you think flight would be enough for your enemies? —she asked, her mouth near his nape—. That finding empty lands would stop them?

—I do not trust their mercy. But I’d like to think something would deter them from spending more time and gold chasing someone who has nothing left to offer.

Her hands slid slowly down his arms, with firm pressure over the muscles made tense by training and the weight of armor. The king noticed that the anxiety that had accompanied him for weeks was beginning to ease, not completely, but enough to feel the space it left behind. She gently turned him until they were face to face. Her lips were parted and her eyes fixed on his.

—There is hope —she said, very softly—. But I can’t show it to you with words. The path you need to see does not fit inside language.

She lowered her hand and placed it over his belly. Then lower still, until she found the hard bulge already straining the fabric. She closed her fingers around his cock over the breeches and squeezed slowly, measuring the size, the thickness, the hardness. The king let out a short gasp through clenched teeth.

—I need you to be here —he whispered—. Not on the battlefield. Here. With me. Only then can I give you what you came to find.

He felt the warmth of her hand through his clothes. He had been without Catalina for weeks, without that touch, without that warmth that was the only thing capable of making his mind go quiet for a while. And there she was, or something that held her, offering him exactly that.

—I don’t even know your name —he said.

—Call me whatever you want. —She held his gaze—. Call me Catalina, if it helps you stay present. Call me whore, if it helps you fuck me the way you need to fuck me.

***

He led her to the bed without letting go of her hand. When she lay back among the embroidered cushions and the gown opened fully, he took several seconds before moving. Just to look. She was beautiful in a more direct and intense way than anything he had ever seen, as if her body had been built to be contemplated at that exact moment, under that exact light. Her breasts spilled slightly to the sides, crowned by dark, erect nipples. Her flat belly descended to a mound of dark, trimmed hair, and lower still her cunt lips shone, already parted and wet, responding to the room’s hot air as if they had a life of their own. He undid his breeches and drew out his cock, which rose heavy and veined against his belly, the glans swollen and already beaded.

She bit her lip at the sight of it. She opened her legs shamelessly, showing him everything, and brought two fingers to her cunt to part the lips with obscene slowness.

—Come —she said—. Come look at me up close.

He knelt on the bed between her spread thighs and lowered his head. He began at her neck, slowly. She tilted her head and let out a soft sound. He moved down her collarbone with his mouth until he reached her breasts. Her nipples were hard and he took them one by one with his tongue, sucking them calmly at first and then harder, tugging lightly with his lips until she arched her back against his mouth. He nibbled them carefully, moved from one to the other without rushing, and traced circles around the areolas with his tongue until she began to gasp and grab his hair. He was in no hurry. Time worked differently here; he could tell from the stillness of the air itself, from the way the candles did not flicker.

He kissed his way down her belly, stopping to plunge his tongue into her navel, and continued lower until he found the soft hair of her pubis. He blew gently and she shuddered.

—Don’t tease —she moaned—. Lick me already.

He obeyed. He spread her legs fully with his hands, settled face-down between her thighs, and lowered his mouth to her cunt. He licked from bottom to top with his broad, flat tongue, gathering all the warm flow already running toward her ass, and finished the stroke with a deep kiss over her swollen clit. She cried out softly and pressed his head with her thighs. He kept going, drawing slow circles with his tongue around the little bud, alternating with long licks that ran the length of her slit and small sucks that made her hips jerk.

He slid his tongue inside and moved it as if he were fucking her with it, in and out, while his thumb rubbed the clit in tight circles. Her cunt soaked everything: his lips, his chin, the sheet beneath. The seer writhed on the cushions, gripping her breasts and pinching her nipples, mouth open and eyes half-closed. When he thought she was close, he went back to sucking her clit with his lips sealed around it and began moving his tongue over it in a steady rhythm.

—Yes —she hissed—. Yes, there, like that, don’t stop.

He did not stop. His hand moved up to her cunt and slid two fingers inside, curling them forward, searching for that spongy spot Catalina had taught him to find years ago. He found it. His fingers began moving quickly against that spot while his tongue kept working the clit. Her muscles started to contract around his fingers, her breathing sped up, and her gasps became continuous, long, almost word-shaped.

She came with a long spasm that shook her whole body, crushing his head between her thighs, soaking his face. He kept licking slowly until she gently pushed him away from oversensitivity.

—Now —she said, her voice rough, tugging at his shoulder—. Now put it in me.

He withdrew his hand, positioned himself between her legs, and looked into her eyes for an instant before entering. He grasped his cock by the base, dragged it through the length of her slit, coating it with her slick, and rubbed the glans against her clit until she moaned and dug her nails into his shoulders.

—Now. Fuck me now.

He entered her in one stroke, with all the tension accumulated from weeks of loneliness and fear. His cock went all the way in, to the hilt, and she let out a broken sound and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper. He felt her cunt close around his shaft like a hot fist, squeezing and releasing him in pulsations that did not seem controlled. He drove into her again and again with a firm, deep rhythm, not hurrying but not holding back either, as if the bottom of her held something he needed to reach. Every thrust went all the way and tore a guttural moan from her mouth. The sound of flesh against flesh filled the room, wet and rhythmic, mingling with their heavy breathing. The sensation was unlike anything he remembered. More intense. More present.

I had never felt anything like this, not even with Catalina. And yet it was like being with Catalina, multiplied by something nameless.

Her mouth found his neck. Her teeth brushed his skin without biting at first, then bit, marking him. Her hands traveled over his back with a pressure that shifted between soft and urgent, sliding down to seize his ass and dig her nails in to force him to sink deeper, as if she too were searching for something in him. He sank deeper and deeper, changing the angle, lifting her legs to rest them on his shoulders so he could reach farther in. In that position her cunt gripped him differently, tighter, and each thrust drew from her a short, sharp cry.

—Harder —she gasped—. Don’t hold back with me. Break me.

He hammered into her more violently, gripping her hips to drag her toward him with every stroke. Her breasts bounced with each hit, her nipples pointing upward, her mouth open and spilling broken gasps that kept rising in pitch. He lowered one hand and squeezed a breast, kneaded it, pinched her nipple between two fingers, and she let out a long, hoarse moan.

He lowered her legs and she hooked her ankles around his waist, and with one fluid motion she reversed their position.

She looked down at him from above. Her breasts moved to their own rhythm. She licked her lips, lifted her hands to her hair to gather it behind her neck, and began to move with a deep, undulating cadence, putting all her weight down with each sway. His cock disappeared all the way inside her cunt and came back out gleaming with slick. He held her by the hips and let himself be carried, staring up at her while the tension in his body became unbearable. He watched her belly rise and fall, the way the muscles stood out with each movement, the line of her throat when she threw her head back.

He slid his thumbs forward and stroked her clit in quick circles while she continued riding him. She threw her head back, exposed her throat, and her gasps became rapid and loud, almost word-shaped again, as if she were saying something in another language. She leaned forward, braced her hands on his chest, and changed the angle so she could rub her clit directly against the base of his cock on every descent. They both came almost at the same time.

He lifted his hips to meet her motions. Once. Again. He held her tightly by the hips, pinned her against him, and drove in one last time as deep as he could, feeling his cock explode inside her cunt in hot jets that seemed endless. She moaned as she felt him come, squeezed her cunt around his shaft in long spasms, and collapsed onto his chest with her mouth at his neck, breathing in ragged bursts while semen spilled between them.

And then the room vanished.

***

With his eyes closed and his body still trembling, he saw.

He saw the field before dawn. He saw the enemy army’s left flank, weaker than his spies had reported; information no one had yet, but which would come the next day. He saw the exact moment when he must order the cavalry forward. He saw his first captain’s face, alive, after the battle. He saw his own banner over the walls of the city, intact, standing, without ash.

And at the end, before everything dissolved, he saw a pair of green eyes on the horizon. Returning his gaze. They were not exactly Catalina’s. But neither were they completely different.

The vision faded. Only the body’s exhaustion remained, and a strange lightness that did not fit the moment, as if someone had lifted the weight from his shoulders while he slept.

He opened his eyes.

No one was beside him. The sumptuous room had vanished. He was lying on the stone floor of a lightless cave, surrounded by earth and months’ worth of accumulated dust. No candles, no brazier, no embroidered bed. Only darkness and the cold of the rock, and the sound of his own breathing slowly returning to normal. His cock, still wet and half-soft, hung out of his open breeches. The seed he had spilled was nowhere to be seen; not on the stone, not on his clothes. As if it had never passed through a body.

He sat up slowly. He waited.

He had what he had come to find.

He stood, adjusted his breeches, left the cave, and found the horse where he had left it. He mounted without hurrying. The forest was as dark as before, but it no longer weighed on him. He took the road back to the castle with a clear mind and a concrete plan taking shape at every step the animal made over the damp earth.

He knew what he had to do.