[Ménage Amour: Erotic Historical Fantasy Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, fairy tale, HEA]
Desperately in love with Sir Lancelot and her husband, King Arthur, Guinevere seeks Merlin’s assistance in bringing both men to her bed. The clever sorcerer promises his help, but cautions that the enchantment must never be revealed, and that she must accomplish the seduction within one hour or the consequences will, indeed, be dire.
Arthur has known of the love between his queen and his bravest knight, but can see no way for the three of them to be together in a castle filled with spies and intrigue. Lancelot is torn between his love for Guinevere and his friendship with Arthur, not to mention his duty to the kingdom. Therefore, he is willing to go north to spy on the king’s half sister, Morgause, a task that could end in his death.
When Gwen drinks the vile potion Merlin has prepared for her, she believes its only purpose is to give her the courage to speak her mind. Little does she know that the crafty old wizard has a few other tricks up his sleeve…
A Siren Erotic Romance
“Oh, Merlin,” Guinevere cried. “Whatever shall I do?”
Confiding in the ancient sorcerer was a desperate move at best. Trusting him with her deepest desires was even more so, but the young queen found herself on the horns of a dilemma with no notion of how to solve it.
As always, Merlin spoke in riddles. “That which we most desire is often the most difficult to attain, my queen.”
No offer of assistance seemed forthcoming. Perhaps greater encouragement was required. “And frequently comes at a high price.”
Merlin merely nodded his agreement, seeming content to wait for her to continue. Guinevere had seldom engaged in verbal sparring with the old wizard, who in her eyes was devious, subtle, and too clever by half. However, she was no simpleton. Nonetheless, she allowed herself a wistful sigh, knowing that its effect would most likely be wasted on him. “Even with all that a queen has to offer, I know not what to ask in return.”
“Such a delicate matter would require sorcery of the highest order.”
So the price would be double, perhaps triple, what she expected. True, she was a queen, but her resources were limited to that which her husband wouldn’t notice missing from the royal coffers. Not that he would deny her anything. Except, perhaps, this…
The constant battle within her heart had already taken its toll. She was exhausted, listless—even Arthur had advised her to seek a remedy from Merlin. Although she had done as he bade her, she doubted that this was the sort of potion he’d had in mind.
She required a love potion—though surely of a different kind than anyone had ever requested from Merlin before—that would allow her to enjoy the love of two men. The question was, to whom should she give it?
To Arthur, to gain his acceptance of Lancelot as her lover, or to Lancelot to break through his reluctance to betray his king? Or, sadly, to herself, to banish the longing she felt for both men? She was greedy and she knew it. No woman should require two lovers. It was fickle, depraved, and quite wicked, indeed.
Still, Merlin hadn’t condemned her outright. He was crafty and wise, and although his means were sometimes questionable, the ends usually justified them. He’d risked much to bring Uther Pendragon and Ygraine, the wife of Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, together—and had accepted the blame as well as Uther’s fury when Gorlois died in battle a few days later. Merlin’s reasons were clear, though they’d cost him dearly, for on a different night, Uther would have begat a different child, and Arthur Pendragon would never have been born.
That Guinevere loved her lord and husband was a given. Arthur was handsome and just, a strong leader in a time when such a man was needed to hold the kingdom of Britain secure against the Saxon hordes. She worshipped him with the same fervor as did his other subjects.
But Lancelot was equally brave and true, his friendship with the king dating back to their childhood. They’d been trained to fight by the same swordmaster, and Merlin himself had schooled them in the ways of politics and the mysteries of science. Neither man had been adept at magic, nor did they wish to be. Theirs was a different sort of power, and with Merlin to provide visions, potions, and the means to ward off Arthur’s half sister, Morgause, the evil Queen of Orkney, no further magic was required.
If only Arthur had dispatched any other knight to bring his bride safely to the wedding, perhaps this dilemma might have been avoided. But the die was cast, the deed done. During the course of their journey, she’d fallen for Lancelot. She had tried—heaven knew how she’d tried—and had she been convinced that her love was not returned, she might have remained with Arthur and been happy.
But she could see the longing in Lancelot’s eyes when she caught him watching her—longing for a forbidden love that could not have been traced even if she were to bear his child instead of Arthur’s. The king was as dark as Lancelot was fair, but since Gwen herself was a blue-eyed blonde, no one would be the wiser should she give birth to a child that resembled her lover.
In that respect, the gods had been both cruel and merciful, for Gwen was barren. There would be no heir to the kingdom, but likewise no bastards of Lancelot’s siring. Nothing kept them apart but honor, and honor was an unforgiving master—a master that wouldn’t allow her to engage in secret trysts with any of the king’s chosen knights.
No. If she were to be Lancelot’s lover in the physical sense, it must be with Arthur’s full knowledge and consent. Gwen allowed herself to dream of taking both men to her bed, loving them each with every breath in her body until the final beat of her heart. She had it in her to give them each a love that was equal and enduring. But how to make them see the rightness of it?
Merlin smiled, his wise eyes crinkling at the corners. Gwen had rarely seen that smile—not as cold or calculating as one might expect, but filled with warmth, understanding, and benevolence. She knew that he also held the best interests of the kingdom dear, not wishing to see the nation he had helped to unite fall apart through petty bickering. There were enough external enemies to fight without having to deal with those within the walls of Camelot.
“My dear child,” he began. “Do you think to pay me for my services? If so, you needn’t bother—though I would ask a favor of you.”
“Name it,” Gwen begged. “Anything.”
Arthur blinked back tears. His first sexual experience had been with Morgause, his wicked, scheming half sister. The act had contained no tenderness, no joy. Only lust. The memory of it filled him with loathing. At the time, he’d had no idea who his father was, but she’d known it—or at least suspected the truth—and had sought to use him any way she could to gain power.
His first bedding of Gwen had been wonderful and exciting, but he had barely known her then. They weren’t in love. Not like this—nothing like this.
At least I have witnessed it once.
Where he ought to have felt jealousy, he felt only gratitude—thankful that such a love existed in this world. Pleased that he had been generous enough to permit it. Wishing that it might continue.
But of course it couldn’t. Not here in Camelot. He’d spoken the truth when he’d told Gwen it was impossible, no matter how much he might wish otherwise. He could never have imagined a scenario that would allow them this precious time together, nor could he imagine that this stoppage of time would continue or even recur.
It was a miracle. And miracles didn’t happen every day.
Unless, of course, one happened to know a man like Merlin.
He’d seen the old enchanter perform feats of magic before. Granted, they’d been nothing of this magnitude, but still…
He put those thoughts aside. He couldn’t deny that he had wished for this possibility. Apparently Lance and Gwen had done the same. If this was indeed a miracle, he needed to make the most of it.
“Gwen,” he whispered. “Would you like to have both of us together?”
“I would, indeed,” she replied.
“How would you like—”
She put up a hand. “However you wish. I am a beggar, therefore I cannot choose.”
“You are anything but that,” he said. “You are my queen, and we are your humble servants. Tell us what you wish for.”
“I leave that to you,” she said. “I am open to any suggestions you might offer.”
Though Lance had already spilled his seed, he remained hilted in her pussy, leading Arthur to suspect that his friend was far from finished. “I believe you made a suggestion earlier. Would it please you to begin with that?”
She smiled. “Oh, yes.”
Arthur crawled up behind her. Straddling her head, he pushed down on his cock and she let him in without hesitation. This was an act he’d never done with anyone else—something she’d once offered to do while in the flux of her menses. Oddly enough, she’d seemed to enjoy it, and his pleasure had been exquisite. As his cock slid into the warm recesses of her mouth, her tongue danced around his shaft, sending sensuous tingles sweeping out from his groin.
Lance watched with undisguised fascination. “And I thought she’d spoken in jest.”
Arthur’s eyelids drifted blissfully downward as his lips curled into a grin. “She would never jest about a thing such as this. It is pure delight.”
She sucked harder, his cue to accompany her efforts with a gentle rocking of his hips. When he complied with her unspoken request, she hummed her enjoyment, setting her own hips in motion.
“Lance, I believe she is asking you for something.”
“But I have already—”
“Makes no difference,” Arthur insisted. “Her pleasure is our only concern. If your cock is still hard, use it.”
Lance’s subsequent thrusts rendered Arthur’s movements unnecessary. Gwen arched her neck, allowing Arthur to glide in deeper.
“Faster, Lance,” Arthur urged. “She is nearly there.”
Arthur’s own ascent to the ultimate joy had just begun when a guttural growl erupted from Lance’s throat, sounding as though it had its origin in his ballocks.
“I cannot help… Ohh…” With one final thrust, Lance seemed to collapse, and then he rolled sideways to land in a crumpled heap beside Gwen.
“We must work to improve your stamina, my friend,” Arthur said, grinning. “Allow me to finish her for you.”
Lance appeared barely conscious as Arthur mounted his wife. Her passage was wide open and filled with his friend’s cream, allowing a nearly frictionless glide into her body. “Ah, Gwen. You feel more like heaven than ever.”
Her lips curved into a provocative smile as she wrapped her legs around him. “I would say the same of you, but I fear it would reflect poorly on dear Lance.”
“Go ahead and say it,” Lance mumbled. “After all, he is the king.”
Arthur laughed. “Not at present. You see, that is the beauty of these stolen moments. No one is king, no one is queen. We are only Arthur, Gwen, and Lance.”
“Then fuck me, Arthur. Make me scream with rapture.” With a sly wink, she added, “As you so often do.”