His bow was drawn, the steed was still, he was about to let fly his arrow when, there was shimmering. The steed seemed to shirk, to be bewitched, to change. King Harold lowered his bow, as the steed changed into a beautiful young woman. She wore nothing but a small cloth draped about her waist and an elaborate necklace.
Bewitched by her beauty, King Harold, stood there and started, unaware of the danger. She walked toward him, speaking gently as the wind. "King Harold, come make love to me." Unable to resist her spell, he walked toward her. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her lips, shaking his head to clear the drugged kisses.
Discarding his clothing, he tumbled to the ground with her. The heat he felt, overwhelmed him, his desire drove him. Her breasts felt like the smoothness of a baby's skin, her scent drove him to a frenzy as he ran his hands down her body. Her skirt soon came undone and she lay there in all her beauty.
With every kiss, every stroke of his hand, his desire grew. Kisses fell on her breasts, stomach, trailing down to her love mound. He spread her legs, smelling, licking, tasting her. No longer able to resist, he climbed up her body, his hard manhood aching for entry into her love tunnel. As his legs fell between her thighs, he felt heaven.
Their love, was unequal to anything he had ever experienced. Each thrust, was met by equal thrusts of her own, as if she needed him as he needed her. When the time came, he bellowed, thrusting into her. She countered by pushing down on him as hard as she could, taking in as much of him as she could.
There she lay, contented, tired, more beautiful than ever. "King Harold" she said, "You have bequeathed me, my greatest wish, to have a son. My time on this earth is limited, and I am near the end of this journey, I shall send him to you when it is time for me to leave. Give me a token my king, so that you may know your son."
He handed her his medallion, the one that should have gone to his first born, the emblem of the crown, the medallion to be worn by the king only. She held it, admiring it, then placed it over her own neck. With that she stood, changed back to the steed she once was, and ran away into the mountains beyond.
King Harold cried to the heavens, "What have I done?". He thought of his wife of 35 years, his two sons, his kingdom, each now in danger. A son by a witch such as her, could destroy all that he held dear. Dressing he made his way back to the castle, defeated and saddened by his betrayal, unable to tell a soul.
As the years came and went he had pushed the incident to the farthest corners of his mind. 'Till a messenger arrived requesting a private audience, he had declined, but the young man burst in, drawing his sword against the guards that tried to stop him. King Harold called them off when he saw the medallion the man wore.
Privately he met with his son, learning his name was Jason, of his training, his mother. Yet King Harold could not, even now recognize him as his son. With regret, he sent him away, never to be claimed as the prince he was. Jason's parting words chilled his heart. "Father, you know this is wrong, one day you will rue this decision!"
STORY TO BE CONTINUED
