Kiss of the Sorceress Read online

  Kiss of the Sorceress

  A Choose Your Own Erotic Story

  By Callista J. Hawkes

  Follow me on Twitter @CallistaJHawkes

  Text Copyright © 2019 Callista J. Hawkes

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied or reproduced in any format, electronic or otherwise without prior written permission.

  Cover photo:

  © Michael Gray / Dreamstime.com (Photograph)

  © Andreykuzmin / Dreamstime.com (Border)

  Map created using map creator tool from rollforfantasy.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. All persons portrayed in this eBook are 18 years of age or older.

  This eBook contains sexually explicit situations and terms and is intended for a mature audience only.

  Introduction

  As a choose your own erotic story, this book contains multiple paths leading to several different endings. At the end of each section, you will generally be given two or more choices. To progress, simply select your preferred option to continue the story. (No need for the page-flicking back and forth of similar books of yesteryear!) When you reach an ending, you can either skip back to the previous choice or choose “THE END” to go to the chapter menu. Here you can start the story from the very beginning and enjoy an alternative path through the whole story, or skip to a later section to see how events might play out differently.

  You make your way through the bustling streets of Summerhold. It’s the first time you have travelled to the capital city and never in your life have you ever seen so many people in one place. While you are constantly jostled and cursed, the townspeople and merchants seem entirely comfortable, weaving through the masses with ease. Ahead, towering over the streets, you can see the ramparts of the royal palace. Soldiers dressed in the crimson of the royal guard stand along the crenelated walls with long pikes glinting at their sides.

  “Out of my way, farm boy!” One of the townsfolk sneers, bringing your attention back to street level. You glare back at him, but he doesn’t even seem to notice as he pushes past you. Is it so obvious you are from the provinces? You glance down at your thick and mended cotton shirt, your slightly baggy breeches and scuffed leather boots. When you had left your village, you had felt so smart and well dressed but compared to the finely tailored clothing of the townspeople, you feel every inch a peasant. Not for the first time, you question whether you should even be here. The capital is so vast and intimidating. Perhaps you should be toiling in the fields like your father and his father before him. Casting such doubts from your mind, you finally reach the main gate of the palace. The imposing stone entranceway is open with the heavy portcullis raised, but a line of guards stand across the opening.

  “What’s your business here?” One growls at you as you approach. You reach into your pack and pull out a rolled parchment. Another guard takes it from you and you stand a little straighter, glowing with pride as he studies it.

  “…summoned to appear before Her Royal Highness Princess Arianna… blah, blah, blah.” He reads aloud. “…will be considered for the honoured position of Royal Protector!” He raises an eyebrow. “You’re the champion of your province?!” He looks you up and down with exaggerated contempt. “They must be a weak and sickly bunch where you come from.” The other guards guffaw loudly. You had been celebrated back in your own village, the champion from among more than a hundred who had recently come of age and taken part in the provincial trials, yet now you feel your face glow with a mixture of embarrassment and humiliation.

  React

  Ignore the jibe

  You glare back at him, but keep your mouth shut. The guard smirks before handing you back the rolled parchment.

  “You may pass.” He tells you, gesturing for you to continue through the gate. Once inside, a small, balding man, dressed in the striped gold and blue livery of a courtier steps forward. Standing proudly in his brightly coloured uniform with a ruff around his neck and a luxuriant moustache sweeping out across his cheeks, he reminds you a little of a peacock. He glances at the parchment in your hand.

  “Our final champion.” He smiles wearily.

  “Yes sir.” You nod.

  “Good.” He replies. “I witnessed the guards goading you outside and was impressed that you kept your cool. Many of the other champions have been hot-headed and have been found to be less than equal to the honoured position of Royal Protector. I have high hopes for you, son.”

  “I shall try my best, sir.” You reply.

  “That’s all we can ask of you.” He replies as you follow him into the palace. Once inside, he leads you through a maze of lavishly decorated passageways, the walls adorned with tapestries and coats of arms.

  Ask him about the princess

  Ask him about your predecessors

  Remain silent

  “I could take you.” You snap. “Any of you!” You glower at the laughing guards.

  “A bold claim, kid!” The first soldier chuckles. “Let’s see if you can back it up.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you drop your pack on the floor and raise your fists. The soldier cocks an eyebrow before stepping towards you, raising his own fists. The others take a couple of steps back, giving you space as you each size the other up. You can’t believe you’ve managed to pick a fight before you’ve even entered the palace, but you’ll have to go through with it now. The soldier lunges forward and swings a fist at your head. You rock back, dodging it before countering with a couple of jabs into his stomach. He grunts in surprise, his smile vanishing as he aims another blow at your head. This time, you don’t avoid it and his knuckles crunch into the side of your temple. You step back, shaking your head.

  “Had enough?” He grins, his overconfidence returning. You shake your head and step forward once more, feigning a blow at his stomach again before smashing an uppercut into his chin. His head rocks back and he staggers away, grimacing with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Reaching up, he wipes it away with the back of his sleeve.

  “The yokel’s got some fight in him.” He remarks to the others, dropping his fists.

  Keep fighting and teach him some manners

  Stop fighting

  With the mocking laughter of the guards still ringing in your ears, you’re not done yet. Stepping forward, you smash your fist into the guard’s face. Sucker punched, he topples senseless to the floor. The other guards roar in fury and attack you together. Outnumbered, they swiftly give you a savage beating, leaving you bleeding on the ground, your face swollen and your ribs aching. The guard who you first fought drags you away from the gate and stands over you.

  “You’re no champion.” He tells you, tearing the roll of parchment into tiny pieces. “You’re just a common thug. Get back to whatever shithole you came from.” He throws the tiny scraps of parchment in your face before storming away in disgust.

  With the parchment proving you are the provincial champion destroyed, you have no choice but to leave the city and begin the long journey back to your village. You trudge slowly down endless rural lanes, wondering how you have conspired to throw away such an opportunity before you have even made it through the palace gates. You feel nauseous when you imagine returning home and seeing the look of disappointment etched on your parents’ faces, having seen them so filled with pride when you left just a few days earlier.

  After three days of travelling, you emerge from the familiar woods where you played as a child. Smelling smoke in the air, you immediately realise something is wrong. Finding some reserves of stamina, you run through the cornfields towards a dark hazy cloud in the distance. The feeling of dread becomes an awful reality when you see your village ablaz
e.

  “No, no!” You cry out. Every building is aflame while huge, green skinned orcs rampage through the street, slaughtering any who stand before them. You stand watching in dumbstruck disbelief until you see one of the orcs stop and glance in your direction. He points at you, calling out to the others before lumbering towards you. You turn and run for your life, but the long strides of the towering orcs eat up the ground between you. You can hear their feet pounding close behind before you hear one grunt as he smashes a battle axe into the back of your skull.

  THE END

  Go back a few moments and rethink your actions

  As you drop your own fists, the guard gives you a hearty slap on the shoulder.

  “Maybe you’re not entirely unworthy after all.” He grins. “You may pass.” He tosses you your roll of parchment before stepping to one side and ushering you through. “Good luck, kid.”

  Beyond the gates, a small, balding man, dressed in the striped gold and blue livery of a courtier steps forward. Standing proudly in his brightly coloured uniform with a ruff around his neck and a luxuriant moustache sweeping out across his cheeks, he reminds you a little of a peacock.

  “You are our final champion?” He asks. You nod. “I see you have already been putting your fighting skills to use.” He remarks, glancing with disdain at the bruise that is throbbing on the side of your head. “I hope you are more than a common brawler. The position of Royal Protector requires much more than brawn.”

  “I understand, sir.” You reply, feeling chastised.

  “Good. Her highness is expecting you. While your predecessors have not been suitable, we have high hopes for you. I do hope you won’t be another disappointment.”

  “I shall try my best, sir.” You reply.

  “See that you do, young man.” He replies sternly as you follow him into the palace. Once inside, he leads you through a maze of lavishly decorated passageways, brushing past servants and other courtiers.

  Ask him about the princess

  Ask him about your predecessors

  Remain silent

  “Why were my predecessors a disappointment?” You ask the courtier. “They were all champions of their own provinces, were they not?”

  “They were, but the position of the princess’s personal protector is not just about skill with a blade or a bow.” The courtier replies. “Were it so, she would simply have one of her guardsmen assume the role. No, the princess and Royal Protector must have a deeper connection. A level of trust. A bond of sorts. The princess granted each an audience, but the other champions were unable to convince her that they would have such a connection.”

  “I see.” You murmur, none the wiser and now even more nervous than you were before.

  Ask him about the princess

  Enough questions

  “Could you tell me a little of the princess?” You ask. “I hear she is very beautiful.” The courtier stops and turns sharply towards you.

  “May I remind you that you are talking about Her Royal Highness, Princess Arianna, first of her name, not some common trollop in the local inn of whatever backwater village you hail from!” He hisses.

  “Uh yes, of course. Sorry sir.” You reply. Placated, the courtier nods.

  “The princess has numerous virtues, her beauty but one of them.” He tells you. “She is intelligent, kind and gentle, but also very strong. The tragic disappearance of her parents two winters ago has weighed heavily on her, forcing her to assume the responsibilities of Regent before her time. Yet she has risen to the task with such admirable grace and fortitude.”

  Ask him about the disappearance of the princess’s parents

  Ask him about your predecessors

  Enough questions

  “What happened to the King and Queen? You ask.

  “Have you been walking around with your head in the clouds these past two years, boy?” The courtier replies incredulously. “Am I to be a tutor now?” He sighs deeply before shaking his head. “Very well. Two winters ago, we received reports from the northern provinces of gathering armies of orcs along our borders, minions of the accursed enchantress, Morgetha. She has long coveted these fertile lands and so our benevolent monarch, the Queen had sought an audience to prevent conflict and bloodshed. The Queen and the King set out with an escort of guards to parley with her and were never seen again. No sign of an ambush or of a battle. No bodies, no blood, no discarded swords. They all just vanished. Without a body, the princess cannot legally be crowned until the Queen has been missing for three years. It is a dangerous time, the kingdom ripe for an unscrupulous usurper to attempt to stake a claim.”

  Ask him about the enchantress Morgetha

  Ask him about your predecessors

  Enough questions

  “Who is Morgetha?” You ask.

  “I’m getting tired of your questions, boy.” The courtier growls before sighing. “Morgetha is an enchantress who rules the realm to the north. It is a mountainous and barren land full of snow and ice. She has somehow brought the barbarian orc hordes to heel and fashioned them into an army of sorts. Her ambition knows no bounds and she has long turned an envious eye to these lands.”

  Ask him about your predecessors

  Enough questions

  You follow the courtier through a guarded door and climb up a winding stone staircase until he pauses at another door. He knocks and a moment later you hear a feminine voice answer:

  “Enter.” The courtier opens the door and gestures for you to go inside.

  “Good luck.” He murmurs before closing the door behind you. You had expected to find yourself in a cavernous throne room with dozens of courtiers, lords and ladies. Instead, you stand in some sort of dressing chamber. Ornately carved wardrobes line one wall while silken drapes billow in the breeze blowing through an open window on the opposite side of the room. A finely crafted upholstered couch is positioned against the wall to your right. Three women wearing elaborate flowing dresses stand across the room from you. Two turn and glance at you as you enter. The third, her blonde hair falling in ringlets around her shoulders, remains with her back to you, gazing at her reflection in a tall mirror. She holds herself with such poise and elegance, that even without the delicate circlet crown glinting on her head, you would know she is Princess Arianna.

  “Leave us.” She tells her companions, her voice soft. The ladies in waiting cast furtive glances in your direction before curtseying to the princess and backing away. As they file past you, one whispers to the other and they both giggle before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind them. “Our final provincial champion.” The princess murmurs as she finally turns to you. “I do hope you are not as disappointing as the others.” For a moment, you are lost for words. You had heard tell of how strikingly attractive the princess is, had seen her portrait hanging in the village hall, but they are just pale reflections of her luminous beauty. Her blue eyes sparkle, reflecting the daylight shining in through the window, her skin has a youthful glow and her complexion is flawless. She has delicate features and high cheekbones, her full lips pouting slightly. Her elegant and finely embroidered dress is flatteringly tailored to her slender figure, the pale blue fabric matching the colour of her eyes.

  “Well, boy?” She asks impatiently. “Do you have the power of speech?” You blink in surprise. The princess must only be two or three years your senior. Perhaps she is just asserting her authority. Now it’s your turn to make an impression.

  Reply politely and formally

  Be bold instead

  “I… I do… sorry your highness.” You stutter before almost as an afterthought, bowing. She rolls her eyes but a subtle smile plays on her lips, little dimples forming in her cheeks.

  “If you are to be my protector, we shall have to dispense with the usual etiquette.” She tells you. “I can’t have you bowing and fussing all day.”

  “Yes, your high… uh, yes.” You nod and smile.

  “You look strong and fit.” She remarks, studying your phys
ique. “My advisors tell me that you were impressive in the provincial trials. A worthy champion.”

  “I was lucky.” You reply.

  “Modesty!” She smiles. “A rare trait in my court. In any case, your skills as a protector are without doubt. But that is but part of your role. You must also be a companion, a confidante.”

  “A confidante?” You reply, knitting your eyebrows.

  “Yes.” She chuckles. “I must be able to trust you, to confide in you.” She crosses the room to the window. “As a royal princess, I must be seen to be pure and innocent.” She murmurs, gazing out at the bustling city below. “Unsullied for any potential suitor, some dull prince from one of the other eight kingdoms.” She sighs deeply. “I may be a princess, but I am also a woman. I still have the same cravings and desires as any other. Yet, in the eyes of the world, I must remain untouched, virginal.” She turns towards you, the sunlight making her blonde hair appear golden. “In the eyes of the world.” She repeats, this time with a sly smile. “So I need a protector who can be discreet.” You feel your face flush.

  “What happens in the princess’s bedchamber would be none of my business.” You stammer. She smiles and rolls her eyes.

  “I do hope your sword is sharper than your mind.” The princess chuckles, crossing the room towards you. She reaches out, her fingers sliding through your hair before gently pulling you towards her. The sweet aroma of her perfume fills your nostrils and you feel her soft lips press against yours. Princess Arianna kisses you tentatively for a moment before pulling away and taking a step back. She studies your face, her blue eyes gazing curiously into yours.

  Kiss her back

  You’re not sure about this

  “Uhh, I’m not… I’m just a lowly… and you’re a princess!” You stutter, your mind reeling.