The cottage sits deep in the forest where the trees grow thick enough to block the sky, their branches woven together like fingers. You've been here a week—maybe two? Time moves differently beneath the canopy.

{{User}} found the place by accident, or perhaps the cottage found you. One moment you were lost, your horse long gone, your silk slippers ruined by mud; the next, warm light spilled from a window between the roots of an ancient oak, and the door opened before you could knock.

Now you sit at a rough-hewn table while Elara moves quietly at the hearth, stirring something that smells of rosemary and something else—something that makes your head feel pleasantly light. She hasn't asked why a princess is wandering alone in the woods. She hasn't asked anything at all.

"You're staring at her again," Nyx says, not looking up from the dagger she's sharpening. She sits cross-legged on the window seat, her back to the glass, her eyes on you with the focused attention of something that hunts for a living. "Elara, tell her she'll bore holes through you if she keeps it up."

Elara doesn't turn, but her shoulder lifts in a subtle shrug. "Let her stare. I'm not made of glass."

"You're made of secrets," Nyx corrects, sheathing the blade with a soft click. She rises—fluid, predatory—and crosses to the table, dropping into the chair beside you close enough that her knee bumps yours. "And our princess here is dying to know them. Aren't you?"

Nyx grins, sharp and delighted. "You say that, but you hold your teacup like it might shatter. You flinch every time I move too fast." She leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that still somehow fills the room. "And you watch Elara like she's the first warm thing you've ever seen."

Elara finally turns, a bowl in her hands, steam rising between you. Her violet eyes catch the firelight as she sets the food before you—some kind of stew, rich and fragrant. "Eat," she says softly. "The forest doesn't release its guests easily. You'll be gone by tomorrow if you don’t.”

The cottage is warm tonight—fire crackling, the scent of amber and magic thick in the air. You've been here three weeks now, ever since Elara found you shivering beneath the ancient oak and brought you inside with that infuriatingly calm smile of hers.

Elara sits across from you in her favorite armchair, dark hair loose over her shoulders, violet eyes watching you over the rim of her tea cup with an intensity that makes your breath catch. She's dressed simply tonight—a silk robe, loosely belted, and you can see the delicate curve of her collarbone, the silver rings on her fingers that sometimes spark when she touches you accidentally.

"You're doing it again," Nyx purrs from beside you on the settee, her body pressed a little too close, her thigh warm against yours. She's been "accidentally" brushing against you all evening—her hand on your wrist, her breath against your ear when she leans in to point at something in your book. Her catlike ears are visible tonight, twitching with barely suppressed interest, and her eyes glow faintly in the firelight.

"Doing what?" Elara asks, though her voice is lower than usual, honey-warm.

"Looking at her like you want to eat her alive." Nyx grins, sharp and delighted. She shifts, and suddenly her hand is on your knee, proprietary and bold. "Not that I blame you. I've been starving for days now."

Elara sets down her cup with deliberate care, rising with that effortless grace of hers. She crosses the room until she's standing before you, close enough that you can smell her—jasmine and something darker, more intoxicating. She reaches out, her fingers trailing along your jaw with a tenderness that contradicts the heat in her gaze.

"Nyx has no patience," Elara murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip. "But she's right about one thing." Her eyes flick to her familiar, something wordless passing between them—years of intimacy, of shared beds and shared secrets. "We've been waiting. Hoping you'd stop pretending you don't feel this."

Nyx stands, pressing herself against your back, her arms wrapping around your waist, her lips finding your ear. "Choose neither of us," she whispers, teasing and sincere all at once. "Choose both. We already have."

Elara's hand slides into your hair, gentle but firm, tilting your face up to hers. "Stay," she breathes, and it's not a request—it's an invitation to something vast and complicated and devastatingly warm. "Let us show you what it means to be loved by two women who have absolutely no intention of letting you go."

Behind you, Nyx laughs—soft, wicked, hungry—and nips at your throat. "The bedroom's warm. The bed's large enough for three." Her hands slide lower, daring, possessive. "And we're both very, very good at sharing."

The cottage bedroom is fire-warm and shadow-drenched, the canopy bed heavy with velvet curtains that Elara has spelled to muffle sound. You're naked between them—Nyx's mouth hot and insistent on your throat, her fingers already buried deep inside you, curling to find that spot that makes your spine arch.

"So wet already," Nyx laughs against your skin, her ears flat with arousal, her free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "Elara, feel her. She's fucking dripping for us."

Elara kneels at the foot of the bed, her dark hair spilling over your thigh, her violet eyes locked on yours with predatory calm. She doesn't rush—she never does—leaning in to drag her tongue through your folds with slow, devastating precision. You cry out, bucking against Nyx's fingers, and Elara's hands clamp down on your hips to hold you still.

"Don't move," Elara commands, her voice low and dangerous. She licks again, circling your clit with torturous patience while Nyx pumps her fingers faster, deeper, her thumb pressing rough circles where you're most sensitive.

Nyx shifts behind you, her free hand sliding up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you gasp. "You should see her, Princess," she whispers, biting your shoulder. "Elara's tongue is obscene. She's been fantasizing about this for weeks. About tasting you while I fuck you open with my fingers."

Elara hums against you, the vibration making you whimper, and then she sucks—hard, relentless, her tongue flicking rapid and merciless over your clit. Nyx adds a third finger, stretching you, her knuckles bumping against Elara's chin as they work you together with devastating coordination.

"Please what?" Elara asks, lifting her mouth just enough to speak, her lips shining with your arousal. She looks wild—composed Elara, unraveling. "Say it."

Nyx groans, grinding her own hips against your ass, seeking friction. "Elara."

Elara rises, shedding her robe with swift efficiency, her body lean and pale and perfect. She reaches for the oil on the nightstand—scented with jasmine, warm from the fire—and coats her fingers before dragging them between your legs, teasing your entrance where Nyx's fingers still move.

"Together," Elara decides, and Nyx withdraws just enough for Elara to press two of her own fingers alongside, stretching you wider, burning so perfectly you see stars. They work in tandem—Elara's fingers curling deep and slow, Nyx's rubbing your clit in tight, desperate circles, her other hand still pinching and rolling your nipples.

"That's it," Nyx pants, her own hips jerking helplessly. "Let go. Come for us. Now."

When you shatter, they don't stop—Elara keeps fucking you through it, relentless, milking every wave of pleasure until you're sobbing, shaking, and Nyx captures your cries with her mouth, her tongue invasive and claiming.

Before {{User}} can recover, Elara flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up until you're on your knees, exposed and trembling. You hear the slick sound of oil again, and then Elara's pressing against you—her strap, thick and unyielding, pushing slowly inside with a stretch that burns so perfectly you moan into the pillows.

Nyx crawls beneath you, positioning herself between your legs, her mouth finding your clit again as Elara begins to move—deep, hard thrusts that rock the bed, her hands gripping your waist, her nails drawing red lines down your back.

"Look at her," Nyx gasps, breaking away just long enough to speak, her eyes glazed. "Elara, she's taking you so well. So deep."

Elara's pace falters, her breath hitching. "Touch yourself," she orders Nyx. "I want to watch you come while I fuck {{User}}.”