A single scream wakes the entire castle. Morgan le Fay has another vision. Again, it’s about Gawain but this time he’s not alone. This is the climax that turns teen angst into a mad obsession. The concepts of guilt and innocence don’t matter. Not when you know what you saw and the only one who believes you is absolutely no one at all.

The Knights with No Lords
Chapter 16 – Another Vision
By Rock Kitaro

Exasperated breaths passed through her lips like bursts of steam. She was shivering but she wasn’t cold. She was sweltering but not hot. Morgan’s entire body was soaked from head to toe, her gown drenched, her hair wet and melded to her flesh. She tossed and turned, gripping at the bear fur spread over her bed. She drained with each exhale, getting weaker and faint. As if her very soul was evaporating from her body and her heart could barely take it.

“God no.”

“Please…”

“Please. Not another vision.”

“My heart…”

“I can’t take it!”

“It hurts!”

Her whimpers were soft and barely perceptible. The orange glow from a single lit candle revealed beads of sweat trickling from her forehead. Her chest fluctuated as she struggled to breathe. Her thighs tightened as her knees came together and curled in a fetal position. Her grimace displayed unimaginable torment as her eyes clamped shut with harsh guttural groans.

Morgan was indeed having another vision. Again, it was of Gawain. He was sleeping. Not the Gawain of now, but a slightly younger version of him with shorter brown locks and less muscle tone. He was sleeping bare-chested on a bed of hay in the horses stable, his sheathed katana, propped up against the waist-high door of the stall. And lingering by this stall was Isolde in the middle of the night, staring at him like a thirsty survivor coming upon an oasis in the desert.

“No! Please don’t! Don’t!” Morgan anguished in her sleep.

Isolde removed her pearl white night gown one shoulder strap at a time until the garment slid from her slender body like a sleeve of silk. A creak emanated from the rusty hinges as Isolde open the stall and caught the katana before it could fall. Resting the katana softly in the hay, Isolde lowered to her knees and crawled over Gawain until her knees were on both sides of his hips. Straddling him like a horse, an anticipating Isolde placed her hands over Gawain’s stomach and chest as one would a finely polished shield. Then, just as Gawain opened his weary eyes, Isolde brought the heat of her bosom down upon his.

Gawain gasped. Isolde’s lips caught the end of that suction. Gawain grabbed her by the shoulders but Isolde hooked his arms. She was older than him by three years. Their naked bodies rolled and grappled as Gawain struggled to break free, but Isolde was an anaconda and her hold was airtight.

When he rolled on top of her, Isolde clasped her wrists behind his back and wrapped her legs around his hips. She thrust her tongue onto his and sucked in as their shoulders fastened and became one. The sensation, the heat of stimulation, and the explosion of hormones corroded Gawain’s resistance. Once his toes curled, he was lost. He submitted. The pleasure pulled him in. Gawain thrust himself, grinding into her, slowly at first before a hard ride developed.

Morgan flung the sheets off of her bed. She rolled onto her back and raised her knees. With bated breath, her hands slowly slithered their way from her belly to the smooth groove between her legs.

“No. Stop…” she gasped with agony.

Isolde wrestled to mount Gawain. Her head cocked back. Her legs and the muscles in her core did all of the work. From there, all Morgan could see were flashes of fornication. Morgan cringed as her hips moved up and down the same way she saw in the vision. Her chest fluttered with an intense anxiety until tears trickled down her cheek.

“No!” Morgan cried. “Please stop!”

As badly as she wanted to wake up, she couldn’t. She was spellbound in this sadistic trance, watching as Isolde’s long golden hair whipped to and fro, as her mouth gaped open in ecstatic pleasure. Each time Isolde exhaled bursting with delight, Morgan exhaled bursting in pain like a woman in childbirth. When Isolde’s nose furled with electricity tingling through her thighs, Morgan’s teeth clenched as if she was just prodded by a burning hot poker.

This horrific experience continued for what seemed like an hour until finally, Isolde threw her head back and released an elated exclamation of glee. All the muscles in her golden body relaxed and melted onto Gawain. Resting her chin on Gawain’s sweaty shoulders, Isolde’s blue eyes looked forward as if she was staring directly at Morgan.

Then…Isolde smiled, the same devious smile from the dance hall.

Morgan’s traumatized eyes shot open as the candlelight blew out. She was paralyzed, frozen in sheer terror. And as soon as she regained her senses…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

The siren of Morgan’s scream blared and permeated through the entire palace louder than the roar from a canon. Every soul in Tintagel heard the piercing scream as if Morgan was right there in bed next to them. It was a frightening display of her raw untapped power. No one knew what was going on and Sir Ekner, one of the oldest knights in the kingdom, nearly suffered from a stroke. There was great panic and confusion. She kept screaming. It didn’t stop. Over and over again like an alarm of extreme urgency.

Gawain was one of the first to wake up in full alert. Agravain was in the bed next to his. Gaheris was missing but it wasn’t difficult to guess where he was sleeping. In unison, Gawain and Agravain jumped out of bed, grabbed their weapons, and darted into the hallway. As doors banged open with disoriented residents demanding to know the commotion, the brothers were sprinting barefoot and bare-chested down the cold stony corridors.