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It is a well-known fact that elves, by their nature, do not present their sex in the same ways as humans of the realm often do. It is easy, even natural, for an elf to straddle the line between classical notions of masculinity and femininity, to flow seamlessly through it as if slipping out of a loose doublet or dress. This is why, when the newly crowned Queen of Eurysis was “gifted” an elven bodyguard by the Queen of Roses to seal their bargain, no one at court batted an eyelash, thinking the elf a man.
In truth, Gwyneth the Fair—known for her lighter shade of earthen brown skin and her ability to literally disarm twelve opponents in under four seconds flat—was content to neither confirm nor deny such odd assumptions, playing it off as momentary lapses in her ability to understand the complexities of the human tongue. That none suspected or even thought she might not fit human standards of, to her, such fickle things as “sex” and “womanly roles” didn’t even phase her for well into two years of her service to her Queen.
“Her Queen.” The thought never stopped sending shivers playing up and down her spine—she had lived a full life knowing, preparing and becoming a protector of a Queen who changed with the seasons, that she should now have committed herself body, mind and essence to another, far more alien mistress...
“You know, darling” said Queen whispered, seductively, into her ear, “do you see that woman over there, the one with the embroidered stags and the delectably low neckline? She’s absolutely dreadful the moment you get her into bed, like she hadn’t just had you expertly pinned against your hardwood door gasping, moaning her name...”
It is a game they play, the Queen and her loyal knight, often when some function or other has drawn on too long for the middle-aged ruler and her growing sense of cynicistic malaise: she would approach her knight, the one closest and dearest in her heart, and would whisper such scandal in the tone she would use when knuckles deep within her silver-haired lover, extolling her most intimate virtues. To date, Gwyneth had not encountered a story that was not, it seemed, from first-hand experience and the two had been at this game for nearly a decade of boring parties and functions without enough alcohol to make things interesting. “Humans” Gwyneth had come to reason, “are some of the most fascinating conundrums in the world.”
The fact that Gwyneth the Fair’s caramel skin held a flushed, wanting parlor made up for every failing of whatever stuffy shindig she was at. Blushing from the apex of her aquiline nose to the tips of her pointy ears, Gwyneth made the move that her fair-haired paramour expected from her, her breath taken up by panting gasps and barely contained lust. “Tell me, would you say she is better or worse than myself in bed?” Her Queen's response was to bat her pretty, seductive eyelashes, wrap her far-reaching fingers in Gwyneth's tunic and practically moan directly into her ear, “Why not let me find out?”
It did not take long for the couple to sneak away, despite the fact that they were the hosts of… whatever they were putting on in the audience chamber, dragging and skipping their way towards the royal bedchambers. They passed, sprinting across an ajar door on tiptoed feet, the portrait commissioned years ago for the queen’s thirtieth birthday: the two of them, dressed in their finest, sitting for hours and hours on end while the artist dillied and dallied with "angles" and "lights" and whatnot. Somehow, the painter had managed to capture Queen Jelicas II of Eurysis in her most scathing, maltempered and thoroughly put upon look while simultaneously catching her stalwart knight looking smugger then a cat bringing in her biggest catch yet. Suffice it to say that the portrait hung nearer to their shared bed than not for a reason, even if the finished product was magnificent by human standards.
The gathering below went on for a few hours longer before anyone even noticed their liege lord and her ever-present protector were absent from the scene—and by then, enough servants and guards knew the jig to cordon off the way to the royal bedchambers and surrounding environs for fear of loud, rapturous, and frankly obscene noise-related disturbances...