Chapter 2: Plots and Betrayals
Songbird
Galad wandered through the gardens and grounds of the Royal Palace, thoroughly bored. He lessons had been postponed indefinitely for the duration of their stay as the King's guests. Galad rubbed his hand against the smooth leather of his small harp's case. He was impatient to begin his lessons again but could not deny the comfort of their accommodations. They were staying in a pair of suites in the western wing of the Royal Compound.
He felt a kinship with Frederick. Almost twelve years before, Frederick had run away to learn the Bardic craft. And he had encouraged Galad to come south with him. So Galad had ridden out of his Family home with nary a look back. That had been a two years ago.
He sat on the edge of the fountain.
Frederick had performed last night, singing and playing into the early hours of the morning. Galad had watched the whole performance, trying to discover the Minstrel's secrets. But his eyes had seen nothing but the obvious. Frederick was a gifted musician and singer; that was it.
Unless there is something I have not seen, he thought sourly.
He dismissed the thought as he entered an inner courtyard and heard the shimmering fall of water in a fountain. He crossed the marble floor, his boots sounding loudly in the near silence. He had run away several months ago and Frederick had sworn to teach him all the secrets of the bard craft.
Even here on the coast, the weather was abominably hot. A sea breeze cooled the town but the sun was still a merciless foe that did battle anyone foolish enough to venture into its heat. He gently removed his harp from the case and strummed a few cascades of shimmering music. Once he was satisfied that it was still in tune, he played a light melody that Frederick had taught him just a few days before their arrival in Neece. He did not know he possessed an audience until he heard light applause.
He looked up quickly.
A young woman stood a few scant feet away, so close he could see the light smattering of freckles that graced her button nose. She was clad in a simple gown of blue linen that clung to her body in the heat. Her long, flaxen colored hair was unbound and her light blue eyes regarded him seriously.
He flushed and put his harp away.
"That was lovely," she said.
"Thank you."
"Why did you stop?"
"You surprised me. I thought I was alone."
She smiled. "I didn't want to interrupt your song so I remained silent."
She sat next to him and he felt himself flush. She had tilted her body towards him and the rise and fall of her small breasts captivated him. He tore his eyes away from her breasts and met her gaze. The hint of a dimpled smiled told him she had noticed where his attention had been drawn. He flushed darker and tried to stand but she placed her hand on his arm. He froze, halfway between sitting and standing.
"Why are you so eager to flee," she asked.
"My Lady, I..."
"Please sit and continue your song. I would like to hear more."
He flushed even darker. "I am forbidden from playing for an audience," he said softly.
She frowned prettily. "Forbidden?"
He nodded and rose the rest of his way to his feet. "I am Frederick's apprentice and he has forbidden it."
Her hand squeezed his arm. "I will not tell him that you played for me."
"I..."
She smiled, unleashing the power of her dimples on him. "Please, play for me."
He nodded and sat back down, strumming out a cascade of music and lifting his voice in song.
Today, the King and Queen were seeing petitioners in their Sea Court, a magnificently tiled balcony that jutted out over the ocean. A sea breeze cooled the day and carried the mist from the breaking waves below. As the waves crashed against the rocks, a booming noise could be faintly heard.
Frederick sat on the tiled steps that led up to the thrones of King Thomas and Queen Regina, idly strumming his harp as the Ambassador from the man who would be High King approached and dropped to one knee. His eyes betrayed nothing and his fingers remained sure, an endless cascade of music drifting on the air.
This new ambassador, the fifth to be sent from King James, was cut from a different cloth than the previous callers on this Court. And the message the man's appearance sent was a pointed one.
This ambassador was not garbed in silks and satins, like the others had been. He was in leather and mail, enameled an inky black. His cloak was of the same sable hue, a shadow fluttering from his shoulders. Even his hair was black. He wore a greatsword across his back, black steel making up the hilt and crossguard.
By contrast, the man's skin was pale and smooth as a girl's. He had dark brown eyes and an aquiline nose. His lips were thin and his cheeks slightly hollow. The King's Herald rapped the butt of his staff against the tiles sharply and then spoke in a ringing voice.
"Your Majesties, I present Sir Jordan Martell, the Black Knight."
Frederick did not pause in his strumming, though the Court had gone silent. No one spoke. Only his music kept the silence from becoming to ominous, his music and the waves continuing to crash against the rocks as they had since the dawn of time.
The Black Knight...
The youngest and most feared of the King James' Knights Errant, the only Knight ever to take the eighth Knightly Vow, and the Knight who had slain an Eastern Sword Saint in single combat, the Black Knight was never sent on anything but the most important of King James' quests.
And here he was in Neece.
Frederick watched him warily, dreading the words that were sure to come. For the Black Knight was a weapon, not a peacemaker. He was no diplomat, here to speak honeyed words. He was here for an answer and would not leave without one. After what seemed an eternity, the King spoke.
"Welcome, Sir. Would you care to refresh yourself? Your journey must have been long and tiring."
The words hung in the air and the Court seemed to hold its breath. When the Black Knight spoke, his voice was smooth and still held some traces and tones of childhood.
"I did not come for refreshments, Majesty. King James requires an answer."
Once again, the silence descended and Frederick ceased his playing. Only the sound of the waves remained. No one broke that silence for a long while and even the Herald was at a loss for words. The Knights of the King's personal guard shifted warily; ready to draw their blades should the King command the insolent boy's head taken from his shoulders.
But that insolent boy was the most feared blade on the continent, never having been bested in single combat. No one moved, save to shift their weight or to glance between the King and the Black Knight. One of the King's Knights moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. The Black Knight's eyes flickered over to him.
And in that brief moment, they teetered on the edge of violence.
Frederick regretted his place at the foot of the King and Queen's dais at that moment. He was far too close to the impending violence for his comfort. And he had no desire to be that close to the Black Knight in any case.
"Ten years I have watched and waited," King Thomas said. "And James has yet to sit on the High King's Throne."
"The High King called upon you for fealty," the Black Knight said. "And he has sent me to bring him your answer."
King Thomas laughed. "Tell James I will not bend my knee until his backside warms the High King's Throne and not before."
The Black Knight smiled grimly. "When Lucrecia's raiders once again plague your shores, you will remember this day and weep for not taking the High King's hand in friendship."
Frederick felt the silence grow ominous and looked back over his shoulder, up to where the King and Queen sat. The King's face was purple with rage and he was pointing a shaking finger at the Black Knight.
"You... you dare..." the King choked on his rage. "You dare threaten me in my own Hall!"
The Queen reached out a comforting hand but the King shook it off.
"Guards! Seize this insolent pup and give him to the sea," the King roared. "There is your answer! I will never bend my knee to James, the would-be High King!"
And then the swords were drawn and Frederick scrambled off the side of the steps.
Galad watched the girl out of the corner of his eyes. She was regarding him in silence, her blue eyes considering him. He flushed under her gaze and fumbled his harp back into its case. Her laugh cut him to the quick. It was a vibrant laugh, full of life and mirth, and he wilted as she covered her mouth with her hand.
"My Lady... I pray you'll excuse me..."
"I do not excuse you, Songbird. Sit."
He looked at her, sitting back down as he recognized the command for what it was. He still did not know who she was but she obviously expected him to obey. So he obeyed and sat back down. She continued to examine him critically, her light blue eyes taking in every detail. She stood up, walking around him to look from different angles.
"Hmm... I can see it now..."
"See what, my Lady?"
"I can see why he forbids you from playing before an audience here."
Galad drew himself up stiffly. "And why is that, my Lady?"
She smiled at him and sat on the lip of the fountain, her body a whisper away from his. He felt a sudden sliver of fear race up his spine as she leaned in close, her face a hair's breadth from his.
"Because... you are young and handsome..."
Her cheek brushed his.
"You play like you were born with a harp in your hands and your voice is sweet..."
Her breath tickled his ear.
"He knows he must hide you away or perhaps the Princess would snatch you up for her very own songbird..."
He felt a lump grow in his throat and his breath quickened. He felt the front of his breeches becoming uncomfortably tight.
"My Lady," he stammered, "surely you jest."
She giggled and her lips moved against his ear. "Songbird... would you want to stay and sing for the Princess?"
He opened his mouth to answer but his tongue felt thick and would not heed his wishes. He could only gape and mouth out words with no sound. Suddenly, she sat back, aloof and cool. Boots sounded against the tiles, someone approaching briskly.
"My Lady, what..."
She shook her head quickly, her eyes silencing him before he could say anything more. And then they were no longer alone. A Knight strode into the small courtyard, armored in gleaming mail over boiled leather. The visor of his helm was raised and elegant mustachios hid his upper lip.
"Your Highness... come with me."
Galad felt his heart skip a beat, banging painfully against his ribs, and his manhood withered in his breeches.
"What has happened, Sir," she asked.
"A brigand in the Keep, Your Highness. I am to see you safely to quarters."
She nodded regally and rose, accepting the Knight's elbow. She looked at him once as she was led away. He watched her go, and shivered when a score of guards, liveried in sea blue, formed up around them with drawn blades.
The Black Knight stood with his Greatsword in his hands, his eyes flickering between his opponents. He had no helm but if he feared the lack, he did not show it. Every move was careful as he slowly backed away from the four Knights approaching him. He wore a dangerous smile as he wove the point of his blade like a serpent.
"This is folly, Majesty," he said softly. "If I die, it will mean war."
"Be good, boy and die quickly. I will send the would-be High King my apologies. Seems bandits waylaid you on the road. Kill him!"
The King's Knights moved as one, advancing on the Black Knight. The Black Knight laughed scornfully.
"Is this the honor of your Kingdom? Are your Knights so craven? Singer, when you make a ballad of this, make sure to mention I died fighting four men at once."
Frederick cowered against one of the ornate pillars and did not respond. But the Black Knight's words froze the Knights in their boots and they turned to face the King. The Black Knight stood his ground, his blade drifting back and forth. King Thomas was purple with rage and he choked. Then suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed scornfully.
"So be it, you will face my Sworn Knights one at a time."
One of the Knights stepped forward and removed his helm, setting it aside.
"I am Sir Preston of the Green. Lay down your blade and I will grant you a quick death."
"I am the Black Knight and after I kill you, I will send your shield to your son."
Sir Preston advanced snaking his blade out. His longsword seemed a child's toy compared to the greatsword in the hands of the Black Knight but both men had to know the advantages of the smaller blade. Once he managed to get inside the Black Knight's guard, the longer blade would become a hindrance.
They rushed towards each other suddenly, sparks leaping from the edges of their blades. Back and forth they fought, Sir Preston pressing his foe back towards the edge of the balcony. Mail crunched and the Black Knight cursed, stumbling back. Blood seeped from a rent in his armor, a wound on the upper arm. Sir Preston brought his blade about in a wicked arc, seeking to end the fight and remove his opponent's head.
The Black Knight ducked the blow, grabbing Sir Preston by the armor and throwing him against the rail. Sir Preston spun hard, bringing his blade about but the Black Knight was not there. Out of sword's reach, the Black Knight awaited him.
"I call upon you to yield, Sir. You are wounded and I will kill you cleanly."
The Black Knight snarled at him. "My death will not be by your hand. Come and die."
Sir Preston advanced again, moving slowly. The Black Knight charged him, swinging his blade in an overhead blow. Sir Preston staggered back, leaping beyond the reach of the blade and was too slow to rush back in before the Black Knight had his guard back up.
And they began to circle.
They met once more, a flurry of sword blows and Sir Preston was stumbling back, a long scar marring his gorget. The Black Knight pressed him, delivering a crushing blow to Sir Preston's visor. Blinded, Sir Preston swung his blade wildly, not seeing his death as the Black Knight brought his blade around in a killing arc.
Sir Preston's head bounced twice and the Black Knight spun to face his next opponent. Frederick cowered behind a pillar, praying he would not be noticed.
Princess Kirsten swept down the halls, surrounded by her personal guard and led by one of her father's Knights. She stopped suddenly when she noticed she was being led the long way around to her tower suites. A suspicion entered her mind.
"Sir, how would a brigand penetrate the keep?"
The Knight stopped and turned to face her, one hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes never resting on anything for more than a second.
"Such things need not concern you, Highness," he said. "Follow me."
He turned on his heel and strode off on down the hall. When her guards began to move as well, she had no choice but to follow them. But, not so far away, she could hear the clash of steel.
"Sir Knight, I command you to speak. What has happened?"
He did not turn to face her.
"King James' Black Knight threatened your father. His Majesty's personal guard are going to kill him for it."
The clash of steel paused then resumed. A nagging worry gnawed at her as they walked and she could remain silent no more.
"And what if the Black Knight should prevail?"
The Knight did stop this time, turning to face her. His eyes were strangely dead, devoid of emotion.
"He will die, Highness. No man is that good."
He turned and started walking again but she stayed where she was, looking back over her shoulder. The Throne Room was just a few halls away. After a few paces, the Knight stopped and turned to look at her.
"Highness, come."
She bristled at his tone and made a mental note that once she ascended her father's throne, she would have this insolent Knight stripped of his ranks and turned out the gates as a pauper.
"Sir Knight, if you intend to lock me in my chambers, I demand you go fetch my Bard, that he might entertain me."
The Knight glowered at her and waved an impatient hand. Two of the guards ran off and he turned on his heel, striding off. She followed, wondering just how good this Black Knight truly was.
The Black Knight stumbled back, wrenching his blade free from his opponent's body. Three of the four Knights that had been in the King's Throne Room were dead by his hand and only the fourth remained. But the door was barred and the room was full of courtiers and nobles, as well as the four Knights who attended the Queen.
He turned to face the fourth Knight, grounding the point of his blade and leaning on it, breathing heavily. His arm was growing numb and blood slicked his hand from the wound. A gash had been rent through his armor and thigh and his gorget was scarred. He watched the Knight approach, resplendent in the blue enameled scale mail that marked him not as a King's Knight or even a Queen's Knight but as one of the Princess's Knights. The man raised his visor, revealing a face as youthful as his own.
"I am Sir Simon of Skie. You are grievously wounded, Sir, and exhausted. Lay down your sword and I will grant you mercy."
"I spit on your mercy. My life is not yours to take."
The Knight did not lower his visor.
"You can scarce lift you blade, sir. Yield."
"Death first."
Sir Simon lowered his visor and raised his sword, a greatsword equal in size and length to that of the Black Knight. And for the first time, the Black Knight knew fear. Sir Simon was just as young as he but was fresh, while he was winded and wounded. He grimaced against the pain and willed his arms not to ache, for his leg to move as he willed it.
But when their swords met for the first time, he felt the shock all the way up his arms and his wounded biceps screamed in agony. He stumbled back; forcing his blade up higher as the King's Knight launched another sweeping blow at his head. The King sounded so far away when he roared.
"Finish him!"
Sir Simon came at him and the Black Knight met him blow for blow, but his parries were coming later and his blade was lowering despite his fierce will. He missed a parry and Sir Simon's blade sheared off a portion of the armor that protected his shoulder. He ducked a sweeping blow but caught Sir Simon's following kick in the chest. He fell back, thrusting his sword straight out as he fell. The point scraped across Sir Simon's chest, shredding his surcoat and scarring the scales of his fine armor.
He rolled to his left as Sir Simon's blade descended. He could see Simon's blade rising for a two-handed blow that would separate his head from shoulders. He surged to his knees, driving a mailed fist into Sir Simon's groin. Sir Simon stumbled back and he grabbed his sword once more. He struggled to his feet, raising his blade.
Sir Simon came back at him, swinging his blade in a complex series of thrusts and slashes. The Black Knight struggled to keep the blade away from him but it came closer and closer. And then it was over. Sir Simon bound their blades together, turning them in a circle and slamming the points into the ground. And before he could break the bind, Sir Simon elbowed him in the helm, a ringing blow that stunned him. He stumbled back and lost his feet, falling to his back. Sir Simon kicked the Black Knight's great sword, sending it skittering across the Throne Room and well out of reach. The Black Knight ripped off his helm and glared up at the approaching Knight.
"End it," he spat.
Sir Simon brought the tip of his blade against the Black Knight's throat. "A year and a day, Sir Jordan, you will serve me in exchange for mercy on this day."
The hall grew deathly silent, all of them straining to hear the Black Knight's words.
"Agreed," he growled.
Sir Simon sheathed his blade and bowed to his King. The Black Knight glared up at them all, taking Sir Simon's hand and being pulled to his feet.
"Summon the healers," Sir Simon ordered a courtier. "Sir Jordan is wounded."
As he took off his helm, Sir Simon and the Black Knight locked eyes. Both of them knew that in a year and a day, they would once again meet swords. And it would be to the death. King Thomas laughed loudly and stood, addressing his Court.
"It seems I have a Black Knight, now!"
The courtiers laughed, ignoring the three dead Knights that Sir Jordan Martell, the Black Knight, had left on the Throne Room floor. The healers arrived and began to lead him away but King Thomas raised his hand.
"Hold. Before he leaves my presence, he must kneel and kiss the Royal Hand."
The Black Knight bristled but shouldered his way free of the healers. He limped up the dais and knelt at King Thomas' feet. His eyes were cold and full of death as he took the King's hand and kissed it.
"In a year and a day, Majesty," he said too softly for anyone to hear, "I will be the High King's Knight once more. And I will remember this day."
He stood and limped away, refusing any aid until he was well out of sight of the King and his Court.
Princess Kirsten stood on the balcony as her Songbird was led into her chambers. Two of her personal guards stood sentry at the door, denying her the privacy she sought. Her eyes flickered over them and she knew they would not obey any commands to leave without taking her bard with them. But should she even appear to be behaving in a manner that could endanger her virginity, they would kill her bard and summon her father.
She sighed airily and motioned for the Songbird to come closer. He did so, trembling like a leaf caught in a breeze.
"Sit, songbird, and play for me," she commanded sweetly.
"As Your Highness commands..."
His voice was tremulous when he spoke but once he raised it in song, it was a smooth and beautiful thing. She smiled and closed her eyes, dancing about the room. Her guards watched with blank faces. They had watched her for her entire life, since she was a toddler in the Royal Nursery. They were old and gray now, but their sword arms were still deadly.
A wicked thought occurred to her then and she summoned her Lady in Waiting, Lissette. They sat together on the edge of the bed, facing her little Songbird and when his song was finished, Kirsten motioned for him to set his harp down.
"Your song has pleased me, Songbird, and I have a reward for you."
She leaned over and kissed Lissette on the lips, a lingering kiss full of sweetness and just a hint of tongue. Once the kiss ended, Lissette stood and kissed Galad, conveying that sweet kiss to him. Galad was flushed and began to stammer.
"Hush, Songbird," Kirsten said softly.
Kirsten stood behind Lissette and began unlacing her Lady in Waiting's bodice. Galad's eyes were near to bugging out of his head as the girl's breasts were bared. Kirsten fondled her, pinching Lissette's nipples and making the other girl gasp.
"I'm a maiden, pure," Kirsten said in a breathy whisper, "but I am not a stranger to physical love. I give my pleasures through Lissette."
She licked Lissette's cheek.
"Would you like to taste my pleasures?"
The Songbird nodded; his face flushed an almost alarming shade of red. Kirsten continued to undress Lissette, peeling the layers off of her slowly and revealing her charms one by one to the flustered young bard. Behind her, she heard a faint intake of breath, an anguished sound from one of her protectors.
And for a moment, Kirsten felt some small ounce of remorse and shame. For Lissette was the granddaughter of Sir William Dacey, one of her most loyal protectors. This was not the first time she had pleasured a lover with Lissette as her proxy but each time, Sir William had to watch his beloved Lissette whore herself.
Sir William averted his eyes as his granddaughter was stripped for the stripling Bard. He closed his eyes and silently recited his vows, trying to ignore the words and sounds. He had been so proud when Lissette had been chosen as the Princess's Lady in Waiting. He had felt his heart swell as they grew up together.
But when they come of age, his pride and joy had turned to ash in his mouth. For as Lady in Waiting, his sweet Lissette was a Court Whore, pleasuring anyone who pleased the Princess in any small way. He had stood silent vigil, protecting the Princess while a young Knight had deflowered Lissette before his very eyes, with the Princess urging them to greater heights.
He felt a tear course down his grizzled cheek but no one noticed.
Galad trembled and gasped.
Lissette's mouth was hot and wet, her tongue frolicking around the sensitive edge of the mushroom cap that crowned his cock. They had bound him to the chair, securing his wrists and ankles with silken scarves. He strained against his bonds, trying to force more of his cock into her mouth but Lissette continued to tease him.
Kirsten's lips brushed his cheek and he turned his face towards her, his lips seeking hers. But she moved with him, never letting his lips touch her. Her eyelashes fluttered against his temple and Lissette moved her mouth down his shaft. He whimpered and then froze as the door to the bedchamber opened. But Lissette continued to slide more of him into her mouth and the Princess paid them no attention.
Right before he closed his eyes, he saw two young men in blue scale mail enter the chamber.
Sir William looked up at the two young Knights who entered the Princess's bedchamber. They wore the azure enameled scale mail of the Princess's Personal Guard. They exchanged the ritual greeting and short ceremony of the changing of the guard while the Bard gasped and groaned, Lissette's blonde head rising and falling in his lap.
Sir William and the equally grayed Sir Brandon McKellan left the room, entrusting the Princess to her two newest Knights, Sir Jon St. Claire and Sir Kevin Riverdale. The door closed behind them and he ground an angry tear out of his eye.
Sir Jon had been the Knight who deflowered Lissette not six moons past.
Kirsten looked up, her lips brushing the Songbird's ear. A smile graced her face as she beheld the two Knights who had entered the room. For almost all her life, the Knights of her personal guard had been men her father had chosen, men whom he trusted. But her Protectors were growing old and young Knights were required to fill their positions. And these two were Knights she had chosen.
Knights who were loyal to her and her alone.
Sir Jon and Sir Kevin were two of the four Knights she had dubbed into her Guard personally, the first four Knights that would obey her without question. She smiled at them from over her Songbird's shoulder and nodded. They reacted at once, removing their swordbelts.
Sir Simon stood in the doorway of the small sleeping cell, watching as the Black Knight was tended to by the clerics. Four duels had taken their toll on him, though none of his wounds were life threatening. He stroked his beardless chin, torn between conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he had defeated the Knight reputed to be the finest swordsman on the continent and now that Knight was his man for a year and a day. On the other hand, he was stuck out here while his brother knights of the Princess's Guard were probably enjoying themselves immensely.
He shook his head and glanced up at the Princess's Tower.
Kirsten stood with her arms held out at her sides, watching her Songbird squirm in the seat. She shivered and felt her nipples stiffen as Lissette slid her lips up to the crown of the Songbird's cock and teased the sensitive head with the tip of her tongue.
Lissette had such a talented tongue.
Sir Kevin moved behind Lissette, tossing his cloak over a chair and unbuckling his armor. His blue eyes glittered near as bright as the sapphire that clasped his cloak and his black hair was limp with sweat. He let the suit of blue scales drop into a pile near his feet and removed the padded gambison he wore beneath it. He unlaced his breeches and caressed Lissette's flanks.
Sir Jon walked around the whimpering Songbird, to stand behind Kirsten. With deft fingers, he unlaced the back of her gown, his breath warm against her bare neck and ear. He reached around her to slide the dress down her shoulders and his hands brushed her breasts, caressing her lightly. She cooed softly as he freed her arms from the confines of the bodice and knelt behind her. He gathered the hem in his hands and lifted, baring her smooth and slender legs, up past the delicate flare of her hips.
His hands took liberties with her person, dancing along the flesh of her thighs through the thin silk of her shift, lightly tickling her ribs. And then the dress was being pulled over her head. She pulled the hem of her shift back down, concealing her silken small clothes once more and turned to face her Knight. Sir Jon's sandy hair had fallen into his eyes and curled into the cowl of the cloak he wore over armor. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and she knew he must have been sweltering beneath the weight of his armor and cloak.
The Songbird's anguished cry tore her eyes away from the noble and handsome face of Sir Jon. She let her cool eyes drift over and smiled. Her Songbird was struggling as Lissette moaned loudly, brushing her cheek against his swollen and almost purple cock. Lissette's small hand was pumping the shaft but the Bard's eyes were locked on the sight of Sir Kevin's cock disappearing between the perfect globes of Lissette's ass, sliding slowly into the girl's wet sex.
Her Songbird's cheeks were flushed from unfulfilled lust and desire as he watched another man pierce Lissette while his own cock was merely teased. Kirsten felt a moist heat growing between her thighs and she turned her back to Sir Jon, leaning back against him. The scales of his mail were hot against her flesh and her shift clung to her back. She reached back over her head to run her fingers through his damp hair and shivered as the too bold young Knight dared to clasp his hands on her hips without her permission.
Sir Simon and the Black Knight walked along the eastern battlements, the sea breeze cooling them and the boom of the sea against the foundations of the castle keeping them from needing to fill an uneasy silence with unnecessary chatter. Sir Simon still wore his suit of blue scale mail, though he had discarded the shredded surcoat. The Black Knight was garbed in simple breeches and a bell-sleeved shirt, both of the finest linen. The Black Knight bore his greatsword across his back though and many guardsmen stopped to watch them pass.
"You will sleep in the cell below my room," Sir Simon said as they entered the Princess's Tower. "My squire will be moved into the cell of Sir Jon's squire."
The Black Knight merely nodded and shielded his eyes from the sun as he squinted up at the crown of the tower, the Princess's apartments. Sir Simon followed his gaze.
"You are forbidden to ascend any higher than the guardroom," he said gravely. "I will have your oath on that, Sir."
The Black Knight grunted. "You have it."
They climbed the circular stairwell, stopping at the second floor. Eight sleeping cells were arranged in a circle, with doors of heavy oak. Sir Simon opened one of the doors, the second from the stairwell on the left. Inside, a boy of perhaps twelve was packing a chest. They boy stood suddenly and bowed his head.
"Milord," he said softly. "I'm almost packed."
Sir Simon nodded briefly, ignoring his squire and addressing the Black Knight.
"This will be your room, Sir. In time, mayhaps you'll earn more extravagant chambers."
The room was bare of furnishings, save a single cot and a small writing table. There was a small window, more of an arrow slit really, and it faced the sea. The Black Knight took it all in with a single glance.
"I've seen better and slept in worse," he said shortly.
Sir Simon folded his arms across his chest. "You have free run of the Keep and the City beyond, save for the King's Tower, the Small Hall and Council Chambers, and the Throne Room itself."
The Black Knight walked deeper into the room, ignoring the boy and looking out of the narrow window. A ship was approaching the harbor, flying the pennants of King Thomas and Neece. Sir Simon turned his head, glancing at the stairs. Two gray-haired old Knights stood their posts and he felt a sliver of fear go through him. Should Sir Jordan Martell, the Black Knight, forswear his oath, none of the gray old fools who made up the majority of the Princess's Guard would be able to stand before him.
Galad whimpered and squirmed, trying desperately to break free from his bonds. He was so hard it hurt and the blonde wench seemed hell bent on denying him his release. Ages had passed since either her hand or tongue had touched him but he still stood at full mast, swollen and purple, painfully close to orgasm but so far away.
The Princess's Lady in waiting was on her hands and knees before him. The blonde Knight was filling her mouth with his cock, whilst the black haired Knight crouched behind her, firmly seated in her saddle and pumping her with long and slow strokes.
And Princess Kirsten...
She was seated on her grand bed, leaning back against her headboard. The shift she wore was thin and soaked with sweat. It was near to transparent, clinging to the shape of her small breasts, the dark nipples clearly visible through the thin material. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and spread apart. Her small clothes were long discarded and the smooth, hairless peach of her pussy glistened wetly as she danced her fingers about, pleasuring herself.
He choked and sobbed in frustration as his cock jumped of its own accord, a mini spasm. Lissette reached out and stroked him lightly, bringing him so close all he required was another touch but she denied him that.
Then Sir Kevin groaned and withdrew from Lissette's sheathe, spurting his seed on her supple back. His bare chest was shiny with sweat, the smooth muscles visible beneath the skin as he stood and cleaned himself with Lissette's discarded small clothes.
"Sir Jon," the Princess called. "Bring Lissette to the bed. I want to do something new."
Galad sobbed helplessly as Lissette was brought to the bed. The Princess knelt beside Lissette, positioning the girl on her knees, with her slender hips and ass pointed at the sky. The Princess's eyes were bright with lust as she parted Lissette's cheeks.
"Sir Jon, I command you to fuck her ass."
Lissette let out a small cry of dismay but did not move. Sir Jon smiled and positioned himself behind her, pressing the head of his cock against the delicate star of Lissette's back passage. Sir Kevin dragged the chair around so that Galad could watch what was happening. Sir Jon mounted her and Lissette's cry of pain mingled with Kirsten's shimmering bell-like laugh.
The Black Knight stood at the window of his small room and watched the ship enter the harbor. He held his white belt, one of the symbols of his Knighthood, in his hands. His fingers traced the eight golden laurel leaves that decorated the long tongue of the belt. Eight laurel leaves for eight vows. He had noticed Sir Simon only wore six laurel leaves on his belt, a sign that the young man had only sworn six of the seven required vows of Knighthood.
And as he wondered which vow Sir Simon had not sworn, he fingered the eight laurel leaf on his belt and wondered how none of these fools could know what the eighth Knightly vow meant in this sort of situation.
Kirsten stood with her arms at her sides as Sir Jon laced the back of her bodice. Both Sir Kevin and Sir Jon were once more clad in their armor and cloaks, a very vision of chivalry and glory. Lissette still sobbed on the bed, trembling and shaking in the aftermath of losing her anal virginity.
"Be quiet," Kirsten commanded her. "You wail like a babe."
Lissette stifled her sobs and Kirsten turned to face her little Songbird. He was flushed and sobbing as well but for a different reason. His cock stood out like a purple mast, thick and swollen. A clear trail of pre-cum had oozed down the bottom of the shaft and it twitched occasionally. She rolled her eyes and walked around the Bard, grasping his cock from behind. She gave him two quick jerks and watched as he shot his seed like a flash powder cannon on Midsummer Day. She wiped her hand on a lace kerchief and tossed it away.
"Have my apartments cleaned and show the Songbird to the Lower Courtyard."
She kissed her fingertips and touched the bard's sweat soaked forehead.
"I think you'll enjoy life at Court, my little Songbird. I trust you'll sing at my supper."
She swept out of the room, her skirts trailing behind her. Her two Knights followed behind her with nary a backward glance at the sobbing bard and handmaid.
Kings and Queens and Guillotines
High King James stood in his private study, at the top of the highest tower in his castle, and looked out at the mountains. His iron gray hair was tied back with a silken cord and his silver beard was neatly trimmed. His heavy ermine robes rested across the back of a comfortable chair and his shirt was open at the throat. It was too damnably hot and despite the northern breeze, he was sweating.
The doors opened behind him on near to silent hinges and he must have heard the swish of her heavy robes.
"Why do you disturb me," he demanded softly.
The Court Sorcerer paused at the door.
"I have news of grave import, Sire," she said in her sibilant voice.
"What is it," he demanded.
"A messenger arrived from Lucrecia. He bears the Royal Seal."
"Where is he?"
"In the Western Wing, Sire...the White Room..."
"Let him rest. I will see him during tonight's Court function. Have any of my envoys returned from Neece?"
"No, Sire."
High King James growled softly and he glared out the window at the mountains. Aside from Richard, none of the other Kings had sworn fealty to him as High King. And his alliance with Richard was tenuous at best until Alain returned from wherever he had gone to when he was taken from the city all those years ago.
The Court Sorcerer walked over to stand next to him and looked out the window. Crown Prince Jared was in the salle, sparring with a soldier.
"He is very good, Sire."
High King James grunted. "He would have been better if that damned Swordmaster had taken him as apprentice."
The Court Sorcerer was silent. That wound had never healed. He had dismissed her from the Court, threatened to have her head on a stake, when she had confessed to sending Alain away with the Swordmaster. And she had left, going North into the mountains with her apprentice and living in a simple cottage near a lake.
Then riders had come, summoning her back to Court, a few seasons later. It was then that she told the King of the attempt on Alain's life and of Jared's hand that did the deed. The King had grown old on that day, commanding her to take up her duties once more and serve the realm. But he had not spoken a kind word to Jared since. Nor had he punished the boy, commanding her to be silent and speak no word of it to anyone.
She watched as Jared easily dispatched his opponent, marking the soldier's face for first blood. Jared wiped the blade clean on a silken scrap and sheathed it, leaving without acknowledging his opponent. Did the future King know that his crime was not secret? He had given no indication that he suspected but he had grown more cunning, as he grew older. She shook her head sadly. This young prince should have been drowned at birth.
She turned away from the window.
"I will leave you now, Sire."
"Stay with me," he commanded.
She paused at the door and nodded, walking back to his side. He grunted and did not watch her. The wounded soldier was being attended to by one of the Clerics of Atna. The wound must have been deep. He should speak with Jared later but knew he would not. He had not truly spoken to the boy since being told of the poisoning and the Sorcerer knew he would not speak to him now. He turned away from the window and picked up his robes.
"Walk with me."
She walked beside him down the stairs, his Shadow Guard following behind them. In these troubled times, it was a necessary precaution. War threatened to tear the continent apart, and assassins were everywhere. No one had welcomed his proclaiming himself High King, no one but Richard. And if Alain did not return soon to marry Richard's daughter, he too would turn against him. And the Sorcerer knew that King Richard would never consent to Anne marrying Jared.
"Cancel the afternoon Court," he commanded a passing herald.
The High King was smiling as they approached the Royal Suites but the Sorcerer felt a chill as he reached for the doors. Daggers of ice stabbed into her spine and she reached out, too late, too stop him. The doors swung open and his smile vanished instantly.
His lovely Queen was on her hands and knees in front of one of his very own Shadow Guard. They froze in place and stared at him, horrified. The High King's face turned purple with rage and his teeth ground together. His hand shook as he leveled his finger at them.
"Guards," he roared. "Take them!"
The Sorcerer watched, her eyes sad but hidden by her cowl. Word of this would spread far and wide. And men would laugh in their cups at the High King made cuckold by his own sworn guard.
Princess Anne stood on the balcony of her suite and gazed down at the Royal Gardens. The heat had wilted many of the flowers and the Royal Gardeners were pruning the dead blossoms and watering the plants. The Hedge Maze, protected by the magic of the Court Sorcerer remained green and vibrant year round but she had no desire to walk through the twists and turns.
She turned when she heard the doors to her suite open, the skirts of her gown swirling about her ankles. Her Lady-in-Waiting, Elaine, curtsied deeply and closed the door as she entered.
Anne turned back to the gardens.
"Your Highness, Prince Jared extends an invitation to lunch in the countryside," Elaine said softly.
Anne shivered despite the heat. Prince Jared had watched her constantly, from the moment her ship had arrived. She did not trust his intentions in the slightest and had no desire to be alone with him. She said as much to Elaine. Elaine curtsied again.
"I shall inform him the heat has made you ill."
"Please do," Anne said.
The golden locket she wore throbbed slightly, the heartbeat of a young man she had met but once, when she was a child. Eleven years had passed since that day and she found that she could still see his face. It must have been the magic of the medallion. She dreamed of a young man with golden hair sometimes, flashes and images of strange places she did not know.
She left her balcony when she saw Prince Jared and his entourage enter the Gardens. She detested the man. He was a cruel beast, masked in human form. Many of the castle guards bore scars they received at his hand within the training circle. Yet, he had never chosen an opponent who could or would best him.
Her suite was lushly appointed and consisted of several rooms and a private bath, though the bath was far below ground and accessible only through a dank tunnel. The silks and fabrics that decorated her bed and made up her drapes were in her favorite colors, gauzy blue for the canopy of her bed and a darker blue for the drapes that would obscure her balcony and windows.
But she missed her home and hated this place.
She had been allowed a single Lady-in-Waiting, three maids and a handful of personal guards, among them one of her cousins. She sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. She did not feel safe here and desperately wanted to go home. She did not like having to carry a hidden weapon to ensure her virginity until her wedding day. The stiletto was cunningly disguised as a hairpiece and needle sharp.
She brushed the locket with her fingertips. It throbbed only faintly, a sure sign that Alain was still very far away. She closed her clear blue eyes and let the locket throb beneath her fingers.
The doors to her suite opened again. She did not open her eyes.
"Your Highness?"
"Yes, Elaine?"
"Prince Jared has ordered a Cleric of Atna to see to you, to cure your illness."
Anne sighed and opened her eyes. It seemed Prince Jared was going to press the issue. She was about to speak when the door opened again. An elderly man in white robes entered and bowed.
"I am Father Justin, child."
Anne raised her chin imperiously. "Do you always enter a Princess' bedchambers uninvited and unannounced," she demanded.
He bowed. "I am a Cleric of Atna, child. Matters of the flesh do not trouble me. I am here to cure your illness."
She did not speak and he stepped towards her.
"What troubles you today," he asked.
"The heat," she replied primly. "It has given me a frightful headache."
He smiled and mixed a few pinches of powder into her cup and filled it with chilled wine. He presented the cup to her. "This should cure you, child. And if it does not, I will call upon the will of Divine Atna to heal you."
She nodded graciously and pretended to sip at the cup. He smiled and excused himself.
"I shall inform Prince Jared that you are well," Father Jacob said graciously.
Once he had left, she poured the wine onto the stones of her balcony. She placed the cup on the small dressing table and frowned. Her lip tingled where the wine had touched it. She twisted the ruby that crowned the ring she wore on her left pinkie, activating its magic. The tingle left her lip.
"Summon my cousin," she commanded Elaine, "and instruct him to wear his sword. It seems I must join Prince Jared for lunch."
Elaine curtsied and left. Anne began to braid her long black hair. When she was done, she slipped her stiletto into the braid.
Prince Jared tugged at the collar of his tunic and smiled as the "Cleric" left the grounds. It had been hell finding a man willing to masquerade as a Holy Cleric of Atna but it had been worth the price. The powder he had slipped the Princess would make her susceptible to suggestion. He smirked. By the end of the afternoon, he would have tasted from her cup and made her his woman.
He dismissed his entourage and lounged beneath one of the trees, waiting for her to arrive. He buffed his nails on his tunic and stroked his short beard. She would have no defense against him. He saw her arriving and stood to his full height, and smoothed back his coarse black hair. His smile faded when he saw her entourage.
Elaine was a lovely girl, with long honey-colored hair and warm brown eyes. She had a fuller bust than Princess Anne and was reputed to be an excellent lover. But thus far, she had rebuked his advances. And since she was the Princess' Lady-in-Waiting, he could not force her. Elaine curtsied when she saw him.
Princess Anne did not curtsy and was on the elbow of her cousin. He scowled at the younger man but hid it quickly.
Prince Nicholas was slender as a blade and carried himself with a supple grace that bespoke his skill with a sword. His black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and his bangs reached almost to his eyes. Rumor had it that Nicholas was the favorite lover of many of the Ladies of the Court, a fact that irked Jared to know end.
He offered a short bow to Nicholas.
"Your Highness," Jared said with just a bare hint of his dislike for the man.
Nicholas returned the bow. "Your Highness." His voice betrayed nothing.
Jared offered Anne a more graceful bow. "You look lovely today, Your Highness."
"You are very kind to say so, Your Highness," she replied coolly.
Her gown was more conservative than he would have preferred but she was a vision, the blue of the gown matched her eyes.
"No need to be so formal, Anne," he said grandly. "Please, call me Jared. I insist."
"I do not think it would wise for us to be so familiar, Your Highness," she said pointedly.
His smile slipped. The potion should have been working even now. He offered her his elbow.
"Shall we picnic, Your Highness?"
She looked about a bit critically. "I do not see a basket, Your Highness."
He struggled to keep the smile on his face. "We can pick up a basket on our way out, Your Highness. Shall we go?"
She nodded. "We shall."
He frowned as her meaning sunk into him. "I had hoped for this to be a private picnic, Your Highness."
She smiled coldly. "Again, Your Highness, it would be unwise for us to be so familiar. I am betrothed to your brother."
Jared's face became cold as the northern glaciers and he stood ramrod straight. He was about to say more when he noticed the way her cousin was fingering the hilt of his blade.
"You have wisdom, Princess," he said stiffly.
He offered his arm to Elaine. She accepted with a graceful curtsy. He made a mental note to have the false cleric strangled before the week was over. He led them into the Hedge Maze, a smile pasted on his face.
The Court Sorcerer walked down the hidden stairwell, a light glowing in the palm of her hand. She paused when she heard a scream split the silence. After a moment, she continued down the stairs and into the hidden torture chambers. The King was pacing the small chamber that adjoined the actual torture chambers.
He turned an accusing glare on her. "Did you know?"
Of course she had known. She knew everything that occurred within the castle walls. But some secrets are never spoken. She shook her head gravely.
"I knew nothing, Sire."
She noted the color of his face and the way the veins stood out in sharp relief. She worried for his health at that moment. He was not a young man anymore. He strode to the first door and flung it open. The Queen was on the rack.
The Court Sorcerer said nothing. The King covered his eyes and turned away. She noted that the torturer had yet to crank the ratchet or hurt her in any way. She looked at her King.
"Sire..."
He strode past her. She followed behind him.
"Sire..."
"I need to know...is Jared my child? Was Alain...and..." He choked and covered his eyes.
She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Sire...of course they are your children. The High Priest of Atna was at their confirmation. He would have known if they are not of your blood."
"I want to know how long..." He choked again.
"Sire...rest...please..." She pressed her hand against his arm. "I will see to this."
She walked him to the stairwell, stroking his arm.
"I will learn all you wish to know."
She walked him halfway back up the stairs. He began to sob brokenly.
"Rest, Sire..."
She watched him continue up the stairs and then walked back down, her robes swishing around her ankles. She entered the second room and sighed. The forsworn guard was already wet with blood and gibbering his secrets to the torturer. She shivered when she saw the gelding irons on the worktable, dripping scarlet
"What has he confessed," she asked the torturer.
"To forcing the queen into the affair after he caught her entwined with Lord Nathan of House Bartonel. He has also debauched her maids and ladies-in-waiting over the years."
"It has gone on that long, has it?"
But the Court Sorcerer knew much more, that the Queen had been possessed by several lovers before and after Lord Nathan. She watched as the torturer began to rip the man's fingernails off with a pair of tongs. The former Shadow Guard screamed. She watched for a few moments before leaving the room.
She dismissed the torturer that was standing over the Queen. Once they were alone, she stroked the Queen's forehead.
"You must help me," the Queen begged, fright robbing her of her regal beauty and making her seem old.
"My poor Queen," she whispered. "You will die before sunset."
"You must help me," the Queen demanded. "You knew. The potions you gave me..."
"Yes, My Queen...but I warned you of the consequences. The potions to retain your beauty. The potions to keep a child from quickening. But your head on the block should you be discovered."
She gently kissed the Queen's forehead.
"And that I would not share your blame."
The Court Sorcerer began to chant, and the Queen's eyes widened in fright. But the spell was quickly cast and the Court Sorcerer gently kissed the Queen's forehead once more.
"You will be unable to speak of my involvement, my Queen."
She turned and left the chamber.
"Torture her until she speaks," she instructed the waiting torturer.
Then she walked back up the stairwell, to rest in her room and finish covering her tracks.
Princess Anne curtsied gracefully to Prince Jared, standing in the door to her suite. Two of her personal guards stood on either side of her, flanking the ornate double doors. The afternoon was finally over and she was grateful to be back in her suites, the only place in this detestable castle that she felt safe.
"Your Highness was most kind to invite me to lunch," she said politely.
He nodded brusquely; still brooding over the company she had brought with her. "Perhaps Your Highness would like to sit and converse a while?"
She felt her stomach twist. He was a fool if he thought she would invite him in, where they would be alone. But she kept her tone polite.
"Your Highness is too kind," she said, "but I am afraid I must refuse. I have a previous commitment with my dear cousin."
Prince Jared could not hide the anger in his eyes and for an instant, she feared she had overstepped herself. But he bowed stiffly to her.
"As you will, Your Highness. Perhaps another day."
And then he was gone. She closed the doors and leaned against them. She was running out of ways to stall the Prince. Soon enough, he would manage to get her alone. Jared was 26. She was 14. Even with her stiletto, he would take her maidenhead without much effort, should he be given the chance.
"You will not be able to keep him at bay much longer, cousin."
She looked up at Nicholas. He was on her balcony, looking down at the Hedge Maze. She walked out to stand beside him, motioning for Elaine to withdraw into the next room. Her Lady in Waiting curtsied and left.
"I fear him," she confessed.
"And well you should," her cousin replied. "Even Jared's friends, few as they are, fear him."
She placed her hands on the stone rail. "What will I do?"
Her cousin looked at her, his eyes hard. "Do nothing. I will take care of Prince Jared."
She nodded and kissed his cheek.
The Sorcerer paused at her door, noting that the wards had been broken. She sighed. The intruder was lucky that she had set simple spell wards to notify her of interlopers and not spell traps. She opened the door and it was only then that she heard the sobs of her apprentice. She walked in and surveyed the carnage.
Prince Jared was sitting in her chair facing the door. He smug, self-satisfied smirk twisted his mouth. His shirt was unlaced, as were his breeches. He had helped himself to her wine as well. His fair cheeks were flushed and his black hair was mussed. . He had the looks of his mother and the broad shoulders and bulging muscles of the maternal grandfather. His face was hawkish, giving him a very predatory bearing. His mouth was cruel.
Her eyes slipped past him and to her bed.
Her young apprentice was sobbing in the tangle of soiled sheets. Her clothes were torn and tattered. Her breasts were red with the Prince's fingerprints. The girl's pale brown hair was tangled and her cheeks were red, her eyes puffy.
"I trust you enjoyed yourself, Your Highness," she said softly.
He chuckled. "Not really. Your apprentice was not very accommodating."
The Sorcerer shrugged her slender shoulders. "I apologise, Your Highness. Rest assured I will chastise her severely."
He leered. "I want to watch."
The Sorcerer sighed. More than ten years ago, he had come to her bedchamber uninvited and having left unsatisfied. It seemed he had returned to settle a score. She placed a hand on her apprentice's shoulder.
"Child, you have left our future King unsatisfied. Stand up."
The girl stood. The tatters of her robe preserved the remnants of her dignity. It was with a heavy heart that the Sorcerer shredded that dignity as she shredded the robe. Her apprentice gasped and choked on a sob, trying to hide her nudity. The Sorcerer placed a gently hand on the girl's shoulder and projected her voice into the girl's head.
Child, you must do this. It is the way of men and Kings to take what they want. Later, I will teach you our revenge.
The girl slowly regained control of herself and stood with her hands at her sides. The girl's breasts were still firm with youth, the size of unripe apples. Her nipples were dark and a sparse carpet of curls covered her sex. The youngster was quite lovely. A shame her first time had to be with Prince Jared.
Jared freed his erection from his breeches and the Sorcerer was surprised at the length and girth. It seemed young Jared had grown since their last encounter. No wonder the girl was sobbing, he was impressively endowed. She pushed the girl forward until she stood before the Prince.
"Does she appeal to you, Highness?"
Prince Jared nodded; his smile wicked. "She does."
He reached out and squeezed her breasts, hard. The girl gasped and a sob escaped her. The Prince leered and licked his lips. He forced two fingers into her and the girl twitched, her eyes widening to the size of saucer cups.
"Her virginity would have been sweeter had she not struggled so much."
"A shame," the Sorcerer agreed. "Perhaps you wish to taste again?"
Jared nodded. "Indeed."
The Sorcerer gently pushed the girl to her knees and stood behind her. "Take our Prince in your mouth, child, and mind your teeth."
The Sorcerer turned her back on them and mixed herself a glass of spiced wine. She looked over her shoulder and grimaced. Prince Jared had her apprentice by the hair and he was forcing himself down her throat. But that was his way. He would take by force what might have been freely given with honey. Had he only shown some small ounce of chivalry of charm, the apprentice would have torn her own clothes off in haste to have him.
But no, Prince Jared would ask for nothing and take whatever he wanted.
She sipped her wine until the Prince had his fill of the girl's mouth and pushed her away.
"She robbed me of the pleasure of her virginity," he said darkly.
"Highness, rest assured if you mount again, she will be most accommodating."
He grunted. "Why should I give her that pleasure? She should have been begging to squeal beneath me."
"What would you have her do, Highness?"
"I want the pleasure of her virginity."
"I fear you have taken that from her, Highness. Not even my magic can make her virginal again."
The Prince leered at her and then down at her apprentice. "You know what I want, Sorcerer."
Many times in her life, the Sorcerer had done things that she later regretted. Her long life was an endless parade of regrets. But nothing did she regret so much as not drowning Jared when he was but an insolent pup that had poisoned his brother.
"Highness, I am sure she would be most pleased if you gave her the pleasure of your cock in her ass."
She paused, looking down at her apprentice and noting the fear in the girl's eyes and the bruises that covered her shoulders and arms.
"But I think that one of the servant boys might be more to your taste if that is your pleasure, Highness."
Prince Jared exploded into motion, surging to his feet and cuffing her hard on the side of her face. Her apprentice fled. The Sorcerer looked up at Jared, her eyes bright with power as her magic rose to her defense.
"That was unwise, Highness."
Prince Jared grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her down onto her bed, cuffing her again. The force of the blow turned her onto her belly and she felt him ripping at her robes, baring her legs and bottom.
"A boy," he seethed. "You insolent slut! A boy! I'd take your tongue out if you didn't need it to cast your spells, witch!"
He tore her small clothes off and pressed the head of his cock against her anus.
"You should have remained silent, whore. I would have been satisfied with the little one."
Then he rammed himself deep into her bowels. But instead of the scream he wanted, she moaned loudly and lewdly. He pulled almost all they way out and slammed himself deep again.
"Harder," she moaned. "Deeper. Yes. More. Sweet Prince, I love it. I love you."
But her breathy moans and whisper mocked him and her tone cut him to the bone. He gave her three more hard thrusts and ripped himself free from her ass and pulled her onto her back by her hair. She did not give him the pleasure of crying out in pain. He spewed his seed into her face, wiping himself with her hair.
"You insolent cunt. When I am King, you will die slowly and painfully."
He stood and laced his breeches. She sat up and wiped his seed from her face and laughed. He turned to face her, raising his hand to strike her again but the cold fire in her eyes froze him in place. She stood and shrugged out of the torn robes, revealing her body to him, a body that had not aged since she first called upon the Greater Mysteries of Magic.
"I have had Celestials Angels between my thighs, Highness, and Infernal Demons pumping their foul meat up my ass. And you think I fear you?"
She laughed scornfully.
"You think your pathetic little cock could give me even an ounce of pleasure or a hint of pain? Leave me and never even think of raising your hand to me or my apprentice again."
Her smile could have chipped stone.
"Unless you fancy life as a crippled little goblin."
His face was pale but Prince Jared tried to leave the room with some small ounce of dignity.
"You cannot threaten me, witch," he warned her.
"I do not threaten you, Highness. I never make threats."
She turned her back on him.
"Now leave before I flay the flesh from your bones."
Jared fled.
She poured herself another glass of wine and wrapped a heavy robe around her body. The Prince was a coward and a bully. He would tell no one of this most recent humiliation but she could not allow him to come to power either. She cast a spell and sent a Dream to her vagabond Prince Alain.
It was time for him to come home.
It was a terrible season for the would-be High King.
Within the fortnight, he received the news that his Black Knight had been defeated, forced to serve one of Neece's Knights for a year and a day, and he executed his Queen for High Treason. His alliance with King Richard was no longer enough and he would be forced to find allies elsewhere.
With no other choice open to him, he will ally himself with the Sea Kingdom of Lucrecia, no matter that the alliance will cost him his daughter, sold to their Prince in exchange for the swords and ships of the kingdom.
And in Neece, King Thomas and his Court had no clue as to just what having the Black Knight meant or what terrible vengeance he would bring down upon them. For the Eighth vow of Knighthood is to serve the Realm as a whole, to swear your sword to the High King and no other man or woman, to hold no lands and father no children. The Eighth Knightly vow is to become an extension of the High King's Justice.
And as a weapon of the High King, he is a serpent in King Thomas' Court.
This old Bard needs another glass of wine and perhaps a fine cut of mutton, lightly spiced. I say, is there any more of that honeyed bread left?
The End
High King Rising - Chapter 2
Previous Story:High King Rising - Chapter 1
Post a comment