Tales of Dylak-Leem - Chapter 12

Chapter 12 - Diplomatic Entanglements, Part 1

Queen Olivia enjoyed the sun as she strolled in the castle gardens, admiring the birdsong and flowers. Darharrow's rulers tended more towards the pragmatic than the artistic, but at least one past monarch had built this elegant network of formal gravel paths in an enclosed courtyard. It had always been one of Olivia's favorite places, ever since she had become King Grevis' Queen at age seventeen. Now in her late thirties, her daughter Sophia was the reigning King, and Olivia was still Queen under her.

Sometimes literally under her.

Nobody else knew that, of course. There had been a stir when Olivia had given birth to Cymru's... Flann Nightsteel's... child last winter. Happily the little girl had looked no different than any other human baby, and everyone had accepted the story that she was the late King Grevis's. Olivia had named her Rain, after the night she had been conceived in. She saw her daily, but as with Sophie years ago, most of the baby's care and weaning was handled by wetnurses and nannies. That was simply how things were done within the nobility.

A robin twittered in an apple tree, and Olivia turned her head towards the sound. She was glad that her daughter seemed so fond of Rain. The King doted on her half-sister, and had made her favor known at court. That would strengthen Rain's prospects as she grew, and strengthened Olivia's position in court right now.

Court. She bit her lip. That was what this walk was a break from, and it was a more involved thing than it had been for most of her life. For years, as Queen, she had very little influence herself, but could serve as a back-channel to the King. That had put her in the agreeable, unstrenuous position of being someone who competed with and threatened nobody, but whom it paid for everyone to be on good terms with.

Now it was different. She was still Queen, but it was known or at least believed that Sophia listened to her sometimes, which made her a potential rival for influence. She was Rain's mother, which meant she would be expected to push her younger daughter's interests at the expense of others. And lastly she was now officially single, which meant that she was a potential bride for an ambitious man seeking royal influence and a royal bloodline for his heirs. All this meant that suddenly Olivia had found herself presented with political enemies, or at least people deeply wary of her.

And it was complicated even more by what people didn't know: that Olivia was not actually eligible and single at all. That she was Sophie's lover and kept woman.

Olivia didn't even blush when she thought of it any more. She supposed it was perverse and wrong, but it was how things had worked out, and she was a loyal Queen to her ruler. And then there was the shameful fact that Sophia satisfied her sexually, in a way that Grevis never had. She didn't even think of Sophia as her daughter any more; that label went to Rain. Sophia was her King and husband.

High above, in the chapel tower, a bell tolled the hour. Olivia sighed, then hitched up her skirts and made her way out of the gardens. Court was about to resume session, and today was supposed to be important.

---

The great hall was busy when she arrived, packed with nobles, knights, and servants. Olivia had a seat just to the left of the throne, and she moved through the crowd to take it.

People parted as she passed, murmuring pleasantries. She favored them all with a vague smile, noting who was in attendance and who was not. Most of the movers and shakers were here, it seemed.

"My Queen, you're looking lovely today." That was the Earl of Carhael, a vigorous man about five years her senior, and an ambitious one. His eyes lingered for perhaps a second longer than was proper on her generous cleavage. "That gown suits you."

It did suit her; it flattered her figure, which was large-breasted and curvy, and set off her black hair nicely. "Thank you, my lord. I hope the day finds you well."

"It does, though I fear there is grim business ahead of us." The Earl frowned. "Are you sure you wish to be present for it?"

"Quite sure." Olivia smiled at him. "The King expects it of me."

"Ah yes, the King." He leaned a little closer. "Tell me, has the King any strong opinions on the subject of your remarriage?"

Olivia feigned surprise; she had been wondering when he was finally going to get around to this. "I can't say I've ever discussed my future marital state with the King at all," she lied. "I really don't know what they would think."

"I see," the Earl said unhappily. "You should bring it up, at some point."

"Oh? Whatever for?"

"Well, a woman of your quality needs a man, of course. You have at least a decade of childrearing years left."

Of course, she thought with distaste. And of course there was the status and influence she would bring her husband. "Oh, I'm far too devoted to the King's needs to consider that now," she said truthfully. "And the baby."

"Of course, of course. But in a year, who knows?" With a bow, the Earl walked off.

Trumpets blared, and everyone stood. From a far hall, flanked by two wary bodyguards, King Sophia II of Darharrow emerged and strode to the throne. She was clad in blue and crimson and gold; a masculine riding costume of the sort she favored, close-fitting around the thighs and the chest. Unlike her mother, she was fairly flat, and didn't bother trying to hide it. She exuded confidence and an intense sort of gravity that many of her subjects found extremely compelling. Taking a seat on the throne, she nodded casually to the herald, who had the trumpets blown again. Those who had seats, sat.

Sophie glanced over at her, seated at the King's left. "Queen Olivia, how does the afternoon find you?"

"Quite well, your majesty. Thank you."

"Good. I fear the next order of business is a somber one and potentially quite serious. It involves a matter I've been worried about for some time." She turned to the herald. "Finster, if you will?"

The herald nodded, and cleared his voice. "Her Majesty will now receive subjects from the eastern realm, who have been disadvantaged by raids from over the border!"

That got the murmurs going; some had known about this, others hadn't. Escorted by a pair of guards, two young women hesitantly walked down the length of the hall to stand before the King. Clearly afraid, they made awkward, unpracticed curtsies before her.

Sophia gave them an easy smile. "Are you nervous? I was always nervous about speaking to King Grevis, and he was my father!"

That got a chuckle from the crowd. The two women nodded, and one of them stepped forwards. "We've never left our villages before this, your majesty. And now everything... it's hard, and we mean no offense or disrespect."

"I know. You need not fear. All I want from you is to be yourselves and tell me, as honestly as you can, what happened. I won't be offended." Sophie grinned. "I'm a difficult king to offend anyway."

"Yes, your majesty. Thank you." The woman seemed to struggle internally for a minute, and then looked at the floor. "I suppose it started when people started coming through our village. People fleeing, I mean. At first we thought they were Castahari, but we talked to a few of them, and they were from Ergalreik. The drocken had invaded them."

Sophia nodded. "Ergalreik was invaded before all of Castahar fell."

"Obviously that worried us because Ergalreik is literally right over the border. But Mayor Auguso told everyone that Ergalreik had joined Castahar in the war, and we hadn't, so there was no danger. People still worried, but enough believed him. We just... waited." The woman clenched her hands and stared at the floor. "Then, one morning, the drocken came."

"To your village? Inside Darharrow?" Sophia asked, intently. "They didn't follow anyone fleeing over the border, they came right to the village?"

"Yes. There were maybe thirty of them. They... they killed all of the men and the older women. They rounded us younger women up in the center of town, and they..." The woman trailed off, and she twisted her hands.

"They what? I know it is hard, but we need to know." Sophia's voice was gentle but firm.

The young woman looked up bleakly. "They tore the clothes off us. Then they took turns raping us, two to a woman. After each one finished, they went to the one that seemed to be leading them and rated the woman they had taken. Like they were narrowing us down for something. A few of the women who didn't please them were killed out of hand. It went on for hours. Then our cavalry arrived." She shivered. "Most of the women died before the fight ended. The captain brought us here."

Olivia flinched and leaned forward in sympathy. Around her, growls of anger rose from the crowd.

"So of the village, you and your friend are the only survivors?" the King asked soberly.

"Yes, your majesty."

Sophia turned to the herald and nodded. "Send the cavalry commander forwards."

"Captain Orvett, of Her Majesty's Cavalry," the herald announced. A middle-aged man, brown hair closely cropped, stepped forward. He wore the chain and leather armor of Darharrow's light cavalry, and looked ill at ease.

"You and your men drove the goatmen off?" Sophia asked him. "Was it a difficult battle?"

"We did, your majesty, and it was not as difficult as it could have been," Captain Orvett replied. "May I explain?"

"Please do, captain."

"A peasant ran to our patrol area to find us and report the attack on the village. I sent a runner to warn Major Dalton, my superior, and immediately took my squadron to engage them. They were not expecting us and had little stomach for a fight; after taking a few losses, they got on their mounts and ran for the border. We followed them, but I gave the order not to pursue them into Ergalreik."

"For the time being, that was the right call, captain," the King said. "So they weren't expecting to fight. Interesting. I'm told drocken make use of earthworks, anti-cavalry stakes and the like. Had they made any efforts in that regard?"

"No, your majesty. Aside from the mistreatment of the local women, the only exertions they seemed to have made was in the looting of the village houses and stores."

Sophia nodded. "So this was a raid, not an invasion. They planned to grab loot and run back across the border before we could respond."

"That is how I interpret it as well, your majesty." Captain Orvett bowed.

"Thank you, captain. Your prompt and competent action is noted." Sophia turned back to the two village women, who stood hesitant, as if uncertain of if they should still be there. "Have arrangements been made for your food and board, good women?"

"If you please, your majesty, your steward has provided us with beds and bid us sup in the kitchens," the vocal one of them replied. "But we know not what is to come of us when we leave here. Our homes and families are gone."

"Do not fear. You will not be forgotten." Sophia turned to her mother. "Queen Olivia, I ask you to take personal charge of these wronged subjects, that they may be provided for fittingly."

Olivia bowed deeply, pleased by the task. "Of course, your majesty. It shall be as you will."

The King smiled at the women. "So you are in excellent hands."

Both of them curtsied gratefully. "Thank you, your majesty."

Sophia made a barely visible motion with one hand, and the guards escorted them out, leaving the great hall to a rapidly rising hubbub of angry voices.

Olivia flattered herself that she had a keen sense of the mood of the court, and she sensed injured pride and outrage. And beneath that, a subtle but undeniable undercurrent of fear.

Her daughter leaned casually on the arm of her throne and watched them talk. The King seemed to almost be waiting for something...

"Your Majesty!" Heads turned as a voice rang out over the murmurs. It was Sir Matins Cargyl, one of the leading young knights at court and a bit of a hothead. He'd earned a reputation for daring and wit, but his detractors pointed to a lack of judgment. Olivia found him charming in the same way as a energetic puppy. "May I speak?"

"I believe you already have," Sophia replied, voice amused. "Go ahead, Sir Cargyl."

"This outrage is a direct insult to the honor of every person of noble blood in this room. The people of this kingdom are under our protection and rule. To have these filthy beast-men freely murder and deflower them is not only a direct challenge to us, it is an insult to her majesty the King! This cannot be allowed to stand." He gestured dramatically. "Your Majesty, give me five squadrons of cavalry and I will thrust into Ergalreik and slaughter the goatman encampment these raiders set out from. These animals must be taught to fear us, and I am keen to teach them in your royal name!"

This got a roar from the crowd, some approving, others not. Olivia watched Sophia carefully; her daughter appeared thoughtful, but unmoved.

"Your Majesty, this is folly!" That was the Royal Favorite, Colonel Elsabet. She was one of the ambitious, intelligent young people Sophia had gathered around her at the start of her reign, and was known as the King's most trusted advisor. Olivia respected the woman's competence and judgment but didn't like her, in part because she suspected she was Sophia's mistress. If so, though, they were discreet; the Queen had never found any proof, and was willing to admit to herself that it might just be her own jealousy of the younger woman. "We are not prepared to begin a war with the drocken, and Sir Cargyl would have us start one immediately! And with a weak, ineffective stroke no less!"

"I have been accused of many things in the past, but delivering weak and ineffective blows is not one of them," Sir Cargyl replied hotly.

"Then do not start now. Five squadrons of cavalry! Just enough to hurt us if massacred, yet not enough to do more than nick the drocken beast. Have you any idea just how many goatmen there are? Of course you don't." The Favorite turned her beseeching eyes to the King. "Your majesty, we must not provoke the drocken horde. We must hope that they turn their focus elsewhere and expand in a different direction."

"Why should they do that if they do not fear us?" Cargyl erupted. "You advocate teaching them that they can bleed us without injury! Why not just have our maidens lie down on the border line and spread their legs while you're at it? We must strike, and we must strike now!"

"Of course they can bleed us without serious injury, fool!" Colonel Elsabet snapped. "They overran kingdoms much larger than us without trouble. Their numbers are vast. If we pick a fight, we will LOSE."

"Defeatism is close cousin to treason!" Sir Cargyl shouted. "Have a care, Colonel!"

"I should say the same to you, sir knight," the Favorite replied ominously, narrowing her eyes.

Sophia held up her hands, and the buzz of conflict quieted. "Enough," the King said sternly. "You are both right. Our bold Sir Cargyl is correct that we cannot simply bury our head in the sand and hope the drocken will go away. The weaker we appear, the more likely they are to gobble us up. But our wise Colonel Elsabet is correct that a cavalry raid into Ergalreik will accomplish nothing more than killing a few goatmen, of which the horde has plenty, and possibly provoking an immediate invasion of Darharrow."

"But then what should we do, your majesty?" Sir Cargyl asked plaintively, clearly disappointed that his chance for glory had been shot down.

"I know the martial valor and skill of my subjects well. I have witnessed it firsthand, in the putting down of certain late traitors. But while I rule a valiant kingdom, we are a small one. Brave as our army is, we cannot contend with the drocken from a position of strength. We require outside aid."

Colonel Elsabet looked alarmed, and a murmur went through the crowd. "Your Majesty? What sort of aid?"

"In the next few days, a delegation from the coastal cities will be arriving for negotiations about the goatman problem. They are eager to contain this plague, and I have let them know that Darharrow is open to working with them to draw a line. If diplomacy bears fruit, we will face our foes with somewhat evener odds." Sophia smiled. "Perhaps then we can unleash Sir Cargyl."

"Your Majesty, I would advise caution," the Favorite said, expression apprehensive. "The line between hosting military aid and being occupied can be a very muddy one, and difficult to see until it is crossed."

"She talks sense, now," Sir Cargyl said grudgingly. "We should brook no insult by armed foreigners in our own land."

Sophia laughed. "I hear your cautions, and agree. I do not intend to give away the family business, goatmen or not. But something must be done, and this is the best path I can see to do it. I will strive my utmost to secure a deal for us that offers safeguards and assurances backed by more than easily-altered promises." She gazed levelly about the room. "I will warn you all now; I intend to raise taxes by a noticeable amount to pay for an expansion of the army. I do not do so lightly and I know it will not be popular, but we will need the added strength behind our words in the days to come."

The elderly Earl of Hereward stepped forwards. "Your Majesty, while none of us enjoy paying more to the royal coffers, I believe I know my peers, and we are not so blind as to not see our peril and begrudge you the funds to save us from it. I cannot say we will pay the extra happily, but we will pay it."

"Thank you, Hereward," Sophia said gravely. "Monarch and peers alike must do their duty. Colonel Elsabet, I want you to form a committee with Generals Monck and Turgott to draw up the expansion plan. Report your final needs to myself and the Steward, and we shall see about funding them."

The Favorite bowed. "Certainly, Your Majesty. I will make it my first priority."

"Good. I know you can be relied upon." Sophia seemed pleased. Olivia sensed that the court was less so. Giving such a plum to the Favorite clearly rubbed many the wrong way. Elsabet had many enemies, and none of them liked this.

That may have been why her daughter had done it, or at least one reason, the Queen mused. By making someone as polarizing as Colonel Elsabet the face of the measure, Sophia may well have managed to transfer any resentment over it from her to the Favorite. True, it was one more dollop of power to a woman who by many accounts already had far too much of it for the good of the kingdom. But Olivia knew that most of that power was slippery, breveted, deriving solely from Sophia's whim. Should the King ever wish to withdraw it, the Colonel had no inherent power base of her own, not like an earl or other major landowner. That limited the danger she posed and made her a useful weapon against said earls.

The King stood. "There is much to be done. Court is adjourned for the day." As the crowd murmured and mingled, Sophia leaned over her mother. "After you settle the two girls, come see me in my chambers," the King whispered. "I want to talk to you about the delegation."

"Of course," Olivia replied, smiling. "I will see you there."

Sophia nodded, and strode away, flanked by her guards.

Stretching, Olivia got up and made her way out of the hall, exchanging pleasantries as she went. Some questioning of the staff led her to a room usually used to house the retainers of visiting nobles. The two young women were waiting there, ill at ease from all appearances.

"Hello," she told them. "I'm Queen Olivia. May I ask your names?"

"I'm Helsa," the one who had spoken before said. "This is Melen."

"Doesn't she speak for herself?"

"No, your highness. Not since it happened. She doesn't say anything."

Olivia nodded, touched. "I see. But she understands?"

Melen nodded in response. "She's got her wits," Helsa said somewhat defensively. "She's not daft or anything. She just can't talk for some reason."

"Perhaps in time," Olivia said. She studied them carefully. "Rather than impose something upon you, let me simply ask you: what is it you wish to do with your lives now?"

"I wish to go to a town on the other side of the kingdom from the Ergalreik border," Helsa immediately said. "Not a village, an actual town. I'm done with rural life. My sister was gang-fucked by orcs last year and given a green baby; she moved away for the shame of it. There's just no security living in the countryside." Melen nodded in agreement.

Olivia vividly recalled the ravages of the orcs who had helped kidnap her and Sophie. She shivered. "I understand," she said. "Have you any skills you can employ?"

"Melen does; she's a wainwright's apprentice. I don't have any skills that'd be in demand in a town, but I can pick up a mug of ale with the best of them, so I thought I might do for a barmaid."

"That could do." Olivia nodded. "I'll talk to the Steward and see what can be done. A request from the royal household usually works wonders for landing a spot."

"Aye, I can imagine it would," Helsa replied gratefully.

"I will see that you are given purses with a sum to live on for a time, and transport to your new homes," Olivia said. "Until the arrangements are made, please be our guests here in the castle."

"Thank you, your highness," Helsa said. "I'm grateful for your attention and the King's."

"Duty applies to both ruler and ruled," Olivia told her, rising. "I'm sure I'll see you again before you leave."

Departing with a smile, she made her way through the chilly corridors to the upper floors of the castle, and finally to the royal apartments. She nodded to the guards who stood alertly at the doors to the wing, and then walked past them down to the door to Sophie's chambers. Humming to herself, she knocked.

"Enter!"

She opened the door, closed it behind her, and turned to face her daughter. Sophie was lounging in a chair, a drink in one hand. "You certainly surprised a lot of people today," Olivia said. "Not a pleasant surprise, either."

"Yes, well, there was no way this was going to be a pleasant surprise. Nobody likes spending money and having to give an in to a bunch of foreigners. But I have limited options." Sophia sighed. "Good gods, Cargyl is stupid. He's so good at being clever that you forget how awesomely stupid he is."

"I take it you agree with Colonel Elsabet, then?" Olivia asked.

"Mostly. She sees the position we're in fairly clearheadedly, she just seems to be having trouble grasping that we can CHANGE that position. Not easily, but it can be done, and I intend to do it."

"Who exactly are we going to be hosting, Lord Sophia? You said that they were from the coastal cities, but-"

"It's a coalition between several of the major temples and the larger merchant organizations," Sophia said, taking a sip of her drink. "They can field a mixture of temple troops and free companies on their own right off the bat, and they're due to begin recruiting for a crusade. It's quite a bit bigger than just us, but we can get our share of it if we play our cards right."

"What are they likely to want from us?"

"To use us as a staging ground for the invasion of Ergalreik. Which is something I'm not giving them, by the way. If their crusade fails, we'd be done for. I want just enough troops that the drocken think long and hard before adding us to their list of conquests. Let the fighting happen elsewhere."

Olivia nodded. "That seems prudent, my lord. Of course it's to our benefit to see the drocken defeated, but-"

"Only to a degree," Sophia said, shaking her head. "The Ergalreik wool trade is gone. It competed directly with us for exports to the coast and drove down prices. We're the only kingdom now that produces that thick Apakeira wool, which is practically in a league by itself, and as a consequence the economy and the royal coffers have both done VERY well in the last month or so. It puts an existential threat to us at our doorstep, but aside from that it's in Darharrow's best interests for Ergalreik to remain subjugated and unproductive."

"That's a rather cold way of looking at things, Lord Sophia. And also a dangerous one. What happened to Ergalreik and Castahar could easily happen to us." Olivia frowned. "The economic benefits don't outweigh the rest."

"Mmm. Well, that's one way of looking at things." Sophia took another sip. "It's a moot point anyway. What happens in Ergalreik will likely hinge on whether the rest of their crusade is successful or not."

"So if I understand you right, it's not the city governments who are setting this up? It is private and ecumenical?"

"Oh, the city governments have their hands in the pie. Just not officially. Relations among the city-states is not such that they could organize a bake sale together, let alone a military campaign. For that reason the temples took the lead and the great merchants provided the coin." Sophia chuckled. "The drocken invasion is bad for business."

"I see. So the delegation coming... are they priests? Do I need to prepare any special religious services?" Olivia smiled. "I assume we will have at least one banquet."

"There are two principle emissaries. The first is a templar named Avila the Strident. She's of the Church of Kravos. Apparently has a great deal of military experience, victories over the supernatural, and a pronounced streak of viciousness and fanaticism. Not very diplomatic. By all accounts though she's quite competent as a general and pragmatic when it comes to military affairs."

"That sounds... difficult," Olivia said, frowning. "Do you think you can reach a deal with her?"

"I expect so, but we'll have to see. She's nobody to be taken lightly." Sophia swirled the liquid in her glass. "The second emissary is an elven noblewoman; Lady Tesaiel of House Ordome."

"I thought Ordome was a dead house?" Olivia replied, brow furrowing. She knew the noble branches of most of the civilized races, but the elven houses were not her area of specialty.

"It is. She belongs to a powerful consortium in Dylak-Leem, and will be speaking for the merchant alliance on this occasion." Sophia frowned. "We don't know that much about her, other than the fact that she's a rising star and has a reputation for being ruthless and deadly. But she ought to be quite diplomatic."

"Yes, I would think so." Olivia hadn't met many elven nobles, but all the ones she had were the soul of grace, culture and manners. "Do you think elven fare at the banquet would go over well?"

"Only if it's actual elven fare," Sophia replied, chuckling. "Nothing misses the mark like trying to feed a guest their native cuisine and failing."

"There's an elf who runs a well-regarded restaurant in the city. We could bring him in." Olivia warmed to the idea. "I don't know what we could do for the templar. Don't they subsist on iron rations and the like?"

"I'm sure the templar will be fine as long as there's some sort of dish that isn't too fancy. A good honest roast or the like. Food is likely to be the last thing on her mind, I expect."

"Still." Olivia paced back and forth. "There's a harper in town who does wonderful, low-key music; they'd be perfect. Are you going to handle the guest list?"

"I'll give you a list of people who need to be in attendance and people who on no accounts should be anywhere near it," Sophia replied. "You can fill in the rest with people who will make a good impression."

"Is the Earl of Greftoke on either list?"

"No, why?"

"I get the impression he's been feeling rather... out of the loop lately," Olivia said. "A display of royal favour and attentiveness wouldn't hurt."

"Yes, yes, thank you." Sophia sighed, looking a bit irritated. "Gods! Nobles. Like little children sometimes. Did Father have this much trouble with them?"

"More," Olivia replied. "King Grevis was not a particularly flexible or charismatic monarch."

"Ha, yes. To put it mildly. Have things been easier or harder for you in the second administration you've served as the Queen?"

"A little of both, Lord Sophia. People think I have more influence with you than I probably do, and that raises tensions. And people think, probably correctly, that I am going to push Rain's interests at the expense of their own as she grows up."

"You don't need to worry about Rain," Sophia told her. "I'll make sure she has an enviable place. I'd make her my heir, except both of us know her ancestry means she's sterile."

Olivia frowned. "I've mentioned this before, but people are wondering about an heir. It makes them uncomfortable that there isn't one."

"Yes, I know," Sophia said, scowling. "They can be uncomfortable for a while longer. I have no intention of becoming pregnant any time soon."

"I was younger than you when I had you," Olivia pointed out. "It's not so bad."

"I would have to take a consort for it not to cause a scandal," Sophia said. "Are you that eager to cease being the Queen?"

Olivia bit her lip. "I'm just thinking of what's best for you and the throne," she replied hesitantly. "That's all."

Sophia was silent for a second, then she took a final swallow of her drink and set it down. "You know what the testimony today reminded me of?"

The Queen blinked. "Lord Sophia?"

"Remember when we took our little trip with Cymru?" Sophia rose from her seat and walked over to Olivia, grinning lazily. "The orcs?"

Olivia winced at the memory. "Yes, I had the same thought."

"Remember how they tore your dress open?" Sophia leaned forward. "How that one orc squeezed your big tits? You squealed." The King's hand snaked out and dipped down into the Queen's bosom. "Remember how I watched?"

"Y-yes." Olivia flushed red. "I remember."

"If Cymru had let him, that orc would have thrown you to the ground and fucked you right there." Sophia's hand toyed with one hardening nipple. "And I would have watched him."

Olivia shuddered at the thought, even as her body responded to Sophia's touch. "Please, Lord Sophia, don't say such things," she begged. "We were both lucky to be spared."

"Spared until later. Or have you forgotten our wedding night?"

That was what they had taken to calling the night of Rain's conception. "That was different," Olivia said, giving a weak smile.

"Oh was it?" Sophia asked. "Are you ready to serve your King, Queen Olivia?"

"Yes, my King," the black-haired Queen replied submissively. "However you like."

Stepping away, Sophia sat back down and yanked her breeches down. Grinning, she opened her legs and beckoned. "Why don't you use your tongue?" she suggested. "You've gotten very good at that."

Nodding, Olivia knelt before her. Her daughter's pussy was small, with well-trimmed golden fur. The first time she had done this, she had been disbelieving, horrified, ashamed. Now she just felt a slow, steadily growing arousal. Dipping her head, she slid her tongue out to brush against the outer lips of Sophia's entrance. The King's breath quickened, and Olivia reached out with one hand to gently spread the pussy open. As the small red tunnel gaped, the Queen slipped her tongue into it. Immediately she tasted her daughter's slickness, the now familiar taste of her child's womanhood. Slowly, then increasingly eagerly, she lapped at it, her own desire building.

"Ahhh, gods! That wasn't the first time I saw you sexually, my Queen. When I was younger, I slipped in once, and saw King Grevis mount you." Sophia's hands tightened around Olivia's head, running through her black hair. "I was jealous. I was sure I could do a MUCH better job." Sophia laughed throatily as Olivia's tongue slid up to caress her clit. "Was I right?"

"Yes," Olivia gasped around a mouthful of vulva. That was only the truth. Sophia usually was a far more satisfactory lover than her father had been.

"But that orc... I would have taken his place in a heartbeat. Almost a pity Cymru stepped in when she did."

Olivia flushed and made a protesting noise as she licked and sucked her King. Sophia laughed again, then threw her head back. "Oh gods... just like that. Keep going just a little longer."

The Queen complied, eagerly dining on her vaginal meal. Her daughter's pussy clenched under her lips once, twice, three times, and then erupted in a flood. Sophia let out a long, ragged hiss as she climaxed, her hands clutching her mother's scalp almost painfully. Finally, it subsided, and Sophia gently pushed the Queen's head away from her sodden pussy.

Olivia smiled at her, wetness shining around her mouth. "Lord Sophia, shall we go to bed now?"

"No. I have work still to do." Sophia started to tug up her breeches. "You can see yourself out."

"But I haven't..." Olivia stared at Sophia in frustration. "You've worked me up, Lord Sophia, but you haven't relieved me."

"What a horny little Queen I have," Sophia said, amusement in her voice. "Do you really want it?"

Sophia was clearly in one of her moods. Olivia knew how to respond. "Please, Lord Sophia, my lord and husband. Fuck your eager Queen until she is sated."

"No... no, I think I like the idea of you going back to your room, aching for me in your cunt, and thinking of me all night. Or maybe of that orc." Sophia lifted a hand. "You can go now, Queen Olivia."

She bowed. "Yes, Lord Sophia." Turning, she quietly saw herself out.

As she went down the hall she almost screamed with frustration. The worst part was that she was going to do exactly what Sophia had said, go to her bed and masturbate while thinking about being fucked by her daughter. And Cymru. And maybe even that orc. Dear gods she was horny.

As she reached the door to her suite, she saw a figure walking down the hall and blinked. It was Colonel Elsabet.

"Queen Olivia," the Favorite said, nodding.

"Colonel," she replied. "What are you doing in the royal wing?"

"The King asked me to see her about the army expansion and other matters," Elsabet said. Did Olivia detect a certain anticipation? "We're likely to be working late."

"I see." Olivia looked at the younger woman, then nodded. "Good evening then, Colonel."

"My Queen." The Favorite walked on.

Olivia entered her room and stifled a curse. They were fucking, she knew they there fucking. Who did that bitch think she was, having sex with Olivia's husband? What the fuck did Sophia see in that wall-eyed chit? Oh, sure, she was over ten years younger than Olivia, but the Queen flattered herself that she was better looking. She'd definitely aged well.

Olivia certainly hadn't asked to become her own daughter's mistress. She'd resisted the idea as much as she was able to. But the Queen was by nature submissive, and Sophia was exactly the opposite, and so had overruled her protests and informed her that this was the way it was going to be. And as was her nature, Olivia had accepted that and done her best to make it a success, embracing Sophia as her new lover and master. She was quite happy with the arrangement now, and had no intention of sharing her husband with anyone, especially not another woman. Colonel Elsabet, she decided grimly, was now her enemy. She would bring the Favorite low by any means necessary.

Still worked up and fuming, the Queen undressed for bed and slipped in between the silk sheets. Images of Sophia and Elsabet twined round each other spun through her head, and she touched herself several times in frustration and pent-up desire. Eventually she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

In her dreams, she and Sophia were being dragged by orcs through a village towards the Ergalreik border. The orcs staked them to the ground, and then out of the shadows lumbered drocken. They were huge, hairy goatmen with long, equally hairy cocks. Two of them began to violently take Sophia, one in each hole. As Olivia screamed, a shaggy brute knelt between her thighs, spread her struggling legs wide, and...

She woke dripping sweat, breathing heavily, body flushed. She was wet, she realized. She wanted to go down the hall and find Sophia, but she feared that she would discover Colonel Elsabet still in the chamber. With a groan of discomfort, she hugged herself and turned over, rapidly sinking back into an uneasy sleep.

---

The next day the delegation arrived, getting in around noon. Olivia, Sophia, and much of the court went down to the courtyard to receive them.

The first one out of the oversized stagecoach was a tall, muscular woman in simple white clothing. She had long red hair and piercing blue eyes, and one bare arm bore a tattoo of the sun-in-cloud sigil of Kravos. Her face wore an irritable expression.

"She doesn't look happy," Olivia whispered to the King.

"She looks like she's about to kill everyone here," Sophia whispered back, sounding impressed.

The second person out was a statuesque elven woman, her fine features looking somewhat reserved. She was dressed in red, gold, and black, and Olivia saw with some surprise that the outfit she wore had a blazon showing the unmistakable head of a krav wolf.

"I thought elves hated wolves?" she whispered to Sophia.

"They do." The King sounded equally confused. "The tutors were quite clear on that."

The elven woman reached into the carriage and lifted down a young halfling woman, wide-eyed and clad in the wolfhead livery of the elf. Maid or body servant, Olivia instantly knew.

Sophia now stepped forward. "Templar Avila of Kravos, Lady Tesaiel of House Ordome, welcome to Darharrow. It is my hope that your time here will be both pleasant and productive."

Avila made a doubtful noise. "We'll see."

"Thank you for the welcome, King Sophia," Tesaiel smoothly said. "I'm sure I speak for us all when I express the hope that our negotiations will bear fruit, and that we can reach an accord that will both advance the cause of the Crusade and safeguard your peaceful kingdom from the depredations of the vicious Drocken Horde."

"Of course," Sophia said, smiling. "I am confident that we have a common interest. It's simply a matter of nailing down the specifics. May I introduce Queen Olivia?"

Olivia curtsied, and the two guests looked at her. Tesaiel's eyes were polite but unnervingly penetrating. Avila... Olivia realized with a shock that the woman was checking her out physically. She carefully held back a flush.

"She's your wife then?" Avila asked. "Good taste."

This time Olivia did flush. Sophia laughed. "My mother," she said. "In Darharrow the old queen retains the title until the new monarch marries."

"Strange," Avila commented. Tesaiel shot the templar a look of deep, suffering irritation, then turned to smile at the Queen. "Greetings, Queen Olivia," she said in a friendly voice. "I'm sure you are a pillar of support to the King."

"Thank you, Lady Tesaiel," Olivia replied, smiling back. "I hope you will enjoy our hospitality. Was the ride up difficult?"

"Long. Dull. Petra did her best to entertain me, but I'm afraid her skills as a jester are somewhat lacking." She gave the halfling a pat on her mop of brown hair; the little servant gazed up at the elf with a look Olivia could only describe as adoring. "I expect the ride back will be much the same."

The outriders who had accompanied the coach now dismounted and approached. They were a hard, seasoned-looking group of warriors, led by a large female half-orc, who went up to Tesaiel and saluted. "Safely here, Lady Tesaiel. I'll see to the securing of your quarters; Carpeti will accompany you at all times."

"Very well, Egrid. Thank you."

The half-orc nodded, gave the rest of the group a curious, amiable glance, and departed.

"Is that your bodyguard?" Olivia enquired. She was somewhat surprised that an elf would employ someone with such obvious orcish blood.

"My employer's bodyguard. He detailed her and the others to be my escort on this mission. He does, after all, attach great importance to these negotiations." Lady Tesaiel sounded quite serious.

"Is it difficult working with someone of her heritage?" the Queen asked curiously. "We've had a lot of orc troubles here."

"Egrid can be difficult and tiresome at times, but not because of her blood," Tesaiel replied. "She's highly intelligent and very good at her job. Mister Urdo's organization is fairly tolerant about race so long as the person in question is competent." She smiled thinly. "Mister Urdo does not tolerate incompetence."

Sophia glanced at Avila. "Did you bring an escort as well, Templar?"

"Yes. Myself." The redheaded templar sneered, one hand patting her swordbelt. "Most of the fools the elf brought with her are spear fodder. I'd like to fight the orc sometime, though. She'd give me a good workout before I killed her."

Tesaiel said nothing. Her expression was a study in put-upon irritation, though.

"You must be tired after your long journey," Olivia hurriedly said. "Why don't I show you to your quarters, so you may rest for a while before the banquet tonight?"

"That would be lovely," Tesaiel quickly said. "Thank you, Queen Olivia."

Avila just grunted.

Turning, the two royals led the procession into the keep, leading them through torchlit stone halls to the guest wing. Olivia had spent much of the morning with the Steward, making sure the beds were aired and the dust swept away. Tesaiel was being placed in the suite reserved for visiting rulers; Avila was down the hall in a smaller but comfortable room.

The half-orc met them there. "The room's secure, Lady Tesaiel. There's a window, but it's too high and small for an assassin, and barred besides. I'll put some guards at your door and you should be safe."

"I would think I would be safe regardless," Tesaiel replied dryly.

"You never know," Egrid replied cheerfully. "Anyway, I have my orders and so do you."

"Yes, Egrid," Tesaiel said, sighing. "May I go into my perfectly safe room and change for dinner now?"

"Want an escort?"

"No." The elf pushed past, nodded reservedly to her hosts, and disappeared into her suite. Her maid bowed to them and then hurried after her.

Two of the elf's armsmen took up position outside the door. Egrid had a quiet word with them, and then the group wandered down to show Avila the door to her quarters.

Olivia looked over curiously at Egrid as they walked. The half-orc reminded her unnervingly of the brute who had torn her gown open, but she seemed well-spoken and professional. And, of course, she was a woman. "I wouldn't have expected a merchant's factor to have such high security," she said to the swordswoman. "Is this usual in Dylak-Leem?"

Egrid grinned. "Mister Urdo belongs to a set of entrepreneurs who can be... very vigorous in their competition in the marketplace. This is pretty standard for us."

Olivia stared blankly for a few seconds before understanding dawned. Tesaiel didn't work for a normal merchant; this 'Mister Urdo' was some sort of organized crime lord. Which meant that the polite, refined-seeming elf was actually a high-ranking gangster from one of the most corrupt, crime-riddled cities on the Whore Coast.

"I see," she said, not sure whether to be shocked or rather intrigued. "Do you expect any trouble here?"

"Not really, your majesty-"

"Your Highness," Olivia automatically corrected. "The King is your majesty."

"Your highness." Egrid grinned. "Between you and me, unless you have some sort of local trouble I don't know about or the drocken are a lot more given to assassination than I've heard, this is going to be a peaceful stay in a nice castle. But I wouldn't be much of a bodyguard if I didn't assume automatically that someone was going to try and kill my principal."

"And Templar Avila?"

"Not my problem," Egrid cheerfully replied. "She's on her own."

"I hope someone tries," Avila commented, a glint in her eye. "It would relieve the monotony."

"Is there anything we can do to provide you with diversion until dinner is ready?" Olivia asked brightly.

"You could send me a pliant wench, I suppose. That's always a way to kill a free hour. Preferably one who likes it rough." Avila grinned. "With tits as big as yours, please."

Olivia flushed. "Uh... we'll see." Good gods, who had chosen this woman for diplomatic negotiations? Even if Lady Tesaiel was some sort of mob chieftain she still obviously knew how to act in polite society. Weren't templars supposed to be chaste and pious?

"If not, I will pray until dinner." Avila glanced at her. "Inform whoever you send to fetch me to simply knock, not to enter. I do not wish to be disturbed in my devotions. They are between Kravos and I."

"Very well," Olivia replied. "I'll see to it." That was more like what she would have expected. Oh well. It wasn't as if some of the clerics in Darharrow weren't lechers, so she supposed she shouldn't be surprised.

They arrived at Avila's room, and the templar entered and shut the door without a word of farewell. Sophia glanced at her Queen. "I can see Lady Tesaiel will be handling the diplomacy."

"She's good at that, your majesty," Egrid volunteered. "That's why our employer selected her."

"Have you known her long, sergeant? Or is it captain?" Sophia smiled disarmingly. "Soldiers are so sensitive about their rank."

"I haven't been that sort of soldier in years, your majesty. We don't really do in for rank where I work. I believe my official title is chief of security." Egrid shrugged. "Everyone knows who I am and what my authority is."

"I see. You are, of course, invited to dinner as well."

Egrid brightened. "Really? I'm not technically a part of the diplomatic party, you know. Sure it won't cause any trouble?"

Sophia grinned. "Captain Egrid, I've only known you for a brief time and it's already clear you are at least ten times as diplomatic as Templar Avila. I don't think it will be a problem. Especially since I'm the King, and I can do what I like as long as it doesn't provoke a revolution. Having you to a feast is unlikely to lead to my overthrow, I assure you."

"I graciously accept, then." Egrid grinned. "I'll try to use the right fork."

"Good." Sophia turned to her mother. "Queen Olivia, can you find lodgings for her in the lesser guesting tower? If she's attending the banquet I can't just put her in barracks with the rest of her men."

Olivia bowed. "Of course, King Sophia. If you will follow me, captain?"

Egrid nodded amiably, and the two of them headed for a staircase on the far side of the hall. As they went, Olivia heard Sophia instruct the court to return to the great hall with her. Apparently Egrid didn't warrant a full escort, just the Queen.

As they ascended the spiral steps, Olivia became more and more aware of the figure loping beside her. And the fact that they were alone. While Egrid seemed pleasant enough, she gave off a very strong feeling of orc, she looked very much like an orc, and she was obviously a strong, aggressive, physical person. All of this combined to make Olivia feel decidedly nervous. Unwillingly, her thoughts again replayed having her dress torn open.

Egrid glanced over at her. "Something the matter, Queen Olivia?"

"Ah, no, captain. I'm fine."

"Only you seem a little nervous, your highness, and that makes ME nervous." There was a faint hint of an edge in Egrid's voice, and Olivia suddenly noticed a difference in her demeanor. The big swordswoman's eyes were carefully moving back and forth, her hand was on her swordhilt, and Olivia could tell the woman's muscles were tensed for immediate movement.

Stupid! Olivia reproached herself. The woman's a professional bodyguard and you're leading her somewhere giving off obvious cues that you expect to be attacked. Of course she's going to suspect an ambush. "My apologies, captain. The truth is... and please do not be offended by this... I'm afraid you make me a little nervous."

Egrid looked a bit surprised at that. "Have I given you some offense, your highness? I apologize if so."

"No, no. The failing is mine, not yours." Olivia sighed, uncomfortable and unsure of how much to tell her. It was probably best to come clean so that the woman had no lingering suspicions. "You see, captain, around the time of King Sophia's ascension to the throne I was kidnapped by someone employing a large band of orcs."

"Oh. I see." The swordswoman thought this over, frowning. "You can call me Egrid, by the way; as I told the King, I'm not a captain. Sorry to hear of your misfortune. I hope you suffered no injury?"

"Nothing physical. They tore my dress and... touched me, places." She colored a bright red. "I count myself fortunate that was as far as it went. But I am afraid you remind me of them... in your features, that is, not your manners."

"I've done a bit of dress-tearing in my time, but I generally have to be asked first," Egrid replied. "You can be at ease."

Olivia smiled, then frowned. "Only 'generally'?"

Egrid's eyes went a bit distant. "I used to be a soldier," she said without elaborating.

The Queen nodded. She knew what happened when a city was stormed after a long and bloody siege; even disciplined troops turned into animals. It wasn't surprising that the younger Egrid had been no exception. It was alarmingly easy to picture the big half-orc grabbing a woman.... maybe a woman bearing a strong resemblance to Olivia... and pulling apart her gown with a violent rip of tearing fabric. Then fondling her bare, heaving breasts before slinging her over one shoulder to carry off to a private corner amongst the flames and screaming...

Olivia flushed slightly, walking a little faster. She had experienced these sorts of vivid images of what might have happened with her orcish captors before, but never concerning someone she was only a hand's length from. It gave her a strangely mixed sense of both danger and safety, like watching a predator safely behind menagerie bars.

"I hope you don't take offense," she said, feeling a need to say something.

"None taken," Egrid replied amiably. "Orcs are a fairly brutish lot for the most part. Always sticking it where they've no right to. My mother didn't exactly marry my father, you know... whichever one of the warband he was. Nah, your maje- uh, your highness, it's only common sense for a beautiful woman to be wary about orcs; they'll have her on her back before she can blink."

The Queen couldn't help but be pleased by the 'beautiful woman' compliment. "You don't consider yourself an orc, then?"

"Well, yes, actually I do," Egrid said with a grin. "But I consider myself human, too. It can be, uh, convenient to pick and choose which of the two I want to be at any given moment. That's internal, though. Mostly, I'm an orc coz I was raised by humans."

Frowning, Olivia cocked her head quizzically at her. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I was raised by a human mother in a mostly human city among other humans. Half of my blood is human." Egrid smiled, her expression showing bitterness that had aged and fermented into amusement. "Look at me, your highness. What do you see? Do you see a human maid? Or do you see an orc of the sort who tore your dress open?"

"I see an orc," Olivia admitted, her voice wavering but honest.

"That's right. That's what most humans see... an orc. So I grew up as Egrid the Orc... just like if I'd been raised by my father's tribe, they probably would have thought of me as Egrid the Human. And no matter how independent you are, how others see you shapes you to an extent, you know?"

"Oh yes." That was certainly true for her; everything about her current life was based on how Sophie had chosen to see her. "Is that difficult for you?"

"Used to be. I was a pretty unhappy youngster. Not so much now. I learned to embrace my inner orc." Egrid chuckled. "The trick is realizing that you are who you are, and then finding a way to make that someone you can live with. I reached that point some time ago. Used to wish I was full-human; now, I wouldn't take it if it was offered."

"That's a healthy way to look at things, I suppose." It was certainly a more cheerful one that Olivia's approach, which was placid acceptance. They reached the door to one of the vacant guest chambers, and the Queen fumbled out a key and opened it. "Here you go, capt- Egrid. The bed should have clean linens, there's a wardrobe for your things and clothing, and the cabinet across from it should have a small selection of wines and liquors if the servants haven't been into it again."

Egrid stepped past her into the doorway, surveyed the room, and gave a low whistle. "Better digs than I usually get in this job. Thanks."

"I hope you'll feel at home during your stay," Olivia replied politely.

The swordswoman took a step into the room, then turned and grinned. "Want to come in for a drink or two?

Was the half-orc FLIRTING with her? She was! Olivia blushed as she caught the hidden invitation behind the offer. "I, ah... the feast will be in a few hours. I really shouldn't."

"A few hours is plenty of time. For a few drinks."

"I'm not sure I should be alone in a room with someone who admits to a bit of dress-tearing." The Queen surprised herself with how coy she sounded. Good gods, was she flirting back?

"Only when asked, your highness." Egrid's eyes moved up and down Olivia's figure, and she smiled, clearly liking what she saw.

"And if... if you are asked?"

"Then I can't say I'd be at all reluctant," the half-orc said leaning casually against the doorframe. "At the risk of seeming like a savage orc."

"I... uh..." Olivia shook her head, then took a step back and turned away, her heart pounding. "I really have to see to the other guests. But I'll see you tonight, when you come. To the feast. I, ah... goodbye!" She hurried off.

As her steps took her further and further away, she did her best to calm down. She didn't know what to think. Probably it was the result of Sophia teasing her with their ordeal, and then her long, frustrated night alone in her bed. Yes.

What would have happened if she'd gone in there? Probably a drink, at first. And after what? She pictured Egrid, naked and scarred, forcing her down on the bed, prying her legs open...

Shivering, Olivia thrust the vivid image from her mind. She had work to do for the banquet tonight. The King depended on her to be a good hostess, and she wasn't going to let her husband down.

---

The great hall was festive that night with torches and banners, muted laughter and conversation, and the sound of courtly music. Wide trestle tables had been set up, and now groaned under the weight of food and tankards and flatware. They were occupied by the favored nobility and officers who had been selected to attend.

At the King's table, Sophia sat at the head, presiding. To her right hand sat Colonel Elsabet, then the Earl of Hereward, then General Monck. At her left sat Queen Olivia, then Lady Tesaiel, then Avila. All of them watched with interest as the food was brought in and uncovered.

"Leaf and Branch, is that Eladiadil Rabbit?" Tesaiel murmured, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I haven't had that in ages." She carefully transferred a potion of it to her plate, using exactly the right utensils with exactly the right motions.

"This part of Darharrow is quite open to elven culture and cuisine," Olivia replied, not entirely accurately.

"That seems to be all you've open to, aside from invasion," Avila said, frowning. "Half the food is this elf-feed, and the other half looks like a farmer's table." She gestured at a beef roast. "Don't you do Abois food? Or Valrithyan? Even Shen-Lagathi? Something with a bit of actual spice and seasoning?" She snorted. "Hells, if you have to do simpler fare, you could have at least gone Halfling. The little vermin can cook, I give them that."

"My apologies, Templar," Olivia said, cringing a little inside.

With an irritated glance at Avila, Tesaiel took a forkful of her meal. As she daintily chewed, her expression brightened. "Oh, this is exquisite," she said after swallowing. "It's perfectly executed, right down to the citrus notes! It's as good as anything I've had in elven lands."

That would be because it was made by an elf, Olivia thought with satisfaction. She had gambled that the restauranteur was skilled by elven standards of taste as well as human, and it seemed she had won. "I'm glad it is to your liking, Lady Tesaiel," she murmured. "Our kingdom is mindful of our long, peaceful ties with the elven peoples and states." Like Castahar, she didn't add.

"Hm, yes," Tesaiel replied absently, then turned back to her food.

Avila picked at a slice of roast. "Will you be able to feed our invasion force when we launch our attack into Ergalreik?"

Sophia gave a light chuckle. "You're getting ahead of yoursef, Templar. We haven't even discussed how big a force you can send us, much less the objectives of said force."

Scowling, the redhaired zealot fixed the King with a glare. "The objectives are the liberation of Ergalreik, and then pushing on into the horde's territory until every heretic goat is food for ravens. I thought that was obvious."

"I disagree." Sophia's voice was courteous but firm. "You'd need a massive host to do that. Such a host, if it could be mustered to begin with, would reduce the crown's authority to nothing more than ceremony. Not to mention, as you point out, our need to feed, house, and care for them. Darharrow cannot accept that."

"Then it seems I came here just to get a shitty meal and leave," Avila growled. "If you're too much of a coward to defend your lands, what good are you to me, you golden-haired strumpet? You haven't the balls to be a King, and you haven't the tits to be a woman."

A shocked silence fell. Hereward looked like he might have apoplexy. Colonel Elsabet reached for a sword she wasn't wearing. Tesaiel, her face appalled, dropped her fork with a clatter and seemed to be desperately searching for something to say that would salvage the situation.

Sophia just gazed at the templar, stone-faced. Then, slowly, she started to smile. Finally, she burst into cheerful, faintly mocking laughter. "It's going to be that sort of negotiation, is it?" she said, voice amused. "I think we can be of use to each other, Avila. But we're not going to just roll over for your crusade. Any deal we reach has to safeguard our interests too. And if you don't like that, you can take your balls and your tits and get the fuck out of my kingdom, you musclebound crimson harpy."

Avila stared at her, and then nodded. "Good. Now we understand one another better."

"I'm sure we can reach an agreement that will take Darharrow's position into account," Tesaiel hurriedly interjected. "Nobody expects you to compromise your authority and security." She glanced at Avila, and her expression tightened. "Nearly nobody."

"That's a wonderful gown you're wearing, Lady Tesaiel," Olivia said, hoping to steer the conversation back towards less appalling topics. "It's not elven, is it?"

"No." Tesaiel smiled, adjusting herself; her gown was an armless, backless outfit of some sort of silky red fabric, with black accents. "My dressmaker produced it for me based on descriptions they'd heard of southern designs."

"It's very flattering." It was; it was the sort of gown that required a figure like the elven noblewoman's to pull off. Olivia envied it a little. She saw a ruby brooch at Tesaiel's throat in the shape of the wolfshead badge the elf had worn earlier, and gestured at it. "Is that the emblem of House Ordome?"

Tesaiel looked startled, then rather amused. "No, Queen Olivia. It's my personal emblem."

"That's a krav wolf, isn't it?" That was Colonel Elsabet, speaking for the first time. "The ears have a different cast than the normal kind."

"Very perceptive, yes," Tesaiel responded absently.

"I thought elves hated krav wolves," Sophia said, cocking her head. "Was I misinformed?"

"No. Most elves do. There's a certain vicious rivalry. But sometimes, rivals may... come together. And when they do..." Tesaiel smiled, and Olivia flinched slightly.

"I've heard they're big, dangerous brutes," Colonel Elsabet offered.

"Hardly brutes. But dangerous, yes. And big. Very big." Tesaiel's smile widened slightly as she glanced at the Favorite. "If you're ever in Dylak-Leem, I could introduce you to one, Colonel. At your own risk, of course."

The Favorite wilted under that intense, almost feral gaze. "I... ah... quite."

Seeming to remember herself, Tesaiel turned and took a dainty sip of her wine, once more the gracious elven diplomat. "My complements on the wine. It pairs wonderfully with the cuisine."

"The wine is good," Avila allowed, grudgingly.

"I'm glad you like it," Olivia replied. She had the feeling that Lady Tesaiel had perhaps let a bit more of a mask slip than she had intended. It was a lot easier to believe now that the woman was some sort of gangster.

"And thank you for inviting Egrid and Petra," Tesaiel continued. "I'm sure this is much nicer for them than a plate of food in the kitchens."

Olivia glanced over to the lesser tables. Egrid had a tankard in one hand and was gesturing flamboyantly with the other, telling some sort of story to Sir Cargyl and several other Darharrow knights. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. Tesaiel's halfling maid was seated at a table with some of the civil servants, devouring food at an alarming rate. Her tablemates seemed half amused, half appalled by her singleminded gluttony. "Your servant seems to be enjoying the food," the Queen commented.

Tesaiel sighed. "I have tried to get her to learn restraint, but I'm afraid it is hopeless. She spent a period of her life starving, you know, and it seems to have given her a fixation even though I feed her more than enough. I keep worrying that she'll get fat, but somehow she never does."

"I envy her," Olivia said wryly. "I have to watch my own diet to avoid becoming too plump."

"You seem to have an admirable figure," Tesaiel replied encouragingly. "You humans can pull off a full-bodied look in a way that we elves simply can't."

That was true enough. Olivia fancied herself a good judge of beauty, and she knew that she looked good for her age; generous curves that were lush without being fat, ample breasts, a prominent but firm rear, and enough height to balance it all. Elves were lovely too, but in a far more slender, delicate way. Tesaiel was one of the more classically proportioned elves she had seen; the elven noblewoman could easily have been a stunningly built young human lady except for the ears and fine facial structure. A sincere compliment from someone like her was flattering. "Thank you," she murmured happily.

"Aye, she's got fine milk jugs to squeeze and a nice cushioned ass to pound," Avila said appraisingly. "Best kind of wench. How she produced such a flat, scrawny daughter is beyond me. Maybe the old king wasn't fucking her properly."

Olivia gasped and turned a bright crimson. How did she know Grevis wasn't...?

"Avila!" Tesaiel hissed. "Be still!"

"Or what?" the redheaded templar said contemptously. "Are we going to have a duel?"

"Or when we get back to the city, your superiors in the Church will hear about how you destroyed these negotiations with your utter lack of anything resembling manners," Tesaiel said icily. "Our masters are willing to have these talks fail, but they are NOT willing to have them fail because we are INCOMPETENT. If I have to go back to Mister Urdo and tell him that I could have gotten a deal but did not, I will see you and any standing you may have in your order utterly ruined. Do I make myself clear?"

Avila growled, and then sullenly nodded. "I'm sorry if I may have insulted you by saying that your father didn't fuck the Queen correctly, your majesty," she grudgingly told Sophia. "I apologize."

"I accept your apology," Sophia said gravely. "I'm sure you were only trying to complement the Queen."

"Yes, exactly. Storm and Sun, didn't I praise her delectable soft-" the templar broke off and glanced warily at Tesaiel. "Her many fine qualities."

Colonel Elsabet tried to hide something between a laugh and a sneer. The Earl of Hereward looked like he very much wished he were elsewhere. Still crimson, Olivia bent over her plate and tried to focus on her food.

Most of the rest of the meal was uneventful, with Tesaiel and Olivia taking turns making small talk, Sophia listening and occasionally asking a polite question, the Favorite looking bored, and Avila clearly doing her best to keep from talking. Finally, the dinner started to break up, with courtiers drifting out. Olivia couldn't help but notice Egrid making her way out with a slightly inebriated Sir Cargyl on her arm, and shook her head slightly in bemusement. She looked forward to hearing the gossip about THAT.

Avila was the first from their table to excuse herself, saying that she needed to perform her evening devotions before bed. Tesaiel soon followed, noting that it had been a long ride up and she wished to get an early night's sleep. With their guests gone, Sophia finished her wine and then stood, prompting the rest of the table to do likewise.

"Thank you for attending, my lords and ladies," the King said, smiling. "Colonel Elsabet, I want to speak to you later tonight. The rest of you, good evening." She started to make her way out of the hall.

Olivia hurried after her. "Dear gods!" she said when they had reached the private corridors of the royal apartments, lips trembling. "The nerve of that Avila creature! You ought to have had the bitch flogged! You ought to have shaved her scarlet head! I've never seen such a display of ill-breeding at one of my feasts!"

Turning, Sophia grinned at her. "But she was right about everything, my Queen. King Grevis never did fuck you properly. You do have... what was the phrase she used?" Her hands reached out to squeeze the tips of the Queen's breasts through her gown. "Fine milk jugs. And having pounded it often enough, I can attest that your ass is perfectly cushioned for that."

"But L-Lord Sophia, to say that at the feast, in front of everyone..." Olivia leaned forwards, resting her head on Sophia's shoulder. "Only you are supposed to say those things. To know those things."

"Mmm." Sophia's hands roamed along the outline of her body. "You can't really blame her for wanting to fuck you, though, can you? I've wanted to for AGES."

"Do it. Right now," Olivia urged, her breath coming quickly. "Against the wall."

"VERY tempting," Sophia breathed, her hand slipping between the Queen's legs. "But we're in a hallway, even if it is in the family apartments. It's not safe here." Slowly, she disengaged. "Anyway, we both have work to prepare for tomorrow. I need to study the particulars of the issues we'll be wrestling with, and you need to make sure the rooms and staff are ready. We ought to focus on that." She met Olivia's eyes and smiled wolfishly. "Even if I would much rather be mounting you and riding you so hard that you scream and moan until morning."

Olivia shivered, her legs crossing. "Oh gods, yes. Soon. Promise me."

"Soon enough, my slutty Queen." Sophia patted her on the cheek. "And to think you were reluctant at first. We quickly taught you better." She turned to go. "Try to look in on Rain before you go to sleep, Mother. She ought to have a visit from either you or I at least once a day."

"Of course. Good night, Lord Sophia."

"Good night, my Queen."

Olivia watched her daughter go and then, with a sigh of frustration, she went down the hall, up a small staircase, and knocked at a door. A rather plain woman a little older than her answered it. "Hullo, your highness."

"Good evening, Hemma. I've come to see Rain."

"The Princess is sleeping now, your highness, but you can look in on her if you're quiet."

"All right." Softly, Olivia slipped into the room and the two of them walked across a warm, cheery nursery to a crib. Little Princess Rain slumbered peacefully away in it, chubby cheeks rosy, looking much like any other reasonably happy baby in the world.

"This one's an angel," Hemma whispered. "Such a sweet temperment she has. Not like some."

Olivia smiled. "Definitely not her father's child, then." That was true enough for Grevis or Flann Nightsteel, who she still thought of as Cymru. "You nursed Sophie, didn't you?"

"I did, your highness. I was a lot younger then. Had just had my first." Hemma smiled. "Princess Sophia, as she was then, was a much different child than this one. Decidedly not sweet. Had a mind of her own. Knew exactly what she wanted and what she didn't want, and gods did she let you know it if you didn't agree with her." The wetnurse chuckled fondly. "That's good for the firstborn; they're going to be King, they need that steel. But the second child can be a precious little love, and that's what our little Princess is."

"Really?" Olivia asked, a little surprised. "To be honest, I always thought of Sophie as a little... shy, and retiring. Timid. Until she became King, anyway." Until she'd been kidnapped, orc-dragged, orally pleasured, and then fucked her own mother, more accurately.

Hemma shook her head. "That was an act. She was good at it and it fooled a lot of people, but I saw her develop it and and it never fooled me. Your husband, he didn't... LIKE it when his daughter showed backbone. So she was careful never to show it where it might get back to him."

"I see." That fit with things Sophia had let slip. "Well, she doesn't need to act now."

"Indeed she doesn't," the wetnurse agreed. "I'm glad she's so fond of her sister, for the little mite's sake. I just wish she'd find a man. In another decade I'll be too old for this work, and I'd dearly love to bring up my willful little Sophie's baby. And I think an heir would make many people feel better."

"I've told her that more than once," Olivia replied, sighing. "She doesn't want to hear it."

"She ought to listen to you. You're her mother." Hemma frowned. "Not to speak where I shouldn't, your highness, but maybe she'd be more interested in a man if that Colonel Elsabet were gone."

Olivia paled, and turned to stare at the woman. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, your highness," Hemma said hurriedly. "Just that she may be giving bad advice."

That wasn't what she'd meant and both women knew it. She thinks Sophia and Elsabet are lovers, Olivia thought angrily. She thinks that jumped-up bitch is fucking MY husband. So it's not just me being suspicious.

"I see," she said curtly, turning away. Any pleasant feelings the visit may have brought curdled and died. Unhappily, she walked to the door and departed, leaving Hemma gazing worriedly after her.

Leaving the royal apartments, the Queen proceeded downstairs, flagged down a few servants, and proceeded to the room where the negotiations would be held. Most of what she had ordered had been done; however, a survey of the chamber revealed several spots that were covered in dust and cobwebs. She put the servants to work on them, then considered the room as a whole.

The table was fine; she had picked it out herself and had it moved here. The chairs... they were fine for the most part, but perhaps she should have a larger one brought in, in case Egrid was going to be present. There was a sideboard where food and drink would be laid out; the board itself was fine, but it hadn't been cleaned and was foul with dust and what might be rodent droppings. Sighing, Olivia put the servants to work on it and resolved to have a stern talk with the head chambermaid. All of this should have been done before her inspection.

There were candlesticks that would illuminate everything, with fresh candles, and she'd had the room's fireplace and chimney cleaned last week. She checked the hearth, and was pleased to see that it was freshly stocked with cords of wood. That ought to be about everything...

Oh. Olivia frowned. One of the room's tapestries showed a hunting scene, and a major part of it was human hunters bringing down krav wolves in a tangled forest. Given Lady Tesaiel's arms, that was unacceptable, bordering on rude. She summoned an underbutler and pointed the offending decoration out to him. "We've got to replace it. Do you have anything that will fit the space?"

"Tricky. It's got to be a forest scene for the colors and theme to match." The man scratched his chin. "We've got one of merry elves disporting with a-"

"No. No elves, unless they're being shown in a noble and irreproachable light."

"Hmmm..." Frowning, the underbutler thought. "I've got one of a goblin wood. It's a trifle racy, as they've captured a human lady and forced her to submit, if you understand me. Tastefully done, though, and a very evocative work."

Olivia thought for a second. Avila obviously didn't care about racy, and Tesaiel had seemed more bothered by the templar's rudeness than by any prudish tendencies. Then too, the theme would help remind them what this entire piece of diplomacy was all about. "That will be fine. Have it brought in and hung."

"Yes, your highness." He hurried off.

That seemed to be everything, but Olivia found herself pacing the room regardless. Was there anything she had missed?

She turned as a kitchen girl hurried in, looking clearly upset. "Oh, your highness, thank gods. Please, m'm, go to the kitchens right away. And please don't say I told you. I don't want to get in trouble, really I don't, but it's not right, I had to say something..."

"What are you talking about?" the Queen asked, alarmed. The girl just stared mutely back at her, clearly unwilling or afraid to say more.

Biting back a curse, Olivia hiked up her dress and hurried out of the room, jogging down towards the castle kitchens.

She knew something was wrong when the only people she saw in the front room were two of the older men and some of the female cooks. On seeing her enter they immediately made themselves scarce. She could hear noises coming from the back pantry, and strode towards it with growing agitation. Throwing the door forcefully open, she stopped dead and gasped.

Most of the young male kitchen staff and a few of the women were lining the walls. Lady Tesaiel's halfling servant, stark naked, was sprawled on her stomach atop a carving block in the center of the room being vigorously fucked by one of the serving men, a big blackhaired lad with powerful arms. He had hold of both her wrists and was roughly yanking her back against him with each powerful thrust of his hips, causing her to squeal with each stroke. She was gasping for breath, with tears running down her cheeks, and from the amount of puddled semen on the block between her splayed little legs this wasn't the first man who'd taken a turn.

"What in the name of the gods!" the Queen spat. 

Appalled, everyone in the room turned and cringed as one. The man inside the halfling almost fell over in his haste to pull out and yank up his pants. "Just... just some sport with a willing lass, your highness..."

Right. Olivia turned to the halfling, who was trying to crawl off the block, still breathing heavily. "Is that what happened?"

"T-They told me that... unless I did them a favor... I wouldn't be fed while I was here..." the girl managed, sliding off to land on shaky feet.

The Queen turned her icy gaze on the kitchen staff. "If I hear any rumors of what has happened here from ANYONE, you will count yourselves fortunate if all I do is have you sacked. Is that clear?"

A subdued, frightened murmur in the affirmative greeted her. Fuming, Olivia turned to the girl. "Dress, and come with me. We'll get you cleaned up."

Whimpering nervously, the halfling quickly grabbed her livery from where it lay discarded on the floor and squirmed into it. She hesitated when it came time to pull up her breeches and Olivia, sensing the cause of her reluctance, snatched a cloth napkin from an open pantry drawer and placed it over the girl's cum-slimy crotch. With a pathetically grateful look, the girl slid her tight pants up.

Placing one hand firmly on a tiny shoulder, the Queen ushered her hurriedly out of the kitchens.

This was bad, very bad, Olivia fretted as they walked. She had gotten the distinct impression that Lady Tesaiel was fond of her maid, and she would undoubtably react to the girl being used as a cocksleeve by a bunch of scullions with outrage and anger. That had to be avoided at all costs, at least until the negotiations were over. That meant covering this up for now.

"Petra, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, miss," the girl snuffled. "Thank you so much, miss."

"I am sorry, Petra. That definitely shouldn't have happened."

"Can I go see my Mistress now?"

Olivia shook her head. "I'm afraid Lady Tesaiel has gone to bed. Also..." She sighed. "I'm afraid your Mistress will be angry when she hears of this."

Petra squeaked in dismay. "Angry, miss? Angry with me?"

"Maybe."

"You won't tell her, will you, miss? Please?"

"I won't tell her if you won't," Olivia said kindly. "But we need to get you cleaned up and situated for the night. I'm going to take you back to my rooms, and you can spend the night there."

"Oh, thank you, miss!" Petra gabbled, relief etched on her face. Then worry returned. "But what they said.. will I still be fed, now?"

"Of course you will be!" Olivia sighed. She wasn't sure if Petra was incredibly naive, somewhat stupid, or a little of both. "They just told you that so they could... well... you know what they wanted."

Petra nodded. "They were too rough," she complained. "I've never had it that rough before! The one who puts it in me is usually much gentler." That seemed to surprise her a bit.

"You weren't a virgin, then?" Olivia asked with some relief. She had been worried that they'd deflowered an innocent, with all the additional fury that would provoke from Tesaiel.

Giggling shyly, Petra shook her head. "I do it several times a week now, miss."

"Well then." They arrived at the royal apartments, and Olivia waved the halfling past the guards and down the hall to her rooms. Shutting the door behind her, the Queen motioned to a chair. "Take off your breeches and have a seat whilst I fetch a basin of water."

Petra hurried to comply, and Olivia went to the stone sink in a corner and turned a lever attached to a pipe dangling from the ceiling. Water from a rain barrel set in the upper roof flowed forth, and she caught it in a broad silver chalice. Then, taking the chalice and an armful of linen towels, she walked back.

She found Petra sitting on the edge of the chair, breeches down round her ankles, her legs open. Her tiny pussy, swollen red from the thick human cocks it had endured, was surrounded by a tangled mop of nut-brown pubic fur, matted and sticky. The halfling was fidgeting, although she glanced up hopefully as Olivia approached.

Kneeling, the Queen wet one of the cloths in the chalice and began to dab delicately at the hairy mess. It quickly became clear how ineffective that was, and she soaked more of the towel in the water and began to scrub more vigorously, trying to get the stuff up. She cringed with disgust at the thought of getting scullion semen on her royal hands, but several times it couldn't be avoided, and the sperm of gods knows how many servants wound up being rubbed into her palms like drops of lotion.

"Oh, miss... ohhhh..." Petra gasped. Olivia looked at her in confusion, then realized exactly where she was rubbing and what the likely results of that would be on the halfling girl.

"I'm sorry, Petra, but we need to get you clean," she said, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. "Please just try to bear it."

"Yes, miss," Petra said hoarsely.

"Call me Queen Olivia, Petra." Not that 'miss' really bothered her, but someone would take offense if they caught the halfling calling her that in public.

Petra just closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

After many minutes of scrubbing, the halfling's pussy and anus were clean to the Queen's satisfaction. Now there was just the matter of the little slit itself. Wadding the damp cloth into a point, Olivia leaned forward, frowning. "I'm going to insert this slightly in, Petra, to clean out the mess in your upper parts. Are you ready?"

"Yes," the girl squeaked.

With a reassuring smile, Olivia pushed the cloth wad into Petra's sticky snatch. The halfling squealed as it went in, then made soft noises as the Queen turned it back and forth, in and out.

"It'll be done in a second," Olivia said soothingly. "I know you're probably sore there."

Petra didn't respond; she just sat there, quivering, occasionally making a squeaking gasp. Olivia worked as quickly as she could, and finally she withdrew the now-sticky wad. "There you are," the Queen said briskly, handing her a dry towel. "Wipe yourself off now, and we're done."

The little servant gazed up at her gratefully. "T-Thank you, Miss Olivia. You're very nice."

"It's nothing," Olivia replied, feeling a twinge of guilt. She brushed it aside. While her actions were motivated by the need to keep the negotiations on track, this course of action was probably the best for everyone concerned. Except the kitchen staff, who really ought to have been flogged. "You're a guest, after all."

"I hope you and my Mistress become friends," Petra continued. "That would make her happy, and you're a fine great lady too, just like her. She ought to have more friends like you."

"Are some of her friends not so fine?" the Queen asked.

The halfling nodded vigorously. "I wouldn't have some of them in my mother's parlour!" she said indignantly. "And with my Mistress so high and wonderful and all! She ought to be... ought to be... having tea with queens and emperors!"

Likely this was a reference to the elf's gangster associates. "You seem very loyal to your Mistress, Petra. Have you always worked for her?"

"Oh no. She bought me as her slave. I'm from Castahar." The halfling nodded. "I was confused and frightened at first, but now I'm very happy. She calls me 'Pet' and I get to wait on her every day." Petra sounded proud. "I get plenty to eat and I don't have to worry about anything except doing what she tells me."

"Very fortunate." The Queen started to smile with amusement, then stopped as she thought about it more. That wasn't that different from Olivia, was it? Waiting on Sophia, living off what she was given, her only concern being to please her King.

She shook her head, suddenly tired. It had been a long day, and there would be more to do tomorrow. "I am going to bed now, Petra. Maybe I can find you a rug..." She stopped, and shook her head; it was cold down by the floors, and after the mistreatment the halfling had received it was impossible to have her sleep on fabric-covered flagstones. She squinted at the girl, gauging her size. "Do you think you can comfortably curl up on the foot of my bed?" she asked. "It's fairly large."

"In your bed?" Petra practically bounced with excitement, eyes gleaming. "Oh yes, of course!"

"That's what we'll do, then." Yawning, the Queen walked to her closet, disrobed, and put on a thin white silk nightgown. Climbing into bed, she watched as Petra shed the remainder of her clothes and clambered onto the end, where she curled up in a tight ball like a pet cat, right below the Queen's bare feet.

"Good night, Miss Olivia," the halfling said happily.

"Sleep well, Petra," the Queen murmured, and blew out the candle by the bed. Sleep followed quickly.

---

Drums echoed as Olivia ran down the flaming halls of the castle, unable to find her way. The goatmen were invading, and she needed to get Petra to safety so that Lady Tesaiel wouldn't turn into a wolf and eat her. But Petra kept running away, and as fast as the Queen gave chase, she couldn't catch her.

"Petra, Petra!" she called, trying to get the halfling to stop. But instead the girl just ran faster, until she darted through a cellar door. Olivia tried to follow, but tripped, and went tumbling down into blackness.

Stumbling to her feet, she felt around in the dark. "Hello?" she hesitatingly said. "Is anybody there?"

"Yes!" said a deep, brutal, predatory voice. Huge hands laid hold of her, and Olivia screamed as she was dragged off her feet and away into the blackness.

She struggled frantically, as the drums continued to pound and the sound of distant screams could be heard. A crack of thunder rolled and lightning lit the scene; the forest she and Sophie and Cymru had traveled through, and all around her massive, barely-clad green bodies. The orc band had her.

Rain drenched her as she was dragged, branches tearing her clothes to ribbons, her cries unheeded. They came to a dark, gaping cave in a hillside, and she was hauled down into it. The drums grew louder and louder.

In a flare of brilliant torchlight, the orcs burst into their tribal hall, the walls decorated with skulls and flayed skin. Howling green savages lined the walls, leaping, gesturing, reaching for her as she was dragged to the front of the room. There, on a hideous throne, sat the Orc King: Sophia. Chained naked at her feet were Avila and Colonel Elsabet, battered and dirty, their eyes cast down.

Gazing pitilessly at her, Sophia rose, and gestured. The orcs bound Olivia to a great hide drumhead in the center of the room, and forced her legs apart. The Queen thrashed and struggled helplessly, her heart thumping in time with the pounding drum.

Sophia made another gesture, and two massive orcs went up to the throne and forced Avila and Elsabet to their hands and knees. They mounted the two women, and soon their shrill cries filled the chamber as thick olive cocks plowed them mercilessly. As Olivia watched, Sophia strutted slowly forward, hips swaying, her bare body silhouetted against the firelight. She reached the Queen's legs, knelt between them, and bent her mouth to the exposed pussy presented to her.

Oliva moaned as her clitoris was tasted over and over again by an insistant, eager tongue. Sophia licked and sucked relentlessly, remorselessly, as behind her the orcs took the other women three at a time, grunting and roaring as they sated themselves on their writhing bodies. The drums pounded louder and louder.

"Lord Sophia... oh, Lord Sophia..." the Queen gasped, her body quivering.

"When I'm done, you'll service my orcs," Sophia said from between her legs. "And I'll watch."

"No... no..." Pleasure washed through her as Sophia's tongue delved deep. Two orcs approached from each side, shoving their massive cocks into her hands. As her head tossed and her back arched, she jerked away at the two orcish penises, her sweat-slick hands pumping up and down the green shafts.

As Avila and Elsabet's cries reached a frantic crescendo, the two orcs she was stroking erupted, showering her bare chest and face with cum. It flowed into her mouth, and she lapped at it, suddenly craving the taste. A white hot star seemed to erupt in her cunt, and she climaxed.

There was more to the dream, but it was distant, hazy, and quickly slid away in a blur of torchlight and sweat.

Continued in Chapter 13

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