Dawn of the Sex Empire ((LitShark & Curious_Muse))

LitShark

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It began with a bang—an explosion from inside the city gates just after dawn that woke everyone in the mercantile district with a start. The drawbridge was down, in spite of the royal decree that the city was to remain locked down until the full scale of the looming threat could be exposed. This threat had a name, a name on the lips of every principality and small village surrounding the capital city—the infamous Warlord Klaus and his black army of The Glorious Dawn.

When the portcullis was breached, it became apparent that the malfunction with the drawbridge and the explosion from inside the city were both parts of an elaborate ambush strategy by Klaus and his horde. The threat of a siege was heavily on the minds of the royalty, and in preparation for an invasion had drawn most of its’ formidable elites into the high castle to strategize and prepare to fend off the coming threat—the threat had come sooner than expected.

It seemed that the parley between Klaus and the royals had been little more than theatrics, a stalling technique to keep hope for peace alive while his forces prepared for war. Now, on the first dawn after peace talks had failed the Glorious Dawn’s shock-troops were already inside the city walls.

*Clang*
*Clang*
*Clang*

“You’re slow!” the Gate Guardian taunted as she parried several of the Shock Troop’s best attacks, “our reinforcements will be here before you can even touch me with those clumsy swings—take this!”

*Clang*

The Gate Guardians, like most of the Royal Militia were female, trained in the Castle District’s esteemed Martial Academy—each knight who earned the honor of bearing the royal crest on her armor was highly disciplined and deadly. This Guardian showed it as she swiftly ducked under the Shock Troop’s slash and swept her curved blade upward to collide with the visor of the Shock Troop’s black helm. The strike knocked him backward a few steps and also knocked his helm off of his head, revealing him to be a young man, no older than 22. His comrades knew him as Armon, a distant nephew of Klaus himself.

“You may be fast, but you’re too weak to harm me,” Armon smirked, changing his grip on his sword, gripping the hilt with both hands, “this time, I’ll slash right through you.”

*Clang*
*Clang*
*Clang*

Armon unleashed a flurry of overhead slashes with all of his might, trying to hack through the guard of the skillful Guardian, who was forced backward by the impact of each blow, unsettling the dust underneath her armored boots. Just as she looked poised to respond with her own flurry of strikes, a towering presence appeared behind her and before she could even turn her head, the large man in uniquely imposing armor slipped a jagged blade between her breastplate and shoulder pauldron. The second man’s wrist arched as he turned the blade inside the Guardian’s chest and as she opened her mouth to cry out in agony, blood sprayed from her lips and the only sound that escaped was a wet gargle instead. When she turned her head, still reaching back with her swordarm to try and find an angle for a deathblow on her murderer, the mystery assailant’s longsword slid over her breastplate and cut deep below the visor of her helm, spilling her life’s blood across her polished steel armor in a sheet. She died before her knees hit the ground.

“You ought not to interfere, uncle,” Armon snarled, driven to rage by the other knight’s interference, “I had her in the next two passes. I needed no help from you.”

The tall assailant wrestled his blade from the lifeless corpse of the once formidable Guardian’s body, and then lifted his visor to reveal himself as the Warlord Klaus himself. The rest of the Shock Forces streamed into the city around him as the other Gate Guardians were quickly outnumbered and slain in much the same way.

“You forget yourself, nephew,” Klaus warned Armon sternly, “time is our primary advantage at this point and we’re rapidly running out of it. She wasn’t bluffing about reinforcements, more like her are coming, and once we meet the bulk of the defense force, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to test your metal. For now, practice that overhand swing with your hatchet and break down the rest of that portcullis. We need room for the siege machines to pass. Don’t rejoin the vanguard until you’ve sharpened your sword again.”

The siege continued onward, overwhelming the scant forces that had been left at their posts. There was a small force of militia troops who made a valiant mess of engaging the invaders, but they were no match for martial trained, fully-armored shock troops. The city wall had fallen and in no time archers were raining fire arrows into the city as primary infantry raided homes and shops alike, wresting any occupants into the street to be taken as captives. The looted and vacated homes and buildings were painted with the word “DAWN,” to distinguish the buildings that had been ransacked from those that had not.

On the steps of the community church, an ad hoc gallows was set up to execute peasants who were deemed to be worthless as captives. The first to hang was the pastor of the church himself. The noose was tightened around his neck and he was lifted off of his feet by several infantrymen on the other end of the rope. The pastor wasn’t given the benefit of a decent drop that would have broken his neck and given the mercy of a quick death—instead he was left to strangle while the city burned around him. He kicked and struggled against the rope, clawing at his throat and digging gashes into his chin as his struggles turned to death rattles and his eyes rolled back in his head. His hands fell to his sides last as he slipped into death.

By now, Klaus and his insurgency team had established a forward base in the courtyard of the church, within earshot of the castle walls. Other members of the clergy and city government were being fitted for nooses as Klaus called up toward the castle walls.

“Won’t you rejoin negotiations now, princess? You seemed so certain that you’d never consider my terms when we spoke yesterday, perhaps now you’ve had a change of heart. Another!” Klaus turned back to his men as he called for another, this time it was a nun who’s rope was pulled taught and tied off, she was kicking as Klaus continued his entreaty, “I’ve got no shortage of bodies to lay at your door, princess. My men came equipped for a siege, while you were caught in the middle of preparing for one. I’ll continue raping and slaughtering your subjects until you come out here and put a stop to it. Another!”

Before the nun was even finished with her death throes, an alter-boy of no more than sixteen joined her above the church steps, strangling to death and turning blue as Klaus’ infantry began setting campfires and setting up tents for a protracted siege.
 
Ava turned away from the window, scowling. “This man is no warrior. He is a butcher, a coward who slays unarmed women, men and boys.” As the commander of the Royal Militia she felt only disgust towards Klaus and his horde of blood-thirsty barbarians. Her first lieutenant, Jaleh, closed her eyes as the altar boy was hoisted to his death outside. “It will be his turn soon enough.”

For now, however, he was winning. The city was burning all around them, and screams of terror and agony rose from the streets below the castle. After weeks of anticipation, preparations and strategizing, Warlord Klaus and his hordes of the Glorious Dawn were in Khoraz, crushing everything they had built and defended for eons in his path. This was not how it was supposed to end.

“Your sisters and you are safe here, your majesty,” Ava said to the slim girl standing by the window. “Both Nejlah and Tabea are in their quarters and well-guarded. You need not worry about their well-being.”

Mahnaz, the crown princess and nominated ruler of the Silver City, said nothing. Her hands tightened into fists, she forced herself to watch from the window as Klaus’ men pulled several captives towards the gallows. She had failed her city. After weeks of embittered peace talks, she had turned the warlord away, deeming his terms to be insulting, a surrender in disguise. It had been a ruse. While he had kept her busy at the negotiation table, his army had planned their attack. The humiliation stung as much as the helplessness. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she observed the yard just below the castle. A woman pleaded with a cruelly laughing soldier as he tore a child from her arms, just before she herself was dragged off to an edge of the square where another warrior already loosened his belt with one hand, while ripping at her blouse with the other. The princess’ palms were pressed against the cold glass of the window as Klaus turned up to face her. Was he able to see her from below?

“If he wants a siege, he can have his siege.” Ava smiled grimly, before dispatching a group of guardians to another part of the castle. “This time, he has bitten off more than he can chew.”

She turned around to bend over a map of the high castle, calling on Jaleh to join her. “If we close off the gates here and here…” She traced the black outline representing the city’s outer and inner walls before tapping on a point on the map with two fingers. “We have them. They’ll be caught like rats in a cellar.”

Jaleh nodded, her brows knitted in concentration. From outside, the warlord’s voice rang out, taunting their queen, threatening her and her people with yet more blood and abuse. Ava snarled, shaking off the horrible truth in his words like an annoying fly.

Then a blood-curdling scream drowned out the attacker’s voice as another hapless victim was dragged to the gallows. Did he really think he could intimidate the crown princess Mahnaz and her feared Royal Militia with such brutish tactics? She had been handed the command over the city of Khoraz by her family because she was intelligent, courageous and resilient. She would not cave to his demands without a fight.

“He might have caught us off guard, but he does not know the city half as well as he thinks he does,” the commander said evenly, seemingly unfazed by the carnage outside the castle windows. “In his arrogance and mad rush to crush our resistance he has forgotten about this city’s tunnels and passageways.” She nodded to herself. “The tunnel beneath the kitchen leads all the way to the outside of the city. From there, a good rider can be with our allies and the princess’ brothers by tomorrow night.”

Jaleh smiled coldly, following her superior’s finger on the map. It was true. Klaus and his horde of brutes might well end up trapped between the high castle and the inner gates. All they needed was time enough to coordinate the reinforcements and make sure to keep the warlord distracted and in the belief that he had the upper hand. He would at last be the one swinging from their gallows, presenting the crows with a feast.

Ava ordered her lieutenant to gather small units to take to the tunnels and reinforce the castle gates.
“Armed guardians from Etzran and Jazreh can be here in two days. Maybe three. If we are inside the castle, twenty guardians are enough to keep the princess safe. Go, and make sure that the arrangements pass unnoticed by our uninvited guests.”

“No.”

It was the first word the princess had spoken in a while. Ava looked up from the map, her finger still lingering on the line representing the outer wall.

“Majesty?”

“There will be no siege.”

The commander stood back up, her eyes level with that of her princess. Jaleh’s smile faded. “Your majesty, I’m afraid I don’t understand. We do not have a choice. Klaus and his men have surrounded the castle already.” Ava’s confusion was obvious. “But we can turn his siege against him, your majesty. If I may show you on the map…”

The young woman cut her off with a gesture of her hand, shaking her head. “No Ava, this needs to end now.”

“All we need are a few days, your majesty. It can easily be done.” Her voice was firm again. “This city will become their graveyard, I promise you that.”

“I will suggest a duel.” Ava laughed, caught so unawares by the girl’s suggestions that she thought she might be joking. Mahnaz’ eyes narrowed. “Does the death of innocents amuse you?” The woman across from her lowered her gaze. “My apologies, your majesty.”

“It is the way rulers settle their differences, is it not?” Ava nodded, the blood draining from her face. The princess could not be serious! “I will challenge Klaus to a sword fight. The winner shall be declared the victor of this war between our kingdoms, as it has been done for centuries.” The hint of a smile appeared on her lips. “Why should the years of hard training in the Royal Martial Academy go to waste behind these walls?”

Ava frowned. “What makes you think he will respect the rules of single combat, majesty?” She kept the remainder of that thought to herself. What made the princess think that she stood a chance against that beast of a man? The commander knew that the princess’ apparent fragility was deceiving, that she was as agile and deadly as any of her royal guards. But Ava had seen Klaus fight. His brutality and strength matched the grace and technique of any academy-trained sword fighter. Her chest tightened at the thought of him crushing Mahnaz’ throat with his bare hands, of his blade slashing through her body. She would never be able to forgive herself if she let that happen. “Do you really think that his men would withdraw even if he lost?”

“I will not have my subjects suffer because I have failed to prevent Klaus and his army to enter our city.” She made a helpless gesture towards the window. “We can maybe break his siege in what? A week? Maybe two? What will I be the ruler of then, Ava? A pile of corpses? Of burnt rubble?” The commander did not answer. “Klaus might be cruel, but he is a warrior and bound to the ways and honour of war. So is his nephew and so are his men. He will respect my request, and they will honour the outcome of such a fight.”

Ava’s fingers tightened around the grip of her sword. Klaus was a warrior and a warlord, but had he not amply demonstrated his disdain for the ways of war? Had he not run down their gates only hours after the breakdown of peace negotiations, clearly prepared for such an attack? Had he not turned all efforts of diplomacy into a farce with his actions? Had he not shown that he did not care to play by the rules that everyone else saw as binding, thus turning out to be the winner over and over again, swallowing kingdom after kingdom to add each to his dark empire? The young commander did not flinch as Klaus’ voice ripped through the momentary silence in the room, threatening to inflict yet more suffering on the population of their city. Why did her queen insist on treating this man as an equal opponent, as a man of honour when so clearly he had none?

Your majesty, I beg you to reconsider.” Her voice sounded strained with the effort to remain deferential. “There are rumours of what he and is men have done elsewhere. Him and his nephew, Armon.” Ava wanted to take Mahnaz by the shoulders and shake her, bring her to her senses. Would it help to describe these rumours to her in more detail? Of how women in cities and kingdoms that submitted to their rule had been treated? How they had been humiliated and raped? Some said that the princess of the city of Gineh had lost her mind after having to spend only one night with Armon and his uncle. That she had never spoken a word again. “Do not put your fate in his hands.”

Mahnaz looked at her, unmoved by the commander’s concern. “I am your ruler and I command you to accept my decision.” The tone of her voice was calm, but she winced as a scream and a gurgle indicated another execution. “I command you to deliver my message to him. Now.”

The commander stood silent for a moment, fighting back her overwhelming desire to contradict the princess. Then she nodded curtly. “Your majesty.” Before she left the room, she took her helmet from the map table. “Jaleh, stand guard while I am gone.”


***

But her decision was made.

If there was to be a duel today, it would not be between him and the princess. She took a deep breath before pushing open the castle gate to step out into the square. The heavy wooden door was immediately shut behind her, leaving her facing Klaus and his men.

“Klaus.” With a metallic whisper, Ava drew her sword from her sheath. She did not look up at the window where she knew Jaleh would be left with appeasing the princess, with keeping her from interfering, maybe by force. What she was doing was treason, but it was done.

“The princess sends you her regards and asks you that this matter be settled between your best fighter and hers.” She forced herself to draw slow, even breaths. “Do you accept her proposal?”
 
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The sound of old hinges creaking against sturdy boards drew the attention of all the soldiers gathered in the square, even those who’d already begun helping themselves to the spoils of war. Klaus smirked as the scarlet haired knight presented herself and the challenge for him, looking across the square to where the woman stood. Klaus had just finished securing a rope to the saddle of his horse, the other end wound around the throat of yet another priest of the church that faced the castle gates.

“Ride on,” Klaus uttered with a smirk, sending the horse forward and once more lifting another member of the clergy up from the crossbeam across the front of the church to join the two bodies already hanging there, he removed his lacquered helm as he strode across the square to meet the woman who had stepped out, “I’m pleased to receive the princess’ kind regards, but these were not the terms of surrender that I offered. Nonetheless…”

Klaus made his way to the center of the square and drew his blade, the wide broadsword, still streaked with blood from the surge into the city.

“I accept this challenge on behalf of my men and our glorious empire. I will represent the Glorious Dawn in this duel—but where is your champion? Have you hidden him under your petticoats? Or perhaps he is finishing duties as a wet-nurse—I can only assume that’s how things work here, since a woman such as yourself apparently wields the balls to negotiate with a King, your men must tend to the matronly duties until you need their strength.”

Klaus’ diatribe was intended to provoke the woman who stood across the courtyard from him, taunting her with her sex, seeking to play on her emotions and provoke her into an early mistake. Ava, or “The Red Fury” as she was known among the neighboring barbarian clans who’d recently merged with Klaus’ army, was well known to the Warrior Emperor. Though many liked to jest about her beauty, and fantasize over what he might do, if and when he were to best her in battle, all carried a healthy fear of her and her fierce ability with the broadsword—any man who didn’t fear to cross her on the battlefield was either a fool soon to be dead, or a once fool, dead already.

Klaus was no fool. Klaus was afraid.

Though Ava didn’t fly into a mad rage at the insult, it was clear that the atmosphere had changed in an instant. There was no question of who Klaus’ opponent was, not that there ever truly had been. Klaus dropped his ornate helmet into the dirt, raising a cloud of dust around his armored heels. He began circling, his sword held aloft, ready for combat.

“Come at me then, woman,” Klaus sneered, the first bead of sweat moving down his face slowly, “give me all that you’ve got and show everyone here and everywhere why you will always be the weaker sex.”

By now, the vanguard was forming a circle around the two combatants, designating their fighting area, matching the angle at which Klaus was currently making his measured approach on Ava. “A king fights his own battles, here in the dirt—but where is your treasured matriarch? High up in her tower? Betting your life from afar? Perhaps there may be room for a woman soldier in this coming Dawn. Demonstrate to me that a woman can be sensible, make a rational, strategic decision. Throw down your sword and join my army—I’ll allow you to keep your rank and you’ll be the only woman in my Empire exempt from the mandated ‘Comfort Duty,’ but if you cross swords with me and fail to kill me, know that I’ll see you violated by every member of my army—I’ll offer you as enticement to hesitant recruits—I’ll watch you savaged by the hordes of barbarians who used to fear you—you’ll be fucked nearly to death, and then nursed back to health just to be fucked again. Be sure you know just what you’re risking, because you can only kill me once… but if you fall on this field, your suffering will last for years.”
 
OOC: This post is a collaboration between LitShark and me. Enjoy!

***

Ava did not react to his diatribe of insults and taunts. She had heard them too many times before. Aware of the circle that his men were drawing around them, she tensed. This was it. She had to trust that none of them would have the audacity to break the rules of honor in single combat.

Ava was tall, but the Warlord cut a towering figure compared to her. His self-assured poise made him only more imposing. She did not move, her face was expressionless.

When he had exhausted his insults, he switched to threats. Ava’s eyes narrowed. He did not only ask her to betray her monarch and her city, but everything she believed in and had fought for – and for what? To be granted what Klaus considered a favor? If he thought that she would join his army of bigots and rapists to defend him against his enemies, he was even more of an arrogant fool than she had thought.

In lieu of an answer she smiled and spat in the sand at his feet. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but girls will be girls, eh, your majesty.” Her voice was dripping with contempt. “And your assumption that I would consider a good fucking ‘punishment’ speaks volumes about the sorry state of your Empire and your despicable reign.” She paused, and added, smirking: “Though I have serious doubts that you, or any of your men, could truly satisfy me. The whole realm knows that the hordes of the Glorious Dawn are nothing but brutish thugs, their hands and lips uninventive, their cocks small and without skill.” Ava’s grip around the hilt of her sword tightened as she continued: “There are rumors that neither you nor your nephew have been able to fuck a woman in ages. That the constant strain of politics has made you…soft.”

Just as he had done, Ava wanted him to lose his cool. An enraged fighter was easier to control, and in her experience few things enraged men of his ilk more than such disrespect from a woman. But she was no fool, either. While she trusted her own expert skills with a sword, Ava judged that the chances she would win this fight were about even.

Don’t let your fear devour you. Use it. Channel it.

Ava forced her breathing to slow. This was just like any of the many hundred fights she had fought, and won. Her mind was racing, and thought of the consequences of defeat threatened to send her into a frenzied panic. Not about her own fate – though the threats he had made were terrifying – but of that of the princess and her sisters, and that of the beautiful utopia that Khoraz had become. Klaus would crush all of it, all of them, and the last real bastion in the wake of his Empire of Terror would fall.

He is just another pitiful opponent. A barbarian, like all the others.

She could not allow herself even one mistake. His size and strength alone presented a formidable advantage over her. Despite the fact that he had just run down the defenses of her city and fought his way through the ranks of the royal guards – no easy feat for any warrior – he did not seem tired, or weakened in any way. Ava had seen him fight several times, even if fate had never granted her to opportunity to challenge him in battle. Until now. She had seen experienced fighters shrink in terror before him, and opponents twice her size cut to shreds by his blade. His strength was seemingly inexhaustible. So much so that the few who had fought him and lived spread tales of him being no mortal man, no King made of flesh, but a demon, a furious demi-god.

Ava did not need fairytales to stay alert. One false opening, one slip of her concentration would spell the end of this fight. Though she held the advantage that she was indeed out to kill him, while he, if his threats had been real, wanted her defeat, but not her life. This gave her the option to attack without holding back.

“Well then, let’s get this over with.”

She raised her sword. And in the next second, steel flashed through the air as she aimed for his neck, with the deadly speed that matched her nickname, Furious Red.

Klaus grit his teeth as Ava’s first attack slashed in at his neck, her slender body nearly skipping forward as she lifted the heavy sword above her head and swung it at him from her dominant side—a lazy or arrogant attempt at a parry would have barely offered more resistance than a cat’s tail in the face of such a swing. Klaus swished his sword through empty air, in one tight loop to gain momentum before swinging the blade across his body, stepping back with his right foot an instant before the sword’s collided.

*CLANG*

The impact rattled Klaus’ teeth, even with his jaw clenched, but as the swords bounced off of each other in opposite directions, it was an easy transition for the Warlord to lean back over his dominant foot which had moved so conveniently behind him. It was too easy to get off balance in plate mail, Klaus needed to hold his ground above all else. As he rocked back, Klaus pushed off with his right foot, suddenly sweeping forward in a straightforward kick. Ava’s right foot was still planted from her attack and with the force of his heavy, armored boots behind it he kicked her in the shin.

The rounded edge of the metal plates around his toe made near enough to an edge that it cut through the outermost layers of dense, boiled leather that protected Ava’s legs, the rounded brass head of one of the nails that held his armor to the boots below made a jarring sound as the kick landed.

Klaus planted his right foot behind him again, this time cheating to the left, circling in the opposite direction, cutting off the circle from her.

“If I were wielding a rapier that might have split me in half,” Klaus remarked, crossing his stance over again, circling away from Ava’s strength, “it wasn’t much of a strike, but it’ll slow you down some. I bet you feel that ache in your bones already… I hope it isn’t broken… or maybe bleeding…”

Klaus knew he hadn’t broken Ava’s leg, it was a familiar sensation when he felt bones snap below flesh under the weight of his heavy boots or armored gloves, but he did think she might be bleeding. It was no accident that the kick had led with the nail, Klaus had practiced the stroke on opponents who fell onto their backs. The same stroke could cave a skull.

“It really is a lot like dancing… fighting I mean. You step forward, I step back, I step forward, you step back. I think that perhaps you were too eager to lead, and now you’re having doubts… I’ll still accept your surrender. No man will lay a hand on you, I give my word.”

As he was speaking, Klaus moved faster, circling in until Ava’s back was against his vanguard soldiers who were muttering lewd remarks into her ears as they used their shoulders to keep her within the fighting space. When one of the men shoved her right shoulder forward, then was when he struck—ducking low and swinging across his body from left to right. The tip of his sword kicked up a few small stones from the dust as he swung low at her left knee. He let out a hoarse shout as he swung.

The force of her opponent’s blow rang through her body like a bell. The heavy steel in Ava’s hands sent shockwaves down her arm and shoulders as she was propelled back by the sheer violence of the impact, and she dug her left foot behind her firmly into the dust to remain steady. This opened her to an attack she had not anticipated.

She saw the kick coming but was simply too slow to avoid it, her effort not to lose balance had made her vulnerable. Ava groaned through gritted teeth as her leg almost gave way as the pain ripped through her. His iron-clad foot had ripped through the layers of hardened leather and through flesh, and for a terrible length of a second she was afraid that he had broken her leg.

Ignoring the injury as best she could, she hobbled backwards, getting away from another possible attack. He was driving her backwards in the circle now, and Ava knew that the trap he had set for her was about to snap shut.

Ava did not react to his remarks as she kept her gaze firmly level to his. The broadsword she was fighting with was maybe not the smartest weapon for a woman as slender as her, but she liked to turn a man’s weapon against himself. Most of her opponents made the mistake to assume that she would tire quickly under the weight of her blade, but all of them, each single one, had paid for that erroneous assumption with his – or her - life.

She had backed into the rows of soldiers and flinched as if she had touched something repugnant. Someone whispered obscenities in her ear, clearly anticipating her defeat at the hands of his master.

No such luck, my friend. You will have to shove that cock up someone’s else ass, if you still have a cock when this day is done.

Several men even grabbed her.

“You cannot even control your men not to touch me now,” Ava hissed at the Warlord. “So I think I will decline that offer.”

Then came a more violent push and she groaned with pain as she stumbled. But she saw what Klaus was about to do. Damn you to hell, she thought, as she forced herself to shift her body weight onto her injured leg in anticipation, quickly regaining her balance. Everything happened in a flash, but this was her only chance. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him lift his blade. Now.

If she could land a blow to his back it might not kill him, but it might throw him off balance, even cause injury. With as much strength as she could muster, the pain turning to agony as she propelled herself up on her injured right leg, she jumped up and around him. Weakened, she did not succeed in avoiding his blade altogether, but she paid no heed to the sharp pain shooting through her left leg.

Kicking up dust as she landed, thrown against the men encircling the fighters, she nevertheless swung her sword over her right shoulder to bring it down against the back of his flank, praying that her blade would find its target.

Klaus cried out as Ava’s quick maneuver delivered a precise swing that caught him from behind, the sheer impact bending the overlapping plates at the small of his back inward, sending him stumbling forward where his men caught and steadied him before turning him back to the center of the ring. The blow cut through several of the sturdy metal plates on impact and as she dragged the impressive length of her sharp, steel blade along the cut it severed the thin layer of underlying chainmail and cut deep into Klaus’ back and side, flakes of red and black lacquer joined several fresh drops of warm blood in the dirt. He was bleeding, quite profusely in fact which did not bode well for the rest of this battle. He was carrying too much weight in armor to let this become a war of attrition, and he was losing blood much faster than Ava. He needed to find a way to end this quickly, otherwise… best not to think about otherwise while still in the battle.

“You cunning bitch,” Klaus spat, doing his best to keep his spine rigid as he quickly retreated back to the center of the circle, “I’ll bet that move has filled more graves than the plague, but you won’t get at my back so easily again.”

Now occupying the very center of the circle, Klaus gripped his sword with both hands, already beginning to feel light-headed from the blood that was trickling through the plates of his armor, down his leg and pooling in the dirt. The urgency to bring about a decisive end made his heart race, which only accelerated his blood loss. As he saw Ava circling back toward him, he decided to risk everything on this next pass.

When she came within the range of his blade, Klaus roared a mighty war cry, reaching back with his sword over his left shoulder as if winding up for a terrifying strike, as if trying to swing his sword like a club to knock her back. It was a feint, and instead of a long, penetrating jabstep forward, Klaus drug his armored boot through the dirt, digging up a shallow trough before extending his leg into the air and kicking a dense cloud of dirt, mud and tiny rocks directly at Ava’s face. The plates in his boots worked like miniature spades, gathering and tossing enough dirt to blind her. When his foot landed again, he charged her, putting motion behind all the weight of his body and armor. They collided hard, and Klaus used the pommel of his sword to strike at her temple in the same moment his body collided with hers. The impact echoed off of the walls and awnings that made up the small square outside of the royal palace and Ava fell to her back.

Klaus stomped down on her sword arm, just above the elbow with enough force that those gathered around could hear the bones of her arm breaking. Klaus just smirked and leveled his sword to her throat as a cheer went up among his men.

“You’ve lost, Red Fury,” Klaus sneered, towering over his fallen opponent, letting the tip of his sword press into the pale flesh of her slender, pale throat, “and now you belong to me.”

It all happened very fast. She had almost had him. He was finished, with only moments to spare until blood loss would do the work for her. But he was a shrewd, resourceful fighter who did not shy away from playing dirty. “Fuck!” The sand and gravel caught her off guard, and it was in these precious seconds, when she desperately tried to find her bearings again, her eyes stinging and tearing up because of the dust, that he charged at her, slamming his armored weight into her body.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and when he struck her head, her legs, injured and weakened, were already giving way and she fell, hard, onto her back. It was over. In a split second he was over her, and his iron-clad foot ground her arm into the dust. The pain was so intense that she thought she would pass out. Her breath caught in her chest, she spat blood into the sand, heaving in agony. Her fingers lost the grip of her sword just before her bones cracked under his foot.

Still she forced herself to stare back up at him and meet his triumphant gaze.

“For now,” she croaked, her bloodied lips curving into a smile. “For now.”

***
Mahnaz had not been surprised to see Ava defy her orders. She had not raged against Jaleh, who had taken up position at the door, had not tried to push past her. Standing at the window, watching the Warlord taunt the red-haired commander, she realized, calmly, that she had made the wrong decision, that she should have listened to Ava, that they should have run.

She turned away from the window to face the young lieutenant.

“Jaleh, go and get my sisters out of here. Use the tunnels. Tell Rezah to join me here.”

Maybe her first counsellor would be able to advise her. It had only been days that Rezah and her had discussed terms of a possible peace treaty. Both his caresses and his words had soothed her. But what would he be able to say now?

***
“My love!”

Tabea flew into Jaleh’s arms, covering her face in urgent kisses. The young woman pulled her close, deeply inhaling the scent of her hair and her skin. “We don’t have much time,” Jaleh whispered. “I need to get you out of here before Klaus and his hordes enter the castle.”

The princess disentangled herself from her lover’s embrace. “But Ava…”

Jaleh shook her head. It was not that she had not enough faith in her commander to maybe even defeat the Warlord, but she knew, just as Mahnaz had finally understood, that the time to hope for miracles was over.

Nejlah stood in a corner, frightened, her arms wrapped around herself, staring out of the window. Jeers and the sound of steel on steel were coming up from the courtyard.

“Your highness,” Jaleh said softly, as if trying not to startle the girl. She followed her gaze and saw Ava stumble under a violent kick of her opponent. They needed to hurry.

“He is so big,” Nejlah whispered, her voice hollow with fear. “So strong.” Outside, Ava was trying to circle away from him while the Warlord’s men reached for her, grabbing for her, as he prepared another attack.

“I will get you out of here. I will not allow him to hurt you.”

Tabea had joined them at the window, her fingers searching for Jaleh’s hand as she watched, in horror, as Klaus slammed his full body weight into his slender opponent, knocking her back.

“No,” she mouthed, her fingers closing so tightly around those of Jaleh that she winced. Jaleh wondered, for the length of one heartbeat, if she should ask Tabea to put an arrow through her commander’s chest. It was as good an escape as any, and Ava would appreciate the favor. She knew that the Glorious Dawn did not allow women to carry any weapons and that all violations were punished with death. But Klaus would not reward the Red Fury with execution.

Jaleh had heard many stories about life under the Warlord’s laws. The laws of pleasure and service. The law of obedience. In the Empire of the Glorious Dawn, women were in the possession of men, to be used, traded and discarded at their pleasure. Those who disobeyed faced horrific punishment. Outside, Klaus towered over Ava.

The thought of Tabea, enslaved in the Warlord’s service, made her heart flip. She would not allow it.

Jaleh turned towards the two princesses. “We need to go, now.”
 
Rezah licked the freshly cut end of one of the thick, Dawnish cigars he’d been gifted by Klaus, moistening the mouthpiece before bringing the torch he was carrying toward his face and lighting it. He’d never smoked a cigar before, tobacco was a rare luxury in the realms of Khoraz as the female leadership prized food farming much higher than luxury crops like tobacco, steep sin taxes pretty much insured that any and all tobacco products had to be imported, and taxed twice as a result. Rezah breathed deeply as the wide end of the cigar glowed orange and formed an ember, remembering his adolescence when a traveling bard had gifted the last puff of his hand-rolled cigarette to him, in exchange for not telling his well-to-do father that the bard had been smoking between performances.

So much of his life had been governed by the expectations of others, his father, his commanding officers and of course Mahnaz who trusted him so thoroughly and unwisely. Though he’d never spoken of the bard or the cigarette since then, he never forgot that feeling—the sweet taste of rebellion, to do the wrong thing just because no one expected it of him. Knowing that everyone in his life would be disappointed and ashamed of him for doing it, but doing it anyway, simply because he wanted to. The bard wasn’t a man of great means, he couldn’t have possibly afforded to import the tobacco, which meant he must have smuggled it. Ever since that day, Mahnaz felt as though he was living two lives, one on the outside, smiling and serving—observing all the observances, doing all of the proper things that were expected of him. Inside, however, he was an eager betrayer fascinated by discord and strife, just waiting for his time to strike.

He was just waiting to tear it all down.

Now, as he stood by the edge of the vast woodlands that bordered the Silver City waiting at the exit of the escape tunnel that led from the palace with five of his closest soldiers who’d defected with him, it gave him pleasure to remember that bard and his cheap scrap of a cigarette. He’d come so far, and now he was ready to claim his reward. Money, titles, land and power—power the like of which he’d never sniffed as a dog of Mahnaz’s military. He was mentally going over plans for a walk-in humidor for the estate he was soon to acquire when he heard voices coming from down the tunnel.

“Make ready,” Rezah hissed back at his men, still dressed in their castle-forged armor but now draped in the black and red of the Glorious Dawn.

Rezah tossed the torch that he was carrying into the mouth of the tunnel, letting it clatter to the ground and continue burning, casting the inside of the tunnel in its warm glow. There were various other sconces and torches burning outside of the cave as the setting sun cast the sky in an ominous blood red, but the torch burning just inside the tunnel prevented anyone from within seeing past the flame outside of the tunnel.

“Don’t reach for your weapons, ladies. We’re all armed with crossbows and we’ll surely see you before you can see us,” Rezah called into the cave, raising his crossbow stock under his chin, “no use running back the way you came, step into the light and disarm yourselves. We’re all going back to the palace.”

*-*-*

Klaus sighed as he raised his foot from Ava’s now broken forearm, kicking her sword away from her and safely out of her reach. She’d been a worthy opponent, and Klaus’ sigh—though partially of exhaustion and pain, also carried with it the somber inexplicable sorrow of one who’s bested a foe who was nearly their equal. One cannot engage in mortal combat without sharing some deeper part of themselves, and though it seemed odd, Klaus felt remorse for Ava and what was still in store for her.

“Where’s my surgeon?” Klaus demanded of Armon, already unfastening the heavy pieces of his plate-mail, “damnit! And my squire! I need this armor off of me!”

The swiftness of the Dawn’s advance into the Silver City had left the squires, attendants and slaves far back, so Klaus was forced to clumsily wrench his own armor from his body without his full range of movement. A few leather tie downs were torn and a plat or two bent as he wrestled his way out of his shoulder pauldrons and plated cuirass and then shrugging off the layer of mail underneath. He left on his greaves and plated boots as he turned back to find Kyarra, the field medic already examining his wound across his back.

“It’ll need stitches for certain, but there doesn’t seem to be any nerve or organ damage…” Kyarra gently peeled aside the blood soaked scrap of what had once been his sleeveless padded shirt.

“Not for me, damnit,” Klaus hissed, tugging away from his field medic, “her, get her arm set and splinted as soon as possible.”

“But your imminence, you’re bleeding is much worse—“

“I haven’t got time to deal with it now, it’s barely more than a scratch. Get her arm set, I need her to be available for the men to use while I’m busy installing a government. By tomorrow there will be plenty more fine tings for them to play with, but I’d rather not keep the Godless barbarians too long from the prize that I promised them,” Klaus went back over to Ava who was being hoisted back to her feet by two of his loyal soldiers, “I’m sorry for what awaits you, Red Fury. You were a worthy opponent, despite the weakness of your sex. I hope you remember that I tried to spare you from this.”

Once Klaus had finished, Kyarra turned the crank on the wooden box that she’d closed around Ava’s arm. Treated leather straps were woven between her fingers to keep her arm steady as the twisting knob stretched her forearm, realigning the broken bones with an audible pop and obvious discomfort for Ava.

“Chief Skull Cleaver, I leave this prize in the hands of you and your unified alliance of clans. You may do with her as you wish, so long as you don’t leave any lasting marks on her body. Take her into the church, spread the word among your men that all worthy prizes should be brought to the church. We own this city now, I’d rather not have rape in the streets,” Klaus insisted, turning away from Ava having her arm set in a splint to the de facto leader of the recently combined barbarian clans, “this land has been liberated from the tyranny of castrating matriarchy. We celebrate this evening until this Silver City greets its first Glorious Dawn.”

A cheer went up among the men and Skull Cleaver grabbed Ava by her long, red hair dragging her into the vacant church with a crowd following behind once the fallen warrior’s arm was set. Klaus, Armon and Kyarra made their way into the palace. As they made their way to the throne room, Klaus would indicate any tapestry, flags or artwork that in his estimation represented the old regime, by simply saying down and whichever of his associates was closer would tear down and otherwise destroy the offending décor. They left torn tapestries and shredded canvass in their wake.

Klaus’ heavy, plated boots were still tracking red dirt and black blood trailing from his wound as he approached the deposed ruler.

“Mahnaz, I presume,” Klaus introduced himself, taking care to keep his tone formal, “I’ve come to accept your unconditional surrender and assume governance of your kingdom. I believe that the rest of your family should be joining us shortly. For now I’ll take your crown as evidence of your surrender to me.”

Klaus looked back toward the residential wing expectantly.
 
There were dozens of tunnels running from the Silver City to the surrounding countryside, criss-crossing the ground beneath Khoraz like veins. Some of them had been out of use for decades, and some of them were big enough to move horse-drawn karts through them, supplying the inhabitants in case of a siege, sickness, or natural disaster. Only the Royal Guard and the royal family’s most trusted advisors knew the exact topography of all escape routes, but Jaleh knew that it was only a question of time until Klaus would be aware of the princesses’ disappearance.

They filed through the tunnels in hurried silence, Tabea in the front, Nejlah in the middle, and Jaleh in the back, tense and alert. When the dim light of the forest clearing came into view, Tabea let out a sigh of relief.

Too early, as it turned out.

“Don’t reach for your weapons, ladies. We’re all armed with crossbows and we’ll surely see you before you can see us. No use running back the way you came, step into the light and disarm yourselves. We’re all going back to the palace.”

Nejlah let out a small terrified scream. “Fuck, how the hell…,” Jaleh cursed. She had expected an attack from the rear - it was terrible, improbable luck that some of Klaus’ men had stumbled upon an exit from the tunnels in the forest. She moved before Nejlah and squinted, trying to make out anything through the glare of the flames and the smoke filling the tunnel.

“No, wait, I know that voice,” Tabea said suddenly, stepping around the torch on the ground and into the clearing at the mouth of the cave. When she confirmed what she had already suspected, she laughed, flush with relief. Mahnaz must have instructed her favourite companion to meet them at the end of the tunnel. Thanks to their disguise he and his men had made it past the hordes of the Golden Dawn undetected. From here, the burning city was but a terrifying memory, they were safe. They could get help.

“Rezah! I thought I recognised your voice.” Tabea dropped the bow she had carried in her left hand and opened her arms, smiling. “It is so good to see you, some of us worried that Klaus and his gang of killers had gotten to you first.” By now both Nejlah and Jaleh had joined her in the small open space bordering the forest. The youngest princess was unarmed, but the lieutenant’s hand rested lightly on the hilts of her twin blades.

Momentarily confused that her appearance did not have the effect she had expected, Tabea stopped.“Rezah? Are you high? It’s us! You can lower your crossbow now.” Her eyes darted nervously from the councillor to his men.

“Don’t…” The slender lieutenant put her hand on her lover’s shoulder, smiling grimly. “You treacherous son of a bitch,” she hissed. “Couldn’t wait to fall in with the rapists, could you.” Jaleh remembered a comment Rezah had made to her commander, only a few days before Klaus and his hordes had run down the city gates. “I heard that the women of the Royal Guard are in high demand in Dawnish brothels. For their stamina.” It had probably meant to be a joke, a flirty compliment maybe. Ava had laughed. Jaleh had not understood why. It had not been fucking funny then, and the memory of that moment sure as hell was not funny now.

Had she been alone, she might have risked a fight, if only to get a good stab at Rezah. She had never really liked him, and had never understood why both Ava and Princess Mahnaz had been so infatuated with, but then again Jaleh had never really enjoyed the company of male lovers.

One of the realm’s deadliest women with a blade, Jaleh hands itched to take on the six men across from her, but what about the royal princesses? Tabea’s sword fighting skills were poor at best, and Nejlah was paralysed with fear. It would be folly to risk their safety so recklessly.

Jaleh did not take her eyes off Rezah for even a moment as she slowly pulled her twin blades from her belt and threw them on the ground before her. He might or might not know that she had two more knives concealed in her left boot and her left sleeve, but Jaleh decided to risk taking that chance.

“Here you go,” she said softly. “And know that if you hurt either of the princesses in any way, I will feed you your own cock to choke on.” Secretly she hoped that she would get a chance to make good on her threat anyway.

***

Mahnaz stood very still. Flanked by two of her guards, she waited in the throne room, listening to the voices, the clatter of casual vandalism in her palace, coming nearer. She was wearing a long black dress that clung to her slender figure. Emerald lacework covered her naked shoulders up to her neck, lending her an appearance of severity. Her eyes were lined with khol, making them seem darker and large in her delicate face. Her hair was in a thick braid, falling over her shoulder, and a pair of intricate silver earrings was the only jewellery she wore apart from a beautifully worked silver headband. Her feet, as was the custom in Khoraz during royal audiences, were bare, in order to demonstrate to the visitor that the princess, too, was only a servant of the city and its inhabitants.

She tried to remain calm as she listened to Klaus and his intruders rage through the halls of the Silver Castle, to the sound of crashing glass, the sharp rip through thick fabric. But Mahnaz was afraid. She had watched Ava been dragged away, half-conscious, by one of the Warlord’s brutal thugs, and knew that the brave commander had been the very last obstacle between her and the victorious Klaus and that consequently, she would be next. For could one expect a man so brutal and ambitious to honour the rules of war, the rules that demanded for high-born prisoners to be treated with respect?

And she was deeply worried about Rezah. He had not arrived in the hall, and her guards told her that several of the royal councillors had been killed or taken hostage. Was he amongst them? The thought alone was unbearable. At least, she knew, her sisters were safe. They had safely reached the tunnel that would take them outside the castle and the city. By the time Klaus would find it, they would be long gone.

But her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Klaus accompanied by his nephew and a woman Mahnaz had not seen before. He left a trail of mud and blood in his wake, and Mahnaz had to force herself not to stare at the blood that was everywhere – on his hands, his ripped shirt, his face. She knew that it was the blood of people she had vowed to protect. Ava’s blood. Maybe that of Rezah? She took a deep breath, trying to focus on nothing but the immediate encounter with the Warlord.

“Mahnaz, I presume.” She straightened her back, frowning. It had been only days since they had shared seats at the negotiation table, only days since he had told her nothing but vicious lies. “I’ve come to accept your unconditional surrender and assume governance of your kingdom. I believe that the rest of your family should be joining us shortly. For now I’ll take your crown as evidence of your surrender to me.”

She did not move immediately. Surrender, even now, was incredibly difficult. One of her guards shifted on her feet, barely noticeable, and Mahnaz raised her hands to her head and lifted the delicate headband off her hair. She held it in her hands for the length of a few seconds before handing it over to Klaus.

“It is not made for a man,” she said matter-of-factly, before adding: “If you expect anyone else I must disappoint you. My family will not be joining us today.” Her tone was sharper than she had intended.
 
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The witch-woman seemed to be taking forever by Skull-Crack’s standards, even after generations of civil war, the Lowland Barbarian Hordes had never cared much for the medical sciences. When a barbarian breaks his arm, the shaman amputates. Broken leg? Amputate. Broken neck—more food for the dogs of war, only strong barbarians were worth feeding. The weak were merely food.

When Klaus came to Skull’s encampment, talking of unification, his pitch seemed much the same as those before him. That was until he challenged the great Skull-Crack for primacy. To this day, Klaus is the only outsider to best a Skull Camp barbarian in unarmed combat. It was likely that Klaus or Armon had delivered similar displays of strength and martial prowess in each of the eight Lowland tribes in his campaign to unite them. Even with his blood hot from battle, watching his hated adversary writhe in pain, they all knew better than to interfere with the witch-woman. She was under the personal protection of the great and terrible Warlord who’d done so many things unheard of by the Lowlanders.

Once the Red Fury’s arm was set, however, and the witch-woman followed the great Warlord into the castle, Skull wasted no time staking his claim on the woman who’d murdered his father and older brother at intervals on different battlefields. The promise of revenge, even above Klaus’ display, motivated Skull to fight under the banner of the Glorious Dawn.

“Aye, m’lord.” Skull answered on behalf of the small crowd of rough looking barbarians who’d run ahead of the vanguard, each eager to take his turn with the newest flesh-spoils, most having grown tired of the pleasure slaves they were embedded with, “come on, whore. Into the church you go.”

Skull’s breath was foul, ale stinking and stale as it caressed Ava’s neck from behind. Wrenching her recently broken arm around her back, he bodily wrestled her other arm back to join it, laying her arms on top of each other, palm to elbow. The witch had left more of her white, linen bandages behind for the wounded, but Skull used a fresh bundle to bandage Ava’s arms together, using the bamboo splints to anchor her limbs as he bound them together with five painfully tight knots. Then, gripping her forearms in one hand and using them to steer her through to doors of the church, pushing her past the bodies of dangling priests that lined the door.

The once proud church, dedicated to the Goddess was already filled with the screams and sorrowful wails of the nuns who’d been unable to escape and those barbarians who were less picky about who they raped as long as she was new. A handful of the most beautiful wives and daughters were also brought in to be fucked senseless by whichever barbarian or soldier had found and claimed them. Bodies were colliding in every corner of the church and the stained glass murals were sweating from the inside.

“See this, bitch? This is your new home now, Red Fury. You’re going to be a human cum toilet and I’m going to be the first to use you,” Skull whispered huskily into Ava’s ear, his right hand already inside of her shirt, squeezing her pale breasts hard enough to leave finger, shaped bruises as he eagerly unlaced her leather trousers with his other hand, “what were you saying before, about how our lot couldn’t fuck hard or something? Limp dicks, was it? Well I’m going to fuck you raw until they call my cock Red Fury from now on.”

“Hurry up there, rattle bones! You’re not the only one with a grudge against that bitch!” some other barbarian chief called in from the growing crowd that was lining up to be next to take their revenge on Ava’s body.

“Fuck that bitch bloody!” someone else shouted as Skull finally got Ava’s pants down around her knees and shoved her head forward, bending her over one of the wooden pews.

“Be sure to fight and scream now, bitch,” Skull smirked as he shoved his monstrous, saddle stinking cock into her unprepared and unlubricated pussy, “scream and cry, you whore! Scream and cry!”

*-*-*

As the final weapon clattered into the pile between them, Rezah scoffed loudly, raising his crossbow to Jaleh’s chin, leaning down to reach inside of one boot then the other, retrieving the hidden knife that was there and holding it up accusatorily, tapping the point of the blade against the tip of her nose, mocking her for trying to sneak a boot knife past him.

“You keep forgetting that we were trained by the same Commanders. You can’t sneak this shit past me, because I know what you’re supposed to do, I know what you want to try, and I’m not going to let you do any of it,” after pestering Jaleh by tapping her nose with the tip of her own knife enough that the skin looked red, Rezah snatched Nejlah by the wrist and yanked her bodily toward himself, but took a step back to almost make the motion resemble a dance spin, when her small body landed against his chest, Rezah raised the point of the knife under her chin, “and just to make certain you don’t try any other little clever plots, I’ll be keeping this one nearest to my heart. She is practically family by now.”

The other soldiers who were waiting in ambush with Rezah gathered up the weapons that the fleeing princesses and Jaleh had dropped, stashing them together in a sack. Most retained their crossbows and torches to flank their leader and begin the process of leading the princesses back to the palace.

“Now now, don’t be so frightened. Neither your sister nor her lover would ever do anything to risk harming you,” Rezah smirked, keeping his eyes locked with Jaleh’s in the low light, using his nose to gently brush a lock of dark hair behind Nejlah’s ear as he whispered to her, “if you’re too frightened to walk, just step on my feet like that time I taught you to dance. I’ll lead you where you’re going. Go on, the rest of you—walk!”

As Rezah gave the command, one of his soldiers shoved Jaleh back into the darkness of the tunnel, the defectors now in formation, holding the crossbows and torches between them and their prisoners. Any attempt to rush past them would have been as good as suicide with the sightlines as they were.

“There we go, left, right, left right—Good, good! I knew we could do it.”

*-*-*

“Sure of that, are you?” Klaus smirked as he took the delicate looking crown from Mahnaz’s hand, “it doesn’t matter much to me what size, I never intended to wear it, I’m making a collection of them you might say. I’ll take this crown as a sign of your surrender and find the terms of our duel to be met. From this day forward, the land of Khoraz is no more and the Sterling City, the Lowland Planes and all associated lands thereof shall join the Empire of the Glorious Dawn. You may bend the knee to demonstrate your allegiance.”

The slender ring of precious metal reached about halfway up Klaus’ muscular arm before being choked to a hard stop by the width of his bicep. When his arm bent, the crown bent too, forming a more oblong shaped ring around Klaus’ arm, looking almost like the modest but important piece of head jewelry were made to fit around the Warlord’s arm from the start.

“As you seem to be honoring the terms of our duel, I intend you no undue hardship Lady Mahnaz, and so to preserve your title and influence over these lands you’ve governed proficiently for all these years, I shall allow you to wed my nephew Armon, continue to rule these lands as you have for so long and take no man to bed besides your husband if you do not desire it—“

“What?!?” Armon interrupted, suddenly incredulous, “I never agreed to—“

“Silence!” Klaus demanded as he climbed back up the steps toward the throne, he held out his hand to Mahnaz, giving her the opportunity to gracefully vacate her position of power and be passed along to Armon standing at the foot of the steps, “before you open your mouth to question me, boy, look at what a prize here awaits you. With a political marriage you’ll solidify your rule over this place in a way that cannot be challenged by even the most maniacal despot. When this war is won, you’ll look back and see this as the turning point. Kingdoms do not want to be crushed by us, but they fear that surrender will be worse for them. We must demonstrate our willingness to accommodate those who yield their power meekly. You can still fuck whoever you please—you’ll not be equals in marriage, but this way you’ll still have her expertise to rely on when governing these people and she can avoid being fucked to death by a mob of her former subjects. A win-win.”

Just as Armon was about to offer his rebuttal there came another voice and a feminine gasp from the residential tower. Rezah and his men were leading the princesses and their captured bodyguard back into the throne room.

“Move it, bitch. Don’t make me cut her.” Rezah hissed as he led the procession back into view, “ah, if it isn’t my darling Mahnaz—not wife mind you, but secret lover. The great princess who stoops to conquer, but would rather deny her own love than to be seen as unfit. How will you be seen now?”

“At last!” Klaus bellowed from atop the raised throne platform, “the family is reunited. Let’s get them all together where I can see them, ah yes—each more lovely than the last. You needn’t be afraid princess, go hug your sisters. Go on, go on—oh how I love tearful reunions. Now that we’re all together, let’s discuss how to reward the heroic Rezah, who saved these pretty, young things from some unspeakable mob justice outside of these palace walls.”

“I’m partial to gold,” Rezah smirked back, shoving Nejlah toward her sister, “but mostly I wish for titles.”
 
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Was she dead?

Was this the afterlife she deserved for failing her city? Was this hell? A pair of glittering eyes bore into hers, a soft woman’s voice whispered something I her ear, something that made her skin crawl with terror. There was the man who had defeated her after all, was he dead as well? Would they have to share the journey into eternity? Ava groaned. She wanted it to stop, she wanted to sleep. The woman across from her tore on her flesh and pulled on her arms. Her bones cracked in protest. “Stop,” Ava mumbled, but her lips did not move as she wanted them to.

Faces floated in and out of her vision. Hundreds of hands reached for her, grabbing, scratched her skin and yanking her hair, but one man came into focus, a man she knew, somehow, from somewhere. “Let me sleep,” she whispered hoarsely. “Let me rest.” His spittle sprayed in her face as he spoke, but Ava was too tired to care.

The pain when he yanked her broken arm up behind her back was so intense that she started to wretch, and her knees gave way. She would have fallen if he would not have held her up, pushing her bodily forward into the church, and suddenly sunlight was drowned out by the damp, cold air of this sacred temple. Ava coughed, drifting between consciousness and passing out.

A naked woman kneeled on the floor, her face stained with cum and tears. She looked up at her with a blank expression. “Commander.” Ava blinked. It was as if a veil was pulled from her mind as recognition set in. A man yanked the girl from view, while another shrieked with laughter. She had been one of her finest recruits, had been on her way to becoming lieutenant, not a small feat at such a tender age.

Afra. Her name was Afra.

Seeing her stirred a vague sense of pride in Ava before terror washed over her. The blur disconnected into distinct colours, into movement. The fog around her grew into distinguishable smells and sounds: blood, screams, sex, wails of pain, grunts, sweat, raucous laughter, wet leather, wood, the rhythmic collision naked flesh. The bodies around her gained contours and shape.

She was not dead. This was not hell. It was much worse than that.

Women and girls all around her were being abused at the hands of the victors. This was what she had fought against all her life, and she had lost. She closed her eyes, but the vision of the nun being impaled on the massive cock of a barbarian warrior from behind, his torso covered with the ink designs the mountain tribes favoured, remained engraved in her mind.

The young woman, her lips trying to accommodate the thick cock of one assailant while another fucked her with such rough abandon that she was almost suspended in the air between them, did not fade. The screams of a girl who was hoisted up by her wrists while she was whipped bloody stubbornly lingered. All around her the city’s defeated were the victims of the most brutal, most sadistic decadence.

Klaus had kept his promise.

“See this, bitch? This is your new home now, Red Fury. You’re going to be a human cum toilet and I’m going to be the first to use you.”
The foul odour of his breath made her gag.

“Skull,” she croaked. “Good to see you again.” He pawed at her breasts, tore at her trousers. Ava tried to breathe evenly, tried to let her mind wander like she had been trained to do when under torture, when in such pain that her sanity was about to abandon her.

But what she had never been trained to endure was having to watch the abuse of other women. Not the defeat of warriors, but the abuse of unarmed, helpless women at the hands of men. The rape and torture of all those she had sworn to protect. Ava had no strength left. In fact, she had nothing left. When Skull-Crack pushed her over the pew, she bent at the waist like a rag doll. And when he pushed his giant cock into her, she did scream. At each of his enraged thrusts, each time her beaten and bloodied body was shoved against the hard wood of the pew, she screamed, joining the choir of the defeated around her.

***

“I am sorry I failed you, your majesty,” Jaleh said softly as they entered the throne room.

“Ah, if it isn’t my darling Mahnaz – not wife mind you, but secret lover. The great princess who stoops to conquer, but would rather deny her own love than to be seen as unfit. How will you be seen now?”

The princess stared at him. Her lips moved as if trying to form words that she was unable to find.

“Secret lover?” Tabea’s voice cut through the momentary silence as she turned on Rezah. Of all the indignities, all the horrors they had suffered through in the past hours, it was this taunt that was impossible for her to swallow. “Secret? Are you already trying to flatter your bigoted new master, you treacherous little shit? Already adapting to his kingdom of fanatics, are you? Fuck you, fuck you and your…”

“Tabea! That’s enough.” Her older sister had gone very pale. Tabea ached for her. Of all the companions she had chosen to surround herself with, she had chosen to love, Rezah had been her favourite. She herself had adored him. His betrayal was as unexpected as it was monstrous, throwing everything else she had ever believed in into question. He had been like a brother to her, a best friend. Never once had Tabea suspected that his loyalty had been an act. Rezah had always fully supported the notion that ruling princesses never married, but instead chose to share the beds of those they were attracted to, those they thought would advance the city’s fortunes and prosperity, no matter their standing or origin. She and her two sisters had all been fathered by different men, and Rezah had never limited himself to just one lover. His cruel remark was meant to twist the knife he had rammed into Mahnaz’ heart, and Tabea could see her pain written so clearly across her sister’s face that she felt sick with rage.

Nejlah stumbled into the princess’ arms when Rezah roughly shoved her away from him, trembling like a leaf, too scared to even cry. The youngest princess had always been so delicate, such a waif of a girl, that Tabea feared for her sanity now. If any of them laid their hands on her, she would simply break.

“I accept your terms,” Mahnaz said tonelessly. “I will marry that man.” She did not even look at Armon. Tabea gasped. Marry! It was the final surrender of the Silver City, where such marriages had long been abolished. “And I appeal to you to spare my sisters and leave Jaleh in my service.”

***

Nejlah felt the cold blade of Rezah’s knife scrape her skin as she stumbled along before him in the dark, unable to see where she was going. She was terrified that one misstep would cause his hand to slip and cut her throat. The fingers of his free hand dug roughly into her shoulder as he guided her along the tunnel. He did not speak to her again, but she could feel his breath against her neck, and it made her shiver.

How could a man change so much? Or had he always simply been a master of deceit?

It was unsettling that she now did remember the day he had taught her to dance. He had smelled so good, and the warmth of his body against hers had felt so reassuring. Nejlah had always thought that she had succeeded in hiding her secret crush on Rezah from her sisters, but it had been that day that Tabea had teased her mercilessly for her shyness and her reluctance to finally act on her desire for him. What was it that she had said? “Go for it, little sis. I have it on good account that he can make any woman’s pussy sing, almost as well as Jaleh.”

It made Nejlah blush even now. The crudeness of that remark had disturbed her as much as the arbitrariness that it implied, but none of the others ever understood her discomfort with the liberal way of life everyone else embraced. She had always dreamed of true love, of romance. Of finding her one true soulmate like she had read about in the books that Tabea mocked her for. Her prince charming.

Rezah’s grip was painful, but she did not dare to complain. Her mind raced, trying to grasp that it was him who would deliver them into the hands of the cruel warlord. It seemed that Tabea’s dreams of equality had just been as foolish her dreams of true love.
 
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Klaus twisted up his mouth as Mahnaz countered his demand with an appeal of her own, she wasn’t obstinate, like her flaxen haired sister was, but she asked more of him than she must have realized. The Silver City was conquered but her people were far from defeated, he would be a fool to outnumber his nephew within his own chambers, but he had a desire to be accommodating. As Klaus was mentally negotiating the hazards of battlefield diplomacy, the traitor Rezah interjected.

“Not so fast, my dove,” Rezah’s tone dripped with condescension as he used an old pet name between him and Mahnaz, “I have plans for your lovely sisters, I’m afraid. Tabea, most of all has earned my rebuke, and little Nejlah has ripened so…”

“Alright, stay your tongue, traitor. You’ve earned a reward for your service, that’s true, but you have not earned the right to dictate terms to me,” Klaus sternly rebuked his newfound associate, turning toward the girls who had been brought through the tunnel, “you must be Tabea, with the sharp tongue. For your disrespect, I’m afraid I must acquiesce to Rezah’s terms. You are hereby stripped of your royal lineage and sentenced to serve as his personal slave. Jaleh, on the other hand shall serve myself and Armon as a servant. She will also serve you and your sisters in this capacity, but at no point shall any of the two of you be left alone. You are still trained killers and any number of you together could conspire against and assassinate us. I have to look out for my family and allies. I’m sure you can sympathize, Mahnaz.”

“Sir, to that end, you really should let me stitch closed that wound,” Kyarra interjected, gesturing to the wound below his ribs that continued to bleed down his leg and onto the carpet, “if you lose too much blood you’ll need a transfusion and there are other wounded who—“

“Don’t interrupt me, woman. I’m fine,” Klaus barked, not even turning to look at his surgeon, “you must be Nejlah, then. Step forward if you please.”

It was clear that Nejlah was terrified, too much so to move far, so Klaus split the difference, approaching her slowly, trying in vain not to tower over her. He reached out as gently as he could, his fingernails still framed in black and ruddy from dried blood and lifted one of her hands to kiss the back of it lightly, and turn it over in his much larger hand, inspecting it closely.

“Small hands, that’s good. You, my dear Nejlah, I shall take on as my ward. I shall shelter and protect you as if you were my own child. You have my word that no one will force themselves on you,” Klaus knelt while he spoke to Nejlah, wanting to make her feel more at ease, “come with me, my dear child. I have need of your small fingers.”

*-*-*

Skull-Crack roared with laughter as he slammed his cock into Ava’s warm pussy, showing no mercy to her already battered body. Her cries of anguish were indistinguishable from cries of pleasure to the barbarians who were well accustomed to taking women by force. When it was clear that Ava had no strength or intention of trying to force him off of her Skull released her injured arm, the gauze smeared filthy but the splint still secure around her recently set bones.

“You make for a better whore than a warrior, Red,” Skull taunted, bringing his open palm down viciously onto Ava’s pale ass with a loud slap, “I can feel your pussy getting wetter, slut. It’s tight and soft like rabbit fur.”

The lacquered pew bench continued to creak and groan as Skull’s muscular torso slammed against Ava’s firm ass again and again, testing the very limits of the nails that held the bench together. Just then, the barbarian who had been fucking Afra’s face pulled out from her throat and slapped her with his heavy, spit soaked cock before rushing over to the row in front of Ava and positioning himself to ejaculate directly in her face, wringing out a fresh bout of laughter from Skull.

“That’s it, ruin the bitch!” Skull roared in delight, taking ahold of her long, red hair in both fists to raise up her face as he continued to pound her cervix, “soak this murdering slut in the seed of us who she looked down on for so long, who she killed without consideration. You’ve murdered our fathers, Red Fury, but you’ll bear our sons as penance.”

It was just then that Skull’s voice seemed to crack and he groaned loudly. His cock hemorrhaged inside her and swelled up as he buried it back inside her to the hilt. As Skull’s cock blasted a hot load of thick cum directly into her defenseless womb, another barbarian approached from the other side to jizz across her face and hair.

“Take it all, you bitch! Get knocked up, cum slut!”
 
The deposed former monarch of the Silver City stood very still while she listened to the warlord’s orders, her arms slung around her youngest sister who stood in front of her, trembling and helpless. The physical proximity to Klaus’ nephew – her future husband - repulsed her, his armour reeked of blood and the death imposed on her realm. Did Nejlah smell it, too? Mahnaz tightened her arms around her little sister who felt achingly fragile in her embrace. And marriage. It was a concept so alien, so outdated, so foreign to all the city had stood for that she did not entirely know what to expect from it, except that they would all end up as servants, in one way or another. What a sad example she would make for the people that she had failed.

However, Mahnaz was a realist, a former ruler and commander of armies. She knew when to submit to a stronger opponent, and how to bide her time; knew when it was the time to fight, and when to admit defeat, even if she had never been faced with a tyrant such as Klaus. It mattered not. She would not let her emotions get the better of her, not now, and not in front of men who believed women to be inferior to them in body and will. Her racing mind just had to take in each moment as it came, one by one, without giving in to the overwhelming urge to tumble into despair.

She forced her thoughts away from Ava, away from the blood spatter on Klaus’ face and garb, from the faint sounds of plunder and rape drifting up from the streets around the castle. And away from Rezah. It had been only hours since they had last been together, since he had held her and told her that they would be safe, together. That he would always defend her. The hardest thing to admit to herself was how much his betrayal hurt her, and that it was him, and not any of her other companions, who had chosen to side with such enemies. He was her best friend! Her closest confidant! He was the one she had shared everything with, all of her fears, her insecurities, her petty little jealousies, her doubts, her worries – all the things she had to hide behind a mask of royal leadership in front of others. He was a man she trusted unconditionally. Mahnaz blinked angrily, forcing back angry tears. He had been all these things, she corrected herself, but this was in the past now.

The former crown princess had difficulties trying not to stare at him, her lover-turned-traitor who already made claims on her sisters, seemingly so at ease with this new, misogynistic regime. Could it be that he was bluffing? Was his betrayal a ruse, all part of an elaborate plan? Mahnaz knew that she was grasping at straws, desperate for any sign that Rezah was in fact the man she had known him to be. Anger, humiliation and hate all welled up in her stomach as she watched him. Why had he done it? What on earth had him driven to sell out his city to these barbarous hordes? Mahnaz hoped to find the answers to these questions. But it would have to wait until later, for now her attention was drawn back to Klaus’ commands.

“For your disrespect, I’m afraid I must acquiesce to Rezah’s terms. You are hereby stripped of your royal lineage and sentenced to serve him as your personal slave.”

A faint gasp rippled through the room. Mahnaz bit her lip so hard that she drew blood, willing herself to look indifferent. Tabea would not care at all about being stripped of her royal title, so much Mahnaz knew, but serving…a man? That man? At least she was to stay inside the palace, close to her sisters. Tabea was both smart and resilient. She would find it in herself to carry Rezah’s wine, to dress him, to feign obedience. It was not the worst of fates, Mahnaz mused. Surely Rezah would not steep so low as to hurt Tabea, who had been like a sister to him for years? He would have gold, he would likely have titles, and women would willingly follow. Mahnaz hoped that he would not lay a finger on her sister. Rezah knew Tabea intimately, knew whom she loved and longed for, and Rezah had never, not even in jest or caught up in passion, expressed any desire to force, or hurt, a woman. But then again did she ever really know what Rezah had really wanted? If it turned out that she did not know him at all, maybe Mahnaz was also wrong to hope that if for nothing else, Rezah would not risk to incur Jaleh’s deadly anger.

The slender lieutenant’s face was a mask of impassive self-control. Her lip curled ever so slightly at the warlord’s announcement that she was to serve him and his nephew, but she showed no other emotion. The closer the better, she thought. There will be that one moment that your attention slips, that you will be distracted, that you forget, even for a split second, who I was before you turned me into your servant. And I will know to make good use of that moment. You will suffer for what you did today, both of you.

“You must be Nejlah, then. Step forward if you please.” Klaus’ voice pulled her from her thoughts. Suddenly alert, Jaleh had to force herself not to defiantly shield the youngest princess against the warlord, but Nejlah had seen enough violence for one day. She looked at the girl. The poor thing was shaking so violently now that the thin silver bands around her small wrists jingled softly. Mahnaz’ hands rested on her shoulders protectively as Klaus approached. Nejlah’s gaze followed him crossing the hall towards her, her eyes wide with dread. “Go on, Nejlah,” her older sister whispered encouragingly, hating herself for it. “Go to him.” The princess was terrified, but knew that Mahnaz only tried to protect her against the warlord’s wrath. As commanded, she made a few trembling steps in his direction, only reluctantly leaving the relative comfort of her older sister’s touch. Did one curtsy for the conqueror of the Silver City? Nejlah could not bring herself to look at him, terrified as she was to stir his anger with one false glance, or any expression he might misinterpret.

Against her will her gaze dropped to the wound the healer had indicated, to follow the trail of blood down his leg. The girl, tiny and vulnerable against the warlord’s towering frame, stared at the growing stain of crimson that was pooling at Klaus’ feet. “You are hurt,” she whispered, her voice so faint that she wasn’t entirely sure if she had uttered the words out loud, or only contemplated their meaning. Only when the warlord took hold of her hands and kissed one of them did her attention focus back on the man in front of her.

Her small hands rested inside his gentle grip like a pair of nervous birds. Why was he so kind to her, when he had been so cruel against the commander and so unyielding in his orders concerning her dear sisters? Still trembling, she looked up at him from under lowered lashes. Nejlah wished that he was, despite her better judgement, despite all that she had seen a good, and a just man. “I…I…,” she stammered, unsure of how to say the things he wanted to hear, and what those things might possibly be.

The silence in the throne room was thick with anticipation. Only Tabea shuffled her feet, incredulous that she seemed to be the only one in the room reacting to Klaus’ declaration that he was taking Nejlah for himself. “Ward?” she hissed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what you call it in your kingdom of rape and terror, you fucking murderer?” Her voice trailed off into an angry sob, but it was clear that she was not done. “How can you all…just stand there, while…while he distributes each of you….of us…like pieces of meat?”

Jaleh tensed. Her stupid, beautiful, always wilful girl never knew when it was time to shut up. She had already angered the warlord once. If she did not stop, her defiance would force his hand. As the new ruler, he likely would not want to allow for such public disrespect. The young lieutenant knew that Tabea would not hesitate to pile more abuse on Klaus and his men, or worse, try something very, very unwise. The rebellious princess – former princess – looked like she was out for blood, her eyes blazing with rage and grief. She had no weapons of her own anymore, but Jaleh feared that this would not stop her, not now. What would the consequences be if she tried to attack any of the men, or the witch healer, in this room, even if she would not be able to inflict any harm? Panic rose in her throat trying to imagine the likely punishment for such an offense. Losing Tabea filled her with horror, more so than anything she had witnessed that day.

Mahnaz threw her an anxious glance. But could she risk it? Reveal her affection for the princess in front of these people? As everyone in the Silver City, she had heard many rumours about the laws and mores of the Dawnish, many of which were likely not more than tales to tingle and scare. Jaleh had often suspected that Ava, ever the stern teacher, had used these stories to hone their fighting skills. How could it be otherwise? It could not possibly be true that no woman was allowed to choose love, or lovers, without the permission of her masters. That love – and sex – was only allowed between men and women, unless the men commanded it to be otherwise, and for the sole purpose of their pleasure. Surely this was only panic-mongering gossip. Such a law would have been ridiculous. However and at the very least, the warrior in her knew that it was foolish to let an enemy know what her weaknesses were, but the alternative, at this point, was much worse.

Confirming her fears, Tabea flew around to face Rezah again, her expression one of pure, vicious hatred. “And if you think I will serve you in any other way than feeding you your own dick, you are badly mistaken, you treacherous piece of shit…” The blonde girl made a step in the traitor’s direction. Jaleh, unable to think of any other option, stepped forward and pulled her into a deep kiss, muffling the rest of her angry diatribe. She could taste the rage and the tears, but the princess did relax into her embrace, and kissed her back.

“My sweet darling, my love,” she whispered finally, holding Tabea tight against her. “Hush now, please.” It crushed her heart to see the princess in a state of such desperation. Tabea was shaking in her arms, muffling her angry sobs against her chest. Jaleh meticulously avoided the men’s gazes, weary of their reactions. She caressed the princess’ hair, whispering to her as if speaking to a recruit who struggled with nerves before a battle. “You will have to give in, for now, for us.” She felt like a traitor for trying to appease Tabea’s justified rage. “Please, no more of such nonsense. Everything will be fine. You are safe with me.” Jaleh wished that her whispers remained unheard in the thick silence hovering over the room, that someone, anyone, would distract the men’s attention from this scene.

And someone did. Nejlah, terrified that her sister’s outbreak and Jaleh’s reaction to it had broken the spell of kindness, tried to hold the warlord’s gaze. “Thank you…your Grace,” she said softly, unsure how to address him and attempting the shaky curtsy she had failed to perform earlier. Why did her sisters not understand that obedience would keep them safe, and nothing else? At least she did now. “Please tell me how I can be of service.”

***

The pain was excruciating. Her broken arm, her mangled leg, Skull’s iron grip on her body and his violent abuse all merged into one indistinctive cloud of torturous agony. As an elite fighter, she had trained for years to raise the threshold of pain she was able to endure, but the emotional exhaustion had started to take its toll, and currently there was nothing, no shred of hope, for her mind to hold on to. Ava did not want to lose consciousness and risk going into shock, and these fucking bumpkins did not know – or did not care – how to prolong the lifespans of their victims. Like dumb, overexcited puppies they ripped into their new toys with such abandon that they would not be able to enjoy them for long. But Ava did not want to die impaled on the stinking cock of this savage.

At least her pussy cooperated, and the hot, dry friction of Skull’s cock gave way to slightly smoother thrusts that caused a tingling sensation in her groin, something that, if she concentrated enough, might even turn into a mildly pleasurable sensation. Unfortunately, Skull would not allow it. Roughly fisting thick strands of her hair, he pulled her head back, making her cry out sharply in pain.

“You’ve murdered our fathers, Red Fury, but you’ll bear our sons as penance.”

Ava almost laughed. “Sorry, Skull,” she panted through gritted teeth, the taste of cum on her lips, in her nostrils. “There will be no sons to replace your rotting fathers, not from me.” As a commander of the Royal Militia, she had decided a long time ago that she would never bear children. Pregnancy and childbirth would have been detrimental to the iron discipline she had had to impose on her body, and children would have always been in the way of her duties. She thanked the goddesses that she had made that choice, and that these assholes did not have any hold on her the use of her womb, too.

All they could do was fuck her until they would tire of her broken body, as Ava was sure they would. Even the Lowlanders and the mountain tribes must have a limited attention span for spoilt meat, and all she could hope was that she would be able to hold out until that happened.

In front of her, Afra collapsed into a heap of naked flesh, panting and gagging, covered in cum, sweat, and blood. Ava forced herself to look at the girl. She was barely conscious, but already hands were hoisting her up again, probing her, pawing at her bruised breasts. Ava recalled the first time she had trained with her, how impressed she had been even then by her wit, her strength, and her talent with a blade. She would have had a bright future in the ranks of the Royal Guards. Another man shoved Afra over a pew, entering her with a savage grunt, his blood and dirt-stained stained fingers digging into the smooth flesh of her back. It was sick. Rage, and not despair, started to boil up in her at what she saw.

I will pay you back for this, Klaus. I will stay alive, and get through this, and I will pay you back. In rhythm with Skull’s violent thrusts, the words turned into a prayer, a mantra. I. Will. Stay. Alive. To. Kill. You.
 
Skull-Crack groaned and shouted in frustration as Ava revealed that she was infertile—one last victory over him for the Red Fury, because it was much too late to pull out by the time he realized what she meant. Instead, he slammed himself in, balls deep, as his cock began to jerk and spasm, blasting thick cum deep inside of her over and over, flooding her tight, little pussy with his molten seed.

“Fucking bitch!” the barbarian shouted, keeping his cock buried inside of her, “you filthy waste of cum. I ought to yank your fucking teeth out for being so useless!”

Though he didn’t seem to be following through on his threat to Ava, Skull-Crack did go over to where one of his tribesmen was finishing with the slender girl Afra. Skull grabbed her roughly by her upper arm and dragged her over behind Ava. He roughly grasped Afra’s hair and forced her face into Ava’s freshly fucked pussy.

“Suck it, slut! Suck all my cum out of your whore commander but do not swallow it. Get every fucking drop, you dumb bitch!” as Skull forced Afra’s whole face into Ava’s freshly fucked pussy, he also slugged her in the gut, just below her naval to encourage her to push out all of his cum, “push that shit out, bitch! Give it all to her before I have to hit you again.”

In truth, Skull didn’t give a damn about siring a child—even if he did manage to knock up one of these whores, the child would be a bastard and no one would ever know who the father truly was, but he was loathe to let Red Fury best him again, even in this small way, now that he was the conqueror and she the vanquished. Besides that it was getting him turned on all over again.

“Stop playing with them, Lowlander. It’s my turn with the Red Woman already!” a rival officer shouted, this one from the proper Dawnish ranks. He wore the uniform of his station, complete with the embroidered, crimson chevrons of a veteran.

“Just a moment more, you’ll have your turn,” Skull chuffed, “enjoy the show until then.”

“Unlike you, Lowlander, my duty is not yet finished. The King and Commander has ordered that all able soldiers of his legion begin work, putting out fires and beginning repair operations on his city,” the uptight seeming general countered, “I gave my men an hour to recuperate and I’d planned on being able to relieve myself into an officer in that time.”

Skull slugged Ava in the stomach again before pulling Afra’s face away.

“She’s all yours, Sire. So grateful for your generous patience.” Skull sarcastically parroted, carrying Afra away with him by her hair which had once been so neatly coiffed into a rigid bun to fit under her helmet, “I pray you don’t find her the disappointment that I did.”

“You got what you were after,” the General, Lorral, answered dispassionately, unbuckling his pants and taking Skull’s place behind Ava, “is it true, Ava? Are you going to disappoint me?”

As Lorral was preparing to relieve himself, Skull was dragging Afra’s pretty face over to another freshly fucked captive and forcing her to spit his seed into what he hoped was a more fertile womb. He announced all of this loudly, it echoed around the church which had been built for acoustics.

*-*-*

“From the mouths of children…” Klaus smiled gratefully at Nejlah, who had shown wisdom beyond her years with her attempt at relieving what had become a very tense situation, “you’ve got your work cut out for you, Rezah. Your servant is in love with your slave!”

At this Klaus laughed and the rest of his gathered allies followed suit, though few actually found his joke to be so funny, none wanted to be the one left looking stern and fierce after the King and Commander had made a joke. The pikemen relaxed their grips on their shafts and from unseen places above, the sound of tense wood unflexing as several archers relaxed their pull arms.

Klaus hadn’t come into the throne room expecting to see no resistance, the business of conquest was difficult business indeed—but it was a grain of sand in the desert of sorrow that was being conquered. Few had the poise to accept it gracefully—yet this young princess, only recently a child and still so slender and petite, like a doll—she knew exactly what was needed. Even though it was clear to Klaus that he terrified the poor girl, despite his best efforts, she was still willing to announce that she was at his service.

“You see, I’ve been injured—so great and brave are the warriors of this city, but my surgeon was cursed with the hands of a towering brute, worn rough and robbed of feeling from pulling a bow-string.”

“Asshole!” Kyarrah scoffed behind her hand, hiding the word in a fake cough, though Klaus couldn’t help but smile, knowing it was true.

“If those tiny, nimble fingers of yours know how to pull a needle,” Klaus continued, holding Nejlah’s hands between his index fingers and thumbs, examining them as he explained, “and you have the nerve to pass it through flesh, as your soldiers do, you could be of much service to me indeed, young princess. My people call me Majesty, by custom. But I shall hope that you will just call me Klaus. Let us now retire, that I might get stiches and Armon might get to know his new bride. Would that we could trade roles. The rest of you, I trust know what you need to do. Yes? Good. Please, take my hand Princess Nejlah and lead the way.”

When he said “know what you need to do” Klaus stared intently at Rezzah who gave a faint nod. Once the King was gone, he casually borrowed a plate-mail glove from one of the nearby pike men and slid it over his right hand. He walked over to where Tabea was lingering in Jaleh’s embrace.

With his left hand, Rezzah gently grasped Tabea’s shoulder, turning her away from the embrace, trying his best to be gentle. He looked into Jaleh’s eyes as he did so, almost sorrowful, as if saying, you know that I must… When Tabea faced him again, Rezzah slapped her with the back of the heavy, armored glove. The blow split her bottom lip and bloodied her nose, in addition to knocking her to the floor.

“As a princess, you really should know better,” Rezzah sighed, removing the armored glove, one finger at a time, “but I suppose you’ll need to relearn everything. Won’t you?”
 
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Afra, half-delirious with pain, gagged and started to retch as Skull dragged her away from the Commander, her lips sticky, face streamed with cum. Tears rolled down her face as he yanked her between the legs of one of her former comrades, forcing her to spit his cum into her pussy.

How much longer? Afra collapsed on top of the other woman’s body, her strength all but gone. All she now wanted was for someone to take mercy on her and kill her already.

“Is it true, Ava? Are you going to disappoint me?”

“Depends on what you are after,” Ava wheezed, still reeling from the blow to her gut and the vicious fucking she had received. She tried to shut out Skull’s boastful shouts and his disgusting attempts to spread his seed between as many women as possible. Where was Afra? The girl was clearly reaching the end of her strength, and as her Commander, she could not allow these barbarians to break one of her finest recruits. But how could she possibly save her?

Her pussy was on fire after Skull’s assault, and she hoped that this seemingly prim Dawnish officer would be somewhat gentler. She strained her neck, trying to see who he was. His voice sounded familiar and he had addressed her by her name. Had they met before? Considering her history of encounters with the Dawnish, this was possibly a very bad thing.

But her newfound determination to survive this ordeal in the church helped her find the courage to engage her latest rapist. “These brutish Lowlanders don’t know how to treat a woman and get what they want.” Ava arched her back and ground herself against the general. “Maybe you do, Sire?”

***

“Yes, your Majesty,” Nejlah curtsied again, trying not to recoil from him as he finally let go of her hands. She was not scared of tending to wounds, as she had done countless times before. While she did not like to engage in the brutish arts of handling weaponry, as her sisters had done, she knew how to mend the injuries resulting from blood sport. “I believe I can help you.”

She timidly reached for his hand when he offered it, shuddering at the sight of dried blood against the porcelain skin of her fingers. Nejlah remembered his fight against the Commander that she had seen from the window, and cold fear rose in her throat again. “Please follow me, your Majesty.” The young princess did not have the nerve to address the King with anything than his proper title.

Trying to avoid the gazes of her royal sisters, Nejlah led the warlord from the throne room, her heart beating so fast and hard that she was afraid it would jump from her chest. The physician’s quarters were in the western tower of the castle, and they had to traverse several dark corridors and climb the narrow staircase to get there. Would she be safe in his presence? Raucous laughter, screams and the terrifying sounds of all kinds of violence drifted up from lower halls and nearby rooms. Nejlah winced at the audible horrors being committed around them, and involuntarily squeezed his hand, unaware of the gesture.

When they finally reached the rooms of the physician, utter chaos greeted them. The wooden door stood half ajar. Nejlah, afraid of what they might stumble upon, gingerly pushed it open. The soft sunlight shining through the high windows illuminated shards of pots and glasses strewn across the tile floor. Long strips of white linen bandages were scattered about. There was the sharp smell of spilled aromatic oils and the wooden scent of still glowing embers in the fireplace. It was likely that during the rush of the siege, members of the Royal Militia had made use of ailments without the patience to read labels. Nejlah wondered if the physician still lived.

“My apologies, your Majesty,” she whispered, letting go of his hand. “It is...not how it usually is.” In one corner of the room was a cot covered with soft furs and linen. Nejlah, her throat dry with fear, did not dare to give orders to the King. “Please give me one moment to find what I need.” With practised movements, the young princess added wood to the fire, pleased that the iron kettle with water was full. She gathered some linen and threw them into the water. Rummaging around the cupboard that held boxes with tools, she found needles and a forgotten spool of thread. Good. Then she collected small jars containing arnica and thyme, and set them down on a small table next to the bed.

Then she turned to the warlord. “I am ready, your Majesty.”

***

“Rezah!” Mahnaz’ voice cut through the air like the snap of a whip. All the blood had rushed from her face, and she felt like she was going to faint. How had wise, gentle Rezah turned into this monster?
She watched as he pulled off the iron glove from his hand, frightened by his cool composure while Tabea lay on the floor, moaning. Here was her answer to the question if he would ever lay a hand on any of her sisters. She felt ill. Had he always hated them so much?

The princess shakily lifted herself up into a half-sitting position, whimpering in pain. Her head was ringing. She coughed, and spat small gobs of blood onto the floor, before gingerly lifting her hand to her face. Her fingers came away bloody. Mahnaz’ eyes filled with tears as she watched her sister.

Jaleh stood frozen in the struggle to regain control of her emotions. Rezah’s mock sorrowful gaze, his nonchalance in administering violence, cut her to the core. It was a side of him she had never seen, and never suspected to lay dormant in him. Balling her hands into tight fists, her eyes burning with murderous intent, she stood rooted to the spot, staring at the former councillor. You shitty, treacherous coward. Nervous shuffles amongst the armed guards around them showed that they, too, had noticed the shift in the lieutenant’s countenance. She would be dead before she could so much as lift a hand against the traitor.

Then the dangerous glint in the young woman’s eyes went out like a blown-out candle and she bent down to help her lover rise to her feet again, gently lifting her by the shoulders, steadying her. “He is right, my darling princess,” she whispered hoarsely, her throat tight with thinly veiled loathing. “You need to learn many things.” You need to learn how to stay alive for me, she wanted to add. You need to learn to bend to their will so they cannot break you. To be smart.

Tabea, her face throbbing, had trouble to remain on her feet. “Fuck you,” she finally muttered, to no one in particular, her voice barely audible through the bloody drool caking her lips and chin. She lifted her head to look at Rezah, but had trouble focussing her gaze. “What could someone like you possibly teach me?” she croaked, half of the words inaudible, before she added, her swollen lips curling into a grimace of what might be a grin: “Sire?”
 
Klaus’ brow furrowed as he saw the state of the physician’s quarters. He deeply hoped that it had not been his people who ransacked this place, but it was impossible to know for certain, and reminded him that he’d need to limit the raiding as soon as he was able. He’d already sent along orders to the vanguard and cavalry to begin restoring order, but if the looting and pillaging had already reached areas of the castle without his knowledge, he might need to re-task more of his troops.

As Nejlah led him into the sacked room, Klaus took advantage of the offered cot and sat down, for the first time feeling the effects of his blood-loss. As his new ward gathered the things she would need to tend his wound, he began the slow and painstaking work of unsticking his padded undershirt from the wound. So much of his blood had soaked into the fabric and dried around the wound that it was very noticeably and painfully stuck to his side and forcing it off would have broken the thin crust of scab over the wound that was only beginning to slow the bleeding. So using two fingers only, he went around the edge of the wound, unsticking his ruined shirt until at last he was able to duck through the neck hole and carefully peel the last of the fabric away from his side.

Now shirtless, it was impossible not to notice the almost superhuman physical shape that Klaus was in. His biceps seemed larger than Nejlah’s head and his forearms the size of her thighs. Deep creases were cut into the sinuous boulders that capped his shoulders and his pectoral muscles flexed as he set aside the ruined shirt.

Some few fibers and curly strands of wool from inside the padded shirt were still stuck to the wound, some even trapped within it by the uneven, barely formed scab that even now was seething blood in places where the shirt had torn away fragments, but Klaus made no move to deal with any of these smaller grievances—as they were better suited to Nejlah’s slender fingers and better view of the area.

“Very good,” Klaus smiled, in spite of the reawakened pain from his injury, “I am ready for you as well, my dear one.”

Raising his right arm, to give Nejlah the best access to his injury, Klaus realized two things—one was that his long journey in the saddle had been good for the smaller, rippling muscles along the side of his body but the other was that he smelled terrible, the strain of combat under layers of armor and woolen padding making him something of a sweaty mess. He felt suddenly self-conscious but could do little to help himself just then.

“I’ll gladly excuse the state of this room if you’ll excuse my smell—as I am not usually like this either. It has, in truth, been a long day,” Klaus muttered conversationally, trying hard not to blush at exposing his body odor to this lovely young thing, “I’m glad, though—that things went as they did. As far as I know, no one died today—which seemed an impossible hope just this morning.”

Klaus winced slightly and gasped as Nejlah began her work at stitching him up.

“I’m worried for your sisters, though. I know this is hard on them, but they’re blinded by their grief for what was—they can’t yet see how much worse things could have been—surely would have been if any other outcome had transpired. As far as I can tell, you’re the only one who really gets it, truly understands the grace you’re all being shown, which is one of the main reasons I wanted to get you alone, little one. I need you, beyond just the talents of your nimble fingers—I need you to be an example, a shining standard for your sisters to look up to and admire, so that they can see that there are alternatives to resisting my rule. In return, you’ll be showered in affection and decadence—your clothes will be measured and cut to fit you each morning and you’ll never have to wear the same dress twice. You’ll eat the rarest and most sought-after delicacies from around the world and you’ll drink the world’s most valuable liquors. I can see how your sisters treat you, they see you as a child—but not me. I see you as a young woman whose moment has come. A young woman who was born to lead, and whose talents are sorely needed. Only you can save your sisters and your people now, lovely one. And no one will treat you like a child so long as you live up to my hopes for you.”

*-*-*

“Indeed not,” Lorral smirked, laying his palm on Ava’s already reddened ass as she ground it against him, “though I doubt they care much for the pleasure of the women they rut. In truth, neither do I, though I do appreciate your appeal for mercy—in such a way that I might think it was my idea. You must have manipulated men quite often in your former line of work.”

Lorral was gentle, not for any real reason other than he was curious to see how she would respond to gentleness. His hand moved from her ass up to the small of her back, caressing, feeling the density of her muscles. After taking a moment to free his hard cock from his riding britches, his other hand made its way over her hip, and gently across her toned stomach and then up to caress and fondle her breasts.

“I’ll admit that I came more to wonder at you than to fuck you, though I’m glad to find you so… ready for me. The things you women put your bodies through—the training you endure… it’s remarkable, truly. Yet even the best of you is barely as strong as the weakest man—doesn’t it infuriate you? To try so hard, and still be left behind—to be used in such a way?”

A light, almost playful spank landed, just as Lorral pushed forward, sheathing his full nine inches into Ava’s hot, raw cunt—still sore and soaked with barbarian cum. Once he was inside, he held her there, with her as in his lap and squeezed her ass to get her to move and rotate her hips around, making her feel him pivoting around inside of her.

“There are many among us who feel that it would be a waste of your and your warriors’ talents to merely whore you out among our ranks—Klaus above all others. He believes that you women have usefulness beyond just being toilets for men’s cum—I, however, am still undecided.” Lorral was calm and casual, even as he began moving his hips, stroking his cock in and out of Ava’s abused pussy, “your instinct to manipulate me does not argue in your favor, Ava. Tell me, do you stable and saddle your own horse, or do you have your own squire for that?”

Lorral started moving faster with his hips now, leaning forward to cradle and caress her breasts in both hands. Skull-Crack, on the other hand, had apparently found his second wind and bent Afra over a pew the opposite direction as Ava, facing her as he brutally and without lube or consideration, forced his cock into the delirious girl’s ass.

*-*-*

Rezah flashed Mahnaz an almost charming smile, the kind of practiced, handsome grin that women always fell for as genuine, just because it made them amorous. He’d smiled at her that way many times before, whenever he needed or wanted an outcome that only she could provide, this time he was taunting her. His smile quickly disappeared when Tabea retook her feet, cursing him and flashing still more defiance. Rezah balled his hand up into a fist and raised it as if to punch her square in the face before being interrupted by Kyarrah.

“Yes, perhaps we should all retire for the moment. Let our tempers settle before anyone does anything they might soon regret—and long after. Armon, I’m sure that you and your fiancée have much to discuss. Rezah, perhaps any further ‘teaching’ could happen behind closed doors—yes? No need to force everything into the first lesson, now. And Jaleh, was it? You come with me. I’m afraid that work as a servant never stops and we have a very large reception to prepare for in a very disheveled castle. This way.”

Kyarrah summoned Jaleh to follow her, not wanting the two lovers to be alone together. Not that she doubted Rezah’s abilities, but she knew all too well how motivated the conquered could be. Armon, took hold of Mahnaz’ wrist—not forcefully, but not gently either. He seemed no more pleased with this arrangement than the princesses themselves.

“Come on, then,” Armon sighed, already wishing he were of a lower rank so that he could be excused to the church, “don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

It was cold comfort for Mahnaz, perhaps—but it was better than the encouragement that Tabea got as Rezah relaxed his fist only to grab a handful of Tabea’s curly, blonde locks.

“You too, slut. And rest assured—I am going to hurt you…"
 
Nejlah looked at the warrior king, trying not to stare. She had never seen such a man, had never gazed at such raw, masculine strength. For a brief moment, she wondered if the rumours were true, if he was in fact no mortal ruler, but a demon, or indeed a god. No warrior in Khoraz, not even Ava, would have been able to defeat such a man.

She came closer, encouraged by his kind manner. And it was true, he was in dire need of a bath, but she did not mind that. Looking down at her own ruined dress, muddied and ripped from their failed flight through the tunnels, she could hardly complain about his lack of hygiene.

Nejlah gently examined his side, her fingers barely brushing over unbroken skin, his muscles like steel under her feathery touch. “I see,” she whispered to herself, now engrossed in a familiar task and thus less conscious of her own fear. Stray strands of fibre still stuck to the wound. It was a deep cut, but its edges were even and would be relatively easy to stitch up. Infusing the wet linen strips with essence of thyme, she gently started to dab at the wound, washing out the grime and strands of wool as best as she could.

“No one died, but I am sure there are some who wish they had,” she said in a low voice that did not conceal her horror of what she had witnessed that day. But the wound started to bleed again, distracting her from such thoughts. “You lost a lot of blood, your Majesty.” She pressed a clean strip of linen against his side while picking up the needle with the thread of thin silk. Her brows knitted in concentration, she guided the needle through his flesh, noticing his flinch. “My apologies, your Majesty,” she whispered, suddenly terrified again that his pain might turn to anger. “I will see if there is anything to ease the discomfort.” Gently putting down the instrument, she turned back to the looted stocks of the castle physician.

The jars that contained poppy milk had been emptied to the last drop. Her gaze fell upon the row of earthen jars that contained hemlock, ivy, and mandrake, all of which could be used to dim a patient’s wits and lessen the pain during surgery. If used in larger amounts these ailments could become vicious poison, leading to delirium and death. For the length of a heartbeat, her hands lingered over the lids. Tabea would do it, she thought. She would want me to do it. It would be so easy.

Then, as if horrified by these thoughts, she shoved these jars aside almost violently to reach a tightly closed glass box filled with small yellow sea sponges. Fishing out one of them, she wrapped it in thin linen and held it over the steam coming off from the hot water before turning around to hold it out to the warrior king. “This sponge is not much, but it will help a little to ease the pain. Hold it under your nose and inhale the fumes, your Majesty.”

Nejlah listened to his words while proceeding with quiet efficiency. He was right. Things could have been so much worse. She knew, from Ava’s tales, that other Kingdoms, other cities had been ground into the dust by the black hordes of the Golden Dawn, as if they had never existed. Entire populations had been wiped out before the advance of Warrior Emperor Klaus. Royal families had been killed under torture for not yielding to his rule. But here he sat, kind and vulnerable, offering her riches and power and safety. Mahnaz, and even Tabea would come around to see that things could be good again, that Khoraz could be the Silver City again, under its new King.

“My sisters…,” she began, frowning. “Most people think I am weak because I don’t know how to wield a blade, because I don’t talk back, because I don’t harbour the same fierce anger that the warrior women do. They think I am stupid and backwards for not making use of the freedoms that women enjoy here, for thinking that there is strength in submission to a man…” Her voice trailed off, and her delicate features flushed a bright red. “I am honoured by your confidence in me, your Majesty. My sisters will come to appreciate your gracious mercy. This is not easy for them. They might need some time.” She looked up at him for the first time, her eyes wide with fear for her siblings. “Please grant them time.” She had started to tremble again and had to pause. “Please forgive me if I am speaking out of term.”

When the wound was finally stitched up she administered essence of arnica and thyme before applying a clean poultice. It was not easy for her to wrap the long linen strips around his muscled upper body. Threading one end underneath his other arm, it looked if she tried to embrace him, her cheek pressed against his naked chest. She lingered there for a moment, slightly longer than she had to, listening to his heartbeat, feeling it against her skin, before she withdrew, finally done.

She attempted a shy smile. “If you wish, I can show you the way to the palace baths, your Majesty.” She blushed again. “The rest and the water will rejuvenate your strength after such a day.”

***

His gentle touch was welcome after the rough treatment she had received at the hands of Skull and his barbarian comrades, but Ava did not let herself relax right away. A warrior of the Glorious Dawn could not be trusted, but she had to bite her lip not to moan when his hands slid along her sides to cup and caress her breasts, gently, like a lover would.

Ava, exhausted and in pain, badly wanted to give in, her healthy hand curling around the edge of the pew in frustration. “I am honoured to have roused your curiosity, Sire” she said sarcastically, desperately trying not to give in to her quickly-building need for release. The exhaustion and the constant rush of adrenaline threatened to take over her senses, and her better judgement.

A muffled moan escaped her parted lips as he rammed his full length inside her, and it was not only pain that caused it. “I am not ashamed of losing to your master,” she replied to his taunts. “He is the first warrior to ever have bested me.” Ava ground her ass into his lap, despite the agony her tortured pussy still caused her. “And if you know who I am you also know that, would I get my hands on a blade right now, Skull and his men would no longer have cocks to rape my fighters with.”

She enjoyed the feeling of him inside her more than she had expected. “But I will not lie. It is as infuriating as it is frustrating,” she said hoarsely. “But just as a finely woven piece of cloth, destined to dress royalty, can be used to wipe the stable floors by a brute fool who doesn’t recognise its value, can the elite warriors of Khoraz be wasted on scum like the barbarian tribes, debased to nothing but cum dumpsters.” Ava arched her back, appreciative of his slow, casual strokes. “And just like said fool, these barbarians will never know what they missed out on.”

Ava started rocking back against him, now determined to draw her own pleasure from the encounter, growling at his claim that the warlord wanted to make use of the Royal Guard’s talents. “It was Klaus who condemned me to this,” she said through clenched teeth, torn between anger and lust. “He threatened me with years of this torture…” Her voice trailed off into another moan as he started to fuck her in earnest. “What changed his mind?” She moved her free hand over his, urging him on. “And we don’t have squires. They would slow us down…,” she gasped, adding “Make…us…vulnerable,” in rhythm with his thrusts.

It was then that Skull threw Afra across the same pew, facing her, brutally taking her ass. The girl was limp in his grip, being shoved into the pew with each violent stroke like a ragdoll. “You see?” Ava growled between clenched teeth. “In combat, this girl could kill him blindfolded, but now…” With her healthy hand, she reached out to Afra, gently cupping her cheek, caressing her lips with her thumb. “Stay with me, Afra,“ she said urgently. “Don’t give up.” The girl’s eyes fluttered open, her beautiful face streaked with tears, blood and cum. Ava, so close to her, turned her head and kissed her gently on the lips. “I am here, I am with you.”

***

“I suppose you will take these rooms as your own now.”

Mahnaz stood in the middle of her spacious quarters, looking at Armon. The artfully woven carpets danced with color in the golden light of the afternoon sun. There was a desk covered in open books and scrolls, maps and scribbled notes, all remnants of her hopes to overcome the threat of a Golden Dawn invasion. Another wall was covered in shelves filled with dozens of books and various objects: vases, beautiful wooden boxes and mathematical instruments, a lute, carved stone figurines of lovers in various sexual poses.

In one corner of the room stood an assortment of the light, delicate rapiers Mahnaz preferred as her weapon of choice. There were different knives, and a valuable wooden bow. She threw a longing glance in that direction, but knew that such an attempt would be foolish.

Large windows oversaw the glittering turquoise of the nearby sea, and a light breeze ruffled the thin curtains. On a table was a large bowl filled with peaches, figs, and grapes. The two crystal glasses were still half-filled with dark red wine, whereas the carafe next to them was empty.

Her eyes fell on the large bed, covered with the finest linen and silks. It had been only hours since she and Rezah had made good use of its comfort and spaciousness, but to Mahnaz, it felt like it had been a lifetime ago. Was still all still a dream? Would she maybe, any moment now, wake up next to her favourite companion, to begin a new day?

The young man looked grotesquely out of place in his blood-smeared armour, reeking of death. His presence was a blemish on the royal quarters and the beauty they contained, Mahnaz thought.

“Explain to me then…Armon… explain to me what marriage entails.” She squared her shoulders and looked straight at him. “What is it that is expected of me?”

***

Tabea cried out in pain as Rezah dragged her from the throne room, but was unable to resist his grip. From a corner of her eye she saw Jaleh vanish through another door with the witch woman, and her heart sunk. “Jaleh…,” she whispered hoarsely, well knowing that her lover could not hear her anymore.

She did not see where he took her, but as he hauled her into a sunlit room, she realised that she was now entirely at his mercy, a thought that filled her both with rage and terror.

“What the fuck! Why…why, Rezah?” Her face was still throbbing, and her lower lip had swollen up, making it more difficult to speak. Angry tears stained her porcelain face. How could he have betrayed them like this? Where was Jaleh? Everything she had known and trusted to be true had suddenly vanished into thin air, leaving her - with nothing. Now, alone in this room with this man she had thought she knew intimately, a man who certainly knew everything about her, Tabea felt cold fear rising in her throat for the first time this day.

***

Walking behind the witch woman, Jaleh forced her mind to go blank, chasing all frantic thoughts from her head. Her hands were balled into tight fists, and she had trouble breathing. Tabea. She had seen the glint in Rezah’s eyes, his readiness to inflict yet more pain, and she was afraid that her darling princess would refuse to yield. She had never been one to give in, even if the odds were stacked against her so clearly. It was part of the reason that Jaleh loved her so very much.

But now was not the moment to give in to her fears.

Screams and sounds of looting still drifted up from the streets and parts of the castle. Jaleh wondered how many of her comrades were still alive, and if so, what had happened to them. Where was Ava? Would she be allowed to see her commander?

Through one of the windows they passed, Jaleh glimpsed scenes of chaos. Broken glass, loot strewn everywhere. There were bodies, too. Screams and groans of those who were wounded. What kind of rule would the city wake up to the next day? What kind of dawn? How would this new king impose his laws and mores, so contrary to those that had ordered the society of Khoraz for decades? And, most importantly, how long would she have to wait to finally exert revenge on this monstrous emperor of war and his henchmen?

“Why do you serve him?” she suddenly heard herself say to the witch doctor. “Why does a woman agree to serve this man without being forced to do so?”
 
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Kyarrah led Jaleh away from the throne room, toward the stables where her mare was still saddled and ready. She gathered her horse’s reigns and the reigns of another saddled horse, all but ignoring her charge’s questions and implications. This woman had much to learn, not just about Klaus and his Empire, but about what it really meant to serve.

“You ride, do you not?” Kyarrah asked, not really waiting for an answer as she kicked her leg astride her dappled grey mare, “keep up. Yah!”

Kyarrah heeled her horse hard and hit a gallop just a few strides out of the stable. She didn’t look back for Jaleh. If the girl truly desired escape, it wasn’t her duty to keep her prisoner. If she tried to flee she’d be handled much more harshly and there was nothing anyone could do to help her—but Kyarrah doubted she was the sort, she seemed much braver than that. Instead, she trusted this woman who likely desired nothing more than planting a blade between her ribs and rode on in advance of her.

The experienced surgeon reigned her horse hard as she heard screams from down a narrow alley, she was out of the saddle with a practiced kick of her leg. From around her waist she unwound a long, bull-whip that she carried with her.

At the end of the alley an armored man had a woman cornered at the end of the alley, she wearing the earth-toned skirts of a peasant and him the boiled leathers of an infantryman—though from behind it was unclear which army he’d been poised to fight for. The soldier raised his arm back, brandishing a dagger as the woman let go of another scream and her top ripped loudly.

CRACK!!!

The sharp, leather snap of the whip’s frayed end filled the alley, bigger than the scene at the end of it or even the alley itself, the sound overflowing rooftops and into the street.

“Ah! My arm!” the soldier wailed, feeling his weight abruptly tugged backward, “what the hell?”

Blood was dripping from the soldier’s muscular elbow in an almost steady stream, while the woman used the temporary respite to squirm out from under the larger man and tuck herself into a corner of the alley. Another tug from Kyarrah sent the man tumbling backward into the dirt. As he landed the emblem of Khoraz was embossed on the leather breastplate of his light armor.

“Go to the church if you’ve got ardor to vent, the Lord Emperor has forbidden any rape outside of that sanctioned zone until law can be fully restored,” there was an authoritative boom to Kyarrah’s voice that hadn’t been there before, it was a tone that indicated she wasn’t someone who was easily forced to do anything, “you are hereby ordered to desist this unlawful assault.”

The woman rushed over to Kyarrah’s side, recognizing a protector. The soldier managed at last to wrestle his arm free of the whip and retook his feet, brandishing the dagger at Kyarrah now.

“The Lord Emperor… what a joke! Klaus is the one who brought us Sex Empire! All women are our fuck-toys now. Even you!” the soldier barked back, tucking his injured forearm against his waist, “now back up before I fuck you with this knife instead of my—”

“Look here!” Kyarrah took a sharp step toward the soldier and his knife, tipping her molded shoulder guard toward the soldier, “these are the chevrons of a Lieutenant in the Dawnish Command. If you value your life and want to live to see what the reality of The Glorious Dawn can be, you’ll shut your mouth and go re-enlist with the new guard.”

“You bitch, I’ll—” the soldier never got a chance to say what he would do as the crossbow bolt severed the fragile wind pipes that connected his lungs to his esophagus, the fletching sticking out of the Khoraz emblem.

“I doubt it,” Kyarrah remarked, more for Jaleh’s benefit than for the soldier who was dead before he hit the ground, “you go on home now, sweetheart. Lock your door and don’t come out until tomorrow morning, understand? The city isn’t safe tonight.”

Kyarrah pressed two Golden Suns into the trembling woman’s palm and allowed her back to the street where she ran toward the residential districts.

“It’s not just barbarians who do barbaric things,” Kyarrah said to her latest companion, pulling back on a brass lever that restrung the elaborate crossbow strapped to her forearm, “deep down—or in some cases, not so deep down, they’re savage animals. From princes to pikemen, they’re all beasts. Ought we, the strong not plan for such certainties? Shouldn’t we let them vent their brutality on those who can endure it, rather than the fragile and innocent like that helpless thing?”

Kyarrah climbed back into the saddle, clearly with more to say, though still paying little heed to Jaleh’s questions. She spotted a column of black smoke some few blocks away. She heeled her horse toward the danger.

*-*-*

Rezah released her as he and Tabea reached the bedroom which now would be his. He sighed as she wept and cursed at him, demanding answers. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. The weight of betraying the royal family had weighed more heavily on Rezah than he let show, but it had been the only way he could imagine getting what he truly wanted, what he desired above all else.

“You still don’t get it. Look around! You ought to see why—it’s you, Tabea! It’s always been you. But your sister… and Jaleh… the war, the expectations, the empty promises… I just…” Rezah slumped to the bed, glancing back up at Tabea with eyes shrink-wrapped in barely contained tears encasing his blue eyes, “I didn’t see any other way. I shouldn’t expect you to understand… I don’t. But some day, you’ll understand. It’s love, not hate that drives me.”

*-*-*

“Yes, I think that these quarters would be best suited for my purposes, as I’ll be ruling this city once the horde moves on,” Armon answered over his shoulder in response to Mahnaz’s question about residences, “and you’re obviously most comfortable here, so it just makes sense.”

Armon had been prepared to risk and perhaps lose his very life that morning, but this situation, alone with the deposed ruler on the eve of an arranged marriage he never anticipated or wanted—he was nervous.

Of course he wanted her, in that base, carnal way that he so often felt about beautiful women. But this was more complicated, he had to live with her after and her apparent lack of understanding wasn’t helping to direct his focus. She was obstinate, as if marrying him were some terrible fate worse than death, as if it were something that was being done for him rather than against his wishes.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” Armon sighed, turning sharply back toward Mahnaz, “it’s obvious politics. Wed your line to the conquered monarchy to preserve a semblance of consistency, reduce holdouts to the new regime. Our children will scarcely remember who conquered who. He’s wedding our people together.

“The very least he expects of me is a male heir, obviously from you. Aside from that, I have no interest whatsoever in fidelity, so you may see others as well, as long as I alone am given the opportunity to give you a child. Are you starting to understand what this is?”

Armon began undressing, frustrated with the situation, his uncle’s infallible ruling and his own inability to put a positive spin on this. He whipped his belt off in a flash and raised it above his head before spiking it heavily to the floor.

“I don’t want this any more than you do, but it’s what the great God King commands, so even I am helpless to resist him.”

*-*-*

Ava’s sarcasm was completely lost on Lorral, who could already tell that she was enjoying his cock more than she wanted to let on, and her overly-gracious overtures only added to his enjoyment. He’d never seen her in the saddle, but she was one hell of a mare for mounting. She went on to threaten Skull-Crack and the others, still seething about her loss to Klaus and the indignation she suffered.

“It’s a decent metaphor, but people are not like blankets—if they were, none of you warrior women would exist. Such a thing would be impossible. People become what they’re made into, is it so impossible to believe that this experience might be preparing you for something else, something you might even be better at?”

As Ava arched back into him, Lorral reached under her thigh and lifted her leg off the ground, turning her to more directly face her subordinate who was very pretty and much too young to handle this rough treatment as well as Ava was.

“Perhaps Klaus choose you for this specifically because you’re a leader, because only you are capable of doing what will really need to be done as the Empire grows, as we chase the dawn Eastward and expand—maybe he needs to break you down in order to remake you as something stronger. As a commander, you must be familiar with the strategy.”

Still holding her leg, Lorral gently coaxed at the tip of her clit as he drove himself into her again and again, his smooth, pink cock, penetrating her deep, stretching her to fit his shape faintly.

*-*-*

“Yes, well… I’m sure the dead wish they were alive as well,” Klaus remarked in response to her words about some wishing they were dead. She still saw him as the red-eyed tyrant that they all said he was… maybe he really was that man, after all, “but I’m glad for every life that was spared, even the one who did this to me, Ava. I’m glad I was able to beat her without taking her life.”

Klaus flinched as the needle caught against partially formed scab and reopened, needles were his secret phobia, but he had to admit that Nejlah’s tiny fingers did help the agonizing process go smoother. He chuckled softly and appreciatively as she attempted to ease his discomfort, the irony of her concern over him almost beautiful in its purity. He took the sponge appreciatively but made no use of it.

“Yes, a bath would do wonders for me, but I may need your help to keep these new dressings dry. My, what a good job you’re doing, I—”

As Nejlah’s small, warm cheek pressed against his muscular chest, Klaus completely forgot what he was even saying. He couldn’t breathe, he was instantly and unexpectedly beaten. How?

“I… please, lead the way,” Klaus muttered, gently taking her hand between his thumb and index finger as though she were a tea cup, “the attendants must have water boiling downstairs by now.”
 
Jaleh did know how to ride, but she did not like it much, and was far not as secure in her horse riding skills as the witch. “Fuck,” she muttered, trying to keep up with the Dawnish woman as she dashed out of the stables and into the chaotic streets of the city. Jaleh only narrowly avoided collision with groups of people trying to retrieve what was left of their scattered possessions. Her fingers curled tightly around the reigns she rode behind the clouds of sand and dust kicked up by the mare ahead of her.

They heard the piercing scream of a woman in obvious distress at the same time, and Jaleh was relieved to see that the surgeon did not intend to ignore it. She swiftly dismounted, and, leading both horses by their reins, followed her chaperone into the alley.

At the sight of the soldier assaulting a young peasant woman, Jaleh’s hand instinctively reached for the twin blades. But her hands grasped at nothing where her swords should have been, and the lieutenant became suddenly keenly aware of her lack of any kind of weapon. The idea of having to scout the burning city for rapists and violent looters unarmed was a thoroughly unpleasant one, but it was unlikely that the Dawnish witch woman would care about how she felt about anything.

CRACK!!!

The sound of the bullwhip yanked her from her thoughts. Jaleh jumped back, impressed by the skill the witch displayed with the leathery weapon. She had never seen anyone fight like that. Why did a woman such as this willingly serve under the murderous warrior king of the Glorious Dawn? Though apparently, women were allowed to serve and bear arms. Jaleh somehow had to coax her way back into being allowed to carry her blades, and to keep following her daily training.

The young lieutenant scoffed when she saw the three fish on the man’s leather breastplate, the insignia of the army of Khoraz. “If she doesn’t put you in your place for this, I will, soldier,” Jaleh muttered under her breath. She tensed as it became clear that he did not intend to stand down – on the contrary. Had the victory of the Dawnish conquerors poisoned the minds of the male population that quickly?

His obstinacy turned out to be a thoroughly unwise decision. But Jaleh did not need this lesson to understand that not only barbarians did barbaric things. Frowning, her thoughts went back to Rezah. No shit. The gentlest men could turn out to be the most ferocious beasts.

There had always been those elder, more radical councillors who had maintained that Khoraz was not ready for male soldiers, that men should not be trained in the arts of killing and inflicting pain as long as the Kingdom of the Silver City was surrounded by reactionaries and bloodthirsty thugs, who, like the lingering menace of a creeping, contagious illness, threatened to infect the ranks of local men with aspirations of domination over everyone else, solely on the basis of who had a cock, and who didn’t, or who didn’t care. Maybe these radical women warriors had been right. How many of the men of Khoraz had secretly hoped for things to change back to way they had been decades ago? Jaleh was under no illusions that Rezah and his band of traitors were the only ones who had changed sides today.

But Jaleh did not understand why the witch woman, whose name she still did not know, thought that the Glorious Dawn was in any way an alternative to what Khoraz had attempted to be. She did not have time to ponder that question. The Dawnish commander did not wait for her, and she was right not to linger. The city was not safe, and in dire need of control and order.

Before departing, Jaleh looked down at the corpse of the soldier and spat at his face, his pained surprise frozen in death. “Rot in hell,” she whispered, as her eye caught the gleaming blade of his knife. Hesitating only for a second, Jaleh crouched down and pulled the weapon from his limp fingers, before concealing it in her left boot, replacing the one Rezah had taken from her earlier. Mounting the horse, she then hurried to catch up with her Dawnish companion, following her into the direction of a thick column of black smoke rising over the roofs of the city.

***

Tabea, kneeling on the floor of what she realised to be her own bedroom, looked up as he spoke. What the hell was he talking about? Had he finally lost his mind? Had she? Or was this yet another side of his newfound sadistic streak, another way of toying with her emotions?

She wanted nothing more than to believe that all of this had been a ruse, a case of temporary insanity, or maybe a helpless act on Rezah’s part, that he was a master performer who could simply conjure up the cold glint she had seen in his eyes only moments earlier in the throne room. For the length of a few heartbeats, Tabea wanted to believe that the man on her bed was the real Rezah, the man who had taught her to shoot a bow and to dive from the cliffs, the trusted friend who knew her secrets and fears.

Then that thought was gone.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Tabea lifted herself up, holding on to the stone wall, her legs shaking. She wiped her face and held out her fingers, wet with blood and tears, towards Rezah.

“So…will you tell me next that I made you to this to me….because of love?”

She stared at him, her eyes wild with incredulity at what he had said.

“You don’t get to speak about love, you fucking traitor,” she hissed, flinching at the pain speaking caused her. “I loved you. Mahnaz loved you. Nejlah fucking adored you! And we all believed you when you swore to protect us, always! Remember that, you piece of shit?” The girl took a step towards him, torn between fear and overwhelming rage. “If it wasn’t for you, Nejlah would be safe now, and not at the mercy of that monstrous king and his empire of rape that you have pledged allegiance to! Jaleh would be leading the reinforcements back to Khoraz, and Mahnaz would still be the queen of the Silver City!” She stood before him now, her face a mask of intense, violent hatred. Her voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper. “And I…,” an angry sob interrupted her. “I would not be…what is it? Your…personal slave!”

She punctuated the last word with an angry shove against his shoulders using both of her hands, groaning with the frustration of wanting to hurt him, but lacking the strength. “You destroyed everything, Rezah. Everything!” She shoved him again, trying to land more blows on his shoulders and chest with her fists, blinded by tears. “I hate you!”

***

Mahnaz listened quietly as Armon laid the terms of the marriage out to her. She had to admit that she was surprised to hear how indifferent he was both to her and her fidelity as his wife. Maybe there were things about the rule of the Glorious Dawn that she had been misinformed about. It struck her how young Klaus’ nephew still was, and now, alone in these quarters with her, he had the air of an angry, pouting boy. An angry boy who was nevertheless scared of his King.

“No, it’s you who doesn’t understand,” she finally said in reply to his explanations, crossing her arms in front of her chest, watching him fiddle angrily with his garments. “What you and your uncle are talking about, what you so casually call ‘politics’, has been obsolete in Khoraz for decades. Royal lineages, strategic marriages…a male heir!” While her voice was calm, Mahnaz left no doubt that she found the idea of favouring male children over others both ridiculous and offensive. “People fought for our city and all that it stands for to come into being. Our ancestors ripped Khoraz from the claws of patriarchy and bigotry at the expense of their freedom, and often their lives!”

Mahnaz did not want to anger Armon, and saw little use in trying to lecture him on the importance of questioning his own position. But his condescension irritated her. Did he have even the slightest idea of what his royal uncle had set out to destroy? Or was Khoraz only another dot on the map of their conquests, another post on their way to the East?

“The hordes of the Glorious Dawn are dragging us back centuries, back into the darkest days of these lands, when some men thought they held rights over all others who live here, to a time of servants and slaves, of constant violence, of greed and abject cruelty.” She motioned at the shelves filled with books and scrolls. “If you really believe that our children,” – her voice was briefly sharp with disgust at the thought of their joint offspring, “will not care who conquered who, you must be deluded. Our libraries and archives are filled with accounts of what we overcame, and of what we are in danger of losing should Khoraz fall.”

She walked over to the open window and looked outside, aware that this is exactly what had happened, and that they had indeed lost, under her leadership, everything the Silver City had been proud to represent. Shame, anger, and profound grief rose in her chest. How would her children ever forgive her? Mahnaz turned back to face Armon, her voice calm and impassive again.

“I am glad to hear that you don’t expect me to be faithful to you. It will make this union more bearable for both of us. If it is only an heir that you are after, we can keep our nightly encounters to the necessary minimum, I suppose.” Mahnaz looked at him attentively. He was handsome and would not have any troubles finding other women willing to share his bed, which was, hopefully, good for her. “You will have to find someone to perform the wedding ceremony, nobody in Khoraz is qualified to do so. In the meantime, there are many things you and your uncle need to know about this city and its surroundings. Food stocks have been depleted, and we have accrued debts in trying to finance this war.” She sighed. “And people need to know what the rule of the Glorious Dawn entails. They need to know about the laws, what it means to be a subject of their new king, if only to avoid punishment. Too many rumours about you and your hordes have been circulating in the city, and some criminal elements might try to turn them to their own advantage.”

The former queen gazed down at her bare feet, before looking up at her future husband again.

“I realise that I am not the war prize you had hoped for, and know that after battle, fighters hunger for carnal release. If you want to go and have a real taste of your conquest’s spoils, I cannot stop you. But as the former regent I do want to ask you not to use force against women who don’t wish to…celebrate.” She reached around to her left hip to untie the silk strings holding her dress, unlacing them mechanically and without much enthusiasm. “After all, it is me who lost the crown to the warrior king and I should protect those who must now face the consequences of that failure as best I can.”

***

What Nejlah had referred to as the bathhouse was in fact a large structure made up of several buildings just below the palace. A maze of hot, warm and cold pools ran through several rooms and patios, some of which were open and decorated with fountains and flowering trees. Rectangular pools were surrounded by ornamented horseshoe arches and columns, and the vaulted ceiling was punctuated by thousands of small skylights, scattering the sunlight on the still surface of the water.

She turned to the King. “The warm pools are heated by a system of underground pipes, your Majesty. The water springs from the mountains, not the sea…” Nejlah hesitated, wondering if the Dawnish hordes had bathhouses, or, for that matter, baths.

They had reached the edge of a large pool whose floor was decorated with intricate mosaics. Fresh water trickled from a finely sculpted fountain, sending ripples over the clear surface.

“No, I beg you, I don't want to die…!”

Nejlah flinched and turned around. They were not alone.

Just to the right a Dawnish soldier, a mere boy really, was kneeling at a palace guardian’s feet. His helmet had been knocked off his head, and he was desperately clawing at her hand that, while still holding a sword, held a handful of his dark hair to pull back his head, exposing his throat to the blade of the knife she had in her other hand.

The body of another man lay, outstretched in a pool of blood, on the stone tiles. A third Dawnish soldier sat, his head slumped against his chest as if he were merely sleeping, against the wall. Nejlah felt faint, and her fingers slipped from Klaus’ grip in horror.

“Mercy, please, mer-…”

The boy’s fearful plea ended in a sickening gargle as she cut his throat in one quick flick of her wrist, spilling his blood over the metal breastplate of his armour. He slumped and fell forward onto the tiles, already dead.

Nejlah let out an only half-suppressed whimper, pressing both of her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the scream rising from her chest.

The woman lifted her head and looked at them while she deliberately wiped the blade of her knife on her leather breeches, before slipping it back into its sheath on her belt. “You!” she hissed at the sight of Klaus. Still holding the slender sword in her other hand, she walked towards them with murderous intent.

Nejlah instinctively moved in front of the King in the absurd attempt to shield him from the woman, her small frame so very inadequate for the task. Now standing directly in front of them, the guardian stared at Klaus, her eyes shining like polished black pebbles in the twilight of the bathhouse.

“Move aside princess,” she said hoarsely.

“No,” Nejlah breathed, squaring her slender shoulders. She would not move, not voluntarily. The guardian would have to come at her first.

The woman’s lip was split and swollen, the fabric of her shirt almost torn in half and soaked with blood. She must have discarded the armour of the Palace Guard earlier. Nejlah wondered if she had come to the bathhouse to after battle, and if the Dawnish soldiers had attacked her here.

“You are bleeding,” the young princess whispered, desperate to defuse this situation before more people would die. She was not sure if the King was still carrying any weapons he could defend himself with, but she did know that he was hurt and exhausted. And she also suspected, was in fact entirely certain, that he could crush the slender woman’s skull with his bare hands, given reason and opportunity. And did she not provide the King with both?

“It’s not mine, your Grace,” the woman replied calmly, her eyes were still locked to Klaus’. She stood as still as a statue, blood dripping from the blade she was holding onto the stone tile floor. Nejlah was trembling, trapped as she was between the vengeful palace guardian and her most hated, deadliest foe.

“You could have spared him,” she said in a terrified whisper. “He was just a child.”

“Not a child,” the guardian replied evenly. “A murderer. A rapist.” Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, her gaze never once leaving that of the warrior king while she spoke. “Vermin.”

“They are your companions now,” the princess said, her voice trembling.

The other woman’s eyes narrowed and her lips curled in disgust. “I’d rather di-“

Nejlah shook her head pleadingly. “Bow to your King.”

The guardian, struggling to follow this command from the princess, glared at Klaus, shifting her weight to her back foot ever so slightly, her leather boots creaking as she measured the weight of her blade in her hand, torn between the obligation to obey a member of the royal family and her instinct to attack, to not let such a chance go to waste. Nejlah saw how her fingers, wrapped so tightly around the hilt of her sword, twitched nervously.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she dropped down on one knee and lowered her head.

“Your Majesty.”

Nejlah dared to breathe again. “Bury them. Clean up…this.” She motioned helplessly at the blood spattered against the tiles and the wall. Nejlah hoped that this would satisfy the Warrior King. “We will use the bath in the back. Make sure we are safe there.”

***

“So you believe that no woman is born a warrior then?” Ava asked, rocking back against her assailant, biting her lip to suppress another moan of pleasure. “And I am curious to see if you are right, if there really is a higher purpose to the debasement of some of the finest warriors this side of the White Sea. Though I am afraid all I am to be remade into is a whore who can stomach the appetite of the Dawnish troops, to keep them amused on their raids towards the East.” She groaned, her healthy hand wrapped so tightly around the edge of the pew that her fingers ached. “That’s not the career I had hoped to pursue.”

She underlined this last statement by gyrating her hips against him, clenching her pussy teasingly as he lifted her leg. This Dawnish commander knows how to use his cock, Ava mused grimly. I guess I was wrong on that account, too. As if he had read her thoughts, he started teasing her clit, gently, and Ava bucked against him, urging him on. The pain that still throbbed in almost every part of her body faded into the background, and only enhanced her sensitivity to the pleasure of being expertly fucked. It took all her willpower now not to simply give in and let herself go, and Ava groaned under the strain not to cry out.

Afra’s face was so close to hers now, and the poor girl clearly had no strength, and no fight, left in her. She needed to make it through this, they both did. Ava searched for her mouth, and muffled her moans of pleasure against the soft, cum-smeared lips of her subordinate, who, as if in trance, started to respond to her commander’s efforts, kissing her back.
 
Lorral was prepared to make a measured rebuttal of Ava’s question regarding the ability of women to be warriors, but his answer was abruptly halted when his counterpart locked lips with a subordinate across their pagan pews to a nonexistent goddess. It seemed that Klaus had been right all along—Ava’s warrior spirit and survival instincts served her in this as well, she was adapting at a rate which superseded his ability to explain it. Like a cocoon splitting open while the rooted plant dumbly tries to describe flight.

If it had fallen to Lorral to be so strong for his men, he doubted his ability to do so—or that any of his men would do so for him. It seemed plain that Klaus had been right in his estimation that the Silver City’s greatest bounty was not in riches, but instead in talent.

“You are a magnificent specimen,” Lorral sighed, running a hand appreciatively down the muscular curve of Ava’s statuesque spine, “a shame about the horses… I have need of a squire. But I suppose that, too would be a waste of your true potential. I suppose, though, it was a selfish impulse to think that I could keep you to myself.”

Lowering her leg back into the pew, Lorral redoubled his efforts, less concerned now with Ava’s enjoyment of him than he was with his own satisfaction. He pumped his hips faster and faster, noticing that the sky was rusting orange and he’d soon need to be dressed for the victor’s banquet.

“Look, I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’d have an easier time climaxing if you could reach yours as well, so do please, cum for me now. Right now! I’ve got dinner plans.”

*-*-*

Even before his brain could process the doomed guard’s plea, the sound of metal severing flesh inserted a rod of steel into Klaus’ spine. He was in no condition to fight—but none-the-less, he was conditioned to fight. Out of pure instinct, he snatched one of the miniature torches from its housing in a nearby bronze sconce. Klaus pivot stepped forward, brandishing the torch like a club, while his other hand spread itself out protectively across Nejlah’s chest, not a sexual touch, but a defensive posture, placing his thick fingers between her fragile throat and breast cavity and the threat.

In his face, Klaus had affected the murderous mask that he wore into combat, his every muscle tensed, holding Nejlah closer against himself, already sorting through his mind a million potential disasters. He met the rogue’s glare eye-to-eye, but inwardly, he was afraid. If anything happened to Nejlah he would be devastated—personally and politically.

Then, it was as if the heavens opened up and the sun started to shine on Nejlah with a radiance that seemed to fill even the vaulted, cavernous bath structure. Some ingrained instinct within her found a voice and without intending it directly or even realizing that she was doing it, she ruled. She spoke firmly but earnestly and with just a few words and looks, disarmed the rebel and bowed her to her knees.

Klaus smirked, he was tempted to pass down some sentence on the girl, but he wanted Nejlah’s victory to be absolute, hers alone. So he said nothing and allowed her to lead him to another bathing area. The bath in the back that she spoke of was actually an ornate balcony carved out from the mountainside, overlooking the various tiers of the city.

The view was glorious.

At intervals the volcanic hotspring overflowed the elaborate marble pool, falling hundreds of feet to join a much larger river which ran out to the coast. A few columns of black smoke marred the otherwise immaculate view, but it was no less for its blemishes as the setting sun reflected on the faint metallic accents throughout the city and looked like a bed of living fire below them.

With his good hand, Klaus unbuckled his thick, boiled leather belt and unlacing the girdle support which kept his greaves where they belonged on his legs. The steel plates clanked as they fell away, leaving him naked from the waist down. He started to remove his padded shirt, only to wince as the motion threatened his stitches.

*-*-*

“No—I didn’t mean, I’m not displeased with you! I didn’t mean to imply that, I—” Armon realized that he’d been acting like a bit of a horse’s ass, “what I meant, is that I’m not going to force myself on you, that’s not what I want. I only wish my uncle cared what I thought about… anything. You are of course, so very beautiful…”

As Mahnaz’ dress fell open, Armon’s lips fell closed. He’d been with beauties from around the world, but none ever quite compared to her—the gorgeous “Silver Queen” of the Silver City.

“As for the rest, I’m sure my uncle will instruct each and every living soul in what he requires of them. He likely intends that you’ll continue ruling your kingdom, instructing me in rulership. As for our customs and culture, let me share some of that with you now.”

Armon’s hands moved across Mahnaz’ hips gently drawing her body against his own, both of them almost naked.

“I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative of you. I’d like us to get along, maybe even learn to love each other with time. I just wanted you to know that my loyalty to my uncle is far from absolute. Frankly, I’d rather be aligned with you.”

With this, he bound his courage to the sticking point—as his uncle was fond of saying. Armon pulled her close by the small of her slender back and kissed her, tenderly but so full of genuine passion.

*-*-*

“Hate me if you must, but I still love you.”

Rezah grabbed hold of Tabea’s shoulders and kissed her, their tears joining into one shared wet spot between their cheeks as he tried his best to convey everything he deeply felt for her through the kiss. He didn’t want to rape her, but perhaps he had no choice. He wasn’t about to admit to these Dawnish brutes that he couldn’t bed his chosen warprize.

Such would be an unforgivable humiliation.

There was a loud tearing sound as Rezah ripped her dress, stripping her abruptly bare.

“But now, perhaps it’s tough love that you need.”

*-*-*

Kyarrah’s horse reared as they rounded a corner to find a blazing fire burning through a residential district. Some of the more dutiful Dawnish troops had formed a bucket brigade, but it was all they could do just to keep up with the spreading fire. Residents tried their best, but the local well was already running low.

From the black saddle bag slung across her mare’s back, Kyarrah extracted a few small cones of paper, illustrated with smoke-like designs.

“Everyone, get back!” Kyarrah shouted to the crowd, the Dawnish troops complying immediately, the locals looking stunned, “get down!”

THOOM!!!

The explosive blasted grey ash from every window and doorway, showering the street in orange sparks. The locals who hadn’t listened to Kyarrah’s warnings screamed and were knocked into the streets—some mildly injured perhaps. The upside, however, was that the explosion had depleted the building of Oxygen and starved out the fire, extinguishing it in an instant.

When Kyarrah tossed the second explosive into the second building, everyone took cover without her even shouting. She took hold of her horse’s reigns as well as Jaleh’s mount when she arrived on the scene, steadying the horses when the second charge detonated.

“Imagine, if you may. A world where women make the laws and enforce them, where they make the rules and keep the people safe—but the men don’t feel threatened. What if we could make sure that no woman ever has to be raped again. Sex Empire isn’t about making women slaves, it’s about making the fragile, volatile beasts that live in all men lie down and be ruled.”

THOOM!!!!
 
Ava smiled to herself at his appreciative tone and cast a quick glance over her shoulder. This Dawnish commander was full of surprises. Had the circumstances been different, she might have been tempted by the offer to enter his service, in more ways than one. Then another thought came to her mind.

“I know that I am in no position to bargain, and that I have nothing to offer you in return, but I would ask you to take Afra here as your squire instead. She is as able to do the work you require as well as I am, and I vouch for her loyalty and obedience.” Ava tenderly cupped the young woman’s cheek, as she was shoved so roughly into the pew by her assailant that her teeth rattled. “Please save her”, she pleaded, unable to hide a hint of desperation from her voice. The young lieutenant mumbled in protest, her eyes closed, when Ava withdrew her hand.

She cast another playful look over her shoulder, chuckling softly. “As for my availability I am afraid I can make no promises. You have to take it up with your master who vowed to keep me at the service of these…beasts.”

Her mind was taken off this trail of thoughts as he started to fuck her with renewed urgency. Ava threw her head back, no longer hiding the pleasure his cock gave her.

“How could a lady refuse such an invitation?” she smirked at his request for her to cum, her boast of laughter immediately trailing off into a breathless pant. She moaned loudly, feeling the building pressure of her approaching orgasm. Ava rocked back against him, meeting each of his thrusts, desperate for relief herself. Her fingers wrapped around the rough wood of the pew, she tensed as she came with a shudder, muffling her screams of pleasure by cradling her face against her healthy arm. The firm muscles of her pussy twitched as she came on his cock, clenching down on him almost painfully, and, had it not been for his tight hold on her hips, she would have collapsed, finally completely out of strength.

***

Rezah kissed her with the need of a starved man who had stumbled upon a feast, with an unrestrained abandon that scared her. It made her wince in pain, and the metallic taste of her own blood mingled with the salty aroma of her angry, and his desperate tears. She pushed her hands into his chest, uselessly trying to writhe out of his grip on her shoulders, her wails of protest muffled against his lips. When he finally broke the kiss, a torrent of insults, now no longer trapped, spilled from her mouth.

“Mnh…dare you, you son of a bitch! Have you lost your mind, you asshole? Don’t ever do this agai…”

The flow of curses was abruptly halted when Rezah, taking hold of the neckline of her dress, ripped the fabric in two, baring her body all the way down to her waist, where the material gathered and fell over the thin leather belt. Her small firm breasts rose and fell in rapid succession as she stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t come fucking near me,” she hissed, unable to hide the panic rising in her throat like bile. He knew that she sometimes liked Jaleh to be rough with her. How often had she told him in detail of the delicious things her lover would do to her, the restraints, the helplessness, the exquisite pain Jaleh knew to inflict, how it made her shiver when the lovely lieutenant commanded her to obey. Tough love! It was exactly what he had said then, when they had exchanged bedroom secrets. The memory cut her to the core now. “I will kill you if you do”, she said hoarsely.

Desperate for a way out, the princess tried to remember if there was anything in this room that could help her, any weapon, any object she could defend herself with. There were the exercise swords, carelessly thrown in one corner of the room, too far away and useless against a master swordsman like Rezah. Her hunting knife, hidden away in a wooden chest. A letter opener, somewhere. Vases. Thick tomes stacked on the shelves. Inching imperceptibly backwards, Tabea bumped into the large wooden table that stood in the middle of the room. Without taking her eyes of him, her right hand slid across the surface of the table, hoping to reach one of the two copper candleholders that she knew were there, somewhere. But instead, her fingers touched a jagged obsidian stone, a sharp-edged, fist-sized black rock that she had found on the beach and kept because it was so pretty. “I will fucking kill you,” she whispered again.

***

The young princess forced her gaze away from the bloody scene, her back straight, concentrating on each step she took. Nejlah trembled as they walked past the kneeling guardian, anticipating more violence, either from her or the King. But nothing happened. King Klaus followed her in silence, and she felt a sudden rush of elation. He trusted her! He had wanted to protect her against the rebellious soldier, and now he trusted her ability to handle the bloodthirsty girl. A shy smile danced across her lips. The King trusted her. Her sisters so often treated her like a child, but he believed in her abilities to handle problems like the royal that she was. She was grateful to him, and still wondered of how to express this gratitude without sounding like the child she no longer wanted to be, when they stepped out onto the terrace.

The view still managed to take her breath away. In the far distance, the sea was glittering in the fiery light of the setting sun. Seabirds flew screeching overhead, oblivious to the fate that had befallen the Silver City. For a moment, Nejlah stood there and enjoyed the warmth on the naked skin of her arms and her face, the breeze in her hair, the salty scent of the sea. Despite the horrors of this day, she was grateful to still be alive, and she suddenly remembered the King’s remark about those who were no longer able to say the same thing. He was right. How lucky they all had been!

She turned and watched as Klaus loosened his belt and rid himself of his armor. Despite her lack of sexual experience she was a princess of Khoraz, and used to the sight of naked flesh. And she had been raised to appreciate the beauty of the human body, and his raw strength, paired with the vulnerability he seemed to allow himself with her, was utterly beautiful. Nejlah looked at him almost longingly, taking in every inch of his muscular form.

“Wait…,” she said sharply, shaken from her thoughts as she saw that the King tried to wiggle out of his padded shirt on his own. “Your Majesty,” she added quickly, her tone apologetic. “I will help you or you will risk tearing the stitches.” On her tiptoes, the slender girl helped him out of the garment, her arms straining to reach all the way up to his hands, her chest pressed against his naked body as she tried.

Nejlah put the shirt carefully to the side and with one practiced gaze at the bandage around his upper chest decided that all was well. “Try and keep the dressing as dry as possible, your Majesty.” She attempted an encouraging smile. “If you allow me, I will help you wash.” Nejlah knelt next to the edge of the pool and pulled a low wooden table towards her on which were two intricately decorated silver bowls, a sponge, a bar of scented soap on a clay plate, vials with essential oils of lavender and thyme as well as a soft cloth. She made an inviting gesture with her arm for him to step into the bath, and the thin silver bands around her wrists jingled softly. “The water in this pool will be shallow enough for you to stand in and will only reach up to your waist.”

***

She had not expected this.

His words took her by surprise, and his admiration of her beauty was almost touching. Armon had fallen reverently silent when Mahnaz had opened the front of her dress, parting the soft silk fabric to reveal her slender, athletic body to his gaze. The breeze in the room covered her dusky skin in goosebumps, blowing stray strands of her thick black braid across her face. The green lace collar held her dress in place, and for a moment she hesitated to unfasten it, bewildered as she was by his almost bashful kindness and his profuse apology.

For a moment they stared at each other in silence, before Armon told her about his uncles’ plans, his mind clearly elsewhere already. All she could do was nod. She bit her lip to silence a sharp retort to his offer to introduce her to Dawnish customs, wondering what she did, in fact, really know.

She forced herself not to flinch at his touch. He was dirty, covered in dust and grime, and she noticed spatters of dried blood on his neck, his cheek, and his hands. He smelled musky, of sweat and leather, but it was not an unpleasant smell. The confusion was still evident on her features as she was trying to read his face for signs of falseness or malice.

She was shocked at the tenderness of his hands on her body. Was this the same man who, alongside his uncle, had pillaged, raped, and butchered his way into her city, leaving despair and destruction in his wake? Was she granted a glimpse at the man beneath the mask, or was he toying with her? Mahnaz heard the words he said, but somehow failed to attach any meaning to them. Had he really just offered her allegiance over that to his uncle?

But these thoughts were cut short by his lips on hers, and his kiss was both soft and demanding, and there was nothing she could do than to kiss him back, unable to contain a soft sigh that sounded unmistakably like pleasure. She melted into him, her hands on his upper arms, pulling him close. Her mind was racing. If his words were genuine, and not some test of her obedience to the Glorious Dawn, she had everything to gain from winning him over, body and soul. “I want the same thing,” she whispered breathlessly, breaking the kiss momentarily, before closing her eyes, finding his lips again.

***

The witch woman moved at dizzying speed, and Jaleh struggled to keep up. Before she turned the corner the Dawnish woman had taken, a loud explosion made her horse whinny nervously and rear back. “Fuck,” Jaleh whispered, struggling to stay in the saddle. She urged the horse forward again, as a cloud of dust and small debris rained down on them. What was going on?

As they arrived on the scene, she watched the witch throw another explosive into a second burning building, her hands already on the reins of her horse, a gesture the young lieutenant appreciated, as the witch finally addressed her again. Jaleh looked at her in surprise and appreciation. Did her master know that she harboured such treacherous thoughts? The Warlord clearly did not agree that it was women who should make and uphold the law. So what Sex Empire was the commander talking about?

“The problem with men is that they feel threatened by strong women who are their equals”, Jaleh shouted at the witch, trying to make herself understood over the noise of the street. “Their egos are usually so preciously fragile that anything short of total domination makes them…”

THOOM!

The second explosion cut her answer short, and Jaleh held her arm protectively over her face, trying to shield herself from bits of wreckage, while holding on to the mane of her hose with the other. “And the Glorious Dawn! They champion exactly that, do they not? Male domination over women in all things?”
 
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Kyarrah just smiled at Jaleh, the perceptiveness of a soldier. She was glad that this woman was as passionate and intuitive as she seemed so far to be—so far, everything was exactly as Klaus had predicted it would be. Kyarrah handed the apparent owners of the buildings a couple of generous pouches full of Golden Suns to compensate for the destruction of their homes and businesses. Both seemed to feel overjoyed at the rate of exchange.

“You’ve hit it on the head, though I may disagree that there is just one problem with men. Men are problems given form,” Kyarrah mused, trying to wrest a laugh from Jaleh, “they can’t control their libidos, their prone to drunkenness and brawling and they can’t conceive of their own worth except by exerting their will over others—but you’re right, their egos are the main obstacle to a just female reign which could last for millennia. “

Kyarrah held the reigns of her own mount and Jaleh’s walking slowly through the streets, looking for signs of disorder. It didn’t stop her from putting a little exaggerated swing in her hips as she led the horses back toward the palace, her uniquely fitted armor hugging her curves as she walked. All around, soldiers bearing the black sun crest were working to restore order and prevent violent opposition or crimes of opportunity.

“So the question becomes, how do we rule the men without them feeling like they’re being ruled? So their fragile little egos can ease off to sleep and leave the above-the-shoulders work to the wiser sex? Maybe Sex Empire isn’t the perfect solution, but I’ll be damned if they don’t all do exactly what I tell them. Why do you think that we chose to siege the Silver City before conquering the countryside? Conquest will only bolster our ranks, but we chose, instead to invade a garrisoned city, reinforced only by undisciplined barbarians. It’s not the gold in your treasury that brought Klaus and I to your doorstep—no. We’re here for a much more precious resource.”

When they reached the castle courtyard, a squire rushed over to take the reins from Kyarrah who offered her hand up to Jaleh to help her out of the saddle. As Kyarrah slowly lowered Jaleh from the saddle into her unintended embrace, she halted, momentarily struck silent in her sales pitch, as she felt the warmth of the other woman’s lips, dangerously close to her own.

“We came for your woman rulers,” Kyarrah kissed Jaleh tenderly, gently, in a womanly way as she grasped the other woman’s hips, drawing her closer…

*-*-*

When the kiss broke, Armon’s eyes stayed closed, lost in the unexpected pleasure and yet at the same time worried that his uncle might know his deepest desires better than he himself did. Instinctively, his palms slid inside of Mahnaz’s dress, his palms seeming to fit perfectly around the points of her well-defined hips—like they were sculpted together from the same block of clay.

Instinctively he drew in a breath to make some renewed apology for kissing her without consent, but before he could make an utterance she kissed him. All of the apologies and excuses flooded out of him and there was only one word left in his mind, which slipped past his lips before he even realized it when the second kiss broke.

“Yes,” he sighed softly, his warm hands meandering their way across Mahnaz’s statuesque, sculpted back, “yes, yes…”

With his eyes still blinded by their lids, Armon launched into another, equally passionate and less inhibited kiss, for the first time caressing her tongue with his own between their mouths, his rogue right hand moving lower to caress and squeeze one of her firm, globe-like ass cheeks. Everything about her body felt exquisite—from the silken caress of her expensive garments on the backs of his hands and arms, to the soft, moisturized silken caress of her skin under his rough palms.

When they reluctantly broke the kiss again, Armon reluctantly pulled his hands back to finish undressing himself, no longer angry like a spoiled child, but equally urgent for very different reasons. His thick, smooth cock was fully erect and as he reached back inside her dress to pull her into another kiss his cock slid gently along her bare inner thigh, getting close enough that he could feel the heat from her sex on his cock head.

Armon cupped her breast, gently squeezing it as he kissed her more, thinking that he might be content doing nothing more than kissing—as talented as Mahnaz seemed to be at that previously mundane endeavor. His thumb passed gently over and around her nipple, back and forth, rubbing it seductively.

“Maybe this isn’t so bad after all,” Armon smiled, his face flushed and his lips pink from so much kissing, “I want you. You’re so much more to me than a war-prize, Mahnaz. I think that I could love you.”

*-*-*

As if he’d been commanded by some higher power than man, Klaus froze in place when Nejlah bid him wait, even though he was uncertain of what he was waiting for, and even though he was temporarily blinded by his garment in a room with a foreign rebel lurking somewhere nearby who he knew desired his death—in spite of all this, he froze in his tracks, allowing his petite ward to finish the difficult (for her) task of stripping his ruined shirt off of his body.

When her small but firm breasts pressed against his muscular body, Klaus let go of a sigh, realizing for the first time that he’d been holding his breath since he was told to wait. Some part of him reached out, coming very close to embracing her in that moment, with her slender body pressed against him, his large hand moving toward the small of her back, but before he could even touch her, she was turning away from him, still focused on the task of bathing him.

Without the barrier of his thick, padded shirt, Klaus got a full smell of himself for the first time. He did, in fact, need this bath quite desperately, though Nejlah at least pretended not to notice. He wanted to say something, to urge her to join him, but again she interrupted his thoughts with clear and focused directions for him—every inch the leader he’d hoped to find here.

“Yes,” Klaus sighed, not realizing how much like his nephew he sounded in this moment, “but I have a condition…”

The water sloshed around Klaus’ muscular calves and knees as he made his way over to where Nejlah had gathered the bathing supplies together. He took a deep breath, thinking to himself how odd it was that he needed so much courage to make his move on this small girl, already conquered when only hours ago he’d risked his very life against a much more formidable woman. It seemed that in the case of Nejlah, Klaus was uniquely vulnerable.

She could slay him with but a glance.

“You must join me,” Klaus smiled, gently working his large fingers at the delicate work of unfastening the impossibly small buttons of her dress without tearing them, “come with me into the bath to make sure that I don’t wet my bandages. Won’t you?”

Klaus smiled, his massive cock stirred faintly against his thigh as he gently slid Nejlah’s dress down her smooth, pale shoulders, exposing more of her neck and chest.

“I won’t force you, princess. Tell me that you want it, too.”

*-*-*

“I ought to have known,” Rezah spat, his face and eyes suddenly grown dark with a murderous rage at being rebuked after pouring out his heart to the one he desired, “you women only understand one thing. I should have known better than to appeal to your decency, you have none in you. I’ll make you understand.”

Rezah’s pride was deeply wounded by her response to his heartfelt plea, and that hurt turned to rage deep inside his belly. It was a terrible, murderous rage—the kind that only deep shame and regret can inspire. He released a hoarse battle cry as he charged her, his hands greedily seeking purchase on her exposed body.

He realized too late that Tabea had armed herself and only barely managed to flinch away from the blow in time to save his skull and his life. Unfortunately, the blow landed on his shoulder, splitting him open and injuring his arm quite severely.

“Bitch!” he cried, swinging Tabea over to the bed after striking her forearm hard enough to make her drop the rock, “want it rough, do you? I’ll give it to you rough.”

Blood was sheeting down his arm as Rezah hiked up what remained of her filthy, tattered dress and penetrated her roughly, without an ounce of foreplay.

“I’ll fuck you to death if I must!” Rezah proclaimed, grasping the back of her neck and driving her face into the feather mattress, “I’d mourn you, my love—but I’ll sooner murder you than have you humiliate me.”

*-*-*

“Oh God!” Lorral cried out, both from genuine pleasure as he came, balls deep inside of Ava’s pussy, but also in dismay at her reluctance to squire for him, “fucking hell.”

Ava was cumming as well, their timing as precise as their ranks might foreshadow, cumming in perfect unison and exquisite enthusiasm. It seemed that the rumors of the Red Fury’s prowess extended to the bedroom when she was properly motivated. Lorral smacked her ass gently, more in appreciation than any form of punishment or malicious intention. Her ass was so muscular and firm that it barely moved, even when struck.

“Even now, your concern is for your men—er, your subordinates. It seems that the tales of your talent as a leader have not been overstated. For your sake, I wanted you to take me up on the offer, so that I could show you to a hot bath and a feather bed, but it seems that your value is much too great for one man to possess. You fucked me admirably and came like a wild thing—so in gratitude, I’ll grant your request. Though she makes a poor appearance at the moment… to inspire such loyalty from one as impressive as yourself, I’ll take her on gladly. I hope to see you again soon, Red Fury.”

Lorral’s smile was dazzling, it seemed to brighten the entire church as he slowly finished milking the last drops of his seed into Ava’s receptive pussy. When he pulled out of her, he turned to the barbarian Skull-Crack, who was still fucking Afra ferociously, without skill or consideration for her health.

“That’s my new squire you’re fucking, barbarian. Go find your pleasure elsewhere.” Lorral commanded, his brilliant smile replaced by a look of stern foreboding, a look that said ‘don’t fuck with me.’

“Piss off, pretty-man. I’m almost finished. You can have her when I’m done,” Skull smirked, driving deep into Afra’s small, prone body again, “they’re best when they give up, like fucking a—UAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Skull-Crack’s scream rose even above the church steeple, high-pitched and frantic in surprise and agony. Instead of a finishing thrust, Skull’s next pump was of his heart, pumping a thick glut of his lifeblood over Afra’s caramel-colored ass. Before he’d even finished talking, Lorral had severed his cock and balls from his body with a curved blade, pulling the whole package back in a clenched fist.

“You lack the rank to argue with me, barbarian. I hereby find you guilty of treason and execute the sentence of death upon you here and now. Bleed out, you bull-headed fool. And let any man who would seek vengeance for this dog, challenge me now, or speak of it again nevermore.”

Skull was still wailing and groaning, stumbling around without purpose and failing to slow the spewing flow of his life’s-blood that was spilling out onto the dirt floor. No one aided him or even spoke out in his defense, they all only halted their sexual conquests long enough to watch him stumble around for a few moments and then fall over, the pale of death upon him as the pool of blood he fell into continued to widen around his hips.

“A gift,” Lorral muttered to Ava, laying the severed appendages onto the pew, easily within her grasp, but not so close as to confront her with them, “welcome to Sex Empire, Ava.”

With that, he casually scooped Afra over one shoulder and carried her out of the church, not even looking back.
 
Nejlah submerged the soft cloth into the pool and uncorked the small veil of thyme oil, when the King made his way over to her, the water softly splashing around his waist. She was crouching by the edge of the pool, holding the cloth in her lap and scenting it with the oil, when he gave voice to his request and his hands reached out to undo the buttons of her dress. She froze. What had she expected?

The thin fabric was already moist from her task by the pool, clinging to the small firm mounds of her breasts like a second skin. He struggled with the small pearls holding her dress together at her shoulders, and for a moment, Nejlah was too terrified to reply, or move, or react in any other way. What was she supposed to say? Her lips trembled, and Nejlah turned her head, trying to hide her blushing face from him.

She would have to tell him about her shameful condition. For so long she had opposed Khoraz customs, the teachings of Silver City alderwomen that suggested a thorough introduction to the arts of sex and pleasure, that condemned the virgin cults and fables of chastity of the dark times, when women had been expected to remain pure before their wedding, and faithful to their husbands after. It was not that Nejlah believed that these traditions had been better, but she was a desperate romantic, and when she had been little she had been addicted to the dramatic stories of star-crossed love and the desperate desire for that one, true soulmate. She now knew that this was somewhat silly, and that she had possibly missed out when she had turned out every offer of introduction to that mysterious sphere of physical pleasures, that she should have acted on her desires, that she should have listened to her sisters who had so often gently nudged her to lose her fears and inhibitions, but now it was too late.

Now she was here, and she did not know what to tell the King. How could he, the Warrior Emperor Klaus, the Conqueror of the Silver City, not feel betrayed when he found out that the prize he had chosen for himself was deeply flawed, was in worth below that of even the poorest Khoraz girl her age? Of course he had assumed that she was educated in the arts of pleasure, that she had the experience worthy of a King. Nejlah watched as he gently removed the dress from her shoulders, exposing the naked skin of her chest, almost all the way to the gentle curves of her cleavage.

He would be angry.

“Your Majesty, I can’t…I don’t know how…” she began, her voice a low, terrified whisper. She still averted his gaze as she spoke, clearly struggling to dress her refusal up in words that would alleviate her shame and her irresponsibility towards her duties as a princess of the Silver City. Nejlah gently put her hand on his, halting his advance. Tears welled up in her eyes and started to roll down her porcelain cheeks. With an angry sniffle, she wiped them away. “I am still a virgin. I don’t know anything. I could never satisfy you.”

***

Jaleh, the reins of her horse now loose between her fingers, listened to the witch woman with interest as they walked through the streets of the half-ruined, still-smouldering city. It was true that the Dawnish witch had surprised her, and that she had not expected her to be as courageous and as just as she had turned out to be – or at least as she pretended to be in front of the young lieutenant. Jaleh was not easily impressed, and certainly not easily fooled. She wondered if there were other reasons, more malignant reasons, for the witch to want to gain her approval of the Sex Empire.

However, she did laugh at the other woman’s remark about men being nothing but problems, flawed creatures that had to be held in check constantly, for their own good and that of everyone around them. “You are right,” Jaleh said, tilting her head in appreciation at the witch woman’s athletic form, so provocatively outlined under her armour. “And yet there you are, enabling and encouraging exactly those problems that you have just identified to me.” Her voice was even, and free from all aggression. Jaleh was intrigued by this woman, and wanted to know as much as possible while she had the chance, both about her and about the men she served. All the while, her dark eyes scanned the streets and narrow alleyways as they passed them, attentive for any sign of discord and violence. She also wondered how many of her own fellow guardians were still hiding between the buildings and walls of Khoraz, and how many had fallen into the hands of the enemy. But nevertheless, it seemed that the Glorious Dawn was doing an impressive job of bringing a certain kind of order to the city they had just devastated, even if she did not yet know what that order really entailed.

All the better that the other woman seemed eager to share her thoughts on the Empire she helped to expand and maintain. Jaleh still did not understand if the Warlord she served shared or opposed her views, though she had difficulties to imagine that he would condone such subversive ideas. Female rule! And yet, here she was, arguing that she acted with Klaus’ consent, did she not?

But her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival in the castle courtyard, and by the witch woman reaching up to help her out of the saddle, and, unexpectedly, her embrace. She tasted pleasantly of smoke, of spiced honey, and of mountain springs. Jaleh put her hands possessively on the witch woman’s hips and pulled her close. She had never been coy, and if the witch wanted to play, she was certainly game.

“It is curious then that this precious ‘resource’ is currently being wasted on your men who are raping and abusing our female leaders as we speak,” Jaleh whispered softly into the witch’s ear, before gently sucking her earlobe into her mouth, and kissing along the graceful line of her neck. “Like my commander, Ava. Where is she?” Her hand travelled down the curve of the other woman’s back to come to rest against her ass, squeezing one of the perfect, tight cheeks. “And me? Does the Glorious Dawn intend for me to use my skills to scrub pots and pans in their kitchens from now on, as the servant that your king ordered me to be?” Jaleh kissed her again, her tongue seeking out that of the other woman, gently sucking on her bottom lip, catching it with her teeth before pulling back.

She looked the witch in the eyes and sighed, her hand still firmly on the curve of her ass. “Prove it to me,” she said, and her dark eyes narrowed. “Prove to me that you indeed hold such power over these men, over the King and his nephew. Return Ava to us, and help us gain the right to wield our blades in training.” Her lips curled into a smile, while her other hand trailed from the witch’s neck over her leather-clad collarbones to her breasts, gently caressing the shapely mounds through her uniform. “Prove to me that there is anything about your Sex Empire that I could possibly want.”

***

“Thank you, commander, for all you have done” Ava said bowing her head as he placed the severed, small heap of organs on the pew. “You know how to make a woman happy.” She could feel his cum dripping out of her, rolling down her thighs, and she could not help but laugh at the lewd absurdity and the horror of the whole situation. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I do hope we will meet again.” She was leaning against the wooden bench for support, following him with her eyes as he made his way towards the doors, the barely conscious girl slung over his shoulder. Ava hoped that Afra would be safer with him than in the clutches of these barbarian rapists.

When she turned around, she saw that a few men were still gaping at her, obviously not entirely sure if she was available to them now, and if it was a good idea to try and find out. Her insides churned with anger and disgust, and she stared back at them, her lips curled. Her eyes travelling from one man to the next, she reached for the sorry mess of bloodied flesh the Dawnish commander had left behind. What a ridiculous little thing it now was, it seemed ludicrous that Skull had terrorised her, Afra, and countless other women with it. Rivulets of blood rolled down her arm as she lifted the mass to her mouth, and with a gnarl, ripped into it with her teeth, pulling and tearing until she managed to sever a large piece. With a scream, she spat it onto the floor. Her stomach turned, but she forced herself to do it again. The men standing closest inched back. “See that, you fucking cowards?” she screamed at them, her lips smeared with blood like a wild animal. “This is what happens when you fuck with the Red Fury. The goddess whose church you have befouled will curse your asses and rip off your cocks!” With that, she threw the rest of Skull’s former manhood to the ground and stomped on it. There were a few hushed curses, one or two men even looked scared. The others simply decided that no pussy was worth that kind of trouble and turned away. Ava smirked, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. This overacted scene would buy her a least a little time.

She looked around the church, her lips pressed together as she tried to breathe through the gut-wrenching pain. It seemed that most of the men who had lined up to rape her earlier had found other distractions for themselves, and the echoing sounds of violent rutting, the loud screams and interspersed grunts of pleasure bore testament to the fact that other women had not been so lucky as to be spared the victors’ immediate attention.

Afra had been only one woman she had been able to free from this hellhole, but there were so many others, and she doubted that she was able to fuck enough Dawnish commanders to negotiate the release of them all. The thought of such a marathon fuck made her chuckle, and with a tinge of regret she thought of the general. She hoped to see him again, for pleasure or combat. Ava was convinced that that he would prove an excellent opponent for either endeavour.

With a groan, she pulled up her leather trousers, barely able to handle the soiled garment and the leather strings with her healthy left hand. Her broken arm hurt so much that she had to bite her lips not to cry out. If she was to ever wield a blade again, she needed to tend to it. Skull-Crack had wrenched her arms behind her back so violently that she was not sure that he had not dislocated the bones all over again.

Fuck. She needed rest. She desperately needed something to dim the pain. She needed food. Maybe she would be able to walk out the door of this church without anyone stopping her, but chances were that a few barbarians or Dawnish soldiers, drunk and bored, would demand their turn with the Red Fury. And she simply was too weak and too tired for such rough shit. All she now wanted were a few moments of rest. Rest to clear her head, to regain enough strength to think and to move one foot in front of the other. She sank down onto the stone floor with her back against a stone pillar, hidden from view by the rows of wooden pews. She pulled her knees towards her chest and let her head rest on her healthy arm, grateful to be able to close her eyes. Five minutes only, she promised herself. Not more.

***

Tabea stared at him, horrified. The jagged edge of the rock had sliced through the skin and muscle of his shoulder like a knife. For a moment, she was taken aback by the serious injury she had inflicted on him, the violence she herself was suddenly capable of. “Rezah…I didn’t mean to do…,” she tried, but he was far beyond reasoning now. Before she could react he slammed her arm so violently into the edge of the table that she thought he might have broken it. With a yelp, she dropped the obsidian stone.

He propelled her onto the bed, and Tabea, defenceless against his superior physical strength, landed on her stomach with a groan. Rezah was above her immediately, pinning her down onto the mattress, and shoving her legs apart with his knees. “No…no, stop, you fucking bastard,” she cried, desperately trying to wiggle away from beneath him, but to no avail. Then his fingers clamped around the back of her neck, silencing her curses as he roughly shoved her face into the mattress.

Rezah rammed himself into her, burying himself balls deep into her tensed, dry pussy. It felt like he had driven a ragged blade inside her. Her wails of pain were muffled against the soft fabric, and his iron grip made it impossible to move away, or, as she realised with horror, to breathe. When he spoke his voice was a low, menacing growl that sent jolts of fear through her. Her muscles tensed in terror, milking the treacherous asshole’s cock against her will and sending further shocks of pain through her tiny, lacerated pussy.

He was capable of killing her, she was convinced of it. Her extremities were numb and tingling, her lungs burned with the need for oxygen. Bucking beneath him, she squealed into the mattress, both with pain and asphyxiation. Adrenaline shot through her veins, and her blood boiled with hatred and the very real fear of death. With one last effort Tabea managed to turn her head to the side, enough to greedily suck gulps of air back into her lungs, wheezing and spluttering. Her fingers dug into the soft silk sheets as she whimpered and moaned in pain each time he moved in her.

“Please…” Her voice came in strangled sobs now. “Please don’t kill me...”

***

Mahnaz watched as he rid himself of his own garments impatiently, appreciative of what she saw, his leanly muscled body, his sizable cock. Maybe she would enjoy having a husband, in some ways, after all? Yet part of her was still reluctant, still afraid that this was all an act, that there was violence hidden beneath his gentle demeanour, that he was toying with her. She had heard such horrid tales about the sexual exploits of Klaus and his nephew. Ava herself had warned her, only hours earlier, that both men were mad beasts who destroyed women’s bodies, and their souls. She knew that this must be hearsay, an exaggeration to install fear, but in many rumours lay a kernel of truth, didn’t there?

He softly pulled her into another embrace as his hands slid to her breasts. She closed her eyes, moaning against his lips as his fingers teased her nipple, kissing him deeply and passionately, so very hungry for more. If he was really that monster people had warned her of, he was an even better actor. Mahnaz’ hands rested on his back, feeling the muscles beneath his skin, her nails gently grazing along his spine and down to his ass, pulling him closer, eager to feel him against her naked body. His battle-hardened hands felt rough on her skin and made her shiver in anticipation of pleasures to come. It was clear that he knew how to handle a woman, that despite his earlier behaviour, he was no clumsy boy.

His declaration that he might grow to love her startled her nonetheless. She smiled, both amused and touched, and unsure of what to reply to him. “Things would certainly be easier if we didn’t loathe each other,” she said, laughing softly. “Which is what apparently happens in this thing they called ‘marriage’ in Khoraz ages ago. At least that is what I have been told…” The apparent transformation of Armon, his gentleness, his obvious desire to be kind to her and to give her pleasure both encouraged and confused her. This could not be an act! But how could she be sure? She reached up to her lace collar and unfastened it, and the soft fabric of her dress slid off her shoulders and pooled around her feet, leaving her finally completely naked. “I want you, too, Armon,” she whispered, addressing him by his name for the first time since they had met. Her gaze locked with his, while she let her hands continue their slow, teasing journey over his body, drawing little circles on his back, his hips, his rock-hard abs before sliding lower just past his navel, but stopping there. “In the Silver City we have been told that Dawnish men don’t appreciate women who are assertive in their desires, that you like them to be meek and passive, unless you pay them to please you, but then you call them ‘whores’ and despise them. Is that true?” She raised an eyebrow and smiled sweetly at him. “Tell me what it is that you want.”
 
“No,” Klaus sighed, lowering his arms to his sides, “I have no expectations of you in that way. If you are not ready, then I will relent—but I have experience enough for both of us. I treasure your purity, I value your untainted innocence that I may teach you to please me, and in doing so, make you ruler of the known world. All I ask of you is that you desire me as well. I require only that you want me, truly and freely. I can teach you, if you’ll allow it…”

Klaus abandoned his work on Nejlah’s buttons, his large hands wrapping affectionately but gently around her upper arms, caressing higher, the sides and back of her neck, to the edge of her jawline where his hands cupped her face. His thumbs moved gently across her flushed cheeks, the battle-worn pads of his thumbs touched the wet smears under his eyes.

Though his touch, his words and his eyes were all gentle—his cock had become ferocious. Where he stood in the bath, his cock had been still within the water a moment ago, but now it stood out from his body, just above the surface of the pool, dripping with clear beads of warm water.

For a moment, the silence hung with now sound in the huge, stone bath was the oddly synchronous sound of their mingled breathing and the drops falling from his cock. After what seemed an interminable silence—though it may only have been a second, Klaus gently pulled her face toward his own, his eyes drifting shut as he kissed her, gently at first so that she could still pull away if she desired, then deeper and more aggressive by the moment.

Klaus managed to stop himself before he got carried away. He pulled back slowly, examining her face to see how she’d taken it.

“Will you allow me to teach you?”

*-*-*

Kyarrah was commonly known as a vocal lover to those who shared the same sphere as her and after a genuine gasp at having Jaleh so deliberately grab her ass, she made no attempt to stifle her long, musical moan when they kissed again. Only the lewd entwining of their tongues and shared space of their lips held back the sound, originating from deep in her chest…

“Oooooooohhh…!” Kyarrah moaned out when Jaleh sucked on her bottom lip, the moan escaping uninhibited now, loud enough that several stable hands turned to look, “uhhhmmm…”

As Jaleh teased the surgeon’s ear with her lips, teeth and tongue, Kyarrah bit her swelling bottom lip to try and avoid further spectacle. She sighed huskily as the other woman’s hands greedily explored her body and sought out her pleasure centers with gusto. She had to take a moment and deliberately organize her thoughts. There wasn’t time for her to lose herself now… not yet. Nonetheless, she purred appreciatively against Jaleh’s neck—her own hands no less greedy on her partner’s body. She gently rattled her tongue against the roof of her mouth, dragging her lips over Jaleh’s earlobe,

“Oh, but if I could…” Kyarrah sighed, finally and reluctantly pulling away, “but even the Glorious Dawn has dark shadows, and while the figureheads are free to enjoy their spoils, we who work behind the scenes must tend to even the most wretched of our subjects. I fear my next task may spoil your mood…”

Kyarrah turned away from Jaleh, trying to will her knees to regain rigidity as she opened her saddlebag to retrieve her medical kit, a rolled bundle of tools and phials in a lamb’s hide. She gave the brief but satisfying encounter with Jaleh one last thought before shaking her head once and leaving it behind.

“Follow me,” she ordered Jaleh without looking back, leaving her horse to the stable-hand who was doing a poor job of disguising his erection.

Kyarrah crossed the square to the church, passing by Lorral who was carrying Afra over his shoulder in the opposite direction. She flashed him an insincere smile.

“Found something you like, did you?” Kyarrah remarked, forcing the catch out of her voice after the first word.

“My first choice had too much pride, I’m afraid,” Lorral remarked, hiking the cum smeared girl back onto his shoulder, “but I can work with this one as well.”

“Don’t be too hard on her, lancer.”

“I could say the same for you, doctor,” Lorral smirked, giving Jaleh a long look, “I hope she mentioned how lucky you are.”

The last bit was directed at Jaleh, his voice sharp with thinly disguised hate, whispered at a volume which he falsely assumed Kyarrah couldn’t hear. She didn’t stop though, it was no secret that Lorral disagreed with her lifestyle and felt that the Empire should share his prejudices, but as long as Klaus listened to her, his hatred was irrelevant. He respected her enough to follow her orders and she respected his skill in combat.

As they drew closer to the church the screams from within were unmistakable, all the chaos of conquest contained within four walls. As the door swung open Kyarrah realized that she would probably never grow numb to this, this darker side… the bestial nature of men. The things they were capable of with even the flimsiest of permission.

A necessary evil.

She tried to tell herself, again and again—they needed this, for whatever reason, the maker of all had cursed them all with this mark of evil and there was no way to escape or defy it. Only contain it.

Kyarrah went straight for Ava, who appeared to be sleeping for the moment. There was blood on her mouth and some gore around her—not to mention the dead barbarian, Skull-Fuck or some such nonsense, but he was past medicine and for her part, Kyarrah didn’t care to help him. He must have earned it.

For her part, Kyarrah tried not to wake Ava as she gently straightened out her broken arm and checked on her splint. As she’d been afraid of, her rough use had shredded the gauze cast, but the splints seemed to have held up enough to prevent any separation of the fracture. Using scissors and butterfly gentle fingers, she cut away the old cast and added new, more thorough splints around the arm, taping them at her wrist and elbow.

“Would you tend to her… other injuries?” Kyarrah remarked, passing back a small jar of salve to Jaleh who she still would not look at, “better that work is done by someone she trusts.”

*-*-*

When they arrived at the stables Lorral dumped Afra into a water trough, startling the nearest horse badly. He stood over her, still slightly insecure about the way he’d been refused by Ava and even more by how much more her refusal had made him desire her so much more.

“Wake up!” Lorral commanded, kicking the wooden side of the trough, “your former commander has sacrificed herself to spare you from what ought to have been your fate. Now I’m stuck with you, understand? But if you do as you’re told and pretend to have at least a scrap of class, I can let you have a meal and sleep in a straw bed tonight.”

Grabbing a dense, wool horse blanket from nearby, he reached down, taking her hand and helping her to stand up before wrapping the blanket around her.

“You have chores to do, but first things first. Do you have clothes?”

*-*-*

“Kill you?” Rezah sneered, shifting his grip from around Tabea’s throat to grasping her shoulders, “I would never…”

Rezah’s hips lurched forward again, even as blood was sheeting down his arm, dripping from his elbow onto her arched and squirming back. He’d told her that he loved her and she’d attacked him—how could she think that he would kill her, kill her now that he’d exposed himself as a traitor, now that he’d given up everything to be with her—just her…

“How could you think that? I tore down the goddamn ramparts just to show you another way,” Rezah thrust again, his tears joining the drops of blood as they rained down on onto Tabea’s back, showering her in his essence, “I gave up everything else I love in life, just to make you mine and I’ll not see you squandered like some common pikeman. I want only to be loved back as I love you—but I’ll settle for owning you if I must.”

Rezah’s hands landed with a smack on her damp, blood smeared hips and pushed from his lower back, sinking still more of his cock into her.

“Tell me you want this and I’ll go slow, submit to me and I’ll allow you to control the pace.”

*-*-*

Armon opened his mouth to answer, but for a long moment he was unable to force out a sound. It was as if her slender, caressing fingers possessed some magic that chased all the air from his lungs as it traveled over his body. His light eyes stayed locked with Mahnaz’s dark, seductive gaze. Truly this was a woman of rare and unique sexual prowess.

“I want not to have to force you,” Armon finally sighed, all in one breath that had been held too long, “I want you to trust me and surrender to me, not because you’re conquered, but because you’ve been secretly longing to belong. I want you to nurture my weakness and differ to my strength, to yield your body but possess my heart. I want to give you everything and I want you to gladly share it.”

It almost seemed like he blacked out, there was a moment between them that he lost all recollection of when he must have kissed her, because the next moment that he was aware of himself, their lips were locked and he was caressing her exposed breast. It was firm and high-set, just the right size to fill his palm without being cumbersome—how had he never noticed that the Silver City’s ruler had perfect breasts.

His hands moved to her ass, which by now he was not surprised to find was also perfect. He lifted her slender weight against his body and carried her toward the bed. After he lowered her as gently as if he was setting down a raw egg.

“I want to taste you,” he gasped, breaking the kiss with a sudden thought, “will you let me taste you?”
 
Nejlah wanted to protest, to warn him, to tell him that she would be a disappointment, that she had almost everything yet to learn, that there were hundreds of women in this palace that knew how to treat a King, women who knew about every possible variation of pleasure, women without inhibitions, without fear, and without this horrible shame of not having learned anything about sex. He probably could not imagine the deep lack of her knowledge, and how could he have? She was an anomaly in the Silver City.

His gentle caresses made her shiver, delaying the words she knew had to be said. Why did he insist on her? When she did not deserve his attentions in any way? Her eyes dropped to his massive cock that was twitching just above the surface of the water, rock-hard in anticipation of satisfaction. Did he not know that she could not give it to him?

But when she opened her mouth to speak, he closed it again with his kiss, and Nejlah, shyly, put her small hands on his shoulders, letting it happen. He tasted of smoke and sweat and a hint of blood, he tasted wild, and of strength. Nejlah slackened in his grip, overwhelmed and unable to resist any longer. Closing her eyes she moaned softly against his lips, kissing him back, unable to match his ferocity, but wholly taken by it. When he broke the kiss, asking her if she would allow him to teach her, all she could do was nod breathlessly.

Nejlah undid the pearl buttons of her dress with shaking fingers, and peeled the damp fabric from her skin, pulled it over her head and cast it aside, leaving her naked. Then she let herself slide into the warm water of the pool, joining him there. “Yes, your Majesty,” she whispered, her voice betraying hear fear and her desire. “Please teach me.”

***

Jaleh stared at the Dawnish officer who carried one of the recruits – she had forgotten this one’s name but had seen her before – slung over his shoulder like a piece of hunted game. Her lips curled, and she felt the anger rise from her guts. Yet another way the conquerors made use of the Silver City’s resources, it seemed. She quietly watched the exchange between him and the witch woman, surprised by the obvious distaste they seemed to harbor for each other.

But when he turned to her, the commander’s voice was dripping with hate. Jaleh, momentarily taken aback by his attitude, stared at him. And lucky? She? But yes, if he measured her “luck” against that of the naked woman slung over his shoulder, she was indeed fortunate to be stuck with the witch. She bit back the retort lingering on her tongue, and her face was calm and impassive when she only nodded at the commander, deliberately scanning his features in a way that suggested she was intent on remembering them.

Then she followed her newfound companion.

The sight that greeted her at the church was as if all her nightmares of a fallen Silver City, her worst, most anxious imaginations of what would happen if the bigots took over. For a moment Jaleh, who had seen her fair share of horrors on the battlefield, was overwhelmed by this horrific display of defeat. The screams, the sounds of brutally rutting flesh, the smell…she turned around, stumbled outside, her knees like jelly, and, leaning weakly against the cold stone wall of the church, she threw up.

When she rejoined the witch inside the church, she was already with her commander, Ava, resetting her splint. Jaleh had not seen the end of the duel from the window, having had to flee through the tunnels with the princesses. Ava looked bad. Jaleh knelt down next to her and gently touched her cheek.

“Ava…,” she whispered softly, affectionately.

Jaleh nodded at the suggestion of the witch, her mind already on the best possible place they could take Ava to now. “She needs a safe place, a bath, food. Somewhere away from your masters…” The last word came out sharp and accusatory. “If you think you have the command over the looting Dawnish hordes, I suggest trying the house of the apothecary close by…he has what we need, and can provide a bath and food.” She looked up at the witch. “Can you promise me safety there?”

***

Afra came to with a start. Everything hurt. She had only vaguely understood what had happened, her consciousness veiled and drifting as it had since the barbarians had ripped into her body like a pack of hungry wolves.

She looked up at the man who had saved her from them, trying to focus. A Dawnish commander, by the looks of him. It looked like she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire, but at this point, anything was better than the church. When she tried to get up, he reached down to help her before covering her dripping body with a horse blanket. Afra nodded a thank you, trying to understand if she was, for now, safe in the presence of this man.

“They took my clothes from me,” Afra said quietly in reply to his question, not feeling the need to specify who “they” were. “But there are more clothes in the guardian’s quarters.” She was shivering beneath the rough blanket, but only because she was cold, not because she was afraid. „Sir,“ she added, an afterthought. “If you allow, I can go and get them from there.” Afra absent-mindedly picked a few pieces of wet straw from her face. She had been taken early during the attack and did not know what the state of the guardian’s quarters would be, if they indeed still existed, or how many of her fellow guardians were still alive.

***

Tabea groaned in his grip, her strength gone, as he buried himself in her again, making her body lurch forward on the mattress. She was exhausted, and every fiber of her body burned in pain.

His explanation made her sob quietly, her face turned towards the window. It would have been less terrifying, less fucked-up, if Rezah had told her he hated her and that this was a demonstration of his disdain, his revenge after what he perceived to be humiliating servitude to her and her royal sisters. That he begged for her love while driving his cock up her aching, torn pussy, raping her, made her blood run cold with fear.

He was hurt quite badly, too. His blood dripped onto her back, made his grip on her hips slippery, but not less forceful. It was impossible to buck away from him, impossible to make him stop. Everything in her revolted against the thought of giving him what he wanted, even if it was a lie, but what would he do if she refused?

“I…want…this…,” she croaked tonelessly, finally, her eyes shut tightly and her hands in fists. “I want you…” She had to swallow the overwhelming urge to scream in anger and pain. Having to say these things was almost worse than what she had to endure now. Almost. “I am yours, Rezah….”


***

Mahnaz marveled at the transformation Armon had undergone, that he was undergoing, but still could not entirely trust that it would not all unravel in an instant. He was as eager to bring her satisfaction, as concerned about her pleasure as any of the lovers whose bed she had shared in the Silver City. And she wanted it. She wanted to surrender to the desire for him. Her kiss grew hungrier, more demanding, and all she could do was nod in his embrace, and pull him closer. Then she was in his arms, and it felt good, so good, to submit to her desires, and his.

She sank down into the soft mattress, sighing in anticipation. “Yes, please do,” she sighed as she opened her thighs for him.
 
Klaus’ breath deepened as Nejlah peeled herself out of her wet dress which was long-past any rescue efforts—like a cocoon from which a butterfly was emerging. Her body was even more exquisite than he’d imagined, even the wide-spread tales of her beauty understated the totality of her perfection once freed from the imposed constraints of mandated innocence that held her back from her true potential.

As Nejlah waded into the water to join him, albeit hesitantly, he didn’t hesitate. His left hand slid over her hip, to the small of her back, gently urging her toward himself. His right hand gently followed the faint lines of definition up her torso to cup and caress her small, firm breast. His calloused thumb passed gently over her erect, brown nipple as he settled down to sitting on the shelf that surrounded the edge of the wide bath. Even though he was sitting on the same ledge she was standing on, they were almost eye to eye as he gently guided her through the pool to straddle his hips.

There were no words now, at least not yet… if he was going to “teach” her anything, he was going to have to show her first. Only their mutual, slow, deep breaths broke the silence against the orchestra of water droplets and gentle splashes.

Once she was straddling him, his left hand slipped down the statuesque curve of her back, down to her firm ass. Though his caress was still gentle, he was using her body to steer and lower her until the head of his massive cock was being caressed by the velvet petals of her virgin sex.

“Now it’s up to you,” Klaus said softly, holding intense and meaningful eye contact with his young ward, “I won’t force you. Not now, not ever. Lower yourself as much as you dare. It may be uncomfortable at first, but if you dedicate yourself to what you’re doing and really do your best, the payoff will far surpass the pain… Most things are this way, my darling.”

Both hands came up dripping, cradling Nejlah’s face in his palms and guiding her into another deep and passionate kiss, this time with his cock against her slit, allowing her to take as much of him as she dared.

His kiss urged her to be brave.

*-*-*

Kyarrah, sighed as she heard Jaleh stumbling backward and losing her stomach in the dirt—slightly surprised that the so-called warrior—the leader of other fighters, had such a delicate constitution. These women held here, they were all supposed warriors themselves. Though they were certainly unhappy in their present condition, none of these women would be alive if not for Klaus’ courageous gamble—even Ava herself, ought to have been dead if not for his superior strength and ability.

These “Silver Ladies” were all blinded by their own radiance, Kyarrah decided… perhaps it was more merciful to let them die.

At the very least, the promise that Jaleh’s body had made was almost sure to go unfulfilled, but Kyarrah told herself that she’d expected it… though that did little to ease the arousal the foreign captive had awakened in her.

“Easy now…” Kyarrah whispered gently to Ava as her eyes began to flutter open, “there she is… lucky for you, there weren’t many injuries on our side.”

Kyarrah ignored Jaleh entirely, the woman’s shock and anger making her irrational and more than a little insubordinate. What Jaleh couldn’t have known was that Kyarrah knew of her before they met in the throne room, her interest in the young woman had not been purely affectionate, in fact her early study of Jaleh, her exploits, tendencies and proclivities had been entirely malicious. If not for the tenuous agreement between Klaus and Ava, Kyarrah had been made responsible for the death of Jaleh.

Still cooing gentle reassurances, Kyarrah closed two halves of what seemed to be a hand-carved, wooden gauntlet that stabilized Ava’s arm an wrist up to her knuckles. She tore strips from a large piece of boiled linen she kept in her kit, binding the splint as securely as she could without impairing Ava’s circulation, even binding each of her fingers with the cloth to encourage a fuller range of motion.

“I’m sure it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but the bones haven’t moved. Keep this on and you’ll be fine in a few days… fine physically, at least,” Kyarrah looked over her shoulder, locking fierce, almost murderous eyes with Jaleh’s, “better than dead. Of that, I’m certain.”

The last knot on Ava’s pinky might have been a hair too tight, as Kyarrah was feeling uncharacteristically invested in what Jaleh thought about her. There weren’t many things that could frustrate her. Romance was one such thing.

“You carry her,” Kyarrah said, rising back to her feet and brushing the clumps of dirt from her boots and greaves, “I’ll make sure you’re safe. Lead on, then.”

*-*-*

“Alright, lead on then,” Lorral implored Afra, his tone impatient as he gestured in a random direction with no notion of that was indeed the way to the barracks—or, “guardian’s quarters,” as his Squire had called them, “wait, hold for a moment…”

Lorral grabbed Afra by the shoulder and turned her back to face him. Still seeming impatient, which he was, he plucked another piece of hay away from her face and then began smoothing back her hair which he tied back with a spare bootlace.

“Now, you can lead me.”

*-*-*

“Yes! Oh God, yes!” Rezah groaned, finally feeling the full mantle of his triumph—the feeling he’d been longing for… Domination, “that’s my good girl. Good girl.”

Though he was smearing blood over everything, Rezah slid his palm over Tabea’s head, smearing her golden hair with his blood. He felt himself growing close to climax, but he was also close to collapse from the loss of blood. After a few more thrusts of his hips, his head was spinning and just like that he was cumming inside of her, weak spurt after weak spurt until he rolled off of her, clasping at the wound on his arm as if noticing it for the first time.

“Get yourself a bath,” Rezah panted, disappointed in himself for being through so soon, his prize feeling suddenly and distinctly empty, “we’re expected for dinner.”

*-*-*

Armon smiled and knelt at the edge of the bed, sliding his warm palms up Mahnaz’ smooth inner thighs. He winked at her, still smiling before lowering his face between her legs and eagerly sliding his tongue into her gorgeous, tight pussy. He’d seen more than his fair share of young pussies—but Mahnaz was singular in her beauty, even down there. The dark hair was neatly cropped and only grew where it seemed to enhance the beauty of her organ and the inner lips were so pink and smooth it almost felt like a regular kiss when he put his mouth on her.

For a moment he lapped at her, sucking on the flesh of her mound while his tongue curled and lashed inside of her, rolling over and writhing around, trying to explore her insides as if her were trying to construct a relief map.

When his hands came up to join his face, he used his thumbs to gently spread and press back the pretty, pink hood over her clit. When the nub was exposed, he shifted his attention to it, sucking and lashing it with the tip of his tongue, trying to expose more of its surface to his enthusiastic attentions. He began poking it with his tongue, just to suck it back again and again.

When at last the suction broke, Armon kept his mouth on her sensitive bundle of nerve endings, using his lips and tongue in unison, making a noise that sounded like “BLRRGHRRRRuGgGgGg..” and then he shook his head from side to side.
 
Nejlah held her breath, her heart beating so hard and fast that she was afraid she would pass out. His eyes were locked to hers as he pulled her towards him, spreading her thighs over his until his cock rested against the folds of her pussy, demanding entry. He said he would not force her, and she trusted this to be true. She would not be the passive one, losing her virginity, no. She would give it to him.

His demanding kiss, the feel of his broad, muscular chest against her small, firm breasts, his obvious desire for her turned her head. That such a man wanted her! That he, the King himself, wanted her! Her pussy grew slick with need, and each time her stiff nipples gazed against his skin she moaned, hungry for more.

Rocking her hips against him, the bulbous head of his cock slipped between her folds and into her tiny, tight pussy, and she gasped at the feeling, her lips still sealed by his. She wiggled in his lap, both eager and scared to go further, afraid that more of him would impale and seriously injure her. But he had asked her to be brave, and Nejlah was impatient to prove to him that she was. Balancing herself on him she reached back to hold on to one of his thighs for traction and pushed herself further onto his massive cock, as far as she was able, letting out a small scream of pain, muffled against his lips. It was as if someone had driven a needle into her insides, a sharp, brief stab. She could not suppress a few stray tears as the discomfort slowly subsided.

He filled her out so completely that she thought she would never be able to move. It was the most curious feeling, and slowly, tentatively, she lifted her hips against his, driving him yet deeper into her overstretched pussy, breathlessly breaking their kiss. Suspended on his cock, her small breasts rose and fell in rapid succession. “My King…” she whispered, her eyes locked to his, as, with one last push, she buried him inside her to the hilt.

***

“I remember you,” Ava muttered, finally coming to. “You’re that witch, Klaus’ doctor.” She lifted her head and looked at the other woman. “Why are you helping me?” She flinched and sucked in air through her teeth as the witch tightened the last knot on her arm, but said nothing.

The apothecary’s house was only a short walk from the church, which was why Jaleh had chosen to go there. Ava leaned on her as she walked beside her, limping heavily at every step. Her leg hurt like a bitch where Klaus had kicked her drawing blood, and she was eager to have the witch take a look at that injury.

The door to the shop stood slightly ajar, and Jaleh briefly hesitated. It was obvious that his shop, stacked to the roof with valuable medicines and raw materials, had been looted. The wooden shelves running all around the walls were mostly empty, as if someone had swept everything in it into bags and left. “Pity,” Ava muttered. “We could have done with some of that.”

The apothecary’s body lay draped across the stone stairs leading up to his living quarters, his eyes staring up at nothing, dead. Jaleh frowned, listening intently. But there was only silence, interrupted by the sounds from the city drifting into the courtyard. “His assistant, Azar…she might still be here somewhere.” Ava nodded, but silently urged her lieutenant to walk on.

The shop led out into a sunlit courtyard. A large stone pool dominated the scene. There were trees and scented flowers, a herb garden and a small fountains. “Zaneh was a great healer not only of common sickness, but also of the illnesses of the mind and the soul,” Jaleh felt compelled to explain to their foreign companion. “He experimented with sounds of water fountains, with colored lanterns and herbal scents and teas to cure those that suffered from such torments.”

Ava, exhausted, sank down onto the stone enclosure of the water basin. She said nothing. “His knowledge would have been of great value now,” Jaleh continued, not hiding the bitterness in her voice. “Your army has created a sea of victims who will struggle to find sleep and peace.” Her commander put her hand on her arm to signal her to be silent. “Jaleh…don’t anger the one person who can help us now.”

Jaleh looked at Kyarrah, her eyes dark with distrust. The presence of her commander had turned her against the witch, but she did not disobey Ava, knowing that she was right. But it also occurred to her that here, in the courtyard of the apothecary’s house, they were alone from prying eyes. The cold metal of the knife she had stolen from the dead soldier suddenly felt urgent and uncomfortable against her skin. Would it be a foolish risk to take?

She helped Ava to peel out of her garments, carefully stripping her of each layer without causing too much pain. The trust and comfort between the two women was obvious even to an insensitive observer. “Fucking Klaus,” Ava muttered as she caught a glimpse of the deep cut in her shin. She looked up at the witch doctor. “Might you help me with this? I would be grateful if you could save me from infection and gangrene.” She smiled grimly at the other woman. “Does your master know that you help me escape his sentence? Or do you intend to return me to my tormentors once I have recovered?”

***

Tabea was silent as he came in her, and remained limp like a ragdoll beneath him. Even as he finally released her from his grip and rolled off her she did not move. It was as if something inside of her had broken when she had told him that she wanted him, that she was his. As if the hate and the rage that had fueled her resistance had been snuffed out, leaving behind an empty shell, a version of her that lacked a will of her own. It was terrifying.

It took a great effort to finally lift herself off the bed into a sitting position. She gasped as she saw that everything, the linens, the mattress, her own body and the tatters of her ripped dress, were covered in his blood. His injury must have been worse than he had let on, and in a first reflex, a faint memory of her love for him that had not yet been destroyed, she was worried. “Rezah…” she muttered, turning towards him, before falling silent. His life meant as little to her now as her own.

But a bath…she wanted a bath. Groaning with pain, she slid off the bed and knelt on the floor for a moment, forcing back the impulse to cry. Tabea realized that, should she want it, she could now reach for the candleholders, the blades, or the stone that had rolled into a corner of the room, and maybe she would even be able to kill him, hurt and spent as he was. But to what end? It would change nothing.

The wing of the castle that housed the quarters of the royal princesses had its own bath, a much smaller version of the bathhouse that overlooked the sea. It lay between all their rooms, with a door leading to each of their part of the castle. There was a round pool in the middle of the bath whose water was heated through a system of pipes and steam from below. The drip of a small fountain echoed softly though the marbled room, the smell of roses and jasmine hung in the air. She peeled out of the scraps of fabric that still clung to her body without looking or caring if Rezah had followed her, and stepped into the bath, wincing with pain at each movement.

The door to Mahnaz’ rooms was slightly ajar, not enough to see, but enough to hear. A soft crescendo of sighs steadily grew in volume, becoming moans, sounds of unmistakable pleasure. Tabea froze, confused. She had often heard her sister enjoying the company of her lovers, and most often it had been Rezah causing her to lose herself so. Another moan followed, caused by someone who was conscious and eager to bring pleasure. Had her sister not left the throne room with the butcher King’s nephew? Was it that monster that now made her sigh and moan, the murderer whose armor had been dripping with the blood of her people just this morning? A chill ran down her spine. It was unlikely that she was with anyone else now, that it was another who tended to her desires. The tears she had fought back suddenly started flowing. Abandoned to her fate and her suffering by both her sisters and Jaleh, she felt utterly alone.

Gritting her teeth, she started to scrub her arms, her legs, desperate to wash off the horror that seemed to move in on her from all sides.

***

It was a short way from the stables to the guardians’ quarters, something Afra, who had to cross this distance barefoot and wrapped only in a horse blanket, was grateful for. There were a few stares, some lewd expressions, but the man behind her seemed to inspire the fear and respect that kept any of the men watching from addressing her. The quarters were a long building that was accessed through the recruits’ armory, an airy block lined by an arched walkway and blossoming trees. The guardian’s quarters were more comfortable than the foot soldier’s barracks, the floor was laid out with colored ceramic tiles and mosaics of the different emblems of Khoraz’ elite warriors. Her naked feet made a soft pitter-patter sound on the tiles as they entered.

The quarters seemed to be deserted. If fighting had taken place there it had been cleaned up, and those tasked with this had moved on to the next building. Looters had served themselves out of the armory, but they had not taken everything, not yet. Her gaze brushed furtively over the rows of ranged spears, the recruits’ swords in their wooden stands against the wall, the different kinds of knives. While each palace guardian had her own preferred weapon, all of them were able to wield any blade in combat. Afra had become an expert in the use of twin swords, and was an accomplished knife fighter. She had spent countless hours training with each of the deadly tools so freely displayed here. The temptation was strong, but Afra was no fool and knew that her chances of landing a deadly blow were nil. Raising her hand against her savior would have disgraced Ava, too.

Once past the armory the corridor led to the small bedrooms of the guardians, and Afra was glad to find that hers had not been touched. Her cot, her books, even her small box of valuables – earrings, some silver bracelets and a small abacus - all were as she had left them. It was an impressive testament to the iron control of the Dawnish commanders over their troops.

She felt self-conscious as she had to drop the blanket under the gaze of her new master, despite knowing that he must have witnessed her debasement in the church. Looking down, she found that her legs and her torso were covered in scratches and nasty bruises, but that, despite the rough use the barbarians had made of her body, the pain was bearable.

What kind of clothes would he want her to wear? Afra did not own any dresses, as a recruit she had neither the money nor the time for such frills. With practiced movements she pulled a clean linen shirt from a wooden closet, soft leather pants she wore for hunting, and a thin leather belt. She hesitated at she noticed the hunter’s knife that hung from it and turned towards the commander. “I suppose you don’t want me to keep this…Sire?”

***
Mahnaz arched her back in appreciation as Armon went to work on her pussy. Who would have guessed that this boy was so good at this? Her lips parted in a soft moan as his tongue darted between her folds, searching and finding her most sensitive spot. “Oh…” she breathed, her legs twitching nervously in his grip, her eyes closed now. She could do nothing but surrender to the quickly mounting pleasure. How unexpected! Her right hand lazily drifted to his head, her fingers buried in his hair, as she started to move in unison with his lips sucking on her clit, bucking against his face.

“Armon…”, she moaned, while her left hand squeezed one of her breasts, playing with her erect nipple. Her sighs and moans grew louder, steadier, her thighs splayed as widely as she could, as he drove her to ever new heights of pleasure, not letting up. All her nerve endings seemed to be humming, and her moans grew into suppressed little screams as she came, bucking and shivering in his grip, unable to stop.
 
Armon was pleased with himself for succeeding in bringing the fallen queen to a climax, and more pleased still with how she came, moaning, quaking and crying out. The light was growing golden behind sheer curtains as the sun began to set, just that morning he and Mahnaz had been mortal enemies—now they were enthusiastic lovers. What a difference a day makes.

He rose from between her still trembling thighs smiling and wet. He wiped his face on his muscular shoulder before crawling over her body and kissing her. They kissed like old lovers, like their bodies had been molded together from a single lump of clay. They writhed together in the sheets for a long moment, hands and tongues exploring one another, seeking more and more intimate contact with each moment.

While Armon was not quite as well-endowed as his uncle, the Dawnish lineage tended toward large cocks and he was, large but just short of huge. His thick cock gently slid between the soaking wet folds of her warm pussy that tasted like heaven—he could only imagine what it would feel like.

“You’re so beautiful,” Armon sighed at last, lifting his head to look on her more completely, he gently brushed a stray lock of her dark hair away from her beautiful face, “tell me that you want this too—my uncle be damned. I want you and I want you to want me too, not just because he orders it. Will you have me? Will you be mine? May I be yours?”

Armon hesitated, the tip of his thick cock just barely kissing her inviting, little pussy.

“I want this forever.”

*-*-*

Lorral followed a few steps behind Afra as she led him to what she called the “Guardians’ Quarters.” He noticed the looks and occasional gesture from some of his comrades, but all ceased from staring and looked away sharply when his eyes fell on them. Whether they respected him or his rank made no difference to Lorral—fear and respect were holding this occupied castle in some semblance of order and he was impressed.

It was just as Klaus had said it would be.

This petite, young girl seemed a more than suitable prize to Lorral—especially since he’d accomplished his goal of fucking the infamous Red Fury, though he’d have preferred her as a prize, he understood that Klaus may have had bigger plans for her.

His footsteps were loud and echoed through the halls as his booted feet followed in Afra’s bare footsteps. He took his time, examining the elaborate tilework and immaculate gardens. This was indeed a rich place they’d come to—made all the more valuable by their ability to conquer it without a protracted siege.

Lorral had served as a mercenary for several years before Klaus discovered him and contracted him long-term. He’d been involved in a handful of sieges, but nothing like what Klaus had accomplished here. He paused, inspecting a few of the wall tiles, comparing long enough to confirm that each tile was hand painted.

“Nice quarters you have here,” Lorral remarked, passing through the garden as he entered Afra’s private area, “very comfortable.”

Lorral looked at Afra for the first time since she dropped the blanket when she asked about the tiny utility dagger that hung from his belt.

“You’ll be a piss-poor squire if you can’t be trusted with a three-inch blade,” Lorral chuckled, “or you could go back to the church if you haven’t learned that lesson yet. No, I have no intention of being your captor. Ava would have understood… I’ve spared you from being a jizz toilet because I think you can be useful to me. Your commander sacrificed herself to give you the opportunity—but if you’d rather try to escape the city with your little hunting knife, you’ll get no resistance from me. You do look alright, though. You may not be so useless after all.”

With that, Lorral turned his back on her, subtly preparing for an attack from behind. If she was going to betray him, he wanted it to come now, before he was publicly seen with her. Though inwardly he was tense and ready, outwardly he was casual and at ease, examining the racks of weapons and armaments, making mental note of what seemed to be missing.

“I bet you could do some damage with it, though—tiny thing like you, I’ll bet daggers were your weapon of choice. Am I close? I prefer to work from farther out, myself—far enough that I don’t have to smell their breath, I always say—but I’m no novice with a hip blade myself. Perhaps we can spar some time…”

Lorral took one of the wooden bladed practice daggers down from the wall and began flipping it between his fingers, flipping it over, balancing the blade on the back of his hand and then spinning it back the other way through his fingers.

*-*-*

Kyarrah let out a faint gasp as she saw the body of the local healer splayed out dead in his own courtyard, the signs of hasty, impulsive looting spilling out from the clinic at the other side of the courtyard. She listened to the insight from the other two, barely suppressing an eye-roll when Jaleh mentioned water sounds and colored lanterns—rural superstitions knew no limits, it seemed. The mention of herbs and teas, however, gave Kyarrah hope.

A quick scan of the courtyard led Kyarrah to the medicinal herb garden that the healer had been keeping. She examined the plants, smelling the leaves of some, breaking the stems of others and squeezing the fluids inside.

“You’re welcome to all the colored lanterns and water sounds you want over there,” Kyarrah called over her shoulder, losing patience with Jaleh’s complaints while still feeling unmistakable attraction to the obstinate woman, “but for real help, you’ll need to let me find my bearings.”

At last, among some other succulents she found an aloe plant, quickly snapping off a frond near the base. She also grabbed a sprig of rosemary from a bush on her way back to the fountain. She used her tongue to strip all of the fragrant needles from the stem and began chewing them aggressively. As she knelt in front of Ava, cradling her calf gently in her palm, getting a good look at her leg wound for the first time.

With a poignant and lightning fast flick of her wrist, a six-inch folding knife flipped out from where it was hidden within her gauntlet. For a moment her eyes locked with Jaleh’s, suddenly stern—a stranger to the woman she’d been previously. Then, after a long, tense moment of staring, Kyarrah slid her knife into the soft flesh of the aloe frond. She split it lengthwise and gently slid the clear gel over the angry red bruise and several overlapping cuts from the toe of Klaus’ boot.

“There you are… does that feel nice?” Kyarrah looked up onto Ava’s eyes, a different person again, sweet and almost innocent, “he really did a number on you here, but it doesn’t seem broken. I’ll keep an eye on it for infection, but I think there’s enough here that you shouldn’t have to worry. Here.”

From within her bag, Kyarrah grabbed a flask of strong, clear grain alcohol that she brewed herself. Alcohol was the best disinfectant she knew of and stronger was always better. She bade Ava drink, in spite of obvious reservations. When she took it back, she lifted the aloe long enough to douse the open wound with a splash.

“You’re alright, easy now…” Kyarrah replaced the aloe leaf, “hold that there. I think I recognize that tree…”

Kyarrah left the aloe in Ava and Jaleh’s care, crossing the courtyard to use her knife to peel back a piece of thin, flaky bark. She smiled at the sight of familiar blooms of white mold on the inside.

“Not such a superstitious coot after all,” Kyarrah smiled to herself. She carried the bark back to the fountain and laid out a small cloth into which she began scraping the white mold, “there, swallow that powder. Unless you need me to brew it into a tea for you.”

Another glare in Jaleh’s direction. Lastly, she took the wad of chewed rosemary, from inside her cheek and lifted the aloe long enough to spread the rosemary paste into the wound. It would help protect and disinfect the wound. Lastly she split the halves of aloe down the middle, exposing more of the pulp and spreading them over both the wound and the surrounding bruise. She produced more clean gauze from her bag and wrapped her leg and the pieces of aloe leaf together around her shin.

“As to why I’m doing this, Ava. It’s because Klaus specifically ordered it. He didn’t bring his hoard here just to crush you all from existence. In fact, he risked his own life to save as many of yours as he could. The longer you think of him as your enemy, the more you force him to treat you as one. Your city has fallen, the war is over. Even your great leaders have accepted this and are most likely embracing their places in the new order—but you may ask them yourselves. You’ve both been requested at dinner and I’m sure it would be a good demonstration of gratitude for you both to dress in the Dawnish custom. The tailors are busy elsewhere, but you both look like you might fit some of my gowns. If, that is, you can be trusted.”

*-*-*

Klaus had urged her to be brave and Nejlah had not disappointed him, yielding her maidenhead to his massive cock and then taking him deeper still. He gasped out loud once their passionate kiss broke and she somehow managed to take all of him—a feat he’d assumed would take them weeks to accomplish. She felt so small in his lap, her tiny hands on his chest, but in this moment he was entirely at her mercy.

“Not King, I’m king to thousands. You are my ward, you alone. When we are alone, you may call me Daddy. In public, I’m simply ‘Sire.’ All that is mine is yours as well. You alone are going to rule the world with me. I love you, Nejlah.”

His massive hands cradled her pretty face as he spoke to her, using his hips to slowly urge hers into subtle but meaningful motion. The water began to slosh in the bath faintly as their bodies found a shared rhythm, sliding her petite body up and down his towering shaft. She hugged him like a glove, impossibly warm, exquisitely wet—for the first time he understood why some of the men prized maidens so highly.

“Yes, yes! Good girl. Ride me, yes!” Klaus moaned before dragging his teeth slowly over her long, gracile neck, “just like that, you feel so good!”
 
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