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

[Curious_Muse]

[This post is a co-production of UHPH and me, please enjoy]:

Mahnaz shivered, smiling blissfully as her orgasm subsided. She laughed softly as he emerged between her thighs, pulling him against her, hungry, so hungry, for more. Who would have thought this possible only moments earlier? She felt safe in his arms. His body already felt familiar, and each deep kiss, each heated caress brought them closer together. And yet his words came as a surprise.

“Armon…,” she started, the deep gold of the setting sun dancing in her dark eyes. For Mahnaz, sex was as fundamental to her well-being as food and drink, and as the queen of the Silver City, she had never had to deprive herself. She had taken dozens of lovers, had indulged her curiosity, her whims and desires. But sex had also been trust, intimacy, and a shared connection, no matter how fleeting. Armon, however, seemed starved for these things. For all his skill, his prowess, despite the many women he had doubtlessly fucked, the King’s nephew seemed desperate to fall in love, to endow this conquest with meaning.

It touched her. Were these more than the sweet words he probably used to woo the clueless, coy girls of the barbarian lands in the West into his bed? Was it more than a boy overwhelmed by lust? She smiled up at him and gently caressed his face. He might not realize it, but this was a battlefield where she was in the advantage. Because even if she enjoyed this, a lot, she was not about to throw herself into romance with a boy whose uncle had just taken Khoraz from her, but she would gladly entertain this fantasy with him, alert, and with her eyes wide open. Mahnaz did not see this as a lie. It was a precaution.

“I want you,” she whispered. “And I want to be yours and you to be mine. I do.” She arched her back, unwilling and unable to wait any longer. She wanted him inside her. “Your uncle be damned.”

Pleasure that he couldn’t quite explain flooded through Armon’s veins as Mahnaz told him what he wanted to hear. He kissed her again as his back arched, slowly feeding her each inch of his cock until he was fully inside of her, balls deep in her tight, wet pussy. He moaned with delight at the feel of her, lifting his hips just to thrust them forward again, up and down, his tempo grew in speed and urgency, little by little.

Mahnaz let out a soft, plaintive moan as he slowly pushed himself into her. She was more than ready, and her slick, tight pussy stretched around his thick cock like a silk glove. “I am yours, Armon…,” she sighed, a faint smile on her lips. “Yours forever.” He felt so good, and as he started to move in her she wrapped her legs around him and lifted her hips to draw him even closer, whimpering softly. Each time he slowly withdrew from her she shivered with need, her body already so hungry for him. This felt good. He felt good. Her slender body writhed and trembled beneath him, her breaths came in sharp intervals with each slow thrust.

One of his rough, calloused hands came up to caress her breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh in his palm. His kisses trailed down her neck as he slid himself inside again, balls deep. His movements grew faster each time he bottomed out in her gorgeous pussy until his balls started to make a wet slapping sound each time he thrust into her, again and again.

He fucked her deeply, forcefully, and she responded with enthusiasm, lifting her hips and matching him thrust for thrust, his kiss muffling her continued moans. Armon’s hands caressed her trembling body, and as his fingers gently closed around one of her nipples she arched her back, urging him on. Mahnaz dug her nails into the sheets of the bed, screaming out in pleasure as he increased his pace.

“Yes, yes,” Armon sighed, gently teasing her erect nipple between his thumb and the edge of his hand, “yes, I want this forever. I—I…”

Armon hesitated—he didn’t want to say it, he scarcely knew how. He knew the name for such a feeling but even a word as big as “love” seemed too small to contain what he was feeling. Instead he just thrust himself inside her again with renewed vigor, rotating his hips, filling and stretching every part of her from within. Despite their circumstances, this felt nothing like a conquest to Armon—if anything, he felt conquered by her—taken by surprise by feelings that he was unaccustomed to and ill prepared to defend against.

Had Klaus anticipated this as well?

“Ugh, uhhh, hahh…” his ragged moans continued as he settled into an urgent tempo of his thrusts. It felt like every inch of him was bound up in divine pleasure as the elaborate headboard began striking the wall in time with his thrusts. “Oh God, yes!”

Her skin felt so soft, her touch electric—if this was some sort of trap, Armon was caught and he recognized it, with some dull almost silent part of his mind. There was no going back now. He belonged to her in a way that even the mighty Warrior King couldn’t change. He loved her, suddenly and deeply. There was no going back now.

She arched her neck as his teeth grazed against her sensitive skin, moaning and panting, her fingers in his hairs, trailing along his muscular shoulders, holding on for dear life as he drove his length into her over and over, so clearly lost in his pleasure and his hunger for her. “Promise me…promise me that you will never hurt me, that you will always protect me,” she panted, bucking against him. “Promise me…”

“I promise, I promise, I promise,” Armon was panting, almost as fast as she could ask them of her, he was making promises, “I promise, I promise, I promise!”

Armon was lost in the throes of genuine passion, slamming their joined bodies together against the feather mattress again and again, each muscle in his broad torso engaged as her words and her moans urged him on. The impacts were so intense that even above both of their very vocal cries, the boards of the bedframe could be heard groaning from the stress.

Not only her beauty, her way of carrying herself—even her sexual prowess were a wonder to Armon. He felt genuinely lucky to be there, guts pounding, ball slapping, love fucking this princess who had been his rival just that morning.

“I want to cum inside you,” Armon exclaimed in the moment it occurred to him, “I’ll protect you, I promise. I love you.”

Armon made this last promise just as he began emptying his balls into Mahnaz’s tight pussy.

“Good.” Mahnaz smiled to herself. “Good.” Having gotten from him what she needed, she now indulged in what she wanted. “I love you, too,” she whispered into his ear, words that came so very easy, that were so cheap compared to what they would buy her. She let out a long, deep moan as he came inside her, bucking and moaning, before another orgasm swept her away. “Forever, yes, forever!” she cried out as shockwaves of pleasure ripped through her.

***

Afra looked down at the hunting knife in her hand and back up at the general, her eyebrows knitted, a hint of an understanding smile on her lips.

“I suppose you are right.” She slipped the knife back into the sheath at her belt, and reached for a broad, colorfully embroidered linen scarf that had been lying on the bed and draped it loosely around her neck. Unsure where she was supposed to sleep later, she thought that it would be good to have something to wrap herself in. The nights in Khoraz were already getting colder.

“I have no intention of running away, Sire,” Afra finally added in a sincere tone. Her voice was soft, but not timid. “I would never disgrace my commander by wasting this opportunity.” Her eyes appraised the man across from her with a quick, practiced glance – his height, his weight, the way his hand rested on the hilt of his sword at that moment, the distance between them, the way he carried himself, the placement of his feet. An attempt to attack him now would not only shame Ava, but it would also be unforgivably stupid.

His miserly praise had brought an amused glint to her eyes that she tried to hide by glancing at her feet. It seemed that the Dawnish commanders were not at all different from the ones she had come to know during her training in the Silver City. “I hope I will not disappoint you, Sire,” she said, her eyes still downcast.

This drew her attention back to her still naked feet. Afra hoped that her soft leather boots – she had lost her combat boots in the church - were where she had left them, and she was lucky. She half-listened to him while she put them on, noticing from the corner of her eye that he had turned his back to her. “Twin blades, Sire…,” she replied to his question about her weapon of choice, now upright again, as she watched him casually flipping one of the practice daggers between his fingers. “But I have been told my knife skills are passable.” Afra followed his movements with her eyes. He was good. “It would be an honor to spar with you…”

There was a pause in her breath, no longer than a heartbeat. Her hunting knife whizzed so closely past his neck that it almost grazed his skin. Afra stood very still. The blade had impaled a small black lizard that was now limply hanging from a wooden beam the general stood next to. “They are very poisonous,” the slender girl said in way of an explanation. “They make for nasty bites. Nasty infections.”

***
Ava laughed at the witch woman’s lecture. “Now, you are being harsh on me and my lieutenant…you are asking to simply turn the page and make nice with the man who came here uninvited, who butchered his way through my guardians, looted this city, and who overthrew decades of female rule in Khoraz? You ask me to be grateful because…because he did not kill all of us?” The red-haired commander shook her head in amusement, still holding the aloe leaf against her wound, as instructed. The ointment was working, and the throbbing pain in her leg was already less pronounced. “Your master may have ordered you to rescue me from that church, but there are hundreds of others in there right now who will struggle not to treat the invaders as their enemies, if they are ever freed from there at all.”

The liquor the witch had given her was burning in her throat, and, at the absence of food, made her slightly light-headed. Given the circumstances, that was not a bad thing.

Jaleh was leaning against a stone pillar, watching the pair of women, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She met Kyarrah’s angry glare with an impassioned stare back. I am not afraid of you.

“But I am very grateful to you, witch woman,” Ava continued, scooping up some clear fountain water with her free hand to wash down the white powder, knowing that it would dim the pain. “What is your name?”

The young lieutenant pursed her lips. Gratitude, was it? Anger boiled up in her. Gratitude! All day she had had to show restraint, not one single time she had been allowed to act on her impulse to fight back. Not when Klaus had butchered helpless civilians outside the castle tower, not when Ava had descended into the courtyard to face the Warlord herself, not when she had faced off with Rezah and his band of traitors at the end of the tunnel, not when her queen had to bow to their conquerors, not when Tabea had first been abused, and then taken from her, and not when she had been turned into a handmaiden of the Dawnish witch woman.

And now this witch continuously rubbed her the wrong way. Jaleh, usually so in command of her emotions, felt her nerves fraying. The knife, hidden against her left ankle, was present like an urgent itch. She did not move a muscle, but her insides were boiling with anger.

“I have never actually seen a Dawnish dress,” Ava said, laughing softly, interrupting Jaleh’s thoughts. “Probably because I have never seen any Dawnish women who were not witch doctors dressed in boiled leather.” The commander looked down at herself, naked as she was, sitting on the rim of the large square fountain. “Unless the apothecary has some clothes left in his house I think I don’t have much of a choice than to rely on your wardrobe…”

Jaleh left her place at the pillar and turned towards the open doors of the pharmacist’s home. “I will go have a look if there is anything worth recuperating.”

***

Nejlah remained motionless for a few moments, her small body impaled on his cock. She was afraid that she had maybe been too impulsive, that she would never be able to move again, that she had pierced her insides, that she would die. Her breath came in rapid, scared intervals. He lifted his hands up to her face, and she attempted a smile, though all she could feel was a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to travel from her core all the way to her toes and her fingertips.

“My King…,” she whispered again, before his words interrupted her, before he promised her his companionship, before he declared his love for her. Nejlah was unable to say anything in return, overwhelmed as she was by these new sensations, by her emotions. All she could do was nod, her eyes wide, water drops clinging to her thick lashes, rolling down her cheeks mixing with her tears. Her fingers curled helplessly against his broad chest as he gently started to move beneath her, enticing her move with him. In the beginning, this felt uncomfortable, and Nejlah bit her lip to stifle an agonized groan.

But with each movement, each time her tiny, impossibly tight pussy slid along his massive cock, the pain lessened and slowly gave way to first waves of pleasure. Nejlah started to move on her own accord, tentatively at first, putting one of her hands behind her on his thigh to be able to push herself up. This felt good. Her eyes fell to half lids, and as his teeth grazed against the soft skin of her neck, she moaned softly.

Klaus leaned back against the wall of the massive, stone tub, adjusting in opposition to Nejlah leaning back on his leg. This new angle made the pressure of his cock against the shallowest part of her pussy, the pressure on her G spot became more intense by at least double. He sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as he ran his hand over Nejlah’s thigh and ass, caressing her gently and urging her on.

“You’re doing so well,” Klaus sighed, looking up again into her eyes as he praised her, “you’re all I could have hoped for and more.”

Nejlah beamed with pride at his praise. There was nothing else in the world that mattered anymore, nothing else but him and his words. His touch – so gentle, so soft – was electrifying. When his fingers grazed her lips, her pink little tongue darted out to lick at his fingertips, but Nejlah wasn’t aware of it. All she wanted was to please him, to draw another low moan of pleasure from him, to have him enjoy her.

Their bodies found a mutual and rhythmic pace that was soon echoed by the heated water in the bath, lapping and splashing at the marble accented corners and tiled edges. Their writhing and snaking bodies at the epicenter of the sudden storm of crashing waves.

His hand lifted from the water, almost timid as his fingertips touched her bottom lip, trailing gently down her chin, then her throat. Gently as if he were stroking the feathers of a newly hatched chick. He was so rough and she was so pure, it was hard to shake the idea that if he were to touch her roughly her smooth skin might shatter in his grasp—but as his hand traveled lower, more of his hand came down to caress her perky tits, her creased stomach…

When his hands met in the middle on opposite sides, gently grasping the points of her hips and urging her to move just a little bit faster. His cock was so hard and she felt so good on him, all he could think about was wanting more, more of the same, and more and more and more…

It felt like her body was on fire from within as he was rocking against her, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her with each tentative thrust. The pain was still there, but it was dull, faint, like the underlying bassline in a much more delicate symphony. Nejlah arched her back more as he urged her on to move faster, eager to comply. Still steadying herself against his thigh with one hand, the fingers of her other hand dug into the skin of his shoulder. Her soft whimpers changed into moans and small screams of pleasure as she bucked her hips, lifting her small body off his massive cock and trying, wanting, to push herself onto him again.

“Please….yes…please…,” she panted, her head thrown back and her eyes closed in concentration, lost in pleasure. She was not sure was she was asking for. All she knew was that he alone could give her what she now wanted.

Klaus groaned low in his chest as Nejlah arched her back and rode his stiff cock like a practiced whore. He loved every moment of it, rolling his hips on their tile bench, continuing the illicit dance that their bodies were doing under the water, his cock moving around inside her body each time the angle of their union changed as it did, constantly and without respite.

“Fuck! You feel good!” Klaus exclaimed, both of his hands grasping her firm, round ass-cheeks in both palms as he continued to urge her continued squirming in his lap, “this is good! It’s so fucking good!”

The sloshing and splashing of the tub water encouraged him to be more aggressive in his vertical movements, thrusting upward as the water splashed and surged out from where she was bobbing. The waves crashed around her back and chest, the splashes against the side of the tub hit hard enough to splash warm, scented water onto both of their faces each time their bodies met under the surface.

Nejlah strained to keep up with him, both scared and exhilarated by his reaction to her. He thrust himself into her so deeply that she was afraid his cock was going to split open her chest, that his thick manhood was going to choke her. And yet through her fear and the pain this felt so good. She was entirely helpless, like soft clay that he could mold at his will. And she wanted nothing else, wanted to be nothing else. She wanted to be filled, possessed, forever be taken by him. She was going to cum, she could feel it, he would make her cum. Her small body tensed in anticipation.

“I’m close!” Klaus announced, moving faster, thrusting even deeper than before as he settled into his final strokes before his climax, “cum with me, please. Cum when I cum inside of you. I want you to be mine. Be mine forever, Nel. I never want this to end.”

It did, though. It ended with an aggressive upward thrust that all but lifted Nejlah’s whole body out of the water as his cock blasted the first thick gluts of hot cum directly against her cervix, followed closely by another jerk of the shaft and a fresh wave of hot cum, flooding on and on, until Klaus began to worry that he might hurt her, blasting so much of his thick cum into her small, ill-prepared body.

Nejlah screamed. She screamed, overwhelmed by pleasure, by pain, by sensations she had not known she could feel. Her own orgasm surged through her as he was cumming inside her, she could feel his thick cock twitch and tear against her insides. “I love you…I love you…oh Goddess…I love you!” she panted, blissfully lost, sobbing with joy.

“Good girl,” Klaus sighed, settling back onto the bench and clutching the back of Nejlah’s head, pulling her face to his chest, “that’s my good girl.”

She was panting in his grip, limp with exhaustion. Her eyes closed, she listened to his racing heartbeat. “Never leave me…,” she whispered softly. “And teach me more, Sire…teach me everything.”

***

The warm water enveloped her like a blanket. It helped. Tabea let her head sink back against the rim of the large pool, trying to shut out the sounds echoing through the tiled bath. She inspected her wrist, gingerly touching the bruised skin. Rezah had slammed her hand hard against the rim of the table, but she was satisfied to see that it was not broken.

Rezah.

Sobs rose in her chest and she pressed the soft sponge to her mouth to muffle them. Not now. There was a time for sadness, for anger, for mourning what had been and for cursing what had come after, but that time was not now. She thought of Jaleh, and her heart flipped in pain. She wished for nothing more fervently than to be in Jaleh’s arms again.

But until that happened, Tabea would try and keep her true feelings hidden. She would not let them see any more than what she had already so unwisely revealed. No. She needed all of her emotions, every last scrap, to feed her will to take revenge on them all.

Tabea took a deep breath, and slowly let herself sink beneath the surface of the water, her blood-caked golden locks floating like water lilies around her head. She stared up through the water at the beautiful ceiling of the bath, and tiny bubbles rose from her lips through the water.

One.

Two.

Three.

She watched them rise and disappear when they reached the surfaces.

Rezah.

Klaus.

Armon.

All three of them would suffer as much as she was and more. She would have her revenge.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Act II: Reconciliation

By nightfall all remnants of the violence earlier in the day were gone, replaced by acoustic music and the playful clatter of crystal glasses. Several whole pigs had been spit-roasted, their insides filled and sewn shut with apples, halved onions, whole garlic cloves and entire branches of rosemary. Casks of wine and ale had been tapped, filling trays of glasses at a time while most of the honored guests milled around the polished floor of the great hall. Every candle on the massive chandelier had been lit and smaller candelabras also adorned each table, bathing the scene in comfortable, glittering, orange light.

The band was composed of Khoraz musicians, found or sought from among the survivors—reassured that their art would be their redemption. They played as if their lives depended on it, which as far as any of them knew, they did. The cooks too, supplemented by a few trail-dusted Dawnish cooks, cooked for their very lives, having never been reassured that their labors would lead to assured survival.

The floor had been polished to a high shine, until each individual candle flicker was reflected from the ground, peering up into wide dress hems and underskirts. Most of the Khoraz nobility was accounted for, as the Glorious Dawn rewarded any bit of trivial gossip on the eve of a conquest with gold—the second night, information was rewarded with silver and on the third night coppers.

So were many things on the eve of a Dawnish conquest—carts laden with loaves of bread were sent down each main street among the wealthy and poor districts of the city alike, two nights from now, there would be no carts.

At the center of the evening’s festivities and seated at the center of everything were Klaus and Nejlah, he—dressed in his most diplomatic doublet and most calf-hugging stocking, in spite of his obvious discomfort in such guise. He was dressed in burgundy and black, to match Neljah’s new attire, just recently made around her body specifically for the event. A full-body, fishnet stocking covered her from neck to toes over which a custom, black leather corset had been cut and fitted around her subtle curves, lifting and accentuating her small but perky breasts. The sunburst icon of the Glorious Dawn was cut out of the center of the corset, framing her cute naval with only the fishnet material in between. The dress was of the finest silk, with a long slit that followed her gorgeous leg up almost to her hip, with subtle burgundy accents at the opening and lastly she was gifted a pair of daring, burgundy heels that looked almost as if the back had been dipped in molten gold—the heels and the back of the shoe, all wrought from pure gold.

Even the more hesitant guests seemed to be at least making an attempt to appease their conquerors. Ava, still slightly hindered from her injuries, looked radiant in a draped gown that Kyarrah confided she’d never quite had the chest to fill out. A red, pleated, silken sash tied at the back of her neck, separate folds of fabric cupping and holding her generous, pale breasts before crossing across her midsection and wrapping low over her hips before blooming into a full, pleated gown. Even her arm sling was replaced with red silk, making her wound look more like a third breast than a severe injury. She looked much better in the dress than Kyarrah ever had, though the woman let that go without saying.

Jaleh, on the other hand, was dressed more to her own style—though no less glamorous. She was given a pair of sleek, black, leather pants and a soft, cotton bodice designed to mimic the lines of a corset without any of the constrictive measures. Her hair gathered up into an ornate bun at the back of her head, with several braids and locks dipping down to frame her face, which didn’t quite agree with the rest of her outfit.

Like Nejlah, Mahnaz’ gown had been cut and tailored to her body in the hours before dinner was served, a sleek but revealing gown of turquoise and blues, overlapping and draping over itself to imitate the reflection of water. Armon was dressed to match her, having been sewn into his outfit as well, a single peacock feather bobbed merrily from the side of his beaver-skin hat.

Then, there were the studies in contrast—Rezah had gleefully accepted the work of the tailors, presenting himself in a dark blue outfit accented with nearly twenty pounds of gold thread and leafing, while his date, Tabea seemed to be the only member of the royal family not dressed to the new custom, having insisted on wearing her own clothes (to the secret delight of the overworked tailors). Similarly, Afra was dressed modestly, in her own clothes, looking more suited to a fox hunt than a banquet—but then again, she wasn’t exactly a guest. The squire to a guest must not pull focus.

This is not to imply that Lorral could have been outshined by any of the women there—as he’d been hounding the tailors over this particular outfit for weeks. His shoes were overlayed with lacquered hawk’s feathers and the copper heels were rather aggressive for men’s fashion. One stocking was gold and the other was khaki and even though his outfit was almost entirely composed of cream, khaki and brown colors—the small fortune of interwoven gold made his outfit impossible to miss. All tied together by an elaborate accent of turkey, hawk and eagle feathers tucked into the band of his tri-cornered, white suede hat.

With a gesture, Klaus halted the music and made his way to the platform where he and the other royals were to sit, he gently tapped his wine glass with a butter knife until the room quieted. He had a speech prepared.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you both humbled and overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and generosity shown to us by the people of Khoraz—it is because of this, that we have accomplished the most bloodless transition of power ever imagined—thanks in no small part to the bravery and sacrifice of the one known to many as Red Fury, Ava. You have my profound respect—”

Klaus raised his glass and was soon joined by all of his Dawnish fellows, making a toast in unison, all calling out ”To Ava!” before joining their king in a drink.

“With the exception of one unfortunate murder of a local healer, there have been almost zero incidences of fatal violence among the populace, and rest assured that the healer’s killer or killers will be brought to justice and judged harshly. All of this is thanks to my personal surgeon and general overseer of the transition Kyarrah and her new deputy Jaleh—”

”To Kyarrah and Jaleh!”

“Most impressive, and indicative of the righteousness of our cause, there have been zero reported rapes in the city since its occupation. Sex Empire provides for those who would accept it, and protects the weak by satisfying the primal urges of the strong.”

”For Sex Empire—for the Glorious Dawn, Hurrah!

“I stand here confident that what was won today wasn’t anything as base and trivial as land or wealth—what was won today was a lasting and enduring peace, which our children’s children will enjoy, after the bloodlines of Khoraz and the Glorious Dawn flow together. Just looking at my nephew and his newly betrothed wife, I can see that the seed of love has already begun to bloom between them. When that flower bears fruit, the future of both our nations will be linked forever. To Armon and Mahnaz!”

”To Armon and Mahnaz! May their blood rule eternal!”

“Lastly, I’m most grateful for my personal victory—though by no measure do I deserve such a boon. My darling and beautiful ward, Nejlah has consented to become my ward willingly and ascend to her place atop the Glorious Dawn as the first and only princess of Sex Empire. In her I see a real and lasting future for what began as a wild dream—she is the future of Dawnish leadership and has abilities beyond her years in rulership. Long may she reign.”

”Long live Princess Nejlah! Huzzah!”

“All of you, in your own ways, have made this victory possible—such that if I were to toast every one of you individually we’d die from alcohol poisoning or starvation, whichever came first,” here Klaus paused for laughter, “but I hope each of you can see how grateful I am. And those of you who still view me as a conqueror, I hope to have the opportunity to change your mind. Let us eat!”

With that, everyone made their way to their assigned seats as servers hurried back and forth with plates and serving platters, trying hard to match each individual’s tastes. Klaus draped his arm across Nejlah’s shoulders and whispered into her ear as his food was served, “you look so beautiful…”

 

[Curious_Muse]

It was a sight to behold. Nejlah overlooked the scene before her and felt nothing but relief and a deep happiness that slaughter and violence had ended and made way for such a glamorous, joyful evening. The Dawnish officers looked stunning in their finely worked garb, threads of gold and silver glittering in the light of thousands of candles. Khoraz’ noble families mingled with their conquerors without fear, and scattered laughter and the easily flowing conversations bore testament to the King’s success.

She glanced at him from under lowered lashes, beaming with pride. Her hair was still slightly damp from their earlier encounter in the bath, her tiny pussy still delightfully sore. It was difficult not to fidget in her chair at the memory, and all she wanted even now was for him to fuck her, to use her body as he saw fit, again and again. All she wanted was to be his, and to please him.

But now there were matters of state to attend to, and she was delighted with her new position. What would her sisters say? The councilors? Would they accept her as the princess of the New Empire?

Nejlah whispered to a servant who scuttled away, only to reemerge followed by a train of more servants carrying trays of food. There were platters with stuffed grape leaves and fragrant red peppers filled with rice, raisins and pine nuts, grilled quails drizzled with pomegranate molasses, roasted octopus, skewers of lamb, pasties stuffed with pork and herbs, bowls with pickles, with yoghurt, with spicy sauces and herbed almonds. Others balanced plates stacked with delicate honeyed pastries, platters of fruit, and a dish of rosewater sorbet scattered with the petals of various flowers.

“I hope you will forgive me, Sire,” she said with a shy smile to the King. “But I wanted you to taste some of the delicacies Khoraz has to offer.” Nejlah hoped that he would not misinterpret her initiative to have the kitchens prepare these dishes as a slight against Dawnish cooking skills.

Mahnaz was unsure how to react to seeing Nejlah next to the Warlord Klaus. She was relieved and glad, of course, to see her little sister unharmed, and so happy, but the unusual attire, the Dawnish emblem, her demeanor and her obvious devotion to Klaus were disturbing. And, she had to admit it, part of her felt humiliated to be eclipsed by the young princess who had always been so quiet, so fearful, and almost invisible in all that concerned the politics of Khoraz. Or was she playing along, just like she, Mahnaz, had chosen to do? Biding her time to gain advantage over these men, waiting for a moment to catch the intruders off guard?

Armon had been nothing but attentive and charming, and she was careful to nurture the image of the loving couple for everyone in the hall. “It seems like we are not the only new couple here,” she said playfully, gesturing towards Nejlah and Klaus with her head. “Maybe this tale will have a happy ending after all.”

Jaleh looked irritated and uneasy. She had not resisted Ava’s request to wear Dawnish attire, but she was uncomfortable with her attempt to placate Klaus and his horde, and she felt unsafe without her swords in the midst of all these men drunk on victory and, without any doubt, soon to be drunk on ale and wine as well.

Her breath caught in her throat when she caught sight of her lover. Tabea looked radiant in an elegant dress fashioned from layers of light grey silk so thin that it was possible to guess at her naked form underneath. She was barefoot, as it was the custom for the princesses of the Silver City, but each of her movements was accentuated by a soft jingle of silver bands around her ankles. For a moment, Jaleh looked at her with an expression of both worry and desire, wishing for nothing more than for a moment alone with the princess. The grey silk hugged her gentle curves, accentuating her beautiful breasts and the perfect shape of her hips, and knowing, in fact seeing, that she was naked underneath made Jaleh’s throat run dry with want and longing. But there was Rezah, and all the others who had witnessed their kiss earlier, and Jaleh was unwilling to take such a risk.

Tabea’s lips were painted a dark red, hiding the injury Rezah had caused, and nothing in her demeanor betrayed her anger and the hate she felt towards almost everyone gathered in the hall, the sycophants and the cowards, the rapists and the murderers.

She watched Mahnaz who did not only seem comfortable, but infatuated with Armon. Every so often she took his hand, caressed his arm, seemed to have eyes only for him. It was a sickening sight. And Nejlah! Tabea stared at her in disbelief. Her youngest sister had undergone a complete transformation and was no longer a shy, fearful girl, but a straight-backed queen, at ease with the power she wielded. Far from looking lost, ridiculous or out of place in her grotesque outfit, the petite princess was magnificent, equal in splendor to the imposing man at her side.

Tabea glared at them both. Did Dawnish men have magic cocks of pure gold? What was it that had turned her sisters and the entirety of the Khoraz command into simpering fools whose only aim was to please their conquerors? She scanned the rest of the table, and all she could see were the same eager faces, the same complacent expressions. When her eyes met those of Jaleh, she looked away quickly, unable to meet her lover’s gaze.

She knew that it was unfair, but she wanted to punish Jaleh, for abandoning her, for letting Rezah hurt her, for sitting there now, doing nothing. Tabea only half-listened to the speech the Warlord was now giving, and did not join in the toasts of those around her. So Jaleh had been promoted to deputy of the witch woman? She could not help but wonder what favors the young lieutenant had lavished onto the hated Dawnish bitch to be elevated so. Jealousy and grief rose in Tabea’s throat like bile, but she did not let these emotions show, and instead drank deeply from her crystal cup filled with golden Khoraz wine.

However, when Klaus praised the absence of rape in the city, she choked and started coughing violently. Ava, too, drew in her breath sharply. The commander’s eyes briefly met those of Afra whose troubled expression mirrored the vivid memories of her ordeal, and that of countless other women and girls, earlier in the church. Zero rapes! The young recruit dropped her gaze to her plate, determined not to look at any of the men in the room and let them see her anger and her humiliation. Ava caught the eye of the officer who had saved the girl and raised her glass to him with a nod. Sex Empire was still a mystery to her and a threat, and she knew that she would need to accept allies wherever she could find them, especially those who knew to use their cocks the way this general did. Ava was curious if the sexual satisfaction that Klaus promised was afforded to women as well.

Jaleh, deeply stung by Tabea’s obvious fury towards her, watched the young princess who, after her coughing subsided, scoffed derisively, her self-control seemingly slipping. The lieutenant tensed in anticipation of more public defiance, but none came. It did not escape her eye, however, that Tabea had flinched from Rezah’s touch and sudden realization turned her blood to ice. That bastard. Her fingers closed around the meat knife on the table before her, her rage palpable for anyone who cared to pay attention.

But the next moment, Tabea leant closer towards a young Dawnish officer sitting at her other side and laughed at something he had apparently said following her violent coughing attack. Jaleh, perplexed, watched the exchange unfolding. Tabea put her hand on that of her left-hand neighbor, smiled sweetly at him, whispering something in his ear that prompted him to drop his gaze to her breasts and lick his lips. What was she trying to do?

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Klaus beamed with delight as Nejlah sent a server to bring back a new platter of food, this one loaded with her local favorites. Initiative looked good on her, almost as good as that leather corset and fishnet body stocking. He enthusiastically helped himself to plate after plate from the platter, devouring a rolled grape leaf in one bite, serving a stuffed pepper and a quail onto his plate. Loading up with each dish before turning back to his beautiful, young ward.

“There is nothing to forgive, my beloved. This is exactly what I would wish for you, to conjure your own wishes with a sweep of your dainty hand,” Klaus lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed the backs of her fingers before going on, “even I, the king of the world, am yours to command when you wield the true weight of your power. I’ll eat what will please you, serve what will please you and be what will please you—you need only give voice to your desires.”

Before turning back to his plate and freshly filled ale mug, Klaus gently lifted Nejlah’s chin and gave her a tender, loving kiss on the lips. With that, he turned back to his plate, eagerly trying and finishing each of the savory delights that Nejlah had sent for. Some he liked more than others, but he ate everything he’d served himself with equal enthusiasm.

“This glaze on the squab,” Klaus mistook the quail for pigeon, having never tasted quail before, “it would go marvelously with the roasted pork. You there, bring us a cheek from the suckling pig!”

The servant who was refilling Klaus’ ale mug again nodded and went over to the massive roasted boar to butcher the cheek for the king’s table. The sight was slightly grotesque, as the removed cheek left visible the charred and yellowed teeth of the roasted boar, but it would be worth the visible inconvenience for the succulent and tender cheeks.

When the servant brought the cheeks on separate plates, Klaus moved one in front of Nejlah with a smile and used his spoon to drizzle some of the thick reduction from the quail over the tender, marbled pork.

“The best of both worlds, like you and I,” Klaus grinned, caressing Nejlah’s inner thigh intimately under the table, “when you’re finished, you should visit your sisters. I’m eager for them to see how well you’re doing and want for you to find out if there’s anything I can do to make them more comfortable.”

Klaus leaned forward and gently, sweetly kissed her before turning back to his ale. He finished the mug and rose from his place at the table, his eyes landing on Tabea who was dressed provocatively and seemed to be deliberately provoking Rezah by ignoring him. He needed to do something, figure out a way to diffuse that situation—he needed to find a way to satisfy her without crossing him, He wanted to get out in front of that situation.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to your sister, Tabea,” Klaus whispered to Nejlah, leaning over the back of her chair while gently massaging her shoulders with his large hands, “I can’t be at ease when your family is still suffering. If there’s something I can do to help her, I want to at least try.”

With a final sweet kiss on the crown of her head, Klaus made his way down from the dais and over to the table where Tabea was laughing and flirting with the nobles around her table. He reached his hand out to her over her shoulder.

“M’lady. Dance with me, if you please.”

Others were already making their way onto the dance floor, Armon and Lorral both had begun dancing with their dates as the blended band of musicians played music intended to appease both crowds gathered.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Azar made her way to the courtyard of the palace, wondering if she was mad to attempt this.

“I know that you have always wanted to be a guardian,” Jaleh had baited her when she had found her hidden away in the herb closet of the apothecary earlier. “Now there is the opportunity for you to prove that you can be one.” And: “This is your chance to take revenge.”

Revenge. Her fist tightened around the handle of the slender blade she was carrying, but the weapon felt alien and dangerous in her grip. It was an impossible, an idiotic plan! She would likely get herself killed, probably after having been unmasked as the impostor that she was. Azar tried not to wonder what the punishment would be for girl like her under the rule of the Glorious Dawn. She looked down at herself, at the soft leather breeches, the boots, her tunic under which she had bound her small breasts with a tight linen wrap. Would they fall for such a disguise?

“Boys are safe under these barbarians, and they are the only ones allowed to carry arms,” Jaleh had insisted and then, sensing her infatuation, kissed her tenderly. “And you make such a beautiful boy.” The young lieutenant had coaxed and finally persuaded her to agree, and now here she was, forcing herself to set one foot in front of the other, her nervousness growing with every step that brought her closer to the glows of the many fires, the clatter of steel and the raucous laughter of the Dawnish troops camping out in the heart of the city.

Soldiers sat around roasting entire boars and sheep on spits. There was music. Bottles of ale and wine made the rounds, and from the shadows, Azar heard giggle and moans, evidence of other carnal distractions. The Dawnish lords had taken great care to reward and placate their men and those newly recruited with a feast of their own. As several heads turned towards her when she stepped into the light of the fire, Azar stopped, hesitant. “Good evening,” she croaked, aware of the curious, mocking stares of the men.

“Does your mother know you are out this late, boy?” someone guffawed. Others laughed. “And does she know you have raided her needlework cabinet?” another shouted, pointing at her sword. Azar noticed that not all of the soldiers had joined in the laughter, but the observant expressions of those men unnerved her even more.

“I want to enroll with the victorious men of the Glorious Dawn,” Azar said, undeterred, hoping that the soldiers were too drunk and the festivities to noisy for them to detect the anxious flutter in her voice. “Where are your commanders?”

***

Ava started to feel bored. An odd emotion, considering. Leaning back in her chair, her eyes scanned the hall. The scene was so banal that it almost felt like an insult. It was strange to see the men who had butchered and raped their way into the Silver City just hours earlier simper around the local noblewomen dressed in garish silks, never missing a dance step or lost in pleasant conversation, putting on airs of gentlemen guests. Ava took another sip of wine, feeling a pinch of guilt. Should she not be grateful that this was how Klaus and his horde decided to celebrate? After all, the blushing young ladies courted by these strangers might otherwise have ended up in the church, too. In fact, who was to say that they had not been collected from there, just like herself?

Watching General Lorral, she smiled dryly. He had managed to pluck out a radiant young thing out of the crowd of the noble daughters of Khoraz, and Ava recognized her as Morvarid, a treasure of a girl not only because of her beauty, but also the fabled wealth of her family. The young woman smiled coyly each time the general addressed her, her eyes shining with excitement. Nothing in her demeanor hinted at her deathly skill in battle, or at her bloodlust in combat that Ava had witnessed firsthand. Batting her eyelashes and clinging to his arm, Morvarid made the general feel wanted and secure as her male protector. She made him feel safe, made him feel like he was the only man worthy of note in the hall. Ava wondered if it was it really that easy. And if it was it as easy for the women of Khoraz to slip back into patterns so ancient and outdated that only fairytales and the musty scrolls in the palace archives still remembered them.

Next to her, Kyarrah seemed to be observing the festivities in a similar contemplative mood. Ava leant in close to her. “So how do the women of the Glorious Dawn celebrate the victory of male dominance?” The mocking tone in her voice softened the sharpness of the question. “What is the price that you hope to claim?”

Nejlah, however, was clearly ecstatic. She had eagerly tasted the tender meat of the boar, savoring every bite, and if only because it was the King who had served it to her. She closed her eyes when he put his hand gently on her inner thigh, imagining the many pleasures waiting for her. He had promised to fulfill her every desire! Now all she needed to learn was to give voice to them.

Now she watched as Klaus made his way over to her sister’s table, filled with deep gratitude for his concern for her family’s happiness. Everything would turn out well after all. Mahnaz had already found bliss in her new role, and Tabea would soon make peace under the rule of the new King and his queen. She, Nejlah, wanted to make sure they neither sister lacked for nothing, not if they accepted this new order of things.

Tabea, who had been laughing at something one of the guests at the table had said, froze when she noticed Klaus standing so close behind her. The officer to her left, who had been so perceptive to her advances, suddenly shrank away from her as if fearing deadly disease. The young princess forced her hands to stop shaking as she turned around to face the King.

“Lady?” She raised an eyebrow at him, her stare like ice. “You are mistaken, your Majesty,” Tabea said coolly, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. “I am a slave, not a lady.” She smiled exaggeratingly at Klaus. “If you would like to dance with me, I beg you to address your wish to the man you promoted to be my lord and master.” Without another glance at the King, Tabea turned back to her plate, keenly aware that the entirely table had fallen silent.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Klaus ground his back teeth together so hard that the taught muscles of his jaw flexed outward and his face seemed to grow thinner and yet broader all at once. The lines of tension betrayed his rage, though he tried hard to keep his anger from his eyes and posture, knowing that his young ward was watching him—nonetheless, he had no intention of letting Tabea’s taunt be the end of their interaction. He tried hard not to snatch her when he wrapped his large hand around her slender upper arm, but still probably squeezed too hard as he lifted her from her seat by force.

“If you’re a slave, then consider it a command,” Klaus seethed through clenched teeth, “I’ve been through too much today to have my night spoiled by a stuck-up princess who’s too dumb to know that she’s being catered to.”

All but carrying her to the dance floor, Klaus grabbed one of her wrists and forcibly placed her hand on his shoulder, while his other hand gripped hers and he arranged her into a dancing posture, pulling her body against his by the small of her back. He could feel the soft curves of her body, pressed against him as she was, but he was not enticed by them. He wanted only for her to be content and compliant—Nejlah was still all he desired for his carnal wants.

“In my experience there are two ways to ease tensions for a conquered people. The first is by marriage,” at this, Klaus spun Tabea out of his arms and then tugged hard on her arm, spinning her back into his embrace, “the other is by execution. I’ve tried hard to ensure your family’s safety by preparing marriages for you all—but if you’re so dissatisfied, I’ll happily arrange your execution instead…”

At this, Klaus dipped her, flashing an insincere smile up to Nejlah, an attempt to keep her at ease while he negotiated for her sister’s life. When he lifted Tabea again, their mouths stopped just a fraction of an inch apart, though neither made any discernable attempt to pull away or to move closer.

“I have no desire to kill you, but I’ll sooner do that than risk what I’ve fought so hard to gain. I’d rather find a way that we can work together. If it’s Rezah’s death you desire, this too can be discussed—as long as you’re willing to work with me and not against me.”

*-*-*

Lorral was enjoying himself, as he so often did at gatherings of this sort. He was a talented dancer and an even more skilled drinker. He’d met a new friend in the lady Morvarid and she seemed well-won by his estimation. She fawned over him and hung on his every word, not to mention the way she clutched at his arm in such a way to allow him to feel her respectable bosom against his arm.

Yet, the adventurer in Lorral craved more from a hunt, and when he spied Ava looking at him from her periphery, he knew who he wanted to mount that night.

Kyarrah seemed to be involved in conversation with his desired prize, so instead he summoned Afra to join him and Moravid.

“Bring us some more ale, girl,” Lorral requested firmly, “and send a goblet of wine to the Red Fury. Let her know that I’d speak with her if Kyarrah would spare her.”

Lorral knew not to cross Kyarrah in any way, shape or form. He didn’t regard her as a witch—as so many others did, but the surgeon was cunning and skilled in plenty of other ways, enough to give a man pause before interrupting her courtship.

*-*-*

Kyarrah smiled at the sight of Klaus and Tabea dancing together, though she knew well enough that that matter was far from resolved. When Ava spoke, Kyarrah barely spared her a glance, still furtively searching for what had become of Jaleh, who had escaped her attention too swiftly not to have been deliberate.

She suspected conspiracy and it made her feel a lethal inclination.

“Why does anyone stay loyal to a regime? The Glorious Dawn offers the clearest and most tangible vision of a future that’s better than the past—you think that Khoraz offered that future, but you’re blinded by your own walls. Even if Klaus and the Hoard had never come here—this city was headed for a fall. Khoraz was like a fat tick about to pop—over-swollen with its own prosperity and made vulnerable by its arrogance. The lands far East of here are beginning a religious Crusade to convert the rest of the world—if it hadn’t been Klaus it would have been the Inquisitors who sacked this city.

They would torture and kill everyone until only converts to their repressive, vengeful, binary God. Forget soldiers—women wouldn’t work or have trades. Besides that any woman who dared love a woman or man who dared love a man…” Kyarrah trailed off as if recalling some deep, past trauma, “the Inquisitors hate in ways that would make barbarians blush. All Klaus and I have ever tried to bring you is freedom—it was I who insisted that we kill your faith. Not out of hate for it or your people—but because blind faith, like arrogance, will leave you all at the mercy of tyrants.”

When the goblet of wine arrived Kyarrah startled herself upright, she’d had more to drink than she often allowed herself, it was making her verbose. She smiled over at Ava, reaching out and tenderly caressing her cheek.

“I’d fight for you, if I were free. But just now I need to find Jaleh. Lorral is a pompus ass, but he’s a good man. As far as men go.”

With that, Kyarrah tucked the long train of her dress over one arm and moved out of the ballroom, her metallic heels making a melodic tinkling noise on the stone as she walked.

*-*-*

In the city square, under the shadow of the great silver palace, the troops of the Glorious Dawn reveled in their conquest. The arrival of a new recruit barely made any disturbance in the rowdy festivities. Harrison, the ranking officer was well in his cups by now, but recognized this as his duty to perform. He rose from his place by the fire and strode over to the new arrival, grasping him tightly by the shoulders and roughly squaring him up for observation.

“What’s your name, boy?” Harrison asked brusquely, slapping and hitting the recruit on his shoulders and arms more than seemed necessary, “not much to you, is there? You look like an archer to me. Commander Lorral is in the palace, with most of the others. If you wait until morning, he can give you your marching orders. Right now we’re mostly just keeping peace in the city. For tonight you can get food over there, ale and wine are all around… go introduce yourself around.”

At last, Harrison produced a small flask of rye whiskey from inside his coat. He forcefully poured a long swallow past the boy’s plump lips.

“Welcome to the service, boy.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Thirteen.

Thirteen Royal Guardians. Trained fighters, all. Highly skilled killers.

She followed the boy who had delivered the message with her eyes, but he had already vanished between the scurrying servants carrying platters of food to and from the Great Hall. Thirteen. Not an army, but a good start. Jaleh took a sip from the cup in her hands. An excellent vintage. There had been twenty women before, twenty who had agreed to the plan, before Klaus and his barbarian horde had even reached the city’s gates. Four were dead, two were too badly wounded to be of use, and one had been compromised and did not want to risk drawing Klaus’ attention again. The others had sent word, as agreed.

Scattered throughout the palace and the city, they were now working in the kitchens, the baths, the market, the brothel, the brewery, the fishing port, the fields. Invisible, biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Neither the queen nor Ava knew who they were, or that they even existed. They probably would not approve, either. Ava would likely think it was a plan doomed to fail, while Mahnaz was sure to say that such guerilla tactics were dishonorable. Jaleh frowned at the thought. The leadership’s foolish attachment to a concept as volatile as “honor” had led to the downfall of Khoraz in the first place. If everyone else played dirty, why shouldn’t they?

She thought of the apothecary girl. A cute, but rather naïve little thing. And a weasel in bed, Jaleh remembered with a wry smile, willing and eager, with a few tricks up her sleeve that had surprised even her. Azar had often turned up at the barracks with some excuse – potions, messages for the palace healer and the like – and Jaleh had enjoyed her attention and her skills. It had not been very hard to persuade her to “infiltrate” the Glorious Dawn dressed as a boy. The poor girl thought that her courage mattered, when in reality she was nothing more than a deliberately clumsy distraction. Let the fuckers think that little girls playing at soldiers were the only ruse Khoraz could come up with. They would realize their mistake soon enough.

Jaleh did feel a pang of guilt. Azar would very likely get herself killed. Not that it mattered much to her, and sacrifices would have to be made if they were to rid themselves of the invaders. But few girls had made her cum as hard as the apothecary’s assistant. It was a sad waste of talent.

Leaning on the delicately carved balustrade overlooking the sea, she watched the waves crash into the rocks below. Her thoughts went to Tabea, to Rezah. The fury burnt like acid in her stomach. She would not leave Rezah to the other Shadows. She would kill him herself.

When she heard the soft tinkling noise of the witch’s heals on the stone floor, she turned around. Jaleh’s lips curved into a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Did you miss me?”

***

“I respect your experience and your knowledge, Kyarrah, but you have never lived here. What do you really know about the Silver City except the jealous writings of historians and scribes far from here?

The Glorious Dawn might be the lesser evil, but it is evil nonetheless.” She shook her head to stop Kyarrah from interrupting. “I wish you would have had the chance to experience the city before Klaus took it. You would have liked it here.” Ava’s eyes shone in the light of the many chandeliers. “It is…it was a utopia, an experiment aiming to defy the cynical believe that atrocities are the only way to keep some sort of order. It was not perfect by any stretch, and it was still evolving.” She paused for a moment, contemplating the young princess in Klaus’ arms. “Do you see Tabea there? She has been arguing for the abolition of the monarchy altogether. She refused to have servants. Many thought of her as a radical, but nobody would have dreamed of punishing her for it.” Ava sighed, her eyes settling on Rezah seated across the room. “Not until now. So I respect your victory, and I admit our defeat. But I will not let you erase what we did have.”

Then she laughed, eager to disperse the melancholy now felt. “And for fuck’s sake, Kyarrah. Stop telling me that Klaus wanted to bring us ‘freedom’. You don’t believe that, and I fucking don’t believe that. We were free, and now we are your subjects, your slaves. What Klaus wanted is what everybody wants: power. That, and the nice weather and the good food and the beautiful women that Khoraz has to offer. If you admit as much it would make things easier for all of us. Nothing is more tedious than a conqueror who wants to style himself as a savior.”

At that, Afra appeared behind them, carrying another goblet of wine. The girl smiled at her former commander as she handed her the cup. “General Lorral wishes to speak to you, com…Lady Ava.” She glanced at the witch. “If the lady Kyarrah might spare you.”

Ava wondered if she would want anyone fighting for her, before speculating who Kyarrah wanting to fight against, while making her way over to the general and his companion. The witch woman intrigued her. Why did she think of herself as unfree?

Morvarid watched her from under lowered eyelashes, probably wondering how important the former commander of the Royal Guard still was under the new regime, and if she posed a threat to her own ambitions. The girl was dressed in an exquisite Khorazian dress, the stitched dark red silk the color of freshly spilled blood, but her hair was coiffed in the fashion of the Dawnish.

“General Lorral, Lady Morvarid…you both look dazzling tonight.”

***

Tabea moved stiffly in the warlord’s grip, willing herself not to betray her emotions, or the lingering pain he had caused her when he pulled her from her seat. His anger was as unyielding as his grip on her hand and her back, and it scared her. And yet she could not bring herself to apologize. He was furious, but so was she. All day men had toyed with her, forced her to second guess their commands and desires, and all day she had struggled against them as uselessly as against a dead rock.

Her naked feet made no sound on the stone floor as she whirled back against him with such force that she slammed against his broad chest with a soft cry. Execution. For the first time she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

“You did not arrange a marriage for me,” she hissed, careful put on a stiff smile for the guests around them. “You handed me over to a rapist to do with as he sees fit, like a piece of meat…” Her voice trailed off in an attempt to master her rage. Tabea sensed that she had gone too far, and she did not want to risk further stoking his fury. She did not want to die.

Nejlah smiled back at the King, though she saw that he was angry. She sensed the tension between him and her older sister, and anxiously followed their every move. Tabea had never learned to master her stubbornness, and the young girl feared that her sister would act unwisely before the King. The slender girl stared at the odd couple on the dancefloor with such wide-eyed intensity that it looked as if she willed them to spin to the music, a frightened puppeteer unsure if she was able to really master her puppets.

At the mention of Rezah, she momentarily forgot to mask her surprise. “You offer me his death? He betrayed his queen for you, and yet you would kill him…for me?” Tabea had to turn her head, lest the warlord would see her confusion. She thought about it. What better revenge than to see Rezah die at the hand of his newfound allies? She would not promise him anything in return, not yet. “Your Grace,” she said slowly, her fingers travelling from his shoulder down to his back, her smile sincere for the first time. “If you do, please make him suffer.”

***

Azar’s eyes watered up as she tried, and failed, to stifle a cough. The whisky burned its way down her throat, and all she could do was nod, and hope that the soldier who had welcomed her would not insist on another swig of the stuff. “My name is Az…Azad, sire.” Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she nodded at his invitation. “Thank you, sire.” Archery would suit her better than swordplay, she thought, while looking for a free seat by the fires. It would make her look less like a fool.

She timidly sat down by one of the fires, smiling into the round. Most men were too busy drinking to lend her much notice, which she was glad for.

“He’s prettier than most of the girls I work with, eh?” Azar looked up, alarmed. The girl who had spoken sat in the lap of one of the soldiers across from her and eyed her with interest. The man behind her chuckled, and continued to paw at the girl’s breasts through her thin linen dress with one hand, while caressing her upper thighs and kissing her bared shoulders. “Are you from Khoraz, pretty boy?”

Azar nodded. The young whore laughed. “You’re a timid one, aren’t you? Maybe I’ll give you one round for free, in celebration of today’s glorious victory!” She held out her cup and shouted at the man nearest the wine jar to hand a goblet to the newcomer. “Drink with us, sweetheart! To King Klaus and his invincible horde!” The men around the fire jeered, and Azar lifted her cup. She would need the wine to make it through this night, she thought. The wine and a lot of luck.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Kyarrah made a soft noise through her nose, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. She continued approaching Jaleh slowly. The girl, it seemed, did not desire her company if she could avoid it—which made Kyarrah’s mind wonder what she might be hiding.

“I did, I missed you in the sense that you were made conspicuous by your absence. I noticed you were not where you were supposed to be, so yes, you were missed,” Kyarrah’s voice was low, part seductive, but mostly threatening, “if you make a habit of not being where you’re supposed to be, we might need chains to ensure that you don’t go wandering off… you don’t make me miss you.”

Kyarrah wasn’t the least bit shy about grabbing the edges of the balustrade to pin Jaleh between her arms as she slowly pressed forward, her body dragging against the other woman’s. An invitation? Perhaps. A threat? Undoubtedly.

“Our brave King went to great trouble and expense to welcome the Khorazian court into the fold of the Glorious Dawn. It seems a waste for you to miss out on the festivities, sulking out here like a child,” Kyarrah’s stockinged knee slipped out through the high slit in her dress, probing its way between Jaleh’s thighs as she continued pressing her against the rail, “I find that people who seek to evade me are almost always hiding something. What are you hiding, Jaleh? I hope it’s not treason… there are far worse things that can happen to a woman than death… things that only another woman would conceive of.”

With her knee grinding roughly against the middle of Jaleh’s legs, Kyarrah gently took the girl’s earlobe into her mouth and dragged her teeth down the lobe until they clicked together, falling off the edge.

“What a waste of a pretty thing it would be, if you forced me to do ugly things to you…”

*-*-*

A bright smile reached the King’s face, this time without even forcing it as he turned Tabea back toward the center of the dancefloor. For a moment he was able to lock eyes with Nejlah, who seemed to be anxious. He let her see his smile and flashed her a wink, trying to let her know that everything was going to be alright.

“I’ve offered nothing, as of yet, we’re simply having a discussion. I’d be a fool to betray an ally for the sake of an enemy who seeks my ruin—and no, I would not kill him for you. Your sister, however, has touched me in a way that I am ill accustomed to. She would see you happy, and for her I would kill even myself if it would please her. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for Nejlah—no one I wouldn’t kill.”

Klaus’ large hands gripped Tabea’s waist and he lifted her into the air, setting her gently back on her feet after a half turn, in unison with the other couples on the dance floor. Then they moved back the other direction, allowing Tabea to see her younger sister, perhaps his ward’s worried expression could move Tabea better than his words could.

“If I do this, however, I need some assurances. If his could be the last needless death that this great nation is forced to endure, I’d gladly sacrifice him to spare the lives of any doomed rebels or treasonous dissidents who still lurk hereabouts. In his absence, I’d expect you to take on his duties as Minister of the Transition. This is a role of some power—as it would fall to your discretion what of Khoraz’ culture is worthy of assimilation, and what might make the joining of the Glorious Dawn less objectionable to the people of the Silver City. Do you think you could become worthy of such a duty?”

As he asked it, Klaus dipped her, for the first time feeling like their bodies were truly communicating. This time she understood that it was coming and he dipped her low enough for her long, golden hair to briefly strike the floor before pulling her straight up again, into his arms as the song ended.

“Take the night, I’ll give you the key to your own room tonight, since your marital bed is quite fraught, it seems. I shall summon you in the morning when I take council. We can discuss this at more length then—only do me this favor. Reassure your sister by offering a curtsy and kissing me on the cheek as a sister would. She would be much relieved and I would consider this discussion mutually advantageous.”

*-*-*

“And you, Brave Ava, you look as radiant as a rising sun on the eve of being beaten in battle,” Lorral smirked, “you make it look so good I almost might endeavor to try it someday. I’m kidding, of course. I’m not gifted with words enough to praise your beauty appropriately.”

Lorral had been drinking rather excessively and he’d underestimated how delicate the situation he was creating was. Though what he’d experienced with Ava had been quite memorable for him—the precise circumstances of their first interaction wasn’t exactly ideal fodder for a social gathering.

He wanted to tell her that he felt something special with her, that in spite of his sordid history and habits, she was someone that he felt the urge to return to—that he’d set out to conquer her but been conquered instead. But with so much wine and liquor coursing through his veins, Lorral was all but making a fool of himself.

“Since we last… ahem, spoke… I’ve become fascinated with learning more about your Silver City before the occupation. Lady Morvarid has been telling me such stories. I thought that…” Lorral trailed off. What was he even saying? What had he thought?

He hadn’t thought too much, he just wanted to see her again—in spite of Morvarid’s obvious interest, he just wanted Ava to notice him again.

“Perhaps you could fill out the picture with your military experience.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

“My apologies,” Jaleh muttered, taking another sip of her wine. “I did not realize that my presence in the Great Hall was of such importance to you.”

Their hips touched, but Jaleh did not move. Leaning back against the rail, the young lieutenant was trapped, unsure what to make of the unmistakable menace in the witch’s voice.

She sucked her breath in through her teeth when Kyarrah started teasing her with her stockinged knee. “I’m not part of the Khorazian court,” she muttered lamely, her eyes never leaving those of the woman now so close in front of her. She smelled of sandalwood, of wild herbs, of sharp spices. Jaleh would have much rather avoided this encounter. All she now wanted was to find Tabea, to talk to her, to assure her that everything would be good again. That the Shadows would make everything good again. But Kyarrah’s budding suspicions were dangerous, and Jaleh knew that she could not risk provoking the Dawnish officer any further.

She moaned low in her throat as the witch’s teeth found her earlobe, dragging them gently over the soft flesh. The fingers of her free hand curled around the edge of the stone railing in an attempt to resist the temptation. Jaleh did not want to give in to the witch. She did not trust her or herself enough to.

Jaleh stood very still as Kyarrah continued to grind her knee into her. The other woman stood so close that Jaleh could feel the heat radiating off her skin and her warm breath on her own lips. Her instinct was to either fuck or kill the witch woman, but Jaleh suspected that neither decision would lead to anything good.

“I am not averse to chains, but they will not be necessary at this point in our relationship,” Jaleh whispered hoarsely, barely able to suppress another moan. “I promise I’ll be good.”

***

Tabea was so surprised about this last offer that she almost stumbled over his feet. Rezah seemed doomed, as good as dead already. The King already offered her his position and title! She had to suppress victorious laughter as he spun her around. Minister of the Transition! She smiled up at him. A thousand ideas swirled through her head, so many things that the Glorious Dawn could learn from their new subjects. Indeed, she mused, so many things that the horde would be unrecognizable once she was done.

“Gladly, your Majesty,” she said happily. “I am honored.”

The kiss and the curtsy were easy after what the King had just told her. Despite being taller than both of her sisters Tabea had to stand on her tiptoes to reach Klaus’ cheek, and she took his hand as she did. There were whispers around her, and from the corner of her eye she saw that Rezah, too, seemed shocked. “I am grateful to Your Majesty,” she said softly, lowering her head. “And I will be waiting for your summons in the morning.” Tabea curtsied again, and as she looked back up at him, her exhilaration was written all over her face. “Thank you, Sire.”

Tabea thoroughly enjoyed Rezah’s facial expression as she whisked past him and the table of nobles and officers, out into the hall. Nejlah could wait. She needed to find Jaleh at once. There was nobody else she longed to see more.

***

Nejlah had never seen Tabea curtsy before anyone. It looked less gauche than she would have expected of her rebellious sister. Mahnaz, who was now seated next to her, raised her eyebrows. “Of all the things I saw today, this was the least expected,” she whispered. “I wonder how the King achieved this miracle.” Nejlah nodded, but did not reply. It did not matter how her Beloved had finally convinced Tabea to accord him this most basic of courtesies. All that mattered was that harmony and peace returned to Khoraz.

When the King returned to her, she beamed at him.

“Tabea looked much happier than before, Sire” she said, full of gratitude. “I suppose she is content, then, with all you have decided, Sire, and with Rezah?”

***

It seemed that the general was quite drunk, but he made a valiant attempt at polite conversation. Ava smiled at him, unsure what to make of his bashfulness, seen that the last time they had exchanged words had been under such different circumstances, and Lorral had not been bashful then. “I suppose the Glorious Dawn is lucky that you are commanding their fighters, and not a poet tasked with spreading word of their conquests.” She lifted her cup, and smiled at him. “I have to admit that I would not mind seeing you in that…position someday.”

Morvarid managed a sour smile. “I doubt that this day will come,” she said sharply. “The general just told me how the Glorious Dawn stands undefeated.”

Normally Ava would not have cared about the unfavorable opinion of one spoiled noble brat, but under the circumstances she did not think it wise to step between Morvarid and her prized conquest. Her position was vulnerable at best, and Ava was not sure if she could count on the law, or any other type of protection, if Morvarid decided to rid herself of this obstacle to her ambition. Crippled as she currently was, Ava could not even rely on her ability to ward off even the most unskilled attack – and she knew that the lady was both rich and talented enough not to have to rely on incompetence.

“My apologies, general,” she said. “I am exhausted, but I am sure the Lady Morvarid can regal you with tales of Khorazian glory.” Turning towards the young woman at his side, she added: “The general could do with some fresh air.”

Morvarid looked up at Lorral. “An excellent idea. I would love to show you the pools and the Flowering Gardens, your Grace.” Then she turned to Ava, her smile inscrutable. “And maybe you would like to join us?”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

“For now, she is content,” Klaus smiled and winked as he climbed back to their seats, “but by tomorrow I’ll need to find something else to do with Rezah. They seem incapable of playing nice with one another—but those worries are for the morrow. For now, I’ve had enough of drink, company and reverie. I want only to have you alone once more, that we could continue where we left off in the baths.”

With that, Klaus gripped Nejlah gently under her arms and lifted her up from her seat with the ease that one plucks a daisy from a field. He cradled her into his broad, scarred arms and kissed her sweetly but passionately. When she was securely in his arms, he allowed the kiss to deepen and moved his hands down the gentle curves of her corseted waist until he held her firm ass cheeks in each hand.

He carried her with ease out of the main hall, inciting whistles and cheers from some of his more inebriated subordinates, his tongue writhing against hers as he carried her back to the royal bedchambers. Klaus remembered the way to the opulent bedchamber that he’d clamed as his own and pushed his way inside with his shoulder.

Once inside, he dropped Nejlah gently but urgently onto the bed and began quickly tearing at the threads and ties of his tunic. Klaus loathed tailored clothes, hated being measured, hated being sewn into them—but Nejlah looked so enticing in her formal wear that he resolved to attend formal occasions more often.

“You were so beautiful in there, Nel. Radiant like the morning sun,” Klaus tore his tunic over his head, a few last threads popping as he revealed his muscular, scar covered torso, “I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first saw you in that dress. Would you leave it on while we make love?”

While he worked his way out of his trousers, Klaus dove toward the bed, face first. He ducked his head through the long slit in Nel’s gown and began furiously licking and sucking at her tight, little pussy. He drove his thick tongue inside her fully and vigorously shook his head from side-to-side. The tip of his tongue curled upward, seeking for her little g spot.

Klaus wasn’t just horny—he was proud. Both of himself and Nejlah. She had taken on a great burden of power without ever asking for it with superb grace. The more he came to know of these princesses, the more it seemed they had to teach him—but there was danger in that too. If he wasn’t careful it could end up being him that was colonized by them.

He was already undermining himself to please Nel, and now Tabea would be his transition minister. He could still lose this war, even after it was won.

*-*-*

Kyarrah pulled away gently, for the first time allowing Jaleh to escape past her.

“We shall see,” She smirked, tapping one of her gloved fingers to the corner of her mouth, “you and I, together… we’ll both see how good you are. Klaus has summoned you to court, tomorrow morning. You’ll be his first appointment as King. Enjoy your evening.”

Once Jaleh brushed past, back inside, Kyarrah watched her walking away. Kyarrah arched her back around the stone railing and bit her bottom lip slowly. Rejection wasn’t something that she was entirely used to and she was certain that she didn’t like it—nonetheless, it did leave her wet and yearning.

What a strange and unpleasant turn of events. Everyone but her was coupled up and she was left on her own. If she wasn’t to have pleasure, she would instead tend to business. There was still too much that she didn’t know and the longer she stood there wondering, the more things would transpire outside of her scope.

After just the briefest of seconds to admire the view for the first and last time, Kyarrah returned to her room to change.

*-*-*

Rezah set his goblet down pointedly when his fiancée brushed past him without regard or even a glance. He had not enjoyed her little performance of flaunting herself before the court and was even less enthralled with her and the King’s apparent chemistry. All these things combined to make him feel altogether… tenuous. He charged up from the table and toward the hallway in pursuit of Tabea, only to have his progress halted by a pair of Dawnish guards.

“Lord Rezah, our apologies for the inconvenience, but the Lady, your intended, wishes to have the evening to herself,” the guard with his hand on Rezah’s chest informed him, “rooms are being prepared for your occupancy in the east tower.”

“Get your hand off of me!” Rezah seethed, his drunkenness more obvious as his temper diminished, “I am minister of the transition! I hold rank over—”

“These orders come from His Majesty, High Commander and King,” the first guard said sternly, letting his pushed away arm come back to grip his pole axe in both hands, no longer ceremonial and upright, but diagonal and poised for combat. The other guard grasped the hilt of his sword and drew just a few inches of steel that caught the light and showed Rezah a skewed reflection of his shocked face.

“Klaus!” Reza seethed, he whipped his head over to where the King had been all night, but was already too late, Klaus was gone.

“You may continue to enjoy the festivities, m’Lord. Or you may retire to your temporary rooms. You may not, however, go after the Lady, your intended.”

“I will speak to the King of this.”

“His Majesty will be holding court tomorrow morning.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nejlah kissed him back, eagerly, hungrily, suddenly oblivious to anything – or anyone – else in the hall. She barely noticed that he picked her up and carried her out of the hall. All she wanted to feel him, taste him, take him inside of her again once more.

His compliments made her head spin with pride and love. How was it possible that she, the unnoticed princess, had turned the Great Emperor’s head so? How could it be that he, who could have chosen any woman in an area of thousands of miles, wanted her?

His kisses were urgent, longing in a way that both lead to more of these questions, and at the same time, to all of the answers. She vaguely noticed them enter the large rooms he had chosen for himself, for themselves, and sighed as they had to part briefly when he gently lowered her onto the bed.

She watched him from the bed, propped up on her elbows, admiring once again the shape of his body, his strength, as he impatiently peeled out of his formal clothes. They had looked odd on him, forced, and Nejlah was glad to see them come off now. She giggled as he struggled to free himself of the unappreciated garments, and beamed at her when he asked her to keep on her dress while they “made love”.

“Of course, my King,” she whispered, her voice full of admiration. “I would do anything you ask me to do.”

But then he was on her, assaulting her small, slender body with a fervor and passion she had not thought possible from a man such as him. Nejlah threw her head back, arching her back, wanting only to give him better access to her pussy, now aching for him.

He was so gentle, so..skilled at this. Nejlah let out a loud moan as he started to fuck her with his tongue, probing, exploring, making her shake with pleasure. Her hands travelled to his head, fingers roughly digging into his hair, urging him on, almost dominantly. “Yes…oh, yes…my King….Klaus….,” she panted. “This is it…yes!”

***

Back in the hall, Jaleh’s gaze travelled across the now well inebriated crowd. She sighed. What an assembly of sycophants, of opportunist underlings. Klaus had left, and with him the youngest princess. Ava seemed to be gone as well. She searched for Tabea, but the princess was nowhere to be seen. It was then that she noticed Rezah trying, and failing, to leave the hall, his angry exchange with the guards.

Interesting.

Standing on the opposite side of the hall, she watched Rezah intently, trying to decide. It would be easy to kill him this very night, angry and drunk as he was, overconfident as he had always been. But killing him tonight, with the witch’s suspicion already heavy on her, would endanger everything – and everyone – else. She could not risk it.

And yet she had never yearned to spill anybody’s blood as much as she yearned to spill his. The mental image of her blade opening his throat made her shiver in pleasant anticipation. She would kill him slowly. She would make him pay for what he had done to her lover. To his queen. To his city.

Rezah looked across the hall and their eyes met. Jaleh smiled coldly, holding his gaze. His helpless anger was delicious, and the lieutenant wondered what had driven Klaus’ decision to keep his newfound ally apart from his prize.

The witch did not follow her back into the hall either. This was her chance. She would finally see her beloved.

Walking passed Rezah, she hissed at him: “I am sure your new friends don’t mind if I go to check if the princess needs anything.”

***
Jaleh stood in front of the door, waiting. Her heart was beating fast, and she half-smiled to herself. When was the last time that she had been this nervous before visiting lover? But she also knew how furious Tabea had been earlier, and she feared that a rejection from the one person she so desperately needed to see and speak to now would be the final sting that would make her snap.

And she could not afford to lose it, not now.

She still hesitated when she had already lifted her fingers to knock. Steeling herself against her love’s likely fury, she finally rapped against the smooth wood. “Tabea? Are you in there?” she said softly. “It’s me.”

To her surprise, the door opened almost immediately, and Tabea’s beautiful face appeared in the doorway.

“My love, I am so sor…” But Jaleh did not get any further in her apology as Tabea pulled her lover inside her quarters, her lips already sealed to hears, kissing her greedily. Jaleh stumbled after her, shutting the door with her heel as Tabea dragged her inside, her fingers digging into the soft cotton of her bodice.

The princess was insatiable. Jaleh did not mind, not at all, they had been kept apart so cruelly for much too long, and through such misery. She kissed Tabea back, softly moaning into her mouth as her hands caressed her slender, beautiful body through the thin fabric of that damn, irresistible dress. All she wanted was to rip that dress off her, cover Tabea’s body in caresses, kiss her, taste her, fuck her, make her cum until she would beg that she could not take anymore, and then fuck her some more. But first, she would have to tell her about the plan she had just set in motion. If anyone deserved to know, it was Tabea.

“I have missed you so…,” the princess cooed, already fumbling with the laces of Jaleh’s bodice. The young lieutenant smiled, unwilling to stop her, almost unable to, but then she put her hands gently on hers, forcing her to pay attention.

“Tabea…Tabea, listen to me!” She kissed her softly, holding her chin in her hands, drowning in those blue eyes. “There is something I have to tell you.”

Tabea looked at her, frowning, anxious almost. “Later…later!” Worming herself out of Jaleh’s grip, she pulled her lover closer again, grinding herself against the other woman with a sigh, finally loosening the laces enough to pull the garment down, exposing the lieutenant’s firm breasts. Jaleh moaned as the princess lowered her mouth to one nipple, licking and biting softly, dragging her teeth gently over the sensitive flesh.

“I mean it, my darling….,” Jaleh tried again, her voice strained under the effort to hang on to a clear thought. “Our friends are everywhere, we are ready. It has begun! We will win this castle back…I have talked to…” But she was unable to say the name out loud as Tabea sealed her mouth with another deep kiss, her other hand now between Jaleh’s legs, massaging her pussy through her tight leather pants.

“No, not now, my sweet love, not now,” she panted between kisses, almost scared that Jaleh might continue. The lieutenant frowned, confused about her lover’s reaction, unsure, at first, to let her silence her like this, but then too eager to have her do just that.

“Fine…,” she said wickedly, before dragging the soft fabric of the dress from Tabea’s shoulders, leaving her nude. “I know exactly how to shut you up, my sweet.” With a sigh, both women sank onto the bed, kissing, moaning softly.

“Yes, make me…,” Tabea, the future transition minister, whispered, confident now to have averted catastrophe.

***
Ava watched as Lady Morvarid shrugged off the last slivers of her undergarments, the soft silk pooling at her feet. The young noblewoman had led them down to the silver pools, a rather hidden spot in the vast palace gardens. It was a good place to seduce another person, for sure, but also a place so secluded and hidden that no guards, Dawnish or otherwise, would venture there. Ava was not suspicious, not really, but she was wary. Morvarid’s invitation had surprised her, and she was not sure what to make of the girl. Her lack of weapons made her feel more exposed than a total lack of clothes could have.

“I am glad to finally get to lose that dress,” the young lady sighed, cocking her head at her two companions. They were alone in the gardens. Ava had told Afra to get some rest, and promised her that she would tend to the general herself should it be required – he was likely too drunk to remember that he even had a squire by now – and the girl had finally, and gratefully accepted to leave her new master in the care of her former commander.

Morvarid stepped into one of the pools, holding only a cup of wine, toasting Ava and Lorral. “To new beginnings!” she said, before taking a sip from her cup.

***
The girl Azar had decided to leave the camp fires of the Glorious Dawn soldiers for now. It was better, and much safer, to stay away from that many starved whores, several of whom had already tried to convince “the boy” to loosen his purse and his belt for them. She would return in the morning, when the commanders were there, and when the rest of the soldiers would be sleeping off their terrible hangovers, hopefully unable to remember the boy who had run away from a bunch of taunting whores mocking him for his lack of virility.

She walked aimlessly through the large palace gardens, trying to calm her nerves. The evening air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, of oranges, of roses. Azar took a deep breath, enjoying this moment of peace. The tinkle of many fountains and pools surrounded her on all sides, and servants had lit hundreds of beautifully-carved lanterns that were now throwing their shadows across the garden. It was difficult to imagine that their beautiful Khoraz should be lost.

When she heard the soft murmur of voices, she stopped, and peeked through the lantern-lit trees. Standing up to her thighs in a pool, a beautiful and entirely nude woman was pouring a cup of red wine over her naked breasts, smiling provocatively at a man dressed in a tri-colored outfit layered with bird feathers. The woman cocked her finger at him, inviting him closer. Azar stopped, mesmerized, her throat suddenly dry. The woman was perfect, her full round breasts now dripping with the dark liquid, her legs slender and strong like that of a fawn. Azar, still hiding behind the tree, found herself staring.

“Why don’t you join me, general?” the woman whispered seductively. Then she turned towards another person Azar had not noticed before. “And why don’t you join us as well?”

Azar’s glance followed that of the beautiful creature and she saw another woman standing a bit to the side, her arm in a silk sling. Commander Ava! What was she doing there? The man was clearly Dawnish. Was she his prisoner? His servant? Did she maybe need help? The girl now had her hand on the grip of her sword, waiting to see what would happen next.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

As Klaus felt the gently scrape of Nejlah’s nails on his scalp, he unleashed a fresh volley of tongue lashings around her insides. His thick, warm tongue thrashed lividly inside her as he felt her body tensing up, nearing a climax. He shook his head mightily, from side-to-side while his tongue continued to thrash at her with the ferocity and focus that was unique to soldiers—no, to killers. Only those who’d taken a life knew what it was to thrash and struggle as mightily as Klaus’ tongue did inside of Nejlah’s eager but inexperienced pussy.

Klaus’ powerful hands squeezed and caressed Nel’s petite, perky breasts through the coarse leather of her bodice—but even this newly tanned leather bent and caved to the rough caresses of the warlord’s hands, the slender girl’s body at least as compliant.

When at last, the tension seemed to drain from her muscles and Nel’s hips settled back to the bed, Klaus emerged from under her gorgeous dress, his face visibly wet. One powerful hand moved up from her chest to caress her face. He kissed her again, hungry, desperate, like he was gasping at air from being too long under water.

“I never could have imagined,” Klaus sighed as the kiss broke, looking deep into the young woman’s eyes, “that I would cut through half of the armies of the world, only to be slain by a young girl.”

With this, Klaus lowered his hips and within the silken tangle of her mature dress he slid his rock-hard cock inside her once more. This time, he went in smoothly, as if she had already taken his shape—a perfect fit.

“Ohh yes,” Klaus groaned, leaning in to kiss her yet again.

*-*-*

Lorral spread his arms out wide and fell backwards into the pool with an awkward splash in his drunken rush to join what he hoped would soon be a threesome—or more! His clothes left in a pile, the cold water felt good against his recent cuts and bruises—many still healing from battles prior.

As he tumbled backwards in the water—a stark contrast to Lady Morvarid who scarcely seemed to disturb the surface of the pool at all as she moved through the water, Lorral accidentally swallowed some of the cool, pond water through his nose and came up choking. As he expelled the water from his lungs, he heard himself gag before belching loudly, which seemed to equalize everything and leave him back to being just drunk.

“Yes, please join us, Ava!” Lorral called from the pool, kicking his legs to draw closer to Lady Morvarid, his hand sliding over her smooth thigh below the rippling surface, “cool water is good for soreness.”

It was then that Lorral heard Morvarid calling to someone else nearby. He couldn’t see who it was, but he figured that more bodies would only make this more fun.

“Yes! Come join us! We’re celebrating!” Lorral was paddling on his back, his stiff cock standing up like the mast on a ship.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nejlah’s eyes snapped open as Klaus sank his full length into her tight, wet pussy. Still high on her subsiding orgasm, she arched her hips to meet this first, slow thrust, so eager to have him fuck her. She raised one hand to his cheek, rocking her hips against his.

“My love…,” she sighed. “My king…” He felt so good, filling her as completely as he did, his cock throbbing inside her. She could feel every inch as he withdrew again. “I never would have thought that this was possible,” she whispered, tears of happiness on her cheeks. “Before you came here, you were my worst nightmare. I was so scared of you.” She laughed softly, a sound like delicate silver bells, while her hips matched him, rotating against him. Her legs were hooked over his thighs, pulling him closer. “And now….,” her voice trailed off into a loud moan as he bottomed out in her again. “I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

Her fingers dug into his muscular back, she was holding on to him for dear life as he fucked her, deeply, forcefully and gently all at the same time. It was heaven. It was all she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Another climax was already building in her, making her arch her back against him, her eyes now fluttering closed, her lips parting for the scream that was going to come.

“I love you!”

***

Lady Morvarid laughed as Lorral fell back into the pool, spluttering and burping. “You really have a way with women, general,” she said, before her eyes fell onto his cock. “But here we have one of the reasons that your enemies all bow before you.” She went on her knees beside him, wrapping her lips around the head of his hard cock, tongue teasing the tip. Ava did not move, but her eyes were glued to the scene before her. The moonlight reflected off the water in the pool, throwing everything slightly off focus.

“He tastes divine, commander,” Morvarid teased her. “It would be a shame to keep him all to myself.” What the hell, Ava thought. She stepped into the pool, uselessly holding up her confining dress with her one healthy hand. When she reached the couple, she flashed the young noblewoman a smile. “It would be rude of me to turn down such in invitation.” With that, she knelt down next to Morvarid, leant in to kiss her, savoring the salty taste on her full lips. At the same time, she impatiently pulled on the silk fabric of Ava’s dress, eager to have her naked, feel her skin.

“See? Did I promise too much?” Ava smiled and shook her head. With that, both women went to work on Lorral’s cock, tongues encircling the head, teasing, tasting, their tongues clashing. Ava’s pussy and clit were throbbing with the need to be touched, to be filled.

“I need you to fuck me now, general,” Morvarid breathed finally. She lowered herself onto his cock. “I can live with a defeat like this one,” she said hoarsely. Ava was behind her, pressing her breasts against her lithe back, her free hand circling around her waist, travelling to Morvarid’s beautiful tits and down to her navel, and to where her clit smashed into the general’s pubic bone with each thrust. The lady was almost breathless with ecstasy, trapped as she was between her assailants. Ava kissed her neck, dragged her teeth along an earlobe, causing Morvarid to rock harder against Lorral.

Another shadow emerged from the darkness. Morvarid smiled, beckoned her over. Ada had not noticed the girl standing there, but she knew her. One of Jaleh’s recruits, a fine fighter, loyal to a fault. Now she was dressed in an ankle-length dress that highlighted her delicate figure and her curves. Her thick, dark hair was pinned up, revealing a long, graceful neck. Intricate Khorazian silver dangled from her ears, tinkling with every step. She was swaying her hips as she approached. The girl was wrapped like a gift, Ava thought, almost too perfect to be genuine. Her sudden appearance made her edgy as hell.

“Sholeh,” Morvarid purred. “Come here. Join us.” The girl approached without hesitation, lowering herself down to join them in the pool, her dress floating up around her. “There is nothing I would like to do more,” she said, her voice suffused with lust. Ava’s edginess was building into a full-on danger signal, the electric warning animals get before thunder.

Sholeh’s hands were on Morvarid, on Ava, caressing, dragging fingernails over moist, glistening skin. In her hiding place, Azar held her breath, mesmerized by the sight. Sholeh lowered her mouth to Morvarid’s breasts, sucking an erect nipple between her lips, flicking her tongue over it, making the young woman writhe with pleasure.

Then Sholeh leant in, pulling Lorral into a deep, passionate kiss, while Morvarid was still straddling him, rotating her hips, clenching her tight pussy around his cock. Sholeh moaned against his lips, loosening her dress with one hand. The fabric fell from her shoulders with a whisper. Morvarid reached out to cup one of her full, perky breasts, flicking over a nipple, making the girl gasp into the kiss. The young noblewoman rocked her hips faster. “Will you cum for me, general? I am so close..” Her husky voice trailed off into a moan.

From the corner of her eye, Ava saw how the girl pulled one of the silver pins holding up her tresses. The needle, long and sharp, glittered in the moonlight as the girl wrapped her fingers around it, as if holding a weapon. It was a dainty thing, really, undeserving of being called a blade. But with the general drunk and in the throes of orgasmic bliss, it would be deadly. Ava grabbed the girl’s delicate wrist with her left hand. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Stay out of this,” Sholeh whispered sharply. “He’s mine.” She shoved Ava back, ushing hard against her broken arm, still in a sling. Bright stars of pain exploded in the commander’s head as she grappled to get up on her feet. Morvarid, seemingly ignorant to what was going on around her, kept riding the general, pushing him down against his chest, her legs clamped around his hips like a steel vice now. From the other side of the pool, another woman in combat gear, her hand wrapped around a sword, approached them.

Ava cursed under her breath. She should have never allowed the Dawnish to confiscate her weapons, but it was too late now for such regrets. “Stand down,” she helplessly shouted at the guard approaching them. The other woman, her face half-hidden behind a scarf, did not stop. “I gave you an order, guard,” Ava spat again. She could not see if the general was able to defend himself, but she sorely hoped that he was still alive.

“If you’re protecting that Dawnish scum, commander, I no longer take orders from you!” She raised her sword, ready to attack.

“Here!” A boy emerged from behind one of the stone pillars. He had been hoping for a different kind of spectacle, judging by his flushed cheeks, but Ava was glad he had been watching. He threw her the sword he’d been carrying, and she caught it, somewhat clumsily, and wheeled around to face their attackers.

***

Mahnaz stifled a yawn. The festivities were dragging on, and the smoke of the many candles started to make her eyes water. She desperately craved some quiet. With the help of copious amounts of Khorazian wine, the formal celebration of victory had given way to a more boisterous, vivacious mood. The musicians had increased their volume with the general rise of noise in the hall. People were dancing, toasting, shouting, laughing. Some had scampered off to darker corners to seal the newfound alliance between Khoraz and the Glorious Dawn in other, more carnal ways.

Her sisters seemed to be content. Even Tabea left Klaus with a genuine smile, a kiss on the cheek, a curtsy even. Mahnaz watched her leave the hall, a spring in her step. Nel was laughing at something Klaus said, before he swept her up in his arms, sealing her lips with a passionate kiss.

Mahnaz was happy. She had not expected this day, that had dawned on slaughter and bloodshed, to end peacefully. Maybe most of the rumours about the Glorious Dawn had been nothing but enemy propaganda. Her own intended husband, about whom she had heard nothing but horrific tales, had treated her with such gentleness, such love, that she was willing to believe that.

“I am in dire need of some fresh air,” she said to Armon, putting her hand gently over his. “Let’s go out. The sea is beautiful at night.”

It was a quick walk to the beach. Steps had been carved into the face of the rock cliff, leading them down onto a narrow strip of sand, with the castle towering above them, a perfect hideaway. The sea had always been her favorite place about the Silver City. Now, thousands of stars were scattered across a black velvet sky, and a halfmoon throwing its light across the crashing waves.

Leaning against the rocks, she pulled Armon close. Here, now, she did not feel like she was pretending to love him for the sake of his protection. “Let’s celebrate,” she whispered, before pressing her soft lips to his.

The shadow appeared at the edge of her vision, silent and deadly. Mahnaz pushed Armon aside, breaking their kiss, acting entirely on instinct. The assailant, nothing but a pair of blazing eyes behind a black scarf, hissed, seemingly deprived of his target. The princess felt fierce stabbing pain, gasped, and jumped back. “You would have been next anyway, you fucking cunt,” the attacker spat, before melting back into the shadows, gone, as if Mahnaz had imagined the entire scene.

But the pain was real. Blood bloomed on the blue silk of her dress, seeped through her fingers. Mahnaz swayed, a red mist clouding her mind. She steadied herself against the rocks, leaving crimson prints. “Armon…,” she whispered, hoarsely. “I..I am hurt. Help me.” She blindly grasped for his hand, as she fell onto her knees. Blood loss was catching up with her. The furious sound of the sea crashing into the rocks around them was the last thing she heard before everything went black.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

“I love you!” Nejlah cried out, arching into him as her insides sought to strangle his thick cock.

Klaus grunted, the grip was incredible, humbling, a force of nature. His large arm swept under her arched back, raising her up from the mattress like she was floating. His lips sealed around her straining throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark behind. Though he couldn’t slide back and forth, with her pussy clenching as it was, so he just held her body against himself, leaving love bites up and down her neck.

Klaus didn’t trust himself to speak words right now, he had been planning this conquest for months—but presently he found himself unprepared. Nejlah was something he hadn’t seen coming. It was like he’d conquered half the world only to be overwhelmed by a teenager whose waist could nearly be encircled in one of his hands.

“I love you!” the words spilled out of him, unbidden. Was that the word for this?

When her loud, orgasmic shouting subsided, Klaus kissed her again, lowering her body back to the mattress, pushing her into the plush fabric. With his arm still under her back, Klaus leaned back onto his knees, pulling her gently atop him with his cock still inside.

He guided her, at first, up and down, riding his cock as his lips continued to massage hers in desperate ferocity.


*-*-*


“Ohhh—oh my,” Lorral sighed as Moravid gently urged him up against a rock on the shore of the pool, “ohh yesss.”

Lorral was no stranger to romantic success with women, but he was used to trying a lot harder than this—with much less success. Sure, he’d put solid, sober time into Ava’s seduction—was that the term for it? Yeah, he’d seduced her. But the lovely and distinguished Moravid seemed to be pursuing him, which was something he was not accustomed to.

He leaned back against the stone as she sucked him gently, skillfully and insistently. His hand came to rest gently on the back of her head. He looked up to Ava, who seemed to be watching with great interest—though he was too drunk to read her expression. He simply shrugged and smiled.

Then, Moravid started beckoning Ava over. Lorral’s eyes grew wider—she was recruiting for him. This woman was a wonder. He was beginning to gently question his devotion to the tenants of Sex Empire if the silver city could raise politicians like this. He leaned back further, his back arching over the surface of the rock, his arm draping across his eyes as both women worked the head of his cock with eager tongues.

“Ohhhhh wow, yes please…” Lorral groaned.

Since he could have enjoyed that sensation for a week past forever, it felt achingly brief before Moravid climbed atop him and began riding his hard cock enthusiastically. Ava continued to be involved, caressing and teasing Moravid’s body, encouraging her to continue—do more, go harder—even though Lorral was still trying to get his barings.

“Perhaps you can live with this defeat,” Lorral gasped in between downward thrusts of the noblewoman’s supple hips and thighs, their wet bodies were slapping out loud each time she dropped into his lap, “but I fear that at this rate, this conquest might kill me!”

The water was slapping against Lorral’s legs and the rock, a resonant echo to the rhythm of their fit bodies slapping together. The whole situation was incredible, but the overdue soreness from the battle was beginning to slow Lorral’s responses. The liquor was tugging him beyond consciousness by the minute—but when yet another nubile beauty began to wade toward him through the water, he gripped Moravid’s hips and found his second wind.

“Yes, yes!” Lorral called out to the newcomer, agreeing with Moravid’s assessment, “the more the merrier as they say.”

Lorral chuckled briefly, before Moravid thrust herself down on him yet again.

The newcomer, Sholeh, Moravid had called her, waded in among them and eagerly joined in. The alcohol had indeed dulled his senses, but even as lust-drunk and literally drunk as he was, Lorral was still a soldier—and when Sholeh leaned over the woman fucking him to kiss him passionately, his own sixth sense gave him a tingle.

Too good to be true..

Unlike Ava, who was hesitant of her own impulses, or Moravid who seemed to be making of herself a political offering, Sholeh was trying to sell herself to him. She had motives that were not obvious to him…

What might have been a profound and timely revelation was interrupted with what seemed like supernatural magic that was occurring with his cock. Moravid was a very talented politician.

“Yes, fuck yes, I’m cumming,” Lorral sighed into Sholeh’s face, leaning back on the rock and pulling Moravid’s hips tighter against his as his cock spewed thick, hot cum deep inside her. He held her down as his eyes fluttered shut.

Exquisite relief that only a select few would ever know or understand.

He missed much of the ambush—what might well have been “all” of the attempt on his life, if not for Ava’s heroism. Realizing that something was wrong, but still not in his proper state of mind, Lorral ducked his head under one of Moravid’s breasts to peer at the scene, still unfolding. He ought to have shoved her out of his lap, but instead wrapped his arms around her slender waist, awkwardly positioning useless fists.

Ava seemed clearly outmatched—even with the pauper’s sword she’d been thrown. Her dueling arm was still in a sling. Lorral was desperately trying to develop something reminiscent of a battle plan, when a heart wrenching THWACK! split the relative stillness of the night.

SPLASH!



Bubbles..

The guard, who moments ago seemed an unbeatable juggernaut, was now face down in the water with Kyarrah’s whip around her neck and a sharp stiletto heel on the back of her neck. The more she struggled, the deeper her face was pushed into the mud at the bottom of the pool.

Pah-zing!

The metallic crossbow on her forearm fired a brass bolt across the pond, the slender rod of metal piercing deep into the ball joint of Sholeh’s shoulder.

“Drop your weapons or be ready to die,” Kyarrah smirked, her black lacquered armor pieces glittering in the moonlight from the splashing struggle of the guard below her heel, “I only need one of you to interrogate.”

She pushed her gauntlet down against a specially made quiver of brass and boiled leather strapped to one hip. The mechanism loaded a new bolt and cocked the mechanism back with the same motion. There came a click as it locked into place, she took aim at Sholeh.

“Or you could both live, but don’t take too long in deciding. Back away from the idiot,” Kyarrah gestured with her unique weapon, commanding Sholeh’s full attention as it was unclear what motion would cause the device to fire once more, “Lorral, are you still breathing?”

“I’m… fine…” Lorral groaned, unsure how to better describe the blend of fear, pleasure and uncertainty, “grateful as ever for your help.”

“Sure, sure. How about you, Red Fury? Are you unharmed?” the guard stopped struggling then, causing Kyarrah to reluctantly remove her boot and yank the guard back above the surface. She gave the guard a solid stomp between her shoulder-blades. A less-than-gentle way to get her to cough up any water or mud she might have swallowed in her time under water, “and you—you can come out here too. We’re all going to have a chat…”

Kyarrah’s sharp eyes snapped over to Moravid, suspicion evident in her glare, “all of us.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nejlah moved with him, ground her hips against Klaus, letting him guide her movements as much as she guided his. Her skin was tingling as if she only realized now, for the first time, what range of sensations her body was capable of. She smiled down at him, filled with joy and pride. This was all her. All hers, too. This man, this fearsome warlord, an emperor in his own right, a killer who had conquered half of the known world – he was here, in her bed, at her mercy. No army had been able to do what she had done.

She clenched her tight, little pussy around his cock in triumph, moaning at the new wave of pleasure this gave her.

With nimble fingers, she unlaced the leather bodice without undoing the dress itself, freeing her small, pert breasts. One of her hands travelled to her right nipple, circling the erect nub, drawing another moan from her lips. Then she took his right hand from her hip and guided it towards her left breast, pushing it into his calloused hand, urging him to close his fingers around it. Her hair was coming undone from the elaborate knots she had worn it in for the celebration and fell over her eyes and shoulders. Her dress was hiked up around her hips as she continued to ride him, eager to give him as much pleasure as he was her.

“I never want to do anything else, not ever again,” she whispered in his ear, leaning forward. “Cum for me, my king.”

***

Ava was breathing hard, her fingers clenched around the hilt of the sword. Her mind was swimming with the remnants of that damn liquor and the subsiding waves of interrupted pleasure. Her broken arm was throbbing with pain. What conspiracy was this?

The boy who had thrown her the weapon stood to the side, half-hidden by the shadowy trees, seemingly hoping against hope that they had forgotten about him. His face was somehow familiar, but she could not place him.

“You! Boy!” Ava called out to him. “Thanks.” The boy was pale and shaking with fear. And no wonder. He was young, too young to even grow a beard on his face, which was odd, considering that he did dress like a Dawnish foot soldier. But none of that mattered now. Her gaze travelled back to their attackers. She did not hand him back his sword, not yet. Not before this scheme became clearer.

The guard stood stooped over, wheezing and coughing up muddy pool water. The scarf had slipped from her face, and through the tangle of blonde, wet hair plastered to her skull, Ava recognized her. She had been a fine recruit once, ambitious, and never disloyal nor rebellious. Her blade still glittered beneath the water of the pool, where she had lost it following Kyarrah’s maneuver. At the witch woman’s command, she slowly pulled two more knives from her belt, and one fine blade from her boot.

And Sholeh? The girl had barely been old enough to join the guards, had always been diligent and quiet. One of Jaleh’s favorites, in fact, and not only on the practice yard. But now, she stared at the two Dawnish commanders with wild fury, hatred dripping from her black eyes like tar. If it had not been for the bolt lodged in her shoulder joint, the girl would undoubtedly have made another attempt on the general’s life right there. Her seething rage even seemed to blot out the undoubtedly fierce pain the bolt lodged in shoulder blade must have caused her.

“Whatever’s gotten into you? Who put you up to this?” Ava demanded, making a step towards the two wayward soldiers, women whom she had trained and commanded. She had shrugged her dress back on as much as she had been able in her state, holding it together over her breastbone with her free hand. “Guards, tell me who was behind this.”

In the meantime, Morvarid had carelessly donned her silk underdress. It clung to her slim, still wet body, leaving little to the imagination. “I don’t see why we would need to bother ourselves with such tedious business as an interrogation,” the noblewoman hissed at no one in particular. “It is all quite obvious, is it not?” She whisked a sharp knife from the folds of the discarded clothes she had thrown over her arm. “These two have betrayed the peace of Khoraz. They’re nothing but treacherous scum who don’t deserve mercy.”

Before any of the others could have stopped her, she sank her blade deep into the blonde guard’s chest, twisting the knife upwards as she did. The woman sank to her knees, eyes wide with hurt and surprise, blood bubbling from her lips. She died without another sound. Whirling around, Morvarid then stabbed Sholeh in the throat. The young woman grappled for the noblewoman’s hand, gurgling up blood. With a splash, and in a grotesque imitation of Lorral’s earlier joke, her lifeless body fell backwards into the pool.

Morvarid then dropped her knife with a theatrical flourish and a smile towards Kyarrah. Into the shocked silence, she added nonchalantly: “This was my only weapon.”

***

Jaleh sighed and stretched, while Tabea caressed her spine with one finger. In the flickering light of the lanterns, the lieutenant’s dark skin looked like polished copper, her body that of a lean, dangerous cat. A deep scar crossed from her right shoulder blade down to her hip, and Tabea leant in to kiss it. She remembered that battle, and Jaleh’s triumph.

“Oh, I needed that,” Jaleh whispered, her head turned towards her royal lover. Tabea smiled and continued the journey of her hand over Jaleh’s firm ass, slipping between her thighs. “This, you mean?” She dipped her fingers between the slick lips of Jaleh’s pussy, teasing her.

“Again?” Jaleh smiled. After the day they just had, it was all she wanted. Then she nodded and buried her head in the pillow. Tabea inserted one finger in the other woman’s dripping cunt, still raw from earlier orgasms, torturously slow. “And this?” She began to fuck her, while pressing down on her slippery clit, encircling it with one finger. Jaleh opened her thighs invitingly, grinding herself against the bed. “Mhmmm…,” Jaleh moaned.

Tabea loved to see her tempestuous lover at the mercy of her caresses. She added another finger, making Jaleh pant with pleasure. It was clear that she was close to cumming already and needed only the smallest of pushes to tumble over that edge. With a wicked smile, Tabea started to thrust and wiggle her fingers in and out of her pussy, increasing the pressure on her clit each time she bottomed out in her.

With a small cry, Jaleh came, bucking against her hand. Tabea leant down to kiss her. “And soon, very soon, we will be able to do this all the time,” she whispered into Jaleh’s ear.

Jaleh turned around, her hand in that of the princess. “What do you mean?” She smiled. After the ordeals they had faced, it was wonderful to see Tabea so happy again. The moonlight shone through the open window, scattering its soft white light over the bed.

“Klaus will rid us of that bastard Rezah. He promised.”

The smile vanished from Jaleh’s lips. “He…promised. And you believed him.”

“He means it. He has no need of him anymore. Mahnaz will remain queen here, rule with her Dawnish prince, and Klaus will likely move on. Maybe things will work out in the end. Nel seems to be happy, too.”

Jaleh propped herself up on her elbows. “You cannot be serious.”

Tabea looked hurt. “I am. And so is he. Maybe you need to stop fighting for once and accept that good things can come even from defeat.”

The young lieutenant said nothing, and instead pulled Tabea in for a deep, passionate kiss. It was the only thing she could think of to keep her from screaming out her rage and frustration. But it was clear now that for now, she would have to conceal her plans of rebellion from her beautiful princess, at least until she would realize that nothing that bastard Klaus promised had any value at all.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Perhaps his uncle knew more than Armon gave him credit for.

As the evening wore on and the drinks added up, Armon felt himself becoming more and more comfortable around Mahnaz. Her beauty was undeniable and as she warmed to him as well, he felt himself feeling sincere feelings for her. What had begun as a political strategy was blossoming into… something Armon dared not give name.

“Yes, fresh air sounds wonderful,” Armon agreed, moving with his betrothed out of the castle.

She led him down a hidden, narrow stairway that led to a private beach where the moonlight glittered across the water like an endless fortune of silver coins. When Mahnaz pressed him gently against the rocks and kissed him, Armon thought that he might not trade this moment for the sum of the silver that seemed to cascade off into the moonlit horizon.

Armon was beginning to like the Silver City.

His hands moved to the small of her back, his hips turning into her, he kissed her back gently but sincerely. His heart was beating fast. Perhaps it was because of the unfamiliar thrill he was feeling that Armon’s well-trained combat sense didn’t tip him to the danger approaching until it was too late.

Mahnaz saved his life, in more ways than one, foiling the assault and pushing him clear. Armon drew his dagger swiftly, gripping the blade downward, ready to buckle a larger blade if he needed. He charged at the attacker, swinging his arm wide, but his blade cut nothing but the air. The assassin was fast—gone like a scent in the face of a strong wind.

“Damnit!” Armon shouted, “I’ll find you!”

The echo of his enraged shout was still repeating itself when he heard the soft, plaintive sound of Mahnaz’s voice. His eyes went wide as he saw her, bleeding fast from an abdominal wound, losing her strength.

“No!” he cried out, rushing over to catch her in his arms before her body touched the sand, his combat training pushing against his tender feelings, a roil of emotions, “no, no, no! Don’t leave me!”

Armon was not a medic, but the witch-woman had insisted that all commanders should know some basic combat medicine. He’d complained loudly throughout the process, but he was glad now for what she’d taught him.

Among the soldiers, it was a technique called the “Bloody Finger Knot,” (the men were warriors, not poets) it involved plunging the index finger as deep as it would go into the wound and then curling it over itself like making a fist. It was notoriously painful, but effective for slowing blood-loss. The risk was that plugging one hole might cause the bleeding to push into internal injuries. Armon hoped that there were none.

“Hang on, you hang in there!” Armon shouted, tears were running down his chin though he didn’t realize he was crying. His finger curled up inside her wound and he cupped his other fingers around the wound.

He laid her back against his knee, keeping her sitting up, trying like hell to keep the wound away from the sand. He looked back the way they had come. The narrow, steep staircase was barely wide enough for them to pass single file.

“Help!” Armon shouted at his full volume, looking up toward the looming castle.

For a moment, it seemed like he’d been instantly heard, the bell started ringing in the central tower. Then more bells and more. Torches were moving through the courtyard, but none seemed to be heading toward them.

“Help!” Armon shouted again, realizing slowly that the bells were not for them, “someone! Help us!”

Worse yet, the bells were drowning out the sound of his cries for help.


*-*-*


When she bade him cum for her, Klaus eagerly obliged—his balls jerking and tugging up toward his hips as his thick cock seemed to vibrate inside her from the force of his seed passing through it. He closed his eyes and bore his heels into the bed, squeezing her naked breast ruthlessly in his calloused hand.

“I’m cumming!” Klaus groaned, his toes curling under his heels, his back arching.

His cock was still spewing hot semen into Nejlah’s tight pussy when the door to his bedchamber slammed against the wall. One of his commanders rushed in, keeping his eyes respectfully averted.

“My apologies, Sir. There’s a situation…”

While Klaus appreciated the respect shown by not looking at them, the vagueness of his announcement gave him no pleasure. He quickly snatched up the comforter off the bed, wrapping it around Nejlah and himself.

“You’d better be more specific and quickly,” Klaus snarled at the man, his ruined climax making his mood suddenly dangerous, even as his arms circled Nel’s shoulders protectively.

“Assassins, Sir. An attempt was made on Sir Lorral’s life. The attempt was thwarted, but we still don’t know the full scope of the attack, or who’s involved. I was sent to secure you and Prin—er, Lady Nejlah.”

“She’s still a Princess.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Have her sisters been secured?”

“I don’t know, Sir. As I mentioned, we aren’t yet sure who’s involved.”

“Alright,” Klaus sighed, extricating himself from the comforter before snugging it up around Nejlah’s shoulders, his large fists tenderly tucking the corners together under her chin, “I’ll put on a robe.”


*-*-*


Kyarrah gasped as the nude noblewoman murdered the would-be assassin with such speed that even she herself was helpless to stop her. She killed without hesitation or remorse. Dropping her dagger mirthfully and surrendering. Effectively silencing any confession or information that might have been extracted through interrogation.

She was smug. Kyarrah hated it.

“You’re under arrest,” Kyarrah shook her head, trying to remain in the moment, they were still exposed, “Lorral, get dressed. I’ll be borrowing your little plaything to the dungeon.”

Kyarrah roughly twisted Moravid’s arm behind her back, locking her joints with inward twisting then turning her other arm around to join it. The small, bonze, thumb-cuffs dug into the joints of her fingers, locking both arms immobile by inward turned thumbs. Kyarrah locked them tighter than she needed to.

“N-now just a minute!” Lorral began to object, stumbling as he tried to force his wet legs into his pants, “that woman she killed was an assassin!”

“She silenced her,” Kyarrah called back, tipping Moravid forward by raising her thumb-cuffs higher, “perhaps to protect someone else, perhaps to protect herself. But she wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t get the chance to interrogate her. Now she’s going to take her place.”

“You’re not going to—”

“Finish up with Red Fury over there,” Kyarrah nodded at Ava as she led Moravid past, back to the castle, “she saved your life.”

By now, various of the enlisted soldiers had followed the commotion over. Kyarrah looked for the one who seemed least dim-witted.

“Raise the alarm. The crown is under attack.”