A Regal Rescue (pm to join)

[magellans_demon]

(Someone needed to play the knight who saves the Queen from being raped by the enemy soldiers, but decides to take her away and hide her in his own mansion, making her his own prize)

Queen Iona cowered in a corner, listening to the chaos in the corridors outside, tears running down her face. A neighbouring King had ordered his army to invade the kingdom of Galla, his forces far bigger and stronger than they'd expected and their army had been overwhelmed, many killed within hours, allowing the enemy to breach and invade the castle. The shout had just gone up that the King had been killed and Iona was devastated, both for the loss of her true love and what it would mean now.

Already she could hear footsteps on the floors below, doors being thrown open and screams from the servants as the attackers took whatever they wanted as their victory prizes - looting any treasure they found, destroying anything they didn't want, taking anyone they found for slaves. Iona knew it would be far worse for her - as the conquered Queen she'd be one of the biggest 'treasures' to be looted.

Hearing loud voices come closer Iona forced herself to her feet and ran to the other side of the room, tucking herself behind a large drape, praying for a miracle, maybe they'd forget to look there. The door slammed open and she jumped, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. She could hear furniture being overturned, her belongings rifled through and then the drape was yanked right down, pulled from it's hanging, revealing her completely.

Iona yelped in shock but part of her mind was relieved for a moment - it was only three soldiers, not the enemy King himself - surely all they couldn't hurt her then, they'd simply be there to take her to the King. But, as she saw the hollow greed in their eyes, her stomach turned - they obviously intended to have their own fun first.

One soldier yanked her forward, roughly pinning her arms behind her back. She struggled as hard as she could but he merely laughed into her ear, planting savage kisses down her neck from behind her, having no trouble restraining her, pushing the erection inside his trousers against her backside. Another pushed his trousers to his knees, pulling out his cock and stroking it with a lewd stare at her, while the third approached her and shamelessly ran his hands across her breasts, pinching her nipples through her dress until she cried out. All three laughed at this, discussing how loud she'd be when they fucked her. The one in front continued his exploration, cupping his palm between her legs and Iona froze in fear.

He brandished a knife and deftly cut down the front of her dress, wasting no time in jerking his hand between the folds of ripped material, finding his way to her skin and roughly forcing a thick calloused finger into her cunt. This time Iona screamed out but he merely pushed harder and covered her mouth with his, mufffling her screams as he plunged his tongue inside.

 

[Gentle_Incubus]

The tragedy at the castle was unknown to Sir Morgan of Fenn. A freelance sword, notorious for both his strength, handsome looks, and notorious fees, he found himself employed to the one man who he held even a semblance of allegiance to. Although without a doubt a mercenary, Galla was Morgan's home, so when requested to serve his nation, he would give the offer considerable thought.
This one, in particular, did not need much thought at all. Only a few weeks before, he had hired Morgan with one task; to protect him and his wife. Sir Morgan had never met Her Majesty, Queen Iona, though stories of her beauty were almost legendary. Apparently, the enemy nation was plotting to attack Galla, and His Majesty wanted to ensure his wife's safety.

Sir Morgan had been approaching the castle by carriage, not realizing that the rival country to the south had initiated a preemptive siege. When he saw the smoke, however, he knew what must be taking place. The young warrior jumped from the carriage and onto one of the four horses hauling it. Drawing his blade, Morgan brought it down, cutting the leather and freeing the beast.
With all haste, Sir Morgan rode towards the castle.

When arrived, it was already in poor shape. The bodies of servants and soldiers littered the grounds, those surviving being chased by the enemy, acting little better than bandits. Morgan scowled, his chiseled face accentuating minor scars from battles won, the grimace framed by a day's worth of stubble. The body of His Majesty was among the bodies, adorned in his armor and carrying his shield. At least he fell with honor, thought Morgan.
He dismounted and entered the castle, plucking a serviceable spear from one of the unfortunate laying dead.

The useless grunts that stood in Morgan's way were like sheep in front of a hungry lion. The unkempt, shoulder length, feathery brown hair that framed Morgan's face at least gave that impression to witnesses of his fighting prowess. He fought with passion and vigor, though his spear was wielded with purpose and exemplary skill.
Along the way, Morgan happened to save a servant girl being assaulted by a group of lustful soldiers, much to Morgan's disgust.
"Where is Her Majesty?" He asked the frightened girl after dispatching her assailants. With a shaking finger, she pointed towards the Queen's Chambers.

Morgan wasted no time. With three swift and powerful kicks, the wooden door buckled and shattered. What stood before him was a scene that made the knight's blood boil.
Queen Iona, even in the situation she was in, was beautiful. The men handling her were rough and dirty. In a word, unworthy.
It ignited a feeling in Sir Morgan that he had rarely felt before, a lust for blood and the desire to smite down the wicked. Standing there in the door frame, clad in armor of black, silver and red, spear still dripping with fresh enemy ichor, Sir Morgan looked properly menacing.

The first strike was swift, the tip of the spear deep into the ribs of the man who dared to grope her Majesty as if she were his own. With a mighty heave, Morgan pulled the spear and flung the soldier away from the Queen.
Leaving the spear inside the first man, Morgan drew his longsword and deftly slashed through the second man's armor and across his heart.
The third man, being given enough time to realize what was going on, grunted and started to hastily draw his own weapon, though Morgan was too quick. The knight plunged his blade into the enemy soldier's stomach, clenching his teeth as he did so.
"Give my regards to the Devil, Swine." And with that, Morgan removed his sword.

With any obvious threat dealt with, Sir Morgan turned to Her Majesty, trying his very best to admire her mostly nude form. To do this, he chose to bow on one knee, looking to the floor. "Mi'Lady, I am Sir Morgan of Fenn. Your late Husband, His Majesty, solicited my services in ensuring your protection. My carriage should be waiting for us just outside. If you would be so kind as to prepare yourself for travel, I can take you someplace safe."

 

[magellans_demon]

Iona felt like she could barely breathe, in shock at what was happening. If it hadn’t been for the men’s hands crudely grabbing at her she wouldn’t have believed it was real. As the initial horror gave way to silent terror she screwed her eyes shut and turned her head away from the man in front, sending up a silent prayer to the heavens that she’d at least make it through this alive and relatively unharmed. Before she’d even finished there was a racket at the door and she opened her eyes to look, tensing at the thought it might be more of their number but it appeared her prayers had been answered already. The door cracked inwards and fell in pieces to the floor, revealing the ferocious figure of one of the handsomest knights she’d ever seen.

In astonishment and overwhelming relief Iona could only watch mutely as the three invaders were dispatched almost before they realised. Soon she stood free, clutching the pieces of her tattered clothing to her, gasping and feeling her heart pound in her chest. Raising her head to look at her rescuer she caught a mere glimpse of his rugged features before he knelt and she found herself gazing at his long lustrous hair instead, only just catching her breath. When he spoke she only just took in the words but forced herself to regain her composure, nodding to herself. She was glad her late husband had arranged for her safety but his timing made him appear more as an avenging angel than merely hired help.

“Yes… Thank you Sir Morgan… ” she replied waveringly. “I will be but a moment.”

Dashing to a large chest, quickly searching through her clothes, Iona tried to find something plain, not wanting to draw much attention to herself if they were going to get out of there safely, but all of her clothing was designed for as much attention as possible. Selecting a reasonably sedate silver dress, heavily embroidered but slim fitting and easy to put on, she changed hastily, discarding the tatters of her last outfit easily. The knight had his eyes averted but, even if he had not, after the fate he’d just saved her from and the haste they needed to make, she could overlook one small aspect of decency. In the scuffle some of her long blonde hair had worked its way free of the jewels which pinned it up and she twisted it back into place. For further concealment she pulled her dark blue riding cloak around her, shrouding her head with its hood, making her already delicate face look gaunt and drawn. The cloak was expensive and well made but she rode often and it had not yet been cleaned from the last outing - hopefully it would make her look more like a servant than a queen if seen from afar.

Dressed, Iona pulled up a loose floorboard beside her bed and slipped her hand inside the cavity beneath, retrieving the supplies the King had insisted she keep there in case of just such desperate times - a bag of gold sovereigns, a small hunting knife, her royal seal - concealing them within her cloak.

Standing again, calmer now with quiet relief and determination, Iona stood before the knight, her dark blue eyes gazing at him gratefully.

“I am ready to depart. And you have my gratitude Sir Morgan, many of our best knights have fallen, I thought there was no-one left to protect me - I owe you my life.”