Cold Comfort: Viktor and Illu (closed for HeyYoureThatGuy)

[faerun_girl]

If there was one thing First Princess Illuminata d'Glast of Bast-Galarion didn't expect, was that she would get jilted.

As the only heir to the throne that her Uncle grabbed from her deceased father, her hand in marriage was almost worth as much as their kingdom's economy. With her Uncle's lack of heir following her parents' execution, the marriage offers came every single day--sometimes from the same people.

Countries hungry to have a stake and relations with the most magical culture in the whole world courted her Uncle--and to some extent, courted her as well. But her Uncle was crafty and trotted her out when the interest waned in her elven country just so, and made sure people knew she was beautiful, magical, and available.

His plan worked, so far. Favors poured in, money had exchanged hands at some point merely for a meeting or a glimpse with her. She couldn't refuse. Her parents told her they admitted to the accusations of treason that killed them because they wanted her to live. They sacrificed their lives and their legacy so her Uncle could not include her in the gallows and the people would view her as outside her parents' fake treachery.

"You must live, my daughter. Live for us. This is the only way."

She watched them hang, the same public who adored her feasting upon her pain as she had a clear view of the gallows. It traumatized her, but it helped in the end. She became untouchable-- a prize.

And now, with the war finally at an end because her Uncle simply could not afford it anymore, she was to be jilted at the altar.

No on wanted to go to war with their enemies. Not even for her hand. What sort of monsters set their sites on her beautiful Bast-Galarion that made all the alliances dry up and nations larger than them turn a blind eye? How fearsome was their leader? What manner of magics did he wield?

Why was her hand in marriage suddenly worth only the ink used to sign the contract? Was she and the mystique undeservedly built around her all for nothing? Would the temple be attacked and her people's blood run red from the greatest betrayal?

She could see that happening. If she thought about it more, she could even say out loud that her Uncle deserved it, after his successful treachery to have his own brother killed.

As the nobility grew restless, in their unstained finery, and her Uncle looking like he was the biggest fool in the world, she thought that maybe her groom took one look at her and decided deposing the nobility by wholesale murder would be preferable to an amicable marriage.

She wouldn't blame him. Everyone related to her was awful.

The minutes ticked by. She wasn't anxious or afraid. She didn't care about whether the nobility lived or died. They supported her parents' death. If he didn't show up, however, that could mean the country her parents died for was to be burnt to the ground. It was her job to stand still, take their place, accept the conqueror's rule and soften their ways to pave the road to peace.

So Princess Illu waited patiently in her wedding finery, her long black hair piled high in an elaborate style on the top of her head, her kimono falling about her in waves of heavy, beautiful fabric, the nape of her neck the only skin visible and unadorned, where her husband was supposed to kiss her first as a sign of honor and commitment. Her eyes were lined with kohl and her skin buffed white. Underneath, her creamy skin that was usually a flawless alabaster was a bit pale, but her painted red lips covered any discoloration.

If she were honest about it, she wasn't feeling exceptionally beautiful that day--simply because she didn't know who told her the truth. They could have been ordered by her Uncle to do so. She was smaller than most elven females, and less voluptuous. It was all her Uncle's doing to build up her image in a way that could benefit him politically. In the end, that choice was taken from him.

The temple was packed with nobles, who had previously cowered in their country homes as the borders burned and people were killed. The most magical kingdom in the whole world surrendering to another whose military prowess made her Uncle wilt inside his robes.

She knew, because she was a healer. He had lost weight, become dehydrated, and developed anxiety and stress problems.

The nobility looked anxious, hungry for the dove of Bast-Galarion to be wed and the peace deal sealed. The temple courtyard was similarly packed with citizens, eager to see her bridegroom. All was ready, they just missed her groom.

She had no illusions of love or affection--only a large amount of hope that the conqueror had a sense of duty and honor that was as fierce as their battle prowess. Otherwise, she and her people, and the land her parents died for, were doomed.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Viktor didn't trust the king of Bast-Galarion, but he hoped that marrying the elven princess would put an end to the war he'd grown so tired of fighting. Before the war, he worked his parents' farm, using his strength and size to provide for his family and his people, the Dryger—a proud human clan. When the elves attacked, killed his parents, and burned their fields, he wanted revenge. He unleashed the rage that had boiled in his blood his whole life, something his mother had taught him to control. In a few short months, his ferocity had powered him in battle, and he climbed the ranks until he had earned the title of Warchief, the leader of his people.

His size and strength that had once been used to plow fields and bale hay were now used to crush elf warriors beneath a mighty hammer. After his parents were killed, he wanted to wade in elven blood. And he had, but it provided no comfort. But it had been enough to beat Bast-Galarion into submission. His people would be safe if this marriage could bring peace.

But even though he wanted peace, he knew there were people on both sides of the conflict who didn't want it to end. Just in case some of those were waiting to ambush him at the wedding, he made sure to scout the area. Once he was satisfied that the crowd outside the temple weren't archers waiting to rain arrows down on him, he and two dozen armored warriors entered the temple. He left soldiers all along the possible exit halls so no escape route could be blocked.

Inside the temple chambers, the sound of clanking armor and marching boots grew louder and louder. Those gathered for the wedding became nervous. The door burst open as nine warriors in full plate mail entered, faces hidden by fierce-looking helmets. This wasn't ceremonial armor. They all wore armor that had obviously seen war. The most battle-tested armor was worn by the one who stood head and shoulders above the rest. A large, black iron war hammer, still baring red stains of war, hung at his right. The crowd went silent as the clanking armor echoed off the walls, making the nine sound like nine hundred.

Viktor looked about the room, checking if anyone looked like they were about to attack. He noted the best paths to the exits and where he could take cover in arrows started flying.

He and his entourage marched down the aisle to where the little princess stood. Once Viktor was beside her, he took off his helmet and held it in one hand. Stubble covered his jaw, and the beginnings of black hair had started to grow back on his shaved head. Illu could almost imagine he'd be handsome if not for the scars and nose that had been repeatedly broken. He was so tall she barely came to his mid-chest. Not only was he tall, but broad. He had powerful hands so large that just one could have easily fit around her waist. That with the grey-blue tinge to his skin made her think there had to giant blood in his veins, diluted over a few generations, but still strong. He looked down at her with his cold, steel grey eyes, assessing her.

Gods, she is so small and fragile-looking, even for an elf. For this alliance to work, I'll have to be careful not to break her, he thought as an eerie silence settled over the room.

"Well, get on with it!" His voice was harsh.

He was barely listening as the priestess began to drone on about the meaning of this union and elven unions in general. After five minutes, he lost his patience for the pageantry.

"Skip to the end. I have a long trip home ahead of me."

The priestess shrank away from him. Then she quickly gave her final blessing to the union between the princess and the warlord. With that, he grabbed the princess, unceremoniously flung her over one shoulder, and walked out the door, leaving the crowd stunned. Anyone who was expecting a parade or feasting was sorely disappointed. Viktor took his bride straight to a carriage—a gift from the king. The warrior tossed her into it with a force that he considered gentle. The carriage groaned as Viktor took a seat across from Illu. He sat in stony silence as it headed out the north gate of the city.

 

[faerun_girl]

At least he showed up.

That was what Illu was thinking, as she was shoved into her Uncle's smallest, least expensive carriage (that he seemed to have fobbed off on the Warlord) that began its way outside the city. Did he not realize he was insulted? Her kimono barely fit inside, the layers spilling out the closed door. They could hear the clanking of armor outside, knowing that his unit was escorting them. Did they have horses? What about her things?

Gazing upon the visage of her new husband, she could not help but look at him from a healer's point of view. He certainly had a giant somewhere in his ancestry, which meant she had to read up more on thar subject. His face was handsome, and the way it wasn't patrician or refined actually leant him a menacing, kingly air. His nose definitely broke at least twice, and was healed poorly. The scars on his face showed either a desire to bear battle tokens or he simply did not care about proper wound cleaning.

He was in the city yet he wore full plate, and she could see the red marks of chafing due to prolonged wear. Curiously, her mouth had gone dry, as she surveyed how broad his chest and shoulders were. She appreciated that he did not have an extremely trim waist, as that lent towards core instability, and was her true gauge of a body's battle prowess. The more proportional a warrior's body was, the better he could train and fight.

She blushed, suddenly realizing she was already ogling her very tall, very large, and very gruff husband.

Oddly, that infuriated her more.

"My Lord, if you deigned to speak to us beforehand, we could have adjusted the time and shortened the ceremony." she decided to ignore the indignity of being slung over his shoulder like a rolled-up futon, and even seeing his weapon laid nonchalantly on the opposite seat. She had nothing against weapons--unless they were purposefully kept dirty and exposed to non-combatants. They festered germs and bacteria--and merely touching it could kill the wielder if his hand was wounded.

While she understood that their union was all to strengthen the legitimacy of the terms of surrender and the peace deal, he did not have to arrive late, unkempt and unclean, and completely disregard the sentiment of the Temple. She was a devout believer, and she hoped the Spirits forgave her if she wasn't able to thank her ancestors.

How was he going to forge peace when he disregarded customs? If the ceremony and ritual was too much for him, he could have said so beforehand! He was the winner, he was the conqueror; all he had to do was tell them what he wanted and they would bend. He need not take everything by force when they had yielded.

"Where is your squire? Why has your weapon not been cleaned?" she could not resist making a face, already bemoaning the ruination of her wedding outfit. Dozens of people had worked on it, and it was supposed to be displayed in the palace like her mother's. Now, it had dirt and bloodstains. "If you would allow me to hire a runner, they can prepare a bath for you before we arrive."

She folded her hands in her lap, willing herself to calm down. She usually wasn't like this. She had an excellent bedside manner from being a healer. She did not mind the smell of bodies tired and wounded. She used it to diagnose and never shied away from bodily fluids.

But for some reason, her new husband's bulk and demeanor did not faze her, and in fact, made her quite...bratty.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Viktor continued to stare at her, stone-faced.

Under ideal circumstances, he would have been married among his people. A simple handfasting, an exchange of vows, and it would have been done.

He compared her hands to his. If they had tied their hands together, it would have looked almost comical.

But these weren't ideal circumstances. There was danger in waiting to form a union between their people. Threats she didn't need to know about. Nor did she need to know that he had to kill three of his generals and their platoons immediately before entering her city. They wanted to raid her home, slaughtering more of her people, and put her head on a pike.

Nor did she need to know that his steward, a young boy named Grilk, took an arrow for him during the battle. Well, several, but the first that pierced his skull had killed him instantly. The other four hit a corpse as it fell.

Did she think he preferred to be filthy or that he needed to be reminded to bathe?

When they reached the fork in the road, just out of sight from the city, he had a camp there where he could bathe, put on fresh clothes, and then part ways with the carriage and the soldiers. He still didn't know which people outside the fortress he could trust. He would take her north alone and on foot. It was a winding route that would take at least four days, but it would avoid almost all well-troll roads.

Once there, he knew she'd be safe from harm, and the treaty would hold.

But she saw him merely as a brute. The elves and the Dryger had had skirmishes before. That's why only the most hearty and fearsome warriors lived on the borders of their lands. Elves only saw the brutes because it was supposed to discourage them from entering our territory. A lot of good that had done. If he showed her just the beast, the warrior, would she respect him? Would that keep her in line?

She needs to be tamed, but she's so very delicate. I will have to be very careful with this one.

Viktor had tamed other women before. But they were Dryger and made out of hardier stock. Even with those women, he had to hold back. With this one, more than a small fraction of his strength would shatter her bones. But she still needed to learn not to question her king. If the carriage hadn't been so low and cramped, he'd have put her over his knee right then and there. Though with all the cloth she was currently wrapped in, he did know if he'd have been able to find her ass to spank. He could have easily torn it off her.

But she's spirited. If I try to bend her to my will too early, too fast, she'll fear instead of respect me. People who are filled with fear, make irrational decisions. She might run. Then her people or mine will kill her, the treaty will be broken, the peace will crumble, and I will have to go back to killing.

"Little Princess, all you need to understand is I'm looking out for your safety." He paused for a moment. "And I have a bath already waiting for me up the road."

 

[faerun_girl]

Illu fumed. She usually did not fume. Fuming and anger were bad when you handled people's internal organs and healed them with your hands and magic. Intention could bleed, and you'd do more help and harm. But this man, a man she had done nothing specifically to, had the audacity to dismiss her!

She, who accepted both their side's wounded and his as she toiled in the infirmary complexes during the war. She'd seen what both sides could do. On her sides she healed with herbs, ties, and poultices, since their wounds came mostly from blunt or sharp weapons. His side, she healed with her own magic, as her people used magic to hurt his.

She understood why the war was happening, and she failed to prevent it, when she told her Uncle to marry her off before anything sparked. No one would lose lives--people could continue their precious ordinary existence, but her Uncle preferred not to lose face.

In the end, he lost both and she was still carted away. All for nothing.

If she wasn't the one supposed to be married off to the Warlord, she would still be in the infirmary, healing all she could. Her heart ached for the wounded and dying, but she was needed by all her people. All their people.

But what he said about the bath made her pause. "Up the road? What do you mean? Are we not returning to the palace? My bride price, my things, they must come with me!"

She understood that gaining an audience with their conqueror was difficult--even for his bride. So she made the sensible decision to sell most of her belongings (without her Uncle's knowledge) and convert them to supplies. She knew what the border looked like and swaths of territory on both sides were decimated. Instead of her trousseau, she had bolts of cloth for tents, poles, medicinal supplies, rare herbs, the most expensive surgical tools, and enough potion to last her a month of healing nonstop. She worked nonstop until the wedding preparations to produce scrolls that could be used even by those without magic, to aid in treating wounds and healing. Those needed to be distributed immediately.

All she kept for herself were her mother's clothes, books on healing, and mementos from people close to her. Horribly outdated and needing a wash, she could not bear to throw them out after holding onto them for so long. They no longer smelled like her mother, but knowing this was what she wore when they were happy made her feel like they watched over her. That they knew how hard she was trying to honor their wishes.

She must have her things. This was insane! He looked and smelled like he hadn't taken his armor off for days, and now that she saw it, his looked dehydrated and needed rest. Unless he had two hearts, his blood pressure sounded too high and his heartbeat was too fast. She could see exhaustion and fatigue about to overcome him.

She tried to be reasonable. She itched to put him to sleep with a wave of her hand, but things were too tense. He could undoubtedly crush her with two fingers in a heartbeat, but she could kill him with a blink.

"Your heartbeat is too fast, your blood pressure is skyrocketing and you have not been out of your armor for days. You are not fit to ensure ANYONE'S safety." she said firmly. "Your Majesty." she added.

She gestured to her wedding kimono that swamped the carriage.

"If you only told us, I would have come to the altar in a travel attire. And yet here I am in wedding finery that will only hamper us. Let us prepare and we will be away as soon as possible. I swear on my parent's ashes.

"My Uncle has given you the smallest carriage he owns. I will take what is rightfully yours and ensure a comfortable journey home."

She would swap this infernal, insulting carriage out with the biggest one she could get her hands on in a thrice, and a fresh set of horses.

Why was he being so unreasonable?

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Your Majesty?

He felt a small smile crack across his face, but he quickly suppressed it.

He yelled something in his language, and the carriage halted. When he spoke his native tongue, it was much harsher than his elvish, which lent itself to soft tones. He had taken great pains to learn some of his bride's language before the wedding, but his vocabulary was still limited.

He locked eyes with her.

"Not 'Your Majesty.' That title means nothing. 'Sir' will work. I do..." He took a deep breath, using it to mask that he was trying to remember the right words. "...appreciate the respect, Little Princess." Then his tone shifted into something much more commanding. "But never again question my ability to fight." There was a fire in his eyes when he said this. Then the intensity faded, but the tone remained the same. "You will tell me the directions, and I'll translate for the driver. She doesn't speak Elvish. " He leaned close to her until she could feel the heat radiating from him. Then he spoke in a voice that, while quieter, still carried the same tone as though he were ordering a soldier. "You will make a pack of the most..." he paused again, using a deep sigh to cover his struggle with her flowery language "...important things for travel—four days worth. Everything else will be be taken separately. In here if it all can fit. It should be waiting for you at the fortress when we arrive. You have one hour. Anything not packed by then will be left behind. And you will not leave my sight. Do you understand?"

 

[faerun_girl]

She knew it wasn't fair and a horrid invasion of privacy if she continued to do it, but she couldn't help it. His hormones reflected...pleasure? Was that it? She wasn't entirely sure, but her little speech made him do something, and she felt triumphant. When she challenged him, he paid attention.

The carriage stopped so abruptly she fell onto her train. When he spoke to her, it was as she was an undignified heap on the floor.

The closer he came, the more menacing his voice, the more she felt a strange weight settle over her, like a heavy veil worn by his culture when they had their own weddings (she read about his country in a book). It made her want to bow her head and close her eyes for some reason. Her pupils dilated, her breath hitched, and beneath her kimono, her body tensed in anticipation. She was blushing, and the rosy tint to her usually-pale skin reached the top of her breasts. What in the Spirit Realm was happening?

She swallowed, feeling how close he was. She trembled, and whimpered--a sweet, soft sound she had never heard come from the back of her throat.

"Yes, Imperial One." she realized she spoke before she thought, using the even higher title her Uncle loved to call himself. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, knowing she challenged him, as if she was asking him to get angry. Her eyes widened comically in shock at her own actions. She did it without thinking.

She decided to cut and run. Snatching the kimono fabric she could, she scrambled up off the carriage floor and away from him, and opened the window. She used a spell to attract a palace pigeon, and cooed softly at it, her glass hairpins tinkling in the oppressive silence of the carriage. Some tendrils of hair already cascaded to sweep against her bottom from violent stop. Having cast the spell, the pigeon flew on, and she hoped they would prepare what she said.

Slowly, she turned back to her husband, High King Viktor of Bast-Galarion, and sat in her corner again, unable now to meet his eyes.

"The castle is in the East. Two streets down to the path lined with greenery. She can't miss it." she said timidly now, her hands clasped in her lap. "Thank you."

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Viktor relayed the instructions and then put a finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.

"Thank you, Sir."

And he waited for her to understand, though he didn't mind the wait. Her skin felt soft against his calloused flesh. Warm. Pliable. He could work with this.

There was steel in her. Not something to be broken. Something to be tempered. All he needed was to apply heat, pressure, and the right amount of force.

 

[faerun_girl]

She felt him come close, so close--that she could see his steel grey eyes were dilating as well, and that his pupils were lined with silver. His hand was so large, and the proximity of his calloused fingers to her throat made her feel like she was the softest thing the gods created.

Despite the layers on her, she shivered, her collarbones standing out as her kimono slipped lower. She was breathing too hard. Her large, brown eyes looked up at him, and what she saw in him took her breath away.

"Thank you." she murmured, and her rebel mouth decided she needed to wet her lips. "Sir."

This man was trouble.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Strike while the iron is hot.

Viktor decided he'd make do with the space in the carriage and the yards of fabric. He grabbed her and placed her face down over his lap, his hand gently cupping her backside.

"Now, how many?"

 

[faerun_girl]

Illu made a shocked sound, as he used his brute strength to tumble her small body onto his lap, which turned into a flabbergasted silence when she felt his hand below her obi, and cupping her bottom.

What in the Spirits--

He asked her how many. How many what? What was going on? Her kimono was further disturbed, and it slipped lower, the back basically falling apart, gaping wide enough to expose the creamy skin of her back.

"S--sir?! I must protest!" she began, trembling, her breasts squashed against his lap.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

"Mistakes will happen, but you won't learn if there aren't consequences. But I'm a just man. I'm going to strike your ass." To emphasize his point, he squeezed slightly, making sure she knew exactly where his open hand was going to land. "How many times seem fair?"

 

[faerun_girl]

A spanking?

The tiny elven woman looked back at her husband, and saw that he was looking only at her backside, which rose sweetly from the dip of her back if only the obi and her kimono weren't there to be in the way.

Beneath the layers of fabric, his touch wreaked havoc on parts of her body she never thought could react in such away.

She dampened.

"Your--Sir! This is highly inappropriate! I must insist you stop this at once!" she said, panicking now as he squeezed her, trying to wriggle her way out of his grasp and off his lap. She felt her mind cloud, and thinking of a spell was impossible with the way his large hand grasped her bottom.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

"Ten then. On flesh. I was willing to let you get away with three through the fabric, but the lesson must be learned."

He used his strong hands to tear the fabric of her kimono open, exposing her ass, and then repeatedly slapping it. He considered these light swats, barely raising his hand before bringing it back down. When the ten spanks were done, he laid his hand gently on the now red flesh.

 

[faerun_girl]

Illu barely heard her husband over the sound of her kimono ripping, and the cool air felt dangerous on her exposed skin.

He spanked her. He actually, truly spanked her.

Illu gasped, gasped again, then bore the indignity in silence, her skin soft and creamy, his hand reddening her bottom. She felt her core become heavy, like an invisible thread was tied from her core to his large hand.

Her flesh bounced against his palm, and she went limp after the seventh. She panted on his lap, and could not realize what just happened.

When it was over, his hand felt like fire on her tender rear. She whimpered, unable to understand why she felt heavy, and better at the same time. She couldn't think, but in a way that didn't feel dumb.

"What...What just happened?" she asked softly, even as she knew they neared the palace steps. If all went well, her healer's pack would be ready, and her things would be fobbed off to the soldiers. She only needed to change and choose some clothes for the journey.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

And now to quench the hot metal.

He sat her up, placing her hot flesh against the cold metal of his armor. Then he gently brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"Consequences, Little Princess. Consequences."

Then he held her just below her chin, his thumb enough to wrap around her neck.

"What did you learn?"

 

[faerun_girl]

Illu didn’t protest when he lifted her—not that she could stop him. Her ruined kimono exposed her backside, and she felt tears leak from her eyes as her tender swollen flesh met his cold armor. Under the layers of fabric, she drilled from her core.

Her husband’s hand came to press on her throat, and she looked up at him, her heart beating hard in her chest and her hands coming up to hold his bicep lightly.

She somehow knew exactly what to say. “To call you Sir.” She breathed out, her chest heaving up and down, and she didn’t even realize she would look like her Warlord tumbled her right in the carriage just minutes after he slung her over his back like a sack of grain.

“It hurts. You’re so mean, Sir.” She found herself saying. Looking up at him she pouted, acting completely different for some reason as the pain on her skin was soothed by the cool metal of his armor.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

He squeezed around her neck slightly. "I can be much meaner," he said through gritted teeth. Then he relaxed his grip, and his voice softened. "Now, My Little Princess, I don't like to share my possessions. And I think you don't want those in the castle to see you've been bad. I'll wrap what's left of this around you and carry you to your room."

 

[faerun_girl]

Illu’s hands flew to his wrist, clutching desperately but not pulling, and the feeling between her legs intensified, her breath coming on soft, short gasps. The more he squeezed, the more she wanted to...spread her legs? What wantonness had overcome her?!

The awareness of where they were snapped her back into sense, and she saw that her husband was as much a brute as they said, and she thrust her chin out in defiance. “As his Majesty wishes.”

“Sir.”

Her eyes slid away, and her hands relaxed, and she gathered up her skirts and train to heft them at him, and leaned against his broad, armored chest, secretly enjoying the feel of it against her skin.

She wanted to appear calm and unruffled by what happened, and she knew she was cheating by using magic to calm her wildly beating heart, dilated pupils, and hormones. She had to get some control back.

Losing any care now, she sniffed snootily, something she never did, but had seen done so many times to other nobles. She would let him carry her to her chambers, and she would at least alleviate some of his fatigue symptoms away from prying eyes and somewhere she had control.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Viktor suddenly wished he had had a chance to bath before the ceremony. This was insane. He suddenly had to suppress a desire to throw her to the ground and have her right here, but she deserved better than a man covered in the grime of battle. She was now HIS Little Princess.

But she was also a fighter. The women he had tamed before, the ones he could be less delicate with, weren't nearly as strong in spirit as this tiny elf maiden.

He set her down on the floor, releasing her ruined garment. Then he stood there, waiting for her to move or speak. He didn't plan on turning away. She was his now.

 

[faerun_girl]

Illu's feet hadn't even touched the floor but she had shed her ruined wedding finery which pooled at his armored feet. Her diminutive body featured a swath of creamy skin, her flawless back dipping dramatically before her rear dimples topped the slope of her bottom. It was reddened, but his hand marks were fading. Her skin stung and she found it felt sweet and tender.

She darted into her massive empty wardrobe, now devoid of her belongings except for her traveling leathers and the outfit she was supposed to wear for her wedding night. The gauzy, flimsy straps of silk mocked her, but leaving it would not be prudent, so she stuffed it into her pack and pulled a bell.

Outside, she heard her maid scream, and she rushed into her main bedroom only to throw a spell at the tall, chubby elven woman that almost fainted at the sight of her massive husband, covered in armor.

The servant revived and rushed to dress her mistress when Illu held her arms out.

This time, she gave her husband an eyeful--not that she was ashamed. Her mother had raised a Queen that was never ashamed of what she wore--or what she didn't.

The High King observed his wife to have the most flawless skin, her breasts just a smidge short of full resting high on her body, pink nipples peaking in the cold air. Her stomach was flat but soft on a good day, but could easily give way to an emaciated, starved look on days that took a toll on her. She needed to eat more if she wanted to heal and work as much as she did.

Between her legs, her closed, pale pink slit was topped by a soft, downy patch of hair that was trimmed neatly into a triangle. She still wore her ceremonial makeup and elaborate hairstyle.

Her waist was as delicate as they came, and he could snap it in two if he wished.

"Sir, your soldiers must report to the city square." she spoke to him as she was fitted into a set of well-used but expensive traveling leathers, which hugged her round backside and flattened her chest slightly. She hissed as the maid pulled it up over her bottom.

"Supplies and medicines must be taken to the borders where relief is needed the most. Each soldier must bear as many supplies as he can. They each get a pack of provisions for their own use and consumption, and a bag of gold ingots as direct payment from me for this task."

She would not stop until she handed his commanding officer a manifesto of the goods. "Please relay this to them, Sir."

By the time she finished talking she was done dressing, and the maid left.

"This is my dowry. My Uncle cannot stop me from taking what has been bought with my own money out of the kingdom. Would you please relay this to your commander, Sir?" she asked, even as she wiped her thick white makeup off, which revealed a young, tired face. She had doleful eyes , a pouty mouth, and thick eyebrows that matched the color of her hair.

She had already taken her hairpins out, her straight locks grazing her rear, and fashioned a quick, tight braid that aged her face as she tossed it over her shoulder.

"I will help you remove your armor, heal you, then we must please make haste to leave before my Uncle arrives." she said, moving to unbuckle him for just a few moments, so she could use raw magic to heal him--extremely effective and quick but exhausting for the healer. She would probably sleep on the whole journey there. But if he could trust her enough, she could give a little.

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Viktor watched her undress. She did so unashamedly. Now he wondered if she realized how foolish it would be to hide any part of herself from him or if she'd have stripped so readily in front of others. It didn't matter what she had done with her body in the past. The decisions then had been hers to make. Now that she was his, no one but he would see her undressed ever again after this servant.

He could tell she was slim under the finery, but when he saw her nude, he realized how waifish she really was. Given the hatred that he had for her people because of the things they had done to his, he thought it would take time to look at his wife without a sense of revulsion. Revulsion was the furthest thing from his mind.

They were so very different. His Little Princess was so small, so unmarred. Her skin was so perfect; it made even the fading redness he left on her backside stand out all the more. Viktor wondered if he'd see a bruise flower there over the next few days. Then he started thinking about how he'd mark her flesh more. Nothing that could permanently spoil her, but there would be hot red flesh and dark bruised skin in her future.

Viktor grabbed her hands when he reached for him; not painfully, but forcefully. She'd gotten a little lippy before she'd added the Sirs. One day, that edge and urgency in her voice might be something she could use to command soldiers, but she still had a lot to learn when asking him anything of him. She used too many musts and not enough pleases. If he had the proper time, he'd chase away their audience and teach her another lesson right then, but he let it slip for now. His soldier didn't understand elvish and probably couldn't distinguish the subtle changes in his future queen's speech. He wouldn't know there had been disrespect.

And no one could witness her discipline. They might think her weak as she squirmed in his lap. If they thought her weak, they wouldn't listen to her. And they'd need to listen.

The longer he spent with her, he realized more and more that she did have the makings of a queen. He still had work to do to shape those qualities, but not as much as he thought when he first agreed to marry an elf.

"Not even an hour after our marriage and you're trying to buy off my soldiers?" His tone was lighter. She still had much to learn about the subtle ways his emotions changed his face, but there was a twinkle in his eye and the faintest twitch of his lips that may have been a smirk.

He turned as he and bellowed to a soldier at the doorway, who said something back and then darted down the stairs.

Then he looked back at her, released her hands, and went to his knees so she could reach the topmost buckle. Even then, he was still taller than her, not quite as towering.

As she began helping him out of his armor, the collar of his shirt gapped, and what had looked like a small scar before she could see was much more extensive. It disappeared down his shirt and over his left shoulder. She knew the type of burn it would take make a scar like that, the edges looking like the flames had been hot enough to make the skin run like wax. This wasn't the type of burn that hurt. This was a burn a man wouldn't feel because it was intense enough to kill the nerves. Properly healed in time, he might have maintained some feeling there, but this hadn't properly healed.

Removing more armor, she could see more of his flesh through tears in the padding and clothes he wore underneath. He might have actually been more scars than not.

He was sure he stank of battle and could feel, everywhere but his left shoulder and back, how his clothes clung to his sweaty flesh. She didn't seem revolted by it. She was a healer, after all.

 

[faerun_girl]

Not only did the Spirits deem it fit to give one of their devotees a literal brute, they thought it would be nice to make sure even she could not guess as to what injuries he had sustained over the course of his life.

This was even worse than the Wound Man diagrams in her tomes! How could he do battle when half his back was full of dead nerves? Who healed him? All of these did not need magical intervention, but the condition of his current and previous injuries looked like even the most robust magic could completely fix him.

Pursing her lip, she said nothing about his scars, his smell (which was mostly bacteria from blood and sweat emitting their foul stench and not really his own musk) and what happened in the carriage. All these had to be put on hold so they could leave before her Uncle and the other nobility trotted in. In some ways, their little show in the courtyard of him carrying her inside gave precedence to the need for privacy and escape.

The brute wanting to defile his witch elf wife the moment she was signed over to him. If only they knew how much worse the truth was than their boorish fantasies of her being wed and bred.

I can be much meaner,

He had said that, and she wondered at how the memory made her tense in anticipation, the rougher voice in her mind almost making her sigh to distraction, as if she was a country lass let loose in court for the first time. Just seeing his grayish skin made her heart beat faster, her mouth dry, and a heavy, throbbing feeling seemed to never leave the place between her legs and the tips of her breasts. Barely an hour married and she was incredible attuned to him already.

He knelt in front of her, and her head truly only reached his mouth--he was so very large. Even larger than the Dryger that managed to find their way into her infirmary. Her husband made them look like boys.

She put her delicate foot on the juncture of his hip and the top of his thigh for leverage (she figured out how she could do this the more Dryger wounded she treated) and pulled his armor to expose his shirt more.

She knew the sound of approaching carriages heavily laden with nobleman finery and idle chatter, and she heard it just as she loosened his plate. No time to take it all off, or to bathe him in a herbal soak--she had to force it.

"Sir, this may feel odd, but I promise you can behead a thousand men and annex our neighbor after I am done. Please stay still." she said, then invoked the Spirits, one hand forming a sacred hand gesture on her lips as her small body hummed with magic, her braid lifting behind her.

She didn't wait for a response, and her hand dove into his shirt, at an approximation of his sternum, and she pulled an invisible string, which lit up his adrenal glands like a sky full of lanterns, and pulled all the lactic acid in his muscles into the aether. His mind cleared, all his pain was gone, his blood pressure went down to normal, and his pulse was at rest.

She usually did this only for patients on their dying breath.

Illu released the invisible string, and she felt as if she had taken on all his fatigue, and almost swooned. She fell forward onto his lap, panting, pale, but already recovering. Beneath her leathers, the sweet sting of his earlier attentions kept her grounded for some reason.

She pulled herself up and whispered in her husband's ear, her own fatigue making her vulnerable. "If I can buy off your soldiers, then perhaps I married a poor man, Sir." would he spank her for that, too?

And her moment of vulnerability passed; she was on her feet and already slinging her pack. "We must hurry, Sir. My Uncle arrives and I want us away for home."

 

[HeyYoureThatGuy]

Viktor was ready to tell Illu she’d have lessons later for her impudence. When she touched him, he wasn’t sure what she was doing, and then he felt the crackling energy coming from her.

Here it was, the incoming attack. He’d had seen elf magic used on the battlefield. Men charred by forked lightning from the sky or turned to ash by burning flame summoned up from the ground. He’d been anticipating it. At first, he even suspected it might come for her. But he let his lust for her cloud his judgment. He’d let his guard down; let her take off his armor. Now she was about to try to kill him.

He raised his hand, preparing to strike her with all the force he could muster—a blow that would undoubtedly kill her.

Instead of the feeling of his heart exploded or his blood boiling, he felt a weight lifted off him that he hadn’t known he was carrying. Since the war started, pain had been his constant companion. It had been so long that he forgot what it was like not to hurt all over. Screaming muscles and blistered skin became his new normal. But the pain was suddenly gone. Even the old injuries from his time on the farm, like the foot crushed by a mule when he was young, no longer ached.

His mind cleared, and his hand stopped just before it would have crushed her skull. Then, he used the hand that had almost ended her life to catch her as she slumped.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, and then his voice took on a commanding, slightly threaten timber. “But we will have to talk later about how and when you use your magics." He grabbed her roughly by the chin. "And about controlling that tongue of yours.”

Releasing her chin, he quickly bent over. Taking the straps that held his armor in place and belting them together so he could carry all of it without dropping anything. He picked her up with his free hand and held her against his shoulder, not quite over it like he had last time. Then he held her in place with his hand on the back of her knees. This time, his palm rested on her rear.

It would have slowed them down too much to spank her right here, right now. With the way he gave the tender flesh a slight squeeze, he made sure she knew he was not done teaching her the lessons she needed to learn.

Then he bounded down the stairs. When they were once again with his soldiers, he looked at the carriage her uncle had gifted them. It was so full of her possessions, there’d be no room for even just his Little Princess. There really wasn’t much time to buy another, even with all her money. Instead, he knocked several finely dressed elves out of the way as he seized the driver of a large carriage that a small troupe of noble-born elves just spilled out of. Giving her ass one more solid squeeze, he shoved her into the carriage. He made sure when he tossed in his armor, he threw it into the other corner.

“Stay in the carriage!” He barked before closing the door. He shouted a command, and with a crack of the reigns, the carriage lurched forward.

There came a loud commotion from outside. Viktor put Illu’s claims of the effect of her magic to the test as he protected the carriage and his new bride as they retreated from the city. Once they were outside the gates, the carriage halted long enough for Viktor to enter before it took off again.

 

[faerun_girl]

If Illu hadn't felt her soul fly a foot above her own body the moment he caught her after she used her magic, she would have stuck her tongue out at him. Let's see his Majesty control that. She just used a part of her lifetime to reset his body to its most healthy state, sans missing limbs and systemic illness. To regrow a limb, she would have slept for a month and lost at least a year.

For the amount of magic she used, she probably shaved off a week. Her passive diagnosis, done out of habit now, showed his vital signs normalize.

But no matter, elves had years--too many if she was asked.

She let him manhandle her, her soft, pliant body slumping slightly over his shoulder, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder and neck. He could feel the soft breath from her mouth on his skin. Here, she could smell his own scent, and it made her feel oddly achy all over, like she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep against something so warm.

It was good she did not see him raise his hand, all her focus on keeping the High King of Bast-Galarion alive until they left the citadel. It would have destroyed the little trust and compassion she held for her new husband.

Still, when his massive palm came up to fondle her ass and even give a squeeze, she hissed into his neck, the sting less fresh but her skin definitely more tender. If she left it alone, it would definitely bruise on the morrow. She could easily heal it--but she took an active effort to leave it alone for a reason she couldn't name yet.

She saw that the measly carriage used for the handmaidens and footmen that her Uncle "gifted" was laden with all her possessions, mostly her mother's clothes. She fumed again, but was a bit weak. She was about to get down and commandeer her Uncle's private carriage when she heard screams, seeing Duke Lester's carriage rid of its occupants, dandies and escorts screaming as they spilled out the other side, and her menacing husband dispatching the nobles with ease.

But her joy was shortlived when he shoved her inside the carriage her rear stinging wonderfully, and she immediately knew what the Duke and his company were doing when they were shoved out. She knew what went on here. She was about to protest and leave, but her husband's bellow stopped her in her tracks, even as the feeling of being in the middle of a sexually transmitted disease outbreak crept up her body.

How dare he shove her into the The Cum Carriage! How dare the Duke even release a raunchy newsletter that she had no choice but to read and thus taint her mind with the knowledge of the depravities they did here, when she had been tasked to discreetly supply the Duke with potions to 'manage' his erectile dysfunction and cure leaking diseases for his member on almost a bi-weekly basis!

How dare her husband shove her into a moving bordello!

She wanted to scream (which she honestly never actually did), but remembered his bellow, then she began ripping up the upholstery of the carriage with her magical scalpels. Expending magic on such a useless endeavor was dangerous, but she could not imagine even sitting on the carriage floor. It stank like a whorehouse--and she knew what those smelled like, she always had patients from there.

There were stains!

She heard her husband engage in battle. Completely unnecessary violence when she could just waltz into the stables, grab as many carriages he wished and be on their way. But no, he had to STEAL one. From his own kingdom.

She glanced outside the carriage window as the confused guards thought to skirmish with a Dryger ruler at peak health. She glared at the back of his head, then threw some of the ruined upholstery out, hoping it would hit him.

That would teach him to manhandle her. Who did he think he was?! Who did this infuriating man think she was?!

When she had carved out a space with in one corner of the carriage as it moved forward, enough for her to move and stretch without touching any of the previous surface, she calmed down and sat. Crossing her arms, waiting for her Sir to come in and ready to point out he would be sitting in someone else's ejaculate.