Torturous Alliance

by Kristine Lichtlider

  “I'm nothing special,” said Aven “not faerie, not human. I belong nowhere. That is why I ended up toiling in a tavern, enduring the lewd looks and roaming hands of drunken louts. At least, it was a place where I was welcomed.”

  “What of your folk?” said Bruno. “Did they not make you feel welcome?”

  “Some did,” said Aven “I was adopted by...a kind faerie, who doted upon me as much as any father. He could not shield me from my own feelings, however. The faerie are a folk steeped in magic and enigma, much of which I lack the wit or power to comprehend. They were kind enough, but always a bit...condescending.”

  Bruno laughed, his chest rumbling against her neck.

  “I know the feeling,” said Bruno “so many people speak slowly, use their hands when addressing me, as if I am some savage just crept out of the wilderness.”

  Aven chuckled, enjoying the comfort of his strong arm around her. Thinking back to how they had first met, she wondered at the complete reversal of their relationship.

  “I never want you to let me go,” she said, sighing.

  “Then I will not,” said Bruno, gently kissing her on top of the head. He then kissed her cheek, and trailed his lips down her neck. Aven sighed as he cupped her breast gently, kneading the soft pliant flesh with his powerful hand.

  Her fingers fumbled with his belt, trying to drag his trousers off while still kissing him. Bruno leaned forward so she could hook her fingers into the back of his belt loop and tug them downward. Her fingers kneaded his firm buttocks as her mouth traveled down his navel, past the knots of muscle in his abdomen, and finally found his already swelling cock.

  Aven wrapped her hand around the shaft, disbelieving how her fingers—her human ones anyway—couldn't quite make it all the way round. It took effort to open her mouth widely enough to accept the head of his cock, but it was a labor of love. Aven called on a bit of her shapeshifting magic and let her jaws distend slightly more than normal.

  Bruno gasped, his hand clapping the back of Aven's strawberry blonde mane. So enraptured by the pleasure, he nearly missed the breaking stick behind him.

  Years of Templar training had not gone to waste, however. Continuing to guide Aven gently up and down on his member, he slowly turned his head as if in a fit of passion, but in reality he wished to see what was behind him with his peripheral vision.

  “What's wr-” Aven started to ask, but he shoved her mouth back on his cock.

  “Shh,” he said, grabbing tightly of her hair. “Just keep doing what you're doing.”

  Bruno turned his head toward the disturbance and growled.

  “Come out here, now, and you may get to keep your head on its shoulders.”

  “All right!” Thora said, stepping out of the brush with her hands held high. “Please don't hurt me! I didn't mean to startle you.”

  “Thora?” Aven asked, pulling away from Bruno. “What are you doing-”

  Her eyes went wide and she gagged as Bruno again shoved her mouth back on his member.

  “I told you not to stop,” Bruno said sternly. “I take it this is the local woman you were telling me about? The one you put under a geas?”

  Aven looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow. How, exactly, was she supposed to respond?

  “All right, take a break,” he said, pulling her off of him with a wet pop.

  “Yes, sort of. It wasn't a geas, but primal magic that bound her body and soul to me. I should have expected she would try to follow.”

  Aven stood up, not bothering to hide her nakedness.

  “Slave,” she hissed “what are you about?”

  “I...I wanted to see you, mistress,” Thora said fearfully. “I needed your touch--”

  “That's not what I'm talking about!” Aven snapped. “I mean, why are you standing there clothed in front of your mistress...and master?”

  “I...Mistress?” Thora said.

  “You will obey this man just as you would obey me,” Aven growled. “Now strip!”

  Thora felt the beginnings of the magic forcing her to obey, but she had learned to get ahead of it. It was so much easier if she didn't fight Aven's will. Her hands went to the homespun dress she wore and began lifting it slowly.

  “Hmm, she is sweetly hipped,” Bruno said as the dress was raised above her waist. “Nice, thick pussy lips.”

  Thora lifted the dress higher, revealing her breasts which had not quite healed from the thrashing Aven had given them.

  “And I see you keep her well-disciplined,” Bruno said approvingly.

  “Of course,” Aven said. “She saw a faerie at her bath. She's lucky to still be alive.”

  Aven glared at Thora as she stood naked, arms trying to cover herself feebly.

  “Slave,” she snapped “get on your knees. And put your hands behind your back. Don't you dare cover yourself from your master and mistress.”

  “Yes, mistress,” thora said, sinking to her knees. Her hands folded behind her, and she was not surprised to find that brambles from the bush were winding their way about her limbs. She grimaced at the harsh texture but knew that complaining would only result in more pain. Why had she followed the faerie woman again? She glanced over at the other slave girl, Lily she thought her name was. Naked and bound and gagged and miserable. That was to be her fate as well.

  “Slave,” snapped Aven, drawing Thora's gaze back to her. “Look at your master's cock. It's a sword that needs sheathing. Do you have a sheath?”

  “Yes, mistress,” Thora said, swallowing at the sight of his huge member. It was as thick as her arm! Still, she turned about and used her bound hands to pull her pussy lips apart.

  “Not the sheath I meant,” Aven said in a growl. “Show your ass to him, now!”

  Bruno crept up behind the maid and gripped his cock. The mere sight of the girl so helpless had a drop of jizz dangling from the head. He spat into her wide open asshole, causing her to flinch. Thora moaned as he started shoving the tip inside her.

  “It's too much!” she yelped. “Mistress, please, he will tear me in half!”

  “Oh, I hardly think that will happen,” Aven said. “It's been in my ass, and you're a much bigger girl, aren't you?”

  “Big girls are the most fun,” Bruno said. He shoved himself all the way in, balls deep, and relished the tight feel of Thora's asshole. “Mmm, I can already tell she's going to be a good fuck.”

  “And she's yours, anytime you want her,” Aven said, coming to stand beside him. Their lips met in a passionate kiss while Bruno thrust into the girl. A guttural chorus came out of her throat, echoing througout the woods, far enough that even Crown and Hector could hear.

  The garden was filled with over three dozen guests, and half that many servants, and yet it still felt spacious. Perhaps it was the lack of a ceiling overhead, or the excitement of the Harvest Ball, but Lord Mannix's party appeared to please nearly all. Kate swirled in orbit around the stone fountain, waltzing with King Drakken. She was amazed at how graceful he was, despite his age. She felt the display of solid muscle below her hand upon his shoulder, and his step was steady and sure even as he dipped her so low her hair nearly brushed the stone floor.

  “You dance remarkably well, your majesty,” said Kate, surprised to find that she genuinely was enjoying herself.

  “For an old geezer,” he said, a smile lighting up his face.

  “You are fit and virile,” she said “and move with aplomb that younger men can only envy.”

  “My thanks for the flattery,” he said with a chuckle as they swished past her father. The elder Mannix had a look of distinct approval on his face as they flashed by.

  “It is no mere flattery, sire,” said Kate. She could not help but note that many of the other unmarried noble women lanced jealous spears with their eyes at her. In spite of herself, she felt a swelling of pride in her breast. Despite what her father had seen, Drakken was still the king, and it was thrilling in a way to be doted upon by so powerful a man.

  She remembered the fe
el of Bruno's hands upon her, much warmer than the grip of the king. He had not been the most graceful of dancers, but he was always able to move his body in concert with hers on the dance floor...and other places as well...

  Kate closed her eyes and buried the memory. Bruno was far to the south, had likely eased his heartache in the arms of some country maid who was willing to overlook his dusk skinned heritage in order to bed a man with lands and title. Though she lamented their parting, she knew it would be better for the knight in the end. Eventually, Bruno would have to act as heir to her father's assets, and the vision of the man's burly hand gripping a quill pin awkwardly, dipping the wrong end, made her giggle.

  “Care to share the jest with me?” said Drakken gently.

  “It is nothing, your majesty,” she said.

  The song ended and all present rewarded the minstrels with applause. They began to play a slower, more romantic tune. Many of the couples on what amounted to the dance floor moved their bodies close, staring soulfully into each other's eyes. Drakken gently pulled her towards his own seat, a padded, opulent chair her father had purchased just for the king. Without being bidden, one of Drakken's hangers on dragged another chair next to it.

  “Will you sit with me for a time, my lady?” he said.

  “It would be an honor,” she said pleasantly.

  Wine was brought, and Drakken sipped his in moderation. Kate found her glass half empty almost immediately, her nerves causing her throat to tighten up. It was difficult, pretending to allow the king to court her while she desperately tried not to think about her father's treasonous acts. Reminding herself that the best way to protect him was to be in Drakken's good graces, she willed herself through the ordeal.

  “I am told,” said Drakken, drawing her gaze back to him “that you are something of a maestro at Castle.”

  “I play, and sometimes manage to muster a victory,” she said modestly.

  “I should like it if we were to play a game,” he said “perhaps in my chambers?”

  “Of course, your majesty,” said Kate.

  “And please,” he said “call me Edward. It feels strange for us to be using titles, does it not?”

  “I,” said Kate, stammering “I do not know if I can! Using the proper title when addressing your betters was drummed into my head at an early age.”

  “Well,” said Drakken “it would not hurt you to try, Katherine.”

  His smile seemed genuine enough, and she had difficulty reconciling the kindly figure before her with the despotic tyrant who had taxed his populace nearly to starvation. Perhaps her father was right, and he needed a feminine touch to moderate his excesses. Perhaps being the queen would not be so terrible a fate after all...

  The minstrels stopped, abruptly in the middle of their song. Kate glanced up, and noted that the king appeared puzzled as six men in Templar garb marched grimly into the garden. In their midst was a prisoner, one hand dangling from a badly broken wrist. He was a middle aged man of modest build, but the numerous wounds on his body seemed to indicate he had been in battle of some sort. Miserably, the fellow stared at the party guests as they parted way, not expecting succor and not receiving any. He was thrown to his knees before Drakken's chair.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Drakken harshly. “This is a ball, a very special one. You do my friend Lord Mannix great injury by disrupting it.”

  “My apologies, King Drakken,” said one of the Templars, his response seeming rehearsed. “But this traitorous dog has vital information that I believed you would wish to hear immediately.”

  “If the news is not truly dire,” said Drakken “you have forfeited your life.”

  The Templar seemed not fazed at all by the grim proclamation. Drakken turned his gaze upon the wretched fellow kneeling on bloody knees before him.

  “Speak, man,” he said, not unkindly “if your words are true you may not hang for your treason.”

  “You heard the king, dog,” said the Templar, shoving him rudely with his armored foot.

  The man stared up at Drakken, his voice a quiver.

  “Forgive me, my king,” he said, and again his speech seemed like a sermon prepared ahead of time to Kate “but my belly gnawed with hunger, and my children's ribs stick out like the bars of a prison. I never meant to-”

  “Quit groveling, worm,” said another Templar, kicking the man to his belly. “Tell us who was behind the treachery against the crown!”

  “Twas Lord Mannix, my king,” said the captive causing gasps among the partiers.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” said Drakken, much to Kate's relief. “Lord Mannix is a staunch supporter of the throne, and has always been so.”

  “There is evidence, my lord,” said Quinn, striding forward to stand before Drakken. Kate's mouth dropped open in shock, her belly twisting in knots. The first sword turned towards her for a moment and smirked just a bit before addressing the king once more. “I have gathered many letters and invoices that indicate Lord Mannix has been secretly supporting the rebels in the south. He has acted in concert with his former First Sword, Duncan Davros.”

  Shocked silence greeted the accusation. Kate glanced up at her father, who appeared white as a sheet. She turned her gaze upon Quinn, teeth bared in a snarl.

  “You bastard,” she spat.

  “Now, Katherine,” said Drakken “I am sure the man is merely mistaken.”

  “I wish I were, sire,” said Quinn. “I wish I were.”

  “Well?” said Drakken, staring across the garden at Mannix. “What have you to say to these accusations, old friend?”

  Mannix strode stiffly across the fire lit stone to stand next to Quinn. He did not look at the man, but his brown eyes bored into Drakken's gray ones.

  “It is true, sire,” said Mannix, eliciting shocked outbursts from the crowd. One woman swooned and had to be carried to stone bench to recover.

  “And why have you turned traitor, Lord Mannix?” said Drakken. “Have I not always treated your family fairly?”

  “Indeed, sire,” said Mannix “but it is the fate of the common folk that appealed to my better judgment.”

  “Better judgment?” said Drakken. “You would judge your rightful king?”

  “Yes,” said Mannix, putting his arms akimbo “I do judge the king, though he is not right in any way, shape, or form. You tax the peasantry to near extinction, viciously beat down any who dare to raise voice in protest, and hoard away mountains of coin beneath Fort Drakken for who knows what insane purpose.”

  The nobility was shocked into silence once more. Never in their memories had any dared to speak to Drakken in such a fashion. Kate stared hard at her father, wondering if he had adopted a fatalistic streak.

  “These are serious accusations,” said Drakken, his tone somber. “Perhaps you think another would better serve as sovereign...perhaps you think that Lord Mannix should sit upon the throne?”

  “I hesitate to call myself worthy,” said Mannix “but I am more worthy of the crown than a madman!

  “Father, please,” said Kate “what game are you playing? Why do you lie to his majesty, pretending to be responsible for these horrid deeds?”

  “A nice ploy, my lady,” said Quinn “but the evidence is insurmountable.”

  Kate again gave him a black look, which he smugly shrugged off. Her eyes whipped back to the king when he spoke.

  “Very well,” said Drakken “then I will give you your opportunity to take my throne. Duel me here, in your daughter's garden, traitor, and if you defeat me I shall abdicate the throne.”

  A cry rose up at the proclamation. Drakken quieted the rabble by spreading his hands dramatically.

  “And if I should defeat you,” he continued “you shall sign a full confession.”

  “Bah,” said Mannix, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand “your Templars would be upon me ere your carcass touched the ground.”

  Drakken smiled, rising to his feet and turning his gaze upon the crowd.


  “All who hear now bear witness,” said Drakken “should Lord Mannix best me, whether I survive or not, none shall lay hands upon him. He will be your rightful king, by my royal decree.”

  Drakken turned his face back to Mannix.

  “Will that be sufficient?” he said.

  “Get my sword,” said Mannix, which caused Kate's heart to catch in her throat.

  Chapter 9

  Do not do this, Father, I beg!” said Kate, placing a hand upon Mannix's sleeve as he attempted to loosen up his body.

  “It will be all right, my dear,” he said eyes lighting up as a servant brought Lucille in her magnificent jeweled scabbard. “Drakken has not dueled in over thirty years.”

  “This is not right,” said Kate “the king was not surprised! He has planned this spectacle with great cunning! He is up to his own treachery, I am sure of it!”

  “Hello, my dear,” said Mannix with half lidded eyes as he gripped his blade. Turning to Kate, his face grew grim. “If I should fall, do not be foolish. I was careful to protect you. If you take a husband, the king will allow you to keep our holdings, I am sure of it. He has designs for you, though I shudder to think what they are. You must promise me you will not seek revenge.”

  “Father, please,” said Kate.

  “Promise me!” he said, grabbing her by the arm almost painfully.

  “I promise,” she said, though she wondered if her words were hollow. They seemed to satisfy her father, who walked to an area just before the fountain. Drakken stood and allowed his second to roll back his fur lined cloak. Mannix drew his blade and saluted Drakken, who nodded his head in acknowledgment of the honor.

  “First blood?” said Mannix grimly. “Or would you prefer to the death?”

  “First blood will be sufficient,” said Drakken “though my blood runs cold at the reptilian look in your eyes!”

  The arbiter, a wiry little man who looked rather worriedly at the king, gave the signal for them to begin. A hush rolled over the crowd as Mannix approached him in a fencer's stance, blade held at waist level.