by A. S. Etaski
Goddess, I’d enjoy some real cock right now.
Although now there was a real chance I could end up like Mother, and that wouldn’t be good for me the way it was for her.
Being unable to pursue them in any way put the Noble Sons in a new light to me that eve. It seemed to have been so long since I’d been around buas that, now being surrounded by them, they moved differently, smiled differently than before. My plainest thought was I now noticed which males had more will and sway over their Matrons or Mistresses. Not all of them stood by handsomely, with interest only for what gifts and compliments could be offered them. Some seemed to have plots of their own, acting to persuade the dominant female protecting them.
What sort of plots interest them, I wonder?
I hadn’t really paid attention. I had made a reputation for just wanting their bodies, and those buas who wanted the same gave me signals to pursue them. Any complication came from their sisters and female cousins and governesses. None of these here, whispering in their Matrons’ ear, had ever thought I might be worth lying under; I’d had no real connections at Court.
Fortunate for me.
Before Qivni had come for me, I would have laughed at the thought of playing some lasting game of political intrigue with a male, but there were the signs, right before my eyes, I was quite sure. More so, I was reminded of Kerse. Of my doubt in whether Kerse had made eye contact with me or not through the spy wall. I recalled his Mother, not really knowing how much control she had over him.
At that moment, my eyes landed on a trio of wizards talking with each other, near the musicians playing their strings and air pipes. As one they saw me, and two looked away immediately while I could have sworn the third gave me a very familiar, inviting look.
Hello.
I didn’t break stride as I changed course to approach them. The two cautious ones did not look happy, but the one with playful, rust-colored eyes was surprised. I supposed this mage expected I’d ignore that bedroom gaze.
No, handsome. Perfect excuse to find out which of you might have plowed my asshole and got away with it.
Yet the mental image of this welcoming wizard disrobing for me and stretching out underneath me, offering me his cock at full attention—
I groaned inwardly.
I took a moment to note the modest, full robes they wore. The material was uncharacteristically thick for most Davrin of status, and it obscured their shape. They favored the darker shades of blue, though I didn’t miss the not-just-decorative threads of purple and gold mixed in at the hems. These buas were ultimately owned and directed by the Valsharess and the Priestesses, same as the Consorts and the Sathoet.
The flirting wizard had a subtle swath of brown draped over one shoulder as well; I knew it meant he was connected to the army, and therefore probably a battle mage. The other two had no such marks and so were perhaps Tower researchers or some such. I reflected that my invisible wizard had been naked at the time his spell was wearing; I had no idea what his specialty was if he had one. I was sure the battle mage was not the one I sought, although my nose would confirm once I got close enough.
“Red Sister, you honor us,” he said, betraying no nervousness. “Is there some urgent service for which you need one of us? We will assist and gladly.”
His tone withheld any suggestion, and he was not leering; he could have been legitimately asking if I needed a scribe to pen and deliver a message, or someone to relight one of the magic candles that had gone out in the chandelier above. Still, I wagered I could have asked that he take my arm to go somewhere more private instead, and he’d have done it without a blink.
A sure way to get my ass beaten and my holes fucked raw back in the Cloister, too.
If the Prime was in a good mood.
The other two males looked a little green around the edges, desperate to hope that the offer by the battlemage was not accepted. I wavered whether to take the direct method of asking my question, which hadn’t gone so well with my own Mother, and which might give my wizard warning if none of these three were who I sought. I knew they gossiped between themselves as much as any cluster of Nobles, but it would also depend on how many within the Tower knew the details of Red Sister initiation, and whether my wizard was paranoid enough to have let others know one of the Sisters might try to find him.
My guess was “not likely” on both counts.
I decided I could do a mix of direct with indirect, and I took a step closer to the battle mage who had given me the opening.
“Don’t move,” I warned in a low purr, leaning in with my nose and mouth to brush both lightly against his smooth throat. I heard him draw in air, excited, I concentrated on his scent. New to me; fragrant and attractive but not one I’d smelled before.
I moved back and took a step to sample the second one immediately after; his scent was bitter-tinged with fear and had sweet undertones. He likely drank a lot of the hot, sweetened taze at the serving tables. Also, one I had never smelled before. The other two shuffled just a little bit as the third one went stiff for his turn; also bitter-tinged, but this time was more savory. And new.
None of them were “my” wizard.
I straightened up and stepped back, smiling without showing my teeth; only the battle mage would meet my eyes. “Very nice, I’ll wager you can think under pressure.”
I gestured to his brown sash. It worked beautifully. He beamed.
“Three skirmishes, no casualties, thanks to me, Red Sister.”
I nodded, surveying the room again periodically as we spoke. I was still on assignment. “Against what?”
He had the grace to clear his throat in playful humility; he wasn’t going to overplay his worth at first meeting. “Small bands of raiders with a few troublesome Yutogul blocking a river route, Red Sister. But I will be ready for more challenging work when the time comes.”
I nodded. “And your name, mage?”
“Callitro, Red Sister,” he answered, and did not ask for mine.
“You talk to many Red Sisters, Callitro?”
“No, Red Sister.”
I quirked my brow and my smile. “Do you ‘not talk’ with many Red Sisters, Callitro?”
He laughed, understanding my meaning. “Alas. Only admiration thus far, Red Sister. “
“Indeed.”
I really wondered about the stories he’d heard. Either he hadn’t witnessed an execution performed by the Sisters, or he just had some sweet-and-rotting tastes. It was a bit hard to tell, but I doubted he would fight very much.
Still, the possibility must have been shining in his mind just as it was in mine; mutually beneficial relationships had their place, even if I was always wary of them. It came down to total knowledge; if he knew more of Red Sisters than I knew of wizards, it would ultimately work in his favor, not mine. On the other hand, if he knew very little and I learned more about the Tower, then he would be worth the risk of getting closer sometime.
I needed that tutoring Rausery had promised on not getting pregnant first.
I scanned the room as I stood near the wizards. I knew my Sister would note me in the swirling crowd and probably understood my motivation. A few Nobles would have noticed, too, but they couldn’t say why. The Priestesses weren’t yet present with the Consorts, and the Valsharess was sitting as She had been, receiving one bow after another. Who knew everything She saw?
“Only admiration thus far,” I echoed the wizard’s words with a suggestion in the eyes as I kept my expression placid.
Callitro maintained eye contact for three full flicks before looking down, a perfectly timed and proper signal of interest, despite the primal desire I knew was there; I could sense the heat coming off his skin.
Damn the Abyss. He smells good.
Noble Sirana would have found an empty chamber or secluded bit of garden right now; Red Sister Sirana could not abandon her post. Nor did I know enough yet whether I could meet him after the Worship Ball.
I reached up to touch his upper arm. “Come.”
Callitro seemed to forget his gaping companions as he took a few steps to the side with me. Now it was not so easy to hear casual conversation standing closer to the music.
“Do you receive visitors?” I asked in his ear, and he shivered slightly before leaning back.
The burnt-orange of the battlemage’s eyes locked on mine again for longer than would be proper between Nobles. It finally occurred to me that he was fascinated by the blue of my eyes, but he was also not slow in the head, and he understood me.
“No. No casual visitors allowed, but…make an order for me by name,” he murmured. “Something you need. A potion, a tool, an enchanted weapon. Send it through Phaelous, my Headmaster. I’ve seen him talk with the Sisterhood. You may check my progress as you see fit. I have my own small quarters.”
Just like that, he had given me everything I needed to find him again on my own schedule. The way he spoke, his lips would have been tough to read as well. Maybe none of my Sisters even knew what was said.
Bravo, young mage. I wanted to smile widely at him but refrained, nodding once. “Return to your duties.”
Callitro nodded, bowed and obeyed, stepping away as I began my rounds again.
Two marks on a candle passed; everyone had eaten and drank their fill, had even digested most of it and nothing of interest happened until the Priestesses finally entered. They announced, at last, the most anticipated part of the Ball: the demonstration and awarding of the Royal Consorts. The Valsharess stood slowly then, raising both hands into the air, the shimmering purple and gold fabric of her gown set off well, even across the hall from me.
“Let all Royal Consorts return to Us.”
I witnessed an odd, surreal moment of anxiety as fifteen, beautiful, Elven buas tentatively took their first step to separate from their Matron to walk, alone and untouched, through the crowd toward their Queen. Each one kneeled and waited as the Valsharess removed the identifying, round-belly circlet from around their throats. While She did this, I marveled and almost laughed at some of the Matron’s expressions. They were all determined to get him—or if not him, then another—back by the end of the Ball and, I imagined, to put a new collar on him as quickly as possible.
Something about their naked throats makes them feel threatened.
Being able to see all of them all at once was rare, and I had a harder time keeping my vigilance on the Grand Hall rather than gazing contentedly at such a display of male perfection for as long as I could. Some had unusual features; a pair of dark ears a little longer than the rest; a few had blue eyes like mine, but one also green, and another purple. One had birth-given golden hair—he was far too young to have earned it with age—and another displayed bluish-white hair, like some of the cave luminescence I’d seen in the wilderness, while yet another had the white-hair/red-eye classic combination, but his hair was oddly curly, even worn long.
The Consorts were mostly the same height; their heads reached no higher than an average Matron’s ear. All of them had healthy and trim bodies, and their endowments could be nothing less than satisfying. I could make the educated guess that they were bred to be somewhat larger in girth or length beneath their small clothes than their overall size would indicate.
As the Consorts all returned to the platform with the Valsharess, I searched for and finally picked out the one I thought of as “mine,” but more accurately the one that I had poached from House D’Verin for a very brief time. I was plainly curious to whom this Consort would go next. He did not have any of the exotic colors to his hair or eyes, but his features were overall strange to Nobles and commoners alike, though lovely and perfectly balanced. Perhaps if he had some odd coloring to him, I might’ve known to stay away from him.
But probably not. Not even the circlet had made a difference.
The decisions on who would be favored were already decided, as far as I knew; what happened here this eve were the “signs” from Braqth saying which Consort to gift to which deserving House. I’d always been so skeptical of this part. I thought the Priestesses just wanted to watch the Consorts get fucked and enjoy the stumbling antics of eager Nobles trying to outperform each other in public.
Perhaps, as I recalled this happening at least once, a step more also gave the Sanctuary breeding slave a last-moment possibility to avoid serving a particular Mistress. One bua had been so scared—I guessed—that he’d gone limp when his previous Matron touched him on the altar. The Priestess had called it “a clear Sign from Braqth” that the pairing would not be a fertile one if repeated, there was to be variety, and the Consort had gone to another.
It would be a repetitive but very titillating ritual, at least the first few times. Each Consort would be presented to at least three members from three different Houses. The Nobles would touch him, maybe talk to him, and wait for the sign which of them was chosen by the Spider Queen to claim him—then the chosen one would mount him immediately, so we could all see he still had value as a virile Consort. The ritual required a seeded sex to be presented afterward, one of the few times Nobles showed their privileged slits to public eyes in something less than a perfect state of grooming.
Keeping guard would be easy while everyone placed their plots on hold until after the show. I could smell the rise in excitement and heat around me, and Gaelan appeared in my line of sight. She was standing just behind a purple banner that nearly touched the floor and gestured so briefly that I almost missed it.
*Out of view now.*
Hm? Oh yes, I forgot…
I slipped past the distracted clusters of Dark Elves, climbed a few polished steps and slipped behind the banner to meet my Sister. We were farther back and deep in shadow, now out of the chandelier light and within the outer walkway which ringed the Grand Hall. Gaelan didn’t speak but continued with hand-sign. There existed gestures unique in meaning to the Red Sisters—as I expected there were in every closed group in Sivaraus—but I was still learning them, so she went slow.
*Prowling is discouraged during altar rituals. Priestesses say it interrupts the magic flow.*
I nodded and signed, *Understood.*
Gaelan smirked. *Distracted by the wizard or the Consort?*
I smiled fully and answered, *The Consort.*
Gaelan’s stomach moved in silent laughter before she leaned out by the banner to look out. She was still for a time and then gestured, *There. I recognize him.*
A pause.
*Still beautiful.*
I nodded in agreement and waited until it was his turn. To my surprise, I didn’t have to wait long. He was the third to be brought up on the altar, and that gave me an idea of his relative age among his temple brothers since they always started oldest and introduced the youngest virgins last. My Consort was three of twenty, but he was still too beautiful and exotic to tell just how old that was.
Well. He’s older than me, anyway.
My Sister and I watched the crowd and the altar from where we stood. Having already seen the first two chosen, awarded, and fucked—young, Noble caits stumbling on excited, shaky knees off the altar and her cunt filled with seed—the breathing all around was heavy and the air very warm. A few subtle couplings were already going on out on the floor or off to the sides. By the time the rituals ended, most would have found a way to feel release. Then they would start over.
Most would find a way.
Not the Red Sisters, I was guessing. Maybe only later, when the Feldeu came out. I already wished I could grab Callitro for just a little while before returning to the Cloister.
This moment, my Consort lay down obediently upon the altar, his white, flowing hair draping off the side and showing none of the fear and tension I had in that same position. I tried to watch the room, but soon my gaze returned to the Valsharess as She began at his toes and ankles like the two previous, testing his muscles and leg movement, her aged fingers grazing over the perfect skin. She cupped his pouch and wan
d between his legs, massaged them, and moved farther up his stomach and ribs until She reached arms to fingers to his lovely face. Finally, She combed her hands through his hair.
Somehow, he kept his expression impassive through all this; I could not read anything, whether he enjoyed it, disliked it, or was sincerely neutral.
*Experienced, that one,* Gaelan commented. *Perfect control.*
I raised a skeptical brow at that. I remembered him panicking, drawing a weapon on me, defying me with action and words. I recalled all the expressions on his face—fear, pain, anger, despair—as he had only reluctantly submitted to me. I enjoyed so many details before and after stuffing that turnip in his mouth. I felt again, in a passing wisp of sensation, how he struggled not to cum inside me, how his magic had mingled with the Priestess’ while inside me.
My stomach chilled now with more knowledge. Gaelan saved me. I would have his child growing inside me now, and I wouldn’t be standing here. I’d be somewhere in the Sanctuary.
Maybe Gaelan hadn’t seen most of what happened at the farmhouse, but I knew all of that had been genuine. For me, it had been nothing like the soft doll he was here with the Queen. How often did the elite females see a Consorts’ genuine responses? Or did they even care?
“Unsoiled perfection,” the Valsharess announced, and another Priestess stepped up to take over.
Unsoiled, huh? I bet he’s relieved to hear that.
It took that extra moment to recognize Wilsira, and my mouth gaped a bit to hear her call forth Houses Lospure, Qevren, and… Itlaun.
Of course, it must be House Itlaun.
I felt an instant, hot dislike for Curgia all of a sudden, irrationally hoping she wouldn’t get “my” Consort, and the surge of emotion shook me.
Fuck. I took a slow breath out. No. That has to go away. It must.
What I’d done coming back from the wilderness didn’t matter anymore, except when Elders D’Shea or Rausery, or the Red Sister Prime, said it did.
