“An invention of my own,” Larmel said, spreading his arms out wide at the long table and the many loaves.
“They look lovely,” Ocena said, eyes searching.
“I call them . . . Stranger’s Bread,” Larmel said, his voice lowering a step. “Because you never know what you’re going to find inside. Nuts, berries, other assorted legumes.” He paused, then, as if to let the princess catch up. When he spoke again, his words came out slower than before.
“Though they are a new addition to court . . . I feel as though they’ve been with us the entire time, yes?”
Ocena furrowed her brow. She felt Larmel’s gaze on her, but didn’t turn her head from the table. She was a smart lass, and knew that Larmel was trying to tell her something.
He’s . . . speaking in code!
“They might not look like much, but I assure you, they’re very advantageous to your health! Here, try a piece.” He leaned forward, ripped off a chunk of the warm bread, and pressed it into Ocena’s hand.
She could see the nuts and flakes of berries in the dough, a smattering locked inside the hard crust. She bit into the bread and multiple flavors filled her mouth—it was like a rainbow on her tongue, and she smiled.
An idea came to her.
Larmel matched her smile, but then she stopped, eyes widening.
She coughed loudly, pretending to choke on the bread. Both of the guards behind her shifted their weight, their armor clanking.
Reflexively, Larmel reached out and patted her hard on the back. “Oh my!” he exclaimed. At the same time, Ocena pounded her chest with her fist, as if trying to force out the lodged piece of crust in her throat.
Her face turned red from her coughing—fake or not—and while Larmel’s hand gently but sternly smacked her back, all but hiding any eyes looking to her front side with his girthy forearm and bicep, Ocena’s hand disappeared inside the slip of her nightgown.
She quickly took the letter from her bosom, revealed it for a split moment in front of her chest, and then let it float to the ground in front of her, making sure to press her body forward toward the table.
When the note landed on the ground, she swept her right foot forward, catching the folded paper with her heel, and kicked it under the table. Then she stamped the ground with her foot to finish the ploy.
The entire maneuver took all of three seconds, and Larmel saw the whole thing. The guards were none the wiser, though they were beginning to jump to attention—startled at the princess’ coughing fit.
“Hands off her, peasant!” one guard said, his hand sweeping out to bat Larmel’s arm away.
The large cook stumbled back, incredulity written on his face. “Can’t you see the princess needs water, you ape?!” He faced the princess again. “I admit that a trial run with the bread might have been necessary, but forgotten. Alas, sometimes it’s best to surprise our guests!”
Ocena breathed raggedly, then said, “N-No, it was very good! I just swallowed down the wrong pipe is all. Guards, I’m fine, really.”
“Nonetheless, Your Highness, we must be returning to your room,” the guard said.
The princess nodded her understanding. Before she left, Larmel said, “Do you truly enjoy the bread, Your Highness? Despite it causing you worry?”
She flashed him a quick smirk and a wink. “Aye, Larmel, I do. I think the new bread will be a hit at court—and besides, it’s better than the alternative of the boring old sameness! It’s good to shake things up!”
Larmel’s smile was as warm as the bread Ocena had just tried. “I couldn’t agree more, my dear.”
On her way back to her chambers, Ocena thought over the cook’s cryptic words, trying to decipher their meaning. Stranger’s Bread . . . new to court . . . but with us the entire time. Advantageous to my health. He’s trying to tell me that he knows of that man, Stecker, perhaps, and that he is indeed an ally!
But how does he know that mysterious man?
And does it mean Larmel will help, despite the danger it might pose?
She nodded as she returned back to her room, a smile on her face.
I’ve always known Larmel was an ally of the one true king, my father, Torace Contrus. He proves it yet again this night!
Finally, she felt like she’d done something useful, and it made her feel righteous. She flopped down on her bed, arms spread wide, letting the soft linens envelop her. The smile remained on her face.
But it disappeared as she heard a hoarse voice from down the hall—the voice of King Cartherus Sefyr:
“Princess, attend me, this instant!”
AFTER LEAVING SEFYR Castle, Stecker thought of his options. He didn’t immediately return to the inn and the underground tunnels.
Instead, he wandered around the city as if in a haze, but was secretly trying to make sure that no one was following him. He dipped in and out of alleyways, passed by busy merchant carts, wheeling around them to make quick turns down roads. He spoke to strangers.
Glancing back over his shoulders a few times, at opportune moments, he could tell with reasonable certainty that no one was trailing him. It was nearly nightfall by the time he was finished with his roundabout journey, which had led him to the southernmost section of the city.
The smell of birdshit and salty water hit his nose as he stepped onto a rickety wooden plank. Soft spray seemed to condensate on his clothes, making him damp—but not any less damp than he’d be stuck in those damned tunnels.
The seaport section of Sefyr was inhabited by a maze of docks, countless moored boats of all shapes and sizes, and hardworking, honest folk. Mixed with the tangy smell of birdshit was the more heinous odor of fish guts and rot. It was a smell that Stecker could do without, and he held a perpetual grimace on his face as he walked.
Alas, he had a reason to be here—it wasn’t just to visit the fishmongers and boatbuilders and lay eyes on one of the poorest industrial districts in the town.
The docks were shoved up next to the Narkun River, which snaked around the southern base of Sefyr, shot out west, and opened into the large West Carroen Sea.
A large portion of Sefyr Kingdom’s imports and exports came from that ocean, and the Narkun River was a constant, congested source of sealane traffic.
But not right now. At the present, Stecker could see out in the distance that the mouth of the estuary leading to the docks had been barricaded, with Royal Army ships anchored in a row along the length of the inlet, so no business or pleasure ships could pass by.
The coastal blockade had come at the orders of Royal Advisor Rink, through the military arm led by Commander Infew and his admirals, ever since Princess Catera had gone missing.
Stecker admired the row of royal gunships and cruisers on the horizon, smiling at the fact that he and his little band of thieves had caused the entire ruckus sweeping through the city.
He wandered through the docks, stepping over gangways and squeezing through seamen, and eventually came to the gangway leading up to a ship he recognized. He walked up the plank, over the roiling black river below, and stood at the railing, waiting for someone to approach him.
Seamen worked on the foredeck, doing sailorly things, and Stecker watched for a moment with his hands on his hips, until a rolling piece of cargo behind him and the gruff words, “Move aside, boy,” forced him to jump onto the deck.
Two gruff sailors scowled at him, hunched over as they led some carted barrels onto the ship.
The bow of the ship was adorned with a figurehead on front of a growling wolf. The sails were down, but it looked like the ship was ready to depart at any moment.
Someone came from the centermost deckhouse of the ship, bounding up the stairs with heavy footfalls. When his eyes scanned the deck and saw Stecker standing there, he frowned.
Stecker smiled at the man—a large man with tattoos littering his arms and chest, which Stecker could see due to the front of the man’s tunic being opened. He was hairy and big and imposing, but Stecker was not afraid of him.
> Because Stecker had known the man for a long time. Years, in fact.
As the large sailor approached, he took off his broad-rimmed hat and wiped at the balding, sweaty pate underneath. He looked incredibly damp, his skin darkened and wrinkled from so many years at sea.
“Journigan,” Stecker said with a smile, “my old friend.”
“That’s Captain Journigan to you, Steck. What in the Four Hellish Seas brings ya onto the Wolfpack?”
“I need a favor.”
Journigan frowned. His bristled gray and black beard seemed to move on his face like a living thing. “I ain’t seen yer pasty face in years, and the first thing y’want from me is a favor, Steck? Not very cordial of ya.”
“I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
The captain frowned, donning his hat once more, which hid the upper half of his face from Stecker. A large purple, puffy scar coiled down his chin, even more apparent because no beard-hair grew there.
“I might need to stay on the ‘Pack for a little bit, in the coming days,” Stecker said.
“Tha’s it? You alone?”
Stecker shook his head. “One other.”
“Who?”
“Not important.”
“Wrong, boy.”
Stecker sighed. “I can’t tell you right now, Journ. You just have to trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone—especially whelps I ain’t seen in years who come aboard asking mischievous inquiries.”
Stecker looked impressed. “Wow. Never knew you had the vocabulary in you.”
Journigan’s frown returned. It seemed almost perpetual. “I been bonin’ up on my readings. My talkings. Figer I oughta sound more civilized for the rich folk. My band’s moved up in the world since ya been gone, boy.” A smirk flashed across his face.
“As has mine,” Stecker said with a wink.
“Hmph. Always tryin’ to one-up me, mate. The boys won’t be happy.”
“They’ll even be less happy about who I bring onboard, Journ. That’s why I need your assurance now, rather than then.”
The captain seemed to mull over his words, his lips moving unintelligibly.
“Please,” Stecker added. “For old time’s sake.”
Journigan puffed up his cheeks and blew out slowly.
“I helped make you a rich man, Captain,” Stecker said with finality.
Journigan nodded. “Aye, I ain’t forgot. Tha’s the only reason I’m thinking ‘bout . . . considering . . . reckon . . . wha’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Ruminating?”
Another knowing nod, his broad hat tipping forward. “Tha’s the only reason I’m ruminatin’ on your ask.”
“Well?”
“Fine. So’s long as ya work while yer ‘ere. Ya know we ain’t goin’ anywhere though, aye? Look out there, boy,” the captain swept his hands out past the railing, into the river. “See the king’s ships bobbing in the water like a line of serpents?”
“Yes, I know. We don’t need to go anywhere. And by the time you’re allowed to leave the harbor again, I’ll—we’ll—be out of your hair.”
“What hair? I been losin’ it for years, mate. Pretty soon ‘ere I’ll look like a damned monk! Hair crownin’ my bald head but nothing on top!” He bellowed with raspy laughter, then spit a wad of phlegm on the deck.
Stecker smiled. “Thank you, Father Journigan,” he teased, and then quickly turned to leave.
“Aye, no you don’t!” he heard Journigan’s voice shout. “Anyone hears you call me that again and our deal is resplin—er . . . gone . . .—revoked! Revoked, I say!”
But Stecker was already jogging down the gangway, out of earshot from the complaining captain.
As he reached the edge of the seaport district, Stecker was lost in thought once more. Things were falling into place.
He nonchalantly looked over his shoulders, to make sure no strange eyes were on him.
And he stopped dead in his tracks. Eyes widening, he glanced around for something to hide behind, then scurried toward a fisherman’s cart piled high with slimy trout. He crouched behind the cart.
“Aye, what you doing there, boy?” the owner of the cart whined.
Stecker ignored him. His eyes were locked on something in the distance, well past the cart he hid behind.
A large hooded figure had his back to Stecker, but the thief recognized him. He was speaking to a shorter, wily looking fellow who also wore a hood. Together, the pair didn’t make very convincing sailors . . . and their hoods gave their clandestine meeting away, in Stecker’s opinion. Made it obvious that they were up to no good.
The larger man’s big arms wheeled, then, flailing into the air, as if upset at something. He seemed on the verge of striking the shorter man. But he restrained himself.
After another minute of arguing, the larger man’s hood bobbed in a slow nod, then he spun round and started walking away. Well, rather, limped away, his gait uneven and painful looking.
Stecker stayed for a moment to watch him disappear out of sight behind the wall of a building down the road, his dark cloak trailing ominously behind him.
Alberus Solver . . . by all that’s holy . . . what are you doing out? What kind of scheme are you cooking up now?
Chapter Seventeen
Ocena whimpered as the king spread her legs apart off the edge of the bed, his large frame moving closer to her, raking his thick fingers across her supple, fleshy legs. Her nightgown had been lifted to reveal her nakedness underneath, and with a grunt the king tore the thin linen in half down the middle, exposing her pale, perky breasts.
She was on her back, eyebrows arched upward pathetically, her legs wrenched apart in front of her, unable to close them due to Cartherus’ big body lodged between them.
His hungry dark eyes searched her body—the narrow curves of her hips, the slight swell of her belly, her palm-sized tits, perky with small pink nipples hardening.
Ocena instinctively tried to cover her breasts with her forearm, but the king easily ripped the arm away, causing the princess to whine.
He traced a large finger over her slight stomach, then up to her breasts where he held her arm in place. “You’ve started to grow into your body nicely, girl,” he said, roughly grabbing her left breast and squeezing it. She whimpered again. “Soon these will be the size of your sister’s, I should think.”
Tears came to Ocena’s eyes. “P-Please, Stepfather.”
“Do not call me that,” Cartherus growled. “Call me ‘Master.’”
Her thighs squeezed around his waist while he continued to fondle her tits, roughly molding them in his hand. “Yes, Catera does have heavy, immaculate tits . . . I would like to feel them. When she’s returned to me, I will do as much. It’s quite impressive, you girls, being so top-heavy and yet thin all around. You bony, royal bitches come from good stock, I suppose, though I do like a bit more meat in my palms.”
Ocena pursed her quivering bottom lip. She felt the king’s bulge through his pants, protruding and snuggling against her sex at the edge of the bed. The large package pushed against the folds of her pussy and made her wet, with liquids secreting from her slit.
She shut her eyes, ashamed.
“Not as good of stock as myself, however,” Cartherus grunted. Even when he was enjoying himself, he sounded morose and sinister.
“W-What will you do with me, Master?” Ocena asked, playing into his hand. It was the only way she knew how to deal with her stepfather, without suffering his violent ire. If she could just keep him satisfied . . . things would be all right.
“Punish you for your insolence this afternoon, of course,” Cartherus said. Raising a brow, he licked his lips and stared down at her scared face. It was that fearful face that aroused him more than anything else, knowing that he held absolute power and could do anything he pleased.
With a slight, inquisitive tilt of his head, he continued. “Yes, I think you may have countermanded me knowing exactly what you’d receive tonight. You enjoy
this punishment, don’t you? This humiliation at the hands of your stepfather king?”
“N-No, it’s not true!”
“You act innocent and naïve, but I know better, Ocena. Ever since first plugging your greedy cunt with my cock, I’ve known how much of a sadomasochist you really are.”
“Please, don’t speak to me like that!” Ocena complained. Her small hands balled into fists at her side, but she did not resist Cartherus’ ceaseless caressing of her body. His strong hands were rugged, thick, and manly. She hated herself for it, but they felt so good, pinching her hard little nipples between his thumb and forefinger; the way he rolled her areola in his digits, then licked her between her legs . . . up past her stomach and between her breasts . . . slobbering all over her sweaty flesh.
Her legs flexed again, by instinct, and were met with the strong muscles of his sides.
The king lowered his breeches then, seeing that her wetness had caused the front of his pants to darken. As they fell to his feet, he hoisted his large penis in one hand, flapping it like a snake in the air, then dropped it on top of Ocena’s pubis.
The princess inhaled sharply as the heavy cock flopped down and slapped on her flesh. It wriggled to life, like a breathing monster, and Ocena watched with horrified eyes as it grew and lurched forward on top of her, traveling the length of her pubis, reaching up toward her stomach.
The size difference between the small-statured princess and the fat, thick appendage was appalling to her. Their bodies were mismatched . . . she needed something smaller.
But King Cartherus was not a small man. Nor was he a kind one. It didn’t take much for his cock to engorge to its full, intimidating size. By the time it was as stiff and rugged as a hammer, it speared up from the top of her vagina to her stomach.
The sweaty, throbbing manhood spit clear fluids from its tip, as the glans bulged free from its helmet and came to rest near the base of Ocena’s breasts. The python had come alive, with large veins the color of struck lightning, and a thickness that matched her own bicep.
Cartherus’ hulking testicles were smashed against her labia, sweaty and round, the weight of the orbs pulling his scrotum down. With a single hand, the king lifted his cock from the base. It indeed looked like a heavy hammer now, and he used it as such, slamming it down on top of Ocena’s stomach to elicit loud, lewd clapping sounds from their colliding flesh.
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