The men stepped forward with their shields first, arms raised, hesitant . . . they knew they were fighting an animal here—a rabid dog who posed as a man.
From behind, Dered heard more footsteps, and he cursed under his breath, then spat a wad of phlegm in front of him. He was angry that he’d allowed himself to get boxed in, when he’d had so much room in the tunnels to roam. His thirst for Sefyr blood had overwhelmed his senses, and now it would bring the death of him . . .
I hope I’ve bought the Siblinghood enough time, he thought, resigning himself to his fate. He closed his eyes for a split second, the sweat stinging his pupils.
If I was smarter, I would’ve kept skirmishing, striking a man down and then disappearing into the blackness . . . rinse and repeat. But I wanted their hearts stuck on the blade of my sword too badly . . .
When he opened his eyes, both men were closing in fast. He feigned left and right with his swords—he’d been trained as an ambidextrous soldier, and his training showed, stopping the soldiers short.
It was the same strategy he’d used earlier to manage a disemboweling blow at one of the men, but this time the soldiers were fighting completely defensively. It was clear they were going to wait this out until help arrived.
They backed up. Dered’s head buzzed with bloodlust. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.
Baring his teeth again and biting down, he jumped forward in a flurry of blows—chopping and swinging left and right in a wave of vicious attacks. But he couldn’t get past either man’s defenses, not with their shields and armor and protective stances.
Frustrated, he continued on the offense, but his arms and legs were growing weary, and all could see the agony that his straining muscles were put through.
The bright clang of metal on metal rang out, with the echo so loud that he thought he went deaf. Everything became muffled as his equilibrium wavered and he stumbled off-balance into a wall.
The two men struck then.
It took everything in Dered’s power to keep them at bay, but still one of them managed to score a wound across his forearm. It was little more than a flesh wound—
Dered’s eyes bulged at sudden pain coming from his lower back. Something sharp pierced his flesh and muscle there, spinning him round. He let out a soft grunt at the sudden agony he felt, which quickly turned to numbness . . .
Twisting around, he didn’t bother with the two men in front of him—now behind him—and their wicked blades. He wanted to see the face of the man who had done him in.
An archer stood in the dark distance, arms cocked, lowering his bow. A smirk was on his face, while two other soldiers flanking him rushed past with their swords raised, yelling and moving in slow motion.
C-Couldn’t even bring me down face to face, the cowardly . . . b-bastard . . .
He realized he was falling to his knees. Dropping his shortsword, though he held on to his personal longswod with a weakening grip as all the fight was blasted out from him.
The last thing he heard was the archer shout, “Wait! Keep him alive so Rink can have his way with him! For the princess!”
Then a hard wallop battered the back of his head and darkness took over.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Princess Catera sighed heavily. Lying on the tiny, raggedy cot beside Stecker, both of them naked, the bed was hardly big enough for the two of them. The princess’ left arm dangled off the side, her hand sweeping down to the wooden flooring.
“I’m so foolish to think I could make a difference,” she said abruptly, sadness in her voice.
Stecker faced her, their mouths just inches apart. He reached over and traced his finger round the red rose tattoo webbing up her shoulder, then he threw his arm around the woman and stroked her head, parting a stray strand of orange hair from her forehead.
Their lovemaking-turned-savage-mating had lasted for hours, and it wasn’t until the deep of night that they finally parted with heavy panting, bodies drenched in sweat, and sore muscles. To say that they were compatible would be an understatement, as their initial copulation was an explosion of emotions and physical prowess and good feelings, all on display.
It had been a marathon session, and once it ended, they lay back and looked up at the ceiling with wide eyes—exhausted, content, and fearful of the future. Neither of them could sleep because of the doubt they held in their minds.
Catera had mentioned that her relationship with Stecker was starting to look strangely similar to Ocena’s with her young lover—the man who had been executed once discovered as Ocena’s paramour.
Stecker had replied that the rules be damned. He realized he sounded sappy and lame when he said that love had no boundaries, no wealth limit, and that it wasn’t so wrong for a princess and a poor vagabond like himself to try to reach for the stars.
He reminded Catera that it was a storyline common among all good plays and theater productions. “Yes,” Catera had said bemusedly, laughing, “but this is real life. This isn’t a play.”
Then they had fallen silent, until the princess’ most recent admission, citing her failures as royalty and as a sister.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Cat,” Stecker said, finding that the princess did not disagree or lament his new nickname for her.
“No, but it’s true!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t really have a plan when I left. I suppose I . . . uh, just wanted to feel . . . freedom? For once. If only for a little while.”
“Every man and woman deserves freedom, Princess.”
She frowned. “And my sister?”
“Of course. That’s the true reason you escaped in the first place, yes? Not for your own liberty, but to find someone to help liberate Ocena.”
She nodded, curling up slightly, tucking her feet underneath Stecker’s warm calves. “But I went about it like a dunce. M-Maybe I should just go back . . . admit my failure and defeat . . .”
Stecker shook his head. “No, you can’t!” he abruptly blurted, drawing a sharp eye from the princess. Blushing, he backtracked, saying, “I . . . I only mean to say that this would all be for naught, if you did. You aren’t the only ones who have made sacrifices, Princess . . .” as he trailed off, he frowned, thinking about his comrades.
A sad look chased across Catera’s face. “I know . . . your friends . . .”
“Look,” Stecker interrupted, before she could add more, “you’re not a hostage to the Solver Siblinghood any longer, Catera. If you feel you must leave, then so be it. But I think you’ve been very brave, and you haven’t given yourself enough time.”
The princess rolled onto her side, her heavy breasts falling on top of Stecker’s narrow bicep. She clasped her hands under her cheek. “But how much time do you think I have? It feels as though Ocena is in danger every waking hour of every day. By the gods, even the unwaking hours of the day!”
Stecker glanced down at Catera’s fleshy pillows on his arm, the bright pink nipples as they squashed together, and he nearly forgot her question. He felt a stirring below, but didn’t want to insult the princess by investigating . . .
“Eyes up here, Stecker.”
He gulped loudly, nodding like a simpleton. “ I think you might have this backwards. If anything, now that Ocena is pregnant—as my instincts tell me she is—then she’s safer than ever before!”
Catera screwed up her brow.
“King Cartherus won’t lay a finger on Princess Ocena if he knows she’s carrying his child. And he won’t let anyone else lay a finger on her, either.”
“You think he’ll stop raping her?” Catera asked.
Stecker was taken aback by the nonchalance of her question, but he played it off as best as he could. “Per-Perhaps I misspoke. I just mean to say, uh, that I don’t think Ocena is in physical danger of being hurt . . . beyond the hurt she’s already endured.”
“Now you’re the one who sounds like a fool, Ano, but I understand your intent. You mean to say that Cena is ‘safe’ until Cartherus’ heir is born.”
>
Stecker nodded, exhaling. “Precisely.” The last thing he wanted to do was raise this woman’s ire. If the way she loved was a sign of anything, it was that she was fierce in all that she did. A princess on fire. In a way, Princess Catera Sefyr scared him.
“And what if a girl is born?” she asked.
“Then . . . I suspect it goes through the cycle all over again.”
Catera grunted and turned her head to stare past Stecker, at the barred window and the murky grayness of nightfall above him. “I don’t know if I can bear to think of Ocena having to put up with that brute for much longer. I don’t know if she can bear it, either.” She blinked and looked back at him. “Also, what if Cartherus decides, after Ocena delivers a little girl, that she is no longer wanted? That she is cursed to never give him a male heir . . .”
Stecker rubbed the side of his head with the side of his cropped elbow. “This is all speculation, Cat. I think we’re looking too far ahead.”
“Perhaps. But what if I’m right?”
“Then the focus will likely . . . fall back on you.”
Catera rolled onto her back and clicked her tongue angrily. “It’s all so damned aggravating!” She punched the side of the small mattress with a thud. There was a short silence, then she seemed to purr, “W-What can we do in the meantime?”
Stecker had a mind to roll the woman over and mount her like a stallion from behind, or push her hips down on his lap . . . but he didn’t want to sully this moment. He knew what she meant, and it didn’t have anything to do with sex, despite his mad desire for her.
“We can keep searching. For help, for money and soldiers, for the people you’re looking for.”
“And where do we begin?” she asked, her voice hopeful. She stared numbly at the ceiling of the boat, which constantly creaked with the uneven bobbing of the vessel. During their raucous session above the sheets, they’d both forgotten they were on a boat, but the soothing rocking of the ship had returned since they’d fallen into sweaty heaps on the bed.
Stecker looked all around, at the cracked walls, the chipped floorboards, the whirling ceiling. “I think the Wolfpack might not be a bad place to start.”
Catera scoffed. “Like Captain Journigan will ever agree to something like that! You place too much faith in your fellow man, Ano Stecker.”
With a frown, Stecker nodded. He narrowed his eyes, then put his hand over Catera’s, on her bare belly. He was thinking about his brothers and sisters, suddenly, and starting to feel guilty for abandoning them. He adored Catera for not bringing it up, because she easily could have during the midst of this conversation.
Biting his bottom lip, deep in thought, Stecker finally sighed. “We improvise, Princess. I’ve always said it’s what me and the Siblinghood boys and girls do best.”
“Again, how do we go about doing that? You . . . don’t have the Siblinghood at your disposal anymore—thanks to me . . .”
Stecker rubbed at his chin. “We make a diversion . . .”
He trailed off, continuing to think, and his mind spun in a million directions. “Yes,” he added, “we turn eyes away from Ocena—do something that the king will be forced to acknowledge . . . something so outlandish—”
Catera made a low sound in her throat. “Say, for the sake of argument, that your imaginary diversion works. What do we do once Cartherus’ eyes are upon you?”
Stecker faced her, rolling onto his side, and she did the same, so they were like two crescent moons cuddling next to one another. “Simple, Princess. We send someone into the castle to snatch her up!”
A moment passed, the smile mischievous and wide on Stecker’s face, and then Catera matched it.
She abruptly pushed on his thin chest, until he was flat on his back. She rolled to her knees on top of him, straddling his waist, and felt the bump of his large tool rise to meet her dark taint, the touch of sweaty flesh igniting something within her.
Smiling down at him, hands on his smooth chest, orange hair framing her face, Catera said, “I appreciate you trying to think of a real solution when I asked what we could do in the meantime. I saw how hard you struggled with that.”
He smirked. “Girl . . . how clever you are. Only trying to help.” His hands wrapped around her fat buttocks, compressed against his lap, spilling over his thighs.
She winked at him then leaned down to kiss him, resting her heavy tits on his slender body. In a breathy voice, she said, “Well, you’ve done enough to keep me chained to you for a while yet, Ano Stecker. So, let me try to help you forget about my worries for a little bit . . .”
THE SOLVER SIBLINGHOOD, or what remained of its fractured membership, found itself in a new tavern. Not the Hefty Teat, and not filled with bare-breasted young women and publicly masturbating men.
A familiar presence did sit in the corner booth at one of the tables, alone, nursing a mug of ale as the party barged through the door, but none of the frightful members of the Siblinghood noticed him.
They had escaped the tunnels without having to fight a single man—thanks to Dered’s heroics—and stalked the nighttime streets of Sefyr City unseen. It had taken them hours to make it a few city blocks, but they were cautious and kept to the shadows. Only once did they have to huddle over the unconscious form of Alberus as if they were a group of homeless cannibals about to eat their quarry, due to a troop of city guards suddenly appearing.
But at seeing that the disheveled, decrepit members of the Siblinghood had barely enough tattered clothes to cover a single body—much less four of them—the guards had passed by with scowls and snickers. One of them had joked about running into the alley to manhandle and have his way with the “bare, big-titted one,” but then Sala had stood to her full height, returned their sneer with a terrifying smile, as if provoking the man to try it . . . and the guards had moved on.
As they burst through the front door of the Sleepy Ox tavern, the man behind the bar called out loud, “What in the name of the Unmentionable Ghosts is going on here?!”
Sala fixed the man with one of her trademark glares, her flat face seeming to tremble in rage. “Bravis, it’s nice seeing you, too.”
“Sala Annas, is that you?!” the wiry, clean-shaven man said, squinting. “Girl! Put your tits away! This isn’t that kind of establishment, gods-dammit!”
Sala did nothing of the sort. She had to admit that breeze of the chilly night air had been enlivening. And the stuffy, warm stank of the Sleepy Ox interior had a similar effect on her big bones, albeit in the opposite way.
A hearthfire was lit at the end of the tavern, which helped fill the main room with obscuring smoke and a burnt smell to hide the stench of vomit and booze. There were only about ten patrons in the bar, while the Hefty Teat probably had at least twice that at this very moment, even though dawn was fast approaching.
Carrying Alberus on her back, Sala made for the stairs leading to the rooms on the second level.
Bravis the barowner cringed. “I-Is that Alberus Solver I see, sleeping like a log on your backside?”
Sala grunted.
“I ask again, woman: What the fuck’s going on here?”
Filtray approached the long bar as Sala and Nemya dragged Alberus up the stairs together. The cherry-faced young man said, “Brivar, we’ll need a room. It won’t be for a long time.” He spun a coin across the tabletop. “And don’t ask questions.” He spun another one alongside it.
“It’s Bravis, boy,” the man grunted, then snatched the twirling coins before they could land flat. “And do I need to tell you that associating yourself with Sala Annas is a bad idea, young man?”
Filtray smiled innocently, blinking his big eyes. “Oh, Bravis, if you only knew how fun she is to be around!”
With that, the small man scurried up the stairs after his friends. Bravis snorted as he watched him go, then his eyes bulged as he saw the rip in the boy’s pants, right along the crack of his large, swaying ass.
“Gods help me, I’m aiding and abetting a pack of w
ild dogs.”
Even with the insult, Bravis couldn’t help but turn pink at the sight of Filtray’s big, girly bottom.
ALBERUS WOKE UP IN a rage, as was expected. When his eyes finally opened, they danced around the three figures surrounding the bed where he lay. He didn’t even ask where they were, or what they were doing there. Every room in these dingy taverns looked the same.
“Where’s Dered?” he croaked, blinking away the fuzziness. He reached back and rubbed his aching head, then flinched at the welt. “And who smacked me into darkness like a potato?”
Filtray raised his hand.
A moment of silence, then Alberus harrumphed, his lips curving downward, but not in a frown. “I’m impressed. Thought it would’ve been Sala.”
“I was talking to you when he smacked you,” Sala said, grinning. “I knew you would think it’s me! Always me!” She had found new clothes, though they were ill-fitting and too tight for her busty frame and large hips and muscles.
“That’s because it is always you . . .”
Sala snorted.
“You never answered me! Where’s Dered?”
Alberus only then noticed that Nemya was crying—sobbing, in fact—at the mention of Dered. She was crouched with her knees drawn up to her chest in the corner, in a pathetically destitute position, rather than standing with her arms crossed as she tended to do.
“Don’t tell me he’s dead,” Alb growled. “Don’t tell me you left your brother to die at the hands of those fucking soldiers! And not for my sake!”
Filtray thought, Brother? I don’t think brothers and sisters fuck each other—or are supposed to—like we all seem to do, on nearly a constant basis . . .
Maybe it’s time for a renaming of our little group . . . the Solver Sex Cult, perhaps?
But he said nothing, as Sala had seemingly become the figurehead or spokeswoman of the group in Stecker and Dered’s absences. Filtray was fine letting her lead, and therefore take the brunt of Alberus’ wrath. She could handle the pressure much better than he could, he knew.
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