by Kai Kazi
“Our men are the best in Europia. The soft men of the south and east do not know what it is to live and breathe war.” He said, “They know nothing, and they do not deserve the power which they hold in their hands.” Drakho licked his lips as Shaitani prowled into the room like some lithe cat looking for prey. It was becoming hard to think around her. Every now and then a flash of lust so hot would take over him that it was a struggle to refrain from dragging her to the ground to rut her like an animal. “Shaitani, my kingdom is graced by your presence,” he began cautiously, “but I must warn you, you are, indeed, my captive. You should not be wandering without authorization.”
Shaitani was unfazed, seemingly floating gracefully from the carriage to a spot just in front of Drakho and his two guards. Dran and Ibhrahim struggled to keep their eyes on the wall. She ran a finger down Dran’s broad chest, “You should let me play with him some time.” Dran smirked, obviously enjoying the prospect,
“You will leave them both be. They are the face of this kingdom until our plan can be unveiled. They stay unchanged.” He snapped jealously as she slid her hand between Dran’s legs. His eyes fluttered closed, the apple of his throat bobbing. The councilors were silent; they knew the situation was wavering on a blades edge. Things might become dangerous at any moment where the witch was concerned. She nodded at the immense golden statue that towered in the room. It was a dragon, and it seemed to be in supplication to the king.
“Is this what you expect from me, Sire?” she asked coolly, though it was more of a statement than a question. “You will have to do far more to impress me than you have done thus far.” Dran let out a soft rumble at whatever she was doing. When she slipped away a shudder ran through him. He looked dazed. There was no response from the Vlad, save for an arched brow. She smiled again.
“What does a man with so much land and endless gold want with a simple sorceress as myself?” She said, eyeing Ibrahim. Drakho bristled.
“You know what I want.” He said, and she nodded.
His senior staff knew of his ultimate goals to rule all of Europia, and while they were eager to enjoy the wealth that this would bring, they were uncertain that their king was completely prepared for the responsibilities that came with that. It was a known secret that their Vlad had killed his entire family, and now, he appeared to be eliminating each of the royal families of Europia. While not a wholly unexpected move, it was one that was fraught with peril, but the Vlad’s senior officials knew that nothing would stop their king from achieving what he truly wanted.
“Then you must look to Brookshire, my lord.” She said, and gripped Drans hand as she slipped past him, “And I will look to your men.”
***
The castle at the heart of Brookshire was quietly bustling its way through the evening, as it did every night. Three guards stood in each watchtower, but they were less than attentive. The two younger men were laughing companionably,
“She’s a cracker, right enough,” one of them said, “soft and sweet and gentle, but she fucks like a demon.” The other laughed as the first shook his head, “I picked the right woman sure enough.”
“And I bet she’d be thrilled to hear you tell every man in the guard about her tits,” the older of the three growled, shaking his head, “you need to show your wife some damn respect, Cleft.”
“Oh, by the-” Cleft started to speak, but an arrow whistled form the darkness and lodged itself firmly in his throat. The flaming arrows that came behind, lighting the night like shooting stars. One even set the emergency beacon alight, ironically.
“Sound the alarm!” the oldest bellowed as he raced towards the castle. “It’s a bloody invasion!”
It was too late.
The first men made it onto the rising drawbridge, and split up, some began to race into the heart of the city where it would be harder to find them, and the others moved to lower the drawbridge once more. Drakho watched with thundering blood lust in his heart as it began to descend once more, and then fell with an ear-splitting screech. The Changed surged forward in unison, and spread through the city like a plague. The demonic guardians were laying waste to the castle, and it mattered to none of them whether the victims were children, women or men. The bodies were flung about like dolls, landing with a heavy crunch and a thud, as the Brookshire knights quickly realized this was a battle they simply would not win.
As the skilled warriors of Brookshire were bound and ordered to surrender their swords, the Vlad approached the king of Brookshire and, sword at his neck, ordered him to surrender. The king shook his head desperately, feeling the agony of defeat weighing on him. With a fierce backhand blow, the Vlad decapitated him, a sea of red flowing from his neck. He jabbed his red and dripping sword at the surrounding captives and barked an order at his men.
“Take the princess, unharmed, to my dungeon,” he rasped. “I’m sure she and the princess of Aleadale will have much to discuss.” As his knights moved to obey his command and the demonic guardians returned to the dungeon from which Shaitani had summoned them, he stared at the knights his men had just captured. “Those of you who choose to join me shall be rewarded accordingly,” he told them, his dark eyes flashing. “The rest will be summarily disposed of.” A low murmur rolled among the knights of Brookshire. Somehow, they knew exactly what summarily disposed of might mean. Several closed their eyes, not wanting to see how they or any of the others who did not join the Vlad would die.
CHAPTER X
“We’re going to miss the celebrations.” Avondale giggled as Aiden hustled her into a dark corner, pushing her skirts up,
“I’ve had enough celebrations to last a life time.” He retorted and kissed her sloppily. They gasped and wrestled with the ties and buttons that were determined to deny them as the music from inside the hall died down briefly and applause broke out. Aiden pulled the front of her dress down, exposing her breasts as he pulled her knees up to his hips and began to pull at her small clothes. Avondale winced; he had no patience, sometimes. He sucked her nipples by turns, and Avondale laughed, pushing his head away,
“You’re not an infant, Aiden.” She said and squirmed away, “And I am not tired of celebrations, come husband.” She said with a grin, and led him into the glittering hall. The dancers were entrancing; lithe, graceful, and utterly beautiful. Avondale clapped her hands together and watched them spin like wind nymphs. “I would have like to be a dancer when I was child.” She said, “But I haven’t the grace. My legs go in different directions.”
“And I’m glad for that.” He said, wheezing when she elbowed him, “you are the picture of grace, my love.” He said when he recovered his composure. She recognized a man in the crowd.
“Is that?” Avondale licked her lips and walked slowly towards the figure, “Shannon?” The man turned and blinked,
“My lady,” Shannon said, bowing almost immediately,
“My love,” Avondale turned to Aiden, “this is Shannon Tethetras, his father was close friends with Master Greendale… what are you doing here?” She asked,
“I… came to see the king. With a message.” He said, “But he is otherwise engaged at the moment.”
“You can give the message to me.” Aiden said and stepped forward, but Shannon stared at him with a blank face,
“I was instructed to give it to the king only.” He said, raising his head when Aiden’s father detached himself from a group, “Excuse me, my lady,” he bowed to Avondale and kissed her hand, “you look radiant as ever, but I must see the king.”
Aiden watched him go with carefully blank eyes,
“I am so glad he has made a name for himself,” Avondale said, clasping his arm, “his father was such a good man, and he has had twice his share of poor luck.” Aiden made a noncommittal sound and pulled her onto the dancefloor, now clear of performers.
When they finished dancing, Aidens father waved them over. Once they were in the hallway, the guests safely ensconced and entranced watching the performance, Aiden called out to the
king. “Father, what is it?” The King of Archibald turned, looking blankly at his son for a long moment as though he had never seen the young man. He frowned slightly when he saw Avondale with him. “My dear, this is a business which you have no part in,” he intoned gravely.
“Sire, if this is something to do with the kingdom of Avondale, I believe I have a vested interest,” she said firmly, hot rage burning in her chest at the presumption. “While I have vowed to build a life with your son, the kingdom of Avondale is where I grew up.” Her gaze was serious. “I recognized the messenger as being from Avondale and know from the look on your face that there is something wrong.” He looked at Aiden, as though he did not quite believe how bold Avondale was. When Aiden smiled and said,
“I love her because she is strong.”
The king appeared to see Avondale for the first time. After a moment, he sighed. “Ridgehand has called a meeting with all the kings of Europia,” he said softly. “There have been two kingdoms thus far that have been decimated, and there are…concerns.” Aiden and Avondale exchanged a significant glance.
“We will go with you,” Aiden said.
His father shook his head.
“No, son. This is a matter not to be taken lightly.” He said, and Avondale nearly screamed in frustration; how dare he? Her kingdom was in danger, her kingdom. Not his and not yet his sons.
“And we are not taking it as such,” Aiden told him. “This is not about family visits, Father. This is about Avondale needing to see why her father has called such a significant meeting. This is about us, as the rulers that will ultimately help take Europia into the next generation, and what we can do to help.” The king looked conflicted, then finally sighed.
“You are right, my boy,” he murmured. “You have every right to be there, to be sure. However, be mindful of your place.”
When she was Queen she would not leave them to speak for her. She itched with the need to be away. The king must have sensed her urgency. With an understanding smile, he patted her on the shoulder and said,
“We leave in the morning, but as I told my son, you must remember your place.”
Avondale nodded, but found a bitter taste in her mouth. She wondered just what he thought her place was.
***
The hazy heat of the day was making his skin burn; Jon had been in the sun for hours, maybe too long… but his body craved the routine that he had left behind. He raised the sword once more, arms trembling imperceptibly as a bead of sweat rolled down his nose and dripped onto the warm sod below his feet. Their garden was a suntrap, but the cool breeze that made its way from the stream made the endeavors less hellish. He was glad that he had removed his shirt, however, as the sheen of sweat across his body would have stuck the fiber of his shirt to everywhere he didn’t want it to. When he stopped, breath burning in his chest, Jon wiped the sweat from his brow and rolled his shoulders, jumping when a hand ran across his back,
“Must you always train, my love?” Fiona teased,
“I am a soldier to my core, love,” he said, “I can do no less.”
“Well, I do find this show of yours interesting.” She kissed his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his waist,
“Do you, m’lady?” He said with a smirk, turning to look down at her, “and how do you intend to pay for this show?” Fiona rolled her eyes and pushed him gently. Jon tripped over his own feet and landed on the grass with a thud. Fiona slid onto his lap,
“Will payment in kind be enough?” She purred, licking his lips. Jon nodded mutely, wondering how he had lived all the years of his career not missing this. She pushed his breeches down hastily and slid onto him,
“No smalls,” he laughed, “you planned this, dirty wench.” Fiona shrugged and ran her hands up his chest as they began to move together. Jon palmed her swelling breasts and groaned, kicking his feet weakly as he tried to dislodge his breeches from his legs, but they only tangled tighter about his ankles. He growled in frustration,
“Shall I stand, love, and let you free yourself.” Fiona laughed and began to pull away. Jon grabbed her hair with one hand, and squeezed her hip with the other,
“Don’t you dare.” He gasped and bucked as best he could. Fiona laughed and pushed her hands onto his chest,
“I like you like this, my love, helpless and at my mercy.” She said, rolling her hips with a smirk. Her belly was swelling now, and when she pulled her dress over her head he ran his hands over the growing bulge. She covered the small red marks that were blossoming there,
“Hush.” He moaned, “You’re beautiful.”
“They are ugly.” She gasped,
“No. They’re not.” He grunted and finished himself with a few short, sharp thrusts. He let his head fall back, and she lay on his chest,
“I rather like having you around, love.” She murmured, running her hands up and down his arms.
CHAPTER XI
Ridgehand, Eaglecross, and Drakho were the kind of men who seemed to take up more room than they had any right to. Avondale looked at them with a heavy, leaden feeling in her stomach. The import of this meeting, most likely, could not be overstated. Avondale eyed the Vlad of Bledd with a kind of morbid curiosity. Everyone knew he was a murderer, a brute, and a first class brigand, and yet he was intelligent, cunning, and handsome in no small way. But Bledd was no kingdom; less than twenty years ago it was still a collection of Warlords bowing to an overlord. Drakho had made it more with iron and blood. And yet he had never been anything but pleasant, flirtatious even, to her.
He was capable of charm, it seemed, but chose to only use it with the fairer sex. His dark eyes flicked to her suddenly, quickly made a survey of her, and narrowed happily as he grace her with a gentle, almost tender smile. Avondale looked down and blushed. She had never noticed other men until she was married, until she knew what men were for, and now she couldn’t escape the way they looked at her, the way they looked. She gripped Aiden’s hand tightly under the table, seeking comfort as well as confirmation. When his thumb stroked her hand she smiled; she loved him so much.
“My royal guardians,” King Ridgehand began, “have discovered that two kingdoms, the kingdoms of Brookshire and Aleadale, have been completely razed.” When Avondale gasped, the king and Aiden stared at him disbelievingly. The whole kingdoms?
“Surely not in entirety, father?” She gasped,
“Are you sure, Ridgehand?” the king of Archibald asked quietly, shooting her a look.
The Vlad leaned forward, his brow furrowed.
“This is extremely troubling. What do you think it means?” He said, great hands clasping in front of his face. How large they were, Avondale realized, and how strong. What must it have been like for the men he had killed to see those hands reaching for them, thrusting a wicked blade at them? What would it be like to have to fight against such strength? Avondale shuddered and suppressed the morbid curiosity that had gripped her; surely all the stories could not be true. Something about him made her aware, however… aware of everything. Of the frailty of her own body, and the massiveness of the others in the room. Of the way every inch of cloth seemed to be stretched across stone, straining against the Vlad’s muscles as if they were battling each other.
“One of my own messengers discovered a lone survivor at Aleadale,” King Ridgehand continued. “She could say nothing, and died soon after, but my men have reported to the court sorcerer and all agree this bears the mark of demonic activity.”
“Revelations, come to life,” Aiden murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully. When Avondale looked questioningly at him, he said, “In the Book of Revelations, it is prophesied that one of the signs of impending Armageddon is demons walking the Earth.”
The kings stared at Aiden as though seeing him for the first time. His father regarded him seriously.
“Aiden, are you sure?” His voice was full of foreboding.
The Vlad laughed.
“There’s no such thing!” he cried, clapping Aiden heartily on the shoul
der. “There’s not even such a thing as a god, and if there were, the closest thing to that would be a king.” Avondale’s blood ran cold at first, and then uncomfortably hot when the Vlad reached over to place a somehow possessive hand on her knee, “You don’t want to frighten your pretty bride, boy, be silent.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the royals, and if the knights that guarded every doorway were affected by it, they made no sign. Instead, King Ridgehand cleared his throat. “Please, I ask each of you – contribute a few of your men to a unity army that I am building so that we can effectively defeat this tyrant, whoever they are, that is bent on destroying kingdoms.”
he Archibald king nodded.
“Absolutely, Ridgehand. I’ll commission some of my best.”
The Vlad was silent for a few moments, his cool gaze revealing nothing.
“Are we sure that we can beat this… thing?”
“Either we stand united, Drakho, or we fall apart,” Ridgehand reminded him. “We also need to ensure we have extra men on patrol on our overnight stations. That appears to be when this sorcerer and its demons,” he practically spat out the word, “strike at our kingdoms. The tyrant seems to know that the gates have minimal manning during this time, and so, that’s when he strikes.” Vlad studied his nails for a long moment, and then glanced at his fellow kings.
