Tamed by the Knight

by Loki Renard

  * * *

  The next morning, Gregory left her sleeping whilst he met with the other knights. She knew that, for she was awake when he departed and she heard the voices of men murmuring plans to meet in the war room. Madeline had plans of her own, plans that did not involve sleeping whilst others defended the kingdom, or hiding her identity a moment longer. Whilst Gregory and the knights of de Griffon gathered themselves, Madeline rose and went into the castle, not to the war room, or the hidey-hole adjacent to it, but the last place she ever thought she would go to prepare for war—her mother’s chamber.

  The Dark King’s men had stripped it of all obvious goods, but Madeline knew of the places that were not obvious, the crevices and the cracks and the secret cupboards where her mother had squirreled away her finest items. It was from this secret stash that Madeline dressed herself anew, shedding the guise of squire in favor of the one role she had always coveted.

  Once rouged and readied, Madeline made her way to the war room. There were guards at the door, but they bowed when she drew near and parted to allow her through. Moving with regal grace, Madeline stepped into the war room.

  Voices had been raised, but they fell silent in her presence. Every eye was locked on her, including Gregory’s gaze, which swept up and down her body with unmistakable admiration. From the slippers on her feet to the gold and emerald crown she had placed upon her head, every inch spoke to a regal presence. Her tall figure was clad in a green gown that fell closely about her frame, the bodice cut low to allow the pale skin of her chest and cleavage to be seen.

  “Princess…”

  Madeline cut the knight off with a gesture. “Queen,” she corrected him flatly. “My father is dead. My mother is gone. My sister is married. That leaves but me, does it not?”

  The knights exchanged looks. They did not know what to make of this apparition. Some of them had known Madeline in her previous incarnation, but none had seen her in such a fashion, taking full stock of her person and her position.

  “Is this how you greet your queen? With slack jaws and dull expressions?”

  There was silence, then the scraping of chairs as the knights did as was expected of them and went to their knees before her. Only one abstained, Gregory. His expression was hard to read.

  “Sir Gregory,” she said, her voice clear and confident. “Is your fealty to the crown changed?”

  “I am married to it, so I will not bow to it,” he said in gravelly tones. “Tied by blood and troth. Rise, gentlemen. We have much to discuss.”

  The knights took their seats again. They were a war-weary lot, disheartened by the loss of their king. Madeline also felt grief, but she would not allow it to consume her. Every bit of sadness was being channeled into the desire for revenge—and in that moment, the desire for Gregory to acknowledge her.

  “Either I am your queen, or you are a traitor,” she declared. “We will either unite this day under this banner, or we will go our separate ways and leave this land to the jackals, but I will not be ignored in my home and hold.”

  The knights were silent. A few of them shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Madeline and Gregory stared at one another in a silent battle of wills. Finally, Gregory came forward, took her hand, and bowed whilst pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Nobody denies your royalty, Madeline,” he murmured. “But if you claim the throne, then I must also claim it, and that is no small matter.”

  “Is there any objection here to taking Sir Gregory as your king? Granted, it is not the normal means of succession, but then again, a king usually rules over more than ashes and broken bodies.”

  There was a murmur of assent amongst the knights. Sir Gregory had long held their respect, and truth be told they were almost certainly more willing to unite behind him rather than the impish princess who had always been trouble.

  “Then it is decided,” Madeline said. “We will have a crown made. In the meantime, we have business to attend to. I would meet with this Dark King.”

  A round of laughter and guffaws erupted at her words.

  “Madeline,” Gregory said, his tone a little too patronizing for her liking. “You cannot simply meet with the Dark King. He will not come to a tea party.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Dark King has no honor. He will cut you down where you stand. He will do unspeakable things to you.”

  “No, he won’t,” Madeline said. “Because he will not know that we are going to meet until we do. This battle will not be won on a battlefield. It will not be won by engaging the enemy in honorable combat. It will be won by fortifying these surrounds to the hilt and drawing the Dark King into the light.”

  “I sense a scheme,” Gregory sighed.

  “It is a scheme,” Madeline acknowledged. “But a goodly one. And as your bold plans have led to nothing besides death and more death, it might do well for you to try another means of besting this brute.”

  Chapter Eight

  After much discussion, Madeline’s plan was adopted by the knights, who reluctantly agreed that their methods of charging into open battle had not fared well where the Dark King was concerned. He was too shifty, too able to escape in such situations. Instead, Madeline had proposed an impromptu meeting of sorts, a meeting of chance in the deep forest where the river ran thick and fast.

  She and Gregory rode together, passing along the stretch of river bank picked with care.

  “He will not come,” Gregory said. “This is not going to work.”

  “Of course it is going to work,” Madeline replied. “What evil man can resist a pretty queen?”

  Gregory cut a dark glance her way, then returned to patrolling the area whilst she dismounted and began to unpack a blanket upon which she placed plates containing slices of ham, boiled eggs, thick hunks of bread, and more.

  Across the other side of the river, something evil stirred. Madeline poured herself a goblet of wine as vicious whispers and dark shadows milled about. She had been seen, just as she had intended to be. Whilst Gregory kept tense watch, Madeline took a little cheese. All the plotting and scheming had made her quite hungry.

  It was just as well she ate, for a few minutes later she saw a sight that made her lose her appetite entirely. The Dark King himself emerged from the forest on the other side of the river. He was a horrible-looking man, very tall and very stout. His face was covered in pockmarks and his beard was patchy from scars where no hair would grow. His black armor no doubt shrouded many more such inadequacies from the world. His hair was long, but stringy and he wore atop his head a crown made from three skulls. He was as gruesome a figure as had ever featured in Madeline’s nightmares, the embodiment of the evil he visited on the world.

  Madeline had taken similar care about her dress, though she had decided on a more appealing aesthetic. Her mother would have been proud, for she had picked a silver and gold robe that was the height of gaudy overdress, but that was guaranteed to catch the eye of a bandit. She looked more than a mere queen; she was as ethereal as an angel on that river bank, sipping wine without so much as a care.

  The location of their meeting had been chosen most deliberately. It was the one place where the river ran so fast and so deep that none had a chance of crossing unharmed. There were bridges several miles upstream and down, but if the Dark King tried to take either of them, he would find his forces cut off by Madeline’s knights and the able-bodied men who remained and were willing to hold swords.

  “Who are you?” The beast of a man shouted the question across the waters.

  “I am the queen de Griffon,” Madeline declared, rising gracefully to her feet, goblet of wine still clasped in her elegant hand. “You are trespassing.”

  “I am invading,” the Dark King replied, baring his teeth in a snarling grin. “It’s allowed.” His grin turned into a leer. “Your husband married well.”

  “The man you murdered was my father, not my husband,” Madeline replied. “You should have let him live. He would have settled for driving you from the k
ingdom. I will not stop until you are vanquished.”

  Bearded with blood, the Dark King laughed. “You, a mere girl, you think you can stand against me where a dozen kings have died?”

  “I do.”

  “You are brave. I will enjoy my sport with you.”

  “Please do,” Madeline replied. “When I string your entrails upon my castle walls and send your head about the countryside on a pike, that will be the end of it.”

  The bandit threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. “The yapping of a whelp,” he said. “The words do not match your tender face, or your dulcet tones. But let me make some threats in return. I will let my men make free with you until there is nothing left.”

  “Which men are those? The ones skulking like frightened squirrels?” Madeline smirked and sipped, for she could see that the bandit was not alone. A handful of men milled about the trees beyond, their dark armor doing little to hide their presence.

  “You have a bold tongue,” the Dark King noted. “I will eat it, I think.”

  “I will serve your testicles to your widow,” Madeline replied, not to be outdone.

  “My wife is long dead.”

  “Apologies,” Madeline replied with reflexive politeness. “You will see her again soon enough, I will see to that.”

  The Dark King let out a rough laugh. “If words were weapons, I would already be slain, but you have nothing besides pretty sounds on your side.”

  “And on yours you have the scum of the earth. Scum dries and flakes in the light of day. I will turn a light on you brighter than the sun,” Madeline vowed. “You will be blinded where you stand when my vengeance comes upon you.”

  Her pretty speech was interrupted by a clamoring in the distance. She did not mind, for she knew the source of it. She too had split her forces, and whilst Gregory had her back and other knights watched the bridges, there were yet other parties about in the forest.

  “That is the sound of forest burning and of your camp being ransacked,” Madeline said. “We will rout you from every hiding place, we will light a thousand candles and destroy the shadows. There will not be a place to hide.”

  “I have many camps.” Some of the certainty had deserted the Dark King’s tone. She could hear the concern in his growl as he looked over his shoulder, fearing an ambush. The hunter had become the hunted, and he did not like it one bit.

  “I know,” Madeline replied. “And we will take each and every one of them. There are eyes everywhere, seeking you out. The birds will tell the tales of your comings and goings, the stones themselves will spell out the day and time of your destruction. Farewell. We will meet again.”

  She turned and walked into the trees with a sense of triumph, knowing that she had stirred fear in the Dark King’s camp, and made some headway toward his destruction.

  Gregory was waiting with Hexmark and Melyngar. “Come,” he said. “Your taunting has riled the enemy and they are eager for blood. Let us make haste back to the castle.”

  Madeline mounted and rode with him back along the route they had picked out. As they rode, she could not help but notice that Gregory was not overly pleased even though the plan had been executed to perfection. His brow was furrowed, his shoulders tense.

  “You are not happy,” she said, coming up alongside him. “What troubles you?”

  “You trouble me,” he said. “Today you taunt a dangerous bandit whilst I stand watch. What of tomorrow? What plan will you concoct then? The knights are impressed by your blood and your statue, but they do not know you as I do.”

  “Ah,” she said with a playful smile. “You do not trust yourself.”

  He shot her a dark look. “What do you mean, wench?”

  “I mean you fear that I have more sway as queen than you do as king. You think I will run off with your merry band of knights.”

  “I do not think so,” Gregory laughed, his expression lightening. “But you are right, Madeline. If you are a strong queen, that means I must be a stronger king. Remind me to whip you when we return.”

  “Whip me, why?”

  “You will be whipped daily, your highness. I decree it.”

  Madeline hoped he spoke in jest; there was a twinkle in his eye, but she was not certain of the source.

  They returned to Griffon Hold without further incident and soon the knights joined them at the castle, having lost none of their number but having dispatched many of the Dark King’s men. Their spirits were high and infectious and the evening was full of drink and music and carousing with the womenfolk of the town who came up to the castle under the guise of seeking protection, but remained to passionately kiss the brave men who had so valiantly fought.

  Gregory and Madeline retired from the celebration early and took themselves up to his chamber in the knight’s tower. They had not yet abandoned that sleeping place, though it had been refurnished with a bed and table salvaged from the lesser damaged rooms.

  “Come, my king,” Madeline said, skipping onto the bed. “Bow before your queen.”

  Gregory removed his shirt, smirking darkly at Madeline as she swayed back and forth atop the bed, slightly tipsy from the wine she had imbibed during the celebrations. “I will have you bowed before me,” he threatened gently. “I will have your skirts over your head as I plough your furrow.”

  “Are you a king or a farmer?”

  “I am your husband,” he said, coming to her and taking her by the hand. “Now come down off there before you fall.”

  Madeline let her legs go out from under her, sprawling on the bed beneath Gregory. “I enjoyed myself today,” she said, her words slurring slightly. “I faced the brute and I was not afraid.”

  “You enjoyed that far too much,” Gregory growled. “Though I will admit, it was a fine speech. Sit up now, that gown is far too heavy for sleeping in and you need your rest. You are exhausted, Madeline.”

  She sat up and allowed him to begin performing the duties of lady-in-waiting, unlacing her from the gown that held her as tightly as a snake might hold its prey. His fingers were nimble as they loosed the many laces holding the dress together and soon she was freed from its grasp, left in nothing but a light silk slip. Gregory cast the gown away and looked down at her, his brow raised as she smiled up at him.

  “I do worry about you, Madeline.”

  “Worry about me? Do not worry about me, I have proved my aptitude for war, have I not? We have already made great strides and it has been but a day. Imagine what we might do in a week, or a month. In a year the world might be ours.”

  “I worry for your soul.”

  His words deflated her expansionary plans. She looked at him and saw a sadness in his eyes. He was genuinely concerned for her, that much she could see as he sat down next to her and ran his fingers through her hair.

  “You were an innocent when we met,” he said. “Now you have seen so much, done so much…”

  “Innocence is fleeting,” Madeline replied. “If I am only to be valued for my innocence, then it were better I died before I became a woman. Innocence is nothing but an absence, and I will not mourn its loss.”

  He looked at her a long moment, then nodded. “Perhaps innocence is not such a loss when it is replaced by wisdom. When you are not being a wild scamp, you are an impressive woman, my queen.”

  Madeline flashed a smile at him. “And I have only been queen a few days; imagine how impressive I might be in a matter of weeks or years…”

  “I can imagine,” he said, cutting her off with a kiss as he let his hands drift down, grasp the hem of her slip, and draw it up over her head until she sat naked on the bed. He then traced his fingers over her shoulders, chest, breasts, and stomach before caressing her thighs. “You are beautiful, Madeline,” he said, his voice reverent. “Let me protect you.”

  Madeline laid back, spreading her thighs akimbo. “Do not worry about protecting me, Gregory. Take me whilst we still have the chance.”

  Gregory’s clothing was quickly shed, but he did not take her a
s she ordered. Instead he turned her on her stomach and plied his hand against her cheeks. The slaps were too soft to be of any real use as a punishment; they were more like the crown Madeline wore, a symbol of sorts. She closed her eyes as he gently slapped her bottom, listening to the pitter-patter of his palm falling softly like rain against her tender flesh.

  The bold young queen must have been more tired and tipsy than she had let on, or perhaps more soothed by spanking than she would ever have admitted. At any rate, she was soon fast asleep under her king’s capable palm.

  Chapter Nine

  Three weeks later, much had been accomplished under Queen Madeline de Griffon’s reign. Led by King Gregory, the remaining thirteen knights led thirteen parties made up of soldiers and townsfolk and peasants motivated to take up arms in protection of their kingdom. A new wave of equality had swept the kingdom, for where men were few, all were valued.

  The castle town had been organized and the rebuild was already underway. Wood from the sacrificed forest was being hauled back under the watchful eyes of armed men. It was a dangerous task, but every tree downed made the countryside safer from the Dark King.

  Spirits were surprisingly high. Though everybody had suffered losses of both loved ones and material possessions, the act of creating new homes and starting gardens anew was healing in and of itself. Canvas tents and open fires provided shelter and warmth for the townsfolk, and Madeline had ordered all provisions to be equally split between all those in the town and the castle. Some of the knights had not taken kindly to the regime, they were used to feasting at the expense of peasants, but every living soul was important in Madeline’s opinion. If the peasants were to starve, then the town would wither and die. There would be no kingdom without subjects.