by Loki Renard
Every day, new people were arriving from the outlying towns, seeking the safety of the castle’s ramparts. New walls were being constructed to allow the town to grow, and by night peasants and noblemen stood watch shoulder to shoulder. Pitchforks were brandished alongside swords, shaggy mutts howled defiance into the shadows.
The night remained dangerous. The Dark King had undeniable advantage under cover of darkness. The moon and her silver glow was Madeline’s ally in keeping her people safe. And at her right hand, guiding her, loving her, watching over her at all times, was Gregory.
The war had settled into a steady state of skirmishes. Scouts revealed that The Dark King’s forces were becoming demoralized and some had left his service. Several camps had been razed, pushing the bandits further back into what remained of the forest.
The land itself was scarred by the war. Where great tracts of trees had once stood, the earth was scorched and bare. Life was resilient though, and amongst the ashes, shoots were beginning to sprout in newly fertile soil. Some brave souls had taken to tilling new fields in the land reclaimed from the forest, watched over by soldiers with swords and war hounds who dozed in the warm sun but were ever ready to leap into action should the Dark King’s forces break through.
“We are winning this war,” Madeline said, pleased as she looked over the bustling activity. “We have driven back the shadows.”
“We cannot afford to declare victory just yet,” Gregory replied. He was still in his knight’s trappings. He refused to wear fine furs or don a crown. “The Dark King is still out there. We have not broken him yet.”
“Not completely, perhaps, but we will,” Madeline replied. “Word is already beginning to spread to other kingdoms. The Dark King will find himself met with this resistance wherever he goes. Sooner or later, he will perish.”
Gregory turned to his wife, his expression grave. “Forgive me if I am not content with sooner or later, Madeline. We all perish sooner or later. I do not intend on letting him draw breath much longer. Today I will take my men and we will push forward in hopes of drawing the bandit into a final battle.”
“Oh, good!” Madeline clapped her hands together, then lifted them to remove the crown from her head. “I will get my mail.”
“You will do no such thing,” Gregory replied. “You will stay here and you will stay safe.”
The queen let out a whine that made Nosewise cock his head. The faithful hound had returned to be by Gregory’s side. “How many times must I prove myself worthy,” she complained. “I will come to this final stand. It is only right that I be there when he is vanquished.”
“You will come upstairs to our chamber,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her into the castle.
“Yes, because I have always preferred hiding in a corner to being a part of things,” Madeline said, trying to tug her hand away. Gregory was unswayed. When she did not walk willingly, he slapped her bottom in front of all and sundry until she skipped and yelped in a most unbecoming manner. This continued all the way up to their chamber, where he finally let her go and she rounded on him, hands on hips.
“I am the queen,” she hissed. “I will not be treated like some naughty servant. I am not your squire or your slave. I am the one who rules this kingdom.”
Gregory looked at her with a vaguely indulgent expression that drove her mad. He did not need to say it. She might have been queen, but he had become ruler by merit of his manhood whilst she would never be more than a fertile figurehead whose dresses were admired and opinions ignored.
“This is not what I wanted,” she said, stamping her foot. “I have proved myself, Gregory, I have…”
“Madeline,” Gregory grabbed her by the hand and pulled her back toward him. “I don’t care if you are queen of all the known world. I am your husband and you will obey me.”
She cut her eyes at him. “My people need me.”
“Yes. Your people need you to stay alive. You have guided your knights well. Let them take on the dangerous tasks. The closer the Dark King comes to extinction, the more dangerous he becomes.”
“He is of no danger to me,” Madeline declared.
“The true danger is that you are starting to believe the things you say. You make pretty speeches, my sweet, but a blade can strike you down as easily as it strikes anyone else.”
“Unhand me,” Madeline ordered. “I will not tolerate your lecturing.”
“You will not just tolerate it. You will mind my words. I am your knight, your husband, and your king.” The planes of Gregory’s face grew harder and more handsome as he set his jaw. He was beginning to lose patience with her. She knew it, but she did not care.
“You would be nothing if I had not saved the kingdom,” she declared.
“A thousand hands have saved this kingdom, you arrogant little wench.” Gregory sat on their bed, pulled her over his thigh, and slapped her bottom hard, giving her no quarter and showing her no mercy. “Overconfidence kills. You have so much of it I wonder you don’t choke on it.”
Madeline screeched in response to the uncomfortable reminder that no matter how powerful she became, Gregory was still bigger and stronger. He held her squirming frame in place with one hand and used the other to belabor her bottom until it felt as though she’d sat down in a hornet’s nest, throwing her skirts up to slap her bare quivering cheeks, which never seemed to become acquainted to being thrashed no matter how many times Gregory did it.
He slapped her bottom and her thighs, landing great whacks on her pink rounds until she bucked against his thighs and demanded he cease at once. Of course he did not cease. He redoubled his disciplinary efforts until Madeline felt tears springing to her eyes as her bottom burned with a flame she knew would not abate for many hours.
“Mercy,” she cried. “Mercy.”
“Will you do as I have instructed?” Gregory palmed her bottom. “It is important, Madeline. It is vital to our success that you stay here, in this room. Many lives depend upon it. You must promise me you will not leave this chamber until I return.”
It was not a promise she wanted to make, but with her bottom aflame and her tender thighs bearing the brunt of his persuasion, she did not have much choice in the matter. Gregory’s will was greater than her own.
“Very well, you brute,” she said. “I will stay here. Good luck to you out there. May you keep your head.”
“Do not be waspish with me, woman,” Gregory said, taking her in his arms and kissing her thoroughly as he let his hand drift over her naked nether regions, rubbing and stroking some of the pain away. “I do this for your own good, to ensure your safety.”
“I bet you never did this to the king,” she sniffed.
“There are advantages to having a queen,” he replied with a grin. “You make for an infinitely more manageable monarch.”
With a swift, though passionate kiss, he laid her down on the bed. “Remember, Madeline. No matter what may happen this day. I love you. I would give my life a thousand times for you, but I can do so only once.”
“I love you too, you great brute,” she replied. “Don’t you dare let the Dark King slay you.” Her eyes welled with fresh tears that had nothing to do with the heat in her posterior and everything to do with the thought of losing the man who had put it there. Never before had he been so insistent on keeping her safe, which could only mean that he was going to face a danger like never before.
“I promise you,” Gregory said. “I will come back alive, or die trying.”
Madeline smiled through her tears as he kissed her yet again, murmuring sweet words that sounded far too much like goodbyes for her liking.
“I must go now, Madeline,” he said. “Stay here, and no matter what, remember I am with you.”
She nodded, trying to be brave as he stood straight and gave her one of those winks that made her heart race, then left the room with one final bow.
For long minutes, Madeline tried to calm herself. Gregory was strong and brave and capable beyond c
ompare, she knew that. She knew too that the knights of Griffon Hold had rallied most strongly and were not in a mood to be bested. But there was an air of sorrow about his leaving, one she could not shake. For once in her life, Madeline thought perhaps she would do as she was told. She did not want to cause Gregory any distraction on the battlefield. He must put all his energies into the final push.
Caught up in such thoughts, Madeline ignored the first two rounds of knocking at her chamber door. It was only upon the third setting of fist to wood that she got up and opened it.
“Wha…”
She had meant to demand what the meaning of the intrusion was, but she had been roughly pushed back into the room by a washerwoman with an untoward amount of strength. The portly lady was clad in old clothes and stank like three-day-old sewage.
“What are you doing?”
“Laundry day!” The lady pushed back her cowl, revealing herself as no lady at all, but a hairy old bandit. Madeline wished she were surprised, but she was not. She had used the washer lady disguise herself far too many times to find it plausible when worn by a man. “Just joking,” he said in rough, cruel tones. “I’m here to kidnap you, aren’t I?”
“To what end?” Madeline scooted around behind the bed, wishing Gregory had not cleared the room of weapons. His caution was now to be her undoing as the brawny man in a dress followed after her.
“To complete our queens of the Isles set,” the bandit laughed. “We got the queen of Loth, the queen of Dyfed, the queen of Gwent—”
“So the Dark King sent you,” Madeline said, leaping over the bed.
“The Dark King sent a lot of us,” the bandit said, his voice getting quite high pitched with glee. “You thought you were so smart burning down the forests, but all we did is move into your town. Can’t tell the difference between a loyal serf and a bandit in disguise now, can you?”
Beaten at her own game, Madeline felt a begrudging respect for the Dark King’s resourcefulness. The castle town had grown in leaps and bounds and though there had been no obvious troublemakers, there were clearly double agents in their midst. How many of those ruddy-cheeked peasants had secretly been in the Dark King’s employ? She might never know.
“Well,” she said, edging around toward the still open door. “Good for you.”
Lifting her skirts, she made a dash for freedom. But alas, the bandit had not come alone. As she rushed out the door, a sack was put over her head and her world was plunged into darkness. Rough hands laid a hold of her, clamping over her mouth so she could make no sound but that of muffled complaint.
Carried out through the castle, Madeline found herself disguised as a bundle of washing, carried by brawny washerwomen-men who kept her contained with sheer brutish force. She could not move inside the dirty laundry, her arms and legs were tangled in the sheets, and she had to concentrate on breathing instead of fighting.
Madeline found herself tossed into a cart. It did not smell pleasant. It reeked of the sweat and emissions of rough men so thickly it made her dry retch and thrash about until her nose managed to break free of the sheets. She inhaled deeply and pushed the rest of the way out.
“Don’t go anywhere,” her captor grunted. “Move and I’ll cut yer legs off.”
Madeline scowled. “That’s a ridiculous threat. If you cut my legs off, this will all have been in vain. A legless queen is not worth a thing!”
She had to bide her time, for the rough men were watching her closely and there was nobody to aid her. They had taken her from the hold without raising any suspicions and now they were taking her to the forest, likely to the lair of the Dark King himself. The moment they seemed distracted, Madeline pushed off the side of the cart and made a mad dash at speed across open ground. They might have been stronger, but she was much faster. She might very well have escaped if it had not turned out that there were more accomplices about. She had not run fifty yards when a rider galloped up, overtook her, and scooped her up over the saddle. He kept her in place with one strong hand bunched in the back of her dress as he rode deep into the last remaining forest.
A light was burning between the trees, a signal in a clearing. Rider and horse picked their way through the trees with Madeline held firmly in place. Though she did her best to squirm free, she could not, for the bandit’s grip was as strong as an iron band. She was thoroughly stuck in place until he dismounted, taking her with him into the clearing.
At first there was nobody there, just the fire burning. Then, as one man, twelve bandits stepped into the space, taking their places in a ring around the fire. They must have been lurking in the trees beyond. Madeline had not seen hide nor hair of them on her approach.
The final horror came when the Dark King himself walked into the middle of the circle. He stood mere feet away from Madeline, his vile form strong and bold as ever.
“Unhand me,” Madeline growled at her captor. To her surprise, he did allow her to take a step or two away to face the Dark King on her own. Eyes darting about the clearing, Madeline looked for some means of escape, but there was none. She was ringed by men capable of catching her long before she broke through their ranks.
“Queen Madeline,” the Dark King sneered. “Or is it just Madeline. There has been no coronation, though your father is certainly no longer capable of wearing the crown. Doesn’t have the head for it anymore.” He laughed heartily at his joke, sounding like a baying jackal.
Madeline could not hide the derision on her face as she faced the man. “What do you want from me?”
“What do you think I want from you? Your heart, sweet princess.” He laughed at his jest yet again. The Dark King had no concept of heart, Madeline doubted that one deigned to beat in his chest. He was animated by pure maleficence. Evil, not blood flowed in his veins.
“You will regret this,” she informed the Dark King. “You may take me, but you will never take this land. Every day the numbers of brave citizens swell, ready to fight for their kingdom. My father fell before me and when I am gone there will be another to take my place. There is already a king to take the crown. You do not have him, and you never will.”
“Bold words,” the Dark King laughed. “But where is this king now? Where is your doting husband?”
“Killing what remains of your men, I’ll warrant.”
“What remains of my men are those you see around you,” the Dark King replied. “Maybe he is not as faithful as you think. Maybe he is sinking his flesh between a maid’s thighs.”
“If you will kill me, do it quickly,” Madeline replied with an exaggerated sigh. “It is simply cruel to kill a woman through tedious conversation.”
“Oh, I will kill you,” the Dark King leered. “But I will make you pray for it first. You will beg me to kill you ere the end.”
His threat made Madeline’s blood grow cold, but she would not allow him to see her fear. If she was to die, then she would not go easily. There were armed men all about her, but they were so arrogant and confident that none of them were properly guarding their swords. She took two swift steps and took hold of the first blade that came to hand from a bandit to her left. It slid from its scabbard with a singing tone and was ready to rend flesh before anyone was the wiser.
“Good,” the Dark King laughed. “You will make this a fine sport.”
Madeline held the blade out in front of her as she had seen knights do so many times before. Her hands were shaking and the blade trembled, but she would not go quietly. She would not be a passive victim to the man who had killed her father.
“The first man who comes to me will lose a limb,” she declared with a viciousness she did not feel. She was quite terrified, surrounded by evildoers, completely outmatched and outnumbered. There could be no escape, no happy ending. This would end in blood.
“Lay down your sword, Madeline.”
The words did not come from the Dark King, but from the man standing to her right. She recognized the voice instantly, but she could not understand from whence it came as it s
eemed to be issuing from an oversized fellow with a beer belly and a beard of such unprecedented bushiness that it could have hidden an entire family of rats for the winter.
“Do not be afraid,” he said. “You are not in any danger.”
She looked into the great man’s eyes and saw two slivers of blue looking out at her. Gregory. It was he, disguised to the hilt in filthy clothing and excess stuffing, but undeniably him. She let out a shout of excitement and looked toward the Dark King with an expression of triumph.
“My husband is here,” she declared. “By my side.”
“Another little lamb to the slaughter,” the Dark King laughed. “Any fool might creep into my camp, but I promise you, neither of you shall leave here alive.”
“Enough.” Gregory lifted his voice with deep authority, his resonant tones making the Dark King’s raucous laughter sound like that of a mad jackal in comparison. “Lay your weapons down. The game is up. We will make no more sport today.”
The Dark King laughed. “Fool! My men will tear you to pieces and feast on your still-beating heart. Men, have at him!”
Not a soul stirred. The clearing was deadly quiet, a dozen men staring at the Dark King and Gregory. Madeline did not understand what was taking place, but she sensed that fate had turned in their favor. The Dark King had lost his sway.
The man raised his voice in a feral roar. “I said kill him! Crush his skull and cast his brain upon the fire! Turn his gizzards to string and his skin to leather!”
Still the bandits were oddly reluctant to do so. Not a single one of them moved a muscle. Every eye was locked on the Dark King as the man came to a realization that made his jaw drop open as a wordless gasp issued from his vile throat.
Gregory stepped forward then, casting his fake beard aside to stand in all his handsome glory. “Your men are long dead, Batheor. You are surrounded by the knights of de Griffon and in the presence of the queen. Take your knee, sir. This is how it ends for you.”
