by Ava Sinclair
“These marks.” The light coming through the window was highlighting dozens of little scratches that covered the flawless ivory skin. The physician looked at Xander. “Do you know how they came to be?”
Xander looked at her. “Why are you so marked?”
She laughed. “Why don’t you ask the kindly nurses you employ,” she hissed. “They do enjoy their little torments—dousing me in ice water, scrubbing me raw. You would be proud.”
His face grew stormy, and she realized his anger was not directed at her. “It will not happen again,” he said in a tone Avin knew all too well. She realized then that the nurses would not return. But if this was a victory, it was short-lived.
“She was herded through the streets, through filth,” the physician said. “You should check to make sure she is clean below.”
Avin flushed. She’d always been meticulous, and nothing on the street had happened to indicate that the soft, aching spot between her legs had been affected. But she recognized that this exam was more than medical; it was also meant to school her in Xander’s power—a power never more evident than when he pushed her thighs apart and brushed the curls of her pussy with his hand.
She was being stroked in full view of the physician. And even worse, her body was betraying her with its response. Avin had to fight to keep her hips from arching up against the familiar hand that had brought her equal amounts of pain and pleasure, from gravitating toward the touch she craved.
“Don’t…” She whispered the word, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as the king’s fingers parted her labia. She was trembling with indignation and need, hating the finger that traced the slickening folds even as she longed for its entry into her pulsing core.
“Pink and healthy,” Xander said to the physician. He looked down at Avin, his eyes locking with hers. “Had she married, her husband would have been a fortunate man.”
The comment was a barb that struck its target. A painful lump formed in her throat.
Xander removed his hand, but not before his thumb deliberately brushed her swelling clit. Avin bit her lip, but could not suppress her whimper.
“She’s thin,” the physician said. “And pale. And you say she’s not eating, Your Highness?”
Avin dug her nails into her palms when she heard the title. Her anger only increased when Xander answered the physician without so much as a glance at her.
“She refused the first meal I offered. She did eat last night, at my feet. This morning, however, her appetite was wanting.”
The physician turned to his pouch and fished out something that looked like an elongated egg flecked with green.
“Since she’s not wanting to take much food, this is the best way to deliver medicine that will restore her appetite. There are also herbs in here to enrich her blood.”
As the physician talked, he and Xander began to undo the restraints. Avin, still pondering how they expected her to swallow the large egg-shaped pill, realized the awful truth as they flipped her over. It was not a pill, but a bolus to be inserted into her bottom. Such treatments were not unknown to her, but she’d never been subject to one.
“Please… no… you can’t mean to…” She couldn’t continue the sentence. Her hands and feet were bound once more before she could even think to fight her way free, and Xander lifted her hips as the physician placed a rolled coverlet beneath her. Her bare bottom was now hiked up, her thighs splayed. Her bottom hole, she knew, was as visible and accessible as her pussy.
The king would, he announced, insert the medicine into her bottom. Avin buried her face in the bedclothes, trying to distance herself from the sensation of his finger pressing against her twitching bottom hole. The memory of the punishment she’d dreamt of the night before resurfaced, along with her shame and need. She felt the bolus, made of wax and fat and other ingredients, replace Xander’s finger. Avin tried to move her hips away, but could not. A hand slipped between her legs, steadying her with a palm that cradled her Venus mound. She could feel the bolus breach the tight ring of muscles, could feel her pussy pulsing at the familiar, forbidden sensation that evoked memories of taboo moments with the man she once loved.
“It’s almost finished,” he said, and she felt his finger follow the bolus until both were buried in her bottom. “You were very good. Very good indeed.”
The finger was withdrawn, and Xander stood and walked to the door. The physician followed him and Avin lay there, listening to their quiet voices. The bolus felt larger than it looked; she was aware of its presence, of the message he’d inserted along with the medicine: he could do as wished with her any time, at his leisure. He was the king. She was his slave, a thing to be used. Nothing more. She wanted to hate him, so why was her pussy all but dripping at the thought of her own helplessness to his power?
When the physician had departed, Xander fetched a chemise, undid Avin’s bonds, and dressed her.
“You are cruel,” she said.
“I am not.” He sat down on the bed beside her. “And as you are in my care, your health is my responsibility.”
“Oh, spare me your false concern,” she said bitterly. “If my health ever mattered to you, you would not have walled me up in my own castle. You would not have tempted my people with summer fruits, nor told them that the only way to end winter’s grip was to overthrow their queen and replace her with a king who would return spring to Windbourne.” She paused. “Your throne is built on a falsehood.”
Xander stared down at her. Then he looked away and rubbed his jaw before looking back at her.
She could see he was about to say something but instead, he stood.
“Rest,” he said. “That’s an order. By this evening you will be moved to a chamber next to mine. Behave and you will be rewarded. Disobey and you will be punished. Severely.”
Avin looked up at him, ready to offer a retort. But it died in her throat when she realized he was not meeting her gaze. Something was troubling her former lover, the king. But the man who would master her gave no indication as to what it was. A moment later, he was gone.
Chapter Seven
Cynric watched King Xander pace back and forth. There was anger in every stride, and he was fully prepared to bear the brunt of it.
“This is not how I wanted to achieve victory.” Xander’s voice was shaking with indignation.
“Does it matter?” Cynric asked, but he already knew the answer before Xander even answered.
“It does to a moral man,” Xander said.
Cynric stood, closing the book he’d been reading. “I deserve that,” he said. “And I know you are a man of action, a soldier. But consider, Xander, that there are many weapons in a war. Was it so wrong to use the villagers’ beliefs to our advantage? We knew spring was coming to Windbourne; it had already come to the south. Had we relied on breaking them militarily, in the time it took, more would have died from hunger. Ultimately, promising a new king who could restore spring won our objective from within. We overthrew Avin; isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I wanted a fair fight, Cynric,” Xander shot back, clenching and unclenching his fist as he paced. “I didn’t want her maligned and disgraced for something she couldn’t control.”
Cynric arched a thin brow. “You speak very passionately on behalf of a woman you claim not to love.”
Xander placed his hands on his hips and moved over to where the advisor sat. “Don’t test me, Cynric.”
“I deserved that, too,” Cynric said coolly. Then he sighed. “I serve two masters in this house, Xander—you and your father. You are both very different men. Your father was in favor of this plan.”
“I should have been told!” Xander slammed a fist down on the table, nearly upsetting a cup of wine. But the advisor didn’t flinch.
“I agree.” Cynric nodded. “And I hope you can forgive me and accept that I will never betray you again.”
“Were it any other man, Cynric, I would not forgive,” Xander finally said with a weary shake of his head. “I know you have my best in
terest at heart. But now I understand Avin’s hatred for me.” He paused. “Although, in truth, how could she have ever loved me if she betrayed me.”
“Hmm…” Cynric tented his fingers. “She resents you for lying to her people, even though you had nothing to do with it. You resent her for lying to you when she said she loved you. Are you sure that was her plan? Do you really know the story behind her betrayal?”
“How could I? Avin would give me angry tears before words.”
Cynric chuckled. “I’ve always found the best way to find information, my liege, is to ask. Perhaps just as you draw out her submission through training, you can also draw from her the truth of what actually happened.”
“I’m not sure I want to know,” Xander said. “Already my father bristles over Avin being allowed to live. I’m quite sure he’ll be even angrier when he hears I’m moving her from that tower.”
“Your father is not as wise, or as good, as you are, Your Highness,” Cynric said. “From the time you were a lad, I knew you’d be the better man. I believe he knows it, too. And you understand matters as your father does not. Things ebb and flow, and wrongs have a way of being righted. Yes, you must master Avin, but in a way that makes her your ally. Perhaps if you take the time to learn her story, you will earn her obedience, and her trust.” The advisor put a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “You cannot have spring without winter.” Cynric winked knowingly. “Remember that.”
Chapter Eight
“I trust the new chamber is to your liking?”
It was the first time he’d seen Avin since having her moved from the drafty tower to the large room next to his, complete with adjoining quarters a nursemaid to replace the two he’d dismissed from caring for Avin.
“As confinement goes, my own room is better than a prison tower,” she said, but he noted she did not thank him.
“You’ll find your new maid to be an improvement over the other two.” Xander crossed his broad arms over his chest. “I do not want cold surroundings or care to distract you from the training.”
She smirked. “Do you really think this show of kindness will make me yield?”
Xander ignored her comment and walked over to the table. He’d had food brought to her, along with the message that while she’d still eat from his hand publicly, in private Avin would now be allowed to eat on her own. Now he observed that she’d eaten the bread and fish and leeks, but the tomatoes—firm, red, round slices—sat untouched.
“You did not finish your food,” he said.
“I lost my appetite for tomatoes the day a rotten one hit me in the head,” came the reply.
Xander glanced up. “It’s hardly the tomato’s fault.”
“No,” she said. “It’s the king’s.” Another smirk. “I’ve lost my appetite for him, too.”
Xander approached her now. Avin stood her ground, and he could see that she was struggling to affect a cool demeanor.
“The former statement I believe,” he said. “But the latter I know to be a lie. When I examined you under the physician’s watch, I felt a familiar wetness.”
Her hand flew up before she could stop it and Xander caught it easily.
“No, my brave little pet. It is not for you to strike me.” Xander took hold of Avin’s collar and led her to a wall. Reaching up, he pulled down a small tapestry that had hung there since she was a child. Two chains with manacles were now attached to the walls, and before Avin could pull away, the king had taken her right wrist and secured it above her.
Xander used his body to pin her against the wall as he secured her left wrist to the other manacle. When he stepped back, he knew he’d made the right decision to restrain Avin for her first training session. The look in her eyes was feral, and her chest heaved against the rough fabric of her simple gown.
It was, he realized, the moment of truth. He was silent as he stared at her—this beautiful former lover who’d betrayed him, this former queen chained to the wall of what used to be her own chamber. And he knew Cynric was right. How he handled Avin now would determine whether he won her true obedience or a begrudging compliance that would be obvious to any observer.
Xander realized he wanted the former as much as he’d ever wanted anything, and his cock strained against his breeches at the thought of it.
A king must keep control, he told himself, and stepped forward.
She continued to glare as he took the small knife he’d removed from his belt to cut the top of her gown. The room was silent save for the sound of ripping fabric as he rent it from top to bottom.
“Brute,” she said. “Is this the only way you can undress a woman now?”
He stood from where he’d finished ripping the hem, surprised that she’d not kicked him. Xander gave Avin a small smile as he stared into her eyes—eyes that burned with an icy flame of her rage.
“I am happy to destroy this gown,” he said. “It does not suit you. From now on, you will wear only the best gowns—gowns befitting a slave of the king.” He looked down. Her body was achingly beautiful. He was seized by a desire to see more of her, and was rougher than he intended when he cut the gown off her shoulders and pulled the two halves away, leaving her naked before him.
She needed to eat more. Avin had always been tall and thin, but curvy nonetheless. She was still shapely, but her hipbones jutted out more than he liked. Her collarbone, too. He would, he told himself, have her obedient and eating. He would restore her softness, in both body and soul.
Xander turned and walked over to a trunk at the foot of her bed. When he was readying her chamber, in addition to the installation of the manacles, he also went through her belongings—fine gowns that had hung unworn for long months in her vast wardrobe, jewels she likely would have traded for food had not his forces surrounded her city, trapping her inside. From what he’d been told, it was a worn and simple gown they’d stripped from her when she’d been marched from the camp where she’d been taken back to the castle. He also knew that the larders were nearly empty when the castle was stormed. Avin had suffered along with her people. But he had to put compassion out of his mind. Now, he had to focus on her training. Reaching into the trunk, he picked up a riding crop lying atop a folded velvet riding habit. When he turned to walk back toward his former lover, he could see the defiance in her eyes edged with wariness.
“So now what will you do?” she asked. “Beat me across the breasts as you did across my bottom? Mark my legs and belly?”
“No.” He shook his head, tapping the leather tab on the edge of the crop against his broad, callused palm. “Or have you forgotten the other paths to submission?”
She was breathing heavily, no longer able to hide her nervousness. Her breasts, still full and firm, heaved.
Xander knew she was still expecting him to hit her. Instead, he stepped forward and lowered his head to capture the tip of her right breast in his mouth. Ignoring her curses, he drew on the rosy peak of a nipple until it hardened under his tongue. Then he worried that tight little nub with his teeth.
He was holding her still with his hands on her long waist. The cool skin was flushing with warmth now, her breath coming in pants. The string of curses was now interrupted by the unbidden moan tinged with frustration.
Xander lifted his head.
“Still sweet as summer fruit,” he said, looking into her eyes. They were glittering with angry tears.
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
He stepped back. “Open your legs.”
“I’ll die before I open my legs to you.”
“No, you won’t.” He placed the tab of the crop atop her Venus mound, rubbing it back and forth. Then he flicked the tip to the right, stinging her upper thigh. When Avin automatically jerked her leg in response, he flicked the crop again, catching the inside of the same thigh.
“Open your legs.”
“No!” She screamed the word, straining outward from the bonds.
Xander remained completely calm as he flicked her thig
hs. Each time she opened her legs a bit, attempts to close them were met with several flicks of the crop. The tab of the crop was leaving tiny welts on her legs, like dozens of little stings. The king was methodical in his delivery, and inch by inch Avin parted her legs, conditioned by his persistent discipline to keep them apart.
“That’s my good lass,” he said, and the comment wrung a sob from his captive as Xander found himself repeating the words he’d so often used when she’d submitted to him before their separation.
For the briefest moment, he was seized by the desire to undo the bonds, to draw her into his arms. But he could not show mercy. Not yet. He looked down, realizing her tears were as much from shame as sadness. The tiny welts on the insides of her thighs were slick with arousal.
Xander stepped back, pressing the tip of the crop against the top of her slit, pushing up until the pressure exposed her clit. It had already emerged from its fleshy hood, the pink pearl glistening with her need.
“Who does this belong to?” he asked, pushing against the crop.
“Leave me,” she said, refusing to answer the question.
He asked it again. When she did not answer, he dropped to his knees, roughly grabbing her sore thighs and pushing them apart. Xander buried his face between them, lapping upwards through her slit until he reached the throbbing little nub, which he flicked with the tip of his tongue.
He could feel her body tightening, could feel her orgasm building. He caught the little nub, suckling gently. She was the bow and he the archer, but just before he released her to fly, he stopped, leaving her hanging on the edge of release.
She screamed out her frustration, stomped her feet, cursed him through tears of humiliation and want. Xander raised himself until he was towering over her.
“I will not reward disobedience,” he said. He dropped his hand down, gently inserting a finger into her pussy. Avin reactively thrust toward him before she could stop herself, but Xander did not grant her the further penetration her body craved. She was whimpering now, and writhing on his fingertip in frustration.
