Trajor folded his arms. ‘At this rate we shall be here till the winter feast. You will go faster and at my direction. Begin at your neck.’
Caralissa muttered a curse, but did as he instructed.
‘Your shoulders next.’
She bit her lip in fury. The rough sponge was tingly on her skin, like a warrior’s touch; it was awakening her in the secret places of her body. As infuriating as it was to have to bathe in front of this arrogant man, it was also becoming exciting, for he was commanding her now, taking from her the control of her own body.
‘Slide the sponge down now. Down your arm, then across your stomach.’
Caralissa shivered, wondering how far he would make her go and if she would be able to resist him at any point.
‘Arch your back and sit forward so that your breasts are above the water. Now cup them, one in each hand.’
Caralissa flashed a challenging glare. ‘I fail to see how this is part of my bath, warrior.’
Trajor folded his arms, regarding her with a look of steel. She tried to guess his intent. Would he denounce her for her tryst with Alinor? Or would he simply force her to obey him? ‘Why do you not speak?’ she demanded.
Again he said nothing.
With a look of pure hatred Caralissa sat forward, exposing herself. Taking her breasts in hand she proffered them as though she were the man’s whore.
Trajor reached down, retrieving a jar of lotion, which he commenced to pour over her aching breasts. The lotion was cool and creamy.
‘Rub it in,’ he commanded. ‘Very slowly.’
Even without touching them, her breasts felt full and hot. She could see the arousal, how her nipples were taut and ready, the cream running over them and down her stomach into the water like the sperm of a thousand warriors. Licking her lips she opened her mouth, very slightly. She did not want to do this thing, and yet what choice did she have? Trajor was a real man - she could see that now. He wished to put her through her paces; he wished to be aroused by her, to draw pleasure from her exploitation.
She gasped at the touch of her own fingers. How she hated being a female and yet how she loved it at the same time!
‘Take up the sponge again,’ she heard him say, uttering the words she both dreaded and needed at the same time. ‘Caress your belly with it.’
Caralissa moaned. The sponge was like dozens of tiny fingers, sending waves of undulating sensation over her soft stomach.
‘Part your legs,’ he continued matte. ‘Place the sponge inside yourself. Show me how you come.’
Caralissa opened her half-closed eyes, his latest command awakening her lulled sense of propriety. ‘I will never do that,’ she said firmly. ‘Not for you or any man. I would die first.’
His eyes continued to probe. She prayed he would not see through her clumsy lie.
‘If you do not oblige me,’ Trajor said, ‘I will reveal to the court how you had a man in your quarters last night, and how you allowed him to mistreat you as though you were a common pleasure-house wench.’
‘I did no such thing!’
Trajor wheeled round on his heels. ‘It makes no difference to me who they believe. I will simply report what I have discovered.’
‘Do that and you will have to explain why you did not intervene to stop it!’
Trajor turned back to face her. ‘There are many who wish to see you convicted,’ he shrugged. ‘They will not give much thought to the circumstances of my testimony.’
Caralissa frowned. More than likely he was right. ‘I will do it,’ she said, thrusting the sponge beneath the water. It amazed her how much easier it was becoming to abase herself, to capitulate to blackmail of even the most tenuous nature.
‘Raise your hips,’ Trajor commanded. ‘Reveal yourself to me.’
Caralissa arched her back, doing her best to expose herself above the line of the water. Pressing deep she let the sponge take her, rough and prickly, hard and demanding. Biting her lip she fought back the immediate shudders. A voice in her head told her this was slave behaviour, something she’d noted on may occasions in the pleasure-houses, but she was not ready to hear this.
Evan as the orgasm prepared to overtake her, Caralissa tried desperately to think of herself as mistress of her own pleasure, as the captain of her own ship. Simply because she was more passionate now did not mean she was becoming some pleasure pet whose very existence was to fulfil male desires. It was her own hands that touched her - the control should be hers, should it not?
No. This was not true. It was not her will that moved her, much as she might wish it to be. Opening her left eye briefly, seeing Trajor implacably observing, she surrendered herself, writhing and melting under his dispassionate gaze as though she really were a slave, or worse, an animal. It was a discomforting place to be, a terrifying one. How far this surrendering might yet go she did not know, nor did she know the true extent of the danger to her person, her very kingdom.
In the back of her mind questions raged, not least of which was how exactly Trajor knew about Alinor. Perhaps he’d viewed everything through some spy hole; but there was another possibility too, a far more disturbing one.
What if Alinor had told him directly, down to the details about his ‘abuse’ of her body? Worse still, what if someone had put Alinor up to the whole thing, someone like Telos? What if there were a conspiracy operating around her, designed to force her submission?
But she could think no more at this moment. She was a she-beast, in need of release. Under the eyes of her gaoler she must orgasm. Holding nothing back she gave him what he required. Dimly, shamefully she wondered if he found her pleasing, if she might be the sort of girl he would wish to possess. Pretending the sponge and fingers were his she tried to show him now what he might have, how she might move for him, lay for him. It was a whore’s act, a slave’s act, and yet it was coming by reflex, just as did the climax, earth shattering, overpowering.
‘Take me,’ she whispered, her arms raised to him, the words issuing forth as a confession, a terrible and damning revelation.
‘No,’ he replied, tossing her a towel. ‘You will dry yourself and then you will dress.’
Lowering her eyes, shamed and spurned, she caught the fabric, thrusting it against herself in a last ditch effort to protect her honour. It was too late, of course. Numbly she stepped from the bath. She did not know if her legs would hold her, carrying her even as far as the wardrobe where he was already awaiting her, picking out the clothes she would wear.
‘This will do,’ he said, presenting the dress, made of red velvet with a tight bodice that would reveal her cleavage.
Caralissa clothed herself wordlessly. Today was the most important of her life, a day when every little gesture, each detail could be crucial, and yet here she was donning a suggestive dress at the behest of a stranger, a man who just a few short moments ago compelled her to compromise her virtue in his presence. In her rational mind she knew it was foolhardy trusting such a man, yielding to him in this way. Where would it end - would she become his slave, too? She must fight back, and quickly!
‘You will wear your hair down,’ Trajor decided when she presented herself for inspection.
‘Yes,’ she said, walking to her dresser to pick up the brush, the one Alinor had used, inflaming her buttocks to the point of flaming passion, ‘I will.’
It was as though she were watching someone else, observing a play about a queen who resembled her but whose personality was completely different. Over and over, she stroked her hair, making it silky and pretty. Again and again she looked to Trajor, confirming that he was seeing, approving.
‘One more thing,’ he announced as they were nearly at the door.
She watched in horror as he drew a dagger from his belt and held it at her waist. ‘A small adjustment,’ he explained, piercing the fabric and drawing the knife down in a straight line. Thou
gh he did not so much as prick her skin, she shrieked to see what he was doing.
‘How dare you?’ she cried.
Trajor shrugged. ‘I do as I am commanded.’
Caralissa beheld the slit, cut from hip to ankle. The dress was no longer decent! She would barely be able to walk without exposing herself.
‘We will be late,’ he said, ushering her into the hallway.
Caralissa did her best to keep up, all the while seeking to keep her hand clenched on the sides of her gown to keep it together.
‘We must go,’ Trajor declared, his hand guiding her elbow, directing her upon invisible chains down the stairs.
It was Telos whom they encountered first in the banquet hall. ‘Your majesty!’ he cried, his voice exuberant with joy. ‘You must sit beside me; it’s all been arranged.’
Caralissa turned white as she beheld the faces at the table. There was Alinor! And Remik, as sombre as ever. And others too, spurned suitors, former councillors removed for impropriety. Conspicuously absent however was Romila, along with any other female who might balance out the obvious sexual inequality.
‘We have prepared all this for you,’ Telos beamed, spreading his arms.
The long wooden table was elaborately decorated, far more so than was usual for breakfast. There were candelabras, a silk tablecloth, bowls of colourful fruit and trays of sweetmeats and other delicacies, the food piled high upon the silver surfaces. From the look of things they’d been dining for some time. This fact was highly unusual - unheard of, actually, since she as monarch and hostess should have been given the right to begin the festivities at her command.
‘I see you began without me,’ she observed icily, eyeing King Norod who was seated at the head of the table.
The old king rose hastily to his feet, the others following suit. Their eyes were intent on her as she prayed that she was concealing the tear in her dress sufficiently.
‘Forgive us,’ the king muttered, his mouth stuffed with delicate stewed eggs. ‘I took the liberty of commencing.’
‘I do not think introductions will be required,’ Telos announced as the men resumed their places and continued eating as though she were some common wench instead of the reigning queen, ‘as we all seem to know one another. Caralissa, won’t you take your seat?’
Without waiting for her assent he directed her to an empty place directly to the right of his own seat. As he sat her Caralissa felt herself sinking quite low. It was only when she went to put her hands on the edge of the table that she realised what had been done. Her seat was lowered somehow so that she sat several inches below the others, including Telos. It was a petty thing and she could scarcely imagine any man going to the trouble of sawing off the legs of a chair to embarrass a queen, but then again, Telos was far from being a man.
‘I hope her majesty is hungry,’ Telos said, snapping his fingers for a nearby servant.
‘I will have some fruit,’ she told the serving maiden.
‘I am sorry, majesty,’ the woman said, a pained expression on her face. ‘But I am not allowed.’
Caralissa watched in shock as the servant snatched her plate and silverware away. The action seemed to startle no one and as she looked about, her neck straining to see over the piles of food, Caralissa was beginning to feel as if she’d landed once more into a nightmare. Were a tiger to show itself she could scarcely be any more surprised, or mortified than she was at this moment.
‘There were concerns, majesty,’ Telos explained, spearing a chunk of fried meat from his heaped plate, ‘that someone might seek to poison you, given the, um, resentment felt by many over your relationship - alleged, of course - with the Rashal chieftain. I shared these concerns, naturally, and even went so far as to volunteer to serve as royal food taster.’
She watched as he took the meat from his fork, took a bite out of it and then put it in front of her face. ‘This piece is quite safe,’ he assured her as he chewed noisily.
Caralissa blinked. ‘And what exactly am I supposed to do with that, Telos?’
He looked to some of the others for support, his eyes telegraphing his bemusement, as though it were she and not he who was behaving so absurdly. ‘Why, I assumed you would eat it,’ he chuckled.
‘I will starve first,’ she informed him, rising to her feet. ‘I wish you all good day.’
She looked behind her, expecting Trajor to block her exit. Amazingly enough, however, he was not even in the room.
‘Caralissa, I am disappointed,’ she heard Norod say. The old man’s words froze her as effectively as would the intervention of a warrior.
‘I am tired,’ she lied. ‘I would like to lay down.’
Norod pinched his brow, sighing deeply. ‘Honestly, Caralissa, I have not wanted to believe the things being said about you, but when I see with my own eyes the way you behave so erratically, what am I to think? Anyhow, I am tired myself and do not wish to host alone today.’
Caralissa sat down heavily. As befuddled and ultimately untrustworthy as he might be, Norod was the closest thing she had right now to an ally. She needed him, and if that meant enduring a little more misery at the hands of this bunch of overgrown babies, she’d put up with it. ‘Forgive me, Norod,’ she smiled. ‘I would be delighted to help you host.’
‘Wise choice,’ Telos said, leaning over to whisper in her ear. ‘You won’t regret it.’
She let out a gasp of air as she felt Telos’ hand on her calf under the table, sliding upwards like a snake, tracing the line of the cut in her gown. Before she could draw another breath he reached the bridge of her thighs. So this was why Trajor cut her dress, she thought miserably.
‘I propose a toast,’ Telos announced, raising his goblet. ‘To the safe return of our queen.’
The men looked at one another, then to Norod.
‘Yes,’ agreed Norod, even as Telos worked his way under Caralissa’s undergarments, worming a finger into her sex, ‘to the queen.’
Goblets were raised, clinking. Caralissa shuddered as the first drops of moisture began to form inside her. It was absurd that this was happening and a part of her simply did not want to believe it. Either way, she was paralysed and with each passing second it was harder and harder to imagine extracting herself from the situation. Telos seemed to bank on this: on her complicity, her inability to protest.
‘To your safe return,’ Telos told her, holding his own goblet to her lips.
Caralissa put her mouth to the cold silver, allowing Telos to pour a tiny bit of the sweet cider onto her tongue. Obediently she swallowed.
‘Spread your legs wider,’ he whispered in her ear, taking the opportunity to cement his power over her.
The words were like a fire, liquid and melting. Unbidden she felt her thighs parting, the point of resistance long since passed. Henceforth she would not be able to deny the man anything. As wretched and hateful as he was, he’d found access to her submissive nature.
Telos watched her carefully as he worked his secret magic. Eyes blank, she stared straight ahead, doing her best to conceal the emotions, the arousal. She could no longer meet his gaze, for if she tried she would have no option but to lower her eyes in deference and surrender. Clenching the edge of the table with her trembling fingers she listened as he poured into her ears his dark promises. The things he would do to her. The things she would be made to do for him.
‘Open,’ he commanded.
Caralissa accepted the juicy bit of fruit, swimming in the creamy sauce. Whether on purpose or by accident Telos turned the spoon slightly as she sought to take it in, releasing thereby a tiny trail of juice which dribbled down her chin and between her breasts.
‘Leave it,’ he said simply when she moved to clean herself.
She chewed the segment of fruit, feeling the wet stickiness in her cleavage. Twice more Telos fed her, and each time she was soiled. Breasts heaving she pre
ssed her thighs together, the sensation of the juice only heightening what his fingers were doing to her insides.
He couldn’t make her come this way, she thought miserably. He wouldn’t dare.
‘We are pleased you are joining us, Caralissa,’ said Norod. ‘In fact, it is our hope to dispense with this trial formality quite quickly and allow you to resume your place on the throne. Frankly,’ he shrugged, ‘I thought it a bit silly but certain elements of my own council insisted, and of course several of our neighbour countries. Rest assured, the trial commissioners - whom you see before you today - have been chosen with the most judicious care.’
Caralissa felt faint. These were her judges? A roomful of jilted lovers and jealous fools with axes to grind against her? How could this be?
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Telos, his voice hushed and intimate. ‘Cat get your tongue - or should I say, Rashal cock get your tongue?’
Caralissa whirled on him in fury. Too late she remembered that though her mouth was free to speak another part of her was not. At the very moment she opened her mouth Telos twisted his finger expertly, reducing her to a mass of female quivering. Shamed, broken, powerless to resist, she moved fiercely against him, opening herself to the mechanically induced orgasm.
No one seemed to notice, presumably the long tablecloth shielded her from prying eyes, but still she was being made to surrender herself at a table full of hostile men, all the while having to pretend nothing was happening - how could this not upset her?
Let it end quickly, she prayed. Let it pass soon.
Finally it did, and she nearly convinced herself that she’d gotten past the worst when Telos started again, faster, harder. ‘No,’ she whimpered under her breath. ‘No more.’
‘Very well,’ he concurred, giving in far too easily for Caralissa’s liking. ‘No more.’
He took his hand away, allowing her to relax. Eyes peeled like a hawk, she watched as he engaged himself in conversation with his neighbour, concerning trade deficits. It was the hand that she was worried about, and sure enough he was using it to pick a piece of fruit from a bowl. A moment later the fruit was inside her, absorbing her overflowing wetness.
Caralissa's Conquest Page 16
