"Perhaps it is time for the queen to have a new master," he said, running a blood-caked finger over her shoulder.
She shivered, flinching backward into the dresser, making her perfume jars rattle.
Half-mouth cupped her chin, tilting her head. The tight muscles that bunched at his jaws, the scars that crisscrossed his face, the cold, bone-chilling stare of his eyes bespoke of a lifetime of violence, anger, and frustration.
"Is it hard being second best?" she asked, reaching behind her for a vial.
He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her from the floor.
She kicked her feet, grabbing his wrist with one hand to reduce the strain on her neck, while her free hand clutched the bottle.
"Kerlok failed to teach you respect," he said. "I will not make the same mistake."
She fumbled with the vial, unscrewing the top with her fingers. The Urtolothia collar kept his fingers from crushing her throat, but the way he was holding her pressed the metal band into her windpipe and was cutting off her air. She was blacking out.
Half-mouth opened his ruined mouth and extended his tongue.
She felt the crystal stopper fall to the floor and swung the vial in his face. Two thousand year old dragon musk splashed across his eyes.
Half-mouth roared, dropping her, and staggered back.
"You'll regret that, elvish whore," he said, wiping his eyes.
She ran for the door but his hand snapped out and grabbed her wrist. She felt herself being wrenched, her arm twisting painfully as he flung her onto the bed.
His eyes were still watering, but he could see well enough to corner her against the headboard. He crawled toward her over the mattress, cheeks wet with tears.
"Time for a lesson," he hissed.
She clawed for his face, but he was too fast and knocked her hand aside, grabbing her by the hair. He dragged her forward and pushed her face-down on the mattress.
"Now you'll see how a real orc fucks an elf."
She screamed, struggling. Something hot and wet splattered over her neck and shoulders and suddenly he was on top of her, crushing her with his weight. She braced herself for the pain but it never came.
He lay still, a warm, stinking mass on top of her. She tried to gasp for air but he was smothering her. She felt something ooze over her neck and drip down to the bed.
And then he was rolling off of her.
She looked up, confused, gasping for air. Groma was kneeling beside her, a long, curved dagger gleaming with dark blood clenched in her fist.
She looked over her shoulder at Half-mouth's lifeless body, his half-lidded eyes staring up at the canopy. A deep gash in his throat pumped blood into the sheets.
"What...?"
Groma wiped the gore from her blade with the blankets. "He was no longer fit to serve the king," she said, climbing off the bed.
Quolondra scurried after her. "Wait—"
Groma shoved her aside. "I didn't do it for you," she said, pushing through the door and slamming it shut behind her.
The queen looked at Half-mouth's corpse. "Well, somebody's learned a lesson," she said. She rubbed the collar, suddenly glad of its protection.
It wasn't until the silence following her remark that she realized that the sounds of the combat had ceased.
Half an hour later, as dawn began to lighten the sky, a pair of orcish soldiers entered the room and wrapped Half-mouth's corpse in a sheet. They dragged it unceremoniously across the floor out the door and the handmaids came in with fresh blankets.
"I hope you brought fresh flowers," said Quolondra, pointing to a vase of roses shedding their petals. "These are positively wilted."
One of the women growled at her and spat on the floor. "The king wishes to bed you," she said.
"Yes, he's quite the romantic," she said, smiling. "I hope I'm not under-dressed." She fluffed her dress, biting her lower lip in mock apprehension.
The orcs shook their heads, muttering in orcish, and left, shutting the door behind them.
"Not much for conversation, are they?" she said aloud to herself. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling woozy. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten, and the thought of being ravaged by the king so soon after Half-mouth's attack made her feel more than a little queasy.
The king entered, shutting the door behind him. He'd changed out of his armor, but he looked battered and beaten, covered in fresh scars and bandages. The battle was clearly not going as well as he'd hoped.
He walked around the bed and stood in front of her, turning her head by the chin with his fingers.
"Did he hurt you?" His voice was frank, indifferent, but she saw the twitch in his cheeks.
"No more than you, my king."
Kerlok snorted, running his fingers down her neck to the collar. They lingered there, as if irritated by its presence.
Quolondra placed her hand on his crotch, feeling the swollen mass of his cock through the leather. There was no point delaying the inevitable.
She unlaced his breeches and pulled them down, freeing his prick. She'd never really had an opportunity to take a good look at it, and the tense, thick-veined organ was almost pretty in the sunlight. It was the color of rich, dark earth and pulsed with life. She felt herself growing damp and took the head in her mouth, savoring the steely bitterness of his precum.
The king sighed, resting his hands on her head as she pleased him. She ran her tongue over the cleft in his crown, massaging his mast with her hands while her lips embraced his warmth.
She felt his body tensing and his breathing become faster and more shallow. She cupped his balls with her hand, feeling their warmth and weight, and continued to suckle him until she felt them tighten in her palm.
He groaned and his cock twitched, filling her mouth with spunk. She swallowed it down, trying not to choke on the thick globs as he relieved himself of his pent up tension. It felt warm sliding down, like strong liquor. When his balls were spent and her belly felt full, she relaxed her grip, wiped her lips, and helped him to lie down on the bed.
"What does the king command?" she said, removing his garments.
He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down, kissing her on the lips.
His actions surprised her, but the strength of his arms, the warmth of his lips, and the innocence of his unspoken need worked on her like a charm, melting her resistance.
She climbed on top of him, seeking his tongue with her lips as she dug her fingers in his thick, coarse hair.
She felt the points of his fangs gently nibbling on her lips, smelled his heady musk, and rubbed her body over his hard, hairy flesh.
How like an animal he is, she thought, as different from an elf as a sun is the moon.
He grabbed the collar of her dress in both hands and ripped it, exposing her breasts and her hard nipples. She let him peel the fabric from her in strips as she ground her pearl on his sex. She could feel him swelling again, almost ripe for mounting.
He grabbed her by the buttocks and dragged her forward, lifting her up and seating her on his face.
She gasped, grabbing the headboard.
His tongue moved rapidly over her sex, soaking up her juices as quickly as her body could produce them. It was thick and warm and long and drew circles around her pearl, dipping occasionally between her folds to seek out her heat.
She groaned, tightening her grip on the bed frame and started grinding her hips. The more excited she became the move vigorously he devoured her, until she was moaning like a wounded animal, sweating and shivering as her legs trembled around his pointed ears.
She grabbed his head in both hands and tried to pull him inside of her, smothering him between clenched thighs as she came. She rocked on his face for several long moments of bliss, letting herself experience the intensity of her own desire. She realized the truth, then, that for all his crimes and indignities, it was his body, his heart, his mind she desired.
He pushed her off, flopping her onto her back on the bed and crawled on
top of her, forcing his rock-hard prick into her dripping cunt. She kissed his lips, tasting herself as he fucked her, pounding her lithe body with a brutal intensity that excited her beyond reason. He was a giant inside of her, stretching her with his massive cock and forcing her to cum a second time. She dug her nails in his back, drawing blood, but it only seemed to excite him. Her head was swimming with pleasure, clouded by a haze of sparks that swarmed like bees to block out everything but the sensation of his rigid member in her tight hole.
He pulled out, her muscles still contracting, and flipped her over onto her belly. She knew that that was how he preferred to see her, face-down and submissive, and she raised her hips to accommodate him, presenting herself.
He pushed himself in, straddling her hips with spread thighs and pressed down on her back with his hand. He fucked her like a whore, admiring his handiwork as he used her, spanking her buttocks until they were red and raw.
She lost track of her orgasms, shamed herself with the intensity of her own arousal as he dominated and humiliated her. His cock seemed to know every weakness and stroked her sensitive spots with uncanny accuracy, reducing her to a trembling mass of quivering flesh.
Finally, she felt his cock pulsing rapidly, moving inside of her like living steel. His body spasmed and he drove himself deeper and deeper into her core, hands clenching the blankets as he grunted and released his load.
It pumped from his cock in hot waves, filling her cunt with fertile orc spunk. She felt it leaking out, sliding down to her clit and dripping onto the mattress.
Her face was flushed, sweaty with arousal, when the doors opened.
"My king," one of the guards said, dropping his head and bending his knee. "They have renewed the assault."
Kerlok pulled out, wiping his prick on her buttocks.
"Bring me my armor," he said, jumping off the bed. He left the room naked; one of the guards shut the door behind him, giving Quolondra a curious look.
She pushed herself to her hands and knees, body trembling. She climbed from the bed and dressed herself before rushing to the door. The sounds of battle had grown very close; her people had found some chink in their defenses and were pressing them hard. Could it be? Could her people have rallied and driven them back?
She heard a high-pitched hiss followed by an explosion and the rumble of a crumbling wall. She'd recognize that sound anywhere. Someone was using magic. She touched the collar, feeling its cold weight. Then that must mean... they'd found some way around the Ur stones! The orcs had been stripped of their secret weapon.
She tried the door, but they'd barred it from without. She ran to the windows and thrust open the shutters. Black smoke billowed upwards from below. They were fighting on the very steps of the palace. She peered through the smoke at the figures below and saw her nimble soldiers weaving among a troop of heavy orcs. They were bloody and battered, but stinging like a nest of hornets. Mygamyl, her Master of Flames, prepared another eldritch assault on the doors but his spell seemed to fizzle. He looked up, sensing the disturbance, and waved her back with a frown.
She clutched the collar and moved away. The Urtolothia was interfering with his magic.
It was almost too incredible to believe. Somehow, after so much slaughter, her people were winning. If they were this close now, it was only a matter of time before they reached the doors of her room.
A sudden vision of Kerlok dying beneath elvish swords and arrows made her heart lurch. She staggered back onto the bed, head spinning. It made no sense; why should she care what happened to the brute? She should be driving the killing blow herself...
In a panic, she leaped to her feet, grabbed the chair that Half-mouth had been so fond of perching on, and smashed it against the doors. It barely made them shudder. She hit it with the palms of her hands, shouting. Had she lost her mind? She didn't know what she was doing.
The doors suddenly burst open and Groma appeared, hazed in smoke and bleeding from a dozen wounds.
"Get out of my way," she said, shoving Quolondra aside.
The orc woman slammed the doors behind her and began dragging a bureau in front of it. An elvish arrow sticking half-way through the back of her arm kept getting tangled in the rings of her armor.
"What are you doing?" said Quolondra. "Do you really think that's going to stop them?"
The warrior woman snarled, her eyes wild with rage and terror. She grabbed the queen by the wrist and held the point of her dagger to her chin. Quolondra winced, feeling the jagged tip draw blood.
"Perhaps I'll use you to buy my freedom," the orc said, sneering.
"Any one of my soldiers could put an arrow through your eye at three hundred paces," she said.
"Not before I slit your throat, sow."
"And kill Kerlok's child?"
The orc woman hesitated.
Quolondra could see the conflict written clearly on her face. Killing the elf queen was one thing, but killing her liege lord's unborn child...
"The king is dead."
"If that were true you wouldn't have hesitated."
"He will fall, if he hasn't already."
"Surrender and I'll spare you," Quolondra said. "And the king, too."
The sounds of battle could be heard in the next room. Her people would burst through those doors any moment.
"Why would I trust you?" said the orc, glancing over her shoulder. Sweat was beginning to mix with the blood dripping from a wound over her brow.
"Because you saved my life."
Quolondra felt the orc woman's grip loosen by the tiniest fraction. Their negotiations were cut short by the sound of splintering wood.
The doors crashed open, pushing the bureau aside with a loud scrape. A dozen elves with nocked arrows stood on the other side of the portal, a pair of enormous black bears before them.
"She has the Queen," said a sergeant. They drew back on their bows.
"Wait!" The queen pushed herself in front of Groma. "She's not to be harmed."
The soldiers relaxed their bows, uncertain.
"This woman saved my life," said the queen. "Take her weapons, but don't harm her. And see to it that her wounds are treated."
There was a pregnant hush and then two soldiers seized Groma and led her away.
Quolondra smoothed her dress, reclaiming an air of dignity.
"How did you manage this miracle?" she asked, turning to the sergeant.
"The Ur stones were captured, Your Excellence, along with the traitor Tolterian. He's being held at the Hall of Ancestors, awaiting punishment."
"I look forward to administering it," she said. She tugged on the collar, impatient to be free of it.
The Master of Flames strode into the room, followed by a dozen soldiers. On seeing the queen, his face lit up with surprise and relief.
"My Queen—"
"Has Kerlok, the king of the orcs, fallen?" she interrupted, doing her best to conceal the concern in her voice.
The Master nodded. "He has taken up position in the library. He has only a dozen or so bodyguards. It will be over soon."
"I want him taken alive," she said, heading toward the hall. Just knowing that he was alive gave her strength. The others followed, bewildered by her uncharacteristic demeanor. Let them wonder, she thought. Let them be as confused as I am.
"My Queen."
"What is it?" Quolondra turned to the Master of Flames impatiently. He was holding up a small key.
"The collar, Your Excellence."
She smiled. "My apologies, Master. I'm afraid the last few days have been very... trying."
He nodded. "There's no need to apologize, Great One. I must confess, I expected to find you in... worse condition. Your Excellence is most... resilient."
Pliant, you mean, thought the Queen with a shiver. She let the Master unlock the collar and remove it from her neck. She longed to feel her powers return, but the mere presence of the Ur stone collar was enough to obscure them.
"Remove that thing from my presence. And s
ee to it that it is safely guarded."
The Master nodded and gave it the sergeant, issuing instructions for its disposal.
"Now, let's catch us an orc," she said, rubbing her neck.
With her powers fully recovered, it was a trivial matter to catch Kerlok and his three remaining guards. She let him stew in the dungeon while she set about restoring order in the kingdom.
She had Tolterian fitted with the collar that he himself had placed around her neck and sent him to the deepest, dirtiest dungeon below the palace, throwing him into a cell occupied by a dozen orc prisoners of war. Let him have a taste of his own medicine, she thought. I'll decide what to do to him later. The other conspirators had been placed in other cells. She only wished that she had more collars.
Groma had been allowed to stay in the palace as a guest, though she was not allowed to bear arms. Though she was free to leave, her loyalty to her king worked as well as a leash and kept her bound to the palace. The orc woman's self-imposed captivity rankled her, making her sullen and quarrelsome, but the queen had no concern for her safety. Indeed, so long as she carried Kerlok's child, no one in the castle had a greater interest in the Queen's protection.
She hadn't decided yet what to tell her people. She knew that she couldn't give up the child that her conqueror had planted inside of her, but she knew equally well that they wouldn't appreciate a half-orc bastard in line for succession. She had girlish notions of the child's birth serving as a catalyst to unite their peoples, too long at war, but she knew better than to hope for anything but more conflict arising from his birth.
After a week of exhausting planning and ruling, she stole away in the evening to see the king. She ordered the guards posted outside the door to leave her and opened the iron-bound door, slipping inside and closing it behind her.
Kerlok was in chains, sitting with his back to the wall below a small window, looking more vicious and bestial than ever. He was dressed in a loincloth, his powerful, chiseled body covered with fresh, pink scars. He was just as she'd imagined.
He eyed her warily, shifting somewhat and pulling on the chains.
"Do you know what's in here?" she said, running her hand over her belly.
The Orc King's Captive Page 5
