Bound

by Lila Dubois

  He could not settle, could not sleep. He felt loose and unfinished, as if he were half dressed in his own skin. He knew what he needed, what he wanted, but was trying to resist it.

  Somewhere in the Palace there were fifteen sleeping girls. Some would not last the day, but those who passed the first test would learn his secrets, know his weakness and shame. One of those girls would be his wife.

  He trusted Cryessa and Tamlohn, would give his life for them, but in agreeing to this madness, he was giving them his future. A small part of him wished that they could go on as they had been. As long as the King and Queen were willing to fulfill his needs…

  But it was unfair to ask it of them. It had already gone on long enough. He loved them too much to continue to disrupt their lives this way.

  His wandering had taken him to their chamber door. Moregon stopped, looking at the massive doors, knowing what he needed was just on the other side. He did not knock, he would not, not tonight. He could hold out.

  The door opened. Cryessa, naked and backlit by moonlight, stood in the doorway.

  “I could hear you thinking,” she whispered quietly.

  “I, I don’t need it.” Moregon stammered, ashamed at having been caught.

  “You do,” she said, and it was a command.

  Moregon stepped into the chamber, slipping to his knees just within the door. As he did so his restlessness faded and the vague unease dissipated. With a hard click Cryessa closed a manacle around his right wrist, drawing it behind his back. She pulled his left arm into place and secured it with the matching manacle.

  She wrapped her fist in his hair, jerking his head back. “This is what you need, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Priestess.”

  “Tamlohn, bring me the cane.”

  The King emerged from the darkness, naked as the Queen was. His face, before he blanked it, showed both pity and impatience. Moregon looked away. Tamlohn passed the Cryessa a slender cane.

  “Up,” she commanded, and Moregon rose, graceful despite his bound hands. She moved him across the room, teasing the back of his legs with the tip of the cane. Positioning him in front of a high-backed chair, the Queen forced him to bend forward.

  “Spread his legs,” she said. The King stepped up and roughly kicked Moregon’s legs apart, until most of his bodyweight rested on his midriff. He tightened his abdominals, pressing his cheek down into the seat of the chair.

  The queen petted the back of his thighs. He wore only thin loose pants under a heavily embroidered robe, which she flipped up, leaving only a layer of cotton protecting him. Her hand was firm and sure, touching him as though she owned him.

  She had owned him, possessed him body and soul. He’d been young enough, malleable enough, when he was taken to the Temple to train as a Zinah, that he’d embraced his slavery to her with an open heart. He alone of the Zinah’s had not fought his slavery, because he’d grown up in the Temple, knowing what an honor it was to be chosen. The others had been captives from far away lands, broken to her will. He had gone willingly into service, accepting the chains of her command as easily as he took up a sword to defend her.

  Times had changed, but Moregon had not.

  His cock pressed into the back of the chair, hard as iron and dripping with pre-come. Her fingers kneaded the muscled of his ass and thighs, molding the fabric over the curves of his bottom, pressing the fabric between the cheeks and rubbing the rough seam over his anus.

  Moregon clenched his teeth and bucked his hips. He wanted more. He hated that he needed this. It wasn’t enough, and it was too much.

  She stepped away, raised the cane, and brought it down on his ass.

  “One.”

  Chapter 6

  She hadn’t slept well. The soft bed, rather than the hard earth, was a pleasant change, as were the clean sheet and warm wash water servants provided them. But being in the presence of the other girls, who laughed, chatted, and sent honey-covered barbs winging across the dormitory they were to sleep in, had reinforced how miserably out of place Aketa was.

  The balloon of happiness that had swelled up within Aketa upon hearing her name called had deflated. The girls around her chatted about their skills with instruments and dance, weaving and embroidery. Each girl put forth ideas for how her particular skill was sure to be the thing that would win Lord Moregon’s favor. As the night wore on and the girls relaxed back into the beds, the talk turned risqué. Conjecture and speculation about Lord Moregon’s various attributes grew bawdy. This conversation separated the girls from the women, as the virgins fell silent save for giggles.

  Aketa remained silent, though her virginity was long lost.

  She’d cleaned herself as best she could while still remaining dressed, envying the others who stripped down to their under dresses, or even naked, with little ceremony. She’d waited until the lights were out to remove the scarf from her head, using the damp cloth she’d held onto after the servants took away the wash water, to clean her face. She could feel them looking at her, comparing themselves to her, and by the end of the night she felt sure that they had summarily dismissed her. She was not a threat to them. Too tall, too strong, awkward and clearly poor, Aketa was like a draft horse among sleek Arabian mares.

  By the time she drifted into a fitful sleep, Aketa was near tears, wishing she’d never seen the handsome man with blue eyes.

  * * * *

  “This is not meant to be entertainment,” Moregon muttered, moving to the railing. Rohaj and Sesah leaned over the balustrade, plush chairs and a table covered in food and drink waiting on the terrace behind them.

  “I’m entertained,” Sesah said.

  “I, too,” Rohaj said with a grin.

  “This is serious,” Moregon said again, and it was unclear who he was trying to convince. Leaning over the edge, he looked down on the maze below. They’d been constructing the obstacle-laden maze since the Queen first devised the plan. Moregon had been in charge of the ten foot shrubs that formed the maze walls, and he was rather proud of them. The shrub had strong branches, with thick hard wood, and dense foliage. He’d bred the plant so it no longer had thorns.

  Moregon was so entranced admiring his plants that it wasn’t until Rohaj spoke that he noticed the girls.

  “A fine selection you have, brother.”

  Moregon switched his attention to the gaggle of girls who huddled under a tent on the far side of the maze. Fifteen girls had been chosen, and today’s test, the maze, was meant to delete many more of them out of the running.

  After today, the true tests, those that would introduce the girls to the perversities of Moregon’s needs, would begin.

  “Odds on?” Sesah asked.

  “The dark haired one just there. There is something in her eye. She’s born to lead, to dominate,” Rohaj said.

  Moregon looked at the dark-haired girl in question. She was slender, nearly petite with it, but bore herself in the manner of a Queen. Her eyes, dark as her hair, missed nothing, darting from her companions to the maze and back again. She reminded Moregon of a hawk or falcon, with those dark eyes. Her trim little body was showed off to its best advantage by a vivid burgundy dress, expertly fitted and laced so her breasts rose, firm yet soft like bread dough, in two delectable mounds.

  “Who do you back?” Rohaj asked.

  “The blond.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one with the breasts.”

  “Oh, her.”

  All three men took a moment to examine the girl Sesah pointed out. She was of medium height with a long spill of curling blond hair. She was the curviest of the girls, her body swelling at breast and thigh.

  “What say you?” Rohaj asked Moregon. “Have you a favorite?”

  “I cry foul to that,” Anleeh said, emerging from the castle with Siara on his arm. They both looked well satisfied and there were a few down feathers, as out of a pillow, stuck in Siara’s hair. “No fair asking Moregon.”

  “Then who do you back?”

&n
bsp; “The dark haired one.”

  “No good. I called her.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to take one of the blonds. Have we no red-heads?”

  “What about that last girl, the one who kept her head covered?” Siara asked.

  “The mystery girl?” Anleeh asked, taking a seat and pulling Siara down onto his lap.

  “She was rather mysterious, wasn’t she? She seemed terribly intimidated by the situation. What was her name again?”

  “Aketa,” Moregon answered immediately. The others looked at him, he could feel their gazes. But his attention was now firmly on the girls. He’d located Aketa, half hidden by the tent, standing alone from the group.

  Moregon thought about telling his companions that he’d seen her face, but he wanted to keep the interlude he’d shared with her to himself. There were few secrets between them, but this was one he could keep.

  “There’s Cryessa. Let the first test begin.”

  * * * *

  “Ladies, I trust that you rested well.” The Queen smiled benevolently at them, radiant in a dress of pale gold and cream.

  The girls nodded and murmured soft acknowledgements.

  “Excellent, then we shall begin today’s event.” The Queen motioned to a tall wall of shrub between where the girls stood and the Palace. “Behind me is a maze, created by Lord Moregon and myself. Each of you will be led into the maze, and be given time to find your way out. There is nothing dangerous or hurtful in the maze, but it will take a bright mind to navigate it. I must remind you that the girl who will wed Lord Moregon will be bright, loyal, honest and clever.

  “Have you any questions?”

  The girls looked at one another, faces smooth and blank, but both worry and fear showed through the eyes.

  “Yo-your majesty?” a slender blond stuttered.

  “Yes, Anbella, was it?”

  “Yes, your majesty. I only wonder—what if we cannot get out again?”

  “If the time expires and you have not emerged, we will retrieve you from the maze. Anyone else?”

  “Will Lord Moregon be watching us?”

  “No, no one will watch you in the maze.”

  When no further questions came forth, Queen Cryessa smiled and called forth a servant who read off the order. Those towards the end, including Aketa, settled into the grass to wait. The first girl on the list, fingers nervously twisting together, was led away by the Queen.

  Aketa selected a spot of grass near the base of a tree, outside the confinement of the tent, hoping no one would notice this small breach. She rested her back against the tree’s truck and idly combed the grass with her fingers. Were she at home right now, her work-day would be half gone, and she’d already be dirty and weary. It was strange to have time to do nothing. Never in her life had Aketa had such a luxury as a lazy afternoon.

  There was a small part of her mind that shouted and jumped with nerves, but the novelty of this lazy time soon overtook it, and she tilted her head back, looking up through the sweet green leaves to the sky above, happy and at peace. The time passed quickly, or so it seemed to Aketa, and when her turn came the servant had to call her name twice before she responded.

  Her peaceful mood shattered, Aketa jumped to her feet, adjusting her scarf and brushing at her skirt. She hurried to the servant, who nodded solemnly and led her away from the tent. They walked to a corner of the shrub wall and turned right. It was then Aketa could see the true breadth of the maze structure. When they turned the corner they confronted a second long flank of tall shrub, at least as long at the side they’d been facing. They walked the length of this, until they reached another corner. Making a right, they reached the opening, which was no more than a break in the endless wall of green. The servant produced an odd looking cap. He eyed Aketa’s scarf and held out the cap. She took it, pulling it on. The cap looked odd because it was too long, the soft woven fabric coming as far down as her nose, blindfolding her. Aketa tugged at her scarf, which was pressed flat to her head by the cap, until it covered the right side of her face.

  There was an awkward pause, in which she could hear the sounds of footsteps, muted against the soft grass. Warm hands took hers. Aketa curled her fingers, not wanting a stranger to touch her, but the hands were insistent, cupping her curled fingers. She relaxed.

  Hand in hand with her unseen guide, Aketa entered the maze. She tried to count steps and trace turns, but the guide was wise to that. They stopped, backtracked, circled aimlessly, until any hope of maintaining a mental map was gone. They stopped for a final time, her guide squeezing her fingers before releasing her hands.

  There was a series of thumping footsteps, and then she was alone. Aketa waited until she was sure the guide was gone before pulling off the cap. She blinked, her eyes taking time adjusting to the sun. She stood in the center of a green-walled box. The walls of the maze stretched well above her head, so high that she could not even see the towering walls of the Palace. There was only the green of plants and blue of sky around her.

  Aketa let out a breath, relaxing for the first time in a full day. She had not realized how stressful it had been to be constantly surrounded by strangers. She pulled the scarf from her head, tucking it, and the cap, into the large pocket of her sleeve. Scrubbing her fingers through her hair, Aketa tilted her face to the sky.

  Though her attempts to make a mental map had fallen short, she did know the dimension of the outside of the maze. She’d counted seventy steps before they turned the first corner, and one hundred and forty-eight on the long wall they’d walked. Assuming she’d only walked about half the length of the first wall, that made the maze roughly square.

  Moving to one side, Aketa saw the break. With a vague plan in mind, Aketa started out into the maze.

  Chapter 7

  Emerging from the heart of the maze, the path guided her in a sharp left turn, around the width of the shrub wall, which was the thickness of three strides. Once around that curve Aketa went no more than five steps before she was faced with her first choice. A break in the wall at her right showed a long corridor of green. A break in the shadow cast by the walls indicated at least one opening down that path. In front of her the path continued a shorter distance, where it dead-ended in a “T.”

  Aketa turned right. She walked all the way down the long corridor, a length of sixty-two steps. She knew now that the place the guide had left her was most likely at the center of the maze, which meant that the wall she faced was one of the exterior shrub walls. She’d hoped to follow this exterior wall, but there were no openings here. Aketa backtracked down the corridor to the opening she’d first predicted from the shadows. Passing through she found herself in the center of a long path that stretched out to her left and right. Breaking perpendicularly off of this path were four others. Ignoring these, Aketa turned to her left, counting her steps until she again reached what she was sure was the outer wall. One of the perpendicular paths ran along this wall, and Aketa followed it, only to reach a dead end. Frustrated, she retraced her steps, and this time followed the path to the right of the opening. When she reached the end of this path her counting told her she was back near the center of the maze.

  She took the opening closest to the end of the corridor and followed it all the way down, delighted to discover that, according to her steps, sixty four in all, she had once again reached an exterior wall of the maze, and best of all, there was a path branching off to the right, following this wall. Placing her left hand on the exterior wall, Aketa started walking, counting her steps as she went. When her chosen path turned right, forcing her back into the maze, Aketa kept her hand on the leafy wall. She stayed true to this course of action, never lifting her hand even as her steps told her she was back towards the center of the maze. Soon even her counting failed her, as the path wended and wound, her determination not to lift her hand bringing her in and out of dead ends.

  Determined to stay this course of action, sure that what she touched was an offshoot of the exterior wall, however
twisted it may be, and that it would eventually lead her back, Aketa turned a corner and came upon something she could not have imagined in her wildest dreams.

  There, in an open space in the maze, was a pile of treasure.

  Trunks full of fine fabric, boxes of jewelry and coins, and a table laden with delicate foods filled the space, the riches glittering in the sun. The air here smelled not of growing things but of fine wine warmed by the sun, soft cheeses, and well-seasoned meat. Aketa’s stomach rumbled, not in real hunger but in instant craving for the exotic fare.

  The cases of jewels were open, ridiculously so, as broaches and gold coins had tumbled from the box to lie amid the grass. Embroidered fabrics glinted with gold thread while soft velvet soaked in the light.

  Looking away from the treasure, Aketa saw the openings of at least three other paths centered around this clearing. Trying to ignore the glitter of gold, Aketa kept her left hand in place, following the wall, until the wall turned right. Eyes on her toes, Aketa kept moving forward until her toes bumped against a trunk of fine fabrics.

  Her path led her right to the treasure. Leaning into the prickly shrub, Aketa considered what she faced. They had put this here for a reason, of that she was sure, and looking around she suspected that many paths ended here. Was there some trick in the treasure, a way to open the hidden entrance? Aketa stepped back, looking at the shrub against which the treasure huddled, but could detect no uneven break. With the tables of food, stacks of trunks and chests, and even a rack of fine swords, the treasure destroyed any possibility of Aketa continuing to follow the same wall, as the wall she wanted was the same that the treasure rested against. Stepping back she looked for a continued opening on the other side, but could see none, instead the rack of weapons rested against another corner.