by Jeff Gunzel
“You spoke to the guards,” she accused, resisting the urge to shake the burn from her stinging palm. “You spoke!” she repeated. He calmly gazed down at her, his smile fading into a more neutral expression. But he certainly didn’t look sorry. “Do you know how much gold it will take to buy their silence?”
“But a fraction of what’s already accessible to you,” he retorted.
She reached back as if to slap him again. Without so much as a flinch, he even held his chin out invitingly. Balling her hand into a fist, she lowered it back to her side. In truth, her hand still burned from the last slap, and it was still unclear as to who got the worst of that.
“The king believes you can’t speak,” she continued. “He thinks you’re nothing more than a trained animal. The less attention you draw from him, the better it will be.”
“Better for whom?” he cut in.
Her tense stance relaxed, tight shoulders rolling back as she leaned into his bare chest. “Better for us,” she whispered, her hands slipping back around his waist. “He doesn’t suspect a thing, I’m certain of it.”
“And what of those who do?” he asked firmly, arms stiff at his side, not returning her embrace.
“They’ve been given enough gold that I could now reasonably demand their children in return,” she said, the side of her head pressed firmly against his chest. “I swear you only have to put up with this treatment a little while longer. Soon, you and I shall be free of Shadowfen and all its politics. You and I shall go live in the country, far away from all of this.”
“You would drop everything just to be with me?” he asked, suspicious.
With a sigh, she pushed off his chest to look him in the eye. “We’ve been over this time and time again. Insecurity is not becoming of a man of your status. What exactly is it you think I’m leaving behind? My grand position as the king’s royal pet? I have no say in city politics, no voice when it comes to public affairs. The only thing I am certain of is that the king will someday have me executed once he grows tired of me.” She stepped forward, pressing herself against his muscular chest. “You see yourself as a burden, but in truth you have saved me.”
Her thumbs worked their way beneath the sides of his loose-fitting pants. “I don’t want you to feel as if my visit was a total waste,” she said, wiggling the band down over his hips. She kissed his chest, then kissed her way down across the flat, defined muscles of his stomach. With a second tug of his pants, Jarlen found himself fully exposed.
Only partially aware of her wet lips moving along the inner portion of his groin, his mind wandered. The thought of finally being free from this place was nearly too much to hope for. Did he dare allow himself such a fantasy? Could the time really be so close? Much would have to go right, and Bella would certainly play a large role in that. It was important he keep her happy.
His wandering mind snapped back to the present as a warm moistness suckled between his legs. An unavoidable gasp escaped his lips as he stumbled back against the wall. His hands dropped down to the back of her head, fingers entangling in her long, black hair. Yes, he needed to play along and keep her happy, but there was no reason he shouldn’t enjoy himself in the meantime.
Gripping her hair, her thrust his hips forward, forcing her to take him in. Her resistance to his aggression was minimal, only in the form of her hands pushing back lightly against his hips. Ignoring her halfhearted protest, he thrust himself deep inside her again and again as bits of her hair tore loose in his fingers.
He spun her around, planting the back of her head against the stone wall for perfect leverage. With her head unable to move, he continued to thrust into her. Aside from gagging sounds and the occasional gasp for air, the queen accepted the sexual abuse without a single complaint.
She loved him, needed him. She loved his power, his violence, and even his gratuitously fierce sexual ways. He was ten times the man her husband could ever be, and she would find a way to spend the rest of her days with him. But for right now, she was a willing vessel for him to release his sexual tensions, a role she eagerly embraced.
Chapter 1
Wet, filmy fingerprints dotted the glass as little arms with stubby fingers pressed against the inside of the casing. Crying and confused, the slime-covered baby gazed out at the strange people wearing cloth masks that left only their eyes exposed. Various tubes bubbling with clear liquid ran from her stomach and wrists, then spiraled about before attaching to another clear cylinder only a few feet away.
The frightened baby rolled to her side and glanced over to the nearby chamber. Although the glass was too frosted to clearly see through, she could see another small hand with stubby fingers pressed against its walls. Feeling a warm comfort from the symbolic gesture, she too pressed her hand against her glass prison, as if they could somehow touch if they tried hard enough.
“Those two are going to die just like all the others,” one of the masked men said. “That is...if they’re lucky,” he added, gesturing to a glass tank in the corner of the room filled to the top with murky water. A moment later something slithered about just beneath the filmy substance on the surface. A webbed fin rose up, cutting through the sludge just as a burst of bubbles further disturbed the water.
“It will work this time,” came another voice. Given how all of the people were wearing cloth masks over their mouths, it was hard to tell who was speaking at any given time. “The blood measurements were marginally off, that’s all. I’ve recalculated the measurements and—”
“Marginally off?” questioned another voice. The person talking revealed himself by pointing back to the murky tank. “Did you see that creature, or any of the others created before it? We’re not even close to succeeding.”
“We are close!” said the first. “We have to be…” his voice trailed off, revealing his inner doubts. “Our time is running short. Are they ready?” Unsure nods mimicked each other around the room. “Then bring them in and we’ll try this again.”
The infant watched through the glass as four robed men entered the room. Their faces were shadowed beneath black hoods. They walked in different directions to stand on either side of the two glass chambers. Gloved hands pressing against the outer glass walls started to glow with a crackling, electrical energy. One of the masked men approached the main tube connecting the two chambers and inserted a syringe into its center. As he pressed the plunger, red liquid swirled with clear, turning the watery mixture to a pinkish hue.
“It’s going to work this time. It has to!” came a comment from somewhere in the room.
The infant’s belly began to burn. She screamed in agony, little feet repeatedly kicking the air. The gloved hands pressed to the casing crackled brighter, looking much like an electrical storm from her view. Screaming, she turned again towards the other baby in the next chamber. Although she couldn’t see him completely, a distressed little hand slapped the glass over and over.
When the searing pain increased tenfold, the infant released an earsplitting wail as her body felt like acid was pumping through her veins. Eyes unable to focus, her world disappeared into a flash of white.
* * *
Viola bolted upright, hand covering her open mouth to stifle a scream. She breathed heavily, beads of sweat dotting her face and forehead. Just a bad dream, she thought, calming enough to fall back onto the cot. Running both hands down her face, icy-cold sweat dampened her fingers. But it felt so real. It was just like I was there. Rolling to her side, she tried to dismiss the horrible dream from her mind. It was still plenty dark outside, but she was wide-awake now. Sleep would not return easily.
Already alert, she heard light footsteps coming from the front room. Curious, she rolled from the cot and tiptoed into the hall. With her eyes already well adjusted to the dark, she could make out Assirra and Liam sneaking around. They must have just gotten back. But it was the middle of the night. Why were they gone for so long?
Viola stepped out into plain view, giving each of them a start. “Where have
you two been?” she asked, eyes circling the dark room to guess at the time. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course.”
“Yes,” came their overly quick responses, spoken over one another.
Viola’s gaze bounced back and forth between them, suspicious. “It’s the middle of the night,” she pointed out. “You two have been gone for hours. Everyone is asleep.”
“Yes...well, just as you should be, young lady,” said Liam, gently spinning her about. Lightly pushing the back of her shoulders, he began guiding her back towards her room.
“I can’t sleep,” she said, her feet sliding stubbornly across the floor as she leaned back into him. “I had a bad dream.” With a sigh, Liam stopped pushing. “Can we stay up for a while? Please?” Hopeful, she hopped up and down on her toes. It was obvious no matter what he said, she wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.
“Of course we can, dear,” Liam replied, glancing back at Assirra. “To be honest, I’m a little wound up myself. Perhaps some hot tea will help us both relax.”
“Then I suppose I shall bid you both good night,” said Assirra. Her eyes lingered on Liam for a few seconds before she headed back to her quarters.
“Who is going to bring us tea?” Viola asked, glancing around in the dark room. “There are no servants awake.”
“There are no servants at all,” Liam corrected, his large body falling heavily into a chair by the table. “Have you seen any since we’ve been here?” She shook her head. “The tarrins don’t believe in servants, or any sort of rank, for that matter,” he explained. “Whether it’s defense of their village or the simple preparations of the evening meal, everyone contributes equally. They don’t believe that any individual is above anyone else.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Viola admitted, a finger pressed to her bottom lip while eyeing the hearth in the next room. “I can make it. You just sit here and relax.” She skipped away into the other room. Seconds later, he heard the clacking sounds of flint and steel being struck together. Despite her sheltered upbringing, Viola was actually rather comfortable around a kitchen. She would have the tea made in no time.
While she was doing that, Liam hauled himself up from his seat. With a single word spoken and a touch of his finger, he began lighting candles around the dark room. He hadn’t exactly lied to Viola when he mentioned that he was all wound up. It was certainly true enough, but mentally, he was exhausted.
With the dim room a bit more cheery now, Liam fell back into his chair. His head spun as he tried to make sense of all Assirra had told him these past several hours. Viola has a brother named Jarlen. Is it best I keep this to myself or... No. No, she has a right to know. But how do I even begin to—
“Here you go.”
Liam jumped when Viola placed a steaming cup in front of him. “Oh...uh, thank you, dear,” he said, grateful for the hot drink. With a series of puffs, he blew at the hot steam rising off the surface, then carefully took a gentle sip.
Sitting across from him, Viola quietly sipped her tea. “You still haven’t told me what you two were doing,” she said innocently. “But that’s all right, because I already know,” she quickly added before Liam could reply.
“Do you, now?” he said, shifting in his seat.
“Yup,” she assured him, holding her cup up high to hide her grin. Closing her eyes, she began making kissing sounds from behind the cup while bobbing her head around.
Liam clasped a hand over his mouth just before spitting his tea across the table. After a forced swallow, he found himself alternating between laughing and coughing. Once again, he had been caught off guard by Viola’s innocent nature and childlike sense of humor. As much as he adored that quality about her, he couldn’t help but wonder if her innocence would prove to be a liability sooner rather than later.
“I’m not so sure Assirra would be interested in an aging human such as myself,” he managed to spit out in between coughs. He thumped himself on the chest and blew out a deep breath. “Come to think of it, given Assirra’s status as a High Cleric, I wonder if celibacy isn’t a requirement.” Liam began frisking himself for something to write with. This was definitely a question he must remember to ask her later on.
“I like it here,” said Viola, setting down her cup.
“As do I,” Liam replied, sliding his empty cup across the table.
“But we’re not going to stay, are we?” Viola asked, already sure of the answer.
Liam gave pause, frowning down at his folded hands. “No, we are not,” he answered at length. “Your location is no longer a secret. With each passing day, the chance of you being captured grows exponentially. The tarrins have proven themselves to be capable allies, but we cannot endanger them any longer than we already have. We need to get away from here, and soon.”
“When do we leave?” she asked, eyes low while staring at the table.
“A few days at most,” Liam answered, his voice somber. Clearly she wanted to stay, but that simply wasn’t an option. “Owen’s armor is in desperate need of repair. Once Orfi has finished that task, I believe we shall be on our way.”
The mention of Owen’s tattered armor got him thinking. “Viola?” he said. She glanced up. “When the three of you returned to the village yesterday, Owen and Xavier were each standing at death’s door. You, on the other hand, had only a few bruises. I’ve no doubt they willingly sacrificed their bodies in order to save you, but those two did not have the look of warriors who had won a battle. I find it hard to believe that Orm’rak beat them to the brink of death and then decided to just...leave, without finishing them off.” Viola swallowed, her eyes gazing around to avoid his. “Please, tell me what happened out there,” he said, reaching across the table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Viola slid her chair back, her hand slipping from his loose grip. “I think I’m going to go back to bed,” she whispered. Taking both cups from the table, she disappeared into the other room only to return a few seconds later. Liam could feel her eyes on him, but he didn’t look up. She lingered near the doorway for a time, as if wanting to speak, but when he decided to glance over, she was already gone.
Alone, he glanced around the candlelit room. It was so silent that he could hear the candles whooshing each time their flames were touched by an errant breeze. So many secrets with that one. Deciding it was time to salvage what was left of the night, he pushed his chair back. But who am I to talk about secrets? The old man lumbered away towards his room.
* * *
Liam woke to shouts coming from outside. Still groggy, he sprung from his cot and dressed as fast as possible. Had the laberaths reorganized already? We barely managed to survive the first attack. We aren’t prepared to fend them off a second time. Grabbing his staff, he rushed into the hall. “Viola?” he called, thrusting his head into her quarters. Empty...
Panic setting in, he raced through the front room and out onto the outer platform. Scanning about, he could see the concentrated source of commotion down below. Everyone seemed to be gathered in one area, shouting and even cheering, from what he could tell. Clearly there was no danger. Releasing a relieved breath, curiosity took the place of his panic. With no one present to lower him down in the cage, he frowned at the narrow steps with no railing.
Cautiously, he began his way down, stomach pressed to the tree with his clinging fingers nearly peeling away the wood. After the long, painful descent was over, Liam straightened his shirt and walked over to the dense group of cheering tarrins.
Peeking over their shoulders, Liam couldn’t help but grin at the source of their amusement. Politely pushing his way up to the front, he watched as Xavier worked his magic for all to see. With its hooked nose and dark hair, Brom the puppet danced about while waving its wooden hands in the air. Xavier purposely kept his face shadowed beneath his hood, attempting to stay as hidden as possible. Like a true professional puppeteer, he wanted his presence to be minimal throughout the act.
The puppet spun a c
omplete circle before dropping down, legs sliding apart as it did a split. Cheering and clapping ensued, laughing tarrins elbowing each other in the ribs. Brom turned to the side, his blinking eyes suddenly fixed on Viola. Already grinning, she laughed all the harder, covering her mouth with both hands. A tiny arm rose, managing to point at her with only a single, threatening finger. Entertained gasps of warning rose from the crowd. Several tarrins patted her on the back, urging her to step forward.
Rising from his split, Brom turned back towards Xavier’s motionless form and reached underneath the bottom of his cloak. He returned holding a small wooden sword. Sliding the second one from his back, he twirled them both in tight circles before throwing one at Viola’s feet. The incredible dexterity combined with the bizarre ability to grip those props brought on a very genuine gasp from the crowd. Of course they knew he was just a puppet, but how did Xavier make him do that?
Smiling through it all, Viola picked up the wooden sword and attempted to give it a clumsy twirl of her own. She dropped it almost immediately, inducing a roar of laughter from all those around her. Embarrassed, she picked it as fast as she could, hoping that would somehow make up for her mishap.
Face still shadowed, Xavier suddenly dropped his hands and sat down on the ground for some reason. Instantly, Brom crumpled down with him, the wooden sword tumbling from his hand. Thinking the show must be over, tarrins began clapping and talking among themselves. A blink of Brom’s eyes caught the attention of those near the front. A second blink proved they were not imagining it. A flood of whispers rippled through the group, many pointing at the doll.
Brom slowly pushed himself off the ground and turned back to Xavier. A tiny wooden hand reached out and lifted Xavier’s chin. The puppet pulled away, letting Xavier’s head drop lifelessly, the apprentice showing no reaction at all. Brom repeated the action several more times, as if checking to see whether or not the puppet master was unconscious.
The puppet turned away, rubbing its little hands together as if pondering a fiendish idea. It picked up its wooden sword and slowly stalked towards Viola. Mixed responses rattled through the crowd, some gasping at what looked to be witchcraft, others cheering the skill of the brilliant puppet master. How could he possibly still be controlling it from this distance and angle?
