Savage Surrender

by Deanna Ashford

  At the front of the crowd was a tall man, protected from the sun by a mushroom-shaped, heavily fringed umbrella.

  ‘Lord Sarin, may I present Lady Rianna of Harn.’ Lesand bowed, and Rianna sank into a deep curtsey, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

  ‘Welcome, my lady.’ A strong, cool hand grasped hers, urging her to rise to her feet, then a questing finger tipped up her chin. ‘Your portrait did not do you justice, Rianna.’

  The way he spoke her name made her shiver. Sarin’s voice was deep and compelling, like liquid velvet. Shyly she raised her eyes to his; the irises were so dark they appeared black in the bright sunlight. His face was as she’d remembered it from the painting, but stronger, and dare she say, more handsome. Rianna’s heart missed a beat as Sarin’s lips curved into a spellbinding smile.

  ‘My lord,’ she murmured.

  Sarin wore a deep blue robe heavily embroidered in silver, slashed to the waist to reveal trousers in a paler blue silk and long, leather boots. He looked every inch a sovereign, while she felt rather underdressed in her green brocade gown.

  ‘Let us go inside, it is even warmer than usual today. I am sure that at first you will find the heat uncomfortable.’ He led her through an arched doorway into a wide marble-floored corridor, and on into an opulently furnished, high-ceilinged room. It was far cooler in here. A gentle breeze brushed her pink, over-heated face, making her conscious of the perspiration beading her brow and the sweat which was beginning to stain the underarms of her gown.

  ‘I find the weather overpowering,’ she admitted. ‘Harn is far cooler.’

  From under the cover of her long eyelashes, Rianna examined Sarin again. His skin was a pale olive, and his features though well-defined were a little hard, but he did not strike her as a cruel man. She began to feel more composed. His manner was gentle and protective as he led her to a long, low seat upholstered in ivory velvet.

  ‘Then you must rest before you face the rest of the court.’

  Rianna was relieved. She smiled shyly and lowered her eyes. Although Sarin was to be her husband, this all had a dream-like quality; Tarn was her only true reality.

  She was conscious of Sarin’s eyes scouring her body from head to toe as she sat on the couch, accepting a goblet filled with cool fruit juice from one of the servants. ‘Is it usually so hot?’ she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. She knew virtually nothing about Sarin, his interests, or what he expected of her as a wife. Except one thing, he would most likely wish to bed her. After Tarn she had no desire to couple with another man.

  ‘Not always so hot.’ Sarin remained standing in front of her. ‘It is our custom in Percheron to rest in the heat of the day.’

  The fruit juice was so cold it set her teeth on edge as she drank it, but it was delicious and most refreshing. ‘Thank you.’ Rianna returned the goblet to the servant.

  ‘There is no need to give thanks to a slave,’ Sarin said curtly.

  ‘I was not aware he was slave. We have none in Harn, my father does not hold with slavery.’

  ‘It is clear you have much to learn. I will teach you,’ Sarin said, his tone deepening as he stared at her with his piercing dark eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ she said blushing shyly.

  ‘Come.’ Sarin took hold of her hand and helped her to her feet. ‘I’ll have you shown to your rooms.’

  Before her courage deserted her, she had one thing to do. ‘Lord Sarin, I have a boon to ask,’ she said, her breath catching in her throat.

  ‘Boon?’ he queried.

  ‘A prisoner travelled with my party – a nobleman.’ She tried to control her feelings as she spoke Tarn’s name. ‘Prince Tarn of Kabra.’ Rianna sank to her knees. ‘I would ask you to show mercy towards this prisoner.’

  ‘You seem overly concerned for his fate,’ Sarin said coldly.

  ‘Yes.’ Rianna continued to stare at Sarin’s soft leather boots, not daring to look at him. ‘Tarn is a distant kinsman on my mother Kitara’s side of the family,’ she lied. ‘I thought it only right to take it upon myself to plead for clemency on his behalf. I know you consider him a traitor, but he is a good and gentle man, only doing what he thought was right.’

  Had she gone too far? she asked herself, as Sarin stayed silent. Then she felt his hand drawing her to her feet. Forcing herself to be courageous, she looked him boldly in the eyes and was relieved to see he did not appear angry.

  ‘Tarn is your kinsman?’ Sarin frowned thoughtfully. ‘I was not aware of that. However, I know little of your mother’s origins, Rianna. Perhaps you could tell me more about her sometime?’ He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘How can I refuse such a request from my beautiful bride? If you wish clemency for Tarn you shall have it.’

  ‘Then he’ll not be executed?’

  ‘No,’ Sarin said gently. ‘Neither will he be sent to the mines as was suggested by some of my advisors. To be truthful, Rianna, I still hold some fondness for Tarn myself. He was once my friend. Despite his disloyalty and treachery, I had already decided to be lenient in my dealings with him.’

  Rianna smiled tremulously at Sarin. ‘I’m grateful to you, very grateful.’

  ‘That is how it should always be, my dear,’ he said, kissing her hand again.

  The dungeons of the palace were carved out of living rock. Because of their depth they retained a constant temperature both day and night, never too cold, never too hot. Tarn had visited them before, but not as a prisoner.

  Chained hand and foot, he was led down the stone steps into a world of despair and pain. A gaoler stepped forward. He was short and bulkily built with lank greasy hair. Layers of fat covered his chest, giving him small pendulous breasts, and a thick roll of flesh hung obscenely over the waistband of his sagging leather trousers.

  ‘So, the noble prince is here to visit us at last,’ the gaoler leered, rubbing his hands with glee. He accompanied Tarn into a cell. Tarn had expected darkness, but the small room was brightly lit by lanterns hung high on the walls, way out of reach. The cell was windowless and smelt stale, as if it had not been used for some time.

  ‘Special accommodation for a special prisoner,’ the gaoler said with sarcastic cheerfulness. ‘I trust you approve, my lord?’

  Tarn stayed silent as the soldiers accompanying him attached the manacles around his ankles to metal rings set in the stone flags. His wrist manacles were fixed to heavy chains hanging from the ceiling. Using a pulley at the side of the cell, the gaoler tightened the chains until Tarn’s arms were stretched taut above him. He knew that in an hour or so his muscles would cramp and ache with the strain.

  The soldiers and gaoler departed, leaving Tarn alone with his dark thoughts. It was difficult to calculate the passage of time, but it didn’t seem long before the door of his cell opened.

  ‘Tarn.’ Sarin’s smile was cruel and calculating. ‘It seems so long since we last parted.’

  ‘Not long enough,’ Tarn said boldly.

  Sarin was not alone. He was accompanied by a pale-haired beauty. Tarn didn’t recognise her, but that wasn’t surprising as Tarn had been away from court for two years, and Sarin changed his female companions often. Tarn had never seen such pale blue eyes. Her hair was so blonde it almost appeared silver in the bright light. She gave a narrow-lipped smile, and Tarn saw that her side teeth had been filed into sharp points.

  ‘This is my wife, Niska,’ Sarin announced, amused by Tarn’s expression of surprise. ‘When you knew me, Tarn, I had vowed never to marry. Now you find me with one wife and about to take another.’

  ‘So this is the famous rebel, Tarn, former Prince of Kabra,’ Niska said in a husky, strongly-accented voice. She wore a tight-fitting, low-cut bodice in emerald satin, a skirt of matching emerald silk heavily embroidered with gold, and a necklace of huge emeralds around her neck. The colour contrasted vividly with her silver-gilt hair and pale skin. ‘May I touch the slave, my lord?’

  Sarin nodded, his dark eyes never leaving Tarn. ‘Remove those silk trous
ers, they are not a fitting garment for a prisoner.’

  Niska glided closer to Tarn. He was already a little light-headed, as he had not eaten or drunk today. Her strong perfume made his head spin as she ran her hands over his chest.

  ‘His muscles are firm and well-honed,’ she said, tracing the red line of the scar on his shoulder downwards. Smiling, she leant even closer to Tarn. Her warm breath brushed his cheek as she caressed his nipples, then dug her fingers into the tiny teats. ‘Do you desire me, slave?’ she whispered in a voice too low for Sarin to hear.

  Tarn clenched his lips together and stoically ignored her.

  ‘His manner needs to change if he is to make a good slave,’ she commented, as she ran her hands through Tarn’s tangled blond hair and pulled down his lips to examine his teeth. ‘But I wager he would command an uncommonly high price in the slave market. Many a rich lady would pay a thousand pistole or more to own such a superb specimen.’

  She put a hand to his groin, gauging the size of his manhood through the thin trousers.

  ‘A nobleman or wealthy merchant would bid even higher for such a handsome plaything.’ Sarin watched Tarn tense as he spoke.

  ‘He should be bathed and oiled,’ Niska sniffed in disgust. ‘He smells of dirt and sour sweat.’

  ‘If you had joined me in my cage you would have smelled much the same,’ Tarn purred seductively.

  ‘Watch your tongue,’ she sneered, as she removed a pearl-handled dagger from the sheath on her girdle.

  The sharp blade caught the light as she placed the tip close to Tarn’s stomach. Taking hold of his trousers, she began to cut the fabric from his body, throwing the tattered remnants on the flagstones at his feet.

  Once Tarn was naked, Niska stepped back and slowly examined his body. The lack of exercise had not softened his muscles. They were even more well-defined than usual because his poor diet during most of the journey had caused him to lose weight.

  ‘Also his hair and skin need attention,’ she said, running the tip of her tongue provocatively along her lower lip. ‘He is mightily well-endowed,’ she added as she stared at his sex, lust darkening her odd-coloured eyes.

  Stepping forward again, she touched his sex, weighing the seed sac in her hand. Tarn shuddered, his blood running cold as she curved her fingers around his cock shaft and began to milk it with slow precision. Despite Tarn’s best efforts to stem his body’s natural response, lust stirred like a serpent deep within his belly.

  Niska smiled with satisfaction as his penis stretched and hardened. She pressed herself closer to Tarn and licked his nipples. Sucking lewdly on the tiny nubs, she began to pump his cock faster, her long fingernails digging cruelly into the engorged flesh.

  ‘Contain yourself, Niska,’ Sarin hissed as he stepped forward, his eyes lit up with anger. He wrenched Niska away from Tarn with such fury that she slammed against the cell wall.

  Pouting and rubbing her bruised arm, she moved over to the door of the cell. ‘Do you wish to be alone with him, my lord?’

  ‘Go and tell the gaoler to have the gold slave collar and chains prepared.’ As Niska departed, Sarin smiled mockingly at Tarn. ‘A prince should be properly attired.’

  Tarn stared coolly at Sarin, ably hiding his true feelings. He knew the Lord of Percheron well, and had always thought it unlikely that Sarin would execute him. Tarn was expecting a far more ignoble fate.

  ‘Why so jealous of what Niska was doing to me?’ Tarn taunted. ‘I’ve always known how you feel about me, Sarin, and I find your pathetic desire totally abhorrent,’ he continued vehemently.

  Frustration briefly flared in Sarin’s eyes. ‘Now you no longer have a choice, Tarn. You are my prisoner, and I intend to make you my personal body slave.’ Stepping close to his prisoner, Sarin trailed his fingers down over Tarn’s chest and rigid stomach. ‘I shall use you as I wish.’

  ‘Never,’ Tarn hissed.

  ‘When I order it you will spread yourself for me.’ Sarin slid an arm around Tarn and squeezed his buttocks. Invading the narrow crack, he probed the tight muscle ring of Tarn’s nether mouth. ‘I will take you in any manner of my choosing.’

  ‘I’d rather die.’ A scarlet flush of humiliation stained Tarn’s face.

  ‘Then I’ve judged your punishment well,’ Sarin replied with intense satisfaction. Gently, he cupped Tarn’s balls, then his fingers drifted teasingly across his penis. ‘I should, of course, consider having you circumcised. But perhaps I’ll find the difference from my other male slaves even more tempting.’

  Tarn gritted his teeth, forced to endure the unwanted caresses, and trying to appear indifferent to Sarin’s sensual touch. ‘I cannot prevent you enslaving me, Sarin. But I’ll never willingly submit to any of your vile demands on my flesh. I’ll fight you with every measure of my strength and will. Eventually you are bound to tire of the conflict and come to accept that I am a lost cause.’

  ‘You seem very determined, Tarn. But remember that even the strongest will can be broken.’ He stroked Tarn’s cock stem with his long slim fingers. ‘I’ll have your nether mouth oiled and trained to accommodate me. My gaolers are well used to preparing slaves for my use.’

  Tarn closed his eyes, filled with a sense of foreboding. Sarin appeared so confident, so certain.

  ‘They use ivory phalluses of ever increasing sizes,’ Sarin continued, sliding his hand between Tarn’s thighs to probe his nether mouth with the tip of an index finger. ‘At first, of course, the ivory rods are uncomfortable. But as your inner flesh is stretched and accustoms itself, you’ll come to welcome the cool feel of the phallus as it’s slowly inserted into your helpless body.’

  Tarn’s mouth twisted in contempt, his eyes as cold as ice. ‘You disgust me, Sarin.’

  ‘Now that you are a slave, Tarn, you are not permitted to use my name. In future you will address me as master.’ Sarin watched Tarn wince as his index finger probed deeper into the virginal opening. ‘Imagine how it will feel, Tarn, to be continually forced to wear the phallus of servitude inside your anus; a constant reminder of what is now required of you. Eventually you will learn that submission itself brings the sweetest of pleasures.’

  The memory of the whipping was still fresh in Tarn’s mind; the humiliation of his release being witnessed by all those soldiers. He was certain Sarin had ordered it, and he could not have hated the Lord of Percheron more than he did at this moment.

  ‘One day you will thank me for this, Tarn,’ Sarin said with calm assurance. He kissed Tarn’s taut cheek, then fastened his lips on his prisoner’s mouth. However, he gave a growl of pain and jumped back, blood welling from his lip.

  ‘So I’ll submit, will I?’ Tarn challenged, watching Sarin dab angrily at his bleeding mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ Sarin snapped furiously. ‘Your defiance will disappear in a matter of moments. I’ll have you taken to a cell close to this one. There you’ll find a prisoner you know only too well.’

  For the first time Tarn felt deep concern. ‘Who?’ he asked harshly.

  ‘Your own kinsman. Your cousin, Cador.’

  ‘Cador?’ Tarn grated in surprise. ‘That cannot be. I left him in a place of safety far beyond the borders of Kabra.’

  ‘It appears that Cador devised a foolish plan to try and rescue you, Tarn. It failed, of course, and Cador and his comrades were captured.’

  ‘No.’ Tarn shook his head. ‘I will not believe you, Sarin. You’re trying to trick me.’

  ‘Then you shall see Cador for yourself.’ Sarin smiled. ‘I never promise what I cannot produce. I assure you, Cador is my prisoner.’

  ‘You have Cador,’ Tarn said brokenly. The young man was like a brother to him. With Cador’s capture, Tarn’s last hopes for Kabra were lost. Cador had been his staunchest ally and one of his battle commanders.

  ‘Every time you refuse me, Tarn, every little sign of disobedience will cause Cador to suffer. He will be punished in your place. Cador is young and far less strong-willed and determined than you. Can you liv
e with the knowledge that if you resist me, Cador will be forced to endure unimaginable pain?’

  Rianna ate a light meal and rested for almost three hours. She was unused to sleeping during the day, but she awoke feeling refreshed. Her new home was a delight, even to one who had no desire to be there at all. The apartment consisted of five opulently furnished rooms. The main reception room had an impressive gilded ceiling, and her sleeping chamber contained the largest bed she had ever seen, draped with curtains of the sheerest muslin.

  Soon after she awoke, a young woman arrived. Introducing herself as Yasmin, she informed Rianna she had come to escort her to the bath house. It appeared it was not the custom for maids to accompany their mistresses to the bath house, so Rianna left Jenna to oversee the unpacking.

  Yasmin gave no clue as to her position in Sarin’s household as she led Rianna through a beautifully tended garden. She was tiny and slightly built, scarcely reaching Rianna’s shoulders. Her skin was the colour of dark honey and her hair as black as night. It was piled high on her head and decorated with loops of lustrous pearls.

  ‘You must have found the long journey wearisome,’ Yasmin said, smiling shyly at Rianna. Her large almond-shaped eyes reminded Rianna of a startled fawn she’d once come across in the forest.

  ‘I confess I found it most enlightening,’ Rianna replied, wondering why she couldn’t have a bathing chamber in her own quarters.

  ‘Most find time spent in the hammam most relaxing,’ Yasmin said as they entered a massive chamber, with long slender columns supporting its high roof. The entire chamber was covered in tiny blue, green and gold tiles set out in elaborate patterns, and the pool at its centre was the size of a small lake.

  There were a number of young women present, all strikingly beautiful. The soft sound of their voices echoed through the warm, vapour-filled chamber. They fell almost silent as Yasmin and Rianna walked across the room.

  ‘Do all the ladies of the court bathe here?’ Rianna asked.