Broken Princess

by Renard, Loki

  She felt herself shatter, and in that moment her cries peaked and then fell into silence. She stopped fighting, stopped resisting. Her naked body no longer writhed against her bonds. Instead she accepted the strokes.

  And it stopped.

  Against all expectations, the flogger’s motion ceased. She was left taking deep breaths, her nipples and clit tingling and aching, her breasts so tender even the elusive touch of the drafty air was enough to make them respond.

  It was over. Finally, it was—“Ooohh!”

  Three fingers plunged inside her cunt. She heard the wet sound of her pussy as she was penetrated, her body betraying her tears with heightened arousal.

  “The sinner will always thrill to the punishment, once she accepts it,” her tormentor purred, clasping his hand against her sex, holding her in place with three fingers inside her, his palm curling around her mound to press the heel of his hand against her pubic bone.

  “Do you repent?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t know what she was repenting for. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was reclaiming the same pleasure she had sacrificed in pain.

  He worked his fingers in and out of her, wet sloppy sounds giving her arousal full voice even before her moans began to harmonize.

  The clip came off her left nipple. She arched her back and cried out as sensation flooded into that sensitive little nub. Then he plucked the clip from the right nipple, and again she was treated to the sudden resurgence of circulation to that nerve-rich area.

  Her clit was the final part of her to be freed, and with the release of the clamp came her own release, a screaming, shouting, writhing affair that bordered on erotic madness. She was consumed by orgasm, rocketed out of her body, higher, higher...

  Chapter Eight

  “Oh, my!” Aya came bursting back into consciousness, her breath coming in short gasps, remembering an orgasm it never experienced, punishment it never felt. “I don’t know what that was supposed to teach me.”

  “Truly? You need to experience it again so you can understand the lesson?”

  “No! I can work it out, please, just give me a moment. It is all so strange, being me and yet being someone else, taking on the flesh, sins, and soul of another being.”

  “You are as close as you might ever be to knowing what it is to be as I am,” Kazriel murmured. “To be one thing is to be all things. One person’s pain is everybody’s pain.”

  “But it’s not though, is it?”

  He gave her a glare. “Are you learning nothing, Princess?”

  “I am experiencing the pain of others, and their pleasure,” she admitted. “But without you, I would never have felt it.”

  “Wrong. Without me, you would not have had such a literal experience, but mark my words, you would have felt it. It is impossible to ignore the suffering of man, even when they are at a distance, their misery is a weight on your shoulders—a weight you were born bearing, and could have gone to the grave still carrying.”

  “How did you become so wise?”

  “Thousands of years of feeling all the pain there is to feel,” he said, straightening his shoulders and drawing her up from the bed. “You have the day, Princess. Use it wisely. Make a change which will lessen the suffering around you.”

  “Will it make my next experience more pleasant?”

  “That is the wrong question to be asking. You should be concerned that it will make your subjects’ next experience more pleasant.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, bowing her head, though she was not truly thinking of her subjects. She was thinking of herself, and of how terrible it would be if the third night were to bring even more painful horror than the first two. The second had been more intense than the first; that was certain. The first had been a man with a cane and a bath. The second had been a scarred man with a knife and shackles and a flogger. If the trend were to continue, she could not imagine the horror that would await her the following night.

  * * *

  She had the day to think about what should be done. At first she was not sure. There were so many who suffered, in so many ways.

  She was eating her dinner when it occurred to her that not all citizens had access to food. Vengar requisitioned crops for the army. She had heard the nobles speaking of how the peasants had rebelled at times, or tried to, when their food was taken from them. They were left to live on the scraps remaining in the fields, a few stalks of maize and tubers that avoided detection in the first harvest. What if she were to return the crops to the people? Surely that would make them happy, and prove to Kazriel that she had learned her lesson.

  Aya rose to her feet and went to the main balcony that overlooked the castle square. During Vengar’s reign it had been a quiet and dour space only traversed by guards going to and fro from their patrols. Since Vengar’s disgraceful deposition the guards had not been enforcing the harsher laws, and so there was music and trade. Vengar had demanded silence in the courtyard, but there were several minstrels playing tunes now. Aya found it fascinating how quickly the people seemed to be recovering from generations of oppression. They must have been playing those instruments in secret. How many other things had taken place in the shadows of Vengar’s reign? The people were evidently not as obedient as they had appeared to be, for already bright rebellion and celebration was raging. Vengar would have cleared the square and executed everybody in it for daring to occupy royal space, but Aya enjoyed watching the people’s celebrations. It brought joy to her heart to see that much of the cruelty was being undone quite naturally, goodness flowering in the absence of oppression.

  It took a moment for the people down below to realize that the princess was standing above them, but once one person saw, the news spread through the crowd quickly and soon a great number had gathered beneath the balcony.

  Aya felt a strange nervousness clenching low in her belly. She had never made a public appearance before, certainly not with her face exposed. It felt indecent to be letting all these men and women look at her, see her for what she was.

  “Aya!”

  Her name was shouted by a handful of people, then became a chant. A smile spread her lips. They knew her. They had never met her, and certainly had no reason to be excited by her, yet they were.

  “My people! I bring you good news! As of this moment, I am commanding the royal guard to open the food stores and ensure that everybody has enough to eat. They shall allot an allowance to each citizen, that their bellies might be filled, and that they should not have to shame themselves or sell that which should never be sold in order to exist.”

  A cheer went up from the crowd. Aya smiled. She was being hailed as regent, a queen with real validity and gravitas. She felt a surge of happiness—and of power.

  “Kazriel!”

  Wait. What had happened? She gave them benevolence and instead of crying her name out, they shouted the name of the stone beast who tormented her?

  Aya’s temper flared.

  “It is I who brings you this food! It is I who allows you access to these stores, from which you are not fit to eat! I give of my own supplies and you call the name of the deity who abandons you and torments me? How ungrateful you are, each and every one of you!”

  The crowd fell silent, the great mass of voices stilling in fear. She saw their faces grow pale, and she fancied she knew why. She had channeled the spirit of a true regent, able to inspire fear. Aya drew herself up, proud of her sudden ability to command the crowds. Perhaps there was regal blood in her after all. Maybe, in the absence of King Vengar, her royal self was growing.

  “Your gratitude has turned to silence, is that it?”

  The crowd made not a noise. The silence was too complete. It was not mere quiet. It was awe. Suddenly, Aya knew this was not about her.

  “He’s right behind me, isn’t he.”

  “Princess.”

  Kazriel’s voice rumbled through her, his tone resonant with the very core of her being. When he spoke, her flesh res
ponded. She hated that. It was as though she was nothing more than a puppet to his will.

  She turned around slowly, very slowly, already knowing the sight that was going to greet her. It didn’t prepare her in the slightest. His eyes gleamed with displeasure, his face looking more stony than ever. Sometimes she wondered if he might become rock again at any moment, and now was one of those moments. He was so perfectly still, saying nothing, his energy speaking for him, projecting all around her so she was caught in a wash of pure disapproval.

  “Well,” she said. “It’s true. You didn’t open the stores. I did.”

  “Apologize.”

  “To who? To them?” Her voice pitched up again. “I just did the nicest thing any royal has done in a hundred years, and you demand I apologize?”

  “Apologize this instant, or you will be stripped and lashed before them.”

  Aya’s face flared with heat. “You would not dare.”

  Kazriel reached for her. She flinched away.

  “Okay, never mind about the last part!” she called over the balcony. “Shout whoever’s name you want. Enjoy the food. Alright. Bye now!”

  Having done what Kazriel commanded, Aya fled. She dashed past the god behind her and raced into the castle, heading for the respite of her chambers. The threat he had made was unthinkable, and she was aghast at the notion he might carry it out. Was there no limit to his depravity? The indignities she suffered in his dreams were one thing, but this was becoming all too real.

  She could not believe she had shown her face, but the prospect of being even more exposed was... horrific. She felt the heat of shame rushing over her when merely contemplating the thought.

  Reaching her chamber and pulling a thick veil about her head and face, she felt a little better. She would not address the people again. She would not take the risk of offending Kazriel and being punished severely.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Aya felt more imprisoned under this so-called benevolent guardian than she had under Vengar. The king was cruel and capricious, but very little had been expected of her, unlike Kazriel, who expected everything. She wanted to hide, or perhaps run, but where could she go? Thanks to the portrait makers, her face was nearly as recognizable as Kazriel’s, and she could not pass for a peasant while wearing a veil. The nobles were likely too scared to offer her safe harbor.

  “I don’t want this,” she whispered to herself. “I don’t want to be a queen. I don’t want to be responsible for these people. I want things to be easy, like they once were.”

  She could not say that to anyone else, for she knew that wishing things were as they had been was the same as wishing for others to be starved and tortured and killed. It was a sick, weak impulse, and she was ashamed of herself for having it.

  The footsteps of the guardian were audible before they reached her chamber. What was he coming to do? Punish her, or pleasure her? Send her into another fever dream of mad desire that would leave her dripping with a need she did not know how to relieve?

  Aya curled up in the far corner of the room and sent thoughts of rebellion and retreat out into the world. She willed him not to enter the room, but of course the door creaked and then the big presence of the guardian filled the room.

  “Princess...”

  “Leave me be. Please. If you have any mercy left in you, leave me. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to be a princess. I don’t want to...”

  Her complaints and pleas were cut off as Kazriel scooped her up in his arms. She felt his hard body pressed against hers, one of his big arms under her knees, the other behind her back as he more or less cradled her like a whimpering infant.

  “You are so cruel to me. The people do as they please, but I cannot say a word out of place.”

  “Your words matter, Aya. Your actions matter. Everything you do is important.”

  “I don’t want it to be.” She turned her face toward his chest and hid from his gaze and the world, and the crushing responsibilities that had become hers though she had never asked for them. “I want to be normal. I want to have a simple life, where I can be as I wish to be, where my every move is not consumed with shame, where I can be the person I was made to be and not a puppet for a king, or a whipping girl for a cruel god.”

  She began to cry, frustration and misery overwhelming her once more. She had tried to be good, and it had led to a public humiliation, being shamed before the entire crowd. They had all seen and heard Kazriel’s threat, and she was sure the whole country would soon be speaking of it.

  Aya felt Kazriel move beneath her. He carried her from the corner of the room to her bed and he laid her down upon it.

  “Time for bed, Princess.” The words were soft, but still rumbled through him. He could not make the smallest sound without it sounding like a declaration. When he touched her, she felt not just the power of a very large muscular man, but of all creation around her.

  “I’m not tired.”

  Contrary to her complaints, she felt him stroke her hair back, and then his big hand covered her forehead. Under the influence of his persuasion, she felt the darkness crawling over her, a black thing slipping over her limbs and rendering them immobile, crawling across her torso and finally dragging her down into the complete nothingness where everything was possible.

  Usually she was not aware of the process. Usually she fell asleep without feeling or knowing what was happening. This time, she did not go as quietly as before. This time she felt the darkness coming and she raged against it in the privacy of her mind.

  Chapter Nine

  She was being chased.

  Something large and dark and full of madness was charging after her, and there was nowhere to run—nowhere that mattered anyway. She felt as though her body were small and light and terribly fleet, but not as fast as the great pelted beast that rushed behind her, stinking of meat and death.

  Jaws closed around the back of her neck. She kicked her powerful back legs, but it was too late. There was crushing and then oblivion.

  Aya woke with a scream. The experience had only lasted a few seconds, but she was soaked in sweat and she felt the acid buildup in her own muscles, as if she really had been fleeing that vicious predator.

  “What did you do to me?”

  “Apologies,” Kazriel murmured. “Easy, you are safe.” His big hands smoothed over her heated body, soothing and cooling her at the same time.

  “You turned me into a rabbit! You let me be eaten!”

  “Actually, you turned you into a rabbit. Your mind has a strength of its own, Princess. You didn’t go down willingly, and you didn’t follow the path I had planned for your consciousness. It found a different mind to inhabit.”

  “So I don’t have to experience what you want me to experience?”

  If she’d had ears that could move with any alacrity whatsoever, they would have perked up. “I could resist you? Your lessons?”

  His large hand splayed out across her stomach and held her in place. “You could resist,” he said. “You could flee into other minds. And you could suffer terribly as a result. Resistance will only make this more painful.”

  It had been terrifying to be chased down and eaten. She could still conjure the memory of canine incisors crushing her, slashing at her flesh, turning her from a living thing into nothing but food. But there was more than fear. She had been killed. She had learned what it was to die. She knew the pain and the sense of the end. And now it did not seem to be such a terrible thing.

  “Pain?” She sat up, and he let her. “You would threaten me with pain? You, great guardian, resorting to tricks of the mind, because reality is not so easy to mold?”

  “Princess...”

  “Don’t call me Princess. What do you know of my task? You are immortal. You sleep as the mountain does. You don’t know what it is to lose anyone, or to have anything taken. You don’t know pain, and you don’t know death. And that means you know nothing.”

  * * *

  Kazriel looked down at this furio
us, rebellious little spark of pure divinity and felt nothing but compassion for her mortal rage. Princess Aya did not understand what she was, not really. She did not understand that her blood was very different from that of the common people she commanded. The king had spoiled her, kept her dull, removed any opportunity for her to learn about the power that slumbered inside her.

  But she had just used it when she struggled against him. He had felt her mind slip away and dash into the wild, fleeing from him just like the rabbit who flees from the fox. He had been forced to give chase, to capture her again, and she had not liked that, but he was in some small way in awe.

  Never in Kazriel’s thousands of years had he been so resisted by any mortal. None had argued with him the way this princess did. Even Vengar, the great tyrant who had crushed the souls and lives of generations of his people had crumbled and fled within seconds of their meeting. But Aya would not submit.

  Kazriel suspected she had no idea what her resistance meant. She did not know what a strange little thing she was, and she certainly had no concept of what she did to him.

  He was attracted to her, violently, viciously, primally in need of her, and yet he resisted, sent her into dreams to learn carnal lessons, because her flesh would never be able to withstand the power of his love.

  Now she stood with flashing eyes, lit with the fire of that divinity that lived inside all of the royal line, and yet only remained in her. She was the very last vessel of it, and though it had dwindled over the generations—it was nearly nonexistent inside Vengar as far as he could tell—it was strong inside this girl.

  She would need to be more than queen. She would need to be mother to the royal line. That spark would need to be mixed with more power to reinvigorate the family.

  Kazriel knew in that moment that he would mate with this impudent, spoiled little princess. Over and over, he would spill his seed inside her, a million little points of light and they would take root inside her. She would bear at least a dozen children, princes to defend kingdom and family, princesses to carry the line once more. From this one scrap of a girl, an entire dynasty would flow.