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A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 01

By: RedHairedandFriendly



The eyes of Evette Adair, Fourth Queen of Vix, glazed over. No one in the Queen's bedchamber noticed. Everyone was focused upon the babe that had sprung from her loins just moments before. When the silence of the room was broken by the squall of the newborn, it was only then that the Queen's most trusted advisor and friend turned to smile at the new mother. The words of congratulations never left the young woman's lips, but a wail of deep sorrow did. 

The physician gave the babe to another and rushed to the nineteen-year-old beauty's side. He hung his head in sorrow as he took in the lifeless royal. A sigh of displeasure rose from his aged figure and yet it was also a sigh of relief. He knew that if she'd not died birthing the child than she would have died in the garrison. Her child had been a girl and that was not what the King wanted.

The babe was wrapped in a thick blanket, which Evette had woven herself, and taken to the King. "Your daughter," the handmaiden said as she held out the young, wrinkly Princess.

King Richard stared down on the squalling infant and scowled. He gave her a name, but nothing else; even that he felt was more than she deserved. Evelyn was placed in the care of one of the wet nurses in the village. She was forgotten by her father and he married another woman and then another. No sons were born to King Richard and when he was finally laid to rest, young Evelyn was eighteen and had lived a peasant's life with little formal education.



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 02



(I was blessed to be the first person Red told about this idea, and was eager to jump upon this chain right from the get-go. I have always loved writing medieval fantasy, and this idea was, literally, right up my alley. The character of Bagdemagus – a charismatic, witty, yet ultimately evil figure – had been brewing in my mind for years, seeking the right outlet. I hope you all love and loathe him as much as I do.)

***

The Spectre That Walks. That was what they called him, among other things. Few ever spoke the name 'Bagdemagus' aloud, lest they garner his attention. And no one desired that. For over a century, he had been the living embodiment of the bogeyman; unruly children were often told that if they did not do all their chores, they would be taken in the night by the baleful wizard.

Bagdemagus chuckled to himself as he stood within the banquet hall of the castle. Now, whatever would I do with children? He mused dryly. 

Ahead of him, upon the podium, the new Queen was being crowned. Bagdemagus looked her over with approval. Such a tasty young thing, he thought. As fair as any story-book princess.

His features darkened. And likely just as innocent. That's good. That's very good.

He heard heavy footfalls behind him, and stepped aside just a member of the Royal Guard came through. The man glanced to Bagdemagus but said nothing; after all, he could not really see the wizard. Bagdemagus was well aware of the decree set out decades before by King Richard – that Bagdemagus be arrested on sight – and was thus always faded when he came to town. Invisibility was a taxing spell, since it changed the properties of light; Fade merely played tricks with people's minds. It was far easier to alter perceptions than change the world.

Queen Evelyn, thought Bagdemagus as he returned his attention to the newly-crowned monarch. I hope you don't get too terribly comfortable in your new finery. You won't be enjoying it for long.

He watched her gaze sweep back and forth among the crowd of royalty and their hangers-on. She seemed so timid, yet managed to keep her composure. There was a hidden strength to her that was not easily or casually seen. Her eyes settled upon a young man; her lips twitched in a slight smile. Bagdemagus looked as well, frowning. Ah, yes, the boy. What was his name? Cedric. Yes, that's it. Cedric.

The wizard sighed, slipping a hand beneath his cloak for his timepiece. Such intricate mechanical works were rare in Vix, afforded only by the very well-to-do. Bagdemagus noted the time, then returned the device. Time to go. He looked one last time to the new Queen, giving a flippant salute. Evelyn's face paled, the small smile vanished. She turned away for a moment, visibly shaken.

How odd, Bagdemagus thought as he stepped away. I do believe she saw me. Now, that is interesting . . . .

***

The halls were mainly empty within the castle, save for the occasional sentry. The effects of fade made them ignore the billowing black cloak and the sounds of his booted feet as he passed them by. They could not know how many times the wizard had roamed these halls like a phantom, eavesdropping on the whispered conversations of dukes and counts, chambermaids and guards.

He stopped outside the doors of the royal chambers, noting the stone-faced guards, in their finest royal red, oiled and polished halberds held upright at their sides. Purely ceremonial weapons, Bagdemagus knew, though he supposed they could deliver quite a whollop if need be.

For a moment, he touched the hilt of the blade at his belt. A pair of quick thrusts, and the sentries would be dispatched, never knowing who had slain them. But that would be messy . . . besides, Bagdemagus had no business with the Queen's bedchambers, not just yet.

He continued on his way, leaving the oblivious guards behind, and turned down another corridor. For a moment, he paused before a portrait of the now-deceased King Richard. The former monarch of Vix looked resplendent in his golden armor, the impressive winged helmet tucked under his arm. The epitome of all that is good and just in the land, thought Bagdemagus wryly. What a twit. 

"If only you had heeded my words, so long ago, we would both have gotten what we wanted," Bagdemagus said aloud. "But, no, you insisted that everything be your way. Well, look where you have ended up: food for worms and caterpillars, with an unwanted daughter as your only legacy."

Bagdemagus shook his head sadly. "Now we have to do it the hard way," he said, turning from the portrait. "I do hope you give your daughter a friendlier welcome in the afterlife than you did in this one."

***

The door to the small bedchamber of the handmaiden was locked, of course, though that posed little problem for a wizard more than a century old. Over the years, Bagdemagus had made copies of the keys to nearly every door in the castle. Easy enough to do for a man who could come and go as he pleased, unnoticed.

He unlocked the door, closed it quietly behind him. The new Queen's handmaiden had spartan quarters; a simple bed, wash basin, a tiny vanity. A thick red curtain indicated where the chamber pot lay. There was a single window, left open to allow the breeze and a few flitting butterflies inside.

Bagdemagus let the fade spell drop; it was taxing to keep it up for long, and a few moments' respite was welcome.

The wizard glanced around, finding what he desired upon the vanity. A finely-made brush of ivory, no doubt a gift from the housemarm for the handmaiden's service to the new Queen. Fine strands of dark hair were tangled around the teeth. Bagdemagus lifted the brush, sniffed. Hmm. Raspberries. How quaint.

He pulled off several long strands, looped them together. From his belt he took a small silver case, and slipped the strands of hair inside before clicking it closed. He smiled to himself. It would take a few hours to prepare the spell, but after that . . . .

He slipped quietly from the room, locking the door carefully. An audible gasp came from his right, and he snapped his head up toward the source.

A member of the Royal Guard, making his rounds. He stared with young, round eyes at the wizard, clearly aghast at what, or rather, who, he saw. While the sentry had never seen the man's face – and the smooth-lined face and shoulder-length jet hair was not what one would expect of an aged wizard – there could be no denying that the dark-garbed figure before him was the one and only—

"B-b-b," began the guard, drawing his sword. "Y-you're B-b-b—"

The wizard rolled his eyes, made a casual, arcane gesture. He faced the young guard – how old is this one? Seventeen? Eighteen? By all that is Infernal, they get younger every year – and planted his hands on his hips. "I'm what?" he asked.

The stuttering guard called out, gripping his sword defensively in both hands. "To arms! To arms! Intruder in the castle!"

Bagdemagus sighed tiredly. "Save your breath, boy," he said, his voice deep and rich, echoing in the air between them. "I've surrounded us with silence. You could scream at the top of your lungs – and you yet may – for all the good it will do you."

The young guard swallowed fearfully, admirably mustering his courage. A lifetime of legends and stories about the dark figure before him whirled in his mind. "Y-you won't have my fingers on your platter, wizard!"

Bagdemagus frowned, cocking his head. "Excuse me?"

The guard's features contorted. "Y-you know, fingers," he said. "Y-you eat the fingers of those you kill."

Bagdemagus looked amused. "I do? Oh, that's a new one. It used to be ears."

The guard winced, breathing heavily through his nose. He shifted on his feet, edging closer to the wizard.

"You know, I simply do not understand where all these varied rumors about me come from," Bagdemagus continued, apparently unconcerned about the sword pointed his way. "If you were to believe everything you hear, I can turn into a bat, I suck blood, I kidnap babies, and now, apparently, I have a fetish for fingers. It's truly mind-boggling, what you people invent about me."

"S-s-so, you're n-n-not going to eat my fingers?" the guard asked hopefully.

Bagdemagus shrugged. "Let's see where my mood takes me."

The guard let out a small groan, then abruptly raised his sword and prepared to lunge forward.

"I wouldn't do that," the wizard said calmly.

The guard frowned, halting. "Why not? You're an evil wizard, and I'm a Royal Guard. What do you expect me to do?"

Bagdemagus considered the young man's words. "Good point," he admitted. "However, do you really think you can slay me? I am a wizard, after all. How many men do you think have tried to send me to the Abyss?"

The guard chewed his lip, anxiety evident on his face. "Eh . . . more than twenty?" he queried.

Bagdemagus gave the young man a blank look. "Yes," he said dryly. "More than twenty."

"I-I still have to try," muttered the guard, his resolve weakening.

Bagdemagus shook his head. "No, you don't."

"I certainly do!"

"No, you do not," iterated the wizard, stepping forward and glaring into the guard's eyes. He touched the tip of the wavering sword between them.

"But—"

"Now, listen to me," interrupted Bagdemagus. "You are standing before a wizard more than a century old. Every man, woman, and child quivers in fear at the mention of my name. I have slain entire armies and numerous frightful beasts. The powers of the elements are mine to command. I . . ." he frowned in thought. "What was I saying?"

"E-e-every man, woman, and child q-quivers—"

The wizard snapped his fingers. "Right. So, considering that I have been alive as long as I have, and been an enemy of the kingdom for as long as I have, do you really think –" he stepped closer, looking down upon the frightened guard with cold, grey eyes – "That you, with all your . . . months of experience, have any chance at all of slaying me?"

The guard trembled visibly, feeling his strength ebb as Bagdemagus pushed down on the sword. He whimpered as he allowed the wizard to take the blade from him.

Bagdemagus effected a look of sympathy as the young guard shuddered before him. He slipped a hand to the guard's shoulder. "There, there," he said soothingly. "You've nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm a coward!" blubbered the guard, tears flowing down his ruddy cheeks.

Bagdemagus gave the look of a stern father. "Now, you stop that," he said firmly. "Is there shame for the mouse when it flees the lion? Of course not. Now, buck up!"

The guard sniffed, lifting his eyes fearfully. "B-but now you're going to kill me," he said in a small voice.

Bagdemagus sighed, waving the sword in the air, making the guard flinch. "Now, why would I do that? What would I gain from that? You're no threat to me."

The guard looked surprised as a glimmer of hope dawned in his eyes. He hastily wiped his cheeks. "Y-you're not going to kill me?"

Bagdemagus chuckled warmly, clapped the young man's shoulder. "Of course not," he said with a smile. "What's your name, young man?"

The guard let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Rogers, sir, son of Rogers."

"Well, Rogers, son of Rogers, why don't you run along now. I am sure you have some pretty young thing waiting for you."

The guard sniffled, shrugged. "Well, there is this one girl in the village . . . ."

Bagdemagus stoutly slapped the young man's back. "There you go," he said encouragingly. "Buy her some flowers. Ladies always like flowers."

Rogers, son of Rogers, nodded numbly, turning away from the wizard. He was stunned with disbelief that the evil wizard Bagdemagus, the Spectre That Walks, was allowing him to live. He managed a small smile. Won't this be a story to tell the boys?

"Rogers?"

The guard turned about, looking back to the wizard. Bagdemagus held up the young man's sword, an expectant look on his face. "You forgot something."

Rogers smiled sheepishly, stepped up to the wizard, holding his hand out to retrieve his sword. "Oh, right," he said. "Can't very well go back to my captain without—"

His words were cut off by searing pain that stabbed deep through his chest, through his lung, and exploded from his back. Stunned, the young guard looked down at his own sword, half of it buried in his body. The crimson tunic he wore became steadily darker as blood flowed out.

"Y-you said . . . you weren't . . . going to . . . kill me . . . ."

Bagdemagus stared down into quivering brown eyes. "And you believed it?" He clucked his tongue. "Hello, evil wizard here. You can't trust me."

With a vicious tug, Bagdemagus jerked the sword from the guard's body. Blood poured from young Rogers' mouth as he slumped to the floor, his eyes glazing. He gasped and sputtered for several moments before he died.

Bagdemagus tossed the sword to the floor with a rueful shake of his head. He actually believed I was letting him go, he thought as he headed down the hallway, once more engulfed in the arcane shroud of fade. 

They really must train these boys better . . . .

***

It is always popularly believed that wizards dwell in towers, with dimly-lit stone walls and cobwebs in every corner. Certainly, some do; but not Bagdemagus.

Outside the city, shrouded in an apple orchard and laying upon a small stream, lay a simple mill house. The large wheel beside the house turned lazily, creaking as the paddles were moved by the slowly-flowing current. The house itself was constructed of sturdy, if aged, wood, warped in places, with a small front porch. A more unassuming abode for a wizard there could not be.

Bagdmagus slipped from the saddle of his pale-hued mare and headed toward the rickety front door. He did not worry about whether the animal would remain; it was a charmed creature, and thus would not leave except under duress.

He stepped through the creaking portal, closed it behind him. The gloominess of the interior slowly became defined as his eyes adjusted. There was the mill, which dominated the room of the shack, cracking and groaning as it turned. Around this the wizard went, stopping before a bare spot upon the dusty wooden floor. A casual gesture of his hand, and a section of warped wooden boards shimmered and vanished, revealing a stone staircase that spiraled down.

A flickering glow grew along the stairwell as Bagdemagus descended, finally emerging into a large room with braziers lit in each of the four corners. The walls were lined with intricate tapestries and simple wooden crates and chests. In the very center, upon a dirty and faded rug, lay a single great table, cluttered and covered with the expected paraphernalia of a wizard.

Taking a little of this and a little of that, the wizard mixed together various rare and unusual herbs and powdered crystals within a beaten copper bowl. He mashed it all together with a pistle before pouring in some oils. The final ingredient was the long, brunette lock taken from the handmaiden's bedchamber. After chopping it finely with a long, heavy knife, Bagdemagus sprinkled the hair into the mixture.

He pushed back from the table after setting the copper bowl above the single flame of a small burner. The potion would take time, he knew; a few hours.

But after so many years, a few hours more were as nothing to him.

***

The guard had been tripled since the death of young Rogers that afternoon. No one knew exactly what had transpired, of course, save that the youngest of the Royal Guard had been slain by his own sword. Rumors abounded of spies, traitors, assassins, revolutionaries . . . and, of course, of the Spectre That Walks.

"I heard the new Queen claims she saw him at the coronation," one guard told another as they stood in the shadows behind the royal stable within the castle walls. His lips were darkened by the stick of blackroot he chewed.

"'Queen,'" snorted the other guard, more senior in both age and rank. He spat out a thick glob of viscous fluid that spattered across the cobblestone. "She's naught but a girl graced with ridiculous fortune. Sure, she's Richard's only heir, but what does a girl know about ruling a kingdom? And to say she saw the Dark One? Pah! It's rubbish! No one's seen the old spectre in ages. Personally, I doubt he's still alive."

"Oh? What about Rogers, then? Killed in the castle itself? Who but a wizard would have the audacity to sneak in and slay a member of the guard . . . with his own sword?"

The older guard wrinkled his nose. "This is Vix, boy," he growled. "Nothing new about a murder in the castle. These old walls have seen more blood than some battlefields."

"All right, then, if not the wizard, then who?"

"Could have been a spy of Prince Drest. Now that's one bugger who's got much to gain. He scores that new Queen of ours, and . . . ." the senior guardsman shook his head. "Who knows what may happen."

The younger one shrugged. "I have an ill feeling about all this," he muttered. "We would not be facing any of this if Richard had only sired a son. How many wives did he have? And not a bloody one gives him a male heir? Now that stinks of dark magic, it does."

The older guard grumbled. "Strange winds, lad, strange winds." He continued mumbling to himself as the two guards wandered away, returning to their rounds. Neither of them had seen the figure standing a mere arm's length away, casually leaning against the stable wall. It was surely a good thing they had not.

Bagdemagus pushed away from the wall with a smirk upon his ageless face. Simpletons, he thought with a dark chuckle. But what else could I expect from soldiers?

Faded once more, Bagdemagus made his way through the darkened livery toward the rear of the castle's manor. He knew every inch of the grounds of Vix Castle, including all the hidden passageways and secret doors that had been forgotten by the majority of the successive residents. A touch upon a hidden stone, and a narrow section of a wall grated inward, allowing Bagdemagus into a tiny corridor, and thence to a hidden staircase.

His obfuscated route eventually took him to the third floor of the keep, not far from where he had slain young Rogers. The floors had been scrubbed and mopped; not a single smear of blood remained to mark where the witless guard had fallen. However, as Bagdemagus rounded a corner to peer down that selfsame hall, he spied two pairs of Royal Guardsmen standing at attention, deceptively alert.

The wizard just smiled, not the least bit perturbed. He had expected this. He slipped back around the corner, muttered an incantation, dipped his fingers into a pouch upon his belt. Stepping into the middle of the intersection of the two corridors, he cast the dust into the air, watching it scatter forward upon ethereal winds, reaching out to each of the guardsmen in turn.

For a moment, there was no discernible effect. Then, one by one, the guardsmen yawned, their eyes growing heavy. They swayed slightly on their feet, then more noticeably. Seeking support, they slapped gloved hands to the walls, to one another's shoulders. Faces grew slack, then blank. They fell against the walls or collapsed upon the floor, degenerating into slumber within seconds.

Bagdemagus smiled smugly to himself and made his way down the hall to the door of the handmaiden's chambers. Once more, he turned the key within the lock, and stepped inside amid arcane stealth.

The room was largely dark, with only a broad shaft of light that fell across half the simple bed. The handmaiden was deep within the realm of dreamland, her pale-skinned body partially exposed to the brilliant purity of the moonlight. It was a humid night, warm with the imminent arrival of summer, and in her slumber, Rebecca had pushed away the majority of her covers. The slinky gown she had worn to bed rode high on her thighs, was bunched between them. Her sublime young face was angled toward the moon, as if seeking its favor.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 02



"Such a creature," mused Bagdemagus beneath his breath. Certainly, the handmaiden paled when compared to her new Queen, yet there was no doubting this girl's simple beauty. Trained to serve the aristocracy, she had been able to borrow from them a bit, and thus enjoyed smooth, creamy skin and soft, luxurious hair of a rich, dark hue. Her ripe, full lips were slightly parted, pleasantly moist.

The wizard took a phial from another pouch upon his belt and leaned over the girl. The liquid within the clear glass glowed with a brilliant vermilion radiance. Bagdemagus pulled upon the stopper, noting the large bubble of fluid that clung to it. Carefully, he touched the end of the stopper to the handmaiden's lips. The crimson liquid seeped into her mouth; Rebecca licked her lips reflexively. Her brow furrowed slightly as she slept.

Bagdemagus sat upon the edge of the bed and settled the back of his hand upon the handmaiden's forehead. She murmured in her sleep, her features contorting slightly and twitching. He lifted her head, brought the mouth of the phial to the girl's lips. "Drink," he whispered.

Dutifully, controlled by the wizardry already at work within her, Rebecca lifted up just enough, taking the phial in her hands and pushing it against her lips. She drank greedily, consuming the potion with repeated swallows. At last, she lay back, breathing heavily. The phial was empty.

Bagdemagus took the small bottle and set it beside the bed, then touched the young woman's face. Rebecca was about the same age as the new Queen, he knew, perhaps even a year older. Like the monarch she served, Rebecca was sweet and pale, apparently untouched. Bagdemagus could not resist the temptation to confirm the idea.

"Lift up your gown," he whispered in Rebecca's ear. "All the way above your legs, and part your thighs wide."

Eyes still closed, the handmaiden did as she was bade, pulling upon the satiny fabric of her sleeping gown. Bagdemagus watched as slender, alabaster thighs were fully revealed, then the girlish hips, and the thick pelt of russet down that coated the young woman's sex. As she been instructed, Rebecca spread her lean thighs wide. The faint aroma of her femininity reached the wizard's senses.

"You are mine, I command thee," whispered Bagdemagus, settling his hand upon the girl's right thigh. "Open yourself for me."

Rebecca frowned in her sleep, perhaps trying to fight he magical compulsion that guided her. But she could not resist, and slid her hands down her body, over the bunched-up gown beneath the full swell of her breasts, to her naked abdomen and lewdly-displayed sex. With a soft sigh borne of natural arousal, her fingers eased through the downy dark curls and pulled at the hair-lined lips.

Bagdemagus craned his neck, looking upon the girl's exposed treasure. Such a simple and beautiful thing, he thought, and placed his own hands over Rebecca's plump pink lips. The girl hissed in response, then sighed deeply, her mouth falling slack.

Fingers – both hers and his – caressed the fleshy labia, bringing the smallish clitoris to prominence within its hood. Bagdemagus grinned upon feeling the girl becoming slick, her fragrance stronger in the air. Gently, he pushed a finger inside her.

Rebecca moaned, and lifted her hips, just a bit, spreading her legs even wider. Subconsciously, she pushed against the wizard's hand, forcing the finger to delve even deeper. She whimpered as the barrier within blocked him.

"So you are a virgin," muttered Bagdemagus, inhaling the gentle fragrance of raspberries in the young woman's hair. His finger stroked, massaged, prodded against the defender of Rebecca's purity. He slid his finger back, admiring the glistening wetness upon it . . . then thrust it back in rudely, deeply, sundering the barrier. "But not anymore."

Rebecca arched her back deeply, her face contorting in pain. But just as she was about to cry out, Bagdemagus was whispering, telling her to be quiet, be still, to absorb the pain and let it fade. He felt the warm spurt of blood over his finger and splash into the palm of his hand. He kept the invading digit buried as far as it could reach as the natural tremors ebbed. Finally, Rebecca sagged into the bed, panting and moaning softly.

Bagdemagus smiled at his triumph, and lifted his bloodied hand. Casually, he licked the tip of his finger, getting a taste of the deflowered woman. He leaned over and kissed Rebecca's lips.

"You are mine," he said to her. "You will follow my every command, even unto your own death. Watch the queen, and remember all that you see and hear of her."

"Yes, milord," whispered Rebecca, her breathless voice less than a whisper.

"Evelyn is to remain chaste, pure, untouched until the midsummer day," continued Bagdemagus. "You will do all that you can to insure this, even offering yourself as consolation to any suitor who threatens the Queen's virginity."

"I will, milord."

Bagdemagus petted the young woman's hair, kissed her once again as he moved atop her. He took one of Rebecca's hands and guided it toward his groin. "Now will I reward you for your service," he whispered into her mouth, even as her hand slipped inside his breeches to find his engorged arousal. Eagerly, without his coaching, she guided him toward her bloodied sex.

"Ohhh . . . yes, milord . . . ."

***

Back within his sanctum, Bagdemagus leaned over the small desk that lay along one of the stony walls. An aged scroll was open before him, yellowed and brittle with age. The ink glowed softly with its own arcane energy.

"When summer's day draws nigh
And monarch, pure and sweet
Sits upon a throne set high
Death she shall meet

For then the hand that doth slay
Will know the power and the glory
And henceforth from that day
That hand shall write the story."

Bagdemagus chuckled darkly, his eyes blazing with anticipation. Six score years and more, he thought. The journey has been long. But it will all have been worth it.

"Indeed."



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 03



This story is part of a chain. Although it can be read on its own, parts of it may make more sense when read in order of the chain. However, I highly recommend reading all of the chapters anyway. I hope you enjoy! Please take the time to vote. If you have enjoyed this please recommend these to your friends.

*

John, Champion of the Crown, dodged around a tree and thrust. His opponent's weapon smacked into the trunk and only his foe's fumble, born of inexperience, cost John the fatal blow. His back pressed against the tree as he spun a reverse course. As expected, another slash followed and met with naught but empty space. John's sword was already in motion. Quick as an arrow, it reached the foe's throat and froze an inch from the man.

His opponent's neck was tense with frustration and fear. "I yield."

John laughed as his sword lowered to his side. "This is divine right! You are proven false. You must make restitutions for your egregious slander of her majesty!" The bigger man merely glared down at the exuberant champion. The corner of the giant's lips began to twitch. A moment later he couldn't keep the mocking smile from forming. John glared up.

"John, you worthless stable-hand! Where are you?"

John's glare melted as he turned to look over his shoulder. David, the royal ostler, came around the corner a moment later and glared at the two delinquent young men. John heard the branch drop and felt Eric's gigantic hand seize around the back of his neck. His body practically dangled as Eric dragged him forward, towards his doom. David was notorious for harsh punishments, and John was particularly prone to his ire.

"There you are!" David had spotted Eric and his captive. "Shirkin' responsibility, to be sure. I swear on my fathers bones, how you ever expect to be more than a shiftless layabout is beyond me. The emissary from Prince Drest is just about to arrive." John's hopes rose. With the number of horses associated with a delegation's entourage, surely he would finally be allowed to show his skill as a groom. David wasted no time to dash his dreams. "We'll be brushin' them down, and we need you to make sure the stalls are in order and feed's ready."

John's shoulders slumped. Eric let go of his neck with a friendly shove towards the stables. A glance over his shoulder revealed the big man's apologetic shrug. Both men knew that John had a way with horses, all animals in fact, but he was the youngest of the hands, not to mention the lowest of birth. "And be sure to pull the good feed! These aren't just nobles, they're royal emissaries you worthless whore-son!"

John bristled at the insult. He had to remind himself, for the thousandth time, that David meant nothing by the comment. Everyone beneath him received the same insult from David at one point or another. John was merely more sensitive to that particular aspersion. While, in truth, his mother was an honest washer woman, who had caught the eye of one of the lamp-lighters, his maternal grandmother had indeed been a lady of the night. That fact led most of the village to assume that his mother had also followed in the 'family profession' in order to supplement her meager earnings. She was simply frugal, a trait she had ruthlessly passed to her son.

John sighed as he entered the stables. He quickly went through and opened all of the doors and window panels for the empty stalls. Not only would this allow them to air, it afforded him the best method to quickly inspect them. Most, he discovered, would not need to be cleaned. A slight layer of chips, from the local mill, would suffice. He grabbed the tools and went about mucking the few stalls that required more.

This was the worst part of his life. John knew that many people had far worse fates than he, but the mindless labor left him far too much time to think. He wandered from thought to thought, often with little segue. In this case, his mind naturally gravitated towards Rogers. The young man had been a good friend to John. From a young age, the two had sparred with twigs. When Rogers joined the guard, he made sure to visit with John and teach him all of the fundamentals of sword work that he learned. It was as if the two had joined together.

John frowned as he moved on to clean the second stall. They attempted to join the guards together, but John's questionable lineage earned him naught but derisive laughter. No one even knew who his grandfather had been. Perhaps, even Gram Brigit didn't know. She never spoke of it if she did. How could he be trusted when his entire family could be nothing more than well connected spies.

That thought brought John's mind back around to his departed friend. Rumors were rife about the guard's death. The one advantage to life within the manor was the gossip. Most of the nobles held their tongues loosely around the servants, and even most of the servants saw the stable hands as little more intelligent than the beasts they maintained. He took exception to the inference, not so much for the insult implied to him, but to the one leveled against the horses. Although perhaps not as smart as humans, they were very intelligent animals. And their instincts usually far surpassed the theoretically-more-sophisticated brutes that rode them.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the horse in the stall across from him began to whicker with nerves. John looked up in time to see a dark-clad man stride arrogantly into view. He'd seen the man frequently around the manor. The guards completely ignored him, which led John to suppose he was an important figure but not important enough to bow and scrape to. The man's arrogance and self assurance labeled him, as surely as his finery, as a noble. John had no reason to suspect the truth; that the guards never reacted because they didn't see him.

A quick command, and a wondrous, pale-hued, mare walked over to the dark man, already saddled. The man was graceful as he swept into the saddle and rode out of the stables. John watched him go, from the deep shadows of the stall, shrugged, and when back to his cleaning.

Spies! That was the theory that John supported. He'd heard all sorts of rumors about Prince Drest. To listen to everyone speak, he wanted Vix by any means. He would come in, with an army of demons, to take the land by force. He would marry Queen Evelyn and then lock her in her chambers and rule in her stead by day and do unspeakable things to her at night.

That last thought made John's blood boil with anger. With no little embarrassment, he realized the thought of a woman tied helpless to a bed made his blood stir in other ways as well, queen or no. It was shameful to find such things enervating. Well, even more shameful than such base and lustful thoughts would normally be. John would one day be the champion of the realm. It would be his responsibility to protect the fair maidens.

Besides, the queen was nowhere near as glorious, in John's biased eyes, as Laurel, the manor baker's daughter. Was that treason; to think another woman more beautiful than the queen? It shouldn't be. But John had known more than enough women in his life to know that wouldn't stop them from leveling the charge were they in power. Especially the most vain of women. It would be safest to simply never admit aloud, except perhaps to Laurel, such thoughts.

"John, you worthless layabout!" John jumped as David's voice broke his rambling reverie. "Make haste! The delegation is here and we'll be needin' the stalls soon enough."

"Aye sir! Just one more to go, then I'll get to the feed." John heard David's satisfied grunt even inside the stall. It was high praise from the ostler, one that seldom graced John's ears. It spurred him to hurry into the third and final stall to be cleaned. He focused entirely on the task at hand, and miraculously it seemed to speed by. If only he could keep his thoughts from wandering more of the time, perhaps he'd have more time for himself. No, likely David would simply find more mindless work for him rather than allow him to groom or exercise the horses.

He finished, and began to stow the tools just as the rest began to lead horses into the stables. John smiled inwardly the moment David reached the stall set aside for the emissary's horse. Like all the rest of the stalls, John had already laid out the grooming supplies for him. This time the grunt held equal measures of surprise and approval. John pretended not to see the appraising look the stable master gave him, as he picked up the pitchfork and left the stables to get the feed.

Unlike most stables, David insisted that the feed and hay be kept in a building separated from the horses. If a fire should break out, it would be a much more simple matter to water down the wood chips and prevent it from spreading too quickly to retrieve the prized animals. It worked well, for they had never lost an animal to fire, despite the storage barn burning down twice. But it meant that John's task bore some resemblance to hell during the heat of summer and cold of winter. Funny how cold could burn as surely as a fire.

The cart was already full of hay, so John tossed the pitchfork on top of the pile and wandered inside in search of the quality grain. He knew right where it was. After all, he'd had to retrieve some on the day the king died and his estranged daughter had been brought in to fulfill her obligations. Likely he would need to remind David more often to replenish their supply.

King Richard had had little time for riding his horses. He had spent too much time riding his wives in a futile effort to produce an heir. Queen Evelyn, however, rode her own mount to the manor. She had even looked to want to brush it down afterwards, much to the chancellor's disapproval. David had approved highly, but smoothed things over with assurances that the mare would be well cared for.

John heard the slight noises that came from the rear of the barn and slipped into the shadows. A couple had managed to slip away from their duties for a roll in the hay. He managed to give them a wide berth as he went to the back corner for a cask of the good feed. He began to hug the wall once more, in retreat, when his curiosity got the better of him.

Even from a distance, and hidden in the shadows as he was, John could tell the hawkish, angular features of the earl of Westlake. An overweight man who had seen nearly fifty summers, he had a shrew of a wife. It didn't surprise John that the low ranked noble would seek out someone for his pleasures, what surprised the young man was that any woman would willingly give herself to the contentious twit. And there was no way he would have been able to get a woman to come out here with him, alone, without her understanding exactly what was intended.

The man's soft body heaved up and down as he pushed himself in and out of his apparently willing victim. John couldn't see the woman, half -buried as she was in the straw, but he could see the delicate arms and hands as they tenderly gripped the obese man's hips. The angle seemed completely wrong but John couldn't figure out why. He was fascinated and horrified all at once. He settled himself into the shadows as his curiosity overpowered his revulsion.

John had been told, by those men with far more experience than he, that any woman could be identified by her noises. In John's very limited experience, two fumbled attempts with different women, they all sounded alike. All the same, not only could he not mark the identity of the woman in question, her moans seemed somehow false to him.

All at once, the reasons for the false note in her voice and the strange placement of the hands became unmistakably clear. Earl Westlake reared backward and the woman followed him forward. At first John could not figure out how or why her face seemed to be glued to his groin, then he suddenly understood. Despite his completely lack of experience with the position, his own loins jumped and burned in voyeuristic delight at the implications, as if to insist he find a suitable partner to experiment with.

The earl's hands clawed at the woman's curly, black, hair and feeble muscles seemed to press her harder against his hips. The man screamed his release and John blushed as he realized the woman now drank his seed as the guards often drank from the kegs of ale. And still, John's own manhood pulsed in anticipation. He sank even further against the wall, sure that his flushed skin would show like a torch and reveal him to the couple.

After a minute or so, the earl released the woman's head and she fell backwards with what sounded like a satisfied groan. John heard her mumble something but was too far to hear the words. Earl Westlake heard and his eyes flew wide in surprise and greed. Her hands came up and began to stroke the now flaccid member. A quick shift in position and the nobleman lay back in the hay while the woman straddled his legs. Her head once more dived between the man's legs as she devoured his manhood.

Straw still clung to her body, but now John got a much better look at her. He still couldn't identify her, nearly doubled over as she was, but he could understand very clearly what drove the other man to adultery. Every inch of the woman's body seemed comprised of soft, silky curves. He could imagine the feel of her skin, as if his hands glided across pure cream. Half hidden, the sight of the full round globes of her breasts sent fresh blood downward. The sight of her head, as it bobbed up and down around the earl's small shaft, though masked by her hair, threatened even John's virtue.

But of all things, it was the bright pink, inflamed, lips between her legs that spurred John's lust. As she knelt over the earl, her butt thrust in the air, she was angled slightly so that he saw her sex clearly. She glistened with moisture in the pale light and virtually throbbed with need. The position sent thoughts of the horses when they mated and his body urged him, at the sight of such undeniable need, to take the woman from behind.

All too soon her head pulled free. Her body surged forward and she impaled herself on the nobleman's insatiable weapon. A toss of her head, as she bucked up and down, revealed her face at last. John's breath caught in horror and he clutched the forgotten cask tight as if it held his sanity.

Laurel, the baker's daughter, rode Earl Westlake with such abandon. Worse still, despite the young man's trauma, John's body ached all the more. She had been the object of his romantic dreams for two years now. His body had transformed that into a very healthy realm of fantasy. And now she stood completely bared before him. Better still, to his body's perspective, or worst still for his heart and mind, her every action screamed a profusion of experience. And since the earl only came around once a year or so, it could not be he who had taught her such skill.

John's learned ears heard the deception in her moans. He doted on every word he had ever heard her speak, he could read her expression like scholars read their books. Although she screamed her release, none of the rest of her body lent credence to it. If the earl noticed, he didn't care. Moments later he grunted his. Laurel was lifted as the earl's deceptively strong hips crashed upwards numerous times.

Finally, Laurel collapsed to her side. John felt like his world had shattered. She was his angel. She was the very image of a pure maiden that he, the righteous champion, defended.

Earl Westlake mumbled something as he gathered his clothes. He donned them, much quicker than his hearty bulk suggested was possible, and scurried for the door. Laurel shifted to her side, propped herself on an elbow and watched his departure with cold eyes. The moment the corpulent man disappeared around the front doors, her ice blue eyes slowly tracked across the room. John's heart stopped as they locked on him. A satisfied smile spread across the demonically angelic lips. "I don't know who you are, but I know you're there. You might as well show yourself."

John shook as he slowly stood, the large cask clutched beneath an arm. Laurel's smile widened into something downright predatory. Her eyes softened and widened in surprise. "I know you! You're the stable hand who loiters about my father's kitchen. In search of a sweat treat I presume?"

He couldn't keep his eyes from wandering across her bare body. Her legs were slightly splayed by the position and clearly showed her greatest treasure. His body did not care that is had been plundered, even if his heart did. Her eyes glanced down his muscular body and settled at the large bulge between his legs. "Or perhaps it is a sweet treat of another kind that you have longed for?" Her body undulated slightly as she shifted position to more greatly display her feminine assets. Once more his body lunged in desire and only his virtue held him steadfast.

"Perfect." Somehow, the single word reminded John of a cat. Laurel's low slung stalk, as she crawled slowly, purposefully, towards him only aided the image. She was a predator of the savannah and he was the prey. "Not only would you increase the chances I'd quicken, and be able to trap that fool earl, but you can quench the inferno he rousted. And when he sets me up somewhere, I'll make sure to bring my very own ostler. You can instruct me on the proper way to ride." Even John knew the true meaning of her suggestion.

John's eyes flew wide as the full extent of Laurel's devious nature uncoiled before him. Not only was she not the angel he had envisioned, in truth she seemed a succubus! The terror and heartbreak shattered the demon's control of his body and his legs found strength for flight. The forgotten cask of grain pumped in time with his heaving arm.

"There you are! Blast it you useless whore-son where have you been?" John nearly ran straight past the stable when David's bellow brought him short. "Where be the hay? Blast it, boy, how're we to feed the horses if you don't bring the hay? Well, at least you brought the grain for the emissary's and his wife's horses. Now get yourself back there and bring back the hay!"

Caught between two terrors, John slowly turned back to the storage barn. His fear of David easily overcame his fear of temptation and mortal sin. "Saints be damned boy, are you touched?" John looked back in bewildered confusion. "Give me the cask first!" John looked down at the cask of grain beneath his arm. He was to numb to understand anything. He walked back and placed the cask in the stable-master's grip.

The ostler braced himself, both arms around the cask, and still nearly doubled over as the full weight was released to him. David knew the young lad misunderstood his own strength. Once upon a time he, himself, had been one of the strongest in the manor. Mucking the stalls, lifting the feed and tossing hay tended towards those results. But John, and his giant friend Eric, surpassed everything from David's youth.

John stumbled back the way he had come. With every step he expected Laurel to jump from the shadows, toss him to the ground and steal his virtue. It wasn't that he was untouched in the ways of a man and a woman, but Laurel had been his ideal for so long, that it seemed only natural for her corruption to infect him. A mere one time and he would gladly follow her suggested life of deceit, as she preyed upon the earl and flaunted John before their benefactor. He wanted to find his maiden and protect her from all the world's ills. She would be the one he shared himself with. The way he figured it, God wanted the act between two who loved each other, and all else was unimportant.

Fire burned in his muscles. He began to sprint the moment he spotted the cart. He was in the clear. He could grab it and be gone. Frustrated moans came from within the barn, and John briefly wondered if women could relieve their own tension in the same way a man could. If so, how? He knew to look would be a trap to his immortal soul, so he fled. To his relief, he managed to push the heavy cart back to the stable in no time at all. In fact, he would have been surprised to see one of the horses push it faster.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 03



Back at the stable, John gratefully began to fork hay into the now full stalls. The rest of the men were not quite finished with their tasks, so John took the free moment to sit just outside, on an empty keg, and catch his breath. A moment later, a large hand rested gently on his shoulder and a deep voice drifted softly to him. "I'm sorry about earlier. I saw David and panicked."

Still numb, John looked up at his friend. Embarrassment and shame clouded the big man's rugged features. John couldn't help but offer a friendly smile in return. "It's alright Eric. I probably would have done the same were I you."

Eric's simple grin always proved as deceptive as Laurel's innocence apparently was. The man was a veritable mountebank as he portrayed the dumb oaf, but John knew better. He was one of the few people, beyond the clergy and occasional nobles, that could actually read. John also knew that the big man spoke at least one other language. It often left him to wonder why Eric worked as he did.

"I'll make it up to you! Let's go get some pastries, and watch the women's bosoms heave in the heat of the kitchen." The sentiment and the wink left John wondering if the man had been a priest who could not manage his vows. "I'm sure Laurel will be about, and you know she's always got the tightest bodice, and she douses herself with water to keep off the heat." The casual reminder tightened John's heart.

John sighed as he followed his best friend. How had he never seen it? The thin, white, fabric clung to her flesh and turned near invisible. It was a wonder he hadn't been able to recognize the large areolae or the pert nipples. Upon further reflection, he'd seen them oft enough. He hurried forward and began to spin free his troubled thoughts. Eric walked in silence but simply listened. As the quick tale wound down, he spoke. "I see your dilemma. You must follow your heart. If you do not think you can look at her without the scene sullying your mind, then you must move on."

A meaty hand reached around to grab his far shoulder. Eric gave John a great shake that surprised a laugh out of him. "An now, if you've no use left for her, I find myself suddenly with a great number of uses. And she in dire need of my charms!" Eric winked, but John sensed the question behind the glance. With a lighter heart, he shoed his best friend off to slake his lust. The big man grinned and bolted for the storage barn.

John merely shook his head and turned his thoughts back to spies in their midst; a near certainty now that Prince Drest's emissary had arrived.

oCopywrite by Deathlynx



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 04



This is part of a chain story. While I cannot twist your arm to go back and read the previous three chapters, I highly suggest that you do so, as, first of all, they are very well written, and, second of all, they add depth and background to this chapter.

My thanks to all the other excellent writers in this chain. To RedHairedAndFriendly for starting the chain, to SlycWilly for giving me such a need to create Viviane to thwart Bagdemus, and to DeathLynx, for giving me John and Eric.

Viviane is a real friend of mine. She is not in any way plastically altered. Of course, in real life, her name is not Viviane and she is nicer (though she still has a healthy sex drive).

As usual, please feel free to leave your comments and feedback, and don't forget to vote!!

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Viviane watched the trees roll by as she accompanied her half brother to the castle of the kingdom of Vix. She was attending with him for several reasons, first and foremost because she was becoming bored with the men in the vicinity of her own kingdom, but also because she felt that her young brother needed help wedding and bedding the newly orphaned young queen of Vix. Having been raised among peasants as she had, she might just demand a "love match," rather than the usual wedding for political gain that those in the higher echelons usually insisted on.

She chuckled to herself, silently. Love. As if such a thing existed. Lust, she could believe, in fact, she commanded many a man with lust, but love? Never.

She looked at her brother, noting that he was dressed in the clothing she had picked for him to wear when meeting Queen Evelyn. His shoes were polished until they looked like black looking glasses. His stockings were snowy white and so fitted they could have been sewn to his legs that very day. His black velvet breeches were impeccably tailored, his red silk coat cut in the military style and having plenty of gold embellishments, but not so many that they would detract from his perfect figure. His cravat was neatly pressed and tied in a style that looked simple but was remarkably hard to produce.

As she reached his face, she caught his deep blue eyes watching her. He pulled a lock of golden hair out of his eyes and asked, "well, Sister, do I pass?"

"Why, Drest, I have no idea what you mean."

"I mean that you have dressed me up in all this finery preparatory to meeting Queen Evelyn, who Father hopes that I will woo and wed. Do I pass your inspection?"

"You are as handsome as ever, Love."

"I just wish--"

"I know, Drest. We promised never to speak of it again." He was referring to the fact that he had professed his love for her two years ago when he was 18 years old. She had, perhaps, allowed things to go too far that night, but he had been love struck ever since. She was cautious, because if they were ever found out they would be put to death by the local church, as incest was a mortal sin, even for royalty.

The coach pulled up, and Drest exited first, turning back to help her out. He then stood, blinking in the sun after the dim light of the coach, while Viviane looked alertly about.

She immediately noticed what looked to be a stable hand watching them from behind a tree. She began strutting and parading about, emphasizing her many charms. She was merely five feet tall, in comparison to Drest's six foot 3, but her small form was perfect for her purposes. She ran her hands up the sides of her large breasts, discretely adjusting them in her bodice to enhance her impressive cleavage: her breasts were so large as to be almost unreal looking, and she took the opportunity to flaunt them whenever possible. When she was through, she put her hands on her hips, thus emphasizing her tiny waist, which had no need of the corsets she refused to wear to make it smaller. When she was sure he was watching, she slid her hands to her round arse and parted her cheeks in a lewd invitation. While he stared longingly, she shot him a sly smile.

Her gown was of the deepest blue, while the under dress was red, both made of silk. Her long, silky brown hair almost matched the color of her eyes, and was piled high on her head. She was stunning, and she knew that she drew every male eye in the clearing.

She leaned back into the coach to fetch her brother's sword, and while she was in there, she silently signaled her dog to run straight for the stable hand. He looked like an interesting prospect.

While she had her back turned helping Drest with his sword, the little dog ran, a streak of fawn lightning, past the stable hand and into the storage shed behind the stable hand. Naturally, he ran after her, and after she finished with the sword, Viviane briskly walked in that direction. Her walk was so smooth it was as if she floated on a cloud of air as she moved.

She found the stable hand talking to the dog and trying to soothe her as Miss Daisy growled at him from a dark corner.

Viviane approached him.

"Oh, thank you for catching Miss Daisy. I don't know what I would have done if she had run off and gotten lost in these woods. She's very valuable, you know."

"My name is Viviane. I am Prince Drest's advisor and half sister. You are...?"

It was obvious that it took him a moment to remember. "Um, John, Milady."

"Well, John, I thank you again for saving my dog. If there is anything I might do for you in return during our stay, please, don't hesitate to ask." Her eyes flashed up at him. "I do mean anything." She brushed her breast up against his arm and he looked down reflexively, then was caught by the dark cleft between her large breasts. She gave the sexual attraction power she held in check a little nudge and watched as John's cock rose in his breeches.

"It looks like you do want something after all."

John hung his head shyly.

"Yes, milady."

"Well, it turns out I want the same thing. Come here, young man."

He complied, and she put her hand on his breeches, feeling his hard cock underneath them. She quickly untied the laces and freed his cock.

"Now. What are we going to do with you?"

John was still hanging his head with shame as she wrapped her small hand around his cock and began moving it, at which time he raised his eyes to meet her smiling ones. He smiled in return. Finally he began to realize that his aroused state was not offensive to this noble woman!

"John, have you ever buggered a woman?"

"I don't understand, milady."

"Have you ever had your cock up her arse?"

His eyes widened with comprehension. "No, milady."

"Well, you are about to have the pleasure. Get down on your knees and lift my skirts, and then put this nice cock into my arse. Nowhere else, mind you, just my arse."

Viviane got down on all fours in front of John in the clean straw, careful not to rumple her gown, and felt John lift her skirts in the back. They fell over her head, but she was used to that.

She felt the tip of his cock pressing against her arse, and she pressed back against it, impaling herself on John's member. They both groaned. He started to move very slowly, and Viviane picked up the pace. She had to make this quick, or Drest might come looking for her.

She felt every last bump and vein on John's engorged cock as he slid in and out of her, and she began to writhe and buck on it, impaling herself deeper every time. She was moaning happily and cumming frequently. John's cock was filling her up inside.

They worked together, bodies hitting softly together the only sounds besides their satisfied moans. Very soon, John held her hips still as he pounded out his completion. Viviane happily milked the remaining cum from his cock, then pulled it from her ass and stood up.

John knelt at her feet, looking as if struck by lightning.

"Thank you, Milady. That was the best experience I have had in my life. I would be happy to serve you again in any way, should you want or require me."

The stars in his eyes suggested that he had been bewitched, and would now do anything to get his cock back inside her.

"I will probably take you up on that, John. For now, I have to get back to my brother. He will be worried. But I am sure that I can find you if I need you."

With those words, Viviane swept out of the storage shed holding her dog. As she left, she heard the stable hand mutter something that sounded like "I've got to tell Eric about this!"

Viviane was escorted by her brother into the castle gates proper. She knew that sometimes the crown lay heavily upon her younger half brother's head. There were times when he wished that he had been his father's bastard child, instead of coming from his mother's line and being guaranteed the kingship. Viviane would inherit the throne only if Drest died without heirs, because she was merely the illegitimate child of a lusty king. She was not even granted the title of princess, but was addressed as Lady, having no real title to lay claim to. The sneers behind her back, the comments about the king bringing his by-blow to the castle to be raised like a proper lady, all of these would have stung more, had Viviane not known who her mother was.

Viviane's mother was a powerful sorceress, who, after giving birth and raising Viviane to the age of five, had gone to her father and demanded that he raise their daughter as his own until such time as Viviane had proven herself worthy of returning to her mother's side.

Her mother's blood gave her many gifts; she did not age as quickly as others did, she had flashes of the Sight, and she could work some limited magic, as well as being immune to its effects, unless it was explicitly directed at her. Her pull on all men who saw her was part of her magic, and she kept it on a low simmer, unless she wanted something, in which case she turned the heat up. She had never had the occasion to turn the power up all the way, as she feared that would kill a man.

Her father, the old and feeble King Oren, had commanded Prince Drest to court Queen Evelyn and marry her and her land to theirs, thus bringing the two kingdoms under one rule. He was holding on to life until he could see the uniting of the two countries.

Running both countries was a job for someone who was better with people than Drest. It was a job for a ruler.

It was a job for Viviane.

If Drest married Evelyn it was likely that Viviane would no longer be welcome at either court. Her sexual powers could bring her some wealth, but not the comfort she was used to as a member of the royal family.

However, should both monarchs die a short time after they were wed, before they were able to produce an heir, Viviane would then be queen of both countries, as there was no other ruler for Vix. It was possible that John the stable boy could help her with that scenario.

"I wonder why they didn't send someone out to greet us," Viviane commented as she shook out the lead for her dog from an unseen pocket in her sleeve. She attached it before setting Daisy on the ground to walk gracefully next to her.

"I wonder why you didn't think to leash that damned dog while we were in the carriage so that poor stable boy didn't have to get his clothes dirty saving her."

Viviane just huffed and kept walking, dog at her side. Drest obviously thought Daisy was as stupid as Viviane pretended she was. That was a good thing.

Suddenly, Drest stopped in his tracks as a woman walked toward them from the manor. Viviane noted that she was dressed in a gown of vivid green with an under skirt of gold brocade. Her long auburn hair was piled on her head, with a few ringlets falling down her back and a small crown was placed amongst the riot of curls. She seemed a bit breathless, as if she had been running to get to where they were. She stopped at the sight of them, looking around, as if waiting for someone, then walked toward Drest and Viviane with a hesitant smile on her face.

"Hello, you must be Prince Drest. I'm Queen Evelyn. I'm afraid my Lord Chamberlain and Chancellor must be attending to the rest of your party, who arrived just a short while ago. I am terribly sorry that you were not met immediately upon your arrival. If you would like to introduce me to your companion, I would be happy to find someone who can show you to your quarters. I'm sure you would like to rest after your journey."

All this was said with a natural grace and courtesy. Viviane was a little amazed that this young girl who had been brought up among peasants was so at ease with running a castle.

Drest bowed, indicating Viviane. "Queen Evelyn, may I present my half sister Viviane. Viviane, Queen Evelyn."

Viviane curtseyed to the queen, and the queen responded with a regal bob of her head. Someone had been giving her lessons in the short time she had been on the throne.

"Now," Queen Evelyn continued, "if you will both follow me, we will get you settled into the Manor proper, and you can rest from your journey."

With those words, she swept up the cobblestone path and into the large stone building in front of them.

Viviane watched as her brother became more and more infatuated with the young queen over the course of the next half hour as they were arranged for and settled in the neighboring guest house. She also noted that, other than being cordial, the queen did not appear to know that he existed. A fact that she needed to change, if she was to fulfill her goals.

Settled in her room, Viviane thought back on the past few days. She had done quite a bit of mayhem before leaving King Oren's castle, knowing that she would be staying in Vix for an extended period of time. She had let one of her lovers' wife know just what he had been up to (not with her, of course-- she had found out that he had been tossing a chambermaid in addition to her and had taken her revenge), and had released another from prison.

All it had taken was a little help from her magical powers, and some creative help from Miss Daisy. She reached down and petted the small, short haired dog, who in turn lapped at her hand with her warm tongue.

People looked at her small dog and thought that she was stupid, but she was almost as smart as most humans. If only people knew what mischief her dog was trained to create, Viviane would be in a lot of trouble.

She wondered what use she might have for the stable hand. He might be needed to help Drest and Evelyn be thrown together. He might just be needed for something more sinister. Either way, he would be someone good to have under her thumb. And once a man had a taste of her they could never have enough.

Meanwhile, she was feeling lusty and in the mood for someone else to fill her needs. Perhaps she would take the dog for a walk and see what-- or who-- she could find.

Before she left her room, she changed her silk dress for a finely printed calico, and removed her chemise entirely, as well as her petticoats.

Surveying herself in the highly polished metal mirror she had brought with her, she liked what she saw. The neck of her dress was cut very low, its intent to have either a chemise or a kerchief in place to hide the cleavage shown, though she never bowed to convention. The waist of the dress only served to emphasize her natural tiny waist, and the cut of the dress also made the most of her generous ass.

Judging herself to be well prepared for anything, she leashed her dog and exited her room. Finding her way back to the castle, she discovered the kitchen exit, which was more discrete than the grand main entrance. She exited, only to bump into a young man who was going the other way.

"Oh, pardon me. I wasn't watching where I was going," Viviane blushed and fluttered her long dark eyelashes at the handsome stranger. At the same time, she gave a little "bump" to her magical attraction. She couldn't give it all to him at once, lest he be suspicious of being charmed.

"No, Milady, it was I who was clumsy." The young man's eyes very shortly became riveted right where Viviane wanted them. There was an advantage to being short and busty, and she took that advantage every chance she got, flaunting her large breasts whenever she could reasonably do so.

"To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" She knew it was bold, but she was getting damp between the thighs just looking at this giant of a man. She was wondering if he was proportioned gigantically all over, and hoped to be able to find out soon.

My name is Eric," he said, bowing, finally taking his eyes from her cleavage and meeting her eyes with a smile. "I am guessing that you are the Lady Viviane my friend John was telling me about." He bent down and caressed the dog with surprisingly gentle fingers, "and this must be Miss Daisy. I had heard that they were breeding a smaller version of a Greyhound, but I had thought that they would look more like the terrier they were crossed with."

"She still has some traits of the Terrier, but the looks are all Greyhound." Viviane bent down to join Eric in petting the dog, giving him another glimpse of her impressive cleavage. "Hopefully, with this litter she is carrying, the Terrier traits will be gone for good and the Whippet will be a breed of its own."

Eric looked up at her quizzically. "So you bred her? Who is the sire?"

"Ah, but that would be telling. These pups, though, will be worth their weight in gold. And that is what they will be priced at." Viviane moved a little closer so that Eric could smell her sweet breath as she spoke. "Why, are you interested?" She gave another "bump."

Usually by this point men were beyond conversation and were almost to the point of ravaging her where she stood. She turned up the heat a little more, but got no reaction still.

"I might be, but I will never have those funds for a dog."

"Perhaps we could work out an... arrangement..."

"Really? Do you think that I could... work... off the debt?"

"I would be willing to let you try." Viviane's voice was breathless and low as she said the last few words. Neither of them was talking about dogs anymore, and they knew it. He took her hand and assisted her as they rose, and then, smiling, led her beyond the castle wall and into a secluded forest glen.

Viviane promptly dropped Miss Daisy's leash, and, addressing her, commanded "Guard."

"Why do I get the feeling that you taught her that for a reason?"

"Because you are smarter than most of the idiots I have had to have her guard for," Viviane replied, running her fingers up Eric's muscled chest. He gasped, then pulled her close and lifted her off her feet for a passionate kiss, tongues tangling, lips and teeth moving on each others mouths as they devoured each other. Eric finally put her down, but only to free his hands to roam over her body, caressing her curves.

Confused as she was, Viviane was also incredibly turned on. Her magic should be turning this man into a complete idiot, caring for nothing except getting his cock into her as soon as possible. As a test, she turned it on him full force, only to see... Nothing.

Her magic had no effect on this giant man. How could this be?

He kissed her again, and she lost track of what she had been thinking. All she could think of was that she wanted this man's cock in her arse. Soon.

She marveled at the strength she found in his body; the well defined abdominal muscles, the bulging shoulders and back, the tight arse, every single muscle on this huge man was tight and toned, and she could hardly believe it. She ran her fingers through his cropped red hair and felt his small beard scrape along her neck as he slowly kissed and licked the smooth skin there.

She quickly untied his breeches in order to get his shirt free and feel his smooth skin. He was fumbling with the laces at the bodice of her gown, and she finally gave in and untied them for him, allowing him to free her breasts to view.

Immediately, he sucked one rosy tip into his mouth, causing her to moan and clutch his head to her breast as the sensation went directly to her loins. She lifted his shirt, helping him remove it to reveal his firm muscles and bronzed skin.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 04



Eric lifted her skirt to find her core hot and wet, ready for his cock. He gently laid her down, but instead of removing his breeches, which showed a very large bulge, he took his mouth from her breast and buried it under her skirts.

When he found her thighs with his mouth, Viviane almost sat up in shock. No man had ever had his mouth down there before! They had all been too eager to have their cocks inside her!

Slowly, he kissed and licked his way up her thighs, to her most private part, and when he got there, he stayed. Her moistness turned to wetness, and, as he licked and kissed, suddenly she felt a flood of liquid flow out of her as she felt overwhelmed with pleasurable feelings.

Viviane thought surely he would stop his torturous pleasure then, but instead, he inserted his fingers into her eager center and began thrusting as if they were a cock. 

No man had ever cared for anything but his own pleasure with her before. She was riding on a cloud of ecstasy that would not leave her. She could not believe the feelings that were coming from this man's mouth, and he had not yet put his cock inside her.

She arched her back and cried out as she came again, seeing stars as she went over the edge.

Before she had fully come back to earth, she felt the largest cock she had ever had sliding into her cunt. She opened her eyes to see Eric's bare torso leaning over her as he slowly began to thrust inside her. She had never felt so full in her life. She smiled up at him and grabbed his arse, urging him to press his cock further and further into her until he was inside her as far as he would go. She came again, and his expression told her that he felt the inner walls of her cunt contract around his cock.

He was shining with sweat when he rolled over, setting her on top of him. He put his hands on her hips, dictating the rhythm for a while, but after a few minutes she took over, setting her own pace, grinding her pelvis against his to stimulate her little button more fully and going at any pace she wanted as he fondled her beautiful breasts which were bouncing so attractively.

Then she climbed off of him and knelt on the grass, removing her gown in the process. She looked back over her shoulder and begged him to bugger her. He smiled and knelt behind her, slowly rubbing his immense cock against her tiny rosebud before slowly inserting it inside her. She had never felt anything so immense in her life as he began to fuck her arse faster and faster. Her orgasms were earth shattering, and she was near collapse, she was cumming so incredibly hard. Soon all you could hear were their moans of pleasure and his balls slapping against her as he slammed his cock up her arse with vigor.

Finally, Viviane felt Eric's cock seem to get even bigger inside her. He pumped a few last times as he sprayed his sperm deep inside her anal walls, finally collapsing on top of her as she screamed her completion and spasmed around him.

He pulled his messy member from her arse, and she rolled over to kiss him again. He looked at her and said, "Thank you, Milady. That was fun. Now, if you could return the favor I did you, I can get back to work."

Viviane looked at him in shock. He just smiled and nodded at his no longer erect cock bobbing in front of him.

He wanted her to suck him, after it had been... in her arse?

She closed her eyes for a moment. It would certainly not be the most distasteful thing she had done. She leaned down and licked every surface of his cock, paying attention to his balls too, when he pointed them out.

"Ah. Thank you again, Milady. That was a marvelous fuck. I think I could do it again, if you are willing. Now I must be off."

And with that, he donned breeches and shirt and walked out of the forest in the direction of the stables.

Viviane lay there on the grass, naked, with cum leaking from her ass, thinking about the man she had just met. Never before had she met a man who could resist her charms. Never before had she met a man who had walked off after sex without begging and pleading for more! In fact, she thought, never before had the man been the one who walked off! SHE walked off while HE begged and pleaded for more. This man intrigued her, and, had he stayed a moment more, she would have been on her knees begging for more.

And he was a peasant, in the bargain. She couldn't believe her bad luck.

Could this be what love was like? She believed she could fuck Eric every day, as many times a day as he would let her and never grow tired. Was that what love was like? If so, how did one go about getting the other party to feel the same?

She wondered if he was indifferent to her because of the difference in their stations. She pondered for a moment. Well, she had no official station, but she would never be a peasant, exactly... perhaps, though, if she let him know that without her association with Drest she would be closer to a peasant.

But no, that would cause her to live in less comfortable circumstances than she would like. Perhaps she could convince Drest to make Eric a minor Lord? She thought about that idea for a few moments. That would probably cost her another night in Drest's arms, but if it would get Eric to love her... well, it just might be worth it.

On the other hand, while it might take longer, when she was queen of both realms, she could make Eric her consort, and could be fucked by him three times a day.

Still, when she reached her goals, would he love her back, or would he scorn her?

Viviane rolled to her stomach, feeling the moisture leaking from her arse and the warm sun on her naked back as she pondered the question plaguing her. How did you make one love another?

"I don't know, but I am going to do it," she said aloud.



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 05



Author's Note:  Thank you for the comments, votes, and emails concerning this chain story. I am very glad the readers, as well as the writers are enjoying it as much as I am. I look forward to the upcoming chapters, not only from the writers that have already contributed, but to a few more that will soon be following. Please fill free to contact me via Lit, or leave a comment if you feell so inclined. Votes are appreciated too, but mostly I just hope you enjoy this newest chapter. ~ Red

*

"Your Highness, we should turn back," Rebecca whispered, tugging gently on Evelyn's brown tunic, an item borrowed from one of Rebecca's brother's chest of clothes. Evelyn turned slightly, grabbed her handmaiden's hand and dragged her closer to her, at the same time she pressed them both back to the wall of the castle. The moonlight splayed over both women; then just as quickly they were shrouded in shadows as clouds swung lazily over the glowing shape. 

"Rebecca, I told you to stay behind, but you insisted. I probably shouldn't have said anything at all to you yesterday, but it is wise to bring you. For if I don't then our 'Royal Excellency' Chancellor Benedict would surely accuse me of laying down with someone unworthy." Evelyn's voice rolled sarcastically along her handmaiden's ears. "Now come along and be quiet. All will be well. You may ride with me on Brilliant." Evelyn noted her friend and companion's face pale slightly. She smiled, squeezed the woman's trembling fingers and tugged her gently across the courtyard, dodging behind various shapes to keep themselves hidden. 

The two women reached the stables, each keeping their apprehensions to themselves as they waited for a sign that all was well and they could continue on their journey. When the Queen of Vix tugged again on Rebecca's hand it was to signal her to follow. They darted into the stable, Evelyn pulling the door closed behind her. The sound of it meeting the other made a grinding noise which brought a gasp from Rebecca's lips. Evelyn frowned and pushed her handmaiden toward a pair of barrels that she'd scouted out earlier. Once more the two were hiding from any prying eyes that would stop Evelyn from reaching her goal. 

John looked up from the small table where he had been working. The parchments, ones that the local Priest had allowed him the pleasure of reading, remained gently clasped in his hands. He eyed the door of the stable, noted it had closed unexpectedly and wondered if the nightly breeze had grown more forceful during his downtime. He took the papers and laid them to the side. His attention now focused on the horses in his care. Rising he placed his right hand on the dirk resting in his belt and cautiously walked across the front of several stalls, pausing only to glance inside them. The light, from the lantern he carried, cast into the shadows giving him assurance that all was well. It wasn't until he reached the end of the barn that he was able to hear a sound that did not belong in his domain. 

The short breaths and stifled gasps he heard, he assigned to a pair of mischievous lads, neither wanting to be found. His initial thoughts were that the two boys were up to mischief that he really didn't want to witness, but he also knew with the arrival of several visitors over the last two weeks, there very well could be two traitors in his mist. The thought of protecting his Queen filled John with pride and he began to form a plan in which to capture the two invading bodies. His lips formed in a circle and he casually walked away, whistling a tune from his childhood. 

Evelyn watched the stable hand, John make his way back toward the table at the far end of the stable. The breath she'd been holding relaxed as did Rebecca's. She turned and smiled softly at her handmaiden and then gazed back at John's retreating figure. He stopped at his table, rested the lantern on its hard surface and then picked up the parchments he'd been reading earlier. Evelyn frowned, wanting him to leave the area so she and Rebecca could ready Brilliant and take off, but sadly he seemed to be fixed in his musings. 

"Wait here," Evelyn whispered and pushed Rebecca back as far as she could to the wall and into the shadows. She then scooted out from behind the barrel. Slowly she crawled along the floor; her legs, covered in borrowed trousers helped to carry her silently across the front of several stalls. Once more she was in front of the doors, easing one open, intent on causing a distraction outside to bring John running. Just as the door was being pulled and a sliver of moonlight flittered in Evelyn squeaked. 

Her hazel orbs grew wide in their sockets as she stared at the gleaming blade that was stuck in the sleeve of her shirt, now anchored tight in the wood of the door and her lids fluttered at how close she'd come to being wounded. She twisted her head and stared into the full figure of John. His stern gaze fell on her upturned face. Immediately she grimaced as his eyes scrapped over her disguised form and dirtied face; he fell to his knees; one hand swept across his chest to then rise and rest on his heart, the fingers clenched tight in a fist. "Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness. I had no idea. My life is yours to end," he gasped, lowering his head further as if offering it to her to hack away at. 

Evelyn sighed, pulled the dagger from the door and rested the hilt in her palm. "John, please rise. But do be quiet. I've no need to see your head on my platter come morn. Rebecca come out, please. It seems my disguise was not good enough." 

John paled slightly as the other "lad" rose up and made her way toward the Queen. "Lady Rebecca," he whispered. He remained on the floor, until Evelyn sighed and demanded in a soft whisper for him to rise immediately. "Mistresses what are you doing here?" he asked and then wanted to apologize again for questioning his Liege's presence. 

"John I have a desire to visit my family and friends in the village. Ready Brilliant for me and then we will be on our way," Evelyn stated, her back going ramrod straight as she tried to recall the lessons Muriel had drilled into her. She was the Queen, therefore she was supposed to act as if all were expected to do her bidding. It was not a personality trait she enjoyed - the bossing of others. 

John frowned and wanted to question his Queen's request, but he also knew he was a simple man and to do so could mean punishment. He quietly made his way to Evelyn's most trusted and loved steed. Soon Brilliant was saddled and bridled, then led from her stall. "Your Highness, might I be so bold as to accompany you?" 

"There will be no need of that," a voice drawled out lazily from the door of the stable. 

The three occupants turned as one and all eyes focused on the blond locks of Prince Drest. "Damn," Evelyn muttered, crossing her arms as she faced the man who seemed to be shadowing her every step. "Go away," she muttered, stepping around John and taking Brilliant's lead. 

"Lady Rebecca, a pleasure as always," Drest replied, not bothering to acknowledge Evelyn's wishes. He then turned to look back over Evelyn. "Your Majesty, such language and your state of dress. . . though it leaves nothing to one's imagination, I am quite sure the Kingdom of Vix is not so poor that you are required to peddle your wares at night. But, if that is the case, surely one of your finer gowns would bring you more coin." 

His lips rose in a smirk just as Evelyn's lids slanted and her hand came up to deliver a swift blow to his cheek. Drest acted quickly, catching the slim wrist of the Queen and hauling her against him. "Your mount waits anxiously," he whispered against her ear, then chuckled as he spun her around and pushed her not-so-gently toward Brilliant's stall. As Rebecca and John watched Evelyn, Drest turned away and rubbed the front of his trousers, where another type of mount had made itself known. Once he repaired his state of dress, adjusting his body so the evidence of having Evelyn close to him was less noticeable, he turned and spoke to John. 

"Kind Sir, if you would see to Demon's gear, I will accompany the ladies on their adventure." 

Upon Drest's words leaving his lips, Evelyn spun around and placed clenched fists on narrow hips. "You are not coming with us," she hissed, her gaze firm and her eyes demanding Drest obey her. The lift of his lips spoke of his intentions to do as he wished. "Fine, but remain quiet or all the kingdom will know of my leavings!"

Drest snickered and watched as she helped Rebecca into the saddle and then swung up behind her. He wouldn't have stumbled across the pair had he been able to sleep, yet again it had alluded him. He'd been at the castle two weeks and each day he found himself wanting to spend his hours with Evelyn. This was good for both their countries, yet there was still the underlying desire to spend his life with his sister. 

"Tell me Evie," Drest watched her gaze flare angrily at the familiarity he took with her name, "how were you planning on going through the gates? The Chancellor has this place guarded well, not only with your men, but my own stand watch. Not to mention the disguise you chose does little to dispel who you are." He angled his head to one side and noted her chest. Again his lips rose in a smirk as he shook his head and stifled a soft laugh. "Bind them did you?" 

Evelyn blushed but said nothing else as she pushed her horse past Drest and through the stable doors. There were several others outside the building and Evelyn pouted. No one stopped her, but many lifted their palms to hide their whispered words as she rode by. Come morning, she knew Benedict would know she was out all night, but at least she had brought Rebecca. . .and sadly she now had Drest with her too. 

Drest followed quickly behind her, signaling two of his most-trusted guards to flank Brilliant's side. He heard the Royal's groan in disgust but say nothing about the added security. He watched the women ride ahead of him, noting that Evelyn sat atop her steed with much skill. Lady Rebecca, a title she was only given because of her service to Evelyn, was very much afraid to be on the massive, yet gentle creature. 

The more he watched the Queen, the more he found himself enamored by her. Her figure was trim, well-toned and though a more amble woman was desired by those of his ilk, he liked his ladies diminutive and easily controlled. A frown formed as he thought of controlling Evelyn. It would be a chore, but in time she would come to realize, he was what was best for her and for Vix. After all, hadn't he just saved her from scandal by accompanying her into the village at an ungodly hour? Yes, Evelyn would come to heel and in time she would be thankful for his interest in her. 

Evelyn and her unwanted entourage made their way through the thick woods; the clouds above moved away to reveal the startling moonlight. It's rays filtered in and out of the dense branches. The sounds of the forest wrapped tightly around Evelyn and she embraced it. She had spent many nights in these woods. She knew every nook and cranny. She and Cedric, her childhood friend, had spent many hours fighting villains and playing games, hiding from their parents, foster parents in Evelyn's case, and each had spoken of their dreams while harvesting spring mushrooms. 

A soft gasp of fright brought her out of her reverie and she rolled her eyes. "It is but an owl, Rebecca.," she whispered into her handmaiden's ear. "Sit still. Brilliant can sense your fear. The trip will go more smoothly if you but trust me." Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head, the only inclination she gave to her Queen that she would do her best to obey. 

"Lady Rebecca is more than welcome to ride with one of my men or myself, if she is a hindrance to you, Your Highness," Drest offered. 

Evelyn glanced back at the young Prince who was invading her space and glared. "Rebecca is fine where she is. You however are free to leave. I have traveled this path many times and need no one to guide me." 

"It was but an offer sweet Evie; you do not need to show jealousy." 

Evelyn's eyes grew wide. "Jealousy? Surely you jest." 

Drest shrugged his shoulders. "What other reason would you have to not allow young Rebecca the comfort and strength of strong arms to keep her safe?" 

"She is safe with me. I am a fine horsewoman and she does not need to be in your arms!" Evelyn turned her attentions to Brilliant and urged the beast onward. The soft chuckle of a cocky Prince filled the forest and made Evelyn's pulse race. She was getting tired of his chuckles and the way he always seemed to be near her. The only place she had sanctuary from him was in the gardenrobe or confessional. He had even insisted on walking her and Rebecca to her bedchamber, something she was sure the Chancellor would frown upon, but he had said it was an excellent idea and now it was a constant thing. 

The group of five, a much larger group than Evelyn had wanted, entered the village. The sound of the nearby pub brought a smile to Evelyn's lips. She recalled the times she and Cedric would sneak away from their homes and watch the comings and goings. They knew who was bedding who, who played dice fair and who didn't. They knew when Old Slim watered down the ale and when he pulled out the finest he had to offer, which was not all that fine. Cedric and Evelyn had sampled both. She also knew that during all this time she was always safe, even now she was and a part of her balked at the idea. Just once she would like to truly be on her own. 

Eventually they wove their way through the village and to the edge where Evelyn had grown up. She slid off her mare, ignoring the look of annoyance that Drest threw at her. She then bit back a quick retort when she watched him pluck Rebecca from Brilliant's back. Her lids slanted as she saw his hands rest easily on her handmaiden's hips. "Rebecca," she hissed, her gaze flashing toward Drest. "She's steady; now release her," she demanded. Drest laughed, bent his head and stepped away, rewarding Rebecca with a smile and Evelyn a salute. 

Evelyn rolled her eyes and captured Rebecca's hand. "Come with me, before his head swells any more. The way you blush at him, one would think you would lay your life down for him. Think of that man from your dreams. He's certainly sounds more charming then this Prince." Drest's laughter rippled through the air as Evelyn plodded toward the door of her foster parents home. She knocked quickly on it, identified herself and eased the door open.

Immediately she sensed all was not well. She pushed Rebecca behind her and stepped in. One of her hands gripped the dirk at her waist, another item stolen from Rebecca's brother. She had planned on confessing her sins in the morning to the Bishop, but now she was thinking only of thanking the Lord for her weapon. "Quiet," she whispered to her handmaiden when she feared Rebecca was about to speak. "Mother," she called out, not too loud, but not quite soft either. "Papa?" 

No sounds reached the two women. "Wait outside," Evelyn told her companion and watched as the woman shuffled quickly back the way they'd come in. Evelyn worked from memory, finding a candle and then the flint used often to light the fire in the hearth. Quickly the wick was lit and a yellow glow filled the room. A shadow took away some of the light and Evelyn squeaked, spun around and held the handle of her blade with deadly skill. Her shoulders slumped. "Oh, 'tis you." 

"What is it?" Drest asked, his own hand held a weapon that would cut any man or beast down with one swipe. "What place is this and why did you send Rebecca out?" 

"This is my home; where I was raised. You know my story. The royal who was raised as nothing. There is something wrong here. Here," she said, thrusting her candle toward Drest. He readily took it and then watched as she lit another, then another. Soon the kitchen and the adjoining room were filled with light and the sight took Evelyn's breath away. 

The sparse furnishings of her home were broken or turned over. Family heirlooms, meager possessions to any one of noble status, lay in shambles. "Mother! Father!" Evelyn cried out as she pushed past Drest and hurried toward the room that her foster parents had shared. Drest caught her just as she was about to open the door. 

"Evie, stop." 

Under normal circumstances she would have jerked away and attacked the man with a verbal assault, but something in his voice told her to obey. She looked up at Drest, his dark blue eyes showed there would be no arguments from her. Her gaze then followed his as he glanced down. The glow of the candles seemed to gleam brighter on the soil and rock floor of the cottage. Evelyn's lips trembled as she bent down to touch the liquid that had not yet soaked fully into the dirt floor. Her fingers came away wet and sticky. A cry left her lips, only to die in her throat.

Drest pulled her close, clapping one hand over her mouth. "They still may be here," he told her. He knew it was unlikely. Whoever had entered the home was long gone, but he still wanted Evelyn safe. He pushed her behind him, readied himself and then kicked the door down with one swift blow of his foot. 

The wood split easily on its hinges. Drest stepped in and Evelyn followed. A cry of anguish erupted from Evelyn as the light from her candle fell on the two figures on the floor. "Nay!" she screamed, dropping the candle and rushing to her parents side. 

The sound of the flame hissing its own private death went unheard as Drest cried out for his men and checked to make sure all corners of the room were free of intruders. He stood over Evelyn, then turned, ordering one of his men to gather as many villagers who were able to scour the woods. The other he sent back to the Castle with orders that guards be added to the search. "The blood is still warm, so the villain could not have gone far." 

Another scream erupted and Drest turned to see Rebecca lean against the bedroom's wall. "It is the Wizard. It reeks of his evil ways. His smell is everywhere. Can you not smell it?" 

Drest frowned. He had heard of this so-called Wizard. "Enough girl. It was not magic that spilled the blood of these people. It was a man. One that will bleed just as easily as they did." He then turned to Evelyn and went down on one knee. "Come Evie. We need to return to the Castle. It is not safe here." 

He pulled her to him. The woman who had been spitting daggers at him with her eyes now clung to him as if she had no will of her own. Drest felt a pang of something he couldn't name in his chest as he held the Queen close to him. He gathered her tighter to him and then lifted her up in his arms. He walked out of the room and gave Rebecca a stern glare. She swallowed and blinked, followed him out, but kept her thoughts to herself. 

Once outside Drest saw that several village men and women had gathered in the rocky yard of Evie's foster home. One individual hurried forward and reached out to touch Evelyn's pale features. Drest turned away, refusing the peasant any connection to the woman in his arms. "Who are you?" he demanded. 

The lad, a youth Drest guessed to be Evelyn's age, dropped his hand. "I am Cedric, Your Highness. Queen Evelyn and I grew up together. She is my dear friend." 

"Cedric?" Evelyn whispered, turning in Drest's arms. Her hands fell away from the Prince's neck and she shoved at his chest. Drest released her, easing her down his body till her feet rested on solid ground. He kept one hand possessively on her hip as if to keep her steady. "Oh, Cedric," she cried, launching herself into the young lad's arms. Drest watched with eyes full of both jealously and curiosity as the two embraced and Cedric led Evelyn away. 

"It is true, My Lord. Cedric is her friend." 




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 06



Another conquest, she thought as she left the chambers of one of the lesser nobles of Vix. At this rate, I should have all the men of the kingdom under my spell. Her lips curled at the corners as she exited the small manor, breezing by the guard who held the door for her. Her carriage awaited at the end of a long walk that wound through a lush garden. The moon was only half-full, casting little light through the trees and thick shrubbery. 

"You are certainly making the rounds."

The Lady Viviane gasped as she heard the dark voice behind her, and spun about to see the owner of the voice. She knew, intuitively, who the man was; she had felt his presence from the moment of her arrival to the kingdom.

"Bagdemagus," she said, watching the shadows slide off the man's surprisingly youthful face. Defensively, she 'bumped' her power, subconsciously hoping it would make the wizard complacent.

He cocked his head with a rakish smile. "The one and only," he said, sweeping his arms out. He did not seem to be concerned that he stood, more or less, in full view of Viviane's carriage guards. But then, she reasoned, he was a wizard, after all.

Mustering her courage, Viviane planted her hands upon her well-rounded hips, thrust her chest out. Her considerable cleavage was barely restrained by the bodice of her dress, which she had not completely laced after her latest dalliance. "Well, I would have preferred a better circumstance in which to meet," she said. "But I suppose this will have to do."

Bagdemagus looked amused. "Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked with a soft chuckle. "Oh, that is rich. But I must commend you on your stamina." He stepped past her casually, approaching the small fountain within the nobleman's lawn. Viviane followed with her eyes.

"What do you want?" she asked him, fuming slightly.

"Certainly not you," he quipped, knowing that his words would make her bristle. Thanks to his spies, he had learned quite a bit of the prince's half-sister.

"No, of course not," she shot back, eyes smoldering with ire. "But, then, at your age, that would be problematic, wouldn't it? I wonder if the damn thing still works."

Bagdemagus glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "It has its uses," he said. He faced her once more, leaning against the fountain and folding his arms. "Now," he said with a tone that meant business. "It seems your brother is doing quite nicely with the Queen. Very chivalrous he was, after that dreadful business the other night. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Tragic, really."

Viviane narrowed her eyes. "Very," she said dryly. "Not that you had anything to do with it, of course."

Bagdemagus simply smiled. "What motive would I have for killing the Queen's foster family? They were nothing to me . . . as are most people, I might add."

"Indeed," Viviane rejoined, stepping closer with a suspicious look upon her face. "Yet, now Evelyn has found comfort in Drest's arms. That would go a long way to cementing an eventual union."

The wizard's face was unreadable. "I suppose it would. From tragedy comes strength, and all that. It's almost . . . predictable."

Viviane's lips pouted in thought. "And just why would that concern you?" she asked. "What does a wizard care about the affairs of a kingdom? Or that Drest and the Queen be wed?"

"Oh? What makes you think I'm concerned?"

She waggled a finger at the wizard. "I know a thing or two about magic," she said. "I know which rocks to turn over."

Bagdemagus snorted softly. "Oh, do you? Do you think yourself a wizard? Being the adulterous child of a king and supposed sorceress does not give one command of the Ether. That takes decades . . . centuries, even."

Viviane's eyes blazed for a moment. "Perhaps I know more than you think," she said haughtily.

Bagdemagus arched an eyebrow. "Highly doubtful," he said patronizingly. He took a tired-sounding breath. "No, the reality is that you were somehow blessed with a bit of instinctual magic . . . the ability to play upon others' inhibitions. Useful, certainly . . . but not quite the same as knowledge of the Craft."

Viviane seethed. "I have time to learn," she said, then smirked. "Unlike you."

The wizard smiled knowingly. "Oh, if only you did know," he rasped.

Viviane rolled her eyes. "I think I tire of this game of words," she said, then began to turn away.

"And impressive man, isn't he?" Bagdemagus called out.

Viviane stopped, frowning. She turned back to the wizard. "What are you talking about?"

"That simpleton you are so fond of," the wizard said, casually regarding his lightly-callused nails. "You know, the . . . big one." He smiled knowingly, lifting his eyes to read Viviane's consternated expression.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," Bagdemagus continued. "Oh, certainly, you have gone to great lengths to spread your . . . influence. But there is always that one man to whom you return. That groomsman. Eric, yes? Yes, that is his name: Eric . . . ."

Viviane ground her teeth. "He is of no concern to you," she declared, feeling an anxious rumble in her chest.

The dark wizard chuckled. "No, but he is to you," he pointed out. He narrowed his eyes. "Curious that you keep returning to him, above all others. And that he never seems to be left like a panting dog in your wake. That vexes you, doesn't it? That there is a man without inhibitions for you to feed upon?"

Viviane folded her arms defensively. "Nothing vexes me," she spat.

Bagdemagus pushed away from the fountain, taking two slow, deliberate steps toward the woman before him. "I beg to differ," he said menacingly. He reached out a hand, touched Viviane's face. She stiffened slightly, but stood her ground.

"I could slay you with barely a thought," whispered Bagdemagus. "A powder, a potion . . . the dagger at my hip. But I think it would be more interesting to see what mischief you might make."

Her nostrils flared slightly. "You should not dismiss me so casually, wizard."

Bagdemagus smirked once more. "Oh, but I do," he said dryly. From behind Viviane came the loud sound of a twig snapping. Immediately, she whirled about, searching the garden to see who was there.

But there was no one. Not that she could see, even with her sharp eyes. She let out a breath, turned back to Bagdemagus.

She was not entirely surprised to find that he was gone, leaving no trace of his presence. Wearily, Viviane shook her head.

"Damn wizard."

***

The sounds of swords clashing filled the training grounds of the castle. The members of the guard had been paired up, facing each other with dulled blades as the captain drilled into them the fineries of swordplay. His raucous voice echoed in the air.

"Bells! Don't swing so hard! You'll tire yourself out! Hooper, watch your flank! Greaves, you hold the blade too low when you parry! Delfs . . . ."

Beside the stables, John and Eric watched the training. Their chores for the moment were finished, at least until David came along with something else for them to do.

"Look at these idiots," scoffed John, shaking his head. "I bet you and I could take the lot of them."

Eric chuckled. "Not likely," he said. "You do well with a stick, but it's not the same as a fistful of steel."

John soured. "I know my way around a blade."

"Well, that is a moot point, since you are a stable hand, and not a guard."

John shot the larger man a look. "And we both know why that is. I could prove my mettle against any man among the guard, and it would net me nothing. Just because of my buggered heritage."

"Yes, well, being buggered didn't keep you from buggering, did it?"

John snorted as he recalled his first 'meeting' with Lady Viviane. "That was quite nice," he said. He frowned at Eric. "Of course, you got the better deal on that one. As always."

Eric shrugged with a confident look. "Alas, what can I say? The woman is infatuated with me."

"And any man in a noble's coat," John muttered under his breath. "I'm surprised you haven't gotten the pox."

"Hmm. Now that you mention it, the ol' John Thomas has been a bit itchy lately . . . ."

John winced. "Saints. Spare me the gory details."

Eric laughed, then fell into silence as the two friends continued watching the practicing guards. After a moment, he pointed. "What do you think of that one? What's his name?"

John's brow furrowed in thought. "Hmm. Cedric, I think. Supposedly a childhood friend of the Queen. Little wonder how he became a guard."

"Regardless of how, he shows promise," Eric said. "Look. He's up against Falhurst."

Upon the grounds, Cedric, newest member of the guard, squared off with the more experienced Lieutenant Falhurst. It was well known that Falhurst was a master swordsman, with no equals. He lacked the intricacy of strategy, however, which kept him at his current rank. But the man seemed content with his position, and his reputation.

"Come on, pup, show us what you've got!" Falhurst rumbled as Cedric advanced.

Cedric grinned. The sword felt natural in his hand; it was obvious he had a knack for swordplay. Strange to think that he had never aspired to more than becoming a cobbler, yet here he was, his hand filled with steel.

"Beware pups who bite," he quipped, then lunged. Steel rang on steel; both men grunted. Blades flashed, clashed again, then again.

"Not bad," muttered Eric.

John shrugged. "Eh . . . he's all right."

Around Cedric and Falhurst, the other guards stopped their sparring and formed a wide circle. Cedric had already lasted longer than any other guardsman; they were anxious to see what he could do.

For several moments, Cedric admirably held his own in the duel with Falhurst. The other guardsmen watched, some smiling in admiration, others with confidence for their lieutenant. But none could deny the natural strength, speed and skill Cedric possessed.

"You're quite good!" expelled Falhurst at one point, as blades locked and the two men were brought face-to-face.

"I could say the same about you!" returned Cedric. He shoved back, then swung, a wild strike that extended his reach and exposed his side. Falhurst swatted the blade away, then passed his own sword behind his back, exchanging hands. Swiftly, the tip of his blade shot up, stopping just short of doing damage as it pressed into Cedric's right armpit.

Falhurst grinned as his opponent froze. "Confidence is good, lad. Overconfidence is not."

Cedric's face colored with admonishment. He stepped back, lowering his blade and nodding his head in a gesture of respect. "I'll remember that," he said.

Falhurst chuckled. "You've the makings of a fine swordsman, lad," he said, clapping Cedric on the shoulder. "Keep it up."

Cedric grinned. It had only been a couple of days, but he already knew whom the other men respected. To receive praise from Falhurst was akin to having the captain himself shaking one's hand.

"My thanks," he said, feeling proud.

***

Weapons practice was finally done for the day. Cedric felt sore and sweaty, yet invigorated. He was reminded of muscles he had forgotten he had, and sported a few bruises here and there, but it was all worth it.

I'm a guardsman, he thought, and grinned as he stood in the relative coolness of the feed barn. He dipped his hands into a large barrel full of water, splashed it over his face. The chill water felt invigorating as it flowed down his face, soaked into the simple tunic he wore. His crimson guard's jacket lay across a wooden rail, all but sodden with sweat.

"Ho, there, boy, that water is for the horses."

Cedric looked to the origin of the voice, finding the two hulking groomsmen standing in the doorway. He struggled to remember their names. One was Eric, the other . . . Joseph? He could not remember.

"My apologies," Cedric said. "I just needed to cool off a bit."

The largest of the two -- Eric -- stepped forward. He glared upon the young guardsman. "Oh, and just any bucket of water will do?" he asked growlingly. "Never mind that said water has been purified for consumption only by the mounts of the Queen and visiting prince?"

Cedric paled slightly. "I . . . I didn't know," he said.

Eric and John faced the young man in an almost menacing way. Then, suddenly, they sputtered in laughter, doubling over and clutching their sides.

"Oh, the expression 'pon your face!" roared Eric.

John mimicked Cedric, his eyes wide and lips puckered. "'I didn't know,'" he quoted, then degenerated into laughter.

Cedric rolled his eyes. "All right, you've had your fun," he said. But he could not deny the smile that tugged at his own mouth.

Eric, still laughing, extended his hand to the guardsman. "Aye, we have," he said. "I'm Eric, this is John. And you are the Queen's boyfriend."

Cedric paled again. "Wh-what? I am no such thing! I-I mean, she's the Queen! Our relationship is completely platonic, and has always been!"

John shrugged. "Ah, well, the rumor-mongers would say differently."

Cedric frowned, instantly angered. "Any rumors to the effect of . . . of coital relations betwixt myself and the good Queen are patently, utterly, and absolutely false! And I'll see any man put to death if he says otherwise!"

John and Eric exchanged glances. "He hasn't bedded her," muttered John.

"No, he hasn't," Eric agreed.

"I certainly have not!" cried Cedric. "Regardless of any desire to do otherwise, I admire milady the Queen and would not wish any inopportune thoughts upon her!"

Both larger men blinked. Eric held up his hands. "You've made your point," he said.

Cedric seethed a moment, then backed off, snatching up his jacket. "I love her as I love a friend, or a sister," he said, donning the coat. "Nothing more. I will trust you both to keep that in mind, and not fuel any rumors."

"We are not the sort," Eric said, then smiled rakishly. "We have enough of our own rumors to worry about."

John and Eric shared a chuckle. Cedric merely huffed, buttoning up his coat. He paused as he took up the baldric to which his sword was attached. He smiled wryly. "Three days ago, I was just a shoemaker's son," he said, almost to himself. "Now I wear the coat of a Royal Guardsman and carry a blade. Life is a strange thing."

John grimaced. "For some," he said wryly.

"Cedric?"

All three looked toward the door to behold Rebecca, the Queen's handmaiden. She was dressed in riding gear, although it was well-known that the young beauty had little experience in the saddle. Her lack of experience, however, did not seem to be an issue at the moment; she looked more than delectable in her bellcloth skirt and form-fitting top. The firm mounds of her breasts were showcased admirably by the uplifting bodice she wore.

"The Queen has asked me to pick up a few things from the village," the handmaiden continued with a sweet smile. "The captain said you could escort me."

Cedric swallowed apprehensively. He was aware of the envious looks given him by both Eric and John. More than anything, those looks fueled him, inflaming his young male ego.

"Of course," Cedric said at last. "I would be more than happy to escort you."

The demure brunette smiled, batting her eyes.

***

Eric and John watched as the grey-flanked mare bore Cedric and Rebecca away. Both men could not help but envy the way the Queen's handmaiden molded herself to Cedric's back, clasping her hands just above the guard's waist. Her rump was inspiring as it bounced upon the saddle of the trotting horse.

"I'll say this for him: the lad's learning quickly," commented Eric.

John mused darkly. "There's something about that girl—"

"Aye, there is."

"Not that," continued John in irritation. He stepped into the sun, watching as the gates opened for the single horse and her two riders. "'Tis something else. I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Nor will you, it seems. That girl plainly has an eye for our newest guardsman."

John gave his friend a frowning look. "Aren't handmaidens supposed to be chaste?" he asked.

Eric shrugged. "Muriel was . . . still is, supposedly. But that is not to say that all are to follow in that vein."

"Still . . . don't ask me why, Eric, but there is something . . . nefarious about Rebecca. I have a strange feeling about her."

Eric rolled his eyes, slapped his hand to the back of John's neck. "Listen. I know you feel there are spies everywhere, but—"

"But what?" queried John, turning to face the older man with a challenging look. "If you were Prince Drest, and you wanted to know everything there was about the Queen, who would you employ? What better spy than the woman who spends practically every hour of every day with her?"

Eric pursed his lips in thought. "'Tis a stretch," he said.

"No more so than a supposed wizard roaming the castle and killing at will," John said pointedly.

Eric let out a heavy breath. "So, what, then? Follow them?"

John grinned rakishly. "We've nothing else to do for the remainder of the day . . . ."

***

Cedric beamed with pride. He thoroughly enjoyed the reception he and Rebecca received as they rode into the village. Many had known him as little more than a cobbler's son; now he was resplendent in the crimson coat of the Royal Guard, escorting none other than the Queen's handmaiden. For the son of a shoemaker, this was the highlight of his life.

"Make way for the Queen's handmaiden," Cedric announced with pompous flair, his hand at the small of Rebecca's back as they started through the market.

"Cedric, my sweet, don't make such a production of it," she whispered over her shoulder.

Cedric cleared his throat. "Of course, milady."

"And I am not a lady," she added, with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"You certainly are in my eyes."

"Oh, Cedric," Rebecca said with a note of condescension in her voice. Yet the playful expression she bore hinted at something more.

Cedric chuckled, and left the handmaiden to her shopping. He watched as she wandered about the carts and booths in the market square, selecting various things such as candles, incense, and perfumed soaps. Rebecca was warmly received by the merchants, who recognized her instantly.

"By the saints! Cedric, is that you?"

He turned, looking upon a matronly woman and her 'entourage' of children. The little ones were all between ten and sixteen years of age, spaced about a year apart. Their ruddy faces reflected the simple life they led, the life which Cedric had followed until just a few days before.

"Mrs. Albright! A pleasure to see you!" He opened his arms to the woman, who gave him a quick, friendly hug.

"Nay, the pleasure is mine," she said appraisingly, looking the young man over. "I must say, you do make for a fine soldier."

Cedric blushed. "My thanks," he said. "I am still getting used to it."

Mrs. Albright touched Cedric's cheek with a smile. "I always suspected there was a greater destiny for you than to follow in your father's footsteps," she said. "Now I see that I was right."

Cedric's eyes dipped. "You flatter me."

The matron's eyes wandered across the market square, finding the handmaiden as she added to her basket of wares. "What a lovely charge you have," she said. "I dare say the handmaiden may be second only to the Queen in beauty."

Cedric's cheeks reddened slightly, though he tried to hide it. "I haven't noticed."

Mrs. Albright laughed softly. "Oh, of course not," she said, chiding him. "You are a guardsman. Your eyes seek out only the dangers of the world, which your fine sword shall lay low."

Cedric tried not to smile. "I suppose I cannot hide anything from you," he said.

The woman smiled back. "Cedric, you have entered a new world. It is not one like anything you have known before."

He nodded. "So I am discovering."

Mrs. Albright's features darkened a bit. "How is our Queen?" she asked. Her features softened with sympathy. "Tell me honestly, Cedric. With all that happened two nights past—"




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 06



Cedric hardened his face. "She is the Queen," he said firmly, then lowered his head. "Of course it hurts her, what happened to her parents . . . to those who raised her. But she is the regent, and a strong one, at that. There are other things that command her attention."

The matron nodded. "Such as . . . her romance with Prince Drest?"

Cedric met the woman's eyes. "Mayhap," he said. He took a deep breath, letting his chest swell. "I will tell you this: Drest is a good man. A fine man. I dare say he is worthy of the Queen."

Mrs. Albright curtsied quickly. "Your word is enough for me, Guardsman," she said, then touched his cheek once more. "Take good care of her."

Cedric took the woman's hand and squeezed it gently. "Ever my intention," he said meaningfully.

***

Cedric dragged his feet as he toted the large satchels, loaded with Rebecca's purchases, behind the handmaiden. Elation at being a guardsman in charge of protecting the Queen's servant had become annoyance at being a pack mule. He cursed himself for forgetting that a woman, regardless of her station, is always a woman, and that meant affectation for the material things in life.

He was therefore relieved when Rebecca announced she was done with her shopping.

"Cedric, darling, could you take the purchases to the horse?" she asked as they stopped near the broad caravan bridge that spanned the river dividing the village. "I have one last thing to get, but it may take a few minutes to pick it out. Just wait by the horse, if you would."

The guardsman frowned. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea," he said worriedly. "I am to remain with you at all times."

Rebecca smiled sweetly, her dark eyes twinkling. "You are a gallant man," she said affectionately, touching Cedric's face. She leaned in, planting a soft, lingering kiss just at the corner of his mouth. "I won't be long," she whispered. "I promise."

Cedric's heart fluttered, and he blushed like a young boy just praised for drawing a chalk picture on parchment. "Well . . . all right, then. But don't be long."

Rebecca winked. "It will only take a few moments," she said with a smile, and turned about. Unseen by Cedric, the smile faded quickly as she headed away, replaced by a look of determination.

The guardsman sighed, watching the gentle wriggle of the handmaiden's hips, admiring the way her skirt hung off her graceful hips. But he shook his head, clearing away the beginnings of licentious thoughts, and gathered the satchels in his hands once more. Trudging his way back through the market square to where the horse was tethered, Cedric did not see as Rebecca veered away from the shops of the market square, instead heading toward the long bridge with its numerous covered nooks.

***

"Were you followed?"

The dark voice startled Rebecca as she sat upon the narrow wooden bench. There were three shallow alcoves on either side of the bridge, used by guards and soldiers and the occasional weary traveler. They were just deep enough for two people to be hidden from prying eyes.

"No, milord," whispered Rebecca, her heart palpitating as she realized she was in the presence of her master. She sighed softly as she felt a strong hand upon her shoulder, the brush of his lips against her right ear.

"Good," he said simply.

Rebecca swallowed with anxiety, yet not the sort that worried her. She immediately felt the moistness between her thighs, the hardening of her nipples against the rough fabric that constrained them. "May I look upon you?"

She heard him move, the barest sounds of rich linen and leather. "Turn about," he said.

Eagerly, Rebecca did so, swinging her legs over the bench. She found herself gazing upon the man of her dreams, in all his formidable glory, his impressive countenance. There surely could not be a more handsome and desirable man in all of Vix . . . indeed, all the world.

Bagdemagus smiled upon his charmed servant. Her devotion, it seemed, was total. The level to which some he charmed went to show their allegiance occasionally surprised the wizard. But if Rebecca had convinced herself that she was in love, then all the better.

The wizard touched the handmaiden's chin, gazing down into her wide dark eyes. He noted the wetness of her lips, how they parted slightly as aroused breath escaped between them. Her total submission was arousing to him. He felt himself swell beneath his breeches. Wordlessly, he straightened, worked the snaps that kept him decent. Before him, Rebecca all but panted in expectation, her eyes locked upon the wizard's groin.

"May I, milord?" she asked breathlessly.

Bagdemagus chuckled. "Of course," he said, and let the handmaiden's hands search through the folds of linen to find her prize. She swooned as she extracted his cock. Her soft, gloved hands were cool about the shaft. Immediately, she shifted on the bench, bring her face closer. She inhaled deeply of his masculine aroma, and whimpered.

"Tell me of the Queen," Bagdemagus commanded as Rebecca lavished his staff with her wet lips and tongue.

Rebecca panted on the wizard's cock, dragging her tongue along stiff, warm flesh for a few moments before responding. "She remains chaste," the handmaiden reported. "But seems to have some bit of attraction for the Prince. Since the death of her parents . . . she appears to . . . appreciate him."

"That is good," the wizard said. He slid a hand behind Rebecca's head and pushed his hips out. He grinned at the grateful, muffled moan the handmaiden emitted as her mouth was filled. He began pumping his hips slowly. "I want you to encourage the Queen to consider Drest a worthy suitor. But subtly. Do you understand?"

"Mm-hmm," mumbled Rebecca, sucking deeply and desperately. Wet smacking sounds escaped her lips, as well as the occasional laborious sigh.

"And watch, as well, that vixen of a half-sister, Viviane," continued Bagdemagus, moving his hips faster, feeling the quickening begin. "She is a crafty one. But do not be obvious about it."

Rebecca slipped her hungry mouth from the wizard's cock, shiny tendrils of saliva streaming from her lips in the growing twilight. Her gloved hands stroked swiftly and firmly. "As you command, milord," she gasped, then dove down once more, sucking greedily, moaning repeatedly with her desire for her lover's release.

Bagdemagus groaned, cradling the girl's bobbing head in his hands. "You serve me well," he whispered. His cock throbbed in the tight, sucking cavity of Rebecca's mouth. "You deserve a reward." With that, he grunted as his release came, gushing from within him to fill the handmaiden's receptive mouth.

Rebecca moaned at tasting the rich, bitter fluid, squeezed and sucked harder to insure she received it all. She savored the taste of him, moaning contentedly as she milked the last drops of fluid from the wizard's staff.

Abruptly, Bagdemagus pulled back, withdrawing his shiny phallus from Rebecca's mouth. "Enough," he said, tucking his spent member away. "Swallow your reward."

Rebecca gave her master a dreamy look, then swallowed his essence with relish. The thick fluid warmed her throat and stomach. She licked and smacked her lips, wiped her chin and the corners of her mouth with the tips of her fingers before sucking them clean. "I exist to serve you, milord," she said. "'Tis all I can think about."

Bagdemagus grinned as he finished rearranging his clothes. "Of course it is."

***

Enough of this, thought Cedric angrily, eyeing the setting sun. The shops were closing, the merchants with their booths and carts packing up their wares. She's been gone long enough, and I have humored her too much today.

Cedric stood up from the rockbed that surrounded one of the massive oaks Vix was famous for, and found a stout young lad, a few years his junior, lingering nearby. "You! Boy! A silver for your palm if you watch my horse for a bit."

The boy perked up and approached, stopping beside Cedric's mount. "Coin first," he demanded with typical adolescent surety.

The guardsman chuckled, slipped the coin from his belt. He flipped it through the air, and the boy caught it. "I expect everything as right as rain when I return."

The boy winked. "Of course, sir!"

Hands gripping the hilts of sword and dagger, Cedric headed off toward the apothecary toward which he had last seen Rebecca go.

***

"What do you think?" whispered John as he and Eric stood within the shadows between James the Blacksmith's shop and the apothecary. Both men had their eyes on Cedric as the guardsman approached, then entered, the latter.

"I think we are ill-suited as rogues," commented Eric, adjusting the strap of the crossbow slung over his shoulder. "Nor as spies."

John frowned back at his friend. "We're not spies!" he insisted in a hushed voice. "We're . . . patriots."

Eric rolled his eyes. "Spies," he said. "You know, I could have spent my afternoon enjoying a dalliance with one of the scullery maids, but no . . . I had to listen to you."

"You and your conquests," John scolded. "Here we are, looking out for the welfare of the Kingdom, and all you can think about are your wenches."

Eric sighed. "You call this 'looking out for the welfare of the kingdom?'"

"Much better than shoveling horse feed and manure," bemoaned John, looking back around the corner of the alley. He watched as Cedric emerged, looking worried. The guardsman stopped a pudgy merchant, asked him some questions. The man responded with a shrug, then a thoughtful look, eventually pointing toward the caravan bridge. Cedric thanked the man, then headed off.

"Come on," John said excitedly. "The game's afoot!"

"'The game's afoot?'" echoed Eric dubiously. "Where did that come from?"

John shrugged. "Don't know. Perhaps it will catch on some day. Come on."

***

Cedric jogged up to the bridge, passing torchlighters as they returned from lighting the lanterns framing the bridge. The guardsman looked about anxiously, his heart beginning to pound. By the saints, he thought. If I've lost her, if some harm has come to her, I shall never forgive myself.

But then he saw her, stepping from one of the alcoves, halfway down the bridge. Rebecca had a small smile on her face, obvious even in the growing dimness.

"Rebecca!" called Cedric.

Her eyes snapped up, her smile vanishing instantly. "Cedric?"

The young guardsman dashed forward, sword scabbard slapping his thigh. "What have you been up to?" he called. "I've been waiting nearly half an—" he trailed off as a dark figure emerged from the shadows behind her, the pale face, framed with jet, malevolent and sneering.

"Rebecca! Look out!" Cedric shouted, doubling his speed even as he withdrew his dagger. Booted feet pounded heavily upon the wooden boards of the bridge. He snapped his arm back, the blade of the dagger pinched between his fingers. "Step away, blackguard!"

Rebecca gasped, seeing the flashing steel in Cedric's hand, and stumbled, falling to the ground. Behind her, the wizard only smirked as the guardsman charged.

"Oh, look," chuckled Bagdemagus. "A hero." His hand slapped to the ivory hilt of the slender sword at his side.

"Keep down, Rebecca!" shouted Cedric bravely, coming to a halt less than twenty paces from the black-suited man whom he assumed was a mere robber or highwayman. His arm snapped forward, hurling the dagger with all his might. The path of the whirling blade would carry it right to the menacing figure's heart.

Inhumanly, however, Bagdemagus pivoted, even as he slipped his sword free with a resounding ring. His free hand caught the flying dagger by the hilt, and as he spun about, the blade was flipped until it was held expertly for throwing. In the blink of an eye, Cedric found his own dagger hurled back toward him with deadly precision.

Desperate wits were all that saved the guardsman from a gruesome death. He jerked to the side, yet still felt a sting along his cheek as the dagger flashed past. Impulsively, he slapped his gloved hand to his face, feeling it slippery with blood.  

"You're quick, I'll grant you that," said the wizard as he strode forward, forgetting Rebecca upon the ground. His sword lead the way, like a shaft of silver light jutting forth from darkness. "But how quick, I wonder?"

Cedric gathered his bearing quickly and drew his sword. "Blackguard or assassin, I care not which," he said bravely. "You shall not impugn the dignity of the Queen's handmaiden!"

The dark-garbed man stopped several paces away, cocking his head with an amused expression. "Do they teach you to talk that way at the castle? Or does it just come naturally to you?"

Cedric glared along the length of his blade, holding it firmly with both hands. "You will not distract me," he said. "Step away from Rebecca, and I will let you go."

"Oh, will you? And what if I refuse? Do you think you could do better than your fellow guardsman, that fool pup Rogers?"

Cedric frowned, recalling the name . . . the name of the guardsman he had replaced. The one, it was said, that had been killed by . . . .

"Bagdemagus," whispered Cedric under his breath, his voice wavering.

The wizard grinned, and tapped his temple. "Oh, you are a smart one," he said patronizingly. He raised his sword. "Now, let us test your mettle."

Cedric swallowed nervously. Oh, bloody hell . . . .

***

At the end of the bridge, John and Eric looked on with wide eyes. Their ears had just caught the conversation between Cedric and the dark figure.

"No, it cannot be," breathed John. He looked anxiously to Eric.

The larger man was quick to take up his crossbow, already cocked and loaded. "Mayhap, mayhap not," Eric said. "And if that fool guardsman would get out of the way, it would not matter."

"But if it is the Spectre," protested John, looking back with worry-filled eyes. "How can we slay him?"

***

Bagdemagus noticed the two men appearing at the end of the bridge, and stepped to insure that Cedric stood between them. His evil eyes fixed on the guardsman. "Come on, boy, show us if the swordsmen of Vix have gotten better in the past few decades."

Cedric reaffirmed his grip on the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted over the wizard, noting the man's stance: he stood with feet spaced at shoulder-width, his body partially turned back. The singled-egded blade was held in one hand; the wizard's other held back the ends of his long cloak.

Cedric took a breath. "If this is how it must be," he said.

"Oh, it must," returned Bagdemagus, his damnable smirk unfettered. He looked like a cat about to toy with a mouse.

"Then so be it!" exclaimed Cedric, lunging forward. He stabbed with his sword, expecting it to be swatted aside by the wizard's blade. He was not disappointed, and with a pivot and a slash, spun about and hacked down through the air. The blow would have cleaved any man's skull.

But the wizard was quick, impossibly so, and deftly sidestepped the attack. His own blade flashed, and Cedric hurriedly raised his own to deflect the slash. Blade met with a shower of sparks. For a moment, neither man moved, their blades locked as intently as their eyes.

"Not bad," said Bagdemagus. "Try again?"

"I think I shall," commented Cedric with a grin, and advanced. He swung, hammered, pummeled with his blade, forcing the wizard back. Blades clashed and sparked, rung and trembled. The wizard was forced to give ground, spurring Cedric on. It appeared that the young guardsman had the advantage.

***

"I don't believe it!" exclaimed John, starting forward on the bridge. "That wild-eyed pup is doing it!"

Eric frowned, sighting along the arrow notched in his crossbow. "So 'twould seem," he said.

***

Fueled by his advantage, Cedric pressed on, forcing the wizard, the so-called 'Spectre That Walks,' further and further back. Forceful grunts exploded from his lungs with each powerful blow he landed. A mad gleam of anticipated victory shone in his eyes. At last, Bagdemagus was forced to the ground. Falling back with one hand planted to the ground, the wizard held his blade defensively.

"Enough!" cried Bagdemagus.

Cedric paused, standing over the man. "Drop your sword."

The wizard heaved with exertion. He chuckled. "You have beaten me, good sir," he said, slowly lowering his blade. "I am not the young man I used to be." He set his sword upon the ground, rolled to a sitting position.

Cedric grinned, his face glowing. "'Pon your feet, and no trickery."

Bagdemagus took a breath, nodding. "Just hold your blade," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "I am obviously no threat to you."

Cedric took a step back, sword held at the ready. "I will believe that when you are in irons."

Bagdemagus laughed in self-deprecation. "A smart man, you are," he said, and straightened with a last, heavy expulsion of breath. His features suddenly clouded, his eyes once more malevolent. "But not nearly smart enough."

Too late, Cedric noticed the long cord that ran from the pommel of Bagdemagus' blade to his wrist. And, too late, Cedric realized he had been misled.

With supernatural speed, Bagdemagus whirled about, his cloak held once more in his fist. It swept up, obscuring Cedric's vision like a black cloud. Cedric struggled to keep his wits, but the sudden obfuscation left him unbalanced. Still, controlled by desperate instinct, he slashed wildly.

By the time Cedric knew what was happening, Bagdemagus had already come about, having snatched up his sword, the cord from around his wrist bringing the hilt into his palm. With a vicious thrust, he buried the blade home, just above Cedric's right hip and slicing out through the back.

The explosion of pain stunned the young guardsman, only slightly more so than the look upon the wizard's face as he glanced to his chest. A flap in Bagdemagus' coat lay open, revealing pale skin and a thick line of blood. A single drop of that same blood dripped off the tip of Cedric's sword.

Bagdemagus touched his chest, smeared his own blood between his fingertips. A moment's disbelief crossed his face; he could not readily remember the last time he had seen his own blood shed.

Despite the pain that all but paralyzed him, Cedric managed a laugh. "So you're just a man after all," he muttered.

Bagdemagus' eyes darkened. "Don't insult me," he hissed, then jerked his sword free from Cedric's body. As the guardsman grunted with renewed pain, falling to his knees, the wizard's sword flashed. Self-preservation was all that allowed Cedric to raise his blade. But his grip was weak; the uncommon power of the wizard's strike knocked it from his hand, sending it flying far back behind him along the bridge. It landed point-first, embedding itself in the wooden planks.

"I applaud you, young man," Bagdemagus roared menacingly. "You have managed the impossible. A shame you will not—"

"Die, wizard!"

Bagdemagus snapped his head up, cursing himself for a moment for having forgotten the two well-built young man he had seen earlier at the end of the bridge. One of them now charged forward, snatching up the fallen guardsman's sword and leaping over the frightened form of Rebecca the handmaiden.

Fire in his eyes, John rushed forward, sword held firmly in his hand as he leapt once more, bounding over Cedric and onto the wizard. The most powerful blow he could muster smashed against Bagdemagus' raised blade. Truly forced back now, the wizard stumbled, rolled backward, and came up upon his feet. He was quick to recover, and to meet John's furious assault.

John did not have the advantage for long. Although apparently wounded, Bagdemagus moved with inhuman speed and precision. It was only a matter of moments before John found himself on the defensive, mustering all of his energy to counter the wizard's attacks. Bagdemagus was no longer interested in subtlety and misdirection, only triumph.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 06



"Ahh!" John cried out as the wizard's slender blade slashed across his left shoulder, inches away from slicing through his neck. He stumbled back, falling to the bridge, his sword slapping hard against the bridge planks.

"All men are fools," hissed Bagdemagus, lifting his blade in both hands, ready to stab it down into John's heart.

The sharp twang of a powerfully-coiled line snapping forward barely preceded a red-fletched arrow as it sunk deep into Bagdemagus' chest. The wizard shuddered, then took a single step back, looking up with murderous eyes as Eric ran forward, already taking another bolt from his quiver. At the same time, John was rolling onto his feet, and even Cedric had some will left within him.

Bagdemagus made a quick decision, and leapt onto the edge of the bridge, above the swift-flowing waters below. Unceremoniously, he ripped free the quarrel from his chest and dropped it to the ground. His eyes met those of the three young men in turn.

"Another time, gentlemen," he intoned, then stepped from the bridge.

"No!" cried John, lurching forward. Beside him, his crossbow just loaded, Eric appeared, looking down as well. But the churning waters below, if they held the wizard, were not telling.

"Damn him!" yelled John, hammering the pommel of the sword upon the wooden rail.

"Methinks that has already been done," mused Eric darkly, sounding more calm and controlled than his younger friend. He glanced back. "The wizard is gone. We had best see to Cedric and Rebecca."

"But—" began John, his blood still boiling.

"But, nothing," said Eric firmly. He gave John a stern look. "Only a fool pursues a winless fight."

John seethed a moment, then forced reason into his mind. He glanced to Cedric, curled up against the side of the bridge, clutching his blood side. "You are right, of course."

Further down the bridge, Rebecca stared at the three men, the men who had come to slay her lover, the man of her dreams . . . she shook her head, frowning. No, wait . . . was he . . . is he . . . she was confused, fighting against the inclination in her mind that told her she existed to serve the will of Bagdemagus, her master.

Her eyes roamed over the three men, whom she knew were good at heart. John, the gentle yet strong, quiet stableboy, Eric, the boisterous giant, and Cedric . . . oh, Cedric . . . her protector.

But how could that be? Why would they need to defend her from her master? Her master was all that mattered in her life! He was her life!

Was he not?

Overwhelmed, Rebecca buried her face in her hands and wept.

***

Word spread quickly throughout the castle even before the three men returned. By the time Rebecca, John and Eric, leading the horse upon which a grievously wounded Cedric was slumped, appeared through the gates, the guard and hospitalers were at the ready. They took Cedric down, placed him upon a litter.

Queen Evelyn, flanked by the new personal guard assigned her by Prince Drest, stared at her lifelong friend as he was borne away. She made the immense effort to hold back her tears. A monarch does not allow herself the luxury of emotion, she told herself, recalling her recently-learned lessons.

She steeled herself and faced the three figures now escorted before her. Her handmaiden, the groom Eric, and the stablehand John. Flanked by guardsmen, the three of them hung their heads in shame before her.

"Rebecca, to your chambers," Evelyn ordered. "I will speak with you later."

"Yes, my Queen," she whispered, and stepped away, framed by a quartet of guards. The Queen addressed the two men before her.

"What happened?"

John and Eric exchanged looks. Eric spoke first. "It appears your handmaiden, milady, was threatened by a rogue of some sort. Cedric was first to challenge him—"

"A rogue!" cried John. He looked to his Queen. "'Twas not a rogue, your highness. 'Twas him. The Spectre That Walks. And he was wounded."

Evelyn caught her breath. "Are you certain?"

"We cannot be—" began Eric.

"Yes!" snapped John. He took a brave step toward his Queen, knowing he was overstepping his bounds. He, John, stablehand and grandson of a whore, meeting the Queen's gaze. He made the supreme effort to remain calm, yet fiercely sincere. "My Queen, it was him. I know not what evil deeds he intended to commit upon your handmaiden, but if he is able to come close to her, then . . . if I may say, your highness, you are not safe. I have seen this bastard about before. Here, in the castle."

Evelyn frowned with concern. "What?"

"John, you know not what you speak!" 

John shot a look to his friend. His eyes flared intently. "Yes. I. Do!"

Eric seethed, but fell silent. He lowered his eyes.

John continued: "Your highness, I have heard all the stories, but always thought them the works of frightened minds and grey-haired old spinsters. But I stand before you, with this wound on my arm and fierceness in my heart, to say that I know Bagdemagus is real. I have faced him."

Evelyn search the stable hand's eyes. "You are certain of this."

John nodded. "I am."

Evelyn was quiet a long moment, her eyes averted as she considered what she had been told. "Your name is John, yes?"

He nodded, and bowed. "I am your servant, milady."

"I will think on what you have told me," the Queen said. "In the morning, I may call for you."

John stepped back. "Yes, your highness," he said.

Evelyn's hazel eyes swept to those of Eric, who met her gaze for a moment before casting his down. For all his words, Evelyn could not hope but think that all John had said could be mirrored in Eric's words, if only the man would speak them.

"It has been a long night," Evelyn finally declared, for all to hear. "I want all guards on alert, and there are to be no visitors to the castle tonight. None! I do not care if it is the Earl of Westlake or the Duke of Grandsleigh! Let them camp outside the walls, or find a room at the inn."

"Yes, your highness!"

With a swish of her petticoats, Evelyn followed the light of lanterns toward the infirmary of the castle, where her friend lay.

***

"The wound was surprisingly clean, your highness," the surgeon told her. "Although the blade when straight through, it appears to have missed all the major organs. Even with the loss of blood, it appears Cedric will make a fast recovery."

Evelyn allowed herself a smile as she breathed out. "That is good news," she said. She met the aged man's eyes. "May I see him?"

The surgeon smiled thinly. "Were you not my Queen, I might say no," he said. He gestured behind him, into the infirmary proper. Pale light from candles within sconces bathed the room in an orangish glow. It was a soft, comfortable light, pleasing to the senses.

"Thank you," Evelyn said, stepping past the surgeon. At her entrance to the room, the hospitalers retreated, leaving their regent alone with the valiant young guardsman.

Cedric lay sublime upon the bed, simple white sheets covering his body to his chest. His face was expressionless, relaxed in sleep. His hands lay upon his abdomen.

"My hero," whispered Evelyn with a small laugh through her nose as she sat upon the edge of the bed. She took one of Cedric's hands, gripped it gently. For a long moment, she simply gazed upon his face.

"I remember," Evelyn began, her lips twitching with a smile. "I think I was about eight, or nine. We used to play this game, down by the river. I was the queen, and you were my champion. You killed demons and devils and goblins and ghouls, all to save me."

Her eyes swelled, reddening with tears. She sniffled. "Now look at us: I am the Queen, and you have just faced the devil . . . ." her words became choked in sobs as she leaned over, touching her forehead to Cedric's hand. She shuddered for a moment, letting her tears spend themselves, soaking into the sheets that covered the young man. Abruptly, she jerked herself upright, cleared her thick throat.

"You will not leave me, Cedric," she said firmly. "I do not let my friends go. You have been there, every bit my brother as the brother I never had, and you are not going to leave me now!"

Cedric's eyes flickered. His hands squeezed Evelyn's.

The Queen smiled softly, laughing beneath her breath with elation. "Yes, that's it, brother. Don't leave me."

Slowly, Cedric's eyes opened. They struggled to focus. The blurry form before him slowly coalesced into one he knew well. He smiled crookedly.

"Evie," he said through dry lips.

Evelyn trembled, fresh tears flowing. She leaned over her friend, her brave guardsman, ran her hands through damp hair. "That's it, Cedric, come back to me."

His smile grew to a rakish grin. His eyes flickered heavily. "He's just a man," he whispered. "I wounded him."

Evelyn's smile faded. "Did you?"

Cedric nodded slowly. "He . . . he's a wizard, but . . . he's still . . . just a man . . . ."

Cedric's grip tightened for a moment upon Evelyn's, then relaxed as he gave in to the temporary oblivion of sleep. The Queen gazed upon him fondle, stroked his hair, kissed his cheek. Then she rose.

Benedict was waiting for her at the archway of the infirmary. Evelyn was not all that surprised.

"I believe we should talk," he said grimly.

The Queen took in a breath, meeting the Chancellor's gaze. "My chambers," she said.

***

Evelyn lead the way into her chambers, leaving Benedict by the door. After weeks of suffering his pompous pretentiousness, she decided to give the man a bit of his own medicine. She left him behind as if she would any servant in the castle, not that it was the Queen's habit to do so.

Her anteroom was spacious, adorned with all the finery that seven generations of kings and queens could bestow. Tapestries, furnishings, rugs, and trinkets, all of the finest quality, lent the Queen's private chambers an air of regality and power all their own.

"You don't approve of me," Evelyn said, approaching her vanity. She began removing her earrings. "That is fine. I don't much care for you, either."

She caught Benedict's insulted look in her mirror, but spoke before he could. "But should that really surprise you?"

She dropped her earrings into the ornamental box on her vanity and turned about, fixing Benedict with a direct look she had never given before. "You served my father well, and as a citizen of Vix, I suppose I should thank you. But now, I am your Queen. You may not like it, and I suspect you do not, but now you serve me."

Benedict bristled. "I did not come here to discuss the balance of power," he said. "We both serve the kingdom."

Evelyn glanced away. "Yes, that is true," she said. Her eyes flashed back to his. "Then what did you come here for?"

Benedict stepped forward. "Do you know how many times your father, King Richard, was married?"

Evelyn frowned. "Four times, including my mother."

"Six," corrected Benedict. He impulsively straightened his waistcoat. "Six wives, not all of them queens, with your mother as the first. And not one gave Richard an heir. In fact, not one bore any children at all."

Evelyn ground her teeth. "And he sent them all to death for failing to provide a 'worthy' heir," she spat. "I will not mince words. My father was a devil, an evil bastard as terrible as Bagdemagus could ever be!"

Benedict raised a single finger. "Perhaps," he said as he paced. "Or perhaps he was not nearly as smart as he thought he was."

Evelyn slanted her eyes in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"You must think upon the odds that a man would take six women to his bed, and of all of them, only one would give birth, and to a girl-child, rather than the male he desired. And that being only the first, with the following five being, mysteriously, barren."

"What are you getting at?"

Benedict stopped pacing and faced the Queen. "Your father's troubles were not the random acts of chance," he said. "King Richard was a petty and greedy king. He hated the thought of his mortality. He deigned to believe he could live forever. And, to that end, he entered into an . . . agreement."

"With . . . whom?" asked Evelyn warily.

Benedict smiled crookedly. "Ah, now you are beginning to think," he said. "With whom, indeed. Whom, you ask, would have the power to change the fates, and guarantee a male child to spring forth from Richard's loins . . . a child to be sculpted, shaped, and formed into his own image. A child into which Richard, himself, could live again . . . and again, and again . . . ."

Evelyn swallowed nervously. "You speak madness," she said.

Benedict laughed. "Aye, that I do!" he exclaimed. "For Richard's plan was madness! And fostered by a darker insanity, that used him, consumed him." His face dropped; he looked suddenly reticent. "I realized too late what was happening, and by then, you were already born. Richard was furious; he ordered the hospitalers and wardens and surgeons tending your mother to leave."

Evelyn backed away, colliding with the vanity behind her, making perfumed vials and jars of fragrant powders shake. "I don't believe you," she pushed out in a frightened huff.

Benedict's eyes met hers. "You had better," he said meaningfully. His eyes drifted away again as he continued: "But there was some heart left within your father. He could not see you smothered, or otherwise snuffed away; instead, he ordered you banished, gave you to a childless couple in the village. I like to believe that he saw, in that moment of your birth, the salvation to the evil he had begun."

Evelyn gripped the edges of the table beneath her. "What are you talking about?" she nearly screamed.

"I am talking about you," Benedict said solemnly. "Your father sought to insure his own immortality through a bargain with the devil. Or to be more precise, a devil of a wizard named Bagdemagus. But he ruined that bargain, in some way, and the devil took his due. Instead of a son, Richard sired you, a girl-child. And he never sired anything again. In a way, it seemed the devil insured that you would inherit the throne."

"That does not make sense," Evelyn said. "Why would Bagdemagus want me to take the throne?"

Benedict shrugged. "That is one thing I do not know," he said. He jabbed a scarred finger toward the young monarch. "And it is the one thing you must figure out."

***

It was long past midnight. The castle and the village had quieted down. Only the lonely howls of wolves upon the moors could be heard now and then.

Evelyn sat at her writing desk, a quill dipped in ink poised in her hand. Her journal lay open beneath her, yet she could not think of what to write. So much had happened within the few weeks in which she had gone from a simple peasant girl gathering mushrooms for the apothecary to the law-giver of the land. To put it all down seemed . . . typical.

Her parents -- Michael and Rachel -- had done what they could, reminding her of her heritage and the potential eventuality that Evelyn might grace the throne some day. But what they had always told her had always seemed like fairy tales. Every girl wants to think she might become a beautiful princess, and marry a handsome prince . . . .

Now, however, Evelyn had surpassed the fairy tales. She was not a princess, she was a Queen. She was the voice of the land. She could declare that all men wear purple kilts on Tuesdays, and her decree would have to be obeyed under penalty of law.

Evie allowed herself a small laugh at the idea of every man in Vix parading about in purple kilts. But the mirth faded. Just because I can, she thought. It does not mean I should.

"You are up late."

Evelyn stiffened at the sound of the voice, but did not give in to her immediate sense of fear. Instead, she curled her fingers about the slim hilt of the silver letter-opener upon her desk. She spoke over her shoulder.

"Have you come for me, now?" she asked.

There came a dark chuckle. "Perhaps."

Evelyn turned in her chair, deftly slipping the silver blade beneath the billowing sleeves of her nightgown. She faced the dark-garbed man who now stood in her room. The hooded lanterns reflected their light off the dull silver toggles on his coat. The man's face was anything but aged; Evelyn was tempted to believe the man before her had not even seen thirty summers. But the age -- the evil -- was revealed in his dark, swirling eyes.

"No," she said, pushing slowly to her feet.

Bagdemagus cocked his head. "No?"

"No," the Queen repeated, maintaining her gaze upon his. It seemed the only thing that supported her strength. "You haven't come for me. You need me."

The wizard's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, do I, now?"

"You always have," Evelyn said. She slowly smiled, a mad, reckless smile. "You can't kill me."

Bagdemagus lifted a hand and wagged a finger back and forth. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clucked. "Don't count your chickens just yet."

Evelyn stepped closer, a bravery she had never known funneling itself through her veins. Inches from the wizard, she looked up at him, her eyes blazing. "Cock-a-doodle-do," she said flippantly.

Bagdemagus laughed, albeit uneasily. He stepped back. "Such a silly girl," he remarked.

"A silly girl you need," she retorted. She brought up her hands, the one clutching the bright, sterling blade aimed for the wizard's heart.

But Bagdemagus was quick, and he caught her wrists. He glared upon her. "Heed your station," he whispered harshly. "You serve your people. And a good regent should be willing to sacrifice herself for the good of all."

Evelyn found herself whirled about, the copious robes of her gown flying up around her head. She cried out, stumbling to the floor, landing upon her back, staring up at the wizard. He stepped forward, looming over her.

"Is that what you intend?" she cried. "To sacrifice me to your devil?"

Bagdemagus chuckled, holding up the small, slim blade in his hand. His eyes roamed over the polished surface. "Did you really think you could hurt me with this?" he asked. With a flick of the wrist, he sent the blade into the floor, less than an inch from Evie's head. The Queen gasped.

"Just what could you do," the wizard said as he unbuttoned his coat. "To me?"

Evelyn stared at the man's suddenly bared torso. There was a slight scar across his abdomen, and a thick welt, which appeared several days healed, several inches to the left of the center of his chest. Above the supernaturally-healed wounds, Bagdemagus' face grinned. "This is what your vaunted guardsmen inflicted upon me," he said. "Which, when you look at it, is nothing."

Evelyn pushed up to her feet. She took in the scars, the haughtiness of the wizard. Finally, she gave a smirk of her own.

"Then why did you run?" she asked.

Bagdemagus scowled, his features clouding over. "I never run," he hissed. "I simply . . . choose another day."

Evelyn responded with a moment's intuition that seemed to come from elsewhere. "Days that grow shorter," she said.

Bagdemagus regarded her a moment, then snarled. "You know nothing, little girl," he spouted. He raised his hand above her face. "But you will learn."

Evelyn sucked in her breath, tried to move away, but the wizard's strong grip kept her in place. She watched as the hand fell upon her face, then . . . .

Nothing.

***

"Three spades beats any high!" cried John, slapping the cards onto the bed top.

"Only if it is not a king," said Eric, jabbing a finger in his friend's face. "And a king he has!"

Cedric grinned, folding down his cards. "Two clubs and the king of diamonds," he said triumphantly. "I win!"

John sputtered, then groaned. "Pah!" he exclaimed, slapping down his cards. He chuckled upon Cedric. "I'll give you that, since you're wounded. But, soon as you're back on the grounds—"

"Which will be next week!" exclaimed Cedric.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 06



John chuckled. "Saints bless you, Cedric," he said.

Cedric laughed back. "I know, I know, since no one else will."

"High card," suggested Eric, shuffling the card. The other two readily agreed.

"Wait!" said John, just before the deal. "What do we get if we win?"

Cedric and Eric glanced to one another, then to John. "Our heart's desire?" proffered Cedric.

The two larger men laughed. "Done!" declared Eric, snapping out the cards. Soon, each of the men held a single card beneath their hand. Eric met each of the men's eyes in turn. "To our heart's desire," he said.

"To heart's desire," echoed the others. In unison, they flipped the cards over.

"Bloody fucking hell!" cried John, looking upon the seven of clubs.

"'Tis not right, not right," said Eric, regarding the Queen of Spades. Strangely, the image of Lady Viviane appeared in his mind.

Cedric grinned, tapping the card before him. "Queen of Hearts, gentlemen," he said. "Destiny never lies."

Eric's gaze simmered. "Then you don't know women," he commented grimly.

The three of them laughed, and clapped hands. The raucous cacophony echoed throughout the infirmary, then died down as the three realized the advance of the nurses about them.

"You are disturbing the other patients," one of them said.

"Please, be discerning," said another.

John and Eric gave each other quiet looks. The both glanced to Cedric. "Appears our fun is at an end," Eric said.

Cedric chuckled. "For tonight." He offered his hand. "'Til tomorrow?"

In turn, Eric and John clasped Cedric's hand. "Tomorrow," they said.

Cedric settled back in his bed as the two burly men left. He felt blessed to have such as his friends. He shifted a bit upon the thin straw mattress, winced as his wound pained him. He took a breath, and the pain abated. After a moment, the dull throbbing faded away. He remembered the words of his queen, his friend.

"You will not leave me, Cedric."

"I will not," he spoke aloud.

"Cedric."

He blinked his eyes open, looked to the doorway. The voice, the form, neither belonged to his queen, yet he was not disappointed. Cedric smiled as he took in the brunette mane, the pale skin, the slender form beneath a loose gown.

"Aye."

She approached, gliding across the tiled floor to his bedside. She knelt upon the floor and took his hand. Rebecca's eyes were wide and round, dark as caramelized chestnuts and just as sweet. "Why?" she asked wonderingly.

Cedric frowned. "Why what?"

"That . . . man," she said, her brow furrowing. "Was he after me?"

"It seemed to be," said the guardsman.

Rebecca's face worried. "But . . . why?"

Cedric sighed. "You are close to the queen," he said. "Beyond that, I can only guess."

Rebecca ran her hands over Cedric's own, then lowered her head and rubbed her face against his callused knuckles. "I think I see him, in my dreams," she whispered.

The gaurdsman petted the handmaiden's soft dark hair. "I think we all do," he said.

Rebecca lifted her face. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. "Can you save me?" she asked in a breathless voice.

Cedric slowly shook his head. "No," he said.

The handmaiden's face contorted with tears. She clutched Cedric's hand tightly.

"I cannot save you," he said. "But I can protect you."

Rebecca lifted her head, her expression one of hope.

***

The following day, Evelyn, fifth Queen of Vix, appeared atop the steps of the royal manor within the castle, facing the nobles gathered upon the lawn of her courtyard. To one side stood the Lord Chamberlain, to the other was Benedict, the High Chancellor. Just behind her was Prince Drest, silent and expectant. Before them all, Evelyn felt empowered.

"Milords, miladies," she spoke, her words echoing across the grounds. "Nearly two decades ago, my father, King Richard, decreed an enemy of the kingdom. His name . . . is Bagdemagus."

A low murmur passed through the crowd. Evelyn continued unabated.

"Many of you, I know, would prefer not to believe in this myth of a wizard nearly as old as the kingdom. But I will say this now: he is real, and he means harm to us all. I know not -- yet -- was his plans are, but I promise you . . . ."

She looked out among the gathered nobility. "I promise you . . . he will not realize them."

Scattered applause met her proclamation. Evelyn raised her hands to quell it.

"I urge you, you nobles, with your guards and soldiers, your resources and even your spies, to be on guard against this man. He is tall and pale, with thick, dark hair, and he dresses all in black. He wields a sword with an ivory hilt and a single-edged blade. If any of you see, or hear, of this man, you will report to me, or my guard."

Evelyn allowed the hubbub amongst the crowd to run its course. She found the Captain of the guard off to the side, and nodded. Begrudgingly, the man stepped forward, followed by two others, both clad in the deep purple coat of the new Royal Guard. One walked somewhat stiffly, his recent wound still healing. The men were directed to remain, and the captain retreated.

"By my right as Queen, as regent of the land of Vix, I invoke the right of special privilege," she said. "Facing an enemy of the kingdom requires heart, and skill. And these two men have proven both."

Evelyn turned slightly, as a vassal stepped close, holding a sheathed sword in his hands. Smoothly, she drew the blade from the leather scabbard, held it aloft. The golden-hued blade seemed to glow softly in the afternoon sun. Evelyn held it before her with reverence.

"This is the sword of my great-great-grandfather, Gabriel, first King of Vix," she said. Her gaze swept out across the nobles beneath her. "It is unbreakable, like the will of the people I serve. It is the law of the land."

The Queen took two steps down, until she was just above Cedric and John. She smiled upon them. "Kneel," she said softly.

Dutifully, the two men did so, with Cedric wincing slightly.

Evelyn gripped the sword firmly, then laid the flat of the blade, in turn, upon the two men's shoulders. "In the names of Saint Michael, Saint George, and before all the spirits, I knight thee, both. Forget your beginnings, and embrace instead the glory of what you may accomplish."

Evelyn's eyes glittered. "Arise, Sir Cedric."

Gritting his teeth against the emotions that overwhelmed him, Cedric took to his feet. His gloved hands touched the golden blade, and as he was expected to do, he kissed it. "I accept my duty as knight of the kingdom," he said.

The Queen smiled, then looked to John, who remained on bended knee. He regarded the golden sword. "I am a simple man, milady," he said.

Evelyn nodded. "I know that," she said. "But I also know, as simple as you may be in thought, you are anything but in deed. Rise, Sir John."

Slowly, John took to his feet. He touched the sword, and, hesitantly, kissed it.

"Do you accept your duty as knight of the kingdom?" asked Evelyn.

John looked about, upon all the nobles who often despised him, upon the stablehands and laborers who were his brothers, upon the face of Prince Drest, standing off to the side and nodding his assent. For a moment, eyes fell upon Eric, his closest friend, standing strangely close to the buxom half-sister of the Prince, Lady Viviane. For a moment, he wondered how he could live up to his new duties, so strangely thrust upon him, without Eric to offer a guiding hand. His mind drifted back to the evening before.

"The Queen wants to revive the Knighthood," John said as Eric sat beside his bed in the infirmary. "I can't believe it, but she has asked me to—"

Eric nodded. "I know."

"She asked you, as well," John said knowingly. "But I suspect you declined."

Eric took a heavy breath. "You know of my past," he said. "I had not the heart to serve God; neither have I the heart to serve a kingdom. Why else, do you think, I remain a simple groom?"

"But you can be more," John insisted.

Eric met his young friend's eyes. "Not everyone wants more."

The moment was gone, swept back into the past. John blinked, returned his gaze to the golden sword before him, to the glowing face of his Queen. He found himself smiling with pride. He, John, grandson of a whore, knighted. "I accept my duty as knight of the kingdom of Vix," he saidwith conviction. "And as hopeful champion of my Queen, Lady Evelyn."

Evelyn smiled, and lifted the sword. A single glistening tear shone within one of her eyes. "Time will tell," she said softly. Her voice rose dramatically as she addressed the nobles once more.

"For the first time in over two decades . . . welcome, the Knights of Vix!"

Reluctantly by some, but enthusiastically by most, hands were thrust into the air.

"KNIGHTS OF VIX!"



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 07



Benedict heard the knock at his door. He wasn't expecting anyone this late at night, but apparently, someone had still come to call upon him. He let out a groan as he rose, hoping that it wasn't Prince Drest's entourage come to ask for this silly thing or that. He was the Chancellor, not some servant that catered to the whim of everyone in the castle. He made up his mind as he got to the door, speaking even as he reached for it.

"I am the Chancellor, not some common house kee--" His words were interrupted as he opened the door. Who but the redheaded royal house keeper now stood before him?

"House keeper, is that what you were going to say, Your High Excellency?" Muriel half smirked as she spoke. Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped into the office.

Benedict blinked a few times, surprised that she had come calling. Muriel's job was not to clean the offices, but rather, the private chambers of the royals. While he was not royal himself, the position he held was considered such. Benedict enjoyed the fact he was treated as equal to royalty by just about everyone around. Until now, Muriel had pretty much avoided the man except when necessary, so why would she suddenly come to call upon him now?

"State your business and be off with you, I have not the time for idle conversation." He simply stood within the frame of the open door while he waited for Muriel to state her business.

"You may wish to close the door, because whether you like it or not we are to have a private conversation." Iin the middle of the room, Muriel turned to face the man directly. Normally, she would not be so bold. However, this situation was different; all methods of subtlety had failed her thus far.

"I will not have some house keeper coming in here and telling me what to do," Benedict bristled. "Perhaps you should relearn some of the manners you have so obviously forgotten since the king's death?" He glared at the middle aged woman, the man's unpleasant mood reflected in the tone of his voice.

Muriel heard the sound of footsteps coming in the hallway. Just as she had expected, one of the guards had come to check upon the Chancellor, to make sure that nothing was amiss. She took the opportunity to act as she saw fit, or rather act as one would expect her to in a situation such as this.

"My apologies, Your High Excellency, I did not mean to be rude and forget my position." She spoke softly and just as she saw the figure in the door, her head bowed as if to acknowledge Benedict's position.

"Everything is fine here," she heard Benedict say. "If I have need of you, I shall call you. I do not wish to be disturbed for the rest of the evening, so until I am to be escorted to my chambers, I do not wish to see nor hear a single footstep from you once you arrive back at your post." The guard had not even said a word, yet Benedict knew exactly why he had come to the door.

"Yes, Your High Excellency, my profound apologies for disturbing you. I will do just as you have told me to do sir, please..." The almost frantic apology of the young guard was quickly halted, the glare from the Chancellor enough to send him scurrying back to his post at the beginning of the hallway.

Benedict closed the door and turned about, his attention focused upon the woman standing in his office. There was a grin on his face, as if the man had ended up triumphant where he did not think that he would. He stepped closer to the woman who still kept her head bowed, his eyes studied her as he watched. He had never been sure what to make of Muriel, neither did he suppose that he ever would.

"If you wish to speak to me, then do so now. I have little time and many things to see to." He was short with his words. Without as much as a second glance, he walked past Muriel and sat down at his desk.

"Chancellor, I have come to you on Evelyn's behalf. The other day I heard that you--"

"Can the queen not come and speak to me herself? Does she not have a tongue in which to express her own matters of concern?" His impatience was obvious by the way he spoke.

Muriel spun around and looked him right in the eyes, not at all impressed with his almost brutish behavior. In fact, she was quite frustrated with it. Then again, she was displeased with Benedict's whole attitude about the queen. She felt that his harshness toward the young woman was unwarranted; that it was out of control. It took her a moment to speak, to muster her composure so as not to raise her voice.

Benedict noticed the fire in the house keeper's amber eyes, then how it seemed to dull as she stood there. He couldn't help but chuckle, amused with the way she was now acting. Though a man like Benedict would not admit to it, he liked the fire in her eyes, the way it faded as she restrained herself. He enjoyed the fact that it seemed none could act as themselves around him. But perhaps that was a theory about to be tested.

"What you seem to forget is that the Queen has no idea what she is doing," Muriel finally said. "You forget that because she was not born with a bloodhorn, that she was abandoned and discarded. She knows little to nothing about the matters of royalty, and your actions to her have been unkind and inconsiderate." Her words expressed her concerns, at the same time revealing that she did not come here because Evelyn had asked her to.

"I do not forget, house keeper, I know this all too well. But I also know that if she is coddled then she will learn nothing, she will simply come to depend upon others rather than finding her own strength." Benedict turned his visual focus, he started to sift through the parchments on his desk.

"Do you not care that she is a person? Do you forget that unlike you she has feelings?" The words were blurted out before Muriel could think on them.

"You think that I do not care, but let me inform you of something, my dear maid." He stood and lock eyes with her, his voice raised as he spoke. "The fate of our kingdom rests in that woman's hands and her hands alone. Our very lives depend on Evelyn, and how she conducts herself. I care not what you think about the way I am treating her. Yes, she is a person, but foremost she is a queen. She cannot afford the time to be a person, she must focus her attentions only upon the duty she has to perform."

Benedict truly did seem uncaring as he spoke. But the fact of the matter was that he did care.

Muriel saw this in his eyes, something that not anyone else could see. There was buried compassion, repressed emotions that he refused to release. He had once been a truly compassionate man, but lonliness had changed that. Muriel remembered him from when he had first come here years ago. That day had changed Benedict, and not for the good, as far as she was concerned. The man needed some attention to his manners . . . or he needed for someone to just smack him aside the head.

"You cruel, heartless bastard!" Her hands slammed down onto the desk as her voice shrieked. Her temper had started to get the better of her. Muriel was sick of his attitude, especially since no one but the house keeper seemed willing to stand against him. "She is but a woman, barely at the age to begin courting! She may be queen, but that is not all that she has on her plate! She needs time to adjust, as we all do, to the death of the king!"

As Muriel spoke Benedict came out from behind his desk, slowly walking toward her as if to stalk his prey. The grin on his face evidenced subconscious satisfaction. He needed someone to be firm with him, someone to keep him in check. Not that he realized this, for Benedict had become quite oblivious to his own actions and manners.

Benedict snapped at her, his patience worn quite thin. "Some say that I am, but I do not hold much stock in those words, nor those people. Now, do you have something important to say, or are you going to continue to distract me from my work with useless opinions?"

She clenched her fists as he walked toward her, his words as hostile as his imposing figure. She looked up to him, his face mere inches from hers. She tried so hard not to respond. She wanted to just reach out and slap this man right across his face. He was being completely unreasonable; as far as Muriel was concerned, Benedict was being a complete and utter arse.

Once more he saw that she had to restrain herself. Benedict could tell by the look in Muriel's eyes that she wished nothing more than to just lash out. Yet she did not. He wondered if this woman was afraid of him for some reason. Perhaps it was the consequences she would suffer if she got too bold; she was of lower station, after all. He decided to test his theory. His hand reached down to lift her chin so that she once more looked directly into his eyes.

"What is the matter, Muriel? Are you at a loss for words, or perhaps you have realized that you are a foolish little woman with much less to say that you thought?" There was a smug look on his face as he said this, his hand ready to catch the one he expected to fly at any moment.

Fly it did. With ease, Benedict's hand caught hers and wrapped around her small wrist. He could not help but chuckle, which helped the situation very little. In fact it made it worse. Her other hand came to fly at him with the same intent as the first. That one did not strike either, he caught it as well. Muriel fumed, her arms now crossed in front of her. Benedict actually broke out into a laugh. Muriel only growled as the man's hands held her still and kept her from acting.

"Did you really think that you could slap me? I may not be a warrior, but I learned quickly enough how to guard myself against women such as yourself." A smirk crossed his lips as he said this, and once more he chuckled in her face.

"I am not a foolish woman! My life has been devoted to the royal family, if you consider such foolish, then you are foolish yourself!" She practically spat her words at him. Though he continued to hold her still, Muriel refused to back down.

"Perhaps I am foolish," the Chancellor replied. "However, such is not in question at this moment. What is in question are your manners and lack of respect for people stationed above you. Perhaps it will be me that teaches you this lesson." There was a pause in his words, the smirk turning into a wide grin. "Yes, I think I shall, for I can not think of a single person that has any objection to that."

His intention was to scare her, but he could see he had not quite accomplished that, and he knew it. He did not want to completely break her will, he only wanted to see how far he could push her. It was not that he found himself a cruel man; perhaps he appeared that way, but his intentions were not the same as if he truly was cruel. Muriel had not spent much time with this man. She knew not his motives nor what to expect from him.

"Now you will come with me and not make a fuss about it. If you do, no one will bother to help you, and you will only make things worse for yourself in the end. I am not a cruel man, but you have tried my patience, and since you seem so intent on taking up my time with trivial matters, I will make sure that the matter becomes not so trivial." All this was whispered almost seductively into her ear. At the same time there was an incredible seriousness to his words.

If she was scared, she showed no signs of it, but Benedict somehow knew. Perhaps it was the scent he inhaled before he straightened, or maybe he was just used to the fact that around him, people usually reacted in such a manner. Muriel was definitely stubborn; he had known this before, but he knew not to what extent. It quickly became much clearer, but he was definitely looking forward to the discovery of the exact boundaries of this woman's stubborn streak.

Without a chance to respond, Muriel felt her right arm pulled, his hand still around her wrist as he walked to the doorway of his office. But he did not stop there. Instead, he opened the door and started down the hallway. She had no idea where he was taking her, nor was she sure she wanted to know. She tried to pull against him, but his grip was strong. Try as she might, she could not free herself from Benedict's grip.

"Let me go!" Those words were spoken just as they walked past the guards. The only glance they gave was quickly deflected by the look in Benedict's eyes.

He paid no heed to her words, instead dragging her down the corridors of the castle. It took her until the final hallway to realize their destination. When Benedict heard her gasp of realization, he chuckled in amusement that it had taken her so long to figure it out. He also chuckled at what he assumed were her thoughts. He began to wonder if he should play along with her expectations.

When he opened the door, he practically flung Muriel toward the chair in the outer chamber of his quarters, quarters that she had surely cleaned but hours before. Only this time, she was not there to clean, but for whatever the Chancellor had in mind for her. The door was quickly closed behind him, and just in time.

"You will not have me!" She yelled as she ran at him. Benedict made no attempt to stop her other than block the doorway and her ability to leave.

He felt her fists pound into his chest. This time, he did not laugh, nor make any attempt to stop her. It wasn't that he did not feel her blows, he wanted to just let her do as she needed to take out her frustrations. He had no desire to hurt her, none at all. What he did desire was unclear even to him, which was of course the entire reason that he had brung Muriel to his chambers.

"I have no desire to have you." He spoke as he looked down upon her, his voice now much softer in tone. "Well, that is untrue. I do -- any man who did not would be foolish -- but that is not my intent." He finally took her wrists into his hands again, this time pulling her close in an almost intimate embrace.

This stopped her immediately. Her eyes looked up to him, confused. Muriel noticed his change in tone, in his actions. Benedict was suddenly much more gentle than he had been before. But this only brought questions to her mind, one in particular.

"Then why did you bring me here?" she asked in a soft voice, head bowed. "If not to have me, then why?"

Benedict released her hands. With a movement that seemed too tender for him, he lifted her face, until their eyes met. The corners of his lips curled in an awkward smile, awkward because it had been years since he had done such, but at the same time because no one within the castle had ever seen such an expression upon his face.

"Because, here we can talk in private, no one to snoop around the doors and hear us. That and..." Benedict sighed, then actually turned his back to Muriel.

His words and actions made her wonder. In all the years she had worked at the castle, Muriel had never seen Benedict speak this way, much less turn his back on anyone. He had never trusted anyone but perhaps the king well enough to do such. She placed a hand on his shoulder as if to try to get attention, but instantly she felt him pulling away from her.

"You may leave if you wish," the Chancellor said, his voice becoming more harsh. "You have told me your concerns. That is... unless there is something else you wish to add." He turned to face her, the plain expression returned to his face.

"You were going to say something, Your High Excellency, what was it?" She asked him softly, wondering what had brought about the change she had seen in him.

"It was nothing. I will try to be easy on Evelyn. However, in doing so, you must also be the one to teach her courtly manners. Do such and I will not have to be so hard on her." She blinked a few times as she heard him speaking the way he had in his office.

Benedict then walked to the door, opening it up for her and motioning for Muriel to leave. She was dubious about what she had seen from the normally hard man. Perhaps his moment of vulnerability was only in her imagination. Bowing her head as she sighed, she stepped through the door, heading directly to her chamber so that she could get some rest and perhaps make sense of the situation.





A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 07



"I will take my leave of you, my Queen, until the morrow when I shall see you again for your lessons." Muriel stood and curtsied, and before the younger woman could respond, she disappeared from her chambers.





A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 08



Author's Note:This is a chapter that was written for a chain story under the same title "A Royal Sacrifice." The work that follows is my own and has been written in order to replace a chapter that was removed when one of the writer's in the chain had their worked removed from the site. I will be replacing the other two as well, or a member of the original team will. If you are new to this chain and have stumbled across this story because it is a "new" submission to Lit. I encourage you to read the previous chapters by going to the "Chain Story" section of Lit. and find the corresponding alpha character. The other missing chapters: 13 and 19, will soon grace the chain once more -- patience is needed as I reconstruct the tale. A couple of parting thanks to Darkniciad for editing suggestions and to the readers. ~ Red

*

The wind brushed silky curls of hair into Evelyn's face; she pushed them away. The rings adorning her fingers caught her eyes causing her to stare blankly at them; the digits were clean - of all signs that she was once a simple village girl who grew up cleaning stalls, riding horses, digging in the dirt for mushrooms were gone. There seemed to be no proof of the girl she was and in her place was a woman who looked as if she'd grown up in the finest castles and had studied with the finest tutors. A long sigh left her parted lips; her hand fell to her lap to join the other that looked equally manicured and fake. The dress she wore was beautiful. It had been made to fit her as if she had always worn such finery. Gone were her wool skirts, torn shirts, and holey shoes. Was there nothing left of her? 

A butterfly fluttered down to rest on a flower close to Evelyn. She studied it, wished that her life were as simple as the creature before her. The creature did not have to worry about a kingdom, or about the politics of peace, the destruction of war, nor did they have to relive the horror of their parents death, their biological father's distaste for his only child. A butterfly could travel where it wanted, associate with whom it wanted. She, the Queen of Vix had to have her friends placed in harm to protect her; her trust mistreated and her intelligence questioned by those who deemed themselves better than her. Another winged creature flew up to the first. Their colors matched and the two butterflies tasted each other before flying away. 

Evelyn smiled. That was life -- two creatures finding each other and haphazardly fluttering through the wind, eventually relying on one to guide the other, or sometimes sticking the breeze out and rolling with it side by side. Wasn't that what she was supposed to do with Drest? Wasn't that the plan? She would wed him and he would help her to lead their kingdoms into a new era. The sounds of approaching feet brought her up from her musings. Evelyn turned and faced the man she had just been thinking of. 

She made motion to rise; Drest lifted his hand and so she stayed in her seat. In truth Evelyn was far from wishing to do anything but enjoy the weather and the serenity of her garden. "Good morning, Your Majesty." 

"And good morning to you ,Your Highness." 

Drest smiled. "Do you tire of the etiquette one is encouraged to show when royals greet each other? I know I am and if you would like you may willingly call me Drest." 

Evelyn laughed. "I shall extend the offer to you, as well. Though I am sure Chancellor Benedict will have something to say about it if he were to hear our greetings so informal." 

The prince shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, but I believe sometimes you forget that you are Queen and even your Chancellor must pay you heed. Do not let him cower you, or it only reinforces what rumors have spread."

"Rumors?" her brow lifted. 

"There is talk that you are just a village idiot - weak and feeble. They say that the kingdom would be in better hands than those of a village girl who was not even good enough for her father to keep." 

Evelyn rose up; her features red from anger and shock as well as humiliation at his words. Drest quickly lifted his hands. "Your Majesty -- Evelyn -- I only answered the question you asked. You will show them how wrong their words are. I have faith in you. Much more than I believe you have in yourself."

She turned away, her arms crossed under her breasts and took several long breaths. "I am still learning," she admitted.

"Aren't we all," he answered. "What is that?" 

Evelyn turned and faced him to see his finger pointed to the weapon on her hip. "A sword that I was given. It is to help me learn how to defend myself." 

His brows rose questionably.

"What?" she asked, pulling it from the sheath. 

"It is a fine piece, but the weight is light. It would serve you better to learn with a stronger blade, so that if by some chance you find yourself taking another sword to finish your attacker you have experience with it. A real warrior would blanch if he had but your sword to aid him."

Evelyn's mouth contorted slightly, giving indication that she was thinking on his words. She nodded to the weapon he wore. "And yours is one a soldier would be proud to wield? It looks heavy, but with those fancy intricate carvings and jeweled hilt, it looks more glamorous than useful." 

Drest said nothing, but proved his weapon was far from useless. The hilt was in his palm and his fingers wrapped around it before Evelyn drew a breath. The sound of it being drawn made her gasp and the easy slice it made on her rose bush startled her. 

She stepped back and eyed his weapon. "I see," she whispered. 

"It is very much useful and the glamor is not only for show, but for practical purposes. The jewels could be dug out and used to bribe someone." 

"I would not have thought of that," she told him. 

"Yes, you would have. You have a strong mind - a practical outlook on life. Something that those raised behind these walls do not. You would have thought to use the jewels before you would have resorted to violence. The jewels would have bought you food, safety, covered expenses for your travels, and because you know the value of a coin, you would have most likely made the best deal and returned home with monies left over." 

Evelyn laughed. "You are most likely correct!" 

"Evelyn in all seriousness, might I show you the difference in the two weapons? You need to familiarize yourself with something that will make a man take a second glance. It will give you the time necessary to plan a course of action. Because in all honesty, a woman brandishing any blade will cause a man to pause, not because he fears you, but because he will try to contain his laughter." 

She smirked. "A woman with a blade would make a man laugh?" 

"Of course; no woman dares to defend herself in such a fashion. Do you not know that women are frail creatures who must be tucked behind a man or she will lose her virtue if not her life." Drest added a wink to his cocky grin. 

Evelyn rolled her eyes, but sensed his teasing tone. "I'll accept a lesson or two from you, so that I may not kill my opponent with laughter." 

Drest handed her his weapon and discarded her own, lying it upon the bench upon which she had been sitting. She took it and felt the difference in its weight and length. "It is quite a contrast," she admitted. 

He slowly showed her the proper stance and how to swing the blade. They worked for an hour before she begged none-to-jokily for mercy. He returned the sword to his side. Evelyn wiped the sweat from her brow. 

"Why the poor Queen must be parched." 

Both Evelyn and Drest turned to face the newcomer. 

"Ah, Viviane a pleasure seeing you," Drest said before leaving Evelyn's side. He pulled his sister into a warm embrace. 

The Queen shuttered within herself. Viviane made her uneasy; the woman's presence seemed to sicken her. She knew she had no real reason to find Drest's sister disloyal, but she did, and the fact that her brother only saw the good in her made Evelyn question as to why she was so quick to doubt the sincerity in the woman's actions. 

"I was just showing the lovely Evelyn the difference between her weapon and my own." 

Viviane's lips rose in a grin that Evelyn knew to be one of unspoken thought. "Oh, my dear brother," her hand rested on his chest, "your weapons are vastly different." 

Evelyn did not need to be told what the woman was implying. Disgust rolled over her, but she kept her demeanor that of a Queen. She picked up her weapon, sheathed it and stood for a moment next to the pair. "I appreciate your lesson Your Highness, but I must take my leave. I have requested a meeting with the Chancellor and I do not wish to be late." She spared a brief glance to Lady Viviane, "good-day your ladyship." 

The Queen of Vix left the siblings; her stomach churned at the soft laughter that poured from the other woman's lips. There was something wrong with that woman, Evelyn knew it, but she also knew that Drest was more than capable of handling his sister -- or at least she hoped he was. 

Back inside the castle rooms, Evelyn quickly made her way to the Chancellor's ready room and found him staring aimlessly out the window. She cleared her throat.

"Alone again, no one guarding your back, no ladies to chaperone you. It is good Lady Viviane appeared before things got out of hand." 

"You were spying on me?" she asked. Evelyn walked to the window and was rewarded with a view of her garden. Drest and Viviane were still there, but had chosen to take a tour of the grounds. She turned away and stared back at Benedict. "Then I am to have no privacy -- ever?" she asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "You are the Queen and your privacy means little to me," he admitted. 

Evelyn glared at his back. She hated how he turned away from her and spoke with her as if he were her better. Drest's words came back to her and she knew that how the Chancellor behaved toward her would eventually be the way others chose to. She could not allow his disrespect to continue, no matter how much she feared him. 

"Do not turn away from me," she said. Her voice was shaky, but loud enough.

Benedict turned and with a raised brow looked back at her. "My apologies," he said, as if he almost had been waiting for her backbone to appear. 

"I understand that you have chosen to detain Rebecca in the dungeons and she has been questioned by your men, yet she gives you no answers - or at least answers you do not find truthful." 

Benedict's jaw tightened. "You have no need to worry yourself in regards to prisoners. We have the traitor under constant guard and she'll not harm you or anyone else in this realm." 

"I doubt she harmed anyone prior to her capture either." 

"You say that even after your friends have been attacked and your adoptive parents slain?" 

"Do not call them that. They were my parents; they do not need to be called 'adoptive'."

He said nothing and for that Evelyn was grateful. "My lady-in-waiting is my responsibility and I wish to see her and to question her myself. You will take me to her now," Evelyn demanded. 

Benedict's jaw tightened further; Evelyn could swear she heard his teeth scrap against each other as he fought for control over the words he ached to spill. She waited for him to concede or battle with her. The former was her reward and she followed Benedict out of the room, down through the halls and even further into the bowels of her castle. 

The air was moist and the stench of excrement strong. "I want this sty cleaned immediately!" she hissed as she covered her nose. 

"It is a dungeon your highness." 

"That is an excuse only a man with little regard for life gives. Have it cleaned or have it filled. The only creature who deserves these dwellings is The Spectre." 

"As you wish," Benedict answered. He approached one room, where a guard stood at the door ready for any unseen foe. 

"Open the door," the Chancellor said; when it was done, he and Evelyn stepped through, the guard followed, a lit torch in his hand cast light on the room. Rebecca lay on a cot that was stuffed with straw. Several ends poked out. The room was no cleaner than the other parts of the dungeon and Evelyn knew the girl would most likely suffer nightmares from the state she'd been forced to live in -- even if it had been a short stay. 

Evelyn moved to approach the girl. Benedict grabbed her arm and hauled her back. "Are you a fool?" he screamed, "she is your enemy yet you approach her as if she has done no wrong?" 

The Queen jerked free and stared at the Chancellor. "How dare you touch me," she whispered. He shrank back slightly. "She is not my enemy until I find her guilty of the crimes you accuse her of. Take care of her. I want her bathed, and dressed. Now!" 

The sound of their voices echoed off the walls; Evelyn turned when she heard the woman on the bed rustling. "Your Majesty?" 

Rebecca's voice was soft and broken. Evelyn moved to her side, aware that the fine gown she wore would no longer be of any use to her; the soiled floors now stained the silk hem. She lowered herself to her knees and thought nothing of the material. Her mind was full of worry for Rebecca. Evelyn heard the guard approach and knew that he would intervene if Rebecca tried to hurt her like Benedict had warned. The Queen smoothed down the girl's hair. "What happened?" she asked the woman. 

Rebecca opened her eyes wider, rubbed them and stared off into the distance. "I don't know. They brought me here. The words they say make no sense." 

"I hear you have been with the evil one -- have you seen him?" Evelyn asked. 

"No -- no Your Majesty, never I ..." 

Benedict stepped closer. "She lies! She was seen with him. She is his lover. She's spread her legs and lain with him. She most likely carries his spawn and..." 

"Enough!" Evelyn shouted and took a deep breath. "Rebecca I need you to remember, but I believe you. I can see in your eyes that you are lost. You are confused and I know the powers of Bagdemagus and I know he has something to do with your memory and what the others saw." 

"Your Highness, I meant you no harm. I don't understand what is happening. I ... I ... just don't know," she covered her face with her hands and cried. 

Evelyn pulled her in for a tight embrace, but released it when the guard advanced. She rose; he sheathed his weapon. "Arrange for her to be removed to one of the housemaids' quarters. Whomever gives up their rooms without fretting will be rewarded. I want a bath and fresh clothes brought to her and she is to be seen by the healer." 

She turned to Benedict and spoke to him before he had a chance to open his mouth. "Do not counter my demands or I will remove you from your lofty perch. I am sick of you running my life and trying to make me your puppet. She is my lady and I will see to her in my own way. Do we have an understanding?" 

Benedict said nothing, only lifting a brow and stepping back so that the Queen of Vix could pass. She felt her stomach tighten; Evelyn knew the victory was small, but knew it had been hers. She still had a long way to go in regards to making him see her as his monarch and not a guttersnipe.

After leaving the dungeon, Evelyn quickly went back to her rooms. The women who had worked so hard to prepare her for the day, were there. They had heard their Queen had found her way to the dungeon and all knew that the results would do nothing good for her clothing. The dress was removed, and the Queen was told that it would be cleaned and given to the orphanage. One woman told her that it would most likely be cut down and used as dresses and pieces would be used to make sashes or hair ornaments for the girls. 

"Certainly a good use," Evelyn committed as she sunk into a hot bath full of rose petals. She closed her eyes, dismissed the women after asking them to return in an hour. 

While she lay in the tub, she thought about Drest and their morning conversation as well as the lessons he'd given her. He was fast becoming her friend and she found herself curious as to if they could become more than that. Their kingdoms once joined would forever prosper from each other and would a marriage built on friendship and perhaps love only bring a larger reward to the people? It was evident that the marriages of her father had done nothing for the kingdom. 

Thoughts of her father brought her to thoughts of her mother. A woman who had given birth to her, but had died moments later. Had her mother looked upon her visage and known what was going to happen? Evelyn sighed, sank deeper into the water and saw the images of her parents float behind her closed lids. Benedict had called them her "adopted" parents. She hated the word; they were her mother and her father and they were no longer a part of her life. Only their memory remained. 

How she hated Bagdemagus. Why had he only now become a more constant presence in the kingdom? What did he want with them? And how could they defeat him? Evelyn wondered over all of this and more as the water cooled. The women returned and soon she was forced to push away thoughts of those she loved, and those she now knew hate for. 

After she was dressed, she was given food that filled a belly she had not known to be empty. She ate the bread and cheese, drank the wine and sucked on the fruit before popping its meat into her mouth and enjoying the remaining sweet texture. A roasted hen had been prepared for her and she found herself indulging in most of it. 

The women laughed as she pushed her plates away and patted her full stomach. "Your Highness, if you continue to eat like that we will have to remove the seams of your gowns." 

Evelyn blushed. "I was famished," she admitted. "Please see that the villagers are given an increase in foods from the kingdom's stores. If I am given this much than surely we can give a more generous amount to my people." 

The women grinned, bobbed their heads, took her discarded food and dishes and hurried to do her bidding. Words of adoration fell from their lips and were caught by Evelyn's ears. She smiled, realizing that the little things she did in front of her servants would in time reach the hearts of her people and they would know she was nothing like her father. 

The Queen left her chambers with thoughts on what she would do before the dinner tonight that had been planned earlier in the week. It was to be a way for her to show that she was coming along in her lessons on etiquette as well as a way to prove she could recall the important stations of those who were a part of her kingdom. She had been forced to memorize bloodlines and treaties that had brought what lands to her doorstep and what husband was married to what lady and what lady had which children. The family tree of her notable allies had given her many headaches and she hoped that tonight all would be rewarded for her efforts. 

A loud bang startled Evelyn, she walked over to Benedict's ready room; the door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open and stepped through, allowing it to gently close behind her. Several men of various ages either stood or sat in chairs surrounding Benedict's desk. She approached cautiously as she heard them whisper words of the "evil one" and "demons -- traders -- ignorant women in power". The last statement made her skin prickle. 

"I believe it is the ignorance of man that has allowed Bagdemus to walk this world so freely? Is it not man who has been leading this kingdom generation after generation and is it not an 'ignorant woman' that may be the only key to defeating him?" 

All turned to stare at Evelyn. She lifted her chin in defiance. "Why do you hold this meeting without my knowledge?" Her eyes held the Chancellor's in a steady gaze. 

"Your Highness. I assumed you were resting and did not wish to trouble you. We as the elders and military leaders of your kingdom know what we are doing," Benedict said. The other men nodded their heads in agreement. 




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 09



Guy Dorr chuckled upon passing a safe distance away from his latest mark. The man continued to haggle with the hawker at his cart, completely unaware that he no longer had any coin to pay once the dueling pair reached an acceptable price. Guy had slit the man's purse with a razor sharp knife without even breaking stride.

Slipping the coins into his own purse, Guy thought, I should have abandoned the hinterlands long ago. So many pretty birds to pluck. Noticing a petite brunette with an eye-catching bosom, he added, In more ways than one.

Touching the brim of his hat and offering a charming smile, his eyes lit up upon seeing color rise into the young woman's cheeks. Mind the time, he chastised himself, knowing that he would find any number of occasions for dalliance in less pressing times.

Patting the vial tucked into the waistband of his breeches, Guy quickly strode to his horse. Mounting the dark brown stallion, a tap of his heels and a quiet command of "Hah, Judas," set the animal off toward the Lempe estate.

As he rode, Guy contemplated the gossip in the village. Virtually every man, woman, and child knew some story about the events of the past few days. How many of these rumors possessed a scrap of truth was suspect, but Guy knew far better than to ignore any information.

While murders and fear of a black hearted wizard could prove advantageous in covering his own work, it also presented a greater level of alertness on the part of the entire populace. The resurrection of the knighthood also required caution. For the time being, Guy felt that the knights were of little consequence – a mere villager and a stableboy – but that could very well change in a short time if the new Queen continued to knight anyone who struck her fancy.

Guy raised his eyebrows and smiled as he wondered how he might catch the Queen's eye. According to the tongue waggling in the village and surrounding estates, the woman was beautiful, untouched, and had lived in a peasant's squalor until the moment she took the throne. Status as a knight would immediately elevate him to a level granting him tremendous freedom.

Why stop there? Guy mused. She has already broken from tradition in knighting the manure shoveler and the village boy. Might not a charming man win her hand and heart to become Queen Consort?

Topping a rise, Guy saw his destination come into view. Enough of that for now, he wisely thought. He focused his mind on the task at hand as he rode up to the estate, passing off Judas to a stableboy only seconds after bringing the horse to a halt. He needed no servant to guide him, and walked with quick, confident steps toward where he knew his benefactor awaited him.

The man's head immediately turned toward the door when Guy opened it. Guy could see the anxiety in the man's eyes, and it brought a smile to his lips. "All proceeds as planned, Walter. You have the wine set aside, I trust?" He asked as he removed his riding gloves.

"I have," Walter Lempe replied. "You are sure that Simon will forgive my debt for such a small amount of wine?" He smoothed back his salt-and-pepper hair, his expression filled with concern.

Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, Guy responded, "Wine fit for the Queen's own table, Goodman. You do your fine vintage a disservice. Simon gnaws at the bit, as a yearling eager to run. I have firmly convinced him that his path to genteel society now lies open before him. He will do anything I suggest."

"With that debt forgiven, I would have the means to attain the prosperity so long denied me," Walter declared, tamping his fist on the table to punctuate the statement. Immediately thereafter, a coughing fit wracked his body.

Giving Walter time to regain his composure, Guy then said. "And so you shall. You have the bottles for my associate? I must needs meet with him this night, and he demands his payment."

Nodding, Walter gestured to his wife. The curvy, auburn-tressed woman retrieved two wine bottles from a sideboard, bringing them to the table before Guy. She then turned to her husband, who once more fought for breath through a fit of coughing. "Husband, you should seek your bed." She gestured for a stout servant, who moved to stand next to Walter's chair. "I will have one of the servants see our guest on his way."

Weakly nodding his head, Walter allowed the servant to help him rise, and then to walk from the room toward the bedchamber. Anne looked on with concern until her husband vanished from view, the servant closing the door behind them. Now alone, she turned to Guy, who stood up from his chair with a smile. Stepping forward into his embrace, she tightly closed her arms around him. A quavering sigh bubbled from her lips as the stiff tips of her breasts pressed against his muscular chest. "Please tell me that you spoke untrue. Must you leave?"

Kissing her forehead, his manhood swelling beneath his breeches, Guy let out a melancholy sigh. "I fear I spoke truth, fair Anne. I must take to horse immediately."

"Will you return this night? I ache for you, my love."

"No, dear Anne. Yet another night and day must we spend apart, even should the fates be kind."

"I do not know how I shall endure it."

Raising her face to his, Guy kissed her full lips. "Nor do I, but it is needful. I must leave."

"Go then, while I yet have the strength of will to allow it," Anne pleaded while stepping away from him.

Picking up the bottles, Guy said, "Rest well, my fair flower. Seek me in your dreams and I shall await you there."

Her lip quivering, Anne nodded and swept out of the room in a flurry of skirts.

Guy returned to his horse, stowing the bottles carefully in his saddlebags. Fed and rested, Judas responded with enthusiasm when Guy spurred his mount into motion toward the Gifford estate.

****

"Timing is of the essence, Simon," Guy assured the pacing lord of the Gifford estate.

"Too long have I waited for this opportunity," Simon grumbled. "So many times that fool has been on the brink of ruin, only to endure. Too long have I looked on, denied my rightful place in gentle society. I must have access to his vines. When every table holds my beer and his wine, under my control, none will be able to deny me my place."

"And so you shall," Guy said with a smile, amused because he had said the exact same words to Simon's bane, Walter, only a short ride ago. "What he will send to you will force him to provide lesser vintages to others. When foul thieves abscond with the wine before it reaches you, thus dissolving your bargain..."

"He will not have the means to pay his debt to me, and I will have what I desire," Simon finished.

Producing one of the bottles of wine, Guy sat it down and gestured toward it. "To celebrate your rightful station. I think Walter's finest vintage is appropriate for just such a joyous occasion." Reaching into a pouch, he then produced the vial he had obtained in the village. "And the other, of course."

"God be praised. I have seen each hour these last two nights. The pain grows unbearable, and I am weary beyond sense."

Bowing his head, Guy said, "The opium will surely give you both rest and relief, Simon. I sense that perhaps you may wish to partake of that blessed relief before our celebration?"

"I fear I shall take leave of my wits if I do not sleep soon," Simon answered.

"Then go, my friend. I will take the bottle to the cellar and seek my bed. We will celebrate when you awaken."

With a nod, Simon left, and Guy held true to his word.  He lay back on the bed with a sigh, a smug smile spread across his face. Naturally, he had no intention of ruining Walter, nor of removing Simon's hold over his neighbor – at least not yet. Both men were so single mindedly devoted to their goals that they would never guess his duplicity in playing them both for fools for some time.

Misfortunes 'beyond his ability to control' would prevent either man from attaining what they desired in whole, while continuing to tempt them with the sweet taste of victory. Guy had no intention of surrendering the fine life he enjoyed between the two households. Uncorking the second bottle of wine, he took a sip and let out a blissful sigh.

A knock on the door and a call of, "Fresh linens," sent a rush of blood through Guy's nether regions. Rising from the bed, he crossed the room to the door and opened it, letting the buxom, raven-haired chambermaid enter the room.

The door barely closed before Isabel dropped the linens to the bed and stepped into Guy's arms. Her hands caressed his swelling manhood through his breeches, and her lips sought his with hungry passion.

Guy reached down to cup her sex in his hand as they kissed, almost able to feel the heat radiating from her loins beneath her skirts. His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat beneath her hand. Pulling away from the kiss, he cradled her heavy breasts in his hands, leaning down to kiss the revealed cleavage with a slight growl of arousal. Her hands moved to the waist of his breeches even as he kissed her.

Guy pulled away with a sigh. "Simon has his opium."

"There is time," Isabel countered, continuing her quest to remove his breeches and reach the object of her desire.

"But what when his wife discovers me spent, unable to pleasure her?"

"How long must I wait? My loins burn for you."

"I loathe the need to wait as well, but it must be so. The time will come when she will tire of me. Until then, I must maintain my illusion of desire for her. You know the power she holds over her husband. Without the payment for my services to him, I will not be able to take you away from this place."

"How long will the opium last?" Isabel asked, backing away toward the door with a sigh.

"No more than three days. Then we will have the respite to share our love, while she is unable to leave her wakeful husband's side."

"What if she does not come?"

Guy sighed, and said, "She will come." Many times, he silently added, letting none of his amusement creep into his features. "Now go. Seek me in your dreams, my love."

Biting her lower lip for a moment, Isabel mastered her emotions enough to say, "I will," before quickly exiting the room.

Though his erection throbbed in frustration as he lay back on the bed, Guy knew it would not last long. After taking another sip of the finest wine in the land, he began to remove his clothing. It would not do to keep the lady waiting when she arrived.

Nearly asleep as he dozed awaiting her arrival, Guy opened his eyes upon hearing the door close to see Rachel allowing her dressing gown to fall to the floor.

"I feared he would never succumb," she said as she crossed the room toward the bed. Her firm breasts held the shift she wore away from her upper body, while her motion caused the fabric to cling to her below. Still erect from thoughts of her, Guy's cock bounced upward from his body in anticipation.

As the honey-blonde wife of his benefactor shrugged off her shift at the edge of the bed, Guy admired her curvaceous body and stood. The sight of her slightly rounded abdomen sent another twitch through his manhood. Already swollen with her husband's seed, he need not pull from her hot depths to find his release.

Cupping her breasts in her hands, Rachel sighed and whispered, "Already they ache, as with my first child."

Running his fingers through her long, artfully disheveled hair, Guy leaned forward and kissed her passionately. When their lips parted, he whispered into her ear, "Perhaps I might soothe them for a time."

Rachel gasped as he leaned down to suckle one of her pebble-hard nipples. His lips caressed the erect bud for a moment, and then he shifted to her other breast to engulf its twin in his mouth.

One hand rested on Guy's head, while the other crept between his legs to caress him. "Too long have I waited already. I can wait no more," she said in a needy whisper.

Guy answered not with words, but with action. Releasing her nipple from his lips, he reached down to grasp her rounded bottom, easily lifting her into his arms. He spun on his heels, the musky scent of her arousal already tickling his nose, and lay her down upon the bed.

Even as her back touched the mattress, Guy swung one knee onto the bed between her legs. Raising her knees and spreading them apart, she granted him access to kneel between them. As he moved forward, she parted the thick blonde curls surrounding her sex, revealing the wet heat hidden beneath.

Guy pressed the tip of his needy organ against her folds, slipping into her with a grateful sigh. Her back arched away from the bed as he penetrated her, the action accompanied by a high-pitched gasp.

He wasted no time, thrusting into her clinging depths with quick measured thrusts. Rachel moderated her sounds of passion, though she knew that only trusted servants remained within earshot. Color rose into her face, chest, and breasts as she felt days of need sated by his thick shaft stroking her with hot friction. After days of anticipation, her fires quickly rose to an inferno.

Guy let out a groan of ecstasy as her walls caressed him, her labia clinging to his member with every withdrawal. Her fingers curled into claws, bunching up the bedclothes between them, and he groaned again as the rate of her breathing increased. Well knowing the signs of impending climax in her beautiful features, he gripped her thighs harder to add power to his thrusts.

Sweat beaded over both of their bodies as Rachel soared upward to her peak. She reached her heights and tumbled over with a choked off scream long before Guy felt the tightening of his loins that signaled his release. Her legs closed around him even as her intimate muscles entrapped him, holding him buried in her depths as she gasped and panted for breath from the depth and power of ecstasy flooding her every pore.

She still fought for breath when Guy forced her legs apart, allowing him to withdraw his throbbing organ for another thrust. Her eyes opened wide as his tip pressed against the entrance of her womb and the power of his thrust moved her toward the headboard of the bed.

Guy deviated from his chosen course, his own needs just as strong as those of the rapidly breathing woman beneath him. Though he'd planned to take her to her peak at least twice more, his body demanded release without delay. Allowing that beast free rein, he slammed his manhood home with the full strength of his desire.

Enraptured with the power of his thrusting organ and the sight of his muscular body working above her, Rachel soon soared toward another peak. As his face tightened and growls rumbled from his throat, she felt the tightness in her loins reach almost painful intensity. When he slammed into her with a final growl, she followed him into ecstasy.

Guy groaned as his organ pulsed, sending streams of his seed to coat her walls. She trembled and cried out in release, unable to contain the sounds this time. The tight squeeze of her climax proved unbearable, and he pulled from her with a gasp, trailing milky strands of their mingled juices from her sex to his slowly softening member.

Laying a hand over her loins, Rachel languidly mused, "How I long for the day when we may share this each day without secrecy."

"As do I," Guy agreed, collapsing to the bed with a sigh. In a short while, she left him to return to her bed, leaving him to change the linens and take his rest for the next play in his game.

He pitted the heads of the two households against each other, while he played upon the affections of their wives to his advantage. Neither woman took her husband out of love. Both sought the wealth and influence that marriage to the far older men provided. The two men were in ill health, and had already provided their wives with the means to maintain that wealth in the event of their husband's passing – sons.

Guy promised to aid the men in attaining a place within gentle society, which would thus offer the same to their wives. Once ensconced, the two women possessed the guile to maintain those positions. In exchange, he received all the information he needed from them.

In the meantime, he culled the servants for the gullible to attain even more useful information to maintain all his ruses. Eventually, he would have to choose between the two households. For now, he simply reveled in the game.

Knowing he had important work to do on the morrow, Guy pulled up the fresh linens and drifted off to sleep.

****

"Earl Warren, your choices are quite limited," Guy warned from his shadowy observation post near two convenient exits, both watched by town boys eager to please in hopes of more shiny coins for their palms. With all of the doors closed, the interior of the well-built barn held far more of shadow than of light.

Thomas Warren stared into the darkness, attempting to discern the identity of the man who had drawn him here with a few simple words passed through a servant. "Why should I accept the word of a man who hides amongst the shadows? A man of black heart and even blacker deeds?"

"Ah, but who are you to speak of black deeds? You who would defile the sacred bonds of marriage for a few moments of bliss in the arms of a girl only just become a woman? Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not bear false witness. In a single night of passion did you break three of the Lord's commandments."

With a growl born of both anger and shame, Earl Warren asked, "What do you want?"

"You may consider me as your guide back to the path of salvation. I offer the opportunity to grant a kindness to the less fortunate, in exchange for my silence in this most delicate matter."

"You blaspheme."

Guy greeted that accusation with a chuckle. "My sins and soul are my own to care for. It is for your own that you should be concerned. The price of my silence costs you nothing, in truth. As I said, you will simply do a kindness for those who do not share the great fortune of your birth."

"Enough of your riddles and your blasphemy. Name your price, Blackheart."

"In the fullness of time, I will reveal to you the full nature of your atonement. My price is but a few invitations and a single purchase. Both are well within your means, and cost you little. Your wife is fond of dancing and revelry, is she not? In paying my price, you warm the heart of your wife. In this, my price may even prove a boon to you, Earl."

"Very well, you will have whatever you desire. How am I to know that you will maintain your silence?"

"You do not. You do understand, however, that I will certainly reveal your indiscretion to your wife and your identity to your young lover if you fail to pay my price. You will receive further instruction in time, Earl." With those words, Guy spun in a flurry of his dark cloak. The action revealed his location to the Earl for the first time, but lasted only a second before Guy vanished out the nearby door.

Passing by one of the two village boys, Guy tossed the child a pair of coins as he sprinted by with his hood pulled low. Having received their initial coin from another, much shorter man, both boys started as the dark cloaked figure swept by them. The coins quickly overcame their surprise and fear, erasing even the slightest memory of Guy's appearance.

A swift run along a hedgerow brought him to his horse, and a short ride placed Guy back on the road, moving at a leisurely pace toward the home of the man he'd just blackmailed. Seeing no sign of activity, Guy knew that the Earl remained within the barn licking his wounds, and would play his part in the game perfectly.

Kicking his horse into a canter, Guy continued on to his final destination of the day, before returning for another night of luxury and bliss. As he rode, he contemplated the new rumors circulating amongst the servants of the nobility. If the whispers were true, the Queen had once more broken with tradition and asserted her authority over her father's court.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 09



The Queen's freeing of the maid servant offered even more evidence that she thought as much with her heart as with her mind. The tales regarding the woman's crime and incarceration all varied slightly, but shared enough common points to lend them credence. The Queen surely took a great risk in allowing the woman to return to her duties if even half of the rumors were true.

Now nearing the village, Guy once again pushed aside musings about the opportunities presented by the new Queen's apparent naivety. He trusted the man he must meet this day no farther than one could see in the deepest part of a moonless night. He knew that he must remain sharply focused on the task at hand, having seen the signs of greed in the man during their last two meetings.

Guy had no intentions of walking into the situation unprepared for any eventuality. 

****

"You have it?" Guy asked the raggedly dressed man lurking in the lee of a tanner's shed, purposely speaking as little as possible to avoid breathing in the stench of the place.

"I have it. You can pay?"

Guy rolled his eyes and produced the coin. "Now, my arsenic, if you please?" He didn't react at all to the faint sound of a twig snapping. He knew the men were lurking beyond the bushes. He'd known they were there even before he approached.

"I think it may be more this time," the filthy poison peddler said with a wide, toothless grin.

Letting out a resigned sigh, Guy's fingers closed around both the coins and the hilt of his rapier. "So, you have at last allowed your greed to outweigh your senses?"

"Rumors – probably started by you. I wager you can't hold a blade, much less use one. I got help, too."

The two burly men emerged from the bushes, equally filthy and toothless as their leader. In a single smooth motion, Guy deposited his coins back in his purse and drew his rapier. "There is still time to conduct our business without bloodshed."

"Yes. Deliver all your coin and you can walk away with all your blood," one of the men warned, and then let out a quiet, evil chuckle.

"I think not," Guy responded, setting his feet in a defensive stance.

"Quick and quiet," the poison peddler instructed his bruisers in clipped grunts, drawing a long-bladed dagger.

The two men rushed Guy, their blades raised high for an overhand strike. One man hesitated for a fraction of a second, and that was all the time Guy needed. Easily side-stepping the clumsy blows, a quick snap of his rapier disarmed one of the men. Blood spurted in fountains from the man's opened wrist, even around the other hand clasped over it.

Overextended when he found his target no longer where it should be, and distracted by the other man's blood squirting over him, the second assailant barely managed to put his rusty sword in line to deflect Guy's next stab. Fast as a viper's strike, Guy whipped his sword back and stabbed again, easily penetrating the man's pitiful defenses and opening his throat.

Skidding to a halt in his rush to attack, the poison peddler's eyes opened wide as he watched his two men dispatched with such speed and lack of effort. Guy spun and sprang forward, the point of his sword leveled within inches of the surprised man's face.

"The poison," Guy said in an ominous whisper, extending his hand.

Dropping his dagger to the muddy ground, the filthy man nodded his head in an exaggerated manner, digging into his pockets. Guy kept his distance, prepared to leap away at the first sign of any unusual motion or change in his frightened opponent's expression.

The man removed the glass vial from its hiding place, extending the vial in a trembling hand toward Guy. "They tricked me. I wouldn't do this. You know me." His voice trembled more than his hands, and the words emerged in a rush, filled with apology.

"Indeed," Guy responded, taking the vial. "I should kill you, but I find you useful. I trust there will be no more such mistakes in the future?"

Shaking his head hard enough to cause his sparse, matted hair to flap against his cheeks, the man answered. "Never again. You have my word." He let out a sigh of relief as Guy's sword slipped downward.

The motion of Guy's weapon immediately changed, thrusting forward into the filthy man's chest. Withdrawing the weapon, Guy sneered, "Your word is worth less than a bucket of night soil." The dying man had no answer, blood bubbling into his lungs and trickling from his mouth as he fell to his knees. Guy wiped off his sword point on a comparatively clean portion of the man's breeches before finishing the job with a clean cloth.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Guy dragged the man back into his shack. With some effort, he did the same with the other two men. The fire he started when he finished was small, but would quickly spread when it reached the carefully placed combustibles nearby. He would be a fair distance away when the hungry flames grew from a flicker to a roar. Only bones and char would remain by the time anyone discovered the blaze.

His tracks covered, Guy rode to a secluded location to change his clothing, burning the blood-stained garments he wore with a snort of regret. The clothing was fine, and he knew he should have worn something else before embarking on this day's business. What is done is done, he thought as he mounted Judas. A smile spread across his face as he anticipated Rachel's visit in the night.

****

Sitting unseen on his horse only a few feet away, Bagdemagus watched as Guy's horse receded into the distance. I may have use for this one. 

***000...-o-...000***

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter of the continuing story. The authors to this point have created a wonderful setting with fascinating characters, and I'm happy to jump into the mix.

Take a moment to vote, and perhaps comment. That's all the payment a free author gets, and every one is much appreciated! 



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 10



This story is part of a chain. Although it can be read on its own, parts of it may make more sense when read in order of the chain. However, I highly recommend reading all of the chapters anyway. I hope you enjoy! Please take the time to vote. If you have enjoyed this please recommend these to your friends.

*

John stormed out of the stables. Although his station had improved considerably, he still found time to return to his roots and work amongst the horses. There was a certain simplicity to the life he had led. Although David berated him near daily over one slight or another, his true concerns were slight. Thoughts of evil wizards or traitors were naught but flights of fancy. Now, as one of the two resurrected Knights of Vix, there was a deadly seriousness to such concerns.

He needed solace, and Eric had been a woefully inadequate companion recently. All of his time seemed to revolve around that vixen, the prince's sister; Viviane. Which was quite possibly the source of John's greatest concern. He could not understand the conflicted sentiments her felt for her. He could not stop thinking about her arrival, and the time they had together.

At the same time, he found it amazingly suspect. He was unlike Eric, to fell any woman who crossed his path. John still searched for the woman who could hold his heart. So why had he so gladly taken her? He shook the thought from his head as unimportant.

In truth, John wanted what Cedric seemed to have with Rebecca. Or at least that was what the fellow knight wished for. Fortunate was he that he now accounted for the lowest rank of nobility. He could court the handmaiden with impunity now.

John stopped in his tracks at the thought. He too was a knight. He was nobility, albeit the lowest form, but it granted him rights along with the responsibilities that he already understood. So what if every lord, from earl to the queen, was above his station. It was a lot in life he already understood. Only here, now, he could finally advance. Although his blood was not pure, and he held no lands to title, he had leave for his deeds to improve his place.

With a lighter step, he once more continued on his way. Thoughts of the fight with his supposed best friend remained, but rather than a distraction they provided John with a destination. Throughout his life, there had been one person who he turned to for advise. One person he knew of who was a font of wisdom. For a woman of questionable morality, his 'Grams' seemed to know everything.

John knew little of Grams' past. To the best of his knowledge no one knew more about her than that she was a woman of ill repute decades before. Her own form of honor prohibited the revelation of any of her clients, much less the father of the illegitimate child. That the child was a girl provided that few would care enough to press the issue. It had been assumed by all in the village that the daughter would follow in the footsteps of the mother. When she became the town washer woman, the assumption was upheld despite the truth of his mother's chastity.

What truly surprised everyone, not the least of which being John's father, Grams provided a decent dower. While not a merchant's fortune, she was able to provide them with a house within the bounds of the village and a tidy sum in case of woe. They still maintained both the house and the surplus. In fact, his parents had been able to save small bits of money on occasion and caused the sum to grow over time. John knew not how much his inheritance equaled, but his new position should afford it to grow further. Assuming he could find a suitable set of armor for himself.

There lay a concern even Grams could not help him with. Tradition dictated that the knights of Vix wore at least a half suit of plate armor in battle or ceremonial occasions, but John found the heavy casing unwieldy. While he thought himself a fair swordsman, possibly among the best at the castle, his capabilities were greatly diminished the moment he tried to wear the onerous shell.

Hardened leather was far more John's style. Unfortunately, as a knight, he was expected to look more than a common foot-soldier. It was the single drawback he had discovered in his rise to nobility. Now, at least in public, he was expected to conform to certain standards. On the field of battle he needed to be seen, to be an example for the lesser men to follow.

John reached the house of his birth at last. He could not help but smile. Despite their low station, and the scorn of his fellow villagers, his youth was kind to him. With the love of carefree parents, and a wondrous Grams, he never felt envious of those who owned more than he. His only weakness had been his envy and embarrassment of his place in society.

John slunk into the house as he had so many times before. He'd caused his share of troubles in his youth and been scolded and punished for each in turn. In the silence of the house, he couldn't help but be brought back to the nights, not so long ago, he'd snuck back in after a night out. With his parents absent, it felt much the same, despite the bright sunshine that beat through the front door.

"The conquering hero returns at last."

John spun in a crouch, his head low in shame. Although he knew the voice well, he had reacted to the surprise instinctively. Only his neck and head betrayed the automatic guilt that had built upon the silence of the dwelling. In truth though, his guilt was more than simply imagined. It had been far too long since he had visited home and family.

"I'm sorry Grams. I know I should have come home with far greater frequency, but my work at the castle has taken far more of my time than I ever could have guessed."

Grams left the shadowy corner of the room and wrapped him in a warm hug. Although she had seen many decades, the aura of beauty that served her well in her youth still remained tight about her. "My little John, you were bred for hard labors. All of us understood that we likely would only see you around the various holidays."

Grams released him from her embrace and held his shoulders at arm's length. Her critical gaze swept over him. Finally a smile brightened her face and she nodded. "You look well; strong and well fed. It seems becoming a knight suits you."

John couldn't help but blush. He knew that his family would have known about the promotion of his station, but where he would show everyone else that it was nothing more than his due, his family would see the truth. He couldn't be more surprised, or elated by the honor. "I was simply in the right place, Grams."

Grams waved away the thought with a brush of her hand as she moved over to the small stove and picked up the copper pot filled with water. How had John not noticed the warmth that the stove produced? Meanwhile she poured water into simple clay mugs and offered one to him.

"So tell me, what has driven you from the castle? You need advice, a gentle ear. Tell your Grams what has befallen."

John sighed and settled into the chair. Where should he begin? Grams knew of his former job at the stables and his friendship with Eric. Likely, she even knew that he continued to spend time there even after his elevation ~she always seemed to know such things~ but he figured it would not hurt to cover it anyway.

"Well, even after I've become a knight, I still take time to work the stables. I just feel more comfortable there, among the horses, rather than around the nobility. I don't understand them, their motives, their ways. Did you know there are bowls to dip fingers in to clean them?"

Grams, who had simply smiled and added an occasional nod, now smiled and motioned for him to continue. Obviously she understood his confusion at the ways of the castle, but just as obviously she knew something about how to navigate them. Perhaps he would need to visit her more often, for lessons on life among the royals. Regardless of these thoughts, he needed to continue.

"Well, three of us faced off against Ba...the Specter. But only two became knights. Cedric, a friend of the queen's from the time she grew up, was elevated along with me." John knew she would know that much. Everyone in the village knew about Cedric's elevation because of his connections with Queen Evelyn. But few had heard the rest. "But Eric was with us as well. It was he who truly drove off the wizard by means of a crossbow bolt."

Grams finished her tea and held up a hand for John to stop. Obediently he did. "Your friend, Eric chose not to become a knight then? And you have argued over it."

John looked down, ashamed. "In part. But you see, there's also this woman." He looked up quickly in embarrassment. "It's not what you think however!"

Grams gave him a look which told him not to assume what she thought. Thoroughly mollified, John continued. 'Well, I suppose there is some of what you are thinking. You see, this woman, I do not trust her. And yet he spends all of his time with her."

John didn't know how to continue. Fortunately, Grams seemed to have heard enough. She ushered him to drink his tea as she began to speak. "There is much beneath the surface here. But let us begin with the most obvious, and most ancient of motivations. Between you there is now envy and jealousy."

John wanted to argue, but he could not. He knew it to be true. "For you, there is jealousy of Eric. There is a part of you that desires this woman, despite your protests. Though I can tell from the flare in your gaze that you are at war with yourself over your feelings for her. On that, I can only advise that you let it go. Were it a battle between the head and heart," she touched each in turn with a delicate finger, "there would be room for debate. But the two seem to agree, so let it go my child. You may find this easier than you think, if you but let your heart free."

Grams poured more of the water, now lukewarm, into her cup and took another sip before she continued. John obediently continued to sip his own tea. "Next there is the jealousy of this woman. She has taken from you one of the things you most covet. And like all mankind, what you covet, you have taken for granted."

"Eric is your friend, but even friends must grow. Sometimes they grow apart. But sometimes, they simply need to grow on their own for a while. If you do not force the issue, in time the two of you may be able to find a balance between these lives."

John nodded and truly understood. He had not realized how much of his anger stemmed from the fact that he had so little time with Eric these days. As if in answer to his thoughts, Grams held up a cautionary finger. "Remember this too, child. That what you feel in this so does he. Have you not been spending a good deal more time with your fellow knight than with him?" John nodded solemnly that he had. "Whatever the initial fracture, the boulder would shatter in time if left to the cruel elements."

"Now, as to your friend. You have wondered why Eric refused to take up the position which is his due, more perhaps than even your own? Tell me, how many others know that this man is a scholar? Does even this mysterious woman know?"

John's eyes grew wide and he shook his head. He had never told Grams about Eric's languages. To the best of his knowledge even Viviane did not realize he was more than a lustful brute. John had certainly seen the two together, and Eric never presented himself as anything other than the big oaf that he allowed all others in the castle, save John himself, to see.

"There, you see? There is hope for the two of you yet. Perhaps the greatest secret the man holds, he has shared with you alone. Perhaps," Gram's began, seemingly anticipating his argument, "he no longer trusts anyone after your friendship has faltered. I feel, however, that it is more likely that there is at least some part of him that does not fully trust this woman. You say you do not trust her, and I think you are close enough, brothers enough, that he senses your mistrust and has acted accordingly."

"However, is that also not an explanation to explain his refusal of the honors?" This was a challenge of John's deductive abilities. Grams would never answer a question she had put forth in this manner, at least, not for some time. If it elapsed and he genuinely could not devise his path clear through the labyrinth, she might grace him with the answer or, more likely, another clue.

John caught the edge of an idea and began to suggest it before it had fully formed in his mind. "Eric hides what he can do. Or more truly, he hides what he knows, who he is. But the most important aspect is that he cannot hide himself bodily, but he certainly can hide who he is. If he accepted the praise for what he had done, people would look more closely. The would seek to find what they had missed within him as they have within."

What John did not feel Grams needed to know was that many had taken a closer look at him and found him wanting. Of course, those were mostly among the nobles, but he had learned they judged people far more differently than the common folk. They sought some ephemeral quality which he not only lacked, but could not understand.

Meanwhile, Grams looked to John for the logical connection that he had yet to express, or perhaps an alternative explanation. He thought over the problem for another few minutes as they both continued to sip their tea. Finally it came to John in a flash of insight. "The position would tie him to this place, these lands!"

Grams smiled and nodded. "Now, my child, you know him best. Which do you think is the more likely?"

John thought the question over from all sides, as he knew Grams wanted, before he answered. "I think there is a little truth in that. He is a man who values his freedom. But I think it is more about the way people perceive him. I have seen how the nobles react, I know how confused their world is. I think he prefers the station he sees and fears to become tangled in the supposedly harmless intrigues of court."

Gram's smile widened into the grin which lit up her already wondrous face. "Very good. I believe you are correct that his reasons, like many, are diverse and complex." She picked up her cup and place it back by the cupboard. He began to move to follow, but a firm hand on his shoulder kept him seated. Until she sat before him once more.

"What do you think of this new queen; this Evelyn?"

The question took John so completely by surprise that he was forced into his near departed contemplations of spies within the castle. He had been willing to think the worst of Drest, and he supposed it was still possible that the man held deep and suspicious motives, but to every action John had perceived, he was an honorable man.

So how could John's own Grams seem to question the fledgling queen? "Grams! I...I don't think it is my place to judge her!"

Grams smiled gently. "I did not mean to ask how you thought of her as a ruler. I am simply curious what you think of her as a person, as a woman?"

John blushed from head to toe. In truth, he rarely thought of Queen Evelyn as a woman. Of course, he understood that she was female. He even, in some strange, analytical method, comprehended that she was attractive. But he had never thought anything about her beyond his long held passion to act in the name of the crown, to defend the honor of Vix and its crown. Oh, she seemed fond enough, after all she had elevated him despite his questionable birth, but that only lent strength to the purity of his loyalty.

John's mouth staggered as he attempted to find words to express all of this to Grams. Fortunately, she read it in his eyes and took pity on the lad. A slight frown of concern, that he hadn't been aware that she wore, softened. "Good. She seems of gentle heart and good soul. I wish for you to be the iron that supports her. You and this Cedric fellow of hers. I think she will need it in times to come."

Grams' eyes had narrowed slightly, and suddenly her beautiful features took on the cold, harsh, strength of the Autumn of life. "Remember propriety. Treat her as you would treat myself or your mother. Expect others to treat her as you would have them treat us."

John could not escape the suspicion that there was more to this injunction than a simple deference to either his or Evelyn's relatively new rank. But in the inscrutable way of Grams, he could not puzzle out its true meaning without some help. And on this matter it was clear she intended to give him no such thing.

However, his worries ceased the moment her face softened once more to the beautiful, if aged, woman that held naught but love for him. "I know you will wish my help to navigate the uncertain maze that is the royal court. I will teach you what I can of their manners, their rituals and their rules. For they are often quite different from those you grew up with. However, as a first lesson, I would advise you off to the apothecary. Alone among the village he can teach you your letters."

That last bit of advice made the most sense to John. While the priest were probably far more qualified for the task, they seemed to covet their learning like misers. And while he was a devout man, he certainly had no aspirations towards the cloth.

Grams had always seemed to be something of a sage. She held none of the skills of an herb mother, but all of the wisdom. His mother had said that she learned from the best, and the worst, source of all; experience in human nature. He was fairly certain she could neither read nor write, but her advice was no more false for it. Such skills would only enhance his ability to protect the queen.

John also acknowledged the last as a dismissal. Although she seemed in the prime of her life, John knew that she had not the endurance she used to. He stood, gave Grams a careful, if heartfelt, hug, a kiss to the cheek and asked her to convey his love to his parents.

So, with a much lighter heart, he made his way from his childhood home. He was halfway to the apothecary when he noticed something amiss. At one time, John had thought that the man he now saw was nothing more than an important noble. He glided unhindered about the castle with an authority that could only be learned through many years of habit. It was only a short time ago that he had learned the truth of the man.

There, astride the pale mare, sat The Spectre That Walks, Bagdemagus.

John slipped into the shadows and began to follow the wizard's slow, but determined, pace. The man was headed from the castle, and John vowed later to warn the guards, and Cedric, that he had once again had reign of the grounds. Meanwhile, it was all John could do to keep up with him and still remain unseen.

While Begdemagus kept a relatively sedate pace, the crowd seemed to part smoothly before him as they did with no other noble. It was as if, at the last second, they turned away to look elsewhere and stepped aside. No, the commoners parted for nobility, but there was oft a good deal of fists shaken in the air once backs were turned.

To make matters worse, when these people shifted aside, they seemed to move right into his path or line of sight. It took all of his eighteen years worth of experience to maintain pursuit with absolute confidence that he had not been noticed by anyone. Unlike the wizard the people actually saw him, but John knew how to play on their thoughts, knew what it was to remain unseen as the lowest of the low.

John was not sure what he would do when he discovered the man's destination. Their last, and only, encounter had proved that there was little chance he could beat the wizard in combat. It had taken the three of them to merely wound him, and even then he chose to flee rather than continue. No, in order to truly defeat The Spectre, they were going to need to corner him somewhere.

Unfortunately that provided problems of its own. John had begun to suspect there were ways to walk completely unseen, as he now witnessed with the horse. And even if he could see through the technique, by some unknown blessing, it was evident that the guards could not. That ruled out the possibility of surrounding him with a contingent of the queen's soldiers.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 10



An additional problem was the possibility of other means of escape. John knew nothing about magic, save that spoken of in fairy stories. How would they stop him if he could walk through walls like his namesake; the spectre?

A crowd crossed once more between John and his quarry. He slipped quickly around, his head down in apparent submission, but his eyes up and alert on the last place he had seen the pale horse. He broke past the clump and his shoulders sagged. Bagdemagus was gone.

John nodded in resignation, and marked the direction he thought the wizard had traveled. He even spent a short while down the path in hopes that he could confirm it somehow. But those weren't his skills. He had never learned to track prey. His talents, as with his fighting, lay within his dexterity and relative obscurity.

John would come back to the spot often and wait to see if the wizard returned through here. He would also, certainly, tell Cedric of the encounter. Unfortunately, the former cobbler's apprentice seemed to have little of John's skill at obfuscation. He would not do well to watch. But at least someone else would know that the wizard had some form of business out beyond the village and castle. In the end, that was all he could do.

For now.

Copyright by Deathlynx



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 11



Evelyn watched Cedric whisper something in Rebecca's ear. Her handmaiden blushed and turned her head into the young Knight's shoulder as he moved her around the dance floor. Evelyn had opted to sit out this particular dance. Her feet were sore, not from dancing itself, but from her last partner stepping on them repeatedly. She glanced away from the couple and focused instead on several newcomers that had arrived over the past few days. 

Lords and Ladies from neighboring lands had staked out their place in her kingdom because of a series of invitations that Benedict had sent out one week prior. In the beginning Evelyn had balked at the idea of throwing a ball to celebrate her upcoming birthday. She'd been more than willing to let the occasion slip by her unnoticed, but Muriel wouldn't have it. Then Benedict realized what day was approaching and deemed it a perfect opportunity to not only celebrate their Queen's birth, but to also celebrate her ascension to the Crown. Evelyn, having seen the excitement in the eyes of her friend Muriel and her handmaiden's features, gave in; the parchments, with her royal seal, were sent out with the wax still drying.

"Your Highness, you really should be dancing." 

Evelyn turned her head to face Benedict. "I have danced plenty this night. I've no desire to have my feet assaulted by yet another over zealous Lord." 

Benedict frowned and glanced at Muriel who stood next to him. "You do something with her," he muttered and threw up his hands. He walked away, heading toward the gold and silver punch bowl. 

Muriel giggled softly as the Chancellor retreated from Evelyn's fowl temper. "So has it been as bad as you thought it would?" Muriel asked Queen Evelyn. 

Evelyn shrugged her shoulders. "No, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Rebecca is having fun," she said, nodding her head toward the pretty brunette who was still happily swaying in Cedric's arms. 

"But what of you?" Muriel inquired. 

"It's all very stuffy," she answered. "There are so many here I don't know, yet I understand that they are all important in some way, whether it is a lowly nobleman or a lofty lady." 

"Don't forget the common man," Muriel added. 

"How could I? That was the best part about this. I got to invite my friends and family, the villagers that helped me become the woman I am. In addition," she snickered softly, "it was quite fun to see Benedict's veins pounding in irritation when I told him every person in the village would be attending." 

Muriel chuckled softly. "It took some time to calm him, you know." 

Evelyn winked. "I'm sure you didn't mind spending a few hours with him." A blush crossed the older woman's face and she turned her head away to hide the smile. Evelyn grinned, reached out and squeezed Muriel's hand. "You don't have to say anything. I've seen the looks you cast his way and in case you've not noticed he is often casting his own lecherous gaze your way." 

Muriel turned back to Evelyn, her eyes sparkling with an emotion that was easy to identify. "He's not a lecherous man." 

"Then you are not seeing where his eyes are often resting," Evelyn answered back. Her laughter filled the air and she focused her attentions to the dancers on the floor. "Where did they go?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Muriel however asked who she was looking for and Evelyn spoke of Rebecca and Cedric. "They were dancing over there, but now are gone." She frowned in frustration. 

"I'm sure she is fine. Cedric is with her." 

"I know; it's just . . . there are those that still see her as the enemy. I worry about her safety. Bagdemagus is still out there and as much as Benedict doesn't see she was charmed by him, I do. She's still watched; her room guarded; still I sense she's not out of danger. I just want her safe." 

Muriel touched Evelyn's shoulder and squeezed it tight. "Evie, she's with Cedric. I am sure she's safe." 

Evelyn sighed. "You're right. Now, shouldn't you be dancing?" she asked. 

"Dancing? Me?" Muriel asked. "Your Majesty, I'm the housekeeper. I don't dance." 

Evelyn laughed again. "Rebecca's my handmaiden and as you saw she was certainly dancing." Evelyn turned to speak to a servant who stood next to her. "Would you go find Chancellor Benedict for me?" she asked of the young man. He nodded his head and left her side. She returned conversing with Muriel until the Chancellor was facing her. 

"You sent for me?" Benedict muttered, a look of annoyance clearly evident on his hard features. 

"Yes, I have need of you," Evelyn admitted. She could easily read the look of contempt that was present in Benedict's features. The idea that she had "sent for him" didn't sit well on the man's shoulder, but Evelyn was learning that she was Queen and even the great High Excellency had to do her bidding. "Muriel wishes to dance. Please show her your talents and escort her onto the floor." 

Benedict's gaze shot to Muriel and then back to Evelyn. Evelyn's lips rose in a smirk. Muriel's features paled then blushed as she decided to remain quiet and not deny or confirm Evelyn's decree. "I'm sure Muriel knows her place is not on the dance floor," Benedict hissed under his breath. 

Evelyn was about to speak when Muriel stepped forward. "Your Queen has commanded you," she said and offered her hand to Benedict. He flashed a look of annoyance to Evelyn, but when he turned to face Muriel, his features changed dramatically. Evelyn smiled to herself as she watched Benedict lead the keep's very lovely housekeeper out onto the dance floor. 

"Playing match maker?" 

Evelyn turned to the masculine voice, she had no problem recognizing. She felt the beat of her heart catch and her fingers trembled in her lap. "I only give a nudge when needed." 

Prince Drest chuckled and nodded toward the couple. "If you get Benedict wedded to anyone, I'll eat my hat." 

"You don't wear a hat," Evelyn answered back. 

"I do when I go into battle," he replied. "Dance with me Your Highness," Drest suddenly said, bowing low and offering his arm to her. 

Evelyn eyed the well-groomed gentleman and thought about how during the entire night he'd danced with others, she had wanted to be in his arms. She rose from her chair and accepted his request. Together they moved as one; dancers parted for them, many stopping in their own pursuits and lifting palms to whisper secrets. Evelyn felt their eyes on her and she squeezed Drest's arm. His other hand came up to cover her fingers and she was startled by the heat that radiated from his touch. She told herself it was nothing, repeating the same proclamation since her first lesson in sword play. 

He signaled for the musicians to change the tempo of the music and soon the room was full of a slow melody that seemed to melt into Evelyn's soul. She felt Drest's arms move to take her into a starting position. Her hands settled in place as if it were the most natural thing to be one with him. He moved with the skill of a Prince and complimented her newly learned steps. Not once did she stumble and the others returned to their own desires to dance. Eventually, she forgot about everyone else and became lost in Drest's presence. 

Muriel watched from over Benedict's shoulder as Evelyn and Prince Drest swept slowly around the dance floor. She winced as Benedict found the top of her toes. He muttered a curse and apologized again. She giggled softly and whispered, "She's busy, if you wish to stop this farce of spending time with me you may. Just be a gentleman and escort me back to the wall where the flowers rest." 

Benedict looked down on Muriel and frowned. "You are not a wall flower," he told her, yet did take pity on her feet and his pride by leading her off the floor. He stopped a servant who was circulating through the room with a tray of wine. He plucked two goblets from the silver surface. "I believe we both could use this," he said, handing her one of the crystal dishes. He reclaimed her arm with his free hand and led her toward a balcony. 

The night air was unseasonably warm for the middle of Spring, but a breeze had decided to grace the keep with its presence. Muriel sighed and breathed in the deep scent of the gardens below them. After a minute she opened her eyes and blushed when her gaze fell on Benedict's. She should have known he was watching her, but she hadn't thought about it. 

When she was with him it just seemed natural to let her guard down and enjoy the sights and smells around her. This wasn't always the case though, but it was fast becoming that way. They had found reasons to be together, usually it was to discuss the next step in teaching Evelyn some Queenly duty, or it was to discuss the treatment of Rebecca and the newest Knights. Nine times out of ten they ended up arguing, and she left fuming, and wondering what she ever saw in the man. Now she simply wanted to stare back at him and enjoy the solitude that surrounded them. Music floated from the room, yet they made no move to dance; instead, they drank their wine and remained pressed against each other. 

Benedict was the first to move from the warmth of the womanly figure beside him. It wasn't because he wanted to. He quite enjoyed being next to her, but a noise rising up from the gardens below them made him frown. He walked to the edge of the balcony and peered over. Muriel followed. "What is it?" she asked, her voice showing a mark of concern. 

Benedict rolled his eyes and muttered a low curse. "It's that damn handmaiden. She's lifting her skirts for that Knight I knew she was up to no good " He downed his wine and then grabbed Muriel's from her easy grip. Both goblets were placed on the banister edge and he spun back to leave her side. Muriel's firm grip stopped him. He glanced down at her hand and then back up into her steely gaze. 

"You know nothing about that girl. She's with Cedric, not some treasonous wizard. Look at them," she hissed and pulled Benedict back to the edge of the balcony. She too had looked at the couple and she knew that young Rebecca was not lifting her skirts for Cedric and even if she chose to Muriel would be the first to congratulate the girl. She'd lived a life of chastity and it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. 

"There, see she and Sir Cedric are just walking toward from the labyrinth," Muriel pointed out. Benedict stood behind her, taking in the way the light fell across her crimson curls. He reached out to stroke a tangled strand and rubbed it between his fingers. Muriel's breath caught in her throat. She remained still as his fingers moved to twist the lock around his thick digit. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to focus on Cedric and Rebecca's disappearing figures. When they were no longer in her sight, she turned around and faced Benedict. 

His fingers remained in her hair, forcing him to step forward so as not to pull at her tender scalp. His other hand moved to cup her cheek. Muriel watched his eyes for a moment and then her gaze shifted to his lips. She licked her own instinctively and then whimpered when his mouth descended down to hers. The kiss was slow at first. Benedict taking charge and urging her lips to part further for his explorations. Muriel's tongue timidly sought out a partner and when she met Benedict's own wet muscle, she shivered. 

He pulled her against him. His hand twisted tight in her hair and he quickened the kiss. Muriel's fingers moved to clasp at the vest he wore. She moaned softly as his free hand moved from the banister edge to her hip. When they were forced to come up for air, Benedict pressed his forehead against hers and dragged in the scent of the woman slowly cracking his shell. "Forgive me," he whispered against the silky strands. 

Muriel chewed on her lower lip and nodded her head. "There is nothing to forgive," she answered back. She looked up at him and reached out to caress his lips with the pads of her fingers. 

"Excuse me," a voice echoed from the balcony doorway. 

Benedict closed his eyes and growled. Muriel giggled, but stepped away and turned to look at the gardens. "What is it?" he asked, facing the intruder. 

"I was curious if you have seen my brother," Viviane replied. Her eyes rested lightly on the Chancellor and then glanced briefly toward Muriel. Her painted lips rose in a knowing smirk. "I am sorry to disturb you, Your High Excellency. But Prince Drest, have you seen him?" 

Benedict frowned. "He was dancing with the Queen; surely they are still on the floor, or perhaps dining?"

"If the answer to my question had been so simple, then surely I would not have come out here to seek it." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "After seeing the way the help behaves I am finding myself concerned about my brother's choice in a wife. I mean . . . If the servants are allowed to have a dalliance with the nobles then who is say how chaste the Queen of Vix truly is. I would hate to see my brother wed to a whore. "

"Lady Viviane," Benedict warned, "I suggest you hold your tongue. You are only a guest here, because of your brother. You are not needed." 

Viviane laughed and stepped forward. She placed a hand on Benedict's chest and stared into his eyes. She licked her lips and sent a wave of sexual power through her fingers. Benedict's eyes dilated and he took a step toward her. He would have done more, Viviane knew this, but his actions were stalled because of the housekeeper who was now holding her hand. "Your brother and our Queen are probably enjoying a few minutes without your all-knowing eye. Why not run along and find the first available lonely Lord. It is well known your preferences for a quick roll in the stable." 

Viviane glared at Muriel and ripped her hand away. Muriel fired back the same stare and watched Viviane turn away and storm back to the ball room. She then faced Benedict and paled at his glassy features. "What did she do to you?" 

Benedict blinked several times and then shook his head. "Muriel?" 

"Benedict, what happened?" She took his hand and squeezed it tight. A few more seconds passed before he was able to focus on her and her concerned expression. 

"I don't know," he answered. "I don't trust that one," he whispered and pulled Muriel to him. He held her tight and kissed the top of her head. "There are too many out to seek the destruction of our kingdom. I worry about our Queen." Muriel nodded her head and continued to let Benedict hold her. 

Viviane's anger was clearly visible on her normally beautiful features. She stormed through the crowd of dancers, pushing her way through them until she was out of the ball room and taking the stairs to her chambers. Once inside she slammed the door closed, startling Miss Daisy. The small whippet barked twice and then settled when it took a moment to smell the air. Once she identified the scent of her Mistress, Miss Daisy closed her eyes. 

Viviane stomped over to her vanity and slammed herself down into the chair. She stared at her painted reflection. Her amble bosom was displayed for all to see, jewels adorned her neck, her wrists and her fingers. Yet what Muriel had spoken was true, she had been looking for a new Lord to fuck. Benedict would have been an excellent choice; he would have been able to squelch the desire she had for Eric. That idea was ruined when Muriel dragged her hand away from the Chancellor's chest. The connection had been lost, not that it mattered, in the end she would have left the man's bed. Eric would have still been on her mind. 

"Damn him " she cursed and threw her hair brush at her reflection. The silver handle cracked the glass, leaving Viviane's reflection distorted. Miss Daisy walked over and rubbed Viviane's leg with her head. Viviane sighed and picked her pet up, placing it on her lap and stroking it's head. "What is it about him?" she wondered. She thought back to her conversation with the wizard. Was he right? Was Eric unique because of some inhibitions he did or didn't have? She wasn't quite sure what to think; she just knew she was always aching for him. 

She took a deep breath and rose from the vanity. "Come on girl," she said to the little dog that was eagerly waiting at the door of her bedroom. "Let's see what trouble we can stir up," she whispered and left her rooms. 

Viviane made her way down the stairs and pass the ball room. Daisy had a need that had to be met so Viviane used that excuse to walk toward the stables. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering if she would find Eric again. Daisy ran off to the water trough and did her business, leaving Viviane standing in the light of the moon. 

"Couldn't find a willing Lord, My Lady?" 

Her face grew warm and her sex instantly moistened. The warm breath of her favored lover caressed her neck; strong fingers worked free Viviane's braid. Her brown silken strands flowed like honey over Eric's fingers. She trembled as she felt him press himself against her. "It's been some time," he whispered against her ear. Viviane chewed on her lower lip and nodded her head. He placed his hands on her hips and pushed her toward the fence post. She shivered and glanced around nervously. "Not here," she whispered. 

Eric laughed as he pushed her against the post. His hands moved to grasp one of her breasts. "Lift your skirts, My Lady." 

Viviane shuddered and almost came instantly. She moved her hands down to her skirts and gathered the back of the material up in two fists. Instantly the breeze of the night kissed her skin and she trembled. Eric posed his cock at her slick opening and took her quickly. Viviane whimpered and begged for more, matching his thrusts with hard shoves back onto him. Eric made her come quickly and still continued using her. When his cock was properly covered with her juices, he eased himself out and aimed his cock head against her tight anal passage. Viviane cried out as his sex slammed home. 

Two pairs of eyes watched the two lovers grunt their way toward orgasm. Cedric pulled Rebecca toward him and held her close. They'd taken a long walk, pausing briefly to chat with Prince Drest and Evelyn at the entrance of the labyrinth. They'd left them there and continued on through the gardens and around the outer walls of the keep. They held hands, stole kisses and after things had gotten more heated, decided it was best to return to the ball. Cedric had seen Miss Daisy darting about and thought that perhaps Lady Viviane's dog had gotten loose from her Mistress's clutches. That wasn't the case, the couple realized; they knew if they continued on the path toward the castle, Eric and Viviane's dalliance would have been interrupted. They chose to remain pressed against the side of the stable. 

Cedric sensed Rebecca's discomfort and eased the stable door open. He turned her toward him and urged her quietly inside. He slowly closed the door and shook his head. "I had heard rumors about her, but I thought they were just that, rumors. I never thought a Lady would... well..."

Rebecca chewed on her lip, her head lowered and her chin rested on her chest. Cedric stepped forward and cupped her chin. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he told her. 

"It's not that," she whispered. 

"What is it then?" 

She swallowed and freed herself from his tender grip. Rebecca walked away and stood under one of the stable windows. Moonlight spilled over her, highlighting her face. Cedric saw the evidence of tears and instantly moved to her side. "Rebecca, what is it? What's wrong? Tell me and I'll fix it." 

She turned and wiped at her cheeks. "You have heard rumors of Lady Viviane, and you say a Lady would never do such a thing." 

"Well, not an unwed Lady. I mean I know it happens, I just was surprised that all that has been said about her is true." 

"And what of me?" Rebecca asked. "There are rumors surrounding my cleanliness or lack of it." 




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 12



An uncommonly cool breeze stirred dying leaves across the cobblestone paths of the village. Lamps within windows were snuffed; only the torches at the bridge and before the tavern cast any light upon the ground. Shadows were plentiful, and within those shadows strode the Spectre That Walks.

Bagdemagus enjoyed this time of night, when the village was quiet and nearly all were slumbering peacefully beneath the magnificent edifice of Castle Vix. Of course, on this night, the majority of the villagers were enjoying the once-in-a-lifetime chance to enjoy the splendors of the castle, celebrating their Queen's birthday.

Bagdemagus snickered. A good ploy, he thought, welcoming the tattered and torn, the lowly and lackluster into your midst for the week that encompasses the celebration of your birth. But will they love you for it, Evelyn? Or will they resent you for having shown them the luxury they will never again enjoy . . . and which you will, at least until your tragic passing.

Ultimately, it means naught, he mused darkly. Have your parties, rally whatever support you may. Live the good life while you can. It is about to come to an end.

The wizard grinned with anticipation. It had been decades since any true threat had existed in the kingdom; peace with neighboring lands had been sealed. The only thing merchants and villagers ever had to worry about were the occasional bandit and deadly wild beast.

Until now.

Bagdemagus grinned, impressed with himself. He had missed the notoriety his mere name invoked within the kingdom. Now, as it had been decades before, the simple mention of him in casual conversation set guards on edge and made women weep. Bagdemagus did not have to really do anything; he ruled these people through fear and supposition.

I am more of a king for these people than Richard ever was, or Alfred before him, or Maxwell, or Gabriel . . . who rules these people, if not I? Certainly not the girl queen . . . she can barely get the nobility to recognize her.

He stepped into the avenue from between the blacksmith's shop and the apothecary, both with darkened windows. The sounds of laughter -- not quite as loud as it had once been -- drifted to his ears from the tavern across the way. He watched their silhouettes in the windows, listened to their crude jokes. My subjects, he thought with a wicked grin.

"Pardon me, sir," came a small voice from his left.

Bagdemagus frowned, looking over and down, seeing a young boy -- who had seen perhaps only seven or eight summers -- beside him. The boy sported tousled hair and dirty cheeks, and his clothes need a couple of good patches. Wide eyes stared up at the wizard with innocent wonder.

"Yes?" asked Bagdemagus.

"Could you spare a shilling for me mum?" he asked. "She's in quite a bad way, sir, and can't support us."

Bagdemagus cocked his head with an amused smile. He lowered himself to a squat, bringing his face level with the child's. "And what has put her in such a bad way?" he asked.

The boy shuffled his badly-shod feet. "I don't really know, sir, but she's bedridden and can't be on her feet much. Her face is always red, and it hurts when she breathes. Can you help us, sir? Just a shilling. I've got a brother and a sister, and I'm the oldest, so I have to look out for them."

Bagdemagus smiled in an apparently affectionate way. His fingers dug into the purse at his waist and came out with a shiny gold coin. "How about a royal, instead?" he asked.

The boy's eyes widened. "Oh, sir! That would feed us all for a week!" he held out his hand.

The wizard chuckled, palming the coin and closing his fingers around it. "Not so fast," he said. "Let us have a chat, you and I."

Bagdemagus rose and lead the boy to a bench beneath a large, ancient oak. He hoisted the child onto the warped wooden slats and sat down beside him. "Now," said the wizard. "What is your name?"

The boy sat with his hands clasped between his knees. He kicked his feet and kept his back straight, as was expected of a proper young lad in the presence of an adult. "Thomas, sir."

"Well, Thomas," said Bagdemagus. "Tell me about yourself."

The boy frowned, thinking. "I ain't got much to tell, sir," he said. "I'm just a boy."

Bagdemagus and touched the child's forehead. "Ah, but a boy with dreams," he said. "What is yours?"

The boy sighed heavily, working his jaw. "Right now, I only dream about mum getting better," he lamented. "Begging for shillings is the pits!"

Bagdemagus chuckled, touching his lips a moment. "Then perhaps our meeting was destiny," he said. "I may be able to help your mum."

Thomas' eyes lit up. "How?" he asked.

"Well." Bagdemagus leaned over the boy, as if about to share a secret. "Don't tell anyone, but . . . I'm a wizard."

Thomas gasped and covered his mouth. "A wiwarh?" he asked, his voice muffled.

Bagdemagus' dark eyes glittered as he smiled. "Yes, a wizard. But don't worry; I'm a good wizard."

Thomas lowered his hand and frowned as he looked Bagdemagus over. "But . . . you're wearing black," he said. "I thought good wizards only wore white."

Bagdemagus chuckled. "Even us good ones have to hide in the shadows. Otherwise, we would be hounded all the time by people wanting love potions and glimpses into the future. We'd get no rest."

The boy shrugged. "Umm . . . I guess that makes sense," he said, then turned on the bench. "Can you really help my mum?"

Bagdemagus ruffled the boy's hair. "Of course I can," he said. "In fact, it already sounds to me that she has a simple ailment that I can readily cure with a potion. And I just happen to have one upon me."

"Really?" shouted the boy, his young face glowing with hope and excitement. "Oh, please, sir, do help her!"

The wizard took Thomas' hands and patted them. "All in due time, young man," he said. "Don't fret; your mother will be fine. But I do want to know more about you."

The child blinked. "About me?" he asked. "But I've nothing to tell."

Bagdemagus smiled as an uncle would upon a favored nephew. "Of course you do," he said in a way that was both encouraging and patronizing. "Don't you want to be something when you grow up?"

The boy grinned slowly. "I want to be a knight," he proclaimed. "Just like Sir Cedric!"

Bagdemagus' smile froze for a moment at the sound of the young knight's name. "That is a very noble goal," he said after a moment. "And Cedric is, indeed, a model for young boys such as yourself."

Thomas regarded the wizard with typical boyish effervescence. "Do you think I really could?" he asked. "I mean, I know one has to be of noble birth to be a knight, and I'm not. But . . . well, Cedric wasn't a noble either, and look at him now!"

Bagdemagus patted the boy's head. "That's very true. But if you want to be a knight, you have to do some very special things."

Thomas sat poised, expectant, ready. "Anything, sir wizard, anything!" he exclaimed.

"Well . . . a knight has to be prepared to make sacrifices. No knight ever slew a dragon without thinking he might not survive. Anyone can take up arms or ride a horse. It takes a special sort of man to be willing to sacrifice himself, or others, for the good of all." He leaned closer to the boy. "Are you that sort of man?"

The boy swallowed nervously, intimidated by both the wizard's words and his chilling, steel-colored eyes. Mutely, he nodded.

Abruptly, Bagdemagus straightened and stood beside the bench. "Let us go see your mother, then."

***

After Thomas had crawled through a small window within the shambled house and unlocked the door from within, he led Bagdemagus through tiny, darkened rooms to the back. The wizard wrinkled his nose at the smell of the dwelling; mildew and rotting food fought for prominence over the scent of unwashed bodies.

"Sir wizard, this is my sister, Elizabeth," Thomas said, introducing a girl of four or five years, clad in a soiled and wrinkled gown. The girl stared with wide, inquisitive eyes. Wordlessly, Bagdemagus squatted low, studying the child's face. A smile slowly stretched his thin lips. He glanced to Thomas and nodded.

The boy lead Bagdemagus into the bedroom, where the stench of the unwashed was most powerful. The odor was nearly overpowering, yet Bagdemagus did not let it bother him. Instead, he focused upon the shadowed bed, upon the wasted form laying atop the covers.

A flickering light cast umber-colored shadows through the room as Thomas lit an oil lamp and set it upon a small wash table. Bagdemagus looked upon the young woman, perhaps halfway through her third decade. From her breathing, the redness of her face, the sweaty sheen that coated her body like oil, he knew she suffered from nothing more than a bout of consumption. The right herbs would remedy the illness within a day or two. All it would take would be a simple trip to the apothecary . . . or the right application of the contents of Bagdemagus' bag.

"Can you help her, sir?" queried Thomas.

Bagdemagus touched the unconscious woman's cold, sweaty forehead. "Of course I can," he said. "Fetch me a drinking cup, fill it half-way with water."

"Right away," enthused the boy, darting off. He returned a few moments later with a dirty earthenware cup, cradling it gently in his hands. Bagdemagus nodded with a smile and took it. From the large pouch at his belt, he extracted several herbs, laying them upon the sheet beside the woman. He cut off tiny slivers of leaves and root with a curled knife no larger than his thumb, tossed them into the cup. A mortar mixed and mashed the ingredients.

"Now," said the wizard, holding up the cup for Thomas. "Feed this to her slowly. Just sips at a time. But she must drink it all before the morning."

Thomas gingerly took the cup, looking nervous. "Y-you want me too . . . I-I don't think I can—"

Bagdemagus settled a hand upon Thomas's shoulder and stared into the young boy's quivering eyes. "As you said, you are the man of the house. This is a pivotal day in your life. Don't you want to remember every moment? Especially of your involvement in it?"

Thomas slowly nodded. "Yes, sir," he whispered, then turned to his mother, climbing onto the bed beside her. Bagdemagus slowly stepped back, smiling as he watched the boy feed his mother the thick concoction he had prepared. He savored the moment, as an opium addict would savor the rush of hashish through their veins.

"That's a good boy, Thomas," he said in a fading voice, retreating from the room. "Make sure she drinks it all . . . ."

He gave little Elizabeth a pat on the head as he left the house, leaving behind an eight-year-old boy who slowly, unwittingly, fed his own mother a poison that would kill her. In the coming years, Thomas would grow to understand what had truly happened this night, how, as an impressionable child, he had been tricked into murdering the woman who had given him life.

Bagdemagus was tempted the wait and watch for the morning, just to hear the cries of anguish.

But there were things to do.

***

Guy Dorr chuckled to himself as he closed the door to his room. The drunkards within Old Slim's Tavern had been easy marks, especially once he fed off their prejudice toward the peasant girl turned Queen. It had been fool's play to distract them and make them fumble their hands at cards. Just an hour or so of the Devil's Game, and Guy's purse was twice as heavy as it had been.

He stepped to the small table upon which sat the oil lamp, and lit the device. Orange shadows painted the walls, flickering back and forth. Guy unstrapped his rapier, draped his cloak across one of the two simple chairs in the room.

It was then that he noticed the bottle of wine and the two goblets set upon the table. Anxiety spiked, and senses were instantly on alert. Snatching up the dagger from its hidden sheath in his boot, he fell into a practiced crouch, searching the shadows of the room. One of them stirred, outlining the form of a tall man with dark, shoulder-length hair.

"You've had a busy night." The voice was dark and seemed to come from the very air around Guy.

"Who are you?" asked Guy, ready to pounce.

The figure stepped into view, letting the light color his surprisingly youthful face. Guy's eyes wandered over the dark coat beneath the cloak, noting the silver buttons and the ivory hilt of an elegant sword. They drifted back up to the confident face, noting the steel-grey eyes, like clouds just before a storm. The figure's arms swept out from beneath the cloak with a slight flourish. He began pulling off his gloves.

"I am the Spectre That Walks," he said with a smirk. "Quite the intimidating title, don't you think?"

Guy swallowed nervously, yet kept his ground. His instincts were on edge in the presence of his unwanted guest. He regarded the man before him warily. "Perhaps," he said. "To children."

Bagdemagus chuckled. "You've nothing to fear from me, Guy Dorr," he said. He showed his hands. "I am unarmed."

Guy's eyes flickered. "Save for that sword at your side, and whatever you may have up your sleeve."

The wizard smiled thinly, and slowly unbuckled his baldric. He let the sheathed sword clamor to the floor and stepped toward the small table. "There. Now you have the advantage."

Guy did not relax. He stared down the wizard along the flat of his dagger. "If you truly are the Spectre," he said. "Then I doubt that is true."

Bagdemagus chuckled and pulled out a chair. Apparently unconcerned about the knife-wielding man, the wizard took a seat and made himself comfortable. He all but ignored Guy as he poured from the bottle, filling both crystalline goblets halfway.

Guy relaxed somewhat and stepped around the opposite side of the table, remaining alert as he looked upon his guest. "What do you want from me?"

Bagdemagus shrugged. "A drink, perhaps?"

Guy arched an eyebrow. "Poison?" he asked.

The wizard smiled and stoppered the bottle. "I would not be so crude. Sit."

Guy hesitated. He was a confidant man, skilled and deadly, yet before a man who had an entire kingdom on alert -- and a claim to such would not be made lightly -- Guy felt suitably chastised. Still, his pride would not fade easily. "Perhaps I will stay as I—"

"Sit."

Guy ground his teeth, but he read the power within Bagdemagus' steel-colored eyes. Reluctantly, he pulled out the other chair and sat. He slapped the dagger onto the table.

Bagdemagus smiled amiably. "I am sure you have many questions wandering through your mind at this moment. 'Is this really he?' 'What does he want with me?' 'What have I done to earn his interest?'"

Guy narrowed his gaze, eyeing the glasses of wine for a moment. "Something like that."

The wizard's gaze was direct and piercing. "Do not doubt for a moment that I am Bagdemagus," he said. "As for what I want . . . well, that is simple. I want your skill, your guile, your . . . curious lack of morality. I want you."

Guy cocked his head in suspicion. "Me."

"Yes. To serve as my vassal. Trust me . . . the rewards will be great."

Guy took a breath, tapping his fingers upon the flat of the dagger. "I don't take orders," he said. "Especially not blindly."

The wizard smirked. "No, of course not. That is why you left the priesthood, is it not? A shame what they did to you . . . ."

Guy ground his teeth. He did not like having his past dredged up so casually. Had his guest been anyone else, they would have found themselves with a dagger in their eye. As it was, Guy found himself struggling to restrain his impulses. "I do not talk about that," he said.

Bagdemagus chuckled. "I am not surprised," he said, then leaned forward, his mirth gone, replaced with fierce malevolence. "Make no mistake, Guy Dorr. From the moment we began this conversation, I have owned you. You have two choices: join with me . . ." he winked with a confident smile. "Or join that hapless poison merchant you slew."

Guy bristled slightly, now knowing at least how long he had been watched. "And . . . should I refuse you?"

In a flash, faster than any mortal man could have acted, Bagdemagus whipped his sword from the floor, jerking on the long tether that Guy had somehow missed. Fluidly, he snapped it into his hand, the tip of the single-edged blade mere inches from Guy's throat. Dispassionately, Bagdemagus stared the younger man down. Guy stiffened, his pulse quickening instantly.

"Then you die," the wizard said simply. "Anonymously, with no friends, no legacy. Nothing more than a body in a tavern."

Guy stared at the tip of the blade, unwavering in the amber light. He knew he could not act before the wizard skewered his throat. But as before, his pride could not let him acquiesce so easily. "Mayhap I will take my chances," he said at last, meeting Bagdemagus' eyes across the length of the sword.

"And what would that accomplish?" asked the wizard. "I am offering you the wealth of a kingdom. Serve as my vassal, and the paltry sums of a pair of vineyards will be nothing compared to what you will enjoy. I can get you inside those walls, I can make you a noble. Could you turn that down? I doubt you are that foolish."

Guy faltered a moment, thinking. The wizard had a point, he had to admit; just days before, Guy had been considering ways to gain entrance to the castle of Vix. Now, Bagdemagus was offering him even more . . . but was the price worth paying?

"I suppose I have no real choice," he said, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Bagdemagus grinned smugly. The sword vanished beneath the level of the table. "Let us have a drink, then, to toast your new position . . . Lord Dorr."

A quick smile tugged at Guy's mouth. "'Lord Dorr,'" he echoed, testing the words. "It has a nice ring."

"That it does," agreed the wizard, taking up one of the glasses. Guy reached for his, then hesitated. Bagdemagus chuckled. "I do not use poison," he said. "That is your purvey, not mine."

Despite the wizard's words, Guy eyed the goblet suspiciously. Yet to refuse the drink now would be insulting, he knew. He would simply have to take the wizard's word that the blood-colored liquid was not laced. Fingers lifted the goblet and brought it to his lips. He inhaled the rich scent, winced slightly in approval.

"Nothing but the best," commented Bagdemagus. He watched over the rim of the goblet as Guy tilted his own to his lips. Both men drank deeply, then set the glasses aside.

"You will need patents of nobility, of course," the wizard said. "We will get started on them tomorrow. They should be as authentic as possible, so the more honest you are about yourself, the better." He drained his glass, then stood and stepped to the scabbard and baldric laying upon the floor. Unconcerned that he turned his back upon Guy, Bagdemagus retrieved the items, sheathed his sword and slipped the baldric across his body.

"I suppose I will need adequate funds to play the part," Guy said, for a moment remembering his dagger. It would be so easy to flick that blade into the wizard's back, he thought . . . .

Bagdemagus turned to face the young rogue. "You'll get what you need," he said dryly. "Oh, by the way." He sneered. "Call it insurance, if you will, but if you betray me, or decide to sneak off, you will never receive the antidote." He headed to the door.

Guy's heart palpitated with anxiety, and he glanced quickly to the bottle of wine. "I thought you said you don't use poison," he said.

Bagdemagus paused at the door. "I don't," he said simply.

Guy frowned. "Then . . . what—"

The wizard winked. "Let us just say that, so long as you prove loyal, you will one day sire children."

Guy's face paled. "You've made me impotent?" he asked chillingly.

The wizard laughed. "Hardly. I saw no reason for that. But if you desire a legacy other than greed and opportunism, I suggest you keep loyalty high on your list of character traits."




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 12



The rogue licked his lips slowly, gave a rueful smile. "I suppose you have me, literally, by the balls, then."

Bagdemagus chuckled darkly. "Don't feel ashamed," he said. "I do that with everyone. Even kings." Abruptly, he jerked open the door and stepped through, disappearing from Guy's sight.

Guy shrunk back in his chair with a heavy sigh. There was a part of him that was intimidated, worried, even frightened by the wizard. But if Bagdemagus' word was to be trusted, then Guy had been offered an opportunity that comes nary once in a lifetime. If he played his part -- and kept an eye out for suitable openings and opportunities -- there was much he could learn . . . and earn.

Not to mention the advantages with the ladies that being a Lord would provide . . . .

***

Like a thief in the night, I come, thought Bagdemagus as he slipped from the hidden passage in the castle's kitchens. The air was still warm and humid from the ovens; the aromas of roast pig and duck, of venison and vinegar, lingered in the large chamber. All sounds of revelry had long faded from the castle; the second night of the Queen's week-long birthday celebration had already come to a close.

I wonder how that makes you feel, Evie, all this doting and posturing, all the false praise heaped upon you by so many horny old lords. Do you think they truly care about you, beyond the fact that you rule a kingdom you know little about, and that sweet young body beneath those perfumed dresses?

Bagdemagus paused, tearing a piece of bread from a large loaf, dipping it within a concoction of olive oil and herbs left behind by a kitchen servant. He popped the morsel in his mouth, dusted his fingers as he headed for the doors.

Not that you will really have to worry about it for long, my sweet . . . .

***

The manor of the castle was largely reserved for the Royal Family and whichever important officials the regent deemed important enough to always have on hand. But a few officials earned their chambers in the castle manor through their station. Men like the Lord Chamberlain, for instance, and Benedict.

And Stephano, the Captain of the Guard.

The route Bagdemagus took through the ground floor of the manor was a practiced one; for days now, the Captain's door had been a regular visit. And, as with all those previous visits, no one -- not even the sentries in the corridor -- noticed the wizard's presence. Confidently, Bagdemagus took the key he had crafted from his belt, turned the lock in the Captain's chamber door. He closed it quietly behind him once he was within.

The room -- small, spartan, typical of a soldier -- reeked with the odors of alcohol and unwashed flesh. The burly Captain slumbered upon his bed, still clad in the fine crimson coat and dark leggings he had worn that night to the ball. His mouth hung open beneath a thick mustache, and the rumbling snore curling out from his throat filled the air.

Bagdemagus wasted no time. He slipped a glittering crystal, affixed to a chain, from the pouch on his belt and snapped his fingers. "By the dragon's breath, awaken," he intoned.

Abruptly, Stephano's eyes snapped open. He smacked dry, alcohol-burned lips, then sat up, staring blankly forward, ready to receive commands. Bagdemagus grinned. Such an easy mind, he thought, then dangled the crystal before the Captain's face.

"You will respond only to my voice," began the wizard, watching Stephano's eyes following the crystal. "You believe my word to be that of God, and you will obey."

"Yes, my Lord God," muttered Stephano, his speech slurred.

"You have learned well," continued Bagdemagus. "As such, you have earned a reward. The greatest glory a warrior of God could earn."

Stephano grinned drunkenly. "I have waited for this, O Lord."

"I know you have. So here is your mission, and you will not fail save for the breath leaving your body. Tomorrow night, on the Queen's birthday, you shall make a very special gesture . . . ."

***

Evelyn's arm vibrated under the strain as she held the bowstring back, sighting along the slim, straight shaft of the arrow. The straw target, formed to resemble the silhouette of a man, stood upon a pole a good sixty yards down the range.

A slight breeze stirred Evie's hair, making a strand fall over her eye. On the first day of her archery training, she would have flinched; now, she remained steady and focused. The leather strapped to her first and middle fingers crinkled slightly in her ear. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her upper lip. Then—

Twang! Faster than her eye could follow, the deadly shaft was released, arcing in the air toward the target. She watched the target shudder amidst a small explosion of straw.

Beside her, Prince Drest grinned, eyes narrowed as he peered down the range. "A fine shot, my Queen," he said.

Evelyn lowered the bow with a self-satisfied smile. She worked her arm, clenched and unclenched her fist. "I just may be getting the hang of this," she said, following Drest as he marched down the grassy slope toward the trio of targets. 

Cedric and a pair of guardsmen were on watch off to the side, the young knight looking perfectly at home within the saddle of the roan mare he had named Justice. His new station had many perks;: rooms in the castle manor, armor, and a horse. With his chainmail shirt and studded leather gauntlets and boots, Sir Cedric struck a respectable figure indeed.

How knighthood suits you, my friend, Evelyn thought with a smile. She returned her attention to Drest as they reached the target. For whatever reasons, she felt safe with these two men -- perhaps the most important in her life -- watching over her.

Especially Drest . . . .

Her heart fluttered a moment, looking upon him, once more recalling the feel of his hands, the taste of his lips, the sweet, delicious pleasure he had evoked from her when his mouth had touched her nipple . . . she shuddered, feeling her cheeks flush. The idea of sexual arousal had always been academic to her. Yet now . . . she'd had a brief taste, and now was keenly aware that she hungered for more.

Much more.

At the moment, however, Drest was admiring the placement of the Queen's arrow, which had nearly penetrated through the straw dummy's neck. Only the feathered end was protruding. The shaft had neatly split the wood of the post holding the construct up.

"An excellent shot," Drest commented. "A bit high, though."

Evelyn wrinkled her brow. "I was aiming for the head," she said.

Drest raised an eyebrow in interest. "From that distance . . . you aimed for the head?"

Evelyn shrugged. "Why not?"

Drest smiled in wonderment. "The chest is a larger target, especially from sixty yards," he said. "Master archers never aim for the head at such a distance."

Evie's face soured. "So . . . that was wrong?" she asked.

Drest laughed. "Look at the placement, Evie! I thought you had aimed for the heart, and the shaft fell five inches above! But you aimed for the head . . . the arrow fell less than three inches below your target. That is astounding, milady."

Evelyn smiled slowly, feeling her chest swell with pride. "So much for the idea that a woman cannot be a soldier."

Drest chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "Perhaps those ancient stories about shield maidens have some basis in fact," he remarked.

Evie frowned. "Shield maidens?"

Drest took a breath, silent for a moment as he thought. "There are . . . myths," he said. "Stories, really, that the most renowned of the ancient kings were guarded not by men, but women. Fierce warrior-women called Shield Maidens. Loyal in the extreme, chaste to all men, their only desire was to serve and protect their liege unto death."

Evie smirked, catching Drest's eyes. "'Chaste to all men?'" she asked. "That does not sound like fun."

For a moment, Drest simply enjoyed the attentions of this beautiful woman. His mind drifted back, two evenings before, remembering the sighs and moans, the needy whimpers . . . and the meeting with Bagdemagus afterward. His face fell.

Evelyn was quick to notice. Impulsively, she touched the Prince's arm. "You're thinking about him," she said, her tone almost accusatory.

Drest ground his teeth, looking away. He reached for the shaft of the arrow lodged within the straw dummy. "It bothers me, what he said," he growled, then jerked the arrow free. "Why . . . why would he care that you remain . . . pure?"

Evelyn sighed heavily. Her anger spiked, faster than ever before. "And I wonder why I cannot have a conversation with anyone without that damnable bastard being brought up!"

Drest snapped his attention back to her. "Because you are the Queen," he said simply. "And duty often brings more grief than comfort."

Evelyn seethed, trembling as she tried to control her emotions. The intensity was frightening to her. "I never asked to be Queen," she said, her voice quivering. "I never wanted it. Curse me for being King Richard's only—" she stopped as Drest suddenly loomed over her, clasping his hand over her mouth.

"Don't say it, Evie," he said firmly, warningly. He brought his face close, so that his own breath warmed the hand that covered Evie's mouth. "Don't even think it. Would you really give up everything? The castle? The lands? The people?"

Evelyn angrily slapped the Prince's hand away, yet her ire was already fading. "I'd never give up my people," she snapped.

Drest smiled slowly. "Only a true Queen would see them as 'my people,'" she said. "Blue blood runs through your veins, Evie. You cannot deny that. Becoming Queen was your destiny."

She stared fiercely into Drest's eyes. "Destiny?" she quipped. "And was that destiny forged by God, or Bagdemagus?"

The Prince frowned. "I don't understand."

Evelyn sighed heavily, turning away. She took a few steps, feeling the grass tickle her partially-exposed calves beneath the dress she wore. The quiver at her hip slapped gently at her thigh. She plucked on the bowstring as she turned about and faced Drest once again.

"Benedict," she said, then paused, searching for words.

"What about him?" asked Drest.

Evelyn breathed in. "He told me some things . . . things that make sense," she said. "I am my father's only child. And of six wives, at that. Doesn't that seem strange?"

Drest frowned, thinking. "I . . . I mean, we always assumed that other children were stillborn, or succumbed to crib death, or other such—"

"No," Evelyn said, her voice firm. "King Richard never sired anything, not even a still-born corpse, after me. Bagdemagus did something to him, he made him . . . invirile. Some blasted spell or potion or whatnot. This is all his design. My entire bloody life has been his design!"

Drest watched her, his tortured Queen, at the same time absorbing what she has said. He stepped forward and took her in his arms, feeling her folding against him. His arms were tight about her as Evie shuddered, crying into his shoulder. He kissed her temple, ran his fingers through her long, sun-kissed hair.

"It's not the truth, Evie," he whispered. "You know it isn't."

"But it is," she lamented, digging her fingers into his coat, clutching him.

Drest smiled despite the circumstances. "No. No, it isn't. Think about it. If your life was already planned, why is the wizard taking so many chances? There is salvation for you, my Queen. Together, we will find it. I promise you."

Evie rubbed her face against Drest's coat, then lifted her swollen, red-ringed eyes. "Tell me again," she whispered.

Drest touched her cheek, gazed into Evelyn's captivating eyes. "Which part?" he asked with a smile.

She managed a slight smile. "The 'together' part," she responded.

Drest only smiled, and canted his head, bringing his lips toward hers. Evelyn whimpered softly, and gave in readily to the kiss, pulling herself more tightly against the man who had become so important in her life, so needed and trusted. Within the depths of her mind, Evelyn prayed that trust was being well-placed.

With some effort, Drest broke the kiss and settled his forehead against hers as they recovered their breath. "'Twould be unseemly," he said.

Evelyn suddenly laughed. "Then . . . mayhap we should return to the castle . . . and my chambers."

Drest caught his breath, feeling uncomfortable in his breeches. "For a Queen," he said breathlessly. "You are quite a vixen."

Evelyn grinned, and nipped at his chin. "It is my birthday," she breathed. "I am entitled to a wish."

Drest struggled to control himself. His hands wandered across Evelyn's back. "And what do you wish?"

Evelyn pushed back abruptly, her face glowing, eyes almost glazed with arousal. "Come to my chambers, after the ball," she said, then licked her lip. "And perhaps I shall let you know."

Drest watched after the virgin Queen as she headed back up the slope. He could not help but admire the shape of her body, the hidden pleasures beneath those few layers of linen. But the Queen of Vix, he knew, was nothing like a scullery maid or wanton country girl. Despite her humble beginnings, Evelyn possessed natural grace and poise. For all her complaints, she was more a regent born than even Drest's own aged father.

A woman deserving of respect, thought Drest, starting up the hill behind her.

***

There was only one person in all of Vix who would enter his chambers without first knocking, Drest knew, and she came calling just as he was fastening the topmost button of his coat.

Viviane slid up behind him with a sultry smile and a faint purr in her voice, reaching her arms around her half-brother to help affix the last silver button. Her face sat upon his right shoulder in the mirror, smirking as always, her impressive bosom pressed to his back. She had a glow about her, suggestive of a recent coupling. Drest wondered who the lucky man had been.

"Do you remember, little brother?" she cooed softly, slowly smoothing her hands down his toned chest. "That first night, when I came to you?"

Drest ground his teeth. "I try not to," he said.

Viviane's smile faltered for a moment, then returned. Her hands wandered further, toward her half-brother's waist. "You cannot deny the past, you know."

Drest closed his eyes, feeling a surge of arousal running through his veins. He fought against it. He knew of Viviane's strange power, her ability to goad even the most uninterested of men into her bed. He attributed her ability to the questionable circumstances of her birth. It was popular rumor in the Kingdom of Ural that King Oren had entertained a sorceress as a lover . . . and that their union had resulted in Viviane. Not much of a stretch to think that Viviane may have inherited something from her.

Drest reached for his sister's hands and pulled them away, then turned to face her. His eyes bore into hers. "Funny you should say that, sister," he said with a wry smile. "Ever since arriving here in Vix, I have learned that one's past is not a measure of their true self. A person's actions define who they are, in the here and now."

Viviane's eyes darkened. "Do not forget who brought you here, baby brother."

Drest suddenly laughed. "If it had not been you, it would have been another," he said. His smile vanished. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to make an appearance for my Queen."

He stepped away, and Viviane watched him, feeling jealousy stab at her heart with razor-sharp edges. "Do you really think she is 'your' queen?" she called. "Watch your steps, and your heart, little brother! And don't forget who and what you are!"

Drest did not respond, though the struggle within was telling upon his face as he jerked open the door, then slammed it closed behind him.

***

"Monsignor?"

The page's voice was muted amongst the book-lined shelves in the library. The smell of age and wisdom was as palpable as the dust, making the young man wrinkle his nose. He hesitated before stepping deeper amongst the stacks; very few were allowed within the royal library, and while he had official business, the page felt that he was somewhere he did not belong.

"Lord Alistair?" he called again, using the Lord Chamberlain's name this time. Still no response. Taking a breath, hoping he would be forgiven for any transgressions, the page entered the library.

This place is a maze, the young man thought, peripherally looking at the gilded titles on some of the leather bindings. He peered at one more closely as it caught his eye. "The Collected Works of The Fool," he read, then stepped back with a frown. "Why would someone read a fool's work?"

"Not a fool, but the Fool," responded an aged, deep voice. The page gasped, startled, and slapped a hand over his chest. "One the most celebrated poets of all time."

The page looked upon the jowled, bearded face of the head of Vix's clergy. He was not a tall man, but he had presence due to his age, wisdom, and station. The spiritual advisor for King Richard, and the king before him, Lord Alistair now served Lady Evelyn. He was one of the few who did not seem either impressed or irritated by the new Queen.

"Forgive me, Excellency," the page said with a short bow.

"Ignorance is not to be forgiven," growled the elder. "Rather, replaced with wisdom."

"Er . . . yes, of course," replied the young man as he straightened. "I was sent to inform you that the birthday celebration is soon to begin."

The Chamberlain worked his thick, pale lips a moment and grunted in assent. "Good, good," he said. "I have uncovered something that the Queen must see, at any rate." He clutched an old, tattered-looking libram to his body. He gestured to the page. "Lead on, good man."

***

Violins, cellos, clarinets, horns and drums filled the air with sound that mingled with the hubbub of a hundred different conversations. While there was not enough space in the ballroom for all of Vix -- and it seemed that few villagers had refused the Queen's unprecedented invitation -- it certainly seemed as if the entire kingdom had turned out in honor of their Queen, to celebrate her birth.

Evelyn smiled, truly touched nearly to the point of weeping, at the sight of lords and ladies mingling with blacksmiths and butchers. There had been quite a bite of rancor at first, but now, three days into the week-long celebration, acceptance had taken hold. Still, it was obvious that nobility kept to one side of the room, commoners to the other. But that was little matter. They were all there, and that was important.

"It seems you have decided to accept the love of your people," Muriel commented as she stepped up beside her Queen in the balcony that overlooked the ballroom.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and gave her mother's handmaiden a wry smile. "If, by that, you mean am I ready to enjoy being the center of attention, then yes."

Muriel returned the smile. "About damn time," she remarked, then glanced past the Queen. "Rebecca."

Evelyn's handmaiden stepped from the crimson folds of the curtains that flanked either side of the balcony. The young woman was well aware that many in the kingdom did not now trust her, and despised their scrutiny. Of all within Vix, there were only two she was truly comfortable with: the Queen, and Cedric. But others, like Muriel, she at least respected.

"Muriel," the girl said, then curtsied for her Queen. "Milady."

"Inform the Chamberlain that the Queen is ready to bask in her glory," she said, giving Evelyn a smirk.

Rebecca's cheeks colored slightly with anxiety. Since her interrogation at the hands of Benedict and his goons, and her resulting pardon from the Queen, Rebecca had been reluctant to go anywhere on her own. However, it was her station to follow instructions, and she accepted that.

"Hold," Evelyn said. She gave Muriel a look as she spoke. "I want Rebecca beside me all night. Find a page."




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 12



Muriel nodded slowly, understanding. "Of course," she said, then turned and stepped from the balcony.

"My Queen—" Rebecca began.

"Rebecca," Evelyn said in a firm tone. "Do not say what you are thinking. I know you wonder as to your loyalties, as to what others think of you. I admit, I do feel a bit leery in your presence."

Rebecca blushed in shame. "I wish I could answer your questions," she said in a mournful voice.

"But you cannot. It is not your fault. The wizard charmed you, of that I am sure. I know little of magic, but from what I understand, there are few minds that can resist it's effects. There is no shame in being seduced by a man like Bagdemagus."

Rebecca trembled slightly, her eyes swelling with tears. "But I . . . I dishonored my station. A handmaiden is to remain chaste for at least as long as her Queen."

Evelyn felt a sympathetic stirring in her heart. She took Rebecca's hands and gazed into her handmaiden's eyes. "There is naught that can be done about the past," she said. "The wizard took you, and for that I am truly sorry. But, as I am your Queen, I say this with all conviction . . ."

Rebecca breathed in, waiting . . . hoping.

"I trust you," Evelyn finished, her words emphatic. "You are my handmaiden, and you will stand beside me, at all times. Is that understood?"

Rebecca fought back her tears. Pride swirled through her. Pride, and affirmation. Her hands squeezed Evelyn's. "Yes, my Queen," she said with a shaking voice. "I shall not fail you again."

Evelyn smiled. "You didn't the first time."

Rebecca smiled, sniffled, blinked away a few tears. "You have no idea what that means to me, milady."

The Queen beamed. This is what my station means, she thought. "Now, buck up," she said with a smile. "I'll need you to help fend off some of those stuffy old lords who seek to woo me."

Rebecca laughed, and quickly wiped her eyes. "Of course, my Queen. Although, if I may, I suspect there is one you do not wish to see fended off."

Evelyn blushed briefly. "Perhaps," she responded coyly. "But then, he is neither stuffy nor old."

Rebecca smiled knowingly, gestured to the archway that lead from the balcony. "After you, my Queen," she said.

***

The cacophony started from the rear of the crowd that filled the ballroom. Evelyn stood, Rebecca on one side, Muriel on the other, within a circle formed by the crowd. All about the Queen were grinning faces and applauding hands. Nobles stood shoulder-to-shoulder with those they ruled. Evelyn could not think of a finer moment in her life.

The crowd parted before her, and a large cart was revealed, topped with the most immense cake Evelyn had ever seen. Pushed by a doughty woman clad in a white apron over her dress, the cake blazed with candles that cast a golden glow in all directions. Reflexively, Evelyn clasped her hands over her mouth, touched, awed, and chastened by the display.

"My finest work, my Queen," declared the middle-aged woman with beaming pride. "I have awaited this day all my life."

Evelyn's face contorted with emotion, touched beyond measure. "Oh, Mrs. Goldfield," she managed to say. "It's beautiful!"

Mrs. Goldfield grinned. "I suppose it goes without saying that I now forgive you for stealing all those pastries from my shop when you were a child."

Laughter filled the room, not the least of which was Evelyn's. The Queen approached the baker and hugged her tightly. "Thank you," she said.

Mrs. Goldfield looked the Queen in the eye. "You do us proud, Evie," she whispered, then kissed the young woman's cheeks in turn.

Evelyn pulled away, looking around at the faces that surrounded her. Some she recognized from the village, others were lords and ladies she had come to know. Nearly all were smiling, even if some such expressions were plainly forced. Not all the nobility had come to accept a peasant queen, after all.

Then came a voice, deep, commanding, rich and filled with purpose: "'And within the great garden, the first mother bore forth the first child, and the world rejoiced.'"

All laughter, applause and conversation stopped as heads turned and the sea of bodies parted for the arrival of Alistair, Lord Chamberlain. His luxurious robes swept the floor with each step as he approached the Queen, stopping several paces before her. He held an ancient book beneath his left arm.

"My Queen," he said with reverence, his weary eyes smiling. He gave her a nod, then raised his voice and addressed those around them.

"On this day, nineteen years ago, a miracle was born into our midst. Every birth is a miracle, just as is every sunrise and every flutter of a sparrow's wings. But this birth . . . the day our Queen was brought into the world . . . is truly a miracle. Her radiance, her wisdom, her skill will guide us all." He faced Evelyn with a reverent smile. "Hail to the Queen. Hail Evelyn."

"HAIL EVELYN!"

Evelyn touched the base of her throat, meeting the eyes of friends and strangers. For a moment, at least, thoughts of the wizard and the dangers he posed were absent from her mind. For a moment, she was not the Queen, but just a happy young woman.

"Thank you, Lord Chamberlain," she managed to say, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you, everyone."

Muriel touched her arm, bringing Evie's attention back to the cake. Evelyn laughed, beckoned to her handmaiden. Rebecca understood right away, and bent over beside her queen. Taking deep breaths, the two young women blew out the candles to the applause of nobility and commoners alike.

Drest stepped from the crowd, extending his hand to Evelyn. "May I have the honor of my Queen's first dance?"

Evelyn smiled broadly, demurely taking the Prince's hand. The crowd moved back, and music began to fill the air. Evelyn smiled sweetly upon her Prince as he swept her about the room. Other couples quickly paired off, inspired by the obviously blossoming romance between their Queen and the future King of Ural. While there was many a sour look upon a lord's face, few could deny that Drest and Evelyn made a dashing couple.

"Enjoying your birthday, my Queen?" Drest asked as they moved gracefully across the floor.

Evelyn beamed. "Immensely," she declared, conscious of her breasts rubbing against the Prince's torso. The low hum of arousal she had been enjoying all day began mounting, eliciting a flicker of heat within her. "Especially since, as it is my birthday, I am entitled to a wish."

Drest smiled, holding her close as he carried her about temporarily lifting the Queen off her feet and making her giggle like a girl. "And what would that wish be?"

Evelyn was quiet a moment, staring into Drest's eyes. She could easily see herself spending a few hours within those deep blue pools, her fingers entangling in those thick blonde locks . . . she shuddered, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks. "Perhaps another taste of what you offered the other night?"

Despite his attempt to remain composed, Drest faltered a bit in his steps, nearly stumbling. He was blushing as well as he caught himself, keeping them both from tumbling to the floor. "Evie," he said, captivated by her glittering hazel orbs. "I very nearly went too far. I would think it best if we waited for marriage."

Evelyn grinned. "Is that your proposal, then?" she kidded.

Drest's eyes bulged. "Wh-what? No! Of . . . of course not!" he stammered. "I could certainly do better than that!" He stopped as he realized Evelyn was laughing. Slowly, he shook his head with a rueful smile. "Mayhap that is enough dancing for the moment."

Evelyn tittered. "As you wish," she said, gesturing to a circulating steward. The young man approached with his tray of champagne flutes, and the Queen took two from the tray. "Perhaps a toast, then."

Drest chuckled and accepted the flute. "To what shall we toast?"

Evelyn lightly touched the rim of her glass to Drest's. "How about . . . new experiences?"

Drest took a breath, controlling his burgeoning arousal, and said nothing as he and Evelyn sipped. Nothing needed to be said, not with the way their eyes were speaking.

***

Near the buffet table, Cedric and Rebecca were both keeping an eye on the Queen as well as indulging in pate and roasted boar. Rebecca felt more than comfortable beside Cedric; aside from being her hero, the young knight was now her lover as well. She found that she could not be close to him without touching his arm, his side, or settling a hand to his back. The more she spent time with him, the less she thought of Bagdemagus . . . even though she was aware that, for some reason, she still desired the wizard.

"I think they look good together, Cedric," Rebecca whispered as she watched the Prince and Queen stray from the dance floor.

Cedric smiled with a nod. "Aye," he agreed. "We may be calling him King before long."

Rebecca swooned as images flashed in her mind. "Oh, it will be such a beautiful wedding," she said. "I can just see this entire hall bedecked in silken curtains and flowers of all colors . . . the finest brass pitchers and vases, everyone in their finest linen . . . ."

Cedric watched Rebecca's beautiful face as she spoke, watched how her eyes glazed wistfully. "Perhaps your own will be as splendid," he said.

Rebecca lowered her eyes with an admonished look. "I may live and serve within the castle, but I am still just a peasant."

Cedric touched her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. "You are not 'just' anything, Rebecca," he said meaningfully. "As far as I am concerned, you are everything the Queen is."

The handmaiden swallowed nervously, at the same time feeling a quickening of her heart. "Cedric, you shouldn't say such things," she warned, looking around nervously. "Not out loud, at any rate."

Cedric smiled, and leaned in. "Then perhaps I should whisper it to you . . . ." his lips brushed Rebecca's cheek, then suddenly moved to her lips. The kiss was brief -- anything more would have been scandalous -- yet pulled a soft moan of longing from Rebecca's throat. Impulsively, she touched Cedric's arm, pulling him closer.

"Um, excuse me, sir knight."

Cedric instantly looked away from Rebecca, seeing one of the castle guards before him. The man -- a few years Cedric's senior, at least -- noted the way the handmaiden clutched the knight. He wondered as to the young knight's loyalty, but only for a moment; his duty was to serve, not question.

"There is a matter which the Captain believes you might be needed for. Will you follow me?"

Cedric nodded slowly, gave a quick smile to Rebecca. "Rejoin the Queen," he said, then stepped away, his left hand automatically falling to the scabbard of his sword. He addressed the guardsman. "Lead the way."

***

The man at the castle doors was handsome and distinguished, clad in the tell-tale dark blue coat of a lord of Ural, homeland of the Prince. He appeared none too impatient, and was even joking with the guardsmen as Cedric approached him. The lord was tall, and something about him bespoke either confidence or nefariousness. Cedric was not sure which.

The man smiled approvingly upon Cedric's appearance. "So the rumors are true!" he exclaimed and bowed slightly. "The Knights of Vix have returned."

Cedric suppressed his pride. "And you are?"

Captain Stephano stepped in before the man could respond. "He claims to be Lord Dorr, of Ural—"

"I am Lord Dorr," the dignitary replied, giving Stephano a curt look.

The Captain bristled slightly and held out a sealed letter for Cedric. "Considering your . . . station, and how close you are to the Queen," he said. "I thought it might be prudent for you to see this. Lord Dorr claims to have important information for our lady."

Cedric frowned, feeling more than a little out of his element as he turned over the letter in his hands. He was a soldier, a knight, a cobbler's son . . . he knew little of the ways of nobles, even if he was, technically, one of them now. Yet, he understood that this was his world, now.

"May I?" Cedric asked the lord.

Guy nodded. "Of course."

"He insisted that only a noble be allowed to open the letter," explained the Captain with noticeable disdain. His lips curled in a sarcastic sneer. "Naturally, I thought of you."

Cedric let Stephano's comment go. He knew little of the man, and what he had learned painted the picture of a petty, domineering, spiteful man who had reached the pinnacle of his station and envied those above him. Instead, the young knight focused upon the letter. He slipped his finger beneath the seal, severing it, and unfolded the parchment. His eyes darkened instantly as he read, his jaw tightened.

"You have evidence of this?" he asked at last, not looking up.

"I do," said Lord Dorr. He kept his eyes trained upon the young knight, ignoring the confused looks of Captain Stephano and the other guards.

Cedric folded the letter closed and rested his gaze upon the Uralian lord. "You couldn't have picked a worse day," he commented.

Guy gave a small, apologetic smile. "I had wished to arrive yesterday," he said. "Alas, the road was a bit treacherous."

Cedric nodded. "Follow me," he said simply, and turned back toward the doors.

Guy smiled. "Of course," he said, and stepped in behind the knight.

Stephano watched with suspicious eyes as the two men entered the castle keep. He tapped the hilt of his sword restlessly.

"What's going on, Captain?" asked a young guardsman.

Stephano fumed quietly. "I intend to find out," he growled, then started after the two men.

***

Cedric hated what he was doing. This was Evie's time, her one moment to enjoy simply being herself . . . yet, here he was, about to ruin that with 'official business.' But that was his job. And Evie's, as well.

He found her, standing with Drest and Rebecca amongst a group of other nobles, some of whom flirted with her even as she stood close to Drest and touched him casually. Cedric's expression was dark and foreboding, which the Queen noticed right away.

"Cedric, what is it?" she asked, instantly feeling dread enter her heart.

The knight stopped, bowed before his queen and friend. "Milady, I have urgent news," he said, holding out the letter.

Evelyn frowned, looking to the folded parchment. She was afraid to take it. She knew something like this was going to happen, she simply knew it . . . .

Recognizing Evelyn's reticence, Drest reached for the letter. "Allow me, my Queen," he said.

Cedric snapped the letter back, giving a short, glaring look to the Prince. "It is for the Queen," he said firmly.

Drest frowned. "But it is open. Have you read it?"

Cedric said nothing, but his eyes betrayed a sudden dislike for the Prince. He looked to Evelyn. "It is for you," he said.

Steeling herself, Evelyn took the letter and opened it. Her features colored, and her lips quivered as she read. A thick swallow betrayed her fear, as well as the sudden swelling in her eyes. For a long moment, she said nothing, even after she had finished digesting the contents of the letter. At last, she folded it closed, her movements slow and deliberate.

"Evie?" asked Drest, concerned.

Her jaw worked a moment. "I . . . I need to be alone," she said.

Drest's concern grew. "Evelyn," he said, touching her shoulder. "Tell me what it is."

"She cannot, my Prince," came a new voice. All eyes looked to see Lord Dorr as he stepped around Cedric. His eyes flickered to Drest's for a moment before settling upon the Queen. "I wish I had not come at such a time. But this news could not wait, Queen Evelyn."

She shuddered as she nodded. "I understand," she said. "Forgive my rudeness, sir . . .?"

"Dorr. Lord Guy Dorr," he said, kneeling and bowing with reverence saved only for queens and kings.

Evelyn sighed, mildly flustered at the display. "Please, rise," she said impatiently. "I . . . thank you for this news. Forgive my rudeness, Lord Dorr, but I feel I must retire."

Drest looked back and forth between Evie, Cedric, and this newcomer. While he recognized the coat and trappings upon Lord Dorr as being from his homeland, he did not recognize the man. Not that he felt he should. There were many nobles and vassals in Ural whom he had never met, nor heard of.

But what bothered him was the suddenly suspicious look in Cedric's eyes, and the abrupt coldness of the Queen. He felt instantly that the contents of the letter had something to do with him . . . but he could not imagine what it might have been.

"Evelyn—" he began as she stepped away.

She shot him a look. "No," she said simply, reaching for Rebecca. Her eyes lingered upon Drest's for a long moment, conveying pain and disappointment, before she turned away and let her handmaiden lead her away.

Drest watched them retreat for a moment, then whirled about, facing Dorr. "Who are you?" he asked forcefully. "And tell me what was in that letter!"

Guy stood impassive, regarding the Prince as he would any common soldier or laborer. "I cannot do that," he said. "And if you understand anything about the Office of the Magistrate, my Prince, you would not question me further."

Drest gritted his teeth. The Magistrate . . . always at odds with the dictates of the King, always meddling, always . . . confounding things. Drest suddenly understood, and straightened, giving Dorr a haughty look. "Very well," he said. "Enjoy your games . . . sir."

Guy smirked. "And you, yours, my Prince," he responded with the same level of sarcasm.

Cedric watched the play between the two men, then as Drest stomped off. He turned to Dorr. "Would you care to share with me what that was all about?"

Guy pursed his lips around a self-congratulatory smile. He had fulfilled the first part of his mission for Bagdemagus with relative ease. His dark eyes settled on Cedric's. "Do not be offended, young lord," he said. "But you have already seen too much. This is a matter for the Queen."

Cedric stepped close, choosing his words carefully. "The accusation in that letter . . . you said you have proof of it?"

Guy said nothing. He simply stared evenly into Cedric's eyes.

Cedric looked away with a disgusted sigh.

***

Evelyn's distress overwhelmed her once Rebecca had lead her to the hallway from the ballroom. With an anguished cry, she fell against the wall, beating her fists upon it. Rebecca stared at first, not knowing what to say or do as her Queen moaned and wailed. But, as Evelyn's legs gave way and she began to sink to her knees, Rebecca was quick to act, wrapping her arms around her Queen and keeping her upright.

"Come, my Queen," Rebecca urged. "Not here. Not where you can be seen—"

"I don't care!" Evelyn cried, her face streaked with tears, eyes swollen. "To Hell with them! All of them!"

"My Queen! Please!"

Evelyn stared at her handmaiden a moment, seeing the curious faces of nobles and commoners further down the hall. Though she hated it, she was aware of the need to 'keep up appearances.'

"Fine," she hissed, and stormed toward the stairs, gathering her skirts as she did so. Rebecca ran to keep up, and their heels clicked and clacked upon the marble steps. Torches in sconces flickered and wavered, coating the halls and steps in an ochre-like glow.

"My Queen!"

Evelyn faltered at the deep-voiced cry, and stopped halfway up the steps. She looked back, just as Rebecca reached her. Her handmaiden also looked back.

Stephano, Captain of the Guard, stood at the foot of the stairs, his face stoic and almost alien. He gripped the scabbard of his sword with his left hand, slowly reached for the hilt with his right. The gesture was quietly intimidating, and filled Evelyn's heart with dread.

"There is one other matter we need to discuss," he intoned, setting his foot upon the first step.

"Um . . . perhaps it could wait," the Queen said, feeling Rebecca's hand squeeze her own.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 12



"Mistress," whispered the handmaiden in her ear. Rebecca's voice was heavy with fear.

"Stay strong," snapped Evelyn.

Below them, Stephano sneered, drawing his blade with a long scrape of metal upon metal. "I'm afraid I must insist."

"Oh, God," muttered Evelyn, feeling real fear grip her heart. She turned about, ready to run up the stairs, but two more guardsmen stood at the head of the steps, also with blades drawn. Their faces were malevolent and without mercy.

"Evelyn!" sputtered Rebecca in fear, also spying the two guardsmen.

"Strong," repeated Evelyn, clutching Rebecca tightly to her, drawing upon the girl's fleeing strength as much as she hoped to feed her handmaiden some of her own. "Stay strong."

"But . . . how?" lamented Rebecca.

Evelyn suddenly smiled, a mad, reckless smile. "Because we are not alone," she said, then took a deep breath and screamed, as loud as she could: "CEDRIC!"

***

Even above the buzz of conversation in the ballroom, above the music and occasional laughter, above the thoughts tumbling about in his head, Cedric could hear the faint cry. While many around him seemed to have deaf ears, the young knight did not. Instantly, Cedric was on guard, his eyes wild, reflexes on alert.

"Evie," he said anxiously.

Beside him, Guy perked. "Hmm?"

The knight shot the Uralian lord a look. "My Queen needs me," he said simply, then bolted, pushing his way through the crowd, not caring about subtlety or courtesy. "John! Sir John! To the north stairs!"

Guy watched after the enthusiastic young knight, and noticed as well as another man -- clad in hardened leather marked with polished studs, sword at his side -- broke away from a buxom young blonde and headed for the broad double doors at the far end of the room. Cries of distress and anger trailed beyond both he and Cedric as they barged their way through in the service of their Queen.

Guy took a breath, readying himself, and set aside his glass of wine. And so, here it is, he thought, moving forward through the crowd, picking up speed as he followed the two knights.

***

As Cedric threw open the doors, he took in the scene before him in less than a heartbeat: Captain Stephano, advancing up the stairs, sword in hand, and two more guardsmen at the top, slowly making their way down. And in the middle were the Queen and Rebecca, holding onto each other for support. Cedric noted the looks of relief upon their faces as they saw him. He gave them a grim nod.

"Stephano!"

The Captain stopped, turned about on the stairs, even as the two at the top hesitated as well. Stephano sneered at Cedric, then upon John as the second Knight of Vix burst through the doors. His eyes seemed blank, almost glassy.

"Oh, how touching. Two young pups coming to save the bitch from slaughter," Stephano hissed.

Together, as if practiced, Cedric and John drew their swords and aimed the points toward the Captain. "If there is to be slaughter, it will be yours, and that of your cohorts," vowed Cedric.

Stephano laughed. "Oh, I think not," he cried haughtily, and snapped his fingers.

Peripherally, Cedric and John noted the entrance of two more guards, from their left and right, down the halls that surrounded the ballroom. The two young men exchanged a quick glance.

"Take the guards first?" asked John heatedly.

"No," responded Cedric. "Stephano. He threatens the Queen."

"Five to one," commented John anxiously. "Not the best of odds."

Cedric grinned. "Who said being a knight was easy?" he asked rhetorically, then bellowed in challenge.

Together, Cedric and John charged the Captain, blades whirling, calling upon all they had learned in their few days of training. Both gifted, and strong in both body and spirit, they hoped their talents would be enough.

Stephano was an experienced soldier, however, and recognized that the charge of the two knights was more bravado than anything else. Taking advantage of his higher ground upon the steps, he slashed at the two men, knocking their blades aside. Sparks flew as metal struck metal. With practiced moves, he held back the strikes of the knights as his own faithful men rushed forward.

"I'm not impressed!" cried Stephano, deflecting the whirling blades of his foes. "Our Queen would have done better than to elevate a childhood friend and a stable-boy to knighthood!"

As they fought, John heard the heavy bootfalls of the other two guardsmen coming up behind them. Their impromptu plan of stopping Stephano was not going to work they way they had hoped. "Cedric!" he called.

Without a word, Cedric whirled, his blade dancing off Stephano's with a shower of sparks, and faced a charging guardsman. With a valiant cry and ferocious style, he hurled himself toward the man, quickly hammering upon the guardsman's upturned blade.

The guardsman grunted, stumbling back, finding himself instantly upon the defensive beneath Cedric's fierce attack. He parried and blocked, shuffling his feet backward as Cedric advanced. He managed a few thrusts and strikes of his own, but the young knight's natural skill was obviously greater than his own.

With a feint, a parry, and a low, whirling crouch, Cedric came up under the guard of his opponent, and thrust his blade home. Steel split flesh and bone, forcing a quick spurt of blood as the point of Cedric's blade tore through the guardsman's torso. The guardsman's limbs fell limp; he sagged to the floor, his life pouring out of him.

Cedric gritted his teeth at the sight and jerked his blade free. He whipped his head about, watching as John cut down his own foe with a trio of quick slashes that rent through cloth, flesh, and bone. John's foe pitched face-forward to the ground, still quivering, yet no longer a threat.

The two knights nodded to one another, then returned their attention to the stairs.

***

Prince Drest had heard the cries, on his way to his chambers. The shrill scream torn from Evelyn's lungs had made his decision for him, and he found himself running full-tilt through the halls toward the source.

Emerging from a second-floor hallway, sword in hand, Drest took in the scene quickly; two guardsmen, swords in hand, moving down the stairs toward a cowering Evelyn and her handmaiden, while the Knights of Vix -- Cedric and John -- battled two other guardsmen at the foot. And between the knights and their Queen was Captain Stephano, head of the castle guard, blade clutched in white-knuckled hand, murder obvious within his eyes.

A king's son has the benefit of being trained by the best, and Drest was no exception. With quick, whirling movements, he descended upon the two guards before him, slashing with skill and precision. The first fell quickly, his sword arm all but severed before a second strike bit deep through his neck. The other guard was quick to respond, and charged Drest, blade flashing viciously.

From the corner of his eye, Drest saw the Captain descend upon Evelyn and her handmaiden, his sword stabbing downward. Dread gripped him, then. Oh, no! Evie!

"Evelyn!" he cried, watching Stephano's blade become swallowed up by the linen and silk the women wore. Both the Queen and her handmaiden screamed in terror . . . or pain. Drest gritted his teeth, feeling a dark hand squeeze his heart.

And then came another, a man in the dark blue coat of Ural, a slim, slightly-curved rapier in hand. He burst through the doors from the ballroom, the point of his blade leading the way, and darted past Cedric and John, unerringly up the stairs toward Stephano. As the Queen and her handmaiden fell back amid a flurry of their petticoats and robes, Stephano's blade slashing down, the man called Lord Dorr charged recklessly, yet with deadly precision.

Stephano jerked his sword free and held it high in both hands, ready to cleave in two one of the women before him. But he suddenly shuddered with pain. The point and first few inches of a rapier's blade erupted through his chest, spraying blood. A stunned look crossed Stephano's face. His sword wavered in the air above him.

Behind the Captain, Lord Dorr jerked his blade free, then stabbed again, this time through Stephano's heart. The Captain convulsed, blood gurgling from his parted lips. His body sagged, as life fled his eyes.

With a deadly slash, Drest opened a deep wound from groin to neck in the last guardsman, causing the man to stumble back and cough and choke in his death-throes. The body tumbled down the steps, joining the corpses laid out by Cedric and John. He rushed down to the Queen's side, fearing the sight of blood upon her. Yet there was no wound; Stephano's first stab had missed both Evelyn and Rebecca, but only barely, it seemed.

All eyes fell upon Lord Dorr, who jerked his blade from the back of Stephano. Grimly, he wiped the blade with a crimson cloth at his belt, then sheathed it. He gave a quick nod to Drest, then Evelyn. His eyes were stoic. "I am glad to have been of assistance," he said simply, then turned and headed down the stairs.

***

The castle had been emptied; not even the musicians had been allowed to remain. All guards had been sequestered to their chambers, after John and Cedric had chosen two that they knew could be trusted to watch them. The gates were closed, portcullises lowered and locked in place. The castle had never been more vulnerable as it was at that moment. But Benedict could think of no other alternative.

"I want to know what the Hell is going on," he growled, standing in the midst of the Queen's audience chamber. Evelyn sat in her chair at the far end, flanked by Cedric and John. Rebecca stood close at hand, eyes cast to the floor. Prince Drest paced as his half-sister sat along the wall, all at once demure and quietly seductive. Muriel kept an eye on Viviane from her position in the corner. Guy Dorr occupied the opposite corner, arms folded, eyes trying not to betray his interest and amusement. Finally, the Lord Chamberlain stood mutely by himself, arms wrapped about the selfsame book Evelyn had seen him carting earlier.

"As do we all," said Evelyn, face and voice both grim. Her gaze shot to Drest for a moment.

"Let me handle this," spat the Chancellor, glaring at the Queen. "You may be the regent of the land, but that is only by birthright. I am Chancellor. I know what it takes to run a kingdom, to keep order and civility intact!"

Evelyn met the older man's glare with impunity. "And a fine job you've done," she said acidly.

Benedict seethed, taking a step toward the Queen. "You insolent whelp—"

"Go to Hell!" she cried, lurching up from her chair, startling all within the room. She stormed toward Benedict, not caring for his power, his influence, nor his perceived ideas about her. "From the moment I came here, I have suffered naught but your rudeness, your insolence, your disfavor! I am tired of it!"

"Hold your tongue, woman—" he warned, raising a hand.

But Evelyn's flew before his, slapping hard across Benedict's face. The older man stumbled, stunned as much by the blow as by the fact that it had been delivered. He touched his bloodied lip as Evelyn continued:

"SHUT UP!" she cried, visibly trembling as she stood with clenched fists before the Chancellor. Her eyes blazed, bosom heaved. "I will not suffer any more indignities from you," she said in a barely-controlled voice. Her words were fast and heated. "Neither of us asked for this, but the fact remains that I am your Queen, and you will bloody well treat me with respect!"

Benedict straightened, hand to his face, his eyes fierce yet tempered by feelings of both intimidation and, indeed, respect. At least a small part of him admired the way this nineteen-year-old girl both stood up to him, and commanded the attentions of all within the room.

"Now," said Evelyn, possessed by courage and determination. "I have no illusions that what happened tonight was anything other than the work of Bagdemagus."

"Do you have proof of that?" asked Viviane, smiling smugly. "Perhaps your house is not as strong as you would wish."

Evelyn met her eyes sternly. "If it is not, it is only because of the influence of outsiders," she said meaningfully. Her eyes narrowed. "But I will return to you shortly."

Viviane bristled, straightening in her seat. Only her half-brother's cautionary hand upon her shoulder kept her viper's tongue in check.

"As I said," Evelyn continued, addressing the others within the room, one at a time. "The attack tonight was the work of Bagdemagus. Stephano's actions were not his own. I could see it in his eyes. And, had I been close enough, I have no doubt I would have seen it in the others—"

"'In his eyes,' Your Highness?" Benedict chided. He scoffed. "Have you suddenly developed the Sight?"

Evelyn faced the man once more. "No," she said. "I have always had it. I simply did not realize it."

A low rumble coursed through those in the room. Looks and expressions were exchanged.

Benedict chuckled dryly, wiping away a last drop of blood from his lip. "The evening's events have gotten to you, Queen. You are beginning to sound hysterical."

Evelyn stepped closer to the man, slowly, inoffensively. "Benedict," she said. "I know you do not think much of me, and to be honest, I consider you a pompous, insufferable ass." She continued, ignoring the Chancellor's shocked look. "But there is one thing I need from you now. I need your guidance, your wisdom, your experience. You said that I know nothing of ruling a kingdom. You are right; I don't. That is why I need you. I need you to believe in me, to afford me the faith of conviction that you revealed when you told me of Bagdemagus and my father."

Benedict was silent, his eyes wavering from the Queen's before they drifted and found Muriel. He found it strange that he would seek her silent counsel in this matter, but he did.

"Something in you trusted me, then," Evelyn said. "Something compelled you to warn me. Whatever that something was, I need that, now. Not just for me, but for all of us within this room. So, please, let us set aside whatever we may have thought for one another. Pride and pettiness account for nothing. And I say that as a woman who is guilty of both."

Benedict listened, all the while with his eyes upon Muriel. Her short nod of encouragement, along with her smile, inspired his decision.

His face snapped back to Evelyn. "Understand that it may take some time for me to fully accept you, Evelyn," he said. His eyes dipped. "But you are my Queen. I have endeavored to be both teacher and taskmaster to you . . . however, I may have . . . blurred the lines a bit."

Evelyn reached up and cupped the Chancellor's face, both startling the man and making him flinch. "Benedict," she said softly, surprised at her own calmness. "Did you trust my father?"

He frowned at the question. "Of . . . of course," he said. "Granted, there were things we did not agree upon—"

"But you trusted him."

Benedict nodded.

Evelyn's hazel eyes glowed with meaning. "I only ask that you trust me," she whispered.

Watching from his corner, Guy Dorr smiled wanly. Oh, you have your hands full, wizard, he thought. This is not some simple girl-queen. This is a regent born.

Benedict nodded reluctantly, gently taking the Queen's wrists in his hands. "I will try," he said, slowly pulling her hands from his face.

Evelyn smiled slightly. "Thank you," she said, then turned and headed back to her chair. She sat, gathering her robes about her legs. Her face became stoic and strong. "I think it has been proven tonight that Bagdemagus can get to anyone, anywhere. He charmed my handmaiden—"

Beside her, Rebecca lowered her head in shame.

"—and he somehow seduced Captain Stephano into trying to slay me. Clearly, we are none of us safe from his influence—"

"Excuse me, my Queen?" came Viviane's voice.

Eveyln cocked her head, regarding the voluptuous woman. "Yes."

Viviane took a breath, glancing to Drest for a moment's support, and taking his hand. "I am no Sorceress myself, but I . . . know some things."

Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The buxom temptress nodded, her face showing the conflicting emotions she felt. "My understanding is that there are many ways a wizard such as Bagdemagus could gain influence over others. I must admit that, based upon what I have heard, it does seem that your Captain was . . . not in his right mind tonight."

Evelyn nodded slowly. "Thank you," she said, though the words seemed forced. She lifted her head, looking to the others. "So, how do we deal with this? I seem to be the only one who can see the wizard, and recognize his touch upon others. But it would not be feasible for me to expose myself just so that we may find him."

The room was quiet a moment. Thoughtful looks crossed the faces of those in the room.

"My Queen," said John, standing to her left.

Evelyn turned her head. "Sir John?"

He cleared his throat. "Eh . . . I believe that . . . I, as well, am able to see him even when he wishes not to be seen."

A few soft gasps sounded through the room. Evelyn peered intently upon her knight. "Are you certain?" she asked.

John nodded, trying to ignore the curious looks the others in the room gave him. "I observed him, once, riding his pale horse through the village. Everyone else parted before him, even though not one looked upon him directly. It was as if . . . as if they considered him the highest royalty, yet at the same time . . . he was invisible to them. It is strange, I know—"

"No," said the Queen with a small smile. "That is how it seems to me, as well."

John smiled in return, gave a short nod.

"So it appears we have our eyes," Evelyn said, for the first time since the evening's events feeling that hope still existed. "I will charge Sir John and Sir Cedric with the task of finding Bagdemagus. It is time we took the fight to the bastard."

Guy Dorr narrowed his eyes as he gazed upon the Queen. Good luck, your Highness, he thought.

Benedict spoke first above the rumble in the room. "My Queen, if I may," he said. "We know nothing of the Spectre. Certainly, he has been seen, and fought, but we know not his lair, nor his motives—"

"I do."

The room fell silent at the sound of the Lord Chamberlain's deep, rich voice. All eyes watched as he stepped forward, cradling the aged tome in his arms.

"Do you know something?" Evelyn asked.

Alistair nodded. "I believe I do," he said, and opened the book. "This is a treatise of ancient pagan magical rituals. The Old Magic, as many would say, and certainly the path our foe has followed."

Evelyn gripped the arm rests of her chair. "What have you found?"

The Chamberlain sighed. "I wish it were more," he said. "But what I have uncovered -- given that much of pagan magic remains unknown to us -- suggests that the wizard Bagdemagus seeks to invoke a powerful spell, one designed by the Infernal himself, to gain dominion over the land."

Evelyn raised her hand to quell the objections by Benedict and others. "Tell me more," she said.

Lord Alistair nodded, glancing to the yellowed pages of the book. "It is my conclusion that Bagdemagus seeks to cast the spell of Ultimate Sacrifice," he said. "In which a virgin regent is to be given to the Devil upon the Midsummer Day."

Evelyn felt a chill course through her body. The room was conspicuously quiet. "I . . . see," she said.

Benedict was the first to speak. "I have to say that it does make sense," he said. "The wizard insured you were the only child of King Richard, and to be a honest, a girl is much more likely to remain chaste than a boy . . . ."

The Queen suddenly felt sick. She settled a hand to her stomach, a move that was not lost upon either Rebecca nor Muriel. But as both women moved forward, Evelyn waved them off.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 12



"It does not make sense," she said. "If Bagdemagus wishes to sacrifice me in six weeks' time, why would he send his agents to assassinate me tonight?"

The Lord Chamberlain snapped the book closed with a loud noise. "I do not believe Captain Stephano was after you, my Queen," he said. His eyes drifted meaningfully to Rebecca.

Rebecca gasped, folding in upon herself as she understood. Were it not for Cedric's arms, she might have fallen to the floor. The handmaiden began weeping uncontrollably. With only a quick glance to his Queen, Cedric took the young woman in his arms and carried her from the room.

Evelyen breathed out through clenched teeth. "Severing loose ends," she said.

Alistair nodded. "As you said, my Queen," he iterated. "Your handmaiden had been charmed. Yet now, she has been compromised. Bagdemagus directed Captain Stephano to slay her, seeking to silence the one voice within the castle over which he had total control."

Evelyn's brow furrowed. "So we may yet learn something from her," she said, almost to herself.

Alistair nodded. "Perhaps."

Evelyn lifted her eyes, looking to a far corner. "Lord Dorr."

He stepped forth, humble and subservient, or so it seemed. "My Queen."

"You have delivered a great service tonight, in saving the life of my handmaiden," she said.

Guy bowed deeply. "My intent was only to serve justice," he said, giving a flickering look to Viviane and Drest. "Beyond that, I am pledged to be your vassal."

Evelyn looked upon the man, not quite sure what to make of him, yet the image of his valiant deeds remained fresh in her mind. "Please accept my request to stay within Castle Vix, for as long as you wish," she said with a smile. "You will always be considered a friend within my land."

Guy clasped his hand over his heart. "My actions were motivated by nothing but justice and truth, your Highness," he said. "But I am touched by your offer. I accept."

***

Prince Drest and Lady Vivian fretted within the audience chamber, the Prince pacing upon the ornate rug that covered the floor. All others had been dismissed, but the Queen bade the Prince of Ural and his half-sister to remain while she spoke with Benedict outside.

"I do not like this," Drest muttered, mainly to himself.

"Would you stop that?" Viviane asked with annoyance as she toyed with the lace of her bodice. "You are acting as skittish as that girl, Rebecca."

Drest glared upon Viviane. "Curse you," he growled.

She looked up with surprise. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'curse you,'" he repeated forcefully. "Curse you and your succubus' power for seducing me."

She smirked. "You certainly enjoyed it at the time," she commented suggestively.

Drest shook his head. "Do you ever care about your actions? What they mean, what they do? Or is it only about getting the next available cock up your arse?"

Viviane lurched to her feet, standing up to her brother. "My actions are my own, and not subject to scrutiny by a spoiled prince who has barely seen twenty summers."

"Wrong," he said, meeting her gaze evenly. "I am quite certain I know what that letter told Evelyn. Incest is against God's law, in case your lustful mind has forgotten."

Viviane trembled slightly with anger, her upper lip twitching before they curled in a sneer. "I do not follow God's law," she hissed.

Drest frowned, searching his half-sister's face. "I should have known," he said. "As soon as we return to Ural, I am having you placed in the dungeons. Let you use your evil wiles on your fellow prisoners—"

"You wouldn't dare!" she cried.

Drest chuckled. "You have ruined my life by coming between Evelyn and I," he said with a pitying look. "'Tis only right that I return the favor." He turned his back upon her.

Viviane seethed, but beneath her anger lay fear. "Drest, wait," she pleaded. "We haven't lost your chance with the Queen. I . . . I . . . perhaps my power might work upon her! Yes! I could seduce her, privately, and—"

Drest turned around slowly, an expression of utter disgust upon his face. "And what?" he cried. "You would lie with a woman, shame her into what you see as nothing more than a political bargain?" he shook his head in wonder. "To think I knew you, and that you knew me."

"Don't do this, Drest," she said, her eyes darkening. "You do not want to make an enemy of me."

He loomed over her. "Too late," he said, his voice soft yet firm. He stepped back. "At the least, if there is to be any good from this, it is that I now know just what you are. I will see to it that you are treated accordingly."

"No."

Both Drest and Viviane looked to the doorway of the audience chamber, in which Evelyn stood, with Benedict and Sir John behind her. The young knight held a pair of heavy iron manacles. Evelyn's accusing gaze fell upon Viviane.

"My Queen," said Drest, giving a short bow. Viviane did not move.

"John," she said, not taking her eyes from the temptress. "Place the Lady in irons and escort her to her carriage. She and her entourage are to return to Ural."

John tried to hide the smile on his face as he stepped around Evelyn. "At once, my Queen," he said, approaching Viviane. The Prince's half-sister balked, her eyes wide.

"What!" she cried, stepping away from the knight. "Y-you cannot do this!"

"I can, and I am," the Queen said.

"Drest!" sputtered Viviane, even as John grabbed her by the wrists and slipped on the manacles. But the Prince did nothing. He remained impassive as Viviane was taken from the room. Viviane all but snarled as she jerked herself to a stop beside Evelyn.

"You do not know what you have begun," she hissed to the Queen.

Evelyn trained a harsh look upon the woman. "If you dare to return to Vix, I will put an arrow in your heart myself," she said with conviction. "Begone. You have tainted this castle enough."

John shoved Viviane forward, and Benedict joined them, following the guard and his prisoner through the halls.

The audience chamber fell silent, save for the retreating protests of Viviane. Drest's head was lowered in shame, feeling Evelyn's eyes upon him. The Queen closed the doors and stepped into the room.

"I am sure you are wondering why I banished Viviane, and not you," she said.

Drest nodded.

Evelyn took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "My first impulse was to send you both away," she said. "Lord Dorr's accusations were grave, but I wanted to hear the truth before making a decision." She laughed ruefully. "Thankfully, you provided all the confirmation I needed."

Drest ground his teeth, his eyes reddening. "I tried to resist her," he said.

Evelyn struggled to restrain her emotions. Disgust and sympathy fought in her mind. "I know," she said after a moment. She stepped to her small throne, but did not sit down. "I have to admit, if I had only heard of Viviane's power from you, I would have been dubious. But she seduced John, and tried to use her abilities on Benedict."

Drest frowned. "So you knew about her?"

"No, not before this night," Evelyn said. "But when I showed the letter to Benedict, he told me what she tried to do to him. Thank God Muriel was there to stop her. And then . . . once that came out, John revealed how she had seduced him, as well . . . ."

Hope blossomed in Drest's heart. "So, you believe me, then? That I did not . . . entertain her willingly?"

Evelyn sat in her chair. "I did not say that." Her eyes glowed softly in the light of the torches in their sconces. "At the least, I have doubts as to whether you were in your right mind when this affair happened. Everything I have seen from you suggests you are a righteous man, fair, just, ethical. But I have been tricked much lately. I will not be so again."

Drest nodded reluctantly. "I understand."

"I will need some time to think on everything that has happened," Evelyn continued. "Obviously, it should go without saying that I will be returning to my chambers alone."

Again, the Prince nodded. "Of course."

Evelyn watched as he turned for the door. "Drest," she called out.

He turned back. "My Queen?"

Evelyn managed a smile. "Good night."

He smiled in return, said nothing as he pushed open the doors and left.

***

The only man Cedric could trust to guard Rebecca's chambers was Falhurst, whom it now seemed would become the new Captain. As Cedric approached the handmaiden's door, Falhurst snapped to attention.

Cedric chuckled softly. "There's no need for that," he said.

Falhurst shrugged, smiling rakishly. He was a wiry man, quick and strong, with short, curly black hair and sunken cheeks. "Given the events of the evening, I thought it important that all appearances be kept up."

Cedric nodded, clasping the man's shoulder. "You know, it was not so long ago that stood beside you in rank."

"Seems a lifetime, doesn't it? So much has happened."

Cedric nodded. "And more is to come," he said. "The Queen will need men such as you."

"Only the Queen?" asked Falhurst pointedly.

"I, as well," admitted Cedric. "All of us."

Falhurst took Cedric's hand, gripped it tightly. "These are dark times, Cedric, and you are still coming into your own. You fight well and bravely, and you have a solid head on those square shoulders. But what you are lacking is experience."

"I am all too aware of that, Falhurst. That is why I need you. I need you to lead, and advise."

Falhurst took a breath. "I was afraid of this," he said, then chuckled. "You wish for me to take Stephano's place, don't you?"

"Yes."

Falhurst sighed. "Six years of serving the Guard, turned down at every turn for promotion, and now, suddenly, here it is."

"Here it is," echoed Cedric. "I think you will do well."

Falhurst let go of Cedric's hand, slapped the younger man's shoulder. "I suppose we will see," he said with a wink. He stepped from the door with a knowing look on his face. "I don't think you will need me to stand here for the remainder of the night."

Cedric blushed, holding back a smile. "Eh . . . it has been a hard night. You should get your rest."

Falhurst bowed stiffly. "As you wish, milord," he said, then took a few steps away before turning back. "Cedric."

The young knight looked up as he was reaching for Rebecca's door.

Falhurst smiled slyly. "Bed her well," he said, then turned on his heel and marched down the corridor.

Cedric chuckled, then pushed open the door.

***

Rebecca sat at her small vanity, dressed for bed in a long, pale gown. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing a forlorn girl staring back. The teeth of the brush loosened the tangles in her hair. She wished they would get rid of the ones in her mind.

The creaking of the door made her heart leap with anxiety, but seeing Cedric enter behind the sad-looking girl in the mirror, she managed a smile. "My hero," she whispered.

Cedric closed the door softly behind him, letting his eyes wander over the handmaiden's frame. The gown was nearly sheer, making it obvious that Rebecca wore nothing underneath. The swell of her hips, the full heart-shape of her buttocks made him catch his breath. "I, eh, wanted to wish you a good night," he said clumsily.

Rebecca blushed slightly, set down her brush. She uncurled her legs from the small vanity and turned to face him, her eyes glowing with affection. "You were very gallant tonight," she said.

Cedric pursed his lips. "I should have saved you," he said.

Rebecca let out a nervous laugh, then settled her hands on her knees, straightening her arms. Her full breasts were outlined by the fabric of her gown, the darkness of her areolas visible. Her eyes suddenly welled with moisture. "Cedric, my love, you save me every day," she said, her voice a quivering whisper.

He stepped forward. "'Tis my duty," he said, then smiled. "But more than that, my desire."

Rebecca sniffled, smiling genuinely. "And . . . what is your desire right now?"

Cedric licked his lips, gazing into Rebecca's eyes. "You."

Wordlessly, the handmaiden stood, took a single step toward Cedric. Keeping her eyes upon him, she reached back to undo the lace behind her neck, then shrugged her shoulders, letting the smooth fabric slide down her body. Quivering with both excitement and nervousness, she stood nude before her knight, arms at her sides. "Then you may have me."

Cedric swallowed dryly, taking in the beauty before him. Rebecca's pale skin contrasted with the long, dark hair that hung from her head and the soft nest at the juncture of her thighs. Her breasts sat, full and ripe, upon her chest, the dark nipples stiffening under his gaze. "Oh, my sweet," he whispered, then stepped to her, taking the young woman in his arms. Their kiss was passionate, needy, accompanied by soft moans and sighs.

"I want you to love me," Rebecca whispered, settling her hands upon Cedric's armored torso. She suddenly giggled. "But first, you must get rid of this."

Cedric chuckled. "Feel free to help," he suggested.

Grinning, Rebecca helped the knight remove his hauberk and the tunic beneath. Then she slid to her knees, unbuckling Cedric's belt. The young man trembled, feeling his arousal growing. He touched Rebecca's hair, compelling her look up to his face as she pulled his breeches down. His nearly-engorged cock brushed her cheek.

"May I taste you?" she asked softly.

Cedric shuddered. "If you wish," he said, captivated by the sight of Rebecca's angelic face, her full, dark lips pouting as they parted.

"I wish," she whispered, then closed her eyes and began licking around the shiny head of his cock, tasting the sweet fluid that seeped out. Cedric groaned, having never experienced such ecstasy before. He felt every flutter of her tongue around the tip of his manhood, the smooth wet brushes of her lips, the warmth of her sighs. He caught his breath when she opened her mouth and took him inside, sucking tenderly, lovingly.

"Oh, Rebecca," he groaned, automatically pushing against her. The pleasure was exquisite, and while what Rebecca was doing was something Cedric had always thought only harlots did, he could not help but luxuriate in the sensations.

She sucked him lovingly for several moments, gliding her mouth back and forth, smoothing her hands up and down Cedric's strong thighs. Her tickling fingers found the heavy sacs hanging beneath the knight's shaft, and she squeezed them gently.

"Oh!" gasped Cedric, feeling the hot, pleasurable rush begin. He looked down at her face, trembling at the sight of her lips wrapped around his pulsing cock. "Rebecca!"

She slid her mouth off him with a sigh, and licked her lips, smiling up at her lover. "Not just yet," she said, then stood. Her hands wandered up his chest, to his neck, then his face. She kissed him deeply, passionately. She felt him shuddering as the need for his release ebbed away. She smiled, taking his hand, and lead him to her small bed.

The bed where she had been defiled by the wizard. The bed that had become a mark of shame for her. But now, it was to be re-christened, and with real love.

She lay back upon it, bringing Cedric with her. Her eyes gazed adoringly upon him as he settled his weight atop her. The stiffness between his legs brushed the damp hairs surrounding her sex. She parted her legs automatically, hooking her ankles behind his calves.

Their bodies rubbed against one another, their passion shared with heated kisses and soft moans. Cedric tasted the sweetness of her skin as he kissed, licked, and nipped at Rebecca's neck, then as he made his way to her pillowy breasts. The girl gasped, clutching at his hair as Cedric surrounded a stiff nipple with his mouth. She purred at the feel of his teeth grazing the sensitive nub.

And then he was making his way lower, planting soft kisses upon her slightly-rounded stomach, dipping the tip of his tongue into her navel. The hair covering her pubic mound tickled his chest.

"Cedric," Rebecca said, clutching his shoulders. She stared into his eyes as he lifted his head. "I want you inside me, love."

Cedric's heart fluttered. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Please. Take me. I want to be yours."

Cedric moved up over her, gazing down upon her beautiful face. He reached between them, guiding his cock to where it wanted to go. He winced at the heat he felt, the slick wet lips that parted for him. Both he and Rebecca groaned as he slowly pushed within her. Rebecca whimpered in pleasure, lifting her legs, wrapping them around him and urging him deep. Their mouths found each other as they moved.

"I love you, Rebecca," Cedric panted, sucking her lower lip. "I'll never leave you."

"Never?" she asked, gripping his muscular arms.

Cedric smiled, kissed her tenderly. "Till death do us part, my love."

Rebecca smiled with emotion, tears dripping down her cheeks. "And even beyond," she added, moaning as she returned the kiss. "I love you, Cedric."

***

As had been arranged, Guy met the wizard within the stables, where the stench of horse-sweat filled the air. He did not bring a lamp, nor a torch, and as such, the broad lane of the stable was colored only by slight shafts of pale moonlight.

"I am not pleased," came a voice from the darkness.

Guy breathed in and out deeply. "I thought he had slain her," he said.

"But he did not," Bagdemagus said, stepping into view. His eyes were malevolent as they settled upon Guy Dorr. "I expected more from you."

Guy bristled. "So what would you have me do? Kill the wench myself?"

The wizard chuckled. "Actually . . . yes."

Guy set his jaw. "That will be tricky."

"Not up to the challenge?" asked Bagdemagus with a sarcastic tone.

Guy thought against defending his pride. "As you wished, I delivered the letter, and slew Stephano. I have endeared myself to the Queen. But I do not doubt that there will be a few eyes upon me . . . especially those of the Prince."

Bagdemagus mused, touching his chin. "I had expected stiffer retribution toward him from Evelyn," he said. "Apparently, he has endeared himself to her as well."

"I believe it is more than that," Guy said.

The wizard arched an interested brow. "Oh?"

"Yes. She appears much more shrewd than I would expect from a girl so young. That, and . . . she claims to have the Sight."

Bagdemagus nodded. "I deduced as much," he said. "It will make little difference."

"She is not the only one."

Bagdemagus fell silent, glaring upon his vassal. "What do you mean?" he asked at last.

"One of her knights, Sir John," Guy said. "He, too, claims to be able to See."

Bagdemagus frowned. "The stable boy?" he asked with a small chuckle. But the mirth faded as he thought. An expression of realization dawned upon his face. "Oh, that is interesting. The grandson of a whore has the Sight. Makes me wonder just whose bed that old whore once shared."

Guy was puzzled by the wizard's words, but he decided not to question them. In the brief time he had agreed to serve Bagdemagus, Guy had learned that his new liege would reveal what he wanted, when he wanted. "At any rate, the Queen has charged her knights with the task of finding you."

Bagdemagus made a dismissive noise. "Those whelps could not kill me before, and they certainly won't be able to do so again," he said. "I am not concerned about that. What I am concerned about is Rebecca. The longer she stays away from me, the weaker my hold becomes. She will, eventually, remember everything. I cannot have that."

Guy nodded curtly. "I understand," he said.

The wizard fixed him with a stern look. "You had better," he said meaningfully, then stepped back into the shadows.



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 13



RedHairedandFriendly ©

Author's Note: This is a chapter that was written for a chain story under the same title "A Royal Sacrifice." The work that follows is my own and has been written in order to replace a chapter that was removed when one of the writers in the chain had their work taken down from the site. I will be replacing the final missing chapter or a member of the original team will. If you are new to this chain and have stumbled across this story because it is a "new" submission to Lit. I encourage you to read the previous chapters and even the following ones. Ch. 19 will soon grace the chain once more. Thank you very much again to Dark for editing suggestions and as always votes (one per reader) and comments are appreciated. ~ Red 




The night sky was full of dark luminous clouds that seemed to share the weight of the Kingdom of Vix. Drest looked upon them wishing they would part and reveal to him the answers to the questions that occupied his thoughts. 

His sister was gone; she'd been banished and sent back to their father – a man who would most likely force her to disappear even further from him. He would deal swiftly with his sister as well as harshly. Their father had raised Drest to be a great leader and had hoped to one day use Viviane to bring more wealth to his kingdom. Now those plans had gone awry. The truth of his relationship with his sister had been revealed; Evelyn would forever look upon him with disgust. How could she not? He could barely stand his visage. Drest lowered his face to his hands and buried it between his palms. 

He saw his past. His sister, their joining. He felt the accusing stare of the one he wanted to trust beyond all reason. Yet, he had trusted his sister too, hadn't he. Wasn't it trust that had taken him down the path of immorality? Wasn't it love? A twisted, sick, perverted love? She had done that. She'd taken the love of an innocent, the love of a sibling, and made it something wrong and disgusting. He had been weak and weakness was something he could not afford, not now with Bagdemagus lurking.

No, he would not let another take advantage of him, not his mind, body, nor his heart or soul. A hard fist was formed when his fingers curled at his side. His jaw ached from the intense grip the muscles had been in for such a long period of time. The sound of footsteps interrupting his musings brought him back to reality. He turned to face whomever dare invade his self-imposed sanctuary. 

"Chancellor," Drest lowered his head slightly, indicating the respect he had for the man. 

"Your highness," Benedict answered back, "may I speak with you?" 

Drest sighed. He knew there would come a time when the other man would address him. He was glad it was done in private. More humiliation on top of what he'd already endured was something he was not sure he could deal with sanely. "You may speak freely," he answered. 

"What has transpired can be fixed and though it will not be forgotten it is forgivable," the elder of the two said. "It is how you chose to act on it that will define you from this moment on." 

The prince smirked. "Is it not for the Queen to define what happens from this moment on?" 

Benedict's brows rose. "Yes, in some ways – but she is not a fool and she knows the value you bring to the altar."

"Value? Is that all I am now? Valuable?" 

"Your highness, it may sting to hear the words, but that is all you were the moment you were conceived," Benedict told him. 

"You do not mix words do you?" 

The Chancellor shrugged his shoulders. "I see no need. Though I will admit when in the presence of Evelyn and Muriel I seem to chose them more wisely." 

Drest laughed. "That is probably the best thing to do." 

"I want you to know that even though your sister and your relationship has come to light, you are still expected to be at the Queen's side, if not physically than your men will be there to represent your presence. You must focus on the now and the future, not the past and not the errors of others. What has transpired is not all your fault and though you may feel responsible because of your gender, I have learned over these past months that gender does not make one wiser than another." 

"So you are learning things from our young Queen," Drest answered with a smirk on his lips. 

"I am, though I will deny it if necessary." 

"I will stand by the kingdom. I will stand by my word and I will remain here for as long as she'll allow me. The evil one must be dealt with; Bagdemagus' terror must be put to rest by all means necessary, by all hands available," Drest promised. 

"Before I leave you to your musings, I must ask your thoughts on our newest player to the game," Benedict's question brought Drest's brows together. 

"Lord Dorr?" Drest said, though he knew the answer and proceeded to give his opinion, "I am curious as to his sudden arrival and how quickly he was able to find a place under the Queen's roof, and most likely a favor in her eye. Yes, he needs rewarded for his deeds, but he bears watching." 

Benedict agreed. "I am leery of any and all newcomers that suddenly find themselves saving our lady from threats that revolve around the Spectre." 

"Then we will be sure he is watched." 

"And Evelyn?" 

Drest sighed. "I find myself wanting to go to her and try to rectify the situation." 

"I ask that you don't. Let her find others to console her. Let her trust others so that those we deem questionable will eventually show their true colors," Benedict suggested.

"I am sure that will be quite easy, because no matter how much I wish to converse with the Queen, I highly doubt I am on her list of close friends and acquaintances." 

The two men continued to talk long into the night; eventually the clouds parted and the stars revealed their glory.

While the two men in the garden reflected on Lord Dorr and his motives, the man in question was in the room Evelyn had ordered ready for him. His gaze drank in the feminine physique that ordered two serving lads around. Both boys had delivered the tub for his bath and the woman had appeared when they brought buckets of water. The lads poured the water into the tub, while the maid quickly covered the mattress with a thick cloth, followed by thick pillows, and a blanket to ward off the chill. The boys left and the maid turned to take her leave. Guy grinned inwardly, stepped up and slipped his arm behind her back. He drew her closer to him; his gaze held hers with a knowing stare.

"My Lord!" she squealed in protest.

Guy's brows rose as if questioning her displeasure. He made no effort to restrain her, allowing his eyes to cast a spell over her that spoke nothing of magic.

"Enough!" 

A deep voice echoed through the chambers. The woman screeched; the door shut soundlessly and Guy pulled the woman behind him. Bagdemagus stared at the couple. 

The maid clutched Guy's shirt as they both stared into Bagdemagus gaze. The Spectre casually strolled up to the woman and touched her cheek. She stood silently, her breath lodged in her throat, fear etched in her pale features. 

Guy watched Bagdemagus trail one finger over the girl's lips and under her nose. The skin he touched began to shimmer. The woman smiled, blushed and rubbed against Guy in a provocative manner. Bagdemaus smirked and took the woman's hand. "Prepare yourself for my servant," he said. The maid slowly began to disrobe.

As she did, Guy gazed longingly at her exposed flesh. "You are a great man to be allied with," he said as he began to pull off his clothes. His bath water was forgotten. By the aroused need evident in the woman, now crawling over his bed, she would not care how dirty he was. 

"She'll keep," Bagdemagus said when Guy moved to approach the bed. "I have no wish to watch you rut with her, but I do find myself curious as to why you seek the pleasures of the flesh when you have at your disposable the perfect opportunity to discover secrets and lay traps." 

"I am in the castle, am I not? And I am allowed to walk freely among those loyal to her. I know my purpose and I know where my loyalties lie," Guy promised. 

"Be sure that you remember that," the wizard warned. He looked back at the woman, who was masturbating with slick fingers. "Make use of her while you can. Send her back to her chambers before the hour. She will recall none of this, so if I were you, I would focus only on my own pleasure."

"An hour?" Guy gasped, "You give me but an hour and stand here wasting..." he stopped when The Spectre glared heatedly at him. "An hour, I thank you for the gift." 

Guy turned back to the woman, crossed the room and when he turned to again thank his employer there was no one there. 

"Are you coming my Lord?" the woman asked. 

Guy smiled. "Soon, very soon." He finished taking off his clothes and moved to the side of the bed. "My cock, lady – I believe your mouth will fit nicely around it." 

He was right, it did.

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ 

The following day arrived in much the same way it had since the dawn of time. The sun rose, the clouds drifted haphazardly across the sky. Evelyn had slept fitfully; her eyes were tired, her body ached. She had thought about Drest and his sister and what it meant for their future. Could she forgive him? Was he truly charmed and enchanted by her? Was it all a ploy to gain a firmer hold on her holdings? Did he love her as Evelyn? Or as the Queen of Vix? Were they one and the same? 

All her thoughts seemed to collide with each other. They bounced back and forth on the walls of her mind. Visions of Bagdemagus floated in front of her. She shuddered. How she hated that foul wizard. He had invaded her life and was gloating somewhere in the shadows of her castle. She knew it. Her skin sometimes crawled with his presence. Self-doubt crept in as she thought over her actions concerning her people up to this point. Was she a good Queen? Was she worthy to wear the crown? Was she strong enough to conquer the demon that tormented Vix? 

The visage of her parents replaced her worry. She smiled at their memory and peace settled around her as she recalled the teachings of her mother and father. They were gone, but she knew they watched over her. She knew they had faith, even if she did not. Evelyn ached for the tranquil life she'd led before the death of the King. She licked her lips as an idea formed in her mind. Without warning to her ladies she darted back to her rooms and quickly pulled off her clothes. Eventually she emerged wearing the clothes of a stable boy. 

Evelyn rounded the corner that led into the great room. Her hair was tucked under her cap. She kept her face down, which caused her to stumble into Rebecca. "Your Highness!" Rebecca gasped. 

Evelyn grabbed the girl and hauled her back to the shadows. "Quiet!" 

"But – but what are you doing?" the girl asked. 

"I am off to see an old friend and I have need of secrecy, thus I must demand your silence in what you see!" 

"Your Highness," Rebecca whispered, "it is not safe for you to go. I know I cannot stop you, but take John with you. He will keep your secret as will I." 

The Queen frowned, but saw the truth in her maid's words. John could be trusted and he was certainly a man willing and able to protect her if needed. "Go to him, have him meet me at the stables with two horses ready." 

"Yes, Your Majesty!" 

Rebecca hurried away. Evelyn quickened her steps, pausing in the kitchens to prepare a basket full of freshly baked breads, as well as various meats and fruits that were being readied for the afternoon meal. 

John was not happy with Evelyn, but like Rebecca he knew who his Queen was and when arguing with her was pointless. The first stop on their journey was to the old crone of Vix, a wizened woman who had been sought by many for various remedies and potions.  

Evelyn dismounted and John watched as she approached the woman who sat quietly spinning her wheel just outside of her cottage door. "Your Highness, a pleasure to see you." 

The Queen lowered the basket of various foods and took a seat on the ground next to the woman. She pulled at the wool and began to pluck various debris from its coarse strands. "I am sorry I have been remiss in my visits." 

A soft cackle left the woman's aged lips. "You are a Queen now. I am but a lowly servant." 

Evelyn rested her hand on the old woman's knee. "You are more than that. You are the most wise of all of Vix and had you been born into wealth you would have been more fit to run this kingdom than I." 

The crone's laughter filled the air. 

"What should I do Mistress?" Evelyn asked.

"Follow your heart." 

"You speak of the man I am to wed," the Queen whispered. 

"I speak of all things. Your heart and your head. Lead with it, and it will guide you on the proper path." 

Evelyn sat next to the woman, added her in her tasks and carried her food into the cottage. The time they shared was silent, but it was the peace and tranquility that projected from the woman that Evelyn had truly needed. When she and John left she felt better, though in truth she still did not know the answers to her problems. 

John remained silent as they traveled over the lands that would take them to Evelyn's parents' home. She stared at it for several long minutes. Her escort chose to stay back, sensing her need to come to terms with her past and accept her future. 

The Queen recalled the laughter and joy that had spread through every room. Her father's strong hands as he held her close whenever she hurt. Her mother's kisses when boys teased and tormented her when she began to go from girl to women. What stood now was an empty shell and she knew it was time to say good-bye. She left the cottage, made her way back to John. Her home was the castle now; this place would be destroyed and in its place something beautiful would someday grow. 



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 14



Anne's auburn hair formed a halo around her face as she gasped and whimpered, still trembling from the strength of her climax. Beads of sweat adorned every inch of her flushed, nude body, glittering in the faint candlelight of the room.

Guy smiled, stroking her smooth thighs as he held his manhood buried in her depths. Her writhing and the tight clench of her walls at the peak of her pleasure had threatened to overwhelm his control, but he had succeeded in holding his seed.

As she recovered her breath, Guy pulled from her slowly and pushed back into her hot depths at the same pace. The brief respite as he awaited the cooling of her climax would not long delay his own eruption into ecstasy, but he intended to enjoy every moment of it.

"Oh," Anne moaned, the sound long and low as his member pushed into her wet heat once more. "My love, I find heaven each time," she languidly said as the tip of his manhood once more settled into her depths.

"As do I, dear Anne," Guy responded, as he remained enveloped in her velvety embrace before withdrawing again, feeling the hot pressure of his impending release building once more. Knowing that the inevitable was upon him, his next thrust inside her was quick, and filled with the power of his passion.

A sharp gasp burst from Anne's lips as he stabbed inside her. She longed to feel his seed filling her, but knew it was impossible as she'd been unable to coax life from her husband's manhood to provide an explanation if her lover's seed found root in her womb. A slight shiver of unwelcome anticipation rocked her as his cock vanished inside her at an ever quicker pace. The tingling itch building rapidly inside her distracted her from what was to come as she drew near to a second climax.

Guy barely heard the squeal passing Anne's lips as she once more reached her peak, every ounce of his concentration turned toward his own pleasure. When he reached the point of no return, he jerked free of her with a growl and clenched his teeth, bending all his will to keeping his seed contained for the precious few seconds necessary.

Still gasping for breath and twitching from the waves of ecstasy flooding her body, Anne levered her upper body from the bed on trembling arms. Somehow, she managed to pull herself upright and lean forward to take him in her mouth.

As always, her stomach threatened to rebel as she tasted her bitter juices on the thick shaft stretching her lips and the scent of her musk filled her lungs. Knowing the pleasure this gave the man she adored beyond life itself, she bobbed her head in short strokes over his cock, feeling it swell in her mouth. She choked when he released a gasping groan and filled her mouth with his thick cream, but maintained control over her roiling stomach to swallow.

Guy let out several gasping grunts as he spurted his seed against the entrance of her throat. The sight of her lying below him -- submissive to his whims in every way -- added strength to his climax. A dribble of his semen ran from the corner of her mouth when she coughed around him, but her lips closed around his glans immediately thereafter. She suckled him until he had nothing left to offer and pushed her away with a gasp.

Falling to the mattress as Anne swallowed and took shallow breaths, Guy said, "There are no sweeter lips than yours, dear Anne."

The satisfaction and adoration in his voice erased all thoughts of her churning stomach, filling Anne with warmth. Rolling over onto her back, she leaned her cheek against his leg and sighed. "Your pleasure is my life, my love."

"And yours, mine," Guy lied. "You must go, dear Anne, before your husband awakens to find you absent from your bed -- though it rends mine heart to see you go."

"I long for the day when we may share the night through," Anne lamented as she sat up in preparation to leave.

"As do I. Go, dear Anne, before your husband awakens to dash our hopes against the rocks and rend them asunder."

Anne nodded and rose from the bed on unsteady legs to dress once more. She paused at the door, turning to Guy and saying, "Rest well, my love."

"Rest well, dear Anne," Guy responded, offering her a smile.

As soon as the door closed, Guy's forced smile vanished from his face. He'd hoped to find a few more minutes of diversion in Anne's embrace, but his mind had returned to the orders of Bagdemagus almost before the last drop of his seed dribbled into her mouth.

At first, his forced servitude to the wizard had proved a great boon, allowing him to further his own plans with the two wealthy families he played against each other through his connections in the castle. Living amongst the nobility had likewise proved an enjoyable experience -- until the wizard returned.

Guy violently shook his head as he remembered that encounter and how it had shaken his confidence. Pushing the thoughts aside, he turned his mind to the task placed upon his shoulders by Bagdemagus. Having defied the wizard somewhat in coming here, he felt the sharp edge of his wits returning after the unmanning encounter in the castle.

Naturally, the woman must die in a way that would not implicate him in her demise. He had no intention of giving up the advantageous position he now found himself in, if at all possible. He assumed that it would be wise to limit any connection to Bagdemagus as well, even though any foul deed that happened would be somehow connected to the wizard whether the man was involved or not.

Taking her by the blade, no matter how stealthy the attack, offered too many possibilities for detection. Poison was the logical solution, allowing him to kill the woman from afar.

Would that I might somehow turn this task to my advantage as well. I walk a fine line. How much better to kill the wench and gain the confidence of those who mistrust me...

Now fully engaged in finding his own benefit, Guy's mind snapped into focus, exploring and discarding possibilities. As the beginnings of a plan formed in his mind, his smile returned.

****

Lurking in the shadows, Bagdemagus paused just before revealing himself to his pawn to punish him. In Guy's face, he could see the cunning contemplation that had initially prompted him to ensnare the rogue.

Though still angered by Guy coming here to indulge his desires, Bagdemagus stayed his wrath. His pawn had spent far too much time basking in the opulence of the nobility upon gaining entrance of the castle -- the true source of the wizard's irritation. Seeing the calculating expression on the rogue's face now, he sensed that his message had taken root in Guy at last.

Unseen and unheard, the Spectre That Walks left the room. If Guy did not return to the castle tomorrow and show signs that he worked toward removing the threat of Rebecca, he would deliver his chastisement -- his final chastisement -- then.

Such was the price of utilizing others to fulfill his needs. Rebecca had proven inadequate, her wits stifled by his charm. Guy's mind was intact, but unpredictable. If he proved incapable of executing the task given to him through his skill and wit, he would provide fodder for a cruder method of ending Rebecca's life -- and his own.

For now, there were others that required observation, and tasks that the wizard would trust to none other.

****

John watched Guy stride confidently from the stables toward the castle, every move the man made speaking of arrogance. Though now considered a noble, John had not yet held that position for so long as to overcome his natural aversion to such pomposity. "I do not trust that man."

Turning away from the sight of an especially attractive woman's backside, Eric followed his friend's gaze to Guy. Hazy images of memory formed in his mind from long ago -- the life he'd abandoned when he could no longer abide the restrictions. He dimly remembered another who had done much the same, a man who shared a resemblance with the one now entering the castle. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, "He is likely as trustworthy as any man." With that, he turned back to the woman walking down the path from the castle, disappointed to discover that she was far enough away now that his imagination would serve him as well as reality.

"Do you know him?"

Turning back to John, Eric adopted a dismissive and somewhat confused expression. "Why do you ask that?"

"Something in your expression every time you see him. I see recognition -- and not welcome recognition."

Again shrugging his shoulders, Eric said, "Perhaps, but what does it matter?"

"If you know anything about the man, it could be important. He could be a spy for some Lord, a murderer in our midst, or even belong to him. Have you heard anything about this Guy from any of the women you've bedded? Rumor in the castle already builds regarding his effect upon the servants."

"I'm not worried about what they're talking about," Eric said with a lecherous grin. "Besides, the business of spies and murders belongs to you. I'm just a stablehand."

"You will tell me if you remember anything or hear anything?"

"Yes." The sound of a musical laugh caused Eric to turn and break into a wide smile. "I believe I hear something interesting right now."

Shaking his head, John said, "I sometimes believe your every thought dwells in your trousers."

Before starting off toward the now blushing woman, likely some important merchant's daughter or wife by his best guess, Eric said, "Then I hope to discard my thoughts to the floor beneath her bed soon."

His thoughts consumed by his duties, John could not find the mirth he might once have in his friend's predictable nature. As Eric moved toward his next conquest, John sought out Cedric.

**** 

Guy's face hardened for a moment as he entered the castle. Though Eric only vaguely remembered him -- and didn't truly pay much mind to the memory -- Guy certainly recalled the massive man. As one of those charged with reining in the adventurous young Guy because of his strict adherence to the discipline of the church -- despite his young age -- Eric had been a source of constant irritation.

On the one hand, Guy wondered if Eric might be a useful tool. The man had obviously abandoned the church as he had, and from all appearances now rebelled against everything he'd once stood for. On the other, Guy couldn't help but wonder if it was some ploy of the church to track him down. It was the sort of thing he might have done himself, and he knew the dark underbelly of God's chosen well enough to believe it possible.

Shrugging off the thoughts, Guy returned to his mission this day. He needed to be in place at the right time to take advantage of events set in motion just prior to his final ride to the castle, and that would require moving within the tight inner circle surrounding the young Queen. In the larger scheme of things, Eric was a far less important piece in the game than the two peasant knights the man kept company with.

Within the room provided for him in the castle once more, Guy took up his pen to write a request for audience with Chancellor Benedict. He knew the written request alone would intrigue the shrewd man, as few had the time to learn the skill save the nobility -- and men of the cloth. While he despised the church in principle, he couldn't deny the usefulness of the skills he'd learned under their tutelage.

He formed the words of his request in perfect, flowing script, eagerly anticipating the battle of wits with the opponent he considered his greatest challenge.

****

Though sufficiently convinced that Guy worked toward his assigned task with determined purpose, Bagdemagus could not allow his pawn's dalliance to go unpunished.

The busty chambermaid let out a sigh and shuddered in apparent ecstasy as the wizard's charm touched the sensitive flesh of the chamber maid's thigh, just beyond the dark pelt of curls hiding her sex. The woman's back arched and the musky scent of her arousal reached Bagdemagus as he pulled back his hand to reveal the mark on her fair skin.

Having already attended to those within the Lempe estate and the woman's husband -- only the honey-blonde Rachel remained. With a sweeping gesture of his hand, Bagdemagus ordered Isabelle to rise from the bed where she lay. As the raven-haired woman vacated the bed, Rachel lay down to part her legs wide.

Stepping forward, the wizard stroked his fingers over the woman's abdomen, drawing a shudder and a gasp from her. "My pawn finds this convenient, does he not?" Harsh, whispered words followed the question, culminating in a crackling spark of light from the wizard's finger that caused the woman on the bed to lurch.

Though a minor magic capable of little more than a fascinating display of electricity in most cases, careful direction of the power served Bagdemagus well. Within Rachel's womb, one spark extinguished another -- the spark of life within her unborn child.

Once again, the wizard's charm touched soft female flesh, leaving a permanent mark that her husband would ignore. Should Guy find the opportunity to see any of the three women with their legs parted again, he surely would notice.

Some time would likely pass before such an opportunity would arise, however. The potions given to the heads of the two households would dull the infirmities of age and the maladies affecting both men. For the immediate future, both men would feel twenty years younger and in perfect health. The potions only masked the truth, and the men would burn out as a candle lit from both ends, far before their time.

In the meantime, Guy would find little sexual distraction within the two households. Even once the men wasted away, the marks would provide a constant reminder to Guy of where his priorities should lie -- should he live that long.

As the women dressed, the wizard swept out of the room, and then out the front door. None would remember his presence, or what had transpired during his visit. Every servant and master in the two households was so beholden to greed and lust that it required little power to play with their minds.

Though overcast, the day was especially warm, heralding the approach of Midsummer's Day. Bagdemagus smiled in anticipation, knowing that the fruit of all his labors was so gloriously close to ripening.

****

"Did you learn anything?" John asked.

Shaking his head in irritation, Cedric replied, "Rumors. Legend. If I were to believe all that even the oldest and wisest claim, then we face Satan himself."

Cedric's words trailed off as his eyes focused on the castle above. Following his fellow knight's gaze, John saw the Queen and Rebecca standing on a balcony. After two days of riding from village to village in search of information, it was not difficult to determine that the sight of Rebecca was what stilled Cedric's tongue and stole his breath.

His brow furrowing, John stared at Evelyn, seeing the Queen staring out over the countryside, lost in thought. "I wonder if this is all too much for her?"

Partially snapping out of his trance, Cedric absently responded, "Evie has the strength -- I know it."

Seeing the obvious desire in Cedric's face, John said, "Go to her. Now that you've seen her, you'll be able to think of nothing else until you do."

With a nod, Cedric acknowledged John's words and started toward the castle. John winced, only then realizing he'd failed to mention his suspicion of Guy. Later. I'll watch this Lord Guy until then.

John then followed his fellow knight toward the castle gate.

****

Guy nodded and informed the page, "Please convey my gratitude to His Royal Excellency for granting me audience and ensure him I will arrive promptly at the designated time."

The page nodded and moved briskly away from Guy's door, which the rogue shut with a smile. Benedict had responded quickly, confirming Guy's estimation that the Chancellor would find his request for a meeting most intriguing.

Seeing the peasant-knight John lurking nearby was likewise unsurprising.

With what he would need already awaiting him in a well-protected spot, Guy straightened his clothing and adjusted his sword belt before turning to the door once more. Though the knight looked away upon his emergence, Guy already knew that John watched him in distrust. Suppressing the urge to chuckle, he strode confidently toward the knight. "Sir Knight, if I may have but a moment of your time?"

"What is it?" John asked, a little surprised by Guy's action.

"I have spent time amongst the farms and villages, seeking the means to find the foul wizard that has cast a pall over this land, and I leave even now to continue that quest. Though I must return to seek counsel with His Royal Excellency the Chancellor on the morrow, I feel uneasy remaining idle. Should fortune smile upon me, to whom should I convey any information that I may discover in my journey? As you and your brother knight are charged with this daunting task, I would assume that such word should be brought to you, but I am unfamiliar with the customs of your land."

"If you discover anything, you may bring word to us," John responded dubiously. "Why do you take this task upon yourself?"

"There are treaties and agreements binding our two lands, Sir Knight. The foul deeds befalling Vix will have consequences beyond your borders. I serve Ural in this as much as Vix, and in doing so I serve a noble purpose as well."

Still disbelieving the man's words, John nevertheless answered, "Very well."

"You do not trust me, do you, Sir Knight?"

"I don't know."

"Then perchance I may find opportunity to earn that trust as well. Good day, Sir Knight."

"Good day," John responded as the rogue nodded his head and proceeded toward the castle gate.

The encounter accomplished exactly what Guy had set out to do, putting the knight just far enough off-balance that there was little chance he would follow closely enough to prove troublesome. As he rode away from the castle, Guy's sharp eyes caught sight of the knight watching him, but showing no signs of pursuit.

With much to do, and doubtlessly little time to do so -- considering the limited patience of Bagdemagus -- Guy quickly rode away from the castle.

****

Clad in rags and artfully encrusted in filth, Guy little resembled the same man that had ridden forth from the castle some time earlier. After only a few minutes in the village, the fruit of his carefully sown whisperings was apparent. A poison now coursed through the village, spread from a heart of the superstitious.

Though most ignored the whispers of witch and whore of Lucifer, the clucking tongues aroused just enough suspicion and righteous indignation to serve Guy's purpose. From the roots here, the murmurs would soon enough spread to similarly gullible people in other villages and farms.

Leaving the village center, Guy waited for the right opportunity to approach the outskirts of the village -- and the ramshackle abode of one who dwelt there. The subject of many whispers himself; the man lived a reclusive life, and was deemed mad by most -- with good reason.

Carefully creeping up to the house, Guy recognized the voices of two men within. One belonged to the zealot who lived in the shack, while the other man's tongue wagged to the tune of Guy's coin.

Folding his hands and intently listening from his place of concealment, Guy determined that the rumors concerning the zealot's adulterous wife and her lover were most likely true. Guy could almost see the froth of madness on the man's lips in his words as the discussion continued.

Convinced that the faintest spark could now ignite a bonfire, Guy returned to the village, as unseen in his stealth as the wizard who commanded him. Once more returning to the village center, he observed the local priest attempting to calm his flock. For now, this served Guy's purposes. Should the paranoia spread too quickly and too far, the castle would become a prison, forcing him to take matters into his own hands -- the last course of action he wished to undertake.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 14



While he had little doubt that he could slay the woman without detection, such provided little means to endear himself further to the idealistic nobles of Vix. If it should become necessary to silence the priest and allow the poison to spread unchecked, Guy possessed the knowledge that would allow him to do so. As with so many of God's chosen, the handsome priest had fallen victim to the sins of the flesh -- many times. Only mutual shame for their actions kept the sins of the priest and his lovers silent.

With several avenues of opportunity aborning in the village, Guy left for a stream-fed pool in a nearby woodlet.  After a thorough washing, he would retrieve his mount and await the appointed time for an important meeting.

****

"Well done," Guy congratulated his surrogate after receiving the promising report of the zealot's continuing descent into religious fervor. The man now possessed the means to act at any moment, requiring only a final push to send him over the edge.

"You promised me coin."

"So I did," Guy responded with a smile, producing his purse. "You promised me silence."

"You can trust me to keep quiet. I'm no fool."

Guy held out the coin, prompting his conspirator to reach for it. In that moment of avarice, Guy allowed the dagger in his sleeve to slip into his hand. The weapon had no more than settled in his palm before he utilized it.

As the wide-eyed man sank to his knees, Guy jerked his dagger free with a violent twist and said, "I too am no fool, and I do believe I can rest assured in your silence, now that you have served your purpose." He pushed his victim over backwards to ensure that the man faced the sky.

Guy squatted down and cleaned his blade on a scrap of cloth from his pocket, even as his victim expired with a final, rattling breath. A careful examination revealed only a little blood on his hand, easily removed, thus presenting no need to abandon the cloak he wore to cover his fine clothing.

Guy produced a container crafted from the antler of a deer, removing the wadding closing the broad end. He sprinkled the black powder within the wound liberally, and then stood to step into the lee of a large tree. Careful work sparked a flame on the stub of a candle Guy pulled from yet another pocket, which he shielded from the wind as he carried it back to the body.

He then selected a piece of deadwood from the ground that roughly matched the size of the hole hollowed into the butt of the candle. Once the candle was properly seated, Guy touched it to the wound and quickly stepped back.

He looked back after the smoke cleared to see the wound seared, the clothing surrounding it smoldering. "And so the evil wizard claims another victim with his fell magic."

****

Guy smiled, hearing two chambermaids cease their hushed conversation as he turned the corner. He'd paused for several seconds to listen before revealing his presence, and thus knew that they whispered about Rebecca.

Ah, the predictability of the pious, Guy thought as he passed the two women, hearing them return to their conversation. Knowing that his carefully seeded murmurs were seeping from the village into the castle, Guy proceeded down the hall with a quiet, smug chuckle to his chambers.

Word had already reached the Queen's two peasant knights, and Guy had taken the time to confirm to John that he too had heard the whispers in his travels this day. While few of the servants or other visitors appeared concerned, the Queen's inner circle certainly took the situation seriously.

As he approached his door, Guy saw a woman with a very prominent, hawk-like nose moving toward the stairs. The urge to sigh and smile both struck Guy as he closed his door behind him, shedding his cloak and rapier. In short order, the woman would return from delivering warm milk to Rebecca -- a nightly ritual that provided the only means of rest for the troubled woman.

Ever mindful that even a woman with such unattractive, disturbing features could very well prove useful, Guy had not excluded her from his charms since moving into the castle. That prudent decision had proven wise the moment the hawk-faced serving girl had been ordered to attend to Rebecca's nightly tonic.

Already vocally distrustful of Rebecca amongst her acquaintances in the staff, young Hilda had damned herself to the duty. Disliked by the cook, the matronly monarch of the kitchen had instantly chosen Hilda upon receiving the request to provide Rebecca's sleep aid.

Guy had likewise leapt upon the opportunity.

A stolen kiss and passionate whispers ensured she would find his chambers shortly after completing her duties for the day. Doubtless, she would have mentioned the visit to at least a few of the clucking hens in the castle, and word would quickly spread.

Guy sat awaiting her, his mind awhirl with other possibilities. Hilda presented but one course to facilitate Rebecca's departure from life, as did the hermit in the village. Passing on false revelations discovered in the afterglow of lovemaking to the Queen's inner circle could easily reveal poison in Rebecca's nightly tonic -- regrettably too late to save her from several nights of dosing.

With Hilda's open dislike of the brunette handmaiden offering a reason for the action, and Benedict's expected approval on the morrow, Guy's involvement would offer little opportunity for reproach. Should he choose Hilda as his weapon and play the game well, he might find gain in his necessary servitude to the wizard.

A quiet, hesitant knock snapped Guy from his musings. Shortly thereafter, Guy decided she was more than attractive enough when bent over his bed with her rounded bottom presented to him, her bunched up skirts hiding her face. He smoothed aside the pelt of curls hiding her sex and sank into her with a sigh.

****

Her warm milk and her troubles forgotten in his embrace, Rebecca shuddered and gasped from the power of her climax. Even as the grip of ecstasy tightened around her, Cedric groaned and reached his peak as well.

For long minutes, neither could move as they panted and gasped for breath, lost in the feeling of each other and the nearly simultaneous climax they had just shared. At last, Cedric reluctantly pulled free of her warm embrace to collapse on the bed beside her.

As her passions cooled, the events of the day once more intruded upon Rebecca's bliss. The hateful whispers tenaciously intruded to bring tears to her eyes.

"Rebecca, what is wrong?" Cedric asked, propping up on one elbow and looking at her with concern.

Feeling sullied as memories of the rumors emerging in the castle returned to her, Rebecca self-consciously covered her body as best she could with her arms, hiding her face and fighting against the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. Even the rush of despair could not overwhelm Cedric's loving touch as he kissed her forehead and stroked her cheek.

Looking over at the man who loved her despite the odds, Rebecca summoned up the breath and the courage to speak. "You have heard what they say about me. Perhaps I should go. Even if I am not a danger to the Queen, I sully her by my very presence."

"I will hear nothing of this. I love you. Evelyn loves you. Let any man say such things in my presence and he will know the folly of his words." The fire in Cedric's eyes calmed almost as soon as it appeared. "Rebecca, these are but rumors from a few. We know the truth, and that is all that is important."

"Your words lighten my heart, my love," Rebecca said with a slight smile. She then sighed and said, "Let us not talk of this now. Hold me."

Having already sensed her need, Cedric's arms wrapped around her before she could even complete the request.

****

Benedict drummed his fingers on the desk as Guy finished speaking, staring into the man's eyes and seeking clues to what lay beyond. "As you doubtless know, this is nothing unknown to me."

"At the time I requested this audience, I believe my information would have been of more use, but that is the past," Guy responded with a dismissive gesture. "Such is not the only reason I sought to speak with you, Your Royal Excellency. I believe I may provide a great service, if you will indulge me?"

Benedict answered with only a nod of his head, his eyes still locked with Guy's.

"We cannot know whether the Queen's handmaiden represents a threat to her, but it is evident that the Queen will abide no such accusations in her presence. I believe it is equally evident that any harm befalling her handmaiden would cause the Queen great distress. I thus propose that in lifting the restrictions you have placed upon my movements in the castle, I might provide a blade to defend the woman in question, as well as eyes to observe her for signs of the wizard's treachery."

Though Evelyn knew nothing of the order, Benedict had indeed quietly commanded that none should grant Guy access to the immediate vicinity of the Queen's quarters save when she said otherwise. He considered the noble from Ural and the handmaiden equal threats, for a multitude of reasons. The Queen's acceptance of both vexed him considerably. "What leads you to believe that she is not already protected by her mere proximity to the Queen, or that the Queen's handmaiden is not carefully watched?"

"I have little doubt of your wisdom or prudent action in either, Your Royal Excellency. An additional skilled blade could prove a boon, however. I believe that my lack of familiarity with Rebecca may serve to grant me insight that your spies might otherwise overlook. I have my ways of obtaining information, as well."

Benedict tapped his thumb on the desk, considering Guy's words. While nothing the man had said changed the Chancellor's opinion, the possibility of keeping both Rebecca and the visiting Lord in close proximity was appealing. Guy had proven almost impossible to follow upon leaving the castle, forcing the Chancellor to spread his spies thin, often for little reward. The Queen could also prove troublesome if she discovered that Guy was kept at arm's length by design.

Knowing that the only way of truly discovering the motivations behind Guy's request was to grant it, Benedict said, "I will relax the restrictions upon your movement within the castle. If you discover anything of interest, you will report it directly to me -- no other."

"I pray I may be of assistance, Your Royal Excellency," Guy responded with a bow of his head -- which hid the smile in his eyes.

****

Guy soon discovered that within the proximity of the Queen, nearly every moment was now a council of war. Despite this and struggling with her own emotions, Evelyn still managed to make changes in her Kingdom that Guy knew would eventually congeal into radical change for the land of Vix.

He picked out the men chosen to watch him on Benedict's behalf within seconds of ascending the stairs to the Queen's floor. What they observed, however, was a man doing exactly as he'd told the Chancellor he would -- only the reason differed.

Seeing the conflict bordering on despair in Rebecca's features, Guy wondered if he might perhaps orchestrate something as simple as a suicide for the woman. A fall from one of the castle balconies would fulfill Bagdemagus' command easily enough, though Guy found little in the way of gain for himself.

Still, it was yet another possibility, if the need arose.

As the day wore on, Guy saw the emergence of conviction in the handmaiden's expression. What have we here? He wondered, as Rebecca settled into a calm resolve. The woman was planning something, of that he had no doubt, and he intended to be ready to take advantage of it.

While the Queen, her knights, and her advisors discussed some educated speculation about where the wizard Bagdemagus laired, Rebecca touched her lover's shoulder and quietly said, "I feel a little faint. I think I will go down to the kitchen for some air and something to eat."

Understanding that she might feel uncomfortable about the discussion, Cedric nodded and clasped her hand for the briefest of moments. As Rebecca asked permission to withdraw from the Queen, Guy edged toward the stairs to descend before the handmaiden. He rolled his eyes when the spy chosen to follow him failed to see him lurking in the shadows until it was nearly too late.

The spy managed to move out of view of the staircase, passing on his duty to another who obviously believed he was hidden from Guy and the handmaiden now descending the stairs. While Rebecca took no note of the spy when she scanned her surroundings, Guy had little trouble seeing the man doing his best to observe both of his charges.

When Rebecca hurried off -- in the complete opposite direction of her stated destination -- Guy carefully followed, taking advantage of the lengthening shadows and corners to remain out of sight. He could only hope that the spy following him would do the same. As her movements made her destination plain, Guy hung back and moved to the center of the hall to avoid arousing suspicion amongst the servants now appearing in numbers.

A quick pass by a doorway confirmed Guy's guess when he saw Rebecca entering the stables. He waited long enough for her to enter, and then stepped out the doorway, angling his path to avoid detection from within the structure.

When Rebecca rode out a few minutes later, Guy hurried into the stable. He was pleased to note that the woman had a look of deep contemplation on her face and barely paid any attention to her surroundings as she rode. With practiced skill and speed, he saddled Judas and followed the handmaiden. Shortly thereafter, a glance confirmed that a mounted man followed him as well.

Guy smiled, hoping that one of the many things he'd nudged into motion would collide with the distracted woman this very evening. With a witness in tow, the right situation could provide him with the opportunity to find his own fortune in Rebecca's misfortune as well.

****

Benedict nodded, dismissing his spy with a wave. While Lord Dorr might very well ride to slay the handmaiden, such was of little import to the Chancellor. With both Guy and Rebecca outside the castle and well away from the Queen, they presented no threat worth his time.

Having come to grudgingly respect the Queen's strength, he had little doubt she would endure the death of her handmaiden if it should come to pass. If Guy's stated purpose was true, then he might very well gather useful information from the man.

Standing to adjust his clothing, Benedict prepared to inform the Queen of her handmaiden's stealthy departure.

****

Guy felt a rush of adrenaline as he saw a familiar face lurking near the small church where Rebecca's horse stood tethered. The man was obviously anxious, his head frequently bowed in prayer, lurking just out of sight of the church doors and windows. The hermit from the edge of town appeared to be playing directly into Guy's hands.

The word of Rebecca's arrival had quickly passed through the village, the undercurrent of distrust Guy had fostered lurking in the words and glances of many. Judging the position of the nervous, praying man and the spy following him, Guy moved toward the church to find an advantageous position that would hide him from the one and keep him in full view of the other.

Fighting hard to contain the energy welling up within him, Guy remained still and quiet, awaiting the handmaiden's emergence from the church. As the minutes passed, the internal battle became more difficult by the moment. He was on the verge of orchestrating some sort of minor disturbance that might attract the attention of those within when Rebecca walked out the front door of the church with the priest in tow.

"Go in peace, with the love of God, thy Father," the priest said, taking Rebecca's hand. "Now return to the Queen before night comes upon you."

"Thank you, Father," Rebecca said with a bow of her head.

The sound of a fast running horse caused Guy to turn. Seeing Cedric riding into town, Guy stifled a curse. The knight would surely prove a complication.

"God has no love for the whore of Lucifer!"

Guy turned at the sound of the shout, seeing the priest stumble back in surprise, attempting to pull Rebecca after him. He lost his grip even as Guy sprang into motion and Cedric drew closer, shouting Rebecca's name.

Facing the handmaiden, the zealot brandished a knife and charged, too overcome by his displaced anger at an adulterous wife and his religious zeal to question the decision to kill Rebecca for the good of all God's children.

Guy drew his rapier, the speed of his approach carefully calculated. If his now dead accomplice had truly performed as promised, this opportunity could not be wasted.

Behind the false Lord, Cedric jerked his horse's head upward, prompting the animal to slide to a stop. Even before the animal ceased moving, the knight leapt from his saddle, his sword emerging with a hiss, Rebecca's name a battle cry upon his lips. He knew he could not reach her in time, and the sudden appearance of Guy on the scene did little to lessen his fear. His pulse thundering in his ears, Cedric ran toward the scene of the battle, determined to defy the fates and save his love.

Guy planted his feet and shoved Rebecca in the nick of time. Rather than taking a mortal wound, the zealot's blade drew a line across her arm, narrowly missing Guy's side in the process. The handmaiden bounced off the doorjamb of the church, falling to the ground with a cry of surprise and pain.

Incompetent idiot, Guy thought as he turned on the zealot. He'd meant to take a minor wound in the process of saving Rebecca from the thrust, trusting his accomplice to have done what he was supposed to do. Anyone even remotely competent with a weapon would have struck Guy the glancing blow he'd aimed for.

"The devil is within you! His evil spreads from the whore!" The zealot shouted as he brought his weapon up for another attack, aimed at Guy this time. Flecks of foam decorated the man's lips as he screamed and thrust with the knife.

The years of practice and skill that had saved Guy from any number of attacks now served to once more repel a blow. The careful angling of his weapon not only turned aside the thrust, but also allowed the knife to draw a short line of blood on the back of Guy's hand.

Guy didn't even feel the pain of the cut. Having caused a wound, the zealot no longer served any purpose to Guy. His sword whipped, sending the man's dagger out wide, and then plunging into the zealot's heart.

As the man fell to the earth, Cedric turned in his course to join the battle, dropping to his knees next to Rebecca. John and a small company of arms men rode in to surround the church even as he did so.

"Rebecca!" Cedric gasped, helping her to rise and pressing his hand over her wound, even as he examined her for other injuries.

"Cedric -- oh Cedric," Rebecca sobbed.

"You're hurt, we must return you to the castle immediately." For now, Cedric bit off the whirl of thoughts demanding that he ask why she would leave the castle without protection in light of the rumors circulating through the land. Bunching his muscles, he helped Rebecca to her feet.

"Here, use this to bind her wound," Guy said as he produced a kerchief, stepping toward the couple.

Cedric eyed Guy distrustfully, but accepted the kerchief and did as the rogue had suggested. Guy cleaned his rapier on the dead man's clothing, sheathing the weapon immediately thereafter. Wrapping his own wound in the tail of his shirt, he moved to assist the panting priest to rise. The slight burning sensation in his hand and an odd glisten on the blade of the zealot's knife told Guy that the dead man had followed exactly according to plan.

Stepping toward Cedric and Rebecca once more, Guy said, "We should return quickly. You must persuade the Queen to issue a proclamation of her faith in her handmaiden. She is beloved of the people, and such should quell these foul rumors before another seeks to harm your young woman."




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 14



Cedric turned on Guy, "How is it that you came to be here?"

The spy that had followed Guy sheathed his own weapon as he approached through the ring of guardsmen keeping the curious villagers back. "His Royal Excellency the Chancellor is aware of Lord Dorr's intention to observe the lady. I, in turn, was charged with watching him. He did nothing more than follow until this man attacked."

"I feared for her safety, for the sake of the Queen," Guy lied.

Cedric turned to Guy and nodded with just the slightest evidence of gratitude in his eyes. He then turned back to Rebecca and asked, "Can you ride?"

Wincing and holding the improvised bandage on her arm, Rebecca nodded.

"John, you ride on her opposite side and remain close to ensure she does not fall. We ride quickly, but carefully."

John acknowledged his fellow knight's words with a nod and a clap on the man's shoulder, and then charged one of the men with him to take command of the others, dealing with the unpleasant business of the dead man.

Minutes later, Rebecca sat in her saddle between the two knights, Guy riding behind the trio. The burning in Guy's hand increased slightly, and he felt chills assaulting his body as they rode. Far from concerning the handsome rogue, the sensations threatened to pull the corners of his mouth up into a smile.

****

"C-cedric?" Rebecca gasped as she slumped in the saddle before the castle.

"Rebecca, what is..." Cedric gasped out a curse as the handmaiden's eyes closed and she started to slide from the saddle. With John's help, he managed to lower her safely to the ground.

On weak knees, Guy dismounted Judas and leaned against the animal. "Poison. The man's blade must have been poisoned," he said weakly, feeling the effects of the foul substance coursing through his blood as well. Though chilled to the bone, sweat ran in streams down his body.

"God protect us! Take them both inside, quickly!"

****

"Will they live?" John asked the Chancellor as the man emerged from Rebecca's room.

"I cannot say. Lord Dorr is conscious and breathes steadily."

"Rebecca?"

The Chancellor shook his head. "She grows weaker and her mind wanders."

****

Though the man tending him saw nothing, Guy stiffened when Bagdemagus appeared as if from nowhere next to the bed. He toyed with a charm attached to the chain of his timepiece, spinning it before his eyes, appearing to ignore the groaning man on the bed. Guy could see that the charm represented a stylized B, the silvery letter glittering in the flickering light of the room. Catching up the charm in his opposite hand, the wizard deposited his timepiece into a pocket.

"Well played, Lord Dorr -- if she should succumb to the poison. I suppose you trust your strength or a carefully built up tolerance to the toxin to save your own life. I truly hope that both come to pass, because you have proven yourself quite useful."

The wizard turned on his heel to leave the room, pausing before reaching the door and turning back to Guy. "I trust you will need no reminders to attend to my wishes before your own amusement in the future. I will not be so forgiving of further dalliance, should it happen again."

With that, the wizard exited the room, confident that Guy would recognize his mark on the women in time.

****

"Rebecca, you must be strong," Evelyn said as she watched her handmaiden's life slip away.

"Don't leave me," Cedric pleaded, holding Rebecca's hand tight in his own.

"P-perhaps it... It is better this way," Rebecca responded weakly.

"Please don't say that," Cedric said in a choked voice, a single tear flowing down his cheek.

"I am so cold," Rebecca said, her voice trailing off. She continued to speak in a low voice, but most of the words were jumbled and indecipherable.

"Can you do nothing?" Evelyn asked with a hard stare at the man tending to her handmaiden.

"I will do all I can," the man responded, and although he tried to moderate his tone, Evelyn could hear the doubt in the healer's voice.

Rebecca let out a choked gasp and trembled, her failing strength allowing no more than that in response to the pain coursing through her body. Turning toward Cedric, tears flowing freely from her eyes to mingle with the sheen of sweat that now ceased to flow from her pores, she looked up into his eyes. "I lo-love you. I... So sorry..." Once more her words trailed off as her breathing became ragged.

"I love you, Rebecca. You must hold on." His heart nearly stopped as her head slumped and she ceased to breathe for an agonizing few seconds. "Please," he begged when she once more drew breath.

****

Evelyn emerged from her handmaiden's room, her face a carefully controlled mask. She said not a word, but proceeded immediately to her room. Behind her, the healer emerged and shook his head. He closed the door behind him with a sigh.

Those awaiting news left with a heavy heart, returning to their own places with the knowledge that a day of sadness awaited them on the morrow. Only John remained, determined to show his support when his fellow knight at last emerged.

John waited until Cedric closed the door and leaned heavily against it, his forehead thumping into the wood. Laying his hand on John's shoulder, he said, "There was nothing more you could have done. You can only cherish her memory."

Cedric stood up straight, turning back to John. In his eyes, righteous anger flared as his features stiffened. "I can ensure that the man responsible for her death -- and so many others -- is made to pay for his crimes."

Looking around as if seeking the wizard, he declared, "Hear me now, Bagdemagus, you will fall. Devil or man, you will go to your punishment in Hell. Look into my eyes and see your fate, because it surely lies there."

Feeling the same anger well up within him, John said, "I stand with you. Though it cost us both our lives, we will see the wizard dead."

"Count your days, Bagdemagus, for they are surely numbered," Cedric declared in a low, confident rumble.

****

Unseen some distance down the hall, Bagdemagus scoffed, "I think not."

****

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, despite the dark deeds of those in these pages. Red has crafted a wonderful world, and every author in the chain has contributed amazing characters to walk with hers through it. I'm tickled to add Guy to the mix and live in this world with them. Be sure to read the rest of the chain, because there's an amazing storyline here that you'll miss out on if you don't!

I was pressed for time on this one, so I made some last minute changes after Roust finished editing. Thus, any remaining errors are completely my fault *laugh*

Please take a moment to vote/comment, that's our only payment as free authors. That's what keeps us writing! 



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 15



This story is part of a chain. Although it can be read on its own, parts of it may make more sense when read in order of the chain. However, I highly recommend reading all of the chapters anyway. I hope you enjoy! Please take the time to vote. If you have enjoyed this please recommend these to your friends.





A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 15



If John's voice had been loud enough to warn the mage, the cheer that erupted from the guards could likely be heard from Drest's very homeland. Cedric, with lava for blood, was surprised to discover his voice joined those of the guards as all surged towards the mill.

The party slowed as they passed the apple orchard. John's prediction seemed accurate. There was certainly someone in residence. Equally obvious was that all of the legends of the horrifying mill were false. And none but the wizard could create that bespelled region that forced doubt upon Cedric.

Unfortunately, it was equally obvious that the man wasn't there. Frustrated by another qualified prediction, he kicked the door in. The guards who filed in after, Cedric, and even John and Lord Dorr ~who had apparently hung toward the back of the group through the entire flight~ stood in awe of the variety of tools that covered the room. Potions, ingredients, scrolls, books, and many less identifiable artifacts covered virtually every surface, save the bed.

Once more the molten wrath exploded within Cedric. His sword whipped clear of its sheath and flashed through the space. Glass vials shattered. Wood splintered. Potions began to congeal on the floor as more and more of these evil tools were broken. John ushered everyone else out, but let Cedric vent his frustration and hate. Books shredded and flew from smashed shelves.

One leapt towards a strange box attached to the stripped down inner workings of the mill wheel. The box had two copper dowels in the shape of a "V" and seemed to harness lightning itself. Torn pages floated within the arc and smoldered. When the embers at the corners of the paper hit the caustic sludge that now coated the floor, the fire caught easily.

John's arms wrapped around the smaller man's shoulders and Cedric was ripped from the heart of the instant inferno. Cedric struggled to race back in, as madness consumed him. Within that fire lay release. With that hell as a portal, he could finally join Rebecca in peace, for he knew she resided in heaven. She was innocent! Manipulated and used by magic, her will not her own.

Once safely off the porch, Lord Dorr surged forward with a token assistance to the large knight. Cedric, despite his desires, would not be allowed to die today.

Slowly, John's calm voice whispered subtly into Cedric's consciousness. "You have hurt him this eve, but he is not yet beaten. I cannot defeat him without you." Slowly, the madness receded, once more to be replaced by the banked inferno of rage.

Copyright September 2007, by Deathlynx



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 16



"What in the world is going on with you? Don't you have the decency to at least show up to a funeral of someone the queen holds dear?" Muriel spoke loudly as she barged into his office, highly upset that Benedict had not been there.

"Keep your voice down woman, you are speaking to the chancellor." He rose as he spoke, immediately going to the door and shutting it calmly behind her.

She turned around and looked to him, the fire in her eyes was enough to tell Benedict that she was upset. While he remained calm on the outside this was something that he did not like to see in her. Inside it tore him up, especially since they had shared that brief but tender kiss. But apparently that had not mattered as much to her, not a single word spoken between the two of them since, except perhaps in a professional manner.

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying Benedict?" She faced him, now even more upset, maybe he had gotten lost in his thoughts once more.

"I'm sorry Muriel, I have been a little distracted as of late. There are things that I can not get out of my mind. No matter how hard I try..." He had been about to make a confession, however the fiery redhead interrupted him before he got the chance to finish.

"That's no excuse to miss Rebecca's funeral. Queen Evelyn can use all the support she can get right now. Do you not care for others? Do you not take into consideration how your actions will make them feel?" Muriel was not as loud as she had been, but judging by the tone of her voice she was still just as upset as she had been but a moment before.

At first he opened his mouth as it to speak, but no words came out. Was she so daft that she could not figure it out on her own? Had she not been paying attention to anything he had spoken to her?

Now he was beginning to become upset, were all of his efforts to show her attention and affection in vain? If Benedict could not talk to the woman he was quickly falling for, then who could he talk to? If he had not Muriel then he had no one. An old fool such as Benedict should have known better than to have trusted his heart to a woman.

"I have my reasons. None of them are of consequence to you." Benedict spoke coldly, clasped his hands behind his back and started to walk toward his desk.

Muriel just stood there and stared. The not so young maiden was a bit taken back by his actions. What had changed between them then and now? She clenched her fists as she turned around and looked to him; the goal to keep her temper in check. It wasn't easy, but with the cues that came from the man before her it quickly became easier.

"But they matter to the queen, your queen. She could have used the support of those around her. The least you could have done was shown your loyalty to her." It was about much more than that, however her anger was kept well in check and not revealed.

"I will not acknowledge our queen's fondness for a traitorous whore!" Benedict's hands slammed down firmly into his desk, in the process a few pieces of parchment fell to the floor.

"If the queen has reason to believe that she was charmed then we should trust her words, for if we can not trust her then who can we trust?" Muriel literally screamed at Benedict, upset that the man before her was being so stubborn and pigheaded.

"No woman can be fully trusted my dear Muriel. None!" He turned around to face her, his own cold eyes stared straight into hers.

The woman in front of the chancellor took a few steps back. She could hardly believe what had just been said to her. It was a direct insult, flung right at her from a man she thought cared. Something had apparently happened, the man that had begun to open up to her was now more closed off then ever.

"Do you think men are any better? They call women whores yet when they do the same damn thing it shows off his manliness. I saw the way you looked at her after you kissed me, instead of ignoring you took a moment to hesitate and entertain the thought of leaving me for that whore Vivaine. Do not think I am so stupid not to notice such." She did her best to look at him without any emotion, for she knew if any was shown it would end up being tears of pain and she did not wish to give him the satisfaction of seeing such.

"Now it has been confirmed by none other than yourself my dear, you came here with a hidden agenda and are unable to tell the truth about such." He took a few steps toward her as he spoke, eyes locked on hers as if searching for that which he had just spoken of: the truth.

"What in the hells are you talking about Benedict? I came here to question why you did not attend the funeral. It is the words spewing forth from your very mouth that have caused me to doubt your previous actions. You have no one to blame but yourself!" Muriel stared straight back into his eyes, only on the surface of her mind did she believe what she had just spoken.

She had just flung some serious verbal accusations at this man, something that she had not meant to do. Her heart started to scream to her. Muriel wanted nothing more than to take her words back, to let him know that she had not meant to say them. Her heart desperately ached to be on positive terms, to be able to share another one of those kisses that she shared. But she had messed it up, poor Muriel's heart sank as she realized this. 

Benedict was now taken back by the words that were spoken to him, had he really done such a thing? He was too blind with anger to see that he indeed had, a proud man to be sure. He had been accused of not caring, something that made him even angrier.

He had given his heart to her, let himself open, but worst of all he had become vulnerable because of the wicked temptress in front of him. "How could I have been such a fool?" He spoke to himself in the midst of his thoughts, not realizing those words had been spoken out loud.

"A fool for what Benedict? A fool for trusting your heart to someone? A fool for making me feel as if I was actually wanted and possibly loved? A fool to now have taken your chance to not sleep with that harlot that tried to charm you in a manner similar to that in which the queen's handmaiden was charmed?"

"Enough!" I have had enough of your unjustified accusations!" Benedict yelled at her as he stormed toward the door, he was not going to stand there and take such beratement from anyone.

"I am chancellor. No one, other than the queen herself, may speak to me in such a manner, especially not her handmaiden!" Benedict paused as he got to the door, he then turned around and looked to Muriel for a brief moment.

He could clearly see the hurt in her eyes. It was hard for her to believe what she had just heard. Too stunned to speak, Muriel just stood there with her jaw dropped. So much was going through her mind right now, yet the connection between what made her think and what made the words come out seemed to be broken.

"Do not worry, as queen's handmaiden you will not have the time to see me anymore. Just the thought of that should make you much happier than you are now." He snapped at her as he opened the door, he then stormed out without even making an attempt to look back.

"Benedict..." Muriel cried out after him. The not so young maiden broke into tears and fell to her knees unable to move.

Benedict heard the sounds of not only her knees hitting the hard stone floor but also the sound of her sobs. For the first time in a long time her tears tugged at his heartstrings, a feeling of nausea tugged at his gut. Still he did not turn back. Instead of turning back he just kept going.

Four words whispered from his lips as he did so. "What have I done...?"





A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 16



"I am not so certain that it is the same. He came here acting one way and suddenly changed to act in another." The young woman shook her head and let out a sigh, then continued as she sat down on the edge of her bed.

"I know Rebecca much more intimately then I know Drest. I really know nothing of the man. I know Vivaine even less. For all I know he could have been the one to seduce her." She looked up to Muriel, it was obvious by the look of desperation in her eyes that Evie did not wish to believe her own words.

"Vivaine is not the most chaste of women your majesty. In fact the night of the ball when Benedict and I..." Muriel did not finish the sentence, instead she bowed her head and closed her eyes.

"You and Benedict have grown quite close, have you not?" Evie's voice softened as she spoke. "Yet I can tell that something has happened between the two of you."

Evie looked to Muriel's right as her head lifted and her eyes opened. Before anything else could be said, Muriel turned and took a few steps away from the bed and the queen. The two women were genuinely concerned for one another, each of them not wishing to talk about their own issues.

"On that night I saw the way that she looked at him, as if her eyes were hungry for something that she wanted to have. For a single moment I feared that he would go to her, yet he did not. She appeared angered at this." Muriel paused for a moment and turned to face the queen.

When Evie looked into Muriel's eyes once more she could see they were begging to be understood, begging for the queen to see the reason behind her words. The younger woman was shocked to hear such things, not because of who they pertained to but because of the meaning of them. Was it really possible that the same thing had happened to Rebecca could happen to Drest? Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of this, perhaps there was hope after all.

"If what you are saying is correct, and she is able to charm men, then I have wronged Drest. What if it is too late?" The more Evie thought about it the more it pained her. She had lost so much since she became queen that she desperately hoped recovery was possible.

"Shhh my poppet." Muriel sat on the bed beside Evie, then gently began to stroke her hair. "Speak to him, admit your faults and wrong doings. If he can not forgive you for such then he is as undeserving of your heart as..."

The older woman cradled Evie's head against her chest, as she let out a sigh she kissed the top of Evie's head. It was motherly instinct more than anything. Muriel wanted nothing more than to guide the queen through her pain. There were multiple reasons for this. In part she just wished to forget her own pain, but it seemed to be backfiring, her own pain only made worse.

"You feel for him as I do for Drest. I can hear it in your words and see it in your face." Evie looked up to Muriel. Her soft tone was just as delicate as the situations they both faced.

"He is pompous, arrogant, selfish..." She clenched her teeth and shook her head. "He wants nothing more to do with me and has spoken such. But it is time for you to go to bed my poppet, you have had a long day and need your rest for the morrow."

Muriel carefully rose, Evie let out a soft sigh as she did such. Though she wished to talk more, she knew the older woman was right. As she lay down Muriel covered her with the fine linens on her bed, leaning down much like a loving mother would she kissed the queen on the forehead.

"If such words are true then Benedict is a fool. If he can not see the loving woman, that wishes nothing more than his heart, then he is the biggest fool in Vix." Evie spoke from her heart as Muriel turned and started to leave.

"No my poppet, I was the fool. A fool to think that anyone could love an old maid such as myself." With that said Muriel opened the door and turned her head to say one last thing.

"Goodnight my queen, I shall see you when you rise." As the tear slid down her cheek she closed the door behind her. Muriel hoped that, while her ending would not be happy, the ending for her little poppet would be. 



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 17



Rain fell steadily across the stain glass windows of the gallery. Evie moved quietly through the brightly lit room, her gaze drifting slowly over various paintings of Vix's former leaders. When she came to a portrait of her birth parents she stopped and studied first her mother's face and then her father's. Both wore stern expressions, yet Evie had a feeling that her mother's expression would be softer if she'd not been stuck posing with a man like Richard. She had never met the couple, but from the stories Muriel had shared with her, she knew her mother was not a cruel hearted woman. Her father, she learned was greedy, selfish, and cared only for himself. "I pray I never turn out like you," she whispered to the well-crafted portrait. 

"You won't." 

Evie's pulse quickened. She turned and took in Drest's appearance at the gallery's threshold. "Good day," she greeted him, then moved away from the picture to stand in front of one of the decorated windows. She watched the water flow down it's warbled surface. Her fingers reached out to trace the haphazard pattern as her mind tried to not focus on the man behind her. 

His footsteps echoed through the room as he walked across it's polished floor. Eventually he reached her side and stood quietly beside her. "It seems our plans to ride this afternoon have been stolen from us." 

Evie shrugged her shoulders and sighed softly. "Yes, it has. Perhaps another day."

"Oh, no doubts there. But since we can not ride, then perhaps there is something else we can do?" 

She closed her eyes, pushing away the tempting thoughts that always seemed to assail her whenever Drest was present. Yes, there were many things she'd rather do. Things that he'd made her dream of since the first touch of his skin to hers, and the first kiss, the way he had licked her flesh and teased her body. Yes, those things were a constant on her mind and then 'that woman' would suddenly appear in her thoughts. Viviane. The very idea of the busty mongrel and Drest together, made her stomach twist into knots. Evie shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, then moved away from Drest. 

"Evelyn." 

She stopped, stiffened and waited for him to speak his mind. 

"Will you ever forgive me?" 

Evie bit down on her lower lip. She had been asking herself that same question during the wee hours of her many sleepless nights. "I am trying," she whispered. 

"Are you?" 

She felt him close the distance between them. Her lip trembled as his hand rested on her shoulder. He squeezed it gently and urged her to turn toward him. Evie remained steadfast in her place, refusing to move. 

"Evelyn. I could not help myself with her. I admit this to you. It is something I will always regret. I too am disgusted with my actions, but if you only knew. . .if you knew the power within her touch, then perhaps you would understand better." 

Evelyn swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head. "I do understand power. Rebecca was forced to do things she didn't want to do. Vile acts that no woman would ever desire or want to enjoy. . ." Her words ended in a whisper as she told the lie. 

She knew Rebecca hadn't enjoyed the things she'd done with Bagdemagus, but she knew during those last few days of Rebecca's life, she'd enjoyed secret meetings with Cedric. Evelyn hadn't been privy to the actions themselves, but she was very much aware of what had gone on during those morning hours, afternoon dalliances, and late night interludes. Experienced she was not; living in a village surrounded by women and men that made coin by offering themselves however, left little to the imagination. 

"Are you so sure?" 

Drest's question brought Evie back to the feel of his hand on her shoulder. She felt herself leaning back into him, pressing her back to his chest. His fingers crept up to her neck, the pads of them brushing lazily against the corded muscle and flesh. "Rebecca cared deeply for Cedric. He provided her with hours of pleasure, drove out the nightmares that Bagdemagus had driven into her," Drest whispered against her temple. 

"Do you have nightmares? Of you and Viviane?" Evelyn asked, her voice somewhat breathless as his fingers continued to slide lazily across her skin, pausing to caress circles into the flesh.

"No. I do not. I don't dream of her, nor do I want her. She's been removed from my life. I do not miss her, especially now that I am desiring someone else. . .this time with my own free will." 

Evelyn closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She wanted to believe him. Her desires for him were growing more and more each day, yet to give him all of herself, meant that she would have to trust him. Trust was such a difficult thing to give. Only Cedric and Muriel did she truly trust and even they were kept at a distance, simply because she felt it kept them safer. She'd loved her foster parents. Bagdemagus had killed them. She cared for Rebecca and she too was now dead. Who would be next? 

She pulled herself away and turned to face the man she was falling in love with. Evelyn took a deep breath and forced her emotions down. "Prince Drest, I know that you have helped me with many things. You have aided me in swordplay, archery, and advised me on the ways of politics both when dealing with those in my counsel, but also with Bagdemagus. Benedict alone makes you worthy of a medal," her last statement was said with a soft, though weak smile, "I think it is best that you and your entourage return to Ural." 

Drest's frown told her that he was set on arguing with her. She lifted her hand to cut off any words he thought of offering to her. "I know you feel responsible for me, but you are not. We are not betrothed, nor have you made an offer. . .and no that is not some secret feminine hint for you to. I simply feel that Bagdemagus is my problem and therefore I shall have to thwart him myself." 

"Evelyn. I am not leaving and I will offer for you, but right now is not the right time. There is too much happening, too many unanswered questions, and most of all, you do not yet trust me. Only then will I ask for you to be my wife. On the topic of Bagdemagus; he may be Vix's problem now, but if he succeeds in his plans, what makes you think Ural will not be next to garner his attentions? Or perhaps Wilshire? Taxing? Coral Peak?" 

"Those are small kingdoms; what would he gain from them?" 

Drest shook his head. "What would it matter? To him it would just solidify his strength. Why stop at one keep when you can conquer hundreds?" 

Evelyn frowned. "You are correct. Again you point out to me another reason I am ill fit for this position." 

"Evie," he whispered, stepping into her personal space and placing his hands on either side of her arms, "you are very fit for this position. You just don't want it." 

She looked up at him and knew he spoke the truth. She had never wanted to be Queen. She had always lived as a peasant and had enjoyed it far more than she enjoyed leading the people of Vix. Her shoulders sagged and she lowered her head in shame. "I wish there were another to take my place." 

Drest's fingers moved to her chin and he tipped her face up. "There is no one, but you. Will you ever accept that?"

"I'm trying." 

Drest looked behind her and nodded his head. "The rain has stopped and the sun is peaking out. Perhaps we should practice your archery. Help rebuild the confidence I see growing every time you come closer to hitting my mark." 

She grinned. "I am getting closer." 

"Aye, you are. Are you ready to wager against me, yet?" 

Evelyn laughed. "Am I ready? I am sure Prince Drest that I was the first to offer a small wager." 

"Yes, you were. However your wager was not small. If my memory serves me right, you wanted a night of self-indulgence at that local tavern."

Her lips rose in a wider smile. "And I shall get it. What is it you wish to have from me? Though it is pointless, since you will lose." 

"I ask for nothing. Because I will not lose. There is nothing you offer that would make me forfiet a wager to you. You wager your safety." 

Evelyn's eyes became slanted. She stepped away from him, his arms no longer touched her petite form. "Nothing?" with a raised brow, she turned and sauntered her way out of the room, pausing briefly at the door to look back at him, "that's quite sad, for I was willing to offer you everything." She closed the door and walked back to her room, where a young maid waited to aide her in preparing for whatever desire she wished to indulge in. 

Drest watched her leave. His chest tight as he contemplated her words. He could have asked her to wager anything and when he won, she'd been honor bound to deliver. A simple kiss. A warm embrace. Those things were safe to take from her, but they would have meant holding her. Breathing her in. Touching. Tasting. Possessing her. These things he wanted to do, but knew they would lead to his downfall. He had sworn to himself to remain distant to her. She could have a home in his heart, but she could not own it. 

He left the room, making his way to his own quarters. Once there he took a few minutes to himself to think about the woman he would make his wife. She would be a great leader for Ural. She was a great leader for Vix. Yet, he knew it was not something she longed for. Even if she didn't have to rule Vix, there was still Ural. It was a smaller kingdom, less formal, less invasive when it came to the personal lives of the royals. Her responsibilities would be great, but as the wife of the reigning Prince, she would not have the weight of the people entirely on her shoulders. For the first time since coming to Vix, he too wished she were not the Queen. A knock on his door brought him out of his musings and he rose from the edge of the bed.

"Benedict, what brings you to my humble abode?" Drest said after opening the door and taking in the disheveled appearance of the Chancellor. 

Benedict frowned and pushed his way into the room, shutting the door tightly behind him. "You are a fool and I regret ever taking your words to heart!" 

Drest snickered, but said nothing as he watched the normally well-suited man pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. "That woman! No woman at all, especially that one is worth this!" Benedict spread a fisted palm down his muddied clothes. 

"What did she do?" 

"She... she... she asked me to rescue a damn sow!" 

Drest doubled over. His arms clutched his stomach and his laughter filled the room. Benedict stared at him with dagger filled eyes. "When you are finished. . ." he muttered. 

It took Drest several attempts to stop his chuckling, but eventually he did. He walked over to a closet and produced a worn blanket, which he laid on a chair. "Take a seat. . .and then make this story quick. You are a bit rank." 

Benedict snarled, but did as Drest suggested. Once he was settled on the chair, he tried to look regal, though he too had to admit it was hard when one smelled of pig dung. He cleared his throat and began his tale. 

"I was walking through the village, trying to find something for Muriel. It was you who suggest I give her things... things she'd like, to win her heart." 

Drest stopped him. "No. I suggested you show her a part of yourself that you do not show others." 

"Well, yes, but to do that I needed an opening. A reason to approach her." 

Drest lifted a brow, and then a finger, indicating for Benedict to continue. 

"As I was saying... There I was minding my own business browsing the pitiful wares of the villagers...wishing some gypsies had been in the area, because they often have the most unique oddities available at a small sum." 

"Benedict...the cost isn't what is important." 

"Really?" he asked as if a great secret had suddenly been revealed to him, "but Muriel is nothing but a housekeeper, well... now the Queen's trusted Lady's maid. She has little that is truly her own, most all things, we, the kingdom, have given her and can easily take away." 

Drest growled and rose to his feet. "You are an ass! When are you going to learn she is more than a Lady's maid? Or a housekeeper?!" 

Benedict sighed. "I know; forgive me for my insult." 

"It is not I you keep insulting. But enough... how did you come to rescue the fair pig." 

"I rounded a corner and there she was arguing with an old man." 

"Muriel?" Drest asked. 

"Of course Muriel. She was standing there, her hands on her hips, clenched in fists. Her face was bright red and her body was ramrod straight," he sighed, "she looked magnificent." 

Drest chuckled. "She is a lovely woman." 

"Aye, she is indeed. But we digress. I approached, curious as to what she was doing and somewhat angered she had no escort. Of course, I did escort her home, though I looked like this and it was anything but romantic." 

"I'm sure she was honored to be seen at your side." Drest smirked. 

"She should have been; all of Vix saw me looking like this and I would not do this for just anyone. Not even that girl that calls herself a Queen." Drest formed a clenched fist and Benedict quickly retracted his words with a quick "forgive me". Drest said nothing more and waited for Benedict again to relay his story. 

"I asked her what ailed her and why this man was so deserving of a tongue lashing. It seems there was piglet cowering under a trough, how it got there, is beyond me. But there it was, wedged tight and there was the farmer with a blade about so long." Benedict spread his arms to mark the size of the weapon. "Muriel explained to me that a young girl had been running through the village with the piglet under her arm. She ran smack into the her and the girl fell, Muriel almost did, and the piglet ran away. The farmer was fast on the girl's heels and tumbled to a stop, barely catching himself from toppling into Muriel. I tell you, if that had happened, he would have been beaten for such clumsiness." 

Drest shook his head in amusement. "Benedict... I have training with Evelyn. Please get on with it." 

"The farmer kicked the girl, pulled her up to her feet by her hair and hit her again. He then lifted a crop to inflict more pain on her and Muriel quickly stepped in. She almost got hit too, but the man stopped the descent of the tool and backed off, dragging the mite with him. Muriel however, could not stay out of it and demanded the girl be left alone. The farmer yelled at her, words were exchanged and before she knew it, according to Muriel, the farmer was selling the girl to her. So now Muriel has a village whelp living in this castle! I told her she had best be a silent whelp. But that isn't how I got filthy." 

"The pig Benedict... please!" 

"The girl wanted the damn pig! Muriel found the farmer, who was poking that blade under the trough, trying to stab the thing and drag it out. Another argument and that is where I came in. She begged me to save the wee bugger and I agreed. The farmer refused to go in and get the vile beast out, so I thought of all you had said and decided I would do it. I climbed in, my chest puffed out and told myself, how difficult could it be to rescue the creature. After all I am a man; it is a pig." Benedict rolled his eyes. "The little thing scrambled out, ran between my legs. I twisted and turned, caught myself before falling and then another piglet appeared out of nowhere. It seems the farmer decided to have a bit of sport and opened the gates, allowing a whole mess of piglets out. They were everywhere. I was dodging them and trying hard to keep my eyes on the prize. Before I knew it was wearing sludge, breathing it in... eating it."

Drest laughed hard, once more bellying over as Benedict finished his tale. "I caught the runt and presented him to the little girl. Then like a fool, offered my arm to Muriel...who smiled, but refused me! After all that... she refused ME!" 

"My Lord... look at yourself, breath in your aroma. She's a woman, yes, she's not a Saint! You showed her a part of yourself that you would never have shown another. Rest easy. You've touched her more than you know. Now... please, go wash. I beg of you!" Drest rose from his seat and opened the door to his room. "Trust me... she sees you in a whole new light." 

The door closed on Benedict and Drest chuckled throughout the readying of himself for his archery lessons with Evelyn. By the time he reached her side, she was already notching what looked to be her tenth arrow. The targets, several rounded bales of straw and a few stuffed dummies, were littered with deadly marks. 

"I see you finally arrived," Evie muttered. Drest noticed the annoyed sound of her voice and smirked. 

"Waiting on me with baited breath?" he asked. 

"Hardly. I was sure you had decided to forfeit after all, since you know you will lose to me."

He laughed hard and began to instruct her on how to better her aim. The lessons were ones he cherished. They gave him excuses to touch her, something he enjoyed doing, but something he also knew would bring about his downfall. He closed off his heart, or tried to as she allowed him the liberty of touching her skin. Each caress was well placed and he chastised himself for enjoying it so much. 

"Are you ready?" Evie eventually asked, lowering her bow and staring intently at Drest. 

"Ready?" 

"For our wager. I will better your shot and in the end you will reward me with a visit to the tavern." 

Drest rolled his eyes. "Evelyn. I have been shooting since before you could walk." 

"You are not that much older than I. Just more experienced." 

"Exactly. You only seek to humiliate yourself." 

"It is not I that will be humiliated," she answered back. 

"When I win, then this is over. You'll admit defeat and life will go on as we know it. Correct?" 

"If you win, I will declare you the greatest archer in all of Vix." Evelyn rolled her eyes sarcastically and then bowed low to pay mock homage to the Royal Highness.

Drest sighed, but took his place on the mark. He lifted his weapon and took aim at the target's beaten center. The snap of the string whistled through the air. The arrow flew, quickly becoming lodged in the heart of the straw dummy. Drest stepped back, bowed to Evelyn and watched as she took her place. He enjoyed the way her fingers gripped the arrow as she held it in her curled fingers. His eyes took in the limber way she moved as she lifted the bow and knocked the deadly weapon. He'd never found the sport to be erotic, but as the weeks had progressed and his lessons with Evelyn had continued, he certainly found the appeal to training a female something that all men should consider. 

It was the familiar twang that forced Drest to stop fantasizing about the Queen of Vix. He gaze shot to the mark and his jaw stiffened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lift another arrow, caress it's feathers and then gently draw back to release a second shot. It landed next to her first, which much to his shocked expression still rested nestled against his. "A draw," he muttered, knowing that Evelyn would not be satisfied with such an ending and demand another attempt to best him.

"Dear Prince, your eyesight is not so well," Evelyn stated with a small tilt to her head. 

"Nay, it is a draw." 

"I do believe I am dead center and you are off... just a wee bit." She lifted her fingers to show a hint of space between them. 

Drest shook his head, then turned to walk down the length of the range. He stared long and hard at the target. His hands rested on his hips. He felt Evelyn's eyes on his back. She hadn't walked with him and he knew as he stared at her two arrows, closer to the mark than his, that she had no reason to prove who had won. Her eyesight obviously was much better than his, as was her shot. He shook his head in annoyance, spun on his heel and walked back to her side. "We leave this night after supper. You'll speak of this to no one. If anyone hears of our plans, then you will stay locked in your rooms. No one, not even Muriel will know that you will be gallivanting around the village. Bagdemagus's spies are everywhere." 




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 18



The embers had long since cooled, leaving blackened planks of jagged wood that jutted up from the ground like the ribs of the earth. All that truly remained of the simple wooden shed was the mammoth wheel, turning lazily in the gentle waters. 

He had, at first, been angry. Potions, precious herbs, a lifetime's worth of hoarding the rarest books and scrolls. Mysteries most of the world would never understand were now gone, literally as ashes upon the wind. Oh, yes, there had certainly been anger within the wizard's mind. It had taken some time to let it temper . . . and be transformed.

Upon his mount, Guy Dorr watched as Bagdemagus took a knee in the sooted ruins, touching the scorched earth. The apparently sentimental pose made the rogue frown. This is the man I serve? He thought. A great and deadly wizard, who keeps an entire kingdom on edge . . . yet he is just as human, or nearly so, as I. Returning to his ruined home, as the Queen had to hers . . . Dorr chuckled. There is irony and perhaps even justice in that.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the wizard, moving his hand just above the ashes and coal. What Dorr had first perceived as sentiment now seemed to be something more practical. Bagdemagus was searching for something. Dorr's suspicion was confirmed as Bagdemagus suddenly thrust his hand down through burned and scorched wood, then returned, clutching something small.

Bagdemagus stood and walked back from the remains of his sanctuary, dusting his hands, cleaning the small object he had retrieved: a ring. Dorr saw only a glimpse of the sizable ornamentation before the wizard slipped it within an interior pocket. The rogue said nothing of it as Bagdemagus climbed smoothly into the saddle of his pale horse.

"This changes nothing, you know," the wizard said, gazing to the forest as if he could see through it to the castle beyond. "The fire was merely an inconvenience."

"Of course," responded Dorr. He could not hide the sarcasm in his voice.

Bagdemagus smirked, not looking to his vassal as he pulled on his riding gloves. "Do you truly believe that such a desperate act means anything?" he asked rhetorically. He obviously did not expect an answer. "To be honest, I am a bit impressed with their fortitude and courage. It will make their downfall all the more to savor."

He turned his head, storm-grey eyes boring into Dorr's. "Nothing has changed. In fact, this has only escalated matters. The Midsummer's Day draws nigh. The time for playing games is gone. There will be no more pawns to play with. Only a Queen. And a knight."

Dorr nodded, although he was not entirely convinced. The wizard did, indeed, play a good game with pawns. But when it came down to confronting the most important pieces . . . Dorr was not altogether certain Bagdemagus could hold his own. Perhaps he has spent so much time in the shadows that he falters in the light . . . .

"They think they have struck me a blow," Bagdemagus said as he gathered the reigns of his infernal mount. "I think I should show them that they have done no such thing . . . and that their perceived victory has earned some retribution." With a sharp cry and a digging of his heels, the wizard spurred the pale horse forward.

Dorr took in a breath. I certainly hope so, wizard. I do not intend to go down with the ship, you know. With a brief "Hah!" he followed the wizard into the woods.

***

Clack! Clack! Clack!

The sounds of wood striking wood echoed across the castle's training grounds. A ring of Royal Guardsmen, stripped to the waist in the beating heat of the midday sun, watched as Cedric and Falhurst squared off, attacking and defending, thrusting and parrying, striking and dodging.

"Good! Good!" cried Falhurst with a grin. "Your skill grows like a giant every day!"

"I do not take my duty lightly," replied Cedric, muscled torso gleaming with sweat as he advanced again. He hammered expertly with the wooden training sword, his blows much less clumsy than they had been, those weeks before. Every strike carried with it power and poise. Falhurst found himself on the defensive more often than he would have preferred.

"Just remember," Falhurst said, each word expelled with a puff of breath as he fended off the young knight's blows. "There is more to swordfighting than the sword!" So saying, he ducked beneath a powerful swing, spinning about on one leg as he swept the other out. He caught Cedric by the ankles, and the younger man toppled back, landing with a grunt upon the dirty ground.

Cedric lay stunned a moment, recovering the breath that had been forced from his lungs. He found himself staring at the tip of Falhurst's wooden blade, hovering just an inch from his face.

"You fight well, Cedric," the Captain said. "You just may be the best swordsman in the castle. But you still lack experience." He stepped back, lowering the blade to his side and offering his hand.

Cedric ground his teeth, then gripped his Captain's hand. As soon as he was on his feet, however, he shoved forcefully into Falhurst's chest, bearing the man to the ground and falling with him. His hand planted on the Captain's chest, he held his own wooden blade threateningly, the dull tip just nudging Falhurst's neck. Cedric's face glowed with anger and frustration, his eyes frighteningly fierce.

"I need only get this close," hissed the young knight.

Falhurst glared back. "I am not the wizard," he spat. "And you are out of line."

The fury in Cedric's eyes faded. As if a man coming out of a trance, he eased back, moving his sword away. "I must apologize," he said, offering his hand to the Captain of the Guard.

Falhurst grunted as he was hauled up, and met the knight's admonished gaze. "You fight with your heart like no ten men," the Captain said. "But you must fight with your head, as well."

Cedric took a deep breath, forcing calm to enter his mind. "He will pay," he vowed, yet again. That singular phrase had become nearly a mantra since Rebecca's death.

"Doubtless he will, Sir Cedric," Falhurst said, clasping the younger man's shoulder. "But if you don't temper that fury of yours, it will be by someone else's hand."

Cedric managed to push a smile to his lips as he nodded. "You're a fine teacher, Falhurst."

The Captain grinned. "Come on. I believe I feel an ale calling."

Cedric's smile stretched and grew as it became more honest. "I believe so, too."

***

Eric was alone within the stable when Lord Dorr arrived. He barely glanced up as the man dismounted; just enough to confirm whom it was. Eric's ears caught the sounds as the lord pulled his riding gloves off.

"I'd never have figured you for a stablehand," Lord Dorr said.

Eric's response was quick, as if he had readied it. "And I never figured you for nobility." He remained with his back turned to the man.

Dorr bristled slightly. He had never been a man to be treated casually; briefly, he thought of the dagger at his belt, and how easy it would be to slip it between the giant's ribs. But he restrained himself; Eric's death would serve nothing, after all. "'Twas something I felt necessary to hide from the church elders," he said dismissively. "Not many lords' sons take the path of the cloth."

Eric chuckled as he turned around, lips curled in a knowing smirk. He looked down upon the shorter, slimmer man, wiping his hands with a rag. "That is because none do," he said probingly. "Just as they don't vanish in the midst of the night with the contents of the collection box."

Dorr pursed his lips, cocking his head slightly with a look of haughtiness. "You had best guard your words, Eric. Such baseless accusations could be grounds for imprisonment where I am from."

Eric took a single brave step closer to the rogue. "And just where is that, Guy?" he asked. "Certainly not Ural."

Guy laughed. "Well, obviously not," he said. He huffed, slipping his gloves into his belt, just beside the hilt of his dagger. "To be honest, my family was poor, little more than country royalty. The Great Drought had hit our lands hard. Why else do you think I would have been sent away to a monastery?"

Eric frowned slightly, thinking.

Guy let a small smile escape. "I don't blame you your suspicions, Eric," he said, effecting a non-threatening pose. "I am a stranger to your world, after all. Well, this world, at any rate. I suppose it is only natural you might fear I would reveal your background."

Guy stepped closer and reached up a friendly hand, settling it on Eric's broad shoulder. "Be at ease. I know not why you decided to exchange the life of a translator of heathen works to scrub the flanks of sweaty horses, and to be honest, I don't much care. We both had our reasons for leaving the cloistered life; 'twas not for us. Obviously, we have both found better masters."

Eric mused silently, feeling the entrance of doubt into his suspicions. He nodded without a word.

Guy smiled. "You were ever the insightful giant then, Eric," he said warmly. "I see that has not changed. Perhaps, sometime, we should catch up, you and I."

Eric glanced to Guy's horse. "I'll see that Judas is tended to," he said.

Guy smiled warmly. "I know you will. As ever, you are a trustworthy soul." He turned and headed out of the stable, his smile vanishing instantly. He would have to keep a close eye on Eric now, he knew. For a moment, he considered alerting Bagdemagus . . . but something told him the wizard did not need to know everything.

No, definitely not everything . . . .

***

Who the girl was did not matter. She may not have even had a name so far as Eric was concerned. It was enough that she had gathered up her skirts and lifted her legs high and wide for him. He had rarely been so selfish in his conquests – at the least, he wanted to woo the women he chased enough to make them want him – but on this night, his frustrations needed an outlet. And the comely redhead was more than willing.

He should have made a different choice, he realized, once he had pulled her knickers down and unstrung her bodice. She was busty, and possessed a thick, flame-colored forest of hair about her sex. She reminded him of Viviane almost immediately, which, strangely enough, had aroused him at first. The scullery wench had teased him to hardness with her mouth, then grinned as she lay back in the stable's hay loft. She obviously enjoyed exposing herself as she splayed her legs like those of a cooked chicken.

She – what was her name? Adele? Ada? It didn't really matter – grunted and cooed like a well-groomed whore as Eric thrust away inside her. She came once, then urged him to pull out so that she could taste her own fluid upon him, then propped herself up on knees and elbows, offering her backside. She winced at first at the initial penetration, then growled her pleasure while rocking back against his hard body.

She rutted like a feral creature, allowing herself to be taken, mewling like a cat in heat as Eric thrust into her again and again. He felt her clench, heard her moans as she became awash with pleasure, and finally felt his own rush begin. At the last moment, he slipped from her spasming tunnel and thrust out over her firm, rounded cheeks. His fluid splashed into her hair, across her back, trickled down her thighs.

He fell back onto the bed of straw beside her, taking deep breaths. The cherub-faced redhead relaxed, cooing contentedly, brushing back sticky strands of hair from her face as she smiled.

"You're quite the lover, Eric," she expelled, her face glowing and sweaty. "I have to admit, I was curious . . . ."

Eric stared at the ceiling, noting the warped timbers that made up the roof. The recent rain had made him aware that the stables needed a good shingling. "I am glad to have satisfied your curiosity," he said, almost absently.

The redhead moved closer, letting her hand wander aimlessly across his thickly-muscled chest. "Mayhap . . . in a bit . . . we could have another go?" she asked.

Eric sat up, a suddenly sour taste filling his mouth. He stared out through the hay-door of the loft. "Do you ever wonder about where your life is going?" he asked, mainly of himself. "Why you have chosen to do what you do?"

The scullery maid scoffed. "I serve in the Queen's kitchen," she said. "I consider myself fortuitous enough. I could be sloshing ale in the tavern, or trading myself for pennies."

Eric stood and approached the broad opening of the hay loft door. He looked down upon the darkened courtyard. "I wonder . . . ."

"There are worse things you could be doing, lover," the girl chided, then giggled.

Yes, and I've done them, he thought. Adultery, betraying the church. Sinning, it seems, has become my occupation. He glanced back to the wanton redhead, smiling thinly as she fanned her naked legs in invitation. He pushed away from the opening and approached her. No sense stopping now . . . .

***

They could have gone to the tavern with the other guardsmen who were off duty that evening, but Cedric did not want to overhear any whisperings about Rebecca. He knew there was still talk about 'the Devil's Whore' and to what level her corruption had extended. Mixing that kind of overheard talk with inebriation, Cedric knew, would not be the best of ideas.

So he and Falhurst settled for tapping one of the oak casks in the keep's cellar. Even though it was just the two of them, seated at a tiny table and surrounded by the rank aromas of spilled beer and wine, it was far cheaper than a tavern. Predictably, it took only a couple of pints to unleash the dogs of Cedric's emotion.

". . . care not what it takes, but that man will be dead," the young knight avowed. His eyes were already dark and sullen, studying the scratched and grainy surface of the table. "I will be there when it happens, to see the shock and pain on his face as he suffers against the blade of my sword."

"Temper your rage, Cedric," the Captain cautioned. "Use it. Don't let it use you."

The knight sputtered, then wiped the foam from his mouth. "You didn't lose the woman you love, Falhurst," he said gravely.

The Captain leaned back. "Not to some evil wizard, no," he said. "I lost my wife when she fell from her horse."

Cedric raised his frowning face. "You were married?"

"For a few wonderful years, at least. Deirdre passed . . . it's been almost four years, now. Trust me, the pain fades. It never goes away, but it fades."

Cedric gritted his teeth. "Not until that bastard is in the ground," he growled.

"Aye, I'm sure that will help," responded Falhurst with a sly smile.

"No, burned, first," Cedric continued, as if to himself. He gulped from his flagon. "Then quartered. All while he's alive."

Falhurst chuckled darkly. "You are not a man to cross lightly, I see."

Cedric downed the remainder of his beer and slammed the cup to the table as he lurched to his feet. "I don't feel like waiting," he rumbled, heading to the cellar stairs.

Falhurst was startled, enough that he nearly fell from his chair. As it was, he was several paces behind the knight as the angry young man jogged up the limestone steps and shoved open the doors. "Cedric!" he cried, scrambling to his feet, ignoring the spilled beer that soaked into his tunic. "Where are you going, man?"

"I'm going to exact my revenge!" spouted the knight, now running for the stables. The rains from days before were brewing again; the night sky was dark and obfuscated, with nary a star to be seen. Thunder rumbled distantly, like the approach of an invading army.

"What! How?" yelled Falhurst, trying to keep up. But Cedric was faster, sprinting now, disappearing into the stables. The guards upon the battlements watched with interest, wonder, and some amusement.

"Don't let—" began Falhurst, understanding, now, that Cedric had set himself upon a foolish, impulsive quest. But as he tried to call to the guardsmen at the gate, his words were drowned out by a loud crack of thunder. The startled neighing of horses from within the stable followed instantly.

Damn it! thought Falhurst desperately. It's as if the elements – or fate – are conspiring against me. He reached the stable doors just they burst open. The magnificent sight of the roan mare, studded leather barding covering its front flanks and head, with Cedric mounted within the military saddle above, took him aback.

Like an angel of vengeance, Falhurst thought instantly.

Cedric gathered the reigns in his gloved hands, looked down upon Falhurst. "I go to find the wizard," he said. "Come with me if you wish, but do not try to stop me."

Falhurst watched after the knight as Justice bore its rider to the gates. The guards did not hesitate, turning the wheels to part the broad wooden doors, allowing Sir Cedric to leave. Falhurst cursed under his breath, then spat.

"Damn that boy," he muttered, then ran into the stable for his own steed.

***

Guy Dorr stepped from the shadows behind the stables, watching Falhurst spurring his steed through the gates. He smirked; the wizard certainly has insight, he thought. He knew it would only be a matter of time before that boy grew restless.

He slipped the large ring from his finger, the one Bagdemagus had taken from the ashen remains of his hovel, and held it to his lips. "The trap is sprung. Cedric hunts for you in the village." His whispered words seemed pulled into the ring, for they were barely heard by even his ears.

He waited for a count of nine, then clicked the tiny latch on the side. The top of the ring sprang open, revealing a silvery mist that quickly shot into the sky. Guy watched it disappear, momentarily wondering if the enchantment would truly work.  

I suppose we will see . . . .

***

When Falhurst arrived at the tavern in the village, it was obvious that Cedric had already been and gone. Drunken and half-drunken Royal Guardsmen stood out front, beginning to be pelted by the light mist that preceded a hard rainfall. Many seemed put out, angered, or anxious.

"Where did he go?" roared Falhurst as he reigned in the black mare beneath him.

Several guardsmen came to attention instantly in the presence of their Captain, and saluted. "Do you mean Sir Cedric?" one of them called.

Falhurst expelled air through clenched teeth. "Of course I mean Cedric!" he barked.

"He just about accosted us, Cap'n!" crawled a burly guardsman, swaying slightly. "All but demanding we follow him to hunt the wizard—"

"He asked for volunteers!" corrected another quickly, this one a more lucid man, wiry and tall. He met Falhurst's eye. "The knight, sir, was quite animated. He asked for men to follow him, but he was quite . . . impatient. He took off that way."

Falhurst glanced down the road that lead to the bridge, and steeled himself. He was as superstitious as the next man, but something boded truly evil this night, and he could feel it.

"Captain?"

"Gather the most fit and sober," Falhurst commanded. "Follow to the bridge. Send another to alert Sir John."

The tall guardsman nodded. "Aye, Captain."

"Do it!" barked Falhurst, wondering how quickly he had fallen into the role of the man giving orders, instead of taking them. "And do it quickly!" He then dug his heels and slapped the reigns, spurring his horse forward.

***

Falhurst heard the distinct clash of steel on steel as he neared the bridge. His heart hardened as he drove his mount to the breaking point, intuitively knowing that Cedric – or at least, someone – was in dire peril. His intuition was quickly realized once the hooves of his mount began clacking upon the old and sturdy wooden planks.

Cedric was surrounded, yet his flashing sword and fierce skill kept his attackers at bay. The roan mare lay on her side, midway across the bridge, a good ten paces from the knight. Falhurst took in the black-feathered shafts that littered her body in an instant and judged, from the lack of movement, that Justice had been slain.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 18



But so had a good three of the young knight's attackers. Their bodies lay lifeless upon the bridge, slowly seeping blood onto the aged boards. Cedric's foes were garbed as bandits, in black leather and half-face masks, brandishing crude curved blades. A quartet of them surrounded Cedric on all sides, yet the knight was doing an admirable job of turning and slashing, parrying strikes aimed at him from all directions.

He won't last against them, good as he is, thought Falhurst as he unsheathed his blade. Good thing I am here . . . .

The charge of the midnight-colored horse was all but undetected by the five men battling upon the bridge, until just a moment before Falhurst's strike. The Captain slashed downward as he passed, all but cutting one of the bandits in two with a vicious strike. For a brief moment, Falhurst and Cedric caught the other's eye; that moment was enough to establish a basic strategy.

Taking advantage of the momentary chaos, Cedric ducked and rolled, coming up upon his feet beside the man Falhurst had just cut down. He slammed his boot into the still-twitching man's head, rendering him still, and faced the other three. Meanwhile, Falhurst reached the end of the bridge, turned his mount, and spurred the black horse forward in another deadly charge.

The three brigands pondered their options quickly, casting looks back and forth. With an orchestrated cry, two of them lunged for Cedric while the third turned to meet Falhurst's charge.

It was then that Falhurst saw the object rolling across the bridge, back along the way he had come, a good thirty or so paces away. Over the head of the bandit who was set to receive his charge, Falhurst watched the small keg, spilling thick oil, as it bumped against the far side. The distraction was enough, and the Captain cursed himself for having been caught off-guard . . . just before the bandit's strike came.

Instead of slashing at the man in the saddle, the brigand swung low, clutching his heavy, curved blade in both hands. The black mare howled piteously as its legs were cut down. The heavy bulk of the beast crashed to the bridge amid hideous shrieks of pain, hurling Falhurst from the saddle. He slammed into the wooden flooring of the bridge, mere feet from the dark slick of oil that ran like a stream across the boards.

A flick of steel, the sound of the rush of flame . . . Falhurst turned his head to his left, seeing a shadowed figure within one of the stony alcoves of the bridge. The figure held what looked like a miniature torch, blazing with fire, which illuminated his features. The Captain saw dark eyes, long, thick black hair, and a sneering smile before the match was tossed onto the oil . . . .

Falhurst scrambled back, just as the blaze caught and grew, catching up his sword as he heard the heavy footfalls behind him. He spun about just in time to catch the vile brigand's blow upon his sword, and shoved the man back, responding with skill and confidence. Steel rang off steel as the bandit was beaten back. Behind the Captain, a veritable wall of flame shot to the sky, effectively cutting off reinforcements. Falhurst could feel the heat against his back.

Cedric, meanwhile, had clamored onto the edge of the bridge – upon the same spot from which Bagdemagus, he remembered, had leapt – and was taking advantage of the high ground as his two foes slashed and jabbed. He batted away their blades, then jumped with a flip, landing as if expertly timed. Low in a crouch, he slashed backward, his sword nearly slicing one of his foes in half, just at the waist.

The bandit convulsed, sputtering blood, all strength gone. His sword dropped, as did his body. Cedric allowed himself another grin of victory – he had been enjoying a few of them that night already – and jerked his blade free. Standing, he faced the last of the bandits, his sword extending out toward the man's chest. Drops of blood rolled off the polished, sterling blade.

"Join them, or flee," Cedric said simply.

The last of the bandits hesitated a moment, then huffed and turned tail. Cedric smirked.

"Sir knight!"

Cedric spun about, adopting a practiced, defensive stance, holding his blade in both hands. Across the battlefield which the bridge had become – yet again – the young knight saw Falhurst, held against the body of a taller, darker man, with the blazing bonfire behind them casting them both in shadow. But no shadow could obscure the blade held against Falhurst's throat, nor the evil, maniacal gleam in the eyes of the man who held the knife.

"Bagdemagus," hissed Cedric through clenched teeth. Hatred and desire for vengeance made him take a step.

"Come any closer," the wizard said, grinning above Falhurst. "And your friend dies."

Cedric took another step. "I'll wager his sacrifice against yours," he intoned.

Falhurst's flashed widely. The wizard laughed. "So you would see your friend dead, just for the opportunity to slay me?"

Cedric hesitated a moment, looking to Falhurst. He could plainly see the fear in the Captain's eyes, but also the resignation. Falhurst was a good man; he knew that his role as a Royal Guardsman – and their Captain, no less – meant that certain things were above his own life. As a knight, Cedric's priorities took precedence over Falhurst's, as a matter of course.

But is it right? Cedric wondered. He stopped his methodical charge. I can't expect him to sacrifice himself, just for the sake of my revenge . . . can I?

Falhurst breathed out, obviously thankful for Cedric's pause. He held onto the supernaturally strong arms that held him immobile, waiting for the moment to break free.

"Let him go, wizard," Cedric said at last. "Then it will be just you and I. Man to man."

Bagdemagus laughed. Loud and long, he laughed, to the point that it unsettled even Cedric's fierce determination, making the young man wonder, what is he up to?

The wizard's baleful laugh faded, and he gave sneering look to the young knight. "You should know better by now, Sir Cedric," he said. He reaffirmed his grip upon the blade that was held close to Falhurst's throat. "I do not play fair."

"Cedric!" cried Falhurst. "Behind you!"

Cedric began to whip about, but it was too late. The half-dozen masked men had appeared from the shadows and quickly took their places. Two of them swung lariats above their heads that they hurled just as the Captain's words were shouted. Cedric grunted in anger, fear, and frustration as first his left, then his right arm were lashed. His sword fell from his hand, clattering upon the boards of the bridge. Immediately, he struggled against his bonds, but it was no use.

A third found its way about his neck. Cedric coughed, then gurgled. He found himself stumbling back, and fell to his knees. His eyes blazed with fury, staring upon the wizard who held his friend captive.

"Let . . ." Cedric coughed again as the noose around his neck was jerked. "Let him go."

Bagdemagus considered the man he held against him. He could feel, even smell, the fear radiating off him. The thumb of his hand that held the knife against Falhurst's throat graced the man's chin. "As you wish," he said in a dark voice, then sliced the blade viciously.

"No!" screamed Cedric, watching as blood poured from the gaping slit in Falhurst's throat, as the man fell from Bagdemagus' clutches, hand slapping to his neck. Blood spurted from between tightly-clenched fingers as Falhurst tried to stem the flow. It was a reflexive, and ultimately useless, attempt.

"Falhurst . . . ."

The Captain sputtered as he collapsed, reaching with his remaining hand toward the knight. Cedric could only watch helplessly as his friend died. He stamped his teeth shut, let the image before him burn deeply within his mind, to join the pain he felt for Rebecca . . . to fuel the bonfire of vengeance that existed in place of his heart.

Finally, as Falhurst twitched in his last moments, Cedric lifted his gaze to meet the wizard, outlined against the columns of flame behind him. The image seemed fitting for a man who belonged in hell, Cedric thought.

"Your life is mine," Cedric muttered.

Bagdemagus grinned as he stood over his captive. "No," he said. "Yours is mine, my simple-minded knight." He knelt and cupped Cedric's chin. "For, whether you like it or not, you will deliver Evelyn to me."

"Never," vowed Cedric, spitting.

Bagdemagus wiped his face, then smiled evilly. "You are so predictable, it is pathetic." He stood and addressed the men holding Cedric. "Take him and secure him."

***

John could see the flames as soon as he sped through the castle gates, not waiting for the guardsmen that would follow. His heart palpitated with fear at the thought of the village being on fire, but as the horse's hooves brought him closer, he could see that it was only the bridge. A crowd of villagers had gathered near the foot, forming a line as they passed buckets full of dirt. The women and children filled the buckets from laden carts, and retrieved them when the empty vessels were tossed back.

John dismounted, approaching the fire. It was a vicious one, all right, and if the bridge had not been as sturdy as it was, it would already have burnt to ashes. As it was, the bridge would not be useable until it was repaired, at least not for horses or wagons.

"I'll take the front," John said to the man closest the fire, tossing dirt upon the blaze. He nodded and moved back, giving John room. "Keep them coming as fast as you can!" he roared.

Minutes passed in handfuls as John heaved bucket after bucket of dirt upon the fire. He called Cedric's name now and then, felt anxiety growing as there was no return. Eventually, the flames began to abate, enough to look through them and see the bodies strewn about the bridge. John cursed and hurled the bucket in his hands aside. Carelessly, he leapt through the opening in the flames, ripping his sword free. Sweat streamed down his face from being so close to the fire.

The boards creaked; some of them were obviously weakened, others had fallen to the waters below. John watched his step as he approached the closest body, a chill running down his spine upon recognizing the coat of a Royal Guardsman. He knelt beside the body and grimaced.

"Falhurst," he breathed out, shaking his head. He rose, inspecting the other bodies, noted Cedric's slain horse. But his fellow knight was nowhere to be seen. His eyes followed the dark country road leading away from the bridge. The impulse to give chase, though it had been about half an hour since he was alerted, was powerful. But John did not want to chance taking even a single horse across the bridge.

"Sir John?" called one of the guardsmen, looking more sober now as he approached. A few others had braved the dying flames, and now looked about at the carnage.

"Gather the Captain's body," John ordered. Saints, two captains dead in as many weeks . . . who would want the job now?

"But, what of Sir Cedric?"

John met the eyes of the guardsmen. Their loyalty, their obvious desire to go after the missing knight, was heartwarming. But to let them give chase now would be foolish.

"God willing, he yet lives," John said. "But we have no hope of finding him. It is obvious the wizard took him. Part of another game, no doubt."

"And we simply . . . let the Spectre have him?"

John raised his head as thunder rumbled across the sky. The storm comes, he thought. "For now," said to the guardsman, then marched back along the bridge. "Gather the Captain's body. Everyone return to the castle! There's no more drinking this night."

***

Whether sober or not, every guardsman was placed on alert. The armory was emptied of swords, bows and crossbows, spears and javelins, helmets and leather jerkins. Only a few guardsmen were left in the tower or upon the battlements; since Bagdemagus could come and go as he pleased, for the most part, the bulk of the men were deployed to the keep itself.

Eric jogged from the direction of the loft as John approached on horseback, and gave his friend a weary look. "What is going on? The village is burned?" he asked desperately.

John slipped from the saddle with grim look to his friend. "No. But Falhurst is slain and Cedric taken," he said. "'Tis obviously a ploy by the wizard to weaken us."

Eric's face fell ashen. "What can I do?"

John regarded his friend with narrowed eyes. "What can you do?" he echoed.

The giant frowned. "Yes, I—"

"You know, Eric," John interrupted. "I liked to think that our friendship is strong enough that we know who the other is. But I doubt that, now. I know no more about you than anyone else. I know you had the courage to stand up to the wizard – and wound him, no less – but then you threw in with seductress bitch and slipped back into obscurity. For anyone else, I would have thought that a sign of cowardice."

Eric bristled, setting his jaw. "I am no coward," he said gravely.

John's eyes blazed. "Then prove it," he challenged, and turned on his heel, leaving Eric to tend to his horse.

For a moment, Eric thought about calling out, but remained silent. His eyes followed his friend as Sir John jogged up the steps of the castle keep, Royal Guardsmen falling in behind him. Silently, he gripped the reigns of the horse and lead it back within the stable.

***

"Sir John, my Queen!" shouted the herald as the large doors of the great hall were thrown open. John marched into the room, flanked on either side by rows of armed guardsmen, standing at attention. Peripherally, he caught sight of archers in the balconies, bows and crossbows at the ready. Everyone was on edge; the tension hung like mist in the massive room.

The Queen sat upon her throne, the High Chancellor to one side, the Lord Chamberlain to the other. For the time of night, John had to admit his monarch looked more than suitably impressive. John was suddenly struck by how regal Queen Evelyn had become.

He stopped several feet before the steps of her throne and prostrated himself on one knee, bowing his head. "My Queen."

"Sir Cedric has been kidnapped?" she asked, eschewing formalities.

John lifted his head and met his liege's gaze. "It is my strongest suspicion."

"The boy had no right to go off on his own—" began Benedict sourly.

"Chancellor," said Evelyn in a sharp, but calm voice. "What is done is done. Admonishing my knight for poor decisions will hardly help. Especially if he is dead."

Benedict worked his jaw. "Of course," he said. "Naturally, then, we must find him. I would suggest large, heavily-armed parties—"

"if you would forgive me, Your High Excellency," interrupted the Lord Chamberlain. "But that would hardly be practical. Bagdemagus is no fool; he has hidden himself in a new lair, and apparently has numerous henchmen at his disposal. Sending the Guard out to look for Cedric would only be sending them to their own doom."

Benedict shot the clergyman a harsh look. "Vix will not allow itself to be extorted by any man, wizard or no!" he declared.

"Gentlemen!" barked Evelyn. But just as the echo of her singular word faded in the hall, a subtle laugh, growing steadily, sounded from near the doors. Evelyn gasped as she beheld the appearance of the man from the shadows. To everyone else, save John, the wizard seemed to appear from nowhere, a shimmering force taking shape as he stepped between the rows of guardsmen.

The air was filled with the ringing of steel as blades were hastily drawn. John spun about, looking down a gauntlet of swords toward the smug wizard, automatically whipping his blade free. In the balconies above, bowstrings were pulled taut and crossbows leveled.

"This is a bold move, even for you," commented Evelyn coolly. She held out a cautionary hand, indicating her Guard to remain neutral.

Bagdemagus grinned cockily, then slipped his arm out from beneath his cloak. The sheathed sword sailed through the air, clattering upon the floor before being stopped by Sir John's boot.

"I do not think I need to tell you to whom that sword belongs," he said, evil eyes resting upon Evelyn's. "Nor should I have to say what will happen to him if you do not comply with my every request."

"The Queen bows to no one!" roared John, taking a threatening step forward, leading with his blade.

"Sir John!" cried the Queen, pushing up from her chair. "Take not a single step!"

John stopped instantly, but only due to respect for his queen. For a moment, he understood Cedric's rage, for he could feel the flickers of that same heated anger growing within his own breast. "Only for you, my Queen," he said in a barely controlled voice.

Bagdemagus chuckled, glancing around at the Royal Guardsmen, many of whom held their blades in wavering hands, their eyes filled with awe and fear. Casually, he touched the tip of a finger to a guardsman's blade. "All this flattery is doing wonders for my ego," he remarked. He winked to the Queen. "Not an easy thing to do for one of my age."

"Enough of your taunts, wizard!" shouted Benedict. "Return the boy knight, or die where you stand!"

Bagdemagus smirked, glancing from Benedict to the Queen. No one moved in the room. "You know, you were always a strong man, Benedict. Richard and I had many conversations about you, did you know that?"

Benedict paled slightly. "You won't get to me."

"Enough fancy words, wizard," Evelyn said. She stepped down from the throne, shrugging off Benedict's and the Chamberlain's hands as they tried to restrain her. She stepped up behind Sir John, settled a hand to his shoulder.

"Let me pass," she whispered.

"'Twould not be wise," he responded.

"I will be fine. He cannot kill me . . . yet."

Begrudgingly, John took a step to the side, allowing Evelyn to pass. He kept his eye on the wizard as his Queen approached the vile man. The slightest movement, he told himself, and I will see the bastard dead.

Evelyn stopped a few paces from the wizard, looking up at him boldly. Though she felt fear within every inch of her body, she knew that she could not show it, not before her Guard, not before Benedict and Lord Alistair, and certainly not before Bagdemagus. She was the Queen; her conduct in the presence of the hated enemy of Vix would be crucial.

"I could be a fool," she said. "And still now what you will propose. My life for Cedric's."

Bagdemagus smiled slowly, gazing upon Evelyn with near fondness. "Such an insightful child," he said. "I would almost believe you were mine, and not Richard's."

Evelyn stiffened. "Enough mockeries," she said. Her voice rose swiftly in pitch. "What have you done with Cedric? Tell me!"

The wizard stood impassive before the storm of Evelyn's emotions. "He is alive . . . for the moment," he responded. "But if you do not come to me by sunset on the Midsummer's Day, Cedric will die. And I promise you, his death will be the sort of thing of which only Hellish nightmares are made."

Images of her childhood friend writhing in agony, flesh burned and flayed, filled the Queen's mind, making her wince. Oh, Cedric, she thought. I am so sorry . . . Evelyn gritted her teeth. "No," she said.

Bagdemagus looked truly surprised. He took a step back. "'No?'"

"I think you've misunderstood me, Bagdemagus," Evelyn said, feeling her heart flutter as she turned her back on the man. "I have taken my role as Queen seriously. Though it would haunt me the rest of my days to know that my friend died because of me . . ." She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then spun back around, glaring harshly upon Bagdemagus. "I will do it," she hissed. "To save my people!"

Her words filled the air, a powerful declaration borne from her soul and given strength through conviction. For a moment, the wizard actually flinched. But then, slowly, he laughed once more.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 18



"Enjoy your laugh," Evelyn said, heading back down the aisle toward her throne. Tears formed in her eyes, knowing that the next words she shouted would seal Cedric's fate. "Guard! There is an enemy of Vix in your midst!"

"DO NOT DISMISS ME!" roared the wizard, his words nearly buffering the men around him. "I have been alive for as long as this paltry homestead you call a kingdom has existed! I know every secret hidden within every knot and twist of wood."

Evelyn whirled around, feeling her wits failing. "And that will not save you!"

The wizard's eyes darkened, boring into the Queen's. "What if I told you I will spare your kingdom? I will spare Cedric, and Muriel, and everyone within this castle."

Evelyn sputtered. "I do not make bargains with the Devil," she said.

"Not even if it means maintaining your bloodline?"

Bagdemagus' dark and mysterious words made Evelyn pause. "What trickery do you play now? You need a virgin monarch for your sacrifice, and I am! The bloodline will die with me!"

The ominous chuckle escaped once again the Spectre's lips. "Are you certain of that?" he asked. His eyes darted for a moment, past Evelyn. The Queen felt compelled to follow where they fell, and turned to face John, her knight.

"What madness is this?" asked Benedict loudly. "Guardsmen! You heard your Queen! Slay the devil!"

"NO!" shouted Evelyn, flashing her hands to the air. The Guard, ready to act on Benedict's words, stilled themselves. Evelyn stared at John, who seemed just as perturbed as she by the wizard's words. But there was something in his eyes, and something in Bagdemagus' words, that made her wonder. She thought back, those weeks before, to the night of her birthday celebration, when Rebecca had been nearly killed, and John had confessed that he could see Bagdemagus, even through his magic.

We both have the Sight, Evelyn thought. I, the Queen, and John, bastard grandson of a whore . . . .

A strange sense of calm, of understanding, fell upon her mind. Already, a plan was forming. Slowly, she turned to the wizard, holding her head high as she addressed him.

"Midsummer's Day is in three days' time," she said. "Where shall I meet you?"

Bagdemagus grinned. "I will send word, milady," he said with sarcasm, stepping back. He turned to the door, finding it blocked by crossed spears. He gave bemused looks to the pair of guardsmen who barred his way.

"Let him go," commanded the Queen. "Allow him to leave."

Begrudgingly, the guardsmen raised their spears and pushed open the doors. Bagdemagus did not look back as he stepped through into the pale moonlight and headed down the steps of the keep to his waiting horse.

"Why did you—" began Benedict.

"Chancellor, Chamberlain, meet me in my audience chamber," snapped Evelyn. She shot John a look. "And you, as well," she added in a softer tone.

Sir John nodded, slowly sheathing his sword. "Of course, my Queen."

***

As the darkness of night turned to dawn, there were few awake to hear the scraping of metal upon stone within the loft of the stables. For most, even with the dramatic events of the previous late evening, sleep had come.

But not for Eric.

"I am no coward."

"Then prove it."

The exchange between he and his trusted friend burned through Eric's mind as he cradled the whetstone between his knees. He held the shaft of the stout quarrel firmly while sharpening the broad edges upon the stone.

He lifted the crossbow bolt, inspecting it. In the dim light of his lantern, it glittered as if made of silver. He blew a puff of air upon it, tested the tip and edges with his fingertips. Satisfied that it had been sufficiently sharpened, he dropped the bolt onto the stack of scores of others beside him.

"One cannot guess the workings of the Lord," he remembered a priest telling him, when he was a young boy in the monastery. "One can only hope to recognize the signs of His doing, and act accordingly."

"But how will I know, Father?"

"By following your faith. Never forget that; without faith, we have nothing. We are nothing. Ask yourself this: when God calls upon you at the Time of Reckoning, will you be able to say that you have been a true servant?"

"I will, father."

"Good lad."

Eric let out a deep breath as he recalled the memory. So long ago, it seemed to him. Such an impressionable time, a time to be told anything and made to believe it was the truth. And then two decades of meaningless work, translating obscure texts and tending mass.

He reached behind him, lifted up the heavy axe he had dug up from the storage box he had left in the ground. The blade was rusted, dull, but the weight of the thing made it formidable on its own. With his strength, Eric knew, he could easily cleave a man in half.

He took up the whetstone from between his knees and began dragging across the broad, curved blade. An edge certainly would not hurt, he thought.

"I will, father," he said to himself as he began sharpening the axe.

To be continued . . . . 



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 19



Author's Note: If you are discovering this from the New list, then please be aware that this is a replacement chapter in the chain story "A Royal Sacrifice", filling a hole left when one of the authors in the chain left Lit and took down all her stories. With this chapter, all the missing chapters have been replaced, and the story is once again complete.

Naturally, you'll want to start at the beginning of the story with Chapter 1, and the easiest way to do that is to go to the Chain Story category, then select the letter "A". The stories should be listed there in sequence. If you need any assistance finding the chapters, feel free to contact me and I'll get you an easy list.

Copyright © Darkniciad. If found anywhere except Literotica.com with this note attached, the story is posted without my permission and is likely incomplete and improperly formatted. Please visit Literotica.com and search for Darkniciad to find the authorized version.

****

Cedric regained consciousness yet again.

At first, he lacked the strength to raise his head from his chest, but forced his eyes open with grim determination. What met his eyes was the same sight that had greeted him so many times before, the hazy outline of his own body against the black of the walls and floor.

He remembered the chill of his first few awakenings, but now he knew only pain. The dim illumination prevented him from seeing his wounds with any clarity, but each one burned to remind him of its location. The wizard's magic removed the mortal danger of the wounds he inflicted, but did little to remove the pain.

With effort borne mostly of anger, Cedric raised his head to observe his surroundings. The action caused additional shots of pain through his shoulders, but he clenched his teeth and stared defiantly into the gloom. This time, he did not see the form of the wizard, black on black against the basalt walls. Only the dripping of water in the distance met his ears, instead of the mocking laughter of Bagdemagus.

Cedric silently cursed himself for allowing his anger to overcome his sense of duty. His decision to charge forth and seek the wizard virtually alone had cost the kingdom one of its greatest soldiers, and one of its two knights. He knew that the blow to hope far outweighed the loss of mere men. As a knight, he represented an ideal as much as a warrior.

His actions had fallen far short of that ideal.

Shackled to the cold stone wall with his arms and legs splayed wide, he had virtually no leverage. He also had little strength from the combination of his wounds, lack of food, and water. 

Nevertheless, Cedric tugged at his bonds. The shackles bit into his flesh, but the pain was little more than a fraction of his total agony.

A slight shower of dust from the anchor binding his right wrist to the wall spurred a surge of hope, but his strength then failed. For a time, he hung limp, allowing his anger and determination to build once more. Before he could bunch his muscles to try again, he heard the sound of boots on stone and knew that the wizard had returned once more.

Cedric steeled his will one more time to defy Bagdemagus' attempts to break him. 

****

Guy lay upon the feather-stuffed bed in the room set aside for him in the Gifford home, attempting to discern where to position himself for maximum advantage as he awaited the appointed time when he was to meet with the wizard.

The discovery and burning of the wizard's lair had prompted him to consider throwing in with those arrayed against Bagdemagus. The wizard's greatest power was his mysterious reputation, and the blow struck in that burning could have very well torn away the veil to reveal the man within.

The subsequent capture of Cedric and the death of Falhurst had immediately forced Guy to reconsider that potential course of action, however.

Fortunately, his connections among the nobility had provided ample fodder to satisfy his former benefactors here and on the Lempe estate. While neither man had managed to gain the upper hand over the other, both were now gaining in wealth and influence thanks to Guy's efforts.

Those boons would serve to keep the men distracted for some time to come, and allowed Guy the time necessary to deal with the far more dangerous game of wizards and Queens.

The sudden recovery of the two family patriarchs had proven beneficial for them, but certainly inconvenient for Guy. To maintain his illusions within the castle, circumstances had forced him to give up dalliance with the serving women for the most part. The recovery of Simon and Walter had likewise prevented him from bedding the men's wives. His stop here to provide Simon with opium had proven fruitless, as the man no longer required it. That prevented him from seeking comfort in Rachel's embrace, and she in turn kept him from dallying with Isabel.

Having always found his greatest insight into the games he played after a heated coupling, the situation further rankled Guy and clouded his thinking. The necessary wait grated on Guy's nerves, as he planned to indulge with the first willing wench upon his return to the castle. He needed the clarity of release — propriety be damned.

The sound of the door opening and a flash of movement in his peripheral vision caused Guy to sit up and reach for his sword. The instinctive reaction was yet another reminder that he needed a rut to settle his mind. Fortunately, the source of the opening door appeared to provide that.

Isabel tugged down the bodice of her servant's gown as she approached, freeing her over-ample breasts. "The Lord and Lady entertain in the gardens, and I burn for your touch."

"I must soon return to the castle, I fear," Guy said as he stood.

"Then take me now," Isabel begged in a hot rush of need.

His manhood swelling and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Guy responded, "I ache for you as well, my Isabel."

The buxom brunette all but tore away her clothing and his, and soon moved atop him on the bed.

Guy sighed as her lips wrapped around his cock, taking him deep. Unlike many women, Isabel found this arousing, and performed the act with great skill. Her heavy breasts rested upon his legs as her head bobbed over his organ and she ground her damp sex against him.

Knowing that there would be no time for him to recover if he spent his passion in her mouth, Guy reluctantly pulled her lips from his shaft. She let out a little moan of protest and flicked her tongue over the tip, but gasped in anticipation when his strong arms pulled her toward him.

As she parted her legs over his hips, Guy reached down to wriggle his cock through the thick, dark curls into the moist recesses beyond. Isabel sank down onto his erection with a groan and wasted no time in rocking her hips to stroke him inside her.

Guy grasped her waist and pushed her down onto his cock, her pendulous breasts bouncing off his face with every rock of her hips. He knew the effect that the position had on the woman, which stimulated the center of her pleasure with heated friction. The sound of her gasps, and the almost pained look of ecstasy he saw on her face when her breasts weren't in the way, told him that she would soon reach her peak.

When she slammed her hips back a final time to tremble and gasp in orgasm, he moved his hands to her hips and held them tight. Bouncing his hips upward, he thrust his cock into her tightly clenched depths. Her eyes popped wide open and she emitted an almost feral growl as he pushed her beyond her peak into another realm of pleasure.

Guy only relented when she coughed and nearly lost her breath, slowly raising and lowering his hips to feel her clinging, saturated canal caress his cock as she settled down from her climax. When she regained her breath and again began to rock her hips over his organ, Guy wrapped his arms around her waist and bent one knee to roll them both over.

He settled atop her with his cock still buried inside her, and she immediately parted her legs wider. Now near his own peak, Guy dug his fingers into her thighs and pumped his hips in a merciless assault. Though he usually pulled free before spilling his seed, he had no intention of doing so this time.

Isabel obviously sensed his intentions and let out a gasp of pleased anticipation. She had asked him to fill her before, but he had always erred on the side of caution. The thought quickly spurred her toward another climax as he slammed his stiff cock into her depths.

She came again only a few dozen thrusts later, just as Guy reached his point of no return. He jammed his manhood into her a final time and spewed his semen against the entrance of her womb with a loud growl. The feeling of his seed swelling within her prompted Isabel to let out a long moan which was quickly followed by a stifled squeal as another spike of orgasmic energy shot through her body.

Shortly thereafter, Guy could no longer endure the rhythmic clenching of her walls around his softening organ, and looked down as he pulled free of her. He deeply enjoyed the sight of his cream leaking from a woman's sex, and had no intention of missing the sight — even though he knew that the wizard's magic would prevent his seed from taking root.

Unfortunately, something else caught his eye that caused him to forget all about his pleasure. Somehow, he managed to maintain his composure and utter all the appropriate pleasantries until Isabel left his room.

Guy quickly pulled on his clothing in preparation to leave, the image of the wizard's mark on Isabel's thigh burned into his mind.

Now fully understanding the recovery of the family patriarchs, Guy found himself in an even more difficult position. Nearly every instinct screamed at him that this game was far too dangerous — no matter how invigorating. The very same discovery that prompted his thoughts of flight reminded him that such might not even be possible. He had no idea how far the wizard's reach extended.

The curse that the wizard had placed upon him weighed on Guy's mind as well. While he could not be sure that the wizard had even spoken the truth, he had little doubt now that such was possible. He had no desire to sire children as a legacy, but the loss of the ability to do so still grated upon his nerves.

Only one thing was sure now. His entertainment and escape here was at an end. 

Ignoring the glances and greetings of those he passed, he made his way to the stables. He had a decision to make, and there were no answers here.

****

The doors of the audience chamber closed, sealing those within away from the world. Guardsmen stood before the doors and at the ends of the hall, keeping all the servants, minor functionaries, and random passers-by away.

At least those who walked the world as mortals do.

Evelyn could see that John was uncharacteristically nervous as he stood off to the side while others took their seats. Of course, she knew he had every reason to be.

Benedict's eyes were as hard as flint, his jaw twitching on occasion. Drest shifted from foot to foot, standing behind a chair. The air was thick with tension.

"Thank you all for coming," Evelyn finally said when she decided that the room was as settled as it would ever be.

"Surely you don't intend to accept the black one's offer," Drest asked almost before her voice faded.

"That is what we are here to discuss," she answered. "It is not my fate, but the fate of Vix that brings us here."

"They are one and the same," Drest countered. His voice quavered — barely detectable — but his eyes spoke volumes. In a decision between her and the kingdom, he had already cast his lot.

Evelyn's heart fluttered, seeing the pain in his eyes. Despite their titles and the trials Bagdemagus had heaped upon them, they were but human — with human emotions that couldn't be denied or ignored.

Before the Queen could answer, Benedict's visage grew even harder, and he snapped, "Of course they are, but this foolish girl refuses to accept reality in favor of flights of fancy."

Drest's knuckles turned white from gripping the back of his chair as he slowly turned toward Benedict, his lip curling up to reveal clenched teeth.

Though her own face flushed with anger, the Queen tried to keep the peace and move forward. "I will explain, if you will but give me time, Lord Chancellor."

"I will not." He pounded his fist on the table. "We have had enough of your whims. The wizard would lie dead now, were it not for your word staying our warrior's hands."

"Lord Chancellor, that is enough," Evelyn said, her voice rising.

"Your Queen would like to speak," Drest growled.

"Perhaps she would like to recite us some vapid bit of peasant poetry first, just to set the mood."

Evelyn had endured enough.  This role had been thrust upon her against her will, but she would be Queen, and none would question her. She snapped her gaze to John. "Sir Knight, if you would be so kind, escort Benedict to the dungeons until such time as he rediscovers his lost manners and memory of who is the rightful ruler of this land."

A ripple passed through the room as eyes widened and people gasped. Worried at first, Evie immediately found comfort in the hints of a smile on John's lips, and the open grin that spread across Drest's face.

So stunned and angry that he couldn't even speak, the Chancellor sputtered in his seat, looking from face to face in search of support that didn't arise.

"As you command, Your Majesty," John answered, and crossed the room to where Benedict sat.

"This is preposterous," the Chancellor finally spat out as the knight laid a hand on his shoulder.

Evelyn smoothed out her gown, purposely looking away as she said, "You will either accept my knight's escort, or he will drag you into your stinking dungeon. I care not which, Benedict. Time slips away, and we have no time for your outbursts."

"Lord Chancellor, if you please," John said with just a hint of warning in his voice.

Benedict trembled as he stood — the gravity of Evelyn's command finally sinking in. He walked at the knight's side without a word and left the chamber.

As the dull boom of the door closing echoed through the room, the Queen again addressed those assembled. "As I said, time slips away, and all our fates hang in the balance."

****

Guy rode into the stables of the castle with only minimal fuss from the guards. Having decided that he must stay the course with the wizard, learning of the daring of Bagdemagus in confronting the Queen and all her court in the castle proved his choice wise. The wizard was powerful, and surely, he was on the winning side.

Now, he had to find a way to continue to make himself useful. Guy knew all too well the fate of pawns who had served their purpose.

Once within the castle, he thanked the fates that there was no need at the moment to see the Queen or her inner circle, who would surely still be on edge. The servants were abuzz with the events of the day, allowing him to piece together a reasonable picture while discarding rumors and exaggerations. Learning that the Queen had imprisoned the Chancellor gave him pause. It was either a master stroke that would solidify her power, or a foolish mistake that would hasten her downfall. Only time would tell. 

Either way, Guy knew he had to change his evaluation of the Queen. The woman had a far stronger spine than he had previously given her credit for.

With the possibilities of the servants and toadies now exhausted, he turned his attention to those of power, holed up within the audience chamber. He had devised a reason for his absence prior to leaving the castle to consider his future. Now, he needed to find a way to join in that meeting.

Or better, to hear what was going on without being noticed.

****

With the Chancellor now enjoying the pleasure of his own dank dungeon, John made his way back to the audience chamber to protect Evelyn. Word of Benedict's imprisonment had already swept through the servants like wildfire, and everyone he passed either slipped into silence as he approached or asked if the rumor was true.

Glad to see Evie stand up to the insufferable man, he still wondered if it was the wisest course of action. Of those he had spoken to, about half appeared to believe the Queen's order was the whim of a foolish girl, though they didn't say as much.

His dark ruminations took a turn for the worse upon rounding a corner to see Lord Guy. The man had been noticeably absent during the wizard's intrusion in the castle, which to John, was yet another reason not to trust him. Seeing the man standing so close to the exit of a secret passage sent a warning chill up his spine.

At first, he thought to slip back around the corner in an attempt to find out what Guy was up to, but he could see the man react, and knew that he had already been spotted. Guy gave him a nod, wearing a half grin, and turned down the hall toward the stairs.

John sought the stairs as well, the return of Guy and the danger he believed that represented to Evelyn causing him to take long, quick strides.

****

Benedict certainly regretted his decision to only halfheartedly obey the Queen's order to clean up the dungeons now.

In the reeking darkness lit only by smoking torches, he sat atop the straw-stuffed mattress, trying to forget that it was likely infested with fleas and lice, and reeked from the sweat of an unknown number of terrified prisoners. At the end of the dimly-lit corridor, he could hear the dungeon guards whispering. There was little doubt in his mind that he was the subject of those murmured, indiscernible words.

He had never expected the Queen to oppose him so openly — or dramatically — and that left him at a loss as to what her next move might be. Evelyn had become unpredictable.

If there was one thing Benedict couldn't stand, it was the unpredictable.

The screech and groan of the door opening set his teeth on edge. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn't even heard anyone approaching. Despite the low light in the hall, he had spent enough time in the cell that his eyes required a second to adjust to the increased illumination. When he could see clearly, he recognized Muriel standing with one of the guards behind her.

Benedict stood, dusting his fine pants despite knowing he would burn the garments as soon as he escaped this place, and said, "So, she has come to her senses."

"It would seem so."

He knew immediately from her tone that her answer and his question were completely unrelated.

"What would you have done if anyone spoke to the Queen the way you did?"

Benedict prickled, despite the disconcerting sting of her adopting a tone of rebuke with him. "My place is different than that of others. It is my duty to speak my mind openly and advise without mincing words."

"Is it your duty to be insulting, and to belittle her for being a woman?"

Again stung by her tone, he was at a loss for words, and could only stare.

"I thought you'd changed — at least a little." She sighed.

"Muriel..."

"Think about it. Your duty is to Vix, and to the throne."

"My lady," the soldier behind her said, and then nodded toward the guard station at the end of the hall when she turned to look at him.

"Think about it, Benedict," Muriel finished, and for a moment, her expression drooped into one of profound sadness before hardening into the passive guise she had previously worn.

The door boomed shut, and darkness returned.

****

Guy was nowhere in sight when John arrived at the audience hall once more. Most likely, he'd either been turned away by the guards, or chose not to face that possibility. Drest, however, stood at the opposite end of the hallway, wearing a worried expression.

John wasn't sure how to take that. On the one hand, he believed that the noble had genuine feelings for Evie. If he was worried, John had reason to be worried. On the other, these were political games, and Drest had been playing them since he was old enough to speak.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 19



There was only one way to find out — no matter how little he wanted to return to the political intrigue within the audience hall.

The guards admitted him to nods and murmurs of acknowledgment from those within, as well as a smile from Evelyn. The discussion currently revolved around preparing the defenses of the castle, and dealing with the loss of their commanding officer.

"How much can we depend upon the minor nobles to offer their soldiers in defense of the Kingdom at large, rather than just their own estates?" the Queen asked.

The answers were sparse — and alarmingly non-committal. John could tell immediately that most believed only the Chancellor knew the answer to that question, and that only his intervention could truly spur the nobility.

A knock sounded on the door. John took the initiative, since he hadn't strayed far from the door in the first place. He opened it a crack with his hand resting near his sword.

"Sir, Lord Guy Dorr wishes to bring news."

John scowled. The man was a solid sort, and not one he would have expected the smooth-talking Guy could have swayed. A glance beyond the guardsmen revealed Guy standing there, his expression unreadable.

Having little doubt that he could protect Evelyn if necessary, he seized the opportunity to possibly expose the charming rogue. "Send him in."

"If I may be so bold," Guy said almost as soon as he stepped in the door, "I believe I may have the very information you currently seek."

"And how exactly do you know what we were talking about?" John asked, causing Evelyn to give him a puzzled look, as she was about to speak to Guy.

"My hearing is quite acute, and the discussion rather spirited, good Sir Knight."

"And where exactly have you been?" John continued, ignoring protocol and going on the attack. So far as he was concerned, this was as much a battle as any with swords.

Guy nodded to him. "To my point. I have been upon a mission amongst the people..."

"Given by whom?"

Guy's unflappable expression cracked for a fraction of a second, letting John know that he was wearing on the man. "It is a task I took upon myself. Until I knew the truth of the matter, it was but speculation, and unworthy of bringing before the Queen or Chancellor."

"If he has news for us, let him deliver it," Evelyn finally intervened as both men stared each other down.

Guy turned, flourishing his cape dramatically as he bowed to her. "Thank you, your Majesty. I fear that what I have learned are dark tidings indeed. The commoners are ill-informed and afraid. The wealthy tradesmen prepare either to flee the nation or to treat with whoever should emerge as sovereign of the land. Such, I'm afraid is their nature. None can be depended upon for aid — or even as a moment's impediment."

He paused, mouth open as if to continue, but then closed it and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, may I speak freely and frankly of what I have learned? I fear you may take offense to some of what I feel I must relate."

"Please do. I am no stranger to offense this day."

"Very well. In many quarters — especially amidst the minor nobles of the Kingdom — there is a fear that as a commoner raised to the nobility, you are unfit for the task of rule, and unprepared for the trials that lie before you. The nobility will offer what they must to maintain a visage of fealty, and nothing more."

John bristled, his teeth clenching. He nearly reached for his sword before a subtle gesture and a glance from Evelyn stayed his hand.

She then looked over the others assembled and asked, "Have any of you heard similar things? Though he is not with us, I believe Benedict has already confirmed his own feelings on the matter. It isn't his feelings that prompted me to send him to the dungeon, however. It is the open lack of respect from one charged with overseeing others in exactly that matter, and the interruption that forced my hand. Please, tell me openly and honestly what you have heard."

Even John had to admit that he'd overheard much the same, as those assembled spoke up, their spines stiffened by Guy's shocking statement and the Queen's easy acceptance of it. As little as John trusted the man, he knew that at least these words were true. The only question was what Guy stood to gain by speaking them.

"Then that does indeed answer the question I posed before your arrival, Lord Guy. It must be our own guard here who bear the brunt of responsibility. I suspected as much."

After a moment of contemplation, Evelyn said, "I think it may be wise to hold here for the time being. I will have food and drink brought, and I suggest that you should send word to wives and servants that we will be here for some time."

As the assemblage temporarily dissolved, Evelyn walked up to John. "I know you have a lot to think about. I can see it in your eyes. In time, I will need you here, but for now, please take the time you need. I'll send for you when I must."

"Evelyn, I..." He trailed off, realizing that he did indeed need to come to grips with what was to come. "Thank you."

"Go then, and remember, time is short."

The last was a stark reminder that he had to come to grips with his new role — and quickly.

****

"Guard," Benedict called through the barred window of his cell door. He knew they could hear him, as the acoustics of the dungeon were quite good. He could often hear every whimper or anguished groan before even reaching the bottom of the stairs.

A silhouette blocked the brighter light outside. "What?"

Muriel had convinced him. It was the sting of seeing disappointment in her eyes that had shocked him enough to force him to examine her words, but it was the truth of those words that won the battle. If any other had spoken to the Queen as he had, he would have sent them to rot in this very dungeon without hesitation.

His need to deliver harsh truths to the monarch he served did not extend to insulting his rightful ruler.

Evelyn had even offered him the chance to cease his insults without demanding an apology. Of course, he had spurned that unspoken and undeserved kindness. In the end, it may have been for the good. The Queen was taking decisive action, and now that his anger had cooled, he respected her for it.

"Please send for one who might take my words to the Queen." Benedict was a little surprised by the contriteness he heard in his own voice.

The previous harshness of the guard's voice vanished when he responded, "At once, Chancellor."

The minutes passed, filled with the sound of water dripping and the scurrying of unseen creatures. At last, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and then down the rough stone hall.

"Please open the door," the Queen asked. When it swung open, she said, "You wished to see me, Benedict?"

He knew he probably shouldn't be surprised that she had come instead of sending a servant, but he was. Her Knight, John, stood at her side, his face unreadable.

"My Queen, I wish to apologize for my behavior in the audience hall. I overstepped the bounds of my duties, and offered insult to you, whom I have pledged to serve. I implore you to look past my unforgivable words, because you will need my counsel in the hours to come. Though, my time here has given me pause to realize that I am in need of your patience and temperance as well."

"I ask only for the same respect you would demand of any other," Evelyn said, a smile creeping across her face. "We will reconvene soon. Your counsel is indeed needed, Chancellor. Time is short, and Cedric's fate hangs in the balance along with that of Vix."

****

Another sharp flash of pain wracked Cedric — so overwhelming that he couldn't even think well enough to know where the new wound was. By the time the spike faded, the general burning and throbbing of his body still made it impossible.

"Such heroic nonsense," Bagdemagus said.

Cedric barely heard him over the thunderous sound of his heartbeat in his ears. "Nothing from me," he slurred.

"Nothing, you say? Oh, you are so wrong Sir Cedric," the wizard sneered. "Any information you might provide is but a gift. What I require is your suffering, in exchange for the burning of my lair. You give me that with every moment of agony I inflict."

"Worth it."

"We shall see."

The pain resumed.

****

Hope you've enjoyed the ride, whether you're just reading to see how I filled in the blank left in the story, or you've arrived here after reading the previous chapters in the chain. This was originally supposed to be my chapter in the chain schedule, and circumstances forced me to bow out of the chain at the time. I'm happy to have finally contributed the chapter I promised, if very late and not under the best of circumstances *laugh*

Thanks to Red for the wonderful chain ideas. It's always a joy to participate in the chains and play with the strong, interesting characters she creates.

Please do vote ( only once per story/chapter! Multiple votes will just get removed anyway ) and comments are most welcome. Votes, Comments, and Favorite listings are the bread and butter of a free author.



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 20



A Royal Sacrifice: Chapter 20

By Deathlynx

This is a chapter of a chain...while it can be read on its own, it would probably make a lot more sense if read in sequence with the other chapters...As this is my final chapter for this chain I would like to compliment and thank my fellow authors for a wonderful time in creating this setting...And mostly I would like to thank RedHairedandFriendly for coming up with the inspiration and guiding us along the way...It's been a blast!

John hurried from the room in a mixture or frustration and panic. They had been meeting for the better part of the night, after Benedict had apologized. Not only did they need to worry about the wizard, but her own council still spoke in secret of finding the other heir that Bagdemagus spoke of. If what the Queen and John had begun to suspect was true, then the nobles would be in for a rude awakening if they ever sought out their 'heir'.

He still wasn't sure he trusted Sir Guy, but the rumors of other dissatisfied nobles was certainly true. Of course, that wasn't really news. In truth, Guy hadn't mentioned anything that everyone else didn't know if they'd spent half a moment listening around corners.

And that was something John suspected Guy did an awful lot of. He knew more than the couple of names that he had given. Likely he was even in the middle of it all, stirring up the pot. John wasn't sure if he had his own motivations or if he did it for fun, but either way he would lay better than even money Guy was causing as much trouble as Benedict's stubborn pride, or Bagdemagus' evil plots.

At least Benedict seemed to be sincerely contrite about his verbal assault on the queen. John had been assigned to stand guard when Benedict's plea had come from the dungeons. Ever since The Spectre's appearance in court, and Cedric's kidnapping, he had spent most of his time protecting her.

John didn't mind that he was acting the part of a guard rather than a 'Knight of the Realm'. Few others knew the castle like he did. He was a sneak and he knew it. Heck, he reveled in it. He had spent the evening inside an alcove, watching the queen, unbeknownst to all but she and Drest. Had something untoward happened, he could have sprung into action at a moment's notice and had the offender at knifepoint before his presence was even disclosed.

When John had been needed for the meeting, Drest had left and simply waited in the hall for him to appear from hiding. Even the queen and Drest, who knew of some of the secret guard stations, did not know where most of them came out. What they did not know could not be used against them. John intended to show Evelyn a few of the best, and most secret, escape passages, but there simply hadn't been time.

Now there was less than twelve hours left to Badgemagus' deadline.

John stopped in the middle of the hallway and took a deep breath. He needed to relax a little. He needed to calm down and clear his head. And he knew just the place. He had been going there ever since he first started at the castle. Granted, as a stable hand he rarely had to 'clear his head', but he often needed to calm down much worse than he did now.

A quick trip down the stairs was all it would take. With all of the excitement and worry recently, John hadn't spent a single moment in his quite, secluded, spot. In all honesty, it had probably been months, if not half a year or more. If it hadn't been for Benedict's surprise trip to the dungeons, he wouldn't have thought of it even now, most likely.

It was at the ground floor that John realized he was being followed. He wasn't too worried, however, as he instantly recognized the man. Unfortunately the intrusion annoyed him. Of all of the people in the castle, the only he less wanted to encounter at that moment was Guy; and he had been brought into the planning session with the queen. In fact, that was the reason he'd excused himself. More than likely, it would break up soon anyway. There was only so much they could do to plan when they had no idea of Bagdemagus' plans.

John hurried down the stairs and was pleased to note that his pursuit lagged behind. If he could just get to the secret door before the other reached the dungeons, he would effectively vanish. He suspected that some of The Specter's abilities at obfuscation had as much to do with his knowledge of the castle as with magic. After all, he usually managed to slip in and out even when Evie and John were watching, and his magic had negligible effects on them at best.

John hurried past the cell where Benedict had spent his limited time and turned left into the open second cell from the end.

"John!" He flinched and cursed his luck. Because of the way sounds echoed in the stone prison, he couldn't tell if Eric had reached the bottom of the stairs before he entered the cell or not. Eric was craftily silent as John weighed his options and risks. There was a risk that the well concealed door would be heard in the strange acoustics. There was the risk he'd been seen going into the cell. And there was the risk that he would not get the peace and quiet he had sought down here.

In the end John wheeled back around the door. He leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms and simply glared at the giant that used to be his best friend. It was vaguely childish, and unbecoming of a knight of the realm, to force the other man to come to him and explain the intrusion, without so much as a word of acknowledgement. John needed the time, however, to figure out his explanation for the trek.

"John? John, I've...I don't know what to say..." John wasn't going to help him one bit. Eric had shunned him and practically turned on him, and why? Because of a woman who had obviously done something to their minds? He obviously knew something about Guy and kept that to himself when not only John mistrusted the man, but the fate of the kingdom was at stake.

Before he could get out the accusations, however, Eric swung his head around at the empty cells. "What are you doing down here anyway?"

"I come down here for my sanity!" John sputtered, but finally came up with a plausible excuse. "What do you think I'm doing down here? Making sure that his lord-high-chamber-pot didn't leave anything precious down here." Eric just nodded, seemingly content with the answer. "You were saying?"

Eric opened his mouth to reply, but the words that stretched down the hall weren't his. "Sir John? Sir John!" John grumbled inarticulately as he brusquely pushed his way past Eric. His peace was well and truly broken as he looked at the guard standing at the foot of the stairs. "Sir John, there is someone at the gate that wishes to speak with you."

"Well, for heaven's sake, why did you not just bring them with you!?"

The guard looked rather embarrassed. "Well, sir, she refused to go farther than the front hall. Said something about protocol and a lady needing a proper escort about the keep."

John rolled his eyes but simple nodded for the guard to lead him back up the stairs. He hadn't forgotten about Eric. In fact, he was rather relieved that something had come up to forestall the discussion. For all he cared, it could be stalled until time ended. That wasn't entirely true. He still mourned the loss of their friendship. And he was fairly certain that Eric had been trying to apologize for it, but the words never seemed to come out. Hopefully there would be time after the mess with the wizard was handled.

Unnoticed by the two headed for the front hall, Eric slipped into the cell John had vacated and glanced around. He hadn't entirely bought the story about Benedict's internment. After all, the hinges on this door were not suitably used. Even if the man had only had one visitor, that meant it had been opened four times. This had only been opened once in a good long time.

He slipped inside the cell, his hands ran negligently across the walls, and quickly found his friend's real purpose. There was a secret passage. Eric knew of some of them, but also that John knew of far more than he. It wasn't a surprise to discover another. Methodically, he traced the doorway and went about working to discover the release.





A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 21



Muriel was floored by what she had learned, seeing Lynzie had been strange enough but hearing her revelation was another thing entirely. She decided to leave Evie with Grams. The older woman had told her to go find something to distract herself, perhaps find someone she cared about and spend some time with them. It was her own little way of meddling, something she wasn't afraid to do with those that she cared for.

She wasn't paying attention to where she was walking, didn't notice that she had taken a few turns that would lead her to where someone was thinking about her. She wanted to tell someone, but at the same time she knew it was not her place at all to do so. She walked slowly down the castle corridors with that dilemma in the front of her mind.

The path she walked led her straight to his door, a door that she had seen a few times when cleaning. She had not been there in so long, to her it felt like forever as she began to stare at the door. She was not even sure if he was there. He had been gone, away with John, so more than likely he had not arrived yet.

"Muriel!" An excited call was heard from behind the woman, a warm smile on the face of a man who normally wore no smile at all. "I was hoping to see you again." Benedict's voice turned soft and sweet as he walked up behind her. The woman stood at the door, turned around and looked to him with a smile.

"I did not mean to, I was just walking, I ended up here..." Muriel started rambling, however she was hushed by the man before her as he placed a soft and gentle finger across her lips.

"I wish to speak to you, if you are comfortable enough we can go into my room and speak in there." Benedict looked to her with a smile, the smile only grew when he saw her nod in agreement.

She could feel his hand brush against her side as he reached past her. With her bodice on she could not feel much but just enough to know that it had been done. The whole time the two looked into each other's eyes, even as the door behind her opened neither shifted their focus. But when she took a step back he took a step forward, her entering his room and him following her. He wanted nothing more than to be close to her.

"You seem distracted my dear. Is there anything that I can do to help?" He spoke as he closed the door behind them. Muriel's attention remained riveted on him even while he completed such a simple action.

At first she did not seem to hear him, which was made clear by her silence. A little worried he looked into her eyes, a soft hand placed upon her cheek as she looked down to the floor. As she closed her eyes the caress began, his thumb softly rubbing circles against her milky soft skin. It was the type of behavior that one would not expect from a hardened man like Benedict, but something that got her to look up to him with a sweet smile newly formed on her lips.

"There is something on my mind, but I just can not speak of it. It is not because I do not trust you, it is just not my place..." Her words were interrupted, once more his hand raising before a single finger was felt gently across her lips while at the same time the caress of her cheek continued.

"You have given me much more than I needed to know. If you say that you can not speak of it I trust you my dear." Benedict spoke softly, an actual smile crossed his lips as he looked into her eyes.

He had only done this once before, so there was a moment of anxiety. Benedict couldn't help but to be nervous, only one other woman had this effect on him and she was now gone. Before him was a fiery redhead, one that caused him to do things that he normally would not do, one that caused him to feel things he had long since forgotten.

But before the man could act, the woman did. Muriel knew just what it was that he wanted and it was the same thing that she did as well. Reaching up she softly clasped his wrist, she had to pull his finger from her lips before she could do that which she wanted to do. She leaned forward, her lips softly pressed against his, her head tilted slightly so that their noses wouldn't bump together.

His soft moan was heard loud and clear, Muriel blushing slightly at the sound. Even though she was wearing a bodice she could feel his arms snake around her, not only holding her but pulling her closer so that their bodies were practically pressed together. Mouths opened as the kiss continued, passion became a major part of the kiss though it remained as gentle as Benedict could keep it, considering his building lust.

He did not stop looking at her. Even with her eyes closed he continued to watch her. Despite the way he had acted in the past, she was still willing to give this to him; a treasure that he would not likely forget soon. Still it left the man wanting more, left her wanting more as well despite her inexperience. But who was going to make the move to bring the kiss to the next level? Neither of them would know until it actually happened.

It ended up being a joint effort. The tips of their tongues met where their lips entwined with one another. Benedict's moan was louder, however in the very back of Muriel's throat a soft sound that mimicked his, formed and escaped into the kiss. His arms around her tightened, the woman now brought as close to him as possible. It was then that her hands came to rest on his shoulders. The kiss brought them closer than they ever had been before.

The two of them spent what seemed to be an eternity sharing this moment; the most perfect piece of time between the two of them to date. Neither of them wanted to see it end, however it had to as breathing was required for both of them. The end of the kiss was a process in itself; a slow one that reflected on their desire to keep the kiss going. Tongues stopped dancing, retreated into their own mouths. Next their mouths closed, but still their lips remained pressed together for a few moments longer. Finally a series of small pecks, but the pecks ended as Benedict loosened his grip and just watched her and the expression on her face.

Muriel took a moment to gather her wits, and to recover from the heart pounding experience of the kiss. She finally opened her eyes and looked into his. The look in her eyes spoke of joy, the same joy that Benedict felt at that very moment. Her hands did not drop but remained rested upon his shoulders. She felt safe in his arms, safe pressed against him. Forgotten was whatever had been distracting her, only to be replaced with her feelings of fondness for the chancellor once more.

"Muriel, there is something I have been wanting to tell you for quite some time." Benedict's grip around her then loosened, his hands slid to her waist as he continued to look into her eyes.

"Whatever it is Benedict I am sure it is unimportant. I can not imagine much needing to be said right now." Her hands slid down his shoulders, her hands now taking a rest against the crook of his elbows.

"No Muriel, this needs to be said. If I did not tell you now I would be lieing to you and I can not continue to lie to you or myself for any longer." He looked into her eyes apologetically, as he kept his grip he slowly took steps back to lead her toward his bed.

"If it is to apologize you need not do that. But if you have lied to me..." Her heart sunk as she thought of it, automatically she allowed herself to think the worst.

"Sit down my dear, sit down." He whispered softly to her as he turned the two of them around, which allowed her to sit down on his bed.

He then knelt before her, placed a hand on each knee and looked up and into her eyes. This was not easy for him, he had something he wanted to say but was afraid to say it. Muriel could tell by the look in his eyes that this wasn't easy, which made her wonder so much more what it was. It did not occur to her that he was about to confess to something she secretly hoped for, then again she had never allowed herself so close to a man and was not fully sure how to read them.

"Muriel..." Benedict took a deep breath, his eyes stared directly into hers. "I am falling for you, hard and fast. I find myself changing, wanting to do anything necessary to keep you. I do not care what it is, anything I need to do in order for you to love me back I will do. No matter how hard it will be because I want nothing more than to be with you and to show you just how much I do love you." He spoke rather quickly, not realizing that he was rambling as he spoke.

Her eyes went wide as she looked to him still on his knees before her, incredibly surprised in the short time since they had spoken that he would feel such a thing. She did not think herself worthy, nor did she think that he would ever be capable of feeling such. Her heart fluttered as she sat there, unable to think of what she could say to that. Coming from a man like Benedict nothing she thought of could do such a confession justice.

Muriel let out a sigh, closed her eyes and bowed her head, which left Benedict to wonder what he had done wrong. He looked up to her, desperate to hear the words start to flow from her lips. His thoughts started to get carried away with him. He could not help but to think that she was going to reject him. That feeling made his heart sink, almost enough to make him regret confessing to her.

"Muriel, please. Say anything, anything at all." Gently the older man reached up, carefully placed his hand upon her chin to lift her gaze and get Muriel to look him in the eyes. "I do not care if you reject me, I do but I would rather hear that then silence between us. I need to know where I stand, I can not bare it any longer my love."

"Benedict..." Muriel spoke softly, almost pleading with him for something as she looked to him but avoided looking him directly in his eyes. "I have always been alone, never known anything about love. I have waited for so long, waited for years to have the chance to feel the way you say you do. I am not saying no, I am simply saying that I do not know how love feels." She hoped he would understand, but judging by the way his hand dropped from her chin and the way that he bowed his head he was disappointed.

"I see." Benedict then stood up, looked down to her and sighed. "I shall leave you be then and push my feelings aside." It hurt him to say this, however as far as he could tell it needed to be done.

"NO!" Muriel's voice raised as she, too, stood up, almost angry that he would think of doing such a thing. "Please do not do that Benedict, I am begging you."

That definitely got his attention, once more his gaze sought to look into her eyes. She was slightly angry, he had seen as much before, though this time it was different. It seemed to hurt her that he would consider doing such, that he would take such a chance away from her. Was it possible that she did feel something for him? The very thought made his heart flutter with excitement.

"I do not know how to describe what I feel, nor do I know how to show you what I feel. There is something there. Every time I see you my heart flutters and my mind begins to wander. I am begging you. Please do not take that away from me. It could be love, but I have never felt love. All I know is that when I see you like this, and see you as you are now, that I feel this intense feeling that I have never felt before." Muriel spoke in her normal tone, her mouth opened as if to say more but Benedict got the message and was not about to let the moment go to waste.

His head tilted in and once more his lips pressed against hers, his arms gently placed upon her hips while her hands found their way to rest upon his shoulders. The kiss started out as a nice and sweet kiss, nothing but their lips massaging the other's. But quickly it turned into a kiss of passion, a loving kiss that spoke of their feelings for one another. The two of them shivered in one another's arms. The sparks flew and excited them both.

"Please Muriel, let me show you how I feel. Let me make you feel the way you make me feel with just a simple kiss. I want you to let me give you myself completely, I want to be yours and I want you to be mine." He spoke after breaking the kiss, wanting so much to please her.

"Benedict, are you asking me to share myself with you or are you asking me to give you my hand?" Muriel was a little bit confused, two implications to his words.

"I guess I am asking you for a little of both." He smiled and then chuckled softly. "But you come first my dear, if at any point you feel uncomfortable then you have but to say so and I will stop. If I do not then may the gods strike me down where I lay." He was deadly serious about that part. He could only hope that she would trust him.

As her eyes went wide, he pulled her closer. The move allowed him to reach his hands behind her. That put them in a position to be able to undo her bodice, the thought of that alone started the process of making the man excited. But no move was made yet, there was no way he was going to risk anything with her. If she was not ready then she was not ready, but he hoped to be able to at least show her how much she meant to him.

"If you wish me to be yours than I shall. Perhaps if we..." Muriel looked down and blushed a little, taking a slight pause before she continued to speak. "Maybe then I'll discover just what this is that I feel for you. I want to give myself to you as I have no other man." She looked up to him with a smile, a little nervous but her words honest.

Those last words surprised Benedict, he knew that she had not married before but until now he had no idea that she was still a maid. This made even Benedict nervous, for he had never been with someone untouched before. His previous love, many years ago, had lain with another man and it was something he had never held against her though perhaps he should have. At the same time this made him smile, mostly because this meant that in all senses of the words she would truly be his and his alone.





A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 22



(Author's note: This is the penultimate chapter of A Royal Sacrifice, in which all the deeds and misdeeds committed by the evil wizard Bagdemagus lead up to a thunderous conclusion. I hope you have enjoyed this tale of medieval heroism, heartbreak, lust and love. I have truly enjoyed working with Redhairedandfriendly, Deathlynx and MrsDeathlynx, Maharat, Darkniciad, and Talynnda on this chain. It has been a fun ride.)

***

The shadows sent chills through the Queen's body. Although the air was humid and warm on the eve of Midsummer's Day, Evelyn felt as if she were strolling through mountain corridors in the dead of winter. Her robes and shawl were not enough to stave off the cold, for it radiated from within.

I am the world's most ridiculous fool, she thought. To think, all this time, though raised by a loving family, it was always a heartless wizard who conducted my life as if he were my parent. Was I sent away to the village because I had been born a girl, when King Richard desired a boy? No . . . I was sent away to deny any chance I may have of growing up within the bounds of royalty, of earning a true education.

The Queen stepped into the throne room, trying to ignore the sentries posted at every doorway and in the balconies. Heavy eyes drifted toward the elevated throne. The previous few days had been filled with despair, anger, anxiety and pain; yet now, Evelyn felt little, if anything. Numbness blanketed her heart.

Every event of my life, she thought morosely. Choreographed for the sake of Bagdemagus' evil plan. A plan that hinges upon my morality. Save Cedric, and I sacrifice a kingdom. Sacrifice him, and I doom my soul.

She sighed, looking down at her feet. Curse me for having been raised by those pure of heart . . . .

"Your father used to do the same, when something vexed him," came Benedict's resonant voice.

Evelyn was not startled by the High Chancellor's voice, though she had certainly not expected his presence. She allowed herself a small smile as she glanced in the direction from which his words had come. Benedict was dressed as was she, his own robes hanging from still-strong shoulders.

"There were many times when I would find him strolling the halls like a ghost, musing over something or another," he continued, stepping forward from the main entrance, hands behind his back. "Sometimes, I could tell when he had been seen by the Spectre. Others . . . well, he had much on his mind, as King."

"So what is your excuse?" asked Evelyn.

Benedict shrugged. "Insomnia," he offered casually.

A sly smile tugged the corners of the Queen's mouth. "Even now?"

Benedict blushed like a schoolboy. Indeed, the sweet essence of having made love with Muriel lingered in his senses. For a moment, his eyes dipped, mouth twitching as he struggled to hide his boyish excitement, to no avail. "Yes," he said at last, with a small laugh. "Even now."

Evelyn allowed herself a vicarious moment. "At least there will be one happy end to this fairy tale," she remarked.

Benedict frowned. "Conceding to the wizard, are you? After all that fire you've displayed?"

Evelyn took a deep breath. "I have to admit he has outsmarted us all, even the Lord Chamberlain. Wherever he keeps Cedric, it is too well hidden for my scouts to find. With as many decades as he has had to plan, it is obvious he has considered everything."

Benedict took a step closer, searching his Queen's face. "He may be the Spectre That Walks," he said. "He may be a wizard over a century old. But he is mortal, and no mortal can consider every possibility."

Evelyn's smile was patronizing. "Of course. You're right."

The Chancellor's face darkened. "What happened to the woman who challenged me?" he asked. "The Queen who put me in my place? Is she now so tired of the stress of ruling a kingdom, that she is ready to take the easy path?"

Evelyn's smile vanished, replaced with a deepening frown as Benedict continued. He stepped even closer as the words rolled off his tongue.

"Don't make me reconsider my respect for you."

The Queen snapped her eyes up, eyes blazing, threatening. "Another slip of that silvery tongue, Benedict, and I'll be wearing it as a charm."

For a moment, Queen and Chancellor simply stared. But then Benedict's eyes softened a bit, his lips stretching in approval. "Good to see my Queen has not completely taken leave of her senses."

Evelyn coughed out a short laugh, realizing why Benedict had said what he did. She moved to the foot of the dais upon which sat the throne – her throne – and sunk onto the steps. "Why is it that the simplest choices are the hardest ones to make?" she asked of the air.

Benedict emitted a grunt and a sigh as he lowered himself beside Evelyn. "Because the simple ones chance fate," he said. "Everything else is simply . . . details."

Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "One of my father's rare moments of wisdom?" she asked.

"No. Mine," quipped Benedict. "And they were not so rare. For a wainwright, my dear old dad was quite philosophical."

Evelyn allowed herself a small smile. Muriel has done wonders with him, she thought. My God, the man really does have a heart. "What was Richard like?"

Benedict straightened, grumbling in thought. He stared forward, resting elbows on knees. "I would love to inform you that your father was a paragon of wisdom, a man unequaled in his ability to command both armies and respect. But, in truth, he was something of a dolt."

Evelyn sputtered in laughter at Benedict's frank words. "Well, now I do not feel so inadequate," she said amid soft laughter.

Benedict cocked his head toward the girl queen. "You have many qualities and advantages Richard did not," he said. "Loyalty and respect, for one, at least from those you truly need depend upon. And, no doubt your upbringing as a commoner has given you more than an inkling of common wisdom. Richard had none of that. His was always a sheltered life. He was bred into arrogance and simplified wisdom. Why, the only reason he roamed these halls at night was to get away from those who told him what to do. Thank God he had enough sense to do that."

Evelyn shook her head in wonder. "I had no idea."

"No, of course not," said the Chancellor with rueful sarcasm. "A king is lofty and wise, so much better than a common herder or farmer or innkeeper. Such a crock. Richard would not have made the mistakes he did had he benefited from a life such as yours."

Evelyn sighed dejectedly. "I fail to see where I possess any advantage over a man who was raised to be King."

A strange sagely smile crossed Benedict's face. "That's good," he said simply. "If you knew all your strengths, you would take advantage of them . . . abuse them. That is not how to rule. More importantly, that is not how to live."

Evelyn frowned in thought. "I wish I knew what you meant."

"You do," reassured the Chancellor. "You do not yet know it, but you do."

He stood, gathering his robes, looking fondly upon his Queen as she followed him with her eyes. "If I may take your leave, your highness, I fear that my side of the bed may be growing cold." He finished his statement with a knowing wink.

Evelyn smiled and nodded, momentarily wondering how cold her own bed was, had always been. "Of course, Benedict."

With a stiff nod and a swish of his robes, Benedict turned and made his way back to the main entrance. A few paces from the sentry-flanked doors, however, he paused and turned back. "There was one thing," he said, his voice echoing lightly off the walls.

"What was that?"

"'A king's life is ever about sacrifice,'" he quoted. "'The only reward comes when you look down from Heaven and see that your kingdom still stands.'"

Evelyn managed a weak smile. "Your father again?"

"No," said Benedict with another wink. "Yours. Good evening, my Queen."

Evelyn did not respond, pleasantly surprised by the Chancellor's words. At the least however, the smile which crept across her face was genuine. Faintly hearing Benedict's footsteps retreat down the hall, the Queen of Vix rose and made her way back to her own chambers.

***

He made his way through the narrow passage by fingertip, tracing the jagged, sweating limestone walls and cautiously placing one foot before the other. It was not a deliberately-hewn tunnel, Eric knew, but one long ago carved naturally. The entrance to the tunnel, however, had been made artificially, through the wall at the back of a never-used dungeon cell.

The irony, thought the red-haired giant, grimacing as broad shoulders scraped against the occasional jagged rock that thrust out from the wall like a hidden assassin's dagger. He gripped the axe tightly in one hand, felt before him with the other. Now and then, the arc of the crossbow upon his back clattered off the stone. He wondered if any of Bagdemagus' men – if he had any – heard his clumsy approach.

Searching for the man who holds an entire kingdom in fear, and it just may be that he makes his lair beneath the castle itself. What audacity.

What cunning.

Just what an arrogant wizard would do . . . .

His boot slipped upon a loose rock, just as the narrow passage opened into a cavern of indeterminate size. For a moment, Eric nearly lost his balance, but he managed to catch himself against the wall.

Damn the Hells! I do not have John's gift for stealth! He stood still for a long moment, feeling the cold air of the caverns, the faint but swirling breeze. Odors mingled, some sweet and natural, others musky and dank, as if coming from an animal's den. Eric wrinkled his nose at the latter, moved until he had his back pressed to a wall. His ears peeled, having become hypersensitive during the many long minutes he had been following the meandering tunnel.

He heard the echoes of water drops.

Scurrying of insects.

The shuffle of a booted foot.

Eric tensed, focusing upon that last, singular sound. It comes from my right . . . .

"Dieter?" asked a rough, hoarse whisper. "If that's you, you're late, mate. You best not have been smoking that herbal pipe of yours . . . ."

Eric took a chance, raising his axe as he heard the other man come closer. He had little way of knowing how close the man was. "Hmm," he grumbled.

A heavy sigh echoed off damp limestone walls. "Damn you, Dieter. I should have known when you didn't bring the torch back. Don't move. I'll get mine going."

Eric waited, heart pounding. He heard a brief rustle of cloth, then soft amber light spilled out, stinging his eyes. He winced against the sudden relative brilliance, but not before making out the general appearance of a man in brigand's leathers standing before him.

"You know, mate, I don't know how that wizard can make a torch bright enough to light a room, yet give off no heat – hey! You're not Dieter!"

The bandit's exclamation made Eric snap his eyes back open. His vision was a bit hazy, still adjusting, but it was enough to let him see the stocky, swarthy man as he slapped a hand to a sword at his waist. But Eric was already prepared, and swung viciously with his axe, the heavy blade chopping sideways into flesh, bone, and muscle. The bandit grunted, crashing against the rough rock wall.

"No. I'm not," growled Eric, throwing his weight against the man, making the axe dig deeper through the bandit's side. The brigand stared into Eric's face with pain and shock, blood trickling freely from parted lips. He tried to speak, but all that issued forth was a wet, gurgling cough. Finally, with a long, bloody gasp, the man sagged, the light of life fading from his dark eyes.

Eric looked about within the cavern, finding it much smaller than he had imagined. Not even ten paces wide but almost twice that long, there was an exit at the far end, sloping downward. With a casual tug, he jerked the axe from the bandit's body, then bent to retrieve the dead man's torch.

It emitted no flame, nor heat. In some magical way, Eric assumed, Bagdemagus had taken a length of wood and made a few inches of one end glow as if by the bright flame of a candle. Suppressing his sense of wonder, Eric took up the short black cover in the bandit's hand, finding that it made for a perfect fit over the torch.

"Marko? Hey, Marko, I took a little nap in one of the other cells . . . I—"

Eric spun about as the man behind him, who had descended through the same passage through which Eric had come, stopped in mid-sentence. He held a torch like the one Eric now possessed, held before him. The two men stared each other down for a moment.

"Uh . . . who are you?"

Eric allowed himself a vicious smirk. "You're Dieter, right?"

"Yeah . . . ." The man's hand crept across his belt toward the hilt of a sword.

Swiftly, Eric slashed out and up, the keen edge of the axe cleaving Dieter's face from chin to brow. For a moment, Dieter did not move, his blank expression frozen. Then the jaw fell open, split and pouring blood down the stained brown leather of his jerkin. With a gurgling rattle, Dieter collapsed to the ground.

Eric let out a huff of breath. Two men dead, he thought. Their lives taken so easily. Perhaps Father Michael was right. Perhaps I do lack compassion for my fellow man.

Suddenly dark eyes drifted toward the opening at the far end of the cave. May it serve me well . . . .

***

The only thing that allowed Cedric to swallow the bile and blood in his dry mouth was the knowledge that, if he did not, he would suffocate. He could not even muster the effort required to spit it out. His arms had grown numb from supporting his weight; he had felt tingling for a while, but now, they may as well have been severed. How long he had been trussed up like a chicken on a rack, he did not know. The days since his capture had blurred together.

"The great Sir Cedric," gloated a voice before him. "Do not worry, lad, it will be over soon."

Cedric coughed, trying to muster what remained of his strength. He was aware of the cold air around him, yet he did not feel it. His mouth worked to speak, yet no sound escaped.

Bagdemagus leaned closer to the young knight. "What was that?" he asked. "Trying to speak? Don't bother, boy. You have no hope of defeating me. You never did. All you ever accomplished was to further my plans. Even your dalliance with Rebecca served my purpose."

Cedric struggled, swallowing bitter bile once more, finding within his rage – ignited at the mention of his love's name – enough fortitude to open and lift his eyes. Though the wizard's form was blurry, it was easy enough to find the man's dark eyes within the fire-painted face.

Bagdemagus arched an eyebrow with interest. "Oh? Bit of a fire left within you after all?" The wizard stepped around the knight as he was suspended between two posts driven into the floor of the cavern. "I suppose you think you may yet avenge that whore of a handmaiden you bedded."

Cedric growled, the only sound he could muster, and jerked in his bonds. No reason remained in his mind, only murderous hatred.

Bagdemagus chuckled, insinuating his face beside the knight's. "Shall I tell you how she squealed with delight when she offered her virginity to me?" he whispered rudely. "Shall I tell you how greedily she drank my seed? How does it feel to know you kissed the mouth that had once been filled with my essence?"

Cedric bellowed loudly, shaking and pulling against the chains that held him, planting his feet firmly against the ground and throwing his back straight. Inadvertently, his skull cracked against the wizard's jaw, making Bagdemagus flinch. He stepped back, touching a now-bloodied lip.

"I'll . . . kill . . . you . . . ."

Bagdemagus scoffed, yet his previous arrogance had dwindled. He came around before Cedric, glaring down upon the young man haughtily. Cedric stared back, trembling with the effort required to stand straight. For a moment, even the wizard was impressed by the young man's stamina.

"When you see your whore in the afterlife, be sure to tell her you failed." Bagdemagus turned with a flurry of his cloak, marching away from the knight. The cavern was a large one, cold and dank since it sat so far beneath the surface. Braziers in opposite corners supplied light and some heat, and it was around these that the wizard's hired brigands gathered. None of them enjoyed the wizard's presence overmuch; the promise of riches and Bagdemagus' power of intimidation kept them in his employ.

Beside one of the narrow exits from the cavern, Guy Dorr stood, an almost sympathetic eye upon Cedric. He never considered himself an evil man; cruel, sometimes, and selfish, but not evil. Torture was not part of his repertoire. That was for evil men.

"Why not simply kill him?" he asked as the wizard approached.

Bagdemagus fixed Dorr with a look. "Questioning me?"

"Of course not," Dorr said with a sigh, flickering his eyes from the wizard's.

Bagdemagus followed Dorr's gaze back to the knight, who once more sagged from the two posts. A cruel smile stretched his lips. "Cedric will die," he declared, turning back to Dorr. "But not before he has had the pleasure of witnessing the taking and sacrifice of his beloved Queen. Not before he suffers the realization that his failures have made me truly immortal, and peerless within the world. Then, and only then, will he die."

Dorr nodded slowly. "You really are an evil bastard," he remarked.

Bagdemagus chuckled and grinned. "Yes, I know."

***

Nervousness and fear, along with renewed pride and newfound strength, fueled Sir John's movements as he marched back and forth before the assembled members of the Royal Guard. Swords that had been oiled and sharpened rest heavily in scabbards at each man's side. Courriasses of boiled leather covered their chests, molded to fit each guardsman perfectly.

"Tonight, we face the greatest evil this kingdom has ever known." The words were practiced, rehearsed before the mirror that morning. But while he knew every word by heart, they now felt more real than before. "Bagdemagus will seal his victory through magic if he takes our Queen, and through victory will enslave this entire kingdom. The Lord Chamberlain himself has told me that if the wizard wins the day, those of us left alive will know nothing but misery. The land will darken and die. Children will be raised as slaves, or worse."

He stopped pacing and faced the men squarely. "That will not happen," he said emphatically.

The guardsmen nodded grimly, silently.

"What will happen, is this," continued John, his voice steadily rising in pitch. "We will triumph. We will win. We will keep our Queen, and the entire Kingdom of Vix free from the evil of Bagdemagus! We will fight, and we will die, to protect our land! We will know victory!"

"VICTORY!" shouted the guardsmen in unison.

His breast swelling, John drew his sword, holding it straight beside his face. The guardsmen all followed suit, the air ringing as blades left their scabbards.

"Some of us will die tonight," he intoned grimly. "I will give you all one hour to spend with your families. When you return, I expect you all to be ready, as I am, to give your life in defense of our Queen. Dismissed."

Solemnly, the guardsmen dispersed, some of them wearing worried or blank expressions. But a few, at least, looked to their knight, their commander, with an admiring smile.

"A better speech I could not have prepared myself," said Prince Drest, approaching beside John's shoulder.

John inhaled deeply and let it out. "I hope it is enough," he said, then glanced to the prince. "How is Evelyn?"

Drest rolled his shoulders. "She has strength, of that there is no doubt. She is a very stubborn woman, you know."




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 22



John chuckled. "Yes, I know."

"So . . . have you decided?"

John sighed, sliding his sword back within its sheath. He knew Drest was going to get around to the subject sooner or later. "It just seems so . . . incredible," he said. "Am I truly a bastard son of royalty, cousin to the Queen? I don't feel a damn bit different, to tell the truth. I do not feel as if my blood has suddenly become blue."

Drest smiled. "There is no difference between the blood of royals and commons," he said. He tapped his temple. "The difference lies within here--" He placed his hand over his heart. "--and here."

John nodded. "To think that some day, I may have the chance or reason to rule a kingdom," he mused. "Being a Knight is daunting enough."

The corner of Drest's mouth curled knowingly. "Yet you have taken to it with some ease."

"Aye, some," John said meaningfully. "I lead the Royal Guard only because I must. Two captains slain, Cedric taken . . . it falls to me to guide them, though I do not feel I am particularly good at it."

"I beg to differ," Drest said. "Only months ago, you were a stable hand. Yet I – and everyone else, I dare say – would be hard pressed to see you in that role now. Your bearing has always been regal, whether you realized it or not. Now it shows."

"You give me too much credit, Prince."

Drest grinned and clasped the knight's shoulder. "Better get used to it, John," he said. "After all, if Evie and I are wed, it would not be very feasible for I to sit upon the throne of Ural, whilst she rules Vix. Call me a romantic, but I'd prefer to have my Queen beside me."

John frowned, an expression of astonishment passing over his face. "You cannot mean . . . ."

Drest winked. "Think about it . . . King John," he said.

The young knight watched as Prince Drest turned and strode away. The shock on John's face remained, long after the Prince had disappeared within the manor.

King John . . . oh, God, what an ironic lord you are . . . .

***

Eric crouched behind a shelf of rock, overlooking the large cavern below. In the middle of the spacious natural chamber lay what looked like a large table in the shape of an 'X,' with manacles attached to each of the four arms. Eric's eyes narrowed as he gazed upon it, wondering what nefarious need the wizard had for such a device. Then his eyes drifted toward the form of the young man held captive.

His heart had at first sunk upon seeing Cedric hanging limply between the two wooden posts, thinking the young knight already dead. But now, as one of the bandits held a waterskin to Cedric's lips, from which the knight drank deeply, hope flared anew in Eric's heart.

One, two, three . . . eleven bandits in all, just in this chamber alone, Eric thought dismally. At my best, I doubt I could take on more than three or four. He quietly rest his axe against the rock before him and unslung the crossbow. A bolt snapped into place with the slightest sound. Carefully, Eric raised the powerful weapon to his shoulder, sighting along the shaft of the quarrel.

How many? Eric wondered. How many could I claim before they rushed up here to surround me? How many could I slay before I was cut down?

For several moments, feeling clammy sweat upon his brow, Eric kept the crossbow trained on the bandit before Cedric. His fingers lightly squeezed the cocking lever, ready to let it loose.

He stiffened as cold steel was pressed against his cheek, the sharp, slightly curved tip of a rapier. "Release that bolt, Eric, and you will have a new mouth on the side of your face."

Idiot! Eric berated himself. Gritting his teeth, he carefully set the crossbow upon the ground beside him and stood, slowly rising to his feet. He turned to face Guy Dorr, who stepped back, the rapier extended and ready to thrust. Behind him stood a pair of bandits, bows held at the ready with arrows knocked.

"Fancy meeting like this," quipped Dorr, his expression smug. "I must say I am impressed that you found us."

Eric glowered. "I should have known you would throw in with the wizard."

Guy chuckled. "I don't like to lose," he said, stepping back further. Though his eyes remained on Eric, he spoke to the brigands. "He came to find his friend," Dorr said. "I see no reason why we cannot oblige him."

"Come on, you," barked one of the brigands to Eric. The giant grumbled under his breath and reluctantly stepped forward, passing Guy Dorr.

"May God damn you for eternity," he snarled.

Guy scoffed. "If I thought that God cared, I might be worried," he snipped, watching Eric being escorted away. His smile faded quickly. You had better hold up your part of the bargain, Bagdemagus.

***

Closing the door softly behind him, Prince Drest looked across the room to where Evelyn stood before the window, watching the setting sun. The golden radiance that washed over her body brought out the inherent beauty of her features, making her eyes sparkle and skin glow. Her pale dress became nearly translucent, revealing the shape of firm young breasts with no need for the bodice to hold them up.

"My God, you are beautiful," Drest muttered.

Evelyn looked his way, a sad smile decorating her lips. It disappeared as she returned to her admiration of the land below. "'Tis almost sundown," she said, as if to herself. "The wizard will be coming for me."

Drest approached behind her, settling his hands to her bare shoulders. "I won't let him."

The Queen sighed, leaning against him. "We've none of us any choice in the matter," she said. Casually, her fingers touched a tiny charm hanging from around her neck. It looked like a finely-polished gem to Drest.

"A new piece of jewelry?"

Evelyn let out a short laugh. "My kingdom's salvation," she said. "I convinced the Lord Chamberlain to give it to me. Not many know he is also an apothecary."

Drest frowned. "An apothecary? What need—"

"Once the wizard has me, and he lets Cedric go, I will place this in my mouth and bite down upon it. The poison will do the rest."

A spike of anxiety shot through Drest's heart, and he whirled Evelyn around. "You cannot do this!"

Her expression was blank, full of resignation and resolve. "'Tis the only way, my love," she said, affectionately touching his face. "I will save the kingdom, and I will save my friend."

Emotion flooded Drest's eyes. "I can't let you, Evie," he declared. "I love you too much."

Evelyn's eyes softened. "I love you, as well," she said, before her features inexplicably hardened. "But I am your queen," she said firmly, stepping past.

"I don't care!" cried Drest after her, following the Queen into her chambers. "You are the woman I intend to wed! Together, we will rule the Twin Kingdoms, and Bagdemagus will be naught but a memory! Something to frighten our children about when they are unruly!"

She whirled about with a fanning of her petticoat. "Is that your official proposal, Drest?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "How can you be so bloody calm about this? If I didn't know any better, I would think you are looking forward to it!"

"At least it will be over," Evelyn said in a small voice.

Drest stepped toward her, locking eyes with her. "For you, yes. The kingdom will be saved, yes. But the wizard will still be alive. And vengeful. Do you think he will just go away? Do you not think that perhaps, out of spite, he will come for your dearest friends? One by one, he will find a way to slay them all. Muriel, John, Benedict—"

"Stop it!" screeched Evelyn.

"—me."

Evelyn trembled, revealing true emotion at last. "I don't know what else to do," she said. "I was so sure someone would find Cedric and rescue him . . . so sure . . . ." She fell to the bed, burying her face in her hands.

Drest lowered himself to his knees, looking up at the Queen. "Do you love me?" he asked.

Evelyn sniffled, lifting her head. Her cheeks were shiny with tears, eyes ringed with red. "What?"

"Do you love me?" repeated the Prince.

She touched his face. "Love isn't enough," she whispered.

His eyes were strong, gaze direct. "It was enough for you to sacrifice yourself for the sake of your friend and kingdom," he said. "Is it not enough to promise that you will accept my proposal when I give it?"

Evelyn clutched the prince's hands. "Then give it," she said. "Here. Now."

Slowly, Drest shook his head. "I cannot," he said. "I need one more day."

Tears dripped freshly from Evelyn's eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I love you. Promise me."

Evelyn shuddered as she drew in a deep breath. "I-I . . . ."

Drest waited, patiently, reassuringly massaging the Queen's hands.

Finally, Evelyn straightened, letting out a heavy breath. With one last sniffle, she nodded silently.

"That is not a promise," Drest said with a small smile.

Evelyn choked out a laugh. "You're insufferable," she said. "How can you still have hope?"

"Because God would not have seen fit to bring us together, only to take you from me."

Firmly, Evelyn squeezed the Prince's hands. "You've never given up on me," she said, then lowered her eyes. "Sometimes, I feel so ashamed, so . . . unworthy of such attention."

"But you are, Evie. My heart is not so easily given."

A weak smile stretched Evelyn's lips. "I want to believe that we will all survive, that this nightmare will end and—"

"We will," interrupted Drest. "It will. Now . . . promise me."

Apprehensively, Evelyn swallowed, then nodded once more. "I . . . I promise, Drest. When you offer a proposal of marriage, I will accept it."

Drest smiled genuinely, straightening take Evelyn in his arms. She melted yearningly against him, clutching tightly. He smoothed his hands across her back, through her hair, feeling the gentle shudders in his Queen's body. "Faith," he whispered. "Have faith in, if nothing else, my love for you."

"I love you," she whispered in return, pulling back only slightly so that she could see Drest's face. Her softened with desire. "I want you."

Drest said nothing before Evelyn kissed him, smothering his lips with hers, moaning softly into his mouth. Their passion escalated quickly, hands roaming with animalistic need and abandon. Evelyn gasped with pleasure, breaking the kiss and leaning back, allowing Drest to release her bodice, pulling down the fabric of her dress to expose creamy, firm breasts.

"Yes," she hissed, arching her back, pushing her breast to Drest's mouth. A soft cry of passion caught in her throat at the heat of his mouth, the loving swipes of his tongue across her nipple, the grazing of his teeth. Her hands held his head firmly against her bosom, bringing him with her as she moved up along the bed. Her legs spread invitingly beneath Drest as the Prince settled between.

Instincts guided them, instincts powered my passion. Supporting himself above Evelyn, Drest kissed her deeply, grinding himself between her thighs. The heat of her sex burned through the layers between them, especially once her petticoat and skirt were pushed up to her waist, and all that protected her was a single layer of silk.

"Let me make love to you, Evie," moaned the Prince, slipping a hand down between them, cupping her damp and needy sex.

Breath escaped, hot and moist, from Evelyn's lips. Her fingers threaded their way through Drest's hair as needy moans escaped her throat. Her hips rose and fell, pushing her sex against his probing fingers. She ached for him, to feel him within her. The need was so palpable it weighed upon her more than Drest's body, more than the impending threat of Bagdemagus . . . .

Bagdemagus.

With a breathless gasp, Evelyn pushed against her lover, forcing him to release a stiff, wet nipple from his lips. "Drest."

His eyes bore into hers. "'Tis not what you think, Evie. I love you."

A calming breath filled her lungs, making her breasts heave. "And I love you," she said. "But . . . I . . . ." She frowned, trying to find her words. With a frustrated huff, she gently pushed Drest away and sat up, lacing her bodice once more. The passion that had just moments before consumed her seemed so far away now.

"It is all right, Evie," whispered Drest, moving up to sit beside her and rest his chin upon her shoulder. "It is important to you to defeat Bagdemagus without cheating him out of your virginity, isn't it? Even if it costs your life."

Solemnly, she nodded. "It is."

Slowly, Drest reached beneath her chin with a single finger, bidding her to look his way. "Only a Queen would think that way."

Evelyn's eyes glittered. "My dear Prince," she said. "That is the most wonderful thing you have ever said to me."

He smiled, lightly kissed her soft lips. "I will have to remember that, then," he said.

Evelyn stood, fixing her dress. The sky was darkening, with a crimson glow just above the horizon. Wind stirred the Queen's long, lush hair as she stood before the windows once more. "I suppose it is only a matter of time before the wizard calls upon me," she mused.

"Sooner than you think."

The dark voice startled the Queen and Drest both, prompting the Prince to action. He bolted up from the bed, smoothly drawing the dagger at his belt as he blocked Evelyn with his body. He stared down along the glimmering blade at the figure which approached from the outer room.

"So you've come, wizard."

Bagdemagus nodded shallowly, holding out his hand. He looked past the Prince to Evelyn. "It is time, my Queen," he said.

Drest spoke before Evie could part her lips. "I think not," he said firmly. "You must first get through me. You will find that difficult to do."

Bagdemagus looked amused. "Your bravery is misplaced, Drest," he said. "Killing you would serve nothing. The ritual will commence, and there is not a thing you can do to stop it. I am taking Evie."

The Prince glared. "Only by stepping over my corpse," he growled.

"Drest--" began the Queen.

The wizard sneered. "Easily arranged," he said.

Evelyn cried out as a figure leaped from behind, pushing her aside and descending upon Drest. The Queen tumbled to the floor, slipping her own dagger free of its sheath, ready to defend herself. What transpired before her was nearly over before she could make sense of it.

Bagdemagus kept his distance as the two men struggled, the dark-garbed invader pressing his weight down upon Drest's back. There was a flash of steel in a black-gloved hand, before it disappeared beneath the Prince's chin. A flick, a gurgle, and Drest collapsed to the ground, blood spilling out from his neck.

Evelyn stared, eyes wide with shock and fear, lips trembling. The abruptness of what she had just witnessed made it all seem surreal. She stared at her Prince, her love, seeing only his closed eyes as he lay unmoving, the crimson puddle growing around his face. "D-D-Drest," she whispered.

Guy Dorr straightened over the Prince's body, wiping spittle from his mouth. "That went smoother than expected," he said casually, then gave a nod to the wizard. His eyes glanced briefly to the Queen.

"L-Lord Dorr?" she queried, heart palpitating. Furtive eyes danced back and forth from the traitor to the body upon the floor. She could find no voice with which to carry the scream that welled within her breast.

Bagdemagus smiled smugly as he lifted his foot over Drest's body. "As you said, only by stepping over your corpse," he muttered, then reached for the Queen . . . .

***

John's fingers danced nervously along the edges of the earthenware cup he held between his knees. Grams sat expectantly across the tiny table in her little home, waiting for her grandson to speak.

"I understand why you never told me," he said at last, his eyes addressing the floor. "But it is still difficult to accept."

"Are you certain you understand why this secret has been kept, all these decades?"

John lifted his head, confusion evident upon his face. "Well, the kingdom would have been embarrassed, of course."

Grams chuckled softly. "Given all that you have learned about the wizard," she said. "I would expect you to have realized a few things."

John's frowned deepened. "What does this have to do with the Spectre?"

Grams took a breath. "It was not a terrible secret that I entertained King Alfred," she said. "But what was kept secret was my eventual pregnancy. That was your mother, of course. Alfred was a bit miffed about that, but not for the reasons you would expect. He had wanted me to sire a son, in case Richard fell victim to Bagdemagus."

John's mind reeled. "I do not understand."

Grams fixed her grandson with a level stare. "The fate of this kingdom has always been linked to Bagdemagus," she revealed. "He was King Maxwell's advisor, originally. I am sure you did not know that."

John shook his head slowly. "No."

"When Vix came under Maxwell's rule, he wrested it from the hands of a very evil man," she explained. "With the wizard's help. You see, Bagdemagus was not always as cruel and vindictive as he is now. But . . . that is a different story, one that is not pertinent now. What is important is that Maxwell and Bagdemagus had a terrible falling-out. The wizard has been seeking vengeance upon the Royal Family ever since."

"What happened between the wizard and King Maxwell?"

Grams shrugged. "That, even I do not know," she lamented. "But whatever it was, it was enough to instill in Bagdemagus a hatred so intense for Maxwell's progeny that he has been taking his revenge ever since. Not a single member of the royal family, whether confirmed or not, has been safe. Not a one."

A dark hand suddenly gripped John's heart as he read into Grams' words. His eyes were hard as he spoke two simple words.

"My mother."

Solemnly, Grams nodded her head. "It was fortunate that she was able to hide you away before the Spectre came for her."

John ground his teeth. A quiet rage simmered in his heart.

"So, you see," Grams continued. "You and I have a vested interest in this as well. I have waited decades for this day, grandson."

John swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened, pushing to his feet. The leather of his armor creaked slightly with his movements. He gave his grandmother a determined look.

"Bagdemagus dies tonight."

***

Benedict pushed open the door to the Queen's chambers slowly, stepping before the four members of the Royal Guard who accompanied him. There had been no answer to his repeated knocks, and he had grown fearful.

"Evelyn?" he called out. "Dre--" Words froze on his lips as he saw the body laying upon the floor amid a broad pool of ochre.

"Is that the Prince?" asked one of the guard, venturing forward. But Benedict stopped the young man.

"I will see to him," he said firmly, then approached Drest. His eyes searched the chambers, looking through the archway to the Queen's bed. He could see no trace of Evelyn. Gingerly, he knelt beside Drest, touching the corpse's shoulder. He frowned when he felt unexpected warmth within the body, and nearly leapt from his own skin when Drest moaned.

"Prince!" cried Benedict, gripping the man's shoulder and rolling him onto his back. Drest's features clouded, and he coughed, blood sputtering on his lip. The left side of his face was soaked in the congealing fluid, but there was no wound upon him . . . only a small cloth bladder stuck next to his neck.

". . . Evelyn . . . ."

"I do not see her," Benedict said as the Prince sat up, touching his head. Drest's hand dragged down his face, and he pulled it away, staring at the thick blood on his fingers.

"What happened?"

"I would ask you the same," Benedict replied anxiously.

Drest sighed, taking a handkerchief out and wiping his face. "The wizard," he said, features dark and contorted as he recalled what had happened. "And there was someone with him . . . Lord Dorr."




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 22



Benedict cursed under his breath. "I knew it," he hissed. "That bastard's appearance was just too convenient."

"We wrestled," continued Drest, his thoughts becoming more clear. He touched a faint cut on the side of his neck. "He said something to me . . . 'remember this later,' I believe, then he slit my throat. Or so I thought."

Benedict picked up the bladder that had fallen beside the Prince, sniffed it. "Pig's blood," he said. "When he cut you, he must have had some type of poison on the blade, to render you unconscious. I would not swear it, but it would make sense. So why would Dorr only pretend to kill you?"

Drest shook his head. "I do not know. But he may not be so much of an enemy after all."

The guardsmen had gathered in the room, staring at the Prince with relieved disbelief as the man got to his feet. But one of them noticed something else, a slip of fabric hanging from one of the thicker walls in the outer chamber.

"Perhaps," agreed Benedict grudgingly. "But I'll be damned if I'll trust the man."

Drest turned about as he stood, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. "I can only assume that Dorr faked my murder for the sake of the Queen. He must have left a clue regarding where she was taken."

"Eh, excuse me, Prince Drest," called one of the guardsmen. He stood beside the wall where the piece of fabric was attached. "Perhaps this might be the clue you mean?"

Drest approached, touching the strip of cloth. "It is from Evie's dress," he said, his heart fluttering. His fingers touched the wall, feeling, pushing. "There must be a hidden door. Ural's castle is filled with them. We must find it!"

"What is going on?" called a hard voice from the chamber door. All eyes turned as Sir John entered, left hand clutching the hilt of his sword.

"The wizard came for Evelyn," explained Benedict. He nodded to the guardsmen. "Blades for myself and the Prince," he ordered. His eyes settled upon John. "We are going after them."

John nodded grimly. "It is time to settle this."

Benedict's eyes narrowed. There was something different about the young knight. He had always seemed unsure of himself, reluctant to take the role he had been given. But that uncertainty and reluctance was now gone, replaced with a fierce resolve which radiated from him like the heat of a torch. For a moment, Benedict thought to inquire as to what had changed in the young man, but he reconsidered. Whatever has happened, he seems to have the strength he needs . . . .

"Indeed it is," he agreed.

"Found it!" exclaimed Drest, garnering the attention of those in the room. A section of the wall swung open silently, revealing a dark, dank passage composed of narrow steps which spiraled down between the walls.

"We cannot waste any time," John said, stepping forward and drawing his blade. He looked to the guardsmen, indicating two of them. "Give your weapons to the Prince and Chancellor, then get replacements from the armory." His eyes switched to the remaining pair. "You two will accompany us."

"Yes, sir," the men said together, drawing their swords.

"I shall take the lead," announced Drest, accepting the sword one of the guardsmen handed him. "But I want you behind me, John."

The knight nodded. "Whatever happens, that damn wizard dies."

***

Cedric could barely stand, yet the sight of his beloved Queen seemed to infuse him with strength. She struggled against the bandits who escorted her toward the X-shaped altar set in the middle of the cavern, grunting and cursing with futility.

A deep, friendly voice came from his right. "Conserve yourself, Cedric."

Cedric frowned, wincing in discomfort as he turned his head. The red-haired giant . . . what is his name? Eric? . . . looked upon him with stoic compassion. Cedric could just make out the chains that secured the larger man to a pair of posts recently driven into the rocky floor.

"Do not try to speak," Eric continued. "You're barely alive as it is."

Cedric could barely grunt in response. His weary eyes drifted back toward the altar as Evie was bound upon it, struggling in vain to resist the manacles that secured her wrists and ankles. She was left with her arms and legs spread widely, obscenely.

The bandits retreated, taking their places along the walls. Cedric counted a dozen of them, maybe more . . . or perhaps that was a function of his blurred double-vision.

An ominous chuckle filled the room, emanating, it seemed, from the chilly air. Bagdemagus approached the altar, Lord Door lagging behind. The rogue glanced quickly to Cedric and Eric, both of whom glared back. His eyes dipped.

"Ah, Evie, so nice to finally have you here," the wizard said as he stepped up beside the altar. Cool fingertips graced the Queen's bare arms.

Evelyn gave Bagdemagus a hateful look. "Go to Hell," she snapped, then spat.

Bagdemagus grinned. "Much better to bring Hell to me," he said, leaning over her. "For that is what our union will achieve. My immortality, my dominion. Secured through the rape of a virgin monarch . . . and the consumption of her pure heart."

"Never!" cried Evelyn, struggling. But she was powerless against the bonds.

"You know, I have always adored your fire, Evie," Bagdemagus went on, dragging his fingers down over the Queen's dress. "It will make your sacrifice that much more enjoyable."

Evelyn cried out as the wizard slipped the blade of a dagger under the strings of her bodice, slicing through them. "You will never take me," she declared, nudging the chain around her neck, frantically trying to capture it with her lips. But Bagdemagus was quick to stop her, snatching up the tiny, gem-like vial and snapping the chain.

"And what is this?" he asked, bemused. He lifted the device, inspecting it closely. "Poison, my Queen? How noble of you to sacrifice yourself for your kingdom." He tossed the chain over his shoulder. The vial shattered upon the ground with a faint hiss. "So much for that."

Evelyn huffed, all the hope and righteousness she had left apparently fleeing her body upon that single, heavy breath. Her head fell back upon the altar, her eyes staring up helplessly.

It can't happen like this! What cruel God would let the wizard win? And Drest . . . .

Oh, God . . . Drest, my love . . . .

"There, there, my sweet," Bagdemagus said in a patronizing voice, caressing Evelyn's sweaty brow. "I assume those tears are for your departed, would-be husband. Do not worry; you will be joining him soon enough. At least thank me for that."

Evelyn shuddered as she wept, the tears draining down along her cheeks, soaking into her hair and the wood of the altar beneath. She barely felt it as Bagdemagus ripped away her dress, bodice, and petticoats, casting the shredded garments aside. She did not care that she was left unabashedly nude upon an alter. Numbness consumed her. She could not even feel the cold.

"My, what a sweet prize you are, my dear," Bagdemagus said approvingly, his eyes wandering over the Queen's naked flesh. He settled his hand upon the soft mound of hair covering her sex, feeling the natural warmth beneath. His thumb graced the plump lips beneath, parting them. A knowing smile stretched his lips. "Yes, a sweet prize indeed."

***

The bandits within the room snickered crudely, ogling the nude monarch and her lewdly displayed charms. All their attention was focused upon the succulent sight of the virgin Queen. They did not notice Guy Dorr stepping up behind the two captives across the room.

"I have but one question for you," Guy whispered as he stood behind Eric.

The giant stiffened, surprised to hear the traitorous lord's voice. But he recovered from his surprise almost instantly. "And that is?" he whispered back.

"You once took your vows seriously," Guy said.

Eric frowned. "Yes, I did. Is that your question?"

Guy chuckled dryly. "No. The question is: do you still?"

The frown remained. Eric took a breath. "Had you asked me that three days ago, I would have said no."

"But now?"

Eric gritted his teeth as he watched Bagdemagus step between the Queen's thighs. "I doubted the existence of a loving God, once. But with evil such as that man, then God must exist. And it is through us that he fights evil. So, in answer to your question . . . yes, I take my vows seriously."

A gloved hand wrapped itself around Eric's own, pressing something cold and metallic into his palm. "Remember that this could have gone differently," Guy whispered.

Eric felt a surge of hope course through him as he realized he held a key. "Why help us now?" he asked.

But there was no response. Guy Dorr was gone, disappearing into the shadows.

***

Bagdemagus smoothed his hands along Evelyn's trembling thighs as he stood between them, his groin mere inches from hers. His steel-colored eyes took in her ravishing beauty with a sense of cruel glee. From his belt, he took a crooked-bladed dagger, touched the point to Evie's abdomen, just above the patch of downy hair. Gently, he dragged the point upward, stopping between her heaving breasts.

"I have waited nearly century for this, Evelyn," the wizard said. "Ever since your great-grandfather Maxwell stole from me what should have been mine."

Evelyn whimpered. "Just get it over with, you bastard," she sputtered through her tears.

The wizard grinned evilly. "Eager now, are you? I could almost say I am flattered."

Evie sniffled deeply, flashing her eyes open. She glared intently up at Bagdemagus' sneering face. "You will pay for this, some day, somehow. And your suffering will never end."

Bagdemagus cocked his head, his smile crooked and rakish. "I hope you don't mind waiting for the end of eternity to see it," he said. "After all, you are about to make me immortal."

Evelyn could not respond. There were no words left to speak, nothing she could do other than watch helplessly as the wizard straightened, hands falling to his breeches and the laces there.

The Queen closed her eyes, letting her head fall back in resignation. Oh, God, please let it be brief . . . .

Faint cries sounded from beyond the entrance to the cavern, accompanied by the ring of metal on metal. The sounds of battle.

Bagdemagus snapped his head up in alarm. "What the hell is that?" he yelled to his men. But just as the bandits turned toward the cavern's entrance, drawing their weapons, a man stumbled through, bloodied and broken, clad in the leather of a brigand. Ochre spilled from the man's mouth as he attempted to speak, but he faltered and collapsed to the ground before he could do so. A moment later, clad in the crimson coat that marked him as a regent of Ural, stepped Prince Drest.

Anger twisted the wizard's features. Not dead, he thought bitterly, then looked around quickly, searching for Guy Dorr. But the man was not to be found. Betrayed by the betrayer . . . .

"Evie!" cried Drest, holding his sword before him as the half-dozen bandits charged. Beside him appeared Sir John, wielding an equally-bloody blade.

Upon the table, hope soared through Evelyn's heart as she heard the voice of her beloved. She craned her neck, tilting her head, just barely able to catch a glimpse of him through the throng of rushing brigands. "Drest! You're alive!"

"Not for long!" growled Bagdemagus, stepping back. But just as he was about to draw his sword, a meaty hand gripped his shoulder. The wizard snapped his head about to see who would dare lay a hand upon him. His eyes flashed widely as he looked upon Eric's cocky face.

"I believe I may have something to say about that," Eric drawled, then hurled Bagdemagus backward, sending the wizard sailing through the air to land bodily upon the ground more than a dozen paces back.

"Drest! John!" he bellowed, glancing back briefly as the Prince and knight, along with a pair of guardsman and the aged Benedict, made quick work of the unprepared bandits. "Get the Queen out of here! The wizard has more men, and they are bound to come!"

John slashed his way through a pair of brigands with two quick and deadly blows, leaving them to collapse behind him as he strode forward. His eyes were dark as he focused on the wizard, scrambling to his feet beyond Eric. "Just one thing, first," he declared gravely.

"No," Eric said firmly, placing his hand upon his friend's chest. "The Queen is most important now, and we cannot fight the wizard and his men at once. Go. I will hold the Spectre back."

John stared into the giant's face. "You cannot defeat him alone."

Eric nodded grimly and held up an iron key. "But I will buy you time. Give me your sword."

John started to speak, glancing quickly past his best friend to the wizard, who sneered evilly, drawing his own blade. Begrudgingly, John handed the sword over, taking the key at the same time. "I will avenge you," he whispered, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Eric nodded once more. "Yes, you will." So saying, he turned to face the wizard. "You and I, Bagdemagus."

The wizard grinned. "Such heroics," he quipped disdainfully, then rushed to meet Eric's charge.

***

"What is going on?" cried Muriel, clutching her skirts in hand as she ran along the hallway toward the entrance to the dungeons. Every Royal Guardsman in the castle, it seemed, lined the halls, clad in leather hauberks, clutching swords at the ready. Some held bows instead, with arrows knocked.

"Lady Muriel, this is no place for you," responded a guardsman. "The Prince and Sir John have gone to rescue the Queen. That wily bastard Bagdemagus has been hiding in the dungeons all this time."

"What!" Muriel slapped a hand to her breast in astonishment. "Where is the Chancellor?"

The guardsman's face soured. "He is with them, as well."

Muriel gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh, my sweet Benny," she muttered fearfully.

"They come!" called a voice from below. "They have the Queen!"

Muriel sputtered happily. "Oh, thank the stars and God! Quickly, quickly!" She beckoned desperately with her arms, watching as Evelyn appeared, surrounded by guardsmen. The Queen wore naught but a guardsman's coat.

"Evie!" cried the handmaiden, accepting Evelyn into her arms. Drest, Sir John, and Benedict quickly appeared, as well as a bloodied and weary Sir Cedric, helped along by guardsmen.

The Prince barked orders like a general. "We've sealed the dungeon door, but it will not hold for long," he said loudly, for all to hear. "Everyone to the throne room; we will hold them there. 'Tis the only chamber large enough."

"'Them?'" queried Muriel, holding Evelyn tight. The girl Queen shuddered against her.

"Bagdemagus has an army of brigands and murderers," said Sir John, peripherally watching as a stumbling Cedric was helped down the corridor. "They will be here shortly. Now, go! Get Evie to the throne room! We will protect her with numbers!"

Muriel hesitated only as long as it took for her to meet Benedict's gaze and receive a short, but encouraging, nod from him. She suppressed a smile of gladness upon seeing her love, and satisfied that he was well, focused her attention on the Queen.

Thunderous pounding sounded from the dungeons beneath. John and Drest stood at the top of the landing, staring down along the stairs to the heavy oaken door below. Behind them the guardsmen were already retreating, following the Prince's orders.

"At least Eric bought us some time," said Drest.

The dungeon door shuddered again beneath what sounded like the impact of a battering ram.

Sir John nodded. "Another life to avenge," he said. He faced the Prince. "The wizard has many to answer for."

Drest nodded, then managed a smile. "We will have to have a drink, later."

John could not help but smirk at the Prince's optimism. "Aye. An entire cask."

"I am looking forward to it."

"Just don't get yourself killed."

Drest winked. "You, neither."

***

The guardsmen had just settled into defensive formation, swords extended before them, facing the broad double doors to the massive throne room, when the mad rush of battle-frenzied voices filled the halls outside. Behind the line of men stood Drest and John. Archers leaned out from the balconies above, arrows trained upon the door.

And upon the dais which supported the throne itself crouched Evelyn and Muriel, holding each other, anxious eyes looking over the heads of the guardsmen.

"They're willing to die for me," whispered the Queen, her body trembling. So much emotion, so much pain and sorrow. In a matter of moments, she knew, one way or the other, it would all be over.

"That is their duty, Evie," Muriel responded, petting her regent's hair. "Mine, as well."

Evelyn sniffled, hearing the cacophony in the halls as it grew louder and louder. "I'm not worthy of that."

Muriel gripped the young woman's shoulders and forced Evelyn to look up at her. "No more of that," she said sternly. "You are the Queen. The duty of everyone in this room is to die for you."

"And what is my duty?" queried Evelyn.

"To give them a reason to do so. And that, you have done. Now stop blubbering and be a Queen!"

Evelyn sniffed, one last time, drawing back the tears. Bravely, she nodded. "I will."

"You will?"

Evelyn took a breath, steeling herself. "I am."

Muriel smiled. "That is what I thought."

The throne room doors shuddered violently, mad voices beyond crying for blood.

"Ready, men!" bellowed John.

"AYE!" The valiant response of the guardsmen echoed in the chamber.

"Give them everything!" shouted Drest.

"AYE!"

Evelyn stood before her throne, briefly glancing to Cedric, propped against one of the pillars nearby, with Benedict standing guard. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest indicated he still lived. So much pain, to so many I have loved, she thought.

Her eyes grew hard, and she watched the door as it shook again, splintering this time.

Their pain will not be in vain, she decided, then raised her voice for all to hear: "Spill the blood of any man who does not wear the colors of Vix!"

For a moment, all eyes turned back to fall upon her, and in that moment, guardsman, knight, and Prince all came to the same conclusion: There is our Queen. We will die to protect her.

As one, every man faced the door once more, and every man bellowed in unison.

"AYE!"

The doors splintered again, then shattered, falling inward before the horde of Bagdemagus' minions. Where and how he had recruited so many could not be fathomed. Nor did anyone bother to wonder at that moment, as two ranks of guardsmen faced the onslaught. The air became filled with shouts and curses, blood-curdling cries as steel bit into flesh. The first wave crashed against the wall of well-trained men, who slashed and stabbed with practiced precision.

But all too soon, the battle became a chaotic melee. The guardsmen were better trained, but outnumbered. The odds seemed more or less equal, but that was bound to change soon enough.

The archers in the balconies unleashed their arrows, striking down bandits as they rushed in to join their fellows. But the bandits bore crossbows of their own, and fired back. More than a few of the archers fell to the floor below, their weapons clattering across polished marble. Those left retreated, only to come down through the side doors to lend their steel to the brouhaha.

And through that chaotic sea of battle waded Bagdemagus, striding without care, avoided by all around him. Cloaked once more in his magic, no one saw him for the threat he was, instead moving around him without knowing they did so. But Evelyn saw, of course.

His eyes locked upon Evelyn as he approached, dragging the tip of his sword across the ground. The harsh, grating sound rose above the din, reaching the Queen's ears. Evelyn stood, staring back, suppressing her fear.




A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 22



"You will not have me," she said, her voice inaudible, yet still, the wizard seemed to hear it.

"Oh, indeed I shall," he answered, setting foot upon the lowest step of the dais.

Beside the Queen, Muriel gasped. "It is he! The Spectre!" she cried.

Evelyn frowned a moment, strangely calm despite the circumstances. She can see him, she thought. Bagdemagus' magic must be fading.

Indeed, at that moment, Benedict, alarmed by Muriel's cry, looked to the throne to see the wizard ascending the steps. His reaction was immediate. Leading the way with his sword, he charged toward the menacing figure.

But Bagdemagus was quicker, more skilled. He paused, snapping up his blade, stabbing into Benedict's chest, arching his back only slightly so that the Chancellor's thrust missed him by inches.

"BENEDICT!" screeched Muriel, watching the man she loved stumble back, dropping his sword to the ground, clutching his chest. His pale jacket quickly became dark with blood.

"Feel free to join him, you annoying old cow," snarled the wizard, advancing further and backhanding the Queen's handmaiden. Muriel grunted in pain, pitching off the dais to land hard upon the floor below.

Bagdemagus' sword flashed up as he pushed Evelyn back onto her throne. The tip of the blade barely missed Evelyn's cheek before it stabbed into the padded backing of the throne. The wizard leaned over the Queen, breathing hotly upon her.

"You cannot rob me of my due," he hissed, nudging her legs apart. Evelyn still wore only the coat of a guardsman, her virgin sex once more exposed as the wizard settled between her thighs. "I will take you here if need be."

Evelyn glared up at him hatefully. "I do not think so," she said. Her eyes flickered past the wizard.

Bagdemagus took the bait, rearing back for a moment to look behind him. As he did so, Evelyn swung her leg around, cracking the wizard across the jaw as she leapt from the throne, landing upon the marble floor below. And just then, Sir John and Prince Drest emerged from the melee, battered and wounded, yet still with much fight left in them. Without hesitation, they charged up the steps as Bagdemagus spun around to meet them. Blades clashed and sparked.

No one noticed as a sword was lifted heavily from the ground, the hilt filling the hand of a tortured and battered young knight as he pushed himself to his feet.

"Your evil comes to an end, wizard!" cried Drest valiantly as he and John battled Bagdemagus upon the dais.

"Not by your hand, boy!" retorted the wizard, fending off the two men's blows, then spinning low and down, slashing outward. His blade caught the Prince across the chest, splitting leather, flesh and muscle. With a grunt of pain, Drest stumbled backward, falling heavily to the ground.

John was quick to take advantage of the opening the wizard left him, and thrust with all his might, impaling the wizard through the abdomen. John leaned in, forcing his weight upon Bagdemagus, making his blade bite deep. "How about mine?" he growled with vengeful satisfaction.

But the fire did not leave Bagdemagus' eyes, even though his sword fell from his grip, clattering down the steps. "Not . . . quite," he spat, then hammered his fist into John's jaw, mustering all his supernatural strength. The knight was lifted off his feet by the blow, flying backward before he, too, slammed into the floor.

Thp!

The wizard flinched, wincing as an arrow bit deep into his side. His eyes darted back along the arrow's path, to find none other than Evelyn, kneeling upon the floor, setting another arrow upon her bow.

Thp!

The second arrow struck him in the shoulder as he turned to face her, ready to leap off the dais. He faltered on his feet, but the inhuman wizard would not fall.

Thp!

The third was snatched from the air, just before it could pierce the wizard's skull. Bagdemagus sneered down at the Queen, letting the arrow fall to the ground.

Evelyn stared in stupefaction. What does it take to slay him?

"RAARRGHHH!"

The bellow filled the room, echoing thunderously off the walls and garnering the attention of the remaining combatants. Stumbling in his mad charge, Cedric hurled himself forward, barely able to see, guided by nothing more than rage and intuition.  

"For the Queen!" he cried, bounding up the steps, sword clutched desperately in both hands as he slashed downward. The blade sliced through flesh and bone, eliciting a spray of blood from Bagdemagus' torso. The wizard was hurled back onto the throne, sputtering in pain, looking upon the battered face of a man who, by all rights, should not have possessed the strength to even stand.

The wizard extended a hand to protect himself, but another powerful, vicious slash cut cleanly through, severing the arm just below the elbow. Fingers twitching, the hand bounced down the steps to the floor. Bagdemagus gaped in shock.

"That . . . was . . . for me," sputtered Cedric, swaying on his feet, glaring through blood-encrusted eyes. With a last, Herculean effort, he turned his sword about, raising it high above his head in both hands, the blade flashing for a moment in the light, the point angled toward the wizard's chest.

"And this . . . ."

Bagdemagus shuddered, for the first time in a century feeling the weight of his own mortality. He swallowed blood, tried to speak, but no sound would escape.

". . . is for . . . REBECCA!" Bellowed Cedric once more, stabbing down with all his remaining strength, spearing the wizard through the heart. Bagdemagus convulsed, spasming as his life was taken from him. The sword stabbed all the way through his body, into the throne beneath, resulting in a great, thunderous crack! as the throne itself was split.

For a moment, all was silent in the throne room. All battle ceased. None could believe what had just happened.

Every eye fell upon Cedric, who wavered on weak legs. Looking like a man drunk, he turned and descended the steps, as Evelyn approached.

Her voice quivered. She, like everyone else, was stunned that the young knight had actually succeeded where none had triumphed before. "C-Cedric . . .?"

He could barely see her, but the sound of her voice was enough. "My . . . Queen . . . ."

"Cedric!" cried Evelyn, barely catching the knight as he collapsed.

***

"'Tis almost impossible to believe," Sir John spoke as he watched the remainder of the wizard's bandit army being escorted beyond the gates. Reserves had been called up from the village, and once word had spread that the seemingly immortal Bagdemagus had been slain, it seemed that every man, woman and child had flocked to the outer walls of the castle.

Beside him, modesty preserved by robes, Evelyn nodded. "If we had not seen it happen, I would have sworn it all a dream. But it is not. The wizard is dead."

John noted the sullen expression on his cousin's face. "I would expect you to be happier than this."

Evelyn smiled weakly. "While my heart is gladdened," she said. "My spirit still suffers. Drest and Benedict both were gravely wounded, Eric is dead, and Cedric . . . he may not see the morning. How he still lives is . . . incredible."

John smiled. "A testament, I'd say, to his strength, and your foresight into making him a knight. Who would ever believe a cobbler's son would slay the Spectre That Walks?"

Evie nodded mutely, her eyes swollen and puffy. "At the least," she whispered. "If he passes this night, he will be with his beloved once more."

John reached to Evelyn, tentatively pulling her close. A more genuine smile touched her lips as she leaned against the knight. "Perhaps you should do the same, my Queen."

Evelyn straightened, and wiped her eyes. "I am still the Queen," she said. "My duty is for my people."

John scoffed. "Go and see to Drest," he insisted. "Do not make me pull rank."

Evelyn frowned upon John.

The knight chuckled. "Correct me if I am wrong, but seeing as how we have the same grandfather, and I am older . . . technically, I suppose, that would make me the rightful regent of Vix." He finished his statement with a wink.

Evie laughed softly. "Well, I suppose you are right, cousin," she answered with mock haughtiness. "Are you saying you want the kingdom? By all means, you may have it."

John returned the mirth. "Let's get you married to the Prince, first," he said.

Buoyant emotion rose to the Queen's face, returning color. She shook her head in wonder. "Let us not think too far ahead. Right now, I am afraid to even pinch myself, for fear of waking up."

John pinched the Queen's arm through her robe, making her yelp under her breath. "There," he said simply with a mischievous smile. "Is there anything else I can do for her highness?"

Evelyn touched John's face, staring up into his eyes. "You have done more than enough, cousin," she whispered, then lifted up to kiss him briefly. Without a word, Evelyn stepped down from the mansion, immediately surrounded by a quartet of the Royal Guard who escorted her on the way to the small hospital.

John smiled, watching her go. He took a breath, touched his bruised jaw.

King John, he thought, turning slowly toward the doors of the keep. It does have a nice ring to it . . . .

***

Thanks for reading, and be sure to vote.



A Royal Sacrifice Ch. 23



This is the final chapter to a chain story that was first posted on May 24, 2007. The 22nd chapter was posted April 17, 2008. For those familiar with the story, it is my fault that it took so long to complete this wonderful tale and I apologize not only to the exceptional group of writers that accompanied myself and Evelyn, Queen of Vix, on this journey, but to the readers as well. My heartfelt thanks goes out to slyc_willie, deathlynx, Talynnda, MrsDeathlynx, Darkniciad and another wonderful and talented writer who has since left Lit., so out of respect for her I will not give her Lit. name. I hope for all those that remember this story, they enjoy the end of Evie's adventure...or is it just the beginning to another story... ~ Red

The sound of bells ringing filled the air; a young woman stopped the firm fingers that played with her skin, choosing instead to listen to the melodious music. A smile filled her youthful features; a giggle escaped her pink lips and laughter sprang up as a pair of warm hands began to torment her naked flesh with heartfelt tickles. 

"Stop Henry...the bells...we have to..." 

"The Queen will wed whether we are there or not," Henry, the son of the village blacksmith, said before allowing his hand to travel down the girl's naked flesh.

"Yes, but..." She hissed when his thumb pressed against the tender nub of her sex. "Everyone will be there and afterward there is a great ball." Henry mumbled that he was very much aware of this, but still continued to move his finger against the velvet flesh. Eventually the couple forgot the pending nuptials, too lost in their own fairy tale to worry about another, even if it was a royal raised within the walls of their own village.