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The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 01

By: theTCat



"Shush, my King... do no try to speak." She whispered. "You have been under a spell, and it will take quite some time before you are strong again."

"Then the deed is done?" he asked. His voice sounded rough, sand against glass.

"Yes, my liege." said the princess, bowing her head to him. "Her reign is over."

To her surprise, a tear welled up in his eye, rolling down his check, disappearing into his wild beard.

"T'was my doing. T'was my greed which introduced her to the darkness that consumed her." He said, his voice low as a whisper.

"Do not think on it, my King." soothed the princess. "Steer your thoughts to regaining your strength for now. There will be time for grieving soon enough." She covered his still hardened sex with the bucklers, moving around the bed to his head and neck.

"Do you think you can sit up, my liege?" she asked, her hands under his shoulders, helping him rise up until he sat woozily on the worn out pallet which served for his bed.

"Help me to my feet, my new Queen." said he, slowly outstretching an arm, heavily sliding his legs from under the old bear skin. 

They fell from the bed one at a time with a clunk. She slid under his arm and brought him up onto his booted feet. She moved slightly away, letting him test his legs. He stood, only for a moment, before the weight of the armour took over, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap. A growl of frustration escaped his lips as the princess rushed to him. She laboured to push him over, until he lay on his back, breathing hard.

"Your arms and legs have been still for a very long time, my King. They will not work properly right away." said the princess, loosening the heavy breastplate. 

She slipped the knots and laid the old armour with its dragon crest aside. He took in a great breath, fresh air filling his lungs. His chainmail shirt lay underneath the plate, covering his chest and arms. It jingled as he moved. With the help of the princess, they at last pulled the mail over his head. 

The King moved very slowly, and his lack of control over his own appendages seemed to vex him greatly.

"Patience, my King." soothed the princess, helping him peel away the tattered remains of what the princess could only guess was once a tunic of linen or perhaps burlap. Time immeasurable had dissolved the fabric in many places, leaving only the hint of what the garment once was.

"I have been confined here for many, many seasons." spoke the King. "Yet I have felt every sun rise, and heard every cricket chirp. So much time... so long." His words trailed off.

The princess saw his despair. "Come, my King." She said quickly, hooking her arms under his arms, locking them across his chest. "Let's get you to your feet." She hoisted him back up, surprised at her own strength.

He stood unsteadily, but without the weight of his upper armour, he remained upright. His body rocked back and forth slightly as the queen loosened his belt, laying it aside. She removed the skirt of studded bucklers, laying them next to the jeweled belt and scabbard. She had to surpass a giggle as she looked on him before her, standing naked but for his heavy boots.

She marveled at how quickly the effects of the spell were slipping away. Already his beard and hair were much more vibrant and dark, much of the whites and greys darkening before her eyes. His frame, which at first sight has seemed withered and old, had fleshed out, his chest broad and sturdy, his arms stronger by the minute. No more was he an ancient old man, his back grew straighter as he stood before her. He did not seem to mind his own nakedness. His eyes took on an impish glimmer as he noticed the princess sneaking a peek at his sex, which still stood out against a thick patch of fur.

The princess saw his amusement, and her face colored. With her help, they returned to the old pallet which had been his prison. He sat down heavily, and his brow furrowed at his body's weakness.

The princess knelt down and removed the heavy boots, one and then the other. She stood back, again marveling at how much he had changed in such a short time. His beard and hair seemed shorter, fuller, though still quite long and wild.

At last, he stood, this time under his own power, holding up a hand as the princess tried to assist him.

"No, my love. Too long have I been upon this bed." He said, at last gaining his feet. His knees and arms and back creaked and popped as he stood tall. He stood naked before her, and she recognized the body of the man she had come to know as master and lover. 

She came close to him. "T'was you all along, wasn't it, my love?" she asked.

"In a way." he said.

He touched her face softly, his hand sliding along her jaw, wrapping behind her head. Her hair felt soft and luxuriant around his hand. He pulled her face to his, and they shared a long, heartfelt kiss. A part of the princess found it strange to be kissing a man she had actually never met. But her heart knew his, though just hours before it had been composed of only sand and magick, in the form of another. Now she stood in the presence of her true master, her lover all along, and she wept to find him. His arms wrapped 'round her, and they stood together in the darkened room as the High Moon set.

-- -

"Come, my King..." she said. "Let us get you out of this dark place."

He allowed her to wrap his naked form in the old bearskin that had long served as his blanket. As they were leaving, he stopped and returned to the opposite side of the old bed. Clutching the bear's pelt round his middle, he stooped and retrieved a small blue stone from a sconce low in the wall. His back gave a poppity-pop as he straightened up. The stone gave off a faint blue glow. The bear's pelt swished on the smooth stone floor as he returned to her, gathering up his boots as he went by them. The armour he left scattered about on the stones. Once more she wrapped his shoulders with the pelt, and with her arm 'round him, they left the room at the top of the dark tower. 

-- -

Outside, the storm had broken, blowing itself out as the wicked Queen breathed her last. A strange calm fell upon the castle. The revelers from the courtyard, who had ground and writhed in passion's grip, had long since sheltered from the gathering storm. They had all retired to rooms to work themselves up again and again, until all lay spent and dreaming.

The princess hurried the King down the long spiraling staircase, hurried as much as his legs would allow. Winding down the tower, they passed windows and arrrowlets set into the outer walls. As they passed an arrowlet facing onto the courtyard, a freshening breeze whispered in, and the King stopped short.

Sniffing the wind he said, "The castle smells of lust." He sighed. "I have slept through far too many a High Moon, and have missed out on the Revels." He turned to the princess, a curious smile in his eyes, but he did not finish his thought. The princess took the cue, again guiding him downward, downward, downward to the hidden passageway. She brought them at last to the doorway outside her own chambers.

-- -

She retrieved the heavy iron key from between her ample breasts. It fit the lock and after a hasty check inside, she guided the King into her rooms. He collapsed into a chair, the effort of descending from the tower leaving him exhausted. He breathed hard in the chair, his brow furrowed in an intense glower.

The princess came to him, kneeling down beside his chair, taking his hand in hers.

"Do not be vexed, my King." said she. "Twill take some time to regain your strength."

"There was once a man in my village..." she began, wrapping a thick blanket 'round him. "who was struck by lightning in a storm, though he did not die."

"I was but a girl, but I remember it. He lay like dead upon his bower for many, many seasons. His wife thought him asleep forever, and took another man in his stead." She added. "But one day, he awoke, as if only a moment had passed, though it had been many, many seasons indeed. He too was surprised at how his body, once so very strong, had failed him, how his arms and legs could no longer move. It was another three seasons before he could even walk, and even then 'twas only with a strange, halting stride."

Turning to the King she said, "You have only been awake for but a few moments, my King, and see how much your own strength has returned." She flashed a beaming smile at him, and to his own surprise, his brow smoothed, his dark mood breaking at the sight of her.

"And what became of the wife?" he asked at last.

"My Lord?" she asked, puzzled by his question.

"The wife... in your tale. What became of her?" he explained.

"As it happened," she continued. "the moment he chose to wake, the wife was standing on the foot of his bed, retrieving some linens from a shelf above where he slept. She was so startled that she lost her footing, and fell, her neck across a chair back. It killed her that instant."

"That is a terrible story, my love." said the King with a chuckle.

"Yes, I know. Mothers of my village used the tale as warning for young ladies to be ever faithful." Her face clouded, her eyes troubled as if remembering. She shook it away and continued. "I only thought of it now because it applies to your own present discomfort. How your own body is so much further along than his, after such a short time."

"Ah..." said the King softly. "There was much more at work here besides a long sleep. I have lain in the grip of dark magick, and though it kept me prisoner, weak and frail, it kept my body from withering away completely."

"But you are right, of course." he went on. "My strength returns little by little, even as we speak... though I pray I do not have to battle with sword and mail any time soon." Again, the soft eyes and smile as he spoke.

The princess looked about her chamber. They remained in the bathing chamber, near the door they had come through from the tower. The princess frowned at the empty basin in the floor. The King needed a bath in the worst way.

As if catching her thoughts, the King spoke. "I must get clean. I have lain still too long, my body itches." The princess looked about the chamber, trying to recall how her maid had filled the tub the times she had watched her. Most times it was already prepared when she arrived, and now she silently scolded herself for not paying better attention.

But with a slight wave of his hand, a gurgling from beneath the stone floor, and water came splashing into the stone basin. Steam rose from it as the water began to fill it in.

She turned to the King. "My liege..." she asked, confounded by the strange occurrence, the water in the bath rushing in of its own accord. "Are you a sorcerer?

"Nay, my Queen." He said, smiling and shaking his head. "I know only a little. I was apprenticed to a great magician long ago, but... you already know that, don't you? No, I possess some skill, but a true sorcerer, I am not."

With a flourish, he stood from the chair, whipping the old tattered bearskin and blanket away, his naked body pale, luminescent in the light of her chamber torches. She marveled at how his body had gained mass and muscle. No more was he withered and frail, but bright and masculine and strong.

He caught her eyes upon him, and allowed them to wander over his body, seeking out what they found appealing. At last, he smiled once more and entered the steaming water of the bathing tub.

An incredibly long sigh escaped him as the warmth of the water enveloped him. After a time he submerged himself, wild hair streaming about him in the water. When he came up for air, gone was the furrowed brow and heavy scowl. 

He was quiet for many moments, breathing in the warm steam. He sat upon a recessed step, so that he was submerged up to his chest. He sat still in the water and absorbed the heat. At long last, he turned at the waist, resting his forearms on the lip of the basin, looking intently at the her.

"There is much to do..." He said at last. "Tell me, my dear... Are my kinsmen within the castle walls? I believe I heard their heartbeats as I awoke."

"Aye, my King." She said. "He accompanied the Champions from the tournament. Many of them chose to stay for the Revel, and the sun is not yet up. I imagine they are still within."

As she spoke, she marveled at all that had transpired in only a night's span. Her enemy destroyed, the spell broken, the King arisen; could all of this have truly happened in just one moon's rise and fall?

"Ah, that is good, my new Queen." said he, his voice low and solemn. "You must go and fetch him."

"I am sure Syr'Va'ahl the Wise foretold of what must occur during the High Moon. I have no doubt he witnessed the storm, and Tymrill will know something has happened. He will be expecting you, I think. Go at once, and bring him here , but be most careful. Let no one follow, only bring him to me... There is much to do."

She turned to go, but he called to her as she passed through her outer chamber toward the door. She returned to the bathing chamber.

"Do you still have the sharp blade your nurse used to shave you, my dear?" he asked, a sly smile dancing in his eyes.

Her face colored. She had forgotten this new man knew all her former master had seen. His eyes looked through the eyes of the man-thing of sand as he willed it along, the eyes of the Inquisitor. Her mind reeled as she remembered his touch, how life-like it had been. Not for one moment had she ever thought it unreal. She marveled at the magick of the King. He 'possessed some skill' indeed, she thought.

She fetched the bright blade, and brought it to him in the bath, and then turning back, brought a looking-glass as well. Before she left, she found a robe of heavy fur which seemed suitable for a man in her cupboard of clothes. He inclined his head in thanks, and she hurried off to find the kinsman of the King.

-- -

She hurried through the castle, leaving from her chambers and up through the Inquisitor's chamber of delights. She hurried up the great stair. As she went along searching for the chieftain, she encountered many of the castle's inhabitants. All of them were deep in sleep, spent from the thrustings and lust of the night's Revel. Here a large man and a splendid beauty lay curled under blankets, while nearby lay three women and two men naked to the world atop a great wooly pelt.

As she moved through the castle, she was wary of running across any minions of the Queen. Before the storm, and the demise of the former Queen, most of the ladies-in-waiting had been pumping and grinding away upon various men in the courtyard. She could still hear their moans and wails in her mind, and see their red and flaming bond-stones bouncing in time at their throats. Now she found no trace of them anywhere. Once, her eyes caught a quick movement, a huddled figure scurrying away, but then it was gone.

At long last she found Tymrill, the great chieftain of the outlanders. He lay atop a huge pile of furs. Curled in each of his powerful arms were two stunning maids, fast asleep against his broad chest. But Tymrill slept not, his eyes were bright in the darkness. He saw her approach and gently disentangled himself from the sleeping lasses.

She waited as he dressed himself. Her body and mind remembered his, but she forced the momentary arousal down deep. He pulled on his leggings and a loose tunic, donning his boots and lacing them. Once dressed, he came close to her and spoke in low tones.

"So it is true, then?" he asked softly. "The evil deed has been done, and He has returned to us?"

"Aye, my lord..." she whispered. "He lives! He is below, in my very chambers, even as we speak. He has sent me to find you... to bring you to him."

The big chieftain laughed, a low rumbling like an earthquake in the great barrel of his chest. "The old one was right! I would not have believed it... but here you are! Come, take me to him."

She led him back down to her chambers, and all the while he chuckled to himself.

The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 02



She stopped in her tracks as she entered her chambers once again. The chieftain had to stop short in order to keep from crashing into her. She stood amazed at the man who greeted them.

There, in the mellow torchlight of her bedchambers stood her master, the Inquisitor. Only it was the King. In her absence, he had cut his hair to nearly shoulder length. Though the cut was ragged from the blade, it hung wet and luxurious and regal against his neck. His beard that had sprung wild and untamed was nearly gone. He had shaped what remained of it crisply around his lips and chin, making a dark O around his mouth. The princess thought he must have taken considerably more time on his beard, noting his misshapen hairstyle. He wore the heavy fur robe and his shadow cast long on the floor. Silence reigned for a moment as the two men stared at each other. At last, it was the King who spoke.

"Yes, cousin... It is I."

A great bellow as the outlander chief ran to his kinsman. They embraced heartily, Tymrill's booming laugh bouncing about the stones of her chamber.

"By the Gods!" exclaimed Tymrill. "It is good to see you, cousin. So many of our kinsmen gave you up for dead so long ago."

"Not dead, you old dog!" returned the King heartily. "Though I might as well have been."

"The curse?" asked Tymrill.

"Lifted!" shouted the King, gesturing to the princess. "By my new Queen." Tymrill raised his eyebrows in surprise, and then turned to her, bowing very low and graciously. 

"Long may she reign at your side." said the outlander, kinsman of the King.

As Tymrill straightened up, his eyes caught hers, and his face colored, remembering her mouth around him after the tournament.

"I have much to discuss with you, cousin..." began the King. "So much have I missed. But that will have to wait."

"I need your help... there is something I need you to do." he said, clapping a hand on Tymrill's shoulder.

"Name it, cousin!" exclaimed Tymrill.

"High above us lies remains of..." he hesitated. "Of my former Queen. To be sure, she is most likely only dust by now. But you must take pains to remove even the smallest grain of her. Nothing must remain within these walls. This you must do before the sun leaves her chambers."

"Syr'Va'ahl's plan has worked." the King continued. "She is gone, but her spells and bindings may still yet exist. I have not the strength to withstand any ambush or attack she may have lain in her defense. My limbs are still weak from their long slumber, and all of my stores are at an ebb. My magick is depleted, and I may sorely need it, if I am to regain my throne" As if to illustrate his point, he swayed on his feet, and they helped him to a chair.

"And..." added Tymrill softly. "There is the matter of your son. He may not look kindly upon your return... or the death of his beloved."

- - -

Dawn broke over the eastern mountains, an explosion of light rocketing between the craggy peaks. The light spilled over the rim and down into the valleys, marching along the lowlands and farmlands until it set the stones of the castle ablaze with golden color. Sparkles of sunlight danced upon dew covered leaves and grass. The entire land shouted with light and color; as if a great blanket of sorrow had been torn away.

As the morning sunlight crawled up the castle walls, it found an opening and shone inside. A young man growled angrily at the encroaching day. He rolled over in his bed, pulling his blankets over him. The comely lass beside him gave a complaint at being uncovered so rudely.

"Quiet,wench!" he spat from beneath the bedclothes. "Can you not see I am trying to sleep!"

She scowled and left the bed. She began to gather her clothes, wincing as she bent to retrieve her bodice. Her backside ached and her thighs and sex felt raw and hot. Her bedmate had certainly taken all he had wanted. But he had found striking her much more amusing, and had spent the small hours of the morning caning her backside with a stiff reed.

She tried to dress as quietly as she could, hoping to be away before he was awake. Alas, she had only gotten her skirtings tied 'round her before he sat up and beheld her through sleepy eyes. Her body was naked from the waist up, her round breasts moving up and down as she drew in breath. She could see he was very hard underneath the covers, his eyes roving over her bare skin. Despite herself, the morning chill stiffened her nipples as he looked upon her. A smile slid across his face, but it gave no comfort.

She tried to cover herself, but he commanded her be still. He sat up against the headboard, arms stretched out along the rail. His chest was broad, with a patch of light hair. His arms, though strong enough, did not seem fully grown to her eyes.

Like a boy who does not know his strength, thought she. Not like a man who knew how to act properly. As he looked upon her, she felt her face burn red.

His face was quite handsome, features smooth and refined. His hair chestnut, long and silky down his back. His face could not yet grow a proper beard. His jaw and chin were covered over with stubble, but seemed patchy in places.

As she saw him in the morning light, the charm that had drawn her faded. The memory of his rough touch made her regret fawning after him so. True, she had plied and pulled at him, pleading to be his consort for the night's Revel. But now in the dawn, she wished herself far away.

He left the bed, coming swiftly to her, grasping her breasts in both hands. He squeezed them hard, slipping his fingers 'round her nipples. He pinched and tugged at them, pulling her close enough to brush his stiffened cock against her skirts.

"And just where do you think you are going?" he asked lightly, his smile melting into a sort of smirk. He did not allow her time to answer. Instead, he whirled her around, his arms 'round her waist, hands crawling up to find her breasts again.

He moved her to the bed, bending her over the wooden footboard. Moving fast, he swept her skirts up, exposing her red and sore bottom. His hand flashed out, spanking her rump hard. Another and another, spank after spank as she bent over the bedboard.

He tired of spanking her bottom soon enough. But she could tell by his ragged breathing he was not finished.

"No, my Lord." she whispered. But her plea seemed to madden him further. From behind, she could feel his throbbing cock pulse against her cheeks. It seemed to move of it's own accord. She prayed him relent. She felt his hands part her buttocks, and the quivering head of his sex come to rest against her tight opening. She knew what was in store, and cried out, but he paid her no heed. She heard him spit upon his hand and felt him wet himself and her behind with it. Slowly, he slid himself into her. She cried out as his big cock stretched into her ass. 

"You... touch yourself!" he commanded as he pounded her from behind. When she did not comply, he grasped her upper arm roughly and forced her hand down between her legs.

"Obey me, wench!" he cried as he slammed her with his cock. He pulled her hair and his cock grew very stiff inside of her. She felt his hot seed shoot into her and buried her face in the covers as his rhythm slowed. At last he withdrew it from her, and backed away on unsteady legs.

Tears streamed down her face as she lowered her skirts and stood. She tried to regain her pride, struggling into her bodice. She caught his cold eyes as he regarded her. Her face burned with shame at the sight of them.

He allowed her to dress, pretending to pay her no heed. She gathered the rest of her things in a quick bundle, heading for the door. But before she could be shut of him, he called out, bidding her turn and answer.

"Y..yes, my Lord?" she asked timidly, her hand brushing away a tear.

"At the chime of the ninth hour, you will bring yourself... and another to me here, in my chambers. Be sure you both have bathed." He smiled his sickeningly sweet smile at her, before his voice turned malevolent. "Do I make myself clear?"

She stared open-mouthed at him for a long moment before her shoulders sagged. Her head dropped and she could not bear to meet his eyes. At last she sighed.

"As you command, Prince Tarquinne."

She bowed slightly and hastened away. Her racking sobs could be heard echoing down the corridor.

- - -

He worked late into the morning. He gathered up all of the sumptuous blankets and bedcoverings from the Queen's huge bed. Choosing the largest, Tymrill bound the rest into a great bundle, tying the huge coverlet around it all to make a great sack.

From the floor surrounding the bed, he carefully swept all of the ash and grit that had once been the beautiful Queen. He collected all he could find into tidy piles. All about the Queen's bedchamber hung a thin cloud of tiny particles, as if someone had shaken a dusty blanket. Using the pommel of his knife, he broke out several panes of glass from a window, then several more from another across the room. A light breeze blew in, through, and carried most of the flotsam out the other side with it.

On hands and knees, the great chieftain found a tooth under the bed, and another under a pillow. He found many shards of thin glass. All these he gathered and added to the sack. He crinkled his nose as he worked. The entire chamber held a sickly sweet smell, a scent which draws carrion birds on the wing.

Every so often, he felt tiny pinpricks on any part of exposed skin. His face, his arms, even his ears began to feel itchy and hot as he worked. Deciding to leave nothing to chance, he gathered the remaining pillows, blankets and furs throughout the room, and bundled them into another sack.

From tables and dressers and cupboards throughout the chambers, he gathered things that had belonged to the Queen. Here a fine silver hairbrush with bristles of sable, from here a fine quill and ink. He tried to imagine anything the Queen might have touched often. And so he set himself to stripping the room of anything personal to the Queen. His aim was to leave nothing that might hold evil in this place. He even tore open the huge mattresses, ripping off their covers, leaving only scattered feathers behind.

It was not until he had nearly finished, and was preparing to leave that he spotted a gleam of metal winking beneath a massive, heavy wardrobe. Leaving his bundles, he got down and reached under the cupboard to fetch it. As his hand closed around it, he realized his mistake.

A deep thrum sprang up in the air. The tiny pinpricks along his skin increased a thousand fold. A multitude of hot knifes seemed to tear at his exposed flesh. The smell intensified, decay and burning and brimstone. And still the thrum in the air continued, growing louder and louder, a sound of countless locusts descending upon new crops. The great chieftain tried to regain his feet, but his big arm remained lodged underneath the thick wood of the wardrobe. He fought against it, his arm tearing against the wood, trying to break free from under it.

The thrum grew deeper and faster. He looked up and saw tiny particles swirling in the air all around him. They whipped about each other, and began to coalesce into a shape; the shape of a woman.

As he gaped in horror at the forming shape, a great creak tore his attention away. His wide eyes beheld the massive wardrobe leaning toward him, rising, tipping... falling. He bellowed and raised his other arm above him as the huge cabinet came plunging over, collapsing upon him with all its terrible weight. 

All at once the sound diminished and died away completely. As a thin rivulet of blood seeped out from beneath the wreckage of the wardrobe, the last of the dust of Queen Belladonna fluttered out on the morning breeze.



The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 03



During the morning, the King sent her to find certain of his kinsmen throughout the castle, and bring them quietly to him. Time and again, she made her way up from her chambers to seek them out. She had to use much care now. The castle was awake and buzzing with activity.

People were all about now. Courtesans, stable-hands, armourers and bakers moved about with purpose. There was a strange air of uncertainty that drifted throughout the entire castle, indeed the entire realm. It was as if every subject and citizen had opened their eyes with the morning sun, all with the same thought in their head. "Something is different."

Different indeed, though none but the King and his kinsman, the wily Syr'Va'ahl, and the princess knew the full extent. But all through the castle and its camps without, rumors and speculations abounded. The citizenry shared a sense of anticipation, though they could name no reason for it.

The princess went about the castle, attempting to appear as though she were not on a mission. She stopped by the kitchens, nibbled a sweetcake, sampled some fresh strawberries, plucked a flower or two, generally looking nonchalant. Along the way, she would come across the outlander she'd been sent to fetch, and after quietly explaining herself, they would steal away. At last she lost track of how many time she climbed up and down the great spiraling staircase. She knew it had been quite a few, as her legs ached from so many steps.

One by one she brought the kinsmen to the King. Many of them tried to pepper her with questions, while still more remained in stony silence until they were brought before him. Their questions she diverted with light words, and hurried along to their destination. 

Most of the men's eyes grew wide as they passed through the former Inquisitor's chambers. Many of them thought the machines and contraptions to be devices of torture, but some of them discerned their purpose right away. Sly smiles crossed their lips as they passed the tuning forks, but to their credit, said nothing.

As she brought them into the presence of the King, each of them shouted and laughed and embraced their lost kinsman. To each of them, the King appointed a task. This one he dispatched to assay the store of grain. Another he sent to survey the land, another to assess the livestock. To all four points of the winds, he dispatched a trusted champion to see to the defenses along the borderlands.

And so it was at last, as the noon-bell grew near, she brought the last of her appointed charges before the King. This last towered above her, a great hulk of a man. He had to duck his head to enter her chambers. His eyes grew wide as he beheld his cousin, the King.

"Ah, at last! Sereth!" exclaimed the King, nearly leaping from his chair to embrace the newcomer. "Too many summers have passed between us. My heart is joyed to see you again."

Sereth, brother to the outlander chief Tymrill, could not contain his happiness. His gentle face beamed with a big, toothy grin.

"I scarce can believe my own eyes, cousin!" said Sereth at last. "For so long, all of us have thought you dead for sure. No one could have held out, imprisoned this long!" 

"Were it not for the dark spell placed upon me, I would have long since withered away." said the King sadly. "In truth, I can see the seasons past on all of you. Those who were but boys before, are now men of honor..." The King's voice choked.

"Too long." said the King, regaining his voice.

"Too long, indeed." answered Sereth.

The pair gave another hearty embrace, laughing at how one had changed so much, while the other appeared the same as when he'd last seen the High Moon. They sat and shared stories of days of old and tales of things unseen by the King during his long imprisonment.

The King recounted the tale of his demise and his masquerade as the Inquisitor. Sereth stood amazed as he listened about the magick the King had wrought, creating the man-thing of sand. The King formally introduced the princess, whom he again referred to as his new Queen. Sereth shyly took her hand and laid a soft kiss across her knuckles.

At last, the King turned to the business at hand.

"Cousin..." the King began. "I have a matter of grave impor..."

His voice broke off abruptly as a slight movement in the doorway caught his eye. His mouth fell open and he leapt to his feet. Sereth quickly turned, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. He too fell agape as they stared at the horrific form which clung to the doorframe.

There, slumped weakly against the frame, stood the battered form of Tymrill. His hair hid most of his face, bloody and clumped, hooding his eyes. His shirt was torn and ragged, his chest a spider's web of bloody cuts. His arm hung useless at his side, tiny droplets of blood hung from his fingertips, a pitter-patter on the stone floor. His other hand hung to a cleft in the sill, knuckles white against the graying stone. He staggered forward, his mouth trying to speak, but making no sound.

Sereth and the King rushed forward, catching him as he crumpled. Sereth trembled with rage to see his brother thus. They cradled his huge frame, his blood staining his brother's tunic. 

Even broken as he was, the chieftain wrestled himself first to his knees, and then shakily to his feet with a terribly weary groan. Sereth and the King supported his weight, half-carrying him to the princess's bed. Great tears escaped the princess as she watched them attempt to help him. Tymrill crashed down into the bed like a huge forest tree felled by an axe.

"Cousin!" cried the King. "Tymrill! What calamity has befallen you?" His voice was fraught with concern.

"...d d... dark.... Dark magick!" gasped Tymrill.

"So much blood..." said Sereth softly, his eyes tracing back along the path Tymrill had came. A steady trail of drops and spatters led back into the gloom.

The King pressed him for answers, but Tymrill was very weak. His arm lay away from his body at a unnatural angle. To the King, it appeared to have been crushed by some sort of heavy mace or bludgeon. He grit his teeth and seethed.

"Sereth!" the King commanded, snapping at his kinsman, rending him from the daze which had overtaken him. "Go at once, and fetch Syr'Va'ahl! Hurry, man! There is no time to be lost!"

Sereth looked from the King to his brother, and back again. He seemed torn in two. 

"Go now!" screamed the King. "Before all hope is lost. Hurry. I shall attend to Tymrill with what skill I have, but these wounds are more than I can heal. You must bring Syr'Va'ahl! Perhaps together we may still save him."

Without a word, Sereth turned and ran from the room. His mighty stride boomed though the outer chambers and echoed from the spiral stair far without. He took stairs three at time, climbing, up, up, up. The King murmured ancient words over his wrecked kinsman. From without, the sounds of heavy footsteps faded away, leaving the stillness to be broken only the princess's quiet sobs and Tymrill's ragged breathing.

-- -

The servant laid the breakfast of cheeses and fruits on an ornate table. He bowed low to the Prince, backing from the room, eyes averted. The Prince paid him absolutely no heed, rising naked from his bed, popping a ripe grape into his mouth.

On his face was a satisfied smile. But on his brow, he wore a troubled air. Something nagged at him, a thought he could not quite grasp; a feeling he had misplaced or forgotten something. A feeling that something was missing.

He finished his morning repast, leisurely drawing on soft clothes and a sumptuous purple tunic. From the corridors without, and from below in the courtyard, snatches of conversation drifted in. Though he could not make them out, the entire castle seemed excited and upended.

Frowning, he buckled on his sword, hanging from it's jeweled belt. Pausing at a large looking-glass, he plucked at the ruff of his sleeves and smoothed his hair. Satisfied at his reflection, he left his chambers in search of the cause of the morning's uproar.

Moving through the corridors of the castle proved difficult. Every turn brought another hallway busy with people. He made his way through, often rudely bumping shoulders with people who passed. Throughout the castle, people seemed to be either in a hurry, or just milling about. Exasperated, the Prince reversed course, seeking a clearer path. Turning a corner, he nearly crashed headlong into a servant. He sent him crashing to he side with a rough forearm blow. 

"Out of my way, dolt!" he hissed, his annoyance boiling over.

"Oh!" cried the servant. "Forgive me, my Lord." He cowered as the Prince pushed past. If the Prince had bothered to turn back, he would have seen the servant staring holes through his back and thinking evil thoughts.

Clearly, something was afoot, and the Prince was angered that he knew nothing about it. Did his mother's plan to rid them of the infernal outlanders meet with resistance? Was he not in charge of the castle defense? Why was he not informed? These thoughts troubled him. He quickened his steps, heading toward the gilded tower.

He reached the tower and bounded up the stairs into the main receiving hall. In stark contrast to the bustle in rest of the castle, here it was deserted. Quiet reigned throughout.

Strange, thought the prince. There should be guards posted her, and he most often encountered at least one of the ladies in waiting on his way to the Queen's rooms. Now he could find no one within the tower. He looked about the lower rooms and found no one. He mounted the stairs, taking them slowly at first, and then quicker as he climbed.

The higher he went, the closer to the Queen's rooms, the more his apprehension grew. Where were the guards, the servants, the beautiful ladies who surrounded his mother? All were gone; he could find not a soul.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he halted outside the chamber door. His breath wheezed and his chest ached. He furrowed his brow, wondering at his own feeling of exhaustion. He was a man of sport, and a tried warrior, surely a few steps should not shake him so. But as he fought to regain his breath, he felt his hands tremor. As he pulled great gulps of air, he detected a strange scent. An odor of sweet decay.

His anxiety could hold back no more, and he burst through the doorway into the Queen's chambers. He could scarce believe his eyes. He turned round and round, taking it all in. The rooms were in complete disarray. The first thing that caught his eye was the great bed on which his mother had often lounged. The covers and blankets and silks were gone. The soft pillows were strewn about and torn open. The plump mattress was rent to pieces and flattened, feathers strewn about the floor.

There were panes missing from the windows, shards of colored glass littering the sill. Her beautifully carved wardrobe lay in wrecked heap to one side, pieces of it scattered about the floor as if it had toppled over, sending shards flying. The drawers on all of her tables and chest hung open, their contents rummaged through. 

The Prince felt his disbelief turning to anger. Something terrible had happened in this room. His mother, the Queen, would never allow such an outrage, such a violation of her private spaces. Her closets hung open, some of her beautiful gowns laying in a heap. 

He drew closer to the shambles of the wardrobe, picking up a shattered panel. He eyed it and let it fall back into the pile. Was that blood? He thought, picking up another shard. Blood it was, his eyes confirmed.

In a flash he drew his sword, knowing that it would not avail him. Whatever had happened here, it was already over. Looking about, feeling foolish, he sheathed his sword and began searching the room. He looked through everything, the tattered bed, the broken wardrobe, the empty drawers, searching for any sign as to what had happened in his mother's room.

After searching for some time, he came across a clue that left no doubt. Brushing away some scattered feathers from the mattress, he spotted a tiny white object, blackened on one end. Retrieving it, an icy chill ran along his spine as his mind comprehended it. In his palm lay a tooth. Pearly and white, but blackened and charred along it's stalks. His stomach turned over and he fought to keep from retching. In his heart he knew, all that remained of his beloved mother was this burned tooth.

Rage turned his vision red, and he gnashed his teeth and tore at his own lustrous hair.

"By all the Gods of the Night-realm..." He hissed. "I vow upon this spot, I shall find who has done this to you, my mother, and tear them to pieces!" His fist clenched tight around the tooth in his palm, and it felt smooth and warm against his skin.

He paced back and forth, muttering oaths as he went. His mind raced in twenty directions at once. He slowly forced calm upon himself. Slowing his breathing, slowing his heartbeat, forcing the anger down deep inside of him. It was only then his eye caught the glint of silver amidst the ruins of the once-proud wardrobe.



The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 04



Wherever the Prince went within the castle, Toad was sure to follow.

He was portly and squat. His legs were bowed from too much weight as a lad. His eyes slightly bulged from his pocked, fat face. His hair was perpetually unkempt, and hung from his head in oily lumps. He had a habit of licking his lips, and they were forever chapped and red. His skin had a sickly, greenish pallor, adding to the effect. He had been called Toad so long he could not remember his birth name.

He followed the Prince everywhere. Tarquinne generally tolerated his presence, but often chased him away or beat him soundly. Even still, Toad was fiercely loyal to the Prince and Queen Belladonna.

And so it was that Prince Tarquinne was not at all surprised to find him waiting in the corridor outside the Queen's chambers when he emerged. He stood rocking on his stooped legs, drumming his fingertips, his fat arms resting across his round belly.

Seeing an object on which to vent his frustration, Prince Tarquinne seized Toad by his neck and hair, slamming him against the nearest wall. A smile crossed Tarquinne's lips, hearing the gratifying smack of Toad's oily head against the stone.

Fear bulged Toad's eyes even further, his stubby legs barely touching the floor. Tarquinne bent his face close to Toad, bellowing.

"What has happened to the Queen, Toad!" he shrieked.

"My, my lord," Toad stammered. "Truly I know not!"

Tarquinne released him, Toad collapsing to the floor, sucking in air in wet gasps.

"My most powerful Lord Tarquinne," blatted Toad from his position upon the floor. "I came to find you. I awoke this morning to the sounds of hurry and worry. I knew something.... Something was amiss!" Toad put forth what was his best fawning smile, but in truth it was merely a pained grimace.

"Last eve..." continued Toad. "I... I was watching the Revel." His eyes took on an evil gleam, and Tarquinne felt his anger rise from just the sight of the devilish look upon the face of Toad. Sensing a beating, Toad hurried on.

"I was watching, my Lord. Watching the beautiful flesh of the maidens... heh heh" His laugh sent gooseflesh along the Prince's skin. "... watching them in moonlight."

"Get on with it, Toad!" shouted the Prince. His words echoed hollow in the empty chamber, and he raised his arm to strike Toad, who cowered lower.

"That's when I saw, my Lord.... That's when I saw!" shrieked Toad, his hand raised over his head.

"Saw what, Toad?" asked the Prince.

"The light, my Lord... the Terrible Light!" Seeing the Prince was actually paying him heed now, Toad quickened.

"T'was during the storm, my Lord... you know... the storms that come when She... when She has pleasur..." Toad's words were cut short by a harsh blow from the Prince.

"You shut your filthy hole, Toad! Speak not of her that way again, or I'll split your belly." His hand rested on the pommel of his sword for effect as he spoke.

"No... no my Lord!" hissed Toad. "It was during the storm that I saw Her!"

"Her?" asked the Prince, his voice affecting a tone of tenderness.

Toad leapt up with glee, drumming his fingertips excitedly. "Yes, my Lord! Her! The raven haired prize of the Royal Judge!"

The prince grew serious. "What about her?" he hissed.

"T'was her, my Lord. T'was her whom the Mistress took to her bed for the Revel." yipped Toad, growing so excited he nearly hopped from foot to foot as he rocked.

He looked to Prince Tarquinne as if that meant something very important, but the Prince merely looked to Toad in frustration.

"And... What of it?" he said at last.

"Twas she, my Lord... T'was she who went in unto the Queen... and then... I could hear the pleasure."

Anger crossed the Prince's eyes, but he let the words slip by as Toad continued.

"Oh... oh yes, the pleasure, my Lord. I heard the Queen... and then, the storm grew so violent and angry, and I beheld the Light! The Terrible Light, and the horrible shrieks and wails of my Mistress! Ohh no-ho-ho!" Toad's babblings dissolved into wet and sticky sobs.

"And then, sob... in the dawn came the big man from away... he came to sweep her up...sob... something terrible befell him inside...sob... look here at the blood he left behi..."

Tarquinne seized him again, shaking him violently.

"Quiet, you fool! Cease your blubbering and speak plainly!" Toad could see his time had run out. He could either tell all he knew, or face a horrendous thrashing.

-- -

Sereth brought Syr'Va'ahl at last. It seemed an eternity since he had charged off. He had ran through the castle. He had to find him out in the camps as Syr'Va'ahl would not enter the castle while the Queen was alive. But Sereth found him clothed and ready to move when he bounded into his tent.

"Master..." panted Sereth. "You must come quickly! It is my brother... You must help him!" Syr'Va'ahl sprang from the tent and hurried back toward the castle. Grief-stricken as he was, Sereth marveled at the speed and quickness of a man who appeared so old and frail. He had to hurry to keep up with the old man, who nearly outpaced him with his strange clattering walk.

At last they bounded into the chambers of the princess. Wasting no time, Syr'Va'ahl hastened gto Tymrill's side. His eyes met the King's and the King saw grave concern looking back at him.

"By the Gods!" whispered Syr'Va'ahl. "There is no time!"

Tymrill had worsened greatly in their absence. His breathing was quite slow and shallow. His skin had taken on a frightening grey cast, and the cuts which scored his skin were blackish-red. His eyes were open, but only just, and they reeled about inside their sockets. 

Syr'Va'ahl squatted beside the wounded man, searching about in a ragged bag he had brought with him. From it came small bits of plants, powders and stones. He spat upon the floor and mixed them all into a paste. Over the mixture he murmered words the others could not catch, whilst his hands took on a strange sort of glow as he passed them over. Over and over the words, over and over the hands sliced the air above the dubious concoction on the floor. All at once the mixture sparked and crackled and caught fire. It burned white hot for a moment, before dying down to a small greenish flame. Caring not for his hands, Syr'Va'ahl seized the smoldering mass amd jammed it deep into Tymrill's throat.

Aghast, Sereth and the King cried out, but Syr'Va'ahl silenced them. 

"Silence, fool!" he cackled. "Give it time to work."

The old man bent low over Tymrill, his strange gnarled hands passing all along the war-chief's body. They came to rest over his heart, and were immediately engulfed in bright blue flame.

The others looked on, mouths agape. The blue flames rolled and licked and danced along Syr'Va'Ahl's hands and arms. His lips became a constant babble of incantation. From the body of Tymrill, the princess was sure she heard a tiny hissing, like fat skittering on a hot iron. From many of the wounds on Tymrill's skin, tiny, dark particles rose up, swirling about in the air above them.

With a loud clap, the fire from Syr'Va'ahl's hands leapt into the air, swirling masses of flame winging about the chambers. The King, the princess and Sereth all fell upon their faces as the flame shot about the room, devouring all of the blackness it could find. All at once, the flames, the candles, the torches, the lanterns, all winked out, leaving them all in utter blackness. The princess shrieked as the dark enveloped them.

Slowly, very slowly, the torches coughed, sparked and lit one by one. As their eyes returned to them, they saw Tymrill sit up, and Syr'Va'ahl lying beside him, panting, sweating as if he had run for many leagues.

They came to his side as the princess helped Syr'Va'ahl. She sat him up, and he rested against her, weak from his exertions. Tymrill looked ill, but the evil pallor upon his skin had abated, and the web of cuts and scratches seemed quieted. His bleeding had stopped, and his eyes seemed bright.

"Cousin..." whispered the King. "Can you hear me?"

"Aye, cousin... I hear." replied Tymrill. Something about his voice seemed strange to the princess, but she could not place it. Syr'Va'ahl seemed to have recovered somewhat, and sat looking intently at Tymrill.

"My arm..." said Tymrill. "There is something... something is not right." He tried in vain to move his mighty arm, but it hung limp from his shoulder, a branch broken in a terrible storm.

"I fear for that arm, Tymrill." croaked Syr'Va'ahl. "It is broken in many, many places."

"But Master..." pleaded Sereth hopefully. "Surely you with all of your skill can mend it."

Syr'Va'ahl was quiet for a moment. At last he replied, "Alas, my son... The damage is too great." He saw the words strike Tymrill with the force of a blow.

"Perhaps in time..." soothed Syr'Va'ahl. "perhaps in time it may still heal. You are strong, Tymrill... very strong. In time you may heal." 

"Perhaps..." said Tymrill sadly. He could not meet the staring eyes of Syr'Va'ahl. Instead he looked to the King.

"It was her, kinsman!" he said urgently. "T'was her... but not in flesh. In spirit, in vengeance! She brought that coffin down upon me... out of spite!"

The King put his forehead against Tymrill's ravaged shoulder. "Forgive me, cousin." He said. "It should have been me."

There was a very long moment of silence. It seemed no one knew exactly what to say. In the end, it was Tymrill who broke the quiet.

"Bah!" he said, his back straightening. "This black deed lies with the former Queen. T'was her malice caused my ruin." He eyes grew hard and stern. " T'is no matter. I still have one good arm to hold a sword."

With that, he tried to gain his feet. Sereth and the King moved to help him, but he pushed them away, determined to rise on his own. After several painful attempts, he stood, reeling but for a moment before standing tall on his own feet.

Sereth came to his side and together they made for the door. Turning back, Tymrill fixed his eyes upon those of the King.

"The time for rest is over, Cousin." said Tymrill, his voice firm. "If you are to regain your throne, I suggest you do it soon. By now, your... son... will surely have discovered the Queen has gone, and will come looking. 

With that, he allowed his brother to guide him out through the Inquisitor's machines toward the great, winding stair. They crossed into the gloom and out of sight.

-- -

After they had gone, the King and Syr'Va'ahl spoke at length. The King told of his awakening by the princess, and she filled in the details he did not know. To all of this he sat and listened intently.

After the tale was done, Syr'Va'ahl questioned the princess about the demise of the Queen. He asked her many, many times what she had seen, what magick she had felt. He was most concerned about what remained of the Queen.

"Tell me, my dear..." Syr'Va'ahl asked again. "What form was her last? Did her body remain? Was her entire being consumed?"

"My Lord," explained the princess for at least the fifth time. "I watched as it consumed her. It turned her black. It aged her... so very fast, my Lord. It... devoured her" She shivered in revulsion as she remembered the Queen, writhing in pain and misery as dark magick destroyed her.

After a long time, Syr'Va'ahl spoke.

"Very well, my child. Your deeds are most brave, and you have served your Master, and your King, very well. Blast this doddering old mind!" He cried. "I should have foreseen she was too strong to simply fade away."

His thoughts drifted and he paced about the chamber on his rickety legs. "Too think after all of that, she had the strength to call herself together from the beyond. She reached out of the night-realm and took what revenge she could. I am shamed that it was Tymrill who had to bear the brunt of it." He hung his head.

"As am I." spoke the King softly. "I should have seen to it myself."

Syr'Va'ahl's eyes flashed. "Nonsense! I would have sooner sent a sick child to fight off wolves!"

"She would have torn you to pieces, weakened as you were! Even now, you are still not entirely recovered. Your body has been kept under a dark and evil spell, boy!" Syr'Va'ahl's voice was pitched and excited. "Do you think you can merely snap your fingers and undo the leeching she has done you? Ha! You will be weak until you claim your throne, and your new Queen..."

As quickly as it had come, Syr'Va'ahl's anger ebbed away. "Forgive me, boy..." he said. "This High Moon has proved to be most taxing upon me." He turned to he Princess.

"My child..." he requested. "Thank you for all you have done. I know so much has happened that does not make sense. All will be revealed in time." He smiled warmly at her, and she returned a gracious curtsy.

"Go forth and bring these four men of our company from the camp beyond the castle walls." He rattled off a list of names as if the princess should know beyond a doubt who they were. 

"Hurry, my dear... we must reclaim the throne quickly, before young Prince Tarquinne decides to take it for himself!"

The princess headed out again, once more through the machines and up the spiraling stairs, leaving the King and the sorcerer alone with their discussions.



The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 05



Tarquinne had learned all he could from Toad. Toad sat snuffling upon a step leading down from the Queen's tower. His lip was split and swollen, and he gingerly rubbed a bald patch where a bit of his oily hair was torn out.

Tarquinne stalked up and down on a landing above him. He wiped his hands upon his pants legs again and again. He felt a new spike of anger rise and then subside as he tried to wipe away the grease from Toad' s hair. His mind replayed all that Toad had told him, piecing the story together from the snips and snatches he'd pried from Toad. 

Some time during the Revel, whilst He himself had been enjoying the company of the lovely Violet, the Queen had summoned that wench who belonged to the Royal Judge. He grit his teeth as he thought of the Inquisitor. He had trusted him! He had confided in that infernal masked man! Tarquinne cursed himself for being such a fool. 

The wretch had gone in unto his mother. That much was sure. Though he could not be certain of all that had transpired, he guessed she had summoned some sort of dark and evil curse upon his mother. His teeth made a crunching sound as he surmised to origin of the dark plot. Of course it had been his trusted advisor and lover to the Queen, The Inquisitor.

He silently renewed his vow of revenge upon the Inquisitor. "We shall see how he likes his own devices." thought the Prince.

He tried to string together the sketchy reports of Toad. After the evil deed was done, the Inquisitor had come and together the villains had fled. He could not devise their plans, as Toad had relayed how they hurried away into the night, as if on some new desperate errand.

"And then," thought Tarquine. "Then, this latest desecration." Just after dawn had come the outlander chief, Tymrill. He had dared enter the Queens chambers, had stolen her body and torn the rooms apart. Tarquinne could again only guess at what Tymrill was seeking. He hoped whatever it was had eluded him. Tarquinne's hand rested upon the object he had found within the wreckage of his mother's room. It hummed beneath his fingertips with vital energy.

The energy resonated through his hand, filling them with warmth. As it began working its way up his arms he heard a long call from a herald somewhere outside. He secreted the object into a fold in his clothes, and pricked up his ears, listening intently. A mighty voice bellowed from without; the call again, drifting though a nearby arrowlet.

"Prince... Tarquinne! Prince Taaarrrrrrquinnnnne!"

He growled in frustration. Everyone in this castle should know better than to call him out so rudely. "That is what servants are for," he thought. "Shout my name from the rooftops, will they?"

He turned on his heel and prepared to go bounding down the stairs to discipline whoever had the audacity to call him so improperly. It was then that he heard it again.

Prinnnnce Taaarrrrrrrquinnnnne.... You are summoned to the Throne Room!" called the voice from the battlements. Tarquinne strained his face to the arrowlet, trying to make out the source of the call. Frustrated, he drew back. His mind struck upon a question.

"The Throne Room?" he said aloud. "No one has used those chambers in years!"

His eyes narrowed. "So, the Royal Judge thinks he can steal MY throne. The kingdom is mine, now that the Queen is gone!" Toad jumped at the sound of his shouts.

"The dastard believes he can assume my crown by murder, does he?" his hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword. He felt comforted by its weight, and a dark smile crossed his face. "I shall teach him about murder."

He bounded past Toad still sniveling upon his step, taking the stairs two and three at a time. He headed downward toward the Throne Room, his sword and scabbard clattering against his leg.

-- -

The princess had never been in this part of the castle before. As they made their way through, the princess was sure no one else had been here in a very long time either. The princess and the King, flanked by four very large and able men, moved cautiously through the great hall. Long dusty cobwebs hung heavy from chandeliers above, their candles long ago melted into stalagtites of wax.. The drapes and tapestries were thick with dust. Racks of armour and weapons were dull and tarnished. Where they walked, they left distinct footprints along the dusty floor.

As they passed by an ancient tapestry, the princess allowed her fingertips to pass along it's dusty fabric. Into her mind slipped fragments of music, lutes playing, ladies and gentlemen laughing, shouts of war. These last were distant and vague, and slipped away from her as she broke the touch.

The King seemed most distressed by the state of the chambers. He looked here and there, a deep scowl on his face. He passed his fingers along a pair of blades crossed and mounted over a dragon's crest. He brought them away, rubbing his fingers together, shaking his head sadly.

They reached the end of a long hall, suits of armour lining it's walls. At it's end was a large stone archway. The facings of its frame were intricately carved. The princess could make out the story of the imprisonment of a dragon done in carved relief. The scene ran from the floor on one side, up and over the archway and down to the floor on the opposite side. The detail was remarkable, and the princess marveled at its craftsmanship.

The opening itself was covered over with heavy drapes. They were the deepest shade of purple, and the fabrics were thick and dense. The princess could tell no one had touched these in a very long time, their deep violet tones muted by a layer of dust and web.

Taking a deep, sad breath, the King swept the drapes to the side, and they entered the Throne Room.

The princess was immediately struck by the chamber. The authority and power this one room conveyed felt like a physical blow. They stood on the periphery of a great circular chamber. All along its walls, woven and twisting were the golden threads she had seen on the castle walls without. Only here the walls were thick with them. Everywhere the eye traveled were whorls, knots, runes and vines of golden thread.

Set high in the walls were tall, narrow windows, glittering with coloured glass. The bright sun streamed through them and bathed the entire chamber in golden light. The windows depicted scenes of glory, images of dragons, wielders of magic, proud renderings of kings.

The high windows were placed within the ways in such a way, that the sun shone through them in long, high rays. Each window projected its ray directly into the center of the room. Where each of these rays combined sat two massive thrones. They were rich wood, deep and red. The thrones were joined together by great carved dragons, their wings outstretched over the thrones, shading the seats below. They were carved in such a way that they gave an illusion of movement.

The princess stared at the thrones in wonder. Even in a castle filled with beautiful carvings and sculptures, she had never seen it's equal. The total effect of the light from above, and the menacing carved dragons was one of unquestionable power.

Even still, the years of disuse was evident even in this chamber. 

The King strode to the thrones, lightly running his fingers along the carved scales of the dragons. Slowly, in a greatly measured fluid motion, he sat upon the seat of power. To the princess, he seemed to swell and grow. His hair drank in the golden light, and his face shone. The princess was struck dumb by him. She had grown to love the Inquisitor, but the man before her made her loins ache for him. She blushed and turned away, pretending to be looking at different things throughout the room.

At last he spoke to her.

"My dear..." he said softly. She turned and met his warm and intense gaze. The men who accompanied them stationed themselves at strategic points throughout the chamber, and began a successful imitation of someone deaf and mute, all while looking fearsome.

"It is time you and I spoke plainly, do you not agree?" said the King.

"Yes, my Lord." said she.

"We shall begin with that very thing. You will no longer address my as 'My Lord.'" he replied.

"What shall I call you then?" she asked.

"Husband." Said He, and all was quiet in the throne room. 

"I found you, and trained you to be my Queen, my beloved. I have watched you for a very, very long time. You will not remember, but we met once... long ago." The princess gave him a curious look as the King continued.

"T'was before the last High Moon, and you were but a girl then. It was after my firstborn son had died. I came to your father's realm to forge an alliance with him. I brought young Tarquinne with me, and his mother Belladonna, though she would not enter the wood. We were to sign accords under the Moon and Sun. We met only but for a moment, and at that time, my eyes were blinded by Belladonna and her hex-craft. T'was just after that meeting that she cast me down from my throne, and sealed me in the tower." He saw tears in her eyes, and left the throne, drawing close to her.

"I remember, my Lord. Syr'Va'ahl helped me. That is to say, I remember what happened after you had gone."

She told him the tale of the downfall of her people. She told of the lightning in the wood, the kindling of the village. The appearance of the young commander and the death of her father. As she recounted the tale, the King felt his anger rise.

"It was...it was my own son... it was Tarquinne that led Belladonna and her armies to your homeland." He said at last, his eyes filled with sadness.

"Aye, my King... though I knew it not until this day." said the princess, brushing away heavy tears. The King saw how it pained her, and quickly continued on.

"And so, I was imprisoned. In the tower, imprisoned within my own body. And I lay in dark slumber for countless seasons, and I knew no more. And then, very gradually, I became aware."

"I knew my body was still locked in the grip of some dark magick. But after a time, my mind began to wander free. It was a skill our old friend Syr'Va'ahl taught me." he explained. "To let my mind take flight and leave my body behind."

"I saw what had become of my kingdom." Said the King, his voice grave and deep. "I saw what my own greed had allowed to bloom upon my lands. The Queen, Belladona had taken a new lover... the dark kiss of black magick."

"Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to summon strength with my mind. Not strength for my wretched body, but for magick of mine own. I pulled power from the tiny rays of sun which shone through the holes in that wretched tower. From the moon, from the night... from the air itself. Until at last, I was strong enough to unleash my own revenge."

"But how, my King?" asked the princess.

"I had help, my love. Your maid, my first Queen, Chrysanthemum. When Belladonna cast me down, she reduced her to a servant, forcing her to do..." he hesitated. "Terrible things."

"And so at last I was able to come into her dreams, the very dreams of Chrysanthemum. She thought it only her own fancy at first, but after a time, she came to realize it was I, calling out to her. She could not breach the bonds and spells the Queen had placed upon me and my chambers. And Belladonna kept the key 'round her neck at all times." 

"But I only needed the raw materials. The white sand you saw... in the cauldron. The very sand your former Master consisted of. The rest was magick and desire"

"Aye, my King" answered the princess. She remembered the times she had seen the Inquisitor, his form and outline appearing indistinct, only to snap back into clarity with the blink of an eye. "Sand." She whispered softly.

"Indeed." Said the King. "I summoned it. I summoned it, bound it together with my own will. And subjugated it to do my bidding."

"You are a most powerful sorcerer indeed." said the princess, bowing her head. The King made a dismissive noise.

"I am no sorcerer, child." laughed the King, "Parlour illusions... That little trick is nothing compared to the skill of Syr'Va'ahl the Wise. It is amazing what you can learn when you've a lot of time on your hands." 

The princess recalled the accounts she had so quickly read in the caverns below the castle; the tales of the King and his imprisonment in the land of the Saracen. The King continued with his narrative.

"I knew Queen Belladonna. I knew the evil that had overtaken her, and I knew what she prized. Power and lust and pleasure and pain... these were the things she cherished most."

"And so I fashioned a Golem. I came to her with designs and schemes and promises of satisfaction. I wormed my way close to her. I brought to her creations... machines to inflict pain upon her victims, devices to produce such pleasure... I see from your face you know these machines as well." The princess could not help from blushing, remembering the exquisite pleasure of the Inquisitor's contraptions. Unbidden, the vibrating tones of the lustful tuning fork device leapt into her mind.

The King saw her color rise, and smiled as well. 

"I know it is still difficult to think of me as him." The King went on. "You knew him as a whole person; someone to fear, someone to please... someone to serve. But now you know it was me all along, do you not?"

"Aye my King." Said the princess. The King was struck once again by her beauty, the way the golden light played upon her eyelashes. He drove on with his words, returning to the thrones. The princess could not bring her self to sit upon the other. In spite of herself, the menacing forms of the carved dragons and the reality of what that seat represented gave her pause

"I knew that time was growing short. Each day the Queen drained more and more life from my kingdom. Each night she drained a bit more from my dear Chrysanthemum. The High Moon approached with every day, every passing hour. I knew that if another passed while I was still locked away, I would never have the strength to hold out until it rose again, nor would she."

"And then it was I saw you. I'm sure you remember that day. The day they brought you forth from the dungeons to stand before the court." asked the King.

"Aye my King." Said the princess. "I remember thinking it would be that last time I beheld the sun. I feared for my head."

"You cannot imagine my surprise, my Love." Said the King earnestly. "I only knew I was to make a great show of trying and executing another prisoner. I'd been told you were a Druid, and Belladonna wanted you dead."

"And then, there you were." The King continued. "I knew your face in an instant... that same face from the people of the wood. I saw it in your eyes when you stood there... so proud, so defiant in the face of death. I knew what had to be done. It took but a moment to know in you I had found someone with the strength to free me... to face down Belladonna and defeat her."

"And so you claimed me for your own?" answered the princess at last.

"Indeed I did. I saw in you a chance for redemption. But the man-thing I created had ideas of his own. The problem in making such an avatar is their desire to go off on their own, to break free of their master, and be their own. Such magick is often forbidden in many realms. 

"Why does it not obey, my King. Is it not merely an extension of your own soul" asked the princess, reaching back to the narrative of the oubliette.

"In many ways, yes." explained the King. "It is infused with the power of magick, and thought from the one who controls it. But it also draws from the things from which it is made. That is why I forged him from the purest sand. Any imperfection... any contaminant... it draws it's own strength and will from these things."

"Even in the purest of materials, a tiny flaw can be found. Your master found these evils, and brought about his own plans and desires. I would have to wrestle him at times for control. Mostly after he was sated with lust... from you or from Crysanthemum. Especially when he was with the Queen. He would grow so strong, I would have to fight tooth and nail with him... force him to obey my bidding."

"And so, we took you as our own... he and I... together.

"Of course, you did have to be trained..." he said with a smile. The princess thought back on her "lessons." She fixed his eyes with hers, that same defiant smile he'd seen in the court long ago.

"I found in you all that In wanted for my new Queen. But you needed... instruction." The King smiled, a sly glint in his eyes as both he and the princess thought back on the pleasure shared.

"Aye, my King... And quite and education it was." whispered the princess, her eyes narrowing seductively.

"Hem-Ahem..." blustered the King. The princess came close to him as he spoke.

"And now, my dear..." The King seemed to be nearing some conclusion. "We have come at last to where we began. You, and I... together in this place."

He stood and bowed.

"You have known only masters until now. From this moment on, I say you are now Mistress of all this realm. Join me and we will rule this land together in peace. Together we shall undo the evil Belladonna has done upon this kingdom." He rose up to his full height, tall and strong and proud.

"Your former master named you Jassamine, flower of seduction. But in this day and on this place I say you are much more! Not a mere plaything, but regal and brave. From hence forth, you are Queen of this land. I dub thee Laurel, strong and true, light and glory.

In a surprisingly loud and reverent salute, the guards stationed about the chamber shouted, "All Hail Queen Laurel, Lady of Blackthorn... Long may she reign!" She broke out in a dazzling smile, startled and feeling a bit silly, having forgotten they were there. 

- - -

Prince Tarquinne made his way through parts of the castle no one dared go. Many, many seasons before, Queen Belladonna had declared them forbidden. Tarquinne himself had to make several twists and turns, stops and starts before he found himself in the long hall that led to the throne room.

"Throne Room, indeed!" thought Tarquinne indignantly. "How dare he!"

He felt the thick, rich cording of his blade's hilt, and smiled to himself. He approached quietly, taking care to make no sound. In the dust before him he could see footprints leading through the hall and into the royal chamber. He counted four heavy men, another who walked unevenly, and a set of smaller, daintier prints.

"Ah." thought He. "So the raven-haired prize is within as well... All the better!" He drew his sword and charged through the archway and dusty drapes, crying "Villains!" as he burst into the Throne Room. 

It was there he stopped dead in his tracks, as if his boots were frozen to the floor. Hi s jaw hung low. The purple curtains still rustled behind him as he looked into the face of his father.

"Good morrow, my son." said the King.

-- -

The chamber was enveloped in a profound silence. Prince Tarquinne stood staring, mouth agape. The King looked calmly back at him from upon the throne. Laurel had at last taken her place beside him, but sat uneasily 'neath the carved dragon's wings.

Tarquinne licked his lips. His words seemed locked within his throat.

"F..father?" he said at last.

"Yes, Tarquinne... it is I." replied the King. His voice had a hard and icy edge to it.

"But... this cannot be!" exclaimed Tarquinne. "You were dead. I saw you with mine own eyes, when I was but a child!"

"No, son." answered the King. "Not dead. Deep in a spell of magick I lay, but not dead. And there have I lain these twenty and five passing years."

"But I have been freed." Continued the King, after long moments of silence passed between them. "And I have returned to claim what is mine... what was stolen from me!" His voice tinged with anger, eyes blazing at his son before him. Tarquinne shrank back, but only for a moment. Then his back straightened.




The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 05



"What have you done with my mother... what have you done with the rightful Queen?" he shouted back. Laurel shifted her gaze anxiously from Tarquinne to the King, and back again.

"Belladonna is gone, my son." Answered the King, his voice once again calm and serene. "Too long did she plague MY kingdom with her lust and deceit."

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER!" screamed Tarquinne, his face straining and crimson with rage. The fearsome outlander guards stationed in the Throne Room tensed, expecting a fight.

The King nearly shot out of his throne. His leapt to his feet, mighty and golden and full of vitality. The air around him seemed to shimmer and crackle, and his fierce eyes took on a frightening bluish glow.

"And where was your righteous indignation whilst I was held captive, my dearest son!" he fired back. "Where was all of this mighty bellowing in the name of your own father?"

The King thundered on, as Tarquinne said nothing, a look of sincere hatred forming in his eyes.

"Tell me, boy!" the King lashed out, stinging Tarquinne's pride. "Did you ever once try to free me? Ever for even one moment abandon your naïve belief in the feeble excuses of Belladonna!"

"Where is she!" shrieked Tarquinne. Several of the guard felt sure they would very soon have to seize the pair and drag them apart, or perhaps even draw swords and put the Prince down.

"SHE... IS... GONE!" thundered the King. The Prince was suddenly propelled backward by some unseen force, as if someone had shoved him, hard. His breath expelled in a whuf.

As quickly as it had come, the King let his rage slip from him like a receeding tide. He held up his hand, palm flat.

"Her reign is done, Tarquinne." He said smoothly. His face seemed softer, kinder. But Tarquinne was a mask of hate. He bared his teeth at the King.

"Villian!" he hissed. "You have destroyed her."

"Yes..." said the King at last. Laurel thought she detected a hint of deep sadness in his voice. "There was no other way, my son. Belladonna was consumed long, long ago... perhaps even before I ever came to know her. The creature that took her place... was not your mother."

"Liar!" shouted Tarquinne, raising his sword high, rushing forward. Two of the outlander guards tackled him at once, one smashing into his midsection, the other wrapping his burly arms 'round Tarquinne's legs. They crashed to the floor. The guards were surprised by the strength and fight in the young prince. He thrashed like a netted animal, biting, kicking, tearing at their eyes and skin. One of guards pummeled him with blows, forcing his sword from his hand, metal on stone. The other seized a huge clump of Tarquinne's flying hair, making ready to smash his face upon the stone floor.

"ENOUGH!" commanded the King, and instantly all three men flew apart from each other, sliding along the floor on their backs. They were blasted from their brawl by some impossible ripple, like a boulder thrown into a pond, as a thunderclap echoed throughout the hall. All eyes returned to the King, who stood abjuring his outstretched hand, fingers still splayed wide. The crackle in the air around him was almost a visible thing. "Enough!" he said again. The guards lay blinking and shaking their muzzy heads as Tarquinne struggled to his feet.

The two remaining guards drew in close to the King, ready to thwart another attack. But Tarquinne shakily ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it. On his face was painted a mask of calm.

"This bickering is pointless!" spat the King. "I had hoped to speak plainly with you, Tarquinne."

Softening, the King tried again. "It would bring me great joy if you would help me govern this realm."

Tarquinne was very quiet for many long moments. However, the princess could see the anger in Tarquinne's eyes turn to ice. There would be no peaceful reconciliation here. Slowly, carefully, he bent and retrieved his sword.

"Help you govern?" said Tarquinne at last. "I'd sooner see your skin torn off by carrion birds than live under the rule of a murderer."

The King let out a long, terribly sad sigh.

"So be it." said the King, his voice heavy and final. "Prince Tarquinne... You are hereby banished! You shall leave this realm before the rising of another sun."

The princess, soon to be Queen Laurel, let out a gasp as the King pronounced the sentence. The guards regained their posts and glowered menacingly at Tarquinne.

"My son, Tarquinne, is stripped of his lands and titles." decreed the King. "You are no longer princess of this realm. Upon pain of death, let not your face be shown again in the lands or this kingdom."

The guards looked from the King to Tarquinne, expecting another outburst. But instead, Tarquinne calmly sheathed his sword. It slid home with a snik as he fixed his father's eyes with his own.

"Hearken to me, my Father..." spoke Tarquinne. "Stripped of title I may be, but know this. The death of my mother shall not go unavenged. There will come a day when all who had a part in this wicked plot..." His eyes landed upon Laurel, and his gaze was hot daggers upon her skin. "will be brought low."

His words hung in the air like heavy smoke. With measured movements, he loosened each finger of his right-hand glove. With a flourish, he whipped the glove from his hand, casting it down at the feet of the King. With that, Tarquinne turned upon his heel and strode from the throne room, head held high and defiant.



The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 06



After he had gone, the King sank heavily into the seat of his Throne. He seemed utterly dejected and weary.

"My Lord," asked Laurel softly. "Are you unwell?" He saw the worry in her eyes and smiled warmly.

"No, my love." said He. "All is well. I am weary, true enough, but I shall recover soon. My body is unused to wielding magick, and learning the true extent of my own son's hatred form me... burdens me greatly."

He looked up from his thoughts as if just noticing she had joined him on the throne at his side. He decided to swing their talks in another direction.

"I see you have taken YOUR rightful place as well, my dear." said the King, an eyebrow arching playfully.

"If it is your will, my King, that I become wife and Queen to you..." The new Queen thought for a moment and then replied. "Then I am your humble servant." Her heart quickened as she grasped the full weight of what lay before her.

As a girl, she had been destined to rule. But the man she'd just witness sent forth from her new kingdom; his treachery had all but undone that. Once she had vowed revenge, just as he had, and now here she sat upon her enemy's throne. She hoped one day that same fate would not befall her. Once she had been a plaything. Once she had been prisoner. Once she had been uncertain and naïve. But today, she was Queen.

As if sensing her thoughts, the King spoke softly.

"It is not only for my own will. It must be your choice as well. Just as before, when you chose to serve the Inquisitor, you must now choose to serve me... and to serve the citizens of this kingdom. I offer you power and your birthright, but I would never force it upon you. Though you have only known my mind before, I stand before you now entirely whole. Where you once called the creation of my will master, now you may call me husband and lover. If you so choose, then take my hand and proclaim yourself wife unto me."

He held out his hand to her. Her mind ran its gauntlet of questions and each time, the conclusion was "Yes!"

At last she took the King's hand in hers. It was soft, but firm and strong and warm.

"I take thee..." she said, her voice steady and sure. "as husband and King. From this day forth, I vow to serve thee, and pledge myself to this realm and this land." At this, the King smiley greatly, and cheer leapt up from his kinsman guards.

"I am joyed by this, my love!" exclaimed the King. "And I pledge my troth to thee."

"Hail Queen Laurel!" shouted them men, and she felt herself blush. The King saw this and bent close to her ear, whispering.

"You will have to become accustomed to being "Hail"-ed... and to being called your Majesty, to having servants scurrying around you like bees... it may take a bit of getting used to."

"I believe I'll manage, my King.' Said the princess, a playful gleam in her eyes.

The King turned his attention to other matters. To the guard who had sustained the most damage in the quick fight with the Prince, the King ordered him seek a physician, or a comely lass, and tend his modest wounds. The outlander guard hurried out, and the King quite rightly suspected he would soon find solace in the arms of a young woman, rather than search out any physician.

To two of the remaining guards, he commanded take leave of the throne room and take up guard without. "Kinsmen..." said the King. "I commend you on your actions, you have served me well this day. I ask that you find defensible positions in the great hall without. The only entrance to this chamber is through yon archway, and if that is secure, you should be able to trust in my safety for a few moments."

"Yes, your majesty." Said the pair, nearly as one voice. They took their leave and took up stain within the hall outside the throne room, leaving one guard remaining.

"Ah, and you, cousin..." said the King, regarding the last and most fearsome of the outlander guards. "I would ask for your service a bit more."

"I am at your service, cousin." said the guard.

"Very good, Foxbane." said the King, calling his kinsman by proper name. "You must set a watch, change of guard, order of arms and the like. Seek out the captains I have appointed to the castle's defense. Also, seek out Sereth. He is now Captain of my Army and Guard. With him, put in motion any plans you and he deem necessary. I leave it in your capable hands."

Yes, my King." Answered Foxbane.

"There may still be an element within our midst still loyal to Queen Belladonna," the King continued. "or to Prince Tarquinne. See to it that he has left this realm... before the setting of tomorrow's sun."

"It will be done, majesty." said the newest Marshall of Royal Guards, calling up sincere bow. He turned to go. As he neared the stone archway leading out, the King called after him.

"And Lord Foxbane," The outlander smiled in spite of himself to hear such a formal title attached to his own name. "Locate a voiceful herald... and some trumpeters. Tell them there is to a proclamation just before sundown... and that all free citizens of this castle are to attend."

-- -

When they were at last alone, the King turned to Queen Laurel. His eyes danced and a slightly wicked smile played about the corners of his lips.

"And now, my new Queen..." said He. "there is another matter to which we should attend."

Queen Laurel agreed. Though she had only known this the King as a man for only a short time, she felt an immediate connection and attraction to him. The tip of her tongue, ever so slightly creeping out to wet upon her top lip. She felt his eyes upon her, gliding along her body, seeking out what they desired. She returned his devilish smirk, the tips of her fingertips sliding daintily down her neck, playing about the lacings at her bodice. She felt her nipples harden as he watched her loose the binding, her breasts relishing in their new-found lack of hindrance.

His eyes were hungry for her, and soon she felt his hands upon her. They slid along her forearms, up onto her bare shoulders. Where the touch of his fingertips met her skin, gooseflesh pebbled and the tiniest of hairs sat up. His hands slid along her neck, her throat, slipping down at last to find their way inside her bodice. The exploring fingers found caressed her breasts, finding purchase upon her nipples. His touch hardened them like ice, sending up hot sensations. He plucked and pinched them, pulling gently on them, until they stood out harder than ever. Her bodice and lacing let loose, allowing her heavy breasts to spill out, his hands grasping and gently squeezing them. 

Again and again, he found her nipples and pleasured them with his fingers. Queen Laurel felt her own hands on the move, sliding onto his body, seeking their own holds. Her hands roamed over his strong chest as he pulled her close, his lips so close to her own she could feel his breath upon them.

His kiss sent a hot charge down her spine, igniting a flame of desire and passion in her loins. Not since her master had worked her so strongly on his machines had her sex felt so enflamed. But this time, her passion was only at its infancy.

They stood near the thrones, alone as the sun streamed in upon them, setting their skin aglow. They embraced urgently, her exposed breast pressed against his chest. Her own hands found ways to rid him of his shirt and tunic, and his skin felt hot and desperate against her own.

She kissed upon his neck, his ears, his shoulders, his chest. Her mouth found his nipple, locking onto it. Her tongue lashed at it, wriggling against it, suckling it, pulling it into her mouth. She flicked her tongue's point on his nipple fast, the wings of a hummingbird. The King's head arched back, drinking in the delicious stimulation. She shifted to his other nipple, working it even harder and faster than it's mate.

The King shuddered and began to kiss upon her neck as she had done him. She felt herself grow wetter and wetter. She found she was almost sopping by the time his mouth found her own nipples. They felt so hard, and his mouth so very hot around them. He suckled them, one and then the other, pulling her nipple deep into his warm mouth. His tongue curled round it and sucked it stronger. He flickered the tip of his tongue on her nipples, sucking and licking, as his hands began to untie her shirtings. He loosed them and she let them fall to the floor.

His mouth released her breasts and he stood, drinking in the sight of her naked flesh. He looked upon her breasts, her stomach, her legs and soft, smooth triangle of flesh leading down to her wet and hungry sex. She had found her old lessons hard to break, and had kept herself smooth for her master. The King's eyes traversed her body, and she relished in his intense exploration. She turned 'round for him, showing her firm backside. She bent slightly at the waist, offering him a better view. He could just glimpse her slippery lips which just barely peeked from between her smooth thighs. She gave a satisfied sound as he gave her a playful spank on her left cheek. The warms of it made her wet all over again.

Her desire for him proved too great, and she whirled to meet his face, locking her mouth to his, kisses hot and urgent. She backed him toward the throne, her hands seeking his nipples, finding his stomach, feeling his hard sex through his clothes. She backed him until he dropped into the seat of the throne. Quick as a flash, she was on her knees before him, fingers flying at the lacings of his pants. In no time, she had freed his raging member, which popped from his pants, a caged hound set free.

She held her mouth over its tip, wetness sliding from her tongue, dripping down upon it. Then she moistened her lips with it, and took him into her mouth. She opened her throat wide, allowing his entire length to slide deep into it. It's girth stretched her lips around it. Slowly, she began to move her head upon and down, his cock slipping in and out of her mouth. As she sucked and swallowed his swollen member, her mouth made wet sucking sounds around it. She withdrew it, lolling her tongue around it's head. She slathered the head, seeking out purchase on its ridge and lobes with her tongue. She probed his opening with the tip it. Suddenly, the King's cock jerked against her seeking tongue, and his hot, hot seed came bursting forth. So surprised was she by it's suddenness, a hot splash caught her face before she had time to draw his massive length into her mouth. As he loosed blast after blast, she swallowed his cock to its hilt, his seed sliding hot down her throat.

The king lay back in his throne, a light sheen of sweat across his chest. He struggled to regain his breath as the princess released him. Coyly, she cleaned his initial jolt from her face with a finger. Seeing him watching her, she slowly slid her laden finger into her mouth, withdrawing it clean. She was most pleased by his very sly smile.

He held out his arms for her, and she curled upon his lap. He wrapped them around her, her head against his chest, legs dangling lightly over one arm of the throne. They sat still for a time, until he had recovered enough to speak.

"Forgive me, my Queen," he said at last. "I was taken by surprise by that."

Queen Laurel gave a little giggle. "As was I, my King." She nuzzled closer to him, and he held her tighter.

"It has been many, many years since...," he seemed at a loss as to how to finish his thought. "It would not be contained." He said at last.

They spoke of small things as they each other upon the throne. The Queen found herself growing quite comfortable in his arms, and with the notion of being his mate. She reached up with her lips, and he brought his mouth to hers. They kissed soft and quick, and then long and hard, filled with ardour. The Queen found herself wishing she had some drink, but there was none, nor any servant to send. The King did not seem to mind, and they sat locked in kisses.

She felt his hands upon her breasts, and her own soft fingers sought his nipples as well. It was not long before she felt him growing underneath her. She found his nipple with her mouth and suckled and played until she could feel him hard against her. Then she swiveled her hips, bringing a leg across either arm of the throne, positioning herself, legs spread wide, over his sex, once again rock hard. Ever so slowly, she lowered her own wet sex onto him, feeling his girth slide inside her. 

"O, so hard and deep inside me...," she whispered in his ear. She began to ride up and down on him, sliding him deeper and deeper into her. She felt him push up into her sex, his member now a thing of stone and pulse inside. She began to buck down hard on it, her cheeks making a slapping sound against his balls.

"Oooo, yes!" she cried. "Fuck me!" Her mouth was at his ear, and she poured forth lusty, whispered thoughts. "You give that thing to me, husband. Drive it in!" she moaned in a dusky voice.

Just as quickly as he had arrived for her, she felt her own passion well up and overflow. Her walls quivered around his thrusting cock, clenching it tighter, tighter. She arched her back and cried out, waves of pleasure rolling over her. A torrent of wetness loosed around his hard member. He continued to slide in and out of her, each thrust sending another jolt of delight through her. His arms were wrapped 'round her, his hands gripping her buttocks. He lifted her up and down, sliding into her with thrusts from his hips, while driving her down upon him with his arms. His hands spread apart her cheeks, and she came again, harder and faster than before as rammed her still. He gave her every inch, deep into her as she came again and again.

At last he released her, letting her fall against his chest, winded and utterly satisfied. He lifted her off of him, letting her rest, her weak and trembling legs curled over him and the throne's arm. His arms held her tight once more, and they stayed still as the sun shone in, warming their sweaty bodies.



The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 07



The Prince's chambers were a flurry of activity. Servants hurried to and fro, stuffing chests and crates and boxes. Sumptuous robes and tunics were haphazardly thrown in with bedclothes and riding gear. Armour plates banged against each other, a jumble of metal and mail.

The Prince shouted orders and commands, sending another servant off to fetch a forgotten item. Each glance though his windows brought the Prince more anxiety. The sun sank lower and lower by the minute. Before long, it would be dark, and they must be well away from here before then. The Prince knew the King's henchmen would only wait so long before they collected him and carried him bodily from his own castle.

"Toad!" he screamed, wild eyes casting about. Toad's ugly head appeared from behind a large, overstuffed chest. 

"Get moving!" shouted the Prince. "Get these on the wagons and get them headed east!" said the Prince, gesturing to the crates and chests strewn about. 

"Aye, my Lord!" sniveled Toad, hastening the servants and gathering up a trunk in each arm. As he headed out, he turned and asked of the Prince.

"And what of you, my Lord? You must flee from here before nightfall!" His voice was high and cracked. Clearly the strain of the day was taking it's toll on him, his eyes frightened and flitting about.

"I shall be along before the sun is down!" snapped the Prince. "There is but one thing I must collect before we are gone from this wretched land. Now go!" he shouted. "Get those wagons moving, and I shall soon catch up."

Toad hurried out, the Prince calling afterward. "And Toad... Heaven help you if any of my fine things are lost or broken when I do!" With that, Toad was out of sight, followed quickly by weary servants, burdened low with heavy packs and chests.

-- -

From high above, the King watched the sad little procession wind its way through the bustling crowd in the courtyard. His heart was deeply saddened by the loss of his only remaining son. He watched the wagons trundle underneath the portcullis and head out toward the east, the setting sun on their backs. He had ordered his own men not to impede them in any way. Anything he could easily carry, the King allowed his to leave with. Tarquinne was allowed only but a few horses and men, no arms to speak of, other than hunting bows and short swords.

He strained to catch one last glimpse of Tarquinne, but could not pick him out. None in the party cast even a backward glance, instead turning their faces toward the darkening horizon.

The King watched them until they were well out of sight, vainly struggling to make out the small knot of wagons and horses that bore away his son. He felt the soft hand of his new Queen rest upon his arm.

"Perhaps in time..." she said softly. "Perhaps there may be a reconciling between you."

The King turned to her, his eyes full of weary sadness.

"Alas..." said He. "I fear it may be a reckoning."

-- - 

After the wagons had gone, Tarquinne stole through the castle, his senses fully alert. To be caught her after his supposed banishment, would certainly mean death for him now. He knew the King would grant no lenience to him. He had cursed his name, and forsook his own father. Questions and doubts plagued his mind, but Tarquinne forced them down.

"The die is cast!" he murmured to himself as he crept down a little-used stairway. He could hear up ahead. Tarquinne ducked into a recessed corner as two servants passed by, carrying between them an ornately carved chest. The passed on, disappearing into the gloom. Tarquinne wondered what they were fetching from such a dank place within this castle, but reminded himself of his own haste. He hurried down the corridor, descending a worn flight of stair to another level, deep below the castle.

It had been many, many years since he had been in this portion of the lower levels. Once, long ago, just after his mother had become Queen, she had brought him here. Somewhere up ahead, he remembered, was an opening. There was a hidden passageway to another tunnel. So dark it was, that Tarquinne tripped over a large spill of rubble. Cursing, he struggled to his feet, hand searching the ragged outline of a rough archway. He remembered his mother had it sealed just after they came down here, so long ago. In the dim light, he could see no tool marks or footprints in the loose dust. This portion of the stonework had recently broken and fallen away. Perhaps it was from a quake of earth, or from the tremendous forces the storm had unleashed on the castle last eve. Whatever their cause, the fallen stones revealed a hidden corridor. 

He remained very still for a time, listening for any sound or disturbance. Hearing none, he retrieved a small flint from his tunic. Striking it on stone, he lit ablaze a bit of torn fabric, wrapping it round a pointed stone, an improvised torch. Carefully, he picked his way over the rubble and entered the tunnel.

The small tunnel only extended for but a few measures before ending abruptly in a sheer wall. Tarquinne brought out his dagger, probing the mortar and joints between several stones, just below eye level. At last, the tip of his blade found purchase and with a tiny clik, a large block slid forward smoothly. He slid the heavy stone the rest of the way out, letting it fall beside him. Opened before him was a large cavity in the wall. Its sides were smooth and greased. Behind the stone lay the object he sought. With one swift movement, he snatched it out, quickly swaddling it in his clothes. His prize in hand, Tarquinne quickly made his way out of the dungeons, making sure to remain out of sight.

It was not until he had nearly reached his chosen escape, that he came upon a familiar face. He came round a corner and nearly crashed into the woman from his morning's bed.

"Ah, Violet." said He, bowing his head slightly.

Violet was not fooled by his charms. He could see by her expression that she had already heard of his banishment. She stood proud, a maddening smirk upon her face as she moved to one side to let him pass.

That smirk. That was what sent Tarquinne over the edge. In a flash, he grabbed her by her arm and hair, forcing her against the wall.

"How dare you snigger at my downfall! You wretched serving girl!" His face was close to hers, and his words were hot upon her face. His lashed out at her with the back of his gloved hand. The strike made a meaty sound, and a fleck of blood struck his cheek. Tarquinne released her and hastened on his way. At last he emerged from a long-unused tunnel, running under the castle wall. He hurried across the expanse between the castle and nearby brush, sure at any moment to hear shouts of alarms from the towers. No alarm was sounded at his heels, and he soon found his horse, secreted away by the trusted Toad.

He rode east, heading out after the wagons bearing all he could escape the castle with. Cresting a rise, he reigned in his mount, casting a long, glaring look back at the castle.

"One day." He said coldly. "One day, all of you will pay dearly." 

Spurring his horse, he galloped into the night, and away from the home of his childhood.

-- -

The King's proclamation was at hand, and he had asked Laurel to go and dress for the occasion. He brought her to a chamber off of the great hall. A great amount of activity had taken place since the King's meeting with Tarquinne. Men of the outlander's camp were all about the castle now. Each seemed to have a different task. As they made their way thought the bustle, Laurel watched a burly outlander commandeer several servants, setting them to clearing the dust and cobwebs in the great hall.

The King brought her into a side chamber, lavishly furnished with long couches. She could see the servants had already been here, as they skein of dust and disrepair seemed lifted from these rooms. He'd had two servants bring up garments befitting a new queen in a lovely carved chest. He told her they had once been the raiment of Queen Chrysanthemum, and had been hidden away. He told her if she was displeased by these, more would soon be made. He left her alone to go through them, allowing her to choose as she saw fit.

After he had gone, Laurel brought out gown after gown, each one more stunning than the last. All were different shades of green, and though they looked ancient, no moth had marred them, and they looked as stunning as the day they were spun.

She selected a gown of deep green. She thought it looked the color of very deep water. A beautiful design was embroidered into the straps and bodice. Woven into the shimmering lace were black pearls, dark and opalescent. It's bodice was heavily boned, forming a slender corset, the skirtings attached below with swooping, brocaded green ribbons. She held the dress up to her, gazing at herself in a large looking glass, swirling about, watching how the dress flared and swished.

It was then that she heard a very soft sound. It sounded like crying. She laid the dress along a couch, smoothing the farbic lovingly. The cloth felt cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She heard the sound again. It seemed to be coming from behind a large tapestry hung against a wall. Drawing near, she could see the tapestry covered an archway, leading to a darkened room.

Cautiously, she drew aside the curtain, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom inside the new room. There, crumpled in a heap upon the floor, was a young maid, crying softly, her face buried in her hands. Laurel's heart went out to the maid, and she came to her side.

"Hush, my child" she said softly, stroking her hand gently along her back. "T'is all right, my dear. Do not cry."

The maid sat up, her dark hair covering her face. She fell against Laurel, who wrapped her arms 'round her, consoling her.

"Oh, my dear lady..." sobbed the girl. "He... he has ruined me!" Her words choked in her gullet, and she fell to tears again, her head buried against the chest of the new Queen. It was only then that she noticed a small smear of blood, where the maid had lain her face against her.

Aghast, Laurel sought it's source.

"My dear," she said urgently. "What has happened... shall I call for a physician?" She brushed the maid's hair back from her face. It was swollen and red. The poor girl had obviously been crying, and now Laurel saw a ragged cut along the girl's cheek. The bleeding had slowed, but it looked nasty.

"He... oh, look what he has done to my face!" wept the girl. "He thought I was mocking him, but I would never... sob... he yelled something about disgrace and struck me... oh, my lady... his gauntlet... it has torn my face!" The girl dissolved into mournful sobs as the Queen drew her back against her bosom, gently rocking her as she soothed her.

"T'is all right my child..." whispered the Queen. Without thinking, she dabbed at the blood with a kerchief she found in her clothes. For the life of her, Laurel could not remember where she'd gotten it, but it mattered not. As she gently cleaned away the blood, strange words leapt up in her throat. She whispered them as they came, but knew them not. Deep, languid tones, tied 'round with gutteral clips, the words sprang up from a place Laurel could not name, from somewhere deep in her forgotten past. As the words found flight, a strange tingle buzzed in Laurel's fingertips. She felt warmth radiating from them into the wound upon the girl's cheek. Laurel looked on in as the wound began to dimish and fade. In only moments, what had once been ragged and angry, was replaced with only a very faint scar.

"There..." said Queen Laurel gently. "All is well... come see... it is not nearly so bad." She stood, holding out her hand to Violet, who warily took it, allowing herself to be led through the curtained archway. Laurel stood her before the looking glass.

"There... you see," she said. Violet looked at her face very closely in the glass. Her fingertips traced the outline of the scar, fat tears welling up in her eyes. She fell on her knees before Queen Laurel.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, dear lady!" cried Violet, clutching at the hem of Laurel's gown.

"Oh stop that!" said Laurel, helping the girl to her feet. "T'was not nearly as bad as you'd thought, that's all" She gave the girl a reassuring pat on the back.

Violet gazed up at Laurel, her eyes sincere and grateful. "Oh no, my Lady. Your magick turned back my shame. I am forever in your debt!" Violet made to kneel again, but Laurel caught her.

"I know nothing of debt, my child." And then, an idea struck her. "However..." she said.

Violet looked up at the new Queen eagerly.

"I am in need of a lady I can trust... not a servant, mind you." She added. "But perhaps... a lady-in-waiting." As the words escaped her lips, a cold chill ran along her spine. Laurel's mind locked on an image of Belladonna's minions, writhing about in lustful throes. Violet, however, was unfazed, and eagerly awaited Laurel's pronouncement.

"Aye, my Lady... that I can do!" chirped Violet, her happy hands clapping together. Clearly, her station in life had just improved, though Laurel did not grasp its significance.

Without warning, Violet was again on her knees before her. Exasperated, she made to bring Violet back up to her feet. Violet stayed her hand, her eyes locked on Queen Laurel's.

"Upon my honour," intoned Violet, summoning her most gracious oaths. "I vow to serve thee, my Lady, as master and liege. I pledge myself to thee... until...," She searched about for the proper words. "Until the last sun shall set upon my life!"

Laurel rolled her eyes, forcibly pulling Violet up again. "You may serve me as long as it shall please you, my dear." said Laurel at last. "And not a moment more, do you hear?"

"Aye, m'lady." Said Violet, issuing a fine curtsy. 

Somewhat amused by her own change of fortune, Laurel smiled warmly. "Come then... I am to dress... and I do not think I shall get this corset fastened by myself." She said, holding up the beautiful green gown for Violet to see.



The Inquisitor - Epilogue Ch. 08



The King retired to chambers of his own. Several of his kinsmen brought up chest after chest from the hidden library in the ancient dragon-hold, deep beneath the castle. During his time as the Inquisitor, he and Chrysanthemum had spirited many of his old things down into the crypt. He knew Belladonna had communed with the dragon and plundered the wealth once stored there long ago. Most of the kingdom's inhabitants had long since forgotten of its existence, and Belladonna had no further use for it. With Chrysanthemum's help, they'd little by little restored the archives and king's trove into the hold.

Now that he was released, he had his kinsman begin installing him in proper quarters. He promised himself that the tower which had held him prisoner was not long for this world. Though he did not yet know what would replace it is dark walls, the room which held him would come down before the harvest, of that he was certain.

He found in one of the chests a fine tunic and jerkins. He found that his mail boots had been brought down from his former cell 'neath the eaves of the dark tower. Someone had polished them bright. The breast and arm plates had been brought as well, and they brought a sense of comfort as he donned them. The King draped a regal robe 'round him. He fastened it about the collar with a heavy chain of gold. It hung across his shoulders and down his back, the deepest burgundy entwined with embroidered filigree. He heard a rustle behind him. Turning, he saw his new bride. She was resplendent in her green gown. He bade her come close, noticing she brought with her a young lady dressed in an indigo gown. When the maid saw the King, her eyes grew wide, and she fell upon her face.

"Oh good grief!" said Queen Laurel, somewhat aggravated by her new maid's fondness for bowing and genuflection. To the King, Laurel made introductions.

"Husband," said she. "May I present my new maid-servant, the Lady Violet. You'll find she often assumes this posture." she added, referring to the worshipful comportment she'd assumed.

The King smiled warmly. "Arise, my child. There is no need to kneel before me, if you art lady-in-waiting to my bride, you need not sully your dresses on my account." To the Queen, he added, "That did not take long." referring to her new-found serving girl.

Queen Laurel playfully rolled her eyes at him, and then brought the conversation back to business at hand.

"Come, husband," She said, drawing to his side, entwining her arm in his. "the sun of the afternoon sinks lower even as we speak. I can tell by the commotion outside that a large crowd has gathered. They wonder at this mysterious proclamation. Shall we allay their questions?"

"Indeed," said the King, a great happy smile across his face. "But first, there is one last bit of business to attend to. This way, my dear." 

He led them back into the throne room. The Lady Violet was clearly awed at being in this heart of the castle. The Queen caught her wonder, and bade her come close and hold her head high.

The King left the ladies near the throne. He crossed behind them to a gently curved portion of wall. The golden threads which were so prevalent throughout the castle writhed within the wall here in a great confluence. The strands of gold seemed to coil back on themselves, creating a large knot of filigree near where he stood.

He passed his hands slowly over the design, murmuring words the others could not catch. A low rumble emanated from he wall, and as the Queen her new maid watched, a portion of wall slid sideways, revealing a large recessed compartment. Both Violet and Laurel had to cover their eyes as rays of afternoon sunlit streamed in through the windows high above, setting ablaze whatever was contained within the chamber.

With great reverence, the King lifted out two glorious crowns. The metal and fretwork was burnished gold and silver, and the gleamed bright in the sunlight. The King drew close to Laurel, and held out one of the magnificent crowns to her. 

It was small and light, a circlet of gold, interwoven with winding knots of silver vines. Ivy leaves sprouted from the vines, each carved from an single, exceptionally deep green emerald. Rounded purple stones studded 'round the circlet, and a fretwork of delicate gold lacework enclosed over the center. The fretwork formed an airy, golden cap, twining up to a rounded peak, supporting a flawless blue diamond.

Laurel found she could barely fathom such delicate golden beauty. It was by far the most exquisite piece of craft she had ever laid eyes upon. Her mouth was a perfect 'O', and the King motioned for her to bend down a bit. Slowly, he placed it upon her hair, brushing a long, dark curl back over her ear. She was surprised at how light it was, expecting it to be exceptionally heavy upon her head.

"Now, my dear..." he said stepping back, taking in the sight of her. "I crown thee Queen."

Young Violet could scarcely contain herself. She excitedly bounced up and down on her heels, clapping her hands, clearly lost in admiration of her new mistress.

On his own head, he placed his crown. It was similar to her own, but far more massive and imposing. Its golden circlet supported a coiled dragon, carved of purest gold. From behind the crown, the sharp, pointed wings of the dragon rose up on either side, as if a tiny golden dragon had decided to coil itself round his head. The snarling face of the dragon lay across the top of the King's head, mouth open, teeth sharp and shining. So lifelike was the carving, it made the new Queen a bit uneasy to see it coiled there, as if glaring directly at her. Its eyes were faceted rubies, and it's talons were diamond bright.

Seeing the wide eyes of the new Queen and her maid, he remarked. "It's quite heavy. I only wear it at formal occasions. In battle, I wear a different helm..." his voice trailed off as if lost in thought. To her credit, the new Queen said nothing.

"Now, my Queen... shall we?" She took his arm, and they headed out of the throne room. As they entered the Great hall, the Queen was most surprised to see Sereth, Foxbane and several of the outlander's company waiting for them. They were resplendent, all done up in their finest robes and armour, all polished and gleaming. Even more surprising than finding them gathered there in rigid stance, was the sight of Tymrill.

He to was well dressed and done up in his own. His scratched face appeared much better to the princess, the cuts and scratches faded and faint. The only element that was out of place was his mighty arm, slung across his chest and bound fast, immobile. Laurel caught his eyes, and he inclined his head, bowing slightly to her. His face held an expression she could not quite place. Though it was neither angry nor malicious, she felt a slight chill nonetheless.

As the King entered, they came to attention, the heels of their booted feet coming together smartly. Across their plated chests, they clapped a forearm and straightened hand, a crisp salute. The King smiled warmly, coming to each, paying them the proper greetings and courtesies in the old way. At last he reached Tymrill, and they spoke for many moments quietly. Neither the Queen or the gathered company could make out their words. She noticed Tymrill showing his slung arm, and the King shaking his head sadly. At last, Tymrill straightened, coming to an even smarter attention, clasping the forearm of the King, as he clasped his.

The King returned to Laurel, taking her arm once more. At once, the company of men fell in procession, two guards processing with pikes going before the King and Queen. The rest of the men took up flanking positions on either side, or fell in step behind. Violet followed just behind them. As she took up her position, she saw the eyes of one of the men alight upon the new scars on her face. She colored and bowed her head, her dark curls falling into her face.

The procession went out from the great hall, making their way up several stairs, until they came into the Golden tower. Before them lay the great stair, and up they went, toward the balconies adjoining the Queen's former chambers.

-- -

A stirring chorus blazed from trumpeters stationed high atop the battlements surrounding the courtyard. Below, a vast multitude had gathered within the walls, and a great more in the surrounding fields outside the castle. Most of those who had gathered were perplexed by the vague royal edict commanding their attendance. A general excitement flowed throughout the crowd.

As the last strident chords died away, the crowd grew hushed. Far above the courtyard, a figure stepped out onto the balcony of the Queen. Only it was the figure of a man.

Hushed whispers and questions rustled through the crowd. Suddenly an old man pointed his finger skyward, shouting aghast, "By the Gods! It is the King!" Those around him picked up the refrain, until it rolled throughout them like waves. 

The figure on the balcony drew close to the rail, and those who were old enough to remember recognized him shouted, "The King!" The cheer went up, caught by others. Like a gathering thunderhead, the cheer of the crowd grew and grew until all sound was encompassed by shouts of "The King! The King has returned!"

At last, the King held up his hand, quieting the masses gathered in the courtyard below.

"Citizens of the Realm," he began, as another uproarious cheer sounded below. As it died down, he continued. "I have returned to you." Again the crowd roared, and at last settled down to hear his words.

"I have returned from a place of darkness. And it is high time you all knew its source!" spoke the King.

"The Queen, Belladonna, imprisoned me in a deep spell of darkest magick!" The crowd below was not terribly surprised to hear of her treachery, having lived under her rule since the last High Moon. "But at long last... the spell has been broken!"

The masses below erupted into new cheers, "Hail the King," and the like.

"Her reign is over!" spoke the King, his voice deep and commanding. "I have resumed the throne, and Belladonna is no more." The multitude below gave shouts of cheer and thanks.

"And now, my subjects," continued the King, holding both hands high, quieting the crowd. "I have chosen a new bride."

He motioned for her to come out onto the balcony. As she did another wild and exuberant cheer sailed up from below. 

"I bid you all pay homage to her... Queen Laurel, empress of the western wood, and Lady of Blackthorn!"

This time the swell of emotion and cheer could not be contained. It rolled up from the courtyard below and swept over them, a tide of joy.

The King went on to speak at length of his imprisonment, and how Laurel had come to his rescue. He spoke of times past, and prosperity for the future. He presented Tymrill as his second, and Sereth also. The sun sank low beneath the horizon and the moon had begun to rise, and still he spoke on. He charged the people to various tasks, and bade them all good fortunes.

At last, he drew to his closing.

"And so, citizens of this realm," said the King. "It is with great joy that I greet you after so long. Let all within the sound of my voice pursue their own pleasures for the next three days. Let no work in the fields shall be done, and let no man raise a weapon in anger. A great feast will be held on the morrow, and all are welcome at my tables. Wine and mead shall flow like water until the setting of the sun three days hence."

To this the crowd responded with a mighty roar. A chant of "Long live the King" swelled until all who heard it joined in. From doors below, servant after servant spilled into the courtyard, each carrying trays overflowing with delights of all kinds. The King had to shout to make his final words heard.

"Last night was the High Moon, and was the birth of my new reign. In one month's time shall be the Solstice, where we shall celebrate my union to the new Queen! All of my realm is welcome for our wedding feast. Until then, Eat, drink, feast, my people! Those who knew me not before, know this. Serve me well and you shall each be rewarded. 

With this last, he turned and left them to their merriment. The cheers and adulation charged the crowd and they caroused late into the night.

-- -

They left the balcony and crossed into the Queen's former chamber, Violet following close behind. Laurel was amazed at how different the rooms looked without the trappings of Belladonna. The King had it nearly stripped bare, the wreckage of the wardrobe which felled Tymrill was long gone. The only thing that remained was the massive bedframe of Belladonna's bed.

Seeing her puzzlement, the King explained it was far too heavy to move, even with ten men.

"It was assembled piece by piece, within this chamber," said the King. "Once the frame was fixed together, she had a dozen craftsmen in here, carving day and night. It's weight has sunk its' feet into the flooring, and they are now as one." He noted the slight look of disappointment on Laurel's face.

"But do not despair my love, these need not be your chambers. I have mine own, and you may share them with me if you so choose. Even before Belladonna imprisoned me, we held separate bedchambers. I..." he seemed at a loss as to how to continue. "I hadn't really thought the matter through, I suppose."

"Nevertheless," said he, regaining his thoughts. They walked about the bare chambers of Belladonna as he spoke. "My chambers have lain in disrepair since the last High Moon. I have not even lain eyes on them since I have awakened, but I can only imagine they would be in a sorry state."

"Since proclaiming there to be holiday until three days hence, I doubt we'll get much work out of the servants. I have dispatched several of my kinsmen to see to my former chambers, but it may be some time before they are ready."

He turned to regard the new queen and her new maid.

"However, my kinsmen have finished with your servant's quarters. I've had them bring up many more clothes and dresses and linens and perfumes for you. I've had many of them stored in lovely closets there... until your new chambers are ready."

He gestured toward a narrow brick archway leading off to the south side of the chambers. Laurel remembered being led through similar corridors when she was brought before Belladonna.

"Your bathing chambers and those of your maid are through there. Once your chambers are refurnished, she is but a moment away." Both Laurel and Violet regarded the corridor before turning back to the King.

The King fixed Violet with an intense gaze. 

"Lady Violet," said He. "You have pledged yourself to your new mistress?"

"Oh, yes, my King." said Violet, again bowing low. 

"Very well," he replied. "Then you serve at her pleasure. She is your mistress and liege-lord now, as am I. As she commands, so shall you obey."

"Yes my King," said Violet, earnest and sincere. She looked admiringly at her new Queen. The King felt his heart soften towards the girl, and he gave her a warm smile.

"Then I am proud to welcome you to my household, young Violet." Looking about, he frowned at the bare room of the former Queen.

"My love," he said to Laurel. "I do not believe these chambers are fitting for you. Nor do I wish to come to you in her old bed. I shall have it dismantled, piece by piece, and put a grand new one in its place. May take some time...." He wandered about the room, his words trailing off, almost as if he were lost in thought. Suddenly he returned his attention to them.

"Ah," said He. "Forgive me, my dears. I've a hundred thoughts all playing at once and I have much to attend to."

Regarding Violet, he instructed. "My dear, it is frightfully warm. Could you see to your lady's bath. Make sure she has all that she needs."

Drawing close to Laurel he said, "And as for you, my love. You may join me in my chambers tonight if you would like. Ask Tymrill or Sereth to bring you if you do not know where they are."

"Aye, husband..." said Laurel with a devilish twinkle in her eye. "I shall join you before the moon sets. You can be assured of that."

-- -

After he had gone, Laurel and Violet explored their new domain. They soon discovered a series of grand rooms, each more lavishly appointed than the last. 

In one of the chambers, they found a luxurious marble bath, set into the floor, just as the one in her chambers deep below. Only this one was filled with light. Golden rays streamed in through a multitude of windows, dyed in a rainbow of colors from the stained glass designs woven into them.

The tub was smooth and vast, surely big enough for five or six people to sit comfortably without ever touching. It was shaped rather like and oval that has been squashed at both ends. To one end rose a mighty sluice with silver handles like the ones in her former bathing chambers.

Young Violet could not believe her eyes.

"Surely these cannot be the bathing chambers of servants, my lady," she whispered, awestruck by the opulence of just this one room.

"They are today." said Laurel, reaching down to loose one of the silver handles. A great rush of water spilled over the sluice and began filling the basin below with steaming water.

As the water began to rise, the colored light from the windows played upon its surface and danced on the stone walls.