22 comments/ 37115 views/ 14 favorites The Queen of Sambia By: stoneshark The gray granite cliffs towered above the skiff, the waves threatening to dash the small craft against the rocks as the thirteen passengers, ten of them dressed in simple prison tunics of red wool, fought to stay upright. One by one, the prisoners were forced to the front to the skiff and made to catch the rope ladder hanging down from somewhere far above. Looking like a string of holly berries, they clung to the ladder, the stiff winds swinging them into the cliff-side and back out over the open ocean, the weathered wooden rungs slick with salt and sea spray. The last prisoner unloaded, the skiff rowed for the waiting ship, neither captain nor oarsmen casting a backward glance at the unfortunate prisoners or their island prison. Wool tunics growing cold and heavy with moisture, the men struggled towards the cliff top, the first quavering scream ringing out as one lost his grip and plunged into the sea below. He surfaced once, as all who stopped to catch their breath could see, then the sharks came, the sharp white fins cutting through the steely water as sure as jagged teeth cut through flesh and bone. When the blood-slick thinned the men moved on, one hand, one foot above the other, knowing too well that the penalty for failure was death. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Hands raw and bleeding, Lian scrambled up onto the muddy ground, the stiff grass trampled flat by many boots. Her arms and legs aching, she lay in the muck and stared up into the pale gray sky. Birds screamed and wheeled overhead, somewhere the wind rattled leafless branches, and all around she could hear the roar of the ocean. "Get up, boy," growled a one-eyed dwarf, and heavy dwarven boots landed a solid kick in Lian's ribs. Rolling to her feet, she staggered away on legs that shook like a foal's, leaning against a scarred and twisted tree to keep from falling. How had it come to this? she wondered, her eyes flicking from one cruel and hardened face to another. Crack! The snap of a whip rang out, and a murmur ran though the assembled prisoners. Lian leaned around the tree and watched them shuffle back as four men dressed in blue marched into the center of the group. Each one carried a long black whip, with each handle wrapped in a different color; blue, green, purple and yellow. The man with the blue whip cracked it again and leaped upon a weathered boulder, his flowing silver hair streaming out behind him. Definite elf, Lian decided, taking in the lean, wiry body, thin angular face and pointed ears. Only the eyes were wrong, gold instead of violet, as if he were a Kirra. "Welcome to Sambia," he said, looking out at each and every one of them. Lian cringed as his eyes passed over her. He was Kirra, all right, everything about him screamed vampire. "This is the men's prison of the entire eighth sector, so you'll probably see a lot of strange faces. Take a good look, because from this moment on, you're no longer human or elf, dwarf or troll, ichthian or dragon. We're all prisoners. No one is equal here, but it will not be race that divides us." He leaped off the rock and another took his place, the man with the yellow whip. "We are the four kings of Sambia. We have earned these places with the blood and pain of others. We will not give them up easily. Shortly, you will be divided among us, and you will become our property. With hard work, a little luck and a lot of backstabbing, you may move up in ranks and enjoy greater privileges, but until then, you are nothing." He scowled down at the prisoners, the great expanse of forehead rising above his brow betraying his trollish background. Uncoiling his green handled whip, the tall, black skinned king stepped forward, bearing the sour disposition of a dishonored Dracorian. Barking orders, he chased the nine surviving prisoners onto line. Lian was shoved in between the surly dwarf and a horned azalian man. The four kings stood across from them, talking among themselves while the prisoners shifted nervously. "I am Errin Mar," the first king said when he finally stepped forward. He held his blue handled whip with the ease of much practice and when he spoke, Lian could see the glint of his sharp fangs. He walked the length of the line, studying each one before moving on. Don't pick me, don't pick me, Lian begged silently, holding her breath until the vampire moved on. He came back, though, stopping in front of Lian, a thin smile playing on his bloodless lips. Behind Errin, one of the other kings made a noise in his throat. Errin looked at Lian once more, the smile gone from his face. His lips moved slightly, forming the words 'I'm sorry', then he turned and pulled the dwarf out of line. Lian looked across at the man who made the sound, the fourth king with the purple on his whip, but his face was hidden by the hood of his blue cloak. Without introduction, the Dracorian king paced the line, stopping before Lian and grabbing her by the back of the neck. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "You looked so tasty, too," then he let go and chose a human from the other end of the line. Lian swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. With fingers gone cold, she touched the hem of her tunic, feeling the wax paper packets sewn within. At least that was all right. Without the salve to keep her breasts from swelling, she would no longer pass as a man, and then every horny bastard on the island would be lined up to rape her. She shuddered and looked up to see the king in the blue cloak striding toward her. He did not walk the line like the others, but came directly to her, his gloved hand falling heavy upon her shoulder. Somehow, the hood made him the most frightening one out of all the ugly faces around her. Lian looked up into the dark circle of the hood, trying to see his face, but saw only the sharp gleam of narrowed silver eyes before he backhanded her. She stumbled as he shoved her across the muddy cliff top, the ache in her face doubled by a fierce burning. When she touched her jaw, her hand came away bloody. She looked again at the hands of her new king, the long fingers gloved in black sharkskin. The rest of the men were divided up, the vampire, Errin, taking the last, ninth man. Lian and the other prisoner selected by the hooded king marched through the mud and sharp grass, following the cliff edge to the river, which cascaded from the heights in a violent, white laced display. Then their ruler pointed them upriver, having not yet said a word to either of them. ~*~*~*~*~*~ No walls or fences surrounded the prisoner's village, just dark damp forest and a stretch of cold gray river. Several large, long buildings, built of wood and stone, lay scattered around a squat stone hall, the slate roof green with moss and lichen. To one side of the buildings ran barren fields, the dark earth turned over in crooked and ugly rows. Lian's father had once beat her brother senseless for plowing a furrow half that poorly, and the sight of those mangled rows made her flush with anger. The king marched them through the center of the village, the other prisoners pausing in their various tasks to watch the newcomers pass by, but they didn't gawk long. Into the stone hall they were directed, past rows of wooden tables and benches, to a small chamber at the rear. Once inside, Lian and the other man stood in silence as the hooded king closed the heavy wooden door. The little room was warmed by a crackling fire on the hearth, the cheery golden light mingling with the wan winter sun that filtered in through the poorly made glass of the windows. Below the windows lay an assortment of pillows and cushions, the cloth coarsely woven and dyed in garish shades of red, brown, green and yellow. Against the far wall sat a massive throne carved from a single block of dark red wood. It didn't look very comfortable. The king turned his back on them and finally spoke. "I am Karis Mirrik," he said in a quiet, scratchy voice, like a man who drinks too much whisky. He pushed his hood back, revealing close-cropped white hair. He must be an old man, thought Lian. King Mirrik now removed his cloak entirely and tossed it over the back of the throne. His lean, strong body was clothed in black hide, from his heavy boots to his long-sleeved jacket. Lian found herself holding her breath as he took his place on the throne and finally allowed them to see his face. Hideous was the first word that occurred to Lian. Scars lined and mottled his face, long, thin pale ones and raised, round red ones, scars that ran up into his hair and down his neck into his collar; whip scars, burn scars, spell scars, scars she couldn't even tell what made them. She didn't realize she was staring until he flicked his whip in her direction. "Name," he demanded. She took a breath and looked down at the floor. "Lian Daren," she said, trying to sound gruff and manly. Mirrik stared at her a moment, then turned his cold silver gaze on the man beside her. "I'm Nechar DeVarence, your majesty," the prisoner said with obvious contempt. Mirrik's grim expression never changed, but he struck out with his whip, thin hide scoring a bright red streak down Nechar's cheek. Grunting in pain, the big man stumbled back, reaching up to stop the blood that flowed down his jaw and dripped onto his tunic, leaving dark spots on the much brighter red cloth. "You will fear me," King Mirrik said, in the same quiet voice. "Nechar, house two. Lian," and here his voice softened, almost like a purr, the sound sending chills down her spine. "House nine." ~*~*~*~*~*~ "Welcome to the harem," said a cherub faced youth as Lian stepped inside the high-ceilinged barracks house. Rows of beds filled the huge room and fires burned in the hearths at either end. "I'm Barribi," he said. "Lian," she said, not sure what to make of this cheerful boy. He didn't look much older than she was. "C'mon, Lian, I'll show you around." He led her down the rows of beds to one in the middle, a thick gray blanked folded neatly on the lumpy mattress. "You're new, so you sleep here. Those that've been here longest get the ones nearest the fires." He took her to a window and pointed out a small building with high windows of frosted glass. "That's the bathhouse. Water comes from a hot springs. Very nice. Over there," and he pointed to a row of shacks, "are the outhouses. There're more behind the hall and on the far side of the fields. We're very civilized here." "What is this?" Lian asked, looking around at the dozen or so young men lounging around inside the barracks. None looked over twenty-five, with most only a few years older than her. "I told you, this is the king's harem," Barribi said. "There're no women on the island, so..." He shrugged. "If you have any problems with giving another man a hand job, I'd get over them quick. The king doesn't like to be denied or disappointed. So, where're you from?" "Earth," Lian said, feeling her legs start to shake, "though I was arrested on Caderaal." "You go by ship or gate?" he asked. "Gate." "It's the only way to travel," Barribi said. "I went to Earth once, years ago. I was ten, I think. My step-father took me to see a football game. You know football, right?" Lian nodded. "Great game." He paused a moment. "I was arrested on Relr-ashitu. That's a gryph colony, you know." "What did you do?" Lian asked, unable to imagine what heinous crime this chatty young man could have committed. "I killed my step-father," he said, then gave a dry chuckle. "He raped my little sister, but that doesn't seem to matter when you chop someone up with a ax. How 'bout you?" "I was found holding the sword that killed three imperial guards," Lian said. She could close her eyes and see the bloody corpses, the wide and staring eyes, and the jewels glittering in the hilt of that sword. Oh, why did she pick it up! "I didn't kill them though." "It's fine if you did, doesn't matter if you didn't," Barribi said with a shrug. "You're here, you're guilty, you're one of us. C'mon, I'll introduce you to the others." ~*~*~*~*~*~ Meals were taken three times a day in the stone hall. A handful of prisoners, those with any cooking skills whatsoever, were in charge of preparing what little food remained this late in the year. Many days, it came down to scraping the lichen off the roof and boiling it into a thin green soup. Squishy, wormy potatoes were a luxury reserved for Tuesday and Friday evenings. Gamy seabird meat in the soup was a rare treat. How anyone on the island survived was beyond Lian's knowing. Serving the slop fell to the newest arrivals, and on her third day, Lian found it her turn to serve the king. Mirrik had not spoken, or even looked at her, since the first day, but now she could feel his chilly silver eyes watching her every move as she poured water into his goblet and ladled soup into his bowl. As she turned to go, he grabbed her by the arm, his rough gloves scratching through the sleeve of her tunic. Lian stood with her eyes downcast, not daring to look at him. The scratch on her face was scabbed over, but the scabs kept catching on her blanket and pillow and ripping off in her sleep. King Mirrik let go of her arm, but she stayed where she was, a dark sense of foreboding telling her that he wasn't through yet. He took a flat loaf of brown bread out of the basket on his table and tore off a piece, which he held out to Lian. She hesitated a moment before reaching for the offered treat. Bread was reserved for the king alone. Mirrik grabbed her hand, however, before she could take it. He did not take back the bread, though. Wanting nothing more than to run away, Lian dared not refuse him, for to anger the king was suicide. Disgusted with herself, she leaned down and took the bread with her mouth, careful not to let her lips brush the harsh gloves. Mirrik released her and turned to his meal. Lian carried the kettle of soup as far as the kitchen, then slammed it down on a table and ran to the sink and promptly vomited. She was rinsing her mouth out when Barribi came up behind her and smacked her heartily on the back. "Look who's the new favorite," he said, grinning at her as she dried her face on a grubby dishrag. "Lukos used to be the only one to get bread, boy is he going to be pissed." "I didn't mean to," Lian said, not sure if she was going to vomit again or not. "I don't want--" "It doesn't matter what you want," Barribi interrupted. "It only matters what the king wants. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." ~*~*~*~*~*~ One week after the bread incident, Barribi pulled Lian out of the spinning room. Of all the men assigned the task of spinning cotton fiber into weavable yarn, Lian was the best, something which she was not proud of. Her tight, even strands brought critical looks from the others. She tried to do worse, but poor yarn brought severe beatings back home. This wasn't home, she reminded herself again and again, and if she didn't try harder, she would be found out. So she was relieved when Barribi came for her, until she found out why. "The king wants you," he said. "Here's your chance to distinguish yourself." They walked into the empty hall, Lian going cold at the sight of that heavy door at the far end. "Just relax," Barribi offered. "Listen carefully and do what he says. Whatever he says." A young man pushed past them nursing a bleeding hand. "What happened to Cason?" Lian asked. "He didn't listen," Barribi said with a chuckle, giving Lian an encouraging shove toward the door. Lian put one foot in front of another, each one heavy as stone, the door looming up before her much too quickly. Not to go would be suicide, to go; a fate worse than death. She raised her hand to knock and the door swung open, leaving her standing dumb in the doorway. "Enter," commanded Mirrik's voice, though she didn't see him sitting on his throne. She stepped in and shut the door behind her. "Lock it," came the voice again. Feeling like she had just stepped into a dragon's den, Lian obeyed. "Come here." With every fiber of her being trembling like a leaf, she walked into the room, searching for the evil king. She found him reclined on his pile of cushions beneath the windows, his blue cloak wrapped about him. "Y-yes, your majesty?" she asked, stopping at his feet. He wore his heavy black boots, even now. She didn't see the whip anywhere. One black gloved hand slithered out of the cloak's front and pointed to a place at his side. "Sit," he said. Swallowing down the bile that rose up the back of her throat, Lian sat. Mirrik threw back the cloak now, revealing his lean, naked body. Only the gloves and boots covered him. Lian refrained from gasping, but had to turn her face away. "Look at me," the king ordered. She closed her eyes, unable to bring herself to look upon that horribleness again. "Look at me," Mirrik repeated, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. Remembering Cason, she opened her eyes and looked, trying to find one inch of flesh not scarred and mutilated. Did he do it to himself? she wondered. Only his manhood lay unscarred, a pitiful, wilted thing against his thigh. "What do you see?" he asked. It was the longest sentence she'd heard him speak yet. A thousand truths ran through her head, along with a thousand lies. The truth would anger him and he'd know if she were lying. She swallowed hard, her mouth gone dry. "I see...my king," she said at last. This seemed to satisfy him. He didn't hurt her, at least. "Take it in your hand," he instructed. Lian set her jaw and reached for him, but her nerve failed her and she faltered, hesitant to touch the thing. Mirrik grabbed her by the wrist, for once not hard enough to hurt, and guided her hand into position. She tried to look at it as something other than what it was, something not attached to a cruel, sadistic, evil man, and set about this task as she would any other. Whatever instructions he gave, she followed to the letter, be it faster, harder, slower, tighter. The limp bit of flesh in her hand hardened into a velvet covered stone. She paid no attention to the man, didn't hear his breath quicken, didn't see his skin flush, didn't notice his muscles tense. It wasn't until her hard work yielded a thick jet of white fluid that she came back to reality. Lian looked down at Mirrik's cock in her hand, then at the cream soaking into her tunic. She somehow made it to her feet and stumbled across the room. She was outside before she realized she had unlocked the door, and running to the river before she knew where she was going. The smell of him was all over her and she could still feel him in her hand, the solid softness of him. Lian made it to the river and finally allowed herself to lose her lunch, heaving until she ached from the effort. She watched the water carry away the mess, then began splashing through the shallows, following the river downstream. Cold and wet, she made it all the way to the falls, standing at the edge and staring down at the tumbling white water as it crashed upon the rocks below. Death would be nearly instant, she told herself. "Don't do it," said a soft voice to her left. She jumped and spun about, nearly losing her balance and falling over the cliff anyway, but a strong, pale hand grabbed her arm and hauled her back. "Others have jumped," Errin Mar, the elven vampire said, leading her back into the trees. "They didn't die right away. They had to lie upon the rocks, some in summer sun, some in winter snow, and wait for the tide to rise. Some drowned, some the sharks got." Lian didn't care, she just wanted to die. "If it's death you really want," Errin said, "I am willing to provide, and it would not be nearly so painful." Lian would rather have been flayed alive by Mirrik than have a bloodsucker sink his fangs into her, but she didn't say so. "No, thank you," she said. "I wasn't going to jump. I just need to wash this tunic." Errin looked down at her and she felt her face burn. "It's not--" she began, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. The Queen of Sambia "Of course it is," he said. "I could smell it ten minutes ago. That's how I knew you were coming. Go, go wash, it's only getting colder out here." He escorted her to a calmer spot along the riverbank and watched with his eerie gold eyes, so out of place in an elf's face, as she stripped off her tunic, shivering as her thin undershirt afforded little protection from the cold. Thanking the gods that she had the presence of mind to remove the wax paper packets of salve before this, she shoved the tunic under the water and swished it around, wishing she could see the water carry the foul stuff away. Lian lifted the dripping tunic from the river, the wool ten times as heavy, and tried to wring the water out. "I'll freeze to death before I reach the barracks," she said, struggling into the soaked garment anyway. "Take a hot bath when you get there," Errin said. "The steam vents will dry your clothes. Everyone will be at table, so you won't be disturbed." Something in his gaze bothered her, like he knew more than he should. "Thank you, King Mar," she said, nodding to him as she turned to go. "He will find out," Errin called after her, stopping her in her tracks. "You can't keep secrets from Karis Mirrik." "What secrets," Lian asked, trembling inside as she stepped closer to the vampire. "What will he find out?" Errin leaned close and whispered in her ear. "That you are naught but a sheep in wolf's clothing. You lack what it takes to be a real man." Lian's heart caught in her throat. "How did you know?" she whispered. "I smelled you before you even got off the boat, your smoky woman's perfume. Oh, how I wanted you for my own, but what Mirrik wants, Mirrik gets, as far as I'm concerned. I'm only alive because of him." "Will you tell him about me?" Lian asked, wondering if she was strong enough to drown him in the river if he said yes. "No," Errin said with a twisted smile, "so don't worry about trying to kill me. Now get back before you catch pneumonia. Just remember, he will find out." ~*~*~*~*~*~ Errin was right, the village was deserted, every last man trying to find nourishment in a bowl of warm mold. She shivered from head to toe, her teeth chattering, and she could not make it stop. Slipping inside the bathhouse, she leaned against the door, listening for someone hiding in the clouds of steam, but she was alone. The door had no lock, but she moved a heavy bench in front of it, and had to be satisfied with that. She would only be in there a minute, she told herself. Stripping off her tunic, and the now soaked undershirt, she hung them on racks above the steam vents, the blistering hot air rising up from the very bowels of the planet. A scratched and pitted sheet of metal hung on one wall, her reflection a warped and silvered thing, but the feeble candle light cast her skinny body in a harsh light of sharp angles and deep shadows. All her ribs showed and deep hollows beneath her neck held the darkness, but her chest was flat as any man's, a credit to the power of that horrid burning salve. Lian slipped out of her stiff trousers and thick woolen hose, piling them on a bench near the shower area, and cast one last look at the door before removing her underwear. Feeling very vulnerable, she stepped into the shower, the rough slate tiles wet and warm beneath her frozen feet. This shower was big enough for a dozen men, with six shower heads pointing toward the center, but Lian needed only one. Hanging her towel on the hook beside the faucet, she let the almost scalding water warm her frozen body. It felt so good, she lost track of time, forgetting the hordes of men who could be leaving the hall at any time. A noise behind her snapped her out of oblivious rapture. She tried not to panic, telling herself that whoever it was would see a man if she did not turn around. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a figure, completely naked, through the thick clouds of steam. If she couldn't tell who it was, maybe neither could he. "Who's there?" she asked gruffly, going through the motions of washing. The man behind her didn't answer. Trying to look casual, she reached up to turn off the water and grab her towel. "Don't," he ordered. The voice sent chills through her and she froze, then let her arms fall to her sides. "Mirrik," she whispered. He came up behind her, his hands clasping her shoulders. For once, he wasn't wearing the gloves. She didn't move, hardly daring to breathe as his rough hands slid down her arms, stopping above her elbows. She cringed as he stepped closer, his hands brushing her sides as they moved under her arms to encircle her like a snake. Lian closed her eyes, her body going rigid as he pressed against her. His hands explored her chest, her tiny nipples tingling as he rubbed over them, the sensitive flesh hardening beneath his touch. A tiny whimper escaped her lips as he lowered his head to her shoulder, his teeth scraping across her skin. No lurid, lustful kisses he bestowed upon her, just bites that bordered on pain. "Sweet," he growled into the hollow of her neck, then bit and nipped his way up to her ear. His hands slid down her wet stomach, fanning out to caress her hips, then turning in to tug at her curly hairs. A solitary tear slipped down her cheek as she tried not to imagine what he would do to her once he found out the truth. "Such a sweet boy," he whispered in her ear as he moved to take her cock in his hand. When he found nothing, Mirrik pulled back, stepping away from her. Lian grabbed her towel, trying to wrap it around her waist, but Mirrik spun her around and snatched it away. The towel fell to the floor as he pulled her to him and forced one hand between her legs, running a finger the length of her slit before driving it up inside. She turned her face away, but refused to scream or do anything else that might excite him. Mirrik let go and she fell backward against the wall, catching herself on the water pipes. The king stared at her a moment, his scarred face for once showing the semblance of emotion, but it was no emotion she could read, then he turned and disappeared into the mist. When he didn't return, Lian let herself sink to the floor, her knees pulled up in front of her. She covered her face with her hands and wept. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Mirrik didn't tell anyone. At least, the men didn't try to gang rape her at breakfast. After a sleepless night of wondering if she should run and knowing she had no where to run to, Lian almost couldn't bring herself to appear in the hall. When she did, Mirrik watched her the entire time. It wasn't her turn to serve him, thank the gods, but everywhere she went, she could feel his eyes upon her. It went on like this for two months. When it was her turn to serve the king, he did nothing more than watch. The other harem boys noticed this, along with the fact that Mirrik did not again call her into his chamber. One day, Barribi took her aside and asked what she did to make the king treat her so strangely. "I honestly don't know," she replied. Indeed, she had expected a much different reaction. ~*~*~*~*~*~ The days on Sambia grew longer, the weather warmer, and migrating birds returned to the island's rocky cliffs, providing much needed meat for the tables. Disgusted with the haphazard furrows in the fields and not wanting to suffer another winter as the last one, Lian put her knowledge of farming to good use, showing the plow chief how to make straight lines and suggesting irrigation ditches to run from the river so fewer crops would die in the summer heat. At first, the men were skeptical of a slight boy with a girlish face, but her advice proved sound and most were soon eager to hear any new idea she might have. Of course, most is not everyone. Nechar, for whatever reason, hated her. He missed no chance to insult her, his favorite slur being the king's fuck-boy. She did her best to ignore him. One sultry afternoon in late spring, Lian slipped out of the village and hiked upstream along the river, searching for a deep, clear pool. She had not dared to return to the bathhouse after that night, and sponge baths did only so much. She needed to swim, she needed that freedom, if only for a few minutes. Several miles above the village she found a wonderful swimming hole, secluded by high rocks on three sides and thick forest on the other. The water prickled along her skin and made her shiver with delight. She scrubbed the grime and grit off her body and out of her hair, which needed to be cut again. She was starting to look like a girl. After a few clumsy strokes, Lian slipped into the easy over arm crawl she learned as a child and arrowed across the pool. Lack of practice left her out of breath, so she hung onto the craggy rock wall with one hand and kicked her legs lazily as she admired the view from this side of the water. Rocks hugged the water's edge like loving arms, the dark green of the forest hanging over the water where they didn't meet. Lilies and irises crowded the eastern end, the rocks low and scattered to let the sun shine in. She smiled at the beauty of it, but her smile froze at the sight of the cloaked figure standing on a rise of stone. Her hand slipped off the wall and she went under, water filling her mouth and nose. Lian came up coughing and sputtering, one hand groping for the rocks while she tried to dash the water from her eyes. The rocks were empty when she looked, and the peaceful pond took on a dark and foreboding air. Stroking carefully toward shore, she cast about for a sign of him, but the king in the blue cloak had disappeared. Lian stood with the water above her waist, searching the trees for a flicker of movement, listening for a hint of a footstep, the whisper of a breath, but the forest was still and silent. Unable to shake the unease, Lian covered herself with her hands and hurried to the three limb her clothes were draped over. Throwing on her tunic to cover her nakedness, she struggled into her underwear and hose, looking over her shoulder ever few seconds. Why was it so damn quiet? she wondered, suddenly noting the absence of birdsong. She grabbed her trousers and glanced back in time to see something swing into her face. Pain flooding her senses, Lian fell forward, slamming her chin into the tree. Ears ringing, she crumpled to the ground, a thick fog enveloping her head. Someone was dragging her by her feet, away from the water and into the trees. Her stomach lurched like she might throw up, but she clawed at the loose earth, not sure of anything but the fact that she didn't want to go wherever she was being taken. "Your majesty, please," she whimpered as the fog lifted and she remembered the man on the rocks. He dropped her ankles and she tried to scramble away, but he caught her by her tunic and pulled her back, his hands finding the top of her hose. "Your majesty?" asked a mocking voice. "The king's fuck-boy to the last, eh?" Lian looked over her shoulder at Nechar's leering face, the thin silver scar on his cheek pulling as he grinned at her. He started to pull her leggings down, but she thrashed and kicked, throwing handfuls of dirt back at him. She dared not scream, for around here, help would probably be on his side. Snarling, Nechar wrestled with her, grabbing a handful of her hair and then punching her in the face until she stopped fighting. Dirt became mud as the blood ran down her face and she spit out the gritty, metallic stuff, but could do nothing else as he flipped her over onto her back and stripped her hose off. "What the fuck is this?" she heard him exclaim, his callused hands parting her legs and probing inside her. Even Mirrik had been more gentle. The dancing snatches of sky showing between the leafy branches above were painted pink as blood ran into her eyes. Nechar began to laugh, a cold, ugly sound that made her want to die. "You know how long it's been since I ate a little girl?" he asked, making her blood run cold. "Fucking forever." She felt his breath on the inside of her thigh, then he let go with a strangled yell. Rolling away, Lian looked back at Nechar. Mirrik, his cloak thrown off and his face a mask of calm indifference, stood behind Nechar, his purple handled whip wrapped around the other man's throat, choking the life out of him. Lian pulled her hose up, watching Nechar's face change color and his eyes hemorrhage. Once his hands hung limp at his sides, Mirrik let him go, and Nechar fell face first into the dirt. Lian tried to get up as Mirrik came toward her, but the edges of her world were going dark and fuzzy. The king coiled his whip and began removing his sharkskin gloves, those simple movements filling Lian with a dark, cold terror. "Please," she begged, her words slurred through swollen lips, "please, if you have any mercy, kill me." Then everything went dark and silent. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Lian woke in a dark room, the only light coming from a bed of coals in the fireplace. She was wrapped in something warm and lying on a soft bed. Trying not to move, she looked around, searching for Mirrik. "He's outside," came a soft voice, so near it made her jump. Seated right beside her, so still she hadn't even noticed him, sat Errin Mar. "What am I doing here?" she asked, sitting up to get away from him. Her head felt light, but the ache she expected in her face was not there. She touched her lips, her cheek, her jaw, and found only mild swelling. "There's some bruising," Errin said, his eyes glowing like enchanted amber in the firelight. "I couldn't do anything about that, but there won't be any scarring. He was explicit that there be no scars." "Who?" "King Mirrik, of course. He brought you here." Errin went to the fire and threw some wood on, sending sparks flying up the chimney. The warm yellow light filled the room as he came back, taking a seat beside her on the bed. Lian wanted to move away, but knew it was not smart to offend a vampire. "I told you he would find out," Errin said. "But he didn't do anything to me," Lian said softly. "He's just stared at me all these months. Why? What happened to him?" Errin shrugged and watched her with the lazy eyes of a hunting cat. "How would I know?" he said. "Mirrik doesn't tell me any more than he tells you." "Don't give me that crap," Lian said, then hastily added, "your majesty." Errin's expression never changed, but she thought she saw a hint of a smile in his eyes. "It took me a long time to think back on that night above the waterfall, but when I did, I realized you were responding to thoughts I never voiced. You're a mind reader." "Very good, little girl," Errin said. "Most of my subjects never figure that out. Of course, those that do I usually kill." Lian's eyes flickered from his face to the door, but realized running would be useless, and the smile on Errin's face told her that he knew it, too. "But I can see you're one who's good a keeping secrets, and as long as you are, so shall I be." Lian didn't like it, but she nodded silently. "Good," Errin said, relaxing the predatory attitude. "Now, about Mirrik." He let out a long sigh. "Karis Mirrik was thirteen when he was sent here. His king was an evil and sadistic man who kept Mirrik as a pet and tortured him daily for three years. He was the toy of all of the king's favored subjects. I think it should have killed him, and a lesser man would have given up and died, but Mirrik had a strong need for vengeance, and it kept him alive until his chance came." "He killed the king?" Lian asked. Errin nodded. "He killed everyone who ever hurt him," the vampire said. "He won't stand to see anyone hurt as he was." "But the things he makes us do--" "But he doesn't hurt you, and he doesn't let anyone else hurt you. His subjects are lucky in that respect." Errin stroked his chin in thought. "As to why he hasn't done anything to you, I really can't say. There are many things a man can do with a woman that don't hurt." Lian looked away. "Not when the woman has never been with a man before," she whispered. "Ah, a virgin beauty," Errin sighed. "Now I am doubly sorry I couldn't have you. I guess a taste of your blood shall have to do." Lian's mouth went dry and she pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "Your king has agreed, as much as you loath the thought. As my blood healed you, your blood shall feed me." Lian was familiar with the vampire's law concerning healing mortals, but she hadn't realized it applied on Sambia. "Where the vampire goes, so goes the law," Errin said with a smile. Fighting her disgust, Lian let him reach for her, and he slipped the blanket off one shoulder. Her tunic was gone, and now she saw it hanging by the fire, along with her undershirt and trousers. The cool air raced over her bare skin, making her shiver. Errin kissed her shoulder, his gentle touch no less violating than Mirrik's rough hands. The vampire kissed and sucked her flesh, moving up to the hollow of her neck, where his fangs tickled and grazed before he slipped them into her throat. The pain was tolerable, but her body's reaction was not. Lian's breath quickened, he heart pounding as her skin flushed. Her nipples hardened and a tingling heat spread through her loins. She shuddered as a low moan escaped her lips and the wetness between her legs perfumed the air. Errin licked and sucked her neck, then pulled back, out of breath and flushed as well. He almost looked alive. Lian touched the spot on her neck where he bit her, but found no wound or mark at all. Feeling slightly queasy, she left the blanket and went to her clothes, putting them on almost mechanically. "Not as bad as you thought, eh?" Errin said, reclining on the bed to watch her. "That was disgusting," she said as politely as possible. "And I am disgusted with myself." She concentrated on tying her bootlaces, then straightened up, her composure restored. "Thank you for your help, your majesty," she said, heading for the door. "I would help you if I could," Errin said, his voice low and gentle. "I know how to take a woman without pain, but Mirrik would kill me if I did." Lian swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. "I'm so very afraid of him," she whispered, feeling her hands begin to shake. "Mirrik was a street brat by the age of five," Errin said. "He's never been loved by a woman, or by anyone. He doesn't know what love is. All he wants is control and power, because he's afraid to be helpless. Be careful, little girl." ~*~*~*~*~*~ Mirrik led her out of Errin's village and along the cliff top to the river. Not a word was spoken between them. Lian watched him with wary eyes, trying to find a moment when she might push him off the cliff, but he kept her between him and the edge. At the river, he walked behind her, making her very nervous. About a mile from the village, she could take it no longer. Spinning about, she tried to shove Mirrik into the river, but he stepped aside, grabbing her arms and using her own momentum to throw her into the water. He held her under for a moment, then hauled her out and threw her down on the riverbank. She looked up at him, her heart pounding as she shook the water out of her eyes. "Don't," was all he said before jerking her to her feet and shoving her toward the village. The deep spring night was still cold, and Lian shivered in her wet clothes by the time the first golden lit windows came into view. Through the center of the village Mirrik took her, and when she tried to head for her own barracks house, he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her toward the stone hall. Lian's heart sank into her stomach as her feet clomped up the wooden steps and through the empty hall. The sight of Mirrik's chamber door waiting at the end of the hall sent her into a panic. She tried to run, but he seized her by the back of the tunic and hurried her forward, letting go only when they were inside. The Queen of Sambia King Mirrik shut the door and locked it, then removed his cloak, tossing it to its usual place on the back of the throne. Lian drew away as he walked past, using an iron rod to stir up the glowing embers in the fireplace. The heat felt good on her face, but could not penetrate the chill that enveloped her. "Take off your clothes," Mirrik ordered, replacing the iron in its stand by the hearth. Lian eyed the potential weapon, then looked up into Mirrik's cold silver eyes. "No," she said, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. His face never changed, but he covered the two steps between them and grabbed her tunic and shirt and stripped them from her body. Lian struck out at him, but he caught her arm by the wrist, then let go and hauled her trousers and hose down to her ankles. Mirrik wrapped one arm around her waist and carried her to his bed of cushions, where he threw her down. Lian watched the king squat at her feet and yank off her boots, then her leggings, leaving her in just her thin, damp underwear. She covered her face with her hand and waited for him to get on with it. He didn't touch her and after a moment, his footsteps retreated. Lian peeked between her fingers to see him sink onto his throne and stare at her, his chin resting on one fist. In the flickering firelight, he made a fearsome sight, like someone's warped and twisted vision of a man. Looking at him, Lian remembered what Errin had told her, about the torture and suffering he had survived. Of course it would leave its scars. Lian sat up and pulled her knees up in front of her, hugging them to her chest. Mirrik seemed not to know what to do with her. Surely though, he knew, and he couldn't hurt her as others had similarly hurt him. He wanted two different things, she could see it in his eyes, to take her and not to hurt her, and the two were mutually exclusive in his mind. So what, they would stare at each other until they went crazy? Deep inside, Lian felt a stir of pity for the tortured soul. Rising to her feet, she took a few hesitant steps toward her king, though she shook from head to toe. He watched her with his deadpan gaze and she faltered before him, her fingers worrying an imaginary hem. "Your majesty?" she whispered, her nerve nearly failing when she got no response. "King Mirrik?" she tried, but again, nothing. She licked her dry lips. "Karis?" Now he reacted, rising from his throne and stepping toward her. He did not try to touch her, though. Her hand shaking, Lian reached up to touch his face, her fingers brushing his cheek before he pulled away and grabbed her wrist. "Don't," he said, looking at her with wide, dark eyes. He wanted her, it was so obvious it had to be hurting him, but he just stared. Then it hit her. He couldn't control what she was doing to him, he was helpless to stop it, and it scared him. The fire crackled behind them as she fought to find her voice. "I won't hurt you," she whispered. His grip on her wrist relaxed and she took back her hand, letting her fingers slide over his palm. Mirrik's throat bobbed as she reached for his shirt, her fingers slowly freeing the black stone buttons. "Tell me to stop, and I will," she told him, feeling his heart thumping through the coarse cloth. The buttons undone, she pushed the shirt open, the firelight falling on his chest, and now she could see scars upon scars, layers of years spent in pain. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingers finding a long scar that ran from his shoulder across his chest and to his waist. So much pain. "Stop," he said, his whisky voice thin and desperate. Lian froze, taking her hand away. She looked up into his eyes, trying to reassure him. "It's okay," she murmured. "Okay?" She waited until he gave a slight nod, then placed both hands upon his bare skin, letting them slide beneath his shirt. She leaned forward and kissed his chest, feeling him flinch away from her. "What's wrong?" she asked, stopping before he had to ask. "Lips and teeth cause pain," he said, looking beyond her to some miserable moment in the past. Lian laid her hand on his face, drawing his eyes back to her. "Not always," she said. "I won't, not ever." She kissed him again, feeling him tremble as she stepped closer, their chests touching. Taking his hands in her own, she placed them on her hips. Mirrik wrapped his arms around her, like a dying man clinging to life. She lifted her kisses to his face, letting her lips flutter over his jaw before finding his mouth, their lips touching like strangers. Mirrik let go of her long enough to shed his shirt, his hands caressing every part of her back and shoulders, like a blind man seeking what he cannot see. "May I take your boots off, my king?" she whispered, kissing his ear and running her fingers through his hair. When he nodded, she slipped from his arms and removed his boots, dragging her chest along his body as she stood. Slowly, she reached for his trousers, unbuckling the thick belt and letting the stiff hide crumple to the floor, finally releasing the evidence of his desire. Lian backed toward the bed of cushions, leading him by the hands. What had begun as a pity for a tortured soul had deepened to a raw, red hunger, Mirrik's every touch making her skin tingle. She ached for him with a carnality she had never before felt. Her panties had been soaked through when she finally slipped them off, but the air did little to cool the heat throbbing through her loins. Mirrik did not resist as she drew him down upon the bed, but he watched her with doubtful eyes. They kissed for a few minutes, hands moving over naked flesh, their bodies pressed close together, but Lian needed more. She broke away and straddled the king, feeling his cock head rub along her slick slit. Taking it in her hand she guided it to her opening, easing herself down. She felt the tip press against the maidenhead, pulling within her. "Stop," Mirrik said, grabbing her by the waist and holding her up. "I won't hurt you." He started to push her off, but she took his hands and squeezed them tight. "You won't hurt me," she said, trying to make it sound true. "I need you, I need to feel you inside me. Please Karis, my king. Take me." He looked at her for a moment, then pulled her off, much to her dismay. He didn't desert her though, but moved between her legs, sliding inside until he reached her virgin barrier. "Do it," she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist and trying to pull him in. He fought her, confident in his new position of power, but he didn't make her suffer long. Lian gasped as he ripped through her maidenhood in one swift stroke, the initial sting easing to a dull ache, which vanished as he thrust into her again. She moaned, pleasure rolling over like waves on the shore. Mirrik ravished her with long, slow strokes, each one rocking her back into the coarse cloth of the cushions. He's a fast learner, she thought as he worshipped her neck with tender kisses. Clutching handfuls of pillow in white knuckled fists, Lian brought her hips up to meet Mirrik's languid thrusts, urging him to hurry. He buried his face in her neck began pounding into her. Lightning flashed behind her eyes and silent thunder racked her body as she cried out again and again, her inner muscles going into a wild spasm, squeezing Mirrik like a clutching fist. He moaned into her shoulder and stiffened, shooting hot jets of cream deep inside her. Sweaty and exhausted, she lay spent as he rolled off of her. The scent of their sex hung thick in the air, like a rich perfume, as she listened to her heart regain its natural rhythm. Beside her, Mirrik was sitting up, looking into the fire, a dark cloud hanging over his head. "What's wrong?" she asked, reaching over to rub his rough and ridged arm. When he pulled away, she sat up, trying to look into his face. "This cannot happen again," he said, his voice tight. Lian licked her lips, not sure what had happened. "Didn't you enjoy it?" she asked quietly. "Wouldn't you like to do this again?" After a moment Mirrik nodded. "I am not good," he said. "I am not gentle. You deserve better than me." "So, what then? We just pretend this didn't happen?" "I will give you to Errin Mar. He is better." "But I don't--" she started, the words catching in her throat. "But I don't love him," she said, finding that, among all the other reasons, first and foremost. Mirrik shook his head. "I don't know what love is," he said, as if weighing each word before speaking it. Lian leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. "If you would give me up like that," she said, sliding her hands under his arms and around his chest, "then you do. What you don't know, I'll teach you."