Authors: Multiple
Chapter 23
The
pregnancy had been hard. If ever she doubted Svella’s hard time—which of
course she hadn’t—that was put to rest when she birthed yet another son
for her God and King.
Kulav
had kept near her much of the time in the week following her birth, and she saw
the light glimmer of pride in her and his new son as she cradled the boy. He
kissed her head and looked to the child against her bosom, so dark. His skin,
though so fresh and new, nearly matched that of his fathers. He was far more
like Kulav than Svella’s child had been, that woman’s pale northern skin having
diluted his tone.
Mirella
had been lucky enough to have known bliss before, but that completion of her
family, that natural process of creating something from both of them was
different. She knew how pleased he was, and she’d always wanted a child. She
had tried to push it aside as it grew less likely, but now that it was finally
a reality, she let herself feel true joy.
“He
looks like you,” she murmured, that sleepy, happy daze making her eyes look
lustier.
With a
soft kiss to her forehead, the powerful Kulav stroked her hair tenderly. “You
will name him Kulav’ar,” he said firmly, for though it was tradition for the
Ka’reem women to name their children, his mind was set. “It means Son of
Kulav,” he explained, and the significance of such a thing was not lost. How
could it be? For though he had seeded many women—all of the Raven Guard
and many more—none of the children had he claimed his own in any manner.
Her
dark lashes descended over her eyes, and that wide smile, those hidden tears
were sweet, tender affection. She nodded and swallowed in a breath. “Kulav’ar,”
she murmured, her finger clasped in the palm of her young infant. “Thank you.”
Chapter 24
One
thing she could not ignore, even as she tended to her new child, was the
growing sense of unease. Though the God-King was back, and with a mighty
victory against the Empire, he knew it was not over yet.
“Your
Greatness,” bowed one of the chieftains, “our men have explored out the
collapsed tunnels and found a way through. It is not enough for an army, or
even a small raiding party, but it was enough to gather intelligence.”
“Well,”
demanded the ebon deity, “what have they to report?”
The
hairy barbarian leader shifted uneasily. “The Empire has amassed a new army on
the other side of the mountains. They are working on excavating the blockage
and...”
The
God-King was tired of waiting, “Spit it out! Or be trampled beneath my horses
hooves,” he demanded darkly.
“And
they are sending forces around the mountain.”
“Which
way?”
“Both,”
the chieftain replied.
He
didn’t need to ask how many. For the Empire did nothing in small measures. If
the first invasion failed, then this next would be three times as large at
least. With the powers of the witches and the genius of her master, even that
would be insurmountable. There was only one out, and they all knew it.
Mirella
cursed. That spoiled, pampered, stubborn brat. Mirella’s strength was
returning, her body slowly going back to her pre-pregnancy figure, but she’d
not managed to find the will to deal with Princess Anabelle. Her eyes looked to
Kulav imploringly, her tongue lancing her lips. “I will try again.”
With a
shake of his head he said, “No,” firmly. “It is pointless.” She knew it as well
as him, but when there were no other options...
It was
then it came to her, the Seer’s voice. Though somehow she knew it wasn’t the
woman speaking to her now. It was a memory that had been implanted into her as
she joined the other witches in their spell on that day months ago. It was the
solution to their problems.
“I know
what to do,” she said.
Chapter 25
Mirella
left her sisters inside, hearing their chanting as she shut the door to the
repaired chapel. The Seer was still unconscious, had not awoken since their
last casting, but still she was like a focal point of their efforts even in her
helpless state.
Mirella
left them, shutting the door as she looked up to Kulav. The God-King gave her a
steady look, “All our fates rest with you,” he said with firm trust, and
absolute faith.
“I
won’t disappoint you,” she said, and she sounded as certain as he, that small
smile teasing her lips. She moved to him, leaning up and pressing her mouth to
his, her tongue probing him as though she were saying goodbye before she took a
step back.
“Goodbye,
my God,” she murmured.
They’d
made their farewells already; her flesh still stung and ached from it. He
didn’t shed a tear, but she saw his stoic gaze flicker for just a moment. The
most she’d ever seen his hard male eyes falter.
Chapter 26
In the
Princess’s room Mirella found the young woman in quiet contemplation. Still so
young and delicate, she looked to be over her recent troubles at long last,
though was slow to acknowledge her. “What can I do? My prince is dead, the
passage is sealed... it’s all over, Mirella. I can’t do anything... not a
thing.” By which she meant there was nobody to take her orders.
“Princess,”
Mirella moved over to the woman and began stroking her hair like she had in the
days before all this, bringing her brush to tenderly work out the tangles.
“I’ve not been honest with you,” she said softly. “I’ve been working on my own
plan to free you.”
The
fair young Anabelle looked to her slowly, “What?” she said, as if lost in a
dream, her light voice barely carrying to her.
“There’s
a holdout of nobles... they lived through it all and they’re awaiting you, but
there’s no way you can leave this castle, this room. If they find you,” she
frowned, shaking her head as she brushed out another blond curl. “I’ve found a
way, though. It will sound strange, my darling Princess, but you trust me,
don’t you?”
The
slender princess turned on her seat towards her, hope rising in her as those
blue eyes widened. “You can get me out to them?” she said, and Mirella saw a
tremble in the young woman’s hands as excitement rose.
“Yes,
and you can be off, safe and happy while they retake the city,” she paused,
licking her lips. “Princess, I’ve been gifted my freedom. I’ve had a child...”
she trailed off as though it were too painful to think of before regaining her
ability to speak, “I’m free to go. But you are so much more important. I’ve...
I’ve found a way for you to go free in my stead. I will suffer for you,
Princess.”
The
foolish girl blinked and looked her over, somehow having not realized that her
former servant—whom she’d known almost all her life—was no longer
pregnant. “They’re letting you go,” she repeated meekly. It was obviously a lot
for the young woman to wrap her mind around, but she knew the tales of how
women who survived their pregnancy were granted freedom. “How?” she asked, her
voice building back to its usual command in that one, simple word.
From
out of her pocket, Mirella took out of a long, silver amulet, letting the chain
drape between her fingers. “Princess, this necklace is enchanted. It will let
us switch bodies, so that you may escape, free of scrutiny.” Her breathing
hitched as she looked at the young, fair princess, so different from herself.
Those big, blue eyes. That long, golden hair. The ivory flesh.
She
didn’t covet those things. She was happy and comfortable in her own body, with
the dark, olive flesh and her devious eyes, that long, glossy black hair. And
those tiny marks that her pregnancy had still left her. She loved her body, yet
this was something she was doing for greater reasons.
This
was her sacrifice.
With
hesitant fingers the curious princess touched the amulet. “What sorcery is
this?” she murmured, not expecting an answer. She wet her pink lips then looked
Mirella over.
She
knew what the pale, royal waif was doing. She was debating with herself on
whether she wished to downgrade herself to a servant’s older form. “I don’t
know, Mirella...” she said hesitantly.
“Your
freedom, Princess,” she knelt down in front of the woman, her green eyes
imploring the young Princess. “Please, it’s killing me seeing you locked up
here, away from your people. They’re losing hope without you. They need you,”
tears threatened her vision as she begged.
A
lifetime of serving this petulant girl had taught her how to manipulate her.
“It’s reversible, right?” she asked, lifting the amulet and studying it
intently.
“Yes,
Princess,” she said in a calming tone. Both needed to consent. To trust one
another. To want the switch to occur. Mirella’s words were absolutely honest,
and her fingers grazed the noble’s hand, “Your people need you.”
Anabelle
studied the pendant long, lost in her own indecisiveness. It was too long
really, considering how obvious the choice seemed, but at last she nodded, her
beautiful young face contorted into firmness. “I’ll do it. My people need me,”
she said to Mirella, her azure gaze crystalline and hard.
Mirella
resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and took the chain from the woman, slowly
descending it over Anabelle’s head, “For the good of Ariste, I do this.”
The
princess arched her spine and stood prim and proper, the fullness of her royal
form returned. “The people shall remember this. It will be told in tales long
after my rule has ended,” she said with absolute certainty.
Her
harder hands took the pampered flesh of Anabelle, her fingers so light as she
grazed the flesh, her voice becoming low as she began chanting. Her voice met
with the others of the circle below, the stone of the palace not able to keep
the sisters of the Raven Guard from joining their powers together.
All
about them the air seemed to thrum, the air vibrating as if it were countless
little pebbles that shook with some mighty energy.
“What’s
happening?” she heard the voice of the princess so faint, as if distant and far
off.
Chapter 27
The
entire city showed up that day for the wedding. The imperial army sent forth
its own representatives, minor nobles considered expendable enough for the
task.
Ariste
rung with the bells of the cathedral as the smiling couple emerged onto the
steps of the great holy building. The new Queen and wife looking even more
dainty and pale than usual in contrast to the great, dark visage of the God-King,
her husband.
Anabelle
was slender, and that long, white dress felt like it flowed down over her form
unhindered by womanly curves, the breeze catching it and making it dance
against her body. Her hand held tight to her husband’s as her pretty, pink lips
twisted into a smile, tears of joy making her blue eyes twinkle even more
vibrantly.
Flowers
were twisted through her golden hair. Little pink and purple blossoms stuck out
around her braids and curls, the updo so elaborate and painstakingly done. The
soft anklet of raven feathers went unseen as it caressed her bare feet, making
her seem even shorter compared to him. Her God. Her King. Her Husband. Her
Kulav.
A
lifetime of serving royalty had prepared for that day, and none doubted her as
she strode through the nobles, or rode up the hill to her palace. She knew all
the things to say, and though the body was foreign to her, she knew how to
wield it primly.
Chapter 28
That
night she met him in the royal bedroom. Forms had to be followed. The Empire’s
representatives would insist on everything being done perfectly. Even the
virginal shroud had to be provided for them, as any pretence of illegitimacy
would be used to swoop in and claim the city.
The
God-King studied her in the light of that magnificent room, held her dainty
hand as his eyes roamed over her. “So frail,” he said in a firm but low voice,
still reeling with the changes in her.
He
looked resplendent in his shimmering outfit. It was, in essence, a more
ostentatious version of his battle wear. The glimmering raven’s feathers so
sleek, gilded in silver. They would be crowned on the morrow assuming the
Empire found no objection. Officially the King and Queen.
“It’s
strange,” she agreed, but her hands moved along his chest so readily, so
eagerly, and he could tell it was her. None would have the brazen audacity to
meet his eyes like she did; none would have the authority to let her palms
press against his flesh. “Kulav’ar will look so different from me, now,” she
lamented, but her mouth sought out his, her tongue glancing against him.
The
Princess’ body was hers, now. And she gave it freely to him.
Scooping
the delicate young form of his wife into his arm, he pressed her to the bare
flesh of his ashen skin, letting her pale form feel him out as he carried her
to the massive bed. It was a king’s bed, and could’ve fit two dozen waifs like
her now, but it was all theirs.
He laid
her out, slid his hard hands up her slender calves and milky white thighs,
pushing her stunning dress up as he eyed her. Through it she heard the material
of his pants stretch with his growing arousal, the leather straining. “There
shall be more children,” he said, though with the tone he knew it was little
compensation for her.
The
youth did provide her many more opportunities. The Princess was still so
vibrant and nubile, and she knew her form would contort so attractively. Those
blue eyes of hers stared up at him as her legs parted, revealing the smooth,
blonde pelt between her legs. Her body was ready for him, and she bit her lip
to suppress a grin.
“I
never thought I’d have to go through this again,” she admitted shyly.
A grin
spread across his face at that remark, and as she watched him roll his
shoulders back and undo the clasps of his belt, pulling open his pants, she saw
that massive, dark girth fall out so heavily. “This time,” he said, lowering
himself down over her so that its bulging crown, so slick and dark grazed her
pale blonde tuft of pubic hair, “it shall be a lot worse.”
She saw
his teeth then as he nudged himself against her thin hymen. Such a tiny, puffy
little slit seemed so vulnerable compared to him as he prepared to rip it
asunder.
She’d
given birth, she knew of pain, but something about the prospect of him taking
her virginity thrilled her, even at the promised pain. She thought back to the
women she’d helped him deflower, to those concubines she’d wetted for him, and
grew heated against his thick crown.
“My
husband,” she murmured, “Don’t take me gently.”
He
didn’t.
That
bulbous girth tore into her, forcing her narrow, virginal canal to widen in his
wake. He gave such a low, husky groan of delight at it, the pain and pleasure
so sweet. Then, pausing in their marital bliss, they looked to the obscene
sight of his bulbous dark cock protruding out of her puffy pink slit.
No
longer did she sport those wide child bearing hips. Now it was such a slender
frame, and it made his penetration of her look all the more lewd. He began to
buck his hips and pump his shaft into her, groaning with satisfaction as his
pace grew so fast.
She
screamed, partly because she knew the Princess would scream. Only they could
hear that arousal that ran with it, that secret, shared bliss as she felt that
thick cock piston into her. She couldn’t lift her legs, couldn’t hook them
around him, but it was so sweet, and violent. The slender curves, the pale
flesh of her body was in such contrast to him. In such contrast to her own
body.
Kulav
held little back, and the sound of his heavy balls slapping against her pert
little ass resounded in the chambers, his husky breathing and moaning such a
ruckus. They both know the Empire’s representatives listened from the chamber
outside the door. Everything was so official. But none of that stopped them
from enjoying it, and he ripped her dress in his hard yank, trying to get at
one of her petite breasts, mauling it with his hunger.
The
dusty pink nipple was so hard against that small bit of flesh, her breasts not
even a handful for the large man, though they were firm and supple. Her eyes
fluttered closed as her warbling cry resounded around the chamber and tiny
‘ows’ peppered the air. He was hurting her, but the silent way she coaxed him
on, the eagerness of that hot, wet entrance were so sweet as the blood dripped
from her and soiled the sheets below.
Just as
it should.
It was
such a roar when he came, as if he too were putting on some show for their
observers. The beast in Kulav let loose as he shook with his climax, loosing
such a torrent of thick, virile cum into her fertile young cunny.
It was
a strange experience for Mirella—now Anabelle—and not just because
of the switch of her body. It was as if she could feel herself on some level
beyond what a person should. She could sense his seed working into her with
such tenacity, and had this sense that if she willed it, she could deny it a
hold within her. Instead she let it runs its course, and that night she knew,
by some power, that she had conceived.