Author: Bulgroz the Third Title: The Adjusters #31 - Charlie and the Chancellor's Plot Keywords: MF, mc Posted: August 1, 2012 Edited: August 1, 2012 The Adjusters #31 Charlie and the Chancellor's Plot Story by J. Dumas. First appeared in Flights of Erotic Fantasy Magazine, Vol. 12, No. 5. (1) It was year four hundred and sixteen of the Renascence Era, a full forty one years since the Great Darkness War, and thirty five years into the reign of King Altobar the First, Wise Ruler and Hero of the War. The land had been at peace for much of that time, the King having dispatched the last persisting remnants of Darkness from the realm with an alacrity that had bordered on earnestness. But rumors of a new peril had started to seep the kingdom, a peril more pernicious than invading armies of soulless undead. And so it was that the Royal Guard--valiant knights having reached the pinnacle of valor and nobility, and granted the privilege of serving the person of the King--was on high alert, had been for the past several months, acting as shields and enforcers in an attempt to protect the King against the rumored plot to eliminate him and his family and take control of the crown and thus the kingdom. King Altobar the First was unconcerned, as threats against his person were not infrequent, and ordered that the castle maintain its joyous and festive atmosphere, if only because it pleased his sole daughter, Princess Helena. The King, while nonchalant about his own safety, took threats--even mild, vague, indirect threats--against his daughter seriously, and had ordered four of the most valiant knights of the Royal Guard to investigate the rumor of the plot and bring the perpetrators, if they existed, to face Royal Justice. And so Count Oliver of Athia, the Baroness of Porthia, and Sir Rene of Aramia had left the castle weeks earlier, after nightfall, to scour the region and follow up on every hint of the plot, no matter how irrelevant it might have appeared to anyone else's eyes. The King believed, and rightly so we might add, that if there was a plot afoot, then those three knights would uncover it and extinguish it. Charlotte of Artagnia, Charlie to her friends, the fourth valiant knight of the Royal Guard chosen by the King for this mission, the youngest and newest member of the elite troop, had been chosen to remain behind to investigate the plot within the castle, and had watched her friends leave on their quest with two feelings in battle beneath her breast. The first was a feeling of envy that was shared with every other knight in the Royal Guard, the envy of warriors wanting nothing less than prove themselves worthy of their leader's love and respect and eager to lay their lives at the foot of the King. The second feeling was more personal, as she watched her lover, Oliver of Athia, gallop away in the night. Death was a constant in a knight's life, even in peaceful times , and while she had accepted the risks for herself, as every knight of the Royal Guard had, she had found herself having more difficulty acquiescing those same risks for her lover. And on this night, as the moon sat high in the sky heralding the coming of the darkest hours, walking in the burg of Parria that lay mostly sleeping at the foot of the King's Castle, Charlie was keenly aware of those risks. She clutched the folded note that had been slipped under the door of her quarters earlier in the evening. In it, an unknown correspondent claiming to have information about "a plot certain to shake the foundations of this good kingdom to its deepest roots" was offering to sell her said information. Folly, she had thought, just a deluded individual that had gotten ear of the rumor and was probably desiring a recompense for some invented scenario. Of course, she owed it to her King to follow through, so she was on her way to meet that secret informant. If that individual was not on the up and up, however, she always had her trusty sword to teach a cutting lesson in integrity. She stopped before the public house where the note had given her rendezvous. The Spitting Rooster was a rowdy establishment that during the day clothed itself in the respectable veil of an inn into which anyone could duck to guzzle down a drink or snarf down a quick meal and maybe catch a nap to replenish one's strength, but at night became an ill-favored destination for men seeking solace from their dreary lives, solace to be found at the bottom of a jug or in the desperate frenzy of games and sex. Charlie crossed the threshold of the tavern, all of her senses on alert. Inside, she felt more than saw the usual schizophrenic division between the darkened half of the room populated with lonely souls attended by their tankards of ale, and the more effusive but equally desolate half filled with loud boasts, insincere laughter, and the odd squeals from the pleasure girls that hunted their quarries in such a place. A hush settled across the patrons as she walked through the tavern. She was used to such a reaction when she entered a premise as a representative of the King's elite guard, and The Spitting Rooster was no exception--it was one of Oliver's favorite den, where he said one could find the best pickled pig in the kingdom, as if anyone could stomach such a disgusting fare--but tonight she was not in official uniform, in an attempt to maintain an even modest amount of discretion for her mission. Even out of her official uniform, Charlie cut an impressive figure. She was as tall as many of the knights in the Royal Guard, which gave her a good head over the average height of labor-stooped peasants that circulated in the burg. Her build was solid, without being broad--anyone that knew her was well aware of how toned and strong her body was, and the few that had seen her perform her calisthenics early in the morning in the castle's courtyard could attest to the effect such tone had on her body. And yet, despite this aura of power and sturdiness, she still maintain those feminine qualities that turned a man's head in the street--her curves were pleasant to the eye, her legs long and slender, her waist thin, her breasts generous and sitting high on her chest. Her hair, when she did not keep it tied up the way she preferred, cascaded long and brown over her shoulders, a sight that Oliver loved beyond anything else about her. And so it was that what all those men in The Spitting Rooster were seeing on this late evening was not a royal guard entering a tavern to perform her duties, but a beautiful young woman with a powerful bearing and a long sword at her belt. She lambasted herself for attracting so much undue attention, hoping that it would not frighten her potential informant away, at least until she had ascertained the veracity of his or her tale. Charlie forced herself to relax, noticing for the first time how tense she was, and dropped her hand from the pommel of her sword before softening her stance. She nodded to the innkeeper, who nodded back upon recognizing her, and she made her way to where he stood behind the long counter from which he poured drinks. She was aware of the gaze of inebriated men following her every movement, glued to her legs and to her backside, knowing that they stood no chance in bedding such a prime specimen of womanhood yet unable to resist the urge to fantasize about it. Charlie had long stopped caring about such looks, confident in the strength of her fists and the sharpness of her sword to convince any overly entrepreneurial lecher that she was not a prey but a hunter. That did not keep them from buzzing like flies around her face. At least they kept their distance, something she could not say about the thorn on her side, one Count of Rochefort, lieutenant in the Dragoons of the Imperial Kingdom, who had been trying to woo her for several months in a most dogged fashion, at last earning himself a hook to the jaw that sent him sprawling the last time he put his hand on her behind during a training exercise. "My Lady of Artagnia," said the innkeeper, rolling his tongue over the name as he filled a jug with ale destined for a serving maid who was waiting by the end of the counter. Said maid was wearing the typical garb of the establishment once the dinner crowd had dissipated and the night patrons invested the place, a short tunic that exposed a generous expanse of breast flesh through its plunging neckline and an equally bountiful amount of leg. Serving maids at The Spitting Rooster were well known for tolerating a startling amount of attention from customers. Charlie caught herself feeling sorry for them at times--how miserable must one's life be to resort to working in this place? At least, the maids were not pleasure girls. And Theodorus, for all his faults, treated them as well as they could hope for. "Theodorus," hailed Charlie. "Always the galant, aren't you?" "That's how I keep my customers," he replied, eyeing the rabble surrounding him. He passed the jug of ale to the waiting maid. "Here you go, love." He turned to Charlie. "To what do I owe the honor of receiving a--" Charlie stopped him with a look before he finished his sentence, not wanting to bring more attention to herself than she already had. Already, a group of men that had been playing a knife game in a corner of the tavern were eyeing her, and she wanted to at least get a chance to speak to her informant before she had to sever a few limbs tonight in order to fend off unwanted challenges. "Just meeting someone for a chat, Theodorus." Theodorus nodded. "The Count of Athia is not back, then, I take it?" His grin suggested more than his words did. Charlie played along. "When the cat's away..." It was an old joke between Charlie and Theodorus, that she was always on the prowl to seduce men. Theodorus laughed. "Well, I believe the fellow you are looking for is sitting there in that corner. He told me he was waiting for a Guard. That'd be you, I wager. He's a rum fellow, that one." Charlie threw a glance in the corner Theodorus had indicated, saw a shape hiding in the shadows at a table with a large jug of wine before him, and thanked the innkeeper. She was intercepted on her way to the table by a a drunken lout, overweight, overbearing, who leaned into her lecherously and blocked her way, standing too close. "I like you," he said, slurring his words. "You're sweet." "Step away from me," she said, her voice a low growl, her hand on the hilt of her weapon, "unless you want a taste of my sword." "I've got a sword for you to taste right here, girlie," he said, grabbing his crotch, "and I bet you have a scabbard where it'll fit just fine!" He reached for her crotch. He never made it. Charlie grabbed his proffered hand and twisted it without putting any effort into it, and the man collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain, trying to hit her hand that was still keeping his wrist in an unnatural position. "I'd force you to apologize," she said, her voice even, "but I'd rather not hear your whiny voice. So listen to me well. If you ever try to touch me again, you lose your hand. If you ever try to talk to me again, you lose your tongue. In fact, if you ever try to look at me again, you lose your eyes. Nod if you understand." She waited patiently for her words to make it through the haze of pain enveloping the man, and when he nodded with an eagerness that almost made her smile, she let him go. She resumed her walk without looking back. The man at the table wore a dark robe with the hood pulled down over his face, keeping to the shadows and away from prying eyes. He did not look up when Charlie reached the table, merely nodded towards the unoccupied chair before him. A serving maid stopped by and slid an empty mug in front of Charlie. The hooded man reached for the tankard and filled both of their mugs. "I'm not here to drink," said Charlie, keeping her voice low, although there was no one around that could hear them over the din of the tavern. "You will once you hear my tale," replied the hooded man in a raspy voice before taking a large swallow of ale. "You sent me the note." The man nodded. "Well, I am here. Now speak." There was an unspoken threat in her voice. She was Royal Guard, not to be trifled with, toyed with, or made the fool. "I know of the plot against the King," said the man. "The plot to seize the throne and bring about a new era of Darkness." "And how would you know about such a plot?" "Because I was present when the Chancellor discussed it." Charlie fought to conceal her shiver. The Prime Chancellor--main advisor and minister to the King, an ambitious man with a ruthless streak that even the King thought needed reining in. And yet King Altobar still sought the Chancellor's counsel, for when tempered by common decency it was good counsel, and the King was unabashed in giving credit to the Chancellor for many of the successes of his reign. In their many sessions discussing and imagining and theorizing over the possible forms that the plot against the kingdom might take, Charlie and her fellow Royal Guard knights had often found themselves drawn back to the Prime Chancellor as likely to be at the heart of the plot, only to fail to see how the Chancellor could pull it off. "And how does the Prime Chancellor intend to effect the overthrow of the King?" asked Charlie. "Where he to kill King Altobar, the throne would go to Princess Helena. And were the Princess to be eliminated, the court would revolt if the Prime Chancellor sought to take power, and the cousins to the King would step in to claim the throne themselves. There would be war, and the Prime Chancellor would be hard pressed to come out the victor." Charlie paused, thinking out loud. "Unless the Prime Chancellor allied himself with one of the factions in line for the throne. But I have difficulty imagining that those factions would seek him out. He has not much to offer, and he would be the prime suspect in any assassination attempt. No, too risky. The Prime Chancellor is too careful a man to entrust his fate to such uncertain odds." The hooded man shook his head slightly. "Indeed, and his plan is not so complicated. He aims to eliminate the King, and allow Princess Helena to take the throne as legitimate heir to the kingdom. He will simply make sure that she is his puppet, there to do his bidding, so that through her he commands the will of the army and the allegiance of the governed. The Prime Chancellor will be quite literally the power behind the throne." Charlie scoffed, though she felt cold dread course down her body. "Nonsense. Princess Helena would never go for that. She is too strong willed to allow herself to be manipulated. She loves her father, and would seek high and low the perpetrators of his death and have them disemboweled in the public square. And that is before even mentioning that she reviles the Prime Chancellor, and would probably cast her accusing eyes in his direction the moment she received the crown." It was no secret to anyone in the court, least of all to Princess Helena herself, that the Prime Chancellor fancied the Princess. Which in and of itself was no surprise, as everyone in the kingdom fancied the Princess--she was smart, beautiful, and with a sweetness and a purity of heart to make a prioress blush. But the Princess would not give the Chancellor the time of day, making her feelings about the King's minister exceedingly clear. "I have but one word for you, Lady of Artagnia. Sorcery." Charlie was listening. "I was privy to an exchange between the Prime Chancellor and a Dark Mage, a minion of the Dark Lords who owes a debt of blood to the Chancellor. The Chancellor asked him for a philter that could be used to control the Princess, to make her submit to his will, to make her docile and obedient, and the Dark Mage produced such a fiendish elixir, telling the Chancellor that the Princess, upon drinking this liquid into which the seed of a man had been mingled, would forever be in the thrall of the man who was the source of the seed. And so the plan is for the Chancellor to contrive for the Princess to drink the draught before killing the King, leaving him in control of the new Queen when she takes the throne." Charlie completed the thought even though the hooded man did not--the Prime Chancellor would also use his power over the Princess to share her bed. She shuddered. Sorcery. From a Dark Mage. She could see it. It could work. Would work. She was shocked, her mind whirring trying to find a way to stop the nefarious plot from coming to fruition. She needed a drink. She chugged her ale, trying to clear her thoughts. "When is this meant to occur?" she asked, slamming the mug down, getting ready to act. "As you know, the Princess is away in the Northern Domain until two days hence, but I expect the exchange to occur then." "Unless the Chancellor dispatches someone to give the Princess the drink in the Northern Domain." Charlie was thinking out loud. The hooded man shook his head. "As you said yourself, the Chancellor is a careful man. He would not leave such an important part of the plan to an underling. He will want to direct the action himself. He will want to pour the potion into a drink offered to the Princess himself. He will want to be on hand to ensure that she is the one drinking it, not anyone else." He paused, letting his words sink in. Then he added, in a voice so low Charlie had to strain to hear. "At least, that would be the plan, if not for a little detail..." "What's that?" asked Charlie, leaning over. "Well," continued the hooded man, his voice still low, his head bent down, "our dear Chancellor's plan will suffer a slight setback when he notices that his potion is missing." Charlie frowned, as a wave of nausea swamped over her. The whole room seemed to be swimming around her eyes, and she had to grip the table to keep herself from falling over. "You know," said the hooded man, straightening up slightly, "you should probably thank me for that. The Chancellor might still be able to obtain a new philter, but this will give you and your friends time to deal with him." "What... what..." Charlie was still gripping the table, which was the only reason why she was not reaching for her sword to run it through the man before her. "What... what did you do to me?" "Fed you the potion, of course, my Lady of Artagnia. I am curious--how do you feel?" "I'm going to--" "You will do nothing." The hooded man's voice was now sharp, while he still kept his voice low. "You will sit at this table and listen to me, without moving, without trying to escape, without trying to bring undue attention to ourselves. Say 'Yes, Master' if you understand these instructions." Charlie, whose nausea had subsided almost as quickly as it had arrived, wanted to scoff at the man's remarks but found herself unable to do anything but look at him and say, her voice clear, "Yes, Master." The hooded man laughed softly. "Oh, sweet, sweet words! How lovely to hear them from your lips, my lovely doll." He looked at her square in the eyes for the first time since she had arrived, and she finally could see his face in full, and had she been able to gasp she would have done so with the shock of recognition. Rochefort! She could not move. She wanted to, wanted to twist her sword out of her scabbard and run it through the vile man sitting before her with a self-satisfied grin across his features, wanted to crush his skull with the jug of ale by her left wrist, wanted to choke the life out of him by grasping his neck and squeezing until his eyes popped out of his skull. But her body did not obey her will. She remained motionless, sitting straight, listening to this man whom she had sworn she would kill. The Count of Rochefort, knight in the Prime Chancellor's personal troops, the Dragoons of the Imperial Kingdom, who had been a thorn in the flanks of the Royal Guard for years now, always up for mischief, and quite unrepentant in his abuse of authority, enjoying a near-immunity conferred by his association with his powerful overlord--The Count of Rochefort, who had had his eye on Charlie ever since she joined the rank of the Royal Guard, was sitting before her, grinning, milking his triumph for all it was worth. He stared at her for a long time, not saying a word, drinking his ale, while she sat there, unable to move, unable to hide from his piercing gaze, unable to wipe the smirk from his face. "You have no concept of how pleased I am that this potion worked as the Chancellor had hoped," he said, finally deigning to speak. "It truly warms my heart. You have been playing hard to get for too long, my lovely doll. You have resisted my advances, persistently, stubbornly, and gave your affections to that dolt of Athia. But no more. Tomorrow, you shall be mine." Rochefort finished his ale and stood, much to Charlie's surprise. Even though she could not say a word or make a movement, he could read her surprise as if she had gasped. "Oh yes," he said. "Tomorrow. I want to spend the day tomorrow basking in the knowledge that you will be mine, savoring the anticipation for the release will be but that much sweeter." He leaned down so that his face was inches from hers. "For, you see, tomorrow night, you shall join me in my chambers after the evening meal. You will make yourself beautiful--you will wear something pleasing to the eye. You will come to my chambers and seduce me, do your best to make me take you, own you, possess you." His breath was hot on her face, and she could not move her head to avoid it. Again, it was as if he could read her thoughts in her eyes. He pressed his face closer. "You should count yourself lucky--tomorrow, you will be the concubine of the Count of Rochefort. Lady Charlotte of Artagnia, royal knight to King Altobar the First, and pleasure girl to the Count of Rochefort. It has a nice ring to it, do you not think? Personal pleasure girl." He laughs. "You will never speak of this, or of our new relationship, to anyone. To everyone but me, you shall continue being the Lady Charlotte of Artagnia that they have always known. You will not try to hurt me or escape from me. In fact, you will try to protect me at all costs. And you will terminate your relationship with that fool Athia. You are mine, now. All mine." As he leaned over to whisper in her ear, he could not resist the temptation and grabbed her breast through her tunic, squeezing hard. "In five minutes, you will be able to move again. And before you leave, make sure you go see that nice man to whom you were exceedingly rude before you came to me, and give him a nice kiss so that he can forgive your rudeness. And take that as a prelude to your new life, in which you will be a lot more agreeable to your admirers." He kissed her on the lips, surprisingly softly, before straightening up and heading towards the exit, the noise of the tavern wrapping around him like a blanket. Charlie was left alone, her mind churning, unable to comprehend what had just happened to her. (2) The following day found Charlie going about her business acting as though nothing had happened to her. She took her scheduled post at the King's side for his morning audience as she had many times in the past, watching him and the Chancellor greet and listen to the pleas of subjects seeking repair for their grievances or payback for ill treatment, and Charlie could almost let herself believe that the previous evening had simply been a bad dream if not for the fact that she could not talk about it, quite literally--she could not get her mouth to form the words she wanted to say. She wanted to warn the King about the Prime Chancellor, who was by his side, wearing his typical deep burgundy robe, his usually quiet demeanor marred by an agitation that Charlie guessed was due to the loss of the potion. For the potion worked, there was no doubt about it. Charlie had experienced it firsthand the previous night after Rochefort had left the tavern, as she had found herself walking towards the man who had made advances to her earlier in the evening and had surprised him by turning him around and kissing him, a long and deep kiss into which she had had no choice but put all of her passion and sensuality. The man had been taken aback, to say the least, but had recovered quickly and had enlaced her and pulled her up close as the kiss deepened, feeling her up shamelessly while his friends where hooting and whooping and encouraging him. She had finally pulled off as his hands were kneading her ass, pawing and grabbing and manhandling her cheeks through her rough trousers. She had left the tavern despite his insistence that she remained and entertained him and his friends further, and she had ben frustratingly grateful that Rochefort had not told her to give herself to that man after he had made some rather explicit suggestions about the form such entertainment might take. That Rochefort could have told her to give herself to the man she found most terrifying of all. She was not a prude, had never been, but she valued her independence, and her right to make her own choices, something her own father had always denied her. But here she was, losing control of her own will. She had wanted to scream and fight and tear through the town venting her rage against Rochefort, but she could not. All she could do was make her way placidly to her quarters, and sleep the rest of the night away. And now she found herself standing at attention, hand on her sword, watching the Prime Chancellor, which according to Rochefort--to the extent that the bastard could be assumed to be telling the truth, but then again had he not told the truth about the potion?--was plotting against the very King he was advising, and she was unable to either warn the King about him or betray whatever had happened to her. She thought about the duties she had to perform today--a review of the Guard in the afternoon, a dinner with the company where the events of the day would be discussed, before the free time of the evening would be upon them, and while most in the company would be heading out on the town, she would have to report to Rochefort's chambers. She had no intention to, but if her success at fighting the effects of the obedience elixir were anything by which to go, she would have no choice whatsoever but present herself and her sword to the malfeasant as he had ordered. The situation angered her, and she was sufficiently self-aware to understand where that anger originated. She was scared. Terrified, in fact. She wished dearly her friends were there, Oliver especially, so that she could unburden herself to them, and seek their advice. Even though, and here again, Rochefort's order came to work against her, she would not be able to tell them anything of import, anything of what was truly troubling her. But she might find solace just by not being alone, by being held, lovingly, by Oliver, as a soothing balm over her dread. How would he react if he were to learn that she was going to Rochefort's chambers tonight? She would not be able to provide any kind of explanation. The King's audience came to an end, and Charlie was privy to an encounter of the King, the Chancellor, and the Princess, as the regent-in-waiting strolled lightly into the audience chamber as the last supplicant filed away. She was radiant, as a matter of course her long red hair floating as if by magic through an air current, her long gown catching the light and despite its billowing it did absolutely nothing to camouflage the Princess's abundant curves and the enticing roundness of her breasts. Even her movements suggested how sweet she was in the movements of love, even though, as Charlie knew full well for being one of the confident of the future Queen, she was as yet unexperienced in the ways of love. Charlie watched as the King's face illuminated upon seeing his beloved daughter grace the room with her presence, just as she saw the Chancellor's face fill with raw hunger mixed in with an equal proportion of what might be termed frustration and fear, and Charlie guessed that such expressions were brought about by the shock of seeing his plans dashed so close to their fruition. She wondered for a moment exactly what the Chancellor saw when he saw the Princess--whether he saw an instrument for wielding power, or whether he saw a beautiful young girl ripe to be plucked. Probably just what Rochefort thinks when he sees you, thought Charlie. The two men were cut out of a similar cloth, both uncaring of feelings of others, both ignorant of the basics of honor, both unable to see past the immediate fulfillment of their basest desires. The Prime Chancellor might be more ambitious, his eyes fastened on a larger prize, but that was a difference in quantity not in quality. At least, and the thought Charlie had used as a mantra to console herself throughout the morning, the Princess would be spared the horrors of subjugation to the vile advisor. She would have to find a way to save the Princess, to find a way to ensure that the Chancellor would not be able to get his traitor's hands on another potion and spellbind Princess Helena. Charlie owed that much to her future Queen, and vowed to do all that was in her power to bring it about. That thought, the hatching of a plan to eliminate the Chancellor as a threat both to the King and to the Princess, kept Charlie occupied intellectually for the remainder of the day, helping to distract her from the ordeal she would be facing in the evening. And the thought did carry her through, through the afternoon review and through the dinner and through the discussion of the events of the day. Her fellow Royal Guard looked at her askance as she was more withdrawn than her usual self, and she responded that she was simply pondering some reports that she had received and wanted to think about them more before discussing them, and her fellow knights trusted her enough to take her at her word. She had longed to beg them to stop her from leaving the Royal Guard quarters tonight, but she could not get the words out when she tried. She thought of taking a dose of an herb kept in their kitchens that would induce a deep drowsiness, but she found her hand unable to reach for it as she stood before the cabinet. She even thought of knocking herself out, only to find her plans foiled by an inability to carry through. Rochefort had told her to present herself to him this evening, and there was nothing that she could do to prevent it from happening. Thus when the hour came, when the after-dinner discussion fizzled and the company dispersed, she changed and found herself leaving the Royal Guard quarters and crossing through the courtyard to the chambers of the Dragoons, where Rochefort found lodging. She nodded to the sentry posted at the entrance of the chambers, who looked at her strangely, but did not stop her. It was unusual for a Royal Guard to venture in this section of the castle at that time of the evening, doubly so when said Guard was dressed in a long flowing gown which clung to her curves. Charlie could not help but wonder whether Rochefort had told of his good fortune to others. Her heart sank a little further, but she kept up a brave face. She nodded to the sentry, and went inside. After asking after Rochefort's chambers, Charlie made her way to the indicated hallway, stopping before a large oak door. She wanted to run, but could not. She, who had faced numerous dangers, from invading hordes of reanimated corpses to fire-breathing dragons, she who had earned a post in the most elite company of knights of the Three Kingdoms, faced the prospect of losing her control over herself with not a little trepidation. But she fought it down, unable to resist the drive to knock on the wooden door. "Come," responded the voice from inside. The door was not locked. She entered the room. It was large--larger than her quarters in the Royal Guard--and messy. Clothes were strewn everywhere, food was on the table, drinking jugs on the ground. Weapons of various sorts were lying about, discarded, forgotten. Behind a large drawn curtain to one side of the room she figured lay the bed. "Ah, Lady Charlotte of Artagnia! So glad you could join me." Sitting in a large chair in one corner of the room was the Count of Rochefort, completely naked. His cock, red and large and already semi-hard, was unavoidable between his wide open legs. He was looking at Charlie with a smile on his face. Charlie could not look away, and she concentrated her gaze on Rochefort's eyes, who were filled with a glee that simply could not be faked. He did not stir from his throne. "I have been waiting all day for this moment. In fact, you could say I have been waiting all my life for this moment. My afternoon has been spent dreaming of the best way to cement our new relationship, my Lady. Charlotte. Charlie. You don't mind if I call you Charlie, do you? Not that what you mind is really relevant..." Charlie could only glower. Her instructions from the night before were still in effect, and so she could not raise her voice to him. Still her frustration needed an outlet. "I would rather you called me nothing, Rochefort." Rochefort chuckled. "Well that's too bad, my lovely doll. And Rochefort is so cold... so impersonal. It's like you don't like me, don't respect me. From now on, you will refer to me as your Lord and Master whenever you address me, my lovely doll. And before we do anything else, you will strip. I love the dress, but I want to see that gorgeous body of yours." Again, the compulsion was irresistible. Charlie, much against her wishes, detached the belt holding her sword, and in one smooth movement that she meant business-like and not sexy in the least, she pulled off her dress by sliding it over head. Rochefort minded not at all, staring with rapt attention that he really meant to appear detached and casual. In short order, Charlie's sandals, leggings, and underthings had joined her tunic in a pile on the floor, and she stood nude before her tormentor, one arm covering her breasts and the other down between her legs, providing her with a short respite of modesty. She was not ashamed of her body, never had been, in fact was proud of the marriage of femininity and strength that she had inherited and developed. But this was different. Altogether different. "Nice!" exclaimed Rochefort, not bothering to cover up the look of naked lust in his eyes as he took in the fantastic toned body of the woman before him. She was beautiful, a fact he had known already, and her Royal Guard uniform had always hinted at a glorious body underneath, reinforced every time he had spied her in civilian garb out on the town, during her days of leave. But it was altogether different with Charlie naked before his eyes. Her body was lean and strong, her limbs sleek and powerful. And yet her skin looked soft, her curves were generous, and her body as a whole screamed to be treated like a woman's body ought. "Put your arms down," he nodded. "You will not cover yourself up when you are naked." Charlie's heart sank as her arms lowered of their own volition. She was seething inside. Rochefort drank it all in, her large breasts, perfectly round with red-tipped nipples that were stiffening in the cool night air--her pussy, covered with a light layer of auburn fur, trimmed neatly in a strip that he could not help himself thinking must require constant attention, and the fact that she spent an appreciable amount of time grooming her sex made it all the hotter for him. He stared a long time, running his gaze over her body several times over, his cock growing hard under the display of flesh. She was perfect, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, rivaling even the Princess in sheer beauty. And she was his, all his, unable to resist obeying his every whim, wish, desire. He looked into her eyes, noted the defiance, loving that they both realized that defiance was for naught, an empty display of will, brave but ultimately futile. "You are one fine woman, that's for sure. And before the night is out I will know every nook and cranny and pleasure spot on that wonderful body of yours." He cocked his head to the side, wonderingly. "Push your tits up and together, my lovely doll." And to her utter shame, even though she knew full well this was coming, this or something equally sordid, she hefted her breasts up and pushed them together, the sensations strong. It looked like she were offering them to Rochefort, and in a way, she had to acknowledge that that was just what she was doing. Rochefort was grinning widely, his cock twitching hard against his stomach. "Nice! I'm sure your boy the Count of Athia must have had a lot of fun playing with those pillows." He looked up at her. "Did he? Does our boy like your tits?" "Yes, my Lord and Master." The words burned her throat. "I bet he does. Loves to push his face into them. Probably likes to fuck them. Do you let your boy fuck your tits, my lovely doll?" "No, my Lord and Master." "Too bad. I certainly won't let them go to waste like that. But we get to that, I think it is high time you pledge your allegiance to your new master. I see you brought your sword. Take it, and come before me. And remember, you will not try to hurt me." Nude, Charlie picked up her sword, conscious of her breasts swaying as she did but unable to do anything about it, conscious of showing parts of her body that were not meant to be shown with every movement. She walked slowly to the smug Rochefort, who was watching her every move. He stopped her when she was a sword's length from him. "Kneel down, Lady Charlotte of Artagnia." She did, reluctantly. "I have to say, you look good there, on your knees, between my legs. You should get used to it, as I think you will find yourself in this position often." Charlie said nothing. She could feel his eyes crawling all over her skin. "Charlie, I want you to pledge your allegiance to me now. You will repeat what I tell you to repeat, and whenever you repeat it the words will sear themselves into your mind as if they were edicts from God Himself. Do you understand?" "Yes, my Lord and Master." "Present your sword to me. Pledge it to me." She held up her sword with both hands, the flat of the blade in the palm of her left hand. "I pledge my sword to you, my Lord and Master." "Pledge that you will protect me, with your life, and not allow any harm to come to me." "I pledge that I will protect you, with my life, and not allow any harm to come to you, my Lord and Master." "Pledge that you will obey me without hesitation, without reticence, without doubt." "I pledge that I will obey you without hesitation, without reticence, without doubt, my Lord and Master." "Pledge your body to me, for me to use and abuse and enjoy as I will, for as long as I will, however I see fit." "I pledge my body to you, for you to use and abuse and enjoy as you will, for as long as you will, however you see fit, my Lord and Master." "Pledge that you will do your best to bring me pleasure, physical or otherwise, to the best of your abilities, and will strive to become the most perfect lover in all of the Three Kingdoms." "I pledge that I will do my best to bring you pleasure, physical or otherwise, to the best of my abilities, and will strive to become the most perfect lover in all of the Three Kingdoms, my Lord and Master." Rochefort was elated, and aroused beyond belief. That she was under his compulsion was clear enough and evidenced by her presence in his chambers. But to have her naked, her perfect body on display for him to ogle to his heart's desire, kneeling between his legs and telling him in so many words that she would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that she would die for him when was not trying to please him to the best of her undoubtedly awesome abilities, it was enough to drive a man wild. Part of him wanted only to grab the vision of beauty before him and toss her onto his bedspread and spear her between her bewitching legs, driving into her over and over again while she screamed for him to take her harder. He accepted Charlie's proffered sword, and put the flat of the blade on her right shoulder. "I accept your pledge," he said, trying to make his voice stentorian. He then ran the tip of the sword down her body, appreciating the heft and balance of the finely-crafted weapon. He ran the tip over her hard red nipples, then down her toned stomach to the valley between her thighs, covered with her soft auburn fur. Charlie remained motionless throughout. Rochefort finally tossed the sword aside, and leaned down towards Charlie. "There's more, my lovely doll. Listen, and listen well. That potion you drank last night ensures that your will submits to mine, until the day you die. And let me make one thing clear--you will always remain you. Whatever I order you to do, whatever I order you to become, you will, underneath it all, still be you, still be Lady Charlotte of Artagnia, the valiant knight. And I want you to reflect, trapped within your own mind, for the rest of your life, about how badly you have treated me, you and your friends. Do you understand?" Charlie shivered inwardly, wanting to scream and grab her sword and run him through like a wild forrest boar, but all she could do, all Rochefort would let her do, was meekly answer "Yes, My Lord and Master." Rochefort grinned. "You are so sweet when you say things like that. You will always act pleasant and happy to be with me, as if you loved me, adored me, worshipped the ground I walk on. But do not fear, my lovely doll. I will make sure you do enjoy yourself. Whenever you think about me, or my cock, or anyone that I give you to, you will get aroused and wet and hornier than you've ever been. Nothing brings you more pleasure then being penetrated, in any of your holes. Nothing arouses you more than when men--or women--view you as a sexual plaything, looking at your body, touching your body, wanting you body. You will not do anything until I allow you to, but you will feel the hunger and desire and lust build inside of you. Do you understand?" "Yes, my Lord and Master." There was an odd tone to Charlie's voice. Rochefort leaned back in his chair, satisfied, anxious for the expectation that had been building up for the past day and had just intensified in the past hour. He stared at the beautiful brunette kneeling at his feet. His cock quivered. It was time. "You will now worship me, my lovely doll. Show your Lord and Master how skilled your mouth is at pleasing a man." Rochefort leaned back in his chair, spread his legs even wider, and waited, looking at Charlie the whole time, a careful neutral expression on his face. Inside, he was almost shaking with delight. The buildup was even better than he had expected. He held his breath when Charlie bent down at the waist, and parted her lips slowly as she reached the head of his cock. And when she slid those lips down on the hard flesh and started sucking softly, his breath caught slightly, and he suppressed a shudder. Her mouth felt wonderful, and he had to fight the urge to just grab her long dark hair and pull her head forcefully down onto his cock, choking her, seeing the panic in her eyes as she could not breathe for the thick shaft of flesh in her throat, blocking everything, and fucking that throat roughly. He grinned, thinking about how he would introduce her to what he and his friends called skull-fucking, and grinned even wider when he realized that he could make her like it, even crave it. Charlie was unaware of these thoughts as she dutifully bobbed her head up and down on Rochefort's cock, slurping and sucking and licking, compelled to do the best job she knew how to do. She was no stranger to pleasing a man's shaft with her mouth, one might even say she liked it, as it connected her with her lovers in a way that was different than straight up intercourse. But when she did, with Oliver, who simply loved feeling her mouth down on him, they were usually head to heel, pleasuring each other simultaneously, with Oliver running his tongue up and down her twat and sending shivers of lust up and down her spine while she tried to swallow his shaft whole. But this was completely different. This was her, on her knees, servicing Rochefort, like a servant girl shining a pair of boots or, perhaps more accurately, a pleasure girl servicing her customer for enough money to pay her rent and some food to put on her table. She sucked Rochefort's cock hard, trying to ascertain what he liked more, what he liked less, much against her will trying to make this the best experience he had ever had. She had to admit he had a nice cock, large and hefty and probably pleasant to many women if he knew how to use it. She wondered what it would feel like when he slid it into her crack, and she realizes almost as a shock that she was wet, terribly wet. Between the fat cock pistoning in and out of her mouth and the images of that same cock spreading her pussy lips wide open to invest her, she was getting horny and building up towards wanting to be humped good and proper. She moaned as her mouth descended on the thick shaft, imagining she was sliding her pussy down instead, feeling herself be filled with man meat. "Not bad," said Rochefort. "With some practice, we may make a good cock worshipper out of you yet." Rochefort did not want her to feel too proud of herself, too happy about herself, or he would have told her the truth, that this was a fantastic blow job, the best he had ever received. Charlie was clearly an expert, sucking hard and fast, applying the right amount of pressure in the right places and swirling her tongue in just the right rhythm. She used plenty of saliva, which was pooling down between his butt cheeks, and she easily took in three-quarters of his cock into her mouth before pulling off and restarting the cycle. And she was getting into it, too, Rochefort could tell, from her moans and her renewed enthusiasm and the way he could see she was slowly shifting her ass back and forth, as if she wanted someone to take care of her down there. And take care of her he would. The sensations she was imparting to his cock were incredible, and part of him wanted nothing more than let go in her mouth, drown her with his offering, shower her with his cum, watch her swallow it all like the finest nectar. But the higher parts of his consciousness knew he would get more pleasure out of fucking her. And thus he grabbed Charlie by the hair and pulled her off of his cock. The girl moaned in disappointment, and that sound almost pushed Rochefort to ram his cock back into her throat. But he resisted, and pushed her away. "On your back. Spread those legs of yours wide, real wide. Open up your cunt wide. I want to see it all." Charlie, unable to think, her mind clouded by the heat and hunger that was spreading from her crotch to the flimsiest extremity, lay down on her back and spread her legs as she had been ordered, and the exposure made her blush inside with the wantonness of it all. She moaned again as the cool air hit her damp slit, and she ran a hand softly over her sex, shivering under her own touch. Rochefort rose to stand between the brunette's splayed legs, admiring both the way she looked and the way she moved--the way she exuded sex. Gone was the cold powerful knight with the deadly sword--at his feet was a woman, aroused beyond comprehension, desiring but one thing in this world. "What do you want, my lovely doll?" he asked, stroking his cock slowly above her. Charlie opened her eyes, and fastened them on his hard shaft. She hated herself for saying it, but the urge was not only irresistible, it also fed the hunger in her pussy. "Your... your cock, my Lord and Master." "You want my cock? You want my cock inside of you? You want my cock in that sloppy cunt of yours? You want me to fuck you?" "Yes... Yes, my Lord and Master." Charlie's hand was running up and down her slit harder. She thought she would go crazy if she did not get him inside of her. Another moan escaped her lips, completely uncontrollable. "Then beg." Charlie's mind tried to revolt, but her body and her mouth obeyed, the compulsion and the hunger too powerful. "Please... please, my Lord and Master. Please fuck me! Fuck me!" Her hand was pushing three fingers inside her pussy, and she was astonished to find it sopping wet, ready to welcome one and all. Rochefort was pleased. He knelt between the brunette's leg, and then leaned over, his cock still in his hand, his face three inches from Charlie's. "Did you ever beg your boy Oliver, my lovely doll? Did you ever beg him to fuck you, like a pleasure girl?" Charlie had to respond. "No, my Lord and Master." Rochefort grinned, a cruel smile. "I guess I win, then. Let me claim my prize." He pressed the tip of his cock against Charlie's slit, amazed at the heat that radiated from there. Charlie moaned loudly when she felt the head press against her lips, and she tilted her hips up to let him slide into her. Rochefort pulled back, teasing the poor girl who groaned in disappointment. "Please..." she begged again, her eyes closed. "You want me to fuck you?" "Yes, my Lord and Master." "How do you want me to fuck you?" "How... however you want, my Lord and Master." "Of course--but you must have a preference, deep down inside, my lovely doll? How do you want me to fuck you?" "Hard... Fast... Deep... Fuck me hard, fast, and deep, my Lord and Master." "Hard, fast, and deep. Truly like a pleasure girl. You want to be fucked like a pleasure girl, then?" "Yes... Fuck me like a pleasure girl, my Lord and Master." "Charlotte of Artagnia--Lady Charlotte of Artagnia--pleasure girl. I love the sound of it. High-class pleasure girl, for knights with discerning taste. I'm sure all the valiant knights of the kingdom would love the chance to sink their cocks into you, like THIS!" He shoved hard into the writhing girl underneath him, and his cock slipped inside her without resistance, so wet she was. Charlie gasped and clenched her hands on his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sensation of the hard shaft plumbing her depths. It felt like nothing she had ever felt before, like she was filled with a hot rod of pure pleasure. She felt ashamed of the thought, but she had to admit that even at his best, Oliver did not make her feel like she was feeling now. Of course, what she was feeling now was artificially induced, but there was no point trying to tell that to her own body, who was taking in the pleasure like a drunken man his wine. She let out a yelp with every thrust of Rochefort, wrapping her legs around his waist and rubbing them back and forth to egg him on. She wanted to feel him spear her, explode into her, drown her in his seed. Rochefort was enjoying the feeling equally, if not more. If her mouth had felt heavenly earlier, her cunt was the Fountain of Youth at the heart of Paradise--hot and tight and silky smooth, grasping him hard when he was all the way inside and shivering about his shaft as he pulled out. And the way she clung to him, her mouth open, her hair thrown back, in the throes of overwhelming delight, her perfect ass rising up to meet his thrusts, her legs pressing against his sides, her breasts rubbing against his chest. After too short a time, Rochefort knew he could not repress his urges, and with three hard lunges he rammed his cock as deep into Charlie as he could and exploded, gratified to feel the beautiful brunette reach her own orgasm with him, shaking and twisting and clenching around him like she had been struck by a lightning bolt. It had been so good that all he could do was collapse next to Charlie trying to catch his breath, and it took a full minute before he had enough energy to order her to get down and clean his cock of their combined juices with her tongue, nice and slow and as sexy as she could, thrilled to the core to hear her answer "Yes, my Lord and Master" with a subdued tone before performing her new duties. (3) The following week saw Charlie living a double life as Royal Guard during the day, and as Rochefort's lover--or perhaps more accurately, plaything--during the evenings and nights. She learned what he liked, which was taking her from behind, roughly, often while holding on to her hair like reins on a horse, and he liked finishing off in her mouth, making her choke on his shaft as he thrust it deep in her throat. He deflowered her rear hole, and forced her to have her strongest orgasms when she was taken anally. She endured--she had no choice, she was told to--the knowing grins and leering glances of the Dragoons every evening, for Rochefort had told them that Charlotte of Artagnia had taken a liking to his rod and was partaking selfishly of its joys. She had overheard them asking Rochefort when they could have a go at her, to see if she was as good as he had led them to believe, and thankfully Rochefort had always said no, although he had hinted that soon he would share her. In the meantime, rumors had been going around the castle about their liaison, and even the Princess had taken an interest, questioning Charlie one afternoon during the shift change. Charlie, under inescapable orders from Rochefort, had not been able to say anything beyond that her affairs were her own, and that she was seeking satisfaction in the best place she could find it. When the Princess had asked about the Count of Athia, with a deeper question in her eyes and a frown on her face, Charlie, again under ineluctable orders, had simply shrugged her shoulders, and said that Rochefort was the better man by far. It had burned her inside, as she had wanted to scream to the Princess that Rochefort was the one making her do all of it, that she was trapped, but of course, she could not. Charlie was thinking furiously throughout her ordeal. Not only about her situation and how to extricate herself from it, but also about the King and the Princess and how to protect them both from the Prime Chancellor, who she could see was getting at once more restless and more suspicious. She had also seen him throw curious glances at her when she was on guard at the Audience Hall, and also at Rochefort when he came to deliver messages or take orders. There was no doubt that the Chancellor had heard the rumors about Charlie and his Lieutenant, and that he had made the connection with his stolen potion Charlie considered highly likely. And through it all, she thought of Oliver, of how he would react when he would come to learn of the situation. She dreaded that moment with all of her heart, for until then at least she had the luxury of hoping that she could find a way out of her nightmare without causing damage to their relationship. But as Rochefort made clear to her that evening, she had run out of time. She was in a position that had become typical for her, on her knees, naked, sucking on Rochefort's cock as he lounged in his bed after having ridden her hard for the previous hour. He loved getting his cock suckled even when it was soft, and Charlie was licking and sucking slowly, trying to put as much passion into it as she could. A knock on the door interrupted them, and Rochefort bade the caller enter. He did not make Charlie stop, did not tell her to cover up, did not cover up himself. From the corner of her eye, Charlie recognized one of the Dragoons in Rochefort's troop, who stopped short when he saw Charlie on the bed. "Baltik--what brings you here?" asked Rochefort, nonchalant. He put a hand on Charlie's head to ensure she would not stop, even though he knew full well she could not stop. Baltik had difficulties taking his eyes off the beautiful girl worshipping his commander's cock, her brown hair covering her face. He had heard about Rochefort shacking up with Charlotte of Artagnia, like everyone else in the Dragoons troop, and had seen her in their quarters often, admiring her as she passed by, but he had never fully believed the rumors were true, and even if he had he would not have imagined it the way he was seeing it now, with Charlie on her knees before Rochefort, servicing him in the presence of a subordinate. "I... huh... right. Yes. Sorry. Huh... You... you wanted to be notified when Count Oliver of Athia returned to town. He has been spotted at the Rooster." "Excellent! Do you hear that, my lovely doll? Your erstwhile lover has returned. Isn't that exciting?" Charlie let go of the cock in her mouth for long enough to share a glance with Rochefort. "Yes, my Lord and Master." "I bet your cunt is getting all wet from thinking about him while your mouth is full of my cock." Rochefort pulled her head back down so she could resume her service, his cock hardening at the thought of what he might do this evening. He turned his head to see Baltik still standing by the bed. Rochefort had forgotten about him. The boy--for Baltik was young--kept staring at Charlie, still unable to believe his eyes, a growing erection hardening in his breeches. "You like her, Baltik? She's got one sweet body on her, that's for sure. And look at that ass. Lift up your ass, my lovely doll, show Baltik here what you have to offer. Shake it a bit, make it nice. That's right, just like that!" He watched Baltik practically salivate at the sight. "And you know the best part? It feels even nicer than it looks. It just grabs you and never lets you go." Rochefort laughed, while Charlie silently burned with embarrassment, bobbing up and down on the thick flesh shaft. Baltik watched, his breath now short. "I'd offer you to sample it," Rochefort gestured to Baltik, "but we gotta go. I'm sure the Count of Athia is itching to see his beloved once again. Be well, Baltik." Baltik nodded, casting a last longing glance at Charlie, who kept sucking, feeling mortified at the thought of facing Oliver, while at the same time feeling a surge of hope. If anyone could help her, she thought, it would be him. When Baltik had shut the door, Rochefort straightened up in his bed, took hold of Charlie's head and started pushing it up and down onto his cock, harder and harder, slamming all the way down the back of her throat on every thrust. Charlie, unavoidably intent on pleasing him at all cost, opened her mouth wide and let herself be so assaulted, preparing herself for the finale that would see Rochefort unload into her mouth and feed her his seed once more. Rochefort surprised her by pulling out at the last minute, just as his thrusts were getting more erratic, heralding his imminent orgasm, and exploded all over her chest, sending long tendrils of cum all over her round sensitive breasts. "Rub it in, my lovely doll," he told her after falling back on the bed, in bliss. As she did so, spreading the sticky spent and working it into her skin, he left and came back with a red garment that he threw on the bed. Charlie saw what it was and even though she could not react the way she wanted externally, she gasped in the core of her mind. Rochefort could see that she had recognized it. "Yup. I found you a pretty red pleasure girl tunic. I want you to wear it tonight. I want to see your boy's face when he sees you in it. And when he does, I want you to go and offer your services to him. Make it good, make it hot, make it professional. I trust you," he added, laughing as he reached for his own clothes. Half an hour later, wearing the red wraparound tunic that clung to her every curve yet managed to bare much of her long legs, her dark hair unfurled and cascading down her shoulders, Charlie crossed the threshold of the Spitting Rooster with Rochefort beside her. There were fewer people inside than she had feared, and she could not help but anxiously scan the crowd to find Oliver, and possibly her friends. She had a come-hither smile plastered on her face, courtesy of Rochefort, who was nodding pleasantly to people he knew while he guided her with a hand on her elbow. Men were looking at her, getting stuck on her breasts highlighted by the tight tunic, and on her bare legs, while the other pleasure girls shot her dark glances, seething at the competition that as far as they were concerned had just entered their territory. When Charlie saw Oliver, sitting alone at one end of the bar, his head into a tall mug of ale, his sword hanging off his back, she felt a shiver of joy run through her. At the same time, the instructions that Rochefort had implanted in her dazed mind kicked in, and she slowly made her way to her lover, swaying her hips with every languorous step, her chest thrust forward. Rochefort watched her go, grinning widely, his eyes locked on her ass, dreaming of the abuse he would heap upon it when they returned to his chambers later. Charlie sat on the stool next to Oliver, who barely reacted to her presence aside from a slight shake of the head and a thin "I'm not interested," mumbled without ever lifting his eyes up from his drink. "Really, lover?" Her voice was throaty. Rochefort had told her to be at her sexiest. Oliver startled at the sound of Charlie's voice, and almost sent his mug flying as he swung around to see her sitting not half a yard from him, dressed so skimpily she exposed flesh that was reserved for intimate partners. "Charlie! My Lord, where have you been?" He reached over to take her into his arms, and she let herself be hugged, pressing her chest against him while sighing prettily into his ear. "I've been looking for you ever since we got in early this morning," he continued, pushing her back to look at her, "and I was hearing those... rumors... about..." He looked her up and down, his mind slowly putting together the clues about the way she was dressed and the way she had arranged her hair and what he had heard earlier and he still could not believe it. He floundered, and Charlie saved him by running her hand on the side of his face before kissing him, a deep kiss that saw her tongue wrestle its way through his lips to invest his mouth. "I've missed you, lover," she said, her voice still throaty, her hand dropping down to his crotch, where she quickly found his cock straining to get hard. "Charlie! What are you doing?" He pulled her hand off. "Why are you dressed like... like... and I heard this rumor... The Count of Rochefort? Charlie, what's going on?" Charlie giggled--a sound that Oliver had never thought he would hear coming from those beautiful red lips--and she leaned back, thrusting her chest upward to emphasize her abundant cleavage. And even though she knew this was coming, even though Rochefort had coached her on her behavior as they walked towards the tavern, even though she knew she had no choice but to comply, she tried to fight the urge to say what she had to say next, powerlessness and frustration battling it out in the arena of her mind, while her body droned on. "You like?" she asked, running her hands down her sides and spreading her legs, giving tantalizing glimpses of the wonders beyond. "I may have found my new calling, trading in pleasure. So much more satisfying that dealing death, don't you agree?" Oliver looked at her in horror. "Charlie! What happened to you?" "My eyes were opened, that's all. I was made to realize that my true talents were wasted, and that they should be shared with the world. You should know," and she leaned over conspiratorially, "you enjoyed those talents quite a few times yourself." "Charlie, please! Let's get out--" "Yes," she said, grasping his cock through his breeches, "let's. You want to go in the back and sample the goods one more time?" She stroked his cock, smiling. "I've really missed your cock, Oliver. I want to feel it in my mouth again. I want to feel it up my cunt again. My Lord and Master opened up my ass recently, so you can put it there too if you want. It's really tight." "Lord and Master? Charlie! What's got into you? Come on--" "If you're worried about the price," she added, still smiling, still stroking his cock, "don't. I'm cheap tonight, really cheap. For a silver coin, you get me for a full hour. What do you say? For old time's sake? Just a coin..." Oliver jerked back when Charlie reached over to try to kiss him again. "Charlie! He did something to you, didn't he? Rochefort did something to you! The piece of..." Oliver looked around, and spotted Rochefort standing with friends at the other end of the room, looking back at him with a grin on his face. Oliver reached back for his sword and unsheathed it as he raced for Rochefort, who watched him approach laughing. "What did you do to her?" screamed Oliver, whereupon everyone in the tavern shushed, watching the Royal Guard facing off against the Dragoon. "You mean aside from making her come over and over again till she was too exhausted to bring her legs back together?" "You bastard! You will taste my sword for this outrage!" Rochefort, still smiling, gallantly gestured towards the door. "Shall we, then?" "You go first, Count. I do not trust you to be chivalrous." "As you wish, Count." And Rochefort strode out, his hand on his sword. Oliver followed in step behind him, his sword drawn, and much of the tavern's patrons followed in turn, excited to be privy to what they were sure would be a duel of epic proportions. Charlie, her heart sinking for she knew exactly what Rochefort had planned, followed as well. Swords crossed in the lane behind the tavern, both combatants in fine form, although the Count of Athia was clearly angry and the Count of Rochefort was clearly amused. Under normal circumstances, Rochefort might have been worried, as Oliver would have been acknowledged as the best fighter, but these were not normal circumstances. After the first few angry blows by Oliver, easily parried by Rochefort, the fight settled in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic to the audience, every person in the crowd cheering wildly for their favorite. Wagers were flying about, and punches were thrown while the two main combatants exchanged blows without paying undue attention to anything else. Meanwhile, against her will, Charlie had started to enact Rochefort's plan. Putting herself in a position where Oliver could see her, she reached for the man closest to her and kissed him, much to his surprise. When he pulled back to complain that he did not have any money to spend on her, she shut him up with another deep kiss and by pressing the palm of her hand into his hardening cock. She told him that fighting made her hot, and that this was a freebie. To convince him, she took his hand and slipped it underneath her tunic, to make him feel her naked pussy that was already starting to drip with her juices. Rochefort had made sure that she would be aroused at this point of the proceedings, and she was. She moaned deep in her chest when he pushed two fingers inside of her, and it did not take long before she was humping his hand while sharing another deep kiss with him. When Oliver saw her, in the distance, he startled, and missed a foothold, an error that Rochefort, who had been waiting for exactly that moment, wasted no time in taking advantage of, and Oliver found himself on the defensive, fending off blows from Rochefort while unable to keep glancing at Charlie, disbelieving the evidence of his own eyes. Charlie had turned around and was leaning forward against the outside wall of the tavern, one hand holding up her tunic over her ass, the other beckoning the man to penetrate her. After a few glances about to verify that everyone was indeed completely taken with the fight, he pulled his trousers down enough to free his long thin cock and slide it in the snatch of the beautiful pleasure girl bent over before him. The way her pussy gripped him as he pounced into her was indescribable, and he had never felt anything like it before. Certainly, his own wife did not feel so good, after four children. This was a well-trained pussy, he figured, and he idly wondered how much she charged when she was not giving it away for free during duels. Oliver saw it all, while warding off the more frequent blows from Rochefort--the way the tall man slipped into Charlie from behind, the way she arched her back in pleasure, the way she let the man reach around and grab her breasts roughly while he plowed into her forcefully. Oliver was distracted beyond thinking straight, which of course had been Rochefort's intent all along. When Charlie, sensing that the tall man fucking her was reaching his release point, turned around and knelt at his feet to finish him off with her mouth, Oliver lost his footing again and found himself on one knee trying to fend off the feverish attacks of Rochefort. It would have been the end of the Count of Arthia at that moment if not for the fortuitous arrival of the Baroness of Porthia and Rene of Aramia, his companions, attracted by the clamor of the fight. Rochefort laughed and stepped back from Oliver, who was breathing hard holding his side. "Three against one," Rochefort said, eyeing the new arrivals who had stepped before Oliver, swords drawn. "Where's your chivalry now, Athia?" He laughed, and sheathed his sword. "She's mine, Athia. Get used to it. If you want her, you'll have to pay, like the rest of them." He gestured around before saluting and walking off, grabbing Charlie by the arm in passing. They left together, leaving behind them a crowd feeling cheated of a proper ending, a drained and contended man refastening his trousers, a tired Count struggling to stand up, and two confused knights wondering why their friend was leaving hand in hand with one of their rivals. (4) The most heart-wrenching aspect of the days following her ordeal at the Spitting Rooster for Charlie was facing her fellow Royal Guard during the day in the performance of her duties. For Rochefort had told her to continue her service, pleased to no end that she would be running into Oliver and her friends as well as remaining in the constant presence of her fellow knights that had by then heard all about the events at the tavern, and were eyeing her with an odd look in her eyes. More than one came to talk to her to inquire obliquely about her services as pleasure girl, and she was mortified to hear herself tell them to go and talk to Rochefort to arrange something. The hungry look in their eyes made it clear what they were thinking. She ended up seeing Oliver and her friends less than she both feared and hoped she might. At first she thought they were avoiding her, until she learned that they had been sent off on another mission to investigate another report about the plot against the King. Charlie, who knew that the plot was right there in the castle but could say nothing, was dispirited to hear of them leaving, especially because she was then told that they had been looking for her the night before, while she had been away at Rochefort's chambers, and that they had left her a message telling her that no matter what was happening, they would help her. It made her feel better, a little. While she harbored little hope of being saved herself, she still wanted to save the King and the Princess. That thought kept her going on those the nights where Rochefort would bring her down to the tavern dressed in her skimpy pleasure girl tunic and tell her to sell herself well. And she did, of course, for she had no choice, and she saw a seemingly endless stream of men willing to pay gold coins for a chance to bed her, and she gave each and every one of them her best. Her chance at foiling the Chancellor's plot came on the day when she spied the Chancellor and a figure wearing a black hooded robe covering his whole body and scrawled with dark arcana symbols only visible when light hit the robe with the just right angle. The Chancellor and the figure were whispering to each other in the shadow of an alcove. When the robed figure turned to point directly at her, she stared into two eyes that were pools of ochre and she thought her heart would stop, for she knew she was staring in the eyes of a Dark Mage. That evening, as she was spread out on the cold floor of Rochefort's chambers noisily thrusting a thick wooden dildo in and out of her pussy while Rochefort cleaned a set of silver daggers he kept for slaying weredemons, she breached the topic, interrupted by the moans that she could not help make as the dildo aroused her per Rochefort's orders. "My Lord and Master--" "Yes, my lovely doll?" "You tasked me to prevent harm from coming to you, My Lord and Master. I have identified such a source. Aaah..." "Really? And who would that be? Your boy come back to town to claim you back yet?" "No, My Lord and Master. The Prime Chancellor. Mmmm..." Rochefort stopped to look at the beautiful brunette driving the wooden dildo roughly in and out, her legs spread wide, bent at the knee. "What?" "I saw him talking to a man I can only guess is the Dark Mage you said gave him the enchanted potion you used on me, my Lord and Master. He must have figured out I was under its influence and deduced that you had fed me the potion, since everybody knows I am now your girl, and I would never be if not for sorcery. Oh..." Rochefort frowned. "Fuck," he mumbled, after a while, deep in thought. This was a problem that he had not thought about. His main goal had been to get his hands on Charlie, trying to cover his tracks as best he could, and hope that the Chancellor would not look so closely. But he had not counted on the Dark Mage recognizing the effects of his own sorcery. It made sense, in retrospect. Of course. "Fuck," he said again. Charlie knew she had but one chance to enact her plan, and this was her best opening. "I... Oh!... I have an idea, my Lord and Master. Mmm..." The wooden dildo made it difficult to concentrate. She longed for a real cock drilling her, a thick shaft of flesh plumbing her depths. "You do, do you? Well, you're pretty sharp for a pleasure girl." He grinned at his own joke. "What's your idea?" "You could... Oh!... kill the Chancellor, my Lord and Master. Aaah..." Rochefort looked at her for a few seconds before erupting in laughter. "You are crazy, my lovely doll. I can't kill the Chancellor. He's the reason I'm here. The King barely tolerates me. If the Chancellor goes, I go with him. And I don't want to go. I like it here. I like it a lot. So I can't kill the Chancellor. Of course, if I don't do anything, the Chancellor will kill me. Fuck." He stared at Charlie with a curious look in his eyes. "Tell me, if you're so smart. What would you do if you were me. Do your best, my lovely doll." Charlie groaned, and not because she had worked the dildo too hard into her pussy. She groaned because her plan had failed, her plan to get rid of the Chancellor and the danger to the throne. And she was now forced to tell Rochefort how he could get out of his impasse. For there was a solution, one that was so incredibly simple. "The Chancellor's plan, my Lord and Master. Ooohhh..." "What about it?" "You could enact it. You feed the potion to Princess Helena, kill the King, and when the Princess becomes Queen you instruct her to accuse and execute the Chancellor. And your sway over her will guarantee your presence at court. Mmm..." Rochefort looked at her as if she were crazy for a long moment before breaking into a wide grin and clapping his hands, laughing madly. Charlie was horrified. She had wanted to protect her Princess by foiling the plot meant to take her will, and instead had hastened that fate. "That is perfect," Rochefort was saying, leaping to his feet and pacing the room. "And you know what the best part of that plan is? I get the Princess all to myself. Why didn't I think of it? It's fantastic! You deserve a reward for that, my lovely doll." He stood before the tall brunette. "Come, hard." The orgasm washed over Charlie like a waterfall, drowning her in sudden pleasure that rippled through her very bones. She shook all over, unable to contain the scream of release that emerged unbidden from her throat. Her mind blanked, wiped clean by the throes of her climax. Rochefort grinned as he watched her come down from her high. "Come, harder," he said, once more. And Charlie exploded with a force she had not thought possible, her body stiffening up before releasing every ounce of energy in a tremor that threatened to destroy her sanity. "Keep coming," said Rochefort, as he leaned between the orgasming girl's legs, aiming his cock at her shuddering slit. He sank into her, impressed by the resistance her clenching pussy was offering, and not disliking the effect. He loved the way Charlie's breasts jiggled with her shivers of pleasure. While he fucked a bucking and twisting and groaning Charlie, his mind kept going back to Princess Helena, imagining her underneath him arching her back to meet his thrusts, her breasts pushing up to beg for his mouth. The Princess was perhaps the one girl in the Three Kingdoms that might be more beautiful than Charlie was, in a completely different way. She was not quite as tall as Charlie, and very slim, although her dresses suggested a generous chest and a round ass that Rochefort was now trying to picture. With her pale skin and her fiery red hair, she looked so prim, so innocent, so regal, that he started salivating at the thought of corrupting the pristine Princess, of making her do the most filthy acts with a smile on her face and lust in her eyes. He rammed into Charlie, making the girl scream in further pleasure. She brought her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and clung to him, her pussy still wracked with spasms, massaging the invading cock. "I hear she's never been with a man," said Rochefort, still basking in the pleasure to come to him. "Is that true?" "It is true, my Lord and Master. Oh!" "So she has three holes for me to stretch out, then. Oh, that's going to be a lot of fun. I'll make you teach her all that you know, my lovely doll. You should be proud. You'll be private sex instructor to a Queen. You'll teach her how to please a man with her mouth, her tits, her cunt, her ass. You'll teach her how to swallow a cock deep in her throat, how to massage one with her pussy like--oh yes!--like you're doing right now. And you'll teach her to appreciate a hard shaft up her backside, like the lowliest of pleasure girls. And I'll make sure she loves it, and begs for it every time." Rochefort was getting more and more excited, in his mind already having enthralled the beautiful Princess, and Charlie could see in his eyes that it was the Princess he was thinking of as he dove in and out of her, and Charlie's guilt barely made it through the haze of lust that was washing over her in waves. And through it all, Rochefort was still talking, half to himself, half to her, panting through his exertion. "And I'll watch you two get it on together, too, girl on girl, pleasuring each other for my benefit, preparing each other for servicing me, keeping yourself warm and in need. Fucking the two of you together, one after the other, or at the same time, one shove in one pussy, one shove in the other. Fucking one of you while the other licks my ass. Epics are going to be written about it! Ha! Take that! Take that, you cunt! Come! Hard!" With deep strokes that sent his cock banging deep into Charlie's womb just as she tightened up and exploded in yet another mind-wrenching orgasm, Rochefort erupted, spilling his seed in long jets deep inside her, before collapsing and crushing her under his weight. Charlie never noticed. She had passed out from the sensations. (5) Rochefort felt that there was no point in waiting before enacting the plan that by that point he was convinced he had hatched himself, and it did not take long for him to decide that the best opportunity had to be the King's Blood Sacrifice Ceremony, which he performed at every full moon in the Temple in the presence of his daughter, and was one of the rare times he was not surrounded by guards. Charlie had suggested the idea of adding the potion that Rochefort had stolen from the Chancellor to the Holy Mead used during the Ceremony. The effect upon the Princess was to be the expected one. The effect upon the King was unknown, but immaterial, as he would not survive the day. The day of the Ceremony arrived. With twenty minutes to go before the King and the Princess entered the Temple, Charlie added the potion to the Mead in the Silver Chalice on the Temple's altar. Even though the Temple was under guard, she gained through a secret passage that the Princess had shown her a year prior, one in a network of passages that the Princess had used to escape the strict curfew of her teenage years. That same secret passage would also provide access to the Temple once the King and Princess had drunk the potion. It was almost time. Charlie, her mind rebelling at what she was about to do, but unable to resist it, walked towards the Temple, her hand on the pommel of her sword. She crossed a servant, who kept his head bowed low, and it was not until she had reached the double doors barring the entrance to the Temple and guarded by two Royal Guard knights that she realized that the servant had been Baltik. She shivered. Baltik. Rocherfort had made good on his statement to the young Dragooner that he would let him sample her. Two nights earlier, Rochefort had welcomed Baltik to his chambers, and made Charlie dance for the boy. She danced the most seductive dance she knew of, a performance worthy of the best courtesans of the Southern Realms, a performance meant to drive the boy wild with lust, as per Rochefort's orders. And Baltik had been wild with lust, mounting her with vigor and slamming into her powerfully. Charlie had been surprised, expecting more fumbling and hesitation from the boy, who had always struck her as shy and easily frazzled. Not that night. He possessed her with confidence and force. Rocherfort had watched with amusement, eventually joining the mating couple when Baltik flipped Charlie onto her hands and knees, thrusting his shaft deep in her throat as Baltik plowed into her from behind. She stopped and shook her head to clear the memory, wondering what Baltik had been doing disguised as a servant. The Royal Guard at the door eyed her curiously, and she nodded to them as she picked up her pace and walked past them. Rochefort's instructions did not allow her to arouse suspicion. The guards were at the ready, which meant the King and Princess were already inside. She turned the corner and met up with Rochefort, who was waiting for her near one of the chambers with access to the passage that led to the Temple. She was unhappy to have Rochefort there with her, but he was necessary to control the Princess while Charlie slew the King. Slaying the King. She still could not conceive of that action she was about to undertake. Rochefort was excited, and gave Charlie a slap on the ass as she walked past him to enter the chamber. It was all coming together. He followed Charlie as she walked to the far wall and pressed a brick that unlatched a doorway concealed underneath draperies. They followed a dark musty passage that led to a small chamber adjacent to the temple, from which they witnessed the Blood Sacrifice Ceremony through a long slit between two stones. The Ceremony was long and drawn out, much of it led by the King who was chanting in a language neither Rochefort nor Charlie recognized. Rochefort was not a man known for his patience. To relieve the boredom and the tension, Rochefort had Charlie service him, pushing her to her knees between his legs. When finally the King reached for the Silver Chalice holding the Sacrificial Mead, Rochefort bumped Charlie on the head and gestured for her to get ready. The King offered the Chalice to the Princess, who drank from it deeply before passing it back to the King. Rochefort was almost jumping in place, and kept rubbing his hands together. Seeing Princess Helena right there in front of his eyes, drinking from the potion that would make her his, just made everything so very real he had difficulty refastening his breeches. He nodded to Charlie to let her know it was time. Charlie knew, but kept praying that Rochefort would change his mind. He did not. Making no noise, Charlie pressed the release that swiveled the section of wall that led into the Temple, and slowly unsheathed her sword. While the King and the Princess where bowing down for the last rituals of the Ceremony, she advanced upon them, trying to achieve the stealthiness of a great feline. She was fighting it with all of her worth, fighting what Rochefort had ordered her to do, but it was hopeless. She advanced, sword drawn. Charlie's sword was swinging to strike a decapitating blow to the King when he moved faster than she would have thought an old man could move. How he knew she was there behind him striking she did not know. But he moved, and he was fast, and he grabbed a heavy candelabrum from the altar to fend off Charlie's next blow. Princess Helena screamed. The King's parried Charlie's sword easily, for despite his age he was still King Altobar the First, Hero of the Great Darkness War. And Charlie was sluggish. Whether it was her resisting the impulse to obey Rochefort's order she did not know, but the strength, agility, and grace that usually accompanied her sword play was absent, and the King took full advantage of it. And when the heavy candelabrum he was wielding connected to the side of her head and sent her sprawling to the ground, she was secretly overjoyed, and wanted nothing more than for the King to kill her. Meanwhile, Rochefort was advancing towards Princess Helena. He had followed Charlie in her silent stalking, and he was committed, since the concealed door had closed behind him and he did not know how to open it again. The King and Charlie were fighting, and the King seemed to be holding his own admirably. The Princess saw Rochefort approaching and screamed again, stepping back from him. "Stop screaming, Princess, and give me your hand," he said. "Get away from me, you traitor!" Princess Helena stepped away from him, slamming her back against one of the worship benches behind her. "Princess, come here!" Rochefort was confused, keeping an eye on the King who had just delivered a blow to Charlie's head that sent her to the ground. The Princess backed away from Rochefort still, her look of fear now replaced by a look of anger and resolve. Rochefort did not know how she could resist him. Did she not drink the potion? Had he been tricked? Did Charlie not pour the potion into the Chalice? As he reached for the Princess's arm, the King's voice arose. "Unhand her, you fiend!" He had grabbed Charlie's sword and took two quick steps towards Rochefort, who unsheathed his own sword and turned towards the King. Charlie saw all of that, and the instructions that Rochefort had driven into her like a brand into tender flesh forced her to defend her Lord and Master, despite her best intentions, and she grabbed a volume of worship and tossed it in the King's general direction. She was too dizzy to aim accurately, but precision was not needed. The King was distracted for a fateful second, and Rochefort drove his blade through the King's breast, killing him instantly. Charlie's heart sank. The Princess screamed again. "Shut up!" screamed Rochefort, turning to the collapsing Princess, who screamed even louder. He was about to turn his blade towards her when the doors to the Temple crashed open and the two Royal Guard Charlie had seen earlier came running, swords drawn, closely followed by the Prime Chancellor and Baltik, of all people. "Drop your sword or perish!" shouted one of the Guard, and Rochefort froze, staring wildly from one Guard to the other and to the Chancellor and to a stony-faced Baltik, and he debated between fighting and running but in the end dropped his sword and knelt, his hands on his bent head. The Prime Chancellor advanced towards Rochefort, while the two Guards pointed their blades towards the assassin. The Princess was crying and cradling her dead father's body. "Princess," said the Chancellor, still staring at Rochefort, "stop crying, and come to me." The Princess's tears stopped, and she stood and came to rest beside the Chancellor. Rochefort looked from one to the other with widening eyes. He was beginning to understand. "That's right, Rochefort," said the Chancellor, softly, "I got to her first. You will never know what you missed." He turned to the Princess. "Order the Guards to execute him. He killed the King." The Princess looked at the Guards. "This man killed the King. Execute him, by order of the Queen." Rochefort had no chance to protest before two sharpened blades ran him through and through. A subsequent blow sent his head flying. His headless body collapsed at the foot the dead King. The Prime Chancellor and the Princess left the Temple, the Royal Guards following closely. Charlie, who was partially hidden by a worship bench, was paralyzed. She had felt the blows to Rochefort as if she had been hit herself, and since then she could not move, her body on fire from the inside. Baltik, who had remained behind in the Temple, rounded the corner to stare at the motionless Charlie. She could see him, from the corner of her eye, but she could not do or say anything, could not protect herself if he wanted to attack her, did not even know if she wanted to. Baltik simply stared at her. He must have read the panic in her eyes, because he said, "The paralysis should subside in a few minutes, child." They were long agonizing minutes, but eventually Charlie could move her fingers, and then her hands. She blinked, and coughed, and tried to stand. "Don't try to stand just yet. You won't make it. The legs are the last to come back. If they ever do." "How... What..." Baltik smiled, and before her eyes he shimmered and seemed to vanish into a dark shape that resolved itself into the dark-robed figure she had seen with the Chancellor. The Dark Mage was staring at her, his yellow eyes peering into her depths. If she had been frightened before, now she was terrified. "The... The Princess...?" "I believe she is now Queen, and that the Chancellor has her well in hand at this time. He was most... enthusiastic in his descriptions of what he wanted to put our new ruler through once he had her in his power. The poor girl will find herself a woman by night's end, well trained in the arts of pleasure." "The potion... You switched the potion..." "I did. The poor Count of Rochefort could not keep his precious plan--my apologies, child, I meant your plan--to himself. He was most happy to sing his plans for the future with but a little prompt from his favorite sycophant. It made everything so much easier. In the end, the cretin proved to be valuable." "The... Chancellor..." "The Chancellor is a fool. Blinded by power, blinded by his desires for flesh. A bigger fool than the Count of Rochefort, for his dreams are more ambitious. He is a fool, but a useful fool, a controllable fool." "What... what are you going to... to do with me?" "That is the question, is it not? I would keep you as a pet, but you are not my type, child. And I do not need a servant. And the Chancellor will kill you once he finds you, for you are Royal Guard, and he will wipe the lot of you off the kingdom. The Guard will be outlawed, eliminated, pursued to the ends of the World. A policy my Order heartily approves." The Dark Mage tilted his head, looked at her with his odd luminous eyes. He crouched at her feet. "I would therefore advise you to run, child." "You... you are letting... me go?" "You have strength, and courage. Being inside of you, besides confirming that you were in the thrall of one of my magical philters, gave me a glimpse of your mind, and your resistance to my magic has been impressive. Doomed, but impressive. Consider this a gesture of recognition." He stood, and turned to leave, his robe swishing on the ground. He stopped to look at her one final time. "But you should know that this is not a pardon, merely a respite. It is beyond even my powers to counteract the effects of the philter. Your link to the Count was severed roughly, explaining your current paralysis, but his instructions are still there, and will remain there forever. You will not be able to talk of any of this, to anyone. And soon, the blood fever will descend upon you, and drive you mad. I bid you farewell, Lady Charlotte of Artagnia." Charlie was left alone in the darkening Temple, slowly regaining usage of her body. While the paralysis faded, the heat inside her body still raged strong. Was this the blood fever the Dark Mage had warned her about? She did not know how long she had before someone came to gather the corpses, but she figured it would not be long. She had to leave now, while she still had a chance. She did not know how much of what the Dark Mage had told her was true, but while she was alive, she still had a chance--a chance to find Oliver, to warn him about the death that was coming his way, and perchance even a chance to save the Princess, now her Queen, from the Chancellor, and more worryingly, the Dark Mage. As she stumbled into the secret passage through which she and Rochefort had entered the Temple, she was on automatic. She knew the routine of the Castle, knew the guards schedules, knew the layout perfectly. She could leave without being seen, and race through the Northern Woods before the rest of the night was out. She would find shelter, and plan her next step. An hour later, as her horse galloped on the trail through the Northern Woods, the full moon peeking in and out of the canopy of trees above her, Charlie thought of Oliver. She wondered where he was, wondered if he had given up on her, wondered if he believed he had lost her. You haven't lost me, she thought, I'm still here, I'm still me. I still love you. Find me, Oliver. Find me, and we shall be together again. THE END of Book II: The Greek Fiasco