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