Love Charms (88 page)

With a
bright smile she gestured towards the large platter of food, “You can secret
out as much food as you like, Mirella. I’m told the people are starving on the
streets and,” her eyes flickered down again, “even if it is the spawn of a
rapist barbarian... you are with child now, and need to take care of yourself.”
There was almost even sympathy in those words.

Mirella
hadn’t thought about the plight of the people in so long, she was surprised to
hear her say that, though she quickly covered it up with a look of
appreciation. “Thank you, Princess,” she said as she went to gather some food,
ever obedient and willing to please.

Anabelle
led her to the door after she secreted some of the rich delights into her ratty
old robes. “You’re dismissed,” she said in her normal, haughty tone. “Perhaps
we shall speak again soon.” The guard outside opened the door and paid not a
glance to the two women as she let Mirella out.

Free of
the incessant blather of Anabelle, her footsteps became sure and angry, her
face flushed with rage. That little bitch.

“I need
to speak with the God-King,” she said sternly, “Where can I find him?”

Chapter 11

At the
top of the roadway that led to the palace stood her ruler and master. Towering
above all others, a northerner in elaborate dress—though all hides and
horns—knelt before him. “We were wrong ta doubt the true God-King,” he
declared in subservience before her lover Kulav. “My men are now yours. And we
thank ya for yer generosity in allowin’ us this opportunity to join with your
ranks after refusing our share of the glory in conquest.”

It was
a solemn occasion she realized; a Chieftain of one of the northern tribes of
Ka’reem was swearing himself to the God-King.

“Arise,”
came his command in that husky, masculine voice. “You are welcomed into the
ranks, and I promise there shall be more glory to come.” The chieftain, a
massive man in his own right though not so tall as her lord and lover, backed
away and said not a word more, looking too fearful to dare such a thing.

As that
little display ended the warlord turned and saw her there watching.

“Your
Greatness,” her head tilted downwards as she strode towards him. “The princess
has been scheming.” She paused, licking over her lips. She was once more in her
casual garb, the slutty little outfit showing off her advanced pregnancy, and
there was no shame in her motions at all. She was proud to give him a child,
and to show off how her body contorted because of him.

Hearing
the tidings of her news he placed his hand on her shoulder and guided her away
from the open spot. Taking her off to the side in one of the nooks along the
palace walls he bent his head and spoke with her in a private tone. “Tell me
everything,” he commanded

Her
voice was so soft as she looked up at her God, “The Prince will be arriving
inside of a week. The Princess has been using a trinket to speak with him, and
he has been communicating with rebels inside of the city. Something you have
done a week ago has interrupted his communication with them and she wishes for
me to rally them,” she said so quickly. “She has given me a token to convince
them I am on her side, and is unaware of the numbers the Prince has with him.
She is confident it is enough.”

As
stoic as ever she could not read the ashen giant, his beautifully masculine
face passive as he pondered her information. “Describe everything in detail,”
he ordered, and after hearing of the entire encounter in its minutiae he
squeezed her shoulder. “You did well. Very well,” he said approvingly. “With
any luck you’ve bought us enough time to act and put a stop to this,” he
declared. Through his hard look she saw it there: a faint glimmer of approval
and thanks that far eclipsed anything the princess had ever given her in all
her years of service.

He made
her at once feel weak and strong, and her mouth parted just so. “I wasn’t aware
the Princess could scheme at all, so I imagine it has been the Prince telling
her what to do. When we kill him, she will crumble.” She wanted him so badly,
then. It was more than devotion, more than love. It was a hunger that she had
no control over, and her small, private smile was filled with affection.

That
made the dark man smile, and he brought his hand up to her cheek, cupping it
and stroking his thumb across her smooth face as he stood before her in his
usual garb, his bare chest on display. “I hope you are right. When I return
from the campaign to wipe out the prince’s army, we shall find out,” he said
solemnly.

“Do
nothing to alert the princess to your true devotions,” he cautioned. “I ride
out in the morning,” he declared to her, the calculating warlord having already
taken time to decide his actions. “While I’m away I am inducting you into the
order of my concubine-warriors.” He turned abruptly and began to storm off,
leaving her with no choice but to follow.

As he
passed the concubines tent he called out to Svella, the woman looking ready to
give birth any day now. “You shall handle Mirella’s induction into your order.
Heed her warnings.” He cautioned, never ceasing his movement into the palace as
the tall warrior woman looked to Mirella with a stunning lack of surprise.

“Welcome
then, sister,” she intoned with a light respect, her lips forming into an
almost amused smile.

Mirella
liked the woman and nodded her head, “I hope the others take this with a
similar mood,” she grinned. “This day is turning out less than I imagined.”

With a
laugh Svella, topless and as shameless in her nudity as Mirella had become,
guided her to the tent. “You shall conquer all, for the spirit of the God-King
is with you,” she declared, leading her in to spread the news to the others.

Chapter 12

Her
induction into the warrior-concubines was less ceremonious and more business
than she would’ve expected. The entire palace complex was in an uproar as
everyone rushed about, preparing to muster out for war.

It
wasn’t until the middle of the night that she was taken back in to see him, and
he was still conducting business, pointing out things to his chieftain-generals
on a great hide map. “Be prepared, for at sunset we ride. This little
princeling shall not catch us unawares in this city. We shall crush him on the
fields as is our way,” he demanded. The sweaty, hairy northerners slammed their
fists to their chests repeatedly and let loose a roar that echoed throughout
the halls before retreating, leaving him to ponder over the map alone.

It gave
her time to study him in private, his cloak hung over his back in such a way
that she could see almost his entire chest. Those hard muscles so firmly
outlined, such a vision of male perfection that gleamed in the lantern light of
the palace.

She loved
staring at him. She still often went to the crude statue when he was busy, her
eyes working over the stone and filling in the gaps where the sculptor had
failed. She lusted for him in a way she never had for anyone before, and found
his masculine appeal to be sweet perfection. She didn’t fear for him, nor doubt
for a second that he would kill the Prince, yet she dreaded being without him
for the length of time it would take.

Mirella
knew, however, he would be counting on her, and as her bare feet moved over the
smooth marble floor, she looked confident. “Your Greatness,” she announced
herself.

He
wasn’t disturbed by her, though she couldn’t imagine how he might’ve predicted
her approach, as silent as it was. “Come here,” said that god of a man in his dark
voice. “Tomorrow I ride off into the greatest battle of my life,” he stated,
putting his arm around her. His eyes remained glued to the hide map. The
guesses as to the size of the imperial army were so wildly different, but even
the most conservative put it at well over what they could potentially field;
double at least.

“And
soon you will ride home after the greatest victory,” she promised, her body
pressing against his side as her arm wrapped around his back. She was short
compared to him, with beautiful olive skin and long, glossy black hair, and the
pregnancy did little to interfere with her looks. She was not youthful, but in
his presence, she was vibrant.

His
strong hand stroked over her back and side, the coarse feel of his hard grasp
so comforting. It was the touch of someone who knew hard labour. He was a ruler
because he had made it so, not because he was born into it like the princess.

She
caught his gaze then, he looked to her, finally diverting his attention from
the map. “While I am away I am putting my concubine-warriors in charge of
running the city,” he explained. “They will not ride to war with me, but remain
here. They are the only ones I can trust fully to do this. And you shall help
them. If, as you say, the princess knows of some rebels, then they shall rise
up with or without warning once they know my forces are out of the city.”

His
hand gripped her backside, squeezing her round ass and pushed her in against
his hard body. “You could be integral in helping them maintain order here.”

“I
won’t fail you,” she promised. She was deadly serious, for there was no way she
would allow the city to fall, for him to ride back victorious only to have to
clean up after their failure. “If there’s anything you need, please, Your
Greatness. I am always at your service.”

His
strong, guiding hand brought her to the table. He very forcibly brought her up
onto it to sit upon the edge, squeezing her full, fleshy thigh as he stared
into her gaze. “I will not sleep this night,” he said to her, “but I need comfort
and satisfaction before I ride out.”

Those
dark features of his were stunning in the glowing light of the lanterns; it
almost seemed as if the darkness helped irradiate his ashen skin. So as he
leaned in and tilted his head to kiss her, she saw such a vision of male
beauty, then felt his hungry, needful, doting lips meet hers, smacking noisily
in the large hall.

Her
passion was only met by his, and her soft tongue probed his mouth. Hands
wrapped around his shoulders, squeezing his flesh so tightly as a moan erupted
between them. She needed him. Loved him. Worshiped him.

Tomorrow
she’d fight for him, but today, she’d give him what he needed with such desire
that he’d never dare die.

At some
point during their night of passion they had moved into the bedroom again, so
she awoke upon his bed in time to hear the sound of hooves, weapons and armour
in the courtyard below. It was such a clattering cacophony of noise that only
an army could’ve made such a noise to reach that far up.

Mirella
was sore and weary still. He had been bestial and insatiable, taking her the
whole night through, doing such things to her that her mind would buzz with the
memories for months more to come.

Yet
still she bounded from the bed—as much as a pregnant, properly fucked
woman could bound—and stared at the scene below. Her heart raced as she
grabbed up her new clothing, moving through the castle at such a speed.

She
emerged onto such a sight. There they were, hundreds of the mounted
northerners—the Ka’reem—filing out on horseback through the palace
gates to the roadway that led through the mountains. They looked, individually,
like such hairy savages, but as a group in full war gear, they looked fearsome
and mighty.

But
most significant of all, there he was. Her beloved ruler.

He sat upon
the back of a great horse, blacker than he, its coat glistened in the morning
light. Its legs so thick and sturdy, hooves wide and large, and all about
armour was strapped to the beast’s sides.

Atop it
sat the God-King Kulav in full battle regalia. It looked much like his usual
clothes, the high boots and cloak much the same. But they were armoured now.
His chest was garbed in a chain mail vest that showed but glimpses of his dark
flesh beneath. About his shoulders the plumes of raven’s feathers and on his
head a half-helm that made him look like some terrifying demon-bird from out of
folktales.

He
oversaw the orderly procession of the troops, fully absorbed in the affair as
he gave orders to his subordinates.

She
watched in such awe, such appreciation for all he’d done. Knowing his past, how
far he’d risen; it was only more impressive than when she’d first met him,
striding into the room and knocking his own warriors aside.

When
finally he began to pull his horse forward to join the procession he caught
sight of her, and she saw the glint of his dark eyes from beneath his helm. He
was terrifying and majestic atop his warhorse, an inspiration to his warriors
and doubtless a horror to his enemies. And she caught his gaze, held it.

He
didn’t wave or call out or in any way draw attention to it in any matter except
to watch her, keep her gaze. That was special enough, for she was the last he
saw before his horse trotted out of the courtyard and onto the road to war.

She
waited for some time and finally it was Svella who came to greet her. “If only
we could ride with him again to war,” she said with some sadness to her voice.

“We
have an important task,” she said, though there was a lingering sorrow in her
tone as well, edged with hard determination. “We have to keep what is His so
that when He returns, victorious, He may rest.”

The
tall northern woman looked to her with an appreciative stare then nodded. “It
is as you say,” she remarked. “Now come sister. If we are to administer justice
then we need our war raiments too.”

She led
Mirella to a special place where the warrior-concubines kept their supplies.
There she found uniforms like the raven-garbed elite who marched in with the
Seer—Kulav’s mother—and an array of weapons, curved scimitars,
shields, daggers, and many bows.

It
didn’t matter than she barely knew how to fight, but for a few training
sessions back in her homeland to the south. She so rarely thought of them,
though, yet as she reached for a scimitar, it felt right. She spared no time
getting dressed and resumed practice against the air, getting used to the
weight and the speed of the blade.

Svella
watched her with some curiosity, “You are not trained as we are,” she put it
delicately. “But I can correct that in ti—” it was then they were
interrupted by one of the other loyal concubines, her raven helm pulled up as
she spoke breathlessly.

“The
Seer!” she cried. “She has fallen into a trance,” and the look of anxiousness
on her face told them both this was urgent.

Svella
put down the weapon she held and took the scimitar from Mirella. “Come, we must
go to her.”

Mirella
didn’t even waste time at being offended, instead following after the woman in
her heavier armour, finding it uncomfortably restrictive after wearing almost
nothing for so many months. She didn’t allow herself to feel dread or panic,
instead forcing calm to the surface.

The
chamber that had been taken over for the Seer was formerly a chapel of worship
for the noble family. Now the great chamber was adorned in the holy symbols and
markings of the superstitious Ka’reem, the markings of the God-King all about:
the sign of the raven.

At the
head of the room where once the pulpit stood was now the great raised bed of
Kulav’s mother. The pale white woman twitched and spasmed, shivering in some
unknown misery as she stared off into the ceiling.

Mirella
had found the old woman as frustrating as she was fascinating, but the crone
frightened her. The truth, the knowledge, and how easily she saw through her
was terrifying, even though she had nothing to hide from the woman. The respect
she felt for the Mother of a God was eternal, and her reverence ran hand in
hand with the jumble of emotions.

The
other women were deathly silent, watching in awe and fear as the Seer shook and
spasmed. It was terrifying to see, though not only because of the power the
woman held, but because Mirella—alone amongst the women—knew
something of the suffering she had endured and must now still be enduring.

After
watching long in silence Svella whispered to her. “The last time this happened
she was said not to come out of it for days.”

“We
don’t have days,” Mirella murmured, already uneasy about leaving the city
proper. She feared that at any moment, the abused and wretched would begin
their revolt, and when she turned her face back to the woman, she silently
prayed for her to find peace enough to speak.

With a
shake of her head Svella added, “But when she came out of her trance... she
bestowed upon the God-King the warning that won him the war against Ariste. It
is said she is the line to the spirits that lets our Lord and Master reign with
the power of a deity.”

The
bridge of her nose crinkled in distaste, but she said no more on it. Still, as
her arms folded across her stomach and she felt that mass move within her, she
hoped it wasn’t too late. For him. For them. “We need to prepare for the
rebels,” she said softly.