The Queen of Sambia

King Mirrik shut the door and locked it, then removed his cloak, tossing it to its usual place on the back of the throne. Lian drew away as he walked past, using an iron rod to stir up the glowing embers in the fireplace. The heat felt good on her face, but could not penetrate the chill that enveloped her.

"Take off your clothes," Mirrik ordered, replacing the iron in its stand by the hearth. Lian eyed the potential weapon, then looked up into Mirrik's cold silver eyes.

"No," she said, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. His face never changed, but he covered the two steps between them and grabbed her tunic and shirt and stripped them from her body. Lian struck out at him, but he caught her arm by the wrist, then let go and hauled her trousers and hose down to her ankles. Mirrik wrapped one arm around her waist and carried her to his bed of cushions, where he threw her down. Lian watched the king squat at her feet and yank off her boots, then her leggings, leaving her in just her thin, damp underwear. She covered her face with her hand and waited for him to get on with it.

He didn't touch her and after a moment, his footsteps retreated. Lian peeked between her fingers to see him sink onto his throne and stare at her, his chin resting on one fist. In the flickering firelight, he made a fearsome sight, like someone's warped and twisted vision of a man. Looking at him, Lian remembered what Errin had told her, about the torture and suffering he had survived. Of course it would leave its scars.

Lian sat up and pulled her knees up in front of her, hugging them to her chest. Mirrik seemed not to know what to do with her. Surely though, he knew, and he couldn't hurt her as others had similarly hurt him. He wanted two different things, she could see it in his eyes, to take her and not to hurt her, and the two were mutually exclusive in his mind. So what, they would stare at each other until they went crazy? Deep inside, Lian felt a stir of pity for the tortured soul.

Rising to her feet, she took a few hesitant steps toward her king, though she shook from head to toe. He watched her with his deadpan gaze and she faltered before him, her fingers worrying an imaginary hem.

"Your majesty?" she whispered, her nerve nearly failing when she got no response. "King Mirrik?" she tried, but again, nothing. She licked her dry lips. "Karis?" Now he reacted, rising from his throne and stepping toward her. He did not try to touch her, though. Her hand shaking, Lian reached up to touch his face, her fingers brushing his cheek before he pulled away and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't," he said, looking at her with wide, dark eyes. He wanted her, it was so obvious it had to be hurting him, but he just stared. Then it hit her. He couldn't control what she was doing to him, he was helpless to stop it, and it scared him. The fire crackled behind them as she fought to find her voice.

"I won't hurt you," she whispered. His grip on her wrist relaxed and she took back her hand, letting her fingers slide over his palm. Mirrik's throat bobbed as she reached for his shirt, her fingers slowly freeing the black stone buttons. "Tell me to stop, and I will," she told him, feeling his heart thumping through the coarse cloth.

The buttons undone, she pushed the shirt open, the firelight falling on his chest, and now she could see scars upon scars, layers of years spent in pain. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingers finding a long scar that ran from his shoulder across his chest and to his waist. So much pain.

"Stop," he said, his whisky voice thin and desperate. Lian froze, taking her hand away. She looked up into his eyes, trying to reassure him.

"It's okay," she murmured. "Okay?" She waited until he gave a slight nod, then placed both hands upon his bare skin, letting them slide beneath his shirt. She leaned forward and kissed his chest, feeling him flinch away from her. "What's wrong?" she asked, stopping before he had to ask.

"Lips and teeth cause pain," he said, looking beyond her to some miserable moment in the past. Lian laid her hand on his face, drawing his eyes back to her.

"Not always," she said. "I won't, not ever." She kissed him again, feeling him tremble as she stepped closer, their chests touching. Taking his hands in her own, she placed them on her hips. Mirrik wrapped his arms around her, like a dying man clinging to life. She lifted her kisses to his face, letting her lips flutter over his jaw before finding his mouth, their lips touching like strangers.

Mirrik let go of her long enough to shed his shirt, his hands caressing every part of her back and shoulders, like a blind man seeking what he cannot see. "May I take your boots off, my king?" she whispered, kissing his ear and running her fingers through his hair. When he nodded, she slipped from his arms and removed his boots, dragging her chest along his body as she stood.

Slowly, she reached for his trousers, unbuckling the thick belt and letting the stiff hide crumple to the floor, finally releasing the evidence of his desire. Lian backed toward the bed of cushions, leading him by the hands. What had begun as a pity for a tortured soul had deepened to a raw, red hunger, Mirrik's every touch making her skin tingle. She ached for him with a carnality she had never before felt.

Her panties had been soaked through when she finally slipped them off, but the air did little to cool the heat throbbing through her loins. Mirrik did not resist as she drew him down upon the bed, but he watched her with doubtful eyes. They kissed for a few minutes, hands moving over naked flesh, their bodies pressed close together, but Lian needed more. She broke away and straddled the king, feeling his cock head rub along her slick slit. Taking it in her hand she guided it to her opening, easing herself down. She felt the tip press against the maidenhead, pulling within her.

"Stop," Mirrik said, grabbing her by the waist and holding her up. "I won't hurt you." He started to push her off, but she took his hands and squeezed them tight.

"You won't hurt me," she said, trying to make it sound true. "I need you, I need to feel you inside me. Please Karis, my king. Take me." He looked at her for a moment, then pulled her off, much to her dismay. He didn't desert her though, but moved between her legs, sliding inside until he reached her virgin barrier. "Do it," she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist and trying to pull him in. He fought her, confident in his new position of power, but he didn't make her suffer long.

Lian gasped as he ripped through her maidenhood in one swift stroke, the initial sting easing to a dull ache, which vanished as he thrust into her again. She moaned, pleasure rolling over like waves on the shore. Mirrik ravished her with long, slow strokes, each one rocking her back into the coarse cloth of the cushions. He's a fast learner, she thought as he worshipped her neck with tender kisses.

Clutching handfuls of pillow in white knuckled fists, Lian brought her hips up to meet Mirrik's languid thrusts, urging him to hurry. He buried his face in her neck began pounding into her. Lightning flashed behind her eyes and silent thunder racked her body as she cried out again and again, her inner muscles going into a wild spasm, squeezing Mirrik like a clutching fist. He moaned into her shoulder and stiffened, shooting hot jets of cream deep inside her.

Sweaty and exhausted, she lay spent as he rolled off of her. The scent of their sex hung thick in the air, like a rich perfume, as she listened to her heart regain its natural rhythm. Beside her, Mirrik was sitting up, looking into the fire, a dark cloud hanging over his head.

"What's wrong?" she asked, reaching over to rub his rough and ridged arm. When he pulled away, she sat up, trying to look into his face.

"This cannot happen again," he said, his voice tight. Lian licked her lips, not sure what had happened.

"Didn't you enjoy it?" she asked quietly. "Wouldn't you like to do this again?" After a moment Mirrik nodded.

"I am not good," he said. "I am not gentle. You deserve better than me."

"So, what then? We just pretend this didn't happen?"

"I will give you to Errin Mar. He is better."

"But I don't--" she started, the words catching in her throat. "But I don't love him," she said, finding that, among all the other reasons, first and foremost. Mirrik shook his head.

"I don't know what love is," he said, as if weighing each word before speaking it. Lian leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.

"If you would give me up like that," she said, sliding her hands under his arms and around his chest, "then you do. What you don't know, I'll teach you."