A Whore for the King Pt. 07

This story is categorized as science fiction/fantasy, but there are no ray guns or robots. No wizards. No orcs. It is a tale of fictional people living in a fictional kingdom in England a long time ago. There's a lot of sex, but there's also a lot of words devoted to plot and character. Isn't sex more exciting when it involves people we care about? It's my hope that King Harold, Princess Alana, Queen Mother Eunice, Sir Robert, and (especially) Sarah the Whore capture your attention. All characters are adults over 18.

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Alana didn't know how long she would remain imprisoned in the tower. She would have been dismayed if she'd known her confinement would last for months. By the time it was over, she would be unrecognizable. As a princess, she'd grown to be very stout. As a prisoner, the fat quickly melted from her frame, revealing features like cheekbones and a waist.

For days, Alana received no news about her predicament and what she should expect. On the fourth day she was visited by the man chosen to represent her in court. Edmund Scott was a well-known solicitor in Middlebury, having represented parties involved in both civil and criminal cases. He'd never been involved in anything like the case of Queen Alana - no lawyer had - and it took time for him to research the relevant statutes.

"You are charged with two crimes, Your Highness," Scott said. "The most serious offense is the assault of a commoner. Assault is a more serious charge in this case because you are an aristocrat and the alleged victim is not. When a person of privilege abuses someone of lesser status, the charge carries the possibility of greater penalties."

"What penalties?" Alana said. "What could happen to me?"

"Majesty, it is not clear," Scott said. "The King's intolerance of aristocrats who abuse his subjects is well-known. There has only been one case in recent years. It involved three aristocrats who were convicted of offenses nothing like the charges against you. They received very harsh sentences."

"What sentences?" Alana said.

"One man was sent to the gallows," Scott said. "His co-conspirators are currently in prison."

"The gallows?! Prison?!" Alana said.

"That case was nothing like yours, Majesty," Scott said. "It involved a Lord named Sir Albert, who owned a magnificent estate just west of here. It was learned that he and his two sons habitually abused young daughters from the families that farmed his land. The girls were taken to Sir Albert's manor, where he and his sons forced themselves on the poor victims. This happened many times to many girls.

"The king was outraged. He personally oversaw Sir Albert's trial and handed down a sentence so severe it would deter other aristocrats from abusing the king's subjects. He confiscated the estate, ordered the execution of Sir Albert, and sentenced the sons to hard labor. It was not long ago. The public hanging happened just before you came to this kingdom, Your Highness. The King is still trying to decide what to do with Sir Albert's estate. There are gossips who claim the action against Sir Albert was a ruse contrived so King Harold could seize the valuable property for himself. It's a delicate matter that remains unresolved."

"You said I am charged with two crimes," Queen Alana said. "What is the second?"

Scott looked away. He was embarrassed. "You are accused of neglecting your duties as queen."

"What duty have I neglected?" she asked.

"It pertains to your unwillingness to provide an heir," Scott said.

"What!? How can it be a crime for a woman to refuse to spread her legs?"

"It is a crime when that woman is a queen," Scott said.

Alana had been frightened before she met with her lawyer. By the time Scott departed, she was terrified. As a princess, Alana was a rather dull child who indulged in play and satisfying her endless appetites. She was encouraged to study history and statecraft to prepare her to be queen, but she'd never done so. She merely assumed that when she was crowned, she'd be able to do anything she wished. Being locked in the tower gave the young queen a sudden education into the fact that even royals must follow certain rules.

Sir Robert advised King Harold to abstain from any involvement in Queen Alana's trial. "You must avoid doing anything that suggests you might be using your influence to make her sentence either lenient or severe," Sir Robert said. "Let the court handle this. Resist the temptation to attend the proceedings."

"I never want to see that vile woman again," King Harold said. "As soon as her trial is over, this marriage will be annulled. Our union was never consummated, so the church will surely free me from her."

Sir Robert grimaced. "Sire, I beg you to keep an open mind. Anything could happen. If circumstances unfold in a way that makes it possible for the kingdom to get an heir, you know how much that would mean."

The king looked at Sir Robert through narrow, angry eyes. "Nothing could ever persuade me to fuck that beastly woman," he said.

Sir Robert grimaced again. In part, it was unsettling to hear Harold so willing to forego such an important pact with the kingdom of Catacan. In addition, Sir Robert was a refined man who never used coarse language, and he found it difficult to hear anyone utter the word "fuck." Hearing that word pass from the lips of King Harold was almost as unsettling as the many times he'd heard it spoken by the queen mother.

"Sire, I'd like you to consider a suggestion I've weighed carefully," he said. "The attack by the queen cast light on an issue that has become worrisome. Sarah has no official role in your circle. It wasn't a problem when she was merely your private companion. But now she is known and beloved throughout the realm. She presides over a weekly prayer service attended by hopeless people who want to believe she is blessed by God. And now she is at the center of a vexing legal dilemma. Something must be done."

"I have no idea what you are suggesting," the king said.

"Make Sarah your consort," Sir Harold said. "Give her the title. Make her a member of your court. Elevate her to a position that befits the esteem in which she is held so widely. It will settle any unresolved questions over the fact that a commoner has such a prominent place in your majesty's heart."

Harold had never considered the idea. "Is it legal to make a commoner my consort? I thought that only an aristocratic woman could hold that rank."

"That is easily resolved. You have the power to make Sarah an aristocrat. Give her a title and the estate confiscated from Sir Albert after he was convicted of abusing so many young women.

"That settles two troublesome issues. I'm sure you appreciate the seriousness of the charges made by your enemies, who like to allege that the only reason you sent Albert to the gallows is that you wanted to seize his land for yourself. If you give the estate to Sarah, it will shut their mouths forever. None of those cowardly traitors have enough courage to challenge anyone as popular as Sarah."

Harold was dumbfounded. The idea seemed preposterous, but he could find no flaw in Sir Robert's logic.

"It's an intriguing suggestion," Harold said. "Have one of your lawyers review the relevant regulations. There's never been a consort in this kingdom. If we do this, we must scrupulously avoid making a procedural error that might plague us someday."

The review yielded an outline of the legal steps needed to proceed. In the fullness of time, Harold made his way to Sarah's chambers carrying a large gold ring bearing the royal seal.

She was stunned when Harold got down on one knee and presented the ring. "Sarah, I want you in my life forever. I want to be able to say 'I love you' publicly. I want everyone in this kingdom to know the depth of my regard for you. Please, make me the happiest sovereign who ever lived, and be my consort."

Sarah agreed, of course. Harold explained that the first thing she had to do was participate in a ceremony in which Harold would name her Lady Sarah and gift her with the estate formerly held by Sir Albert.

"It's a fine, beautiful holding with a marvelous manor house. The farms produce a substantial annual income which you can spend any way you pleased," the king explained.

"I lack for nothing, Harold," Sarah said. "My every need is being met already. What could I possibly do with an aristocrat's income?"

Harold laughed. "You can do whatever you want! It doesn't matter! Ask Sir Robert. He usually has good answers to questions like that."

She gave the idea some thought, and at length she discussed it with Sir Robert.

"I would like to use my new estate as an orphanage," she said, explaining that she'd seen many poor orphans in the streets of Middlebury and elsewhere. She imagined it would be a simple matter to fill the many large rooms with beds for the homeless boys and girls who need food, clothing, and shelter. She proposed using part of the estate's income to provide teachers who could help the children learn to read, a skill possessed by few commoners; when the orphans became adults, their literacy would provide employment opportunities closed to the majority of subjects. Assigning them to do carefully supervised chores would teach them the skills needed to be farm hands or workers in the king's creameries.

Sarah wasn't trying to be politically astute. She was simply trying to solve a problem no one had corrected before. But Sir Robert saw that her proposal was brilliant. None of the king's detractors could possibly object to Sarah's plan. When it was announced, it made the complainers look stupid and self-serving.

Inevitably, it did much to elevate the fondness Harold's subjects had for Sarah.

"Sarah can be smarter accidentally than I am on purpose," Sir Robert mused privately.

The consort ceremony was the most cheerful event in the castle since the unpleasantness caused by Queen Alana. Much was made of the happy expression that returned to grace the visage of King Harold, who'd looked too melancholy for too long an interval. Sarah wore a magnificent gown of pink and pale green silk, and it was noted that she was surely the most beautiful aristocratic woman in the kingdom.

Harold placed the ring on her hand, then led her to the banquet hall where the event was celebrated. There was music, dancing, food, wine, brandy, a short theatrical performance, and a feeling that perhaps something had finally happened that might put an end to the "Curse of the Queen" that was blamed for every unfortunate event to transpire since Sarah's assault.

Since she was raised as a commoner, Sarah wasn't familiar with all the endless rules of etiquette that governed the lives of aristocrats. No one cared about her mistakes. No one. She'd learn how to act. If not, that was fine as well. On the rare occasions she violated a rule of etiquette with some harmless malapropism, other aristocrats merely smiled and imagined that this evidence of her humble origins was a charming feature, and not a flaw. All that mattered was that the king was happy again, and the kingdom's most beloved and beauteous subject would be henceforth a fixture in court.

Word of Sarah's elevation quickly reached Queen Alana and filled her with dread. She well understood that this astonishing series of events was triggered by her intemperate attack. She finally realized that she was as reviled as Sarah was beloved. She asked her lawyer to inquire about the possibility of annulling her marriage and sending her home to her parents.

"I have already investigated that possibility, your majesty," Scott told her. "Your parents have been informed of the current situation. They believe it is no longer possible that any royal family would welcome you as a bride. If no other answer is found, they suggest that you be sent to a convent."

Alana was stunned. Not even her parents wanted her! How could she have caused such an unforeseeable circumstance?

By the time her trial began, the queen recognized that the evidence against her was so strong that a conviction was inevitable. Her assault on Sarah happened in front of a room full of believable witnesses who'd given sworn statements that provided identical accounts. She'd finally come to appreciate that she'd attacked someone held in special regard by everyone who knew her and most who didn't.

Her lawyer advised her to deny nothing and make no excuses. She admitted everything, begged for mercy, and expressed regret. She apologized profusely and publicly, asking for forgiveness from Sarah and everyone who witnessed the assault. She apologized to the king and all his subjects for failing to try to provide an heir, and pledged that she'd do her very best to get pregnant if given another chance.

By the end, she was crying. Her lawyer thought that was a good thing, since it seemed to add to the impression she was genuinely sorry.

Her sorrow was genuine, but so was her guilt. The queen's fate was to be determined by an elderly aristocrat who'd participated in many trials during his long career as a solicitor, advocate and judge. Sir Charles was considered to be stern but fair, and he was appointed because it was expected that everyone would accept his ruling, whatever it might be.

"Your highness, the most relevant fact in the case against you is that you have violated a law that is considered especially sacred in this kingdom," Sir Charles said to Queen Alana. "Aristocrats may be able to abuse commoners in other places, but not in the realm of King Harold. It cannot simply be forgiven just because you have pledged to not break this law again.

"Your failure to produce an heir is another matter. I believe that leniency is possible here, given your promise to resolve this troublesome matter posthaste.

"Therefore, I sentence you to continued imprisonment in the tower until such time as you become pregnant. Perhaps this will motivate you to fulfill your duty as soon as you possibly can.

"I have something else in mind regarding the assault on Lady Sarah. It is intended to make your punishment fit your crime."

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On the following day, Queen Alana was taken to the kitchen where she attacked Sarah. Also at hand were all the witnesses, as well as Sarah herself, who seemed very unhappy that the judge required her to be present. Sir Robert was also there; he'd been appointed to be an officer of the court and oversee the sentence. Alana's lawyer Edmund Scott was the only other non-witness present; he didn't like being there either, but it was his final duty to his client.

Alana was held by the same two soldiers she'd ordered to restrain Sarah. They were instructed to bend the queen over the same table where Sarah had been assaulted. Alana was crying by this time, but it made no difference.

There had been some debate over who would carry out the sentence. It was felt it would be unfair to give the job to any man, because men are so much stronger than women. The job was offered to Sarah, who rejected it with distaste and horror. There was only one obvious candidate. The queen mother had witnessed the assault, and she was happy to shoulder the duty.

"Hold her in place!" she said to the soldiers restraining Queen Alana. The queen mother bent down, took the hem of the queen's rough woolen dress, and lifted it to her waist, exposing her naked backside to everyone in the room.

"Your belt, please," she said to the cook, who handed over the very same leather strap used to whip Lady Sarah.

"The witnesses agree that Queen Alana struck her victim nine times, so she is to receive the same number of lashes in the same manner," Sir Robert said. With that, the queen mother got into position, raised the belt, and slashed it across Alana's bottom. There had been speculation that the queen mother would be merciful and go gently with Alana, but it was clear immediately that mercy would not be shown. She whipped Alana again, and again, and Sir Robert counted each lash.

"... four... five... six," Sir Robert said. Most of the witnesses watched dutifully, but Sarah buried her face in the king's chest. Robert put one hand over Sarah's ear, and it helped muffle the awful noise, but she still flinched every time she heard the slap of leather against flesh.

"seven... eight... nine. And that is all," Sir Robert said.

Queen Alana was bawling uncontrollably. It was, by far, the most painful thing she'd experienced in her life. As a child her parents never struck her, and the fact that she was a princess made all others reluctant to correct her bad behavior. It's not surprising that she was a little brat who grew to be a big brat. The question on everyone's mind focused on whether being whipped and shamed would change anything. She was sent back to her cell to recover and reflect.

After three days, Alana sent word that she invited King Harold to join her in bed.

"I can't possibly have sexual congress with that woman!" Harold thundered. "No! I want this marriage annulled, and I want her sent away!"

Sir Robert asked the queen mother to intervene. "Son, the little bitch has been brought low. She had begged for mercy and forgiveness, and so far she has received little. Do your duty and fuck her. It is the only way anything positive can come from this sordid affair."

"The last thing I want is to fuck that ugly little pig!" Harold said. "Sir Robert, lend me your support on this! Do you think I should fuck that bitch?!"

Sir Robert cringed. Hearing such coarse language was unpleasant enough coming from a stable hand or blacksmith, much less the king and his mother.

"Sire, I'm afraid I agree that your duty requires that you lie with the queen," he said.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Harold said. "Do neither of you remember what she did to Sarah?!"

"It is burned in my memory," Eunice said. "None of us will ever forget. But that was then, and this is now. Son, you don't have to like her. You don't have to forgive her. All you need to do is plant your seed and wait for it to sprout. I know how hard this must be, but you should stop thinking you have a choice. You are the king. Do your duty."

Harold angrily departed Sir Robert's office and fetched a bottle of brandy from the wine cellar. He locked himself in his chambers, and began to drink. And drink. He drank until the bottle was empty. There were long intervals of silence punctuated by alarming utterances of loud and profane language that would be considered extreme on a whaling ship.

How does a king learn to swear like that? Sir Robert wondered. He'd not been exposed to such language as a youth, and he naively thought that most aristocrats have equally sheltered childhoods. But then Sir Robert remembered Harold's father, the late King Alfred.

Harold has inherited his father's proficiency at invective, he thought.

The next morning Harold emerged from his chambers with bloodshot eyes and a headache bad enough to hobble a horse. "I'll do it," he told his mother. "I'll do it, but I won't like it."

"Doing it is mandatory, son. Liking it is optional," she said.

The physician gave the king willow tea, which helped the headache, but upset his stomach. "When I overindulge, I find it best to drink nothing but water the next day. Lots and lots of water," Sir Robert said. "Of course, I've never consumed an entire bottle of brandy in one night. Come to think, I've never heard of anyone drinking that much in such a brief interval. You may be in uncharted territory, your majesty."

Harold spent the entire day and the next night recovering. On the following morning he went to the tower and had his first meeting with Queen Alana since locking her in the tower. She looked miserable in her woolen garb. She'd spent weeks sleeping on a pallet and bathing from buckets of cold water. Her hair looked like a bird's nest. She wore no makeup. King Harold looked at her sad countenance and felt small twinges of pity.