Curse of the Dark Lord

Another request - this one for Rin. All characters are eighteen years old or over.

***

Prince Devon Brightheart stood to attention and waited for the blow to fall.

He was decked in his formal pale white and blues of his family colours. In front of him stood the throne; and upon the throne sat his father, King Kaius. Taller and broader and stronger than Devon, even at his advanced age; every inch the king. As long as Devon could remember he had felt his father's stern fall upon him; ever judging and ever finding failure. At his side his mother, the Queen; every bit as stern. Every bit as forbidding.

To Devon's left stood Prince Morden, his older brother and heir to the realm. An accomplished hero of the Eastern Wars. By his side stood his wife; the young Dutchess Pella, with her honey-coloured skin and her dark mass of curls. A happy couple. A favored couple, ever in his father's light as Devon was in the shade.

Devone glanced to his right where his younger sister Myral stood. The blonde, willowy Princess knew what was coming as well- she'd been the one to break the news to him- and her blue eyes shone with sympathy as she caught his gaze. Past Myral stood his elder sister. Enya was dressed in her astrologer's robes, but her eyes peeked past her cowl to glare at him. She made an impatient gesture to draw Devon's attention back to his father's words.

"...and that is why I have decided to reward my youngest son, Devon, with the post of Guardian of the Grey Tombs. His scholarly commitment to learning with see him in good stead."

Devon knew it was coming, had known it was coming, had thought himself prepared for it; and yet it took everything he could to bow low in thanks. The murmured words of gratitude that came out of his mouth tasted like ashes.

He was being exiled.

***

"It's not an exile," said Myral as the two of them walked through the halls of the Brightheart Palace.

"The Grey Tombs are a frozen wasteland, Myral. There's nothing out there to threaten the kingdom apart from a handful of wight lords who cower in their barrows. There are no cities of any note, no enemies to challenge us...I'm being abandoned, Myral."

His sister sighed. "I know. She twisted her hands together as she walked beside Devon. "Listen... father does care for you."

"Father has no need for a bookish son," Devon growled. "Father wants another hero, like Morden."

"Devon... this won't be forever. Father just wants to make sure..."

"Father wants to make sure that you are safe."

Both of the siblings turned. Enya glided down the passage towards them, her cowl pushed back to reveal her own neatly-kept blonde tresses. Her eyes- the same blue as her siblings- bore into them. "You are upset."

Devon paused. "I am confused, elder sister. I may not be the most mighty of sons, but I've been dutiful. What could I possibly have done that would result in this...this..."

"Punishment?" His sister's eyes were cold and cool. When they were younger Devon had once joked that she must have been carved out of stone rather than birthed. "It disturbs me that you don't trust your father and your King."

"How is this best for the kingdom?" Devon shot back.

His elder sister paused. Then she turned to Myral. "Don't you have studies to attend?"

Myral tried. She really did. But her elder sister- student of the Twelve Prophecies and Priestess of the Bright Gods- was as unyielding as stone. And so, with a mumbled excuse and a sympathetic look, Myral fled.

Enya's watched her leave. "She does you no favours by coddling you."

"Coddling me? She offered me sympathy when no-one else did! She must be the only one of this family that doesn't despise me!"

"Come with me. I have something to show you."

***

The two siblings stood in front of a locked door.

"I've never come in here," said Devon. "This part of the castle is off-limits."

"For good reason." Enya drew a key out of her robes and worked the lock. "This is the study of your great-uncle Termus."

"I didn't know we had such an uncle."

Enya nodded. "Due to no small effort on the priesthood's part." The door opened and she gestured. "Go on inside."

Devon stepped into the room, a lantern in hand. The room was small- little more than a closet- and dimly lit by a small window. The small bed and writing desk were covered in a layer of dust. "Why was he removed from the record?"

"Because he was a curse."

"What?" Devon turned, creating a cloud of dust with his movements. "How?"

Enya sighed and looked around the tiny room. "The Brightheart family has been chosen by the Bright Gods to lead the kingdom. And by and large we have faithfully obeyed their mandate. But there is a curse. One that the Dark Prisoner bestowed on this family as revenge for a long-ago slight." She took a deep breath. "Every few generations, our family produces a Dark Lord."

"A Dark Lord?"

"A man- and it is always a man- of vile nature and endless ambition. Who seeks nothing more than the corruption of this family and conquest of the kingdom. Who murders and seduces and schemes." Enya turned to face Devon. "There are prophecies that can be used to determine when a Dark Lord will be born."

Devon opened his mouth to ask the obvious question; but when he looked into his sister's eyes he realised he did not want or need to. "Does Myral know?"

Enya shook her head. "No. No-one but the King, the Queen...and myself. This is the kindest thing we could do."

Devon turned around. Suddenly the room seemed far, far too small. The walls seemed to slither and push until he fancied he could feel himself crushed between them. One of his hands moved to brace himself against the writing desk, and the movement caused something to drop onto the floor.

Taking a deep breath, he bent down and plucked the object off the floor. It was a ring, the silver long tarnished into black. A dark red gemstone sat in the middle and he fancied that underneath the polished surface he saw something shift and swim. He said, "When will you ever trust me again? When can I come back?"

"Not long."

Devon smiled a bitter smile. His sister- while cold and stern- was a fundamentally honest person and had never mastered the art of lying. "I see." He pushed past her, leaving the priestess behind.

***

The royal household feasted.

Devon sat at his place after his elder brother Morden and his wife, Pella. The fires were banked, flooding the room in a dull red light.

He had his answer, he supposed. Answers to why he'd been pushed aside; answers why he'd never been trusted with any sort of responsibility or title. Why he felt like an unwanted extra his entire life.

The tarnished black ring was in his hand. He must have taken it with him when he stormed off. Like a petulant child, he thought, and not like a man who'd just found out he was meant to be a villain. He laughed, turning the ring over and over in his hand.

"Is all well, Prince?" He turned. Pella was smiling at him.

Devon's hands clenched hard on the ring. His brother's wife was voluptuous and beautiful. Her honey-coloured skin gleamed in the firelight and her dark curls seemed to frame her head in shadow. He remembered the day she'd arrived at the Palace and he'd prayed, he'd prayed like a madman, to the Bright Gods that he'd be betrothed to her-

"Yes," he said. "Everything's fine." He pushed a smile onto his face and stared at the bloody, greasy cuts of meat in front of him. "I have everything I want."

She said something polite back to him but he didn't hear her. Everything I want. He had nothing he wanted. He wanted Myral by his side. He wanted his elder sister's respect. He wanted a chance to prove himself. Gods save him, he wanted his brother's wife in his bed.

He closed his eyes and for a moment let the rage and hurt and jealousy loose to roar and scream in his head.

Then he pushed it all back down like a good, dutiful son. When he rose to stumble, drunk, into his room, he left the ring on the table.

***

She stirred.

She felt his presence, felt his touch, but above all she felt his will. That burning anger that fuelled his ambition. She knew it well.

He'd changed. That was fine. Sometimes he was older, sometimes younger; sometimes he was a warrior, sometimes a diplomat or alchemist. But he was, in a way that only she really understood, the same man. Her Dark Lord.

But he was isolated. Untrained. Confused. Unready. He needed her help. He needed her to show him what he was...

***

"What's this?"

Milly frowned as she helped the Princess Myral from the table. She reached down and picked up the tarnished silver ring. "I think it might belong to your brother, Princess. I saw him holding it earlier."

Her mistress sighed and Milly winced. Why had she been so silly as to bring up her mistress's brother? Myral said softly, "Take it. Clean it tonight, will you? We can give it to him when he... I mean, as a parting..."

Milly nodded as she tucked the ring into her pocket. "I'm sure he will appreciate it, mistress."

***

Devon lay in bed, drunk and miserable. His dreams were full of misery and humiliation and loss.

Myral slept as well. Her dreams were softer; gentler. But for all of that there was still an undercurrent of grief.

Enya slept restlessly, her slumber disturbed by dire visions.

Morden and Pella slept a dreamless sleep, utterly unaware of anything but each other.

And Milly slept not at all. She cleaned the ring, rubbing at the blackened metal with painstaking care. Her mistress lay slumbering a little distance away. The ring was a pretty little thing under the tarnish. The metal gleamed with a pale sort of light and the dark red gem drew in her eye, reminding her of...of...

Put me on.

Milly stopped, frowning. Had someone said something?

Put me on.

Milly pushed her mess of red hair back from her face. It was such a lovely ring. What would it look like if she-

Put me on.

She shivered and glanced back to her slumbering mistress. It was a lovely ring but so small. Surely it would be too big for her brother? She should check. After all, no one would notice if she wore it, would they? It's not like she was stealing it. She was just trying it for a moment-

Put me on.

Milly slid the ring onto her finger. A warm sensation settled over her heart as she stared at the blood-red gem in the centre of the ring. It felt so right. It felt so right...

Listen to me girl. Listen to my words in your mind. Listen and let them become your words. Your thoughts. Your beliefs. Your will.

Milly let out a long, shuddering sigh as images-thoughts-emotions- filled her mind. Darkly erotic whispers, hot and soft and certain, flooded her soul. Her eyes stared sightlessly as she lay back, red hair splayed out around her.

Let me thoughts become yours let my will become yours let my plans become yours let my desires become yours...

Her hands moved blindly to push down her dress until her fingers could move to clamp over her pink nipples. She pulled at them while pleasure flooded her mind.

Listen to me, about the Dark Lord Devon...

Another of her hands pushed up her dress, moving to snake underneath the layers of fabric until at last it found her hot, wet core, fingers moving shamelessly to rub against her cunny while the silent voice filled her mind...

Hours later Milly rose, blinking. She eased the ring off fingers wet with her desire. She eyed the sleeping princess and smiled, moving as silently as a shadow to kneel beside the blonde girl. Slowly and carefully, she placed the ring into the Princess's outstretched hand.

The Princess's sleeping face creased and she let out a soft murmur. She shifted in her bed as though about to rouse; and then, her eyes still closed, she took the ring and eased it ever so gently onto one of her fingers. Myral's body suddenly went slack and a smile stole across her sleeping face.

Milly rose with a satisfied smirk before stealing out of the room.

***

Devon woke with a start. In the dying light of the fireplace embers, he saw a shadowy figure creep through the door. "Who's that?" he asked.

A voice- soft and feminine- murmured in the dark. "My Prince... it's Milly."

"Myral's maid?"

"That's right, oh Prince Mine. Your sister sent me to let you know that you will be missed." There was a rustle of clothing. "She wanted you to know that she thinks of you, always." She slid into his bed and he realised that Milly- shy, sweet Milly- was naked, her warm body pressing against his. "She wanted me to make sure you were taken care of tonight."

Devon opened his mouth to say something- to ask her what was going on, to tell her to stop- but she swooped in like a bird of prey, claiming his lips with her own. She moaned into his mouth as her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hands moved like those of a wanton slut rather than the shy girl he knew. She mounted him, hips moving in a soft rhythm.

She pulled away from the kiss and he said, "Why?"

He could see her smile-raw and uninhibited- in the dark. "Because I love you, oh Lord of Mine" she breathed, "and because I know what you will be."

"What will I be?"

She laughed, impaling herself on his cock, and he forgot the question.

***

Princess Myral lay on the bed, shivering. Her skin was wet with sweat; it clung to her nightgown, plastering it against her skin. Beneath her closed lids her eyes flickered with dreams.

Dreams of conquest. Dreams of passion and seduction and arousal. Dreams of a figure as dark as night, as mighty as a thunderbolt, as glorious and as terrible as death. Striding across the land, bringing ruin to his enemies. Bringing order to his kingdom.

And to his lovers...

Her hands moved restlessly across her body as her dreams spoke to her of a future she would help to create.

***

Dawn was near breaking when Milly slipped into Myral's bedchamber. She eyed the sweat-soaked girl and smiled. Shucking off her dress again, she slid under the covers.

The blonde princess woke to find her red-haired maid's hands on her body. The girl's eyes widened for a moment at the illicit contact.

And then she moaned, sliding into the sapphic embrace of her servant. The two kissed hungrily as Milly stripped her of her nightgown. "Sister," breathed the princess.

"Sister," moaned her maid as she slathered kisses on her mistress's neck. "You understand. You understand what he is..."

"...and what we must do." Myral moaned as Milly's hands moved down to cup her hot, wet sex. One of her fingers slithered inside, rubbing against her inner walls, touching the fragile barrier-

"No- not yet. That is his to break."

"Of course," Milly laughed. "As he broke mine. I am full of his seed, sister. Taken by him. Bred by him." She smiled wickedly. "Would you like a taste?"

A few moments later Milly's naked body lay atop the bed. Her hands pinched at her breasts while her legs were flung wide open. Her mistress- the virgin Princess Myral- licked and sucked at her cunt, her tongue shamelessly collecting the bounty of her brother's seed. And the ring- gleaming silver and red- lay on the bedside table.

***

"A week?" asked Devon. "So soon?"

Queen Savine Brightheart smiled at her son. If he hadn't known about the prophecy he might even have thought it real. "We will be preparing a great feast for you. All of the Dukes of the realm shall be present! Your father wants you to understand how important this mission is."

Devon felt himself nod, answering her lie with one of his own. "I am grateful."

He looked at his mother. Tall like her family, with a hair so pale that it was near-white. Still beautiful, after three children and twenty years of ruling; her face unlined and her figure bountiful. She had been a kindly- if distant- figure throughout his life, sweeping in to dispense gentle words and reassurance while the nannies and maids managed the more arduous tasks of rearing him. He'd always thought of her as fundamentally on his side; that, no matter his father's views on his useless son, that she would support him.

Now he wondered what those blue eyes of hers saw when they gazed upon him. What sort of horrors her imagination had conjured when she had held him as a child.

"Thank you," he said, "For the consideration."

She touched his hand. "We will miss you."

"I have no doubt."

***

Princess Myral walked through the crowds, Milly at her side. She wore a dress of blue and cream that clung to her body and flared out from her hips. It was modest and elegant and covered the dozen love-bites, scratches and bruises from her love-play with Milly.

The ring sat on her finger. As she walked she eyed the many ladies of the realm, muttering under her breath.

The Lady Ashcroft? Her family did have power, even if she was past breeding age...what about the Knight Amelie? It would be a sight to imagine her pinned down in bed, those muscles of hers useless as Devon claimed her will.... She passed through rooms, her gaze like a hunting hawk. Her Elder sister passed her, robes trailing on the stone floor. Yes. But not so soon. That one will be a difficult prey to bring down. Her gaze fell on her mother and the faintest smile crossed her lips. Oh, mother dearest. Always so formal. But don't worry. I'll make sure you love your children in ways you've never conceived. She kept on searching. More maids? Not a terrible idea. The eyes and ears of the palace, and not as carefully watched by others. But my brother deserves the best. My brother deserves...

Her gaze fell on the long dark curls of the Dutchess Pella. Lingered on her flawless honey skin, on her generous bosom, on her dark brown eyes. On her wedding ring- gleaming gold- in her ring finger.

And Myral smiled.

***

Pella smiled at the girl in front of her.

The Princess Myral was a shy girl, she had found. She seemed to spend most of her time with her brother- an understandable bond, if one doomed to wither as the demands of politics would see the two separated sooner rather than later. Pella- better than anyone- understood the requirements of duty.

She had been lucky in that regard, she supposed. Morden was a strong and brave man, and a kind one at that. She certainly had no regrets concerning their marriage, even if he was away so often. She merely wished that she had the opportunity to make more friends-

"Duchess? Is everything alright?"

Well, there was no time like the present. She nodded. "Apologies. Just lost in thought." She took a sip of the wine that the girl's maid had poured for her. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh," said the girl, "that was no bother. I was thinking of the Prince Devon."

"It is..." Pella paused. She'd asked Morden about it only to receive a warning not to challenge his father on the matter. She liked the thin, shy scholarly boy; certainly, he'd done nothing to justify his ill-treatment. "It is a surprise."

"It is," said the Princess. "More to the point, it is unjust."

Pella frowned over her wine. It was one thing to express uncertainty over a decision. But calling it unjust? That was a challenge to the primacy of the King himself. "I know you and your brother are close but be careful with your words."

For a moment the girl's face twitched and Pella saw something ugly and raw and violent beneath; and then her expression smoothed back into innocent sweetness. "My apologies. At any rate, I did not ask you to come here to discuss such matters." She turned to her maid. "Milly- could you bring it here?"

The girl brought forth a small pale linen cloth and opened it. Inside was a silver ring with a dark red gemstone. "I wanted to give you this gift, you see. Something that recently came into my possession, but I felt that it might suit our future queen all the better." She leaned forward and there was a smile on her face- sultry and certain- that Pella had never seen on the sweet girl before. "Why don't you try it on?"