Making Amends

Unnerved by the bizarre sensation that exodus left her with, Sienna acted without thinking and shifted the hand cradling her belly down to cover her sex instead. The freshly-deflowered knight blushed furiously as that hand arrived to find her once pristine snatch gaping open and utterly drenched in a sticky blend of her and the baron's combined emissions. Feeling like nothing so much as a little girl trying to contain an overfull bladder, she sealed that entrance with the palm of her hand and swiftly buried her blazing face even deeper into the pillows before her. The sensation of warm, sticky seed welling up from her depths to ooze out against her hand was enough to make Sienna's skin crawl, but she simply didn't know what else to do. And before she began to even contemplate what alternatives might exist, all were taken from her.

"C'mere," the man beside Sienna absently mumbled, everything from his voice to his laboured breathing making clear that he was nearly as drained as she was. Perhaps even more so. Before the warrior maiden could take advantage of their newfound parity, however, his hand was stretching across her back to grip at the shoulder opposite him and then he was pulling her to his side. She tried to squirm away, tried to put some space between them instead, but between her desperate insistence that her thighs remain together and having but a single hand free it proved only too easy for the baron to manhandle her into whatever position he wished.

Almost before she knew it Sienna found herself face to face with the man who had stolen her innocence, his surprisingly strong body an anchor to which her own nubile flesh was tightly secured. Hyacin had positioned his prey so that her head rested squarely on his shoulder, a placement which allowed the arm beneath to stretch its way down her back to where his hand could clutch tight to the upper cheek of her achingly sore ass. That hand ensured her hips remained snug against his side, in the process trapping between them the despoiled maiden's own which yet served as the daintiest of dams in sealing up her still-leaking pussy.

The ambassador said nothing more after that, seemingly disinclined towards any activity more strenuous than mere breathing. Judging by how tight he held her, however, it was clear to Sienna that he was not yet prepared to release her from her night's servitude. For what might have been several minutes or nothing more than mere seconds she tried to hold her head up, but doing so quickly became tiresome and so eventually she let it settle down onto her conqueror's shoulder. When a moment later he lazily turned towards her, let their eyes lock for a long moment, then leaned in to plant a lingering kiss on her forehead, the blonde knight found herself utterly dumbfounded. She was so thoroughly stunned by the act that she had offered no response at all, either positive or negative, by the time the man let his head fall back into some pillows and at last closed his sharp green eyes.

Once again caught entirely off her guard by an act of what seemed almost genuine affection and intimacy, Sienna found herself gazing tentatively into the baron's now-serene features. Before her was a man who had coerced her into his bed by threat of arms, ravaged her with the ferocity of a wildman, left her rump so sore it was more like than not to still be glowing come the morn, and then ignored her desperate pleas to instead spend himself inside her. Not a single one of those acts spoke of so much as respect, let alone affection, yet in their wake the man was holding her as close as he might a childhood sweetheart without whom life was unimaginable. Could that disparity simply be chalked up as one more contradiction in a night which seemed utterly full of them, or had the foreigner come to actually... like her?

As that question surged through those few of Sienna's weary synapses which had yet to shut down for the night, the blushing maiden tried to make herself if not comfortable then at least not uncomfortable either. Such a task proved challenging, however, as the position Baron Hyacin had trapped her in was more than a little awkward what with her perched on her side with one arm trapped beneath their bodies and the other laying limp up above. Likewise, the rather aggressive intimacy of a largely unfamiliar bedmate pawing possessively at her rump only served to amplify that seemingly endless font of raw anxiety which washed over Sienna in such force as to prevent her from relaxing. With a range of movement limited to only what that grip would allow, though, she could do precious little to make herself more comfortable save slide marginally up or down the man's side, choose how much of her leg to drape over his, and reposition her one free arm. She tried several iterations of the last, but nothing quite seemed to help her settle in until she tentatively decided to curl it inwards and place it atop the baron's broad chest.

By that point the candles which had illuminated Silverwing Keep's finest guest chamber earlier in the evening had long since burnt out, leaving it nearly impossible for those inside to make out any but the broadest details of whatever lay before their eyes. Still, with her face so close to the imperial envoy's, Sienna thought she could see his lips curl slightly upwards when her hand came to rest above his torso. She couldn't be certain though, not any more than she could tell whether the subtle squeeze which the fingers cupping her ass delivered a few heartbeats later was a deliberate act or simply the routine twitch of an exhausted body.

Whether the baron's expressions of approval at her tentative embrace were real or simply an imagined fantasy, Sienna neither felt nor saw anything further for quite some time afterwords. Laying in the dark beside her unexpected bedmate, she was surprised to find herself unable to follow him into the realm of dreams. As exhausted as she felt, her mind and body simply refused to shut down. The latter twitched periodically as the last vestiges of her thwarted arousal stubbornly lingered on, and the former was steadfast in insisting she revisit every last element of her recent encounter. To make matters worse, every once in awhile she found herself distracted by the pool of seed within her belly shifting slightly as if it had broken through some new barrier and found yet another secluded corner of her womanhood within which to pool.

Inevitably, such reminders of what she soon might carry within herself guided the semi-conscious musings of Sienna's anxious mind down a few paths in particular. When she was yet a child and as she had flowered into womanhood, some of the innocent maiden's older peers and relatives had insisted that in time she, too, would begin to feel a certain urge towards the miraculous journey of motherhood. It would present as a subtle yearning at first, or so they said, but one that only grew as the months and years ticked by. There had been a time when Sienna vociferously denied such assertions, but in recent years she had started to understand where they were coming from. Certainly, many aspects of carrying and raising a child gave her pause, not least among them what pregnancy would mean for her martial career, but at the same time there was an undeniable... appeal... to the thought of shepherding a new life into the world.

Of course, when the intrigued lady-knight had caught herself imagining the father of her potential children he had always been far more caring and considerate of a man than the one in whose arm she was currently cradled. One much closer to herself in age as well. And, naturally, it went without saying that she hardly fancied the thought of carrying even a single child sired by a man who had forced himself on her, no matter how well such an assailant dressed the occasion up with honeyed words and feigned chivalry. Her children deserved a better father than that by far. Still, while the shame brought on by her current ordeal would likely plague her for months or years to come the act itself had been far less taxing a trial than she had anticipated. Perhaps, once the current crisis had died down, it was time she pulled her father aside and informed him that she might just be willing to reconsider her stance on his oft-stated goal of finding a husband for his only daughter. She wasn't ready to be married, not yet, but... perhaps being courted would not be such a terrible thing after all. As the duke was wont remind her every chance he got, it wasn't like she would remain young forever.

Sienna was still contentedly imagining the face of the man to whom she might just give herself (his strong, chiseled jaw... his tidy, thick beard... the sort of piercing eyes which would be able to see right through her feigned disinterest...) when a sudden noise snapped her from her reverie. While exhaustion had left the drowsy maiden far too sluggish to truly catch that initial interruption, her warrior instincts came alive a second later leaving her tense as she patiently awaited any indication of danger. A moment later the sound came again, but from far closer than she had anticipated. A loud snore, and nothing else, erupted from the man beside Sienna with such force that she only barely managed to avoid jumping clear out of her skin.

Blushing ferociously, the blonde knight closed her eyes and forced her rampant nerves to settle down. For a moment, she scowled at the revelation that Baron Hyacin was prone to snoring. More than a few of her comrades suffered from that particular failing, and the presence of such men on assignments which stretched long enough to require a night or two of camping always made the prospect of falling asleep far more of a challenge than it ought to be. Spending a night in bed with one was thus an entirely unappealing prospect. After a moment or two, though, the young warrior remembered how difficult it could be to wake a man once his snoring had started up. Eyes narrowing, Sienna contemplated whether it would be worth trying to disentangle herself and slip away if the baron truly was such a deep sleeper. No doubt he wouldn't take kindly to being woken up if she failed, but then he hadn't actually laid out any demands that she stay the night either.

Deciding that an escape attempt was worth the risk, the deflowered maiden carefully lifted her hand up off the slumbering baron's chest and reached behind herself to grab his wrist. Her eyes remained fixed on the man's face, warily watching for any signs that he was about to stir, but no such indications came even when she carefully pulled his hand far enough away to give herself room for maneuvering. Once she was free of Hyacin's grip, moving slowly and carefully to the edge of the bed without disturbing him became a simple matter. Upon reaching her destination, Sienna silently rose to her feet, gathered up the scant few garments which had decorated her nubile figure an hour or three prior, and swiftly slipped them back on. After that only one last test of the anxious maiden's good luck remained, a heavy door of aged oak which stood as the final barrier between her and freedom. Fortunately, the eternals seemed to be on Sienna's side as a quick prayer that the door make no sound was answered in the affirmative. With no further cause to linger, she swiftly slipped out into the moonlit hall and silently fled as fast as she dared in the direction of her own chambers.

* Seven Months Later *

Baron Hyacin Lyselliol III of the Lacanth Marches, Emissary of the Imperial Crown and knight in good standing of the Argent Order wore an ornate outfit of imperial blue, a silk cape bearing the insignia of the Etraskian Empire, and a very broad smile indeed as he strode confidently towards the throne room of Silverwing keep for the first time in his life. There were few things, after all, which brought the ambassador more joy than a feast held in his honour. It was certainly unusual for a nobleman of his pedigree to take such pleasure in the position he held, most of his contemporaries back home sought out a position in the imperial court above all else and considered venturing beyond the border a kind of living hell. Unlike Hyacin, they preferred to squabble like starving dogs over even the slightest scrap of attention their callous sovereign deigned to pay to the likes of them. But then, such courtiers were, to a man, imbeciles. Not even one in a hundred would rise to prominence through such efforts, yet far more than that would wind up poisoned at breakfast, knifed in a secluded corridor by the light of the moon, or, should they prove particularly fortunate, merely exiled from the court in disgrace.

No, fighting tooth and nail to survive in such a den of desperate vipers had never held much appeal for the good baron. Instead, Hyacin had only ever sought out the more humble position of an imperial emissary. Thus, while his myriad counterparts back home spent their days warring with one another over incremental advancements and petty rivalries, he wiled away those very same days being wined and dined by simpering foreigners. As a representative of the Emperor himself, wherever he went pitiful locals tripped over themselves seeking to accommodate his every whim so as not to cause even the slightest insult which might incur the wrath of his powerful patron. Hyacin's choice of career might have meant his name was unlikely to ever grace the pages of history, much less to inspire awe in the capital, but whenever duty called him to one province or another he lived like a lion among mice. To his eyes that was a very fine trade indeed. Some among his peers might have called him a bully, true, others going so far as to add cowardice to such a charge, but the baron could hardly have cared less what such hypocrites thought. He was a man of simple pleasures, all of which could be attained from spineless foreigners with far greater ease than they could his fellow imperials.

As easily as he could enjoy himself in any free city or petty kingdom, however, Hyacin had a growing feeling that the puny little Leithien Duchy to which he had just returned would rapidly become a firm favourite among the many foreign courts which served as his playgrounds. After the debacle last spring which saw their idiot princess attack him without the slightest hint of provocation, the baron was willing to bet her family and their various retainers would spend a generation or two desperate to avoid even the merest hint of imperial displeasure, to say nothing of placating him specifically. The little bitch in question had certainly gone the extra mile in her own efforts to earn herself a pardon, showing up at the door to his chambers that very same night all dolled up and practically begging to be ploughed.

Naturally, Hyacin had been only too glad to oblige in humbling the arrogant wench. He was, after all, no stranger to using his position as cover to lift a skirt or three. Indeed, after more than a decade in his post he considered himself something of a connoisseur of provincial pussy, a status which came from having sampled the charms of foreign sluts in more than a dozen different lands. Of all the world's many undeniable truths, the fact that every palace, great or small, was packed to the brim with serving girls who knew better than to refuse an important guest had long been first in his mind, and rare indeed was the city without at least one suitable brothel where desperate whores willing to debase themselves for pocket change congregated in the worship of their betters.

Of course, should such easy conquests alone not prove sufficient to qualify him, the baron could even boast of having had his way with a few highborn sluts here or there, a precious handful of those rare fools either gullible or reckless enough not to spurn his advances outright. Still, as many foreign women as he had taken to bed it was hard to think of even one he had enjoyed working over more than he had that idiot blonde who had been fool enough to attack him while playing soldier. What had her name been? S... something. Sierra? It hardly mattered. She was of little importance, simply an amusing treat he had allowed himself and nothing more. That said, the ambassador had spent much of the last few hours wondering whether the little brat would have the guts to show her face at the upcoming feast or whether she would instead spend his entire visit sulking in her chambers.

When Hyacin's confident gait finally brought him to the stately doors of Silverwing's throne room, the baron couldn't help but note the collection of local knights standing at attention to each side of that portal. Idly, he wondered whether any had been among those who attacked him on his last visit. With their visors down and their personal shields replaced by heaters bearing the emblem of their lord, however, it was impossible to tell one from another and so he simply breezed past the warriors without paying them a second thought.

Passing through the throne room doors, the ambassador entered a chamber every bit as crowded as it was elegant, the high-ceilinged space dominated by a quartet of massive wooden tables piled high with food and drink. There must have been a hundred local aristocrats and dignitaries sitting around them, perhaps even more. Hyacin was hardly an easy man to please but even he had to admit that the feast his hosts had thrown together seemed at first glance to be among the most impressive he had ever witnessed. It was little more than a pale shadow of those his master hosted, of course, but one couldn't expect too much from a pack of provincials.

The baron was still taking in the magnificent aromas of fresh bread and roast pig when his eyes began to sweep casually across the crowd before him, eventually coming to linger on one particularly comely maid. She was certainly pretty enough to strike his fancy, what with the bright coppery curls which bounced just so as her head turned and a pair of rosy cheeks that he imagined made her seem to be perpetually blushing. Hyacin couldn't imagine the girl's breasts were much larger than an apple each despite her corset's best efforts at accenting them, but on such a slender frame as she possessed he would have had it no other way.

As luck would have it the willowy maiden's freckled face turned her admirer's way mere moments after he first spotted her, but when Hyacin quickly flashed her a wolfish grin her cheeks darkened past their natural pink and she promptly turned instead towards the older woman sitting to her left. The pair certainly looked similar enough to be mother and daughter, he mused while giving the elder her own once over, though the companion could perhaps have been an aunt or cousin instead. The ambassador allowed himself an anticipatory grin as he turned forward once more, his target for the evening selected. She was a touch on the young side, perhaps, but that only meant she would be easy prey provided he could separate her from her undoubtedly watchful minder. Once he had, though, the things he would do to her nubile flesh...

The very moment Hyacin laid eyes on the head table, however, all thought of that budding redhead vanished from his mind in an instant. It took all the experienced diplomat's self-control not to laugh aloud at the sight which awaited him there. His host, Duke Theovaire, sat at the center, the petty sovereign's full regalia no doubt sufficient to cow his own subjects but hardly impressive to one accustomed to the grandeur of an imperial court. At each of the man's sides rested two chairs. The pair to his right were occupied by his sons, both of whom were fully absorbed in their meals. At the opposite end of the table an empty chair awaited the guest of honour's arrival. It was the place in between that chair and the old Duke, however, to which Hyacin's gaze was drawn.