Queen Yavara Ch. 45

I laughed. "The church is too busy paying to keep the alter boys' mouth's shut. Nuns buy their own clothes."

He raised his brows. "You Highlanders are an interesting breed."

He was gone for thirty minutes. By the time he was back, I was shivering. Thankfully, Verto had also bought a couple towels and a bar of soap. I washed the filth from my body and hair, then dried myself off, and donned my new outfit.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I asked.

Verto grinned wolfishly at me, posing in the outfit that showed his bare chest and belly nearly to his crotch, which was hugged by a pair of leather pants that showed the full extent of his bulging manhood. He'd taken on a different elven face, one that was so beautiful it was almost painful to look upon. "The only action I've gotten for nearly a month has been a nobleman's small cock, and a noblewoman's small cock."

"It's average."

"I'm sure." He chuckled, "Though I like to dabble in the pleasures of men, I am made for women." He sniffed the air, "Are we in the fish market, Elena?"

"That's on the other side of the city."

He grinned back at me. "Then I guess I'm in the right place. Zander has a portal set up in the abandoned mill down the road. It's the drying room with the wooden sign above it. Do look me up when you get back to Alkandra. I'll be in the biggest fucking house in the city." And he strutted away, catching the eye of every man and woman he passed. I followed the tantalizing swing of his hips for a while, then turned my veiled eyes to the noble district. The walls of Castle Bentius were dimly illuminated by a flickering orange flame.

SHERMAN HUNTIATA

I loved my wife, but our bedroom had been dead for ten years. She just wasn't a sexual woman anymore, and I was fine with that, but it felt ridiculous that a man such as myself with some juice still left in his balls should have to go celibate just because his wife also chose to. What the fuck was there to be jealous about?! She didn't want my dick anymore, so it wasn't like I was denying her my carnal affections. If she decided to push the beds together and have a romp, I'd give her a romping that would snap her tits back into place, and I'd forget all about Elena Straltaira!

Well, that wasn't true. That wasn't true at all. I wasn't in love with Elena, but I was in love with the way she made me feel. Oh, did she know how to treat a man like me, good god! I felt thirty years younger after a night with her, and she was always ready for more, that devious challenge in her blue eyes, that evil grin on her lush lips. She had a body like a goddess, holes tighter than a virgin's, and I had to concede that her cock did add something to her allure. Very few women could pull it off, but it just worked for her, and damn it, I wasn't ashamed to stroke it! I was, however, a little ashamed to be stroking my cock in the bathroom at twelve in the morning. I tried to stay quiet as I imagined Elena grinding on my shaft, her organ stiff and leaking, pointed up at her own face with arousal. She looked down at me, her pink lips agape in pleasure, her brows knitted together in wonder of what I was doing to her insides. 'Come in my ass.' She moaned, and withdrew from her sopping slit to shove my meat into her tight filthy heat, pushing deeper and deeper until—"Sir!"

"What?!" I yelled.

"The queen's guard is at the door! They demand to see you at once!"

"What the fuck does she want?" I grumbled, tucked my boner into my waistband, and buttoned up my pajama bottoms. I stormed across the bedroom, pulled on my combat boots, grabbed my longsword, and headed out the door.

"Sweetie?" Delores groaned sleepily.

"Yes, Bumpkins?" I asked.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just the royal guard coming by to do a wartime rations check."

"At this hour?"

"We're at war, Bumpkins. Now, go back to sleep."

I went down three flights of stairs, and met with my men. These weren't just my housemen, but watchmen, freshly paid and freshly loyal. Ten of them followed me out the front door, and we were met with fifty royal guards in full plate.

"Lord Huntiata," a big mother fucker said from behind his facemask, "by word of Queen Leveria Tiadoa, you are under arrest for charges of smuggling and racketeering."

"Aye? And what did I smuggle?" I spat.

"A judge will figure that out. Put your weapon down and step forward."

"My lord," Watch Commander Darius whispered, "Flower Street."

I looked to my left. Twenty houses down, a fire was roaring, consuming a large manor that occupied its own city block. The Straltaira manor. My gaze slowly turned back to the royal guard before me. "And if I don't come with you, are you gonna torch my house too?"

"It wasn't us who did that. For your own safety, you need to come with me."

"Aye, so that you can cut my throat in the shadows and dump me in the bay?"

"We have a warrant—"

"You can shove it up your mother's cunt!" I roared. Watchmen from all around were gathering, two score surrounding the perimeter, and more coming. The royal guards looked around, their massive golden shells twinkling in the torchlight. They were the best warriors in all the highlands, and outfitted like it. One of them could take ten of us easy, but we were everywhere. The big bastard assessed the situation, and looked down at me.

"I have orders to take you alive, old man." He growled.

"That ain't gonna happen, shiny."

"You can live without your arms and legs."

"But can you live without your cock?" I asked, angling my sword between his legs, "Actually, I guess you'd be the man to ask, eh stumpy?"

He might've smiled beneath his facemask. "Fuck it. The Dark Queen's gonna kill us all anyway." He stepped back, then roared, "No quarter!" And charged me.

I took one step back, and slammed the door in his face. He thudded against it, the wall surrounding it cracking.

"Get my wife out of here." I said to the guard beside me, the turned to Darius, "Take the alleyway exit and haul ass to headquarters. Get the entire brigade up and go for the castle!"

I grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the counter, ripped out the cork with my teeth, and took a swig of fire. Maybe Elena had been my fountain of youth, but nothing made me feel more alive than killing a fucker. The door pounded once, twice, three times, then caved in, and the big fucker came charging into my foyer, swinging his big fucking sword and cutting through my men like they were butter. One man was split clean down the middle, another was cut in two at the ribs, a third was decapitated, and a fourth was gored. The big fucker barreled through the rest, and came roaring at me, his sword poised overhead. I launched the whisky bottle into his face, and it shattered into a million pieces against his mask. He shrieked, flailing wildly, and I stepped into his guard, ducked a swing, and jammed my blade into the slit of mask. Pink blood gushed from the eye hole, and he went down. I spat on his corpse, pulled my sword out with a shearing sound, and walked out the door.

ELENA

"What do you think they're doing up there?" I heard someone ask.

"Fireworks and parties, that's all those nobles do." Someone answered derisively.

"No, I think the district is on fire!" Someone cried.

"It's a light festival. That's where all our whale oil's going. Fucking rich people." Someone responded.

I moved carefully through the crowd, cognizant of the eyes that searched my veil. Brushing past the night revelers, I noted the way fear played across their smiles, a surface-level terror reaching their eyes. I hadn't known until then how tense the war had made the populace. It was omnipresent, but it was never alluded to directly, almost like acknowledging it would speak it into existence. People drank wine because wine was not rationed, but the restaurants served only bread. The butcher shops were shuddered, the blacksmiths were closed, and the stables were empty. The constables watched the people with suspicious eyes, seeing a spy in every face. I kept my face downcast and my arms folded in my robes, sticking to the center of the road. All it would take was one errant exposure of flesh, and I would be undone. I had to get out of the light.

I rounded a street corner, and came upon a dark road. None of the houses were illuminated, for whale oil had been rationed, and timber was hard to come by in the city. I clutched the dagger beneath my robe, and made my way down the center of the street. I was halfway down it when my ears picked up on the sound of footsteps. Softly padded feet moving quietly, four pairs of them. I stopped, and let my arms rest at my sides. The shadows moved before me, creeping along the edges of the road. I could not discern them from the pervading darkness, and they slipped in and out of sight. I squeezed the hilts tightly, and placed my left foot behind the right, angling myself on the balls of my feet.

"Bless you, Sister." Came a voice from the darkness, "Here to the Fedar Gates."

"And to paradise or perdition you go, and with a light heart." I replied.

The shadow nodded, and the others passed me by. I let out a long breath, and continued down the dark side streets. I came upon one of the inner walls of the city, and followed it down until it nearly came together with a large warehouse. Looking both ways to ensure no one was watching me, I pressed myself between the warehouse and the wall, and ascended. Halfway up, the warehouse ended, and I had to rely on my climbing skills to get me to the top. After three nerve-wracking minutes of finding handholds in the dark, I hooked my fingers over the top, and peered over. There were no watchmen on top of the wall. The guard towers were empty, and the beacons were unlit. I hauled myself over, and ran along the wall until I found the steps into the next tier.

This was the banking and commerce district, and it was dead. Not a single street was lit, and not a sound could be heard. Here, I kept to the shadows, fearing the moonlit centers of the road. No one was supposed to be here. The banks were all closed, the stock exchange was abandoned, and the lenders were out of capital. The district had been all but abandoned after the battle of the Tundra, and anyone still in it was not the kind of person a lonely nun wanted to cross in the middle of the night. I scanned for movement with every step, my keen ears pricked for any sound. I cringed at how loud my footsteps seemed to sound. I'd been trained to keep my feet soft on dry leaves and brush, but grand streets of the banking district were like stone halls, and every sound, no matter how tiny, was amplified. I saw faces in every dark window. I saw figures at the end of every alleyway. They disappeared as soon as I looked at them directly, then teased me in my periphery once more. I knew they were fabrications, the same fabrications my mind created in the shapes of the forest, but rationality was of little comfort when immersed in such opaque blackness.

The next wall loomed before me, nearly twice the height of the previous barrier, impossible to climb. On the other side, I could see the orange glow of flame rising into the night. The noble district truly was on fire, and it wasn't just my manor. The glow bubbled all along the wall, and with each step, the sounds of battle became louder. Like the merchant district's wall, this one was unoccupied, no beacons lit, nor men posted on the turrets. I moved carefully through the side streets parallel to the wall until I came to the main promenade. The inner gate was wide open. I breathed a sigh of relief, and stopped myself abruptly before I rushed to it. There were shadows above the gate. No torches illuminated them, and no moonlight glinted off their helms. They were at ease in the darkness, and they waited for someone who was not to come running for the light.

"Shit." I muttered. I could see the silhouettes of battle through the gates. Men clashed before the inferno that was a manor, great-shelled royal guardsmen hacking into the lines of watchmen. Leveria had made her move. The royal guards fought like demons, but they were woefully outnumbered. The watchmen pushed them back to the castle moat, and there, the battle became a slaughter. A score of guards held the bridge, and the watchmen died by the dozens trying to take it from them. Man after man charged headlong into the wall of armor, and man after man was sent in pieces over the side, or was added to the growing pile before them. Soon, the watchmen had to scale a hill of their own dead just to get to the guards, and the only succeeded in making the pile taller. After a hundred or so men had died, the watchmen pulled back from the bridge.

My eyes ran the length of the castle, resting on the high tower. The window was lit, and if I squinted, I almost thought I could see her standing there, looking down at me.

LEVERIA

Sir Raftas was dead, along with a quarter of my men. Those who hadn't fallen back to the bridge were fighting in desperate pockets all over the noble district. Huntiata had rallied the bulk of his force around the moat. Two ballistae were being wheeled in from the wall. It would take a half an hour for them to get into range, and then the bridge would be lost. It would be only a matter of time after that before the watchmen fought their way up the castle, and into the high tower. I could, if I so desired, flee down the hidden passageway that led to the Bentius Bay, but then what? Become a fugitive in my kingdom with no sanctuary to be found? No. I would die a queen.

"Well, dearest husband," I sighed, taking a sip of my wine, "it looks like this is the end for us."

Eric might've said something, but I wasn't sure what it was. The first thing I'd cut off him was his lying little tongue. He was tied to a chair in my bedroom, naked and bloody. The moron had answered the knock on his door like the fucking girl scouts had come to sell him cookies at midnight. It galled me to no end that this genius had been the harbinger of my defeat, but it made sense. When playing chess, the most dangerous opponent is another grandmaster. The second-most dangerous opponent is a complete moron, because a moron's strategy is so rudimentary that a grandmaster will discard it for what it is, and end up playing against herself. I had played myself brilliantly with Eric.

"At least we're together." I said, and removed his pinky with a squeeze of the cutters. He screamed, every muscle on his body tensing.

"I've never felt closer to you than now." I chuckled, tossing his finger off the balcony, "We're being truly honest with each other for the first time in our relationship, and it's quite refreshing. I wish we had more time to explore this new dynamic, but alas, time is a luxury we can no longer afford."

I removed his middle finger, forefinger and thumb, leaving only his ring finger with my wedding band still upon it. As he shrieked, I tossed the digits off the balcony, and watched them disappear into the blackness below. Would I jump off this balcony when the watchmen burst through that door? They'd rape me if they got their hands on me. Every man would want his turn with the queen, and they'd all laugh and jeer as I was desecrated, turned into a screaming, begging beast before their eyes.

Good god, did that just make me wet? I mused to myself, I've spent far too much time with Elena.

No, I would rather jump off the balcony and keep my dignity than succumb to such a fate. Even if they didn't do that (which they would) Lord Ternias would want me humiliated before the populace to destroy my image and cement his own. Women weren't usually publicly tortured—that was generally reserved for private rooms—but the country was under a lot of stress, and Ternias would give them someone to blame. Likely I'd be put to the rack, and my screams would carry out for all to hear, a sacrifice to cleanse the Highlands of their sins. It was somewhat poetic, I guessed, that I would instead join my husband in the waters below. I wondered if they'd write ballads about us? History often misconstrued... well, everything. For the sake of a palatable story, Ternias would say that Eric and I conspired together to destroy the kingdom, and Ternias had valiantly fought side-by-side with the brave and noble Lord Huntiata to prevent some unknown terror from coming to fruition. In all of this, Elena would never be mentioned. The hermaphroditic Alkandran who had made it all possible had no place in the story of brave, benevolent King Lucas Ternias. I looked out at the ruins of her manor, and swallowed my tears. What a fool we both had been. She, to trust Ternias, and me, to trust her.

"Goodbye, Eric." I said, and cut his throat. I no longer had the appetite for torture. As he gurgled around the spurting blood, thrashing in his chair, I went to my closet, and selected a dress Elena had worn only a few days ago. It was a dazzling red garment, and it still smelled faintly of her. I stripped my clothes, and donned the dress, enjoying the scent, pretending I could feel her warmth against me.

ELENA

I took two deep breaths, and stepped out into the street. The fire illuminated every cobblestone of the wide boulevard, and cast my shadow twenty feet behind me. My keen elven ears homed in on the sounds before me, and I walked slowly toward the gate. I heard the tense whine of drawn crossbows, and the click of them being set. I stopped. There were five of them above the gate. They stood there, waiting for me to make a move. I took one step forward. The bows released at once, and I shot into a combat roll, leapt out of it, and sprinted. The whine, the click, the twang. Five more bolts whistled through the air, and I stopped abruptly. They ricocheted before me, and I snatched one from the air that was redirected to my chest. The rank smell of poison was on its tip, and I tossed it aside before the chemistry ate through my glove. I sprinted in a serpentine motion, barreling behind a bench just as five bolts flew to where I'd feigned my next move. I jumped from cover, the gate now looming just thirty yards away. I put my head down, and charged, then stopped on a dime and backflipped just as a sword came across me.

I landed on one hand and the ball of my feet, my dagger drawn. They dropped from ropes before me, all five of them holding long curved swords, the blades shining with poison. They spread out, moving into a semicircle, giving me a wide berth. I didn't let them get into position. I moved like lightning onto the middle man, deflecting his blade off my hilt, and sliding easily into his guard. He was wearing a mask, but I saw the way his eyes widened, and it almost brought a smile to my face. These assassins had lived their entire lives thinking they were the quickest, deadliest fighters in the Highlands. An ex-ranger probably seemed like easy money to them. The other four realized what the first man had when I eviscerated him before he could even raise his guard. They should've stayed in the shadows. They should've let me go. If they had brought twenty men, maybe they would've had a chance.

I wheeled on number two, planted my dagger into his skull, ripped it out, ducked number three, cut his belly open, leapt over number four's sweep, slashed number five's throat, then turned around and buried my blade into number four's eye socket. The movement was so fast that all four men dropped only a second after the first one had. I ended number three's suffering, then wiped the blood off my blade, and stepped through the gate.