Queendom 09: A Night Still Young

Bella kept a straight face, hiding her uneasiness. For one, 'X-Decoy' had an obvious sexual connotation, and here she was openly discussing it. Making it worse, was Commander Baby-face over here. It would have been easy talking to someone truly authoritative, like the famed General. But staring at Cyrian's disturbingly prepubescent eyes, made the whole thing feel oddly sinful.

I mean, how could he be not spotting a stubble even?!

"Tell me Cyrian, how did this get approved.? I mean, there are blasphemy laws preventing depictions of royalty, in any obscene light.. Ranging from simple street graffiti, to critical political speeches in market squares.. We don't talk ill of the royalty, especially the Princesses. Yet, here we are.. Desecrating the royal likeness, in the name of espionage..."

It surprised Bella that his demeanor lacked the obvious condescension, unlike other diplomats. Cyrian answered.

"For one, Lady Agrafena, it's extremely effective a strategy. There's a reason we prize Princesses, even in fairy tales. The more you deny, the deeper the fantasy roots. Our girls rarely have to engage in anything immoral even, for the mark to spill the beans. It doesn't even compare, to listening from afar.. Having the surveillant right next, dressed up and pouring drinks down the mark. Lulling him to a place past inhibitions, where he sings it all out, on his own. It rarely gets better. It wasn't our doing, that Queens and Princesses became such a popular fantasy. We are simply using it right, the fatasy, for the greater good of the Imperial throne. I hope you don't find us irredeemable.."

Bella nodded, through disagreement. She wasn't here to judge. She didn't know enough, yet.

"Don't worry Commander. I'm perfectly aware I lack the perspective, and experience, to judge this properly."

"Please, Lady Agrafena. You needn't be so modest. None here doubts your competence. And experience... Well, that can be cured in a matter of months, if not weeks. Mind if I suggest a supervisory role, in our upcoming operation.?"

Cyrian said, as he shuffled through files in his drawer. Bellatrix was utterly confused now. Where is he going with this? And how am I supposed to.. .

"Cyrian, doesn't an Espionage Operation come under Domestic Military Actions. Do you really think me joining, is such a good idea.?"

"Lady Agrafena, it's just a surveillance-op, nothing remotely combat-oriented. Led by one of our most trusted recruits. I believe you are familiar with Lady Yulia, she goes by Tabitha. More than capable.! Your role is merely observational, with light-reconnaissance.. Though you will have absolute authority to abort the mission, even improvise within limits. Including recruitment. Your profile is almost a perfect match."

"My profile.? I don't understand.."

Cyrian deflected immediately, like a kid who just spilled something he should never have.

"Well, the party we intend to surveil are classic radical misogynists..! Unreasonably paranoid, and unpredictable.. The only ones they mistrust more than women, are the men who oppose their views. But I believe, what you bring to the table, your immutables, makes you uniquely qualified to pass under their radar."

"How so? And again, what was that earlier, about my profile?"

"Our research on you, Lady Agrafena."

Research?! What research? Bella stared back, her eyes squinting, as he clarified.

"About your public conduct, your upbringing. How your orphanage-records marked you as a difficult kid, always running off to the market crowds, or the church stables. How you developed street-smarts, grew fond of the company of horses, than fellow men. You may think you have outgrown it all, but the cunning and command required to navigate the rough streets, it seems, have gotten baked into your behavior. No one will doubt you for a typical diplomat, from your body language, your gait, the way you peer, if you went alongside the mission. Its perfect!"

"That's a disturbingly intrusive level of research, Commander.."

How did he know all that? And why?? Bella continued her poker face.

"Standard procedure, I'm afraid, Lady Agrafena. Once you got designated, my office had to screen you. Your recent interest in the Imperial Law, particularly about the Domestic espionage operations, which the Households have limited authority over.."

As much as it annoyed her, it made sense. She was an absolute outsider, and it'd be a matter of concern had they not vetted her properly, even with the Queen's direct dictum. Kingdom comes first, after all. Still, it's one thing to know my history. How could they read into my interests..?! Reading her thoughts, Cyrian replied.

"Your library records help inform us. I must say, the amount of research you do is truly commendable. Royal cultural norms, domestic contractual laws, obscenity rulings, privacy statutes.. A list quite unique, long and wide. Impressively eclectic! Households is one of those rare positions, that is only as effective and influential, as the person wielding..."

Access to my personal library records?! God! What else had he seen? All my studies into the forbidden sexual fantasies, the Imperial Archives, the blasphemous Scrolls of Love..?! Not to mention researching the legal definitions of chastity, infidelity, and whatever vulgarity that I had read through.

Am I compromised..?

Maintaining the composure, Bella said.

"No one mentioned that everything I read gets added to my personal record.."

"Oh! Not personal, its public record. I mean, we aren't spying on you Lady Agrafena, how stupendous that'd be..?! The matters of Households are recorded, much like any royal scheduling. There's no recordical data, of every book you ever read. Just the ones your office requested. We are, after all, the Domestic espionage.. Lady Agrafena, I wouldn't put it to you, particularly for a starter, had I found anything unreasonably risky about the operation."

That's a relief!

I'm fairly certain I wasn't foolish enough to borrow the controversial scrolls under my name. That was close, Bella. Putting on a fake smile, she replied.

"Oh commander, its not the risk. I just don't want to end up a liability. Could you give me a quick brief now? What's the nature of the mission?"

Cyrian was more than happy to explain all the details, wasting no time. By the end, not only was Bella sold, she had plans of her own, for her special employer.

Walking down the corridor, all she could think of was her last exchange with Her Highness. The topic was fears, especially fear of being surrounded by malicious foes. It was extremely hard to digest the Queen's remarks, of her being expected to keep composure, even in enemy captivity. As Elanor said then..

There are ancient codes that govern all our conduct.

The kind that's cold and harsh, enough to balance the immense power that weighs the throne, with a feather-touch. Be it a walk of shame through the busy streets, past throngs of commoners hurling the worst insults your way. Be it being brought to your knees in front of the enemy King, surrounded by blood-soaked battle cries, asked to beg, to prostate, to spare the lives of your King and kin. Asked to symbolically renegade your honor, by kissing the conqueror's foot, or worse.

One mustn't kick and scream, and revolt. One mustn't cower and cry, and wither. Queenly conduct is expected of her, regardless how harsh it gets. It isn't the men who surrounds that grants the Queen her power. Not their loyalty, nor their subservience, which isn't to dilute those. Amidst or alone, a Queen is a Queen.

You either are, or you aren't. It's in the being.

Bella was careful at the time, to not reveal her skepticism. Undermining the sanctity of Imperial conviction wasn't her aim. She understood where Elanor was coming from, even the logic of it.

Was the reasoning sound? May be.. Was it plausible?

Hehe.. Let's see, little Nora. Let's test the mettle for real.

Bellatrix felt the rush, the unadulterated excitement of a new idea, in a long while.

**

*

The Grand Task

It almost felt like a fever dream, as Elanor walked around the lively Great Hall. She'd much rather have had an actual one, for this was proving to be bizarre beyond belief with each passing moment. At first glance, the scene upfront wasn't anything drastically different from the after-party of an ordinary banquet gathering. A dozen or so Dukes, each with their assorted Earls and Viscounts, standing sparsely across the room, chatting up, with older gents staying seated alongside the main table. The fact that they all wore varying shades of purple, pairing it with a weird funny green hat, was just the tip of the bizarreness. Not all had an escort, but each group had at least one maiden holding their attention.

There were male servants passing through the crowd, maintaining a steady flow of mead and refreshments, and a handful of younger men sitting around at corners, all clad in off-white overalls, seemingly too busy taking notes, instead of joining the rest. Adding to the weirdity. It was the most abnormally royal, and irritably insecure the Queen had felt to date. Largely because, she wasn't the only Queen present. Only, not a word out their lips sounded remotely Queenly.

To her right was, for instance, the famed Calthean Queen, Matilda the Second. Known for her nuptial devotion, and unparalleled charity, coming real close to attaining sainthood past her reign a decade back. Now she stood curtsying, with her fingertips elegantly separating the obscene central slit of her gown, flaunting not just her shapely thighs, but the shiny tip of her silky thong every now and then. The curve of her spine helping tease the Duke of Lowen, with her bosoms, held in place by pure luck at this point. Her manufactured wide grin, persisting for painfully long, yet failing to hide the discomfort of it all. The discomfort that seemed to fuel the Duke, and his greasy fingers, as he listened to the Queen advertise.

"Got a perfect moose cunt here for you, sire! Large enough to pump out triples, yet locks right on to the dick, like a squid.."

Elanor felt her insides churn physically, even if half the words made no sense to her.

"Really..?" The Duke asked comically, clearing having fun at her expense.

"Tell you what, Her Highness Matilda. Let's see how long you can hold a fruit, and then we'll talk. What do you say.?!"

The viscounts laughed out loud, as the Duke reached down, and lodged a large ripe apple right up her love-hole, which her puffy lips, for the moment, clamped onto as promised. Not wanting to know how she fared, nor to do anything with the Lowen noblemen, Elanor turned the other way. Her gaze locking briefly with the blue-eyed Duchess of Lixinth, lovingly referred to as Regal Red-cheeks, for the tendency of her freckled full cheeks to blush easily in public.

The Duchess walked around with a wooden paddle in each hand, bowing to each nobleman and asking in the sweetest, most playfully seductive voice.

"Would you like disciplining the Regal Red-cheeks, sire?!"

Walking past Elanor saw that the Duchess was wearing a custom-tailored bottoms, with two ornate holes, actual large holes, right by her haunches. And evidently from the faint swelling, a few had already taken up on the offer. Those rear-cheeks were surely red.

To her right were a bunch of men standing in a circle, cheering at the identical white-blonde twins shamelessly, quite ferociously, making out with each other. An old incestuous scandal about the Noxtran royalty came to her mind, which broke off the younger sister's marriage to the Deznian Prince, crippling their diplomatic ties for a decade.

Then there was Princess Verina in an emerald negligee prancing around, offering her services as a spittoon. Queen Castrella, the famed loved of pets, kneeling before a young viscount, shining his shoes with her love-juices, gyrating her hips against the leather, keeping her smiling eyes locked on him all the while. A look of forbidden bliss on her, that was a bit too hard to fake.

Of course, the real Princess Verina would be a hundred and sixteen years old, had she been alive today. Not to mention, she famously hated the emerald-costume, and only wore it for the portrait as part of a bet. Duchess of Lixinth had not blue, but green eyes. The court-painter made a mistake mixing the chemicals, which meant in two decades, the color of her eyes slowly turned to blue. Around the same time, when the scandal about the parentage of her first-born caught fire, with an old aid spilling some forbidden beans. Fueling the imagination of midnight bards, and their songs about the illicit nights of one blue-eyed princess. Queen Matilda wasn't this tall, Castrella had a slight limp.. None of them were the Queens, none were even remotely of blue-blood, of royal lineage. These were all decoys, mere imposters, playing into the fantasy of a bunch of disgusting pigs.

Brestfilled Manor. Order of Swords. Gathering. Decoy Queens.

This has to be the infamous feast that Cyrian's report mentioned. Where the Order hired prostitues to pose as Queens, as party entertainment. Bizarre.!

This was what Bella meant, the Queen realized, when she said survive the night. It was still unclear whether she meant to survive the bizarre nightmare of her role-models, the famed Queens subjugating themselves.. Or to survive the claws of an actual enemy, the Order of Swords, who had clear reasons to dethrone her, at any cost. This is her task for the night. To be a playgirl for the drunken nobility, who despised not just her guts, but her existence. To be a disposable decoy, debasing oneself.

Two women just walked past Elanor, both giggling like adolescents, looking vaguely like Queen Esmeralda and Princess Vera, her own mother and sister. Which made it feel eerily close to her eighteenth birthday party. Her only immediate memory, of witnessing such a gathering, with no less than two dozen prima donnas surrounding. All in their prime, all chatting up as if hunting a suitor. Sitting Queens, aging Queens, virgin Queens, the party seemed to cover all varieties. Not to mention various Duchesses and Princesses, who rose to infamy following various scandals, the past decade. All impostors, of course, artists lost to their roles, to an almost fault. Some of them rivaling Elanor, the true-ruling monarch herself, in their knowledge of royal conduct, regardless how ridiculously obscene they looked.

Contrary to the reports, this place clearly have a surplus in funding, backing their activities. Have I erred by overlooking the young commander Cyrian's warnings.? Was the threat more serious and imminent than I thought.? Was I being naively soft on the Order of Swords? Their misogynistic strain wasn't exactly a secret, but I never expected them to have such a wild side.

Am I safe among these jesters? What have you done, Bella?!

To make things worse, over the years the club had perfected their humiliation ritual, so now each Queen had been assigned a task, from the get go. Hence the difference in services offered by each. And Elanor too got her fair share of humiliation. Her role tonight was aptly, the Ice-Queen!

The Great chaste held a tray in her hands, with two glass bowls of ice-cubes. With two silver tongs, placed on either side. It was a little heavier to carry, considering she had to hold the tray for the whole night. And she wasn't exactly holding the tray. The thin silver platter had a pair of four-rings underneath, similar to that of a classic brass-knuckle. Only this one secured her palms to the platter. With her both hands properly in place, finger through the ring, once the weight of the ice-bowls applied from above, it would be impossible for her to free her hands without someone else helping.

If that simple bondage wasn't enough, Tabitha did a fine job altering her costume. Sure the burgundy dress, with its regal high-neck, and full-tapered sleeves made her look absolutely stunning. But the custom-made outfit had a few tricks, one of which was a modular bodice. The head-maid showed no concern removing it completely, if anything a suppressed chuckle. So now, Elanor strutted around, with the cold of the bowls wafting right off to her bare hanging mounds, full and bouncy.. The pair at its absolute prime.

Elanor had always despised the suffocation of a tight corset. But feeling the glances and smirks, at her proud naked mammaries, a part of her craved the smothering.

The ice-tongs on the tray had small chains clipping them directly to her nipples, as if to not tempt any noblemen to steal away the utensil. The Queen was given the highest stilettos she had worn till date, and the slits on her pleated gown meant, if she wasn't careful walking, at best she may show a little too much that she'd want, of her milky thighs. Or worse, she'd wobble and collapse onto the floor, making an indecent spectacle for the men, and even some maiden to laugh at. For some of the girls seemed to enjoy their roles a little too much.

As the only Ice-Queen, Elanor had to approach each group, and ask if they'd like more ice in their drinks. And she was to stay by their sides, till they gave her proper answer, even if its out right rejection, simply to laugh at her. And surprisingly enough, it wasn't the frontal nudity, her chilled breast-buds, the unreliable skirt-slit, the impossible heels, nor the way it made her ass jut out, that made the situation truly troublesome to Her Highness. For she had been to far rowdy crowds that these, at way seedier spots of her own Kingdom. At least the men kept a healthy restraint here, for the most part.

It was the underlying reality, that truly made her gut churn, for all the right reasons. And a handful wrong ones, as well.

There was something inherently demeaning about it, that the Queen felt a visceral abhorrence. Even compared to the sweat-soaked nights she spend, kneeling in that dingy glory-hole, imbibing secretions of god-knows-who. The Queen struggled to differentiate what made this one so unique. Was it the costumes, its symbolic significance, getting under her skin.? For it seemed like neither her fellow-maidens, nor herself, had any power. Despite dressed as the pinacle of femininity afforded in the six kingdoms. And if anyone, Elanor should know the starkness, of true power and the lack of it.

This wasn't her first outing into submission. But it was one thing, being sub-humanized as part of Domestication. That was done to just her. And Bella was right alongside the Leashmaster, wielding equal power, at least at the very beginning. Her being a woman played little role, for the focus was on discipline. But this.. This felt persecutorial. Be it prejudice or condescension, it was one thing to feel the palpable heat directed solely her way. The tension between contempt and desire, something that Elanor learned to relish in, not just in the audience, but in herself.

That wasn't the case right now.

The present felt contrary to all her preconceived notions. For one, she expected walking in, with all other girls surrounding, a much diluted male-gaze. Secondly she was hoping the same would apply for the queens. For the 'sense of disgrace' to get distributed, its potency reduced amongst the group. Much like the safety of sisterhood she felt, at the dance-bar backstage. A part of her missed Sonja. How surprising!

There was one person in the Great Hall, who had it worse, by a significant margin. The ceremonial center-piece of the event, trapped within a custom-made gibbet, was an unknown woman, refered only as the Black-Rose. A personification of the 'Corrupting Feminine', a symbolic incarnate of the controversial Queen Drusilla, whose exploits gave rise to the Order of Swords.