Queendom 11: Original Offense

The Princess frantically scanned the room, looking back at the basket, but quickly deciding against it. She heard the guards shout something about 'orders from officer', 'imperial decree' and so on. Elanor quickly spotted a bunch of empty baskets, all stacked together to her left, and hid behind it. She knew it was no perfect hide-out, but suddenly something else dawned on her, something that should have been obvious.

Oh no, wait! I still look like the Queen. I mean..

Oh, you know what I mean!

She had no cover of the night, no masks, no veils, nor an elaborate circumstance that would allow hiding in plain sight. And remembering the rules, protecting the royal visage it's as much the decoy's responsibility, as much it is the Handler's. If she gets caught, looking like that, she'd not only be sullying the symbol of Wolkenshire, but she'd be failing at the rules. Losing to Hoyt, disastrously.

I can't bare the thought of losing to his smug face. Nor can I afford to smear this visage with a scandal.

Smear my face.. Wait.

Before the thought formulated in full, her fingers had already untied the pouch. As sour memories of scrubbing off ink from the last task, and failing at it for hours, filled her mind, the Queen raised her hands above, and emptied the pouch. As soon as her eyelids shut, a cloud of thick blue smoke enveloped her skull. As the excess powder spilled over to her hair and cleavage, like a woman gone mad, she kept rubbing it on her face. Over and over again, making sure to cover every inch. It was hard to not cough up, but she managed.

WHOOSH...!

Light rushed into the storage, followed by two large shadowy guards. Elanor had never felt fear like this. Fear of losing face. Fear of capture. The deep shame of being dragged out by mere men, while looking like an asylum-case. The guards started poking around the baskets with rods, as if searching for something hidden within.

Are they looking for smuggled goods? In this countryside? Seriously?!

While keeping an eye on the two guards, Elanor kept listening to the chatter outside. If the other guard walks in as well, I can make a run for it. The market wall isn't that high, and the forest isn't far. I can hide in the trees, and even steal some proper clothes on my way out. If I kick the third onto the other two, and run fast, the other guards are too far to catch up, with all the chaos. It's risky, but..

I can't sit around here for Hoyt to come save me. I must..

The third one walked in, and before finishing the thought, Elanor jumped out from the darkness, swinging her right thigh. The idiot had fast reflexes, so he ducked at the last moment, absolutely shocked. But her first strike was a distraction anyhow, and by the time the other two noticed, she found firm footing to propel into the decisive kick. The poor tall guard realized his skull was made of jelly, as the last thing he noticed was the silvery shine of the frilly under-things, flashed through the gap of her shift's flailing hem. His long hands reached out instinctively for something to hold on to, as the second guard rolled to the side, to avoid being crushed by his colleague. How come these country bums have such good reflexes?! Elanor squinted annoyed, as she couched her landing, without a clue that her luck had run out.

From her current perspective, at least, for luck is mercurial. The long index finger of the poor falling guard, reaching out for something to anchor, had managed in desperation, to latch on to the one thing he had spotted. The semi-elastic band of her frilly Shafka, the white loincloth with the golden ring, the symbol of her virginal purity, betrayed her at the last blink. Elanor felt as if her life was getting squeezed out, as her soft untainted nether took the brunt of the falling guard's weight, hooked by a sinewy finger, with the sacred under-cloth wedging into her folds, deeper than she had ever known possible.

"AAAAAIIIEEEEEEEHHHHH..!!!"

Such pain! That teary scream took her back to he four year old Princess Nora, getting the tip of her pinky got caught in the door. An unnecessary remainder that pain transcends time, perhaps deeper than love.

SNAP!

His finger slipped out, letting the semi-naked Queen stumble a step to the right to balance, and fall face-first, into a empty basket, which thankfully cushioned the impact. She hardly got a sense of what just happened, when the second guard braved his way to restrain the mad jumping woman. Pinning her down with perfect posture, just as he had been trained, he seemed too happy to have any action at all. Like, he may not be up to battle orcs, but little naked tushes are no match for him. Or was she? As the girl screamed violently, convulsing like a bucking bull, with explosive bursts of fury, he started losing all confidence, remembering his friend's wobbling face from a moment ago.

"I got her. Bridle her Willie.. NOW.!!"

"How dare you touch my..Hmmphh.. HMMMPHHHRRRRR.."

Elanor didn't really know what else she'd have screamed out in anger. Her real identity? Their potential punishments, perhaps? She wasn't thinking. And who would, when feeling like their genitals have just been burned to a crisp. But she couldn't. All her screams turned to gibberish, as the stingy salty tang of rust overwhelmed her taste-buds.

"The wrists, now. Hold her tight, dammit?!!"

"I'm trying.. She's like a fucking bull."

"Yeah, yeah, with a jiggly white tushy.."

"And a sloppy slutty cunt, surely. Look at her buck.

"Yeah, yeah.. Imagine riding that?"

CLANK!

"I don't have to.." As soon as he heard the lock, bravery found the second guard, and he mimicked humping her rear, as Elanor continued to convulse, her sprawling hair blowing smoky blue powder all around. The men just stood watching, laughing, as if it's some freshly caught prize carp, flopping next to the lake, simply wasting all its strength. Willie checked to see the other two guards were okay, and helped them out the storage.

Hearing all the commotion, the market people had gathered by the door, quite anxious. They remember hearing a woman squeal, but only saw two guards walking out, looking injured. Elanor felt firm grips dig deep into her both shoulders, and was lifted up to her feet.

"Walk, bitch."

One began leading her out, clutching her right biceps. As the Queen squirmed in protest she got a clear picture of her predicament. The tang in her mouth, and the cold hugging tightness on her skull. It was a bridle. A Scold's bridle, a tool of torture and humiliation, meant for denying the wearer speech. One of the two horizontal pipes hugged her forehead, while the other dug deep into her mouth, pulling wide the corners of her lips, leaving her mouth open in a state of constant salivation and soon fatigue. There was an additional chain attached to its back pipe, running along her spine, which kept her both wrists shackled behind. To add to the humiliation, a small bell was attached to the chin-piece of the bridle, sounding at the slightest motion. The way it ringed.. Even in the middle of such a tense situation, Elanor couldn't shake away the feeling,that she had heard it before.

About a dozen and half judging eyes fell upon her, all gasping, confused or offended, Elanor nearly lost it. She had no where to hide, not her shame, not her defeat, and certainly not the ill-informed judgements burning into her, right in public. Their thoughts, whispered, and muffled, and yelled, and disparaging and cackling, it all flooding her ears.

. What? She turned the storage into a whorehouse or something?

. Oh son, that looks like it hurt. Did that witch do this to you?

. Oh the bridle! The bridle! Is she for the Whipper's as well?

. Of course she's headed for the Whipper's. Can't you see the blue?

. Mammy, why she have no pants?

. That's a whore sweety. We don't look at whores, okay?

. Those calves, man?! As if its meant to be licked.

. Look at her drool-on, like a bitch in heat. Disgusting.

. Is that a shafka she wearing? Haha! That's a pure cunt, you say?!

. Guards! Twirl the witch, won't you?

Such a fine white ass, no?

Elanor shot daggers at the crowd, but if did nothing to intimidate, considering her head looked like a flattened Blue Poppy. What?! What's wrong with these people? I did nothing..

"Flash that ass! Flash that ass!"

The crowd was getting rowdy, and the mothers looked around worried, covering the kids' ears. Her gaze returned to the floor, while taking short, trembling steps. The guard to her left nudged.

"Give a twirl, sweet-cheeks. That'd quiet the crowd."

"HHHGGRRHSSSHH.!!"

Elanor thoughtlessly charged at him head on, with both hands tied behind. She wasn't thinking clearly, this was all too much, too quick, and too out of the blue. Consent had always been key to her. The ones were it tested her limits, the ones that she learned to love, and even the ones that went horribly wrong midway, Elanor always had some choice.. Some semblance of it, at least. Even surrounded by the most radical nobility of Wolkenshire, even when playing a rent-girl, the Queen had agency. But now.. She didn't agree to any of this. She didn't know what to expect, and there was no handler present for her to say no. Hell, she couldn't even be sure if all of this was part of a task.

What task could this possibly lead to?

Are they throwing me in jail? What if my make-up, this damn powder comes of?!

Hell, my chas.. I don't have my chastity belt. Are they going to throw me in public jail? Mistress, where is Mistress? Oh hell, Hoyt is done. Bella will have his head. What's left of it anyhow, when I'm done, but for that.. For that, I need to get free.. Let me out.

Let. ME. OUUUTTTTT...!!!

That's when the stupid guard request her a twirl, driving her over the edge. As arms reached from the other end, the Princess knelt and rolled to her right, and high kicked the guard, whose nose-bridge missed it by an inch. The crowd roared, impressed not by the athleticism, but her shapely shins, toned under-thighs, and the glimpse at that pearly frilly crotch-piece. With the franticity of a cornered animal, she hissed at the guards, while looking for an opening turning to her right, and..

BLANK.

Bile filled her senses, follwed by numbness.

Her eyes rolled back looking deep into her brain for some sense, as pure heat spread from stomach to all through her body. Her mouth burned from the cheek-full of gastric acid she just belched, and the bridle made sure it simply drooled down her chin, darkening the impression of her right erect nipple. There is much excitement in danger, and one can't take a purely bodily response, for morality. But judge they did, the ones enjoying the show, hooting and cheering.

What was that?

When her blurry vision finally cleared, she saw a rigid, bony fist, lodged into her abdomen. Did such one just punch me in the bare torso? Punch a woman in broad daylight, how dare he? Looking up, finding the reddish swollen face of the tall man from before, Elanor had just one thought.

Fair enough.

I'm tough. I can take a punch, but.. If only he hadn't blindsided me.

Should've tightened my core fast.

That really, really hurt.

Tears rolled down, as her lips leaked on. This being personal, he grabbed her by the neck, and pulled up, choking the Queen, letting the tip of her toe scribble on the soil below. He couldn't tell with all the blue, how many shades of red her face turned meanwhile. But he took his time, leaning in slowly, and asking her gently.

"Are you ready to behave?"

Her lungs burned, as the Queen struggled to utter anything legible.

"yysssshhhzzzzz..."

Soon as he let go, she calmed down instantly, feeling the cold air rush to her brain. This wasn't any Leash Maester's magical training, but her simply coming to terms with reality. She's in no place to fight, and they could be looking for one.

Give it time, gather data, and then make your move.

The sweat is making this short shift clingy, and my panties seem a bit unsure now. The way he yanked.. Perhaps the elastic got loose. I could feel its temptation, to slide. But all is well, even is I were to parade as the day I was born..

Oh Bella, you and your cursed witch-tongue! Even then, all is well, so long as my face stays blue. Right now I resemble madness, at the very best. Keep it that way.

As she slowly stepped up, feeling the nudge, that odd voice from the crowd cried again.

"So, what of that twirl, girlie?!"

All of them cackled, as some women gave a look of disgust.

"Shut it! You can make your request to the Whipper. Head to the ruins, if that's your thing. Move aside. Give way.."

Whipper? What's a whipper?

As the tall guard kept leading her by the shoulder, Elanor tried asking nicely.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Just shut up and walk, convict?"

"Convict? Who?"

"Haha.. Was the punch too hard?! Dressed in prison greys, and face painted for anonymity. Who else is the convict? Me?!"

Thank God!

Elanor finally felt some relief. So it is part of the plan. The grey shift, it's prison-wear. Was punching my gut in his plans as well, you fucking imbecile?! Some Handler you are.. Twenty days of over-time!

"Sir.. Would you please..?" Her parched voice barely made sense.

"What?"

The tall guard leaned in and asked, sounding as if he truly cared.

"My loin-cloth.. it might slip off. Could you please.?"

He didn't reply, but in a moment Elanor felt the crotch-piece ride up her but-cheeks, as the men cheered on vulgarly. The Queen pleadingly looked at the vengeful guard.

"Walk! It's just a few steps."

She couldn't tell if it was the tears of pain, or all the blood rushing to her cheeks from shame, both pairs that is, but she could hardly see anything. It was all a blur. The gleeful perverts in the crowd, the offended mothers and wives, the dumbfounded vendors of all ilk.. None of them looked away as she slowly tip-toed, her forced-open mouth drooling nonstop, the drenched shift outlining her breast-mounds, as they jiggled with each step. At least the slow pace ensured that her bell hardly rang.

When they reached the market gate, in the longest minute of her life, Elanor felt like kicking his nuts, as Hoyt walked in with a sadistic grin.

"Well done boys! I knew I could count of the best and brightest of Hillsdale."

"Here's the escaped convict, His Lordship. She was a tough catch."

Lordship?! Did he lie about the rank? Or did they take him for one, from the Cross? Elanor was really fighting her demons, to not give in, to start kicking her so-called handler. Hoyt corrected in an overtly polite voice.

"Please gents, I'm no Lord. I'm just a humble faithful servant to the throne. The Cross is just a symbol of the Queen's will. I'm but an instrument."

Queen's will?

When did I tell you, swine, that I like my gut getting punched to a pulp?

Elanor's vision just adjusted to notice the long wooden carriage behind him, with a high window and long bars all across. I remember that one.

As Hoyt signaled, the guards unlatched the door. Her eyes widened to find eleven other women dressed identically, the chained bridle and all. The wooden floorboard had turned a darker shade, from the saliva they had been drooling all this while. Most of them looked weak, sleep-deprived and dehydrated, as if they were traveling for hours, their fatigued jaw held in place, only thanks to the iron bridle. All the faces were blue as well. Unrecognizable, unless you are intimately familiar.

As the tall guard helped her up, by yanking the same loose loincloth, the guard who had pinned her earlier walked up to Hoyt and asked in a humble voice.

"She's so fair, and smells so good. And hissed like a cornered cat. If you don't mind us asking, Sire? The escaped convict, is she blue-blood? I can't imagine a low-born being arrogant enough, to attack the towns-guard so recklessly."

Elanor could hear them talk, faintly, as the door closed. She was just relieved to be in the shade again. The sun had shamed her enough. May be it's all over now. May be he'll take me back home. My jaw hurs already. And it feels so wrong, to drool so well, and have nothing down my throat.. NORAA..!!

Walking up to the front seat, Hoyt shrugged.

"I couldn't tell even if I wanted to, mate. Rules are rules. Female convicts have the right to anonymity. Please convey my sincere gratitude to your Chief, especially for all the paper-work."

As he got in, the guards all suddenly looked gloomy. They were told to catch a simple woman, not a kicking, hitting wild cat. They needed some closure. Hoyt shook his head, smiled, and threw a bone.

"Ever heard of the Templeton Trollop?"

***

**

*

Bonk! Bonk! Bonk! Bonk!

Loch announced with a wicked grin, sounding the drum.

. "Attention! Attention! For the information of God-fearing, law-abiding, good folks of Hillsdale. The Chastisement Ceremony is about to commence! The representative of the affected party, and the ones with passes from the Church please make it to the ruins first, so you get the best seats before the gates open.."

Elanor stepped out to the light once again from the prison-carriage, followed by three more. It was just like she had dreamed. No, it wasn't a dream, I never wanted for this to happen.. Was it a vision, then? Her gaze remained at the cobbled road below, but it was impossible to ignore. The throngs of people, watching from both sides, burning judgment into the very souls of the ones in chain. The twelve women, of varying height, built and complexion, had at least a few things in common. The flimsy grey shift, the tired drooling jawline, that bridled-up blue face, to name a few. But the most important one seemed what they meant to the townspeople, the same practiced abhorrence in most their eyes, including children who knew no better, as they kept chanting.. What was they chanting? Elanor couldn't tell, with her senses still struggling for clarity. For some reason, the chant sounded to her like,

Ruined, ruined, ruined....

Bonk! Bonk! Bonk! Bonk!

Loch marched on upfront, drumming, and yelled out.

. "Attention! Attention! This will likely be the last proper public punishment in Wolkenshire, certainly to be administered in front of such a God-fearing crowd. Let the culprits have a taste of Hillsdale hospitality, dear folks. Welcome them with the finest of our produce!"

"Ouch!"

Hearing the yelp Elanor looked ahead instantly, and her right cheek was hit by a rotting tomato. Thankfully the bridle took most of the impact, with the putrid slime splashing onto her face, into her open mouth. That was only the beginning. As if consumed by hatred, the good people on both ends began hurling their way all sorts of soft things, like spoiled eggs, decomposing vegetable scrapes, food waste and so on, as convicts inched forward, now shaking with fear, for the crowd mobbing them out in the open.

A fear that was starting to creep into Her Highness as well. It wasn't uncommon for things to get out of hand in public punishments, with the crowd sufficiently animated. What happens usually is, once things settle down, the authorities will catch a few from the crowd at random, often innocent bystanders, and give them ten lashes as well, just to establish control. It was odd as well, to find such hate flaring out of the residents of such an idyllic small town.