Queendom 11: Original Offense

There was no doubt, that for anyone looking up, she'd be nothing but a speck. Yet the Queen couldn't bring herself to stand up, let alone drop the towel. She made it back to the tub on all fours, panting. No one was staring, yet she felt averse to baring. Daylight had a way of anchoring her shame. She had denied doing day-time tasks for a reason. Not out in public, at least. Nights had always been welcoming, to all that was shy, and denied. Saying night felt like home, couldn't be farther from the truth. But calling night her stage. Now, there she couldn't be shy. The Queen didn't kneel, nor sweat or stumble, while looking down the edge, baring all to the night. Her thickening bush felt tickled, and the nipples poked out painfully from the gentle gust. She didn't flinch, it was oddly soothing. Her arms crossed, and began rubbing along the shoulders, as her breath shivered.

The town below looked just as pristine as before, something out of a snow-globe, only sleeping. Quieter than earlier, without the distracting evening church chimes. She remembered waking up from her daytime tub-naps, startled by the bell. As Bella's determined speech from before echoed in her mind, the Queen's roaming eyes circled back to the Church dome. Right across it was a gated structure, designed like an old amphitheater, probably a remnant from the heathen-days. The road in-between was a long straight cobbled stretch, with houses and shops along both sides. She noticed that given the town-planning, there was no suitable place to have a public gathering, a fair-ground or a memorial, like the amphitheater. Perhaps why the Church hadn't destroyed it completely. If the town-head, the Cleric Superior, or the King himself were to come down, they'd all be addressing the townspeople in that silly little ruin.

Maybe it's not that little, it's hard to say the size from this far. But imagine, having a royal procession through that narrow street, only to find the ruins of a heathen-stage. If the carriage doesn't fit through, I'll have to get down by the gates and walk the whole way in. Well.. I don't mind stretching a bit in the countryside, with my royal red robe trailing behind..

Oh, what about.. Elanor got a glimpse. Something so bizarre that it ignited her core, the warmth of which crept up her spine so quickly that she had no further need to rub shoulders. It felt like a jolt, her core was hot. Closing her eyes, she tried prolonging. It came way too easily.

She heard the trumpets play. The spirited stomps of three dozen escorts upfront, all marching in lockstep. The drummers matching their rhythm perfectly, as the herald announced for the cheering crowd, along both sides of the cobbled road. Elanor saw herself waltz in, her hips swaying swan-like, her head held up high, her smile excited as the crowd cheered on. It wasn't like the rowdy throngs from Desert Rose. No crude remarks about her modesty. No hungry eyes stayed locked at her bouncing bosoms. Even as the wind blew her royal robe, there was no sudden roar at the glimpse of her round rear.

No, these were her people. And she, their one True Queen.

They loved her in full, without prejudice it seemed. Even if all she wore, was a tiara and that royal robe.

Either that, or they were too deep in denial to see what's right in front. Elanor had never felt so comfortable in her skin, nor so loved and welcomed by a crowd, as she waltzed up waving ceremoniously to the crowd.

There was a sudden gust from behind, that blew her hair up, chilling her entire spine, bringing her back to reality. Elanor let out a shivering exhale, as her eyes shut tight, trying to prolong the glimpse. But what she saw now was for more chilling, that it doused the fire in her core, the fumes of which lumped her throat.

She was still naked, and walking along the road. But it was no more her parading, she was being paraded. A rotten fruit flew from left and smashed into her breast, which was followed by few more, all aimed at her sorry state. The crowd no more cheered, they out right screamed, foaming through teeth with disdain, and moral indignation. Mothers cursed, wives spat on her, for seducing away their men. Was it a Walk of Shame? No, it was something far worse, Elanor realized, finding herself chained this time.

She could feel the glares burning into her skin, her core strength weaken with each step. She could even feel the ink smudged across her forehead, reducing her to a singular identity. Kazian whispering into her ear, the only name she'd ever need. She was no Queen to any, not anymore. She was just..

"Highness..!"

Thank goodness, Bella.. Elanor shook off the thought, as Bellatrix waved.

"Back to the tub, please Nora. We have an hour more to cover."

Walking back, the Queen kept looking at the moon.

Waning, yet she seems so full.

How does she do that?

***

**

*

Meanwhile, the same moon shone over the far away forests, by the banks of River Kscharah, miles from the war-front, in the Orcan encampment.

"General Tavok! What's this sudden meeting regarding?"

Gorshnok, the Chieftain of mountain orcs asked frustrated. Tavok looked around the table. Every Chieftain in the tent seemed to be sharing the same frustration. The General was in no mood for diplomacy, and with an enormous built and impressive record, his pointed stare was enough to quiet most.

"Just sit and wait, Gorshnok. I'm as much in the dark as you are. If it were up to me, we'd now be turning the river red with them slimey fucks."

The whole table laughed in grunts, even Gorshnok joined in. Slime is an orcan slur for humans, about the physical inferiority. Orcs hated scraping off the pulpy slime from the blades, of drying flesh and blood. A single punch was enough to turn the human limb to a bleeding pulp, while it took the average human warrior considerable effort to make even a scratch. When you add in all the complex machinery of warfare, and formation tactics, humans made for a formidable foe, but the orcs loved focusing on the faults, for it annoyed them greatly how such a puny slime managed to stalemate them for so long.

"Haha.. Alright Tavok, but what are we waiting for?"

"The King would like a word." The General wasted no words.

"The King is here?! Why'd he risk coming to the war front?"

"He's well aware, Bruder. But he is the King, and he listens to only that.."

"The old hag, of course." The River tribe chieftain gritted his teeth. He was talking about Madame Vehmeth, the crooked old witch, who seemed to be the only one to have the King's ear, time and again. It annoyed the chieftains to no end, that a crippled old slimey held so much sway over the alpha of them all, the Great Orcan, King Kragorth.

"Is Vehmeth coming as well..?"

"No, the witch is too old to travel. But her puppet might make an appearance."

"Yevel Nishca, the Dark-eyed Bitch, yes.." Bruder looked mesmerized, saying that name.

"Don't let her hear it, Bruder. She'll have you chained in no time as well. And I won't be getting in the way."

"What's her story, Tavok?"

Tavok remembered the first and only time he saw her. Tall, buxom, muscular, and beautifully green. Full and flowing black hair, unusual for an orc maiden. Her unique armor, designed more to entice, than to protect. Those brown eyes, with unusually thick mascara, looking down on everything. And her prominent jawline, everything from nose-down, covered in a half-veil of black beads. Her every step made an unsettling rattle, from the chains in her both fists. Chained at the other end, were two unlucky pets, two slimey fucks who had been reduced to nothing but an anorexic shell of their former selves.

Humans who had held high military ranks, lead men against the orcs in the battlefields, who now cowered and crawled at her whim. The deep corrosive shame of such humiliation, diluted only by what she made them wear. A simple white loin-cloth. And a somewhat spherical metal helmet, with an opening for mouth, and a single hole above, for sight. Their bodies with no trace of hair, near-femininely soft, and riddled with whip-marks. A truly pathetic state, for all onlookers to laugh at. But nobody enjoyed it more, than the Dark-eyed Bitch herself.

Yevel Nishca. The Keeper of Kennels.

Shaking his head, Tavok answered.

"I know as much as you do about her, Groshnok. And I know, that the King finds her of value."

"Is she his new squeeze?!"

"Worse. She's his pet project. Some sick deal made with Vehmeth."

"Well. I'd say more power to her. Haven't you seen her perform.?!"

Grimohr had a sadistic grin.

"Yes, Grimohr. Once, when she did it for the King. Her only time for a private audience."

Bruder asked, confused.

"Perform?! I thought she was a scout. What is she then, like a dancer or something?"

Grimohr cackled.

"Oh poor Bruder. I'm not going to rot my tongue, reciting her unsightly explorations. If you are so curious, go watch alongside the troops, next time she visits. But I must warn, you better not wear something of rank, and be in her audience."

"I don't get it. Tavok?" Bruder looked to the General.

"She captures human alive, specifically Generals and War-chiefs, and reduces them to pets. Breaking their body and spirit. Makes them perform humiliating ordeals, for the entertainment of our troops. This isn't her job, but her idea of fun. To improve troop morale, she says. It does work, and.. And yes, she has no respect for anyone who leads, including us chieftains. Well, except for the King."

"I heard rumors that she got bloated with a man once." Bomark chuckled.

"Oh, that I can confirm, folks, having met her kid. The bastard's definitely no orcan."

"Just one.?! I heard she pumped out quite the litter.."

Groshnok answered.

"War-time breeding, folks. Those don't count for offspring. Wasn't that the high point of village-raids.?! All those frail bitches whimpering.. Have we ever gone out to collect the litter? Same here. If you are stupid enough to get captured, you'll either die slaving, or wilt breeding. That's the way of war, we didn't make the rules. It's her luck that she managed to escape."

Drugin changed the topic.

"Tavok? What makes the King come all the way? It's not like we have anything major.."

"Drugin, you know why. Why did the King chose to lead the charge for the Spring raid? Or change the plans of the Valley strike last year. Or put all that gold on that stupid Stefonston project. Who makes him do all that?"

"Madam Vehmeth, yeah.. That cursed witch and her sisterhood. We should've never given them refuge.."

Groshnok interjected quite passionately.

"Oh shut up, Drugin! When have her predictions failed us? Have you forgotten the disastrous night raids from winter? The one she specifically warned against.."

"Speak like an orc, Groshnok! What are you, a fucking slime? To mourn for spilled blood.?! You've gone soft..!"

"Hahaha! You all have, it seems, fellow chieftains!"

The six war-chiefs stood up startled, as a massive presence entered the room. General Tavok rose up smiling, raised his right hand slowly, and thumped his chest once with the fist, right next to his bone-amulet, and bowed his head with reverence to the old friend. King Kragorth, the Chief of Chiefs, walked up to his seat, nodding to all present.

"What's with the big, fancy tent, Tavok? What happened to sitting around bonfire?!"

Groshnok answered instead, slightly intimidated.

"It was me, King. One of my craftsmen worked out the design, from a discarded human tent. Quite durable for a slime-work. What do you think?"

Kragorth looked down and said with pity.

"You shouldn't find refuge in tents, brother, unless the sky weeps. And even so, when have a little drizzle bothered the orcan deep slumber?! These human ways, it separates us from Mother Yevelshka. New consorts that will breed only weakness. Haven't you spilled enough blood to know that much? Huh.? Sit. Now tell me Tavok, what's so crucial that you deemed it necessary to summon the King himself?"

"What? King, I never.." Tavok's hand went for his axe instinctively, suspecting foul play, as he focused on the night sounds, while the other chieftains looked around confused.

"HAHAHA! You should see yourself Tav.. Ho ho..! Like you are about to charge. I was just pulling your leg."

Tavok slammed the table laughing, as the others chortled along, some raising cups to the King. The General grunted.

"Kragorth, you bastard! I thought some traitor played us. I was this close to axing Chief Bruder there."

"What?! Are you calling me a traitor?!"

Bruder stood up shouting, clearly offended, as King Kragorth waved his hand.

"No Bruder. But who wouldn't look for an excuse to axe you. You fuck-annoying bastard. Hahaha..!!"

As the rest wobbled laughing with no control, Bruder too joined in sheepishly. No point arguing with the King.

***

**

*

"Even if I were to parade the streets?!"

"In principle, yes Highness."

"I hope you are right, but I don't buy a word of it."

"I'm not so full of myself either, Highness. But I believe it plays a large part in your cover. I understand your concerns of discovery. Have you considered the possibility that this perceived risk, is the very reason of the task's effectiveness? For the pleasure. The relief it provides."

Elanor knew this was bound to come up. She answered.

"Actually, I have. Which makes it all harder to stomach. I'm well aware of the midnight tavern songs my poor drunken subjects cheer to, in the seedy bars of Wolkenshire's underbelly. Illustrious tales of escapades, about dames and dukes of notoriety, the things of shame they get up to. Some of them may even fantasize, of it being them. Of prancing around like a true debauchee. What they fail to grasp is that, the scenario is alluring, for they had never earned the position to begin with. The same for all such subjugatory fantasies. If the power you wield, your place in society, is something you truly earned.. Something you put sweat, blood and tears to.. Then you'd find that position of dignity, far too sacred, to risk subverting. To revel, perverting. That's what those drunks fail to grasp. And I realize I'm no different."

"I don't follow, Highness.." Bellatrix leaned in.

"That night at the Brestfield Manor, I met at least a dozen from the nobility, who had brought in their own wives, to share amongst friends. Which made me realize.. Only the ones who take the sanctity of marriage for granted, can afford to fantasize open-cuckoldry. They were never denied a marriage, it was never a privilege they fought and earned, or decided on their own, as a journey worth embarking. The same for my libidinous sibling Veramour. Privileged by birth, with beauty, wealth and lineage, and matured amidst more lusting eyes than judging.. Only when you can have your pick, you'd wonder even, why stop at one. For so long I thought myself above it all. But it's so clear now. That I'm no different. In fact, I'm worse."

"You are not, Nora! You are different, this is different."

Elanor looked straight into Bella's eyes. She had a certain resolve.

"No, I'm not. And you said it yourself, Bella. What if the relief these tasks provide, comes directly from the risks I take. From risking the sanctity of the very throne I sit atop, the honor of the kingdom I've sworn to protect. This throne, the title of True-ruling Monarch, even the Great Chaste. I never wished, willed, nor earned any of these. The only reason I'm still a virgin, is my dear Bard forbade us breaking tradition. Urging me to wait, till the stars aligned. All my powers, my privileges, all that I put at risk of ridiculous proportions, every time we do a task.. It's all unearned. Which may be why, at times at least, I feel this great sin bubbling up from my core, on the rare chance I'm so close to edge. I'm no different. I'm really not."

Elanor kept staring down to the water. They had been sitting still for so long, that she could see her moonlit reflection stare back. She could see clearly above the brows, that one word description Kazian had written across her forehead. May be the only title in her life that she truly earned. He's wrong. he's so wrong. Splashing off the reflection, Elanor scooped up some water and wiped her forehead fruitlessly, for she knew it'd be there the next time she look at a mirror.

After a long pause, Bella spoke.

"Highness, tell me one thing. Have you ever tasted poison?"

"No! What's that got to do with.." Elanor had a visceral shiver, remembering the dark thoughts that plagued her, the nights soon after receiving news of Barthomius. Bella pushed.

"Humor me? What makes something a medicine and not poison."

"Well, one is for healing, and the other for killing. I don't see what you are getting at.."

"So medicines heal, as opposed to say hemlock."

"Right."

"You're a swordsmaid, Highness. Must be familiar with cuts and cramps. What do they prescribe for joint pains?"

"Usually Rormack's potion." The Queen replied, amused as to where this lead.

"Which contains hemlock, yes?"

"In mild doses, yes."

"And what if you have a sore-throat?"

"That's so well known, Bella. Ruvilac seeds, with honey."

"A spoonful would ease things overnight, correct?"

"About right. Bella, why are we talking about.." The Queen got cut off.

"Say, you take four spoonful. With twice the honey. What would happen?"

"Haha.. I hear, it gives a nice high. And a deep sleep with weird unending dreams."

"What if you took, say, ten spoonful? No honey. And slept straight up."

"That's preposterous. You'll wake up coughing blood, every child knows it.."

"Not much for healing then, huh? So I ask again, what separates the medicine from poison."

"I don't know. Dosage?"

"Exactly. Every thing that heals, can kill you, if not for the dosage. And though every poison kills, some can heal, with the right dosage. Sex isn't much different."

"How so..?"

"Some may constrain it to love. Some will abuse it, recreationally, like Princess Vera. But what we do, is medicinal. Its therapy. We are aware of the poison, so we dose it just right. What makes something medicinal, is often the dosage. And sex isn't much different."

"Says the virgin whisperer." Elanor giggled.

"I'm no virgin." Bella froze, unable to believe that she just said so, as the Queen turned around astounded.

"What did you just say? When? Oh, Bella.. The Order of Swords.?! No you didn't.."

"I was.. just joking."

"Then why are you blushing so.. Oh, you really did.. Hohoho..! Who was it? How was it.?!"

"Highness, I'm.. I'm not saying another word. Here, let me get some warm water, to add to the mix.."

Saying which Bella quickly got out, leaving the Queen laughing.

After adding a few medicinal herbs to the tub, Bella returned.

"Highness, can I be honest? Brutally.?"

Elanor looked her in the eyes for a moment, and said.

"Always Bella. If you can't, this wouldn't work."

"I think this is a misplaced worry. I think you have spotted something wrong, deep in your mind, but can't place it yet, so.. So, you blame the first thing that's obviously off, that is in discordance with the norms. We chose this path for a reason, and much to both our surprise, it seems to be working. If you feel the need to blame yourself still.."

"That's what Father Benedictus said as well, Bella. In very different words. He called it a mis-step."

"Father knows.?!"

"Just the dreams, Bella. He says, that I may have inadvertently broken some fundamental tenet. Something that I had noticed only subconsciously. And perhaps, these dreams are hinting at it, urging me to rectify. And I can't think of something so disastrously wrongful, Bella."