Shadow of the Sun Ch. 02

I don't know how long I stayed like that. I lost track of the number of times the automata touched me at around three or four, and my mind was far too busy roiling in fury to maintain any sense of time. Eventually, even that roiling stopped and I was left dangling on my own at what felt like the bottom of the world. The automata would periodically rouse me, coaxing out quiet high-pitched whines and sporadic thrusts, but otherwise my movements and emotions were as numbed as my toes. When Francine finally opens the cellar door and descends the stairs, she finds me entirely deflated with my head bowed low.

"Ignore previous command," she murmurs to the automata, strolling over to me with a curious gleam in her eyes.

"Ignoring previous command."

She holds my chin and gently lifts it up until we make eye contact; there, she searches my face and finds something that seems to satisfy her. I watch bleary-eyed while she removes my wrist and ankle cuffs, leaving me free to collapse on the floor in exhaustion. "I hope I've made my point clear."

"...m'huh?" I don't bother looking up, enjoying the privilege of relaxing all my muscles at once.

Francine kneels down next to me and places a hand on one of my weary shoulders. "Tell me: Why did Helena punish you?"

"Because she wanted to."

The spymaster scoffs, then quickly composes herself. "Perhaps. But what was the reason she gave you?"

"I got mad and yelled at her."

"Correct. And when you came here, what happened?" Francine's hand begins to pat my shoulder. It feels nice.

"You left me here to suffer."

"Because?"

"...because I got mad and yelled at you." I wince at the words, embarrassed at my now-obvious mistake.

"I can't imagine Her Majesty wants your willful streak gone, and I certainly don't either. But if you don't learn to control yourself..." Her patting turns into a tight squeeze. "Your time here will only grow more and more unpleasant. Understood?"

I nod. She's right, unfortunately--in my new role, pride and stubbornness are obstacles instead of boons. I should have realized that far sooner.

"Good. In that case, now that we've gotten some of your excess energy out, we can proceed to my actual plan for today." Francine stands and returns to her workbench, pulling out what looks like a relatively soft and delicate leather crop. "Don't worry, we'll start slowly--I know you've already been through quite a bit."

Though my arms wobble and a part of me wants to lunge at her and start biting, I sit up and listen attentively.

"Excellent. Now, today we'll be going through three poses: Sit, Present, and Crawl. Repeat back to me."

"Sit, Present, and Crawl." My voice cracks on the first syllable.

"Good! Now, I'm aware Queen Helena may have taught you something similar, but..."

For the next hour or so, Francine teaches me the specifics of each posture, has me practice getting in and out of each, and then runs me through complex sequences of all three. Being tired is actually a benefit for such a simple task; I've no energy to think, so I simply obey. And every time my work pleases Lady Francine, the noblewoman rewards me with nails across my back, a hand cupping my ass, lips sucking at my neck, and a dozen other physical delights. The effect is remarkably calming, and by the time our session ends I'm open, receptive, and veering dangerously close to demure. When she offers to let me come upstairs and kneel beside her while she works, all I offer is a meek nod and a hand squeeze.

Whether my timidity is born of pain avoidance or affectionate submission, I'm too emotionally worn down to worry about the difference. Eventually I break my kneel and lean against the arm of Francine's chair, but she's focused on her paperwork and doesn't seem to mind. She's cute like this, her face scrunching up with concentration or confusion from time to time as she sorts through various documents. Once, while focusing intensely on what looks like a letter, the royal spymaster addresses me once more.

"Veronica? Are you still my obedient girl?"

"Yes, Lady Francine." There's almost no hesitation before I reply. Almost.

"Tell me, how familiar are you with Duke Berinni?"

The question throws me for a moment, and I shift uneasily as I piece together an answer. "The crown has all my notes, my Lady. Whatever information I have, so do you."

Francine nods, then returns to her work. An absent hand trails away from the paper to run through my hair, and I enjoy its pleasant path--until suddenly, its grip tightens. "Obedient girls don't lie, Veronica." Technically, I wasn't lying. All of my crucial information was contained in the notes; it was just buried beneath a hidden cipher the crown had never even noticed. I still recognize her point--clear deceptions like that one are an insult to her intelligence.

"Sorry, my Lady. Old habit. Duke Berinni...well..." The duke was one of southern Arlunn's main power brokers; he had likely learned about whatever was going on along the border. "...we were never in direct conflict, so I never had to focus my efforts on him. But I picked up rumors and scraps along the way; some more fruitful than others." Talking business in a negligee while sitting beneath my former rival is disconcerting, to say the least. It reminds me of my bondage dilemma in the basement--if I sink lower, I'm pulled down from the top. If I reach higher, then I'm unable to sit back and rest.

"Don't bother with tales of petty tax fraud or corruption; I want access to the genius of Lady Veronica Tiern." I blush at her obvious flattery.

"Last I checked, he was moving a lot of money around for a big project--I was never clear on the details. If you want proof, send someone to his winter home in Niol and have them search the groundskeeper's quarters. There, you'll find a log of transactions. The numbers in it are all legitimate; you have to take a knife to the spine of the book and pull out the papers stuffed inside the cover for the real evidence."

Francine stares at me for a long moment, seeking any indication that I'm full of shit and not finding a single one. She shakes her head. "Gods, Ronnie. How did you learn that?"

I shrug. "Groundskeeper liked whiskey and talking. Harlon had one of his men watch the house after catching wind of something odd." A flash of recognition crosses my mind. "I think he might be one of the automata in your basement, actually. Huh."

"Well, consider me impressed. I'll have someone look into it. And if it bears fruit--"

"It will," I interject.

"--then I'd be happy to pick your brain some more, if you don't mind. I imagine you probably miss court life; I certainly would. Maybe this can be the next best thing." Francine shakes her head, smiling to herself. "Maybe this'll teach the bastard."

A strange weight settles in my stomach, a writhing knot different from the rising tension of anger or the demanding warmth of lust. It's guilt and indecision wrapped around the shell of who I once was, and it only grows tighter and more complex as the day progresses and I return to the royal palace, carried by one of the automata. Perhaps...perhaps there is a world where Francine and I can work together. She does seem to respect me in her own way, and I haven't been able to discuss current affairs with someone intelligent for a long time.

Helena's in our chambers when I get back, sitting still while a lady-in-waiting braids her hair. Seeing Her makes the knot twist harder on itself.

She offers a reserved smile. "Hello, sweetness. Did you enjoy your time with Francine?"

Seeing her happy sparks unexpected joy, and I can't help but offer my own smile in return. Maybe I can live with the knot for now; make do with its redundancies and contradictions. "Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for organizing it." I take a deep, shuddering breath and step off what feels like a sheer cliff edge. "I'm sorry for my conduct the other day, my Queen. I was absolutely in the wrong, and I assure you it will not happen again." I enter the 'present' position, my chin high, back arched, and hands resting on my waist.

Though I can barely hear it across the room, the sound impacts me to my very core: Queen Helena lets out a tiny gasp. My wounded pride is suddenly reinvigorated, albeit in a more saccharine form. Her Royal Highness waves off Her ladies in waiting, then beckons me closer. "Crawl."

I get down on my hands and knees to obey, shuffling over to Her while never breaking my reverent gaze. When I arrive, She pulls me up onto her lap and plants kisses all over my face and the top of my head, and I glow from the affection. Her embrace feels like the cure to any ailment I could ever have--any tension or unease remaining from my days without touch dissolves away in Her familiar warmth and smell. Above all, I am awash with a powerful sense of belonging and contentment, like She is necessary to complete me. A girl could get addicted to such a feeling. I think I already am.

"Such a beautiful and docile thing. And once you're fully trained...I have such lovely plans for you, sweetness." I don't doubt Her for a moment. Sitting in Her arms, I know the future belongs to Her. I know that my Queen and Her loyal spymaster can manage any crisis and conquer any foe--rebel factions, upstart nobles, even the Order of Sun Gloria themselves. Helena and Francine will stay on top, and I'll be below and beside them receiving affection and praise.

Unless someone were to feed them false information, of course. Then anything could happen.