The Black Queen Pt. 02: The Castle

Stefan gazed solemnly from his window as the coach rocked and jostled on the road, the green hills of home slowly giving way to endless plains of brown wheatgrass. His driver--a quiet, surly man with a nose like a hatchet--kept the horses moving at a brisk pace, stopping only for meals and to relieve the inevitable call of nature.

The land rolled endlessly by, marked only by the occasional farm or ruined fortress. By evening Stefan was already impatient for the journey's end. At first he had been eager to see the world outside his village, but the view from the coach had grown stale and he was always cramped and stiff. His mood darkened further when the driver informed him that it would be at least three more days to the Queen's castle. Having no other choice, Stefan bore it as well as he could. His thoughts often returned to Maggie, wishing she had told him of her love sooner, that they could have had more time.

The coach halted for the night at a busy town where Stefan was boarded at the best inn and treated like a visiting Lord. Two serving girls came to offer themselves during the course of the night, but Stefan's heart was unwilling and he sent them away. The next day passed as slowly as the first. The second night was spent at a roadside inn where Stefan was given a hot bath and a fine supper of spiced potatoes and roasted boar. A large-bosomed matron showed him to his room and sternly commanded him to disrobe, and being too weary to argue, he obeyed. To his relief she began to knead the stiffness from his cramped limbs with her strong, skilled hands, and as she worked her way down his body it seemed that all the remaining tension was drawn into his manhood. He swelled, throbbing, and the woman smiled and treated this affliction with slow, stroking caresses until his burden spewed forth and was relieved. The matron departed without a word and Stefan slept more soundly that night than he had since leaving home.

On the third day the road began to wind upward into a range of jagged, forbidding mountains. It began to rain and thunder, and the coach halted at a gloomy inn where Stefan met two other Lottery winners who had stopped there to weather the storm. One was a dark-haired and swarthy young man Stefan's age, and the other was a mousy young woman with chestnut hair and a small, worried mouth who spoke little and jumped at every sudden noise.

They sat and talked beside the fire as the lightning flashed and thundered outside. The young man's name was Grigori and he claimed to be a gypsy prince, though he seemed more rascal than royalty. He knew all sorts of clever tricks, from making coins vanish to juggling cups and throwing knives. As darkness fell they began to talk about what might lie in store for them, with Grigori spinning grisly tales of black magic and sacrifice.

"I've heard that the Queen stays young by bathing in the blood of virgins," he said, eyeing the brown-haired girl as a roguish grin spread over his face. "She hangs all the girls over a tub and chop chop, cuts their throats and bleeds them like pigs. Then she skins them and sells their souls to the Devil."

Stefan struck him on the arm and bade him be silent out of pity for the poor girl, who had paled and was beginning to tremble. After supper they fell quiet, with Stefan laying his head sleepily on the table while Grigori sat brooding by the fire, no doubt thinking of all the wealth and women he'd been forced to leave behind. The girl sat nervously biting her nails, looking like a thread that was slowly coming unraveled.

Before long they retired to their separate rooms where Stefan was once again visited by a serving wench, this one a slender young waif who seemed barely of age. He was about to dismiss her when she fell to her knees and began to cry.

"Please, Lord," she whimpered pitifully. "If I fail to please you my father will beat me! I beg you, let me stay!"

Stefan relented and the girl kissed his hands before sliding into bed with him. As she nestled close he grew tempted to take her, but she was so frail and innocent that it seemed villainous to consider. Instead he merely held her to him, enjoying the warmth of her body as he drifted off to sleep. In the morning she had another favor to ask.

"The more marks of pleasure I bear, the greater my father's pride," she said, hanging her head shyly. "My Lord, if you would perhaps bite me, on the shoulder or on the neck..."

It was the strangest request that had even been made of him, but after a moment's consideration he granted it, biting the girl on her exposed shoulders just hard enough to leave the reddish imprints of his teeth. As an extra touch he suckled at her throat until a handful of love-bruises appeared. The girl was overjoyed and kissed his hands again profusely before running from the room.

Stefan joined the others for breakfast and was pleased to hear that they would be traveling together on the final leg of their journey. A large carriage met them outside and soon they started again in relative comfort, with Grigori dozing as if he had spent a great deal of energy during the night. Stefan passed the time by conversing with his other companion, learning that the brown-haired girl, Yvonne, was from a small mountain village to the east. She was still anxious and quiet, but Stefan managed to coax a smile from her with a few jokes he'd learned at the inn.

They traveled onward in silence, with Stefan looking out his window at the sound of every passing horseman, hoping to see an armored knight or lord on the way to some perilous adventure. For a time he was disappointed, but as the day wore on their carriage passed a long column of soldiers bearing the standard of the Queen--a pouncing black griffon on a field of red. The sun gleamed brightly on their armor and spears, and Stefan had to hold tight to the carriage door to keep himself from falling out as he clambered for a better look. They were all anxious and excited now, even the sleepy-eyed Grigori. The castle could not be far off.

At last the road topped a rise and they beheld the infamous fortress of the Black Queen, a vast, many-tiered structure of glimmering black stone that sat on a solitary pinnacle of rock overlooking the road. Craggy towers rose up from its walls like rows of broken teeth; long scarlet banners flew from the topmost battlements like licking tongues or streaming runners of blood.

It was a bleak and ominous sight. Yvonne began to tremble, and Grigori paled but kept up his brave talk, musing aloud how many pretty girls there must be in a place that size. Awestruck, Stefan gazed at the dark walls of the castle and wondered if it could truly be as sinister as it looked.

At length they drew up to the outer wall and passed over the drawbridge. The gate yawned before them like the mouth of some colossal beast, but their carriage never slowed as it clattered through a long tunnel to finally emerge into a vast, green courtyard. The path was lined with sculpted hedges above which grim-faced statues loomed. Birds chirped and twittered in the branches of fruit trees, and at the center of the courtyard stood a gigantic fountain in the shape of a reclining griffin, a broad stream of crystal clear water spouting out over its tongue to splash noisily into a basin of white-and-yellow water lilies. Stefan was heartened to see that the inside of the castle was markedly more cheerful than the outside, but it was still imposing in its size and grandeur.

The carriage halted and the driver called for them to disembark. Stefan stepped down first, breathing in the cool, flower-scented mountain air as he stretched his stiff limbs. Black-clad men and women were moving to and fro in the courtyard, and he could see a motley crowd of what could only be fellow Lottery winners waiting in front of a pair of large iron doors that led into the castle.

When all three travelers had stepped down from the carriage, a footman came and bowed curtly before them.

"On behalf of Her Majesty the Queen, I welcome you. If you would be so kind as to follow me..." The footman turned and strode off toward the assembly at the iron door. As he followed, Stefan guessed that there must have been upward of a hundred youths gathered there, their numbers mixed evenly between the sexes.

Their escort halted near the doorstep and bade them wait with the others.

"Pray, be patient. In a moment Her Majesty's Chamberlain will receive you."

Nervous chatter rippled through the crowd. Grigori and a few others began to juggle and tumble about comically, no doubt to ease their own nerves as much as to entertain the others. Yvonne began to tremble again and Stefan took her hand and held it, soothing her as best he could.

At last the great iron doors swung inward with a muffled boom. They were ushered inside, passing into a long splendid hall with marble columns and a floor so polished that it shone like a mirror. The walls were ornamented with all manner of trophies, portraits, and hangings. An unsettling mural depicted a smoky battlefield strewn with the corpses of a defeated army, their bodies mangled and aflame. The survivors were being torn apart by monstrous wolves as a stately woman in black looked on, her lips curved in a grim smile. Stefan had no doubt that the woman was meant to be the Queen.

The group was called to a halt beneath a curtained balcony as two more footmen appeared and came to stand before them.

"The Lord Chamberlain will now address you!" One bellowed. "Stand straight and do not speak!"

With a faint rustling of the curtain above, a dark, narrow-faced man stepped forth onto the balcony to look upon his guests. He frowned and stroked his pointed beard for a moment as if displeased with what he saw. At last he spoke, his high-pitched voice echoing throughout the hall.

"I am Lord Renault, the Queen's Chamberlain. Whether or not you are deserving, you have been afforded an honor which very few enjoy. Each of you will be given a place in the Queen's household, to be trained, groomed, and broadened. You will be treated fairly, but do not forget to whom you owe your allegiance. Any disrespect or defiance will be met with swift punishment. Perform your duties well and you will be just as swiftly rewarded."

He paused as a very pale young woman emerged into the hall and moved with unhurried steps toward the gathering.

"The woman you see before you is one of the Queen's personal handmaidens," the Chamberlain continued. "Obey her as you would the Queen herself, for she is Her Majesty's eyes and ears, as well as her hands. Your training begins now, and your progress will be watched closely. The Queen has been most generous to bring you here. Do not disappoint her."

With that he turned and vanished behind the curtains, leaving the crowd to gape at the approaching woman. She was a striking figure--tall, slender, and white from head to toe as if all her color had been drained away. Her silvery hair was cut short like a pageboy; her skin was the color of fresh cream. Her long gown glittered like ice as she walked gracefully across the polished floor, and as she swept her gaze piercingly over the group, something in her pale gray eyes made Stefan feel naked. She was young and extraordinarily beautiful, and he had never before seen a woman like her.

Someone in the crowd wolf-whistled appreciatively, evoking a ripple of nervous laughter. The handmaiden did not seem pleased, however. She fixed them all with her eyes as if searching for a sign of guilt.

"Come forward," she said, her voice melodic and pleasant despite her commanding tone. "It will go easier if you do."

A rather fat young man stepped up, his head raised in arrogant defiance. The handmaiden nodded to the footmen, who proceeded to collar the rotund boy and drag him protesting down the hall and out through an iron-bound door. Stefan felt an uneasy flutter in his stomach as he watched them go.

"I am Selene, the First Handmaiden," the woman said politely, as if nothing had happened. "Follow me, if you please."

They followed obediently as she led them from the great hall to an inner courtyard, green and fragrant with rows of fruit trees and berry-laden bushes. They walked slowly along the earthen path as the white maiden explained what was required of them.

"The rules are simple. You are to behave like civilized people. You are not to fight, gamble, or engage in drink or fornication. You are not to leave the castle grounds. You will obey the will of the Queen and her servants without question. In time some of these restrictions may be lifted, but for now consider yourselves under the strictest supervision."

As she spoke, they rounded a bend and came in view of a large wooden platform. There they saw the portly boy tied spread-eagle between two posts, being horsewhipped mercilessly by a large, cruel-faced man with a shaven head. He sent the whip cracking against the boy's fleshy back, the stroke leaving a long bloody welt behind as the youth cursed and sobbed.

"Such are the smaller offenses punished," the white maid said sternly, though Stefan was near enough to see a flicker of compassion in her pale eyes.

"Disrespect will not be tolerated. This may seem cruel, but it is necessary that the lesson be learned quickly. The Queen does not give second chances. You would all do well to remember this."

Stefan winced with each crack of the whip, unable to help from noticing other ominous devices which stood nearby. There was a row of empty stocks, the top planks open and waiting. There was something that looked like a rack, and most unsettling of all; a gallows from which a thick noose dangled, ready to embrace an unfortunate neck.

They passed the platform and reentered the castle, the screams and cracks of the lash fading swiftly behind them. The white maid stopped as they entered a narrow hall. Before them stood two large doors; one painted a deep red, the other a brilliant blue.

"Remember the rules. Remember that the Queen is strict but fair, and generous to her loyal subjects. Do what is demanded and you will come to no harm."

Her words did little to improve Stefan's mood. He watched as she divided the group, sending the young women through the blue door while ushering the boys through the red. The handmaiden did not follow them.

Stefan and the others filed through the door and into a large chamber filled with steaming tubs and waiting attendants. It seemed they were to be given baths. Once all were inside, a dark, voluptuous woman in red appeared before them, approaching with sure, arrogant strides and smiling as if enjoying the young men's stares. She was exotic and strange, with skin of dark bronze and a crimson gown of supple velvet that hugged the contours of her body like a second skin. Her catlike eyes were painted black and decorated with dots and curling lines. Her face was framed by straight, jet-black hair that fell to just above her breasts, and a choker of thin gold wire adorned her neck like a collar. She was as striking in her own way as the white maiden, dark and seductive where the other had been pale and aloof.

"I am Nahid, the Second Handmaiden." Her voice was husky and soft, almost a purr. "Now step out of your clothes so I can have a look at you."

Stefan looked around hesitantly and saw that the others were doing the same, with no one wanting to be first.

"Come along, don't be shy," the red maid said. "If we are to be friends, there must be no secrets between us."

Finally, one of the bolder young men grinned and stripped down, and the rest followed suit. The handmaiden moved slowly through their ranks, scrutinizing every detail of their bodies with her dark, smoky eyes. Occasionally she reached out a smooth brown hand to stroke or caress, and the male reaction was always swift. When she came to Stefan she traced the tips of her fingers along his penis so lightly that it felt like a breath of air. His eyes were drawn to the handmaiden's half-uncovered breasts, the tops of the large brown globes thrusting prominently out from her low-necked gown. Despite his unease he was fully erect in an instant, and she inspected his heft and thickness briefly before moving on. By the time she came to the end, there wasn't a limp organ in the room.

"Very good," the red maid said approvingly. "Now you may bathe."

Embarrassed, Stefan made his way to one of the tubs and stepped inside, thrilling at the heat of the water. A plump young woman with long red tresses swiftly arrived to attend him, and he had little choice but to relax and enjoy the soft touch of her hands as she bathed him. He was beginning to think he could get used to such treatment. He enjoyed the sight of her nearly unfettered bosom as the girl bent and labored over him, her blouse often coming open to reveal her heaving breasts and the occasional glimpse of a puffy pink nipple.

"You have pretty eyes," the girl said, looking at him with unabashed interest as her hands rubbed over his chest and stomach. Unused to such directness, Stefan could only lower his gaze and blush. The heat in his face deepened as the girl casually washed his erection, cleaning it with slow circling movements of her fingers.

"The first month is the hardest," she told him quietly, as if not wishing to be overheard. "After that it gets easier. Just don't get into trouble." She continued to bathe him, even reaching between his legs to wash his scrotum and anus. Stefan marveled at the unexpected pleasure of it. He was still painfully erect when the bath concluded and the smiling girl rubbed him dry with a towel of soft linen. He was then dressed in a simple gray robe, as were the others.

They were ushered into a hallway, the red handmaiden's firm, provocatively swaying buttocks drawing them onward as surely as any spell. There she left them with instructions to wait until they were called. Stefan sat on a long bench with the others and listened in amusement as they began to whisper excitedly about the horsewhipped boy and the abundant womanly virtues of their handler.

"Ah yes, quite a dusky jewel, that one." Grigori mused, sitting down next to Stefan. "But I think the pale one is taken with you. You should have seen the looks she was giving you, my friend." He whistled, nudging Stefan in the ribs and winking. "Enough to harden fresh bread."

"She was looking at all of us," Stefan responded, never quite sure when Grigori was joking.

Grigori shrugged. "All I want to know is whether the hair on her cunny is as white as the rest of her. Make sure to tell me when you find out, eh?"

The door at the end of the hall opened and an official began to call them into his chamber one by one, taking down their names and assigning them quarters in various parts of the castle. Stefan was placed near the kitchens, where he was also to work. He was escorted to his room by a young page who babbled ceaselessly about the size of the castle and all its various halls, corridors, and secret passages.

"It's quite a maze at times. Why, I bet there's rooms here that nobody's been in for years, forgotten about probably. I've lived here a whole year myself and I barely know my way around!"

Stefan could well believe him. They passed through no less than a dozen large halls and twice as many corridors before they reached the wing where Stefan was to stay. His bedchamber was spartan but clean, with fresh rushes on the floor and straw-filled sacks for beds. The room was shared by three others, only one of whom was present--a scrawny and frail-looking boy who immediately began to complain that he was dying.

"I have the spotted fever," he confided morosely from his bed. "I may cry out at times, or whimper. But don't worry. I'll be dead before the week is out. You won't have to put up with me for long."

The boy looked pale and there were spots on his face, but Stefan thought they looked more like freckles than fever. The page merely sighed impatiently. On his bed Stefan found an outfit already laid out for him, a lace-up shirt and trousers of strong, supple gray cloth. He stripped off his robe and dressed quickly, uncomfortably aware that both the page and the strange boy were watching his every move.