The Bound Knight Ch. 09

Her mind was blank. Her heart hammering in her chest. She followed his instructions without thought. The pose was one she had seen before, but never assumed. It was a posture men used to show deference to other men. She didn't know if it had an entry in Alwyn's bible, but if it did then the text under it would undoubtedly read 'forbidden to slaves.'

"Back straight. Chest towards me," Mevenmein said.

She did, her eyes locked onto the crest. It seemed to glow brighter the closer it got to her. It was as if she could feel it calling out to her.

Mevenmein said, "There are words traditionally spoken at these sorts of things." He smiled. "But that seems a tad absurd given the circumstances." He glanced back at Josephine. "And I've already committed a thousand different heresies to get to this point, so I see no reason to stop now."

He raised the buckler with both hands. Eve saw his fingers grip the metal tightly. The crest was a brilliant white. He stepped towards her.

And Josephine said, "It is also custom for the knight to make an oath."

"An oath?" Mevenmein blinked. "What would that even be?" he scoffed.

Josephine looked at Eve. "Who knows? That's for the knight to decide."

Eve's mouth was dry. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it pumping in her ears. They were all staring at her. An oath? And she would make it?

She saw her father. He stared at her waiting, but she knew, without a doubt, that if she hesitated he would stop this. He would declare it nonsense, and press the crest to her without ceremony.

Josephine was watching her. Why had the witch put her in this position? Just to watch her squirm? That seemed to be why she did most things, but she didn't look like she was making a joke. She looked eager. It was an odd expression on her. Eve realized it was the first time she had seen the witch not looking like she knew exactly what would happen.

And Vassimir stood over by the side, watching her as well. His expression was unreadable. He had said none of this would have happened without him, but she realized that she barely understood him.

An oath. It was a small, insignificant thing. It held no real power. Yet, right now, in these circumstances, she felt like it mattered. And she had control of it. Her father was already opening his mouth to end it. There was no time to think. No one had asked her about any of this. It was being thrust upon her. But she had power over this one, tiny thing.

She said the first thing that came to her mind, "Victory."

Her father blinked. His words catching in his throat.

She said, "This -- I am going to win. I will defeat Sir Moldred, Sir Aloric, Sir Gastogne. Anyone."

Her father was caught off guard, and he stared at her like she was a dog that had started talking. She saw his eyes narrow and a dark expression cross his face. He asked, "For what purpose?"

Power, respect, just because I want to win, all flashed through her head. But she saw the look in her father's eyes, and the moment passed. She felt the cool air on her nude skin, and remembered that she was a cunt, kneeling on the floor in front of two clothed men. She remembered the taste of the ashes from her father's cigars, and the feeling of a firestick on her skin. She looked down.

"This cunt pledges victory for her father and master," she answered.

When she looked back up, the dark expression was gone from his face. "Very good," he said, and pressed the crest to her chest.

The seal of light touched her skin, and she felt her body twitch and pulse. It wasn't painful, exactly, but she could feel her body reacting. It was like flashes of lightning were being pushed through her with every beat of her heart. Her father pulled the buckler away, but the crest stayed -- hovering just over her skin. Her breathing grew faster, and her body felt hot. Occasionally, her muscles would spasm as the flashes of lightning passed over them.

And then there was a body next to her. "Open wide," Josephine ordered. And before Eve could process what was happening the witch grabbed her mouth and poured the vial down it. Eve swallowed. It was all she could manage. Her body barely felt her own, and she wasn't sure she could figure out how to move her muscles to spit.

She knew, as soon as she tasted it, that it was the same as before -- possibly stronger. She had a moment to stare at all of them: her father watching with impatience; Vassimir a mix of worry and a burning look of curiosity that she had never seen on him before; and the witch, staring at her with a strange look that almost looked like disappointment.

Eve didn't have time to process it. She felt the potion turn to fire in her gut, and collapsed to the ground. Her body arched, her muscles tensed, and the fire and lightning combined into a pain unlike anything she had ever felt. It was too much, and the world went dark.

-

"Will she be alright?" Mevenmein asked. He stared at his daughter's twitching form, sprawled out on the ground. He thought she had passed out, and her eyes were closed, but every few moments she would writhe like a snake, moaning in pain.

"The potion will do its job," the witch said. "As for the rest, I cannot say."

He stared at her. "It better. If this goes wrong, if anything happens to her, I'll have you flayed."

"Your threats are growing tiring Alfred." She looked over at Eve. "As is all of this. It was novel, for a time, but I have other matters to attend to." She gave a slight, perfunctory bow of her head to Mevenmein, then turned towards Vassimir and winked at him, and headed towards the door.

Mevenmein watched her go. He considered ordering her to stay, but he had to go as well. Besides, he knew there wasn't much point. He had ordered some of his best men to watch the witch, and sent his stealthiest slaves to keep eyes on her. No one had managed to keep track of her for more than hour. She would walk into a room with no other exits and disappear -- turn a corner and vanish. For all his threats, he knew there was little he could do to her. He couldn't even complain to the inquisition, since they undoubtedly knew she was here. He had no doubt that, hidden behind her, lurking in the shadows, was the inquisitor that controlled her.

If only he knew what they wanted.

He turned to Vassimir. "Can you handle things here? I would prefer to stay, but..."

"I understand," he said. "You have an entire county to see to, my lord. Let me handle one knight."

'One knight,' Mevenmein mused. Not 'one cunt,' not 'one slave.' He stared at Eve. Her nude body writhed on the ground, muscles flexing in strange ways. Her legs were still long and lean, her ass still tight, her chest still full and perky -- all traits of a good slave. He had treated her like she was a boy for most of her life, up until she started to develop and he could no longer pretend. Now a crest of light hovered just over her breasts, and all her other traits seemed to pale in comparison.

For the first time, he realized there was something he hadn't considered. In all his worries about heresy and practicality, he had never thought about what would happen after he gave her the crest. If he was being honest with himself, he had never really thought he would get this far.

He had taken it for granted he would be able to control her. But, she didn't have a brand. And that oath. She had pledged herself to him, but there had been something in her eyes when she first said 'victory' that he couldn't shake.

"My lord?" Vassimir asked, placing his hand on Mevenmein's shoulder. Mevenmein, shaken out of his thoughts, turned towards him.

"I can handle things here," his marshal said. "Trust me, I've prepared plenty of knights for plenty of duels. This will be no different."

Mevenmein stared at Eve. It seemed very different -- this was his daughter. But, he didn't say it. He just thanked him, and headed towards the door.

And as the door closed Vassimir stared down at Eve's twitching form -- watching her moan in pain. He paced the room, and touched the armor -- checking its seams. He walked by the weapon rack -- testing the balance of the weapons. One sword felt slightly loose in its hilt, and he threw it to the side. A spear was dull, and with no time to sharpen it he tossed it in a pile with the sword. There was a large battle-axe with an oddly heavy head. He leaned it by the wall, and continued examining the weapons. And as he did he heard a groan of pain behind him. He turned to see Eve start to open her eyes. He picked up the battle-axe off the wall, and walked over to her.

Eve rubbed her eyes, and made the small motions of someone in pain. But, the bruises and marks on her were gone. Her skin freshly healed, if slightly flushed with heat. He stood over her, and smiled down. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Sir Eve."

Eve stared up at him, confusion on her face. She was moving slowly, her body slick with sweat. He took a step towards her, gripped the axe with both hands, and swung it down at her with all the strength and speed he could muster.