The Duchess of Lust Ch. 01 - The Barbarians

"Viktor," she said tersely.

He glared at the mage, then huffed and followed after the others. Once the door closed, the smirking mage poured himself a cup of wine, and didn't bother to offer one to his duchess. As loyal as he was, he never stooped to menial tasks. She sighed and poured herself one and took a great gulp, her hand shaking a bit in the process.

"Of all the people in this city, I perhaps know the most about our foes. From a purely academic standpoint, of course. I have never traveled to their lands, nor met a single Iron Blade, but the books in my library have been very...illuminating."

He daintily sipped on his wine.

"The Iron Blades are bound to hundreds of spirits and petty gods...or even demons, depending on whom you ask. They make all sorts of offerings to these deities: sacrifices, battles, music, great feasts. Each god has its own taste, and each god has its own holy time of the year. Usually each week is dedicated to a different god, in one way or another."

"And how are the details of their calendar supposed to help us?" She finished her wine, crossed her arms over her chest, and raised an eyebrow at the mage. He so loved to do that: to babble on about random facts in an attempt to appear smarter than everyone else.

It certainly was working, but she wasn't sure how it was relevant to the siege.

"In two nights time, a new lunar period shall began, one that the Iron Blades believes is sacred to a Spirit of the Dancing Forest."

"Again," she said, her eyes narrowing further. "How does this help us?"

"The Spirit of the Dancing Forest is a god of love, lust and passion. One that the Iron Blades pray to before their weddings, for example."

She barked out a disbelieving laugh.

"You are suggesting that I marry one of the brutes leading their army? Even if I stooped to make such an offer, I doubt they'd accept."

"No, not a marriage," he said. "But according to the lore I've read, it is a sacred time for their people, and a time of peace, if one is smart about it. Tribes can send emissaries to their rivals during such times, and make offerings in honor of this Spirit. If accepted, peace can sometimes result, or sometimes a truce or other boon."

"So you suggest that I make an offering to this strange god of theirs?"

"Yes."

"And what, precisely, would such an offer entail? We already sent riders to them with offers of gold to buy them off, but the savages turned away every offer."

"Not gold, my lady."

He stared at her for a few moments, and realization dawned.

"Me?" she hissed.

"You are a compassionate ruler who would do anything for your city, yes?"

"Of course."

"And this might buy us the time we need. I doubt such an offering would get them to abandon their war entirely, but if they stay their hand and agree to a longer truce...then we'd have a chance."

Her legs shook a little and she was forced to take a seat. She'd fantasized, up on the wall, about being ravished by those savages, but that had just been a wicked daydream. But now her adviser was suggesting that she effectively whore herself out to these savages, to honor their strange god of lust.

She swallowed, then poured another cup of wine.

It both sickened and aroused her at the same time, but she knew, just as Brunloc did, that she'd do anything for her people. She'd fight for them, die for them...so surely she could fuck for their sake, too.

"The other advisers cannot hear of this," she hissed. "We will present it to them that I am going simply as a parley. But we'll need to reach out to them, first, to see if they'd even agree at all to this in the first place."

"I have trusted messengers I can send, and trusted men I can dispatch as your escort, when the time comes." He smirked. "No need to trouble Viktor with this, naturally."

"Gods, no," she rasped, shuddering at what he'd think if he knew about this. She slurped down another cup of wine, then sighed and wiped at her lips.

Again her mind trailed back to those memories of that naked, moaning shaman, and the way the brute of a warrior had taken her so roughly, and how that other warrior had knelt before her, shoving his thick cock past her panting lips.

If Brunloc had his way...Sarya would experience a similar fate.

The prospect horrified and thrilled her.

"Make the arrangements, then," she said softly. "Have your messengers discreetly reach out, and see if these savages are amenable to such an offering."

He rose and bowed deeply.

"By your command, my lady."

***

Later that evening, Brunloc confirmed that his spies had managed to make it to the enemy camp to suggest the offering. The wild chieftains of the army had agreed, but the horde would continue its preparations for a battle, in case the offering was not considered worthy. Sarya hadn't questioned how the mage's agents had managed such a feat, and instead had focused on the tasks of ruling over the besieged city.

She spent the next three days embroiled in meetings and councils over strategy, to determine the best way to hold the city. Her mind drifted as her advisers droned on about supplies and where best to place the archers. She found it quite difficult to focus on the banalities of war when faced with the prospect of being given to savage warriors like she was some cheap whore.

And yet beneath the fear and disgust was an undercurrent of excitement and lust. She told herself that her 'excitement' was just excitement for the prospect of a truce, but in truth a dark part of her longed to experience what that shaman had felt, and ached to be bent over and used by foul, bestial warriors. More than once, her mind had drifted during a meeting that she lost track of time until Viktor or someone else snapped her back to reality.

She kept the others in the dark, of course. Only Brunloc and his mysterious associates knew the truth of the parley to come.

After finishing lunch with a few of the city's priests, she rose and headed for her bedchamber, intending on taking a nap so she could get her rest before the upcoming 'parley.' On the way, Brunloc intercepted her, stepping out from behind a statue of a fierce, snarling knight.

"My lady," he purred, bowing low. "I have been thinking."

"You always are," she said drolly. "Be quick with it. I've a need for rest, if I am to make it through this...offering."

"That is precisely why I am here, my lady." He reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a small vial. She knew the man had a knack for alchemy: his skills had foiled many plots to poison her and her predecessors, and the city was largely free of disease thanks to his work.

"What is this?" she asked, her delicate fingers taking the vial.

"A precaution. It wouldn't do for the duchess of Fellhaven to bear the child of a foreign savage, after all. This will ensure that doesn't happen."

It wasn't the first such alchemical precaution she'd used to prevent pregnancy, but usually those came in smaller vials, or in a bundle of tea leaves.

"This is different," she pointed.

"Indeed." He fell in beside her as she resumed her walk to her chambers. "I am sure the offering will be...exhausting and trying. This will ensure that you can withstand whatever you are put through. You'll recover faster and be more..." He smirked. "Well, it will make it easier for you, at least. Can't have you dying from exhaustion after all that, can we?"

She suppressed a shiver, then nodded.

"Thank you," she said, and tucked the little vial beneath her bodice.

"But there is another matter. You have, after all, not openly discussed this parley with the other advisers."

She frowned. She'd been putting that off, for she wasn't sure how she'd be able to do so. Any such suggestion would have led to a barrage of protests and arguments that would have dragged on for days, even weeks. The city might have fallen by the time she could have extricated herself from such a debate.

"And I understand your delay," the mage went on. "So I have yet another solution."

"You are full of those, as of late," she said drolly.

He chuckled.

"The same passageways I used to send my spies out to the camp, can be used by you, tonight. You can discreetly visit the enemy camp and make your offering, with no one the wiser."

She didn't doubt Brunloc would be able to sneak her out, and she herself had snuck out of the palace a few times, back when she'd been a child and in need of some adventure or a bit of discreet fun.

"And I'll avoid all the scandal that would ensue if the truth got out," she said. "I suppose as long as we are quick and as long as no one notices my appearance, all shall be well."

"Yes, that was my thinking as well. It would not do to save the city, only to have your rule questioned due to a tarnished reputation. That would be nonsense, of course." He rolled his eyes. "Gods know that a man or woman can rule well, regardless of who they decide to fuck."

"I agree," she said. "But the people won't. So yes, secrecy is best."

"Very well. Tonight, then, just after the bell for dusk, one of my agents shall come to fetch you. And while the palace slumbers, you shall be on your way to the enemy camp."

She trembled again, and to her surprise, Brunloc laid a hand on her wrist. Normally she would have shirked away or glared, but the surprisingly soft touch actually put her at ease.

"You are doing the right thing, and every ruler has to make tough choices and sacrifices," he said softly. "Because of this...we might be able to hold long enough for reinforcements to arrive. And damn what the others may think." The sorcerer released her and stepped back.

She swallowed and looked nervously up and down the hallway.

"I confess that I am not...dreading it perhaps as much as one might think."

A flash of interest danced through his grey eyes, and he cocked his head.

"While I was inspecting the enemy army..." Her eyes fluttered a bit as she replayed the image of the barbarian shoving that shaman down to the ground. "I saw one of their rituals. One of their witches or shamans being ravished by two of their warriors. Just...out in the open. It was so wanton and wild and primal and..." She felt a bit of sweat drip down her neck, and she wiped it away.

The sorcerer chuckled.

"So perhaps this was not a 'tough choice,' after all. This might be the ideal situation for a ruler: a decision that benefits herself, and her city." He bowed his head. "And as always, my lady, your secrets are safe with me."

"Good."

Because if he told anyone that...she might be tempted to have his head chopped off, no matter how loyal or useful he was.

The mage bowed again, then turned and strode away, leaving the flustered duchess alone in the hall.

***

She was too nervous, excited and terrified to sleep, so instead she had paced through her room for hours, clutching that little vial that Brunloc had given her. Dusk came, and the bell in the palace tower chimed, sounding out the time. Sarya took a few deep breaths and swallowed the contents of the vial: the sour liquid went down surprisingly easily, and she shuddered again as someone rapped on the door.

After a few more deep breaths, she opened the door to see one of the palace guards standing outside. He was a young man she recognized as Jacobi: a new addition to the palace, whom Viktor had said was a promising swordsman.

He bowed low and said nothing, and Sarya wondered how the young guard had managed to get himself embroiled in Brunloc's schemes.

"Brunloc sends his regards, my lady," he murmured, then turned and led her down the empty, candlelit hall. He showed her to one of the guest rooms at the far end of the hallway.

Brunloc stood within, beside a bookcase. Next to him was another man of the palace guard that Sarya didn't recognize. Gods, how many of the palace guard were on Brunloc's payroll? If he hadn't been so loyal over the years, she might have been more alarmed.

The sorcerer bowed and pulled on one of the large tomes. The shelf creaked and swung outward, and Sarya couldn't help but to chuckle.

"A secret door behind a bookcase?" she asked. "I did not think you'd be that...conventional."

"It was not I that ordered it built, my lady," he snickered. "But it serves its purpose well enough."

He snapped his fingers and they ignited with blue flame, and Jacobi and the other guard fell in behind her as she followed the sorcerer into the dark tunnel. Jacobi closed the bookcase behind them, and she shuddered at the cold, pulling her thick cloak more tightly around her.

She had dressed for the occasion: sturdy boots to make the walk easier, and a relatively simple dress that nonetheless had a deep neckline to show off her ample bosom. She hadn't wished to bring her fanciest dress that would thus be ruined, but she also wanted something that would entice the savages, and the outfit struck the balance well.

So well, in fact, that she had noticed one of Brunloc's men eyeing her a little as she'd passed him.

"How long of a journey?" she asked softly.

"Five minutes or so through these tunnels, which open up beneath a monastery a short distance from the city walls. Then another ten minutes across the plain towards the camp."

"And how am I to ensure that some barbarian sentry doesn't cut me down the moment he sees me?"

Brunloc nodded at the unnamed guard, who reached into his pack and pulled out a red cloth. Her heart fluttered a bit, remembering how the barbarian had won a red cloth of his own, and had thus been able to claim the witch's body in full view of the rest of the camp. She wondered if the color was sacred to that lust-deity of theirs, somehow.

"Ensure that you hold this high," the guard said, handing it to her.

"And the savages have strict codes of honor when it comes to killing, believe it or not," Brunloc said. "So as long as you show that you bear no weapons, and as long as you keep that cloth high, you should have no trouble."

"No trouble," she repeated drolly. "No trouble save for surviving the hungry lust of barbarian chiefs, you mean."

"Yes, no trouble save that," he said, his voice just as droll as hers.

He led the way further down the dark, damp tunnels, and took turns seemingly at random, all without consulting a map or pausing to think for a moment. The minutes dragged on, until they reached a dusty stone wall. Brunloc pressed against one of the bricks, and the wall shifted and groaned, entering out into a dusty basement.

"Beneath the kitchens of the monastery," Brunloc explained. He stepped into the dusty chamber and led the way up a rickety wooden staircase that emerged behind a cracked, dusty table.

"Monks are doing a poor job of using it," Jacobi observed.

"Of course," the other guard said with a snort. "Can't be using their kitchens if they're cooped up behind the walls with us, eh?"

"This is where we part ways, my lady," Brunloc said. "I must return to the palace to run interference, in case anyone notices you have gone missing. Jacobi and Geran will see you safely to the barbarian camp, and await a short distance away to escort you once the offering is finished."

A blush flared across her cheeks and she cast quick, sheepish glances at the two guards, wondering if they'd be close enough to witness what she had to do.

"Don't worry, my lady," Geran said gruffly. "We know the importance of discretion."

"Aye," Brunloc said. "If only you knew what sort of nastiness these pair have already witnessed while in my employ."

He reached out for the duchess' wrist and gave her a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"For Fellhaven," he said firmly.

"For Fellhaven," she repeated with a sigh.

The sorcerer turned and disappeared back down the secret passage, and Geran and Jacobi escorted her out into the empty grounds of the monastery. Her eyes flitted to the north, to the ravaged forest and the rows of cookfires. Sarya could barely make out the tents and darting forms of the savages, and howls of laughter echoed through the night.

She closed her eyes and tried to still herself, but her mind was filled with another flash of that shaman being ruthlessly ravished by those two barbarians, in full view of the other warriors. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

"For Fellhaven," she murmured to herself. Sarya held her head high and strode confidently towards the enemy camp, though she shook inwardly.

Tonight, her body would be used and ravished by those foul foreigners...but such a sacrifice might very well save her people.

And that sacrifice might be very enjoyable indeed...

Sarya's thighs shuddered as she walked, then she reached for the red cloth and held it high, as Brunloc had instructed.

"We come in peace!" Geran bellowed. "As agreed!"

The howls and hoots of laughter faded, and she squinted to see the ranks of fur-clad warriors turn to stare out into the darkness.

"Step forward!" a harsh voice barked. "Show yerselves, or meet my arrows!"

Jacobi nodded and gave her a reassuring smile, and she took another deep breath and stepped closer. The two guards remained behind, standing in the darkness with their hands on their blades.

Sarya had never felt more alone, more terrified...or more excited.

She stepped into the outer glow of the campfires, still waving that red cloth. Many of the savages gasped, some growled indecipherably in their foreign tongue, and some laughed. A handful-men and women both-made rude gestures or grasped at their crotches and bucked their hips against the air, to the delight of the others.

A shirtless, short and muscular man stepped forward. In one hand he held an axe, and in the other a flagon of ale. He took a gulp and looked her up and down.

"So you're the offering, eh?"

"Yes," she said meekly.

"What's that?" he grunted. "Speak up."

"Yes," she said, just a touch louder that time.

He smirked and looked her up and down a second time.

"Decent offering, aye. The king will approve. Come." He gestured with his axe for her to follow.

Instinctively, she started to bow her head to gaze meekly down at the ground, then felt a sudden fire ignite within her.

No. Even though she was to debase herself that night, she was still a duchess of Fellhaven, and one of the most powerful women in the Empire. If she was to suffer the fate of being some savage king's plaything, she would do so with the pride befitting her station.

She cleared her throat and raised her head high, eliciting a whistle of approval and a few laughs from the leering, gawking barbarians.

"Your king," she said, managing to sound imperious and not terrifying at all. "Can you tell me of him?"

"Ulrik the Wounded, we call him," the man grunted. "Don't really need to bother with bowing or scraping or calling him your majesty." The warrior then snickered. "Well, you might need to worry about that, but not us."

"Ulrik the Wounded?" she repeated, ignoring the man's joke, but she knew he was likely right. "That's an odd name for a king. An odd name for anyone, rather."

"Aye, but that's the way of our people. We Iron Blades like our odd names. He got his because he was wounded by a dragon. So not a normal sort of wound. It's a wound he's proud of, you see."

She frowned, wondering if he was scarred and ghastly and deformed as a result. It was one thing for a man to have a dashing, roguish scar, but quite another if he was a twisted abomination of a man.

"And his wound...how bad is it?"

"Ah, don't worry, fancy lady," the man snickered again. "Just some scars across his face and neck. All the women of the clans think he's mighty pretty."

Sarya felt a flicker of relief at that. At least her body would be used and abused by a decent-looking man.

Nearly every set of eyes in the camp followed her as she passed. She cast her own gaze back at them, inspecting the wild warriors who dreamed of breaking down her city's ancient walls. They were even more savage and frightening up close, yet she saw little glimpses of humanity here and there: lovers standing close, and comrades leaning on one another as they examined the visitor. One young woman, seemingly another witch of the tribes, even smiled and bowed her head low.