The Romance on the Violet Sword

And Aria, moaning with a voice no man but James should hope to hear, laid back and received his treatment. She gripped the rug until it wrinkled, shivering and writhing and simultaneously struggling to further indulge in the hot tongue that lapped ceaselessly through her flesh.

James, his manhood rising, could stand it no more. He longed for her; Aria could see it in his eyes, and in the tent that pitched obscenely in his trousers.

Yet James could not bring himself to say so. When Aria stared right back at him, seeking to communicate with another coy glance, James abruptly looked away.

"What's wrong," she said eagerly.

"Nothing is wrong. I just..."

"Are you nervous?" She flashed a smile. "I am too. Strange how challenging an Emperor doesn't bother us, but this..."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You've been doing the farthest thing from that, James. Extremely well, even."

They were at an impasse for but a moment. Aria rose, propping herself up and kissing James on the very same lips that were on her womanhood. With a quick flip, she straddled his waist.

"Aria...?"

"I'll lead," she whispered, tossing her panties aside. "It's better this way anyway. If I'll have more control–"

Though she could see some reluctance in his eyes, as if he had just lost his command, James was also evidently relieved. Planted comfortably on his waist, Aria felt the tightness of James's pants pushing against her thighs as though an imprisoned beast desperate to escape.

When she had undone James's buckle, and the fire-glistened girth of James's priapus emerged like a leaning tower, Aria's little demon of curiosity egged her on to stare at it. She had admittedly seen men's genitals at the local bath house—on little boys being scrubbed by their mothers. The phallus seemed harmless enough, until she realized it would enter her.

"It's quite interesting, isn't it," she said.

"Uh well, it looks quite normal to me." He flushed red.

"It seems shaped so deliberately. Those veins are popping out. Is that normal?"

"They've never given me trouble before, so—"

"It's honestly bigger than I thought it would be."

"Do you want to—"

"No, no. If this is how it's supposed to be, I think I can handle it," she responded, swallowing her nervousness. "We can handle it."

Aria was aware that some women lubricated their male partners with their mouths. She shunned the thought, believing the male organ should go nowhere but inside its female counterpart. Mouths were for eating, talking, and kissing. Those "other things" were for "other women" to do.

Feeling confident, she lay herself on his shaft, rocking her hips with a gentle roll.

"Gods Aria...!"

James gritted his teeth as his rigidity slid through her swollen lips in a sensuous, rhythmic grind, glazing itself in her ambrosial honey. Aria felt her nether regions melt, her violet brows furrowing with guilty satisfaction. But Aria knew she could not stop it here.

With her left hand, she positioned his manhood directly beneath her entrance, her heart beating in anticipation. Slowly, Aria lowered herself.

"James—"

She bit her lips, bearing the forthcoming pain as the coils of his length filled out her womanhood. Accompanied by a vivid pant of pain, it quietly penetrated her paper-thin virginity. But she did not stop to whimper or cry. She promised herself that she wouldn't, firmly believing that soldiers shouldn't shed tears over such trivial pain. And so she sheathed him down to his hilt like she promised, the constricting muscles of her womanhood struggling to cope.

"Gods...!"

The mix of James's moans and Aria's pained whimpers filled the apartment air. While James might have entered a heaven, Aria did not follow, for the pain had completely overshadowed any other sensation, with no sign of the sexual relief she sought.

Yet, her eyes shut tight with both pain and resolve; she dared to move. Slowly rocking her hips back and forth, his shaft repeatedly boring into her, she found herself on the verge of tears. Yet when she glanced to see James's rapturous expression she could not bring herself to stop.

"Aria...! Aria, I–" He moaned in intense pleasure, clutching her waist that trembled with her every little movement and quiver.

"Gods," she gasped, biting her lips.

James could see it. He could see that Aria, as adamant as she was about making love with him for the first time, was not finding pleasure in it at all. Her tears ran too freely, flying soundlessly to his chest with her every shudder. Her cries of pain muted the lubricious melody of their raw connection. And her glistening honey, though profuse, was drowned by velvet ribbons of her blood that coated his shaft.

Her spellbinding countenance, from her ravishing, violet hair to her delicate pubis, had every chamber of James's heart smitten, but as an honorable man who could not derive pleasure from his beloved's pain, he bade her to stop.

"Stop."

And she did without hesitation.

For a moment she stood still. Her chest rose and fell, breathing in an effort to catch up to herself. She did not know why James told her to stop. Was she doing it incorrectly? Did the position cause him pain? She did not care to ask–her inner muscles were aching, and she welcomed the moment of rest.

"Are you okay, Aria," he asked. "I don't want you to continue if it hurts this much. We should stop here."

She was ready to say no– to show him that, yes, she could handle it to the very end. She was a soldier of the prestigious Devlani Royal Army. She felt herself better than this.

Nonetheless, her own body begged her sweep this pride aside, and with her tear-laden lashes shut tight with distress, she nodded her head, yes.

She slipped off of him and sat on his lap, an expression of mixed desire on her face. She yearned to continue to the end, to complete what they started. Yet the pain was such that her torso grew limp and the tears flowed unfettered, staining cheeks that were once flush with pleasure.

James sat up and embraced her. "Please don't cry."

He had always known her to be a strong girl, both in body and mind. Her devotion to her ideals was like no other, and this devotion extended to all other areas of her life.

"It's my fault. I shouldn't have done this," he said.

"No, James. I'm just... I'm sorry I couldn't go on."

James lay her gently back down on the rug. He clasped her legs again, spreading them to fix the damage he had done.

Once again, he buried his face within those legs, kissing them and indulging in the heat of her peach. He ran his tongue through her gently pouty cleft, gathering her nectar and her blood together. His warm breath rushed through her modest patch of violet silk like a breeze across a field of grass, encouraging tiny quakes of pleasure to cut through the pain that pervaded her nether regions.

The pain of their lovemaking fast faded. As James's wet tongue slipped repeatedly in and out her, his rough hands stroking her soft thighs, Aria began to moan and gasp once more. Her cheeks grew flush again, her once pained breaths brimming with anticipation. Something was approaching. Like droplets of gathering water, it was coming together in one mass, poised to fall to the Earth. Writhing in titillation, Aria's hands slowly inched to her swollen bud in an attempt to touch it. But James, his lips claiming it for himself, had gotten there first.

"Aaah!"

She let out a shrill scream as James sucked and fondled it furiously, taking her fast to the summit. His fingers slipped into her moist depths, massaging her convulsing walls with rapid strokes. Her slender abdomen, glistening with perspiration, twitched and shuddered before the impending release. And she grit her teeth, clutching James's hair before her entire frame contorted with an explosive pleasure.

"AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

She was unable to stifle her scream. Her pubic silk stood on end as the electrifying orgasm sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, all the way down to the tips of her toes. James had sealed her entire orifice with his lips, and he tasted a brief splash of her release.

"Gods!"

Aria felt as though she was falling from the sky, with layers upon layers of blank bliss coursing through her mind that stole all of her senses in unison.

The climax lasted for several seconds. And when it receded into the afterglow, she lay spent and sprawled across the rug.

"I think that means you liked it," James said.

Aria laughed.

"James, I'm sorry I–"

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter. What I care most about is you."

"Alright."

The couple then sat before the fire for some time, having wrapped themselves together in the quilt. James prepared a hot water bath, which they took separately. Soaking in the water, Aria couldn't help but realize that they should have bathed before their lovemaking, not after. No matter, thought she. Her muscles—both in and out—ached, and she needed the bath more than anyone.

When the clock struck midnight, Aria approached the living room dressed in only her undergarments and a simple shirt. Having already bathed, James graciously left the bed to Aria while he took to sleeping on the bearskin rug. But Aria wouldn't have that. Slipping under James's blanket, Aria cuddled him from behind as he snored, settling her bare thighs around his.

"Perhaps we'll try again another night."

Content with that position, she slept with him until dawn.

________________________________________

Outside, a figure sat hunched on the stairs of the porch, silently smoking a pipe and peering upwards at the starry skies. He may or may not have heard the couple a floor or two up. Nonetheless, he smoked away, looking somber as he reminisced about a time long ago.

He wagered his assistance at the The Chevalier's Inn was sorely missed. Indeed, when Ian had returned from his trip to the seedier parts of town, seeking nothing more than a better drink than what was offered, he returned to a veritable hall of corpses. Carrying Aria on his shoulder, he and the injured James fled the premises.

"Oh, Commander..." he said to himself. "Sometimes the fool. Always the saint."

He exhaled another ring of smoke, his baggy eyes begging him to sleep while his mind stayed alert.

His brow furled as he sat deep in thought. Last night's sequence of events did not fit nicely as they should, thought he. It was mere coincidence that James had shown up at the Chevalier's Inn when he did. And for an assassination attempt to occur at that very moment, he thought, was highly suspect, if not premeditated.

Neither James nor Ian informed anyone of their coming—not even their allies at the safe house. But even so, Ian felt it prudent to keep watch because there was a chance, however slight, that an enemy knew James was here in the capital.

He was right.

Chapter 5: The Chase

The Vizier Von Richtor's heeled boot stepped over broken glass. He was not happy.

Morning had come. A small crowd of curious onlookers–both commonwealth and peasantry–were gathered outside. Among them whispered rumors that Union rebels had taken residence in the restaurant, for there was no other reason that Von Richtor himself would be present.

Centurions, clad in silver, bellowed at the crowd. "Official business! Begone! There is naught for you to see here!"

Within the building, Von Richtor prowled and examined the damage. Three dozen bodies. Rotting food. Spilled drinks. A series of tables splintered in twain. It was impossible to discern the rebels from regular patrons, but that mattered little to him.

"Where is Commander Rayleen? Bring her here at once!"

The Vizier's assistant bowed and rushed out in haste. A moment later, she returned with a woman clad in silver armor. Her short hair was swept back like blades of wheat, her intense emerald eyes unblinking.

"Commander Rayleen, explain," the Vizier demanded, glaring.

"Sir! I... I sent Lieutenant-Knight Schezobraska here as you ordered. Whatever happened after that is beyond my–"

"No, Commander. That is not what I want to hear!"

"Sir, please—"

"I truly hope you're not responsible for this. Their bodies missing. Signs of struggle. And the man I hired, a Skyrrian no less, lying on the FLOOR blackened like a potato crisp!"

The desperation began to show on her face.

"I had spoken with your man at length. He told me that when Schezobraska arrived, he would poison the lot. And take her to the dungeons. Sir, I just can't explain any of this! I did as you ordered! I even gave you the letters from her apartment last night. What more do you want?!"

Von Richtor scowled, taking a wine glass in hand. He took a whiff of it, and then set it down. Stepping over a body, he made his way to the blackened corpse. The bleached, bone necklace shown like a diamond against coal.

But his eyes narrowed there; the burn marks were not typical of burn victims.

Mage fire?

"Commander," the Vizier started, pulling the necklace from the body. "Speaking of poison, how are Clovis and Murietta doing? They just started schooling, didn't they?"

The color left Rayleen's cheeks.

"My Lord... please don't! I've kept my end of the bargain, I swear it!"

"I'm sure you have, Commander. But it's not enough. Not enough."

She kneeled and nodded her head.

"I'll have you know," he continued. "Last night, a body was discovered in a wine barrel near the southern gatehouse. Belonged to a guard who had gone missing 5 days ago. Pierced through the chest quite thoroughly, and not likely the work of bandits."

"Rebels, my Lord?"

"I must currently assume so, for lack of evidence."

"My Lord, as far as I know, no one in this hideout was notified that anyone would be coming."

"Then they came unannounced?"

The Vizier smiled, the cogs of his mind spinning.

"Only a man who truly wishes to stay hidden would not even notify his own men."

"Y-you can't mean—" Rayleen gasped. "He's not THAT stupid!"

"The Commander of the Vormian Union is yet a young fool. Verily, he has done exactly what His Highness said he would do..."

"But, it could be anyone, My Lord!"

"Indeed. But it could also be the young Vormian Commander. And if it is, he would likely be here for only one person."

"Fine," she admitted. "So, what shall you have me do?"

"Of course, you must chase down Schezobraska before she escapes this city! If you want to keep our bargain, kill her. Prove your allegiance to the Furst."

For a moment, Rayleen appeared stupefied. Despite her decision to sell out the rebels, she had not planned to kill Aria herself.

"Why hesitate, Commander Rayleen? She is no longer your colleague or your friend. If you are afraid, take as many men as you need. Indeed, I suspect our true target travels with her. If you succeed, as promised, your siblings will never go hungry again. But if you fail—"

He brusquely held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, staring lasciviously at her lips.

–Not even the usual favors will stay my hand.

With that, the Vizier left without another word. Centurions filed into the room one by one to clear out the mess.

Rayleen stepped back over the threshold where a crowd looked onward. Even as the sun warmed her face, she felt nothing but the chill of the Vizier's words, and a terrible shame besides.

Chapter 6: The Basilica of Saint Cienagaline

By the grace of their horses, James, Aria, and Ian traveled far to the fringes of the capital, to a place which Aria was most unfamiliar with. Columns hewn of an architecture from the time of barbarians rose high into a ceiling of shimmering tiles. Marble effigies, barely intact, served as silent sentinels in the dim narthex. When the entablature passed overhead, Aria felt a dark chill pass through her body.

"Here we are," James's said, dismounting. "Saint Cienagaline's Basilica. The birthplace of the Vormier Union. And our ticket out of this accursed city."

"That's an odd thing to say," Aria's voice echoed as she passed under a mural. "I had thought the Alliance of the southern dukedoms began in the south, near the citadel of Avoret. Not here in the capital."

"That is what most believe, to our benefit. People do not come to this part of Armad. Not even the unsavory."

"Why is that?"

Just ahead, Ian also dismounted. He unhooked an old torch from the wall, and promptly lit it with magic. The bright flame shimmered on the grill of his visor, and Aria thought she could see the glow of bronzed skin behind it.

Not that she cared.

"James, I love you dearly," Aria said earlier that morning. "But if there is one thing you're lacking, it is good judgement of subordinates."

"And good judgement of women, as well," Ian shot back. "A girl who can't even bed her man properly. What a disgrace."

"H-how dare you!" Aria's face flushed scarlet. "Were you not an ally, I would—"

Needless to say, James was uncomfortable. He was sure she would have killed Ian had he not stayed her hand.

Nonetheless, that was then. This was now.

"This place is widely believed to be cursed," Ian said with a deep bellow. "Saint Cienagaline's Basilica was built in a time before this city became known as Armad. Weaving below us is a labyrinthine maze of catacombs housing the coffins of lords from centuries of yore. It is said that their ghosts, forever bound to this world, wander the halls seeking flesh and blood. And those who walk near their coffins will be instantly caught in their fetid grasp and eaten alive, bones and all. We, unfortunately, must pass through to reach the secret door that leads out of the city. If we can survive—"

"Gods! What are we doing here, James?" Aria screamed. "Let us turn back!"

"Ian, please." James frowned.

"I jest, Lady Schezobraska," Ian laughed while Aria seethed. "But not about the exit. There lies here a secret passage once used by builders of the canal, where the River Laine passes through. Normally, a strong flow of water blocks the entrance to this exit, but in stormy weather, such as that from a few days ago, the flood gates are raised and the waters are redirected into Armad's greater reservoir, allowing the door to be accessed. Although..."

"Is something wrong, Ian?" James asked.

"Something is amiss."

The man in heavy armor took but three steps forward into the hall, until his heel carelessly crushed a stone shard on the floor into powder. With a whirl, one of the statues sprung to life! Aria leapt back, aghast, as the stony, robed figure appeared stony no more, and descended upon the rebels with a death-like gait and a wickedly-curved scythe.

"Get down!" Ian bellowed.

The scythe came whistling down like the hand of the reaper himself. With agility unbefitting his frame, Ian slashed the scythe's handle and split it in twain. Its lethal edge clattered in the hall, and the rest of the statue crumbled into rubble with a second smash from Ian's axe.

"What was that?!" Aria shouted, her hand fast on her sword.

"Just an enchantment," said Ian.

"Not just," James said tersely. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Oh really, statues don't come to life?!" Aria shouted.

"No... he is right. That wasn't supposed to happen," Ian's said darkly.

"And what does that mean?!"

"It means," James said calmly. "That someone recently triggered the Basilica's alarm. The effigies are restless. We must need tread very carefully.

Ian stifled a chortle. "Don't worry little girl, you're in good hands. We men are well-used to protecting delicate women."

"Ah! You—"

"Never mind him, Aria. I'll lead the way."

James raised his torch and continued down the red carpet. The nun-like statues, appearing progressively more intact as the trio strolled, moved nary an inch.

Before long, they emerged into a massive nave, lined with rows upon rows of benches. The ceiling was laden with dusty murals showing religious imagery that Aria could not recognize. Stained-glass domed the vaulted ceiling. And upon the altar stood a statue that Aria thought might depict the Saint Cienagaline herself.