The Will of the Gods Ch. 02

She forced herself to turn her attention away from the uncomfortable yet pleasant slickness between her legs. Reaching forward she pulled at the chain, uncoiling it on the floor. It looked just long enough for her to walk around the tent with relative ease. The manacle was not particularly tight, but there was no way for her to slip the cuff over her ankle. The same went for the cuffs on her hands. All the shackles locked at the joint and she saw that they could not be unfastened without a key. She groaned.

Her eyes moved around the room, wondering where the most likely place for a key would be. She knew how the Will of the Gods Ceremony worked. It was a structure as delicate as a house of cards. Just like a family could make no protests against the kidnapping of one of their family members regardless of their noble status, a slaver could make little protest should his slave get free. If a captured free person freed himself or herself and escaped from their captors, it would be considered blasphemous to attempt to recapture them once they had fled the property. If she could find the key, she could get herself out of here.

The desk seemed a likely place and she stood to move towards it, but just as she did the tent flap opened. Gregar came back in. Without a word to her, he picked up the chain that connected to her ankle, and tugged it hard enough to sweep her off her feet. Regina toppled to the floor, managing to break her fall well enough to keep the wind in her lungs. She let out a soft groan as he drug her toward the pole. He placed her chain on a low hook, allowing her roughly six feet of motion. With a click, he locked it.

"Can't leave you to rummage about, wren. I have some things to take care of. If I were you, I would take a nap. You probably won't sleep much this evening."

"Where are you going?"

He chuckled darkly. "Forgotten already? I can postpone my errands if you would like me to put you over the table again."

The idea of giving him another chance for her body to betray her was more than she could bear at the moment. Regina shook her head quickly. "No, your Highness."

"That's what I thought. I'll be back in a few hours." With that, he left the room.

---

When he had gone, Regina moved toward the pole. She rose on her knees to examine the lock. It looked the exact same shape and size as the ones on her wrist.

Sitting back on her haunches, she rubbed her temples. The arousal that had built in her loins and clouded her mind had subsided, allowing her room to think.

She tried to tell herself that he had forced her reactions out of her, but she could not shake the sneaking suspicion that some part of her had wanted it. His fingers had moved so quickly over her, and she responded so readily. There was no denying the traitorous pumping of her hips against his hand. The thought of it made the disgusting little slut inside of her raise her head inquisitively. She felt a perverse influence deep within her core, that aching aroused feeling that haunted her at the memory of his hands.

Shaking her head, she slapped herself across her right cheek.

"Come on, Regina. You're royalty."

She popped herself on the other side of her face.

"Pull yourself together."

Appraising the room with a disappointed gaze, she realized that the desk was now too far away. She tugged the chain to make sure, but she was right. Even if she completely stretched her body, she could only get within a few feet of it. Her eyes moved away, hunting.

Nothing helpful on the bed. The chests had potential, but all were locked and most were out of her reach. She rubbed her temples harder as panic started to set in. She could feel it rising in her chest, felt her breath quicken.

Shaking, she took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. This was not the time to give into her fears. She had to think. She could feel tears of hopelessness building behind her eyes. There had to be something in the room that could unlock the chains even if she couldn't find a key.

There was nothing she could use by the fire, even though she could reach it. She briefly considered crawling over to it, but then her eyes fell on the table.

Pulled out from the wall, it stood a few feet closer to her than the desk. And she did not even have to rummage through a drawer or anything. What she needed was sitting right on top of it. Rising, she walked towards it. The chain clinked, signaling she had reached the end.

Balancing, she gave a tug to the chain to test it. It would definitely hold. She moved her free left foot forward little by little, letting her right leg rise off the ground as the chain tugged until she was doing a rather awkward arabesque, her body stretched impossibly forward. Her fingers grasped along the nearest edge of the table. She stretched further. It was only a few inches. She felt the manacle slip along her pointed foot. It was not enough to free her, but it gave her the extra half-inch of berth that she needed to wrap her fingers around her target.

Using her back leg to leverage her return to a standing position, she opened her hand. Her own hairpin rested in her palm. It was made of a slightly flexible piece of wood—probably pine. The top of the pin was ornately carved, but the tip thinned into a rounded point. The largest part was no thicker than a straw of wheat. Taking a deep breath, she could feel the panic that had built up in her chest begin to subside. This was happening. She could do this.

With a heavy sigh, she sat down on the floor of the tent. She had no idea how much time had passed, but it did not feel like more than a few moments. She had no idea how long it might be before Gregar returned, hopefully to an empty tent.

Regina scooted closer to the pole until she could pull her right foot into her lap to look at the manacle. She spun it so that the lock faced her. Holding the pin between two fingers, she began to push it into the lock.

If Regina was being completely honest with herself, she had no idea how this was supposed to work. She had never attempted to pick a lock because never in her life had something been locked to her. She grew up with everything she could ever need handed to her. Still, she knew that lock picks existed. She had heard of prisoners escaping with similar pins. There must be a way to do this.

She set to work, moving the pin further into the lock, twisting it slightly one way and then the other. The pin was about a third of the way inside before she felt something very like a click. She pulled at the lock, but it held fast. It did not seem like enough of the pin was in there for it to have worked so soon. She began, slowly, to push again. Careful not to move the pin too much so that she did not mess up the first part, she wiggled it again slightly. Another click. She gasped in excitement, but when she tried the lock again, it still did not turn.

This was excruciating, she thought to herself, but kept going. A little further and the pin was about halfway inside. She felt another click and a spring. Almost too nervous to continue, she gently pulled at the cuff. Nothing. She groaned. That had definitely felt like something different. She tried to push it forward again, but it would not move, as if it was pushing against something.

This must be as far as it would go. Perhaps the little clicks she was feeling in the lock still required some rotation. She tilted the pin to make them turn. They gave a little and then stopped. She pushed again, harder. Nothing. Once more, she gave it another, stronger twist and heard a pop and the resistance stopped suddenly.

"Gods!" The tip of the pin came away in her hand. She gave a yell of frustration. Her chest began to heave in quick, hyperventilating gasps. The panic was back, and with it, tears began to threaten again. She looked at the lock. She could see the pin sticking out of it slightly. She tried to grab it with her fingers to pull it out, but it was too close. She couldn't grasp it.

Exasperated, she stood and walked back to the table. She was pretty sure there was a second pin within reach. Again, she stretched out her body, her leg pulled taut behind her as she reached as far as she could. The tip of her index finger just barely reached the tip of a second pin. She pulled it closer to her until she could pick it up. She looked over the table for the third pin. It was on the far corner. It must have rolled away from its fellows when Gregar put it down. She left it. With no way to check the time, she had no idea how long her first venture had taken.

Pushing back the panicked part of her brain that was screaming that she had no idea what she was doing, that her attempts were futile, she settled back down again to examine the lock. She inserted the second pin into the keyhole just below where she had placed the first pin. Making a digging motion, she attempted to slide it across the other pin, trying to pull it free. It gave a teasing little budge. She tried to grab it, but it was still too close to the metal for her to get it. She made the digging and dragging motion again. Nothing. This was worse than working at a splinter.

She gave a frustrated wail and did it again. Still nothing. Vexed, she jiggled the lock harder. The second pin snapped in her hand. Her eyes went wide.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Her words became a chant as she stared down at the hateful little clasp. The pin had snapped off even further down. She beat the lock with her fist. She tried turning it over and shaking her foot to see if the pins would fall off on their own, but they were wedged too deep in the lock. She wanted to scream, but worried it would be heard outside.

Tears began to slink out of the corners of her eyes. Regina wiped them away with the heel of her palm and got to her feet once more. She had to reach that last pin. She cared little if it meant dislocating her shoulder or her hip or both. There was no way she would stay here.

At the end of her tether, she stretched again. She pushed her foot as far out as she could, leaning forward until she was standing on the tip of her toes. Her hand clutched at the table, trying to push herself forward. The last pin was inches away. Her fingers were nearly at the tip. She could almost brush it. Just then, she felt the slick fur that carpeted the ground give slightly. Before she could react, it slipped out from under her.

Her forehead hit the table as she fell down, making stars dance at the edges of her vision. When she hit the floor, she felt her breath go out of her for the second time today. The whole world seemed to collapse on top of her, and land on her chest, making it impossible to breathe. The tears came then, falling from her eyes as she tried to pull air into her lungs. Her body trembled, breathless and shaking. Slowly she was able to draw painful breaths, but the sobbing did not stop. She did not know how long she lay there before tears would no longer come to her eyes and she drifted off into a forlorn sleep.

————-

Gregar returned carrying a small bundle. He was pleased to see that she had taken his advice and slept, although somewhat curious as to the position she had ended up taking. Her tethered leg was completely outstretched so that it rose slightly off the ground. He supposed she had been trying to get away and did not fault her for it. It was the same thing he had done when faced with slavery. At her castle, he had already been formulating a plan should Ivan not figure out the room where he had been taken.

He nudged her with the toe of his boot. She stirred slightly and opened her eyes. They were tinted red, and he assumed she had been crying. Again, he could not fault her. He made his voice gentle, running his hand along her cotton gown soothingly.

"It's time, wren." She shimmied away from his touch and did not speak. Gregar pulled her to her feet. "Take off your shift."

She shook her head quickly. He liked that she was not speaking, although he assumed it was because in order to do so, she would have to address him by his title. He smiled.

"Still shy around me?" He snickered and gave a slight shrug. "I've seen most of you as it is, but if it's worth the fight to you, I will win it. You'll be naked by the end of it either way. If you don't fight me, I'll let you put something else on." He gestured to a black piece of silky fabric he held in his hand. "If you choose to fight, you will go to the ceremony naked."

She looked up at him, bright green eyes moving from the bundle in his hand, to the muscles in his arms, to the whip he wore curled at his belt, avoiding his eyes at all cost.

He stepped forward and took her chin in his hand, bringing her face up to look at him. He felt her swallow and enjoyed the daunted look in her eyes.

"Your choice, wren."

She turned her chin to pull it from his hand. He let the insolence slide because she moved her shaking fingers up to the straps at her shoulders, pulling her arms from them. She slipped the dress downward slightly. With a practiced shake that made her firm breasts jiggle gently, the satin shift slid down her body to puddle at her feet.

For a moment, the sight of her completely bare before him made his breath catch. He studied her slim ankles, the contour of her thighs, the curve of her waist, and the lusciously firm spheres of her breasts. He watched her nipples harden as he gazed at them, as if begging for a caress. Looking up, he found her eyes and the sight made his chest tighten.

She was watching him watch her, her lips parted slightly as if in awe of the way he looked at her. A grin broke across his face. The sudden change in his expression seemed to startle her, and Regina quickly covered herself, turning to hide her body.

Stepping forward, Gregar tucked the bundle under his arm and grabbed her wrists. She tried to yank them out of his hands, but he held her firm as he moved them behind her head.

"When you strip, this is where you place your hands. You will not cover yourself in front of me."

"I will not have you teaching me 'proper positions.' You forget that I am not your slave yet," she said with a snarl, breaking away from his grasp and tightening her hands into stubborn fists at her sides. He half expected her to stamp her foot.

"Put your hands behind your head," he said in that calm, not calm way. Neither his voice nor his eyes wavered.

Regina shivered. His voice held all the tension of an impending thunderstorm—the slackness of the winds belying the danger that threatened just over the next hill. The entirety of her small figure was taut with loathing, her lip twitching contemptuously. Without any threat, he had made her mind reel at what he might do to her if she refused.

He waited until she was positioned suitably before he spoke again. "Address me properly."

"You forget that I am not your slave yet, your Highness." She spat the last words like a curse.

He could tell that she was trying to mask the fear in her voice with a cold torrent of anger. Gregar liked the push back that she gave him. The higher her spirit, the sweeter her responses were when he teased them out of her.

For now, it was enough that the address was present in her speech. He cupped her breasts, presented as they were like an invitation. He drew his thumb in circles around her aching nipples, watching them harden further at his attentions, straining against her skin to greet him.

"Very true, wren," he admitted. "In fact, that is precisely why I came to fetch you. Stay still." He pulled the black fabric from under his arm and unfurled it.

It did not look like a dress, Regina thought. It was just a long piece of fabric that tapered slightly to a point at either end. He held it out lengthwise and stepped forward to wrap it around her hips, twisting it at one side and bringing the narrow ends up to her right shoulder where he knotted it. The way the material hung meant that the left half of her torso was completely exposed. He looked her over. The effect was immediate.

Even with the upward turn of her nose and the haughty way she held herself, she would never be mistaken for nobility in the gauzy fabric. He reached up with his fingers to tease the unprotected nipple of her left breast, watching her eyes. They regarded him coldly, angrily.

"This suits you better than those skirts, you know. I can see your shape properly." He let the hand that was not attending to her nipple move along her waist and down her thighs, sliding back up along the curve of her ass as if to emphasize his point. "If it was not the god's will for you to wear a slave's dress why would they make it look so good on you?"

"Yes, of course," she replied with a scornful twitch of her nose. She let her voice drip with sarcasm, not holding back. "The gods decide people's fate based entirely on how people look in clothing, your Highness."

Gregar chuckled and tightened the hand on her hip, bringing her toward him until she could feel his stiff bulge against her stomach. Gregar watched her eyes as she felt him press against her. He saw them droop slightly with arousal, her lips parting almost imperceptibly. Regina felt the increasingly familiar aching in her sex, but before she could pull away, he released her.

"We'll see soon, wren. Let's get you ready."

He moved to the chest in the corner and pulled out a new cuff and a thin length of chain. The cuff matched the ones on her hands and feet—steel with gold plating—except that it was larger in diameter and slimmer. He fastened it around her neck with a click.

"After the Ceremony, I will lock this on you permanently." Regina could feel her blood running cold. All these preparations for her servitude were having exactly the effect that she knew he hoped they would.

Gregar made the Will of the Gods' outcome seem inevitable. His whole being radiated casual, unwavering confidence. She tried to raise her chin high, to mimic his own certainty.

He took the opportunity to clip the length of chain in place at her collar.

Taking her hands, he brought them together in front of her and hooked them onto each other with a click. He seized the moment to appreciate the way her arms pushed her pleasantly full breasts together before moving on.

Stooping in front of her, he took a key from his pocket and pushed it into the lock that attached her ankle to the chain. It would not go in. He removed it from the opening and took a closer look at the lock, confused. Then, he noticed two small pieces of wood wedged inside it.

"Ah," he said. "Lock picks, huh?" He looked up at her to see her face turn an angry shade of red and her brow furrow. "Best to use metal in the future. Less likely to break."

Regina bristled. "Pity you didn't leave me metal, then."

"Yes," he said, as he went to his desk and from a drawer produced a pair of tweezers. Returning to the lock, he pulled the two pieces of the pins from it. Having removed them, he unfastened the lock around her ankle and stood.

"But then we would not have this wonderful opportunity for the growth of our budding relationship." He tweaked her nose where it creased.

"Shall we?" He took a step forward and gave a tug on the chain.

She had no choice but to follow him lest she be dragged to the ceremony kicking and screaming instead of with her head held high.

Regina tried to exude confidence as she stepped out from the tent. It was pitch dark. The moon, a faint sliver in the sky, offered little light. Gregar had been gone longer than she thought. The fall air blew cold against her skin, brushing against her through the thin silk of her gown. Goosebumps rose on her pale skin as the breeze kissed her.

The Ceremony was her last chance. She had only seen one done before and, like most, it had gone poorly for the captive young man whose freedom was at stake. It was rare for the gods to Will a captive out of servitude. In death, those who participated in the Ceremony were said to serve the gods. It seemed the Mother, Father and Sister were always willing to add more slaves to their ranks. Those who were released during the Ceremony were held in high regard and bragged about it often.