In the Name of Peace Ch. 03

Hello again, friends.

Sorry for the delay since last time around. Started some other stories in the weeks since. I'll do my best to juggle the present two consistently, and be more up to date on either one.

For now, enjoy this turning point in the narrative.

It's about to get messy...

---

The first day of the Hunter's Moon drew to a close. With it came a roaring bonfire lit at the apex of the Horned Keep. The first of three, to mark each holy night.

In the feasting hall sat Kierra and Azral, joined once again by their guard and Lady Selaras. After one stiff formal apology, the queen and warlord returned to their pressing business. Negotiation on trade routes, navigating the difference in currency between Arcadian and orcish currency, the building of religious sanctuaries, and more.

While Azral poured over a map of the known continent, and all lands yet charted by her people, Kierra stole a look at the floor beyond their stacked dinner table. Up above the throng of assembled orcs, goblinoids and drow was an elaborate performance. A 'dramatic recreation', as Azral had put it, of Kierra's battle with the fire giant Ghidon.

A grotesque puppet loomed over the revelers, levitated by magic. Some simple enchantments, courtesy of a bardic troupe who sang and danced with the utmost fervor, lit up the dark construct with a fiery mane of hair that framed his scowling face like the mockery of a halo. It wasn't a perfect recreation, but Kierra was impressed all the same. Whether it be the scale of the thing, or how well it captured the giant's violent downfall.

The illusion of Ghidon swung his fiery sword with wild abandon before an elven performer, dressed in Kierra's likeness, fired a ballistae into his heart. With a loud roar, Ghidon fell, and the fire coursing through his body was extinguished.

"With will of iron and soul of flame,

A legend the young queen became!"

The leader of the bards, a young grey tiefling with red fiery eyes, concluded his rowdy performance with a bow. He donned a dashing smile, looking to the head table and winking at the women in attendance.

"Bless our lord, and his lady fair.

Your courage and beauty are all too rare.

Mark this holy night with a prayer on your lips..."

The raucous crowd raised their cups and joined in for the last bawdy verse.

"... And with a bold, wild THRUST of the hips!"

Laughter, cheers and the slamming of mugs on every wooden table rang in Kierra's ears.

She courteously clapped along, doing her best to ignore several of the more inebriated partygoers already feeling one another up. If nothing else, she thought, Azral's people would sleep well tonight.

But would she?

Azral, meanwhile, stood from his chair and clapped loud enough to pierce the din around them.

"Bravo," he shouted. "Bravo."

He plucked a small pouch of gold from his belt and tossed it to the tiefling, who caught it with effortless grace.

"You honor us both. Come, another song!"

The tiefling bowed lower than before, his tail swishing back and forth in excitement.

"We live to please, Dragonbane."

The tiefling tapped his foot and started up a new tune. A jaunty, cheerful jig which soon had the crowd stamping their feet and moving in circles.

"He's good," Kierra heard from off to the side. It was Lieutenant Astrid, looking remarkably chipper even by her standards. Kierra had noticed as much the whole of the afternoon.

After a brief absence following her spat with Milius, the elven knight returned with Shevra and Torin in tow. They had been, as Astrid put it, 'trading lessons' in swordplay.

Kierra hadn't thought much of it at the time. But as she watched, Astrid's posture the whole of the evening grew steadily more casual, at ease. And every now and then, her lavender eyes would drift to the other side of the table towards the two Swords.

Unease began to creep up on Kierra. It only occurred to her now just how much time had passed between Astrid's departure, and her return.

What in Pelor's name could have happened in all that time?

Kierra spent a good while tracking her knight's wandering gaze, looking for any giveaway.

But had she allowed herself to mind her surroundings, she would have seen others in Shevra's ranks eyeing the head table.

A group of five orcish women, all dressed near identical to her. Each bore similar streaks of red dye in their hair, and a collection of scars.

The five Red Widows stared at their Arcadian guests, leaning over to whisper at one another now and then.

It was Milius who'd caught their attention. Sulking alone, he swirled a glass of wine thoughtlessly and paid no mind to the celebration around him. His pride had taken a hit today.

One of the Widows narrowed her eyes at Milius.

Then she bared her teeth in a feral smile and licked her lips at the thought of everything they were about to do to him.

Queen Kierra's knights were working in shifts. Neither Milius, nor the precious Astrid, were going to be anywhere near their dear queen tonight.

Just as planned.

---

Milius wandered aimlessly across the castle wall. Returning to where he and Astrid had conversed at sunrise, he stewed in his thoughts and tried to reconcile the embarrassment today had brought.

He couldn't understand it. For the life of him, Milius couldn't comprehend what Queen Kierra hoped to gain playing nice with the Overlord. Perhaps this treaty would last a generation or so, as she hoped. Perhaps Arcadia could enjoy some measure of comfort, of peace for now.

But it was just as likely things would fall apart in a matter of months. These orcs may very well have been more intelligent, more refined than the greenskins who were the stuff of nightmares across the known world. But an orc was an orc.

Milius's people had bled at their hands. However long ago it was, he couldn't allow himself to forget that. He was a man of means and history, and it was his duty to defend that history and hold steadfast against any concession the Grey Ones would ask of him.

But being that he was the only one here who seemed to know that, it was best he took his leave as the night wore on. The Queen and Overlord could play their games, speak their pleasantries, make their promises. He would have no part in any of that.

Particularly after downing one too many glasses of wine.

A shuffling of footsteps from across the wall finally pulled Milius out of his troubled thoughts. He turned about, seeing a pair of tall and finely dressed women slouching against the parapet.

"Who..." Milius almost hiccupped. Shaking his head, he mustered what sobriety he had left and stood tall before whoever was stalking him.

"Who goes there? Name yourself."

Milius was greeted with a low, throaty chuckling. "So serious. You ever take a moment, just one moment, to pull that stick out of your ass and try to have a good time?"

Milius tried not to groan in exasperation as his visitors stepped into the light. The first was one of Captain Torin's soldiers. The one they'd called Zhora. She was carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, while the other rested on her hip as she leered at Milius. The second was a taller, statuesque woman who bore the markings of the Red Widows.

Judging by their gait, and their laughter, the two of them were fairly deep in their cups already.

"Evening," Zhora chirped.

Milius fidgeted awkwardly at their presence.

"Good evening." His voice was flat, disinterested. Milius had little interest in trading any more barbs. Not that it would accomplish much save for another scolding.

The two women weren't so easily blown off, however. Zhora's fellow orc crept out from behind her, holding something of her own. It was hard to tell exactly what, as the moon was currently obscured by a heavy bank of clouds.

"Are you lost?" she asked in a surprisingly light, melodious voice.

Milius scoffed. "Hardly. I've had two days to map out this fortress. Give me one more, I'll know it as well as the queen's castle back home."

The she-orc raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? For a newcomer, you sound so sure of yourself."

"I am of the Dawn's Hammer," Milius retorted, bristling at her teasing. "It's expected of me... No, demanded of me to maintain the utmost awareness and authority wherever I roam."

As her compatriot nodded along teasingly, Zhora stole a look at the realm beyond. The volcanic lake. The illuminated houses, temples and watchtowers. In the dim reddish light, both orcs' intense eyes and their fangs gave them a vaguely menacing look.

"Please excuse Evor," she sighed. "She's a little too forward for her own good. Lights up like a pack of fireworks when we have visitors."

Milius watched Zhora's head turn slowly in his direction, drinking in the sight of her homeland until both she and the giggling Evor were regarding their human guest once more.

"I've heard some interesting things about you, Captain. From your subordinate, and your esteemed leader."

Again, Milius turned prickly. Loyal Astrid, or the steadfast Kiera, exchanging gossip with these harridans?

It was a ruse. Zhora was bluffing, trying to get a rise out of him just as her master had.

"Of course," he snarked. "Of course. Pray tell, what did Her Majesty or the lieutenant tell you?"

Zhora eyed Evor. On cue, she held aloft the instrument in her hand.

A longbow.

Shit. They're not bluffing.

"Sweet Astrid says you're quite the archer," Zhora remarked with a smile.

"Evor here is no slouch herself. In fact, I'd go so far as to say she's the best among us. So when we heard the two of you have that in common, well, we had to find out for ourselves.

We also overheard from the queen that you're a betting man."

Milius, eyes already set on the bow, couldn't help but listen as she went on.

"You've been on edge since you showed up. Understandable. So why don't we have ourselves a little game, a wager, to break all the tension?

Milius couldn't pretend the idea didn't intrigue him. These damned orcs had been showing him up in one way or another all day. First their wives' tales boasting of these painted wenches' accomplishments at warriors. Then, that insufferable Azral and his self-proclaimed diplomatic privilege.

Now this.

It was true, Milius had long prized his talent for archery. It was a skill passed down by his father, and his father before.

"Show me," he said curtly, and beckoned Evor closer.

The orc acquiesced, holding out her weapon. Up close its quality became apparent very quickly. It was shaped from dark, almost blackened wood. Ornamental markings and script were inscribed along its length. On the spot Evor's hand would clutch the weapon, Milius saw what looked like her family crest.

When it was clear he had permission, Milius examined the bow. He would be hard pressed to deny its quality, were the bow of human make. And he was too inebriated to try anyway.

"It's well done," he admitted begrudgingly.

Evor cocked a smug half-grin back at him.

"I'd like to see you use it," she asked in her almost musical tone. "Let's pit your skill against mine, see if you can back up all that bluster from this morning."

"Look at those arms," Zhora murmured.

Milius almost jumped. He hadn't realized Zhora was close behind him now.

"I'm sure a strapping knight like you isn't going to back down from two tipsy wenches?"

Milius put on his best attempt at bravado, ignoring their suggestive words and the manner in which they were looking at him now.

"So nice of you to notice. And no, I'm not afraid. If you're eager to challenge me, then no. I won't back down.

But every wager has stakes. What are yours?"

Zhora shrugged nonchalantly. "It's simple. You both take up that bow, and fire on a target of my choosing. If you win, we back off and leave both you and your fellow knight alone for the remainder of your stay. Evor's legend, her sisters-in-arms' legend, takes a slight nick courtesy of your great skill."

Milius liked the sound of that. But he wasn't drunk enough to ignore the alternative.

"And if you win?" he asked Evor.

The orcish women exchanged a furtive, worrying leer.

"If I win," she snickered, "you come with us to the Wolves' Den."

Milius blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"The Wolves' Den!" Zhora jerked her head in the direction of what looked like a large set of stables, jutting off the southern side of the Horned Keep.

The orc knight cocked her head mockingly. "I thought you knew our fortress already?"

His ears burning, Milius growled, "Alright... I suppose I missed a spot. Pray tell me, oh kind and courageous swordswoman to whom I owe tremendous thanks for your hospitality, what is the Wolves' Den?"

Zhora, utterly unphased by his cheek, clapped him on the shoulder and led both him and Evor to the stairs.

"The Den is where we keep our trained direwolves."

Milius must have looked as alarmed as he felt, because both Evor and Zhora looked ready to bark in laughter at him.

"Two generations back, the Overlord of these mountains tamed a pack of the fine beasts. We've reared and trained them in that old slab of stone ever since.

And tonight there's work to be done there. If you're not as good as Astrid says you are, I'm afraid the girls will need your help."

Milius forced back an annoyed grunt. He knew this was just another way for the orcs to humble him. His better judgment told him to say no and be on his way. Or to wait until morning.

But as she noted Evor's swaying, uneven gait once again, a part of Milius told him to keep going.

Prove your point. Let these savages know what a proper knight is capable of.

His fists, which had tightened into balls of iron, finally gave out.

"So be it," he answered, raising his head high and adopting the look of superiority he'd practiced for years.

"I accept. Fetch more wine, orcs. You'll need it, when I'm through with you."

---

One Hour Later

Milius stared at the half-empty bottle in his hand.

Then at the wooden post fifty yards away. A post that at the moment was chock full of arrows, half of which were his.

A crimson ring had been haphazardly painted on the post, and for what felt like an eternity he and Evor had taken their turns firing. Six shots each, with a swig of the potent, heavy wine for every time they hit their target.

Both struck true. But when it was done, only one of them had hit dead center.

And it wasn't Milius.

He couldn't believe it. Here he was, one of Arcadia's finest, renowned for his keen eye and peerless aim. And he'd just gotten shown up by a smirking, lascivious savage from the mountains.

Evor swaggered towards him. The alcohol was doing its work already, judging by the occasional wobble in her step. The orc sat next to Milius and took the bottle away, her expression sympathetic.

"For what it's worth," she remarked, "it's been a long time since any man or woman's matched me arrow for arrow. You came close, human. Be proud of that, if nothing else."

Milius tried to hide how little comfort her words gave him. "My father always told me 'close isn't good enough'. If I'd been out there, on the battlefield against those black dragons and their cultists years ago, one poorly placed shot would mean life or death."

"Well you're not on the battlefield, are you?"

Milius heard Zhora coming back around, and with a sudden jolt the tall woman hoisted him up to his feet with surprising ease.

She continued. "You're in the company of two lovely ladies looking for a good time. This was fun, but the night's still young and there's plenty more for you to meet."

Zhora and Evor steered Milius in the direction of their wolves' quarters. All three took their time, as Zhora had stolen a few sips herself when the others weren't looking.

Before they reached the gated of the imposing stone structure, Milius hesitated. Only just picking up on something suspicious.

"Wait."

The orcs peered at him curiously.

"More to meet, you said. What on earth does that mean?"

Evor and Zhora's eyes met, and suddenly Milius felt a hint of trepidation at what was on the other side of gate.

Taking him by the hand Zhora answered, "Why, more of us lovely ladies, silly. Remember the payment you agreed to?"

Milius blinked, then with a nervous laugh he remembered. "Yes. Of course. Our wager. Help your Red Widows clean the wolves' pens or whatnot, and go home just a little humbled."

With a grumbled he added, "You'll be happy to know the latter has already been accomplished, orc. Congratulations."

"Oh, Milius..." Zhora's voice rumbled in a way that sent chills up his back.

"We said the girls need your help. We never told you what kind."

The reinforced gate to the Wolves' Den cracked open, and Milius was pulled inside. And what greeted the human caused all color to drain from his face.

Waiting inside were five more of the Grey Ones, all women. They were stripped of all clothing, their chiseled bodies on full display. Some had their hair tied back or braided, others wore theirs loose. All five of them were marked by bloody-red paint, telling Milius all he needed to know.

They leered at Milius, twirling their hair in the mockery of some coquettish Arcadian maiden or posing in a manner that showed off every muscle, every curve. They were making their intentions more than clear.

"Oh Pelor, no..."

"Yes..." The woman at the head of the group watched him brazenly, her hands on her hips. It was that damned Shevra.

"The girls and I always make the most of these three sacred nights, human. This year, I think we'll start with you..."

Shevra looked over her shoulder.

"... And your friend."

Friend?

Milius looked behind Shevra and his eyes bugged.

Tied to a post, naked, her ass sticking out wantonly like some strumpet at the bordello, was Astrid. She was covered in sweat, marked with welts as if she'd been whipped. And her inner thighs were positively drenched.

"Mistress..." she moaned pitifully. "Please come back..."

The drow turned around, a dizzy smile on her face. For a moment Milius hoped he was imagining things. But as she spotted him, and her face brightened in recognition, he knew it was her.

Astrid laughed breathlessly, and called out, "Captain! You made it."

"What the fuck is this?" Milius bellowed.

"What have you done to her, you jackals?!"

He thought to make some move towards her. He only needed to undo her bonds and then run.

But as the she-orcs closed in around him, Milius saw Astrid wiggle her hips at Shevra.

Reality sank in, and Milius groaned. Astrid wasn't a captive here. She'd just given these orcs' ringleader an invitation, he'd heard her.

No wonder you leapt to their defense. You poor fool.

"We've done exactly as she wished," the Red Widow boasted. "And now we're about to do the same to you."

On either side, Milius heard the rustle and clinking of Zhora and Evor dropped their armored gowns. As he stared ahead and watched Shevra turn on her heel and walk back towards Astrid, swaying her hips all the while, he felt two pairs of hands begin to explore his uniform.

It didn't take long for them to begin removing it piece by piece, fondling or caressing his muscles in the meantime. And though every conscious thought told Milius to leave, and deny these base heathens' advances, he couldn't deny how good their touch felt.

He berated himself for his damned good form, holding himself to bargains struck in the heat of the moment.

But such thoughts evaporated when Zhora's lips found his neck, and her strong fingers found the growing bulge in his pants.

"You smug, self-satisfied prick.

Us Widows have met hundreds like you. You carry on like you're the gods' gift to the world, looking down on women like us."

For a second her fangs dug into Milius's skin, causing him to recoil.

"But you're just a man," Evor whispered as she ran a hand up under his gambeson and touched his bare chest.

"And like all men who catch our eye, you can be broken..."

The archer's voice lowered to a soft, raspy whisper.

"... Milius."

She made his name sound like music.

The Arcadian knight felt his knees grow weak beneath him. No backing out of their deal now.

The orcs' clawed hands undid his pants, and his cock sprang free. The Widows around him whistled teasingly or simply hummed in appreciation.

One of them began feeling herself up and asked, "Who'll take the first ride?"

Evor's hand shot down and seized Milius's length with an iron grip, and she growled possessively.

"I bested him out there. He's here because of me. So I go first."

Milius, thoroughly subdued, looked at Evor. She gazed lecherously back at Milius, and as he remained helpless in her clutches she started to stroke.

"He's mine."

---

By midnight, Kierra was at her wits' end.

She paced back and forth in front of her chamber door and glared at Walton, the guard presently on duty. Said duty had come much early, on account of both Astrid and Milius being completely unaccounted for.

"Where in nine hells are they?" she crowed.

Walton shrugged haplessly. "I don't know what else to say, Your Highness. When the feast ended, the crowd moved rather quickly. By the time I was called to post, they'd been missing for some time."

Kierra rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off a headache she knew was coming.

"There's only so many places they could be," she said. More to herself, than anyone else.

The evening had started off without a hitch. After ingratiating herself with the elf Selaras for hours, Kierra knew she had enough information to reach out and negotiate with her king and queen in a week. Perhaps less than that.

While Overlord Azral had yet to show any sign of subterfuge, his slippery behavior the night before had her on edge all the same. Withholding of information so important to their supposed alliance could mean any number of things. And none of them were good.

More than once, a small voice in the back of Kierra's head had wondered if it was really that complicated. The man was a hedonist, she'd thought. Maybe it was as simple as a simple romp in the sack between old friends.

No. It must be more.

"Tell the men to keep looking."

Then, knowing full well what she had to do but hating every moment of it, Kierra strolled to the door just down the corridor from hers.

She rapped twice on the door and waited.

Much to her relief, she didn't have to wait long. The latch clicked loudly, and Azral stepped out to greet her. Kierra resisted the urge to scoff, as the tall orc was already shirtless once more. Whether or not he'd planned to entertain any special guests tonight, it wasn't clear.

And right now, Kierra was in no mood to find out.

"Yes?" Azral asked. "Is there something I can do for you?"

He sounded surprisingly innocent. Which, of course, only aroused Kierra's suspicion immediately.

"Yes, in fact there it. Two of my knights haven't been seen for hours. Milius. Astrid.

I'm sure you remember them."

Azral nodded. "Yes. Dark, white-haired beauty. Surly, pompous son of a bitch. I think I know where they are."

Kierra decided to take the initiative. Perhaps it was the stress of the night before, or certain revelations today, in either case she decided to throw caution to the wind. Putting a hand on Azral's chest, she pushed him back into his chamber and followed, closing the door behind her.

"Well, Your Majesty!" Azral laughed. "If you needed some privacy, then..."

"Shut up." Kierra silenced him with a raised finger. "I'm not in the mood."

Ignoring Azral's rather disappointed reaction she asked point blank, "Where are they?"

The orc ruler raised both hands, in a placating gesture.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way.

Your people are safe, they just found company with several of mine after the feast. They might be a while, but I promise that come morning they'll be as right as rain."

Kierra blinked at him, trying her best to understand. "Might be a while? What are you talking about?"

Shrugging, Azral replied, "I'm talking about the festival that's gone on for the past day and a half. Or did you suddenly forget?"

A slight pounding in her ears caused Kierra to begin pacing again. She glowered at Azral, not noticing at first how he appeared to shift in place himself. As if doing his best to occupy her field of vision at all times.

Of course. It wasn't enough that Azral spring Selaras's presence on her. He had to rope Kierra's honored, respected personnel into pointless frivolities.

"Overlord, I understand you may feel some mingling would do our knights some good after the tense episode we experienced this morning.

But the day is done. Whatever tomorrow brings, it's important each of us remembers our responsibility and conclude today's business in a professional..."

"Oh, horseshit."

Kierra froze. "Excuse me?"

"I said that's all a load of horseshit," Azral drawled. "You can speak in as flowery and 'professional' a tone as you like. It's obvious what's going on here, Kierra."

Her annoyance rising, Kierra faced Azral head on and crossed her arms. "And what exactly is going on here, Azral?"

It didn't escape her notice that they'd just used each other's names. With no regard to titles, or station.

"You're being a prude," Azral shot back. "Rather than allow yourself and your entourage just a little flexibility, a little respite from the drudgery of rule, you're clinging to propriety. Using it as a shield, refusing to let your guard down."

Kierra's cheeks burned. She wasn't just irritated by Azral's impudence anymore. She was angry, and not because he was entirely wrong.

"Oh, you want to talk about my guard? How am I supposed to act when you lock me out of important state affairs such as, I don't know, consorting with the elves?" She inched closer, again noticing Azral shifting in place.

Azral raised a hand and shrugged defensively. "Selaras? Well, what does that matter? She's here the same reason you are."

"Is she?"

The angry words escaped Kierra's mouth before she could stop herself. Realizing she was already close to crossing a line and giving away her moment of shame from last night, Kierra clamped her jaws shut.

Azral, for his part, stared at Kierra in bewilderment. Frustration visibly took hold, and he growled. "I told you, Lady Selaras is a friend."

They weren't getting anywhere, and Kierra knew it. If she pushed much further, she would likely say or do something she regretted.

So, taking a deep breath, she straightened up and folded her hands. "Send word to your guard. Tell them to bring Milius and Astrid back to me. Whatever personal disagreements you and I have, we will resolve them in the morning."

A faint light shone from behind Azral. His eyes drifted to the side evasively.

"That... may be difficult."

It hit Kierra at last what had Azral so uncharacteristically nervous. He was hiding something from her. Gone was his typical bravado, instead he looked like a child trying to hide his theft from the cookie jar.

"Oh, for gods' sake!" Kierra had enough. Marching around Azral, she craned her neck to have a good like at what he'd tried so hard to conceal from her.

Her blood ran cold at what she saw.

Nestled on the wall, not far from Azral's large bed, was an oblong silver mirror. Its edge was decorated with arcane runes, which pulsed and shimmered in a manner that made the mirror feel almost alive.

In its surface was not her reflection, but another location entirely. What looked like a large, well-kept stable in some other corner of the Horned Keep. There, spread out across the floor, were the Red Widows, stark naked and engaging in an orgy.

With Milius and Astrid at the heart of it.

Kierra watched, horrified, as the twin scenes unfolded. Two of her sworn knights, her trusted guard, being used like tavern whores.

And both of them enjoying it.

A drenched, ecstatic Astrid bucked and bounced wildly in Shevra's grasp. She was seated on a gleaming crystal strap-on, its length buried in her cunt. Astrid's mouth was parted in a dumb smile and her eyes glazed over, leaving Kierra to wonder if the woman was even lucid anymore. Or if she'd lost her senses entirely.

"Aaahhh!" Astrid's voiced echoed through the vision, a high-pitched squeal of delight.

"Yessss!"

One of the orcs popped open a bottle of red wine, spraying its contents across the elf. Astrid opened her mouth and happily lapped it up, before shrieking in delight as the other woman feasted on her wine-drenched tits.

Milius fared little better. His face twisted in pleasure while one of the red-haired warrior women rode him in reverse with a mad look. With his hands bound, there was little Milius could do but take it. But it looked like he was more than content with the arrangement.

"Say it," the woman snarled at Milius, gyrating her full hips back and forth on him.

Milius's face flushed, and his jaw clenched before he folded completely beneath her. "I give, damn it Evor! I give..."

It was all lurid, erotic, and chaotic.

And it was infuriating.

Kierra rounded on Azral. Her fists clenched tight enough that her nails almost dug into her palms. Her teeth bared in fury, and for just a moment she could have passed for an orc herself.

Meanwhile, Azral looked back at her with a look that was half-guilty, half amused.

"I warned you."

"You bastard. You treacherous, depraved, scheming bastard!"

Her sword was the next room over, far from her grasp. But Kierra didn't care. She would rip Azral to pieces with her bare hands if she had to.

"This is exactly what you had planned all along," she snarled, "isn't it?"

Azral raised a hand as if to ward her off, even as she started towards him.

"If you mean to say that I planned to be as good a host as I could be, and show your knights a good time?

Then yes. I rather hoped something like this would happen."

"A good time?!"

Kierra was on Azral in the blink of an eye. She crashed over the small table by his bedside, spilling a bottle of wine across the floor as she seized the orc. Tall and strong as he was, the force of Kierra's fury propelled them both to the other side of the chamber and she slammed him against the stone wall.

Azral said nothing, only grunting in pain as the queen pinned his arms.

"You've turned your festival into a den of sin. Of savagery!

You stripped brave knights and a respectable lady of their dignity. Their honor. You use them as your playthings, and for what?

To prove a point? To gain some advantage over me, and my people?"

Breathing in deeply, Azral regarded her accusations with exasperation. Kierra's angry words appeared to glance right off of him, like a dull sword off of an impenetrable shield.

"If you could allow your outrage to subside," he answered slowly, "you'll understand I've done nothing of the kind. True, your captain has taken a blow to his bloated sense of self-importance. But if you ask me, that's doing him a favor. Give a man like him a chance to unwind, remind him he's not as high and mighty as he thinks, he'll be better off for it.

And the lieutenant? Please, she's been itching for some action since the moment she arrived."

Kierra shook her head. Deflections. Excuses, every last one.

"Such temptations are beneath us. We of the Arcadian court are to carry ourselves with propriety. Not to debase ourselves with..."

Azral's eyes glinted at Kierra in subtle anger.

"With what, Your Highness?"

Kierra matched his glare.

"Beasts. Base, depraved savages like you. Ruled by desire alone."

"You think you're above such desire, then?" Azral cocked an eyebrow at her. "You, and your knights in shining armor, you think you're any better than us?"

He was on her in a second. Prying himself free from Kierra's grasp, Azral took hold of one of her arms and locked it behind her back. Now it was her slammed into the wall, her chest and cheek flattening against the cold stone surface.

"Ugh...! You... Take your hands off me!"

"Why?" Azral shouted at her. "I'm a beast, remember? I do as I please, take what I want."

Pushing her up to the stone with one hand, Azral raised the other to point towards the mirror. "My Widows? They're going to run your knights ragged all night if they want. And neither Milius nor Astrid is going to do a thing about it."

His eyes, two shards of ice, bored into Kierra's. "And you know why, don't you?"

Kierra looked at the mirror again. Astrid was on all fours now, Shevra plowing into her from behind while the drow buried her face between another of the Widows' thighs. As for Milius, the woman Evor was reclining back on him and yanking him into a forceful kiss.

"They wanted it too. And unlike you, neither of them tied themselves up in knots worrying about what was 'proper'. They just went ahead and did it."

As Kierra's anger subsided, she felt it give way to embarrassment, then despair.

"So what will you do now? Will you send letters across the mountains, telling every chieftain of how you humiliated the Arcadian queen?

Will you take me next?"

Kierra turned back just enough to cast a judgmental, ashamed look at the man behind her. "I thought more of you, Azral. I thought the promise between our fathers meant something to you."

Azral turned crestfallen.

"It means everything to me," he said in a pained, almost tired voice. "I means no less to me than it does to you. And if you think anything I've done here is aimed at betraying them, and what they accomplished together, then I guess you don't know me at all."

The Grey One's grip on Kierra didn't soften. But not once did Kierra feel his grasp turn painful, or cruel. If he wanted, Azral could have easily tossed her across the chamber, or slammed her skull into the stone and be done with it.

But he didn't. He remained exactly where he was. A hand wrapped around Kierra's wrist. His towering body brushing lightly against hers. Looking up at the orc, his large and muscled stature, his cold eyes, Kierra suddenly felt very small.

"Then what do you want?" she asked. Her voice sounded soft, almost pleading.

Azral's large chest rose and fell as he looked at Kierra. She felt his hand slacken ever so slightly on her arm.

"I thought I'd made it obvious last night," he rumbled.

Kierra's face turned red. She thought of their encounter between their chambers. His bold, shameless invitation. His words to Shevra and Selaras after their entanglement was over.

"I don't want any more concessions from Arcadia's queen. I don't want your knights, or your lands. I have no interest in your court intrigues, or reigniting old feuds."

The Overlord's chest inched forward, meeting Kierra's back. And she didn't move to stop him. She couldn't, even as every royal lesson she'd ever learned told her to back away.

Leaning in closer, Azral met Kierra's gaze with an almost hypnotic look and confirmed what they both already knew.

"I want you."

Kierra felt her breath escape her in a shuddering sigh. It was one thing for Azral to have leered at her as he did before, or gossip about her to his bedmates. It was another thing entirely to hear it from the man himself.

"Selaras?" she asked.

Azral's eyes narrowed. "What about her?"

"You..."

Kierra couldn't bear to tell him the full truth. So, exercising as much self-control as she had left, she said, "You brought her into your chamber last night. I heard her."

Slowly, understanding dawn on Azral's face. Then, infuriatingly, he laughed at her.

"That? That was nothing. Just a bit of fun. We'd gotten into a spot of mischief the last time around, and seeing her again..."

He shrugged. "Well, I don't have to tell you. You're not blind."

Kierra pulled away slightly, trying with all her might to remember herself, who and what she was. "So why am I so special?"

Azral moved closer still, closing whatever gap still lay between their bodies until she felt all of him. His rippling, corded muscle, hot even through her layers of clothing. His long legs, one of which was already parting hers as they wobbled beneath her. His hands, which Kierra realized were starting to wander.

"Because in all the years since I last saw you, I never once forgot. Then I heard the stories. The brave Queen Kierra. Slayer of monsters. A radiant, fierce beauty beloved by all who know her.

Well, when next we met, I wouldn't pass up that chance. To know you.

All of you."

"I..." She couldn't get more than one word out before her voice gave out completely.

It was happening again. That shameful lust she'd tried and failed to fight off once already.

Kierra's heart raced, and she moaned as she felt her body start to respond to Azral's touch. Her hips rolled softly against the man's lower body, feeling the heat building between them. She pushed herself off of the wall and leaned into the orc's firm yet gentle clutches.

"You are an exquisite, wondrous creature, Queen Kierra." Azral's hands trailed up her sides, fondling her waist before one snaked around towards her front.

"Any who would try to deny you is a fool."

Her breathing quickened, coming in and out in short high-pitched gasps. She tensed up as his hand found one of her breasts, and behind her she felt something hard and girthy press against her rear.

Damn him. It was bad enough she had to endure the advances of an orc. But no, he just had to feel so...

So good.

"Why should you deny yourself?" she heard him whisper.

"You're a godly woman. My gods bless such unions as this, every year. Regardless of name or rank."

Azral's hand trailed up Kierra's neck, sending a tingling down the length of her body. He took her by the chin and pulled her up, until she was looking into his eyes again.

"Let us be no different.

Forget the politics of tomorrow and enjoy tonight. Put the monarch aside, as I have.

And if our realms are to know peace, let it start here. Between you and me."

Kierra said nothing. There was nothing at all to be said, not now. Her conscience, her faith, her responsibilities held her in place. But her body, her will, her very being screamed at her to act.

Thank the gods, Azral made the choice for her. His fingers tightened on her cheeks, forcing her mouth open, and before she knew it he'd descended on her in a raw, passionate kiss.

Kierra melted into him. Accepting the kiss, the feeling of his lips and tongue on hers, her sudden change spurred her to follow every sinful impulse she'd felt since she watched Azral in secret.

She grinded her hips against his, enjoying the feeling of his manhood even through her dress. His hand slipped through a gap in the fabric of her gown and kneaded the soft breast beneath.

Reaching up, Kierra ran a hand through Azral's long white hair, yanking him in as she returned his kissing in earnest.

Her eyes drifted around the chamber, and she sighed in relief as she saw the door was still mercifully closed. Then, scanning the rest of her surroundings, Kierra looked at the mirror again.

Its surface had returned to normal, a polished silver which reflected Kierra perfectly.

She saw all of herself. Wrapped in Azral's arms, her gown was askew, and her hair was starting to fall out of the bun in which she'd tied it. She looked less like a queen, more like a blushing maiden on the cover of those bodice-rippers one found in the market.

The image was enough to shake Kierra out of her stupor. Freezing, she suddenly remembered where she was. Why she'd come here. Where she came from.

"Wait... stop."

Azral did as she asked. But his eyes, still gleaming with desire, roamed over her from top to bottom. Her objection was all holding him back now.

"Why?"

Guilt gnawed at Kierra, and she glanced downward at herself. She looked so tawdry. So unfitting of her royalty.

"I can't.

I... I can't!"

Without looking back, Kierra made for the door.

Her guards were barely able to get a word out before she'd crossed the threshold of her chamber and slammed the door.

---

Kierra stared at the wall of her quarters for what felt like hours.

Sleep had eluded her, so instead she sat on the edge of her bed and stewed in her shame.

It would have been easier if the orcish ruler had advanced on her, and she'd refused. If she'd recoiled in disgust, and demanded the salacious gathering between their knights cease at once. Anything but this.

Kierra had let him put his hands on her. She'd relished the feel of his mouth, his hands, his cock. Pelor be merciful, she hadn't just enjoyed it. She answered in kind.

She wanted Azral. She wanted to walk back to his room, join him in his bed and be subjected to every filthy thing she'd seen him do to Selaras. That, and more.

But how could she? How could she even dream of laying with one of the creatures who in ages past had killed scores of her countrymen?

Azral hadn't wronged her. But a coupling between her royal blood and his...

It was unspeakable.

Isn't it?

She walked to the mirror. Along the way, almost unconsciously, Kierra undid the last of the cord holding her long hair in place and pulled down the hem of her nightshirt. With nothing left to conceal her, the queen stood in front of the silver mirror and regarded her appearance.

For years, Kierra had done her best to treat her beauty as incidental. Unimportant. She was happy for it, but never had she thought to flaunt it. Or to use it in any capacity, as some ladies in more decadent political circles were wont to do.

But as she examined herself, Kierra heard Azral's words echo in her head.

'You are an exquisite, wondrous creature, Queen Kierra.'

Her hands crossed over her upper body, moving slowly downwards.

'Any who would try to deny you is a fool.'

Kierra remembered what she'd seen in the orc's chamber the night before. Warmth blossomed in her chest, and between her legs.

Her hands reached even lower.

'Why should you deny yourself?'

The need crept its way back in. The fiery, uncontrollable lust.

Kierra wanted this. She did, and no prayers could change that.

Azral wanted it too. More than that, if he spoke the truth this was all he wanted.

Kierra found herself wondering if there was truly any shame in it. In the sight of his gods, the Overlord had offered her all of himself. He'd spoken to her not as an overlord, not as a slayer of monsters, but as a man. Nothing more.

Azral hadn't lied to Kierra once, not truly. He hadn't coerced her to say anything or do anything. If she walked into Azral's bedroom now, gave in to him, they would leave the world of politics and power behind them. It would be a surrender, yes. But of a far more intimate kind.

And the choice was hers. She wouldn't suffer for saying no.

Only she would suffer, though. Realizing where her hands were going she pulled away, only for her body to ache in protest.

Kierra sighed, her proud spirit giving way at last. There wasn't any getting out of this. If she refused now, she would regret it.

She was a queen, a knight, a leader on whom thousands depended every day.

But she was also a woman. Every night, Azral put aside his title and allowed himself to be just a man. Why couldn't she do the same, just this once?

Kierra's jaw set. She left the mirror and opened her cabinet, withdrawing a silk robe. Donning the thin garment, she neglected to put on anything else. Something told her it wouldn't last long.

Then she made for her chamber door.

If Azral was to put aside his royal station, his pride, for the promise of peace...

Then so would she.

---

Yeah...

That cliffhanger's a mean one.

But it couldn't be helped.

Kierra's finally caved. If somebody like cracked, it wouldn't take long for the queen herself to fall too.

Also, keep an eye on that tiefling performer. He may just pop up some other time, in some other realm, in this little world of mine.

Next time it's all in on the queen and overlord, and all the kinky goings on between them on the second day of the Hunter's Moon.

Post your comments below, and I'll catch you later!