An Interesting Arrangement (Sølvi and E404UserNotFound)

[E404UserNotFound]

Lord Raimer Iman, of Iman's Hammer, Duke of Imandell and all lands of the south pass. ~ Valintois
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There was a knock, loud and echoing throughout the stone chamber. The evening was late but not so far late that Lady Elise Tinuthel would have been asleep. The steward, Deron Trammil, the man in charge of the keep and its defenses since Lord Tinuthel had been killed in that dreadful duel two months ago stood on the other side of the door of the Widow. He was Steward in name and saw to any business that her husband would have seen to, but regardless of that position he always deferred to her judgment except if it were a matter of war…but today, today he held a letter in his hand that would change the lives of everyone in the keep, especially young Catalina.

The outside of the thin brown parchment was stamped with a wax seal bearing the crest of the king, it was opened, Deron had taken the Steward’s privilege in doing so without waiting for Lady Tinuthel, as he feared it might have been a more pressing matter, intelligence of ships from the south perhaps. But, what was contained in the letter surprised him, so shocked he was that he had immediately run from his desk to the bed chambers of Lady Tinuthel and begged entry at her door.

“My lady!” he called loudly from the other side, knocking his large fist on the door once more.
When the door would be opened Lady Hollis would see the unusually pale face of the older man, his cheeks were flushed with red and he had sweat beading at the top of his crowning bald head…a bit of his perspiration sinking into the grey that smattered at its sides.

“Lady Tinuthel…” he said, out of breath. “A missive from the King, I had not thought to open letters addressed to you, but such a messenger so late in the night I only feared it to be bad news.” He paused a moment and caught his breath, breathing in sharply a moment. “The news is not dark, my lady…it is…well it is unusual. And delivered by a Valantian much less!”

Within the confines of the letter, when the Widow Tinuthel opened the parchement, ready the following words.

Lady Elise Saron Tinuthel, Holldane, the South Shore,​

This letter follows our most recent letter bearing the ill-tidings of your husband’s untimely death in service to the crown, the people of the Mark, and Holldane. However, on the eve of ill events, an omen of good faith and our love ride towards your keep this very day, in hopes to arrive within the week. We realize that Holldane, if left unprotected and without a proper commander is not only a danger to the realm but to your family and your people. Therefore, it is with the utmost joy and pleasure we appoint Lord Raimer Iman, Duke of Imandell and formerly of Valantois to serve as Lord and Commander of Holldane. This change will not remove the line of Tinuthel from its presence and Lordship over our lands to the south, instead it will be solidified in the marriage of Lady Catalina Nyëriel Tinuthel to Lord Iman upon his arrival. We send with Lord Iman both his army and the Prince Jasis to preside over the wedding and officiate the change of Lordship over Holldane. It is my great pleasure to inform you that your family shall want for naught, Lord Iman is both gracious and powerful, never has a commander from another land served in the Marklands with such distinction. Please prepare your keep for the arrival of Lord Iman, his twenty retainers, the Prince and his guard, and an army of one thousand Northmen and Marklander’s alike.

With love and duty,
King Marshall IV, Regent and Lord of the Marklands, protector of the realm.
Dictated, written by the Royal Secretary, Drumlin Vars

​

The Steward watched as she reader the letter and when finally she had seemed to finish he wiped from sweat from his brow.

“Shall I have the women wake Lady Sienna? I daresay she may not be too pleased.”
Lady Tinuthel looked up from the letter, her dark hand clutching the parchment for a moment and shaking lightly as she squeezed the thin paper between her lithe fingers. Her eyes met with her Steward’s for a moment before she looked back down at it and sighed softly. “They are already replacing Filip…with some Lord from the north.” She bit her bottom lip for a moment and shook her head, standing there in her nightgown in the doorway. A small warm breeze swept through the hall, causing her gown to flutter slightly as she stood there in thought.

“We’ve no choice but to obey the King….send for my daughter, have her meet me in my chambers. She needs not dress.”

The Steward nodded and turned to a couple of servants who were in the hallway. “Wake the Lady Catalina. She is to come to her mother’s chambers at once.” He clapped his hands at them and they hurried away down the hall and up the staircase. When he turned back around the door was shut in his face and he sighed some, shaking his head.

“A sad day for her….” He said as he headed back down the stairs to his own chambers to start the preparations and order the particulars. “But a good day for Holldale. These women can’t remain in control forever.” He laughed a haughty laugh for a moment before shaking his head and retiring to his own desk. There were feasts to arrange, lodgings to acquire, masons to hire, tents to set up, and all manner of things relating to housing an army and new nobles.

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The tent was hot, humid, and thick with the musk and the scent of two bodies entwined in what had been a marathon session of what sounded to be, at least from the outside, raw, rough, and un-adulterated passionate sex.

Inside the tent, there was no passion, there was simply desire. The desire that one man had for a woman who couldn’t resist him…and wouldn’t, if she knew what was in her best interests. Thick, rough, and callous hands grabbed tightly at the sides of the young pale skinned beauty. His fingers dug into her sides hard enough to bruise, but that was nothing new for Annabel. Neither was the rough treatment she was receiving. Every time she would receive any sort of relief, there was another thrust, harder and more rough than the last to meet her, slamming into her young body with the force of a joust from the back of a horse.

Lord Raimer Iman moaned, his head leaning back and his pale blonde hair hanging over his shoulders as he continued to bury himself into his niece. She had been the daughter of his deceased brother by some whore or another, he didn’t know, and when his younger brother had died Raimer was stuck with her care. He had taken her on as his attendant…but when the girl became old enough and men had started to take notice of her. He made sure that everyone knew, that she was his.

The night of her fifteenth birthday he had taken her to his bed and taken from her the one thing that she had left that was still hers…and here, five years later, on the anniversary of her that day, he was forcing her to relive that night.

With a loud growl he thrust forward once more, letting go of the girl and thrusting forward hard enough to push her to the ground, only a small thin fur between her and hard dirt. He didn’t relent. As she was pinned against the ground he pressed his chiseled chest to her slender back and held her down, hips pumping and thrusting into the young girl as he held her against the ground. One hand moved to her hair, balling it into a fist around his fingers and jerking her head back, his lips against her ear.

As he breathed heavily, his hot breath covering her ear, he hissed his words. “How does it feel to know you’ll never amount to any more than your dead whore of a mother did.” And as he spoke he thrust hard once more and brought his other hand around, between her and the earth….groping at her breasts and digging his fingers in.

 

[Cal]

Catalina


Life had not been particularly dire for the young Catalina. Whilst war was raging around them, their southern haven remained relatively untouched. That had not stopped her father from taking the necessary precautions. Throughout the years, paranoia and pride held his heart in a fierce grip. The war started when she was just a babe, fresh from her mother’s tit, and she grew up not knowing the kind and gentle man her mother always spoke of. No, instead she was raised with suspicion and detest at first, why had she not been born with a cock between her legs, why was her mother unable to produce a male heir. Strategy, defenses, armies and politics were common household terms, whereas Catalina really only wanted to play with the ponies outside.

That was beaten out of her quickly enough.

Like every child, though, she was eager to please her parents. Her mother doted on her where her father didn’t give her the light of day. Catalina’s attention was focused solely on her father for the longest of times. She took up archery when she was 13, barely tall enough to hold the bow. She let herself get trained by her father’s officers when she was 15, whilst taking up the lessons she needed to be a proper little lady. But nothing was ever enough. To add insult to injury, she was paler than her parents. Her mother and father both were of darker skin than she. Her green, smooth olive skin to her parents’ darker complexion. Her mother’s full voluptuous figure had not yet blossomed in young Catalina. She was lithe and petite, making her ungainly for the first 15 years of her life. Some of the boys of the neighboring towns told her that this was why she had not been married off yet.

Her mother ensured her it was because of the war. Catalina did not know who to believe.

On the cusp of her sixteenth birthday, Catalina started becoming a young adult. Her normally untamed and unkept hair was more voluminous, the thick curls were of a brown so dark they almost seemed black. Her eyes, an odd pale green, seemed to intensify, the rich trademark color of the people of the south and sea. Boys were started to notice her. No longer was she the ‘vermin of Holldane’. She took great pride in this, but her father still did not give her the light of day. Her lessons, if anything, intensified, as if she’d done something to slight him. Her existence was enough, a voice told her. No, her father was not a pleasant man, but this was war, and all was fair.

Catalina, on the other hand, didn’t understand the war. She didn’t comprehend the northern barbarians, if the tales were anything to go by. She found it pointless and exhausting and she hated it for turning her father in such a bitter, spiteful old man. Her usual soft-spoken demeanor threatened to be poisoned, and a rebellious streak started to form. No longer was she the child that would run around the pastures, that would braid daisies together, a child who was pure and sweet. She started to revolt. That was, until her father went and got himself killed in a duel that he had been too drunken for to begin with. It was a shock to everyone, but her mother seemed to take it the hardest. Catalina was left alone to deal with her grief, in her own way.

The first few weeks were awful. Everything was in disarray. There had not been a siege in two years, because no one could penetrate their defenses. Still, everyone acted as if they could all be slaughtered at any given moment. Oddly enough, Catalina’s grief was short-lived. She never really knew the man she called her father, and she reached certain calmness as she was left to her own devices. Perhaps they would change the rules, her traitorous little heart would say. Perhaps she could become the heir after all. Perhaps they’d listen. Maybe there’d be a future for her. She could marry a southern Lord, a kind one, someone who could rule and be gentle at the same time.

Her sixteen year old mind was full of pretty little lies.

Weeks turned into months, slowly, and Catalina had never known such deep, satisfying sleep. This night was no different. For once she was truly happy, the constant years of pressure, of having to please her father, it was gone. A smile curled along her soft red lips as she slept, dreaming of the southern vineyards, nothing but laughter, joy and kindness in her heart. She was about to be very mistaken. The rude awakening descended upon her swiftly enough, a shake at her shoulders, urgence, whispers. Before she knew it, she was hurried off to her mother’s chambers, and suddenly fear gripped her heart once more. She did not bother to dress, the nightgown was but a breath away from being see-through, such was the way of the South.

Please, let everything be okay with mother.

The silent prayer ran circles around her head as she nigh but ran to her mother’s chambers. Once the door was opened and she stepped inside, relief flooded over her features as she saw her mother standing, alive and well. It was almost instantly replaced with a frown. The way her mother clutched the parchment, the seal, the tension in the room.. Something was not right. The growing trepidation made her body shiver, and she took a few steps forward.

“Mother… what’s wrong?” Worry shone brightly in her eyes. This night, her newly re-acclaimed youth would be taken away from her.

-

The tears were no longer falling. They had, at first, five years and many countless and painful nights ago. She soon had learned that tears were for the weak, and weakness was not permissible. Not in the confines of the tent or his chambers, or wherever else he decided to claim her. Annabel had been reduced to nothing more than a plaything. A toy. But, she was a toy to a Lord. A powerful, ruthless Lord at that. It was better than being a whore, the little whore that her mother was, the little whore that she had become. Annabel was property of Lord Iman, and no one else. From the tips of her toes to the short dirty blonde hair, darker than his, showing that she was not a pureblood Northener. Her father had fucked some bastard southern whore.

He had taught her this. He had taught her many things.

The only thing she had not learned, was to deal with the pain. The rough fingers on her skin, leaving a trail of bruises in their wake. The way his cock thrust into her little body, how he tore at her, how he brutalized her. She was his to torment, though, and in a twisted way she had grown addicted to it. Craved his touch. Needed his venomous words. When her body hit the rug beneath her and his hand grabbed a fistful of hair, she could not help but to choke back a sob. He had formed her into a delightful little tormented creature. Twisted, molded by him and him alone.

The assault continued and Annabel whimpered pathetically in response to the words. It was hard to form coherent words whilst Lord Raimer Iman’s cock thrust into her relentlessly. The pain was starting to fade, her walls slick with her own excitement and the Lord’s pre-cum, making her eyes roll back into their sockets. The words didn’t sting. They did, once, but they had lost most of their impact. Five years of verbal abuse did that to a person. But it simply couldn’t do not to give the man a response. “I-I’ll never amm~hnn! Never amount to anything! Noth-.. Ah! AH! Nothing but your-ah! Yes! Your dirty whore!”

It didn’t do to beg. Begging for release would bring punishment, it would bring pain and hurt. Her pleasure meant nothing, and his meant everything. Her hands gripped the soft fur of the skin beneath her, her knuckles turning white as the Lord kept up his assault. Please let it be over soon. Please let it never stop.

 

[E404UserNotFound]

The temperature in Lady Tinuthel’s room was warm, and it was a fortunate, the two women who were now alone together wore nearly the same sort of night gown. The south was a warm place, hot air blew off of the oceans, and when you had a window that opened up facing the ocean, the constant heat was always something that could be counted on. Though tonight, for some reason, it was particularly sweltering in her room. Elise Holldane sat at the edge of her bed, a small sheen of sweat covering her dark skin, and when her young daughter entered her room, she lifted her chin and smiled gently, though nervously at her daughter as he just motioned for her to sit down beside her at the edge of the bed. The warmth in the room was almost stifling and after just a moment as her daughter began to come closer she rose and growled slightly under her breath (a very unlady like and uncommon thing for Elise to do) as she approached the window, slamming it shut.

The letter that had come was a bittersweet one, her daughter would be wed, which is something that she had long desired, but with her husband, she had wondered if that were ever to happen for the young girl. Their lands would be safe, this Lord Iman was bringing his army to bolster their own, he had a mind for combat and strategy, and from what the King had said, was an experienced warrior. It would make the people feel safer at least. As good as these things were, she was aggravated that she wasn’t consulted on the man, that he was from the far north, and that…well….that her family, her Filip’s (as careless as he was sometime) line would be invested in the loins of a northerner and not a southern man. Her husband would be rolling in his grave.

“My dear…” she said calmly as she turned around, wiping some of the sweat from her brow. “We’ve had word from King Marshall.” She said softly and walked closer back to her daughter, now sitting down beside her on the bed and reaching out, placing a thin hand on her thigh and patting her softly.

“Here…” she said with a small sigh, placing the letter in the girls hands. “It is best if you read the words from the King, they are concerning you, after all.” She said, closing her finger tips over the letter and sitting back on bed and sighing some as she watched her daughter take to the letter…waiting for her reaction.

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As she spoke, hissing out and groaning, Raimer groaned. He heard her answer to the question he had poised the young girl, but he didn’t really care to hear an answer. It wasn’t important what she thought or didn’t think, her response wasn’t something he was interested in. What was important was that she knew her place. Below him, below the rest of his family, and below any of his Knights, she was a common girl in his eyes, and a woman at that. His men treated her harshly and his Knights and Family even more so. She was a reminder to them that even their blood could be tainted commoners.

After she had replied the hand that had most recently found her breast squeezed tighter. He dug his fingers in, his nails scratching, her breast being pinched in his hand, likely going red from his abuse. Moments after he released her, his other hand in her hair grabbing her by the waist and jerking her upward some as he moved back to his knees, removing his chest from her back, now fucking her from behind, able to get harder, though not as deep thrusts. The hand that had groped her reared back and a loud slap could be heard from outside of the tent and on the inside.

He had struck at the same breast he had squeezed, slapping it roughly from the side as they hung firmly underneath her body, staining the red flesh that he had squeezed white with the mark of his fingers and palm while simultaneously thrusting hard once more, near tossing her to the ground after he had done so. She could hear him laughing behind her as she fell to her face.

“Like your mother….you can’t keep your mouth off of wood.” He said with a laugh as her face was against the wooden planks on the floor that the furs were lying on. His large hands reached out again and he grabbed the girl by the hair, pulling her from the ground. He wasn’t finished with her. “Come here.” He said with a small grin, pulling hard and bringing her back around to face him now, his thick cock slick with her cunt’s juices and his pre cum.

“You know.” He said with a grin as he pulled her face in between his legs, his thick cock smearing her wetness across her cheek before he let go of her hair. “Your mother had her lips wrapped around my cock more than a few times.” He said with a small smirk, leaning back, placing his hands on the furs and sighing some. “And now you do too….” He grinned a little, watching the girl, waiting to see how she would react. “The cock you’ve had your lips wrapped around for so many years….it’s even possible you might have been thrust into your mothers cunt from it.” He laughed some and grabbed a cup of wine from nearby, taking a long drink before leaving a little left in the bottom of the cup, turning it over above her head and letting the dark red liquid splash down on the back of her head.

 

[Cal]

Her mother seemed agitated. Out of sorts. Catalina was careful to begin with, but worry soon made way for apprehension, especially when her mother rose and approached the window. The way she moved, the way she made those sounds, the way she acted. Something was not right, something terrible was about to happen. If the oppressive heat wasn’t enough to make Catalina’s body break out in a sweat, the fear was. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down the smooth expanse of her throat, rolling down her collar bone, before disappearing in her night gown.

Meekly she sat down, and regarded her mother in silence, those bright eyes brimming with uncertainty. In those eyes, it was clear just how young Catalina was. How inexperienced and unlearned. All of that was about to change, as her mother pushed the letter into her hands. A worry creased her brow once more as she took the letter between her fingers and carefully turned it around. Her thumb softly brushed against the broken wax seal, and before she could recognize it, her eyes snapped up to her mother again. The King?! They.. concerning her... that could only mean one thing.

Hastily she opened the letter, her eyes hungrily dancing across the lines on the paper. Any hope she had on a southern lord evaporated before her eyes as the words became clear to her. Untimely death.. omen of good faith.. danger to the realm.. family.. people.. She didn’t understand at first, and reread the letter again, surely she was mistaken. A Northern lord was not the answer. A Northern lord was not right. But the words did not change, and neither did their meaning. One word kept coming back to her. It wasn’t the fact that Prince Jasis himself was going to be in the near vicinity of her. It wasn’t the insurance of their land’s protection.

Marriage. Marriage.

A Northern Lord.

Panic started to invade her veins. The letter dropped from her fingers to the floor. If she hadn’t been sitting down, surely she would have fainted. Surely her strength would have left her. She stared at her hands for a moment, and slowly felt her whole life unravelling, second by second. Her mother was going to send her away, she had to, she was forced. She had to marry some vicious Northern Lord and he was going to hurt her if not kill her. She knew the stories, Catalina heard them often, the handmaidens often spoke about brutalized whores turning up dead, men slaughtering their own, no honor, no code. They were no more than brutes.

Catalina would not be part of this.

She rose to her feet, her small hands balled up into fists at her sides as she looked down at her seated mother. The young Catalina was full of fear and rage, how dare her mother let her go through with this! She couldn’t think straight, apprehension grasping her throat and heart in a choke-hold. Her cheeks were flushed red, her eyes narrowed. “I refuse.” Her voice shook, laced with emotion. She wasn’t one to defy her parents, especially her mother, but this was something they couldn’t ask of a girl of her age and expect her to understand, no matter how well she was raised. “I refuse. I refuse. I refuse.” She kept repeating herself, distinctive panic laced her voice.


--

Annabel was going to bruise again come morning, she numbly realized. He always made her bruise. Always marked her. She hardly had time to dwell on this, as she was yanked up to her knees. Annabel felt the thrusts get harder and harder, but was thankful that the unrelentless assault on her cervix ceased, feeling the thrusts get just a tiny bit less deep, a tiny bit more shallow. She didn’t have much respite, as she suddenly felt the sting at her breast. It caused her to cry out in obvious distress and pain, but no one would ever dare to interrupt them. It hurt it hurt it hurt, but she couldn’t plead, he hated it when she pleaded, it didn’t matter, it would only make things worse..

She stumbled and fell, her face flat on the fur all of a sudden, her body unable to withstand Raimer’s assault. The laughter came shortly after, a laughter that haunted her dreams. She lay there, sprawled on the floor where she had been tossed, her legs spread, her cunt moist and shining with his Lord’s pre-cum and her own slickness. She had stopped bleeding for him years ago, he’d made sure of that. He made sure to stretch her walls, to savage her. Her body simply got accustomed to it. Her mind never had.

A pathetic little cry left her as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, her legs feebly kicking to get some solid ground underneath her. This too was denied. Instead the sharp musky smell hit her nostrils before she felt her face get pulled in between the Lord’s legs, the thick, throbbing, wet flesh against her cheek, simultaneously disgusted and aroused. He finally let go of her hair, and she raised herself to a seating position in between his thighs. She knew what was expected of her. But the Lord was not done speaking. Annabel looked up, confusion in her blue eyes. Her.. mother? She blinked owlishly, suddenly forgetting just where she was and who she was dealing with.

Her mother? Was she..

Horror struck her.

The implications of his words. If he and her mother fucked.. if it was his seed that hit home instead of her father’s.. his.. it was almost unbearable to have her own uncle fuck her, but if it had been her father all along? She felt sick, instantly, threatening to throw up right then and there. It crossed her mind to run away, to pull away. The conflict apparent on her face.

And then he reminded her who was in charge again. He reminded her of her place by pouring the wine over her head. She felt it trickle down her hair and neck, furthering her degradation. She was a whore. She had no one as a father. If she denied him, she’d wait a fate worse than dead.. even if he was her.. her..

Stop thinking about it. She forced herself to think. And then, not think at all. “Yes, m’Lord..” she mumbled, and then dear Annabel did what was expected of her. She wrapped her lips around the Lord’s hard cock, and started swallowing him whole. An eagerness she’d learn to fake, an enthusiastic tongue she’d gotten good at using. She bobbed her head up and down the long shaft, she had learned to surpress her gag reflexes, lest she want to get her teeth smashed in. Her tongue swirled and curled around the head, as her mouth worked on the rest of the Lord’s member. She thought of performing her task, and only that.

 

[E404UserNotFound]

Elise watched as her daughter’s small chest started to heave, the panic and the emotions that she was feeling were playing out obviously across her body. She saw her eyes scanning the paper, hands trembling, lips quivering and then, she stood. It had been the expected reaction; something that Elise had come to terms with before she had even come in. She had read the letter several times over herself and shook her head some, frowning lightly as her daughter paced the room. When she had read the letter herself she had the same reactions, but she knew that in all of this, some good would come of it. Catalina would grow up, she would give her the grand children she had desperately wanted, and she would finally become a lady. Something she had urged her husband to let her daughter become all of these years. But the refusal and the anger was not something Elise was prepared to put up with regardless….but she had to keep her demeanor calm tonight and not get too frustrated with her daughter, for her own sake.

“Sweetheart.” She said calmly as she paced, watching her seethe with frustration. “Sweetheart!” she snapped slightly, not screaming at her, but not being timid either. She still sat on the edge of the bed, watching her daughter. She had yet to stop, the blood pounding in her ears likely kept her from hearing or comprehending what had been said to her. It was fine…but she needed her to calm down and most of all…she needed her to understand what was happening. Standing up calmly from her seat at the bed, the thirty-three year old Lady (Only near twice the age of her daughter, she had been married young as well, and in fact…little did she know, but her daughters husband was her own age) of Holldane stepped towards her daughter and grabbed her by the shoulders tightly, her dainty hands holding her surprisingly firmly, forcing her to stare into her eyes.

“Catalina!” she said, her voice sharp. “Get a hold of yourself and be silent, now is not the time to cry about problems, now is the time to think and plan.” She said firmly, holding her daughter still.

“The messenger from Lord Iman stated that the army is only two days behind him. We only have two days to get the keep ready for his arrival, to get you ready….and to deal with…well…to deal with all of the new people who are coming.” She said with a small frown. “Regardless of how you feel, there are still the people to think about, these soldiers will have wives…children…they will need places to stay, homes…” she frowned lightly before looking at her once more and letting go, stepping in and wrapping her arms around her daughter for a small hug. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t ready for this for you…but we cannot do anything to help. This is an order from the King… we cannot dispute his words. You know this.” She said, letting go and stepping back.

“Sit down. We need to have a small discussion.” She said with a small frown. There were certain things a Lord’s wife would need to know and be prepared for…she hadn’t had many talks with her daughter yet, though she knew some, and knew sex was required (she had caught her and Filip more than once when she was a younger girl), Lady Elise hadn’t discussed the finer points with her…not yet. How he would treat her…that he would likely take a Mistress…only the gods know how many Bastards Filip has in town, she knew of only two, though she had never spoken of them to her daughter.

“Sit.” She said again, her voice commanding


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As she had contemplated his words he watched with a bit of amusement, obviously able to tell what thoughts were crossing the young girls mind with the new information that she had just received. In all honestly, he figured she wasn’t his. His brother had her mother pinned most nights and it was only on the rare occasion that he borrowed her. And when she became pregnant, he didn’t remember having touched her in weeks. It was unlikely, but she didn’t need to know that. He would let her remain ignorant of her true parentage, questioning herself. But obediently when she was finished thinking, she returned to her duties. The only reason he kept her around.

Her mouth felt perfect wrapped around his cock, the back of her throat, soft, hot, and her tongue felt silky smooth as it rubbed around the head of his thick cock, his pre-cum coating her tongue as she ran it across. With a small groan he leaned back, falling to his back on the warm fur that he laid upon, closing his eyes now and relaxing at the feeling of the young girls mouth around his cock. “My pretty little niece…” he said with a chuckle. “Or Daughter….” He laughed a little and reached out a hand, grabbing her hair and this time forcing himself past her tonsils and near down her throat…his balls now pushed hard against her chin. He smirked and held her there, she had trained away her gag reflex, but a girl needed to breath. “That’s it sweetheart…choke on Daddy’s cock.” He said with a small laugh, his other hand that wasn’t holding her down lifted, and he brought it down, striking her sharply on the back of the head, popping his cock into her throat further and forcing her to strain. After a moment he let go of her hair.

He was close to cumming and her wet mouth had felt perfect, but he didn’t her to know that he was in charge…and he wanted to leave her thinking, crying when he left. He grabbed her throat and tossed her onto her back on the floor and quickly climbed on top of her. Instantly, he was inside of her again, his chest pressed against hers, his cock pounding her cunt, his hand still around her throat. He had almost been there before and now, he was even closer. His eyes rolled back, his breathing hitched in his throat and he moaned, slamming her harder than before.

Just as he was near to cumming, the flap to his tent was opened and his uncle, standing fully armored with a helmet under his arm walked in. He heard him come in, but he didn’t stop raping Annabel.

“What!” he growled, barking under his breath as he panted, his hips thrusting into her as he moaned, near ready to break through with his pleasure. He shuddered some, and let go of her throat so she could breath before turning his head and looking back. “WHAT!”

“A scouting party has been seen to the east, thirty men.” He said, his voice monotone as he looked away from his nephew, not caring to watch. He hadn’t stopped when he had come in, and he truly hadn’t suspected him to.

A loud growl of frustration was let out from Raimer, a moan following as he looked down at his victim. “Saddle my ho…” he paused, moaning. “Horse….I’ll be a minute.” He growled in frustration again one hand coming up as he struck Annabel roughly across the face, striking her lips and nose with the back of his hand. “GODDAMNIT!” he said with a growl, aggravated that he had been interrupted…but it was only moments later that his eyes rolled back and he buried himself into her, emptying his seed and filling the young girl with his cum.

It wasn’t often that her Lord gave her that gift. Usually he was degrading enough to cum in her ass…her mouth, her hair, her face…but tonight he wanted her to remember that possibly her father had emptied his seed into her body. He looked down at her now beaten face and pulled himself from her, one hand going between her legs and grabbing her cunt, forcing his fingers into her and pulling some of his cum out before he took his hand and smeared it over her face. “Don’t you fucking move.”

The naked, sweat covered Lord stood above her now, his thick cock hanging limply between his legs as he looked down at the girl. “If you move before I come back….I swear to god I’ll let my horse fuck you.” He turned and started to grab at his armor and clothing.

 

[Cal]

She was not paying attention to her mother’s interruptions, too focused on her own self-consuming hatred. How could they do this to her? They were going to let some Northern Lord invade their land and kingdom and defile everything her father had worked for. Her home. Their sanctuary. Catalina could simply not believe it, and she was going to make damn sure her point was brought across. “You can’t just invite those Barbarians into our home! We don’t even know them, how can you agree with this? They rape and kill and are brutal and they’ll f-” her words were cut short when she felt her mother’s hands grip her shoulders, forcing the young Catalina to face her.

She stopped talking, at least. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and her mother would be able to see just how fragile her daughter was at that moment. Her lips were quivering, fighting to keep the tears at bay, the whole of her small body shaking lightly. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. She let her mother’s words wash over her, but she didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to hear the words, she wanted to stay in her little tantrum.. Catalina wanted to be heard. But even that was not granted to her, as her mother continued to speak. Finally, the words started to sink in, Catalina’s rage slowly disappeared, and ultimately all she had left was the hollow shell of sadness.

She broke her mother’s gaze and hung her head, not wanting her mother to see the tears that threatened to spill. They did, eventually, thick tears rolling down her cheeks, small sobs wrecking her body. Catalina didn’t try to make a sound, even as her mother let her go and she took a step back. Already her mind was working at full speed to try and find a solution. The King had commanded it, but the reasons behind it were shallow. Holldane was a beacon, a haven. If the haven fell, the rest of the Kingdom would need protecting. Something had to be done there. Perhaps she could convince them that she was a fit enough leader on her own. That she and her mother could rule. The whole idea was absurd, but yet it remained in her mind like a parasite, feeding on itself, growing..

Meekly, she did obey her mother, and sat down next to the matriarch. Tears still rolled down her cheeks, but they were more of frustration than anything else. Her cheeks blotched red, her eyes radiant and bright. Catalina picked up the discarded letter from the floor and re-read it again, and again. The more she read the words, the more they became distant, like it was some other poor wench being married off. It was oddly comforting, and soon the tears ceased to flow. It was easier to imagine this was the life of someone else. And that’s exactly what Catalina was going to do. She raised her chin up to her mother and watched her, her own chest rising and falling a bit more rapidly, her body still needing to calm down.

“I apologize.” She found her voice, and even that sounded distant. Catalina did start to remember her lessons, her back straightening slightly, her hands folded on her lap. In the coil of her body, though, she harbored and harnessed that anger from before. She let it sit and grow. She would use it when the time would come.

--

She should have known he was not finished with her yet.

Annabel would have been happy to keep sucking the Lord’s cock, but then those words reached her ears and Raimer would be able to feel her throat muscles constrict around his cock, intensely and obviously disgusted by the mere notion, and the fact that he referred to her as his daughter.. She struggled to put her hands up in a fit of madness, trying to pull herself up and away from her potential father. However, she hardly had time to do so and faltered. The sudden grab of hair again made her utter a sound of distress, vibrating around the thick flesh in her mouth.

Annabel felt the Lord’s cock shove down her throat, and while she had taught herself not to gag, it hurt and the searing pain wrecked her tonsils and throat and brought tears to her eyes. She felt the Lord’s fleshy balls press against her chin as her nose was burried deep into his groin. She was held in place like that, unable to breath, near-choking on a mouthful of cock. Annabel knew that if the Lord would squeeze her throat with his thumb, he would be able to feel his own cock resting there. That thought soon flew out the window, as she tried to inhale fresh air, but found herself severely lacking. She made another noise, a noise of distress. A noise that said she was going to faint, or worse, if he didn’t let her go.

And then those words came. Those.. words.. he didn’t..

The muscles in her throat started convoluting around the Lord’s cock instantly, struggling to keep the bile from shooting up her throat. He’d surely kill her if she had let that happen.. but the thought of having her own father’s cock shoved down her throat was too much for her to handle. She started to struggle, struggle against the hand at her head, struggle against the hard flesh between her lips. She had to breathe, she had to get away, this was too much, a whole new level of mental torture that Annabel was unfamiliar with. She swallowed around the flesh, tried to gasp for air but failing horribly, excess amounts of drool slipping from between her lips and dribbling between her mouth and the Lord’s groin. Annabel started to choke, even more-so when she felt the quick rap on the back of her wine-soaked head.

And then the pressure was gone from her head and Annabel instantly let the Lord slip from her mouth and lips. She spluttered, coming up for air, her mouth a mess of pre-cum and saliva, coughing, her throat felt as if it was on fire. Tears were now flowing freely from those sad bright blue eyes, a physical reaction to the lack of air, to the mental and physical abuse. Poor Annabel hardly had time to recover, though, as she felt the Lord’s fingers wrap around her throat before brutally throwing her onto the floorboards again, her head bouncing off the wood with a sickening little crack. It wouldn’t do permanent damage to her, and Annabel started to wonder if she should be happy or sad for that.

Sprawled across the floor, disoriented, the Lord was ontop of her again, ruthless as ever as he fucked her raw, the walls of her cunt wrapped around his cock instead of her mouth this time, her body betraying her, inviting him further, deeper, harder, squeezing around him, as if she was begging for it. Traitorous body. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound, and instead she prayed to the Gods that it would be over soon. She prayed his fingers would squeeze her throat harder, hard enough for her to stop breathing entirely.

The little choking noises that left her were lovely in itself, desperate little noises of pain and pleasure combined, gasps of air as the Lord fucked and choked her at the same time. And then the flaps of the tent opened, and briefly she felt hope infiltrate her heart. Her eyes went to the Lord’s uncle instantly, those blue piercing eyes pleading with the man as she was raped and choked simultaneously. Eyes that screamed “Save me”. The man didn’t care. The man never laid eyes on her. In his rage, the Lord’s fingers slipped away from Annabel’s throat and she sucked in a breath of fresh air sharply, only to have the breath knocked out of her almost instantaneously. She felt her teeth graze over her lips as the slap landed home, following by the sharp taste of blood on her tongue.

The Lord’s aggravation of being interrupted was taken out on her, but this wasn’t news. She was his property. He could do whatever he fucking wanted.

Even if that meant cumming inside of her. The implications of it now were much, much more severe, though. If the Lord was her father, and the seed hit home.. hit her womb.. Annabel choked back a sob, her body hurt, her mind and face were broken. She only made a small noise when she felt his fingers roam around in her cunt before bringing it to her face. She let it happen without protest, her eyes wide and fearful, watching the Lord. And then those words came, and all Annabel could do was nod feebly.

She lay there, and would continue to do so. Her body sprawled across the furs, her legs spread, her cunt wide and glistening with the Lord’s cum dripping from it. Her body was riddled with old bruises and new. Annabel looked up at the Lord briefly, her lips red and parted, trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible. She nodded faintly again, showing him that she understood.

This was her life.

 

[E404UserNotFound]

When she had finally sat down, her tantrum over for the time being, Elise reached out her hands and wrapped them around her sixteen year old daughter’s sides and pulled her into her softly, kissing her forehead, holding her like she used to when she was a younger girl. The tear stained cheeks and red puffy eyes upset Lady Tinuthel, but she knew more tears would come before the end, she had to simply allow them to come as they spoke. But she wiped away some of the moisture with a gentle hand before lifting her daughters chin to look into her eyes.

“I have invited no one.” She said softly, “You know very well this was not my choice. I was not consulted, the King did not ask my permission to send Lord Raimer to us. She frowned some and she shook her head. “I would have you wed to a southern Lord, someone who would show you love all your days.” She frowned slightly after and sighed. “But I cannot make that decision.” She paused some. “We are women, dear, we do what we have to.” She smiled softly and kissed her cheek.

“Our people may accept us as their guardians for now, but they expect a man, a real Lord, standing on the battlements and protecting them.” She said softly, shaking her head.

After a few moments of silence she paused lightly and placed a small hand on her daughters cheek to look into her eyes again. Wanting to make sure she understood. “You will be married very soon…” she said softly. “You know what that involves.” She said softly. “If you want to keep your husband happy and live well for your own sake and your children…you must keep him happy.” After a small pause she sighed. “You are a beautiful girl, he will be proud to let you walk beside him. Be an obedient, loving wife to him, and he will be a caring, husband.”

She paused a little and sighed. “You’ve heard stories of the Valantians, but you cannot believe everything that you hear sweetheart. They aren’t stinking, fur wearing, murderers. They are just like us, but from other lands. I’ve even met some….they are a handsome race.” She said with a smile. “Tall, taller than any southern Lord, pale haired and pale skinned, big men, strong and firm, but the ones who I have met have always been polite.” She said with a small smile.

For the most part, her words were true. Even a brute like Raimer Iman knew his niceties. With nobles, especially ladies, he had always shown chivalry and the picture of a true noble Lord. Whether that face always showed in private, was another matter of course, none but his “lovers” would likely know this fact however.

“Your husband…” she said with a pause. “Will likely take a Mistress, they always do.” She said, her voice sounding somewhat more annoyed. “But you must not stop trying to make him ha…” she was cut off by the small door opening. A young girl, barely twelve, a nobleman’s daughter from another region who was there serving as a Lady in service to the Matriarch until she was of age slipped through the door with a large book in her hands. She curtsied when she entered.

“The book, My Lady.” She said softly. Smiling to her and then looking to Catalina for a moment, lowering her head and smiling softly. “Congratulations, Lady Catalina.” She said softly, being ignorant of the fact that it was truly a source of anguish. Elise took the tome from her hands and started to open the pages.

“A history of the Northern Lands….” She said, looking over the tome. A book that would include the histories of the ancient and noble families, lands, and sometimes descriptions of the Lords, it might give a clue to Lord Iman’s patronage at least and how old and well established his family were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If her life was to suffer, so too was Lord Iman’s, in his own mind at least. Never was there more than thirty minutes to an hour passed by when he was not interrupted by someone needing some sort of act or word that had to be made by him. It was understandable, at least to his Uncle, why he was so aggravated by having to abandon his “Nocturnal Activities” and go ride out to fight this night.

“Nephew.” He said, his voice firm. “Give the bitch some water at least.” He said as he walked closer to the girl, his niece by extension. He stood there beside her as he looked down at the nude northern wench on the floor, pitiful and bloodied. He gave her a soft smile for a moment before looking at his Nephew.

Raimer turned to face him, a look on his face that showed his aggravation. “I do as I please with what is mine.” He said with a growl.”

Veksted Iman, a much older and wiser man than his Nephew, shook his grey head. “As you say, My Lord. But a man who neglects his property often finds it taken from him prematurely, this.” He said, tapping her with his foot. “Appears to be near to expiration. Feed and water her.” He said firmly, his voice being a bit more rough than it should have been…but Raimer often did as he asked, the man was his fathers brother after all, a soldier of great experience, and a man of great character.

Raimer looked down at her for a moment before sighing some and walking over towards the girl. “Wine and Bread, there might be some meat left.” He said as he reached down, gripping her hair and pulling her up to her knees. “Go and beg it from the men if you are hungry, but return.” He said firmly, turning now to ignore her and placing his silver helmet over his blonde head.

“Let us go.” He said, tapping his uncle on the shoulder as he passed, heading outside before him.

Veksted turnd to Annabel for a moment and gave her a soft smile. “Go get food child. But do as your Uncle says.” He turned and left immediately after speaking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride out was quick, Raimer and his men were flying across the plains to the west in search of the scouting party, they were, as his own scouts had said, unaware they were so close to his army and that they were simply scouting the lands to the south and looking for weaknesses. They would take them by surprise.

The battle was essentially over before it had begun, a hail of arrows from his men followed by spears striking down from horseback as they stampeded the camp. But the fight was not without its casualties. Two of his men had caught counter arrows to that struck them from their horses.

As the battle ended Veksted laughed and slid from his horse, but turning quickly he frowned when he did not see his Nephew. Raimer was not on his horse…it was unlike him.

“RAIMER!” he called, turning, searching for a moment, dark thoughts coming to his mind. “Raimer!” he called again, but he heard a groan, and saw his Nephew crouching near one of the bodies of the enemy…there was spear sticking from his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour after the two men had left Annabel in the tent, there was yelling and shouting and the tent flaps now being thrown open, Raimer was being carried by four of his Knights and Veksted followed, he was shirtless and had white linens wrapped around his side, blood stained the linens. They laid him down on his bed and one of his Knights reached for an ale-skin, shoving it into his mouth. “Drink my Lord.” He said firmly. Raimer conscious, but seething with pain.

“His lungs are not pierced, thank the gods.” Said one, another replied.

 

[Cal]

It was ironic, how her mother grabbed her and held her in that safe, comforting embrace, much like when she was a child. For a heartbeat or two, she believed herself to be exactly that, sinking into her mother’s arms and closing her eyes briefly, breathing a sigh and praying, hoping, imagining a better time. For the both of them. The hug was broken as fast as it began and young Catalina felt her chin be raised up. Sad, green eyes regarded mother, but they were attentive. She was listening. This was something she could work with, come to a solution, put things into perspective. It was something Catalina needed, and her mother was kind enough to grant to her.

Catalina felt her face flush with embarrassment first when her mother began to speak. Of course she knew that her mother did not invite them, and yet it had come out all of a sudden during her outburst, and now.. now young Catalina felt ashamed. When the young girl looked down, her mother pushed her chin back up and she knew that it was important to listen, really listen to what was being said. Her heart ached when her mother spoke of the Southern Lord, and it only furthered and deepened her shame. It seemed absurd that she was being tortured just for her gender, though. It all came back down to her father’s wishes and that he had desired her to have been born a male.

For a moment, she wanted to speak. She wanted to say how unfair it was. She wanted to propose that her and her mother could rule. That they didn’t need to suffer for their gender. That they could be both lenient and tough, that they could both rule and love. Why did they have to follow the norm? Why couldn’t they break free? But Catalina did not voice any of her thoughts. Catalina kept her thoughts to herself as her mother continued to speak. The matriarch both confirmed and solidified her suspicions. An heir. Obedience. It made her feel uncomfortable, even as her mother continued. The consolation she offered of the Northern race made Catalina’s face perk up, if only slightly. Maybe.. maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps she could find happiness in this.

Until her mother mentioned the Mistress, and poor Catalina’s face fell.

In all her wisdom and proper etiquette, her teachings and lessons and training, she had never believed her father to have had a Mistress. Such a terribly naive girl. Her eyes implored her mother even as she was interrupted, she had to know, stop trying to make him have a, have a what! Her eyes snapped to the younger girl and she nearly, quite nearly insulting the girl where she stood. But Catalina kept her lips sealed as she saw just how young the child was. She didn’t know any better.. and Catalina should start acting like a lady, after all. But perhaps she forgot her place again, as she placed her hand upon her mother’s wrist.

“Mother.. “

Perfect white teeth sunk into her lip for but an instant, her brows furrowed in a frown once more. Did she dare to ask? Did she want to find out the answer?

The answer was yes.

“What do you mean, I must not stop trying to make him.. have?” She didn’t understand. What could be worse than marrying someone who she did not want to marry? What could be worse than having a husband, who had to fuck with other women? What could be worse for a Southern lady to marry a Northern Lord? Catalina had a right to know.

---------------

Annabel thought it was over, at least for a couple of hours. Why were they still there, why were they still talking? In her abused and broken mind, all she could feel was the incessant need to flee. But she wouldn’t. She never would. Please, they must know that she behaved, that she would obey, that she was a good girl. The lack of oxygen, water and food was making her near hallucinate.. but she was awake enough to see the man approach, and the words.. it didn’t make sense. Food? Water? She remained eerily still as she heard both men speak, her wide eyes flickering from one to the other. She didn’t even react when the elder’s boot hit her side gingerly.

And then Raimer approached again, and it was as if an angel blessed her. The grip at her hair did nothing to diminish the glee that throbbed in her chest, stumbling to her knees quickly, utterly compliant. When the grip left her hair, she still remained on her knees, shaking slightly, but otherwise completely joyous. She did remember her place though, and she lowered her head in a deep bow, giving “Yes m’Lord. Of course Sir. Yes m”Lord.” as she’d been trained to do. Relief held her body in a tight embrace as Raimer left the tent, feeling as if she could breathe for the first time in hours.

And then Veksted lingered, and Annabel raised her head to look at him, apprehensively, curiously, doubtfully. The soft smile startled her, and the words that followed made her suspecious. He had saved her. He was her guardian angel. Why would he show her such kindness? What did she do to deserve... and then Veksted was gone, and for a few agonizing moments, Annabel sat there, clumsily. Her cunt ached and weeped with the Lord’s cum, her body sore and her face tender. Eventually she raised herself to her feet, wincing as she moved, knowing fully well she would hardly be able to walk in the morning. As she grabbed her clothes, a gray dress that marked a woman of her profession, more rags than clothes, her mind wandered..

She was so happy when he had first called her to him. A young girl, full of hope. She foolishly thought he would marry her off to some Lord, that someone finally recognized she was not just some common whore, that she belonged to do greater things. On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, no less! He had summoned her in his tent, and she’d complied happily, wearing the prettiest dress she owned. Annabel was given a cup of wine, the first one she’d ever gotten, and she’d loved the way the red wine hit her lips and her tongue and her throat. She was happy then. That’s the last time she remembered being happy. It all changed so quickly.. Lord Raimer’s strength was.. unparalleled.

She shook her head quickly as if to shake off the thought. She needed food. She needed liquid. If Raimer would come back.. when Raimer would come back, she had to be ready. Usually, after the battle, he was even more aggressive, even hornier.. Annabel scampered outside the tent, and begged for scraps of food and wine. She would degrade herself to just about anything. Raimer had given her a command. Before long, she returned to his tent and undressed instantly, moving to sit on the furs. She would wait there until Raimer returned. She would have to prepare, mentally, physically.

The chaos ensued a few hours later was nothing she had prepared for. A small yelp sounded for her as she scampered off into the corner of the tent instantly, giving the men the space, trying to make herself invisible. Raimer was hurt..

Raimer was hurt! Maybe he would die..

No, no, no, don’t think like that, don’t let those thoughts get to you, don’t hope.

------------------

“Oh yeah, but it’s gonna leave one helluva nasty scar.”

It was said with a voice that was both mocking and near gleeful, a grin that could only be interpreted as vicious. His little comment elicited the right response from the other two nights and the oh so serious uncle. He knew exactly what they were thinking, why was he here, why was he allowed so close to his Lord Highness Raimer. So easy to manipulate. So easy to control. He flashed a grin to the only Knight that had not given him a glare, his dearest brother, who simply rolled his eyes at him. Raimer would survive this time, unfortunately. Although it would probably do nothing to improve his mood.

The two Knights and the uncle really did not appreciate the Vortigern Brothers. They were ruthless and vicious, operated on no agenda other than their own and were closer to turncloaks and sellswords than actual Knights. But dear ol’ Raimer had taken a liking to them. When stuff needed to get done, the Vortigern Brothers were almost exclusively presents. Tobias was the silent one. Always keeping his distance. Always in the darkness. His perfect older brother. While he was kind on the outside, he knew the true nature of his brother, and he was no better than him. Viktor was Tobias’ counterpart. Loud. Boisterous. He had no moral standard. No mission was too obscene, no kill too risky. He murdered and raped women, men and children alike. If he ever caught someone who interested him, torture was added to the tally.

No, the Vortigern Brothers were two twisted individuals, and perfect for Lord Raimer’s army. And now here they were, the bloody bastard had gotten himself impaled by some fucking spear of some sort. Not that it mattered. His Lordship would live, Tobias would see to that. And as if on cue, the man pushed himself through the other Knights and uncle, like some kind of slippery eel, and murmured an order. When Tobias spoke, people would do well to listen to him. His voice held a tone that offered no dispute, and he didn’t even have to raise his voice for it.

“Needle. Fire. Thread.”

Tobias murmured out as he started polishing one of the many daggers in his arsenal. This was going to be beautiful.

The Brother’s looks were traditionally Northern, a blonde hair so pale it was nearly white, blue eyes that were nearly ashen. Where Tobias was lithe, Viktor was all muscle. Where Tobias could stealth and sneak, Viktor would rather throw himself in the heat of the battle, swinging at full force. The sound of skulls cracking was his personal favorite. Viktor openly enjoyed and endorsed torture, and he wholeheartedly approved of Raimer’s treatment to whores, especially to the one cowering in the corner of the tent. He would love to cut her open.. riddle her little body with thousands of little scars to dig his fingers in as he fucked her. But she was off limits. Wench.

Viktor dragged his eyes back to Raimer, grinning that horrific grin down at him. Tobias got the supplies he wanted, the other Knights meekly following his command. Weaklings.

The blade was held over the open fire. The fire danced in their eyes, the devil’s tinder reflecting in the Brother’s eyes just a bit more than the others, as if their soul was feeding on it. Feeding on the heat. Feeding on Raimer’s.. predicament. A bark of a laugh left Viktor as he licked his lips, his voice deep and laced with the type of joy only he could feel in this situation.

“This is going to hurt like a fucking bitch. Enjoy it.”

Almost instantly, Tobias thrust the heated blade against Raimer’s open wound, a manic glint in his eyes. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air, and one of the Knights had to run outside to empty out his stomach contents into the wet grass. Raimer’s flesh hissed and squealed underneath the hot blade, and if anyone would chance to look upon Viktor’s face, they’d know he was watching the flesh, watching it crawl, watching it sizzle and pop, watching the smoke drift from it so deliciously. Young Annabel saw. Young Annabel was horrified.

The blade was removed all too soon, and Tobias began to work on sewing the Lord up again. It wasn’t as if they particularly minded if the Lord would die. In fact, they couldn’t care less. But, they both had a goal. A purpose. Raimer would die in the future, as all men would, but the Vortigern Brothers needed him alive just a bit longer. And so Tobias sewed the wound shut, scorching the flesh when needed, throwing alcohol on it when necessary. It was a lovely little process, and over far too quickly for Viktor’s liking. Soon, Tobias was done with Raimer, his hands bright red from the blood that had flowed freely only heartbeats ago.

Raimer’s uncle and the one other remaining Knight interrupted again to take further care of Raimer, and Tobias and Viktor stepped aside. Tobias arched his head to look at Annabel and, whilst the others were occupied, smiled a horrible little smile to the young girl. She flinched, and watched in horror as he raised one of the bloodied fingers to his mouth and darted his tongue out. Tobias dragged his tongue across the blood soaked index finger, keeping eye contact with the young girl at all times. She was compelled, horrified, and simply couldn’t look away. The grin the Vortigern Brothers shared was flashed to her, both of them. If they could simultaneously fuck the girl, they would have done so a hundred times over. But she was Raimer’s property..

Those dreadful, twisted ashen eyes roamed over the shaking girl’s body, hungrily, and the Brothers knew they had to leave the tent before their impulses would take over. Tobias simply walked off, but Viktor.. Viktor made a deep, mocking bow to Raimer, rumbled a “Enjoy the rest of your evening, m’Lord”, and took his leave. Filth, all of them.