The Princess's Escort (Dark Saint x AlluringEnigma)

[AlluringEnigma]

Melanie Auer was in shock. Her downfall was quite sudden, and quite unexpected. With a war being waged against the Fraichian Empire, she has been tucked away at one of the more fortified cities on the border of her empire, the eldest princess being quite the prize for her enemies. However, no one had quite expected the advent of gunpowder as a weapon. What had once been fuel for joyous creations that lit up the skies was now a weapon of war that shredded through fortified walls with ease. The city had collapsed to its knees in mere hours, the Fraichian flag now waving over the burning city.

Of course, had Princess Melanie been captured, she would have been paraded as a prize before being executed merely for the origin of her blood. However, such places always had entrances outside of the city, a last resort for defeated rulers, and she had been escorted out of the city’s boundaries by the meager company of a priest and a wounded guard. At the time, she had been more concerned with her next move, the notion of immediate danger not even a possibility in her head.

Princess Melanie exited the tunnel, behind the priest and guard, hiking up her long, flowing dress above the mud stained cobblestone below her. Despite the desperate nature of her situation, a lack of decorum was not acceptable from a dignified lady such as herself. They had been deposited a good distance outside of the city, about a week’s journey from the Fraichin borders, and only a few days journey from one of her own fortresses. She looked over at the priest with a regal authority that had been quite well-preserved, despite her situation, and effortlessly commanded. “We head North, to the nearest friendly town and regroup. I shall not be left out here in the wild like some common peasant” she added, hints of German and Russian in her dialect seeping through as she spoke.
The priest nodded, and began to gather his things, the soldier following in order. However, there was quite the distinct problem with such a plan, and it did not show itself until the very instant their journey began. Stepping out of the forest line, a man clad in armor, sword drawn, began to take quick steps towards the trio. Whether he had known of the escape route, or had simply lucked upon his quarry, Melanie hadn’t the faintest idea. All she could do was watch and scream in horror as the man sliced through the wounded guard with ease, effortlessly parrying his weakened blow before cutting his head clean off in one fell swoop. The monk met a similar fate, his hands clasped in prayer as cold steel was pushed into his gut.

Melanie could barely speak. Words seemed to fail her as she stumbled over her own feet, clumsily and desperately backpedaling backwards, yelling out illegible curses and prayers. Yet, her words fell on deaf ears as she felt herself hit the rock of the cliff face, the young Princess of 19 years now quite literally between a rock and a hard place. Her heart sunk, and her eyes seemed to contort into a defiant stare as she accepted her likely fate. The mysterious man, who seemed vaguely familiar, now had his sword pointed right at her, any route of escape easily blocked off for the young princess, though her hawkish gaze continued to search for an opportunity to run. For the moment, however, she was at the mercy of a man who had just killed her last two allies. All she could muster was a rather pathetic “W-Who a-are you?” all royal authority now lacking in her tone, instead replaced with a primal fear that gripped every part of her being.

 

[Dark Saint]

Duncan Bran hadn't always been a sell-sword. There was a time when he would have never dreamed of working for anybody who flew the Fraichian banner, or sticking his sword into the gut of the lowest bidder because another purse was just a few coins heavier. But that was before everything had changed so abruptly in his life: a battle lost, a monarch dead in seconds, and somebody needing to take all the blame for what had happened. And with all those immediately above him dead, Duncan had been the most convenient target. He'd barely escaped the headsman's axe and had made it into the countryside where he'd gone on the run to escape the wrath of former allies. But of course a good sword had earned the interest of certain parties, and an empty stomach and wounded pride had made him more willing to negotiate.

Princess Melanie Auer was the eldest of her line and the next in line for the throne over her people. The Fraichians, of course, had no interests in seeing her rise to power, and when they had learned of just what it was Duncan had done before they'd eagerly thrown gold and promises of land and titles at him if he could secure her alive for their courts. He'd accepted and went in search of just where it was the Princess was laying her head at night to see if he could perhaps grab her before the Fraichians moved in, but as the burning city showed he hadn't been quite quick enough. But he was adaptable enough to think on his feet and use it to his advantage when he'd remembered the secret tunnels that all Kings Guard were familiar with if they ever had need to escort the royal family away from the keep and city. So once he had found it he'd simply made camp in the woods nearby and waited through the first few hours of the siege until he'd seen the first of three emerge from the tunnel.

He'd been on them in an instant when he recognized his prey among them.

The guardsman wasn't even a member of the Kings Guard, and he was wounded at that. He tried to feign left but that was to his injured leg and meant his swing wasn't nearly as strong as it might have been had he not been wracked with pain. Duncan knocked his sword clean from the man's hand and his head soon joined it on the ground with one hard swing for his neck. And the priest? The priest was easy and didn't even raise a hand to defend himself or stop the blade sinking in. Had he needed to kill him? No. But Duncan didn't need to do many things he had taken to enjoying as of late. With those two taken care of he turned his attention to the retreating princess as she backed herself to the cliff-face in desperation to escape him. A crimson-stained sword was leveled at her neck just daring her to try and charge him or dart to a side in hopes of escape.

As she spoke, he grinned beneath the full helm he wore before reaching up with his free hand to pull it free, "I believe the last time we met, you called me 'a king-slaying traitor'." Green eyes flickered with avarice and mischief as he eyed her, "Ser Duncan Bran, m'lady. And you'll be coming with me."

 

[AlluringEnigma]

Princess Melanie felt her heart sink as she spied the vengeful revenant from her past. There were very few people she knew that could elicit terror in her at such a time, but this was one of them. Immediately, she realized the gravity of the situation. While she was unsure whether or not the traitor before her had aligned himself with the Fraichins, she was quite sure he was more than willing to exact heinous revenge on one of his loudest decriers.

Quite quickly, the shimmering gold dress the heiress to the throne was wearing began to feel quite vulnerable and sheer. While it was certainly not something as revealing as the garb of a common whore, her ample bust was quite well pronounced by the dress. In addition to this, the heels she wore made escape from someone so properly equipped for the wilderness quite impractical. It was clear to Melanie that there was no immediate escape from this detestable traitor.

However, the Princess was quite sharp, and she placed her last vestiges of hope in diplomacy. With a melodious tone that fluttered with nervous adrenaline, she beseeched the man before her. “I recognize you well Ser Duncan, the years have been kind to you in exile, I see”. Melanie scowled slightly, realizing that she had just reminded a man with a sword of the price upon his head, which ought to be one of the first things NOT to do in negotiation.

Melanie got the sense that her words were being met with bemused pleasure, as if the traitor was enjoying her veiled begging in some sort of twisted way. Nonetheless, she continued her appeal “Of course, that was quite some time ago, and the facts were always quite fuzzy about the King’s death. At the time, I must admit, tempers were high and I was quite eager to find someone to blame for the incident. As it were, I believe we could find a way to reconcile such hasty decisions, starting with your agreement to escort me to Linz. I could, of course, lift the price on your head as well as reinstate your former lands and title”.

It seemed a vain effort. Not only was the man unlikely to accept recompense from years on the run, but haughty arrogance was still quite present in her tone, even if such a thing was unintentional. Of course, Princess Melanie was also quite unaware of the man’s newfound affiliation with the Fraichin Empire. She was quite sure that he had sold his sword, but she had assumed that it would be to common criminals, not her mortal enemies. Yet, there she stood, ever confident in her silver tongue as the dimming sun lay on her face, anxiously awaiting the answer of the armed traitor before her. She concluded her pleas with as much of an innocent tone as she could muster, though it still retained her regal authority, quietly inquiring “So, do we have a deal?”

 

[Dark Saint]

The Princess had always been a lovely sort. Abrasive and condescending at the best of times, but easy enough on the eyes so that Duncan had at least two reasons to enjoy watching her leave during his years of service to the King. A sheen of sweat from the heat of the tunnel, combined with the stress of what was happening didn't do her any favors if she hoped to avoid hungry eyes, either. As much as he may have detested the woman, Duncan wasn't going to lie and say he had never imagined hiking her skirts up to rut her like a common street whore. However right then with the Fraichin army already past the gates and likely moving for the keep was not the time to indulge in his more base fantasies. It'd only be a matter of time before they found the escape tunnel and Duncan was loathe to split the fortunes of such a capture with the common oafs that made up the majority of Fraichin footmen these days. But of course the Princess had to open her fucking mouth.

Mention of his exile and the lands stripped from him brought a set jaw and steely glare to his face as he watched her. His grip flexed and twisted on the handle of his sword as he reminded himself that he at the very least needed to the Princess alive until he had turned her in. She went on as he expected her to. Lines that he'd imagined a thousand times over the last few years, listening to them in his mind again and again, and taking a measure of joy in just how he pictured it would all go. And of course after having served under her for so long his prediction was rather accurate. She began with begging and pleading veiled as pleasantries and kindness, with offers to restore everything that she'd stripped from him that day years ago, and ending with such a haughty air as if she thought her offer would assuredly make up for so many years of pain and mockery and loss. She was so desperate to live but that damned false pride of hers would be her undoing.

"To Linz, you say?" He looked past her in the direction of the falling city, "That's a fair few miles across open land. A few days maybe, in better times, but Fraichin raiding parties have made the roads dangerous. The moment they realize you aren't here, they'll lock down every road between here and the capital, so heading directly north won't help you." The grin that came to him could perhaps be excused as joy and the thought of the Princess's promise, "As much as you may not want to hear it, it'd be in our best interests to head south for a time as such that they lose our scent."

But no, he wouldn't let her slip off that easily. Even if it was a lie. He had to see just how desperate she would be to live and retake her precious throne.

He stepped closer towards her and shifted his sword so that it begin to draw across her throat rather than point directly at her. "Its funny you mention price, my lady. Because - you see - I'm a sell-sword these days. Not a knight. Gold and titles are all well and good, but I need some sort of payment now. A security, if you will." His free hand reached out and gloved fingers hooked on the top of the soft blouse she wore, "Besides. You'd need to ditch all this garb in the wilderness, anyways. So. Are you willing to pay, my lady?"

 

[AlluringEnigma]

Princess Melanie was quite aware of the attention she drew, and the ragged state of her clothing, drenched in sweat and torn in several areas, only further exacerbated her sexual appeal, a dangerous implication around a dangerous man. Something had told the intuitive flaxen-haired princess that Ser Duncan was quite the scoundrel, and it seemed her intuition was completely correct. He had never been the most pure of men when in her service, sneaking glances that most would describe as “unchivalrous” at best, but it seemed his time away from royal court had only exacerbated his rugged nature.

Every word of his only seemed to inflict more loathing for the man, though admittedly it came with a dash of fear each time. By the end of his oh-so-subtle advances, she was confident in her new assertion of the man. She was still uncertain whether or not he was working for her enemies, but one thing was quite clear, under his “care” she would never reach Linz. Whether or not he planned to bring her as a trophy to the Fraichin or take her life, she was unsure, but she knew no outcome would end well for her.

Despite all of this, her back was still against the wall, quite literally, and now the cold steel of his blade was brushing up against her pale skin, causing her heart to skip a few beats. Melanie wasn’t quite sure if her response to his request mattered one bit. “I’m afraid I don’t see the use you would have with my clothes” she replied rather wryly, though a nervous chord was starting to ring true in her tone, before she continued on with a more serious intention “I doubt anyone would pay you as well as I intend to, and even if they do, I shall pay more” she assured, hoping that the allure of gold and land was more than her own personal beauty.

As she spoke, her hands were clenched at her sides, as if any moment he would pounce on her. Flashes of Ser Duncan roughly spinning her around and pinning her against the wall before hiking up her dress and taking advantage of a young girl’s misfortune raced through her mind. The thought sent a shiver through her spine, which was further reinforced by the thrill she felt at just the thought. Her pale visage began to show a little red in the cheeks, further revealing her emotions to the traitor.

Princess Melanie Auer had spent countless hours amongst suitors and diplomats, hiding her intentions behind an innocent smile, yet now her emotions seemed to reveal themselves to this despicable traitor with ease. It made her sick, just how easily he had gotten to her, and she almost forgot to address his plan. “As for your plan, we shall head north. I doubt any of the Fraichin soldiers will recognize me in common garb, and my arrival it Linz is quite urgent.”

Princess Melanie was quite aware of just how unconfident her words were, and she knew that she appeared to be nothing more than a lamb waiting for slaughter, but she desperately clung to the hope that his avarice was more powerful than his lust and hate.

 

[Dark Saint]

Duncan's expression didn't seem to sour at her words. If he was offended that a high-born noble not used to the fields of battle had questioned his summary and plan, then it didn't show in his expression. The Princess had always been notoriously independent and hard-headed about these sorts of things - if she decided the best route was to the north then she would insist on it until someone had died to prove her error. Never mind that she was right and that Duncan had no intentions of heading northward again until she was in a Fraichin cell and awaiting her execution. Slowly he drew his sword from her neck and returned it to its scabbard at his waist, though his other hand still held a tight handful of her dress in case she tried to dart away.

If she was expecting him to turn her about and pin her to the wall, then in the next few seconds that was precisely what she received. He whipped her around, pressed her to the cliff-face that had once been behind her, and within a matter of seconds was flush against her back. One hand was clamped down on the back of her neck as a point of control if she tried to move away or struggle out of it. His other hand, for the time being, was clamped down on her hips through the dress she wore. One of Duncan's knees was hiked forward and while her skirts were in the way, that leg would mostly keep her from pressing her own too closely together.

"Gold and titles and land are all good - for later." His grin only grew as his hand left her hip to knead and grope at her ass through her dress, "But I've a full, thick whore's ass here and now."

Then he set to work with his hand leaving her hips to grab nearly tearing handfuls of her skirt, to pull it up as high as he could regardless of how much she might thrash and struggle to get away - what with his weight and free hand working to keep her pinned. He wouldn't stop until the back of her dress was hiked above the curve of her ass or it had been so torn apart in a struggle that it'd make little difference in covering her. And of course that kneading and groping hand of his didn't stop once the pale skin of her ass was exposed for anyone who cared to see. And while that went on Duncan was sure to be at her ear, in case she tried to tune him out or ignore what he said. Just to remind her who had the sword and armor here.

"Allow me to rephrase myself." He nipped lightly at her ear to grab her focus, "Your coming with me, wherever I decide it is we'll go. I've been itching for a place to bury my cock every night, and a whore with a crown does as well as any other." The laugh he gave was equally lecherous and malicious, "And if you're good enough about it, maybe we'll head for Linz."

 

[AlluringEnigma]

Princess Melanie felt a surge of panic wash through her as she felt the situation immediately become hostile. With one hand pinning her against the rock, his significant strength advantage keeping her in place, she began to feel his other hand groping through her dress. She had never considered her backside more sanctified than her bosom, but the action caused her face to turn bright red and her stomach to twist and turn.

Despite the lack of intention, her rather expensive and elaborate dress was torn away by his hiking of the material, leaving most of her backside quite exposed to the degenerate knight holding her down. The thought came to her that any sort of march across land would likely end up with her completely bared to the world, a thought that only panicked her further.

Her whole body was paralyzed by fear from his words. The thought of pleasuring such a man as she was eventually sold to her enemies scared her. For a moment, an executioner’s blade sounded like comfort. Not only would she be spared the immense degradation of being Ser Duncan’s whore, but she could imagine far worse fates than death. Her visits to the Eastern Kingdoms came to mind in specific, the exotic slaves trained to pleasure their masters through years of training now popping into her head. However, her mind could only muster short bursts of thought as she was soon brought back to the present by the rough touch now used on her.

She felt like a whore, with her dress no longer modest and her backside being groped in public. Deciding that she could still maneuver her way out of the situation, Melanie began to bargain her way with a tone of desperation now ringing through. “Using me was not part of the agreement. H-how are you going to receive titles and lands if not from me? T-the Fraichins will stab you in the back the moment you turn me over. Y-you know that!” she cried. Her tone, a far cry from her composed and elegant courtside manor, reeked of stumbling logic and desperation. Princess Melanie was quite aware, deep down, that her immediate fate was unavoidable.

Melanie immediately decided that her only, and best, option would be to resist him as much as possible. With a violent burst of energy she kicked outwards at her aggressor, instead of simply trying to close her legs. While freeing herself from his vile grasp would be a bonus, her actions were borne of a rebellious intent, not a measured one. Melanie would make his “claiming of his prize” as much of a chore as possible. Perhaps he would settle for simply overpowering her and risking her struggling, or perhaps he would not suffer her petulance and opt to restrain her in some way. One thing that Melanie knew for sure was that Ser Duncan would not have an easy go at her, she would not be his whore no matter what he did.

 

[Dark Saint]

Of course Duncan had thought of those Eastern girls in their lords' houses. Taught the proper place for women: either with their legs spread or their heads between a man's legs. After all, what could most women contribute if not to pleasure their men? At least that seemed to be the Fraichin belief of things and after a few nights spent among the Fraichin King's harem to "convince" him to take the job, he was inclined to agree with their views. Oh of course the Princess was not some dark skinned foreign beauty from across the seas, but once he was Duke Bran of the Fraichin Empire he'd easily have the kind of sway a noble needed to establish their own harem. And from there it would be a simple matter of bending knee to the king to convince him that a better place for slut so recently claimed would be in his chambers.

Some part of him found an odd thrill in the thought of parading Melanie about in nothing but the ropes and collar that kept her in place - a practice he'd come to learn was surprisingly common in the Empire. To leave her bound and presented for the viewing pleasure and use of esteemed guests until she finally stopped struggling and came to terms with where it was that she belonged. Maybe it was perverse imagination for the future and a stiffening length in his trousers that could be to blame for why the damn woman caught him off-guard with that kick of hers as she tried to struggle free. It wasn't much of course - she was a pampered royal in court shoes who had just kicked the plate shin guards of an hardened combat veteran. It earned her the "privilege" of hearing Duncan bark out a profanity or two as he struggled to try and gain control of her. The struggle that followed would be momentarily frantic, perhaps for one of them a touch panicked, and decidedly quick as Duncan had planned - maybe even hoped - for this eventuality.

He had already stopped groping that full and freshly exposed ass of her's the moment she'd started struggling to try and reign her in. The manacles were in hand from where they had been kept in his waist pouch and within a few seconds she'd be able to feel the cold of steel on one of her wrists and the sharp pain of that arm being wrenched behind her back where it was pinned between the two of them. The other was soon wrestled from her control and even though the clicking of the manacles was drowned out by the scuffle of their feet on dirt and loose stone, her arms were bound up enough that at least she wouldn't be punching him or trying to grab at anything. It was enough security that he stopped fighting so hard to control her actively and instead just pressed himself into her back to pin her just that much tighter tot the cliff-face: something that saw the swell of his length pressing between the cheeks of her ass even through his trousers and the remains of her dress.