The Warlord's Concubine (17 page)

Mirella had been lucky enough to have known bliss before, but that
completion of her family, that natural process of creating something
from both of them was different. She knew how pleased he was, and
she’d always wanted a child. She had tried to push it aside as
it grew less likely, but now that it was finally a reality, she let
herself feel true joy.

“He looks like you,” she murmured, that sleepy, happy
daze making her eyes look lustier.

With a soft kiss to her forehead, the powerful Kulav stroked her
hair tenderly. “You will name him Kulav’ar,” he
said firmly, for though it was tradition for the Ka’reem women
to name their children, his mind was set. “It means Son of
Kulav,” he explained, and the significance of such a thing was
not lost. How could it be? For though he had seeded many women—all
of the Raven Guard and many more—none of the children had he
claimed his own in any manner.

Her dark lashes descended over her
eyes, and that wide smile, those hidden tears were sweet, tender
affection. She nodded and swallowed in a breath. “Kulav’ar,”
she murmured, her finger clasped in the palm of her young infant.
“Thank you.”

One thing she could not ignore, even as she tended to her new
child, was the growing sense of unease. Though the God-King was back,
and with a mighty victory against the Empire, he knew it was not over
yet.

“Your Greatness,” bowed one of the chieftains, “our
men have explored out the collapsed tunnels and found a way through.
It is not enough for an army, or even a small raiding party, but it
was enough to gather intelligence.”

“Well,” demanded the ebon deity, “what have they
to report?”

The hairy barbarian leader shifted uneasily. “The Empire has
amassed a new army on the other side of the mountains. They are
working on excavating the blockage and...”

The God-King was tired of waiting, “Spit it out! Or be
trampled beneath my horses hooves,” he demanded darkly.

“And they are sending forces around the mountain.”

“Which way?”

“Both,” the chieftain replied.

He didn’t need to ask how many. For the Empire did nothing
in small measures. If the first invasion failed, then this next would
be three times as large at least. With the powers of the witches and
the genius of her master, even that would be insurmountable. There
was only one out, and they all knew it.

Mirella cursed. That spoiled, pampered, stubborn brat. Mirella’s
strength was returning, her body slowly going back to her
pre-pregnancy figure, but she’d not managed to find the will to
deal with Princess Anabelle. Her eyes looked to Kulav imploringly,
her tongue lancing her lips. “I will try again.”

With a shake of his head he said, “No,” firmly. “It
is pointless.” She knew it as well as him, but when there were
no other options...

It was then it came to her, the Seer’s voice. Though somehow
she knew it wasn’t the woman speaking to her now. It was a
memory that had been implanted into her as she joined the other
witches in their spell on that day months ago. It was the solution to
their problems.

“I know what to do,” she
said.

Mirella left her sisters inside, hearing their chanting as she
shut the door to the repaired chapel. The Seer was still unconscious,
had not awoken since their last casting, but still she was like a
focal point of their efforts even in her helpless state.

Mirella left them, shutting the door as she looked up to Kulav.
The God-King gave her a steady look, “All our fates rest with
you,” he said with firm trust, and absolute faith.

“I won’t disappoint you,” she said, and she
sounded as certain as he, that small smile teasing her lips. She
moved to him, leaning up and pressing her mouth to his, her tongue
probing him as though she were saying goodbye before she took a step
back.

“Goodbye, my God,” she murmured.

They’d made their farewells
already; her flesh still stung and ached from it. He didn’t
shed a tear, but she saw his stoic gaze flicker for just a moment.
The most she’d ever seen his hard male eyes falter.

In the Princess’s room Mirella found the young woman in
quiet contemplation. Still so young and delicate, she looked to be
over her recent troubles at long last, though was slow to acknowledge
her. “What can I do? My prince is dead, the passage is
sealed... it’s all over, Mirella. I can’t do anything...
not a thing.” By which she meant there was nobody to take her
orders.

“Princess,” Mirella moved over to the woman and began
stroking her hair like she had in the days before all this, bringing
her brush to tenderly work out the tangles. “I’ve not
been honest with you,” she said softly. “I’ve been
working on my own plan to free you.”

The fair young Anabelle looked to her slowly, “What?”
she said, as if lost in a dream, her light voice barely carrying to
her.

“There’s a holdout of nobles... they lived through it
all and they’re awaiting you, but there’s no way you can
leave this castle, this room. If they find you,” she frowned,
shaking her head as she brushed out another blond curl. “I’ve
found a way, though. It will sound strange, my darling Princess, but
you trust me, don’t you?”

The slender princess turned on her seat towards her, hope rising
in her as those blue eyes widened. “You can get me out to
them?” she said, and Mirella saw a tremble in the young woman’s
hands as excitement rose.

“Yes, and you can be off, safe and happy while they retake
the city,” she paused, licking her lips. “Princess, I’ve
been gifted my freedom. I’ve had a child...” she trailed
off as though it were too painful to think of before regaining her
ability to speak, “I’m free to go. But you are so much
more important. I’ve... I’ve found a way for you to go
free in my stead. I will suffer for you, Princess.”

The foolish girl blinked and looked her over, somehow having not
realized that her former servant—whom she’d known almost
all her life—was no longer pregnant. “They’re
letting you go,” she repeated meekly. It was obviously a lot
for the young woman to wrap her mind around, but she knew the tales
of how women who survived their pregnancy were granted freedom.
“How?” she asked, her voice building back to its usual
command in that one, simple word.

From out of her pocket, Mirella took out of a long, silver amulet,
letting the chain drape between her fingers. “Princess, this
necklace is enchanted. It will let us switch bodies, so that you may
escape, free of scrutiny.” Her breathing hitched as she looked
at the young, fair princess, so different from herself. Those big,
blue eyes. That long, golden hair. The ivory flesh.

She didn’t covet those things. She was happy and comfortable
in her own body, with the dark, olive flesh and her devious eyes,
that long, glossy black hair. And those tiny marks that her pregnancy
had still left her. She loved her body, yet this was something she
was doing for greater reasons.

This was her sacrifice.

With hesitant fingers the curious princess touched the amulet.
“What sorcery is this?” she murmured, not expecting an
answer. She wet her pink lips then looked Mirella over.

She knew what the pale, royal waif was doing. She was debating
with herself on whether she wished to downgrade herself to a
servant’s older form. “I don’t know, Mirella...”
she said hesitantly.

“Your freedom, Princess,” she knelt down in front of
the woman, her green eyes imploring the young Princess. “Please,
it’s killing me seeing you locked up here, away from your
people. They’re losing hope without you. They need you,”
tears threatened her vision as she begged.

A lifetime of serving this petulant girl had taught her how to
manipulate her. “It’s reversible, right?” she
asked, lifting the amulet and studying it intently.

“Yes, Princess,” she said in a calming tone. Both
needed to consent. To trust one another. To want the switch to occur.
Mirella’s words were absolutely honest, and her fingers grazed
the noble’s hand, “Your people need you.”

Anabelle studied the pendant long, lost in her own indecisiveness.
It was too long really, considering how obvious the choice seemed,
but at last she nodded, her beautiful young face contorted into
firmness. “I’ll do it. My people need me,” she said
to Mirella, her azure gaze crystalline and hard.

Mirella resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and took the chain
from the woman, slowly descending it over Anabelle’s head, “For
the good of Ariste, I do this.”

The princess arched her spine and stood prim and proper, the
fullness of her royal form returned. “The people shall remember
this. It will be told in tales long after my rule has ended,”
she said with absolute certainty.

Her harder hands took the pampered flesh of Anabelle, her fingers
so light as she grazed the flesh, her voice becoming low as she began
chanting. Her voice met with the others of the circle below, the
stone of the palace not able to keep the sisters of the Raven Guard
from joining their powers together.

All about them the air seemed to thrum, the air vibrating as if it
were countless little pebbles that shook with some mighty energy.

“What’s happening?”
she heard the voice of the princess so faint, as if distant and far
off.

The entire city showed up that day for the wedding. The imperial
army sent forth its own representatives, minor nobles considered
expendable enough for the task.

Ariste rung with the bells of the cathedral as the smiling couple
emerged onto the steps of the great holy building. The new Queen and
wife looking even more dainty and pale than usual in contrast to the
great, dark visage of the God-King, her husband.

Anabelle was slender, and that long, white dress felt like it
flowed down over her form unhindered by womanly curves, the breeze
catching it and making it dance against her body. Her hand held tight
to her husband’s as her pretty, pink lips twisted into a smile,
tears of joy making her blue eyes twinkle even more vibrantly.

Flowers were twisted through her golden hair. Little pink and
purple blossoms stuck out around her braids and curls, the updo so
elaborate and painstakingly done. The soft anklet of raven feathers
went unseen as it caressed her bare feet, making her seem even
shorter compared to him. Her God. Her King. Her Husband. Her Kulav.

A lifetime of serving royalty had
prepared for that day, and none doubted her as she strode through the
nobles, or rode up the hill to her palace. She knew all the things to
say, and though the body was foreign to her, she knew how to wield it
primly.

That night she met him in the royal bedroom. Forms had to be
followed. The Empire’s representatives would insist on
everything being done perfectly. Even the virginal shroud had to be
provided for them, as any pretence of illegitimacy would be used to
swoop in and claim the city.

The God-King studied her in the light of that magnificent room,
held her dainty hand as his eyes roamed over her. “So frail,”
he said in a firm but low voice, still reeling with the changes in
her.

He looked resplendent in his shimmering outfit. It was, in
essence, a more ostentatious version of his battle wear. The
glimmering raven’s feathers so sleek, gilded in silver. They
would be crowned on the morrow assuming the Empire found no
objection. Officially the King and Queen.

“It’s strange,” she agreed, but her hands moved
along his chest so readily, so eagerly, and he could tell it was her.
None would have the brazen audacity to meet his eyes like she did;
none would have the authority to let her palms press against his
flesh. “Kulav’ar will look so different from me, now,”
she lamented, but her mouth sought out his, her tongue glancing
against him.

The Princess’ body was hers, now. And she gave it freely to
him.

Scooping the delicate young form of his wife into his arm, he
pressed her to the bare flesh of his ashen skin, letting her pale
form feel him out as he carried her to the massive bed. It was a
king’s bed, and could’ve fit two dozen waifs like her
now, but it was all theirs.

He laid her out, slid his hard hands up her slender calves and
milky white thighs, pushing her stunning dress up as he eyed her.
Through it she heard the material of his pants stretch with his
growing arousal, the leather straining. “There shall be more
children,” he said, though with the tone he knew it was little
compensation for her.

The youth did provide her many more opportunities. The Princess
was still so vibrant and nubile, and she knew her form would contort
so attractively. Those blue eyes of hers stared up at him as her legs
parted, revealing the smooth, blonde pelt between her legs. Her body
was ready for him, and she bit her lip to suppress a grin.

“I never thought I’d have to go through this again,”
she admitted shyly.

A grin spread across his face at that remark, and as she watched
him roll his shoulders back and undo the clasps of his belt, pulling
open his pants, she saw that massive, dark girth fall out so heavily.
“This time,” he said, lowering himself down over her so
that its bulging crown, so slick and dark grazed her pale blonde tuft
of pubic hair, “it shall be a lot worse.”

She saw his teeth then as he nudged himself against her thin
hymen. Such a tiny, puffy little slit seemed so vulnerable compared
to him as he prepared to rip it asunder.

She’d given birth, she knew of pain, but something about the
prospect of him taking her virginity thrilled her, even at the
promised pain. She thought back to the women she’d helped him
deflower, to those concubines she’d wetted for him, and grew
heated against his thick crown.

“My husband,” she murmured, “Don’t take me
gently.”