Conquest - Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Arthur’s head was aching in time with his heart. With each pound his head throbbed and sent a sharp, racing pain down his neck and into his chest. He moaned, feeling his stomach churn. He tried to sit up so that if he had to vomit he could do so on the floor, rather than drown in it,  but he was too weak to move.

The incessant itching was the worst of it. Arthur hadn’t felt this way since he’d played in some poison ivy when he was eight years old and his entire body had broken out. He weakly, miserably, scratched at his body wherever his fingers could reach.

Merlin’s face suddenly appeared over him. The sorcerer lifted Arthur’s head and forced something bitter into his mouth.  He could hear Gawain and Percival somewhere nearby making gagging noises as they, too, were force-fed something foul.  Arthur had just enough time to see that he was in a tent, before passing out again.

When Arthur next awoke he felt much better. The pain in his body, the maddening itching in his skin, were both gone but he felt weak. Merlin sat across from him, chin in hand, watching him. A chime floated magically in mid-air, and every time it tinkled Arthur felt a little stronger.

“Healing chime,” Merlin said, nodding at the pretty wooden chime. It bobbed softly in mid-air and continued making a soft, enticing sound though there was no breeze to stir it. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Are you?”

Merlin grinned. “Of course. I promised His Majesty that I would bring you in alive. I keep my promises.”

Arthur managed to sit up enough to lean on his elbows. He was in a tent large enough to accommodate a cot, a small wooden bathtub, and a rickety looking table. “Where am I? Where are my knights, Gawain and Percival?”

“They’re outside, stretching their legs. His Majesty has ordered that you join him for dinner this evening. I’ll see to it that you’re cleaned up and fed some breakfast.”

“How long have we been here?”

“Two days. The dragons that carried the three of you in poisoned you,” said Merlin. He looked vaguely amused. “Not enough to kill, just enough to make you extremely sick.”

“And you think that’s funny?” Arthur groused at the smirk on Merlin’s face.

Merlin nodded, “A little.”

“I wish to speak with King Thomas now.”

“You will see him at his pleasure, Prince Arthur, not a moment before. You will bathe before you go before him.” A vaguely disgusted expression pinched Merlin’s face. “Believe you me, you need it.”

Merlin stood, whispered something, and a bathtub across the tent began to gurgle quietly. Soon it was filled with steaming water. Merlin stood and crossed the tent in a few strides.

“Do you think he means to execute us?” Arthur asked the question, hating the nervousness in his voice.

Merlin looked back and Arthur was struck by the gleam of wisdom and sympathy in the warlock’s eyes. He very much seemed like an old soul in a young man’s body.

“I honestly don’t know, Arthur. Thomas is a merciful man. He is fair and honest. Whatever happens, rest assured his decision will be one that was made fairly.”

Arthur nodded, thankful for Merlin’s honesty. He was also thankful that Merlin didn’t have that annoying smirk on his face when he gave his opinion on the fate of the prince and his knights.

The opening of the tent flap brought in a cool breeze that made the healing chime practically jangle. Arthur felt a wonderful surge of strength and he rose up to stretch, though the shaft of bright sunlight from the open tent flap was like a knife to his eyes.

With watering eyes, Arthur stripped down, thankful to be out of the filthy clothes he’d worn. They smelled of horses and sweat, as did he. One bath probably wouldn’t be enough to wash away two days worth of stink but it would certainly help.

The water was hot without being uncomfortable. All the tension in his muscles began to drain away. It felt so good a little contented moan escaped him. He smiled and lathered up, when the tent flap opened once again. At first Arthur thought Merlin had returned with breakfast, but a soft female voice proved him wrong.

“Sire?”

Arthur looked back and saw that a young woman had entered his tent. She was lovely with brown skin and long, curly hair tied elegantly atop her head. Her dress was made of a shiny material that distinguished her as having a position as the maid of a royal rather than just a common servant. She smiled coyly and approached with a tray in one hand, and some folded clothes in the other. She set the tray on the small table provided for Arthur, and then put his new clothes beside the tub.

“Shall I wash your back, sire?”

She’s certainly accommodating, Arthur thought with a smile, and leaned forward to give her access to his back. Accommodating and beautiful...

“Are you the king's maid?” Arthur asked, while she rolled up her sleeve and then dipped a bar of soap into the tub and began rubbing it over his back.

“You could say that,” she said coyly. “So, you’re Prince Arthur. You’re as handsome as they say you are, My Lord.”

The serving girl, it turned out, was more than accommodating—she was outright forward. Her hand reached low into the water and circled his lower back suggestively, and then began to ease around to his front.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, looking up into the girl’s eyes as her hand, slick with soap, eased down to massage his balls. Blood rushed into Arthur’s groin and he moaned as he leaned back into the tub. His cock stiffened in the serving girl’s hand.

“You know what I’m doing,” she replied in a low, throaty tone. “Do you like this?”

“Oh, yes,” Arthur said. The girl’s hand moved faster, working him with expert skill, driving him to the brink of release. Arthur had just reached the cusp of climax when an angry voice interrupted from the tent flap.

“Guinevak!”

The girl turned with a gasp of surprise. Merlin stood at the entrance to the tent, his face thunderous. His eyes literally flashed with a red sheen. Arthur would have been more frightened if he wasn’t desperately aching for release. The girl giggled and withdrew the warmth of her small hand.

“Hello, Merlin. How nice to see you again.”

Guinevak…Through the haze of need fogging his mind Arthur recognized the name, but he couldn’t immediately place it. His eyes went to her clothes again. The material was very rich indeed, now that he paid closer attention. No servant, not even a royal servant, dressed like that.

“You saw me ten minutes ago, when I told you to keep clear of this man. Prince Arthur, meet Lady Guinevak, youngest daughter of King Thomas,” Merlin said tightly, his eyes had not missed the position of her hand in the water before she’d withdrawn from Arthur.

Something told the young prince that Merlin’s anger was grounded in more than loyalty to King Thomas.

“Jealous, Merlin?” Guinevak asked. Arthur shied away from her as much as he could in the small tub, shocked that the king's daughter would behave in such an indecent manner. She was clearly a very mischievous girl.

“Hardly,” said Merlin, but Arthur thought otherwise from the tight set of the sorcerer’s jaw.

“I didn’t know who she was,” Arthur said sincerely.

Merlin didn’t look appeased when he said, “Leave us, Guinevak.”

Though her words were rather brisk, she didn’t look at all offended when she said “I am the king’s daughter and you’re just his pet magician. You don’t presume to order me—”

Merlin, apparently, was going to have none of it. He crossed the small space of the tent in two strides, grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the exit. She giggled again as he pushed her toward the flap, and looked back at Arthur.

“It’s been a pleasure, Prince Arthur. I shall have to visit you again sometime.”

Merlin shut his eyes, trying to keep control of his temper. “Your men await you outside. You have some freedom to walk, but don’t wander too far from your tents.”  

Once he was sure he was alone, Arthur had little choice but to finish what Guinevak started. He concentrated on the beauty of her face and imagined what it would be like to thrust inside her warm wetness until he finally climaxed. Once he finished, it became clear to Arthur that the water in the tub had gone cold with unnatural speed.

Outside, Arthur found Gawain and Percival huddled around a small fire. They warmed their hands and spoke in quiet tones.  The encampment was a sizeable one with well over six hundred men, as far as Arthur could estimate, and that figure only included what he could see. Thick columns of smoke rose in the forest for miles around, indicating there were even more men sheltered in the thick pines.

The hill Arthur stood on sloped gently downward and ended in a long flat area. Three male dragons, the ones who had carried—and poisoned—Arthur and his men into this camp, sunned themselves near the tree line. Their female partners were close by. A shepherd led twelve sheered sheep toward the dragons who promptly snatched them up in their powerful jaws, biting the animals in half before finishing off the second portion. Two sheep were awarded to each dragon.

Arthur recognized the oldest of the three as Kilgarrah. By tradition the remaining females were his for mating, but Arthur had heard talk that he’d given the other two over to mate with the last two males in an effort to save the species. Allegra had lost the last of her eggs. Arthur wondered if they would be successful, or if they would fail, making Uther responsible for killing off the dragons.

Further downhill, in another flat area, was an impressive archery range. Target boards had been set up, as well as target dummies. The archers fired in time with a command given by a distinctively female voice. In fact, Arthur noticed that all of the archers had one thing in common besides perfect aim—they were all very slender with unmistakably feminine curves.

“So, it’s true what they say about Thomas’s archers,” said Gawain. He and Percival both watched the women practice.

“The Sisterhood of the Bow actually exists,” Percival said. “I thought the men who fought at Othanden were making that up.”

“Obviously not. How do you two feel?”

Gawain shrugged. “Considering I’ve been poisoned by dragons, I think I feel pretty good. My head still hurts a little.”

“Who was that woman who came into your tent?” asked Percival.

“Guinevak, Thomas’s youngest daughter.”

“What was she doing in your tent?”

“Never you mind,” Arthur replied, and sat down on a tree stump. Gawain laughed and nudged Percival, who still gazed in the direction of the dragons.

“Can you believe it? Enemy princesses throw themselves at this man. However do you do it, My Lord?”

“Shut up, Gawain. We don’t need any of the men here getting word back to Thomas about her visit. Isn’t that right, Perce?”

Percival failed to look back or acknowledge Arthur.

“Perce?” Gawain inquired.

“What?”

“Are you still moping about those cursed dragon eggs?”

“They weren’t chickens, Gawain, they were dragons! I may as well have murdered babies.”

“Keep your voice down,” Arthur hissed. He couldn’t wrap his mind around Percival’s odd behavior. Several people wandering by had turned to look at them.

“Don’t ever put those creatures on par with us, Perce,” Gawain replied coolly. “They’re creatures of magic. Our queen is dead because of their ilk, and many of our brothers have died in battle because of what they’ve done. We’re better than them.”

“Are we?” Percival said defiantly. “I sometimes wonder. They lived peaceably, never doing harm to anyone and then, because of one witches mistake our king began slaughtering them. We’ve done things…terrible things…for what?”

“You’re losing your way, brother,” Gawain said. His face was flushed in anger.

Percival looked at Gawain in disgust and anger. “Maybe I’ve found it, brother.”

Percival turned from them and entered the tent that had been given for him and Gawain. If it had been equipped with a door Percival would have slammed it hard enough to splinter it.

“May I bunk with you tonight?” Gawain said. “I fear I may strangle him. The things he just said about your father! I’m surprised you didn’t put your fist to his jaw.”

“He’s under a great deal of pressure, Gawain. He has regrets.”

“We all have regrets, Arthur, but we don’t cry like little girls about them.”

One of Arthur’s eyebrows arched. “Is your life free of sorrow, Gawain? Have you nothing in your past you would undo?”

Gawain shrugged, looking as though he would like to change the subject. “I stand by the things I’ve said and done in my life. Otherwise I’d go mad.”

“Then I envy your peace of mind,” Arthur replied heavily.

Chapter one

Chapter three