by Rowan Bree
“Thought you’d sneak a peek did you?” A woman in a beautiful gold dress and black lace emerges from the dark gazebo. “Well you’re out of luck. I’m not so base as to indulge those creatures. I was only enjoying the night air and the glory of the new world.”
Vale sucks in a breath. “Sybil,” he says.
Her smile is sickly sweet. She runs a hand down Vale’s cheek. He swats her hand away. She touches his chest, undeterred.
“There’s no need to fear a jealous ex,” she croons. “He’s long gone by now. Though who knows? Maybe he’ll be at the feast.”
Vale scowls. “Did you get her dress and invitation?”
Sybil withdraws her hand. She looks hurt. “Yes, I did. They’re right there,” she nods back towards the gazebo. “You don’t know how hard it was. The old dressmaker took forever and charged me an arm and a leg, and then the castle wanted to know why we needed another invitation.”
Vale replies dismissively, “The sacrifices you’ve made for our Order will be immortalized in song. But now we must go to the feast.”
He touches the small of your back. “Go get dressed, kitten.”
You go into the gazebo and find the dress you are meant to wear to the feast. Long creeper vines shelter the structure from outside view so you do not feel vulnerable stripping down to get dressed. The gown is a midnight blue with black embroidery, with long sleeves and a deep neckline. It fits you perfectly. You slip the invitation under the neckline of your dress and exit the gazebo.
Vale comes to take your arm. You flinch slightly as he touches you. “You look exquisite,” he says. “Truly.”
You can feel Sybil’s jealous eyes boring into your back as you head towards the feast. You would gladly be anywhere but here. Guests are streaming into the great hall as you enter, and you wonder if there will be an opportunity amidst the revelry to escape from Vale.
“That’s the prince of Ollvyn.” Vale points out a serious man with dark curly hair. “He is a friend of ours. I’ve been working on him all week. He has already allied his lands to Doria, and finds the changes we’ve brought to the realm most welcoming.”
There is a commotion at the front doors opposite the great hall. The guards are furiously trying to block the entrance while onlookers watch in mixed horror and disgust.
“Please let me in! I have an invitation! The king is expecting me!” Through a break in the crowd you see a horribly disfigured woman being driven back by the points of the guards’ swords. There is a large, writhing lump on her back with protrusions that wrap around to the front of her body. The guards poke at one of the protrusions and it extends towards them, then the whole lump detaches. You realize that it wasn’t a disfigurement at all but a separate entity. The creature looks like a mix between a spider and a goblin, humanoid in shape but with too many limbs. It challenges the guards with a hiss.
A third guard hurries towards them from the hall. He starts to close the doors.
“What are you doing?” one of the door guards asks.
“The king said to close the doors. No more guests. We can’t risk any more of them getting in.”
The woman continues to plead to be let in even as the doors close on her. A final few other guests manage to slip in at the last moment, including the spider-goblin whom no one seems to notice. Vale chuckles as it skitters past you and up the stairs.
“Vermin,” Sybil tuts.
The great hall is a little emptier than you would have expected, no doubt due to the king’s decision to close the doors early. Even so, the vast tables are lively with food, drink, and fine nobles being boisterous as fits a celebration such as this.
Vale touches the small of your back as he nods to an acquaintance, an elderly man swathed in indulgent silk robes. The man’s eyes roam over you, appraising and approving. You wish you could disappear.
A serving girl passes with a tray of wine glasses. You reach for one but Vale stays your hand.
“I have a job for you,” he tells you. He pulls you to the side where it is quieter. “The Order is hosting our own more private party upstairs. I need you to invite a few select nobles to join us. The more we can sway to our side the better, but be wary of those who might not be so sympathetic to our cause.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” you ask.
Vale smiles. “I’m simply giving you an opportunity to be a part of the world you helped create. Don’t be ungrateful. I’m not usually this generous.”
“And if I refuse?”
Vale’s smile widens. Invisible needles stab your body. You stand in silent terror as you endure the excruciating pain. Vale stops smiling and the pain disappears.
“I’ll be attending the guests upstairs. But don't worry, kitten. There are plenty of Order members around to keep an eye on you.” He leaves you standing alone and uncertain amidst the festivities of the feast.
The king is at the far end of the hall at a special table on a dais. His son sits beside him, shy but already red-cheeked from the ale. Sitting further down is a tanned, bare-chested Adonis of a man already surrounded by a flock of beautiful women all vying for his attention. The maidens among the serving staff are doing their best to catch his eye as they ply him with food and drink. He accepts the food politely, smiling at each in turn. You are keen enough to notice the subtle looks of embarrassment as the women run their hands along his fine muscles to try and coax a response out of him.
From what you have heard, the king may already be sympathetic to the Order. If you wanted to escape, he wouldn’t be the right person to ask for help. The bare-chested man, however, might be kinder to your plight. He looks like he might also be in need of a way out of here.
Another option, of course, is to try to find a way out yourself.
Approach Mr. Popular.
Try to escape on your own.
You watch Vale leave and wander off on your own. The garden is much more alive than you could have thought. Quiet moans and whimpers fill the air like the buzzing of insects on a summer’s night, though you do not come across any other couplings.
You find a large fountain that no longer runs, its dark pools of water still as the grave. Hoofsteps approach. A large shape looms up behind you in the water’s reflection. He has a goatlike face and horns and stands on two legs. Standing beside him you are as small as a child.
“My dear,” he growls, his voice soft but resonant. “Do you remember me?”
Recognition flutters in your chest. It is the Old One that possessed Vale during the ritual.
“I do,” you reply.
The Old One chuckles deep in his throat. “Good girl. Do you still serve me?”
That ember of newfound power flares up inside you making you feel hot all over. “I do.”
The Old One places his hands on your waist. His body is even warmer than yours. You start to sweat.
“I was hunting and didn’t plan on meeting you here. But what a fortuitous chance this is.”
He pulls aside your cloak, the odd cut of the dress leaving your backside exposed. You brace your hands against the lip of the fountain, catching the Old One’s gaze in the water’s reflection as he enters you.
You are hypnotized and unable to look away. You feel like he can see through you to your core, to that part of you that has been fully consumed by the darkness. That is the part of you he owns, you realize. Vale may be your keeper, but the goat-horned creature is your master. Your soul is his forever.
“You can feel it, can’t you,” the beast says as his hands cup your breasts.
You feel it surging inside you, whatever power was given to you through the ritual with Vale.
“Accept it,” he says. “Let it burst forth from your body and wash over this new world.”
You want to do as your master says, but you don’t yet know how to wield your power. It smolders just underneath the surface of your skin. You feel like you are melting into your master as you find release together.
“When you unlock your power I will find you,” he says. “And then you will truly be mine.”
He stalks off into the trees, his hoofs leaving deep depressions in the earth. After a while you hear a distant scream and a bellow. The Old One has resumed his hunting.
Vale rushes into the clearing, face sweaty and even paler than usual. “I thought that scream was yours,” he says.
“You were worried about me,” you say, trying to mask the hope in your voice.
He ignores you. “Don’t wander. Now come along.”
You follow Vale to the gazebo. He presses his finger to his lips for you to keep quiet as you approach.
“Thought you’d sneak a peek did you?” A woman in a beautiful gold dress and black lace emerges from the dark gazebo. “Well you’re out of luck. I’m not so base as to indulge those creatures. I was only enjoying the night air and the glory of the new world.”
Vale sucks in a breath. “Sybil,” he says.
Her smile is sickly sweet. She runs a hand down Vale’s cheek. Jealousy burns inside of you. Why can she touch him? Vale told you he can’t touch anyone directly unless the Old Ones are possessing his body. Was he lying to you?
He swats her hand away.
She touches his chest, undeterred. “There’s no need to fear a jealous ex,” she croons. “He’s long gone by now. Though who knows? Maybe he’ll be at the feast.”
Vale scowls. “Did you get her dress and invitation?”
Sybil withdraws her hand. She looks hurt. “Yes, I did. They’re right there,” she nods back towards the gazebo. “You don’t know how hard it was. The old dressmaker took forever and charged me an arm and a leg, and then the castle wanted to know why we needed another invitation. They are already suspicious of us. I don’t like giving them more reason for doubt. Is she really worth all this trouble?”
Vale replies dismissively, “The sacrifices you’ve made for our Order will be immortalized in song. And yes I do believe the woman who opened the portal to the Old Ones deserves to be treated well. But now we must go to the feast.”
He touches the small of your back. “Go get dressed, kitten.”
You go into the gazebo and find the dress you are meant to wear to the feast. Long creeper vines shelter the structure from outside view so you do not feel vulnerable stripping down to get dressed. The gown is a midnight blue with black embroidery, with long sleeves and a deep neckline. It fits you perfectly. You slip the invitation inside the neckline of your dress and exit the gazebo.
Vale comes to take your arm. “You look exquisite,” he says. “Truly.”
You ignore the feeling of Sybil’s jealous eyes boring into your back as you head towards the feast. Guests are streaming into the great hall as you enter.
“That’s the prince of Ollvyn.” Vale points out a serious man with dark curly hair. “He is a friend of ours. I’ve been working on him all week. He has already allied his lands to ours, and finds the changes we’ve brought to the realm most welcoming.”
There is a commotion at the front doors opposite the great hall. The guards are furiously trying to block the entrance while onlookers watch in mixed horror and disgust.
“Please let me in! I have an invitation! The king is expecting me!” Through a break in the crowd you see a horribly disfigured woman being driven back by the points of the guards’ swords. There is a large, writhing lump on her back with protrusions that wrap around to the front of her body. The guards poke at one of the protrusions and it extends towards them, then the whole lump detaches. You realize that it wasn’t a disfigurement at all but a separate entity. The creature looks like a mix between a spider and a goblin, humanoid in shape but with too many limbs. It challenges the guards with a hiss.
A third guard hurries towards them from the hall. He starts to close the doors.
“What are you doing?” one of the door guards asks.
“The king said to close the doors. No more guests. We can’t risk any more of the creatures getting in.”
The woman continues to plead to be let in even as the doors close on her. A final few other guests manage to slip in at the last moment, including the spider-goblin whom no one seems to notice. Vale chuckles as it skitters past you and up the stairs.
“Vermin,” Sybil tuts.
The great hall is a little emptier than you would have expected, no doubt due to the king’s decision to close the doors early. Even so, the vast tables are lively with food, drink, and fine nobles being boisterous as fits a celebration such as this.
Vale touches the small of your back as he nods to an acquaintance, an elderly man swathed in indulgent silk robes. The man’s eyes roam over you, appraising and approving. You feel like the highest of royalty standing next to Vale. If only everyone knew what part you played in creating this new world.
A serving girl passes with a tray of wine glasses. You reach for one but Vale stays your hand. “I have a job for you,” he tells you. He pulls you to the side where it is quieter. “The Order is hosting our own more private party upstairs. I need you to invite a few select nobles to join us. The more we can sway to our side the better, but be wary of those who might not be so sympathetic to our cause. Sybil is around if you need her, but don’t trust her too dearly.”
“Where will you be?” you ask, your heart sinking at the thought of being alone for the feast.
Vale smiles. “I’ll be attending the festivities upstairs. But don't worry, kitten. You can join me as soon as you’ve done your job. Just be sure to come upstairs before the bell strikes the next hour. I’ll need you by my side for something very special.”
He leaves you standing alone and uncertain amidst the festivities of the feast. The king is at the far end of the hall at a special table on a dais. His son sits beside him, shy but already red-cheeked from the ale. Recruiting the king of Tyven is better left to Vale, you think. You cast your gaze around the room for an easier target.
Sitting much closer is a more portly man in rich robes, his sausage-fingers stuffed into a multitude of gleaming golden rings. He waves his hands wildly trying to get the serving staff to notice him, but unfortunately their attention is being drawn elsewhere. He swears at the young man at his side, his ward or page, “Shit-eating simpletons! You’d think they should know how to properly treat a duke!”
Unfortunately for the duke, he has some stiff competition. Sitting further down is a tanned, bare-chested Adonis of a man already surrounded by a flock of beautiful women all vying for his attention. The maidens among the serving staff are doing their best to catch his eye as they ply him with food and drink. He accepts the food politely, smiling at each in turn. You are keen enough to notice the subtle looks of embarrassment as the women run their hands along his fine muscles to try and coax a response out of him.
You weigh your options. While the duke might be an easy target—the kind of man who would jump at the chance to feel special—the shirtless hunk might be a smarter ally. He has the same sort of magnetic charm that Vale does, making him useful for further recruitment. But he will also be harder to sway, and if you fail you risk Vale’s disappointment in you.
Approach the duke.
Approach Mr. Popular.
You stand there wondering if Vale will force you to follow him. You brace yourself for the pain but it never comes. Vale continues towards the gazebo apparently unaware that you are not following. You let him go out of sight before daring to make your escape.
You hurry back towards the garden’s entrance but find the way is not so straightforward as you thought. Twisted trees and brambles block your path and you find yourself wandering aimlessly through the garden. Quiet moans and whimpers fill the air like the buzzing of insects on a summer’s night, though you do not come across any other couplings.
You find a large fountain that no longer runs, its dark pools of water still as the grave. Hoofsteps appr
oach. A large shape looms up behind you in the water’s reflection. He has a goatlike face and horns and stands on two legs. Standing beside him you are as small as a child.
“My dear,” he growls, his voice soft but resonant. “Do you remember me?”
Recognition flutters in your chest, though you can’t recall why. Then it comes to you. A burning, dead landscape. An altar. A thick, bestial cock deep inside you and the opening of a portal between your world and his. You start to tremble.
The demon chuckles deep in his throat. “Good girl. But I sense you do not serve the mage willingly. You did not choose to go down this path of darkness.”
He places his hands on your waist. His body is even warmer than yours. You start to sweat.
“The mage wants our power for himself, but it does not belong to him. He is not strong enough to wield it. But you are. There is no changing this world. It has already become what it is. Take your place as its ruler. Take the gifts Vale gave you and make the new world serve you.”
His snout traces the curve of your neck, pressing into your hair.
He whispers, “I will not force you. You must ask for it.”
Join the demon.
Refuse.
Deciding on the path of least resistance, you approach the duke. He glances up at you and does a double take, frantically wiping his greasy fingers on his robes before taking your hand.
He plants a wet kiss on the back of your hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says. “Though you probably already know who I am.”
You don’t, but you nod anyway. “I’m from Doria,” you tell him. “I don’t make it out much.”
The duke, still holding your hand, gives it another wet kiss. “Well, you should make the most of your visit to the capital. Come, sit. Have a drink with me.” He pulls you down onto the bench beside him. The young man he is with silently places a goblet in front of you and pours wine for you both.