Hunger of the Eldritch Fiend

by Amanda Clover

  Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicle

  Book Nine

  Hunger of the Eldritch Fiend

  By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury

  @amandasmut

  Cover artwork by Deilan12

  This book and all its contents are copyright 2019 by Amanda Clover. All rights are reserved and no portions may be reproduced unless for the use of brief quotations for review purposes.

  All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental.

  Map of the Empire of Istanov

  The Chronicle

  The time of monsters was said to be at an end.

  The rise of the great human empires of Istanov, Heimsvak, and the desert kingdom of Shaddobar brought the elves to heel and drove the tribes of orcs, goblins, and stranger monsters to the margins.

  The last great monster uprising occurred more than 50 years ago, when a brave huntress named Penelope Helsdottir prevented the ascension of a new monster god and formed the Huntresses of Ctharne. These unique warrior women were dispatched throughout the known world wherever trouble arose to tame what monsters they could and destroy those that could not be made into allies.

  But within the borders of Istanov, trouble brews. Long years of peace and prosperity have blinded the Istanov dynasty and the people of this nation to a new danger. As monsters gather, seemingly heeding the call of a powerful human leader, will the nobles of Istanov react in time? Or will overconfidence prove the undoing of an empire?

  These are the Princess to Pleasure Slave Chronicles.

  Hooded Meetings

  Campfires glowed like stars across the dark valley below. Damera Istanova looked out across them from the hill upon which her tent had been erected. More and more survivors of her brother’s ill-fated army trickled in to her camp to tell tales of plains and forests infested with monsters. Wild eyed and exhausted men spoke of the race through the dark woods while wulfen howled and orcs bellowed. They told of the battle in the dark when the monstrous legions rose from the night and slaughtered the troops of the Imperial army as they bedded down to rest, taking them utterly by surprise.

  Damera tapped her fingers against her family’s sword. The ruby which tipped the hilt glowed like liquid flame, the jewel of Cleavegrad. Though her brother wore the Heart of the Empire around his throat, one of the fiery jewels had never been added. For despite their victory over the barbarians of the west, the mighty fortress of the Barrier Mountains had been lost to Hemisvak to the east. And so, the jewel that commemorated that defeat now capped the sword she carried. The shameful relic of the second in line, as it had been for generations.

  Empress. Yes, she was that. Now. Her brother Androse still claimed the physical throne of Moskov, having fled back to the capital following the rout of his army, but he was barely emperor even in name. He held the city, and that was all. She had been recognized by the remaining nobility, the priests, and the Red Mages. She was the one who ruled Istanov now.

  Though that could change very suddenly in the coming days.

  She wondered idly as she stood overlooking her encamped army what her fate might be if she fell? Would she be executed, a symbol of Istanov’s final defeat at the hands of the monsters? Or worse. Would she be a symbol of their domination of humanity? Given to their craven creatures, mated until she swelled with their spawn, desperate pleas to be fucked again and again babbling from her lips, her mind long since broken by the sadistic pleasures of the horde?

  She was pulled from those thoughts at the sound of an approaching knight, his armor clacking as he came to attention. “My Empress,” he said. “The delegate has arrived.”

  Damera sighed, banishing her musings as she turned, her long red cloak swishing about her, her golden armor engraved with silver shining in the torchlight of the camp. She brushed some long blonde hair from her eyes and nodded. “Then I will meet with them.”

  The knight bowed and fell into step beside her. Damera marched through the flickering torches and towards her command tent. A modest structure, the flag of the empire snapping from the top. Two guards bowed and pulled aside the flap of the tent, allowing her to enter alone.

  It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light within. Lamps glowed from the tent poles, illuminating the utilitarian furnishing. A desk, some trunks, a stand where a spare set of armor stood and a cot. Two men were within. The first was a dark-skinned knight in pitch black armor, his face handsome, with fierce eyes and strong features. He stood at attention; the symbol of a shield stamped on his breastplate in aquamarine stones.

  The second man was examining the armor on the rack. A cloak obscured him, the hood pulled up. As his cloak stirred from the tent flap he turned, shadows veiling his face.

  “Empress.”

  Damera smiled, the expression feeling strange on her face after so long. “Janus.”

  King Janus Corven of Heimsvak pulled back his hood, revealing his warm face. He looked older than Damera had last seen him, but he wore his age well. His blond hair seemed to bear a touch of silver, a thick mustache curling upward and a small beard clinging to his chin. He looked sterner - firmer - but those eyes still had that merry light that she recalled from those many years ago.

  The king stepped forward and clasped her hand warmly. “It’s good to see you, Damera. When I heard Androse had signed your death warrant as a traitor to the empire, I grew a little worried.”

  Damera laughed coldly. “That’s not worth the paper it’s written on, now. His army was crushed and he fled back to Moskov.”

  “So I heard. It’s bad there, my dear. Your brother doesn’t rule beyond the walls, but his home guard raid the city occasionally. Word is he’s sunken into drunken debauchery, ranting within his palace, the treasury piled in the throne room. We passed near. Refugees pile beneath the walls but he won’t raise a hand to help them.”

  Damera grimaced. “Little surprise, in truth. Better he had died with his men.”

  Janus sighed, shaking his head. “It’s always a pity when families fall apart.”

  Damera had the sense to look chastised. “How is your daughter,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “I hear she’s growing to be a beauty.”

  Janus beamed. “She is. My little Alessa is my pride and joy. Such a sweet girl,” he sighed. “She’ll be the jewel of Heimsvak soon enough.”

  “Lovelier than me?” Damera teased.

  Janus laughed. “Ah, well. That I couldn’t say. I fear I am a bit biased.”

  Abandoning proper decorum, Damera stepped forward and embraced the king. Janus was startled, but moments later enfolded her in his arms, holding her close. Damera took a shuddering breath, let it out, allowing herself a moment to simply soak in the warmth of the man’s arms. She buried her face in his shoulder with a sigh.

  But the moment passed, and Damera felt eyes on them. She quickly stepped back with a glance at the knight in the corner.

  Janus followed her eyes and nodded. “Ser Raymond, Empress. Have no fear. We can trust him.”

  Raymond bowed. “Your majesty.”

  Damera brushed some of her golden hair back and returned the bow. “Ser Raymond. A pleasure.” She glanced back to Janus. “I had heard you came with some knights.”

  “Three hundred,” Janus said, and his tone made her heart sink. The king sighed, rubbing his beard. “But I fear that is all I brought, my dear.”

  “I heard your armies were mustering…”

  “At the border, in Cleavegrad,” Janus said. “And there they shall remain.”

  Damera’s hands tightened into fists. “Your majesty,” she said tightly. “I don�
��t believe you understand the seriousness of this situation…”

  Janus shook his head, cutting her short with a raised hand. “Damera, I understand completely. But… well, let us be perfectly honest. Your empire is hardly an ally as it is. It was your father who tried to invade Heimsvak, which resulted in our taking Cleavegrad. And I have my own affairs to worry about. I can’t send my army across the border. Monsters live in my kingdom too, along with certain individuals that might seize the opportunity that I am absent to use it to their own ends.”

  Damera bit her lip, but nodded. “I… understand,” she said softly. “Forgive me. I was being rude.”

  “Ah. Don’t apologize, Damera. I know how this must seem. Had I the opportunity, I would throw my armies behind you.”

  “Thank you,” Damera said, sincere enough, for she knew he meant it. But bitterness still tinged her tongue, for even though she knew he was right, that didn’t betray the facts of her own need. She shook her head, collapsing in a camp chair and massaging her brow. “Ah, Janus. This Duke of Ashes, I fear he’ll be the doom of us all.”

  Janus nodded and gave Raymond a meaningful look. “Raymond? Would you mind waiting outside.”

  “My lord,” the knight said, ducking his head before exiting the tent. Damera watched him go, the tent flapping shut behind him.

  “He seems competent,” Damera said listlessly.

  “He is the finest knight I know,” Janus said. “He and his three hundred men of the Order of the Shield will prove useful to you.”

  “Ah,” Damera sighed again. “Three hundred. Gods above, but that I had my legions. My brother’s army is broken. So many of the knighthoods are hunkering down in their keeps, holding their land as best they can. But I need their aid now!”

  “You have the Red Mages,” Janus said, and even he, a king of a realm near the strength of the empire at its peak, lowered his voice at the mention of them.

  Damera twisted her lips in something like a smile. “Allies of convenience, I think. I doubt they’d care if the empire burned around us, if their academies weren’t in our cities.” She taped a finger on the arm of the chair, the measured sound cutting through the stillness. “I have no idea what their grandmasters are playing at.”

  “Still. They stand with you. And between their sorceries and the men at arms you have, you stand a chance, Damera.”

  “A chance,” the empress muttered, shoulders hunching as she brooded over the shadows of her tent. “Yes. A chance. But that’s all I have, isn’t it?”

  Janus put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s more than some get.”

  Damera buried her face in a hand. It was strange to be so upfront with a man her father and empire had considered enemies. With whom wars had been fought, blood spilt, and bones left to the crows beneath the tombstones of the Barrier Mountains. And yet, who were her foes now? Those had come inward. From her brother in his pride, from the Duke of Ashes and the dark things that had lurked in the corner of the lands she called her kingdom.

  “I cannot lose,” she said softly.

  “Then don’t. Succeed. You can. I know it. You’re greater than your father and your brother.”

  Damera lifted her head, a weak smile stealing past her despair. She gave a hollow laugh. “How strange to hear that from you.”

  Janus shrugged. “Strange times make strange bed fellows.”

  Damera’s smile deepened with true feeling. She rose slowly back to her feet, shrugging off his hand, and with it, her cloak. Janus took a step back, a blond brow rising as Damera touched the clasps of her pauldrons, letting the steel fall, her breastplate following.

  She shrugged away more of the steel and silver that had armored her, baring her pale, strong arms. Her high proud breasts and the firm swell of her rump, clad in nothing but the silks of her under armor. She knew she was a beauty. She was as lovely as her brother had once been handsome, before he had abandoned himself to excess. But not she. She had kept her figure and form, her ivory skin just touched with the beginning of a tan. Her figure trim and strong from years of wielding the sword, yet oddly elegant, feminine. As strong and supple as a basking tigress.

  “Damera?” Janus said, stroking his short beard. “What are you about?”

  “Janus,” she said, stepping towards the king. She put her hands on his shoulders.

  “Really now,” he said gruffly. “Damera. You’re far too young. Gods above, you’re only a few years older than my daughter. And my wife…”

  “Janus,” Damera said, her voice choked. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Janus. Please. In the next week, I may be riding out to me death. I… I don’t want to go out there alone. Please. A memory, if nothing else. Something to comfort me when I face the Duke and all his horrors.”

  The stern face of the older man melted under her sincere eyes. He chuckled, touching the clasp of his cloak, shedding the obscuring cloth. “Ah Damera. Blast you girl.”

  Damera’s deft fingers toyed with the buttons of her overcoat, freeing them one by one, the pearls which embedded them flashing. “No one ever needs to know.”

  “You know that’s hardly the point,” Janus said, but his voice had grown deeper. Huskier.

  “Is a night really too much to ask?” she murmured.

  Janus sighed and shook his head. “Ah Damera,” he said, but his voice had grown tenderer. His arms slowly looped about her, tugging her close. His shirt lay open, his chest, scarred, pressed against her front, beneath her hands, her breasts mashing against him. Damera stiffened, a sense of comfort in that strong grasp. Of security that had been wanting in her life for so very long. She sighed, relaxing, her hand wandering low and cupping the now quite obvious bulge in the king’s pants.

  Janus grunted, gently grasping the bottom of her shirt and tugging it up. Damera raised her arms, letting the fabric slide over her, baring her firm breasts, contained in nothing but a bra of silk. This too gave way, and with a soft sigh her breasts were freed, bouncing into the warm air of the tent. She pressed against him, the stiffened nubs of her nipples so sensitive as they rubbed against Janus’s firm chest.

  “Janus,” she whispered, running her hands over his abs. She arched up to meet him as he leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss.

  Held to him, kissing him, Damera began to relax. She let herself fall at ease in the comforting arms of the powerful man. He was a king; a man who knew the trials and tribulations she faced better than anyone else. She was no virgin. That had been lost long ago to a knight. A romantic man, and who, when her father had discovered the tryst, ended his days hanged behind the palace and buried in a ditch. The lesson had been clear, and Damera had not known the touch of another man.

  Until now.

  She moaned, heat blooming through her. She pressed her groin to his, rubbing the divot of her pussy against the hardness of his cock, the friction of their clothing all the barrier between them. She was not the empress at the moment. He was not the king. They were merely a man and a woman, and what would happen, would happen.

  They broke their kiss. Panting. Hot. Desperate. She squeaked in surprise as Janus suddenly whirled her about and laid her down on the cot. He loomed above her. His hand touched her pants and loosened the cord that held them tight, then slipped them and her panties free.

  “Ohhhh,” Damera moaned, her hips rising as Janus cupped her mound, his leathery palm contrasting sharply with her oh so sensitive flesh. She gasped, arching, pressing her quim against his stroking fingers, her white teeth biting her lower lip. “J-Janus.”

  “Ah Damera,” Janus said, the third time, but this time, his eyes burned with feeling that sent desire rushing through Damera like liquid flame. Again his lips closed with hers. His hand abandoned her damp cunt and grasped a pert breast. Damera moaned, pressing her sensitive teat into his hand as she drowned in his kiss. She rocked beneath him. Her hands, trembling, quick, moved between them, undoing his pants. Janus grunted above her as she felt his cock fill her hand, warm and heavy. She sighed soft
ly, stroking him, running her fingers up the length of his veined hardness, her thumb teasing the head.

  “You’re… hm… good at this,” Janus said.

  “You think so?” she whispered, blushing hard.

  “I do,” he said, chuckling deeply, capturing her lips again in a kiss.

  Damera sighed, kissing him back with hunger. Oh gods above. She could have loved this man. If only she had known him before. Before he had married his queen. Jealousy burned hot and fierce through her at the lost opportunity. But her chance to know a hint of it was here. Was now. And she refused to let it escape.

  Her hips rose. She guided his cock towards her tight pussy, already slick with the expectation of pleasure. Janus resisted, hesitating. His lips lifted from hers, his eyes hot and bright.

  “Are you sure of this?” He whispered, his face set and serious.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice laden with the need she had never truly realized. “Janus. Please…”

  Janus nodded and pushed inside of her.

  Damera gasped, her eyes flying wide open as she felt his turgid thickness within her, stretching her quim about him. But the pain was a flash, there, gone, and in its wake came a sense of fullness. Of fulfillment. She moaned, her lashes fluttering, her fingers digging into his back as his cock stuffed her aching pussy, her inner walls clamping down on his length eagerly.

  “Janus…” she moaned.

  “Damera,” he gasped, and began to move.

  The feel of his cock dragging against her depths, thrusting forward, sent hot bursts of sweetest pleasure blazing through her. Damera gasped, hips moving against him as he slowly increased his pace.

  Damera moaned, panting, every thrust shooting through her in sweetest pleasure. For a moment, she wasn’t the empress. She wasn’t the last hope of her people. Her lands. She was merely a woman, that primal being of pleasure undulating beneath the powerful frame of her lover.

  She moaned, clawing at his back, frantically moving against his thrusts, meeting them with her own. “Janus. Oh Janus. F-fuck me. Fuck me! Oh gods. Janus. I… I’m so close. I… I’m… mnnnnn!”