Conquering the Queen

by Ava Sinclair

  “Who does this belong to?” He wriggled the very tip of that finger, teasing her with the promise of more. He grazed her protruding clit with his thumb—the brush sending a shudder through a body already hanging on the edge. When he looked into her dilated eyes, he could see passion sapping her resolve to resist. “Who?” he said again.

  The word escaped with a sob. “You…”

  It should have been enough. And would have been under the circumstances.

  “Answer me properly!” The command was stern. She flinched, and her body filled with tension that held for a moment before she softened in defeat.

  “You… my… my king.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight as she answered, squeezed the finger that rewarded her obedience even tighter as Xander thrust it deeper inside her. She soaked the invading digit, so he inserted another, filling her. She was thrusting against his hand, crying out. He had to place his other hand on the wall and lean into it, controlling his desire to spend as she finally took her release on his hand. At the final moment, he pressed the pad of his thumb against her clitoris. She clenched his fingers harder than he could have ever imagined, and it was now the king who felt the punishing need she’d experienced.

  I could bury myself within her, he thought. I am her king, and she is my slave. There is nothing she could do to stop me.

  But Xander knew if he did, he’d hate himself far more than she had ever hated him. He would not rape the woman he loved. When she gave herself to him, it would be in full obedience, and from something deeper than just desire alone.

  He withdrew his fingers slowly. She was nearly limp in the manacles, the muscles of her white arms straining. Wrapping a strong arm around her waist, Xander supported Avin tenderly while he undid first one and then the other. She took a step, then went limp. He caught her easily and carried her to the bed. There was a washbasin to the side. He found a cloth, soaked it in the cool water, and dabbed it on the welts.

  She was looking at him, her face expressionless. He looked away.

  “Will you keep me as a plaything afterwards?” Xander turned back at the sound of her voice. “After you’ve marched me out on your coronation day, after the people of Windbourne have had a chance to mock your chained pet?”

  Xander ignored the bait. “How quickly you go back to repairing the wall between us, Avin. And how foolishly, when you know I will just tear it down again.”

  “It’s just an outer wall that guards my body,” she said. “The inner wall is higher. And it guards a frozen heart.”

  He concentrated on her lips as she spoke. The lower one trembled. He wanted to cover those lips with his mouth, silence the words.

  “I waited for you, you know,” she said.

  “What?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “I was sure you’d return for me. So sure. Even after my father locked me in this very room the night he ordered the attack. I beat on that door until my hands were bruised, begging for him to let me get word to you—word that I had nothing to do with what happened.”

  Xander shook his head, not wanting to believe.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I screamed and I begged, but he’d ordered me locked away until you and your men were defeated. And when he let me out and I collapsed at his feet to ask him why—why—he would separate me from my love, do you know what he said?”

  Xander listened, unable to reply, or even shake his head amid the wave of sickness he felt at her words.

  “He said it no longer mattered, that you were not my love. That you hated me. And when he died a few days later, what else could I do but to assume the throne? I had to protect my people. And I could not if I let myself feel anything. For what is more vulnerable, more helpless, than a woman who loves? What bigger fool exists in this world to mock?”

  When Xander had laid her on the bed, he’d felt in command. Now, in the hard light of her revelation, he felt smaller than he’d ever felt in his life.

  “I did not know,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s hard to know things when you refuse to ask about them. Instead, you just believed my father’s lies that I betrayed you, just as my people believed yours when you told them that I brought the winter.”

  “I had nothing to do with the lie told to your people,” Xander said. “That was Cynric’s doing. And my father’s. I knew nothing of it until you told me.”

  “It hardly matters now,” she said. “When power is the objective, even those closest to you are mere casualties. My father taught me that.”

  “Avin…”

  “Your father taught you well, too,” she said, interrupting him. “He’s taught you to walk to the throne on a road paved by lies, and to earn the allegiance of your new subjects by publicly debasing their queen for a wrong she could not have committed.” She shook her head. “Lord Reginald destroyed the good in you as surely as my father destroyed the good in me. But only one of us wears a crown around her neck.”

  Even the physical victory he’d enjoyed over Avin felt hollow in light of her painful assessment.

  “What have I done?” Suddenly the idea of breaking her felt repugnant to him, and he reached down, gathering her into his arms. She was stiff, and he inwardly mourned the wall of hurt he now realized he’d helped construct.

  “Forgive me,” he said.

  She felt hot tears soaking his shirt as she began to sob. “Forgive you? What king asks forgiveness of a slave?”

  “Avin…” He gently pushed her away. “I have wronged you. Terribly.”

  “Yes,” she said sadly. “But we both know it cannot be reversed. Not now. To do so will only throw Windbourne back in turmoil.” She wiped away tears with the back of her hand and looked toward the window. “I can no longer love these people after what they did, but I can acknowledge that they have suffered enough. The long winter was not their fault, but neither was the lie that made them angry. And now simple people have been promised a humbled queen, and you must deliver.”

  He sighed. “It is too much to ask,” he said.

  “Then don’t.” Avin gave him the smallest and saddest of smiles.

  “You are the king,” she said. “So train me.” The tears came then, and she softened in his arms. “Save me, Xander, lest I never feel again.”

  “I am sorry,” he said into her hair. “I am sorry I didn’t come. I am sorry I was not the one to kill your father for the hurt he caused you. I am sorry that I caused you even more. I should have known better. I should have never believed the worst.” He put his forehead against hers. “Let me make it better, my love.”

  He put his hand down between her legs. She was wet. He laid her down, covering her body with his own. He fastened his mouth to hers, kissing her demandingly. She resisted at first, as if by reaction, but broke to his resistance, her slim arms winding around his neck.

  He leaned back, roughly pulling her legs apart. She cried out as his buried his face between them, as the stubble of his face made contact with the welts left by the crop. Xander turned his head, kissing each one, and then attached his mouth to her pussy. She screamed her passion, even as she struggled.

  Xander knew her rebellion now for what it was—a cry to feel his control. She had been a queen, but as his slave was now coming against the demanding mouth of her master, her hips bucking, her hands in his hair, her cries of passion filling the room.

  He was reluctant to tear his mouth away from her intoxicating core, but Xander could think of nothing now but being inside of her, of dominating her as only he could. His cock was so stiff he had trouble freeing it from the confines of his breeches. He felt like a green lad in his eagerness to sink inside of her. Beneath him, she lay panting, her eyes glittering with passionate fire as she watched him free his lance.

  Xander was large, and he knew she’d not been with a man since they’d parted. A voice told him to go slowly, but he did not heed it and she cried out anew at the force of his entry. She was so hot, so tight. She cried out a second tim
e and wrapped her long white legs around him. She clawed his back through his tunic.

  Xander thrust into her, consumed now by a furious need to possess her completely.

  “You’re mine,” he said, his voice deep and desperate. “You belong to the king and he will never, ever let you go. Do you understand?”

  She was looking into his eyes, could see his need. And the woman who had been sobbing only moment earlier now looked wild and wise and knowing. There was power in her surrender; they both knew it.

  “Say it!” he said, fucking her so hard he had to take hold to keep her from slamming into the headboard. “Say it!”

  “I’m yours! I am the property of the king!” She came as she said it, the slick, hot walls of her pussy drawing on his cock, coaxing the seed in explosive bursts. She hugged him to her with arms and legs, holding him there until he’d spent completely.

  Chapter Nine

  The following morning dawned with a golden glow of sun shining through the window of Avin’s room. As she stirred, the sweet tenderness between her legs reminded her of the training that had ended with Xander’s learning the truth about the betrayal that had separated them, and her learning that he had never really stopped loving her.

  But with that realization came a new pain—one neither of them had spoken of. She was a deposed and despised queen of a land he now ruled. They could never be together, not even if their love had been rekindled.

  True to his word, Xander sent a new maid—a motherly matron called Sal—to be housed in the small but comfortable chamber next to Avin’s. There were also gifts to help the former queen pass her time—books, embroidery fabric and thread, a lute, and bowls of fruits and cakes.

  But despite the improvements to her confinement, Avin found it hard to relax. Before he’d left her chamber, Xander had told Avin that the barons of Windbourne would be attending a feast that evening ahead of the coronation. They expected to see the queen leashed and at his feet, but Xander told Avin that while she would attend collared, she would be seated at his side.

  This sparked mixed feelings for Avin. She knew why it had to be done. The coronation was approaching. Her show of humility would satisfy a people reliant on symbolism. Her time in the tower had helped her work through some of her anger, to reflect. The people of Windbourne were simple adherents to a simple religion, and a simple way of life. She’d come to an untimely rule after generations of kings. Although Windbourne had no laws of primogeniture forbidding women from ascending to the throne, no one in living Windbourne history could remember a female doing so. With her father’s death, Avin had become the first female monarch, and her failure reinforced their superstitions. It was easier for them to believe she’d brought the winter, and now they wanted to see her power tamed. She would go through the motions, for the sake of peace, for the sake of Xander.

  He sent a gown for her, and even her new maid seemed surprised.

  “This is hardly a frock fit for a slave,” Sal mumbled.

  Avin bit her tongue. Although a servant, the Ravenscroft-born Sal seemed to disapprove of the gown as an indulgence for a prisoner of the crown. But Xander had told Avin that this woman was dutiful, and the griping was short-lived. When Avin was dressed, the image staring back at her was the image of royalty save for the placement of the crown around her neck. The gown was a pale green shot through with golden threads. The scooped neck accentuated the collar, but also the swell of her perfect breasts. The maid was right; this was a dress meant for royalty.

  When Xander came to take her to the dining hall, she was still filled with dread, however. Even if she looked every inch a queen, she was still a slave. Humbling herself in the privacy of her own chamber to the man she loved was one thing. Humbling herself in the presence of his spiteful father was another.

  Xander seemed to recognize this, for he knew Avin had never cared for Lord Reginald. And he knew that his father still hated her. Before they left the room, he sought to reassure her.

  “Focus on me,” he said. “I am king, not my father. It will be easier if you do.”

  “Easy?” she said. “It would be easier were I not wearing my crown as a collar. I so wish it to be removed.”

  He hugged her to him, a quiet moment of affection that felt as soothing as their passion did raw.

  “I understand,” he said, and stepped back, sadness on his handsome features. “In another time it could have been so. But the fracture is too deep now for either of our people to accept that.”

  She nodded. Since Xander had reclaimed her, Avin had done nothing but reflect on all that had happened. The unfreezing of her heart had also opened her mind, and Avin, who was intelligent, realized there was more than superstition behind her former subjects’ animosity. Yes, she had tried to do what was right, but from the perspective of her people she’d seemed remote and detached. She wished now she’d not shut herself off. Perhaps some warmth would have encouraged camaraderie during their harsh winter. Instead she’d focused on protection above all else, an extension of her self-preservation. She considered what she now had to do as penance necessary to heal her people. Even if she was no longer queen, she could still make a queenly sacrifice.

  The hall fell silent as the new king entered with his slave, the former queen. Xander had attached a gold chain to her collar, and she followed him, expressionless, to his seat.

  “Are you sure you want her here?” asked Lord Reginald when he saw his son pull out a chair beside his. The first course hadn’t even been served, and Avin could see he was already in his cups. “I see more fit company for her over there!”

  Some of the lords and ladies at the table laughed as Xander’s father gestured toward the large fireplace, where a number of wolfhounds were patiently waiting to be tossed bones from the table.

  Avin eyed the knife sticking from a joint of beef and imagined plunging it into Lord Reginald’s heart.

  “You dare smile?” The old lord had noticed the smirk she’d been unable to hide.

  “She smiles to be at the side of her master.” Xander tugged the leash and, unseen, gripped Avin’s hand reassuringly. “She is in training, Father, and will sit by my side and be fed by my hand.”

  He took his seat. The room was silent now, and feeling so many eyes on her was harder even than walking through the streets. The villagers had been but her subjects; these people had once been her peers.

  “I’ll try to save you some scraps,” Lord Reginald said. “As a gesture of good will.”

  The room erupted into laughter once more, and Avin looked up to see Xander’s face a mask of anger. His father, sitting further down the table, did not seem to notice. He was holding his wine cup out for another refill as he began to talk loudly about the state of the castle when they overtook it.

  “Filth,” he said. “Unbelievable filth. Only the queen’s chamber was decent, but that was where she took lavish meals and counted her gold as her own people starved outside.”

  Avin felt her face grow red with anger. None of it was true. She looked up at Xander, whose expression matched hers.

  “Father!” Xander’s voice boomed throughout the hall. The older man stopped talking and looked at his son.

  “You are embellishing,” Xander said quietly. “The courtyard walls were in disrepair, but that had much to do with the battle. The inside of the castle was cold but clean. And we found no more food here than was outside.”

  “Bah!” Lord Reginald waved his son away dismissively. “You weren’t the first here. You don’t know.”

  “And how is the former queen adjusting to her new station?” The wife of a visiting lord leaned forward, inclining her head to better look at Avin, who returned her gaze so coolly that the older woman instantly looked away.

  “With grace,” Xander said, turning to look at his father. “Grace befitting nobility, and some would be wise to follow her lead in the presence of the king.”

  Avin almost gasped. Xander’s words were an obvious criticism of his father, spoken in he
r defense. From over his cup, Lord Reginald’s shocked eyes moved from his son’s to Avin, who returned his stare as she took an offered morsel of bread from the king’s hand. A crumb clung to her mouth, and Xander gave her a small, reassuring smile as he carefully wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. When Avin looked back at Lord Reginald, his expression was grim. He did not speak further during the meal.

  Avin enjoyed her hand-fed offerings of roast swan, stewed mussels, beets, cheese, bread, and honeyed cakes. Focusing on Xander not only made it easier, just as he’d promised, it also projected the image he desired—a benevolent king who’d rendered his rival queen an obedient slave.

  It was easier than she thought it would be, both because nearness to Xander made her feel safe, but also because his kind treatment seemed to enrage Lord Reginald, who’d obviously been hoping the day’s entertainment would include public debasement of King Leon’s daughter.

  Even as the dining continued, Xander rose to announce he had other commitments and would be returning his slave to her quarters. In her simple but elegant gown, Avin knew she still cut a regal silhouette, and could feel the admiring eyes of men and the wistful eyes of women on her as she followed her master king.

  In the hallway outside the room, a man intercepted them.

  “Avin,” Xander said. “This is my advisor, Cynric.”

  “I know who he is,” she said quietly. “I once had spies, too.”

  Cynric bowed his head. “It is a pleasure to meet the former queen.”

  “There is no need to mock me,” Avin said.

  “I am not mocking you,” Cynric said. “But I do have a warning. For both of you.”

  This comment surprised her. Was she mistaken, or was this man addressing them collectively?

  “Be mindful of what you reveal, especially to Lord Reginald. He has much invested, and will not abide threats.” He paused, raising an eyebrow at Avin. “Not even leashed ones.”

  “He was out of line, Cynric,” Xander said.