I don’t need to think! “Do you know where the Hidden Womb is?”
The brother with the black hair spoke next. “No. Its name is accurate. It’s hidden and only the boys that have been sent there by the Mister have ever found their way. But listen, it’s not some divine place, it’s just another fucked up island that the Mister—”
Owin raised a hand and interrupted, yelling, “Then it looks like I’ll just have to keep searching.” Owin stared at the three older brothers and his words were the last ones spoken that night. He lay in the big warm bed with Baskie, wearing the same clothes he wore when he left the island that morning—which seemed like a lifetime away. He made sure the door was jammed shut so the false goddess wouldn’t enter their room in the middle of the night. His thoughts wandered, and he ruminated about false goddesses, the home he’d left behind and what lay ahead of him in his search.
And to the ten kings, So’Chor gave a holy duty. To them, He gave back the gift of the white seed with which they will grow the kingdoms after the Great Poison. A king will lie with any woman of his choosing.
Prophecies 7, The Maran
Stewart
A House to Scattered Bricks
As Stewart sat in secret in the shadows of the entrance to his royal tent, it was as if he was watching himself fuck Pauline, back in a time when his body was younger, toned and moved in the places his mind told it to. But this wasn’t him. This was another king with his cock inside his beautiful wife in his own bed.
Stewart’s mind wandered as he saw the two bodies bang together in the dim candlelight. Pauline lay on her back with her head hanging off the end of the low travel-bed while Romarus had her legs raised over his shoulders as he knelt, thrusting his small muscular hips against her. Stewart looked to see if the boy’s hands grasped her tightly. Is he forcing her? His hands lightly grasped her smooth long perfect legs, occasionally groping up and down.
Stewart looked at her face to see if she was distressed. She’s biting her lip like she used to when I entered her. His eyes were drawn to her small firm tits as they slid up and down slightly over her chest with every thrust of the boy king’s body. Then he looked at Romarus. The little scrote’s face was determined—determined to squirt his rancid seed in my beautiful wife!
Stewart suddenly realized, as he watched the boy’s masterful performance, that he was jealous of him. Not jealous that he was with his wife—that just angered him to his very soul—but jealous that this king still had the strength of youth; that his body was toned and powerful. Pauline grasped at the boy king’s muscles on his stomach, and her nails dug into his meaty arse. Cunt! He remembered himself in that position once.
As Romarus’s grunts grew louder, Stewart snapped out of his self-pity. You are not offloading in my wife, you fucking scrote!
From somewhere deep inside him, or perhaps from the gods, Stewart felt strength in his legs. He launched himself out of his rolling chair from the darkness, into the candlelight and onto the bed, grasping at Romarus’s thrusting body on his way past. His hands grasped, then slipped from a sweat-moist shoulder.
“You fucking dirty cunt!” he screamed at the boy king, who managed to stay in his position, trying to finish the deed.
“Fucking Ten! Fuck, I’m sorry!” The disgusting scrote’s voice went high pitched while his body tried to fight against the point of no return.
“Stewart!” Pauline screamed, lifting her head. “Romarus, stop!” Her hands lifted, pushing at the boy’s hips, but it was clear that Romarus was refusing to stop.
“She told you to stop, cunt!” Stewart grabbed Romarus around the stomach and pulled back on his hard, sweating body. The king’s cock slipped out. Romarus grabbed the stiff organ and rubbed it up and down.
Stewart felt a slight comfort as the seed shot outside of his wife’s body. You missed this time, you evil scrote! Shot after shot of white seed spouted onto Pauline’s breasts. The velocity of his flying seed began to die down as it spurted onto her stomach, with the last load running down the bastard’s disgusting, deceitful right hand.
Romarus tried to speak but seemed to be overcome with the feeling. “I’m sorry, I actually am. I never meant for you to—”
“—find you doing this?” Stewart snapped. “No, I’m sure you didn’t want me to find you doing this. It was all fine when the fat fuck didn’t know you were fucking his wife.” His eyes dropped to Pauline’s perfect silky body lying on the bed. “Clean up your disgusting rancid filth from my wife.” He exaggerated every word.
Romarus mopped up his load using the sheets on the bed and threw them to the side. He stood, covering his shame, close to tears.
So you fucking should be, thought Stewart. “L’Gon! H’Gon!” He called for his two guards.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the creature protested, scrambling to find his clothes in the darkened tent.
“Don’t you fucking move!” Stewart was surprised his words actually made Romarus stop. The boy king stood, naked, shifting from side to side, grinding his teeth. Pauline just lay on her side, curled up, unwilling to look at anyone. Stewart lay on his back, unable to move.
The two guards came running into the tent with their eyes darting around as they tried to work out what had transpired.
Romarus’s little guard dog, Grey’Gon, came running in after them, out of breath. “King Romarus, they pulled me away on urgent—”
“Grey’Gon, go find Londenia! Quickly!” Romarus shouted in a panic. The boy’s breathing quickened as if he were about to collapse to the floor. Grey’Gon ran out of the tent.
“Bind his hands,” Stewart told his guards.
Romarus was so busy trying to breathe that he gave no resistance to H’Gon and L’Gon approaching him with rope. They tied his hands behind his back and made him kneel. Both guards were large, fat men. H’Gon, the heavier, beardier of the two, stayed behind the kneeling piece of shit while L’Gon, who only had a light covering of black stubble on his jaw, helped Stewart to sit at the end of the bed. Pauline scurried to the other end and hugged some pillows, sobbing.
Stewart was face-to-face with the dirty, naked scrote. “Do you not have anything to say?” Stewart was quite aware there was spit flying out of his mouth as he spoke but he didn’t care.
“I’ve already said I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anybody!” Romarus’s expression looked so different from his determined face moments ago, as he pumped the beautiful Pauline. His chest heaved.
“Your Grace, perhaps I should do the same to him as he did to your royal wife,” said H’Gon, who was already loosening his belt.
“Fix your tongue, H’Gon…and your belt!” Stewart hissed through a clenched jaw.
Romarus looked into Stewart’s face and gave a pathetic ‘thank you’ through misty blue eyes.
Stewart lost all control of the spit coming out of his mouth and was sure he strained a stomach muscle as he shouted, “Don’t you ever thank me for anything, you insolent fuck!” He enjoyed the fact that the fucker, with his hands bound, couldn’t wipe the spittle from his face. Perhaps I should just let H’Gon fuck him up the arse…
Londenia came bursting into the tent, followed shortly by Grey’Gon. “King Stewart, I demand to know why the King of Last Kingdom has been bound,” she said through gritted teeth, acting more formally than she normally did.
“Oh don’t worry, Loni. There’s nothing going on between us. I’m not into tying my bed partners up and I prefer my lovers to be…taller…” He wasn’t in a jesting mood but felt a little playfulness might calm his nerves slightly and let him gain some kind of control. “Your precious king has just finished unloading his seed on my beautiful wife.”
“I am aware of that, Your Grace, but my question remains the same. Why is the King of Last Kingdom bound and kneeling?”
“And my answer remains the same, my lady,” he snapped back.
Londenia looked to Romarus. “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” She had the look of a disappointed mot
her and her voice wobbled as she spoke.
“That is your question to him?!” Stewart wished he could stand. “You ask him why he didn’t confide in you?” He wasn’t sure why, but he found himself laughing hysterically after every sentence. “How about asking instead, why the fuck did you fuck another king’s wife, followed with the words ‘you insolent, dirty, scheming shit’?!”
Londenia looked to Stewart then back to Romarus and said, “Well, answer him!” It looked as if she was stuck between protecting the kneeling creature and helping a longtime friend.
“’Cause she was nice to me and had nice tits.” Romarus said, clearly not fully understanding the answer that everybody in the room was looking for.
“Ten Gods, Romarus…” Londenia cursed, holding her head in her hands with eyes wide open and jaw hanging.
Stewart sat still on the edge of the bed, eyeing Romarus up and down. The boy panted like a wench on the birthing bed, sweat glistening on his flustered face. If only we could trade minds. The things I could do in that body that are wasted on a halfwit like you. “Arrest him and take him to the lower cells in Deca’Point.”
Londenia snapped out of her state of shock. “Stewart, this is—”
“—unfair? Yes, it is extremely unfair! Unfair that I should have to watch this boy with my wife in my bed.” Stewart hated the sound of his own voice when he got angry in recent times. He heard it as others likely did: a drunken slur as the gods had found it only fitting to weaken his throat and tongue as well as the rest of his body.
Londenia was in Stewart’s face and grasped him by the collar. “Unfair, yes…but not against our laws. Punch him in the face, ask him to leave your sight, challenge him to combat but you will release him as he has committed no crime.”
The crippled king looked down at the queen’s grip on his collar. “Perhaps you should remove your hand before you commit a crime, my lady. It is punishable by death to strike a king.” To that, she stepped back with a look of disgust on her face. Perhaps that was too far, he thought, as he watched his longtime friend look at him as if she was gazing upon a monster. “Loni, forgive my idle threat. I am your friend. But this cretin is not. H’Gon, chain him in the lower cells.”
“At least let me clothe him,” said Londenia, not waiting for approval. She walked over to the boy king and lifted him to his feet. She helped him step into his brown cottons and pulled them up to his waist, then slipped a burgundy robe with a large hood over his head. She leaned into him and whispered something into his ear that Stewart couldn’t make out. He nodded to H’Gon, who quickly broke the pair up. The creature was taken away.
As the tent flap closed, Londenia rounded on Stewart. “He is a stupid boy that just wants a warm place for his cock. Yes, he has done wrong but you cannot chain a king in a cell for this!”
“That’s strange, because, I’m pretty sure I just did.” How can she defend him?
“What’s happened to you?” Londenia had that same look of disgust on her face.
“Well let’s see…I’ve just found a boy, less than half my age, pleasuring my wife.” He suddenly remembered that she was still on the bed behind him. “Her! And doing a better job of it than I’ve been able to manage in the past fourteen years.”
“It was wrong, no doubt. But why is she not in chains also? Why is she still lying there on a nice comfortable bed?”
Stewart had no answer for this.
“You will release him or I swear, when my father arrives, I will have you thrown in a cell because, unlike Romarus, you have committed a crime—wrongly imprisoning a king!” With those words she stormed out of the tent.
Stewart nodded to L’Gon, who followed her to make sure she did not pay Romarus a visit. That is what he himself planned to do after he gave his nerves a chance to calm.
Hours later, when his hands returned to their normal shaking levels, he summoned two of his guard to escort him to the cells in Deca’Point. They pushed his rolling chair along the dirt path with relative ease. He had heard descriptions of the death and destruction, but nothing prepared Stewart for what he witnessed as they made their way to Romarus’s cell.
Most of the bodies lay at the side of the path. Judging by the way they were neatly stacked, Stewart assumed they were moved by his guards to clear the way. Some, however, had been dragged from the neatly stacked piles and wild animals had feasted on their flesh. Stewart caught sight of one body where only a bone and rags remained below the elbow.
A crunch under one of his wheels made him wince. He looked back to see what caused the bump: a lone broken and burned hand—its grasping fingers curled into a stiff claw. Stewart felt his dinner move up his throat. He was used to feeling sick and would breathe deeply to settle himself. As he sucked air in through his nose to calm his troubled stomach, his chest filled with the smell of rotting mortals. He stared ahead, trying to avoid looking at the tortured men, women…and children. The occasional flapping of a black-caw’s wings would catch the corner of his eye but he dared not look at where they landed to peck and feast.
They reached the opening in the ground leading down to the cells of Deca’Point. The gloomy stairs were lit dimly by Scarred Nahar from above in the night sky. Stewart’s guards bumped his rolling chair down into the gloom, step by step. The stale dampness of the cells was a relief when compared to the doom of Deca’Point above ground.
Once at the bottom of the stairs, Stewart took control of his rolling chair by turning the wheels himself. “Leave us,” he told his guards, who saluted him with clashing fists. He heard their boots tap the stone steps leading back up to the surface behind him.
King Stewart’s rolling chair came to a halt at the entrance to Romarus’s underground cell. The boy king sat on the stone floor leaning against a wooden support, staring blankly. King Stewart’s eyes flashed down to the floor, then back up to the insolent blue eyes of the boy sitting in front of him. “You know with that look on your face, no woman will ever fall for you,” King Stewart said, trying to break the boy’s stare. There was silence in the cold dripping stone cell. “You cried that you were sorry back in my tent, after you soiled my Pauline.”
“I am sorry!” The boy king’s voice shook. “I’m just pissed off at these cuffs. They hurt.” He held up his wrists, bound in iron.
In that moment, King Stewart saw the boy, not the young king that broke his trust. They stared again for some time. If I speak I will just end up wanting to hit him…and I somehow doubt even in iron cuffs I’d come out very well from that encounter. And what pleasure is there beating up a boy of sixteen…even if he has fucked my wife… So he continued to hold his tongue.
“Why don’t your legs work?” Romarus broke the silence, the echo of his voice lingering in the dank cell.
A belly-laugh took King Stewart, sending him into a fit of coughs that bounced off the walls, deafeningly. “If I knew that, I would probably not have come on this ridiculous crusade across Ten-Gods-only-know how many footfalls!”
“What does crusade mean?” Romarus asked with a sniff. The look of insolence disappeared from his face.
King Stewart shook his head. “What world do we live in when a man that has been one with the Ten all his life and followed every teaching, falls apart slowly day and night? And a world that a dim-witted child can rule, simply because his father was a king before him? And why was his father a king before him and his father before that? Because the gods told us that this line of blue-eyed men will forever lead this particular piece of land,” Stewart drawled, staring at the moist dark wall at the back of the cell.
“I’m not dim-witted.” The look of insolence returned.
“Yes you are, my boy, but it is not your fault. Your father died before he could teach you fully. Do you know of the Ten? Do you know what they teach us? Do you even know their names?” What does it matter anyway?
“I know some of their names,” Romarus snapped.
“By So’Chor’s Cock! Some? Some?!” Stewart felt a mocking smile stretch acr
oss his face. He wasn’t happy; it was as if bewilderment had twisted and stretched his lips. “There’s only fucking ten!” He paused and sighed. “Actually, you are probably one of the smartest in this camp. You care nothing for the Ten, you just live life for what feels right. You do what is best for you and what feels good. Selfish cunt!”
“I’m not selfish, you fat shit!”
I’d be angrier if I wasn’t actually a fat shit. “Well this fat shit believes you are a selfish little narcissistic fuck!”
“What does narciss—”
“—Shut the fuck up!” Stewart snarled in a fury then descended into manic laughter. Our exalted leader everybody, he announced in his head to an imaginary crowd. Just having an argument with a half-witted boy king in a holding cell.
“Stop fucking laughing at me!” Romarus said, clenching his fists, trying to stand—restrained by the iron cuffs fixing him in position. The metal chains rang in the stone holding cell.
“You fucked my wife, so I will laugh at you all I want!” It’ll make up for all the laughing you did at me while you slipped your cock inside her, behind my back. “How did you make her lie with you? Did you have that guard of yours hold her down? Did you do it yourself? I’ve heard you are quite the little warrior, you could have pinned her and fucked her as she struggled to get back to me!”
Romarus shook his head with a defiant look on his face as if he was holding back the truth.
Stewart continued, “Did you offer her a sunny new existence in Last Kingdom in place of her current moist existence with me? And I swear, on Sen’Sal’s tits, if you fucking ask me what existence means I’ll chop that kingly cock of yours off right now—”
“She fucking wanted me! There’s your truth!” The words flew out of the boy king’s filthy cheating lips.
Stewart shook his head. “You’re just a boy; a dim-witted selfish little cunt of a boy.” The cunt was clearly deluded to think Pauline—who had mothered Stewart’s child and slept beside him since before the little scrote, Romarus, came crawling and crying into the world—would ever desire him.
A Poisoned Land (Book 1: Faith, Lies and Blue Eyes) Page 18