by Zade, Chera
'Go', he orders. 'Before it's too fucking late.'
We are the only three people leaving the palace. There are maids here, cleaners, chefs and other staff members that have no idea how to fight. I want to tell them all to leave, but we are running out of time, and I know the King wouldn't allow it anyway. I go on horseback with Osborne and Froome rides alongside us, awkward on a muscled stallion. We ride quickly through the city to the south, while a few scattered pedestrians watch us leave, their faces thin with wan resignation. We are cloaked and hooded, but I get the feeling they know who we are.
One man with a cataract that makes his eye look like a marble, leans on a stick and spits into the ground as we pass. A young girl plays in the ground by his feet, tugging at the leather straps on his sandals, blissfully unaware of what is about to happen.
At the south exit on the city wall, we wait anxiously for the soldiers to open the massive wooden door. They are both nervous, having never seen their Queen close up before, and keep making mistakes when trying to turn the mechanism. My horse stamps its feet into the ground impatiently, threatening to rear into the air, neighing and breathing heavily. Osborne eventually manages to calm it, and with the doors finally open to the countryside beyond, we make our way away from the city and the dangers that are about to descend upon it.
We ride for an hour across the rolling hills to the south, without a single word. I turn often to watch the city disappear over the horizon behind us, hoping to get a look at the barbarians I've dreamt about for so long. Our destination is a day and a half's ride from here without stopping, two days if we have to camp. Osborne finally decides to break the silence when we drop off the plains and into the tree line to hide ourselves amongst the forest.
'Are you really pregnant?' he asks me.
It almost makes me laugh. 'Remember I'm still your Queen', I say.
'I'm not sure you'll have much of a Kingdom left to reign over', Osborne says.
'Maybe not as a Queen of England', I say, and Osborne leaves the words hanging.
We slow the pace to let the horses rest. We've come some distance away from the capital already and this area seems to be safe. Froome suggests stopping to take a rest, but Osborne wants to push on at least until Pembroke. If we can make it to the great lakes before nightfall, we have a better chance of crossing into the Earl of Kent's land before the sun rises.
Above us, in the canopy of the forest trees, I hear bird song. Although our lives are still in danger, and the future of my country is in jeopardy, it pleases me to be out here surrounded by nature. It pleases me to finally be away from the palace and embarking on an adventure.
'Isn't this peaceful', I remark to Osborne.
'Aye, my Queen, it is', he says with a hint of sarcasm. 'Beautiful.'
'It'd be a hell of a lot more peaceful if we weren't under threat', Froome remarks.
'What do you know about them?' I ask him.
'I know everything that I've already told you and the King', Froome says. 'I know they are savages, I know they rape women and I know they will kill you as soon as look at you. They don't speak the common tongue, nor have any sense of fairness and justice. They are devil worshippers and no better than the animals that run amok amongst these trees in the middle of the night. They are not human, my Queen, they are-'
Froome stops dead in his tracks. Osborne halts our horse a moment later.
'Fuck', Froome says. 'Oh fuck.'
'Wait', Osborne says insistently, a hand out on his arm. 'Don't panic.'
My heart is beating so wildly, I expect Osborne can feel it rattling against his rib cage where I'm pressed into his back. There are horses and carts blocking our way in front. Three, maybe four of them, with men sat on horses either side. It's a travelling group of warriors. I crane my head just to get a better look. They are still some distance off, but close enough to have seen us. They are not dressed like men of my land. In fact, they don't look anything like men I have ever seen before. There must be thirty of them at least and there are women with them too.
'Barbarians', Froome says nervously, the word difficult for him to push out. 'Oh fuck. What are they doing here?'
'Calm down', Osborne says. 'We are farmers, nothing more. We are passing through the land, that's all.'
Osborne reaches behind to where I am sat to push me out of view. The Vikings sit on their horses, waiting.
'We need to go', Osborne says. I watch Froome look at the track behind us wanting to turn his horse. 'We need to go together', Osborne continues.
'Are you sure?' I say, excitement almost taking my breath away.
'We need to go', Osborne confirms again. 'They've seen us, we can't outrun them. We try, they'll kill us for sure. Froome, time to move.'
Osborne heels his horse and pushes it forwards. As he passes Froome, he takes hold of the man's right leg and digs it into the horse's rib cage for him. Froome has no choice but to advance with the encouraged beast. We approach the warriors slowly.
'Stay out of sight and don't say a thing', Osborne says to me. 'Do you understand?'
'Yes', I whisper, unsure if I've spoken loud enough for the words to reach him.
When we get within five metres, one of the barbarians lifts up his hand to indicate for us to stop. Two of the Vikings either side of him dismount and begin to walk towards us, their long blond hair tied off in braids, swinging pendulously as they advance.
'We just want to pass', Osborne calls, his hands up in a passive gesture. 'We have no weapons.'
I can't help but move my head out to look at the men. Like the old man said, they have animal horns on their heads, and furs across their waists and shoulders. On their rippled chests, they each have a tattoo, carved into the skin. One carries a hammer, while the other a broad sword almost the same length as him. They are young, handsome and very well built. I can barely breath for the anticipation.
'Please, we just want to pass', Froome says, his hands in the air, beginning to quiver.
'Get down off the horses', the Viking to our right says.
'Please, we need our horses', Osborne says.
'Get down or I'll make you', the other Viking says, lifting his sword into the air threateningly.
Froome looks at Osborne, who I see nod back at him. Both men get down off their horses and I begin to do the same.
'Not you', the Viking with the hammer says. 'You stay there.'
'Please', Osborne says again. 'This is my sister, she's very weak. She has the sickness.'
'Kneel down, now. Both of you.'
I watch as Osborne and Froome are forced into a kneeling position. The rest of the Vikings have caught up with us, and sit now observing, their eyes all over me. It is the chief amongst them who speaks next.
'Are you King's men?' he asks.
'We are farmers', Osborne is quick to point out, his voice wavering a little. 'We are on the way to see my uncle.'
'There is nothing that way', the chief happily points out. 'Not anymore.'
Some of the group begin to laugh.
'Take the horses and the girl', the chief says. 'We can use them at least.'
'Wait', Froome says. 'I have money, I can get you money.'
'Money we don't need', the chief says.
The Viking with the hammer mounts my horse, putting himself behind me.
'You don't smell like you've got the sickness, and you don't smell like a farmgirl', he says, his arm immediately going round my waist to pull me into him. 'I'm Magnus. What is your name?'
'Anne', I say, my voice breaking.
'Are you scared, Anne?' he says, his breath hot on my neck. 'I think you should be.'
The Viking with the broadsword mounts Froome's horse, steadies it and kicks it out into the direction it has already come from. Magnus spins us around to join him.
'What about us?' I hear Osborne ask.
'Are you going to come and look for your sister?' the chief asks him.
'No', Osborne says after a moment, his head hanging low
.
'That's the right answer', the chief says.
Trapped between Magnus's powerful legs, my hand upon his arm, we begin to move in unison back towards the city I have just left. When I hear the blood curdling screams and the two resounding thuds jar the earth, I don't even try and turn back.
I'm no longer the Queen of England, that's all changed now. I belong to the Vikings, to Magnus and his men, these savages that look like Gods. I'm scared, but I can't wait for what they want to do to me.
Chapter 6
The city has fallen. At the gates to the palace I see my husband and Kenrick's heads impaled on spikes. There are Viking's everywhere. Huge men, covered in war paint and tattoos across rippling muscles. Just looking at the way they move sends little pulses of pleasure racing through my skin. They eye me suspiciously when we pass, and some even try to drag me off my horse, desperate to take me with them. Magnus pushes them away, holding me protectively. He tells them to find their own slave girl amongst the civilians that remain. There are enough to go round after all.
I see the same old man with the cataract eye now sat in the dirt, bleeding from a hole in his chest, the young girl sat by his feet, her gaze tilted up towards me. Plain, accepting. There is death everywhere, victory and celebration.
We ride into the palace, past the valiant dead of my husband's army, obliged to fight a lost cause now spread out amongst us inert like discarded rubbish.
'King no more', Magnus says as we pass my husband's bloated head. In the courtyard I recognise his body, slumped in the dirt, folded flat into an X shape. The Viking army has already begun to pillage the castle. There are hundreds of them spread about, making themselves at home. Fires burn wildly on the central lawn, fed with furniture stolen from the rooms above. I recognise a painting my grandfather gave me that used to hang over the fireplace in the dining hall, now glowing red around the edges ready to be reduced to ash.
There are women like me amongst them. Some have had their hair shaved or styled into similar patterns, others look sheepish and avoid my gaze.
We leave the horses by the stables and merge into the crowd. Vikings from our group greet other barbarians around us and there is talk in a language I don't recognise. More eyes go to me. Magnus turns me outwards so I can be appreciated, careful to still hold me in a way I can't escape from. A hand goes to my waist to explore me and something is said that makes Magnus laugh.
We move through the courtyard and deeper into the palace.
'I bet you thought you'd never see the inside of this place', Magnus says. 'A peasant. A mere farm girl like you.'
'Where are we going?' I ask, my voice full of nervous energy.
'The King's chamber', he says. 'Where the fuck else?'
A barbarian passes us in the corridor, an apple in his mouth and one of the maid's across his shoulder like a rolled carpet. When I turn around and look at her, I see she is naked from the waist down. Words are exchanged, even though he doesn't look at us, and Magnus seems to understand.
I have walked this route a thousand times. We pass the kitchens where I watched Leighton pleasure the servant girl; the patch of ground outside where I lay and pleasured myself. To the right the internal courtyard ablaze with fire and destruction. We pass the servant quarters, the dining hall, the conference and meeting rooms and move up the central staircase to the multitude of chambers above, including one that used to be my own.
I can hear noises of fucking before we even get to the room. Other barbarians see Magnus coming and point the direction he needs to go in. I don't know whether there is a hierarchy at play here or not. As far as I can tell there is nothing that sets these men apart. Some are older, some bigger, some more handsome, but there is no uniform or war insignia, no collection of medals or stripes that might denote importance.
At the door to my chamber, two Vikings block our way. They are colossal men, even bigger than Magnus. I can't help but divert my eyes to the muscles that stand out prominently across their chests, the tattoos drawing lines along the curves that work their way down to the animal furs that cover their midriffs. Words are exchanged again. Magnus presents me to them like some kind of offering. There isn't only the sound of sex coming from the chamber beyond, there is the smell of it, pungent in the air. One of them pushes the hood away from my face. He grips my chin, tilts my face up to to the light as though examining it. He looks at his fellow guard and then up to Magnus confused at first by what he has been brought. I'm scared now, my heart beating wildly in my chest about what they plan to do to me. It's not my language, but I'm sure I understand the word as 'Queen.'
They knock on the doors at first, a little reluctant to force them open. Magnus has other ideas. He pushes through the middle of them and forces the door wide.
I recognise the girl immediately as Kenrick's daughter. If she had her eyes open, she might recognise me too. There is a man underneath her, his colossal frame engulfing her like an oyster shell might a pearl, and another man to her front. She has her neck clasped inside a huge hand, her legs spread as wide as her body will allow. They are both huge inside her, their immenseness moving in and out of her tight holes rapidly, forcing her apart and pounding her hard. I hear her whimpering, sounds of reluctant pleasure too good to deny.
'What the fuck is the meaning of this?'
The voice doesn't come from either of the two men, but another Viking sat to the side, I hadn't seen until now. Magnus turns to him. He has been addressed in the common tongue perhaps for my benefit.
'I have brought you something special, my lord', Magnus says, twisting me towards him.
'I have girls', he says, rising out of his seat to tower above us both. Sat it was difficult to gauge his proportions, standing it is difficult to avoid them.
'Look', Magnus says, pointing to the framed portrait of myself and my husband still hanging on the wall above the bed. His eyes go towards them and then slowly back to me. I gulp. He says something in his own language, and the two men on the bed immediately stop.
'Where did you find her?' he asks Magnus, almost angry that he wasn't able to find me himself.
'Escaping to the east', Magnus says.
There is a silence in which I hear only the whimpering moans of Kenrick's daughter, before the Viking chief advances and grabs me by the arm.
'A Queen', he says. 'The Queen of this piss-poor country.'
'Yes', I say, my head hanging low.
The two men from the bed have now gained interest, the guards from the door too. They push Kenrick's daughter off their cocks and away from the bed entirely. She wants to come back but they won't let her. For a moment we all watch her sit on the edge of the bed and then lie across it.
'Leave and fuck someone less important', one of the men says before pushing her towards the door. She stumbles past me, gives one last longing look backwards and then pushes out into the hallway.
'Lock the door', the chief calls to the guards.
They look at me greedily, hesitating for a moment, and then do as they have been commanded, stationing themselves on the other side of the door, trapping us inside.
The two men on the bed are still erect, their cocks hard and throbbing. I can't take my eyes off them. Already I feel tingles breaking out across my skin and an aching desire in the very core of my being. Four strong warriors desperate to take me. Two more outside eager to join in when commanded to do so.
The chief takes me from Magnus. Feet plain on the ground, I come up to just past his navel. He softens his hand over my shoulder, down through the middle of my chest. I look up to him, my neck stretched.
'My name is Vidar', the chief says. 'These are my friends, Ulf and Bjorn.'
I nod to each man as he introduces them. 'They like to fuck', he says, his booming laugh filling the room, echoing out amongst the rafters above us.
'Do you like to be fucked?' he asked me, two hands on my body now, exploring the curves of my breasts.
'I have never fucked a Queen before', he goes on, gathe
ring the fabric of my dress up in both hands. 'I wonder if they fuck as well as slaves.'
The movement pulls me forward a little, and I can't help but scream. Vidar chuckles to himself, a chunk of my dress in each hand, the tattered remains gathered up on the floor by my feet. In one quick movement he has shredded my outer garments. I stand there almost naked, my hands diverting to cover myself.
'Don't be shy', Ulf says. 'We aren't.'
'Take them off', Vidar orders. His eyes tell me he isn't messing around.
I do as I'm told, my hands trembling as I add my bra and my panties to the pile of clothes in front of me. The men whistle as I undress and when I bend over to remove my panties, Magnus spanks me on the ass. It feel so good I want him to do it again.
I stand there waiting for my next order, a wetness already slicking the inside of my thighs, my heart in my mouth, pounding so hard I think I might pass out.
'Well', Vidar says. 'Go fuck them, slave. You're not a Queen now.'
He pushes me towards the bed, towards Ulf and Bjorn. I approach them tentatively. Ulf reaches out his hand, and when I go to take it he pulls me violently towards the bed.
'Do you know how to suck cock?' he says, Bjorn already rolling his hands across my skin, searching out my wetness.
I nod, but Ulf isn't looking for an answer. He manoeuvres me into position so Bjorn can continue to explore and he can press his thickness to my lips. I try and scramble away, and make them think I don't want it. I know this game and I know men respond favourably to it. When my husband used to fuck me like the warrior he was, he liked nothing better than me pretending I didn't want it. Ulf pulls me back into place.
'No', he says firmly. 'We don't do that.'
I still refuse to play his game. I twist my head to the side and keep my mouth shut. I try and close my legs too, but Bjorn has forced them open and is busy exploring the sensitive folds of my pussy with his rugged hands. I want them so much so pretending I don't after so long dreaming about it is a difficult exploit. I know it will pay off in the end though. I know if they think I don't want it, they'll make sure they give it to me all that much harder.