by Tony Roberts
She stood up and looked down at him. “Then if you do please me so, I may even one day show you what it is to have a witch make love to you.” She smiled.
Argan grinned, his heart beating. He felt a wave of pleasure sweep through him. “I shall try to not disappoint you, Okloka,” he gave her the Bragalese title of witch.
Metila bowed to him, acknowledging his respectful address. She then knelt at his feet and placed her head on the floor, putting a foot on the back of her head. She had only ever done that to one other, and not to Landwaster, the man that was emperor of Kastania. She respected Argan’s father’s strength and position, but she did not like him. She had given herself to him, yes, but that was for two reasons and nothing to do with wanting him. His son, however, had something different, a subtle power, strength. Charisma. Yes, that was it, charisma.
Argan had experienced this before from Amal, but this had taken him by surprise nonetheless. He rested his foot lightly on her head, then sensing she was ready to stand again, he withdrew it. He saw Metila about to raise herself, but stood quickly himself and offered his hand to assist her, looking at her the way he had been taught by Mr. Sen, with authority.
Metila, suddenly awed, meekly took it and stood, then bowed her head. Why could she not look him in the face? Looking at his loins was not bad, and she had to admit that given three more years, he would be fully able to satisfy most women. He was still not yet fully grown. She looked up and Argan was still regarding her, his eyes careful, watchful. She cleared her throat. “We still have much to learn from one another, Lakhani,” she said.
“Yes, Metila. I must learn, for I have a great responsibility to the people of Kastania. I will learn not only from the nobility, but also from the common people.”
“Ah, if only more had your sense,” Metila said wistfully, then shook her head as if to dispel the thought. “You will have to leave now for I must tend Amal there. She will need assistance before she is able to re-join you.”
Argan nodded and scrambled round for his clothes, finding them eventually. He dressed, then went up to Metila once more. He stroked her cheek. “I said it before and I will say it again Metila. You are very beautiful.” He kissed her cheek and left, leaving a very thoughtful and wide-eyed Metila staring at the shut door for a time, her mind whirling. For one so young he had a very wise manner. She knew about bending men to her will, but this was the first time she had met a man who could bend most people, men or women, to his. She recognised his innate ability, and then loosened her shift. Her nipples were hard and rubbing against it. By the powers of nature! He had awakened her body to his! Nobody – nobody – had ever done that to her before. She would have to be watchful from now on when he was around.
She turned and looked at the sleeping form of Amal, and had a brief shaft of jealousy. This lucky woman would have a long and probably enjoyable sexual liaison with him. Metila wished she was sixteen again – then exhaled noisily. That was fate. She was fortunate to be where she was, and although Thetos was no handsome figure, he was big, strong, powerful. She had a good position in the governor’s residence of Makenia, and held a place of power and respect through Thetos.
She knelt again, right by the bed, and stroked the girl. Beautiful, yes. A good Bragalese woman, classic looks and physique. She would evoke lust from the weak Kastanian men. She chuckled softly. Being a prince’s slave meant she would be off limits to most. That would frustrate most of them.
Amal stirred and her eyes flicked open. “What?”
Metila stroked her hair, whispering Bragalese to her. Amal smiled and realised who it was. “Lakhani has gone?”
“Yes. I am to help you recover. It was a good Growing Through, was it not?”
Amal nodded. “Mmmm. Oh, he was good!”
“He is a Koros. No weak fool like many of the others. They are almost like we Bragalese.”
“He is different, not brutal or hard hearted.”
“Yes – he is different and you are very fortunate. Come, sit up. Let me help you get your strength back.” Metila passed Amal a small porcelain cup she had in her pocket, and a small bottle of liquid. She poured the liquid into the cup and offered it to Amal. “Weak strength potion. I won’t give you a strong one; you’re not well enough to have that.”
Amal drank it and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling her limbs twitch with renewed energy. “Thank you.”
“It is expected, a tradition. Now listen. You will desire men now, every day, except when it is your phase which is only two days. You must know some herbs that help prevent pregnancy, as you will be most vulnerable right before your phase. I shall give you some and then you will go and pick your own. Eat one leaf each day, and you will not fall pregnant. Should you wish to have a child then stop taking it, but I must warn you, if you have Lakhani’s child there may be difficulties.”
“I know – I will not have his child. That is for his betrothed to do that.”
“Good. Now, it will be fine for you to have other men, but do not allow them to lead – you must want them and entice them. Lakhani is particularly vulnerable at present as he had just experienced the joys of having a woman, and I would say it is best to satisfy both your urges at the present time, until you can learn to control them better. You both have much to learn about love making, so learn together.”
“Will you help me, Metila?”
“Yes, I am to be your guide through your learning year. In one year though you will have learned how to use your body, how to enjoy your power over men, how to excite a man you desire. I shall show you how to do it.”
Amal smiled. She wanted to be the best, to give Argan the best love she could possibly achieve.
___
Argan strode carefully to the tutor room he used with Mr. Sen. It was the afternoon and he had missed the morning session, which Mr. Sen would not be pleased about. No matter, Argan knew he had an equally important function that required his attention, and missing one morning of whatever subject it was meant to be wasn’t crucial. He felt pleased at him having been able to help Amal, for she was a good friend to him – and now something even better. Was it better? Being close friends as they had been was good, for it gave him the warmth and happiness of having someone there who wanted to be there with him.
Now they had become lovers, would that make any difference? How different did he feel towards Amal? He wanted to be with her even more now, to feel the physical pleasure of her – he knew he had to do it again, to find out what it was like without being under the influence of one of Metila’s potions. He wanted to know whether she would like him as much, and would she wish to be as intimate with him as he wanted to be with her? He needed to know. He wanted to know.
The room stood before him and he opened the door, looking in. Mr. Sen was talking to Thetos Olskan, much to Argan’s surprise. “Oh, I didn’t know you were busy,” he said, holding onto the door handle. “Should I return later?”
“No, your majesty, come in, come in,” Mr. Sen said, waving him on.
Both men watched as Argan slowly walked towards them, and then flopped into his chair with a sigh. Mr. Sen tutted with disapproval. “Young Prince, you must attend your lessons if you are to learn how to be a good ruler. You look exhausted – do you have an explanation?”
Argan nodded wearily, but Thetos grunted with amusement. “Metila told me, sire. Was it painful?”
“I carry the wounds, Thetos,” Argan said simply, wincing as a shaft of pain coursed through his body.
Mr. Sen frowned and looked to each. “I’m sorry, is there something I’m missing?”
“My apologies, Mr. Sen,” Argan said with a sigh, “my personal servant, Amal, was suddenly taken unwell and needed my close attendance to help her through it all.”
“But – we surely have medical people here for that,” Mr. Sen looked confused. “What was wrong with the poor girl? Is she bad?”
“Oh, no, she’s well on the way to recovery, and she’s probably feeling much better than I am right now.”
Argan nodded.
Thetos slapped his thigh. “By the gods! Your first time and with a Bragalese woman, and at her Growing Through moment! My admiration, sire, you certainly don’t do things by half!”
Mr. Sen still looked baffled. Thetos chuckled and pointed at Argan who was fighting to stay awake opposite them. “Bragalese women are passionate, and the first time they – get the urge – they go through this very dangerous phase which needs a man of strength and courage to – ah – cope with their urges. The Prince here volunteered to help Amal, and that is the result. You must give him a bit of lassitude – it’s one courageous act, I can tell you!”
“Hmph!” Mr. Sen clearly was not impressed. “Be that as it may, Governor, my tutoring is of the most importance to the Prince here, and he would be far better learning the ways of running a province than running after a woman.” He gave Argan the benefit of a very stern stare above his face-spectacles.
Thetos pulled himself out of his chair and grinned. “Metila will bring me up to date with the details, so I won’t impose myself here any longer.” He bowed to Argan who waved languidly in response. “Once again, sire, my congratulations, and admiration!” Chuckling, he left.
Argan looked at his tutor who was peering at him in a most unamused manner. “Please, Mr. Sen, I’m very tired and really want my bed – but I thought it best I show myself here.”
“Hmph!”
“Tell me, tutor,” Argan said, sitting up straighter, “would you say I would make a good emperor or not?”
Mr. Sen thought for a moment, his disapproval forgotten. What a strange question to ask! “Sire, why do you ask me that? I have little knowledge what goes to make a good emperor. Is your father a good emperor?”
“Of course! He’s saved Kastania. That must be a good emperor, surely.”
Mr. Sen made a non-committal gesture. “Yet you would find many people who would disagree – particularly those whom he has defeated or displaced. He has used force to get his way, when other emperors have used diplomacy. A good emperor? For some, yes, for others, no.”
“Mr. Sen, if you were not my tutor I would take you to task for saying that about my father.”
The rotund man nodded, folding his hands about his large belly. “I know I am safe in discussing such things with you, sire, as you are much more reasonable than your father in listening to an argument. Whether you could have done what your father has done, I would say not, as you do not have that ruthless streak in you, yet you could be a great emperor given different circumstances.”
“Mr. Sen, that is a very diplomatic answer. You have taught me much in these few moments. I shall have to go and consider it all and learn how to give an answer I don’t want in a way that may not offend.” He got up and bowed. “I shall see you tomorrow, normal time, here. My lessons shall continue.”
Mr. Sen stood up, taken aback, and bowed back. He was left there in the room, wondering just how he had managed to have been outmanoeuvred by a sixteen year old.
Argan lay on his bed, his tunic off, dressed just in his leggings, thinking deeply on Metila’s words. You would not make a good emperor. It troubled him. Did people see him in that way? Not a good potential emperor? Why was that? He always thought being good was looking after the land, the people and the facilities. Take care of them and they would take care of you.
Clearly there was more – was it because he lacked the military toughness of his father? He was adept at riding, at swordsmanship, and in the classroom his theory in tactics had been approved by Mr. Sen. Clearly, though, there was something he lacked that Metila had seen. What was it?
He was still thinking that over when Amal entered the room and bowed, as she normally did. She had not cleaned the room, naturally, so Argan hadn’t complained. He looked at her, noting her physique and pose. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. “How are you, Amal?”
“Much better thank you, Lakhani. Metila helped me greatly. I feel so much better now. And you? Those scratches….” She eyed the marks on Argan.
The prince ran a finger over one. The paste Metila had put on them had mostly gone, flaking off, and now many of the wounds itched. A few still hurt, but the pain was much less. The skin was red around them still. “Oh, I’m recovering. Very tired, but I think a good night’s sleep will sort me out.”
The two paused, seemingly waiting for the other to speak. Finally Argan decided to take charge. He sat up straighter, his back against the wall. “Amal, please remove all your clothing.”
She smiled, and complied readily, divesting herself of everything in moments. She stood before him, by the end of the bed. “Do I please you, Lakhani?”
“Very much, Amal. Come closer, kneel either side of my legs, so I can look at you better.”
The Bragalese servant slipped onto the bed and slid up his legs, stopping close to his loins, her own aching for him, but waiting. She tingled with anticipation, her sexual awakening fully upon her. She marvelled at the change in her; two days ago she would never have even considered this, yet here she was, screaming in her mind for Argan to take her and make love to her.
Argan placed his hands on her arms and slowly looked at her face. The skin seemed to glow. Her eyes were surely bigger, wonderfully oval in shape, maybe even narrower than that, with that fabulously deep brown pair of irises. Her lips were fuller, more enticing, and he so badly wanted to kiss them. “It’s very strange,” he said almost absently, “but I never before really looked at you, to see just how beautiful you are.”
Amal’s heart leaped. She felt a rush of blood to her face and she looked down. Argan’s finger went to her dimpled chin and gently lifted her head back up. She saw he was smiling at her, and she smiled back. “L-Lakhani,” her voice faltered.
“Amal – I cannot think of anyone else who is so desirable and wonderful, and lovely to be with. Not just because you are a woman, but because you are so kind and caring and a very good friend, and I wish for no other to be here now.”
Amal fought back tears of happiness. “I do not wish to be with anyone else, my lord – the gods were kind to me the day I was appointed to serve you. Ever since the day we met – you have been kind and thoughtful to me. It does not matter that you are a prince, if you were not I would still want to be here.”
“And now each of us want the other for another reason.”
She nodded. “I want to know how to please you.”
“You do, Amal. Just by being here.”
She looked down at herself. “Am I really so pleasing to you? I am very slim – and do not have the curves some Kastanian women have.”
“Do not think of yourself as unattractive, Amal. You are as good as a dream.”
She smiled, leaning into his hand as it stroked her cheek. “I shall do my best to be that dream.”
“I have plenty to learn, too, Amal. Yet tonight I am still tired, and do not think I can begin. I do need sleep.”
“Oh,” she was disappointed.
“Fear not, Amal, sleep with me tonight, and who knows, in the morning, before we have to start our duties, we may begin it the best way possible.”
Nodding, she slid up under one of his arms and cuddled into him, putting an arm over his chest and holding him tight. He lay down and after a few moments of shifting about, they both got comfortable, lying with their arms around one another, staring into each other’s eyes, until Argan’s grew heavy and he slipped into a happy, comfortable sleep.
Principle Character List
Alenna…….… Wife of Vosgaris
Amal…………. Bragalese servant to Argan, also known as Sasia
Amne………… Daughter of Astiras, wife of Elas
Argan………… Son of Astiras and Isbel, Prince of the West
Astiras………. Emperor of Kastania
Bevil………….. Officer in Zofela imperial garrison
Cherisse…….. Healer in Niake, lover of Vosgaris
Demtro…..… Merchant in Niake, spy in employ of Isbel
Deran Loshar.…Tybar renegade, commander of mounted imperial archers
Dragan Purfin…Rebellious nobleman, having affair with Amne
Elas..……………….Prince of Kastan, married to Amne, governor of Frasia
Fostan Telekan..Young officer in Kastan City, lover of Amne
Frendicus…………Principle taxman of the empire
Ganag Meri……..Mazag ambassador in Zofela
Gaurel Branas….Former high priest, exiled in Niake
Gavan………………Bodyguard of Jorqel
Iovan Sen…………Tutor of Argan
Isbel Koros……….Empress, mother of Argan and Istan
Istan ………………..Youngest son of Astiras and Isbel
Jorqel ……………..Heir to the throne, eldest son of Astiras
Kerrin Afos…… Friend of Argan, bodyguard in training
Klandesi…… Bastard child of Astiras and Metila
Lalaas…… Captain of Kastan Guard, confidant to Amne
Metila…… Bragalese witch, lover of Thetos Olskan
Pepil…… Major Domo in Zofela
Sannia…… Wife of Jorqel
Thetos Olskan…Governor in Turslenka, lover of Metila
Vazil/Vasila…… Sister of Vosgaris, spy in Kornith disguised as priest
Velka Varaz…… Betrothed to Argan
Vosgaris…… Officer in Zofela, former lover of Amne
Coming in 2016, the fourth tale in the Chronicles of Kastania, Path of Pride
With the resumption of war with Venn, the Kastanian Empire faces an uncertain future. To emperor Astiras Koros, it is clear his two youngest sons, Argan and Istan, will have to take up their senior duties as soon as they old enough to do so.
For Argan this means knowing how to govern and rule benignly, and to learn how to be the ideal warrior prince. He believes that he must have pride in what he does, in order for both himself and everyone else to take his princely duties seriously. But what Argan doesn’t realise is that pride can blind him to some simple truths that could seriously undermine his efforts, especially when rival Houses see him as a danger to them ever gaining power again in the Empire.