The Warrior and the Petulant Princess

by Maggie Carpenter

  Zanock stared out the window as if pondering, then looked back at Larian.

  “I know this,” he said quietly.

  “But the nobles you harbor, Zanock, they will do you and your families harm, great harm.”

  “Tell me more. Why did they leave the King?”

  “They tried to poison a King they claimed to love, but their plot failed and they know if they’re caught they will be executed. Everything they ask is for them, not for you.”

  Larian paused, then leaned forward.

  “Zanock, listen very carefully. You know the warriors of Verdana and the warriors of Zanderone are powerful and have strong weapons. No matter your numbers you will suffer great losses and will be defeated. Do not let these four cowardly men push you to your deaths; do not leave your wives without husbands, and your children without fathers.”

  “I believe your words, Larian Lobergene, and I already knew these things when they approached me,” Zanock admitted, “but with great worry I felt compelled to help them.”

  “Why? What did they offer you that could be so potent? Was it great riches?”

  “We are a simple people, riches are of no use to us. Food, animals, this is what we seek, but that is not what drove me to comply.”

  Larian saw the defeat in the man’s eyes, but he saw something else; it was a deep sadness.

  “What is it?”

  “My son, he is very sick. They offered medicine. They said if I captured the woman in the carriage they would pay me with medicine for my son.”

  Larian leaned back in his seat; now it made sense.

  “Tell me about your son, how is he sick?”

  “He has the hot beads of water on his forehead, and he coughs, he can hardly breathe. He has been this way for many passes of the moons.”

  “I believe I know this illness and I have something that might help him,” Larian offered. “I cannot promise, but if anything can cure him it’s this.”

  “Why would you help me? I am a marauder. I was going to-”

  “You are also a man,” Larian interrupted, “with a son who is sick. These evil men chose to push into something you didn’t wish to do in exchange for the medicine. I will give you the medicine freely. It is with Zoltaire, the leader of my guards.”

  Larian traveled with remedies in case any of his men fell ill, and Zoltaire was charged with their safekeeping. Leaning out the carriage door Larian touched him on the shoulder.

  “Give me the cure for the chest sickness.”

  Flipping open a bag hanging from his saddle, Zoltaire retrieved a small small vial containing a thick green syrup and gave it to Larian.

  “Place a fingertip of this under the boy’s tongue every quarter move of the East sun and the moons,” Larian instructed handing over to Zanock. “Do this for five passes of the moons and he should be better, and take this too,” he added grabbing the hamper. “There is not much in here, just some things given to us for the journey. It is good food, give it to your son to aid his healing.”

  Zanock stared at Larian, his eyes clouding over.

  “I am humbled and shamed,” he said somberly.

  “I have no children,” Larian replied, “but I know in my heart that when I do, I will go to any lengths to keep them well.”

  “What should I do with the nobles?”

  “They are your guests, or prisoners as you wish. Do with them what you will, but the King would be relieved if they were no longer a threat.”

  “I shall return them to the King myself, but can you assure me of our safety when we deliver them?”

  “I will send one of my men back to the castle to inform the King you will be arriving with the traitors, and not only will you be safe, you will return with a reward.”

  “This medicine…and the respect you have shown me…this is my reward,” Zanock said soberly, then pausing he added, “there is something you should know. There is a traitor still in the castle. She came to our camp last night and told the nobles about the woman in the carriage.”

  “She?” Larian asked. “Who is this person? What is her name?”

  “I’m sorry, I barely heard it, but I think it was, perhaps, Dinele.”

  “Delina?”

  “Yes, Delina.”

  “Thank you, Zanock, now go in peace.”

  “The people from Zanderone and Verdana will never be disturbed by my men again,” Zanock promised, “unless it is by the youth. Sometimes the young ones are hard to control.”

  “I know this well,” Larian smiled.

  Climbing from the carriage Zanock hurried to his horse and cantered back to his group, and as Larian was ensuring Thunder was properly tethered to the carriage he saw two of the marauders gallop down to the brush that had blocked the road and begin to clear it.

  “You should be leading a realm,” Zoltaire remarked as Larian returned. “You should be a King.”

  “Opportunity is everywhere,” Larian replied. “You just have to keep your eyes and ears open. Now you must make haste back to the King and tell him everything you heard. Also tell him I suggest food and medicines as a reward, and some animals if he deems it.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Then meet us back at my uncle’s home.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Is the mare safe to travel alongside Thunder?”

  “Yes, she has completely settled.”

  “Good. Tether her and have the driver move us out at a safe but good speed as soon as the brush is fully cleared. Travel safe, Zoltaire.”

  Stepping inside the carriage he peered out the window and saw several of the marauders circle the noble; the hooded cloak was pulled off and his sword, now revealed, removed from its sheath.

  With the brush out of the way the carriage began to roll forward, and waiting until the marauders were out of sight, their dust barely visible, Larian pulled the shades to cover the windows, then moved the cushions from the seat and lifted the lid; Lizbett stared up at him.

  “I heard everything,” she murmured slowly sitting up. “You were amazing.”

  “Thank you, and now, Lizbett, your bottom, your bare bottom, is going to feel just hot how my hand can be.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wrapping the shawl around her, Lizbett stared pleadingly at Larian as he helped her from the tight cubicle.

  “Please, not bare, please,” she begged.

  “Yes, you deserve it, you put us in danger. I’m surprised at you,” he scolded.

  “But I-”

  “There is no excuse, none,” he declared pulling her out of the way as he closed the seat and put back the cushions.

  “Please may I at least put on a fresh dress?”

  “No, your breasts will stay bared, they will will also suffer punishment,” he said sternly, and grabbing her wrist he moved her to stand at his side as he sat down.

  “What? Noooo, not my breasts.”

  “The more you protest and argue the greater will be your discipline,” he warned. “You know you were extremely bad. Not only did you refuse to do as I said at a crucial time, you wanted to put my men into battle just so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable for a short while.”

  “I…uh…”

  “Exactly, there is nothing you can possibly say in your defense. You must be punished and punished properly. Remove your shawl.”

  “Sir,” she whimpered.

  She was embarrassed; he had fondled her breasts but they had never been exposed to his eye.

  “Do not make me wait!” he barked.

  Sighing deeply, she dropped the shawl from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

  “That’s better,” he growled, then lifting his hand he pinched her nipples…hard.

  “OW!”

  “When we are at my home I have special tools to deal with naughty nipples,” he declared.

  “Why do you call them naughty?” she bleated.

  “Because you are naughty, therefore every part of your body is open for punishment. Your
nipples, your breasts, your nugget-”

  “No, not that,” she protested, her eyes wide.

  “Especially that,” he said sternly. “Enough, lift your dress and petticoats and lay over my lap. Your bottom is about to feel my displeasure.”

  Uttering strange whimpering sounds she gathered the folds of her dress and flouncy farthingales and dropped her body over his thighs, but unhappy with her position he placed his wide hands around her waist and lifted her off his lap.

  “Sir!”

  “Hush, you are to be further over, no resting your head on the cushions, reach your hands to the floor.”

  “Oh, Sir, this is so uncomfortable.”

  “As it should be,” he declared positioning her as he wished. “There, now grip my ankle for support, and do not move your hands from there until I tell you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Studying the thin silky undergarment covering her backside, he paused, considering how divine it would be to finally rest his eyes on her full, round cheeks. He had thought the unveiling would be at his home in front of a flaming fireplace, with wine and food nearby, and kisses and fond touches, but her behavior warranted his spanking hand on her skin, and so it would be.

  Finding the cord that held them in place he realized it was knotted in the front, and not wishing to deal with it he pulled his short knife from its holder.

  “Hold still,” he warned.

  Slipping the blade under the garment and turning it up against the thin rope he jerked it towards him, slicing easily through the cord. Depositing the knife back into the holder, he grasped the thin fabric, and with a sharp tug on either side he ripped it apart; her bottom, exposed for the first time, gazed up at him.

  “Ooh, Sir,” she mewled.

  Pushing the frayed material to either side he relished the sight, then pondered the fading horizontal lines left by the crop the afternoon before.

  “I am going to spank you hard, Lizbett, very hard. You may call out but it will not stop me. I intend for you to learn this lesson. You will never question my orders when we are in danger, never!”

  “I won’t, I’ve learned,” she cried, “I swear.”

  His hand abruptly slapped leaving an instant red imprint, then quickly slapped again causing her to kick out. Lifting his heavy leg he placed it over the backs of her knees, then placing his palm firmly around her waist he gripped tightly.

  “Now you will understand what it means to be punished by a warrior. Truly punished. After this you will never again risk life or limb, never again, and I repeat myself because it’s necessary you understand. Never again!”

  “No, Sir, never,” she repeated, “I already-”

  Before she could finish his hand began to rain its swats slowly and forcefully upon her upturned, naked cheeks. His rhythm was deliberate, his stinging palm landing blow after blow, covering every part of her backside. She wailed and wriggled but her gyrations were no match for his hold, and when his spanking traveled to the sweet crease where her thighs touched her bottom, her wailing turned to howls for mercy. Pausing, he stared at her scorched, splotchy skin, and dropping his hand he searched out her breasts to tweak her nipples.

  “Ooww, Sir, please, please, I beg you.”

  He pinched again, harder.

  “OW, OW!”

  “I’m not finished with your very bad bottom,” he growled, “but I will be shortly, then your bad breasts will be next.”

  What followed was a volley of fast, hard spanks, starting at the back of her thighs, moving on to her cheeks, then back down, sending her gasping and furiously squirming. When he stopped, he fiercely gripped each cheek.

  “Burning?”

  “Oh, yes, Sir,” she whimpered. “Like embers from a fire.”

  “Sit up and straddle my lap.”

  Panting and uttering sounds of pain, she struggled to stand up, then sat across his wide thighs, and as his hands clutched her waist to bring her forward, she dropped her head into his shoulder.

  “You have punished me so hard, Sir,” she groaned.

  “And you tested me so hard,” he replied. “It is one thing to be willful and petulant in normal life, but to refuse an order given in a moment of such jeopardy and suggest my men risk injury, perhaps even death, is not just the height of self-centered selfishness, it is reckless, irresponsible and outrageous,” he scolded.

  “You’re right, you’re so right, I am very ashamed.”

  Clutching a fistful of her hair he yanked her head from his shoulder and sent his eyes to hers, but they remained downcast.

  “Look at me.”

  Slowly she raised her gaze, and when their eyes touched she felt a swell of emotion.

  “Everything you accused me of is true,” she bleated. “It’s like I said before, I’m not good enough for you.”

  “Stop that,” he said tenderly. “You are just extremely spoiled. You need to be trained and you will be, and you must understand I do not wish to punish you so severely, but your crime was grievous and I must discipline you as necessary.”

  “Yes, Sir, I know, and again I can only say I don’t know why I do these things.”

  “I am a Commander. My men were just outside the carriage. That a slip of a girl would dare question me, even a Princess, it cannot be allowed and must be swiftly dealt with.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whimpered.

  “Your stinging backside will not be your only punishment. When we reach my uncle’s home there will be further discipline.”

  “More spanking?” she whispered a deep crease crossing her brow.

  “No, and it’s not something you’ve yet been subjected to, but enough of that. Put your hands behind your back and thrust out your breasts. I see you are over your embarrassment about me viewing them.”

  “My shame and the pain of my bottom are my only thoughts,” she moaned as she clasped her fingers behind her back.

  Curling her hair around his fingers he pulled slowly, forcing her head back, then lowering his lips to one of her puckered nipples he began to suck.

  Initially she thought it a heavenly respite. His warm mouth was intoxicating, and as he drew the nipple further in and against his tongue, she thought she would swoon with pleasure…but there was no pause; the pleasant sensation began to dissolve into an odd pain.

  “Sir, please,” she begged.

  He yanked on her hair and sucked even harder, and just when she thought she could bear it no more he stopped.

  “As red as your bottom,” he remarked staring at the crimson flush around her nipple, “and I am impressed that you didn’t unlock your fingers. You have just won a small amount of forgiveness.”

  “Sir,” she mewled, “this is very painful.”

  “Now to the twin,” he declared ignoring her complaint.

  Lowering his lips to the opposite breast he started the soft, gentle attention, then slowly increased the vacuum until she was again pleading for him to stop. He measured the time between her plea and when he chose to pull back, pushing her to the limit of her endurance, then stopped and released her hair.

  “On to your knees in front of me,” he said sternly.

  She was as desperate to hold her searing seat cheeks as she was to rub her painful breasts, and choosing the latter she slipped off his thighs and knelt before him.

  “Hands at your sides,” he said firmly. “Now tell me, what you have to say for yourself?”

  “Sir, I am so sorry for questioning you at such a critical time. I am a foolish, selfish girl and should never have suggested your warriors fight so I wouldn’t have to hide. It was wrong of me, very wrong. All I can do is pray that you’ll forgive me.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, Sir, thank you for punishing me. I needed it, and I wanted it.”

  “Good,” he sighed. “You may crawl into my lap and be comforted, but the third part of your punishment awaits.”

  Crawling back into his lap she curled into a ball as he held
her. With gentle caresses he helped alleviate the pain in her breasts, then kissing her softly he murmured in her ear.

  “I love you, Lizbett, I only punish you because I love you.”

  “I know, Sir,” she sighed.

  “Can you feel the carriage ride is smoother?”

  “I didn’t notice, Sir, but yes, I feel it is.”

  “We are out of the barren land. It won’t be long before we reach my uncle’s house. Is your dress in the bag in the compartment at the back of the carriage?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I believe we are both thirsty. I shall have us stop for a moment and fetch it for you, along with some water. Cover yourself with your shawl.”

  Moving from his lap she retrieved the wide scarf from the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders, and once she was settled he lifted the shades from the windows. The landscape was once again lush and full; the barren land was behind them.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As the carriage rolled down a lane between tall trees, in spite of her sore bottom and aching breasts, Lizbett was full of wonder. Beauty surrounded her, and the animals she could see prancing around the fields beyond the trees made her want to jump from the carriage so she could run and join them. As they approached the stable yard she could hear Scarlet whinnying, and she broke into a smile.

  “Scarlet wants to make new friends.”

  “And she shall, as will you,” Larian said warmly.

  The carriage rolled to a stop and Lizbett waited for Larian to climb out, then taking his hand she stepped daintily on to the soft dirt; she was arriving as Princess Lizbett of Verdana, and she wanted to impress his uncle.

  Looking around she saw a splendid barn, horses fenced in oversized pens giving them plenty of room to wander and graze, and several young men were bustling around doing their chores. Scarlet was still whinnying, and Lizbett moved quickly to the back of the carriage to check on her. When the mare spied her she let out a snort and began pawing at the ground.

  “She is still impatient, even after that long journey,” Larian remarked. “I will take her to a field next to other horses. She can play at the fence but it’s better she’s by herself. She could start a fight with her excited mood.”