The Concubine

by Phal, F.

  “The encounter with Valancette will not happen again.” You love throwing out orders.

  “How was I to know? I was lonely a-and I needed comfort. He was there and you weren’t.” Just to spite you, just to make you feel an ounce of the pain coursing through my veins, I whisper those horrible words, words I know you would hate.

  You reaction is instant. The crack of your hand upon my cheek does not hurt more than the ache settling into my chest. I have not felt the blow of a master in so long. I have had many firsts with you, and this it seems is a first I will add to my endless memories of you. You have never struck me, in anger or otherwise. I do not mean to cry, I do not! But the tears come and like rivulets pour down my face.

  But then you’re there. On your knees before me, my face between your hands, your forehead against mine, you kiss me hard, punishment and penance.

  “God! Lealin… please…forgive me…forgive me. Can you not see…my jealousy…my anger I am blinded by it…stupid with it! Forgive me, my own.” Your kisses are everywhere, you gather me close and I can feel the thunderous echoes of you heart. “I cannot bear the thought of another’s touch upon you. I will kill him…fist my hand through him and rip out his entrails...I swear…I swear…” The fervency of your words brings me utter delight. Cry for me Marik, feel what I have felt for years. Oh my love, how sweet your words are to my ears. Jealous? Angry? On my behalf?

  “Foolish, foolish, king…,” your hands fist through my hair, your lips are devouring my own, bending me to your will, to your lust. You push me against the dark post, my arms wrap around it, holding on for dear life as you discard clothes and cloths. Your thighs spread my own, wider, your cock weeping and ready. And then you’re in me, thick and full, throbbing and veined, sweetly blunt against that spot. That spot that had me praying your name, moaning ‘God’. You are my God Marik, and I clawed my way to your heaven.

  You’re savage in claiming me but I am if not fervent in this animalistic glee that imprisons us both. We rut on the floor, you above me as I take to my hands and knees, your grip digging sweetly into my flesh leaving bruises, marks, your imprint. You penetrate the very core of me, so deep, so hard, so fast.

  “Mine,” You growl against my ear, your hand gripping my hair so that my head is tilted back, you withdraw to the very inch and draw me back with a brutal tug, filling me so deliciously once more. “To whom do you belong, Lea?” you cover me better than my own skin, your sweat stained chest against back, your harsh breaths at my nape.

  I moan piteously when you stop suddenly. “Marik…” You give another tug of my hair, the action jostling my entire body. “Please…” I am at your mercy.

  “Say it.” You rasp harshly, your teeth grazing along my flesh bearing down slightly to leave another mark.

  “You.”

  “And who else is allowed to fuck you?”

  “No one else, my king… only you.”

  “That’s right, pet, never allow another to trespass on my property. Every single inch of you belongs to me and I will kill any who dares to take what is mine.” You rise then and grip my buttocks only to drive forward once again burying yourself to the hilt. Your laboring grunts and my whimpering moans ring harmoniously throughout the room, the sound of slapping flesh an accompaniment to the dance as old as time itself.

  You bury your essence so deep within me and I swear I can taste it.

  ***

  “I’ve missed you,” I mutter against your neck while your fingers slowly dance across my hip bone. I have missed you, but I don’t think you will ever know how much.

  You remain silent, your breath, even and warm against the side of my face.

  “It seems almost impossible for me to put into words what not having you beside me did to me. Almost like a crippled man without a crutch to hold him up.” It is not a confession of undying love, but you have not the slightest inkling what those words will ever mean.

  “How is your new wife?” my voice is laced with tears.

  “Much more amiable than Krea, although she can be rather fierce when incensed. She’s quite intelligent, with a ready wit I’ve come to admire. Her tongue can cut a man to size in seconds.” The admiration in your voice is impossible to miss and I am left to wonder whether if she will be the one to make you forget me. She has accomplished the feat so effortlessly it these last weeks.

  “She sounds lovely.”

  “I think you will like her, she is not at all like, Krea;” This draws a reluctant smile to my lips. Thank god for small favors. At least you weren’t blind to your first wife’s cruelty.

  “Kivar has told me about your art.” You say into the silence.

  “It’s nothing, just sketches…” I murmur sleepily, my eyes drifting. I feel you shift from beneath me, and then your lips are on me, your tongue laving, your teeth scraping and nipping.

  “You’ll have to show me sometimes…” your voice rouses me from my impeding slumber, I arch, wanting to get more from you, I’m always wanting more.

  “What have you been sketching?” I moan, wondering how you can make such simple words seem so erotic.

  “Umm…I…uh…wha…?” I couldn’t form a coherent word, let alone an entire phrase in that moment. You fondle my breasts. The warmth of your mouth engulfs a nipple, while you mercilessly toy with the other.

  “Tell me what you sketch.”

  You’re on a quest for something else as your mouth trails away. Your hands however remain at my breasts fingers doing their very best in making me melt further. Your kisses, your lips, your tongue explores a path further south. There is no thatch of curls that stands in your way, I am wholly clean, shaven as you’ve come to expect.

  “Have you sketched me, my pet?” Ha! The entirety of my art is all you, the great, golden king.

  You are there between my gaping thighs your warm breath both arousing and ticklish has me inching close to you. “Marik…”

  There is a soft pounding, from somewhere far, so unaware in my lust fogged mind. But your soft curse against my inner thigh quickly brings me crashing back to earth.

  “What?!” your bellow is frightening.

  “Stay just like this, don’t you dare move an inch.” With that said you are off the bed with swiftness learned from years of fencing and training with your knights. I just manage to peek at your toned pale buttocks before it is covered by a silk robe.

  “Majesty, forgive the intrusion, but the new Queen, she is in need of you…” I hear this muffled softly from the distant and my heart drops. I hear you curse, and answer that you will see her in a few minutes.

  “Lea…”

  “Keep your apologies, king. There is no need for them. I will be here when you return.” I’ve become so well versed in this lie that it spills from my lips with ease.

  I think I’ve become a masochist. Your kiss steals my breath, my heart and my soul and I whimper helplessly when you depart.

  ***

  “Now I see why my husband is so fascinated with you.” Her voice is low, slightly accented by her Sryian brogue. She is magnificent, nothing at all like Krea.

  She stands no taller than my slight stature. Her hair, glossy chestnut ringlets interwoven with strings of pearls frames her face. Her eyes, a dazzling shade of blue, hooded by lashes rivaled my own in length. She was small, gracefully so and delicate, but not to the point of breaking, in fact she looked as though she could hold her own if the situation ever called for it. She donned a lovely gown of deep set burgundy, offset about the shoulders with lace accentuating her overflowing bust. She walked with the well-bred grace of a Queen as she made her way to me.

  I slowly fall to a curtsy, the loose robes adorning my body flowing about me, skimming the dark earth beneath my sandaled feet. Soon, I feel warm fingers cradle my chin, lifting my head in a soft gesture. I am starring into eyes that don’t seem unkind, but reserved and searching.

  “Maybe it is I who should bow down to you, hmm?”

  “Your Highness…“ Her soft laugh
ter grips me with surprise.

  “I should despise you, but it seems it would take up too much of my energy to do so. And besides, being devious and plotting you demise is beneath me. That, I believe I shall leave to my husband's first wife.” she released my chin, her smile, set in place, showing what would’ve been perfectly rowed teeth, had it not been for two elongated front ones. “The bitch doesn’t care for you at all, I’m afraid.” She bids me to rise, and I did so as I do everything, with calculated slowness.

  “Do you ride?” she asks suddenly.

  “Ride, your Highness?” I wasn’t quiet grasping what she wanted from me, as of habit I nervously tucked a stray stand of hair behind my right ear.

  “Yes, Horses, do you ride them?”

  “Yes.” She gave a curt nod, then grasped my hand and pulled me along.

  “Most excellent, I wish to go for a ride, you will accompany me.” Did I have a choice? Like a dog lead on a leash, I followed her every steps, until we arrived at the stables. She ordered for a white mare from the stableman to be saddled. I smiled at the anxious boy and asked for my black Arabian, Gedle the one you purchased for me at market years ago.

  In one swift move I am seated above Gedle’s massive stance and watch your Queen settle upon her own steed. She is surprisingly well poised seated sidesaddle. With a soft smile she grasps the reins of her mare and begins a steady canter. I follow. In silence we ride side by side, Gedle’s long strides easily matching that of her mare. I know not where she is taking me, and yet I have no fear, there is something about your Queen that seems to put me at ease.

  It comes as a shock to me when he mare’s strides lengthens into a full gallop, I hear the tinkles of her laughter upon the rushing wind, her hair flows wildly, dancing and bouncing with each jarring gallop, she turns and beams at me, her eyes twinkling with laughter. Soon, I am galloping after her, my own echoes of joy mingles with hers, the thundering hooves of our horses are perfectly in sync and I laugh at the sheer oddity of it all.

  The concubine and the wife, racing and laughing like children. I cannot help but wonder when exactly was the last time I felt this refreshed, this overwhelming sense of freedom filtering through my very being? So caged have I been in your gilded palace that I have forgotten the little joys of being out in the open could bring. I am thankful to her for that, for giving me a taste of it again.

  “You ride quite well.” her breaths comes out in short gasps as she reins in her mare. “Where did you learn?”

  “Marik…I mean his Majesty taught me.”

  “Ah, yes. So magnanimous, my husband.” I did not know how to respond to that, so I remain silent. “He is quite possessive of you, Lealin. If I were a jealous woman, I think I would find you quite threatening.” She smiles at me. “But as I said, you have nothing to fear from me. I grew up with a father who adored his concubines more than he did my mother. It is the way of things.” She says with a small shrug. “You must take lunch with me. I wish to know more about you.”

  “As you wish, Highness.”

  As we near the palace stables, I spot your silver blond head, your stoic mask painted on your patrician features, your eyes stray to my own and then snake back to your Queen. You’re there in two long strides, by her side, your hands reach for her waist and with effortless ease you settle her to her feet. Twinges of jealousy tug mercilessly at my heart as you bend your head and cover her awaiting lips with your own.

  I jump from my horse and land on my feet, as much as I believe myself a masochist, I will not fall to baser levels of voyeurism. I lead my steed to the stables, leaving you and your Queen to yourselves.

  If I’m not careful, I might turn into a bitter old woman, with nothing to keep me company in my old age than stupid memories and hopeless dreams.

  ***

  Not long after, I can feel the warmth of your body against my back, trapped between you and Gedle. I stiffen slightly and hold back a moan as your hot tongue licks that space behind my ear.

  “Did you miss me?” how much would you hurt if I were to whisper 'no', my king?

  “Yes,” I find myself breathlessly uttering.

  Will it always be this way? This unstoppable cycle of simple touches, softly whispered words, and I fall weak and wanting at your feet, never you’re equal, never your partner, always the wanton, weak willed concubine, slave, whore? I wear each title so well that I sometimes forget who I truly am.

  My palms are flat against Gedle’s perspiring coat, I can feel the thrumming of his pulse, the rushing of the blood in his streams and I wonder for but a breath of a second which one of our hearts is beating faster, louder, nearly deafening.

  The beads of sweat start from the pores in my palms, then travel up my arms, trickling down my neck, like a lovers tongue it trails down my back and disappears into the crack of my buttocks. All this happens within minutes, and then I feel my knees buckle, my eyes roll back and then your voice, muffled and panicked, calls out to me. I feel your comforting embrace tightly enveloping me before surrendering to darkness.

  ***

  I know I am in your bed, because your scent is the first thing permeating my sleep fogged mind and I smile, the aroma is a slight welcome to my spinning head. I make to rise, but weakly fall back, my head cradled by a bevy of pillows.

  “Imprudent woman.”

  “Hello to you too, Kivar.” I am the target of his fierce scowl for only moments before he reaches out to settle a cool hand against my forehead.

  “What happened?” and where is Marik? I silently finish. He removes his hand and rolls his obsidian pools at me.

  “Just like you to forget.” he walked away to return soon after with a goblet of something dark and menacing.

  “Drink it.” He hands me the goblet, the stench it emits turns my stomach.

  “What is it?”

  “It will keep you from embarrassing yourself further. Swooning at the king’s feet like some dimwitted commoner. I had believed you with more sense than that.”

  I guzzled down the sickening concoction with half an ear on his tirade. One I had heard many times before, with only the slightest variations.

  “Since when do you brew potions, Kivar?” Curiosity urges me to ask. Kivar was the royal advisor, of all the five years I have known him, the man had not once indicated his wisdom in anything except matters of the kingdom

  “Since when have been prone to swooning?” he counters.

  “I did not break my fast this morning,” I lied. I had a breakfast of sour bread and orange marmalade, and a cup of honey brewed tea. His eyes narrow on my flushed face but he does not push the issue. A small favor.

  “Do so next time. The king has better things to occupy his thoughts than worry about the eating habits of his whore.”

  “Oh how I do enjoy that razor sharp tongue, Kivar.”

  “If you are feeling well, the king has ordered your presence for dinner.” Dinner? Have I slept the entire day away?

  “Please give my regrets. I will not be joining him this evening.”

  His gaze pinions me. “I would advise you not to play these games. Whatever it is that you are doing or planning on doing, I suggest you put an immediate halt to it.”

  “And whatever is it that you think I am doing, Kivar?” when he fails to respond, I continue. “I suggest you keep your advice for Marik’s ears only, he has more need of it than I.”

  “You dare to address the King so informally?”

  “What do you suggest I call him then when he seeks pleasure from me? It would hardly do if I were to pant and moan “Your Majesties” everywhere. Hardly romantic.” I’ve never been so impertinent. Kivar in all his faults did not deserve my rampant spite.

  “I’m sorry.” I say after a moment, despondency shoving the fight out of me.

  “Our Sovereign is impetuous and brash, in many ways he is still a child. Do not allow his ignorant mistakes to embitter you. You are far stronger than that. Even if he does not love you as you love him, I am sure the child gr
owing inside you will.” With those parting words he spins on his heel and heads for the door, leaving me utterly stunned.

  ***

  The night air, despite the intermittent summer breeze, is eerily still. Seated at your divan, head upon my raised knee I watch the dance of diaphanous curtains upon the evening breeze, a welcomed distraction from tremors racing through me. I feel you, your restless, rampant energy hangs heavy in the air. You’re pacing, to and fro, to and fro, right at the corner of vision, a caged animal anxious for freedom.

  "Do not go." I whisper, my eyes still on the beguiling dance of the curtains.

  "I have no choice. The situation requires my immediate attention." I know

  your every move. At this very second your fingers are through your hair, the knit at your brow growing ever deeper, your eyes like storm clouds.

  "You always have a choice, and you are choosing to trek miles away from the

  safety of your kingdom to speak with rebels who await your demise.” My voice reveals a calm I do not feel.

  "I will not cower from my enemies!" I turn my head to look at you and with no will of my own and I am at your side.