Ruby squeezed Lily's hand and braced herself.
"You passed the Trial, Ruby. Hadn't you guessed?" The Steward held out an emerald bead. "The ministers were unanimous. Even the Treasurer agreed."
"Oh, fuck," whispered Ruby. Her muscles turned to water. "Oh, holy fuck."
"That's not why I've come at such a late hour," warned the Steward. "The King has summoned you to a new service in the morning. I argued for a longer grace period, but he would not hear me."
"The King?" Ruby repeated. She clutched the bead in her palm. Emerald. Fuck.
"Lily, I'm glad you're here," said the Steward. "You'll need to make sure she's ready before Court begins. Can you do that?"
"I'll need help," said Lily. "Will you send Milkweed and Coral to meet me in the baths at dawn?"
"Of course," said the Steward. "I'll send the orders now—and I suggest that you both get some rest."
"I'm to attend Court?" Ruby asked, after the Steward had gone.
"In a manner of speaking," said Lily. She plumped the pillows. "Now lie down, before I say anything else. The Steward was right—you should rest while you can."
It took Ruby too long to fall asleep, and she felt groggy and irritable when Lily dragged her out of bed before dawn.
"Forget about your robe," said Lily, tugging her out the tent. "We have to hurry."
Milkweed and Coral waited at the entrance to the baths.
"What took you so long?" asked Milkweed.
"The water's ready," said Coral.
They surrounded Ruby, leading her to a private bathing chamber made of fine white marble. First they used balls of hard, sugared wax to remove the hair from Lily's body—all the hair, from her upper lip to the tops of her feet.
Then they poured buckets of steaming hot water over her naked body. Coral and Milkweed massaged foaming, perfumed soap over every limb and into every crevice while Lily washed Ruby's hair.
After the soap came two different lotions, one dense and odorless, the other light and smelling of burnt sugar.
"Now the dressing room," said Lily, leading the way from the humid bath into a high-ceilinged chamber furnished with many mirrors and cabinets.
Lily dusted Ruby's slick, lotioned body with powder while Coral brushed and styled Ruby's hair. Milkweed applied fresh lacquer to Ruby's finger and toenails, then set out an an array of cosmetics, which she applied with methodical precision: powder on Ruby's forehead, cheeks, and chin, kohl on her eyelids and eyelashes, a red pigment on her lips, nipples, and clitoris.
"How much time do we have?" Lily asked.
"None," replied Coral, dashing from the room.
"Court is about to begin," agreed Milkweed. "This is the best we can do."
"If only we'd had more time," said Coral, returning with a robe of blue silk. "This will have to do."
Ruby slipped her arms through the sleeves of the robe, and Lily belted it.
"I think she looks marvelous," said Lily.
Coral and Milkweed shrugged.
"Thank you both," said Ruby.
"Good luck," they chorused.
Lily guided Ruby through the halls of the palace, then stopped before they reached a wide archway, framed in elaborate gilded moldings.
"I can't follow you inside," said Lily.
"What do I do?" Ruby asked.
"The Steward will tell you," said Lily. "Good luck."
The throne room was huge, and almost empty. A golden couch, upholstered in red cloth, stood at one end of the square hall, flanked on either side by gilded armchairs.
In front of the couch lay a thin pallet. The Steward stood next to it.
The Steward gestured her forward and Ruby approached. The room was square, the ceiling domed and pierced by windows to let in light. A few petitioners stood clumped along the wall, as far away from the gilded couch as possible.
"I am sorry we do not have more time," said the steward, eyeing her critically. "I cannot explain as I would like. When the King arrives, he will sit on the couch. The seat to his right is for the Queen, and will remain empty. The occupant of the chair to his left changes from day to day, and even from hour to hour."
Ruby nodded.
"You will lie on the pallet," said the Steward. "During the first stage of the proceedings, you must remain silent. Do not utter a word, or even a sigh, if you can help it. I have ushered more than a dozen aspirants into this room since the Tournament began, and I will warn you now, in the absence of any better preparation, that most of them fail during the first hour."
The first hour. Ruby shuddered.
"You may leave at any time," he continued. "No matter what the King commands, no matter what anyone who comes here today asks of you, you may always choose to leave. With our thanks, and our deepest gratitude."
"But I will fail," said Ruby.
"That would be the end of your Tournament," agreed the Steward. "But the end is near, no matter what. Remember what I said earlier: the only reward for success is a greater challenge."
"You are a wise man," said Ruby.
"I hope that is true," said the Steward. "If you have any questions, ask them now."
"My robe?"
"Leave it on until someone asks you to remove it."
"Thank you."
"In Court, a Queen rules," said the Steward, "but that is not your role today. You serve the country—and you represent the Tournament. You wear six beads on your wrist. You understand what that means as well as anyone can. Follow your instincts and you will succeed."
The Steward left, and Ruby lowered herself onto the pallet.
And waited.
And waited.
The room filled slowly. More petitioners arrived. Courtiers began to trickle in. Foreign dignitaries, odd-looking and oddly dressed, arrived in groups. A few ministers ambled through the archway; the Minister of War winked at her when he arrived. The room buzzed with conversation, but nobody paid attention to Ruby.
A trumpet blew into the noise, and faded into the silence.
"The King," announced the Herald in a high, clear voice.
The assembled company parted down the middle, and the King stepped into the open space they had created. He wore an embroidered tunic and simple trousers underneath a robe of gold cloth, open at the front. A simple gold crown adorned his dark hair. He looked proud, and preoccupied, and he did not even glance at Ruby as he circled around her to sit on his couch.
The onlookers sat. Many unrolled thin silk cushions so they would not have to rest their haunches on the cold marble floor.
"The Ambassador of Atcha and his retainers," called the Herald.
Five people entered the room and walked slowly down the bare central walkway to kneel before the King.
"Greetings, friend," said the King. He gestured to Ruby. "Morrow welcomes you."
The eldest of the group sat down in the chair to the King's left. Another member of the group, handsome, in the prime of his life, lowered himself onto the pallet. Cocky and pleased with himself, he opened the blue silk robe Ruby wore to reveal her naked body.
The audience murmured appreciatively. The young Atchik lowered the front of his trousers, revealing his cock and balls. He took his cock in one hand, pumping and squeezing, and fondled Ruby's breasts with the other.
Ruby's breath came faster. The Atchik was sleek and well-groomed. He had flashing green eyes and loose hair with a slight wave. He looked costly and delicious.
Once the Atchik was hard, he dropped Ruby's breast and signaled to someone behind her. A servant dashed forward with a small pitcher of oil. The Atchik coated his cock in the oil and displayed himself to the audience.
Ruby shivered with desire. What a big, glorious cock he had. How she would love it when he fucked her.
He urged her onto her back. Ruby spread her legs and he crawled between them, lifting her hips as he positioned himself. He met her eyes as he fit the tip of his oiled cock against her asshole. A faint, sly smile playing about his handsome lips, but Ruby didn'
t understand why.
The handsome Atchik pumped his hips slowly, pushing his cock into her ass. When the tight ring of muscle closed around the head of his cock, he looked away, down at the cold marble floor, and began to fuck her.
Ruby bit her cheek to hold back a cry.
She hadn't practiced this—had never tried to suppress her reactions to sex, when all the pleasure came from sharing them. He was big, just the right size for her cunt, but too large to fit comfortably in her ass. It would have been such a relief to thrash and moan. To wail at the intrusion, and then groan with pleasure.
The young Atchik set a delicious rhythm, and he fucked her well.
Next to them, the King sat on his couch discussing a trade agreement with the elder Atchik ambassador. They spoke of grain and ore, of ivory and fur. Their voices carried in the perfect silence. The audience, if they closed their eyes and listened, would have heard the steady drone of their conversation and not the muted thwap of the handsome Atchik's cock as he pumped it steadily into Ruby's ass.
The handsome Atchik squeezed his eyes shut and began to pant. Ruby spread her legs wider and tilted her hips to receive his thrusts, deep and powerful. She felt like he'd wrapped his fist around her heart, and gave her pleasure every time he squeezed.
The handsome Atchik grew fevered and urgent. He opened his eyes and, fingers squeezing her hips, grunted.
Instantly, the elder ambassador and the King fell silent. The whole room fell silent, and Ruby felt hundreds of eyes on her. On the Atchik, as he reached his climax, throwing his head back in a silent rictus of pleasure.
The elder ambassador rose from the chair and bowed deeply to the King.
"Are you satisfied with your audience?" asked the King.
The ambassador looked to the young Atchik, who nodded.
"We are humbled by the Kingdom of Morrow's generosity," said the elderly ambassador, bitterly, and led his group from the hall.
A pair of serving girls rushed Ruby out of the room and cleaned her with startling efficiency. They returned her to the pallet as a new group of dignitaries approached the King.
"Greetings, friend," said the King, gesturing at Ruby. "Morrow welcomes you."
Again the eldest of the group took a seat next at the King's left. The youngest, soft-lipped and richly dressed, joined Ruby on the pallet. He lay her on her back, climbed on top, and fit the head of his long, skinny cock into her cunt. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and began to fuck her.
The elder ambassador spoke of a rebellion in his country. He needed military support from the King's seasoned army.
But the young dignitary fucking Ruby spilled his seed after only a few thrusts. He tried to pretend that he was still hard, thrusting his soft cock at her, his ass bouncing, but the Herald blew his trumpet and the young ambassador went still, his cheeks pink with shame.
"Are you satisfied with your audience?" asked the King.
The senior ambassador stood. "We are satisfied," he agreed, giving his young compatriot a look of utter contempt as he pulled his cock from Ruby's cunt.
Ruby was rushed away again as the elder dignitary led his group out of the hall.
A third ambassador put Ruby on her knees and fucked her while the head of his delegation spoke to the King about a joint expedition into uncharted oceans. This ambassador caressed Ruby's breasts and hips and stomach as he penetrated her, fucking her with gusto. It was clear from the beginning that he wouldn't last long, and the King agreed to the elder ambassador's proposal quickly.
By the smug smile on the elder dignitary's face, Ruby thought that the need for haste had worked in his favor.
A fourth ambassador had her ride him, lying beneath her with his eyes shut tight and his hands curled into fists, his lips pursed into a tight white seam. Ruby clenched her cunt around his cock in tight little throbs that made him moan like a rusty bellows.
"Are you satisfied with your audience?" asked the King.
The ambassador at the King's side, witness to this display, couldn't even reply. He smacked the young man on the pallet over the head and and dragged him out of the audience chamber by the ear, the young man's cock still hard and glistening with Ruby's oils.
The Herald had nobody else to announce.
"No petitioners?" asked the King.
"Not today," snickered War, provoking a wave of laughter.
"The dragons request an audience," said Zov, speaking from somewhere within the hall.
The sound of his voice went straight to Ruby's gut. She felt cold and queasy.
"The dragons have come to ask Morrow for a favor?" asked the King.
Zov approached the throne. "We are always in need," said the dragon, still wearing the guise of a handsome young man with skin the color of dried blood.
"That's close enough," said the King sharply. "I have not invited you."
Zov glanced at Ruby and licked his lips. "If you let me take this one, we will renegotiate the Treaty."
The King hesitated. His hands closed into fists.
"You want to forbid couplings between dragons and your aspirants," said Zov. "Do you not?"
"It is essential," said the King. "But you have already made it clear that the dragons will not agree to it."
"I got a daughter off of this redhair," said Zov. "She is strong and healthy. The girl could make me another, and two children is good tribute. I will take her, and you will protect your Tournament."
Ruby bowed her head. She represented the Tournament, and the Tournament required a sacrifice. Her duty was clear, and terrible.
"No," said the King. "I will not give you one of my citizens."
"She will not refuse me," said Zov. He cupped her breast with his hot, dry hand. "The treaty allows me to take her now, as she is. I don't have to offer you anything."
"Pierce her with that thing you call a cock," said the King, "and you will die."
"What more do you want?" Zov asked. "Name it."
The silence that followed this offer was profound.
"We want the dragons to supply us with soldiers," called out the Minister of War. "You live off the fat of the land; you ought to help defend it."
"If you want dragons to die for you, you must help us to make more dragons," said Zov. "That is our position. That has always been our position."
"We will not assist in your murders," spat the King.
"Perhaps our differences are irreconcilable," said Zov. "Very well. I can find another aspirant, just as agreeable and at less cost to myself."
Silently, her heart breaking, Ruby reached for Zov's trousers. She loosened the drawstring waist and pulled the fabric low to reveal his cock, an iron-dark club of flesh covered in sharp, reddish spikes of bone. Looking at it, knowing what it had done to her, made her want to scream. To flee, to run and run until Zov could never catch her, never touch her again.
But she had a purpose. The purpose was greater than her fear of pain. So she reached out and wrapped the palm of her hand tight around the dragon's penis. The bone spikes pierced her flesh and her blood wet his cock. Blood squeezed out around the edges of her palm to drip on his thigh, onto the polished marble floor.
Zov watched her. "It takes more than blood to birth a dragon, little redhair," he said.
Ruby released his cock and shifted her grip, squeezing again a little closer to the tip. She made the blood flow freely, and caressed the hard spiked head of his cock with a bloody thumb.
Zov sniffed the air, suddenly alert. His eyes turned to slits. The Throne Room vanished, and Ruby found herself once again sitting in the grass of a beautiful spring meadow.
Birdsong filled the air. A cool breeze cut the sun's heat. Nearby, a beautiful woman with purplish skin and mahogany hair crooned at a tiny, reddish baby dragon.
"My daughter," said Zov. He dropped to his knees, and Ruby massaged his cock. The spikes made meat of her hand. Her palm looked like it had flayed, and then gnawed by rats. The pain was terrible, and yet she made herself squeeze him again and again
. She hoped he would come before her muscles ceased to obey her commands, before she had to ruin her other hand.
"How is this possible?" asked Zov. "What have you done?"
"There is sex in my blood," said Ruby, tears falling freely. "Sex and magic."
"A child will grow from this," said Zov. He moved her bloody paw to cup the head of his cock. "The seed must taste the blood, or it will not quicken."
He spilled boiling acid onto her palm. Ruby screamed in agony as it bit into raw muscle, sobbing as his cum dribbled onto the soil.
"Is that all?"
"For now," said Zov. He transported them back to the Throne Room, which had dissolved into chaos.
Guards had poured into the room, their weapons drawn and raised. The King stood, trying to shout over the noise. Onlookers screamed when Ruby and Zov reappeared, and a brace of soldiers quickly surrounded the dragon.
Zov did not seem alarmed.
The doctor ran to her, checking her cunt for bleeding before he took hold of her arm and enveloped her ravaged hand in the warm tingle of his magic.
"You fool," said the doctor, his voice shaking. "You little fool."
"I am satisfied," said Zov to the King. "You may draft a new Treaty, using the terms you have already proposed, and the dragons will ratify it."
The King sighed. "Morrow appreciates your concessions," he said to the dragon, and "the ambassador is free to leave," to his soldiers.
The doctor enveloped her hands in a sort of magical bandage, invisible and painless. Like his gloves, and the King's sheaths. The pain faded to a dull throb, timed to her heartbeat. Ruby used her uninjured hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
"What do you see, brother?" asked the King.
"Nothing I can't fix," said the doctor.
"Take the aspirant to your examination room," said the King. "She has done her country a great service. We ask no more of her."
The doctor lifted her in his arms and carried her out of the throne room.
"My legs are fine," said Ruby, once they'd reached the corridor.
"Do not speak to me," said the doctor. "Not one word."
Ruby fell silent.
"You could have died," he said.
"I expected to," said Ruby.
The Tournament Page 9