Dye's Kingdom: Wanting It Forever

by Madison Hayes

  * * * * *

  Surreptitiously, he sought her out at the end of the day and found her when her laughter rang across the camp. Pretending interest in something else, he turned away but slid a glance sideways to find her heading through camp with the blond sergeant at her side.

  So she wasn’t unhappy. She was only unhappy with him.

  Upon hearing her name called out, he looked toward the source of the sound. He didn’t like her name on anyone’s lips but his own, he realized, and found himself grinding his teeth as the two soldiers slowed to let Brand catch up to them.

  Unable to stop himself, he watched Brand saunter up to join them, stopping before her, arms crossed, knees flexing as he stood, his voice a deep murmur the king couldn’t quite make out.

  Taking a step to the side, he put a tent between himself and the threesome as he backed into the shadows of a tree and continued to watch as Pall broke away from the group and strode off, leaving Martigay alone with the Raith. Together, they strolled off toward the edge of camp.

  Just the two of them.

  Dye wanted to kill the man. With his bare hands. Instead he sent for the Captain of his Scouts and set him on some minor mission. The fact that it took a full thirty minutes for the scout to be located and report back set Dye’s teeth on edge. After issuing the scout his new orders, he apologized for interrupting Brand’s scheduled time off.

  “Actually, you didn’t interrupt anything, sir,” Brand delivered with a smile that was somehow irritating. “I managed to pull off everything I wanted to and was just finishing up when your summons reached me.”

  * * * * *

  The next day he traveled the short distance upstream to the mine, accompanied by part of his personal guard. With his main force behind him, a bulwark against the Saharat advance, and only a few hours travel between his army and his men at the mine, Dye decided ten of his guard would be enough to fend off any Saharat unwise enough to still be in the vicinity. Since the Thrallish Royal Guard traditionally went on foot, Dye chose to join them on foot and left his horse behind. Upon reaching a fairly deep river crossing, his guard felled a thick tree to span the high banks of the river.

  Jumping onto the thick log behind five of his guard, Dye headed across with the rest of his guard following. Upon reaching the far bank, he automatically glanced back, his thoughts on Martigay. He found her, motionless, at the center of the log, evidently the last of his guard to follow.

  “What’s the problem?” he called out.

  “I don’t know. I…I…don’t think I can move.”

  She appeared to be frozen in fear, staring at her feet and the water that tumbled a good eight feet below the log on which she balanced.

  “Just slide your foot along. You’ll be all right. If you fall into the water, we’ll look for you downstream. You can swim, can’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. I can swim. I…I think it’s the height, sir.”

  “Get down on your knees and crawl across.”

  “I c-can’t, C-Commander. I’m sorry. I can’t move,” she shouted.

  Finally moved to concern, Dye returned to the newly constructed bridge and sauntered along the log toward her. With an air of confidence meant to reassure her, he extended his hand.

  Her hand shook as she inched it away from her body, toward his.

  With her small hand in his, he coaxed her forward, or tried to. “Come on, Martigay. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.” She wouldn’t move her feet. With a gently chiding curse, he yanked her into his arms. Apparently panicking, she grabbed at him, throwing him off balance.

  They hit the water together, their bodies twisting and twining as they tumbled downstream. Holding his breath and wrapping his body around her, Dye took the brunt of the bumpy ride as the cold rush swept them over the river-rounded rock.

  Together, they were rolling over the cobbled riverbed when the river suddenly shallowed. Digging at the rocky river bottom with knees and feet, Dye ended up on top of her and found her grinning up at him, her hair swirling beneath her in the shallows, evidently pleased with the way things had turned out—and the fact that she’d dunked the king—despite her fear of heights.

  To be honest, it was worth getting wet and cold to see her smile again. Still, he wanted to wipe that wicked smile off her face, and he knew just how he wanted to do it. With his lips. Slowly, he angled his head and lowered his lips to crush hers.

  In the next instant, he was getting his feet beneath him, straddling her as he stood in the thin rush of water, dragging her body through his legs as his mouth slipped on hers. Shoving Martigay behind him, he drew his steel, his eyes on the trees that guarded the riverbank.

  “What is it?” she queried carefully.

  Seconds later, several Saharat filtered through the trees at the river’s edge. All of the men were armed with curving scimitars, while several of them carried light bows as well. Almost immediately, Dye felt her hand brush the back of his arm, just above his elbow. He shook her off, not wanting the enemy to think she might mean anything to him.

  “My Lord,” she whispered in a hushed tone of mortification. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she stuttered, “I’ve placed you in danger.”

  “Shut up, soldier,” he commanded in a low voice, “I’ll handle this.”

  Silently, the Saharat stood motionless, apparently waiting for something or someone as Dye backed across the wide, open river, keeping the clinging girl behind him. With an arctic slash of numbing cold, the frigid rush of the river knifed at his feet and calves like a sharp sword of ice.

  A horse stepped out of the trees and splashed into the shallow water, the rider finely outfitted in flowing khalat and colorful headwrap. A strong hook of a nose and the keen eyes of a predatory bird dominated the man’s dark, leathery face and, as he made his way toward them, the angled rays of the sun glinted on the extravagant silver that was worked into his horse’s beautiful harness.

  From the back of his mount, the Saharat rider smiled down at Dye. “King Dye of Thrall, I presume? I’m the Seik Behzad of the United Saharat Clans. It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, especially under the current circumstances…whereby I find you are my prisoner.”

  * * * * *

  Continuing his careful retreat backward, Dye’s eyes narrowed to glare at the desert aristocrat. “Why would you think I’m the king?”

  “We…ah…encountered your guard upstream. Only the Ruler of Thrall travels with a guard made up entirely of Thralls. I assume you’re gentleman enough to surrender in return for their lives?”

  “Do I look like a fucking gentleman?” Dye snarled up at the man.

  The man shook his head. “Not particularly. But I’m willing to reserve judgment on the matter.” He squinted off into the lowering sun. “I assume the concern you’re exhibiting for the woman at your back is extended to the rest of your subjects?” The Seik taunted him with a cynical smirk. “If you refuse to surrender, your guard will die. In addition, I’ll do my best to kill you, too. Although…” the man leaned in his saddle to put his eyes on the woman behind the king, “I might let the girl live…for a while, at least. I find the women of your race…so attractive, so much more desirable than—”

  “That’s because the Saharat treat their women like shit.”

  The man bared his darkly stained teeth. “Women are made for a man’s use. And when something’s used up” the man shrugged, “you replace it.”

  Reflexively, Dye’s fist tightened on his sword while his other hand tucked Martigay more completely behind his body.

  “If you surrender, I’ll guarantee your life, the lives of your men.”

  “The woman’s one of my soldiers.”

  The Saharat nodded. “The lives of your soldiers, then.”

  “For how long?”

  “For as long as your lives are useful.”

  “This won’t stop our campaign to end your occupation of Amdahl.”

  Casually, the Saharat rested his forearms on the pommel of his saddle. �
�Perhaps not, but I imagine it will slow it down considerably, and perhaps even buy us some concessions. In the meantime, you can be my guest for this evening’s meal.”

  * * * * *

  Finding himself the Seik’s reluctant guest for lastmeal, Dye forced himself to choke down a few bits of stringy meat while evaluating his surroundings. He and his host reclined on rich, thick rugs littered with embroidered pillows while trays of food were delivered and positioned on the ground between them. As he took in the interior of the long, low, desert tent, Dye’s stomach cramped, wondering where they’d taken Martigay and how she fared.

  Chewing on a tough bit of gristled meat, his eyes were on the Seik’s two armed guards positioned either side of the tent’s opening. Mentally, he calculated the distance between himself and the guards, as well as the odds and opportunity for attack. The Seik’s chuckle brought his attention back to the aristocrat. As Dye regarded him coolly, the arrogant Seik stroked the jeweled hilt of the dagger tucked into the sash at his waist.

  “Goat testicles,” the Seik indicated, lifting a finger to point at Dye’s mouth.

  Dye nodded without smiling and held the Seik’s amused gaze as he swallowed the mouthful after a few more grindings of his jaw. “My soldiers?” he inquired.

  “They’ll be joining us, momentarily,” the Seik assured him. “After we’ve eaten.”

  “I’m done,” Dye announced curtly, wiping his fingers on his leggings.

  The Seik gave him a slight smile before he raised his hand and one of the guards at the door shouted out a command. In answer, a naked girl was shoved into the tent, through the tent’s opening. Martigay. Without thinking, Dye bolted to his feet. His eyes shot daggers at the Seik. “What’s this, Behzad?”

  “Just a little after-dinner entertainment, King Dye.” At a wave of the aristocrat’s hand, Dye’s Thrallish guard followed Martigay into the tent. Roped together in a line, the Thrall’s wrists were secured behind their backs with several twists of rough twine.

  “You guaranteed—”

  “Your lives only,” the Seik interrupted. “I didn’t say anything about rape…or torture.”

  “Rape!” Dye’s stomach lurched as he stared at the fabulously naked Martigay, her curves caressed by the golden light from a dozen lamps. With growing horror, he regarded the nine men of his guard. Putting two and two together—or, in this case, nine and one—he wasn’t pleased with the resulting sum. “They’re Thralls,” he croaked out. “They’ll die first, on my order.”

  The Saharat shrugged. “That might be entertaining.”

  Dye took an instant to consider the Seik’s words before he shot Martigay a look of apology and regret.

  “Who is this meant to punish?” he demanded abruptly. “The girl? She does this many men in a night. In fact, she’s probably done these men in a night.”

  Martigay gasped and he watched her as she blinked back a stunned look of outrage. Drawing a breath, he continued. “The men? Normally, they pay her for it. They’ll be glad to get a free fuck. And me? Why should I care?”

  Contemplatively, the Seik lifted his brows. “You have a point, King Dye. Perhaps I’ll bring in my own men to rape the girl.”

  Dye fought back the cold trickle of fear that wrapped around his spine, hoping to Hadi’s Hearth his concern didn’t show. “Your religion forbids rape,” he pointed out with a forced sneer.

  The Seik shrugged. “I’m not a particularly religious man. But…would you be more comfortable with torture?”

  Affecting an expression of disinterest, Dye rolled his eyes in answer. “Bring your men in. They won’t thank you for it, once they have the clap.” With his challenging gaze fixed on the Seik, Dye ignored the strangled protest that came from the girl’s direction.

  The Seik’s mouth pursed as impatience stirred in his bored features. “Do you have the clap, King Dye?”

  Shaking his head in a clear expression of denial and refusal, Dye feigned horror as he stared at the man. With a signal from the Seik, two bows were trained on the king.

  “Rape her mouth, if you’re particular,” the Seik suggested pleasantly.

  Dye’s face was red with anger as he ratcheted out of his chair toward her. “You’ll be the death of me yet, you little slut.”

  Martigay bared her gritted teeth. “I hope so, My Lord.”

  “You thankless little whore.” Grasping Martigay by both her upper arms, he dragged her face up to meet his as he snarled at her. “There’s a blade strapped to my inner thigh,” he hissed into her ear.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to kill myself,” she hissed back.

  “Of course not, you little idiot. Just get it to my hand…and I’ll kill you myself.”

  While he yanked at his ties, she slid to her knees before him, her hands dragging down over his flanks. Pulling out his cock, he spread his legs as he fed his stiff flesh into her mouth, gasping at that first rough contact of her tongue. “Get on with it,” he gritted down at her.

  She took her mouth off his cock long enough to answer, “My Lord. I am on it.”

  The Seik’s laughter caused the king to turn and glare at his captor. “Who’s raping whom here, My Lord?” Behzad queried in a lazy tone of amusement.

  “I can’t fuck her if I’m not hard.”

  “I feel sorry for you,” the Seik sighed. “A woman like that on her knees before you and you’re not hard. You’re a disappointment to all mankind, King Dye.”

  “The girl and I have some history between us. I can’t help it if I don’t find her desirable. I fear the little harlot will bite me off.”

  The Seik laughed, again. “That is the chance one takes—when one enters a woman’s mouth. You might want to reconsider your alternatives,” he suggested amiably.

  Wrenching his cock from between her lips with an angry backward heave of his hips, Dye yanked Martigay to her feet and shoved her toward the tent’s wall. “Get over there,” he rasped at her. Backing toward the wall, Martigay placed herself beside one of the Seik’s two men guarding the tent’s opening. “Get on your knees, you little whore, and hold still.”

  When Martigay slid to her knees, Dye immediately braced his hands against the tightly stretched canvas at her back, pumping his hips forward as he forced his cock down her throat. Her hands were on the front of his hard thighs, fighting him away as the top of his leggings made their slow descent down his hips. Sliding one of her hands between his legs, she tasted his seed in her mouth as he started to spurt.

  Then his blade was in her hand.

  As her mouth filled with his release, she sucked hard, palming the steel beneath her hand and sliding it up his body. Gently, she bit on the thick flesh in her mouth—to remind him.

  His hand met hers and, just afterward, the steel was ripping downward through the guts of the guard who stood beside them. With his other hand, Dye pulled the dying man’s sword, turned, and flung it across the room where it stood, imbedded to the hilt, quivering in the Seik’s chest.

  Twisting up onto her feet, Martigay yanked Dye’s dripping knife from the guard’s body and threw herself at the roped line of Thralls, hacking at their bonds while Dye kicked the second guard to his knees and used the man’s bow to choke the life out of him. Martigay was sawing through the last man’s bonds as the king wrapped the Seik’s cloak around her.

  “The horses are south of us,” he told the circle of Thralls, his voice hushed. “The sentries guard from without, not within. Four guards are standing outside the tent—take care of them.”

  Dye’s hands lingered to hold her as four of his men glided silently through the tent’s opening. The remainder of his guard awaited his next order but he turned Martigay and searched her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  She bobbed her head. “They didn’t do anything to me, other than undress me,” she explained shortly.

  He tipped her chin with his fist and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “I was pretty rough with you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m all rig
ht,” she insisted as her eyes lightened. “But, just for your information,” she informed him. “I don’t have the clap. In addition I’m not much good for any more than five or six men a night.” She squeaked as his palm made sharp contact with her bottom, then grinned up at him as he pulled her close.

  “Right, then,” he whispered sternly as he pushed her toward the doorway. “We’re out of here.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So, are you going to promote her?” Warrik was asking.

  The two men, along with a few of Dye’s younger lieutenants, were sharing a jar of wine in his tent. Warrik grinned at his friend. “Rumor has it that she…performed…admirably during your escape from Behzad.”

  Dye shot a glare at his friend at the same time that he jerked a reluctant nod of agreement. “But it was she who put us at risk in the first place.” Dye hesitated. “And I’m reluctant to make a captain out of a soldier who’s afraid of heights.”

  “Martigay? Afraid of heights?” Prithan broke in with a laugh, which ended abruptly when he took in the king’s expression.

  Dye’s eyes narrowed on his lieutenant. “What?” The quiet word was a command that slashed like recently sharpened steel. “What?”

  “Sir. It’s only that…I’ve seen her go up the cliffs for cormorant eggs. On the coast. She…climbs…like a monkey, sir. Sergeant Palleden was beside me as we watched from below. He said she was born on the side of a cliff. Said Captain…Pawyn Martigay could skip along the walls at Veronix with her eyes closed…sir. If she wanted to…”

  Dye stared at Prithan several moments before his mouth set in a hard line. “She’s not afraid of heights,” he stated in a low voice of revelation.

  The lieutenant shook his head in answer as Warrik threw back his golden mane and laughed.