Chapter 8 

“SAVIN!” Lenna shouted, scrambling to keep her feet and doing her best to look like that maneuver had gone entirely to plan. “Hand Katerina over and I swear on anything that matters that I’ll make it quick.”

From her position on the raised dais almost straddling Lenna’s tied up lover, the Magister gawked at Lenna for a few seconds of flummoxed silence. Then, to her credit, she assumed the same straight-backed, imperious posture from the night they met at the ball, the bizarre ink she used to form her dagger bleeding back into her arm in time to not inhibit a round of sarcastic applause. 

“Oh, truly a spectacular display, Dame Lenna!” she began, ignoring the scampering shape of Magnus as he rushed to get himself out of the way. “And my have you grown! From sorry stallion to blushing mare to noble percheron! Do wait a moment and I’ll spay you properly.” Savin snapped for Adam’s attention.

Adam stood off to the far side of the room, apparently lost in his own little world. He was still staring in surprised confusion at the hole where the door had been, much to the annoyance of his co-conspirator.

“What are you waiting for?” Savin asked. “She’s the only thing standing between you and your throne! Subdue her!” 

There was annoyance in his face. Here he was, the King in all but name, and a foreign witch was giving him orders. 

“As you command, my lady,” he replied, teeth clenched. Then, with an acrobatic grace unhindered by the armour he wore, he leapt off the dais and unsheathed his blade before his feet touched the ground. Tall, handsome, masculine. A Charmed Prince stepping out of a storybook, now before her to claim his birthright from an unworthy pretender. One of the oldest stories ever told.

“Dame Lenna,” he began, “as the oldest male heir to the Kingdom of the Frontiers, and in the name of my late father, King Magnus of House Forde, I order you to disarm yourself and kneel. This is a direct command upon your honour as a Knight of the Realm!”

Lenna halted as if struck. Her oath. Her word. Her honour. These were important to her. Sacred. Binding. Her grip on the sword flexed, her mind raced. Who was she if not a Knight? 

Then her eyes found Katerina. Bound, helpless, and at the mercy of someone with a dark and terrible heart. In that moment, she got her answer.

“I swore an oath to your father, Adam,” Lenna pronounced, as much for her own sake as anyone else’s, “to defend the Kingdom, obey his orders, and to protect him, his wife, and his children from harm. But…I pledged my sword to him, not to you. And as far as I’m concerned, there’s no greater threat to the Kingdom than the two creatures standing before me.”

“You’d forsake your vows?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “What kind of Knight are you?”

Lenna shrugged. “A married one, as a matter of fact. And you got my wife trussed up like a feastday ham. Let her go, Your Highness. I’d prefer for today’s tally to be only one Forde brother pummelled unconscious.”

The corner of his eye twitched at the mention of his brother, but his next words were in a more conciliatory tone. “Paris is alive? Good. I didn’t…” He coughed, clearing his throat. When he spoke again, it was with the surety of an omniscient narrator. “Last time it was you who ended up on the floor. This time I won’t be holding back to spare your feminine spirit.”

“Saints and the fucking Sea,” Lenna said, rolling her eyes and muttering one of Crys’ favourite oaths, “you two love to talk. Are you betrothed?”

That sarcastic question seemed to cut at the both of them far more than she’d anticipated, much to Lenna’s enjoyment. He wasn’t wrong though; years of trainers and armsmasters from across the world had made him a killing machine. His Father’s favourite weapon, if Katerina’s stories were true. Lenna needed some edge. She had a shield and a cause to fight for, but would that be enough?

It will have to be. And besides, the hero never gets beaten by the same foe twice. What kind of Knight would I be if I let that happen?

Adam aimed his blade toward her, then drew back into a readied guard: hilt even with his mouth, elbows down, knees bent and ready to move. He didn’t have a shield, though from Lenna’s own personal experience, he didn’t need it to be formidable.

“I won’t hold back,” he told her, “there’ll be no reprieve. Barbarian Queens have died on my blade. Savage legions have broken beneath my heel. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Lenna’s answer began with a feral, jubilant grin.

“More than anything in the world,” she said, then charged. This was not the time for considered approaches and tactical acumen. Lenna was a finely honed weapon. An arrow, shot from spite straight at the heart of Adam Forde and his whole fucking scheme. His eyes widened as if realizing this was no feint. Caught between looking to roll or plunge his blade forward, she left her feet, throwing herself forward with her shield out like a battering ram.

Really, he should have seen it coming; she’d just done it to the door.

Lenna caught a glimpse of pure bewildered terror on his face as he must have recognised the relic in her left hand and abandoned his attempt to brace himself against her charge. Instead, he wrapped himself around her shield, unbalancing her and sending them both tumbling together. They rolled an uncertain number of times together, stopping when Lenna found herself on top. Without waiting for him to recover, she dropped the shield and started feeding him her fist.

“You. Dumb. Fucking. Prick!” she swore, punching his gorgeous face in the pause between every word she spoke. Before she broke her hand, she switched to her right while still gripping her sword. “You. Don’t. Make. Deals. With. Magisters!”

Adam yanked his knees up to his chest and thrust her off with a heave and an impressive display of leg strength. She flew back, and by the time she was back to her knees and at guard, the eldest Forde male was returning the favour.

He swung. She blocked, then screamed as he somehow turned the glide of his blade across hers into a slice that snared her left wrist. A finger’s breadth to the other side and it would have hit the artery and her reunion with Katerina would have to be postponed to whenever they met up in the afterlife. She thought about drinking the last restoration potion…but no. This fight was just getting started, and she still had to deal with Savin.

Instead, she scrambled back to her feet and got some distance from the Prince. He was significantly worse for wear from her assault. Blood streamed from a broken nose, and he was very clearly in immense pain. But that hadn’t dissuaded him. On the contrary, he moved like a hungry predator. Sure-footed. Lethal. Looking for the right moment to deliver the killing stroke. He sidestepped, and Lenna circled the opposite way. Eyes locked on one other, waiting for the other to make a single, fatal mistake.

Another strike. Then another. She tried to make for the shield, but he put himself between her and the heater with quick little steps that almost caught her out. A leap back kept her from getting the tip of his sword stuffed in her belly, but he advanced forward and snapped his blade like a viper against her unprotected torso. A pair of slashes, one down her abdomen and another across the side of her face. Blood streamed down her left cheek.

Fuck.

“You used to be worth something,” he said, words spackled with blood as he spoke. “You think I’m the only one getting manipulated by a mage? The Knight Lennox I knew was proud to serve his nation. To serve his King! Now look at you. Look at what my sister has made you into. Weak. Faithless. A puppet in a dress!”

Lenna’s grip on her sword turned white knuckled. “I like the way I am. She just helped me to see there was more to life than responsibilities to others.”

He barked an unconvincing laugh. “My sister uses weak men. You’re not the first. You might not even be the tenth! She turns them into dolls, and you thank her for it? Tell me, right now, would you have asked her to make you a woman?”

Lenna’s throat caught, the answers to his taunts increasingly difficult to come by. Would she have ever realized what she was missing? Being crossborn wasn’t incredibly rare, but it wasn’t exactly a celebrated practice either. It was just something that some people were. Lenna, Lennox, had always thought it was an affectation that only the rich and the powerful were allowed. Playing with their bodies as the ultimate act of self-definition. It had never occurred to her that she was merely ‘fine’ being a man. If offered the chance, would she go back?

A jolt at the thought. No. Never. She was happier. Not just with Katerina, but as herself. Even if Katerina left tomorrow, she would still be Lenna. Because being Lenna made her want to wake up tomorrow. Made her live for more than the next day, and the day after that.

“No,” she replied. Then, with a warmth in her heart that belied her situation: “But that means I owe her more than I can repay. Without her, I’d be an empty suit of armour. With her…I have a life worth living.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Touching, truly. Tragic you’re about to lose it.”

He leapt forward again, sword hacking horizontally as if trying to cut her belly open. Lenna retreated, but he kept swinging, twirling three times, each aiming at another part of the body. These attacks weren’t subtle; they were furious, rapid-fire assaults that she could do nothing but block and retreat. By the time her shoulder blades kissed wall, she realized she’d run out of room.

Fuck!

Only by crouching at the last moment did she avoid his final strike, his sword cleaving the air where her neck had been moments before. A stiff jab with her sword pommel to his codpiece sent him grunting and stumbling backward, giving her a moment’s reprieve to catch her breath.

“Oh ho ho!” Savin cackled, hand over her mouth, “d’you need a hand spanking this brat, dearest?”

“You stay OUT of this, WITCH!” Adam snarled, throwing a threatening finger her way before returning to cradling his genitals. When it looked like the pain had subsided enough, he leapt back into the fight.

Lenna didn’t let him take the initiative, yet he stole it regardless. Everywhere she attacked, his blade was there to meet it. She tried feinting, but he always seemed to catch where she was really going to strike. He was good. Maybe even better than she was.

Fine. He wants to work brilliant masterstrokes, let’s see him handle a tavern brawl.

“Sorry for the low blow. I’m afraid the spirit of combat got the better of me,” she admitted, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her offhand. “It must be as you said: I’m a disgrace of a Knight. I was never of the blood. Father was a soldier, mother was a camp follower he fancied. Your father Knighted me as a gift to his memory when he passed, and for my own service to the crown. He believed there was something of my dad in me. Something worth a damn. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe I’m still nothing but a sellsword. A cutthroat. Someone who would do whatever I have to to win.”

She ducked to her right side, then shot off toward the left. Her boot met the low wall that formed the Greathall’s raised dais, using it to propel herself sideways through the air. Her blade came down like a scythe, weight of momentum pushing past the strength of his block into his own sword was pressed against his neck. By the time he put his full force into pushing her back, she’d smashed her forehead into his ruined nose so hard she saw stars again. A crunch and a gasp of pain told her everything she needed to hear.

“You…you whore!” he screamed, rendered slightly comical by his obstructed nose.

“What’s the matter, Highness?” she said through a cathartic laugh, “Master Greylyn never break your pretty face?” Oh he was mad. But he was still a better fighter than her. She was just about out of tricks, save one she just might get away with. It would mean doing something terribly risky, as well as taking what Miria told her on faith…

Then again, Katerina has never accused me of being particularly clever.

He came at her again, eyes awash in murderous intent. But this time she didn’t try to play at swords. She dodged, and dodged, and waited for the right moment for a skewering strike. When it came, she dropped her sword and rushed him. His blade slammed into her chest with enough force to cleave straight past her ribcage and into her heart. Her whole body seized. She stopped breathing. So did Adam, his expression one of both ecstatic delight and relief as he finally struck true.

It hurt. It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt. A steel blade as long as her arm plunged into her heart, stilling it instantly. The muscle spasmed. Her blood stilled.

But it wasn’t the first time Lenna had bled for Katerina. She could take it.

The ruby on the choker around her neck began to glow. Adam’s eyes leapt between the fatal wound he’d just dealt her and the burning scarlet gem. He grasped it to pull it free of her throat, but only managed to scald his palm in the process.

“My…turn,” Lenna said, barely above a whisper.

She grabbed the sword’s edge with her left hand. Then her right. Slowly, ever so slowly, Lenna pulled Adam’s blade from her chest. Her hands bled freely as they dug into the steel. Moments passed before Adam realized what was happening. By the time he started resisting her efforts, the weapon was both out of her body and out of his control. The wound that should have killed any mortal woman sealed itself shut with a flash of that selfsame ruby light. Then, its task complete, the Death Ward gem cracked and shattered, falling to dull grey pieces onto the floor.

“How…how are you doing this?!” he gasped. Maybe he knew about the Death Ward. Maybe he just guessed. But intellectual knowledge of an enchantment was one thing. Watching a dead woman rip a sword out of her heart was another. She yanked it from his rubbery grip, letting it fall to the stone beneath their feet.

“It’s simple,” she replied, quivering lips curved into the slightest of smiles, “my heart’s not yours to take.”

She cradled his neck on the inside of her elbow, then threw her weight backward. The maneuver slammed him face-first into the stone floor at speed. The fingers holding onto his own sword slackened, blade clattering to the stone moments later. The attack was certainly not in Master Greylyn’s toolkit. But then again, he’d always been in favour of seizing an advantage.

It didn’t take a healer to tell he was out of this fight. Lenna did the Prince the courtesy of rolling him over on his side to make sure he didn’t choke on his own blood. Adam Forde, presumptive heir to the Throne of the Kingdom of the Frontier, stared at the wall with glazed eyes, a painfully familiar lack of comprehension on his comely features. Brain commotion was the term Magnus had used, and he’d likely as not to lose the sense of smell after this. But he was alive.

And so was she.

Her hand felt the hole his sword had cut in her tunic. She half expected the gap in her flesh to still be there, her current conscious state a mere figment of a dying woman’s imagination. But here she stood, whole, armed, and alive.

Coup defeated and not a single dead brother-in-law? All in all a pretty sharp day’s work for a puppet in a dress.

She got to her feet, kicked his sword far out of reach just in case, and once she was ready, picked up her crystal blade. She’d almost mangled her left hand from grabbing Adam’s sword so tight, and it was tough to grip her own weapon as a result. But this fight was almost over. If worse came to worse, she still had the last of Magnus’ potions.

“You’re next, mage,” Lenna said, “I beat the shit out of you once in front of all your magical friends. What say you to double or nothing?”

“Oh yes, dear. You beat me in a sword fight,” Savin amended. “But that’s not my area of expertise. Would you like to see what I do best?” 

Rather than a weapon to present as her half of an exchange of arms, she held out her empty right hand. Then, with a pitiless smile, she snapped her thumb and middle finger.

Flash! The centre of Lenna’s crystal sword began to glow white. Her eyes widened. Her blood ran cold. Time slowed. The seconds of a clock passing like days.

Crack. The blade splintered down a hundred blossoming faultlines. Lenna knew what was about to happen. Somehow she knew. She tried to turn her face from the blinding light, but it was like she was trapped in amber. Everything was moving so terribly, terribly—

BANG

Her sword erupted into a thousand pieces, sending her flying backward as a spray of jagged shards peppered the left side of her body. An archipelago of wounds stitched from her arms to her cheek. The eye closest to the blast filled with red agony. The other, miraculously untouched, saw the outline of her sword that the brilliant flash had cast against the inside of her eyelid. A haze on her retina like a sunspot.

When she hit the ground, it was not as a person, but as a mass of indescribable pain.

The peel of Savin’s laughter drowned out the ringing in Lenna’s ears. She stepped down from the dais towards Lenna’s prone form, the material in her ebon dress swirling around the stairs like the bottom of an inkwell.

“You jumped-up peasant. Child of a knocked-up camp follower! You’d see yourself my rival? My equal?” The blade in her hand slithered beneath her skin, travelling the full length of one arm, across her chest, and the other arm, only to manifest once more in her opposite hand. An impossible creation played with like a toy at the edge of her perception. How had she thought she had a chance?

Lenna felt around in her pockets. She needed the second potion. Her fingers were wet with blood from dozens of wounds, the vial hard to find with rapidly stiffening fingers. But she found it. Somehow she found the vial. If she could…just…

Savin’s boot came down hard and fast. It smashed down on Lenna’s hand, cracking the glass. When she raised her hand, a fortune in alchemy dripped through her fingers.

“The brother’s formula, I assume? I can smell that shut-in failure from here. A pathetic crutch for a weak bloodline.”

Well…shit.

“Stop it!” Katerina cried. “Please, Savin.”

Lenna had never heard Katerina sound that fearful. That desperate. Really out of character. Though, through the clarity that only a state of shock could provide, she could acknowledge a lack of options. A Magister was within striking range of her. Her weapon had been shattered, her wounds wouldn’t be magically healed this time. In every measure, it was over.

And yet.

She put one hand down on the stone. Fragments of her broken weapon bit into her palm. She ignored them.

She put her weight on her other hand. It bled. It screamed. Pain spiked through one half of her body and the other was worryingly numb. The muscles in her arms howled. She was tired. She wanted to stop. But she knew she could not.

Lenna Stone began to rise.

“Savin, please. I surrender. I…I’ll give up my magic,” Katerina said, the end of the sentence inflected upward, as if she hardly believed they were coming out of her mouth. “I will do anything. You win. I’m begging you. Don’t kill her.”

Lenna looked over to see real fear in her wife’s face. Tears too. She looked so strange without her cold confidence, or even those flickers of warmth she’d shown when they were alone.

It’s good to know she really does love me, she thought, but it might make this next part harder.

Savin barked a laugh. “You hear that, Lenna dearest? It’s over. Just stay down and let the adults work out the details.”

Lenna got to one foot. It gave out. Her knee hit the floor, digging more crystal pieces into her skin. She tried again, forcing her legs to hold. They would hold. They had to hold. Despite feeling all the pain her nerve endings could allow, Lenna stood. Each breath was a labour, each heartbeat sending more blood out the myriad wounds across the half of her body peppered by crystal shrapnel. She screamed, a harrowing sound to her ears that let the whole damned world know how much it hurt.

Yet she stood. For her honour. For her kingdom. For her wife. And for the sheer spite of it.

Savin’s triumphant grin melted away. In its place something close to a human emotion. Pity? Remorse? They looked almost as alien on her face as fear did on Katerina’s.

“You can’t be serious. You’re going to make me kill you?” The question was asked not out of malice, but out of genuine curiosity. “The battle is over. You’ve lost. Surely you don’t actually prefer death over defeat?”

Lenna coughed, bleeding fists balled and held up in a loose pugilistic stance.

“I’m a Knight,” Lenna said without affect or high emotion. A statement. A declaration of fact.

“I see,” Savin said, her inky black dagger sliding back into her left hand. “Understand that this gives me no joy. I want my rivals beaten so I can gloat. I get nothing if they’re dead. But I’ll lend you the same courtesy you offered me: I’ll make this quick.”

Lenna’s woozy, one-eyed gaze drifted from Savin to the splendour of the Greathall. It truly was a glorious building to be killed in. The stained glass would be letting in the dawn’s light any moment now. A flight of fancy about maybe getting to see the sun was momentarily eclipsed by movement over Savin’s shoulder. From where she stood, Lenna saw two things that the Magister could not. 

The first thing she saw was that there was someone standing atop the strange balcony she’d noticed during the Mounting. The Maiden’s Head, she remembered. A shape climbed atop the high, cage-like railing, a single thin strand of glowing thread tied to their waist leading back to one of the support posts. The figure brandished a wicked looking dagger and was preparing to dive.

The second thing she could see was another figure behind the railing. Obscured by the stone columns, Lenna could just make out a bow being drawn, loaded with an arrow made of smoke.

Riven. Turai.

About fucking time.

Unfortunately for all but the target, the shadow of joy that drifted across Lenna’s woozy mind gave the secret away. Savin was a Magister, Lenna supposed after a moment of impartial distance from the whole affair…possibly brought on by bloodloss. Regardless, one did not reach the pinnacle of magical attainment by being inattentive of the finer details, even at her moment of triumph. She whirled from the Knight’s broken but unbowed form just in time to see Turai loose the first magical arrow from her magical bow.

“No!”

Black tendrils exploded out of her dress and shot forth like the wrath a monstrous kraken made of shadow. They lashed the first missile down, solidified air dissolving into cracking nothing where magic caught magic. More lashed out to seek the archer, and more arrows split them apart. But Turai was no longer shooting at Savin; she was trying to stay alive.

Riven slid down the thread, escaping moments before losing her binding to a slash of the Magister’s fell sorcery. She dropped to a roll and surged forward, blade ready to take the life of the woman who trapped her, tormented her, forced her to become a pawn in someone else’s game.

Sweat poured down Savin’s face as she launched a separate attack with the voiddress at Riven, both hands now extended in an overflowing, ceaseless display of power. But the Thornblade cut through the black magic like a tailor’s shears. The tendrils exploded into a hundred light-warping petals, and Riven ignited a glowing cloak around herself to keep from being peeled apart.

“Damn mutt,” Savin seethed, and focused her power on the hand assailing Turai. Her ebon tendrils caught the Princess by the wrist and yanked her forward. Final Whisper went tumbling to the ground, but she was able to keep herself from flying over the railing by bracing two feet against the barrister. Turai was strong, but so was the void. Something had to give

Surprising all parties involved, it was the old stone balcony. Centuries it had stood, and centuries more would it have stood, had the combined pressure of Turai’s unflexing legs and Savin’s conjured limbs not joined the work of generations of daughters pulling furiously at the bars in protest of their impending fates. A trio of stone pillars crumbled loose, and suddenly Turai was in free fall.

Riven saw in that singular moment a chance, bright and true, to plunge her dagger into the heart of the woman she knew as Huntress. Her tormentor. Her manipulator. The woman who knew, all along, that she was a woman but hid that away to keep her as her catspaw. Riven could kill her, here and now. All she’d need to do was ignore Turai’s suspended form. She might survive. It was only—

The thought never completed. Riven was already moving to put herself in the path of the archer’s falling body. It would be a near thing, and she had to toss the Thornblade aside for the use of both hands. But if that meant she’d never be the person Savin was, it was worth it.

Turai slammed into Riven’s outstretched arms. They tumbled, ending in a bruised and battered pile. Hurt, but alive. For a split fraction of a second, the pair shared relief.

A hammer of angry night smashed into Riven and Turai, slamming them against the far wall. Voidblack flowed like fluid from Savin’s paired hands, across the distance, and over their bodies. Creeping across their bodies, up towards their mouths. Their eyes.

“Ha…ha ha….HAHAHAHA!” Savin said, bursts of relieved laughter that started manic and quickly devolved to truly unhinged. “All of your efforts and none of you can kill me?! Children playing at champion! Pathetic fucking pondscum! Weak, simpering wretches! I could have taken over this Kingdom years ago if I’d known it was this easy. I could have…I—”

Savin’s taunting vanished. The black ink that poured from her hands splattered to the ground, freeing both her victims. She reached behind her to find the needle that had moments before had been inserted into Katerina now plunged into the back of her shoulder.

And holding it there was the shaking hand of Magnus Forde.

“No more,” the youngest sibling said with a quivering voice. “You’ve hurt enough people today, Savin. No…no more!”

The thrust of the needle into Savin was quick. Artless. The sheer absurdity of the situation had caught her in stunned surprise. But as her eyes found the refined Throttler concoction flowing freely down the tube toward her arm, she worked out what was happening moments before Lenna launched herself forward with what strength she had left. This might be it. Their last chance to end this.

Savin’s fingers tightened around the needle to yank it out. But Lenna’s larger hands were already there, crushed the Magister’s palm around the injection point. Rather than pluck it out, she’d mashed it deeper into the muscles of her back. Magnus grabbed onto the arm that the needle had plunged into to keep her from running away, and it was two against one in a skill a caster like her had never trained to master: brute, naked force.

Savin’s high pitched squeal of outrage was deafening off the impeccable acoustics of the Greathall, but Lenna knew she would hold it there if it was the last thing she did. Which it probably was.

“I want you to remember this,” Lenna growled, eyes boring into Savin’s as they welled up with frustrated tears. “Every night from now until the day you die, remember that at your moment of triumph, you lost to a handful of powerless wretches, freaks, and failures. And now…you’re one of us.”

Savin freed her hand and prepared to deliver what would surely be a fearsome incantation. Some kind of killing spell meant to boil Lenna’s insides and send them sloughing through her pores. But nothing came. Indeed, as she strained against the twin frustrations of Lenna’s hand and her inability to cast, the sinister black tattoos she’d used to torment so many began to leak down her body like whatever ink they were made of had bubbled to the skin’s surface. As did the dress. The voidblack fabric drained out, puddling in a circle around her feet until it drained into the ground. The Magister was left a naked, unremarkable woman. Lenna let her go, and she plucked the needle from her shoulder and stumbled away.

“No…no no no no,” she babbled. Her whole body shook, tears spilling down her body where dark magic once flowed. She raised her hands, palms up, fingers curled toward the ceiling, as if trying to drag the spilled shadows back into her body with sheer force of will. They ignored her. Magnus was already freeing Katerina, aided moments later by a hobbling Riven. Turai had retrieved her bow and levelled another arrow at Savin’s heart. But the Magister was dangerous to nobody but herself now. She fell to her knees, sobs wracking her body.

We did it, Lenna thought with a mind increasingly full of cotton, and only the one death on our side. A reasonable trade, all things…all things…

The Knight joined the Magister on the floor, though not of her own accord. Lenna’s legs simply could not bear her weight anymore, and it was all she could do to keep from falling prone. Her knees hit stone, brief notes of pain in her already transcendent symphony of agony.

“You should have killed me…I…I…” Savin stammered. There were many emotions in her voice—hate, anger, sorrow. But the most clear, even to Lenna’s addled mind, was desperation. With a whisper, she crawled to Lenna, pawing for the nearly dead woman’s hand. “Please. There’s still time to…I can’t live like this. Make it quick. You promised…you promised!”

Katerina yanked the naked woman back by her wrist, all the while chastising her like a scolding parent. “Pathetic. Trying to take the easy route out? But you should have learned by now that a Knight never hurts a defenceless woman. I could, of course. Gods, you’ve more than earned a death tonight. But my brother sentenced you to something that you don’t deserve at all: a chance to be something. To grow into someone. To have more to your name besides a set of victims. Someone gave me that chance. I hope you’ll make the most of it.”

And that was about all that Lenna heard before her head grew too heavy to hold up. As the dark cloud swept into her vision and she collapsed onto her side like an old barn, she swore she saw something moving towards her. It looked a little like Princess Katerina Forde, her wonderful wife, lunging forward to arrest her fall.

What a lovely sight to go out on.

She’s trying to save me one last

Epilogue

Sometimes, even though months had gone by since that night in the Kralgrav, it took her a minute to remember that it was all in the past.

Did she still need saving? Was Savin going to kill us all? Would Katerina die thinking I failed? That I ran out on her? That I wasn’t strong enough?

Lenna opened her eye; the brief dance with fear and despair disappearing the moment saw the bare back of Queen Katerina Forde. Or at least she thought it was her’s. By now she was pretty sure he could pick out all the moles and blemishes on her wife’s back. However, there was always the chance it was an imposter…

“Care for another slice of pie?” Lenna whispered. The only reply was a thoroughly asexual groan.

“Don’t talk to me about food. I’m never eating again.” Katerina rolled over onto her back, face up at the ceiling. Though Lenna had eaten her fill, the newly crowned Queen hadn’t wanted to offend anyone right off the hop, and that meant eating a dish from just about every corner of the kingdom. By the time the celebrations had ended, Lenna was worried her wife wouldn’t be able to make it to bed before falling into a sweets-induced torpor. Or worse: be unable to celebrate her ascension, as well as Lenna’s own elevation to Queensblade. Thankfully, they’d persevered, though only by Lenna taking over most of the duties herself. But such was the domain of a doting, loyal wife! Not to mention a loyal Knight.

That same Knight sat up, her innate craving for a workout operating in tandem with her need to piss. Light hadn’t reached the window of their shared bedroom in the highest room of the palace, and the cityscape of the capital of Yevara still lay in a comfortable blanket of darkness. But she’d heard a smattering of birds chirping from somewhere outside, and that was good enough. A proper Knight didn’t let the sun catch her in bed, after all.

When she turned back to her wife, the night’s tossing had pulled back the covers, revealing both her breasts and the marks Lenna had left on her neck from the night before.

Or, she thought, perhaps they did once in a while.

“Steady on, girl,” she whispered to herself, “it wouldn’t do to be late for my first proper day on the job.”

“Queen’s prerogative,” Katerina replied, having apparently assumed the words were for her. “But do run around like a chased hen. Sure, that’s all very rewarding for you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said with a laugh, tasting the new honorific on her tongue. Just one of the many new things she’d have to get used to, but far from the worst.

Lenna kissed her love on the forehead and prepared for a full day, first stripping from the clothes

she slept in in front of their room’s full-length mirror. It was still dark, but in one of the many minor benefits of her injury, her body provided its own illumination. Katerina’s healing magics had saved her from bleeding out, but at the cost of sealing many of the fragments of her old sword inside her flesh. The resonant magical energy caused the fragments to glow beneath her skin, giving her the look of having a full constellation of iridescent pink freckles on her right side. She’d gone under the knife to remove the largest and most intrusive pieces, but there were so many smaller ones Lenna simply decided to keep them in her body for the time being, or wait until her body naturally pushed them out.

Her right eye, however, was unrecoverable. The delicate nerve behind the ball itself proved too complicated to be healed by either Magnus’ potions or Katerina’s touch. That had been a loss she’d yet to recover from fully, as a warrior had many uses for depth perception and a wide field of vision. But at least it no longer met her in the morning with searing pain. There was talk of some manner of prosthetic, but Lenna had her doubts. If that was the only price she had to pay to keep Katerina whole, then she’d come away from the exchange as a shrewd bargainer.

At the very least, there’d be no worry her body’s masculine humours would reassert themselves. Katerina reaffirmed the enchantment on the fragments, making their feminization of her body effectively permanent as long as they stayed within her. It was a relief not to have to consider that anymore, or have the nagging concern that if she lost her sword again, her means of maintaining her current appearance was out of reach.

Lit by the faint glow of the shards beneath her skin, she slid into the loose-fitting tunic and breeches she wore for her morning runs. The sole frill she’d allow herself was a silken choker of inset rubies Katerina had presented her during the Queensblade pronouncement. By her description, it was a veritable panoply of enchantments, with each little ruby on the necklace carrying some manner of boon or ward. Though still wary of donning these kinds of…frivolities, Lenna had agreed to wear it under the condition that Katerina swore there was only the most essential and necessary magics imbued into its gems. Among other blessings, the necklace would warm when a similarly charged ring on Katerina’s finger sensed (through means she didn’t bother to explain) that the Queen was in danger. There were apparently some limits to the distance over which this effect would occur, but anywhere within the city, Lenna would be able to perform her duties without worrying about Katerina’s immediate personal safety.

“Plus,” she had whispered while putting it around Lenna’s neck for the first time, “I get to enjoy seeing you walk around like a collared pet.”

There were many changes that Lenna was thankful for in her life. One of the least celebrated, but occasionally most appreciated, was the lack of spontaneous erections when your wife said something like that in the middle of a crowded room.

Lenna fitted the last piece of her wardrobe onto her head: a simple, comfortable patch of dark leather to cover the place where her right eye had been. It’d taken a while to find something that fit right in both casual and physically demanding circumstances, and Riven and Vikka both had taken many swings at coming up with more elaborate options to compliment her formal outfits. Finally, Lenna had just made the thing herself, using the same rough stitching her mother had once taught her while performing field repairs on her father’s cloaks and tunics.

It’s comforting to know that even after all the insane magical nonsense I’ve had to put up with, sometimes the best option is to tell everyone else to fuck off and do it myself.

The thought made her smile as she quietly closed the bedchamber door behind her.

***

Lenna had yet to find a good route through the palace for her daily jog. Despite having lived there as a Palace Guard before her father’s passing, the sheer expanse of the facilities, not to mention the freedom to tread wherever she wanted, had significantly increased her options. Did she pass the armouries, or the scrivenery? Hang a left at the Puce Room, or linger around the smell of flowers and shoe polish by striding the full length of the Reception Hall? She was spoiled for choice, but there was one sight she knew would always feature into her mornings.

The palace had a curtain wall around it; it simply wouldn’t do to let the peons see your short-sighted and self-defeating machinations, after all. But it was hardly a modern defensible work. That was what Forts Katya and Lotti were for, as well as the Kingdom’s small but professional navy. Still, despite being dwarfed by the enormous, ruined bulwarks that surrounded the Winter Court, Lenna had found a length of the red-bricked parapet that resembled her old perch.

Of course, the view was far superior from the palace’s walls. All the walls of the Winter Court looked out on varying levels of desolation. From atop the walls above Yevara’s highest vantage, one could see almost the entirety of the old portion of the city. Letting her eye roam around was like skipping through the centuries, each change to the city’s ownership leaving behind architectural legacies like an artisan’s mark.

“Taking a break, Queensblade Lenna?”

Lenna turned from the wall to see an even more inspiring sight. Standing at the foot of the door, with dawndawn’s light gleaming her brand new armour, was Crys Duskchaser. The sword at her waist was a perfect twin for the one that rested in Lenna’s room, both blades made of one half of the old Sword of Forde. A scarlet cloak clung to her shoulders even as the wind tugged it into motion, the fabric held in place by a large, silver brooch embossed with the image of crossed swords. Lenna moved in for a salute, but it became an embrace before she knew it. They’d shared too much to stand on formalities.

“You know me, Queensblade Crys: never one to take duty seriously,” she replied, giving the newly Knighted woman a top to bottom once-over. “Can’t believe I won’t be able to lord my status over you anymore. Miria must have totally ignored my pleas to send you packing.”

Crys snorted. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to be a prick about it. Ugh. I’m going to miss you. The both of you. Saints, even Riven’s leaving me.”

Lenna folded her arms. “She’s going to be a Voidgate away. As are we, once Nira sets up the one in the Kralgrav. That’s regular contact on at least a weekly basis.”

“I know, I know,” she said with a reluctant nod, “Still…it’s a couple weeks by horse ride if those fail, and it’s at the whims of the rest of the mages Riven’s got living with her down in the Winter Court.”

A question Lenna’s been chewing over but had nobody to ask besides Katerina rose to the fore. “Do you think it’ll work? The whole ‘Tellurian Academy’ idea?”

“I want to believe it’s possible,” Crys began, but her voice made her doubts plain. “Every mage besides Riven I’ve ever met has been conceited, petty, and willing to use their powers foremost for personal gain. Except Queen Katerina, of course. Long May She Reign.”

“Long May She Reign,” Lenna chorused, tone even but the corners of her lips curling upwards. She loved Kat, but that description was not unfair to the woman she’d first met.

Crys continued. “But maybe that’s because I’ve only met the survivors? Between Witchseekers hunting them, kingdoms persecuting them, and Thrast trying to gather them all in some magic-supremacist state, there’s very little room for an independent caster to develop a personality other than someone who looks out for themselves. Kick any dog you come across and expect to see fewer dogs, and get bitten by those you can’t see. Maybe Riven’s school can give them that space to grow into decent people.”

“I hope so. If anyone can do it, it’s her.” Lenna meant it, and was pulling for her. If anything, it was a tactical bulwark against the Magistry’s magical dominance. They’d be less likely to try something like Savin’s scheme should the Frontiers have their own counter-punch ready to throw. A war between mages hadn’t been fought since the Arcanum, and it was not a concept many took lightly. There were still places on Argan you couldn’t go because the rules of the world had been torn up, and human life simply did not function as it should. A cautionary tale for most.

Most.

They said their goodbyes for perhaps the last time that day (Queen Miria’s schedule for when her and her entourage were setting out for Hulne seemed to be in perpetual flux) and Lenna returned to her jog. She wouldn’t let running into people get in the way of her morning calisthenics, even if—

Lenna collided with a shape carrying morning tea on a silver platter who’d appeared out of nowhere from around a corner. Thankfully, the tea smashed at her feet rather than scalding her, but the impact had claimed the kettle beyond repair, as well as chipping several cups.

“Watch where you’re going, you worm!” Maidservant Savin snarled, then saw who she’d run into and panicked. “I…erm…that is to say…”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” cried a very familiar and still very abrasive voice from behind her. Housemistress Vikka came shuffling up with a series of invisibly fast stutter-steps. The glower she sent her charge could have melted steel.

“I’m…it wasn’t my…” Savin babbled, her eyes dancing between Lenna and Vikka looking for some angle to play one off the other. Even without magic, Savin was still Savin. To save her from becoming even more pathetic, Lenna offered her hand.

“It’s alright,” she said, perhaps laying on the false magnanimity too thick, “it was my error. Don’t punish her too harshly.”

Vikka huffed, but nodded. “Well, Miss Savin? Have you something to say in response?”

The former Magister wanted to do anything but carry on this conversation. But the dress she wore offered little chance to return to her feet on her own, so she accepted Lenna’s assistance in standing and, with only mild naked contempt, offered a deep curtsey.

“My sincerest apologies, Dame—”

“QUEENSBLADE,” Vikka snapped, deathly serious. Lenna hid her laugh behind her hand, playing it off like she was merely brushing her upper lip.

“—Queensblade Lenna.”

“Think nothing of it, Savin. I’m glad we were able to find a place for you on our staff after our previous unpleasantness. It would have been a shame to lose such a talented individual to the Magistry’s assassins. Katerina tells me they are still incensed at you for not only failing in your personal gambit, but seemingly betraying them to join the court of your old lover.”

It wasn’t fair to keep poking her like this. Everything that Savin was had been stripped from her, besides her dreadful personality and, it had to be said, a wealth of information about the inner workings of her former employer. So far she’d been mum on any details, but the longer she spent as their ‘maid’, the less chance there would be for her to return to Thrast and receive anything but a cold knife in the back. In the meantime, Vikka had her on a tight leash…only metaphorically, as far as she knew. But the pair had been spending a lot of time together. As Lenna knew all too well, relationships had formed under stranger circumstances.

The rest of her jog was uneventful, as was the rest of her morning all things considered. After further exercise and some time practicing with her new sword, a brief bath and donning of her proper palace wear was in order. Though her role was new, typical tradition for the spouse of a monarch, even if they weren’t in the line of succession themselves, would see her in a dress amidst almost any occasion. But that was but one of many niceties she would choose to ignore. Whatever laurels she wore, Lenna was not a damsel, nor was she some peacocking palace guard, and she would not pretend to be one.

For the rest of the day she wore a long tunic with geometric embroidery, a pair of trousers that cut a fine figure while allowing for ease of movement, and her sword belt. In addition, she too wore a red cloak and a silver roundel matching the one Crys had worn. They’d been searching for some kind of emblem to represent the position of Queensblade, but they’d yet to settle on anything. The palace’s contracted silversmithy, one of the many luxuries you had access to as a monarch it turns out, had done a fair job on short notice giving them this. Riven had mentioned that crossed swords might make it seem too adversarial, but it’d do for now.

After noon rolled around, Kat was all over the palace on matters of administrative logistics. All the required pomp had been completed, and the coronation of both Queens had already taken place. For the foreseeable future, the Kingdom of the Frontiers would have two capitals: Hulne and Yevara. All the easier to manage such an enormous mass of land. Katerina and Miria had worked out the preliminary details for ruling the nation between two rulers, as well as conjuring various insurance policies both contractual and de facto to make sure neither party would be tempted to try to consolidate rule with another coup. Lenna figured the Forde siblings trusted each other, but all of them had recently experienced the evidence of how addling an intoxicant power could be.

But those were heady matters for monarchs. Most of Lenna’s attention was on observing the drill of the new palace guard, led by their new taskmistress, running through drills of various skills they were expected to be proficient in. To make sure none of those loyal to Adam had stayed behind, they’d cleared out anyone even remotely suspect and replaced them with a mix of donations from Turai’s kin, older Woodwraiths looking for a place to rest their bones after years of patrol of the borders, and various Bannermen who’d stayed loyal to Miria after pledging themselves to Vladimir’s service. That final category included more young women that she might have expected. Perhaps the Barons were holding back their sons for their own levies. More fool them; many of Argan’s most masculine heirs had bled out alone on the floor of the Hall of Headmen, many slain by Lenna’s own hand.

Keeping the various lordlings within their own borders was going to be trial enough without having to consider the likelihood of further intracourt strife. As a means of insurance, Crys took the role of Queensblade for Miria. And while the role of Katerina’s personal bodyguard was permanently filled, they’d reached a compromise role for someone truly loyal to Miria’s side of the family.

“Damn your eyes!” Jenniq snarled, pointing down the archery range at the target. “You expect that to be satisfactory?!”

A young man with the look of a slapped fish on his face. “B-but one of my arrows hit the centre!”

Turai’s Sword-Sister turned Captain of the palace guard made a sharp hissing noise that was clearly not one of approval. “Any foal can put a single arrow between the eye if you loose enough! Grouping your shots, consistently,” she said, pronouncing each syllable of the last word with a tap of a finger on the boy’s forehead, “is most important. Now try again.”

With the blank canvas of a new formation to work with, Jenniq was raising up a palace guard that trained with bows as much as swords and spears. Theirs would be a very different unit from the one that had defended the Forde family over in years past, and likely not carrying the same spit and polish that exemplified the formality-laden duty. But, Lenna wagered, it would probably be more effective once it was trained. The frills could come later; after how nearly the whole nation had been decapitated by internal strife, one thing they needed desperately was a core body of loyal soldiers.

Lenna approached her when the tonguelashing had ended and the poor boy was left to correct his aim. “Don’t be too hard on these ones,” she said with an easy laugh, “we were all young and stupid at some point.”

Jenniq clicked her tongue. “Not this young. Not this stupid. But they’ve got energy. And wonderful hair. We’ll make do.”

“Turai’s leaving in a few hours,” Lenna said with a jerk of her head toward the yard’s exit, “if you want me to take over while you say your farewells.”

Jenniq flicked the concern away. “Unnecessary. Her and I spent most of moonrise saying goodbye to one another, over and over. I made sure she wouldn’t forget my taste or scent.”

“Oh!” Lenna had no idea how to reply to that, so she didn’t. Instead, she asked another question pertaining to Jenniq’s other job. “Ehm. Well, while I have you, I was wondering if you’d looked any further into the matter of those other individuals we were interested in.” 

The enthusiasm fled from Jenniq’s face. It was not a secret that Adam had escaped custody in the chaos of that morning in the Kralgrav, assisted by several of his most loyal Knights Resplendent. Paris had also been released after giving his parole, insisting he’d be heading back East to continue his worldwalking journey to find some purpose for himself. Neither had been seen since that day, and though Katerina was sure the matter was settled, neither Lenna nor Miria were so certain.

“Ah. Yes. No further information as of late. Several messages have been sent to Magnus, but he has not replied to them. They seemed like friendly correspondence from, ehm, weak-eyed shut-in—”

“Academics,” Lenna reminded her. Again. “The word you’re looking for is academics.”

“Yes. Them. They seemed without harm. My watch continues,” Jenniq said, then offered a salute. A polite way to say ‘I’m busy boss, can this wait for later?’

Lenna returned the salute, then left Jenniq to her work. 

***

After much ado, Miria and Turai’s caravan did indeed leave that afternoon. They’d need to travel over the road to move that many people. Nira was supposed to join them when they reached Huln to set up their part of their little Voidcaster network, but mages were always fickle little creatures. They’d follow their whims regardless of how good an idea it was in the long term.

Lenna was standing on the southwestern wall again, watching the long train of carriages and men as they made their way towards the Frontier’s new second capital, when a messenger found her.

“The Queen requests your immediate attendance in the throne room,” the young man had told her without looking up. Some of the staff looked at her glowing scars like she was some kind of monster—a creature that Katerina had pulled from the Pit. Lenna didn’t mind. Fear was useful, and it meant she hadn’t lost her touch despite occasionally being cased in silver and silks.

Entering the throne room when she was younger had been quite the breathtaking experience. Marble columns quarried from the Timanids, floors of ironwood joinery sent from the hard, arboreal forests in the south, and enormous silver and magelight chandeliers bathing the room in warm amber light when the sunlight from a series of strategically placed high windows failed. At the very end of a long red carpet was a trio of steps climbing a dais. And on that dais sat Queen Katerina Forde, looking just as imperious in posture as she had sitting amidst the ruins of the Winter Court.

“Ah, finally!” Katerina had said, batting away several functionaries with a flick of her wrist. “Go, all of you. I want this room to be empty save for my wife and I. And we are not to be disturbed for at least an hour…no, two! Two hours. Nobody is to be allowed inside!”

The dozen or so staff who had been attending her fled out the same door Lenna had entered. The last one closed the enormous doors behind him, leaving the room silent save for the occasional breath of wind heard through the open windows and Lenna’s muffled footfalls as she strode across the carpet toward the throne.

“You summoned me, Your Majesty?” Even alone, they were both in their formal roles whilst within the throne room. It’d be uncouth to use anything other than formal titles between them.

“Indeed I did! I’ve been made aware of certain…obligations that my new title has put upon me.” She stood up, letting the vast canopy of her dress’ skirt fall to the floor. Though some of the traditional extravagances of a Queen’s wardrobe had been omitted, there was no elaborate collar that prevented her from looking around for instance, it was still a regal and rather ungainly affair of red and white silks and lace. It looked like it took about a full hour to put on with the help of several servants.

Which is why, when it began to dissolve like sugar in a stream, Lenna’s mouth fell open.

“My…uhh…” was all the gobsmacked Knight could stammer as Katerina’s dress vanished, leaving the monarch almost naked. The sole exceptions were her many jewelled rings, her choker necklace, and the crown that marked her as one of this kingdom’s diarchs. Everything else, from the curve of the nape of her neck down to the tips of her bare feet, was nude. Lenna was so captivated by the process that she almost missed that the few remaining strands of fabric quickly retreated into the gem on one of Kat’s rings.

“Riven helped me with this one,” she explained, examining herself as if for the first time, “though of course I could have done it myself, but she’s got quite the gift for the sewing needle! Quite the parlour trick, no?”

Lenna, still for some reason under the delusion that the naked woman in front of her was in charge of one half of a kingdom, was still unable to find the right words. So she fell back on the wrong ones.

“Dear…you’re naked.”

Katerina beamed. “Indeed I am! This brings me back to my previous discussion of responsibilities. Now I’ve discussed this with Miria, and we both agreed that, barring a spontaneous growth of certain appendages from either her or her wife, there’s going to have to be some arrangements vis a vis the siring of heirs. We are a monarchy, after all, not one of Crys’ thrice-damned merchant republics. We’re going to need children to carry on our names and deeds.”

Try as she might, Lenna’s mind and mouth couldn’t keep up with the galloping pace Katerina was setting. The matter of pregnancy had come up before, and they had enjoyed penetrative sex plenty of times. But in spite of Kat’s normal libertine attitude towards matters carnal, they were uniformly careful with their actions, as Lenna’s fertility was a lingering question. More often than not their escapades ended in Katerina’s mouth or, much less frequently, Lenna’s own hand.

“Last time we discussed the idea of having kids, you were firmly against it. ‘I’ll not become anyone’s involuntary incubator’ were the words you used, if I recall correctly.”

“Ah, the caprice of youth,” Katerina rested her hand on her chin.

“That was less than six months ago,” Lenna corrected, but her Queen was already back into a monologue.

“Feh! You are correct of course, my wonderful Knight, but those were but the whimsies of a Princess! A little girl who dreamed of escaping ‘neath the bootheel of her father’s political requirements. Now that I have power, I want to hold onto it. And to do that, I need a legacy.”

Lenna huffed out a breath. “This is still not answering why you’ve stripped yourself nude in your…throne…no.”

Katerina’s immaculately plucked eyebrows waggled up and down.

“Absolutely not.”

The waggling only grew more energetic.

“You cannot be serious. Kat…you’re the Queen.”

“Correct again!” she said with a flourish of her extended index finger, which caused her breasts to jiggle quite noticeably. “That means that I have the royal prerogative to ask to be fucked wherever the I damn well please. And I wish to be seeded in the seat of my power. Or, more properly, on it.”

A part of being Katerina’s wife was navigating her many ‘moods’: impossible to dissuade impulses that gripped her seemingly at random. It was part of why Lenna loved her, but also a lot of why being her Houseguard had been such a tempestuous experience. She’d hoped, foolishly it was now clear, that some of that monomaniacal spontaneity would be dampened by her new responsibilities.

“I’d give you half a dozen reasons to reconsider this,” she began, hands already undoing her sword belt, “not in the least of which is the comfortability of the throne itself.”

“How do we know unless we try? Besides, I’ve a way of alleviating many of the concerns you may have.” Katerina grinned like a true deviant, then played with another one of her rings. Lenna’s choker warmed, and for a moment she was concerned a source of danger might be nigh. But instead of being gripped by a sense of dread or danger, her body filled with something else entirely.

Impossible, burning desire suffused her every pore. She looked on Katerina not with a casual lust, but with an all-consuming need the same way a drowning woman needs air. Lenna could get out of her clothes fast enough, actually tearing her breeches in the process of yanking them down and off of her legs. Katerina laughed the whole while, backing up towards the dais that held the throne.

“Katerina,” Lenna ground out, barely able to think through the artificial lust imposed on her let alone form sentences, “did you stick an enchantment on my collar for something other than the most essential and necessary of purposes? Something you agreed not to do?”

“But this IS necessary, dear! That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I need you to impregnate me as soon as possible. It is essential that you thrust inside me until you fill me full of seed! For the good of the kingdom and all of that!”

Lenna reached the steps leading up to the throne when she was just able to yank back control for a moment. Her cock, long rendered a secondary consideration to their sexual escapades, was throbbing and as hard as it had ever gotten. She breathed in hard as she pulled on her reins, to keep some measure of decorum, but it was so hard. And her wife looked so fucking hot.

“Kat…I don’t know if I can hold myself back. Are you sure you want this?”

“Lenna darling,” she began, settling into her seat before spreading her legs, “I’ve never wanted anything more. I command you to take me—now!”

“As you wish,” she replied, or tried to at least. The words became a feral growl as Lenna cleared the distance between them in a blink of an eye, pressing her Queen into the cushions of the throne. When Lenna pressed her mouth against Katerina’s, it was an act of force. She took the kiss, and it only ended when she wanted it to. Her cock pressed against Katerina’s nethers to the latter’s thrill. But instead of pressing it inside immediately, she thrust it against her partner, rubbing her length along her folds and clit in one motion before pulling back.

“Oh!” Katerina said, attempting the same imperious detachment as before. But there was a quiver in her voice. Something that was just as satiating to Lenna’s ears as her body. “It looks like I’ve awakened some kind of beast! I sure hope this brute I’ve angered doesn’t ravish me, the helpless Queen. I—” Lenna shut her up by covering her mouth roughly with a hand. Then, as if taunting her lower half, letting two of her fingers slide into Katerina’s mouth.

“Enough. Fucking. Banter,” Lenna demanded, and her Queen obliged. Instead, in relative silence, she rocked against Katerina’s body, cock pressing with ever more insistence against her clit, while her mouth tasted of the rest of her body. Her neck. Her collarbone. Her breasts. Katerina’s nipples stood erect already, but when Lenna’s mouth found them, they hardened to tiny little buds that ached to bloom.

“Oh~” Katerina gasped, and for a moment it looked like she’d broken through Katerina’s ironic detachment. While her Knight licked and nibbled at one breast, her hand found the other and squeezed it like a discerning merchant testing the wares.

“These will grow,” Lenna told her, eyes lifting to meet Katerina’s for a moment. “Your body will change, just like mine has. You want them to grow, don’t you?”

Caught unprepared and still muzzled by one of Lenna’s hands, Kat could only nod. Lenna withdrew her fingers from her mouth, only to slide them into a different orifice altogether. Katerina tensed up at the sudden intrusion, then let out a wondrous moan as she relaxed into Lenna’s hand. The Knight’s left hand, meanwhile, slid to Katerina’s stomach, resting beneath where she could feel the other woman’s thundering heartbeat.

“This will swell. You can hide it for the first few months, but soon it will become undeniable that you are pregnant. No, that I impregnated you. That you bear my child. You want that, don’t you?” Lenna asked, despite knowing the answer full well. The act and the words all a part of the same play, something she’d learned from Katerina herself.

“Yes…Lenna darling, I want that so much,” she replied, and for once Lenna couldn’t hear any hint of sarcasm or artifice in her voice. At what point did the guise of a bawdyhouse sellsheath end and the real wants and desires of Katerina Forde herself begin? One of the many questions Lenna couldn’t parse through the lust burning up her veins. At the very least, Kat’s own arousal was impossible to fake. Even after a cursory fingering her wife was sopping wet. For all her protestations of being a woman who always wanted to be in control, this moment where the tables were turned had her leaking onto the throne’s velvet cushions.

That was all the preamble Lenna could manage. She was already drooling her own desire onto Katerina’s lower half, as if a valve had been left open within her body sending a steady drizzle of precum to glaze her lover’s skin. And with Katerina’s own excitement tested, there could be no restraint. Lenna dragged her length off of the body beneath her, then, after reaching up to grip Katerina’s shoulders, she pressed herself inside.

“Ahh!” they cried in tandem, any lingering worry that they might be overheard or walked in on thrown out the window above them. It was just the two of them, alone in a world that did not extend beyond what they could see and feel in their immediate surroundings. Nothing else mattered.

More and more of Lenna slid inside her Queen, while Katerina’s nails dug into the back of her Knight. For all the protocol and ceremony that bound them together, they fucked like beasts. Lenna pushed forward, spreading Katerina’s legs even wider until they were luridly splayed out.

“Ngh…I’m…almost…I didn’t realize how alluring this would be,” Katerina said through a multitude of sighs. All the encouragement she needed that this tactic was working. She pressed the advantage, trusting forward like a cavalry charge driving into a weakened flank.

“What kind of power can you possibly wield,” she asked, “knowing I took you on your throne? We should bring in an audience. Make the whole kingdom watch me breed you.”

Katerina’s body locked up, her voice singing to the ceiling as she reached her peak. Lenna had to grit her teeth to keep from joining her, enduring her partner’s body attempting to drain her of every drop of her cum just as they were getting started.

Lenna was still recovering her stamina when, without warning, Katerina turned the death-grip around her waist into a grapple, spinning them both around with surprising dexterity, then using her legs to shove Lenna into the throne. Before she knew it, she was hurtling backwards in the chair, landing roughly on the back of the dais. But that was all a part of Katerina’s grand scheme, it appeared, as she was quickly on top of her Knight’s naked body, pressing her into the backrest of the ancient symbol of her family’s power.

“The games are over,” she said, the control and force back to her voice. Once more the Queen, she pulled her lover’s knees apart while sliding herself into a kneeling position. That left Lenna’s cock primed to be pulled into position for her to ride in much the same way, she thought with a shudder, that one might ride a sex toy.

“Hey, wait a minute, I—” Lenna’s attempt to regain the reins were abandoned when she felt Katerina’s pussy once more around her cock. But just as welcome as it had been once regained, its absence was immediately apparent. Katerina lifted herself back off and perched, like a hunter evaluating a fresh kill.

“It seems I’ve bested you,” Katerina purred, sliding her drooling slit on Lenna’s throbbing cockhead just as the latter had done minutes ago. This time, however, the Queen was in control, Lenna’s still-building need mingled with the undeniable submissive streak that she harboured for her wife. She attempted to adjust herself, but any movement made Katerina’s pussy retreat, and made Lenna sheepishly scootch back to be ridden in the exact place that her Queen wanted.

“Ngh…I suppose,” Lenna admitted sheepishly

“Not good enough dear,” Kat said, wagging a finger back and forth. “I need to hear you admit defeat. I know you hate saying it, which is why I love making you do it.”

Lenna gritted her teeth. Just one time, it would be nice to have a sexual encounter that wasn’t some kind of probe at her weaknesses. But then she wouldn’t be fucking Katerina, and so there’d be no point to it.

“You’ve…you’ve bested me,” she said.

“Mmm, better,” Kat commented, then rewarded her by dipping herself lower. Lenna could feel the warm, wet embrace of her lover for a blissful moment before it was cruelly pulled away. “But I want to hear that word you use when you’re truly defeated and cannot go on. What was it? Starts with a Y, I believe…” She feined a thoughtful expression.

“I yield,” Lenna replied. Even in jest the words hurt her soul to say, but that only made their use in this context more arousing. Her implacability jousting against her submissive nature and coming out poorly in the exchange.

“Louder.”

“I yield!”

Thankfully, Katerina almost always knew when to push and when to give. And she rewarded Lenna’s debasement by letting herself fall onto the cock beneath, causing the Knight’s head to meet the back of the toppled throne.

“Good girl.”

Lenna hated how much she still loved being called that. It was demeaning! It was condescending! It was reductive! But Blackest Pit if it didn’t send a tingle all the way down her spine, and encouraged her to use her voice. Most would assume it was only fit for bellowing and battlecries, but here, alone, in the private moments with her one true love, more subtle noises came from her lips. Moans. Gasps. And very rarely as to not even be worthy of commentary from an outside party, a feminine squeak.

All of it music to Katerina’s ears.

But even the prodigious endurance of Lenna Forde had its limits. Katerina sped her actions, rising and falling onto Lenna’s cock as they both approached simultaneous climax. She slid down onto Lenna’s chest, letting her lower half do the work as her lips found Lenna’s ear. The Knight’s heart pounded. How would Kat deliver the final blow? An ego-rending insult? A declaration of her godlike superiority?

“Do it,” she whispered, breath catching, “make us both mothers.”

That was enough. That was more than enough. Lenna felt herself uncontrollably erupt within her wife even as Katerina hilted herself as far as her body would allow. It felt like she was pouring half her soul out her body as jet after jet of likely magically enhanced seed pumped out of Lenna’s cock, her Queen using her hips to expertly milk every drop. Katerina threw her head back, the noise sounding half way between a cackle and a sigh.

“Ahh…fuck…yes…fill me, fill me, give it all to me,” her words became an absent-minded chant, both bodies working in instinctual rhythm to give the seed every chance of taking. With her body well and truly drained, the lust imposed on her by the spell ebbed, leaving a pleasant numb afterglow in its wake.

Only after time had passed, and their heart rates returned to normal, did any measure of self-awareness reassert itself.

Oh fuck. What have we done?

“Kat…I mean, Your Highness—” Lenna began, the whole affair seeming so debased and shameful without the artificial need pressed onto her mind. But when she looked up at Katerina’s flushed expression, her serene smile impossible to ignore, Lenna found her objections harder to manifest. If this is what Katerina wanted, then it would be so. And if they needed to try again, and again, and again, well, it was a Knight’s duty to obey her oath of service, was it not?

“What was that, light of my life?” Kat asked in a queerly placid tone of voice.

“I…merely suggested that it might be time for us to retire to our bedchambers, if we want to continue making sure you are, ehm, properly taken care of.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed, standing up and letting Lenna’s softening cock slide out of her body. In the process, several trails of cream sprung loose and trailed down her thighs. “Whoops! Can’t have our people see me in such a state!”

She twisted the ring on her finger, and that lovely dress from before began to flow back onto her body. Seeing the process in reverse, this time those threads Lenna had noticed at the retreat were spooling outwards like a hundred anchor chains, wrapped themselves around Katerina to the direction of an unseen hand. For a brief moment, it looked as if her wife was bound in a most compromising form of bondage, with dozens of thin filaments pressing to her flesh from every angle imaginable. Then, the moment passed, and the magic began to fill in the spaces in between the threads with a kind of magical membrane.

“I could walk out like this,” Lenna said, looking down at her still nude, still glistening body. Yes. Somehow, through some miracle of fate, she’d been gifted this body. From her breasts to her cock, she was infinitely satisfied with the form she inhabited now. Even the scars weren’t so bad; each one proved what she was willing to give to get to this point. The glowing pieces beneath her skin all the more. In that blazing, perfect moment of self-sacrifice, she proved that she belonged to stand alongside her Queen.

“That would be quite the show,” her Queen agreed whilst tapping her chin, “but I believe the staff have been scandalized more than enough for tonight.”

“As you wish,” Lenna said, and got to work dressing herself. By the time her own clothes were more or less in the right position, Katerina’s dress had finished weaving itself back into place. To show it off, she gave a theatrical spin on her newly reconjured shoes, letting the trailing skirt lift and flow around her body. Lenna took the moment of whimsical rotation to right the throne, wiping briefly at the stains the both of them had made before shrugging at the lingering, sticky mess they’d left behind. Wasn’t her job. Instead, she answered the question Katerina hadn’t bothered to ask, knowing that her lover knew the answer already.

“You look ravishing,” Lenna declared, and meant it. Despite her hair now in a tangle and the sweat marring her makeup and the fact that they both now reeked of sex…

No. Not despite. Because of all those things. Because underneath all the grandeur, she’s just my wife. And my wife just rode me into the ground like she was fleeing for her life.

The Queen preened. “Thank you, my Queensblade! Now, what say you to taking me back to our room? I’ve had a terribly busy day, and I’d like to get some rest.

“Of course, my Queen.” Lenna offered a crooked arm, and Katerina took it. The pair walked down the red carpet, rapped on the throne room door, and left without any explanation for what they’d be doing. And it might have remained a secret, had the servants not noticed their new Queen was leaving a trail of a suspicious, off-white fluid as she and her wife strode proudly back to their bedchambers.

***

An hour or two later, Lenna stood at the sill of their bedchamber’s lone window, feeling the night’s cooling air in to chill her shirtless body as the rest of the room. After so long in the Winter Court, both of them found a stuffy room impossible to sleep in. And if anyone had thought to look up to see the bare breasts of the Queensblade, well, lucky for them.

Katerina was brushing her hair after a luxurious hot water bath, drawn by Vikka and supplementarily serviced by Savin. Now she stank of a dozen flower varieties that Lenna had neither the nose nor the inclination to identify, but found them pleasant all the same. Something about the way her wife’s hair fell reminded her of another time, another place…

“A long time ago,” Lenna began, sitting upon the sill with her back to the night, “you asked me if I knew what power was. I didn’t really give you a straight answer to that question, did I?”

“I didn’t expect much of anything from you at the time,” Katerina tittered. “If I recall correctly, you said some mealymouthed tripe about oaths and we dropped the subject. Apologies. Old habits. Yes dear, I remember.”

“Well, I think I’ve come up with an answer. If you were still interested?”

Kat looked over her shoulder. “Of course I am! I don’t ask questions just for an excuse to rattle off my own thoughts, you know.”

Lenna made a face.

“Ah, well, got me there. Again, old habits. But my upcoming motherhood has made me a whole new woman! In this dawn of a new era for both us and our kingdom, I decree that, occasionally, I wish to hear people’s opinions. Like right now, for instance!” She put down the brush, spun to face her wife, and put her elbows on her lap to prop up her chin. Tell me, Queensblade Lenna of the House Forde: what is power?”

Lenna pursed her lips as if it was a tough question from an academic rival. “Well, if you insist.”

“Oh I very much do.”

“I grew up believing power was merely the hammer wielded by the strong against the weak. When I became a Knight, I learned that you could give ideas power just by investing belief in them. I give strength to my oath through force of will and adherence to conduct. My sword is no more than steel and leather, but in pledging it to your service, I imbue it and myself with something beyond the durability of its materials. And your enchantments, too, are a form of power. The crystal that gave me this body, for instance.”

“So your definition of power takes many forms, Professor Lenna?”

Lenna snorted. “Indeed it does, Katerina. But I think a unified theory can be drafted from these concepts. Power is the ability to control change. Those without power are changed at the whims of their masters. Those with power can change themselves, or change those around them to suit their own whims.”

“I see. So, in changing you with the rose-quartz sword, I was exerting my power over you?”

“And,” Lenna held up a finger, “you were giving me the opportunity to change. Had I been merely distressed by gaining a woman’s body, I could have fled your father’s employ. Instead, not only did I stay, but I gained your favour and became your wife. I gained not just political power, but the chance to be something more than I was.”

“Well, that seems like sound reasoning. But to what end? What’s the thesis statement behind your proposition for the definition of power?”

“I…have no idea,” Lenna admitted with a shrug. “Something about how the only source of true power is our ability to change ourselves or somesuch? I’m still working on it.”

Katerina beamed, beckoning her into bed. “You’re adorable when you try to be thoughtful.”

Lenna shook her head and practically tackled her wife flat to the mattress. Atop her, she kissed Katerina deeply, only drawing back when she tasted something pleasant on the other woman’s lips. Apple-balm? It seemed as if Katerina had not intended her bath to be the end point for the night’s activities.

“This dumb brute would love a chance to storm your battlements once more, my Queen,” Lenna said, unable to hide her own snicker.

Katerina put a hand to her forehead and affected an accent straight out of a nobility play. “Oh my word! The heinous blackguard has come to ravish me and,” she dropped the act to ask: “Wait, you made sure the door is locked, right?”

Lenna looked to the door. “Nobody’s going to interrupt us in the middle of the night. Unless you want to invite Savin to watch again.” Her Queen broke into a fit of giggles at the idea, a melodious sound that Lenna hadn’t heard for a while. Lenna smiled down at her lovely wife, chest pounding, and said something she’d said a thousand times without it losing any of the meaning.

“I love you Katerina Forde.”

In turn, her wife said something Lenna would never get tired of.

“And I love you, Lenna Stone,” then, after a pause, “though we should speak about whether you should be taking my name. We are married, after all.”

Lenna feigned shock. “Me, a lowborn? What would your family think?”

But Katerina’s tone didn’t carry the same playful tone. In fact, she was darn right serious. “Nothing they have to say matters. Nothing matters but you.”

Those were the last coherent sentences they exchanged that evening, though far from the last sounds they made. Before collapsing into exhausted unconsciousness, a thought crossed Lenna’s mind. It was said that a Knight’s life was one of hardship and unrewarded toil. She would seem to be the exception. She had a wife who loved her, a body to call her own, and a life of luxury to wallow in.

All it took was the application of the three things a Knight had to exert in abundance. Three values her father had told her made a Knight more than a sellsword in armour.

Now…what were they?

Ah, yes. Of course.

How could I forget?