The Princess’s Court
Part 1 of 5
(FM/Ff nc)
Jessica Aldryn McLangly, Lady of the Hierarchy of
the Moon, Daughter of Lord McLangly, was riding in the
meadow that lay to the south of her estate, when Lance
Corporal Roland came for her. She was by herself and
already in a bad mood when she saw him. She pulled her
mare to a stop and waited impatiently for him to come
close enough to explain his presence.
"Lady McLangly," He pulled up on the reins as he
came along side her. "I’ve come here on official
business from Princess Katherine Ryan’s Court. I’ve
been asked to secure your cooperation in an important
matter."
Jessica stared at the empty field, pointedly not
acknowledging him as anything more than a tool of his
mistress. It was a beautiful day. She looked across
the sea of high grass to the forest, a few hundred yards
away. It was a dark, tangled wood, interesting and
treacherous. She thought of various, rather caustic
replies she could make. Maybe, "Princess Katherine can
bite me. . ." or, "I’d love to cooperate with Princes
Katherine, but I’ve already promised to cat-sit for a
friend. . ." But that would be a mistake. No matter
what their history, Katherine was the Princess now and
antagonizing her was out of the question. "What
matter?" She asked, keeping her voice cold.
"She has asked, in order to take her
responsibilities seriously, that anyone with. . .
personal knowledge of. . ." He hesitated.
Still looking away, Jessica swallowed. No, she
thought. No, it couldn’t be. . . She glanced at the
soldier. He was young. Maybe a few years younger than
her twenty, but he held himself with a professional and
confidant bearing that she found attractive, despite
herself. Relax, she told herself. It’s something
else.
"Violations of the Great Contract come to the
court." He finished.
Shit. That bitch wouldn’t! Jessica felt the
sudden stab of fear in her chest. "What does this have
to do with me?"
His expression was almost apologetic. But it
wasn’t. "She has asked that you testify under Compelled
Oath about your knowledge of any such things. Her
Court will be holding hearings this night, and I have
been given a transportation spell to return us to her
palace. You’re to dress for a formal audience and come
with me immediately."
Oh, Mercy! Fear and fury rolled in Jessica’s
stomach. She knew that the paleness of her face and the
faint tremble of her hands would betray her, but she
couldn’t help it. Think. . . Katherine knew, or she
wouldn’t have risked Compelled Oath. And that meant the
questions would be pointed and direct. And intolerable.
"And if I am busy?"
Roland met her gaze. "This is a request of the
Princess, Lady. It wouldn’t be wise to deny it."
"Very well. Then let’s return to the house so
that I can change. This is an awful inconvenience."
The complaining came easy and felt natural. She was
certain that he might suspect but he did seem to relax
when she turned her steed about and rode back toward the
sprawling mansion.
What? Go inside and slip out the back? No. Too
risky. Loose him now, then. Ride like the devil and
make for the trails. He might follow her into the wood,
but he’d never find her in it. Of course, she’d be
unable to return. At least for awhile. But that might
give her a chance to bargain. Katherine, Princess
Katherine now, would love the idea of her as a miserable
fugitive. It didn’t matter. Anything was better than
the Court.
When the hill became steep and Roland fell back,
she moved. Jessica dug her heels in and leaned forward.
Her mare knew what to do, and she felt her gait become a
gallop.
"Lady Jessica!" He was further behind her, but
when she looked back, he was coming up fast. She didn’t
look back again.
"Please! This is foolish, Mi’Lady," He yelled.
Annoyed but also concerned. The chances of someone
getting seriously hurt in a situation like this were not
bad and although he wouldn’t be blamed he still,
clearly, felt responsible. Screw him, she thought.
The forest wasn’t far now. She kept her body low,
gripping the animal’s flanks with her knees. Don’t
think of the future, she told herself. Look ahead.
Just get away.
She heard him behind her. He was both a better
rider and had a faster horse, but he was unwilling to
simply ride up and take her. She was still a Lady. And
she might get hurt. But it was clear that she’d have to
be creative to loose him.
Seconds later they entered the forest. Her horse
knew the trail and his didn’t, but he was close enough
to stay on her. She heard him curse, as branches, bent
by her passing, whipped back at him. The forest was
dark with a deep-green tint to it, and confusing. She
would normally go straight, and come to a clearing, but
not today.
Jessica risked a look back, saw that he was,
despite everything, still close, and turned sharply.
The horse went but she didn’t. The world turned upside
down as she fell. She didn’t even feel like she had
hit something. She just felt numb and then scared.
When she opened her eyes, Roland was beside her,
kneeling in the tall grass.
She was laying, with her head resting on his
folded coat, looking up at him. They were still in the
woods, and she couldn’t make out the expression on his
face. "Do you hurt?" He asked.
Ache? Yes. Everywhere. Hurt? No. She tried to
sit up, but he didn’t let her. He directed her to move
her arms and legs and neck, and when everything seemed
to be in order then he helped her sit. Roland offered
her water from a skin on his horse.
"You’re lucky," He said.
She looked away. The thrill of being alive and
unhurt had faded quickly. She had been caught, and her
pathetic escape attempt was going to be damning.
Jessica realized that, for the first time in many years,
she felt like crying.
"I guess this means you’re guilty," He said as he
put away the water.
"It was nothing. Please! This is. . . this is a
settling of old scores. It’s just political. Please
let me leave, and I promise it won’t haunt you."
At first he didn’t look at her. Then he did.
Calmly. Matter-of-factly. She felt her hope dry up and
crumble. "I can’t."
"Just tell them I escaped! Please!" I can’t
believe I’m begging him, she thought. Oh, Mercy! This
was a nightmare, already.
His smile was very, very slight. "I’m afraid
they’d never believe me." He reached out and brushed
a strand of hair from her face. Then his hand lowered
and took hers. It was a very firm grip. "Come on, Mi’
Lady." She let him lead her back to their horses but
instead of mounting his steed, he took a coil of cord
from his saddle bag. "What did you do?" He asked.
Curious. Not even fascinated. Probably having a hard
time believing that someone like her could be guilty of
breaking the Great Contract.
"I. . . I’ve been involved with Human’s dreams."
He looked up. "Really?"
"It was. . ." She sighed, exasperated. "It was
nothing. Katherine did much worse when we were in
school together!"
"Princess Katherine," He corrected automatically.
Then, "Nothing? Would the Enforcers have thought it was
nothing if they’d caught you?"
No. Of course not. It was dangerous and selfish
and very, very bad. It was also incredible fun. She
looked away. "I wouldn’t have gotten caught."
"I can see you’re a master of escape. It sounds
like you deserve this. What makes you think you’re
being picked on?"
He was weaving a noose. He took her right hand
and then her left, and slipped them through the loop.
He pulled it tight, and she felt her captured flesh
press together. It was dark here, but she knew he could
still see the blush. "You. . . you’re going to take me
back to my house like this?" Her voice was very soft.
She was thinking of what the servants would think when
they saw their lady marched before them in disgrace.
Her chin trembled at the very idea.
"No, Mi’Lady. I’m going take you back to the
Court like this. I’m afraid I’m not letting you out of
my sight." Again, he was almost apologetic. Again, he
wasn’t quite. And, she thought she detected the
faintest trace of amusement in his manner.
Mercy. . . Oh, please. . . don’t cry! Whatever
you do, don’t cry. . . She swallowed and swallowed
again. He lead her, walking slowly, holding the cord
like a leash. "You can’t," She moaned, when she
couldn’t take it any more. "I can’t appear before them
like this! Not. . . oh, mercy. . ."
He stopped. "You shouldn’t have tried to run
away. Look, Mi’Lady, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make
things difficult for you. If you escape do you know
what they’ll do to me?"
She looked up.
"They have a post in the Palace Garden where the
Ladies of the Castle come to take tea. They’d tie me
there, and provide little whips and nettles so that the
women could make sport of me for a day or two. And
then, maybe, they’d find something else to punish me
with. I’m not going to risk that. You got yourself
into trouble, now you will have to deal with it."
He gave the cord a tug, and she followed him,
mutely out into the sunlight. The horses had followed
them. He sent hers home, and pulled his close. "The
spell takes a few minutes. Then we’ll be back."
She looked down at her boots and riding dress.
Her face, utterly devoid of makeup. No jewelry. She
felt ill with the idea that Lady Katherine would be so
pleased to see her so humble. And tied! She wondered
if the Princess had intentionally chosen a handsome
guard to collect her. Probably. Anything to make her
humiliation more poignant. She had to try again.
"I. . . I knew Katherine at Finishing School," She
said. "That’s what this is about."
"Oh." But he was interested. And he believed
her.
"She was popular. Everyone knew she’d be
something spectacular. I don’t think anyone really
thought she’d be a princess, but. . ." She shook her
head. "I was a bit of a rebel. She and her friends
could make my life miserable, but she couldn’t control
me. She always resented that." Jessica looked away.
Katherine had sent her an invitation to her coronation
some months ago when it had finally become official. It
had glittered and burned with a magical fire.
Jessica had torn it up.
"So that’s what this is about?" He asked.
She nodded.
"You’re in trouble, then."
A little more silence. "I know," She said.
"You’re not the first one they’ve tried. Did you
know Andrea Connor?"
Jessica looked over. "Andrea? Mercy. . . what
did they. . ."
"The same thing. Dream meddling."
Shit. Oh, shit. . . She gulped. Andrea had been
one of Katherine’s friends. But also a competitor.
Jessica had found her far less vile than her associates.
"What did they do to her?"
"They’re still doing it," He said. "She was tried
two days ago. Her sentence will last a year. For most
of it she’ll be doing domestic work around the palace as
a common servant but Katherine wanted her humiliated as
part of her punishment. . ."
"What?" She asked breathlessly. "Roland, what
did they do to Andrea?"
"You’ll see," He said. Then everything sparkled
and changed. They were in the court.
It was a round chamber with high walls and stained
glass windows. The floor was polished marble. The
supports, that ran up to the pointed ceiling, were
inlaid with gold leaf. Laid out like numbers on a
clock, the Thrones sat at 12. They were intricate and
magnificent beyond imagining. There was a worn rug for
supplicants to kneel on.
At three and nine, were the galleries, where the
Counts and Countesses and Dukes and Duchesses would sit
and observe. They were filled, and she had the
impression of flowing robes and imperial dresses, but
there was too much for her to take in for her to get the
details. Behind her (although she didn’t look), was the
entry way for people such as her, and the Great Hall.
It was flanked by armored guards. There would be no
more nonsense here.
The architecture was designed to make a visitor
feel very small, and it was remarkably effective. She
looked up at the dizzying heights and the stone and the
metal and the glass work, and she felt dwarfed. Under
normal circumstances, it would have been gut-wrenching,
but today, there was something that made it even worse.
Beside each throne, at about eleven o’clock and
one, there was an upright, wooden wrack in the shape of
an ‘X.’ They had shackles for the wrist and ankles.
The one on the King’s side was unoccupied, and Jessica
could see a short, smooth wooden dowel, protruding from
the center of the ‘X’ at slight angle.
On the Queen’s side, she saw Andrea. The girl was
naked and mercilessly exposed: her breasts, her sex,
everything! Jessica couldn’t imagine how long the girl
had been there, but clearly she hadn’t become inured to
the situation. She blushed down to her chest, and hid
her crimson face against her arm. She shook with sobs
of humiliation and wriggled ever so slightly because the
dowel was tormenting her constantly. It would be,
Jessica realized, inside her anus, causing an unending
sensation of urgency, fullness, and violation.
The Nixie, which is what they were, have their own
strengths and weaknesses. They are sensuous beings
whose senses are far more acute than humankind,
magnifying everything for them, including pleasure and
pain. They are also physically different. The females
have wings that fold into their shoulders or expand
until they are large enough to envelope them. The males
have a tail. In both cases these ‘extra’ organs are
sensitive, private, and erogenous in the extreme.
Finally, they Nixie betray their feelings. When
sufficiently aroused, the flesh that can receive sexual
pleasure glows faintly. It is usually covered by
clothing, and so hidden, but mistaken exposure could
make feelings be quite embarrassing. Andrea glowed.
Tied, as she was, there was no way she could hide the
light that seemed to come from under the skin of her
swollen nipples or through the soft fur of the mound of
her sex. Her body shown with sweat and Jessica could
see a fatigue upon her that came from hours of misery
and humiliation. But not from pain. Katherine knew
that too much physical discomfort would provide a
welcome distraction from the indignity of her position.
Ache and corporal punishment could always be applied
later.
Roland pulled her forward and hissed, in a
whisper, "Kneel, Mi’Lady. And hang your head. If you
don’t show proper respect it will be even worse!"
Jessica knelt on the rug and looked down, grateful
not to have the squirming image of Andrea before her
anymore. It was horrible, and fascinating at the same
time. How much would she have enjoyed such a sight if
she were here on different circumstances? It would have
been delightful. The Court was silent, waiting to hear
her.
"The words," Roland prompted.
She knew them. She found them somewhere in her
memory between which fork to use and what sort of gift
to bring the hostess of a formal party. "I, Jessica
Aldryn McLangly, thank Princess Katherine and the Court
for allowing me to serve them most humbly." She
swallowed. The words felt awful, as though she had to
choke to say them. "I beg that you accept my offer of
service and my eternal gratitude for your. . . gracious
leadership and. . ." She was miserable. She knew her
voice betrayed her distaste, and anger "magnanimous
judgment," she finished.
I will not cry. I will not beg. Oh, mercy. . .
She wiped at her nose. Her knees were already hurting"
the rug did not provide any protection from the cold,
hard, marble floor.
"Roland," The Princess’s voice was clear and
familiar and filled with good humor, "What is the
meaning of this? Bringing one of my dearest friends
from school before the court in. . . common clothing and
tied? Are you seeking a whipping, because I assure you,
if punishment is what you desire, you need only ask.
Unless your explanation is very good, you shan’t enjoy
what you’ll receive for this." It was the same old
Katherine. Mocking, playfully cruel and sure of her
authority. Intolerable.
"I beg the court’s forgiveness, and I throw myself
upon your mercy, My Princess," Roland said, the tone of
his voice making it clear he had nothing to be concerned
about. "When I asked Lady Jessica to come with me, she
felt she had more pressing business in the forest. I
was unable to convince her of the importance of her
testimony here, and so I must confess I forced her
obedience. I submit to whatever punishment the Court
feels appropriate."
There was a burst of conversation. Some laughter.
Some chatter. Jessica thought she recognized, perhaps a
dozen voices. It was like a Finishing School reunion,
she thought. Katherine let them talk for almost a
minute before she silenced them. "Jessica," She said,
and when addressed, Jessica looked up. It was required
that you face the speaker. She couldn’t bring herself to
meet Katherine’s eyes.
"My Princess?" Her voice sounded like a quiet
squeak in the vast chamber.
"Is this true? Surely not! Deny it, and I will
have this villain pilloried for a week and paddled
thrice a day for the entertainment of the Court!"
She thought of lying. The thought of Roland being
punished appealed to her greatly, but it was really only
a game. She stayed silent, trying to think of some way
out of this, but finding nothing. Throw herself at
Katherine’s feet, she decided. Beg. Supplicate
yourself! But surely Andrea had done that and more, and
it clearly hadn’t helped. Flee? Cry? She trembled.
She wanted to stand up or at least shift position so her
knees would stop hurting. But if this, this least of
all discomforts, was too much for her to bare for five
minutes, how would she bare being tied to a wrack such
as the one Andrea languished on? She tried to imagine
hours of such a fate, and couldn’t. It was unthinkable.
"Well?"
"I don’t deny it, Princess," She said softly.
There was another erruption of voices.
Exclamations of surprise. Titters of disapproval.
Excited speculation about what this might mean. Jessica
would have cried, and almost did, except she still
couldn’t bring herself to give them the pleasure. But
the pressure of the withheld tears settled in her
stomach and made her feel weak and sick. She bit her
lower lip and waited.
Again, at a motion from the Princess, the court
fell silent. "I am rather disappointed in you, Jessica.
I’m afraid that by disobeying Roland in his official
capacity, you have disobeyed me. You realize that this
leaves me no choice but to punish you?"
She wasn’t disappointed at all! She was ecstatic.
When she had imagined bringing her old enemy before her
she had probably never dreamed it would be this
dramatic. Jessica covered her face with her hands and
stifled a whimper. She wasn’t going to make it any more
enjoyable for them! She wasn’t! She would be stoic and
cool and. . . She felt her body shudder visibly with a
silent, wracking sob.
Snatches of conversation from the gallery reached
her, ‘oh, the poor thing. . .’ and, ‘she’ll be a very
sorry young lady. . .’ Their patronizing sympathy was
a mortifying torment.
‘She’s going to get it worse than Lady Connor,’
‘I’m sure proper punishment will improve her
greatly. . .’
She heard Roland’s voice in her ear, "You must,
Mi’Lady. The Princess is waiting." You must beg the
court for punishment, he meant. His tone made it clear
he knew how awful it was to be toyed with so, but he was
also reminding her that, if she didn’t submit, they
would do something even worse. She wished desperately
she had the courage to defy them, like she had in
school. But she didn’t. She was terrified of being
humiliated the way Andrea had been.
"I b-beg the. . . Court. . . discipline me for my.
. ." She searched for words that would please them,
"Disobedience," she finally said. It was the worst
way to put it she could think of and she hoped that
a display of humility might convince them to spare her.
"The Court is always glad to grant your wishes,"
Katherine purred. "Roland, please take Jessica to a
holding chamber. She’ll be testifying tonight, and I
want her rested." She addressed Jessica then, "The
Court will deliberate on your punishment. You may take
comfort in the promise that it will be extremely
educational for you, whatever we decide." She nodded
and dismissed them. Roland helped her up and lead her
away. She walked unsteadily, and her vision was blurred
with tears, but as she left, she met Andrea’s eyes and
shuddered.
The holding chamber was a jail cell with
comfortable furniture. It had a heavy wooden door with
a locking window on it so that the guards could look in.
There was a bed and a chamber pot, and a water pump.
The first thing she did was strip off her riding boots
and message her feet. She knew she should rest, but she
couldn’t. She also spent several minutes squatting
above the pot before she gave up. The idea that, at any
moment, someone might peek through the window was enough
to insure nothing would happen. That also inhibited her
from masturbating.
The casual exposure of Andrea’s arousal had made a
big impression on the Young Lady. She didn’t know if
the girl had been. . . touched. . . or somehow
stimulated (even the euphemisms gave her chills), but
she was certain that if they chose the same fate for
her, none of that would be necessary. Right now,
despite everything, her nipples throbbed and glowed in
the tight, protective confines of her riding bra. Her
panties were wet with sweat from her morning exercise,
but they were also stained with moisture from her sex.
The court would love that, she thought. She paced
the room, trying to think of something other than what
she had seen and what awaited her. Sometimes she
panicked, but without anything to do, the emotion just
subsided. She wished she was able to cry.
An eternity had passed and another eternity was
beginning when there came a knock at the door and Roland
opened it. She felt the blood leave her face, and her
throat dried so that her voice was a quiet rasp. "Is it
time?" She asked, tremulously.
"Soon, Mi’Lady. But not yet. I came to see if
you needed anything." He closed the door behind him and
sat on the bed. Reaching under his tunic, he produced a
metal flask. "It’s not very strong, but it tastes
better than water," He offered it to her.
Eyes wide and pathetically grateful for even this
small comfort she took it and sipped. Wine, she
thought. Wine from a metal flask. She drank again.
More like grape cider, really. He hadn’t been kidding
when he said it was weak. She sat on the bed and looked
down at the floor. "Thank you, Lance Corporal Roland."
"I don’t suppose you need me to tell you what kind
of trouble I could get in for this," He said softly.
She nodded. Then she looked at him.
"Then why take the chance? What makes you think I
won’t tell?"
"I don’t know if you’ll tell or not.
I wouldn’t do this if I felt it was immoral, and beyond
that, I don’t care if it’s against the rules. You
looked like you needed some comfort."
Oh, Mercy, I’m going to cry on his shoulder, she
thought. No. No, I won’t. I don’t care how good it
would feel. I don’t care if all this tension and worry
is going to make me nauseous . I’m not going to. . .
She sniffled, and she felt him put his arm around her
and draw her head against his chest. She pressed her
hands against her mouth to muffle the sounds and shook
with tears. She felt him pet her gently.
"How did you get messed up in this?" He asked some
minutes later when she was almost through. Actually,
she was through, but it felt so good to be held that way
that she remained there.
"We all started in school. Once they taught us
about the human realm and what sorts of things were
possible, some of the girls started experimenting."
"Experimenting?"
"Entering human dreams. You’d feel out for a
dream, and then ride into it."
"What kind of dreams?"
She blushed. "Any kind. I guess mostly. . ."
"Erotic ones?" He guessed correctly. She nodded.
Ashamed.
"That was what Lady Connor confessed to," He told
her. "But apparently Lady Connor was still doing it,
even recently. And not only entering dreams but
manipulating them." He sighed. "That would not be
forgiven, if she were caught. And she confessed to
using the spells to torment her sleepers. Giving them
dreams about punishment and submission. I don’t think
Princess Katherine would have been quite as harsh as she
was if that weren’t the case."
He waited in silence for her to respond. His hand
kept stroking her hair, and down her back, and he held
her tightly.
"Well?" He asked, finally.
"Well then I’m in trouble," She said. She spoke
into his shirt so her voice was muffled and he almost
couldn’t understand her.
"I can’t say I feel that sorry for you. No
offense, Mi’Lady." He didn’t let go of her though. He
didn’t push her away.
She looked up at him, "But I. . . I can’t bare
this. I couldn’t bare it if they put me up there."
"Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that the
point?"
"Andrea’s used to this kind of crap! She was one
of their. . . I don’t know. . . one of their little
soldiers. I was always too proud to play their stupid
games." She pulled away and moved to the edge of the
bed. She sat, her chin in her hands, her elbows on her
knees, and glared at the wall. "This isn’t fair!"
He didn’t answer. After a moment she was afraid
that she might have run him off, but when she glanced
quickly over, she saw that, while he wasn’t agreeing
with her, it still bothered him to see her miserable.
"If you had let me go, I could have dealt with this on
my own," She told him.
He stood up. "It’s almost time and I need to get
back to my post." He reached for his flask, "May I?"
She gave it to him without looking at him. She
felt him take it, and the urge to throw her self on him
and cry and beg that he spirit her out of here flared
within her. She was only barely able to control it.
But he didn’t leave. "I wanted to say that I know this
isn’t going to be pleasant for you, but I sincerely hope
that you learn something from it. Whatever that might
be. I. . . I believe you might need it. And, I promise
to help you in any way that’s proper and allowed."
Silence. He waited for any response, and when she
didn’t give one he turned and left, locking the door
behind him.
Alone then, she did cry, face down on the bed,
sobbing into the pillow. She reveled in the feelings of
misery and abandonment, and self pity. When a knock
came again, it was Roland, his face expressionless, the
kindness he had shown her before hidden behind his
professional facade. There were two armored guards with
him, and they escorted her out into the hall.
Thus, it was, with her face stained with tears,
her voice broken from hours of sobbing, and barefoot,
that she was marched before the Princess’s Court.
ArcSyn
