Chapter 63 #2
I peer through the hole. As the men promised, the room has dozens of naked women inside. Did Glorya go through this humiliation before being brought to our castle?
I spot a flash of pink hair, and my heart nearly stops. Two larger women, both wearing long robes and head coverings, roughly tug Rosomon toward a bath.
“After you’re cleansed of that filth,” one of them says, “you’ll be inspected to be sure you’re a maiden.”
I turn to the men. “How do I get into this room?”
They shake their heads. “Not possible,” Ovren says. “It’s locked, and no men but klericks allowed. Not ever.”
“Lucky bastards,” Ham adds.
My mind is spinning, quickly running through hundreds of scenarios, hoping to find one where I not only save Rosomon, but also uncover the secrets of Othrix. Meeting these workers was highly fortuitous. I’ve always been blessed with good luck and a genius intellect.
I come up with a plan. “I’ll make you a wager,” I say as confidently as I can.
“What kind of wager?” Ovren asks.
“I’ll bet you that, not only can I get into that room, but I can free that pink-haired princess.” I grin. “Either that or fuck her senseless.” I add the second part to make my wager seem like a win-win from their side.
Ovren laughs. “If you can do that, I’ll give you every piece of silver I have.”
“I don’t want your silver,” I tell him, then take several gold coins from a pouch on my jacket.
Their eyes widen. “This is what you get if you win. And if I win, you’ll take me backstage and show me the altar. You’ll show me the klericks’ tricks. And…” I know I’m pushing it “…I want to be in the wings with you tomorrow.”
“We’d lose our heads!” Ham says.
“He’ll never be able to do it,” Ovren says to Ham.
“Then why not take my wager?” I grin.
“I’ll take your gold,” Ovren says, smirking and folding his arms over his chest. “You won’t even get into the room, never mind get near the princess.”
“But if I win the wager—” I extend my hand “—you’ll meet me in that pit tomorrow morn and then bring me onto the altar.”
They both shake my hand.
I spy what looks like the main entrance to the room. “How do I get to that door?”
“You won’t get in,” Ovren says at the same time Ham says, “Just keep to your left.”
I wink at the men, then follow the narrow corridor, until it opens into a wider one. As promised, I soon see what looks like the other side of the entrance.
It’s unlocked and unguarded, and I barge in like I own the place, and, as Crown Prince of the Light, in some ways I do.
“Your Highness.” One of the robed women bows toward me, and I fill with gratitude that I’ve been recognized—or at least my fine clothing has been. “You are lost.”
“Perhaps,” I say, “but I quite like where my explorations have led me.” Leering, I scan my gaze over the group of naked women, some of them trying to cover their breasts or their sex with their hands.
I glance toward Rosomon. She makes eye contact, but her expression’s difficult to read. One of the robed women yanks her out of the bath and starts roughly rubbing her dry.
“Are these the famous Wives of Othrix?” I ask. “As Tynan, Crown Prince of the Light, I enjoyed many nights of their service, while in my father’s palace.”
The mistress who seems in charge perks up when I deliver my title, confirming my importance.
“Do you require service tonight?” she asks. “Pick whichever Wife, or Wives, you prefer. We will have them readied and delivered to your bed chamber, wherever you are residing in the city.”
I turn toward Rosomon. “I want this one.” This might actually work.
“I’m sorry Your Highness. This heretic is a mere bride, not yet a Wife of Othrix. But you may pick any of the others.” She gestures toward the other women.
“I want her.” I stride toward Rosomon.
“Your Highness.” The woman steps into my path. “I am Head Mistress and protector of all Wives of Othrix. I cannot allow this. If all goes well, your Highness might be able to enjoy her company tomorrow night.”
“If she’s not bleeding too badly from the ceremony,” another one of the mistresses mutters.
I keep my gaze on the head mistress, increasing my pressure on her. “Why would a ceremony cause bleeding?”
The head mistress defensively raises her chin. “To consummate her marriage to Othrix, this heretic will be blessed by many holy men. The klericks will generously push their goodness inside her to force out her wickedness.”
The woman’s cheeks turn red, but her jaw firms. “If the girl is a maiden, this alone may cause bleeding. And if she is not a maiden, her bleeding will also come from her penance.”
“Penance for what?” I square my stance, determined to force this woman to admit her planned brutality.
“For being not only a heretic, but a harlot.” The woman’s chin rises. “If she’s not a maiden, she must atone.”
Ovren and Ham weren’t exaggerating. I need to stop this.
“I’m going to fuck her right now,” I say boldly as I lewdly cup my flap. “I will claim her maidenhood myself.”
“That’s not possible, Your Highness.” The head mistress again blocks my path.
Another one steps forward. “If it’s maidens you’re after, Your Highness, we can arrange for you to be the first to penetrate every bride on the altar tomorrow.”
“Before the klericks?” The head mistress snaps and glares at the other woman.
I need to shut this disagreement down. “I will take this pink-haired one to my chambers right now,” I say in the most commanding tone I can muster. “I’ll make sure her cunt is well prepared for tomorrow.”
The head mistress shakes her head. “That’s not possible.” She swallows, hard. “We can arrange for you to be the first to penetrate her tomorrow—” she glares at the mistress who suggested this “—but only if she proves to be a maiden.”
“Who are you to question the Crown Prince of the Light?” My voice echoes through the room. “I demand her maidenhood, tonight!”
The mistresses bow their heads.
“I know this shrew.” I stride past the mistresses and circle Rosomon, who’s held by two robed women.
“I well recognize this former princess.” I grab her hair and pretend to pull it.
“This hellcat spurned my grandfather. She insulted my family. I will get my revenge by claiming her maidenhood—tonight.” I release her hair.
“Your Highness.” The head mistress’s tone has changed. “That isn’t possible. We don’t yet know if this bride of Othrix is even a maiden. Let us at least perform our inspections first.”
I confront the head mistress, my stance wide and my expression stern. “My cock will perform your inspection. If she requires punishment, I will tell you.”
The mistress shifts uncomfortably, then raises her chin. “Your Highness, if this heretic is to fully commit her life to Othrix, sacred rituals must be performed to cleanse her sins.”
“Fine!” I bark. “Perform your thrixing rituals but make it quick. Every moment you stall, makes me more determined to drill this woman to death.”
Rosomon shoots me an angry look, and I hope it’s part of an act. I hope she realizes that I’m trying to save her. Save her from being whipped if nothing else.
And, if I win my wager, I’ll be able to unmask Othrix and save every woman in this room.
The mistresses whisper in low tones, then the head mistress steps toward me.
“We’ve agreed. You may take her tonight.”
“And, if she’s a maiden,” adds another mistress, “we can ensure you are first to penetrate her tomorrow, so the klericks won’t know.”
The Head Mistress glares at the other woman, who clearly wants to save Rosomon from an unfair whipping.
My heart lifts. But I’m distracted as two other mistresses slide a wooden structure across the room.
It doesn’t take more than a second for me to figure out what the contraption is for.
My father and grandfather used similar rails to punish not only their wives, but also any servant they chose.
Clearly these women mean for me to fuck Rosomon here.
In this room. Over that rail. And with them watching.
“I will take her to my room.” I have no room. But they don’t know this. I hope.
“Your Highness. The sacramental rack is essential. We cannot deny this wrong doer her chance of repentance and a life serving Othrix. If you take her maidenhood, it must be on this rack. And we must witness the evidence of her pain.”
I scan their faces, trying to find one that might crack. If I go through with this, it’s clear that Rosomon will be bent over this rail, her sex exposed. The only part of this contraption that confounds me is a large looking glass placed in front of it.
“What is that for?” I ask.
“For the witnesses,” she tells me. “During the marriage ritual, when the first klerick forces his goodness inside her, all in attendance must bear witness to her pain. And all must bear witness to her eventual subjugation.”
“Subjugation?” I ask.
“The sacred moment when she yields her resistance and gives herself fully to Othrix.”
Nodding, I glance toward Rosomon, but she’s staring at the floor. Her cheeks have pinked, but I’m not sure whether it’s from anger or humiliation. Probably both.
I’ve taken this too far. But don’t see a way out that doesn’t involve Rosomon being brutally whipped and fucked by strangers tomorrow.
If I let them perform their inspection, they’ll discover she’s no maiden. And my only way to gain access to the altar’s secrets, is winning this wager. I’m certain Ovren and Ham are still watching, and I’m glad I added fucking Rosomon to the bet.
“Come.” One of the mistresses tugs Rosomon by the hair. “We must inspect you and prepare you for the prince.”
“Please, no,” she says, but she shoots me a quick look that gives me some assurance she’s not as scared or angry as she’s trying to seem. She may have already figured out my motivations.
I hope she knows that any humiliation she suffers tonight will save her from much worse tomorrow.
At least I hope that I’m right.