In a fantasy world without true magic, an evil overlord manipulates others by conquest, cruelty and transformation.
Lord Drax has a peculiar hobby. He collects kingdoms ... and turns their high-ranking nobles into pretty "pets" for his amusement. Reginald, prince of the realm and heir to the throne, is about to fight the hardest battle of his life ... as a woman. Can she do what she must to win, without losing the man she was?
The Hardest Battle, Part 1
by Randalynn
"The problem with war," Lord Drax declared from his stolen throne, "is that it always ends too soon."
The assembled nobles in the Great Hall nodded their agreement. Imported from Drax's other lands, they all understood the need to agree with their ruler in all things. Those who raised objections raised Drax's wrath, which was not a thing to be taken lightly. The body of this land's fallen king, hanging from the highest beam in the vaulted ceiling, gave mute testimony to the force of Drax's anger. And the fate of the king's son, held in an antechamber and surrounded by Drax's personal guard, was still to be decided.
"Even my conquest of this fair land ended too quickly for my taste," Drax lamented. He took a sip from the goblet of wine in his outstretched hand. "Although I do applaud the valiant efforts of King Stephen to repel my armies from his kingdom, even as I toast his new ... position." He raised his cup to the old king. The nobles laughed, knowing Drax's sense of humor and anticipating the need for a response.
"Still," Drax continued, "I feel the need to struggle against a willful adversary once more. A ... personal conflict. To prove my mettle against a worthy opponent, and claim the rewards of such a victory."
Drax reached out a hand and idly stroked the hair of a young woman curled up at his feet. A thin red-haired beauty with an abundant figure, she wore a simple blue dress with a plunging neckline, which was the style in Drax's court. Around her neck was a golden collar with the Drax coat of arms engraved upon it. She arched her back ever so slightly when Drax touched her, then resumed staring out into the crowd. Almost cat-like, in the manner of a domestic pet. Which, of course, she was.
"Perhaps another mistress for the royal chamber," Drax mused aloud. "To ... ease the burdens of leadership. Yes. " He raised his voice to a bellow. "Send for the court physicians at once! And bring me what is left of King Stephen's dynasty. I wish to decide his fate."
Minions scurried to obey, lest the slightest hint of laziness bring on instant and painful instruction in the fine art of service. In seconds, the door to the antechamber was thrown open. Then two of Drax's guards flew into the room head first to fall in a heap before the throne.
Drax frowned. "Where is the son? Where is Reginald?"
"I am here! " A voice shouted. It came from the dark shape framed in the doorway. "I have no need for an escort. I know the way to my father's throne room by heart. After all, it will be mine someday."
The shape stepped forward into the light, revealing a short, lithe but well-muscled young man with long blonde hair. His green eyes flashed with barely-contained anger.
"Well, if it isn't Drax the demi-god," he said with a grim smile. "I am honored. Who would have thought it would take a 'minor deity' six months to destroy everything it took centuries for my family to build."
"Careful, boy. " Drax leaned back in his captured throne and threw a leg over one of the arms. "You are dancing on thin ice if you think you can cross words with me."
"Come now," Reginald scoffed. "As if I truly have anything left to lose. You've killed my father. You will have to kill me to legitimize your claim to the throne. If I am to die, I would rather it be on my own terms, if you please."
"I DO NOT PLEASE," Drax thundered, throwing his goblet aside and leaping to his feet. "And that is my point. I rule this land now, boy! Your life is mine to do with as I choose. If I say die, you die."
"Yes." The captive royal nodded, arms folded across his chest. "If you say die, I die. But I will die as I have lived, and you cannot change that. I am Reginald, prince of the realm, son of King Stephen and heir to the throne. You cannot take that away from me. So kill me if you wish, but don't expect me to beg for my life. I will not give you the satisfaction."
The court physicians arrived, and Drax smiled when he saw them. He sank back into the throne, resting his hand on the head of the woman at his feet.
"You are Reginald, prince of the realm. That is true," Drax conceded thoughtfully. "However, you don't necessarily have to remain Reginald. Not if I choose to change that."
He turned to the lead healer, Morden. "What do you think, old friend?"
An older man, Morden approached Reginald slowly. The prince stood his ground with a bemused smile as the aging doctor walked around him at a safe distance, performing a detailed examination from afar. The healer turned to Drax.
"I need to see him with his arms away from his body."
Drax looked at the prince. Reginald shook his head. Drax looked at his guards, and they rushed the boy and held his arms out from his sides. Growing a little bolder, Morden came in a little closer. He nodded once or twice, muttering to himself, and reached out to touch the prince's side. Reginald twisted away, but the guards held him fast. Morden felt the boy's ribcage and smiled. He looked up at Drax.
"It can be done, lord," he said. "In fact, it will be easier than most, at least on the outside."
Drax clapped his hands together. "Excellent! See to the preparations at once."
Reginald looked at Morden and laughed. "What is this, Drax? A little game you play with your prisoners? Some exquisite form of torture that gives you pleasure?"
Drax smiled an even bigger smile. "Yes. Exactly. With other benefits you have yet to understand. But you will. You will. And when you do, you will no longer be Reginald, prince of the realm. That I guarantee."
And then he laughed. And kept laughing as the guards dragged Reginald out of the room with the court physicians close behind.
Melinde followed the group from a distance. When Drax's men were within minutes of taking the castle, Reginald had her take on the role of a chambermaid to avoid capture. In her simple dress and sandals, carrying a basket of linens, she blended in with the other servants so well that it was difficult to believe she had been born and raised a noblewoman.
"It was Reginald's wish to protect my life," she thought. "I must do the same for him."
Reginald and Melinde had been betrothed from an early age, but they would have found each other eventually, given time. They were kindred spirits, with a bond between them it seemed no time or distance could break. Love was too weak a word for what the two of them shared. It was as if they were two halves of a single soul -- man and woman as one.
If Reginald suffered, Melinde would be there to help if she could. Or suffer with him, pain for pain. She increased her pace and tried to keep up without calling attention to herself.
By the time Melinde had caught up wth the group, the healers were already busy. They had chosen a guest chamber in the tall tower as their workroom. The room had a bed with heavy iron bedposts, and it took four guards to place it in the center of the chamber. Strong manacles were attached to each post, and the guards held Reginald down while the physicians secured him to the bed. Melinde stood to one side of the doorway, trying to look inconspicuous. She noticed that the interior of each cuff seemed lined with a soft material, and that all of manacles appeared to be self-tightening, so that each of Reginald's limbs were firmly secured, but not scarred or injured in any way.
Two of the healers came in carrying a large case covered with what appeared to be long sewing needles. These men were smaller than Melinde's countrymen, with dark, slanted eyes and precise movements. Another one of the strange ones appeared carrying several jars of a nearly-clear liquid, and then some of Drax's guards came in with an entire trunk full of potions and ointments.
Finally, Morden arrived. Drax came with him, still smiling. His eyes held a strange combination of glee and anticipation, as if he knew what was to come and could hardly wait to begin.
"Has the treatment begun? " he asked impatiently. The slant-eyed ones shook their heads together. Drax fairly beamed. "Excellent! "
He walked over to the bed, where Reginald was still struggling with his chains, and looked down into the prince's angry eyes.
"Shhhh," Drax said softly. "It will do you no good to struggle."
"You'll forgive me if I try anyway," Reginald snarled, pulling with all of his strength. Drax reached out and touched his forehead.
"It's pointless, but you go right ahead," he cooed sweetly. Reginald stopped, and looked at him, confused by his reaction. Drax smiled.
"You don't think this is the first time we've played this little game, do you, my pet? I can't tell you how many men have found their way into those chains. How many brave warriors wound up where you are now, fighting a battle they could not possibly win. "
Melinde watched as one of the slant-eyed ones came up behind Reginald with a dripping needle in his hand. Before she could call out, he began to twirl the needle and slid it slowly into the prince's neck. Reginald seemed to go limp all over, except for his eyes. They began rolling around in his head like small animals seeking escape.
"And the prisoners we brought into Morden's chamber! " Drax went on. "Oh, how they fought against the medicines, and all that was to come. Without even knowing what it was they were afraid of."
Drax began to pet Reginald's hair, and the prince's eyes focused on the usurper with a hatred so potent that Melinde could feel it clear across the room. Drax saw it, too, and just laughed.
"But you know, don't you, my precious," he whispered. "You're a smart one, I can tell. You heard my words, and you saw my pet in the throne room, and you know. " His eyes grew distant as he remembered. "My Brina. My lovely Brina. She fought, too. For a long time. Even after Morden had finished his work, she would not submit. Until we tried something new. And then she was mine."
He looked down at Reginald, still stroking his hair. "She was Brian, lord of Duncaster. A knight. A warrior. Like you were, precious. But now she belongs to me, just as you will."
The prince's eyes began to move from side to side, as if he could avoid Drax's tender gaze and somehow escape his fate. But there was no escape. Reginald was trapped in his own body, and he knew it.
Melinde's heart went out to her love, but she could not stop what was to come. She watched the slant-eyed ones as they began preparing more needles, dipping them in the clear liquid. Other healers cut Reginald's clothes from his body until he lay naked on the bare mattress. They tied down his head and began inserting the needles one at a time into his face, his chest, his arms and legs. Melinde knew her love could feel each one enter, as surely as if she felt the pain herself. Drax stood behind the table, gazing into Reginald's eyes as if he could feed off of the pain he knew was there. Still, he caressed the prince's head as the healers moved from his face down his entire body to the bottom of his feet, murmuring words Melinde was too far away to hear.
As each needle left Reginald's skin, it took a hair with it. Soon the front of the prince's body was nearly hairless, save for the top of his head and the area around his privates. His eyebrows had been shaped into sharp arches. With a word from Morden, the healers removed the manacles and flipped Reginald around until he lay on his stomach. Then they refastened his chains and began anew with his back, buttocks, thighs, and calves, until all of Reginald's body hair was gone.
Drax ran his hands over the naked skin of his adversary.
"So bare," he purred. "Naked you have become. Like a child. And so you shall remain. The herbal mixtures of the Orient removed the hair, and killed the roots, one strand at a time. " His eyes seemed to gaze off into his memory. "It was Morden's idea to send emissaries to the lands far west," he said in a distant tone, "in search of physicians with the skills we lacked. To help me work my will. "
He walked over to the head of the table and looked again into Reginald's eyes. "We didn't stop playing while the emissaries were gone, oh no. You should have seen the many failures, their bodies ravaged by fire or acid, twisted by the mismatched medicines Morden did not truly understand. It took many attempts -- hundreds of 'volunteers' -- before we perfected the treatment. Oh, and the bungling of my surgeons as they 'practiced' ... you should have heard the screams." Drax laid his hand on the prince's cheek. A low growl came from the back of his throat, and the warlord clicked his tongue.
"Now, now, precious," he said. "Soon you shall long for my touch."
The healers covered the captive prince with ointments that smelled strongly of flowers and fruits, and other scents Melinde could not recognize.
"To keep your skin soft and sweet-smelling forever," Drax whispered in Reginald's ear. Another growl was his only answer.
The healers then gathered over Reginald's back, their hands searching for the juncture points between his lower ribs and his spine. They marked each spot with a single dot of red ink, and then stood back as another Oriental healer came forward holding a long needle with a wooden handle and a small hammer.
Inserting the needle at each red dot, he gave its handle a single controlled tap at each of the four places marked, and stepped away. Instantly, other healers stepped in with needles dipped in other mixtures and thrust them into the red areas, while Reginald trembled and moaned from the pain. Then they raised Reginald's body from the bed and wrapped his lower torso in what appeared to be a wide leather band with long laces. Under Drax's instruction, they pulled the belt tighter, and tighter still, until the prince's waist compressed by ten inches or more. During the tightening, Reginald's moans had merged into one long cry pushed deep in the back of his throat by his paralysis. Tears flowed down his cheeks and pooled beneath his head on the mattress.
Once the laces were tied off, Reginald was lowered to the bed. His manacles were removed and he was placed on his back once more. The chains were replaced, and the healer with the needle that caused the paralysis used it once again, so the prince became like a statue, frozen on the bed. Drax bent over Reginald and kissed him softly on the lips.
"I must leave you now, my sweet," he said. "I have an empire to rule. But I will come back soon, and often, to watch you become the woman I wish you to be. " He lowered his voice, and it took on a dark edge. "Reginald, prince of the realm, will die here. In this room. Because I command it. I shall strip you of your name, your sex, your pride, and your will. Because I own you! " Drax smiled, and ran his fingers through the prince's hair. His voice became soft again. "I have even chosen a new name for you. From now on, you shall be known as Regina. A sweet name for a sweet consort."
As Drax turned to leave, he finally caught sight of Melinde standing by the door. As quick as a lizard on a river bank, he shot across the room and grabbed her arm.
"Who are you? " he hissed. "What are you doing here?"
"I . . I am Molly, my lord," Melinde replied, wincing from the pain as his fingers dug into her flesh. "I am one of the chambermaids. I was to make up this room for any of your guests, should they choose to stay in the tower. I did not know that you had taken Prince Reginald here - - - "
Drax's other hand shot up to grab her by the throat, silencing her instantly. He pulled her face to his and spoke very clearly.
"That is my new consort, Regina. Tell the other servants that they will die instantly if they call her by any other name. " Melinde nodded her assent. Drax released her neck, but kept held of her arm. He searched her face for any sign of rebellion, but found none. On the bed, several healers were inserting needles in specific spots on the prince's throat. There appeared to be different kinds of fluids on the tips of different needles, and each insertion was done using color-coded slivers of steel.
"Have you ever served as a lady's maid, Molly? " Drax asked, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind.
"Yes, sir," Melinde replied, looking down. "Back when the Queen still lived, I was one of those who tended her every day."
"Were you? How interesting. " The warlord looked pensive for a moment, then shook his head quickly and released her arm. "Get on with your work, girl."
"Yes, my lord. " Melinde curtseyed and picked up her basket of linens. "Thank you, my lord. "
As she left, Melinde stole a glance at her love, prone and helpless as more needles were placed around his chest and hips. The healers had inserted a long tube into his mouth, and began to trickle some kind of herbal mixture past his lips. His eyes still moved, and the tears still flowed, but she was powerless to comfort him.
The door closed behind her.
Melinde went back to the head of housekeeping and passed on Drax's message. There was general consternation at this turn of events, since everyone at the palace had loved the young master since he was a child.
"What does he mean, call the master 'Regina'?" Cook looked at Melinde in confusion. "Is he mad?"
Melinde nodded. "Yes, he is. Quite mad. And you should be careful what you say, even here in the kitchen. You could be killed if you are overheard."
"Begging your pardon, mistress," Cook apologized with a curtsey. "I was not thinking right."
"No, you were not," Melinde scolded. "And you aren't now, either. If they see the head cook bending knee to a chambermaid as if she were a lady, they will wonder why."
"Sorry . . . Molly. " Cook lifted a heavy pot from the table and brought it to the stove. "It's hard treating you like one of us."
"Not nearly as hard as it is being one of you. " Melinde stood up and grimaced. She pressed both hands against her lower back. "If I have to lift another basket of laundry for those no-account nobles, my back will snap like a twig."
Maude, the head of household, stepped up to Melinde and wacked the seat of her dress with a wet dishrag. The younger girl yelped, and spun about with one hand on her bottom.
"Careful, girl," Maude cautioned. "You'll serve your betters without sass, and say 'yes, sir' and 'no, ma'am with a smile, or I'll take you out and tan your hide myself behind the outhouse, see if I don't."
Melinde bobbed quickly in place. "Sorry, mistress," she said with a smile. All three laughed, glad of some light spirits in dark times.
"Maude," Melinde said thoughtfully. "If I am to be a chambermaid, can you make the tower part of those rooms for which I am responsible?"
"Aye," Maude replied. "In matters of cleaning and such, my rule is absolute. Even if it is only because his lordship thinks it beneath him."
"He might change his tune once he runs out of clean clothes," Cook threw over her shoulder as she stirred the stew. They all smiled.
"Then do this for me, that I can watch over 'Regina' and do what I can," Melinde asked. Maude took her hands.
"Of course, my lady. You did not even have to ask. We all care for you and the master, and would see the usurper thrown down so's he can rule in his father's name. "
The younger girl nodded, but tears filled her eyes. "Oh, to see what they are doing to him. It's dreadful, Maude. Horrific beyond belief. And he's done it before, to countless others. Stolen their bodies, broken them to his will. I'm so afraid! "
Maude drew her into her arms and hugged her close. "Do not worry, little one. He is strong. The young master will always be the young master. No matter what that demon may do to his body, his soul is truly noble. And you know it to be true. " She patted Melinde's back, and then broke their embrace. "No, no more tears, Molly. You've work to do. In the tall tower."
Melinde dried her eyes and bowed her head. "Yes, mistress."
For all of her diligence, Melinde did not get to enter the tower room again for nearly a month. They were three weeks of endless trips up and down those tower stairs with baskets of clean and dirty laundry; three weeks of sheet changing and chamber pot emptying; three weeks of bending knee to every petty tyrant in the usurper's empire, dodging repeated offers of gold coins for sin-filled nights without offending those who made the offers.
And the worst of it was, she was rebuffed time and again by the guards at Reginald's door. She saw Drax entering and leaving several times each day, and caught glimpses of her love's body still prone on the bed through the open door. But there was never an opportunity for Melinde to gain entrance.
During those three weeks, the people of King Stephen's kingdom were learning the price they had to pay for defeat. Although spread thin, Drax's army was everywhere. What they wanted, they took. And anyone who tried to stop them died. Instantly.
But people kept fighting. And dying. Because they were King Stephen's people. Even though the King's body had been cut down and burned, and his only son had vanished into the depths of the castle, they would not submit to Drax. The seed of rebellion remained buried deep in every subject -- a seed Drax hoped would die a'borning when he introduced his new consort, a willing slave to the new order.
Not that Drax had chosen to create Regina as some kind of political tool. That benefit was just a lucky coincidence. The warlord's hobby drove him to conquest as much as his need for more land, to feed the empire and his own ego. He needed new consorts as he needed new lands, to dominate totally and without mercy.
One morning, Melinde was walking past the room, and stopped short. The pair of guards that usually blocked her way were nowhere to be seen. In fact, the door was slightly ajar. For a brief instant, she thought that Drax had seen through her earlier excuse and set a trap to snare her. But then she shook her head at her own fear. Surely, Molly the chambermaid could be forgiven her share of curiosity, especially about the prince of the realm.
Or what might be left of him.
Melinde tiptoed to the door and pushed it open slowly, an inch at a time. She peered around the edge to find the tower room deserted, save for a lone figure chained to the bed. Quickly, she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, and ran to the bed to be with her beloved.
Halfway to his side, she froze in horror.
The figure was a woman. Bare naked and unmistakably female.
Where was Reginald? What had Drax done with him? Her thoughts a whirl, Melinde approached the bed slowly, her eyes tracing the form chained to it. She followed the figure's long legs to where they joined her well-rounded hips. Between the legs, at the junction, were a woman's lips, partially obscured by blond hairs but recognizable just the same. Her waist was small, and her stomach was flat and smooth, but her breasts were almost too big for her fragile frame. They sat upon her chest and trembled with each ragged breath she took.
Other than her breasts and hips, the girl seemed pitifully thin, barely skin and bones. As Melinde reached her slender neck, her eye flew to the girl's face. And a chill ran through her entire body.
It was Reginald!
Thinner, smaller, and more fragile, but the face was clearly his . . . hers, now. Her blond hair seemed longer, and fell in gentle curls on either side of the pillow. Her lips were fuller and larger than she remembered, and much redder. Her eyelashes seemed longer somehow, but Melinde could find no trace of cosmetics. She bent down over her fallen prince's face, searching for some sign that her love still existed, somewhere in this pretty shell.
"Beautiful, isn't she? " The voice came from the doorway. Melinde whirled, pale as a ghost, to find Lord Drax leaning against the door. "My healers do excellent work. Aside from the fact that she'll never be able to bear children, Regina is no different from any other woman. Except for the fact that she used to be a man."
Melinde regained her composure and curtseyed, eyes down. "My lord, forgive me. The door was open and I was curious."
Drax waved his hand. "No need for forgiveness, Molly. I wanted you to see this." Melinde looked up, surprised. Drax smiled. "The expression on your face was priceless. Tell me, were you his lover?" She blushed and looked away. "I thought as much. You showed too much concern for your fallen prince. Although I am surprised the man he used to be would choose a chambermaid for a mistress. Even one as lovely as you."
The warlord walked past Melinde to the bed, and gazed lovingly at his captive.
"I have a gift for you, precious," he purred, as he fastened a gold collar around the thin neck of his prisoner. The Drax coat of arms engraved in the metal gleamed in the sunlight from the tower window. "Now you are truly mine."
"Changing his body will not change his mind, milord," Melinde said softly. "He ... she was a man for a long time. She will not yield easily to you, even as a woman."
Drax kept looking down at his Regina, and stroked her hair gently with his hand. "You knew him so well, Molly?"
"Well enough, milord," she replied, eyes still averted.
"I see," Drax murmured. "But you do not know her, do you?"
"Milord?"
"Reginald is dead," he stated flatly. "Morden and his healers eliminated him completely. Regina is what remains chained to this bed. And you do not know Regina at all."
"You have not changed his mind, milord," Melinde insisted, despite her fear.
"Not yet. " Drax bent down to examine the collar on his prize. "But I will. And you will help me."
"Milord? " Despite her earlier words, Melinde felt another chill.
"You will go to the head of household and inform her that you are to be relieved of all other duties. " Drax stood up and looked right at her. "You are to become Regina's maid and dresser. It will be your job to teach her how to be a lady in mind as well as body."
"But sir," Melinde protested, "I do not know how to be a lady. I am only a serving girl."
"You are a woman!" Drax shouted, stepping to her and grabbing her arm. "The one thing you know above all else is how to submit. " He twisted and she fell to her knees, gasping from the pain. "That is what you will teach her."
"Y. . . yes, milord," she whispered, tears flowing from her eyes. Drax released her and walked quickly to the window. While he ignored her, Melinde grabbed the bedpost with her good arm and pulled herself to her feet. Then she scuttled across the floor, retrieved her basket of bedclothes, and stole out the door without looking back.
In his forced sleep, the prince heard none of this. Instead, he dreamed he was chasing a beautiful princess from a foreign land. He finally caught her, only to discover his own face staring back from beneath her veil. Because of the healers' medicines, he could not awaken from this nightmare. Instead, he experienced it again and again in the weeks he had slept.
At times, he thought he could hear Melinde's voice through the haze, and struggled to free himself from his sleeping prison. But his body was not his own, and his fight against the darkness was doomed to failure before it could even begin.
Deep inside, he remembered the things that Drax had said. But it was difficult to think in the endless fog his life had become, and he found what he did remember hard to believe. Eventually, he sank back into dreaming, and found himself chasing that elusive beauty once more.
Later that day, Melinde began her duties as lady's maid to the woman who was once her prince. She moved her straw pallet to the tower room and watched as the slant-eyed healers continued their vigil over the figure in the bed. Periodically, they would consult with each other in some foreign tongue for many minutes. Then one of them would take another needle, dip it in some herbal mixture, and insert it slowly into Reginald's chest or buttock, while others felt various parts of her anatomy. It didn't seem to do anything as far as Melinde could tell, but several times a day the whole group of healers would stand over the bed and nod approvingly. Then the cycle would begin again.
When the healers were not working on her prince's sleeping form, Melinde would bathe the thin, soft body chained to the bed and try to reach her love's soul with her touch. Once an hour, Drax would come in and demand to know how much longer it would be before his consort could be awakened. Always, Morden would calm the warlord and send him on his way with a "soon, my lord Drax, soon."
Eventually, the consultations between healers grew further and further apart. One month after Drax's takeover of the kingdom, King Stephen's sole heir to the throne was about to receive a rude awakening, and begin a whole new life.
Melinde watched as one of the healers removed and packed away the chains that had held the new woman for so many weeks. Another inserted a final needle into the neck of the form on the bed, removed it, and packed the last of the instruments left in the chamber. Drax stood in a corner and watched as the girl began to stir. Her hand reached limply towards her face, but froze when it reached her breasts.
"Oh my God," she breathed in a thin contralto. "He did it!" The other hand came up, and both hands cupped the new flesh she found sitting on her chest. Melinde could see the tears begin to form in the corner of her lover's eyes, and rushed to the bed before they could fall.
"Don't cry, milady," she whispered, taking the girl's hand. "Lord Drax is here."
Regina looked into her face, and Melinde caught the flash of recognition in those impossible green eyes. As she began to speak, the would-be maid gave her hand a squeeze and spoke quickly.
"It's Molly," she said. "You remember? I was lady's maid to the Queen. And to you, now, I suppose." She winked and twitched a corner of her mouth
The new woman looked back at her lover, on the verge of crying again. Melinde mouthed the words "brave heart, my love," and smiled. Regina felt her spirits rise, and let a small smile reach her lips.
"Oh come now, Molly," she admonished playfully. "You know you mean more to me than your prior service to my mother. I would have thought our time together was far more memorable than that." Regina tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but could barely raise her head. After a struggle, she suceeded, and was rewarded with a good view of what her body had become.
"And though it may appear that I might need a lady's maid," she continued, keeping her new voice steady despite an overwhelming urge to scream, "that is not in fact the case, since I am not a lady."
Drax stepped out of the corner.
"I have made you a woman, Regina," he said softly. "It is only a matter of time before I make a lady out of you as well."
Melinde helped Regina to sit up on the edge of the bed. She felt the flesh on her chest bounce and shift with each movement, and balanced precariously on her now-too-wide hips. As her hairless legs came together, she felt the absence of her manhood and shuddered involuntarily. Melinde squeezed her arm, and Regina put her hand on Melinde's in response. Just knowing she was here was enough to keep the sense of loss under control.
For now.
"You will be hard pressed to make a lady of me, usurper. " Regina spoke with a confidence she did not feel. "Do what you like to this shell I wear. You cannot change the man within."
"Brave words," Drax sneered, "and I've heard words like them from more women in your position than I would care to remember. This isn't the first time I've done this."
"So you've said," she replied. "But this is the first time you've done this with me. And I will not make it easy for you."
"Still just words, my dear. " Drax watched with a smile as Regina put one arm around Melinde and tried to get her feet on the floor. Her buttocks slipped off the edge of the bed, and Melinde held her as the captive prince felt her thin legs tremble under her slight weight. "You speak as if you have a choice. You don't. You are weak. And you will be mine."
"No," she said bravely. "I won't."
Drax felt his patience slipping, and his anger began to rise.
"You are mine, bitch! " he snarled, "and I will prove it. " The warlord took two steps across the chamber and kicked Melinde's legs out from under her. She folded with a scream of pain, leaving Regina balancing unsteadily like a new filly taking its first steps. Drax reached down and grabbed Melinde by her hair. Pulling her to her knees, the usurper pulled a dagger from his belt and held it beneath her chin.
"You are weak and sentimental, Regina," Drax whispered, "just like the woman you've become. And you still have feelings for this trollop, even though you have no way to act upon them any longer. " He reached out with one arm and squeezed one of Regina's breasts. The pain brought tears to her eyes and forced her to her knees. Drax nodded approvingly.
"Now you see the limitations of the body I gave you," he said. "But the true path to your subjugation begins with your mind . . . your sense of honor."
Regina looked up at him, tears on her cheeks, and he put the knife up against Melinde's neck.
"You will pleasure me," he said simply, "or I will kill your wench and rape you anyway. Either way, you lose. But if you take me in your mouth and please me now, the woman you care about will live . . . until you anger me again."
Regina looked into Melinde's face, but found nothing there but fear. What should she do? Sacrifice the woman she loved, or submit to the warlord's will? She felt torn and confused. What had been a personal battle had become tainted by innocent blood. How could one win against a foe with no honor?
Drax smiled at her hesitation.
"You are quite right to be torn," he whispered. "For to agree is to admit defeat. And you must submit, or lose your only friend to my steel. " Drax pressed the edge of the knife into his hostage's throat. A thin line of blood trickled down beneath the blade. Drax saw the fear in Regina's eyes, and knew that he had won.
"Eyes down, bitch! " he roared. His prisoner looked down quickly. Drax's voice became softer, almost mocking in its tenderness. "That's a good girl. Just remember your place, and you will be rewarded. Now, what is your name?"
She looked down at her changed form, breasts heaving as she fought back tears. "Regina, my lord," she whispered.
"I cannot hear you, bitch! " Drax shouted, pulling Melinde to her feet with the knife still firmly in place. "What is your name?"
"Regina, my lord," the fallen prince replied, totally ashamed of her surrender.
"Guard! " The warlord bellowed. Instantly a soldier appeared at the door, his sword drawn. Drax threw Melinde across the room into his arms.
"This whore here is going to show me how grateful she is to be my slave," he said. "If she does not obey me fully or please me in every way I wish, you will kill her ... friend instantly. Is that understood?"
The guard nodded, and pulled the sobbing Melinde into a corner, his sword drawn. Drax sheathed his knife and walked over to Regina's kneeling form. Grabbing her by her golden collar, he walked her over to the bed where she had lain helpless for so long. Helpless still, she kept her eyes down, unable to face what lay ahead.
After Drax left, Regina curled up into a ball on the floor of her chamber, and burst into tears.. She was still naked, her face and breasts dripping with Drax's juices. She could smell him on her with every breath she took. She could even taste him when she closed her mouth. She felt unspeakably dirty, as if she could never get clean again.
She felt a touch upon her back and shied away from the hand, but it stayed with her as she moved.
"Sshhh," said Melinde, stroking her back gently. The guard had released her and followed Drax out, locking the door behind them both. "It is all right, my love. Drax is gone."
"All right? How can it ever be all right again?" Regina spoke through her tears, her body wracked by sobs she could not control. "Did you see what I did? Did you see? I can still feel his organ at the back of my throat, rubbing and spurting. And I can hear his laughter still, as I kneeled at his feet with his ... his ... in my mouth and his hands on the back of my head, pushing. And then he made me ... thank him! I ... I don't think I can ... " She curled tighter, trying to escape inside herself.
Melinde wrapped her arms around her love, trying to comfort her with her touch. But Regina could not feel anything but shame.
"You did it all to save me, my love," Melinde whispered softly. "He would have had me killed in an instant if you had not done as he commanded. There is no need to be ashamed. You were so brave. I will always love you for what you have done. Always."
Melinde continued to hold and caress her fallen lover. Slowly, Regina's tired muscles began to relax, and her tears began to dry. But it was no real improvement. Regina pushed her arms aside and turned to face her friend. Melinde searched her eyes and found them empty. And scared.
"What am I? " Regina asked. Her voice was cold and emotionless. "What have I become? I am not Reginald. Not anymore. This afternoon's . . . demonstration made that painfully clear." Her voice began to quiver slightly. "Reginald, prince of the realm, would have died before submitting to that. I gave in so quickly, you would think I'd been waiting all my life for the chance to pleasure that ... that butcher. No willpower. No spine."
She laughed. It was a pitifully small sound, and Melinde thought she could hear Regina's heart start breaking. "Now I'm just . . . Regina. Drax's pet. A plaything for my father's murderer. Weak. Frail. A pale, hairless, frightened shadow of what I once was." She reached down and cupped her breasts, holding them out to Melinde as if they were a gift. "Look at me, Mel. All breasts and hips and hair and legs. And nothing between my legs but a woman's promise. Drax's revenge. " Regina let go of her chest and covered her eyes. She started crying again. "I'm nothing, now. Just a . . . a mockery of a woman! And a weak one at that."
Melinde watched as her prince collapsed in a river of tears. She felt powerless. How could she reach past what her love had become to touch the man beneath the pretty mask?
Without thinking, she pulled Regina's hands from her face, pulled her close, and kissed her with every ounce of passion she could summon from her small frame. She felt her breasts brushing against her companion's, but sent her mind back to a summer day not long ago, when the two of them lay under a spreading oak in the forest near the castle, exploring each other's mouths and bodies between words of love ... and the times they shared when words were not needed.
At first, her prince resisted, but Mel's passion soon warmed the fire that still burned for her in Regina's heart. She began to return the love Mel gave her, and her hands roved to caress the body she remembered so well. Melinde held Regina's head in her hands, her mouth moving hungrily as her own need began to overcome the changes she felt in her lover's form. She embraced the woman her lover had become, running her hands and mouth over the soft nakedness. Mel's mouth found Regina's breasts, and she sucked and bit with a savagery born of unbridled lust, wanting only to pleasure the man trapped within.
Regina's new body responded with an intensity that shocked her out of her self-pity, ripping through her frame with waves of pleasure she had never known as a man. She shuddered and moaned from the force of it, feeling a warmth spread through her lower body that grew with each touch of Melinde's lips against her nipples. She clutched at her soulmate, pulling her closer.
Melinde realized that she had taken Regina farther than she had wanted, and backed away from her chest. Regina took several deep breaths, shuddering with each intake, and Mel took her hands and waited patiently. Finally, the prince gave Melinde a cock-eyed smile and squeezed her hands in return.
"Thank you," she said, looking down. "There was part of me that feared losing you. I thought ... this ... had changed what we have between us." Regina smiled. "I'd forgotten just how strong our love is."
"I hadn't forgotten," Mel replied with a smile, leaning forward to kiss her on the nose. "Everything you did to save my life was proof of it. You are still my soulmate and always will be. Always remember ... no matter what form you wear, we are still one ... inside."
"But because we are one, I have put you in danger. Drax will hold your life at knifepoint to ensure my ... cooperation. And if I fight, I am powerless to protect you for long, as I am." Regina looked down at her thin arms. "I doubt I could even pick up a sword, much less wield one in single combat. The only weapon I have is surrender -- and if I surrender too often, the man you loved will disappear forever."
Melinde's smile grew, and she gave Regina a quick hug. "Oh, you silly thing! You haven't been a woman long enough to know it, but you have far more weapons at your command than you think. The ones every woman is born with, and the ones you learn about as you grow older. I will teach you, if you will have me as your teacher."
"I will have you in whatever way you wish, my love," Regina smiled back, and kissed her gently on the cheek. "But now I think I need a teacher more than anything."
"What you need first," Mel said decisively, "is a bath. To wash that bastard's insult from your skin, and from your heart. " She walked over to the door and opened it. The guard turned, surprised.
"Go and tell the kitchen we need hot water . . . lots of it. And a tub large enough for the lady Regina to bathe in. " The guard stood there for a moment in disbelief. Melinde put her hands on her hips and leaned forward until her face was inches from his. "Are you deaf? Or would you like to see what happens to someone who lets Lord Drax's pet go uncared for? " She watched as his face went pale, then white, and then he was gone. Regina laughed, and Mel turned, surprised.
"You are good," Regina declared. "It is nice to know my teacher is experienced at manipulating men."
"I'm not worried," Melinde said warmly. "I'm sure you'll pick it up as you go along."
"I have had more time to judge the warlord than you," Melinde commented as she soaped Regina's hair. "He thinks more of himself than any man I have ever met, including you."
"Thank you. " Regina smiled, her eyes closed against the stinging foam. "I think. Do all men think too much of themselves? "
"No," Melinde replied, and dumped a pail of water over Regina's head. "Your opinion of yourself was always justified. You really were as good as you thought you were. But Drax isn't. We can use that to our advantage."
Regina pushed wet hair from in front of her face. "How?"
"By making him think you are beaten when you really are not."
"Do you think he can be fooled so easily?"
"I did not say it would be easy," Melinde said, her tone brisk. "I just think it can be done. But to do it, you will have to learn the first lesson in how women get along in a world where men set the rules. " She handed Regina a wash cloth and let her sponge away the sweat and stickiness between her breasts. 'You have to learn to hide your true feelings."
"I have to learn to lie? " The wash cloth disappeared under the water and found its way between Regina's legs. She shivered involuntarily as it caressed the place her organ used to be, followed by a sharp spike of pleasure. "Oh! "
"What?"
"Mmmmm . . " Regina moaned, rubbing some more. Annoyed, Mel poured another bucket of water on Regina's head, and she let go of the cloth.
"Stop that," Mel spoke sternly. Regina looked up at her, ashamed.
"I'm sorry, love," she whispered. "I just didn't know it . . . I could feel anything like that. Not after . . . after what they did."
"Drax may be counting on that pleasure to enslave you," Melinde said, "as he did Lord Brian. You must pay attention to what I'm telling you. Who knows when Drax will return? "
Regina looked down, and Mel instantly softened. She took Regina's chin and tilted her head up to look in her eyes. "Do not feel too badly, my love. It is only that this may be the last private time we get before the next time you need to act. And acting is what it will be."
"I don't think I can -- "
"You must! Think of it as a feint on a field of battle. Would you let your enemy know your true strength, or intentions? " Regina shook her head. "If Drax truly believes you are broken and defeated, then in his mind, you will cease to become a threat. At that instant, you will be in control. For Drax will have underestimated his opponent, and in battle, that is defeat."
"You seem to know much about the art of war," Regina said tentatively. "For a woman, I mean. " Mel laughed.
"I am my father's only child," she replied. "He knew that if I was to command my father's guards one day as their lady, I needed to know how it is done. So I was taught. But my mother taught me as much about conquering men as my father taught me of the battlefield."
"So I remember. " Regina smiled. "As one of your conquests, allow me to compliment you … and your mother."
Melinde helped the still-weakened Regina from the tub and dried her with soft towels. She dressed her beloved in a heavy nightgown, then wrapped her in blankets against the night's approaching chill.
"You must pick the times to fight and the times to yield, just like any woman," Mel said simply. "In battle, if the enemy is not where you want him to be, you place your men where he must redeploy his forces to engage. You lure him into putting his forces where you have the advantage." Regina nodded. Melinde smiled. "The same strategy applies between men and women. Only the battlefield has changed. You must create the impression that you are losing ground to Drax's superior power, and make him believe that Reginald is Regina, his pet, lover, and mistress."
"That will be a simple matter," Regina said, looking down at her hands. "As long as he holds your life in his hands, I am powerless."
"No," Melinde snapped, taking Regina by the chin and raising her face to look into her eyes. "You are NOT powerless, because you see the field as it is, not as you wish it to be. He thinks you have no will to resist, because of your love for me. If you let him keep thinking that, you will surely lead him down the path to his own destruction -- but only if you hold fast to your own inner strength, and the love we share."
She turned and handed Regina a cup of broth. "First we must build up your strength. Drink. " Regina's hand shook from the effort of holding the cup.
"I'm as weak as a kitten," she said softly, amazed.
"You haven't eaten anything solid for over a month," Melinde replied, helping her take a sip. "God knows how they kept you alive, but you've easily lost half your weight since they brought you in here. It will take us a while to build you up again."
"You think I can someday be restored? " Regina's eyes lit up with hope. Melinde took the cup away from her, took her hand, and then took the hope away.
"No," she whispered, and watched her lover's despair grow again. "I'm sorry, my love, but you will never regain what you once were. You have changed . . . too much. " Melinde squeezed her hand. "But we can make you a strong woman, instead of the frail beauty Drax would chain to his throne. And your skills with arms and armies, with blade and bow, still remain, although trapped in your weakened form. With time, you will once again become a formidable foe for the usurper. If your will is strong."
"And afterward? " Regina's voice trembled slightly. "Once I defeat Drax, what is left? What will happen to me then?"
"One victory at a time, beloved," Melinde replied gently, moving the cup to Regina's lips once more. "This 'battle of the sexes' will be a long campaign, not to be won in a single skirmish. And the first battlefield is within you. You must learn that a lion's heart still beats inside that pale shell, and that courage, strength, and honor are not the sole province of men."
Regina looked over the rim of the cup into the eyes of the woman she loved. Melinde had slaved for weeks to watch over her, and even now played a dangerous game to restore her to her throne and bring Drax to his knees.
"Then the first lesson is already learned," Regina whispered, and took the cup of broth in her frail hand. "For one look at you and what you have done, and who could doubt your courage, your strength ... or your love? " Melinde blushed and look down modestly. Regina raised the cup slightly, her arm trembling.
"Confusion to our enemies, dearest," she said with a smile, and drank deep. Her betrothed took back the cup and raised it towards her love.
"And strength to our cause," Melinde replied, and took a sip herself. She smiled, then shook her head. "But how foolish! This broth belongs in you, and not in me. We need to restore your strength, my ... milady. " Regina's eyes widened, but the cup at her lips stifled her shocked reply even as she felt Melinde's warmth, and love. Her mouth relaxed into a smile, and after she had finished the broth, Regina felt herself drifting off into sleep, feeling vaguely hopeful.
The fight to retake her kingdom, and her life, had begun.
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With Regina trapped in Drax's iron fist and her own life in danger, Melinde sends out a call for help to a most unlikely source. The entire kingdom learns of Regina's trials with surprising results, and unlikely alliances are formed.
The Hardest Battle, Part 2
by Randalynn
After watching over Regina until she fell asleep, Melinde carefully bundled up the towels and sheets into her basket and slipped out the door. The guard gave her a brief glance, then went back to the "back straight, eyes front" stance that Lord Drax demanded of any guard on duty in his service. The last of his guards to be discovered slouching on duty was a lazy womanizer named Bertram, who spent more time chasing his own pleasures than standing guard. He was last seen being dragged into Drax's dungeons, where his court physicians lived and worked. His cries for mercy were cut short by the closing of the heavy metal door.
He never came out again.
At first, most of Drax's men assumed he was dead.
But months later, one of the other soldiers returned from a tax collecting trip to a distant province with an odd tale to tell. He was there when a large wench wandered into a village, wearing a simple peasant dress. Its deep bodice clearly showed her huge well-shaped bosom as it bounced and swayed with every step, and her long black hair twisted and curled all the way down to her bountiful hips. She seemed dazed and confused, and kept touching parts of her in apparent disbelief, her bright green eyes wide with surprise
When she reached the village inn, she begged for help. Although shy at first, she finally began to speak, and insisted that she wasn't what she seemed. But every time she tried to tell everyone what had happened to her, some man's wandering hand would touch her, making her nearly swoon with pleasure. With each rough caress, she would forget what it was she had been about to say. Being the only woman in an inn full of men, she was touched quite often, and by the time the seventh man squeezed her bottom and buried his face between her breasts, she gladly agreed with the innkeeper's wish to call her "Betty." Finally, after the eighth man delivered a long kiss that pinned her to the bar while his fingers explored, she happily agreed to work there in exchange for a room, in a voice that was little more than a breathless, lisping squeak.
After a few days, it seemed pretty clear she would spend the rest of her days in that tiny inn, serving drinks on her feet -- and men on her back.
A tame story, some would say. And indeed, some did.
Until the guard telling the story swore on his honor that, as he rode away from the village, he realized that the girl had Bertram's eyes. And when she had looked at him in the bar, 'Bouncing Betty' had turned away in shame, although there was no call for it as far as he could see at the time. She was just a lusty wench, after all.
The other guards thought the story nothing more than a fanciful tale, until Lord Drax's latest "conquest" was unveiled to the court after his successful invasion of Northumberland. Once it was common knowledge that Lord Tristan had become a winsome lass named Trisha, every guard stood straight and tall and NEVER shirked his duty.
Because a ghost named Betty haunted their nights, and made their manhood shrivel at the thought of how close any of them had come to her fate.
Melinde rushed carefully down to the towers steps and ran to the kitchen. Maude and Cook were waiting for her, anxious for news of their lord and master.
"How is the prince?" Maude whispered, taking the trembling girl in her arms.
"He's a princess now, full and true," Mel replied, her voice shaking. "His manhood traded for a woman's charms, his ... her hips full and round, and her bosom ... nay, tis true. Tis bigger than mine." Both women gasped, but Mel held up a hand. "She is a rare beauty, as pretty as Reginald was handsome. But for all that, the heart of a lion remains within her. Although weakened, she still has battles left to fight."
"Battles?" Cook said, confused. "Goodness, child, what can you mean?"
"You have seen that girl, Brina, that kneels at Drax's feet?" Cook nodded. "She once was Lord Brian of Duncaster, and now serves as Drax's 'pet.' Now Regina is to meet the same fate, twisted into some pale shadow of womanhood as a plaything for the usurper."
Maude wrung her hands, desolate. "Oh, the poor boy!"
Mel sat at the worktable, and motioned both women to sit across from her.
"Tonight, she surrendered to the most foul demands of Lord Drax ..." Mel paused as a chill ran over her body, and she felt a tear fall. "She ... did what Drax asked, to save my life, since the evil lord discovered how much I meant to Regina, and she to me."
Melinde looked up into Maude's eyes, and found a fire to match her own. "But it is all supposed to be just a tactical feint in an odd game of war, to lull Drax into thinking he has tamed Regina ... without Regina losing herself to him."
"Can the master hold true to who he — she is?" Cook's fear was evident.
"At first, yes," Melinde spoke with a sureness both women felt. "Reginald's will has always been strong, and Regina's will is no less so. But this ... transformation has hurt him terribly. Drax has taken from him his kingdom, his life, his future, and his sex. Now the demon works to take Regina's pride and honor as well. This may be the hardest battle she has ever fought, and I fear if it goes on too long, she may be lost."
Maude clasped her hands together. "What can we do to help?"
As the daughter of King Stephen's most brilliant general and strategist, Melinde had more of an understanding of war and rebellion than most women of her time. As she thought for a moment, she began to smile. "Pass the word to all the servants in the castle," she said, "and any nobles we know we can trust for sure. Have Regina's tale spread across the land, but quietly. Let her people know what has happened to their prince, and tell of the sacrifices he makes to save the life of one of his subjects. We shall build support for the trials of the new princess, and let the people know we are not beaten."
She paused as a new idea slipped into her mind, and she latched onto it and spoke again. "Tell all of King Stephen's subjects to make the invaders believe we are defeated, just as Regina plans to do with Drax himself. Tell them we will win with stealth what we lost in arms, but to stay vigilant and prepare themselves. When the time is right, they will be called to act. Then we will have our lands again, and Drax will be destroyed."
Both women saw the determination in Melinde's eyes, and nodded solemnly. After a time, Maude spoke thoughtfully. "There is no love for Drax in our kingdom. None at all. If his guards were not everywhere, the people would have risen long before now. But to fight such a large, cruel force ... it is too hard to even think about."
"Indeed, wicked hard it is, when you feel you are alone," Mel agreed. "But together, and well-led, nothing is impossible."
"But how can we bring them together?" Cook said softly, clearly frustrated. "The kingdom is huge! And who will lead them to victory, if we do?"
Melinde's eyes narrowed, and without a word she rose and walked across the kitchen. From a cubby near the vegetable bins, she drew parchment, quill, and ink she had hidden weeks before.
"As I said, what we lost in arms, we will win with stealth." She sat at the table and began to write. "And I know just the man to lead us all ... if he is willing."
Regina woke the next morning to find Melinde standing by the fire, stoking it up to bring warmth into her tower room. Watching her there, bent over the metal brasier, the princess cherished her as a friend and a lover. Tracing the curve of her hip through the peasant dress, she remembered Mel's kiss from yesterday, and her mind drifted back to the happy times before this nightmare began. Many afternoons, the two of them would slip away from tutors and chaperones, meeting in fields and stables to join in blissful union. Regina thought about how they delighted in the true pleasure of lust and love combined, and shivered all over in remembered desire.
But where proud flesh once grew straight and tall, she felt only a small itch and an odd heat inside her, bringing forth a dampness that seemed to make her nether lips swell and part. Her nipples plumped and rose as well, becoming so sensitive that the fabric of the blanket against them sent small waves of pleasure rolling through her slight frame.
'Although she inflames my desires still,' Regina thought sadly, 'I have nothing with which to please her anymore. And my hopes for our future are dashed. For surely she would not choose another woman as her partner ... as her mate.'
The tears began to fall.
Mel turned and saw that Regina was awake. Then she noticed her tears, and rushed to her side.
"Are you in pain, Beloved?" She knelt beside the bed and took the princess's hand.
"Only in my heart, sweet," Regina replied, her new soft high voice trembling with sorrow. "You are so lovely, and still fill me with need. But I cannot hope to be your husband now ... not with my manhood so cruelly twisted and my body a mere shadow of your own." She turned her head away. "Even if this form still pleased you, I have no way to show you the depth of my love, or to bring you the pleasure you deserve -- the pleasure only the touch of a man can bring. And why would you ever choose to wed another woman?"
Mel touched her chin and turned Regina's face towards her. "I choose to wed the love of my life, dear one. Your body is but a shell that holds the one soul in all the world that matches mine." Mel gently traced Regina's curves beneath the blankets. "As for finding your new shape pleasing, I know I could love the ugliest oaf in the kingdom if your soul resided within his hulkish frame. Why should I not love you now, in a form as beautiful as this?"
"But ... but I am a woman now!" The princess was embarrassed to feel her lip trembling.
"As am I, dear one," Mel replied, gently brushing stray hairs from the young girl's forehead. "Why should you doubt my love?"
"I would never doubt you, dearest," Regina whispered. "But as I am ... as you are ... how can I bring you the pleasure you deserve, when my parts ... when I am ... when I seem as much a woman as my love?"
Melinde looked down at the girl her beloved had become. She looked past all that had been done, and saw the man she once loved, grieving for her lost manhood and hurting ... because she could not please the woman she loved more than life itself. She needed to show Regina that all was not hopeless. The princess needed to see that there could be a life with her beloved once Drax had been overthrown.
But Mel had never been attracted to another woman before.
'Can I do this?' Her face remained unchanged but her heart was in turmoil. 'I have never loved a woman before the way I love this man. But my man, my heart's true love ... he I was destined to wed ... is a woman now. Can I want him as much as he still wants me? Can I truly burn for a woman's body as I once did for Reginald?'
Mel remembered the day after her first time of blood had finally ceased, when she had discovered the pleasure she could bring forth in her own body with just a touch and a fantasy. Her mind went back to yesterday's kiss, and how her desires rose and overcame the feeling of soft lips on hers, and another bosom pressed tightly to her own. It didn't feel strange. It felt right. In a matter of seconds, everything became very clear to Melinde, and her resolve strengthened as she realized the truth. She smiled.
'My love is as strong as it ever was,' she thought proudly. 'Stronger, because I know how much it hurts her to surrender to Drax to preserve me. In that sacrifice is a proof of a fire that will burn forever, in both of our souls. Love is love and pleasure is pleasure, man or woman it matters not. Of that, I am certain. Regardless of the bodies we wear, we are one -- still and always.'
"Beloved," Melinde said softly. "One heart, one soul we share, and so it shall remain. We shall never part, for I know beneath that woman's shape is the man I love. No matter what may happen, no matter what our future holds, I am yours, and you are mine, and that will never change." She rose to her feet and pulled the kerchief from her head. She untied the bow that held the top of her dress closed. Slipping it from her shoulders, she let it fall down past her hips and rest on the hard floor. Finally, she slowly removed the soft undergarments she had worn beneath. When Mel stood naked beside the bed. Regina's eyes widened.
"And as for pleasing me ... for pleasing each other," she whispered, peeling back the covers and sliding in beside the astonished girl. "Let me show some things I learned when I first became a woman. Let me pleasure you ... so you can see how to please me, in turn."
Melinde wrapped herself around her mate and kissed her with every ounce of love her frame could hold. Breast to breast, skin to skin, Regina felt that love surround her, and her sorrow slipped away on the tides of passion that rose within her ... passion that echoed in her mate's heart as well. Mel moved her lips back, breathing heavily, and spoke only a hair's breadth distant from the lips of her beloved.
"Let me show you how to bring me pleasure," she whispered, "as only another woman can."
"It's a travesty, I tell you! How's a man supposed to steal an honest living?"
In the front rooms of the Thieving Magpie, Slocum's largest inn, breakfast was being served to what appeared to be a group of traveling men, peddlers, ladies of the night, and wayward workers -- all seeking their fortune, traveling from town to town. In reality, this was the first full meeting of the kingdom's Thieves Guild since Drax had invaded and conquered the land.
Out in the street, carefully hidden apprentices watched every approach, alert to the danger of discovery by Drax's soldiers. At the first sign of an official presence, the meeting would adjourn and dissolve back into a group of strangers, sharing an awkward morning repast.
But for now, it was still a meeting of the Thieves Guild. And the guild members were NOT happy.
"This Drax monster has no liking for the art, that's for sure," one of the women piped up. Polly was one of the best pickpockets and cutpurses in the kingdom. Her ample bosom provided all the distraction she needed. "Unless it's him that's doin' the stealin'. He's a bigger thief than any of us. He took the entire kingdom!"
Roger, a highwayman from the far reaches, shouted agreement. "Polly's right! Say what you want about King Stephen, but he was always fair and honest -- to a fault, God rest his soul. Made it a right pleasure to steal from his tax men. And them was all fair folk as well. There was that bunch out Sussex way. Robbed 'em regular as clockwork, I did, even although they tried their best to stop me. Always ended well. And not a hair harmed on either side, ever."
The whole group spoke in unison. "Take nothing but goods and coin. Let no blood be spilled or lives be lost."
"Exactly!" Sally, a grown woman the size and shape of a small child piped up. She sometimes worked an orphan con that put her in a noble's house and put his valuables in her sack before a night was done. "That's Guild law! That's what makes it an art, don't it? Any oaf can smash 'n grab. Takes a right artist to do 'em without a scratch, 'n leave 'em wondering what's what. Got to have talent to hurt nuffin but their pride while you pad your own purse."
Roger's anger rose, and he slammed his tankard on the table. "Tis a foul blow," he shouted, rising to his feet. "We're masters of the craft, we are, being baited by common ruffians in armor, working for that ... that madman in the castle. Taking everything before we get there, killin' anyone who says 'boo' to stop 'em."
The crowd roared, and Tobias let them. He was a tall, well-muscled man, with pale blue eyes and long brown hair that fell in a tumble of curls down over his broad shoulders. Many a victim had been beguiled by his easy smile into parting with their fortune before they knew they had been tricked. Well liked by everyone he met, Tobias was an easy choice to lead the Guild, and rose through the ranks with a speed others would have found frightening, had his charm not won them over before he even thought to rise.
As Guild Master, he could have quieted the room with just a word, but Tobias knew they needed to let their anger out before it consumed them all. With Drax's invasion, the kingdom -- their "patch" -- had been taken and defiled by heavy-handed thugs in his service. It left them nothing but rage, and no way to express it.
Still, it went against Guild tradition to meddle in politics, warfare, or diplomacy. Most guild members felt such pursuits to be beneath them, since above all, they served the craft -- and the craft could be served anywhere there were riches, regardless of who ruled.
Or so they had thought, until Lord Drax conquered ... and stayed.
Tobias sighed, and rubbed his temples. 'The people hated the new regime,' he thought savagely. 'If King Stephen had managed to escape, there might have been a chance to end this tyranny quickly, and the guild could have gone back to its business. Even now, if Prince Reginald were alive, there would be hope of an insurrection.'
But no word had come from the castle concerning his fate. Of course there were rumors, but nothing definite, and some almost impossible to believe. But imprisoned or dead, Reginald could not lead the people to victory. And his fair cousin Melinde, betrothed to Reginald, remained missing as well, which vexed him no end. To say he was worried was an understatement, since Drax's reputation regarding the treatment of the noblewomen he captured was both horrible and all too justified. He had almost made up his mind to use his skills to slip into the castle himself and search for her, but he worried that she might be working on some scheme of her own to unseat the usurper, and was loathe to do anything that could bring ruin to her plans.
Tobias was sure Mel knew she could count on him for help, but it had been six weeks since Drax's invasion, and no word had arrived requesting his aid. So when a sealed piece of parchment was delivered discreetly to his hand in the midst of the uproar, his heart rose when he recognized her handwriting, and he devoured the contents of the missive as if it were the key to finding a treasure he had lost -- which, indeed, it was. He loved his cousin dearly, as much for her lack of disapproval at his chosen profession as for her winsome smile and gentle ways.
'She would have made a fine thief,' he mused with a sense of pride as he worked his way through her letter eagerly. 'Hiding under Drax's nose for weeks as a maid. Brilliant! Should have figured the idiot would discount the servants as nothing more than cogs in some machine, meant to serve only him. It's almost as if the world exists for him and him alone -- that nothing has meaning except as it relates to him.'
As Melinde's words spilled forth from the pages, Tobias read that the rumors were true! Reginald was alive, held captive and transformed ... into a woman??? ... by Drax's foul hand. He could scarcely credit that last part, but Mel had always spoken true to him in the past, and there was no reason to doubt her now. Reginald was alive.
He froze. 'Reginald WAS alive,' he thought fiercely. 'Bent and twisted in both mind and body, but alive. With a live royal, there was more than a chance. There was hope.'
'There was a way.'
Tobias thought for a moment, then sighed. 'There is a way, but it won't be easy,' he thought. 'Best do it now, and strike while their anger still holds sway.'
The guild leader rose to his feet, throwing back his chair and startling everyone in the inn's great room. All eyes turned to him, and he looked upon his people, and his eyes were like stone.
"Drax is a thief," he declared. Everyone murmured agreement. "We're all agreed, then. He's one of us." This drew confused looks from some of the more ardent opponents of the despot. "Granted, stealing a kingdom is a grand caper. IF you play by the rules."
Tobias allowed his expression to darken, and his tone fairly growled his displeasure. "But he hasn't, has he? He hasn't played by the rules at all. In fact, Drax broke our most hallowed law ... and we stood by and let him do it!" There were cries of outrage from the crowd, and Tobias raised his voice in reply. "It's true! He crossed a line he should never have crossed, and we let him! Because he stole more than just a kingdom, didn't he? More than just peasants and nobles and lands and a crown."
The crowd fell silent. Tobias looked at them all, and let his anger roar out into the room.
"HE ... STOLE ... OUR ... PATCH!"
His words echoed in a room stunned into silence.
'Worse yet, we LET him steal it! We stood aside like a bunch of ... apprentices ..." The word dripped scorn ... "and we let him take what was ours, right out from under us!"
"If any other thief were to try to take what's ours, would we let him?"
The crowd looked at each other, then at Tobias, and shook their heads.
"Would we let him?" he shouted, and a few of the others said, "no!"
"Would we?" he bellowed, and the guild replied with a shout that shook the building.
"NO!"
"THAT's what I wanted to hear," Tobias laughed, slamming his fist down on the table. The he grew quiet, and leaned forward.
"So he's got our patch, and we want it back. But now that he's got it, like any good thief, he wants to keep it, right?" A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. "So he's got walls and locks and guards and weapons and armies to keep him and what he stole safe and sound. Or so he thinks."
"Because what he doesn't have," Tobias said with a smile, "and what he can't protect against ... is us. We're artists, we are. Not heavy-handed thugs like Drax and his armored goons. We've got the skills he never had and never even dreamed he needed ... and by all that's holy, we're going to steal our patch back!"
A lone voice piped up form the back of the room. "Looking to be a king, now, Toby?"
Tobias smiled wider. He knew that question was coming.
"What need of I for a kingdom? I have our patch -- or at least I DID, until Drax took it! And here, with all of you, I am MORE than a king! I am a Guild Master ... the leader of equals, not one for crowns and thrones!! Why in the world would I want to be a king? Although to be fair to kings, it must be said that King Stephen did a magnificent job keeping our patch safe ... until Drax took his life." Everyone bowed their heads briefly in respect.
Tobias looked around the room. "You might wonder ... if Tobias is too smart to want to be a king ..." The members laughed again, and the Guild Master smiled. "... then who will protect our patch now that Stephen is gone? The answer is here, my friends. This letter ..." He waved it over his head. "... tells me that his son, Prince Reginald, is still alive, and even now being held prisoner in the castle!"
An explosion of noise erupted from the assembled thieves, and Tobias raised his voice once more. "He's alive! But he's not quite the man he once was." Silence. Tobias let some anger slip into his voice once again. "Drax once again broke our rules, in OUR patch. He stole what he should not ... could not ... DARE not! Through some vile surgery and terrible medicine from the far East, he has stolen Reginald's very sex." The room fell to a hush. Tobias leaned forward. "He's turned our prince ... into a woman!"
Stunned silence. Into the vacuum, Tobias spoke.
"Drax has taken everything from us. And now he's taken everything from Reginald ... his kingdom, his manhood ... his life." More silence. "You all know the law. OUR law. 'Take nothing but goods and coin. 'Let no blood be spilled or lives be lost.' This is our patch, and that is our law. But blood has been spilled, and lives have been lost -- or taken. By DRAX!"
Tobias slammed his fists into the table.
"Enough!" he roared at the others. "We are NOT farmers or merchants, to be frightened by armored soldiers, or cheated by an honorless noble who takes what he wants through force of arms! We are THIEVES! The best of the best! No walls can stop us! No doors can delay us! Stealth is our armor, silence is our sword -- and this ... this is OUR PATCH! Drax took what was ours ... and we let him. Now it's time we did a little taking of our own! It's time we took our patch ... back!"
Tobias took a deep breath, and spoke in a normal tone of voice. "I do so submit. What say you all?"
The low rumbling of conversation filled the room as the members debated among themselves. Tobias stood there and let them talk. He'd put a motion to the assembly, and he'd done the best he could to sell it. Now it was their turn to sort it out.
He just prayed he'd presented his case well enough.
A few moment later, the sounds of debate wound down. A single figure rose at the back of the room -- Willoughby, the Guild's oldest member. He looked up at Tobias, and his face broke into a smile.
"In a kingdom trapped under a tyrant's heel," he said, "it would be a fine caper to be one of them that steals the boots out from under him. We're with you, Guild Master. Let's rob him blind!"
Murmurs of agreement turned to cheers, and Tobias settled into his seat with a grin. 'Now,' he thought happily, 'now the fun begins.'
'Now we take back what's ours, and save my cousin, the prince ... and the kingdom.'
'If we can.'
As Melinde's message spread throughout the land, the people were shocked and angered at what they heard. After hearing the tale of King Stephen's ignoble death at Drax's hands, and the usurper's transformations of royals in far away kingdoms, everyone was quite ready to believe what had been done to their beloved prince. No one blamed Reginald for pretending to submit, to protect the woman he loved. But a fire still blazed beneath the outward calm displayed by King Stephen's subjects, fueled by rage over the humiliations heaped upon their captured prince, and Drax's name was cursed and cursed again from the northern mountains to the southern shores.
But it was cursed quietly. The silent war of surrender had begun.
Melinde's instructions to the people were clear, and easily obeyed. Over time, stubborn resistance slowly became grudging cooperation, although everyone in every town gave each other a wink and a nod every time an order was obeyed. It became a sort of game for the townsfolk and their rural kin, to pretend to aid the invaders at every turn, while undermining Drax's minions whenever they could do so without revealing their true intent.
As a result, the fear of open rebellion eased, and the death rate fell dramatically. Drax's men began feeling more at ease among King Stephen's people. The guards in the outlying regions grew almost lazy, and the people there did nothing to make them think they had any reason to be concerned.
Still, deep into the night across the kingdom, blacksmiths kept their forges lit, and made swords and spears from broken plows and worn horseshoes. Farmers learned the art of crafting bows and making arrows, holding target practice in the largest barns to avoid unwanted discovery. Everyone made ready for the battle they knew was yet to come.
But for some, it was hard to think of the kingdom's future, as they mourned their losses in their own way.
Melinde stood behind the captured princess, and looked at her beloved's reflection with a critical eye. Regina, on the other hand, did everything she could to avoid looking in the mirror at all. She shifted uneasily in her high-heeled sandals and tossed her head, but her chest shifted and bounced in reply, and that only made her more uncomfortable. Looking past her quivering bosom, she saw her hands with their thin fingers resting uncomfortably on curves she didn't possess six weeks ago. She sighed. 'Everything IS different,' she thought, 'and I would be a fool's fool not to admit it to myself.' Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face the glass. Anything else would be cowardly, and that was a mantle she was not ready to accept.
The dress was the same one they had both seen on Briana, formerly Lord Brian of Duncaster and Drax's current pet. There were four more identical dresses in a wardrobe in the corner. Apparently, it was the uniform worn by all of his lordship's "conquests," with a deep scoop neck that revealed too much of Regina's rounded flesh for her to ever feel comfortable wearing it. The skirts were thick and full, giving the illusion of coverage, but they were also slit up the side almost to the waist. There were no undergarments, making access to Regina's "charms" easier for her new owner. And with every movement, the reluctant princess clearly felt the emptiness between her legs.
To Regina, the dress felt like another badge signifying a status she didn't want, and a future she would have done anything to avoid.
Anything, that is, except hurt Melinde.
Her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, and her makeup was so skillfully applied that only she and her beloved could tell it was there. Regina licked at her lips with the tip of her tongue, tasting the unfamiliar paint that gave his mouth a plump, pouty shape. Melinde gave her lover's now shapely bottom a hard slap, startling her enough to make her turn with a frown.
"It's to look at, not to taste, dear one," Mel said sternly. "If you lick it off, I'll just have to put more on. And Drax loves his pets to be ... painted." Regina turned back to the mirror and sighed again. Mel put her hand on the other girl's shoulder.
"You are beautiful, you know," she whispered.
Regina nodded, and her lip trembled. "I know," she replied, her voice shaking. "It almost makes this worse."
"Oh? Would you rather he made you an ugly hag? With warts and a hump, all scaly and hideous? Or maybe a juicy wench with a bosom so large you would need both hands to hold it up, and never see your feet again! Would that have been better?" Mel's voice held the tiniest tease, and Regina smiled.
"It would not matter, beloved." She reached up and put her hand on Melinde's, then squeezed. "You would not have loved me less, in either case."
"True, milady." Mel's lip twitched. "But at least now I have something pretty to look at ... when we aren't 'playing.'"
Regina laughed aloud, and was startled to hear a high-pitched giggle in place of the laugh she remembered. Mel raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"More of those tricks Drax's 'healers' played on your mind while you slept," she said. "I would imagine your old laugh would hardly be 'appropriate' for a pet. Not that I can see anything to laugh about in this situation ... except maybe for Drax himself." Regina looked at her, curious, and Mel shrugged. "Why do you think he does what he did to you? Because no woman born would ever want him, so he has to make his own!"
They both laughed this time, and Regina turned to face her lady with a smile on her lips.
"You saved me, my Melinde." She looked into Mel's eyes. "Without you, I --"
"Without me, you would have done just fine, sweet," Mel said, blushing as she looked away. The princess touched her chin, and she turned back to face her beloved once more.
"Without you," Regina said firmly, "I would be dead. I would have awakened into this nightmare and done my level best to kill the tyrant. Maybe I would have succeeded, but more likely I would have failed, and died."
She looked off into the distance for a moment, then smiled wistfully. "Remember when we were first betrothed, so long ago? When we decided we couldn't wait and snuck off to Brother Maynard's chapel? We bid him marry us in secret when we were children, and he smiled and delivered a pretend ceremony that filled us both with sobering thoughts of duty and responsibility. Being so young, I could scarcely imagine what marriage truly meant, or what my duties as a husband would be ... beyond keeping you safe and slaying any dragons that should show an interest." Melinde smiled as well. "Now I know what marriage truly means. But since my manhood was taken, it seems the duty of a husband falls more on you than I, since you have worked so hard to protect me and keep me whole."
"As you protect me, my love. Every time you surrender to his will, I live another day."
Regina shook her head. "You could have run, my angel, any time since this began. But you choose to stay. Every day, you save me from the consequences of my own despair, and I will not forget. My love for you, and yours for me, has given me time, and a chance to hope."
"And hope you should, highness," Melinde replied. She leaned closer and whispered. "I have sent for aid, from an unlikely source, but a trustworthy one. I did not tell you sooner for fear of raising false hope. But I have received a response, and if you can but hold until help arrives, we may yet bring this nightmare to an end."
"Too late for me, I'm afraid." Regina's smile held a touch of sadness. "As strong as our love is, I will miss the family we can never have. Always, after we lay together ... once our passions had been spent, I used to lie there with you in my arms and imagine the beautiful children we would bring into the world one day. A daughter and a son for us to love and raise. Happy and strong, and clever. I could almost see them in my mind's eye. Now, that's all they will ever be. Just an idle dream." A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Melinde squeezed her hand. "Now, now, beloved. Brave heart, remember? Let us not mourn the passing of dreams while the battle still rages, yes? Now the training starts in earnest, and you must be ready to hold fast to who you truly are, while letting him think you are defeated."
Regina nodded and held her face forward so Melinde could fix the makeup on her cheek, damaged by her tear. As the mid-morning bells began to ring, Mel took her place beside her princess, and both knelt on the floor and waited for Drax to arrive.
"Hold fast," Melinde whispered. "Help is on the way."
Then the door swung open, and Regina's hell began anew.
Neville, Lord Nesbitt, Earl of Durham, Protector of the Crown, and chief military strategist to the court of King Stephen, sat in the darkest corner of the Jester's Head pub and did his very best to remain invisible.
It wasn't easy. He was a large man, dressed in hunter's greens and browns with a tall staff and a bow and quiver holding up the wall behind him. Neville was not easy to ignore, but the sword and dagger strapped to his belt clearly told others he was not to be disturbed lightly. Those who lived in this particular town learned long ago that the best fences are made with cold steel.
Especially when that steel hangs from the waist of a man who knows how to use it.
Lord Nesbitt felt reasonably safe, although he had been a soldier long enough to know that no one is ever safe behind enemy lines. 'And that's what this inn has become,' he told himself with a sigh. 'Just another outpost behind the lines of an enemy -- an enemy too powerful to fight, and too repulsive to ignore.'
Still, danger is a relative thing. The people who needed to find him -- the people he trusted -- knew exactly where he was, and the people he hoped to avoid (and eventually kill) thought he was hundreds of miles away in another kingdom. As long as he could keep things relatively quiet, he and the five other nobles who had managed to slip past Drax's impossible armies could plot to retake the kingdom, and toss Drax from the highest tower they could find.
Of course, his troops were outnumbered ten to one, hidden in the north forests awaiting his commands. And Neville still could not think of a way to get his armies across the entire kingdom without anyone noticing. Even in groups of two or three, armed and armored men would certainly be noticed by Drax's patrols, and how much of his armies would remain intact in time to storm King Stephen's castle remained to be seen.
Not that he held out much hope of getting past its walls unscathed. He had helped design those defenses at Stephen's request, and they were pretty much impregnable. Drax overcame them through sheer numbers, but Neville could not use the same tactics, since he had no men to spare.
To have his own defenses turned against him this way burned in his gut like a blacksmith's tongs. And his daughter's disappearance at the time of Drax's arrival only fed the fire more. Neville doted upon her as any father would, and had hoped she and Reginald would finally have wed as had been planned since their betrothal.
'Months have passed, and still no word of her,' he thought again. 'Is she safe? Where could she be?'
"Ooooo, aren't you a big one!" A soft and decidedly female voice purred in his ear, as arms wraped around him from behind.
He started and half turned, but stopped when he felt two large soft breasts pressing down between his shoulder blades. 'Damn, she's quiet,' he thought, cursing himself for his preoccupation. 'How in all that's holy did she get so close?'
"Jumpy, too," the voice continued, with a bit of a smile in its tone. "You'd think you'd never been chased by a woman before, and I just can't believe that's true. Not a handsome gentleman like yourself."
The woman moved around the table, hips making her long skirt dance, and took the seat in front of him with a quiet grace. 'She might be a wench,' Neville mused, 'but she carries herself well.' It seemed as if she was used to having men look at her, and Neville had to admit that there was much there to admire. She was big but shapely, with her full bosom and the curve of her hips promising a night of pleasure in a warm bed. Her long red hair framed a pretty face, and her eyes seemed filled with laughter, as if she found life itself to be a joyful experience. As she slid into her chair, she raised her strong chin with a defiant jerk, as if daring anyone to put out the fire in her heart.
"I'm sorry, miss," Neville murmured, taking his tankard in hand and raising it to his lips. "I'm a married man, not looking for a tumble. You should move on and find another. I'm hardly fit company this evening in any case."
"Oh, I think you'll be interested in what I'm selling," she whispered, putting her hand on his. "Like the whereabouts of your lovely daughter, and what's really going on in King Stephen's castle. And what you might be able to do with those armies of yours ... the ones freezing in the north woods?"
He froze, and the woman looked into his eyes. "The price is a few moments of your time, Lord Nesbitt. I'll even let you keep your dagger and sword, so you can keep your virtue safe from a wicked wench like me. Now smile and nod, and take my hand. There's a room upstairs where we can be alone."
Neville smiled, and nodded, and they both rose together. The locals were surprised that anyone could get through to the dark hunter who never seemed to leave his table, but they hoped the redheaded trollop would raise his spirits at least. Dangerous men wearing scowls and nursing quiet rages often just needed a woman's touch, or so the common wisdom went. Of course, just getting the fellow out of the common room was a step in the right direction, and everyone there breathed a little easier as the two climbed the stairs and disappeared.
There was already a fire lit in the woman's room, and once they were in, she asked Neville to lock the door behind him. As he slid the bolt home, he heard a familiar voice come from behind him.
"Good to see you again, Uncle." Lord Nesbitt spun around with his dagger drawn to see the woman remove her long hair and wipe the paint from his lips. Tobias smiled and dropped the wig upon a small table near the fire. "It's been a while."
"After you broke my brother's heart, I never thought you would have the nerve to speak to me again," Neville hissed, his eyes narrowing. "What's your business with me, thief?"
"Just what I told you," Tobias said, meeting his uncle's eyes without fear. "I've heard from Melinde, and she sends her love."
"And why should I believe you?" Neville snarled, his dagger still raised.
"Because I care for her as much as you do, oh 'protector of the crown,'" the Guild Master replied, ignoring the blade, "and I was worried sick about her safety, just as you have been, until I heard from her a few weeks back."
Neville's jaw dropped, but his astonishment quickly turned to rage. "You've known for weeks that my girl was safe, and you just let me hang? By God, Tobias, I should --"
"You," he said, pointing a finger at the red-faced noble, "should put down that knife and behave like a gentleman. You have been sitting here for a month in this godforsaken inn, trying to figure out how to move an army unseen through a hostile countryside -- and you haven't lifted a finger to find your 'girl.' So be very careful throwing angry words at the bearer of good tidings, Uncle. Or I won't tell you anything more ... and you really need to know."
Realizing the truth behind his words, Neville slowly brought his temper under control and lowered his dagger. Tobias nodded once, abandoning his perfectly feminine posture and slumping into a chair against the wall with his legs spread. Lord Nesbitt watched as Tobias's bosom bounced provocatively, and his confusion mounted as his nephew saw him watching and threw him a smile.
"I must admit it worked pretty well," he said, as Neville quickly averted his eyes. "Although I didn't have a clue what I'd do if you really wanted a tumble. This disguise only goes so far. And besides, I'm not that kind of wench."
"What ... how ...?"
"A thief's success is often a matter of stealth or misdirection, Lord Nesbitt. You would be surprised what a man can do with sheep's bladders, grain, horsehair, paints, dyes, and a little attitude." Tobias took a sip from a tankard he lifted from the floor next to his chair. "Or maybe you wouldn't ... now."
There was a long silence, and Tobias sighed.
"Melinde is still inside King Stephen's castle, pretending to be a maid to avoid discovery by Lord Drax. Since Drax never pays attention to the servants anyway, she could have hidden there for a thousand years as long as the food remained good, his clothes stayed clean, and his chamber pots stayed empty. Unfortunately, she caught Drax's eye for a different reason, and now her life is in danger every day."
"Why?" Nevile growled. "Why is she in danger?"
"Because she is held hostage for the prince's good behavior." Tobias too a deep breath. "The rumors you must have heard are true. Melinde confirmed them. Reginald has indeed been transformed into a woman by a band of healers Drax's emissaries brought back from the East. She is a rare beauty, too, if Melinde's opinion counts. Drax is trying to break 'Regina's' will and turn her into some kind of perverse pet, and he's threatening Mel's life every day to force the former prince to submit." Neville sat up straight and gasped. Tobias leaned forward. "I've never met the ... 'princess' myself, but I've always believed anyone's will can be broken if you push hard enough. And it seems to me that counting on Drax for restraint is never a safe bet. We need to rescue them both, and soon."
Neville snorted, and shook his head. "And how do you suggest we do that, thief?"
"It's funny you should ask." Tobias smiled. "Since none of us can practice our art while Drax remains on Stephen's throne, the Thieves Guild has decided to break with centuries of tradition and help you nobles take back the kingdom."
"Help?" Lord Nesbitt snorted, and shook his head. "How could the likes of you help us?"
"With information, for example. Thieves see all manner of things they shouldn't, and learn all sorts of things nobles wish they didn't know. Like the presence of an uncomfortable number of men-at-arms camping out in the north woods, living on cold meats and colder ale since they dare not light a fire."
"And then, of course, you already know what other services we can provide, milord," Tobias purred in his most feminine voice, before dropping back down into his normal tones. "You've seen it yourself, tonight. Stealth and misdirection, Uncle. Thieves are very good at making people not see them at all ... or making them see what we want them to see." He gestured with his tankard towards the wig. "You saw the hair, the curves, and the attitudes, and took me for a trollop. But I could easily have been a farmer's wife. A serving wench. A beggar woman."
Tobias leaned forward. "Or a maid in Drax's castle."
Neville's eyes widened,and his nephew nodded. "Women move from town to town throughout the kingdom, every day. Many with husbands and families, or as servants for merchants. We can help you put your army wherever you need them to be, 'protector.' All we need is your hand, and an agreement not to try and hold any of us once this is over."
"A tempting offer," Lord Nesbitt conceded. "But why should we trust you?"
"Because your choices are limited," the Guild Master shot back. "Because the enemy of your enemy is your friend. And because trusting us is certainly better than sitting here day after day waiting for inspiration to crawl out of a tankard of mead. Especially with Melinde and Regina still in danger." Tobias rose to his feet. "We lose time every moment we sit here, Uncle. Join forces with me, and we can take back what is ours ... before there's nothing left to take."
Lord Nesbitt thought for a moment, then stood and grasped Tobias's hand.
"Agreed, nephew. A truce, for now. But if you betray us, you will die by my hand. This I swear."
Tobias laughed. "Same old Uncle. Always threatening to kill me."
Regina swallowed with her mouth still full of Drax's pulsing manhood. It was a skill she had perfected in the weeks since she had awakened ... like this. His juices slid down her throat, and she shuddered with thinly veiled disgust. Her eyes were closed, but a single image was never far from her inner sight -- Melinde, her true love, with a dagger held a hair's breadth from her throat. As Drax's flesh grew soft at last, she let him slip from between her lips and bowed her head.
The taste of him permeated her mouth and clung to the back of her throat, but Regina remained submissively at his feet. Her knees were protected from the stone floor only by the many layers of fabric in the pale blue gown she wore, and her wide hips rested on her heels. Her hands were clasped in front of her. The golden collar Drax had forced upon her reflected the flickering torchlight, as well as the fire in her heart. She waited patiently, always, for Melinde's sake. But deep inside, she held tightly to an anger and hatred that strengthened her resolve. 'There will come a time,' it whispered. 'There will come a time.'
Every night, a new indignity. Every night, another visit from Drax. Every part of her body violated, over and over again. Made to beg for his touch, for his seed, to offer herself to him, to spread her legs and plead for him to fill her. And each time, Melinde's life held forfeit, to ensure that Regina's surrender would be complete, her humiliation made willingly.
But still, the voice remained.
'There will come a time.'
Justice would come, she knew. Vengeance would come. But until then, the wolf would pace in silence. To save Melinde, Regina would play the sheep. For now.
Until the prey forgot the teeth and claws that hid beneath the fleece. And that would be his first ... and last ... mistake.
"Did this girl please you, Master?" she said softly, eyes down, waiting for the affirmation that she had done her duty well, and that Melinde would be released.
There was a long pause -- much longer than it had ever been. Then he heard Drax's voice from above.
"No, pet. You did not."
Regina swallowed, and still did not look up. Melinde was still in danger, and Drax was too erratic for her to take his responses for granted.
"How did this girl fail you, that she might do better?" she asked, her voice trembling a little.
"You do not truly give yourself to me, little one," Drax said, sitting on the bed beside the kneeling woman and resting his hand upon her head. "You have not, since your training began. For all the many wonderful things you have done, for all of the humiliating and degrading pleasures you have provided with your new body, it is only her life that keeps you there, at my feet. You have tried to convince me that you are truly mine, but no matter what I have done to you, part of you still resists me. Without Vincent and his dagger, or your wench's life perched on a knife's edge, you would still fight. Do you think I cannot see it?"
Regina silently cursed her inability to fool the usurper. All of those awful days bending to Drax's will, for nothing. Still, she stayed silent, and continued to be passive.
The usurper begin stroking her head, his rough hands caressing her blonde curls. "She keeps you from becoming mine, little one. Maybe I should kill her. If you still obeyed with her body cold before you, I would know you had truly surrendered to me. As long as she lives, there is doubt."
Regina saw the threat, and tried to think of a way to counter it. 'Get her off the field of battle,' her mind whispered. 'Drax can't kill her if he forgets about her.'
"If you were to send her away, Master, this girl would still do whatever you commanded," she said as sweetly as she could.
"No, pet. Even with her gone, you would still know her life would be forfeit to your obedience, and that threat would keep you docile. You would still submit, but you would not surrender." Drax's hand paused for a moment. Regina could feel him thinking. "I could kill her right now. Then we would know for sure if you were truly mine." She shivered under his fingers, and he laughed. "Ah, but I see that would be a waste. You care about this one too much to ever give yourself to me after that. I would lose you, then, poppet, as well. All this effort wasted, and you would be dead. By my hand, or by your own." He stroked her hair once more, and Regina silently hated that she could not see his face. She heard him sigh.
"I have taken the wrong course with you from the start. I have never had a threat so potent to hold over a pet before, and I thought to use her to hasten your submission. Instead, I gave you a way to submit without surrender -- to play the noble lord sacrificing for his lady love. I do not make such mistakes often. But it would be foolish of me to deny when I have erred."
"Fortunately, I can still have you." Regina felt a chill race through her body, and she could hear the smile in Drax's voice, along with a touch of sadness. "There is another way to break you to my will. I had hoped to avoid using it, because it works too well. It ends the game so quickly. But fair is fair. I spoiled your training before it truly began, and I know now you will not surrender to me any other way. A pity."
Drax ran a finger down Regina's spine, and she shuddered with unwanted pleasure. "You are so sensitive, pet," he purred. "Good. But you were not always so. My healers changed you. Their medicines and needles made you ... feel more. And they can do it again."
He rose to his feet with a final caress for the kneeling princess, and waved a hand at the guard. Vincent tossed Melinde away from him, sheathed his dagger, and walked to the door. As the door swung open, Drax turned and gazed at Regina, head still bowed.
"If my every touch can bring you pleasure undreamed of, or cause you unbearable pain, you will soon be fighting more than my will, little one," he said with a smile. "You will be fighting your own. And that, sadly, is a battle no one can win." His voice became almost tender. "You will be mine, pet. And the game will be over before it had truly begun."
Regina felt a rush of fear run through her body as the door closed. Melinde ran to her side and fell to her knees, wrapping her beloved in her arms as tears fell down the fallen prince's cheeks.
'Another battle lost before it is fought,' Regina thought bitterly. 'He will turn me against myself, make me crave him as much as I hate him. And I can do nothing!'
'How can I defeat myself ... and Drax?'
'And how can I save Melinde?'
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Finally, after a year and a half, Regina's story continues. The former prince awaits her fate, only to find her captor reluctant to end the game. An army uses the most unlikely camouflage to begin a most unusual deployment, and a reluctant general learns how to get in touch with his feminine side.
Sorry about the wait, everyone -- and if you've never seen the story before, go back and read parts one and two first! *grin*
The Hardest Battle, Part 3
by Randalynn
The guard on the road into Harrowshire had noticed more traffic of late, but he did not give it much thought, except to note that it made his job much more interesting. After all, he mused, having folks to question and bully was a far sight better than just staring at a dirt road twelve hours straight every day.
So when another wagon full of people and furniture came rolling up to his post, Ferris was more than happy for the diversion.
"Halt!" Ferris stood at the village gate, blocking the wagon's way with his body and his sword. The wagon's driver pulled back on the reins, bringing the horses and the wagon to a standstill. Ferris moved to the driver's side, his eyes settling on the older woman sitting beside the driver, and the young girl beside her.
"Who are you, and what is your business here in Harrowshire?" The guard's voice was stern and business-like, but his eyes roved across the girl's body in her simple dress as if he would memorize every curve.
"I am Bernard, formerly of Holyoak, in the Narrows," the man replied with an easy smile, not at all intimidated by Ferris's manner. "I am a furniture maker, and would like to see if this village has need of my services. I have brought my wife and child here in the hopes that we can find a place to settle, and call Harrowshire our home."
Ferris transferred his attention to the older woman. "Your name is ...?"
"Evelyn, sir," she said in a high trembling voice, "wife of Bernard, mother of Alyssa."
"And this would be Alyssa?" Ferris caught a glimpse of the girl's golden hair beneath her shawl, and watched her look down quickly to avoid his eye. "Look at me when I'm talking, girl!" He roared, and she raised her head quickly, fear stamped across her delicate features.
‘God,' he thought, desire draining his need to show how powerful he was. ‘Look at those eyes. Such a deep blue. A man could lose himself in those eyes and be glad of the chance to remain lost. And those cheeks, so rosy and soft. And they might settle here? If I could snare her, she would be a wife well worth catching . . . and holding.’
"My apologies," he said, more gently. "We guards are not used to dealing with such beauty and youth. And I will not keep you ... any of you. There is still time for you to get settled at the inn here before nightfall."
"Thankee, sir," Bernard said with a smile. "Thankee much."
"I hope to see you in town, Alyssa." Ferris smiled and gave the girl a wink. She blushed and ducked her head, and the guard almost laughed.
"Thank you, sir," she said, looking away. "I ... I hope so, too."
As the wagon left the guard behind, Bernard's smile grew, but he kept his laughter stifled until well out of earshot. "Looking forward to seeing him in town, Al?"
"Oh, aye," the boy said, the anger in his voice masking his embarrassment. "When the time is right, I'll see him, that's for sure. On his knees, at the other end of my sword."
"I think he'd like to see you on your knees at the other end of his 'sword,' missy. If you catch my meaning." Bernard grinned as he spoke. Corporal Alan Smithee turned away from the older thief and folded his arms under his ample bosom. He presented the perfect picture of a young girl in a huff over a slight.
"When the time is right, lad." Evan Marshall, sergeant of the King's Own, reached over and patted his 'daughter' on the shoulder. His voice slid down an octave or two. "When the time is right. Until then, we play the roles we've taken on to the best of our ability, and organize the townfolk for when the signal comes." He plucked at the simple dress that hung on his large but slightly drooping chest, and wished once again for another way to get past the patrols. "It's not my choice to play 'wife' to the master thief here, but the princess is counting on us, and I'm not about to let her down."
"Aye, the princess," Al said, his voice dropping down to a whisper. "Poor Prince Reginald, trapped and tortured and ... unmanned. At least we won't be this way forever."
Evan nodded. "Taking every village and town while the main force takes back the capital is an important part of seeing Drax torn from power. If I have to pretend undying love to 'Bernard' for the chance to rip that usurper from his stolen throne, I will."
"Good!" Bernard said with a smile as they passed the guard barracks on their way to the center of the town. He pulled the reluctant sergeant closer and threw an arm around him. "Give us a kiss then, 'missus.' Let's put on a show for Drax's goons."
Alan stifled a smile as 'Evelyn' stiffened, then melted into Bernard's embrace. "The things I do for my duty," he muttered, just as the thief's lips pressed against his. Alan ducked his head and hid his laughter with his shawl as the guards started whooping and applauding the 'lovebirds' when the wagon rolled past. Bernard played to the audience, his hand cupping one of his 'wife's' breasts and squeezing as the kiss went on and on. Finally, the two broke from their embrace as the wagon turned a corner and slipped out of sight.
"Damn you, thief," the sergeant growled, "between your tongue and your wandering hands, I've half a mind to gut you and leave you to rot in some poor farmer's field."
Bernard shook his head, with just a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Come now, Evelyn. Is that any way for a loving wife to speak to her husband?"
"Loving wife? Now half the guards in this town think I'm naught but a wanton slut!"
"And your reputation concerns you how, my dove?" Bernard grinned. "You're a married woman, which means you're entitled to want to be touched by your husband from time to time. How do you think we managed to create this wonderful daughter of ours? As for being thought of as a wanton slut, that makes it far less likely any of them will think of you as a sergeant of King Stephen's army, does it not?" His face became serious. "I'm just doing my job, as you're preparing to do yours."
"You're just lucky I have a job to do, and that keeping you alive is part of it." Evan shifted his weight and moved closer to the corporal, sitting up primly with his hands folded in his lap. "Just keep your lips and your hands to yourself, 'husband,' or you'll wake up one morning better able to play the woman than I will ever be."
The thief sighed. "Oh, that I should ever have chosen to defy my parents and wed you, my Beloved." He grinned again and gave her a nudge. "Still, you're a feisty wench, even after all these years, and I still love you no matter how you much fire you show."
"Hmmph."
The rest of the trip into town was made in silence, save for an occasional chuckle from the driver's seat.
A certain portion of King Stephen's army had not been pleased with the manner in which they were to make ready for action. But they were all highly trained or deeply committed to saving the kingdom (and Princess Regina) from the uncontrollable lusts of Drax. They understood the need for secrecy, given the enemy's overwhelming superiority in numbers. And most important of all, they were an army, trained and disciplined and ready to die for king and comrades. So they submitted to the inevitable with the same stoic reserve they would show facing an enemy army across a battlefield.
Still, that didn't mean they had to like it.
The representatives from The Thieves Guild walked among the assembled troops in the North Woods, assigning roles with all the quiet concentration you would expect from professionals. Those soldiers that could pass for women were taken aside and drilled in deportment and attitude for a week. They learned how to speak in higher, softer, measured tones, and how to hold themselves and move as women do. They also learned the quiet demeanor and humility most women were taught from girlhood, to show respect for their elders and obedience to their "husbands." Some could not master the training, despite their best efforts, and were sent back to the ranks of those who would be attacking the castle -- only a week could be spared if the princess was to be saved. Others took to it with an ease that brought whistles from some of their comrades, and several of the master thieves wished they could take the men on as apprentices.
Seamstresses and tailors from a dozen villages fitted the new "girls" with dresses and underthings, coats and shawls. Craftsmen from the Thieves Guild created faux bosoms and curves to fit each soldier, and each man's hair was lengthened or styled as the situation demanded, to foster the illusion that he was a she.
Once taught and transformed, these "maids and maidens" were assigned to accompany other soldiers -- the ones who could never be mistaken for anything but men, even if Drax's guards were to drink all the wine in Darkholme. Fathers and daughters, husbands and wives ... all took borrowed wagons and spread out across the land, passing through Drax's checkpoints with surprising ease. They settled in towns and villages, fitting themselves into the communities they now called home, and made ready for the time when a motivated and well-prepared militia could benefit from the guidance of a few good men.
Even if they looked like a few good women.
It was a brilliant stratagem, save for one flaw. All of this preparation and transport took time. And for Princess Regina, time was rapidly running out.
She sat on her bed, looking into her own eyes in the mirror across the room while Melinde kneeled behind her, brushing Regina's hair.
'I am in there somewhere,' she thought ruefully. 'Reginald still exists inside, despite what Drax has made of me. But for how long?'
"A penny for your thoughts, beloved," Mel asked softly, still wielding her brush.
Pulled from her reverie, the princess gave Melinde a small smile.
"Oh, I believe they are worth far more than that, dearest," she replied. "Considering how rare they will soon become, I am sure I could ask for all of the Royal Treasury and still wind up cheated in the end."
Mel looked at Regina's face in the mirror and caught the flash of pain that worked its way through the jest. She put down the brush and put her hands on her lover's shoulders.
"It hasn't happened yet, Regina. It has been a week since Drax told us he knew of our deception. One full week, and still no visit from his healers. No potions or needles to drain your will and make you his slave." She leaned forward, her lips an inch from his ear. "And every day that passes is one day closer to rescue," she whispered. "Hold fast to that, and to me, beloved."
Ashamed, Regina bowed her head. "That is true, sweet," she said, keeping her voice low. "The time Drax gives us is time we sorely need, although why he should wait this long remains a mystery. Perhaps he delights in tormenting me, by making me mark the passing of each day and jump at the sound every time I hear a key in the lock."
"Or perhaps he does not wish to 'concede' his game so quickly." Melinde straightened and went back to her brushing. In spite of herself, Regina closed her eyes and embraced the feeling of Melinde's brush as it slid through her golden hair. "After all, Drax considers this other method, the one he used on Sir Brian, as a cheat and a poor way to win. Perhaps he still searches for some other way to make you surrender and submit."
"But the waiting is taking its own toll, Mel." She shuddered, and her voice shook. "It eats at me, as surely as if I was standing by a barred window overlooking the courtyard, watching them build my gallows and contemplating just what it means to die." She turned suddenly, taking Melinde's hands in both of hers, and looked up into her eyes. "I would be lying if I told you I was not afraid, and I will not lie to you. Never to you."
Feeling Regina's hands trembling, Melinde put down the brush and led her over to the bed. They sat, side by side, and Mel's eyes never left her beloved.
"To come so far, only to have it snatched from our grasp," the princess said softly. "It is unthinkable. And waiting for rescue just makes me feel weaker inside. I know you chafe at the bit as well, beloved. Is there anything we can do here and now? Is it so impossible to reach Drax when we're so close?"
"You are considered a very grave threat to Drax, Regina." Melinde shifted on the bed and leaned closer to her lover. "Now that you know Drax has a way to bend you permanently to his will, it has been judged too dangerous for the usurper to even see you here in the tower, and you have not been allowed to leave this room since you met him last. Without you, I have no reason to see his Lordship, and have remained free to serve you and Cook and anyone else who would command me."
"And a good thing too," Regina whispered, "else we would not know how close the country is to exploding into open rebellion."
"Just a few more days, and Drax will fall." Melinde held tight to the princess's hand. "We must hold out until then." She grimaced and stood, one hand on her stomach. "By all that's holy, this is no time for me to become sick. My stomach twists and turns at the slightest whim, and my bosom seems ready to swell so large it would break free of my dress."
Regina looked up at her love, her concern overriding all other worries. "Has this ever happened to you before?"
Melinde shrugged. "Not that I can remember, but I am sure it is nothing unusual, beloved. Probably brought on by too much work and not enough to eat. Along with the stress of waiting for something -- anything -- to happen." She started for the door. "I shall seek out Cook and Maude in the kitchen. Perhaps they have some remedy that will keep me whole and ready to fight when the time comes."
The princess nodded. "Both wise, and staunch allies from the start. They will be rewarded when this is through -- if I am in any condition to reward anyone. If all I have left to give is myself, I'm not sure either of them would want me." She grinned, showing a rare glimpse of the warrior she used to be.
Her betrothed laughed. "You'd better not even think of giving yourself to anyone else, beloved. You belong to me, body and soul." Regina nodded, her grin becoming a small smile, her eyes filling with love.
Drax sat on his stolen throne, brooding. Regina was lost to him, and it was his own misstep that had cost him his victory. He could use the method he used on Brina, but it would only be a different form of defeat, and losing was losing no matter how well the "cheat" worked.
'There has to be a better way,' he growled inside. 'I have managed to create a situation in which it is nearly impossible for me to win. At the same time, I am never supposed to lose. Never! This is intolerable.'
Drax rose and began to pace. His servants and his highest lords and ladies stayed well clear of his path, noting the anger and frustration that drove him across the throne room in a barely controlled frenzy. People who encountered Lord Drax in a foul mood seldom survived the experience, yet leaving the throne room could call unwanted attention to yourself. So those in his presence engaged in an odd dance, moving around the perimeter and engaging others in meaningless conversation with one eye on the usurper.
As Drax turned around to head back towards the dais where the throne sat, he noticed a second, slightly smaller throne next to it. A thought slipped quietly into his head, accompanied by one or two others, but he focused on the first. As he did, his lip began to twitch and form a slight smile, and an almost silent sigh of relief escaped form the assembled nobles.
'Maybe,' he thought, as the smile became a grin, 'there is a way to be victorious after all.'
"I am not happy, thief," Lord Nesbit growled as the wagon clattered and groaned its way across the countryside.
"I was supposed to get you into the castle undetected, Uncle," Tobias replied sweetly, once again in his disguise as the redheaded trollop. "I believed your happiness was less important than your safety. Was I wrong?"
"Of course not." Neville plucked at his skirts, and then hefted his huge bosom in both hands. "But this . . . this is too much!"
"Actually, it's just right." Tobias slowed the horses slightly and turned to look at the general. Without his beard, his face was rounder and softer, and Toby had continued the roundness to include rolling hips and a chest that left no doubt as to the owner's gender. Lord Nesbit's hair had been colored, lengthened, and shaped into a mass of black curls that tumbled down his back, nearly to his hips.
"You are a large man, Uncle," Tobias continued, giving the reins a snap and pushing the horses back to their faster pace. "The only way to disguise you well enough to enter the castle undetected to lead the assault was to transform you into a large woman, with attributes that match your . . . stature. Unfortunately, it will all come to naught if you don't stop behaving like a horse's ass and start acting like the woman you appear to be."
Nesbit turned and eyed the thief irritably. "What the devil are you on about?"
"Well, I haven't heard you speak in the voice you learned since we left the camp," the guild master replied. "If you don't practice it, it won't come naturally to you when we meet the enemy. The same with your gestures and mannerisms."
"They were fine when we left," the general grumbled. "I must have passed muster, or you wouldn't have agreed to ride with me."
"I agreed to ride with you," the thief said, "because you need more work, and you need it alone. Your 'manly pride' isn't letting you let go of your manhood long enough to embrace the role, especially in front of your men, and that, dear Uncle, is going to get you killed."
Toby turned his attention to the road. "As you discovered in the tavern, most men see what they expect to see, and you saw a redheaded bar girl out for a quick tumble. Right now, a quick glance at you makes a man instinctively see a 'woman.' A large woman, I grant you, but most soldiers are large men, and you would make an attractive catch for a quick roll in the hay -- especially for a man who likes his woman well-padded, and able to handle someone as . . . well-endowed . . . as he is."
Tobias reined the horses and the wagon stopped abruptly. He turned and stared straight into Nesbit's eyes. "So you look like an ample wench, and that's fine . . . for what it is. But the very first time you forget who you are and swagger instead of sway, or fail to lower your eyes demurely when one of Drax's men questions you, or speak like a general instead of a wench, you will find yourself caught -- the proud 'protector of the crown' hiding in a woman's skirts."
The guild master faced forward and started the wagon once more.
"And if Drax gets his hands on you," he continued, "you just might discover firsthand what its like to BE a large attractive wench, instead of pretending to be one for a short time. More than that, you will put at risk everything we've worked so hard to put in place to topple the usurper."
There was a long silence, and they rode for several minutes before Lord Nesbit sighed and shook his head.
"It pains me to admit it," he said, looking down at his faux chest, "but it appears you are a better soldier than I am."
"Perish the thought!" Toby replied with a small smile. "You are a magnificent soldier, and without your guidance our whole plan might come to naught. What I am, milord, at least when I am dressed like this, is a better woman than you. And for me to bring you inside the castle walls . . . in order to make our rebellion a success . . . you must learn to be as good a woman as I."
"But this is madness!" The general said, his frustration evident. "I can't be a woman. All this is nothing but pretense! The hair, the chest, the hips. None of it can make me think like a woman. It's impossible."
"And that, Uncle, is why you fail." The guild master smiled and laid a hand on the general's sleeve. "Of course you can think like a woman. After all, you put yourself in the mind of an enemy commander every time you plan a battle, so you can determine what he might do next. In this way, you position your men in such a way to turn his advance to your advantage. Is that not true?"
Nesbit nodded. Tobias nodded back. "You can use that same skill here.”
The general shook his head roughly, his long curls whipping from side to side. “I have much more in common with an enemy general than I do with my wife, or my daughter.”
“No matter how different you think women might be, they are still human, driven by the same needs that drive men. They just want friendship, love, family, and the touch of a caring partner — someone who wants them as much as they want him.”
Toby fell silent, leaving Neville to think. After a time, the nobleman spoke again.
“Not so very different, after all.” His voice was slightly rough with feeling, as he thought of his wife and what she must be going through without him.
Toby nodded. “Emotions drive us all, Uncle. Many men deny them, and some foolishly think of them as a weakness, but a smart man can see how feelings are bringing the entire kingdom together in rebellion. Pride and anger, mixed with love for the prince and his father, are turning the entire population into an army. Add hatred for Drax the usurper, and you see the power emotions have.”
It was the general’s turn to nod. The guild master continued. “Unlike men, woman are taught from an early age to embrace their feelings and act on them, albeit indirectly. They understand their own motives more than men do, and use the weapons God gave them to achieve their goals.”
“Weapons?” Neville was confused. Tobias sighed.
“Nature’s arsenal, Uncle. The curve of hip, the narrow waist, the ample bosom. The hair, the lips, the eyes. A touch here, a whispered word there. And most important, the lust you feel every time you see a comely wench.” Lord Nesbit snorted and looked away. The guild master smiled.
“It should come as no surprise. After all, your muscles and your eye were trained to wield a sword or shoot a bow. Of course women are taught to use their weapons effectively as well, to best capture their objective. Part of what made you see me as a woman in that tavern was the way I behaved — how I moved, how I approached you, spoke to you, touched you. I acted the way a woman acts when she wants a man, and you saw me as I wished you to see me.”
They rode for a time in silence, and it stretched to a half hour or more before the general spoke. "So . . . how do I . . . create that illusion? What must I do . . . for this masquerade to succeed?"
"Cultivate the illusion, in your own mind, that you were never anything other than sweet and lusty Gwendolyn, traveling merchant and loving mother of the equally lusty Jenny. Feel the part. Live the part." Tobias put his hand on Neville's shoulder. "Let your mind match your appearance. Be the woman you once pretended to be."
He shifted uncomfortably in his dress, and almost couldn't bring himself to look at his nephew. "I am not sure I can."
"Oh, Uncle, have some faith! If I, a lowly thief, can do it, certainly a man of your most excellent accomplishments can do the same?" Toby threw his uncle a grin, but it slipped away when he saw the fear in Lord Nesbit's eyes. His tone grew serious. "To make her real to others, you must start by making her real to you. Give her a past, and a present. Where did she come from? What does she want? What brings her to the castle?"
"Once you build her history, move your mind and heart into it until it becomes yours, and you become her. The disguise will help -- you cannot move as a man would move with hips and a chest like that. Smaller steps, a different posture . . . "
The general still looked unsure, and Tobias sighed. "Embrace the illusion and let it embrace you. It is a hard battle, but you've fought hard battles before. You can win this one, and you will. Because if you become Gwen . . . truly become her . . . no one will look at you and see 'the protector of the crown.' This I guarantee."
With a thought, the guild master slipped into his role as Jenny. Neville watched the process with a sense of awe. 'She's so real,' he thought. 'Can I ever do that?'
"Come on, Mum," she whispered in her sweetest tones, love pouring from her eyes as she reached out to touch Neville's cheek. The general was so surprised, he let the fingertips stay. "Bring Gwen to life, so that Regina and Mel might live. And so we may get our kingdom back, in the end."
The silence descended again, but it was a thoughtful one. Jenny turned back to driving the wagon, and left Lord Nesbit to think about Gwendolyn's past . . . and her future.
When the guard opened the door to her father's bedchambers, Regina was surprised to find Drax standing beside a small table by the window. He was dressed in black and silver, and his face was carefully arranged to give no hint of what he was thinking, or why he had called Regina to this meeting — both things the former prince wanted very much to know.
“Ah, Princess,” the usurper said smoothly, a small smile twitching his lips. “Do come in. We have much to discuss.” Drax turned his attention to the guard. “You may go. Wait outside until I call you.”
The soldier opened his mouth to object, but the warning flash in Drax’s eyes made him reconsider. He nodded once, spun smartly on his heel and marched out, letting the door swing shut behind him. Drax considered the closed door for a moment and nodded.
“And now we are alone,” he said, and turned to Regina. She stood by the entrance, her back straight, her chest out, and her head high. The usurper was both surprised and dismayed by the combination of her beauty and her self-possession. In all of his previous battles, Drax had never failed quite so spectacularly as he had with this one stubborn prince. Despite all of the time and effort spent, all he had done was create an equally stubborn princess. She had serviced him as well or better than any pet he’d ever made, but it was all for duty, and a sacrifice any true noble would have given gladly to protect someone he — she cared about.
The fact that the person she protected was little more than a serving wench only served to frustrate Drax further. ‘That he would fight so hard for someone of such little importance! No wonder the people of this land loved King Stephen so much,’ he thought savagely, ‘if he produced a son like this.’
“Please,” Drax said with a smile. “Do sit. I have some refreshments on the table there. Food and drink that befits royalty, as we both know you still are.”
Regina nodded, her lips twitching into a small, brief smile. She moved gracefully across the room and sat primly in the chair next to the food. Drax moved to sit opposite her, and poured wine for each of them into cups of gold. “I must admit, I am impressed. Despite what Morden and my physicians from the orient have done to your body, you still remain undeniably . . . you. I seldom lose, but with Reginald’s heart still firmly beating in that woman’s frame you wear, I can almost taste defeat, rising like bile in the back of my throat. I would be lying if I said I didn’t care.”
“I would say I am sorry for the inconvenience, but that would be lying as well,” the princess replied, her tone curt but her words framed with the almost musical lilting of her new voice. “And I would prefer not to waste another lie on you after the weeks of deception I engaged in during our little . . . game.” She took a dainty sip of the wine and nodded. “I see you’ve chosen the best of my father’s cellar. I did not think you possessed such a discerning palette.”
“I don’t.” Regina raised an eyebrow, and Drax smiled again. “This bottle was with the ones locked carefully away in the darkest part of the wine rooms, with a key only your father held. I wanted to treat you to something precious, and familiar from your old life. To choose a man’s most valued possessions, always look for what is most highly protected.” Regina said nothing, lowering her eyes as she took another sip. Drax frowned. “As you wish, then. Truth between us, always, from this point on.”
The pretender rose and walked to the window, then turned and faced the princess. “Although it galls me to admit it, I cannot break you to my will. I cannot make you a pet without resorting to methods I find little more than a cheat.” His mouth moved as if tasting something foul. His tone was bitter. “Even the lowest slop boy on the poorest farm in the land could break a man . . . or a woman . . . with that wretched substance. I consider using it unworthy of me, and a clear admission of my own failure.”
Regina nodded. “I can see that,” she said, almost tentatively. And she could. It was an odd feeling -- as if seeing the world through the eyes of her father’s killer was something she never expected to do.
“For you, it is the thrill of the hunt," she continued. "The matching of wits and skills that makes the game appealing. It’s not enough just to win. You have to win through your own efforts, or the victory is hollow. To claim a conquest after using that substance would be like tying down a boar and killing it where it stands, instead of stalking it through the forest with nothing but your mind, your heart, and your steel between you and Death.”
Drax’s eyes flashed. “Exactly! You understand very well.”
Regina heard the "for a woman" Drax had left unsaid. She was surprised the warlord seemed to forget so easily what she had been before. She looked up at her captor, her voice flat with suppressed emotion.
"In spite of what you've done to me, you yourself admitted that I am still myself inside. I know what it means to be a warrior. Of course I understand. After all, what use is victory if there is no chance of defeat? If you kill an unarmed man with a sharpened broadsword while dressed in full armor, is the battle even worth fighting?"
The princess took another sip and placed her cup carefully upon the table. “So we are at an impasse, then. You cannot defeat me without defeating yourself. And keeping the heir to the throne alive wouldn’t suit your purposes either, since it would leave your claim to my kingdom still contested.”
Drax walked slowly back to his chair and sat, his eyes never leaving the young woman who sat across from him.
“That last part,” he said slowly, “isn’t necessarily true. There is one way that leaving you alive would actually ensure that my claim is recognized as right and proper.”
Regina looked at the usurper, curiosity filling her eyes. Drax stared back at her, and she felt a chill run up her spine.
"In recent days, your people seem to have become used to my rule." His voice betrayed a hint of confusion, as if their sudden submission left him baffled. Since Regina knew their supposed surrender was all a ruse, she wasn't surprised. But she feigned astonishment and a touch of disbelief.
Drax waved a hand. "It's true, and I am as surprised as you are . . . princess. But for all their bending of the knee to my lords and knights, I know they still regard my army as invaders, and myself as a mere pretender to your father's throne. I would expect nothing less, actually."
He rose again and paced to the window. Regina had never seen Drax behave this way before. It was as if he had suddenly been stripped of his unwavering certainty and left adrift in a sea of indecisiveness.
"What is more surprising still," he said, looking out over the land in front of the castle, "at least to me, is that somehow, your subjects know what has happened to you. And they still regard you as their rightful ruler."
There was a long pause, and Drax sighed. "Which brings me to my point . . . your highness. I can see only one course of action that will allow us to move forward while still maintaining the balance of power between us. I have come to respect you as a worthy adversary, and perhaps someday that might . . . become more. But the crisis is now, and it is vitally important to both of us and to the kingdom that you consider carefully what your answer will be to my next question."
Drax took a deep breath. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride and my queen, and ruling this kingdom by my side?"
More than two years since the last chapter was posted, Regina's story continues after a killer cliffhanger. What's a former prince to do when the murdering madman who killed her father and changed her into a pretty pet asks her to be his bride? And what must the head of the Thieve's Guild do to make his uncle an "honest woman?"
Sorry it took so long, folks -- and if you've never seen the story before, go back and read parts one through three first! *grin*
The Hardest Battle, Part 4
by Randalynn
Regina could barely restrain herself. She flew up the stairs to her tower room, ignoring the bouncing of her ample bosom and lifting her full skirts to keep them from tripping her. Her speed and strength came as a complete surprise, considering that a few short weeks ago she could barely stand. In fact, she moved so quickly that even the guard Drax had assigned to watch her could barely keep up. Still, the princess scarcely gave him a thought as she raced towards her room -- a room that, only a few minutes ago, she thought she might never leave again.
'I must find Mel!' she thought, her mind racing. 'I have no idea what game the usurper is playing now, but his proposal changes nothing. The whole idea is absurd. I wouldn't marry that murdering madman for anything he might have to offer, even if he laid the world at my feet and promised me the moon as a wedding gift. But perhaps we can use this to buy us time. I only hope she's there.'
The princess reached her doorway and threw open the door. She hurled herself inside and slammed it behind her, leaving her guard standing inches away from the heavy oak that almost smashed his nose as it closed.
Breathing hard, Regina leaned against the door. At the sound of its slamming shut, Mel turned from her place at the window and locked eyes with her lover. She ran across the room, took her in her arms and hugged her tight. The princess hugged back. Then they both pulled back, stared into the other's eyes, and spoke simultaneously.
"Beloved, I have news!"
The pair stopped, looked at each other for an instant, and then burst into laughter. Melinde fell down onto the bed and looked up at Regina, a glint in her eye.
"You first, sweet," she said, the smile never leaving her face.
"No, you," the princess replied, her smile equally wide.
Mel shook her head. "You should go first."
"Why?" Regina came and sat down on the bed beside her. Mel smiled wider and put a hand on her lover's arm.
"Because what I have to tell you will make any news you have pale in comparison." The princess gave her beloved a curious look, but Melinde shook her head again. "Trust me, my love. Tell me what made you run up the tower stairs like a filly with a bee in her tail."
Regina took both of Melinde's hand, looked into her eyes, and said, "Drax has asked me to marry him."
Mel's eyes grew wide, and a smile grew on her face. It became a grin, and she started to giggle.
"Oh, my," she stuttered between bouts of laughter, "he must have quite the inflated opinion of his charms if he thinks you will agree to be his bride after all he's done to you."
The princess smiled and shook her head. "Honestly, Mel, I believe it's still all about the contest. If he kills me, it's as much admitting defeat as if he used that awful medicine to enslave me. If he lets me live as I am, I would become a symbol for rebels to rally around. He'd rather have a draw then lose completely, and the only way to justify keeping me alive is to use me as I am to make his claim to my kingdom unquestioned. I am worth more to him as his queen than I am as a pet."
"Are you sure it isn't some sort of trick?" Melinde searched deep in her beloved's eye. Regina gave a very unladylike snort, shook her head, and stood up.
"I can't say it isn't, at least with any certainty." She glided over to the mirror and looked into her reflection without actually seeing it.
"Still, I know him well enough to say it is just the sort of eccentric idea he would come up with to avoid losing," she continued, lost in thought. "After all, it's enough of a win to salve his ego, and in his own mind he can paint it as my surrender as I become the woman he intended me to be all along."
Melinde had calmed enough to give her beloved a more serious appraisal. "It could be something more, you know."
"More?" Regina turned and cocked her head, clearly puzzled. "I don't understand, beloved."
"You have managed to best him at a game he was sure he could not lose," she said softly. "And even though he forced you into a role you never wanted and fought him every step of the way, you have become a remarkably beautiful, poised and self-assured young lady. He knows you were raised to rule, he respects you as a warrior, and he lusts for you as a woman."
Melinde stood up, walked over to stand beside the princess, and turned her lover's face towards the mirror. Regina once again looked at her own reflection and beheld what Drax and Melinde had made of her. The enormity of what the other woman was saying began to sink it, and she gasped, and turned back to Mel. Her betrothed nodded.
"Maybe what he truly wants," the other woman said, "is what every king wants at his side. A queen in the throne room, a general in the war room ... and a tiger in the bedroom." Regina shook her head, unable to believe the thought. Mel put her arm around the princess and squeezed, and the two looked at themselves in the mirror, two beautiful women with a big problem.
"Maybe what he really wants," Regina whispered, "is a wife."
Alyssa, daughter of Bernard and Evelyn, carried another pail of water into the house from the well. Alan Smithee, one of King Stephen's finest, wouldn't have had a problem carrying pails of water all day long. But with the padding on Alyssa's hips and chest changing how his body moved, he found himself unable to use his strength as effectively as he once did. He couldn’t stand the way his body needed to stand to carry heavy loads, and he wound up using other muscles to make up for the difference. As a result, even the easiest tasks became monumental to the girl he was forced to play. He said as much to Bernard as he entered the kitchen and lowered the pail to the ground with a sigh.
"That's as it should be for a young girl doing her chores," the thief replied with a smile. "If sweet Alyssa were to start toting heavy weights like a dockworker in Hamlin Bay, even Drax's guards would take notice. And we can't have that, can we, daughter?"
"No, Father," Al replied softly, maintaining her girlish tones while cursing Drax's name in his head for the hundredth time that morning. "I suppose we can't."
Bernard gave the young soldier a critical look, then patted the chair next to his.
"Come, rest yourself a while, Al." The soldier cocked his head, and the thief smiled. "I think my good wife can wait for her cooking water for a few. After all, she's not cooking. She's not even here, is she? Still gossiping with the new neighbors, I'll wager. Women and their tongues." Bernard winked. "And she's not your sergeant now either, missy. She's just your mum. In this house, I outrank her. So no need for 'hop to, take that hill' just yet, eh? Not while you're 'Daddy's best girl.'" He patted the chair again. "Come sit for a bit."
Al sat slowly, his eyes still on Bernard, and the older man was quick to note how feminine his actions were. He smoothed his skirt under him and sat with his knees together, back straight and chest out.
"You do this very well." He said it quietly, and saw the slight flinch Al gave in response. The thief nodded. "Pretty hard duty for you, isn't it, Al?"
The soldier looked down at his hands and said nothing. Bernard sighed and looked back into his cup.
"Probably hard growing up looking like a lady instead of a knight." He spoke to the air, not looking at Alan at all. "All the other boys making sport of you, and the girls not giving you the time of day. I bet you got tired of that right quick."
"So you waited until you were old enough, and you joined King Stephen's army. And you work hard to make a name for yourself as a soldier. Brave, unafraid to take on the tough jobs. You're small, and you need a lighter sword than most, but you earn yourself some respect out in the field. You hide your pretty face behind that barely grown beard and rough uniform. And your mates don't much care what you look like, as long as you pull their asses out of the fire when the battle turns ugly." Al looked up at the thief, and Bernard looked back and nodded. "Yes, I talked to some of your comrades. I had to know the kind of man I was dealing with here."
"Then along comes this crazy plan, and suddenly what you look like picks you up and throw you right into the soup. It's the one thing you've been ducking your whole life, and now it's your duty. You’re one of the best soldiers they’ve got, and they need you here. So you have to put on the 'uniform' and be a good girl, come out here in skirts to help train and get the people ready for when the time is right."
There was a long silence. Al shifted uncomfortably.
“I have my orders,” he said, “and I follow them as best I can. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Bernard went back to staring into his cup. “You’re doing your duty, I understand that. But there’s a part of you that does like it, Al, isn’t there? And it’s scaring you more than you want to admit.”
“It’s wrong.” The soldier blurted out. He looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, and his voice filled with bitterness. “I’m a man. I’m not supposed to enjoy ... this.”
“You are supposed to be Alyssa, Alan. She likes being young and beautiful. Nothing wrong with that.”
“But I’m a MAN!”
“You know that and I know that, and so does everyone else here who doesn’t work for Drax,” the thief said softly. “But to everyone else, you’re my daughter. And there are benefits here for Alan, as well.”
The solider shook his head violently, but said nothing. Bernard continued. “You don’t know why you’re enjoying it? Damn, Alan, for the first time in your life, you don’t have to work against what other people see, when they look at you. In fact, as far as Drax’s guards are concerned, it’s your duty to be exactly what they expect. They see a pretty girl, and thanks to this crazy plan your general and my guild master came up with, you have to be a pretty girl.”
The kitchen was quiet for a minute. Bernard sighed. “Look, here, in this village, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. They know you’re a soldier. They’re taking orders from you and Evan, preparing battle plans at your direction. You don’t have to prove you’re tough. At the same time, they’re treating you as Alyssa in public — not to embarrass you, but because it’s their duty to the kingdom. Not to mention the fact that they LIKE you. Also, it’s your duty to be Alyssa — the best Alyssa you could possibly be. So why not walk that line between the man you are and the girl you appear to be, and see where it takes you?”
“But it’s wrong.” Alan shifted uneasily in his seat. “Isn’t it?”
The thief took a sip of his drink and smiled. “You’re asking a thief about right and wrong? Even I know there’s something wrong with that.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“I don’t claim to be a general, but I’ve learned a bit in my time, just fighting to make my way. The way I understand it, the hardest battles reap the highest rewards. Even a sip of water becomes priceless if it’s earned with sweat and pride and honor, and you’re fighting for so much more — here in this town, for the kingdom and the princess, and inside you, where it counts.”
Bernard reached out and patted Alan on the arm. “Right now, there’s work to be done, so hop to, girl, and finish getting your mum’s water before she gets back from telling her friends what a terrible husband I am.”
Alyssa gave her father a tentative smile and rose quickly to her feet, then scooped up the pail with both hands and headed back towards the well.
The two women lay naked on the bed, their bodies intertwined as they both savored the feeling every woman knows when she has been well and truly ravished by someone who loves her.
Regina’s fingers traced small circles on her beloved’s stomach, occasionally laying her hand flat to feel its warmth. Melinde smiled, picked up the hand and kissed its palm.
“You were so right, my angel,” the former prince said softly. “Your news put mine to shame.” Regina snuggled into Mel’s side, and the other woman wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
“Our child,” she said with a smile, “will be a new start for the kingdom, once Drax is overthrown.”
Mel kissed Regina’s forehead. “And to think I couldn’t puzzle it out on my own. I had to ask Cook and Maude what it all meant. I felt like such a fool. You would think I would recognize the signs myself.”
“You’ve never been with child before, sweet,” her mate whispered. “How could you know?”
“A woman just knows,” Mel replied. “Or she should. Shouldn’t she?”
Regina stretched a little and rested her head on Melinde’s breast. “I am not the best person to ask, you know. I’ve only been a woman a few months at most. And I am almost certain that, as thorough as Drax’s healers might have been, adding those parts that would allow a prince to carry a baby would be too much for even their skills.”
“In all other ways, you’ve taken to your new sex very well, my love.” Mel stroked her hair, and Regina sighed. “In some ways, I am surprised, because you are still the man I love. But you are wrapped in this beautiful new body, and sometimes you’re so naturally female I forget, just for an instant, that you were ever my prince instead of my princess.”
“My father used to say that all life is change.” Regina reached out with her tongue and caressed Mel’s nipple, smiling when Mel shuddered in response. “This is who I am now ... what I am now. To deny it would be like trying and fight on a battleground that only exists in your imagination, instead of on the true field of battle — the one thrust upon you by time and circumstance.” She touched the nipple again, and Mel squealed. “For example, I do enjoy taking this particular hill ...” Soft lick, and Melinde moaned. “Over ...” Both lips surrounding the nipple and suckling gently as the other woman groaned again. “And over ...” Tiny bite, followed by a muted scream. “And over again.”
Melinde pushed Regina away and rolled on top of her, pinning her arms to the bed. The former prince grinned a wolfish grin that looked oddly seductive on her now feminine features, and her beloved kissed her so hard that her own hills became peaked with tips that begged to be taken — tips that Mel toyed with unmercifully until Regina felt her whole body wracked with waves of pleasure.
Regina looked up at her mate with love, and Mel kissed her gently before lowering herself onto her princess’s body and cuddling her skin to skin.
“We must decide what to do with Drax’s proposal,” she whispered.
“We must refuse him, of course,” Regina replied, her voice equally soft. “We cannot risk legitimizing his claim to the kingdom with a marriage to me, not with our child on the way. If he were ever to discover our baby’s existence, Drax would kill him or her, just to preserve his legitimate claim to the kingdom if we should wed — and he would most probably kill you as well, just to hurt me if for nothing else.”
There was a long silence, and when Mel spoke again, she took Regina totally by surprise.
“Now that is where you’re wrong, precious. You will, of course, accept.”
Tobias pulled the wagon to a stop in a copse of trees on the outskirts of Malvern. He sighed, and jumped lightly to the ground.
“Where are you going?” Neville asked, somewhat surprised that they had stopped at all.
“Into town, Mum,” the thief replied in Jenny’s lilting voice. “There may be a message here from Melinde, or other news of the rebellion.”
“Then why not just take the wagon in?”
“You know the answer as well as I, even though you are loathe to admit it.” Toby looked up at his uncle. Lord Nesbit’s’s face betrayed nothing. “There is a guard post on the road into the city, and you are still not ready to actually be Gwendolyn.”
Neville shifted uneasily on the wagon’s seat.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice rough.
“That’s what I mean!” The guildmaster kept his feminine voice, but his exasperation came through strong and clear. “Listen to yourself! You’re still using your male voice, not the female one you learned in camp.”
“Surely, when we are alone ...”
“No!” Tobias pulled back his temper, then sighed and slipped back into his normal register. “Honestly, Uncle, I know you’re not entirely dim. We’re supposed to be using this time on the road to become our roles, so our deception is not discovered once we reach the castle.”
“I have been trying!”
“Oh, yes, but that is all it is. Trying, as opposed to succeeding. It’s still all outside ... all an act. You aren’t becoming Gwendolyn at all!”
The general looked down on his nephew, into those angry eyes, and looked away.
“I ... I can’t.” He spoke so softly that Toby has trouble hearing him. “For all that we’ve done, for all the plans we’ve set in motion ... I just can’t do it. I can’t put myself inside a woman’s head. Not even to save the kingdom, the princess ... or my daughter.”
“I don’t ... I can’t believe that.” The master thief stepped towards the wagon. “With everything that is at stake ... with all that has come before ... are you going to allow something this simple get between you and victory?”
“It’s not a question of ‘allowing’ anything, thief!” The general growled. “Any more than being unable to climb a wall a hundred feet high without a rope or ladder is ‘allowing’ the wall to defeat me. I simply can’t BE a woman. It’s not in me.”
“Of course it’s in you,” Tobias insisted. “The problem is, you can’t reach it. You have so much of yourself invested in who you are that you can’t let go for long enough to embrace who you might be.”
He spun on his heel and walked away from the wagon, his arms folded under his faux breasts. The seconds became a minute, then two, and finally the thief turned and looked up at his uncle.
“There is a way to make this work,” he said. “But you need to trust me, completely and without reservation. Can you?”
Nesbit considered his position, and realized that he had little choice. If Tobias could make this plan a success, he had to trust him. How else could he possibly do his duty to his dead king and his oppressed country?
“I have to,” Neville replied evenly. “Otherwise all of this is for nothing.”
Tobias nodded. “Not quite the answer I had hoped for, but it will have to do.”
He glided over to the far side of the wagon and climbed back up to the wagon’s seat to sit beside the general. Turning sideways, he reached out to Neville’s shoulder and turned him so the two men faced each other.
“One of the guild traveled to the south and east, and returned with an interesting skill. As I told you, a thief’s success is often a matter of stealth and misdirection. With this skill, and the trust of the person on which you use it, a man can become invisible to guards, simply by convincing the guards that that cannot see him. In the same way, you could make someone believe you were someone else, like a sergeant or a valued household servant, free to come and go as you please. The only trouble is, you need time with the person you seek to affect. And you need to be trusted by them.”
Lord Nesbit shook his head. “I’m not sure how this will help us. You would make others see me as Gwendolyn? You would have to use whatever this is on hundreds of people between here and the castle ... and getting all of Drax’s guards to trust you? Ludicrous.”
The thief smiled. “I only need one person to trust me, and that person is you, Uncle. Let me show you how this will make things right, at last.”
Tobias took both of Neville’s hands. The general looked at Tobias, confused. “Look into my eyes, Uncle. Look deep. See the slight differences in color, the thin lines and patterns every eye holds? Hold them in your mind. Commit them to your memory. Go deeper and deeper into my eyes, like an ocean of blue, until you can swim in them, as if they were an endless sea of possibilities. You can breathe in the ocean of my eyes, Uncle. Deep breaths, full of clean fresh air. But the bottom calls to you, and you must answer. So dive deep ... still breathing, still warm, still safe. Deeper ... deeper ... dive to the deepest depths, until the only thing you see are my eyes, and the only thing you hear is my voice ...”
The guard opened the door to Regina’s tower rooms, and Drax stepped through to find the princess standing by the window. She wore a dress he’d never seen before — a white bodice that lifted and presented the tops of her full breasts, with light blue sleeeves that extended three-quarters of the way down her arms, and a matching skirt of yards of gathered fabric that flowed its way to the ground. Her hair was arranged in a tumble of gentle curls, and framed a face that owed its beauty more to the one who wore it than the artfully applied paints that barely graced her skin.
On her head was a simple crown that Drax recognized as the one worn by princesses in this realm at affairs of state — a simple silver tiara adored with sapphires and emeralds. She also wore matching bracelets and a simple silver chain. As he looked at her, he noted how out of place his golden collar appeared.
“You are beautiful,” he said, half amazed that the once-proud prince would embrace the woman he had become so completely.
“So nice of you to notice,” Regina replied sweetly. “Considering the nature of our last conversation, I wanted you to see the kind of queen you’d be getting, should I decide to say yes to your ... unexpected proposal.”
She turned to her servant. “Molly, dear ... please leave us?”
The other woman curtsied. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She turned quickly and left through the door behind Drax. It was still held open by the guard, who couldn’t stop looking at the princess. Regina flashed an angry eye at him, and Drax turned to see the man still there, and staring.
“Close that door, damn you,” he snarled, “or I swear the next time you look at a woman like that, you’ll be looking in a mirror!”
The door closed so quickly, the torches in the sconces rattled when it slammed into the frame. The princess hid her grin when Drax turned back around.
“Your turn to experience my hospitality, I believe,” she said, raising a delicately arched eyebrow. “Such as it is. Poor fare compared to what you offered me the other day, but it is the best I could provide under the circumstances. Please sit and eat. We have much to discuss.”
Drax approached, then moved behind her chair and held it for her. She smiled, nodded her head in thanks, and sat gracefully, arranging her dress around her. The usurper then moved to his own chair and sat, and poured them both some tea.
“So,” he said carefully, “have you been considering my offer?”
“I have.” She reached for a small pastry and nibbled at the edge of it, careful not to spoil the color on her lips. “When last we spoke, we agreed to speak plainly and honestly, and so I shall. The thousands you’ve hurt, the hundreds you’ve killed, make you worthy of both my anger and my hatred. And yet you ask me to marry you, to become your wife and your queen. By marrying you, I would legitimize your claim to the throne. I would willingly give you what you stole, turn over what was and should have been my entire kingdom to you, as well as my body on the marriage bed. Some of those I rule would see my agreeing to this union as rewarding you for the murder of my father ... and for turning me into this.”
Drax nodded, understanding the political realities of Regina’s situation.
“These are all good reasons to refuse your hand,” she continued, “but on the other side of the argument are possibly some good reasons to accept. So, I am willing to discuss your proposal, and perhaps agree to it — but only if you are willing to discuss some important changes to our relationship, both personal and political, that would make the benefits of agreeing to be your wife outweigh the flaws inherent in sharing a throne — and a bedroom — with you.”
Drax looked at her across the table, as if seeing her for the first time.
‘She is magnificent,’ he thought. ‘Have I finally found a woman worthy of being my wife? She has no bargaining position at all, and yet she sits there in her pretty dress and negotiates with me as if she were worth a kingdom all by herself. And yet, just the act of doing so makes me think she might be the one for me. Where else would I find a woman with the heart of a lion, and the will to fight for her place in my life ... to be more than a slave to my desires?’
“I am intrigued, Highness,” the usurper responded. “Pray, tell me ... what would make marrying me a ... palatable alternative?”
“First, I am a princess, not a pet,” Regina said, reaching up a delicately shaped fingernail and tapping lightly on her golden collar. “This will have to go, immediately.”
“Agreed.” Drax smiled. “You never really were my pet, as we both know.”
“True.” The princess smiled back.
“Second, you already rule an empire.” Drax nodded, and Regina continued. “You have many kingdoms under your control. You had no real need to add another, and yet you chose to steal my birthright.” She took a deep breath. “As my dowry for marrying you, I want this kingdom back.”
His eyes flared slightly, and a frown slipped onto his lips. “You ask too much.”
The princess shrugged. “This land has belonged to my family for generations, and I would have it be so again. Is that so wrong? If I do marry you, I would be your queen and rule all your domain at your side. But here, I would rule this kingdom as its queen. Here, my authority would exceed yours. My word would be law, and my people would be safe from both the predations of your guards ... and your occasional fits of temper. To my subjects and my nobles, this would make my marriage to you acceptable, because they would understand my motives would be to protect them ... from you.”
“You would have me give up what I have taken by arms ... to have you?”
“To have me as a willing wife and helpmate, yes,” Regina countered sharply. “You already have me as a prisoner, but you want more. By giving me back my birthright as legitimate ruler of this land, you would lose nothing. My kingdom would still be yours, since you would be my husband. But it would also be mine, for I would be your wife. And you would choose to give it to me to rule because you want your wife to be happy, and it would make her happy to keep her people safe and prosperous.”
Drax stared at the determined princess before him, wondering if she might be more than a handful as a wife. At the same time, he was never one to turn down a challenge ... and if, after all he had done to her and her world, he could still make her agree to marry him, it would be a victory unlike all others.
With a very winsome prize.
“I shall ... consider it.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and before he could let her see his surprise at his betrayal by his own mind, Drax cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Will there be ... anything else?”
“Yes.” She rose from her seat and glided to the window, staring out over her lands instead of at the usurper. Her voice became softer. “You have made a woman of me, which is something I never would have wanted only a few short months ago. Still, I have learned to accept what I have become, because my father taught me to always see the world as it is, not as I wish it to be.”
“So yes, I am a woman now — apparently one attractive enough for you to wish to wed, even if I’m not quite woman enough to give birth to an heir. However, since we first met, you have always treated me as something less — an obstacle, a toy, a slave ... or a pet.”
Regina turned back to Drax, and he saw the fire in her eyes. “You see me as a woman now, which lifts me above slave or pet — although evidence suggests it doesn’t raise me much in your eyes. That needs to change. I used to be a man, and the man I was hasn’t changed inside. I’m still a warrior. I am also a princess, which means I can make you a king. And if I become your wife, I will also be your queen, deserving of respect — not just from my subjects, but from my husband as well.”
Fascinated, Drax leaned forward. “What is it that you want from me, exactly, Highness?”
Regina took a step towards her captor and let some frustration slip into her voice. “I want to know that you see all of that and understand it. If you can’t give me that respect, I might as well throw myself out of this window and die now, because I refuse to live as nothing more than a pretty puppet, sitting at the right hand of an inhuman monster who fancies himself a king.”
Drax sat still, looking up at her, still slightly confused. The princess took a deep breath.
“I want you to treat me as a peer, worthy of respect. I want you to show me that you see me as more than a toy ... as someone worth the effort to chase, and win. I want you to treat me as a woman you care about, and prove to me that you care enough for me to get past everything you’ve done to ruin my life and my world.” She took a deep breath. “In short, Lord Drax ... I want you to court me, and prove that you see me as a woman, and not just a stepping stone to power.”
Regina watched the usurper’s jaw drop, and thought back to the remainder of her conversation with Melinde, barely keeping her smile in check.
“Accept?” Confused, Regina looked up into her beloved’s eyes. “You want me ... to say yes?”
“Of course!” She smiled impishly. “What girl wouldn’t want to marry a bloodthirsty tyrant like Lord Drax? But first, dearest, you will insist on being courted. After all, your husband-to-be has to prove his love for you, doesn’t he? Drax must learn to treat you as a partner, not a pet. He must see you as the woman you’ve become, as the princess you are and the queen you will be, and he must win you as best he can. You will, of course, not make it easy, for he killed your father and stole your birthright, and your sex. But eventually, his efforts will soften your heart and finally make you agree to be his, for the sake of your people. And Drax will think he has won. All this will give us time ... and then, of course, will come the wedding day.”
“For your wedding, you will insist that there be a huge festival, the likes of which has never been seen before — to show your subjects that you accept him as your husband and their king. As for myself, I will send out ‘personal’ invitations this very night for a ‘celebration’ three weeks hence.” Mel paused and thought for a bit, then nodded. “Yes, three weeks should do nicely. After all, so many are already on their way here for ... other reasons — cooks and bakers and craftsman and entertainers from dozens of villages across the kingdom.”
Regina saw where her love was headed and grinned. “And this veritable ‘army’ of my subjects will descend upon the castle and its surroundings to celebrate my wedding day ... with sharpened steel.”
The princess pulled Melinde to her and kissed her deeply, then let her go to gaze into her eyes. “I do love how you think, my wife, my life.”
“Your wife?”
“Remember? Brother Maynard married us long ago, when we were only children. And although I am sure he did not mean them to be binding, I choose to accept and honor those vows, even if they were made when I was barely old enough to stand and promise myself to you. Even then, we both knew we were meant for each other, and nothing that has happened since then has changed that.” She looked up at Mel. “Has it?”
“No, beloved ... my husband.” She kissed the princess softly. Regina kissed her back, then shook her head and grinned.
“It shall be wife and wife, I think, my angel,” she replied with a wink. “Woman I am now and woman I shall remain. We shall deal with how the world treats our marriage once the battle is done, but our child will be the rightful heir to the throne, boy or girl, come what may. This I swear.”
As the wagon rolled out of Malvern, those it left behind could hear the mother and daughter singing, and it brought a smile to their lips. Who would have thought, in times such as these, that two women traveling alone could be so cheerful, and in such good spirits as to sing as they went back on the road.
“In all the land are none so sweet,
as the two girls Jenny and Gwen.
Though one is the mother
and the other her child
They are always welcome friends!”
“For as they go from town to town,
they bring sweet joy along.
For the goods they sell
are the finest sold,
And they leave with a happy song.”
“With a row, dow, diddle dow day,
With a row, dow, diddle dow day!”
As the village dwindled behind them, Gwendolyn took one hand from the reins long enough to put it around her daughter’s shoulders and give her a happy hug.
“You see, poppet?” She smiled. “Such a nice town, full of good people. Even with Drax in King Stephen’s bed, good folk are still good folk, and we did make a pretty penny on those cookpots and spices we sold.”
Her voice took on a wistful tone. “Still, I do wish we could have stayed a while. I didn’t half fancy that big guard ... you know, the one leaning against the wall of the inn? And truth be told, it’s been a while since I’ve had a proper turn under a man who knows how.” Gwen sighed, remembering a few “proper turns” from long ago. “Still, we have places to be, and no time to tarry, I suppose.”
Jenny rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “You’d best be careful about tarrying with one of Drax’s guards, Mum. A bunch of mean ones, they are.”
Gwen reached up and tousled her daughter’s hair. “Oh, go on now, my girl. I’m sure they ain’t as bad as some folks think. A man’s a man, after all, and they’re all the same in the end ... hungry as a stallion for a mare’s charms and hard as nails when the time is right. And a'course it always helps if the 'stallion' is hung like a horse!”
She laughed, a rich throaty sound that made Tobias think of some of the women he’d known and pleasured in his day. The Gwendolyn he’d pulled from deep in Neville’s mind was every bit as lusty as the lustiest wench he’d ever met. And he didn’t dare pull his uncle from the ‘liar’s sleep,’ because if he ever found out how he’d been behaving, Lord Nesbit would never trust Tobias to put him under again.
Unfortunately, this meant three weeks of being Jenny, loving daughter to Gwendolyn, cheerful traveling merchant.
‘To be fair, she is better company than Neville ever was on his best day,’ Tobias thought, as Gwen gave her ‘daughter’ another warm hug and a kiss on the top of her head. ‘But I never imagined the Earl of Durham, Protector of the Crown, and chief military strategist to the court of King Stephen would turn out to be such a wanton woman on the inside. She will get us both killed unless I can keep her from luring a willing partner into the back of the wagon for a quick tour of her "charms."'
The guildmaster sighed. It was going to be a long three weeks.