Vaid Empire: Conquest
Chapter 107
31st of Thriduin, 20 AVE.
The Deep Mountains.
The wind howled outside the fabric walls of Clin’s tent as he sat at his desk, looming over three message cylinders. With the legion stuck behind the fallen rocks blocking their path, he had cruelly been left with little distraction to keep him from the writings that now demanded his attention.
Alone, save for Cliax napping on the other side of the vast tent to pass the time, he reluctantly read the first cylinder for the third time, drinking in the words like poison. A report from the regency council, sealed by Lord Kixanil, it condensed a collection of reports from across The Empire. Unrest had naturally followed the draining of warriors from every city, for those with rebellion in their hearts evidently saw the weakening presence of The Empire as their chance to fight back.
The God Emperor had known what would follow their departure, of course. Truthseekers placed in every major city did much to cut down rebellions from the inside before they led to catastrophe, though still embers of resistance remained.
It wasn’t the possibility of an uprising that disturbed Clin to his core. They had grown much too strong to be toppled by the common population, and their work to divide and reorganize populations had carried out its intended effect. No, he worried not for the sharpness of a citizen’s raised blade, but that it had been raised at all.
Domani, Omrin, Luxi, deep in the heartlands of The Empire, were where the roots of their ideals had grown the deepest. Their populations thrived as struggling settlements had blossomed into bustling and wealthy cities. There was proof of their efforts, Clin often told himself, often hoped. He could walk around The Capital and breathe a little easier, knowing his deeds had some positive outcome for others, yet what of the rest?
The report before him was proof of the other side of the coin of conquest. Populations crushed beneath the legion cried out a final time against their tyranny.
“Tyranny,” Clin whispered in the lonely vastness of his tent, hearing the soft breathing of his son far away. He ran a hand through his own hair, finding more grey than blond. Was this the outcome of his life? People willing to risk meeting their death at the hands of his men for a chance at freedom? Was rebellion the outcome of a good man’s deeds?
Even as his one-suit offered insulation from the cold, he pulled his cloak tighter around him.
The northern kingdoms were by far the most rebellious, for they had been the latest to be conquered. They hadn’t asked to be brought down. They hadn’t asked for their kings to be slaughtered, nor their armies shattered. Their cultures, their traditions, their languages, all were being stripped away in the hopes of being made into one, for a united population had far fewer reasons to slaughter each other. Noble hopes, yet was it his right to force an unwilling population?
A good man must always question his actions to ensure his deeds remain correct. As he looked at the report, his questions felt like daggers carving his heart.
Hardly was the next cylinder easier to bear.
“Cilith, the nights are growing colder, though still I march. Few humans have dared to battle these mountains, and our folly is made clearer with every passing day as the snow falls heavier. I take comfort knowing you are in a warmer place, wherever that may be. One day, when you’re older, it is my hope that you’ll seek me out, for there are few greater pains for a father than knowing his child is out there, a stranger beyond his-”
The message sat unfinished, just as it had for hours. Once more he read it, finding his hand frozen like the landscape outside.
“Father?” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a thumb over the etched word. Never had he met the girl. She was his daughter by blood, yet did that give him the right to claim such a title?
Of all his doubts, of all his worries, the third cylinder was the greatest of the swords hanging over his head. He hadn’t dared to look at what he had written for days, yet now the words sat before him.
“Cendra, my love, I have proven myself unworthy. Though I risk undoing all these years we’ve spent together, and shattering the family we’ve built, I can no longer endure my guilt. I must confess my betrayal. I lay my sins at your feet and hope for your forgiveness, though such is a mercy I do not deserve. Despite the vast freedom our bond of love has permitted us both, I have broken your only request of me. I have sired a child with another woman, and in doing so I have cast your trust into the mud. Long have I desired to confess my deed, though in my cowardice I-”
Reading the etched words turned his stomach, nearly as great a pain as when he had first written them. Such a confession risked all he had gained.
The candle at the corner of his desk battled the faint sunlight trickling in from the slight parting of the entrance flap. He watched the flame sway, thinking of Cendra’s fire.
After their reunion, and after hurting her with a rejection she couldn’t possibly understand, he could endure his guilt no longer. She had to know the truth, else it would burn within him until nothing remained but ash.
A good man would face his deeds in person and confess the truth even when he risked losing the only woman he had ever loved. The message lingered before him, unfinished, taunting Clin with all he was not.
His words made no mention of Vixin, of course. Cendra would undoubtedly learn of her sister’s part in his betrayal the moment she focused on sensing the existence of his bastard, though he would not allow another to share the weight of his actions.
Still, he could lie to himself and claim his hesitation was for Vixin’s sake. He could tell himself that he didn’t want to undo the sisters’ newfound peace. In truth, the prospect of confessing while facing the silver eyes he had fallen in love with proved to be too great of a mountain to endure. He had fought countless battles, meeting death with his blade, yet Cendra’s pain was a foe he would not survive.
Burying his face in his hands, he uttered an exhausted sigh. There was no way forward. All he had believed himself to be threatened to tumble down into oblivion. The people cried out against his life’s work when he had only hoped to save them. His only daughter was beyond his reach, a stranger he had never seen. His guilt strangled him, yet its confession would be the end of all he cared for.
Trapped, frozen with indecision, Clin felt old.
Movement across the room drew his attention. As the young prince awoke from his nap, Clin quickly swept the etched messages back into their cylinders and secured them each tightly.
Rubbing the sleep from his silver eyes, Cliax crawled from his small bed and stumbled along towards the desk. He saw the sunlight peeking through the entrance with every flutter of wind against the fabric walls. “Morning, father?”
“The same day. It’s been less than an hour.” Clin pulled the disoriented boy into a tight embrace. “Can’t sleep?”
The boy shook his head with a frown of disappointment. “I had a feeling. Something bad.” Though he clearly required a longer nap after their relentless march, the boy had only to look up at his father to see the truth upon his face. “Are you sad?”
Deception tasted like poison upon his tongue, and he had experienced far more than he cared for lately. Instead, he offered the truth with a nod, knowing the boy could likely sense his turmoil either way. “Do not worry for me. This life has merely been long, and yours has only just begun.”
His worry remained, and Cliax climbed onto his lap. With his blond hair flowing down his back, Cendra’s golden prince touched the nearest cylinder. “Are these what worry you, father?”
Clin was quick to snatch it away. An apologetic expression followed a sigh. “They are merely the measure of a man. For all the good I sought to forge, I find that I am still only…human. Flawed.”
It was clear the boy didn’t understand. How could he?
With his son upon his knee, he forced the prince to turn and meet his gaze of sorrow. “I have long believed that a single good man with good intentions in the right place can change the world for the better. Now, I’ve come to see that I may not be that man.”
Cliax shook his head. His father was a hero. “You made The Empire a better place.”
“The Empire,” Clin repeated with a bitter chuckle. “Now you sound like your grandfather. There is more to this world than The Empire, though I hope you’re right.” He touched his cheek, thinking of the family of nobles he had secretly spared from The God Emperor’s wrath all those years ago in Argin. Still he remembered the kiss of gratitude he had received from one of the daughters as he ushered them to flee into the night. “Perhaps, if a good man cannot save the world, he can save a few. Perhaps all a man must do is step aside when he is asked to commit evil and instead do no harm.” He sighed with the weight of decades upon his shoulders. “Is that enough?”
Cliax stared at him, drinking in the words with curious silver eyes, though the boy could offer no response.
He waved his hand. “Ah, these are questions for bitter old men. Don’t let them taint your youth.” Clin patted his son’s back, thinking of his own childhood, standing in the rainforest with his mother dying at his feet. “If nothing else, I hope all I’ve worked for shall allow you to stand a little easier when you’re my age.”
Quiet and in thought, the boy was about to reply before the guards outside announced a visitor with a shout through the fabric walls. “The Prince Upholder of Vaidrin, Arinax of House Vaid!”
Hardly did the heir of The God Emperor have to wait to be welcomed like a common visitor, though Arinax didn’t dare to enter until Clin called out to permit him inside.
As the somber prince crept into the tent with his hands clasped behind his back, he held no obligation of bowing his head before any other, yet still Arinax offered his father’s advisor a nod of deep respect. “High Peacekeeper.”
“My prince. What can I do for you?” Clin ushered his son to stand.
Arinax eyed the younger boy. “Is…Cliax available?” The words attempted to sound dignified, though they still held the sound of youthful excitement. He cleared his throat nervously. “It’s snowing again.”
Cliax looked up at his father eagerly.
Despite all his worries, Clin couldn’t help but smile. Though The Prince Upholder was a few short years older, there was no doubt that both boys had taken a liking to each other. They seemed more like brothers than uncle and nephew. “Indeed, he is.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Arinax said as Cliax was permitted to join his side. They tried to conceal their grins as they moved to depart, only to drop all pretense of stiff dignity and race each other through the entrance, not bothering to close the tent’s flap as they rushed into the falling snow.
Clin wandered to the opening, stopping a guard from sealing the flap with a raised hand. He stood in the entrance to watch as the boys gathered snow into balls to hurl at each other with wild laughter, more than he had ever heard from either. He smiled.
Joy was fleeting, for dark indecision once more crept from the shadows of his thoughts to torment him. Even in this desolate place, Cliax was home among his family. Clin watched as Zela found them, joining their battle. He glanced over his shoulder at his message to Cendra.
Outside, legionaries marched about the narrow camp while slaves shuffled through the snow. As Clin had decided to place his tent close to the front of the legion during this stop, desiring to be ready the moment the rubble blocking their way had been cleared, other commanders had followed The High Peacekeeper’s lead. He watched as a concubine led a young girl through the camp, presumably the daughter of a Lord seeking to visit her father’s tent. When Cliax interrupted the girl’s march to politely invite her to join them, Clin couldn’t help but sigh with pride.
He watched them play as he lingered in thought. Finally, he turned around as his decision was made.
Retrieving the message cylinder intended for Cendra, Clin held it above the flame of the candle. The wood ignited, and he could almost feel the thought of Cendra’s fire as the flames crept up the cylinder towards his fingers.
The message burned to ash as he dropped it to the floor, grinding what remained beneath his boot. A good man would confess the truth. He would, when the time was right, though not now. For his son’s sake, and for the family he knew the truth would destroy, he’d endure his guilt a little longer.
Staring down at the ashes, Clin felt as cold as if the icy wind outside wrapped around his bare body, chilling him to his bones.
When he heard the first scream, he snapped back to life.
“Ambush!” a man shouted outside, only to fall within view of the open entrance as an arrow found his neck.
Snatching his sword, Clin rushed outside as slaves scurried in panic and legionaries sought cover. Confusion and terror erupted through the camp in moments as arrows and rocks began to rain down upon them, piercing and crushing tents.
Clin flicked his gaze upward at the cliffs towering over either side of the mountain pass. High atop the right cliff, Arkos men readied their bows. Arrows whistled through falling snow to spill legion blood as men and women rushed to defend themselves.
With the enemy far from his reach, Clin’s sword was useless. Instead, his concerns fell solely to the children, pushing through running warriors in an attempt to find his son. His heart nearly burst when he saw the boy’s golden hair through the chaotic crowd.
“Father!” Cliax cried out when Clin reached him, snatching his arm.
“Where are the twins?” he demanded. Spotting them an instant later, he pulled his son to Arinax’s side, grabbing The Prince Upholder’s shoulder. “Arinax! Take them!” He forced the hands of Cliax and Zela into the boy’s grasp. “Led them far from here! Now!” When the terrified prince didn’t move, Clin shook him. “Can I count on you?”
That seemed to snap him to attention. Arinax dared to nod, finding an unsteady bravery. “Y…yes, High Peacekeeper!”
“Good! Go!” Clin commanded, only to stop him with a realization. “Wait, the girl! Where’s the other girl?”
Cliax pointed through the rushing bodies, and his father pushed them to flee.
The girl stood in place, screaming as the concubine that had accompanied her rested limp in the snow with an arrow through her eye. As legionaries used bows of their own to fight back, the crying child was far beneath their notice in the chaos of battle.
An Arkos man high above hurled a small boulder over the edge of the cliff, sending it falling into the camp below. Realizing the girl stood directly in its path, Clin’s eyes went wide.
Hardly did he have more than an instant to react. There was no room for thought nor concern for his own survival. He simply leapt forward, prepared to meet his end. He tackled the girl, forcing her out of the way a second before the heavy stone crashed into where she had been standing.
Groaning as he rose from the ground, feeling a throbbing pain from the mostly healed wound upon his chest, Clin helped the girl to her feet. A stranger, she could offer nothing but terror in place of gratitude before he shoved her to flee. “Go!”
An arrow struck down a legionary nearby. Others sent their own up the cliff with ready bows.
Useless to fight back, Clin turned his purpose towards his command. He shouted about the noise, gathering the chaos tearing through the camp into some manner of order.
Ahead, the horrid sound of lightning crackling through the air erupted as The God Emperor arrived to meet their foe. Raising a hand, their ruler unleashed webs of electricity upwards to tear apart the gathered forces above.
Clin watched his wrath, seeing smaller arcs of lightning and fire as his Knights joined the battle. Stones fell upon the camp like snow, crushing legionaries and slaves alike.
Many had suffered the long journey thus far, only to be killed. The legion met every death with one in return, for their trained bows and white armor stood against the crude men above.
The God Emperor’s roar boomed through the mountain pass as his lightning shattered stone and slaughtered their attackers. Arkos men fell from the cliff’s edge, charred corpses collapsing down into the camp.
As quickly as they had come, whatever remained of the ambushing tribe scurried away in retreat, leaving dead humans and Arkos alike scattered across the barren landscape.
Surrounded by rubble and blood, Clin helped a wounded legionary to her feet, only to look down at a dead Arkos limp in the snow. Limbs shattered from the fall and purple blood pooling at Clin’s feet, he couldn’t help but think of the message cylinder containing reports of unrest.
“They hadn’t asked to be conquered,” Clin thought to himself.
Groans of dying men required his attention, and he locked his doubts away to tend to those under his command.
1st of Fonic, 20 AVE.
Shai Domain, City of Shai.
“Human hands cross the mountains to grasp Arkos sands. I tried to warn you, Kromak.”
Varse’s words were carried away upon the wind as he stood alone atop The Citadel. Gazing down at The City of Shai, he beheld the fruits of his efforts with a grim frown, for the words of Salik’s report continued to whisper through his mind endlessly.
Far below, fellow Dril walked the peaceful streets of their snowy Capital. New buildings rose to touch the horizon as Shai expanded out into the frozen tundra of their homeland. Proper management without the taint of self-interest and corruption had naturally brought prosperity to the people below, though never would it be enough for their Potentate. Varse would serve his citizens until his final breath, even as he peered out in the direction of Ishtai with a longing to retire.
He watched a crowd of Dril gathering near the entrance to The Citadel. Wearing the vivid colors and dyed hair of their Clans, they listened to a scholar addressing any who cared to listen. Though bribed by agents to speak, as had many others that now held such gatherings throughout the cities of The Domain, the old Dril engaged the crowd in a spirited discussion.
“We were granted a land of absolute freedom and a population dedicated to finding rational solutions,” Varse recalled his own words from many years ago. He watched the scholar stir the minds of the crowd below, inciting them to engage in civil debates amongst themselves. Step by step, his dream for his people was taking hold.
Varse’s lips were as grim as always, folding his arms as his short cape billowed around him. “A start.”
All the progress he saw below would mean nothing if the human God Emperor could not be stopped.
Cold red eyes studied the snowy city in thought. His secret army grew with every passing day, yet still he needed time.
Breeders containing The God Emperor’s blood spilled their seed into fertile wombs under his control. New births occurred daily, though years would pass before their spawn would be ready to fight. Decades. Now the humans sought to touch a new land, and his own remained ever vulnerable.
The wind carried his cape to wrap around him as he stood like a watchful statue looming above the city. For days had he pondered Salik’s report.
It had pleased him greatly when word of the legion’s retreat from the jungle had reached his ear. For a single instant he had dared to wonder if his fears had been for nothing, as the humans were halted by the Lanthians on their own. He knew his enemy well, however, and the revelation of The God Emperor’s shifted aims came as little surprise. The man’s hunger and ambition would know no limit until he was put down.
For a moment he felt a bitter taste upon his tongue at a thought of the old Council. If they had heeded his suggestions, the Lanthians could have put an end to The Empire’s spread years before the humans ever stepped foot into their jungle. Now, an entire kingdom knelt as hostages to tyrants.
The Holy Kromak of Wonakaros could have faced a FAR weaker foe years ago as Varse had desired, cutting down their enemy long before he had so much as united The Human Basin. Instead, all of humanity marched to claim the black sands of the desert.
Varse remembered his horrid journey into The Kingdom of Wonakaros. He remembered standing before The Kromak in the depths of the terrible desert. Fellow Dril were lost to bring him before the false Arkos God, yet what had that bought them? A failed assassination attempt upon The God Emperor?
A silent curse was upon his lips for The Tolkarik Order and their dead assassins.
There was little use in dwelling upon the bitter past, and thus he turned his sights to the future. No doubt a new batch of Tolkarik assassins had been trained by The Holy Kromak. Varse could request their assistance once more, though if they had failed to slay a younger God Emperor, they stood no chance against the monster the human had become.
He could wait and hope that the Arkos could stop The Empire on their own, of course. If they survived the mountains, the humans would have to defeat the wealthy Kingdom of Narok before they ever touched the sands of Wonakaros. Never again would he place his hopes solely into the hands of another, however. Even if the Arkos proved to be as deadly as the Lanthians, he’d plan to seize a permanent end to his enemy from the shadows.
The Tolkarik assassins had failed him, though perhaps they could still be of some use. They failed alone, though now The Agents of Shai were solely beneath his command. Perhaps a different target was more logical. Perhaps, with the assistance of Salik and his agents, they may succeed together where their predecessors had failed.
Schemes gradually took form like the army growing in the wombs of his breeders, maturing until they were ready to strike at the heart of their enemy.
Until an opportunity to forever silence the threat of The God Emperor himself was made clear, they would have to look to the man’s surroundings. If his hunger could not be stopped, perhaps targeting those he cared for would slow his march.
Varse endured the wind in thought. When his plans hardened like a newly forged blade, he turned from the city below, ready to break his silence with a reply. He marched into The Citadel, prepared to send messages to both Salik and The Holy Kromak.
29th of Fonic, 20 AVE.
The Deep Mountains.
The snow was no longer amusing.
As icy wind carved men down to their bones, a legion trudging through the mountains, many longed even for the oppressive humidity of the jungle. Instead, they were met with snow, and snow, and endless, consuming snow.
It had been a pleasant distraction for Arinax at first. He had studied it closely, eager to unlock the secrets of the new substance he had never before encountered. Now it served only to slow his weary steps.
Day by day they had struggled through the grueling heights at the top of the world, ever following the relentless pace of The God Emperor. He was far too ahead for Arinax to see, though he could easily imagine his father even now leading them along, his white cloak billowing in the merciless wind and snow at this very moment. Whispers among the men spoke of their ruler’s silent march, never slowing, as if driven by a maddened obsession.
Arinax shivered at the thought of him, pulling his fluttering cloak tighter around his body as ice formed in the fur lining his clothing. He wanted to go home.
“She told us to be brave.”
He had been unconscious when his mother had spoken her final words to them, though Zela had told him all. Two simple words continued to whisper through his thoughts.
“Be brave.”
His exhausted steps quickened.
Hardly were the royals expected to march if they did not wish to. Turning, he saw Zela and Jinilya being carried inside one of the palanquins covered in furs, hoisted by slaves that stumbled along. Though they were broken men on the verge of death, their religious fervor carried them forth, honored at being permitted to carry the descendants of their holy ruler.
All members of his family had occasionally rested inside a palanquin. Arinax had not.
His feet were sore and cold. His body ached with pains he had never felt, yet on he walked.
“Be brave.”
Each time the temptation to rest had proven too alluring, he thought of his father at the front of the legion. The God Emperor marched without restraint. Arinax pushed himself to continue.
Cliax stumbled at his side as his foot sank into the deep snow, and Arinax grabbed his shoulder to support him. Their fun together had been a pleasant dream, a refuge from his thoughts. As their misery grew with each day, he had been forced to wake up.
“Be brave.”
He wanted to stop. As the prince, he held every right to rest. The memory of his mother’s blood forced his aching legs to continue. She had died because he had been too weak.
Howling winds tore through the billowing cloaks all around, yet he knew his father was relentlessly pushing through the snow far ahead. The God Emperor wanted a strong heir, and his mother had tried to save him when he proved to be otherwise. As tears froze upon his cheeks, he marched through his fear, his pain, and his thoughts, for Irith would not save him if he gave up now.
Once more Cliax stumbled as the younger boy struggled to keep up. Arinax grabbed his clothing to prevent him from falling. “Join…Zela and Jin,” The Prince Upholder demanded in a shaking tone.
“Will you?” the boy asked over the howling of the wind as his golden hair blew at his back. When Arinax shook his head, he smiled. “Then…I won’t!”
Older, Arinax should have been the bravest, though his strength was renewed by the boy’s smile. He could offer little strength in return, nodding somberly.
Together they suffered, trudging through fading daylight as snow threatened to block out the sun.
***
When at last the legion slowed to a stop, Arinax felt as if his entire body had gone numb. His legs shook, threatening to collapse as the day’s march mercifully came to an end.
Ever at her brother’s back, Vixin looked to Salduin as the big man lumbered through the men to join them. “Another obstruction?”
Salduin merely nodded with exhaustion in his gaze. “A landslide. Your father has granted permission to set up camp for the night. We’re going nowhere.”
Hardly did those around her complain. Even those hardened by battle offered quiet sighs of fatigue as they set about constructing their tents in relief.
The mountain pass was a ruin, blocked by endless landslides and collapsed stones that slowed their progress daily. Cliffsides gave way to long falls that claimed the lives of those less cautious, and attacks from local Arkos tribes seemed to come at the most inopportune moments. Vixin was no longer surprised whenever familiar faces disappeared among the legion, now corpses left behind to freeze as grim monuments to their march.
As the slaves finished building her tent, Vixin lit a fire to warm those around her. She ushered Arinax and Cliax closer, tending to the boys as she watched fires ignite all throughout the camp. As the sun abandoned them behind a mountain, she saw tiny flickers of light as Privictis Knights spread throughout the camp attempted to warm themselves with small bursts of their power.
She watched Cendra speak to passing Knights and commanders as she made her way towards the rest of House Vaid. With a weary sigh, Cendra sat down, turning cold silver eyes towards the burning flames.
When her sister remained silent in thought, Vixin dared to speak softly. “Something troubles you.”
Though clearly reluctant to share her thoughts, Cendra relented as she crossed her arms sternly across her breasts. “Knight Banix fell in today’s ambush. I only received confirmation from Kunir a moment ago.”
The fact clearly weighed heavily upon her sister, though Vixin had to ask. “Forgive me. Who?”
With an annoyed sneer, Cendra shook her head. “A Knight. A brother. That’s all you should need. He fell to an Arkos arrow.”
“I’m sorry.” Vixin pressed closer. If anything, she should have been the one to expel the importance of their kin, though she was so utterly tired. “I’m sure he fought bravely. Whoever he was, he won’t be forgotten by the rest of your Order.”
Cendra nodded with bitter sorrow for a fallen companion. When her sister’s arms wrapped around her waist, she reluctantly relented and allowed the touch. “We’re losing men. Every day the legion leaves more of our dead behind. Now, Knights join our losses as well.”
Vixin didn’t dare to worsen her mood with words. Instead, she merely held her as the snow fell in the gathering darkness.
The moment was shattered by the approach of a visitor, for guards led a familiar face towards their fire. As the flames illuminated the body of the gorgeous hybrid, they looked up to find Queen Regent Quinla bowing before them.
“Your majesties,” she greeted the princesses politely, moving with a slow elegance. To endure the cold, she had replaced her dress with a one-suit and cloak of her own, donning decorative armor painted green. Rising to greet her, Vixin invited her to join them, though the Arkos hybrid merely shook her head in mock disappointment. “As much as I’d love to stay, I came looking for your father. If The God Emperor’s attention isn’t taken by the obstruction ahead, I’d have words.”
“Oh?” Vixin tilted her head. She had hardly seen him during their journey. In truth, she may have been avoiding him.
The dark grey skin of The Queen Regent’s cheeks flushed subtly as she smiled. “Merely a personal matter.” She rested a hand upon her flat belly, above her womb.
Cendra didn’t meet her gaze, though she nodded towards the front of the legion. “I passed the slaves setting up his tent. I’ll send a guard to escort you.”
“You’d have my gratitude.” Quinla turned to depart as Cendra offered a quiet command to a nearby guard. With a step, she paused to glance back. “You’ve changed much these past years. It’s been an…interesting sight.”
Though Cendra scowled, Vixin watched her slim body sway seductively. The hints were there. A flicker of anticipation, the hand upon her belly. The Queen Regent’s intentions were quite clear.
Despite her conflicting thoughts regarding her father, Vixin couldn’t help but rub her thighs together beneath her cloak, feeling a hint of dampness form between her legs.
By the end of the night, another of their siblings would grow in the hybrid’s womb.
***
Dominax sensed her approach long before the guards announced her presence. Like an echo of arousal simmering outside his tent, she stood there, unable to conceal her burning intentions.
“Your holiness,” she greeted him after being permitted inside. Leaving her guards in the cold, she entered the temporary lair of her ruler. “I don’t wish to disturb you.”
“The presence of a worthy being rarely does.” He gestured for her to join him at the round table in the center of the fabric room. “Come.”
Her hips swayed as she removed her cloak, letting her armor gleam in the light of the candles around the table. Without a scratch, the green plates had never seen battle, intended only for show. His eyes traced her slim curves as the skintight fabric of her one-suit clung to her form. “Fask remains in your sight, then?” she asked as she glanced down at the large map that Lalian had prepared as it lay stretched across the entirety of the table. The globe projection had its uses, though the name every known city upon the map had been labeled.
“The first to fall in the war to come. Indeed.” A mere village, it stood closer to the exit of the mountain pass than any other. “A message to the rest, and a source to replenish our supplies before the true siege.”
Quinla traced a finger from Fask to Arkos-Nu, The Capital of Narok. A short distance across a river, and they’d be able to strike at the heart of their enemy. “Better pray for old Torakeom, then, should we ever escape these accursed mountains.”
The name hardened his expression, stirring the memory of his Arkos assassins. “What do you know of the man?”
“The King of Narok? I’ve never met old Torakeom in person, though Arkos traders in Spirexia speak highly of him.” She stepped closer as they peered at the map together. “I always had the impression that he was a reasonable man, although…” She dared to touch his arm. “If the people of Narok have an eye for profit, none rival their king. Offer the man an opportunity in which he may benefit, and he’ll melt to your will.”
He turned to meet her graceful smile. Years upon a throne had changed her, coaxing a deeper elegance to her every action, though still the cunning ambition he had seen in her lingered behind her dark eyes. “I shall make use of the man if possible. Yet if he must fall, I expect no argument.”
Quinla shook her horned head. “You’ll find none. Our kingdoms trade, though there is nothing personal in this. I have no ties to the man.”
“To the land, you do.”
Only such words could force her off-balance. “So the nobles liked to remind me before my rise, yes.” A blush of shame darkened her cheeks, though she merely chuckled. “A family embarrassment you and I have sought to correct.” She ran a hand across his armored chest like an old lover. “My prince is doing well, you know.”
They had spent much time together during their journey, though always among others. Be it while discussing plans with the other royals and Lords, or while surrounded by the legion, it had been years since they had been alone. Turning, he met her soft lips, finding them familiar. “Yes, tell me of my son.”
A gentle moan escaped her upon a breath as her thighs clenched together, feeling the arms of the father of her child creep around her narrow waist. “Oh, he’ll be a worthy king, my lord. They call him The Grey Prince.” She savored the title, missing her son. “He’s about the age of your daughter’s son, isn’t he?”
Touching her hip, he felt her curves through the tight fabric. “Far from an age ready for a throne.”
“Yet he’s learning much in Spirexia. Or so they tell me.” She felt a longing in her chest. “Our future King Loir. I’d return to him with a gift when this is done.”
Dominax chuckled as she guided his hand to her belly.
“I’m ovulating, my lord.”
Once more he kissed her. His hands found their way to her rump, pulling her firmly against his body. The beauty of her exotic features called to him, stirring his seed. “You’ve more than earned another.”
She moaned at his touch, reaching down to feel his groin. “I’m pleased to hear that. We both know how lonely House Stire has become.” Receiving a nod, she was permitted to free his cock from the groin slit of his one-suit, lips parting at the feeling of his large manhood falling into her grasp after so long. “Our little Loir will one day fill the bellies of many pretty girls to repopulate our House, though until then, I’d assist in my own way.”
He returned the favor by unfastening her own groin slit. Pulling apart the fabric, he felt the eager dampness at his fingertips. “By all means.”
Biting her lip as his fingers explored, she eased onto her rump, sitting upon the table. “Are you certain?” she asked playfully. “It seems your daughter Cendra continues to distrust me. No doubt she still believes I’m conspiring with my deposed cousin.”
“Has Rolir attempted to contact you?” Dominax asked in mock disinterest.
She shook her head with a hint of displeasure. “None of his former allies have heard so much as a whisper since he gave up the throne.” Quinla shrugged, though he sensed a faint sorrow. “Rolir always valued his solitude. Still, I hadn’t expected him to discard the world so completely in his forced retirement. After all these years, not a word.”
“What words could bones offer?” Dominax thought to himself. He sunk his fingers deeper, making her moan. “Let him rest in the past, then. Tonight, we’ll focus on the future of your House, not the cousin that failed it.”
“Yes…” she groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck. Holding onto her lover, she cried out as his massive cock began to slide inside, threatening to split her open. “Ooohh…yes!”
Dominax held her hips tightly as he began to rock between her parted legs. Armor against armor, tongue meeting tongue, he made her squirm atop the table.
Their lips parted as she threw her head back. The light of the candles danced across her horns as she cried out for all to hear. “You purified my bloodline once…ahh…my lord! Do it again!” She held him close. “Never shall I let them…ahh…call our children halfbreeds!”
Her hybrid body was as tight as he remembered. His cock stirred the vagina that had birthed a future king, ready to accept his seed once more.
“I’m ovulating…” Quinla moaned as she rocked her hips to match his rhythm. “A single drop…ahh…could breed me…I know…yet still my body begs…”
The eagerness of The Queen Regent coaxed his lusts. It seemed her ambitions had only grown over the years. He began to explore her body, savoring the knowledge that he would once again impregnate her exotic form with his child. His seed would fill her womb, human and Arkos traits mixing to produce another unique baby.
Hips moving, he forced her onto her back atop the table, rising to grab her legs for leverage. As she submitted to her God Emperor, his powerful thrusts rocked the table.
Quinla spread her legs as far as she could, seeking to offer no resistance to her conqueror. She wanted nothing more than to feel his seed invade her womb, once more purifying her bloodline. She thought of her mother, her father, of their love that had only been spat upon by the old nobility of Spirexia. Now they’d call her son their king, Loir The Grey!
Her exotic features enticed him as he caressed her thighs through the tight fabric. The dark grey skin of an Arkos, the horns, though lacking the tail and stripes. She was a rare beauty, gorgeously unique, and every instinct urged him to spill his potent sperm deep inside of her.
“Breed me…ahh…my lord!” she begged. Keen dark eyes knew exactly what they craved. “Loir is being mentored…ahh…to serve our House upon the throne. I’ll…ahh…serve our House with my womb!”
Rolir had been a fool to let his House crumble into near oblivion. She served to continue the legacy of their ancestors with every thrust deep into her fertile tightness.
She rested atop the map of her father’s homeland as Dominax bred her, moaning to her conqueror with ambition in her dark gaze. A hybrid once out of place, she had claimed all she had hungered for under his rule. Eying her armor, crafted in the style of The Empire, he would give one of his most loyal vassals the second baby she so craved.
“Cum inside me!” Quinla writhed atop the map. With every passing minute her need grew, becoming an obsession until she wrapped her legs around his waist to urge him deeper. “Get me pregnant!”
The God Emperor’s crown stood tall as he pushed his hips forward, sinking deep into her hybrid vagina. As his urge to breed seized his being, his seed rushed forth to conquer her eager womb.
His holy warmth poured into her tight embrace, making her exotic body tremble in an orgasm atop the map. Panting, basking in her pleasure when she could finally breathe again, she uttered a long moan of utter victory.
House Stire would be reborn birth by birth.
Dominax held himself inside her, savoring his satisfaction as his seed spilled heavily from her loins. It oozed down, washing over Fask and Arkos-Nu.
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