The Price of Magic

CW: this story contains BDSM and mild dubcon

The petitioner stepped up, a scroll clutched in his hand.

Dellin surveyed the tall, lean man, his face drawn and pale, obvious discomfort in his body language.

"State your purpose," Elester said, his voice loud and clear in the packed throne room.

"I bear a message from King Jernard of Hollowyn," the petitioner replied, brandishing the scroll.

Dellin glanced over to the throne in time to see the king lean forward, eyes twinkling with immediate interest. A gradual hush fell over the audience, starting at the front and winding row by row towards the back.

Elester gestured for the petitioner to hand the scroll over. A few voices spoke up quietly among the audience. The petitioner waited for Elester to unroll the scroll, glancing warily over to Dellin, and then Marithorn on the other side of the base of the throne, the two royal guardsmen cutting intimidating silhouettes in their ornate, gleaming, silver-and-blue armor.

"Esteemed King Baltarian of Rhiannor," Elester began to read, turning towards the throne, the soft chatter falling silent. "I understand your concern regarding the presence of our armies to the northwest of the Blackrook. As you remember, I'm sure, your great-grandfather and mine came to an accord following the War of Rhiannorian Aggression."

Baltarian noticeably fought back a smirk.

"My great-grandfather ceded the lands northwest of the Blackrook to your great-grandfather. Many in Hollowyn viewed this as a mistake."

A few members of the audience murmured. The petitioner shifted nervously.

"I now seek to rectify this mistake, and reclaim our ancestral lands. Sincerely, King Jernard Santar, The Eagle of the West."

Elester rolled the scroll back up.

"King Jernard also bade me tell you directly," the petitioner spoke, looking up at Baltarian, worry coloring his face. "That he hopes to meet you on the battlefield, so that he may baptize his new sword with your...conniving Rhiannorian blood."

How dare he!

"My King!" Dellin called out, his face burning with a furious blush, his hand closing on the grip of his sword. "Please grant me the honor of removing this messenger's head from his shoulders for such insolence!"

Baltarian waved a hand dismissively.

"Temper your wrath. I will not have messengers slaughtered in my hall."

Dellin nodded amid a burst of shame, and stepped back into place. Marithorn shot him a narrow-eyed look. The petitioner relaxed slightly.

"What is your name, messenger?" the king asked.

"Adaron."

"Elester, make sure Adaron is taken care of, whether he desires food or drink or a bath or what-have-you, and then see him to the city gates."

"As you wish," Elester said smoothly.

"And finish up with the rest of the petitions," Baltarian added, standing and striding towards the side door, Marithorn and Dellin immediately falling in behind him.

"Such emotional outbursts make you look a fool," Marithorn muttered, shaking his head in mild reproach.

"Next!" Elester called to the petitioners.

The chatter of the audience rose in excitement, and then was silenced as the door to the throne room closed behind the trio.

"Send word at once to Lord Humfrey that he is to bring the Southern Fleet around the Horn of Braxas to Calagon," the king told Marithorn. "And then to Lord Farrow that he is to raise his army and bring them down the Silver Road to Hardwon Pass."

The guardsman bowed deeply and peeled off to the left at the next corridor.

"Sir Dellin. You will leave tomorrow with Sirs Raybard and Vance, and a detachment of our troops, and meet Lord Farrow at Hardwon."

"It will be done."

Dellin turned to the right up ahead, leaving Baltarian alone on his path.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Just when I thought we'd have some lasting peace.

Baltarian sighed, the crisp air and mild sunshine small comforts.

An unremarkable tower stood ahead, separated from the castle but close enough to reach with a short walk.

A raven stared down from its perch above the door, dark eyes glittering with curiosity. He nodded cordially, and slipped inside, the sunshine giving way to a dim interior. A staircase wound to the left, so he followed it up and around, coming soon onto a landing. A door creaked open once he was a few steps away, beckoning him over the threshold.

Felissa faced away from him, focused on the clay jars arranged in front of her.

"Afternoon, my liege," she spoke, not deigning to turn around. "What brings you to my humble workshop?"

"I have a request of you."

She finally turned, lustrous black hair framing her sleek-featured face, skirt swishing around her, loose blouse cut to reveal the light brown skin of her shoulders.

"My talents are yours to command."

"Hollowyn has declared war. I need to know their plans, their movements, anything you might be able to find out."

She nodded, glancing at a few pieces of parchment strewn across the stone table between them.

"It will be done."

He walked over, hand idly on the pommel of his sword.

"I require swiftness on this account."

She nodded again, turning back towards the clay jars.

"I understand completely. I will not disappoint you."

"You have yet to. I am lucky to have a sorceress like you in my service."

"Is there anything else you require?"

He took a fistful of her hair and tugged, bending her head back.

"My liege!" she shrieked in undignified surprise, struggling against his firm grip. "What are you doing?!"

He dragged her towards the stone table, and then turned her to face him. An aggrieved flush reigned on her face, her hair in disarray, her chest heaving from quick breaths.

"You asked what else I require. I require a warm mouth. Get on your knees."

She blinked in surprise, shrinking back against the stone table.

"I'm a sorceress, not a whore!"

He grabbed her blouse and yanked her closer. Before she could react beyond another weak shriek, he tugged the blouse down and off her shoulders, rudely revealing her breasts, the teardrop-shaped swells bouncing. The left breast boasted a four-pointed star tattooed around the nipple, the horizontal points silver, the vertical points blue. His hand sank into the lush flesh.

"My liege!" she squealed, trying to push him away, hands feeble against his forearms. "This is highly inappropriate!"

He stroked a fingertip along the top point of the star, and pressed down.

"Please - "

Her cry cut off. She tried to keep talking, her throat working noticeably. Only a small whimper slipped out.

Baltarian laughed, his cock twitching.

"Cat got your tongue?"

She tried to talk again, with the same result.

"If you can't talk," he said, taking her by the hair again. "Then you might as well just get on your knees."

His firm grip guided her. She did not struggle, only aiming a scandalized look at him. Her skirt settled around her on the floor. She made another unsuccessful attempt to talk.

"The silent type, are we?" he joked, slipping the scabbard off his hip and placing it on the stone table.

He undid his trousers, letting his cock spring free, the shaft swelling steadily. She gaped, too surprised to do much else.

He tugged at his fistful of her hair, bringing her closer to the tip.

"Make yourself useful."

Chagrin appeared in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but still could not speak, an invisible barrier holding words back. He laughed, and hitched his hips, poking the tip through her lips. Her gasp was cut off by a thrust, packing the first few inches into her mouth, muffling her distress.

"You love pretending as long as possible, don't you?"

He swung forward, driving every inch of his cock into her mouth and throat. His hands pressed her down, forcing her flush against the base, his balls right on her chin, sitting atop the tattoo there, the black ink starting from her bottom lip, winding over her chin, and then looping around her neck in a circular path. Her eyes fluttered, and she moaned. He ground her face on the base of his shaft, listening to that moan draw out. Surprise came to life in her eyes.

"No," he told her pointedly. "Not this time."

She grabbed at his thighs, her fingernails sinking in for purchase.

"Give me a moment," he sighed, luxuriating in the snug sheath of her throat.

Muted gags spilled from her packed mouth, her skirt swishing from her squirming.

"Good girl," he drawled, reaching down to grope her breast, rubbing at the stiff nipple.

A shiver ran over her. He squeezed, crushing the soft swell between his fingers. A note of pain swirled into the next gag.

He yanked her mouth off his cock, a few lines of spit connecting the former to the latter. The lines swayed, and then he slapped the tip down, smearing the mess over her face. She fought for breath, rubbing her cheek against the shaft.

A few more slaps added to the mess. She stared up at him, a docile look settling in her eyes.

He peeled her hands off his thighs, and pinned them to two specific spots on the edge of the table. A light cracking sound followed. The stone of the table came to life, looping around her wrists, and then tightening, trapping her hands. She mewled, her thighs rubbing together underneath her skirt.

A smirk tugged at his lips. His hand went to her hair, threading his fingers through the dark locks. The other took her by the back of her head. She opened her mouth wide.

A steady push sent him back down her throat. She moaned again, controlled by his grip, made to take every inch of his cock, his balls coming to rest again atop the tattoo on her chin.

He matched her moan with a satisfied growl. The hand on the back of her head pressed down, forcing her flush against the base of his length again.

He took his hands off her head, and leaned forward to rest his forearms against the table. The motion brought more of his body weight down through his hips, bending her head back, putting her in even more of a disadvantageous position. She gurgled softly, face hidden in between his thighs, fingers clenched into fists. Her throat worked around his shaft, a warm, wet embrace.

"This is just what I needed."

He listened to more of those gurgles, his pleasure building.

The gurgles grew weaker, but she made no attempt to move. Her fingers unclenched, trembling slightly. He let his hips wind, grinding against her face, making sure her mouth and throat were utterly, entirely, inescapably impaled. The magic imbued into her chin tattoo that removed the need to breathe remained untriggered.

"You're so accommodating. Whatever would I do without you?"

Her body started to slump, so he eased the pressure. His cock slithered free, gleaming with her spit. She gasped, head tilting up, that docile expression reigning on her face amidst the slick mess. Her eyes fluttered, briefly struggling to focus. He watched her suck in more breaths, her breasts heaving, jiggling from her effort.

"Do you want to keep breathing?" he asked, stroking a hand through her hair. "Or do you want to keep choking on my cock?"

She hesitated, as if unsure whether or not she would be able to answer.

"If the choice is between breathing," she began, voice unsteady. "Or serving you, my liege, I'll always - "

He took her by the back of the head and drove his cock back into her mouth.

"We both know what you were going to say."

Rough thrusts left her spluttering. He rutted deep into her throat, staring down at her, listening intently to her gags and whimpers. The force rocked her figure, leaving her breasts jiggling more. Dull surrender shone in her fluttering eyes.

"I'll give you what you need very soon..."

Sweat beaded on his forehead from the heat of lust. His hand on the back of her head held her in place. The other slipped to her breasts, squeezing and stroking, focusing equal attention on the pert swells and the stiff nipples crowning them. She choked helplessly, her mouth repeatedly speared on his shaft. Saliva streamed from her lips and along her chin, drops splashing down onto her breasts.

The pleasure swirled and stormed, spurred by his pumping hips and plunging cock.

"Take it...like the cunt you are..."

Her thighs rubbed together, rustling her skirt.

Part of the excitement firing along his body came from the knowledge that any other man would find themselves in quick trouble after words such as those.

Her degradation is my privilege and mine alone.

His cock throbbed. His hips worked steadily, his balls slapping rudely against her chin, more drops of saliva splashing onto her bouncing breasts. Another surge of excitement rolled over him, helping the pleasure spike towards climax.

One final thrust slammed him to the base. She gagged lewdly, eyes wide and desperate, a tear rolling down her cheek, a vein standing out on her forehead.

"Fuck yes..."

He spurted down her throat, his cock jumping and pulsing. She shivered, her bottom half bucking. His hand on her head made sure she stayed impaled.

Her throat clutched, coaxing out every drop of cum in short order. He groaned, hunched over her kneeling body, squeezing harder at her breast. Another round of bucking followed, another lewd gag leaving her packed mouth. His shaft twitched, the last of his seed topping off the amount inside her, ripe for usage in one of her spells.

The hand on her breast eased up, the pad of a thumb rubbing over the nipple. His hips slid back, slowly, his spent length slipping further and further out, the inches gleaming with her saliva. The head popped free, and she drew in a trembling, shuddering breath. A sharp swing brought the head down on her cheek. She nuzzled against the shaft, that docile look plastered across her face along with a heaping helping of their combined bodily fluids.

"Isn't this so much better? No need to talk or even really think."

She nodded, not even trying to speak up.

His hand took another fistful of her hair, and tugged her head up for a hungry kiss. She purred, parting her lips to let his tongue chase hers for a few seconds.

He stepped back, and fixed his trousers.

"I want you to stay like this. For the next hour. Nod if you understand and accept."

She nodded immediately, a dumb smile springing up on her lips.

"Good girl."

He turned and strode away, snatching up his sword from the stone table on the way by.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

In a darkened room at the top of the tower, Felissa sat slumped in a chair, eyes closed.

Over a thousand miles away, Fenn perched on a tree branch, staring intently at the large tent a dozen or so yards away. Two men stood guard by the entrance. Smaller tents were laid out around it, numbering in the hundreds, campfires blazing here and there offering some necessary light in the late evening.

Felissa opened her eyes and saw the landscape with a clearer and sharper view than usual. A flick of her finger, and one of the men started, before letting his head droop steadily over the next minute, succumbing to sleep.

The moment sleep came, she jumped.

The tree Fenn was perched in was now visible, tall and crooked, with scattered foliage hiding the raven.

She turned to the tent, feeling the weight of this burly frame plus chainmail and armor. The interior of the tent was lavish, with a plush rug and ornate lanterns. A nearby table held leftovers from a sumptuous meal. Seven men were gathered around another table, peering intensely at a map, a variety of small marble figures placed here and there, stand-ins for armies and fleets.

A smaller, more subtle flick of her finger made the other guard start.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, hand moving to the pommel of his sword.

"I did," she replied, relishing the deep tones of this voice. "You should check it out."

The other guard nodded, and set off cautiously in the direction of the sound he had heard.

Once he was out of sight, she eased closer to the table. The seven men talked among themselves, occasionally moving the marble figures around. None wore swords on their hips, but over by the table laden with leftovers, seven scabbards lay unguarded. She brushed a hand over the sword hanging on the guard's hip, and then found a dagger at his other hip.

It would be light work. But that's not why I'm here.

She stood patiently, eyeing the marble figures, tracking the different ways the men moved them.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Felissa strolled down the corridor. The castle halls were quiet and empty but for the occasional guard. None saw her, thanks to a simple spell.

Around the corner from the king's office, she dropped the magic shroud, just in time to see Sir Edgar standing before the door to the office. He offered no reaction to her appearance beyond a nod of his head, accustomed as the royal guardsmen were to seeing her visit the king at this late hour. His eyes remained respectful, even with her thin, sleeveless gown doing little to conceal her figure.

"I have business," she told him.

He stepped aside, and opened the door to let her slip inside.

Felissa padded over to the desk, her satin slippers quiet on the floor.

Baltarian glanced up from a half-written letter, and raked a gaze over her, taking in the visible swath of her cleavage and the noticeable indents of her nipples.

"Evening, my liege," she purred, joining him behind the desk, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Evening, sorceress."

"'Sorceress'? Is that all I am to you?"

"Did you bring me information?" he asked, noticing the scroll in her hand.

She smiled and placed it on the desk.

"Indeed. And I'll go back daily to track changes as needed."

"I imagine you'll require plenty of fuel for your efforts."

She laughed, planting another kiss at his cheek.

"Such a diplomatic way to phrase it."

"You would prefer I phrase it another way?" he asked, reaching back, caressing along her neck tattoo.

She nuzzled into his touch. A hum pulsed lightly on her skin. The ink materialized into leather and chain. The sudden presence of the collar around her neck made her moan. He tugged at the leash, bringing her down to her knees, and then under the desk.

"May I have some fuel for my efforts?" she asked, smiling mischievously.

He nodded, and then turned his attention back to the letter, his pen scratching over the parchment.

She unlaced his trousers, biting her lip at his dismissiveness.

His cock popped free. She landed enthusiastic kisses, loving how it reacted to her adoration, demanding more. Her mouth trailed from tip to base, and back up, moving languorously. He groaned, tugging at the leash, drawing a whimper from her.

Her lips dipped further down to his balls and took them in with a whorish slurp. She sent a hand under her gown, between her thighs to her slick slit.

His cock sat on her face, the mild scent helping to further scramble her brain. She sucked his balls, bathing them in saliva, grinding mindlessly against her hand. The pen scratched away, his attention still mostly on the letter even with the occasional groan and tug at the leash. A bead of precum seeped from the head, shining on the tip. She watched it move sluggishly, heading towards her, and teased two fingers inside herself, finding a flood of juices.

The hand on her leash tugged her off his balls. She realized then that the scratching had stopped.

He stood, pushing the chair back, and crouched to slip the gown off her shoulders. The delicate fabric fell around her waist, revealing her breasts. He landed a playful slap on one, and then the other, watching them bounce. She masturbated idly, otherwise staying still to let him do as he pleased.