Empress Enslaved Ch. 01

This is the first of a two-part story of blackmail and submission. Very much open to suggestions as to how part two should be concluded - enjoy!

*****

The palace sweltered under the ferocity of the noon Sun. The coming and going of harassed, glistening courtiers was watched dolefully by the three servants in the otherwise empty side chamber.

"Three days. I'm telling you, just three more days and this whole city will be decorated in barbarian heads on spikes. The army will destroy them," Maria was saying. She cast an angry glance out of the window that Elizabeth had taken to standing by and staring out of. Elizabeth did not seem reassured.

"Three days is a long time Maria! Who knows what will happen to us before the Kommandair gets here? You know what these people are like - the... things... they do to conquered cities..." She turned back to look out of the window.

"We are not a conquered city, Elizabeth," Maria retorted. "It takes more than a band of unwashed horsemen to conquer a city like Morgavia. I mean come on, they haven't even penetrated the inner walls yet - the old town is just fine. These stupid barbarians don't even have gunpowder. They're just... occupying. Temporarily. They wouldn't dare do anything more."

Elizabeth snorted in derision. She hadn't said anything, but everyone in the room knew her family had been forced to give quarters to some of the invaders yesterday, and she hadn't heard from them since the palace had been sealed off with them inside. Maria turned to Annabelle.

"What do you think Belle?" she asked. She had no easy answer to that. She couldn't deny feeling real terror when news of this approaching barbarian horse lord had reached the city, especially given that they were unusually undefended at the time - the army was warring against some foreign state or other (she could never remember their names). She's always assumed Morgavia was impregnable, but a day later the columns of muscular, swarthy horseman were riding down the Imperial Setway, and their leader was demanding the city's submission. It was hard to say what would happen next.

"I think... I think the Empress will know what to do. She'll keep us safe," she said at last. If they couldn't trust her, Isabella the First and Empress of all Morgavian dependancies, who could they trust? Maria said nothing. She knew Maria adored the Empress as much as she did - the three of them were Empress Isabella's personal handmaidens after all, and it just wasn't possible to serve the Empress in such close quarters without a real sense of adoration. But she knew Maria was a bit more reserved when it came to all that.

"The doors are opening!" cried Elizabeth in alarm. Maria didn't get up.

"Unless you hear the scrape of steel, which you don't, then it's not an attack. They must be sending a representative to surrender or something."

Belle had to admire Maria's cool in a situation like this. Nothing ever ruffled Maria - not even a barbarian occupation, it seemed. Smart, and beautiful - by far the prettiest of the three of them - it was no wonder she had risen to be such a senior servant in the palace. Everybody loved Maria - especially the men of the court.

And, it did indeed seem as though a representative of the horsemen had entered the palace. She could hear his gruff male tones from here - he seemed to have a pretty good grasp on the language.

"How is Donovan?" Maria asked Elizabeth. Belle had to admire her attempt to change the subject, but Elizabeth would not be so easily soothed.

"Hmm? Oh, fine I guess," she replied. It had been the talk of the servant's quarters for a brief afternoon last week when news of Elizabeth and the young guardsman's escapades in the bushes had spread, and it seemed they were still meeting regularly. Though she was often overshadowed by Maria, Elizabeth was a beautiful woman in her own right - she certainly didn't want for male attention. Belle had never quite mastered the art of drawing the male gaze. Next to the tanned skin and sultry eyes of Maria, Belle's tall frame and round figure didn't quite match up. She was what polite society called 'big boned' - not fat, exactly, but hardly petite.

Before Maria could press the point, a deep, musical horn rang through the palace.

"She's coming!" cried Belle. Maria got to her feet, and even Elizabeth left her sentry by the window to join her friends by the balcony. The Empress was coming.

Belle looked down at the small procession, and felt the familiar joy rise in her breast at the sight of Isabella. It instantly calmed her nerves. She looked so regal, so beautiful and resplendent as she made her way through the grand chamber. She carried herself with a dignity and authority that belied her delicate frame, and seemed to positively radiate reassurance to the unhappy palace. Belle had served the empress for six years now, since she was thirteen and the Empress herself was nineteen, and she never failed to have this effect.

Isabella made her way slowly toward the large doors at the end of the chamber, followed by two of her senior advisors. If they were there, it could only mean negotiations were underway. They were going to be OK...

"Do you really think she can save us from them?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes," said Belle, with some confidence. Maria said nothing. "Don't you think so?"

"I guess," Maria answered. "I mean, sure sending so much of the army overseas wasn't a great move, but I'm sure she knows what she's doing." Belle stared at her reproachfully. "I'm just saying! I'm sure she had good reason to send them so far away. And besides, it's like I said - they're the ones who should be asking for mercy. The army won't be absent for much longer. They'd better toe the line, or in three days they'll all be on a bonfire."

Belle did not respond.

* * *

Isabella remained calm as she ascended the old stairway to what had once been a debating chamber, back in the days when Morgavia had been little more than a speck on the world stage, and diplomacy was of such little concern to its kings. Isabella was always calm - she was good at it.

"Their King is in the Blue Chamber, your excellency," said councillor Portilla, hiding his wheezing breath well.

"The man they call J'akart Jho is not a King, councillor," she corrected him, "but thank you. I will see him alone."

"Alone?" remarked councillor Grutte. "Your excellency..." Isabella gave the two old men a curt smile. She trusted their wisdom just as much now as she had at any time during her ten year reign, but she knew she was correct on this matter. The only way she could command the respect of this J'akkart Jho, the respect that any sovereign of Morgavia deserved, was to appear without her trusted councillors.

"I will deal with the horselord. Thank you gentlemen." The two men bowed and left, without voicing the concerns she was certain they must have. She had spent most of her reign reassuring men that she knew what she was doing. It had been much worse in the beginning. A girl of just sixteen coming to the throne, daughter of a much revered king who had made Morgavia a major player on the world stage - people were sure the city state would be a ruin by the end of the year. But she had shown them. There had been a plague of would-be 'councillors' and 'advisors' in the early days. Now the only ones who remained were good men, like councillor Grutte and councillor Portilla, who had proved themselves loyal and wise - and respectful.

To Isabella's irritation the horselord had seen fit to station his own guard outside the Blue Chamber - a big, muscular brute who didn't even have the deference to bow his head as she approached, but stared at her through his long braided hair. She ignored him, and entered the chamber.

"Empress Isabella the First," boomed the man's voice from within, "we meet at last." J'akkart Jho's voice was deep, but somewhat silky, in contrast with the raspy, guttral tones she had come to expect from the few of his kind she had met, and he masked his accent well. He rose from his seat and bowed in the proper way. She had to give him credit - he had even donned a set of Morgavian ceremonial robes, unlike the brute who was currently guarding the chamber.

"Lord J'akkart," replied the Empress, acknowledging the bow with a nod but otherwise remaining stiff and impassive. She tried to take the measure of her city's would-be conqueror. He was powerfully built, like all the rest of them - she'd never seen one of them below six feet, and this one must surely have been almost seven feet tall. But he didn't seem so keen to appear as an unthinking thug as the others did, and his hair wasn't shoulder length like the rest of them, but closely cropped. Perhaps he was trying to win her respect.

"King J'akkart, your highness," J'akkart corrected her. Isabella bristled - from what little they knew about these horse riding barbarians, it seemed that J'akkart's father was the one who started this ridiculous pretence of calling himself King, after he'd united a few of the smaller tribes. But it took more than that to make a king - no other civilised state had recognised the title. Isabella's own Father had made Morgavia's stance on this issue quite plain.

Still, it wouldn't do to quarrel on this point - not when J'akkart had an army in the city and she did not. She walked forward and took the seat facing J'akkart over the table. As she did so she was aware that she was not the only one sizing up their opponent; she could feel the self-proclaimed King's gaze exploring her body. This was nothing new to her. As a young empress of a powerful state, there were endless ballads and poems written about Isabella's beauty, but even on a modest day Isabella would have to concede that there was little embellishment. She had always been pretty, even as a princess, and now at twenty-six she was at what she supposed would be the height of her physical attractiveness. She had the long, sleek black hair that was so envied among Morgavians, and the pale complexion to match it. Her slender frame, delicate features and conspicuous breasts broadcast a femininity that had been such a hurdle in getting her people to respect her. So she was used to the male gaze, but coming from one such as J'akkart, it was a little imposing.

"I have agreed to this meeting, so that we can agree the details of your withdrawal from my city, as well as the tribute your people will pay to compensate for the loss of life, property and security of mind that your warband has caused," she began, meeting the barbarian square in the eye. "As you will be aware, the Morgavian army is little more than a day away, and failure to comply with these demands will result in the utter destruction of your soldiers." J'akkart's eyes bored into hers, but his smile didn't flicker.

"Little more than a day you say? My dear Empress, there's so much we could accomplish in that time! I have over five thousand riders encamped throughout Morgavia - we could sack the city bare and be away before your Kommandairs get here." His expression of serene calmness did not falter even as he so casually promised death and destruction. "I have no doubt your musket-wielding tin soldiers would be very angry with my people, but I can assure you they will never find us once we are back in the steppes."

"You severely underestimate us, Lork J'akkart," replied Isabella, coolly. She was well aware of the predicament they were in, but balking under such naked threats would only make things worse.

"King J'akkart, your highness, King," he chided her again, almost playfully. "You are not your Father, why cling to his disrespectful attitude toward us, especially when we are quite literally on your doorstep?" Isabella said nothing - whatever happened, she would not dignify this invader with the title he so clearly craved. "I see you wish to do what is best for your people. I appreciate that. Let me be blunt therefore, and get straight to the point." Isabella sat slightly more to attention in her seat - she had had no word that the barbarians were willing to offer a deal.

"What point is that?" she asked.

"We will spare your splendid little city. We will not sack it. We will not pillage its treasures, or break into its inner walls. We will spare its people. We will leave tomorrow, in good order. We will even pay the tribute that you requested of us."

"Go on," said Isabella, somewhat apprehensive of the price this surprising offer would carry.

"And in return, my delicious, splendid little Empress, all I ask in for in return, is your good self," he finished. Once again his gaze travelled the length of Isabella's body, sending shivers up her back.

"I'm not entirely sure I understand what you mean," she said.

"It is quite simple, your highness. In return for the good graces of my people, you will offer yourself to me, for one night. A night of total submission, I should make clear. It would be a private affair, between the two of us and, aha, one or two of my most loyal generals. No one would ever know the price you paid to save your city from utter ruin - a quite reasonable price I might add," J'akkart said, his perpetual grin widening as he explained himself.

A cold, helpless fury trickled through Isabella. Never, never had she been so insulted. She would not expect a common washerwoman to be spoken to like this. Did they not know who she was? Was this how they treated an empress? By propositioning her like she was some threepenny whore? She rose to her feet, hate in her eyes. J'akkart's eyes descended again, and the slightest purse of his lips pushed the usually icily calm Isabella over the edge. She raised her hand to strike the barbarian.

The sound of a throat clearing behind her stopped her dead. She turned to see the guard from outside had entered silently, and was standing menacingly over her from a few feet away. Unlike J'akkart, this one made no diplomatic attempt at hiding his hungry expression as he stared at Isabella.

"This is General Barrand, your highness. One of those loyal generals I spoke of." J'akkart got to his feet, just as Isabella finished eyeing up this muscular, brutish 'general' with fresh apprehsnion. "I am sure you require time to consider my generous offer. If you decide that the lives of your people and the future of this city are more important than your own pride, present yourself at my headquarters at sunset tonight. There will be no one there but us."

And with that, he swaggered out of the room without another word, his general following in his wake. Isabella remained, feeling more helpless than she had ever felt in her life.

* * *

It was a very tense afternoon for Belle. Normally she would spend the afternoon waiting on the Empress, or perhaps attending to various minor errands for her, but since Empress Isabella had closeted herself away and asked to be alone, there wasn't much for Belle to occupy her time with.

She told herself that it was perfectly normal for the Empress to require time alone at a time like this - no doubt she had a lot to deal with at the moment. But still - even Maria had remarked upon how stony faced and tense she had looked when she had made her way back across the grand chamber after her negotiation with the barbarian king. How well could it possibly have gone? No word of what had been said at the meeting had trickled back to them, or anyone else it seemed.

Not that Maria gave any impression of being concerned at all. She was soon making plans for a trip to the Fengrave Fountains across the city, with whichever boy she was giving her attention to these days. Even Elizabeth seemed momentarily caught up in this conversation. Belle couldn't offer much here - no boy had ever taken her to the Fengrave Fountains, or anywhere else for that matter.

So she tried to busy herself with what few tasks needed to be done. It was amazing how little there was to do when there was a full-scale barbarian occupation to occupy the minds of people who would otherwise be more than happy to furnish her with a long list of jobs.

Dusk came, and still there had been no word or announcement from above - and the barbarians were still in the city. No one was saying it but everyone knew - tonight would be the night. This would be the last night that the barbarians could be sure they would have before the army arrived. If they were going sack the city, it would be tonight. So why hadn't anybody done anything to get rid of them? Where was Isabella?

While the others went to eat, Belle found she had no appetite. She found herself staring morosely out of the same balcony that Elizabeth had a few hours ago, out at the city that seemed to be bracing itself for some coming disaster under a blood red sky. No one was on the streets - no one dared - but she could sense the fear nonetheless.

But wait - someone was on the streets. Almost directly below her, someone was slipping out one of the old side entrances to the palace. Didn't they know the palace was sealed off? What were they thinking? She leaned over the edge to get a better look. It was a woman, a young woman with long black hair. She was wearing a very austere set of white flowing robes, and every few paces would stop to look around her. Why did she look so familiar?

No...

Without her regal, decorated clothes, and without her hair tied up as it always was, Empress Isabella was almost unrecognisable, but Belle would know that face anywhere. It was her! Where was she going? Didn't she no how much danger she was putting herself in? A sudden fear gripped Belle, as she watched her beloved Empress turn the corner and disappear from view. She had to do something.

No one stopped her as she raced down the halls, down to the ground floor. No one came this way - presumably why Isabella had chosen this exit to slip away. She found the same door ajar, and ran out into the warm dusk air. She knew how dangerous this was, and she knew how terrible the consequences could be if something went wrong, but she had to do this. She had a duty to keep her Empress safe...

* * *

The walk from the palace to the abandoned inn that J'akart had made his headquarters seemed to take an age, though in reality it can't have taken more than two minutes. Stopping to make sure she wasn't being followed probably lengthened it a little.

Even now, Isabella couldn't be sure she was doing the right thing. How could she look her people in the eye after tonight - even if they knew nothing of what she had done to keep them safe, she would know. She would know that she had debased herself in a way no Empress should have to ever consider doing.

Because after all, she was under no illusions as to what J'akart wanted from her. His 'night of submission' as he put it might have been his idea of a clever euphemism, but she knew these horsemen well enough to know they were only driven by lust, and other animal emotions. She would be paying for her city's salvation with her body.

Isabella was no virginal wife in waiting, whatever the songs might say. While she had turned down the many offers of marriage that had poured in from the known world, she was still a woman. There had been discrete affairs with a few favoured courtiers - men she could trust, of course. Somehow she didn't think this would be very comparable.

But her duty was to her people. And so here she was, walking into J'akart's headquarters to pay for her people's safety. It was very dark inside, and she didn't think anyone was there at first - until a voice spoke in the darkness.

"Through here," the man said. She could just about make out his silhouette by a door behind the bar. It wasn't J'akart's voice, but the huge outline told her it was one of his men. She followed him through the door, into a large, candle-lit space with no windows. There was J'akart, sat in the middle of the room looking solemn but very pleased with himself. Gone was the Morgavian ceremonial robe - he wore only threadbare tunic now, leaving his powerful upper body unclothed. The man stood behind him, whom she recognised as the same General Barrand that had guarded J'akart earlier, wore the same, as did the unfamiliar man entering the room with her, who now took his place behind J'akart also. Other than the three horsemen, the chair, and some circular contraption at the back of the room - they were alone.