Read The Warlord's Concubine Online
Authors: J.E. Keep,M. Keep
The Warlord's Concubine
J.E. AND M. KEEP
This book is intended for sale to Adult Audiences only. It
contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language. All sexually
active characters in this work are of legal age. Over 43,000 words.
If you require
content warnings:
this particular story
contains dubious consent, pregnancy, cock worship, and dark fantasy
elements.
Get three sexy, erotic shorts for FREE by joining our Newsletter
!
To our friends who didn’t judge, readers
of
The Keep
back when we were
first starting out, and
Darknest
Fantasy Erotica
who encouraged us to keep going.
Mirella often wonders what her life would’ve been like had
she been born a princess, rather than the property of one.
When a dark warlord from the north conquers her princess’
kingdom, however, he has plans for the dainty young future-queen. It
makes the question all the more poignant, because now, more is at
stake than just her rough treatment, but love and lust as well.
The Warlord’s Concubine is the tale of two women and the
dark warlord that dictates their fate.
As an indentured servant and handmaiden to the princess for much
of her life, the middle-aged Mirella sees the conquest of the land as
an opportunity to elevate herself. Though as she earns the trust of
their conquerors, she finds her own nature challenged as well. A life
of callous disregard has made her hard, but as she battles the
princess’ will for the first time and finds new allies and
friends, does she have what it takes to win the love and favour of
the brutal warlord? Will love and friendship be her downfall? Or will
her station in life yet again be her undoing?
Caution: The Warlord’s Concubine is a dark fantasy novel
that contains explicit scenes, and a twisted romance between a
handmaiden and a God.
Chapter 1
Never had the two women seen the city so lit up at night. Not even
during the harvest festival when the alchemists set off their
fireworks would the great spires and steeples of Ariste City be so
illuminated in the pitch black of night.
The city of Ariste was like a semi-circle at the base of a
mountain. The grace and majesty of the capital was unsurpassed, even
in the southern empire that stretched so far and wide. The buildings
were made from great white stones harvested from the northern desert,
marble from the Quelan Empire and rich wood from the forests of the
Ariste mountains southern slopes. Each tall spire was a stunning
monument to decadence and ingenuity.
The natural topography made it a rich and moist land on the other
side, but there in the city itself it tended to be dry and temperate.
That fact, the princess feared, would mean the fires that consumed
her glorious city-state below would not be quenched any time soon.
Worse still, the tall elegant princess Anabelle Flair thought as
she clutched her handmaiden’s hands, were the sounds of
destruction coming from her mighty palace below. When news of the
city walls breach reached her, she was already at the height of the
palace, which sat up the slope of Ariste Mountain, overlooking the
city. It was so easy to ignore the rabble from the cold, northern
steppes on her high perch, but now they were not only in her city,
she could hear them in her home.
The crash of priceless pottery and the smashing of antique wood
doors, carved from ancient timber continued, and it made the pale,
slender Anabelle shake. “Mirella,” the gold-haired
princess’ voice trembled, “where will we go?”
The answer was obvious. Nowhere. High atop that central tower of
the palace, there were only two options. Surrender to the hairy
savages of the northern steppes, whom the state of Ariste had kept at
bay for millennium with its great walls and cunning.
Or she could throw herself from the great glass windows to crash
lifelessly upon the burning city below.
How could the handmaiden get that through the mind of the pampered
princess staring at her with wide, saucer-like blue eyes?
Mirella’s hands went to her princess’ jaw, holding her
and staring at her with those intense, green eyes. The handmaiden’s
skin was darker than most people of Ariste, an exotic olive tone. Her
glossy, black hair was pinned back off of her face in a careful,
almost regal manner, though her clothes easily classified her status
within the walls.
Still, with that calm ease that had endeared her to the royal
family, her voice was stern, “I will stay with you. We will
speak with them—reason with them. They won’t hurt you, my
loving princess, provided you obey. Do what they ask of you and
you’ll live to fight again. Do not struggle or fuss, and I will
stay at your side. I promise, I’ll find a way for you to get
out of this.”
It was all so even handed, with not a lick of fear tingeing her
voice. Even though Ariste was secluded, Mirella had dealt with many
different people from many different walks of life in her youth. She
knew that the best thing to do was to succumb, to get through the
moment and plan for the next day’s success. She had seen over
thirty five hard years, of toil and hard work, and though her flesh
was still smooth, she was wiser than the young woman before her.
The frail little princess steadied her nerves at those reassuring
words and nodded. Dressed in only her nightgown, it was still an
extravagant garment, white and gossamer, studded with pearls as it
clung to her slender waist before ballooning out in courtly fashion.
“We shall per—” The words couldn’t leave
her delicate little peach lips fast enough before the door at the end
of the hall burst open. The lock had been set by Mirella, but the
wood was now splintered and destroyed. A chunk of the formerly
elegant door knocked over a corner table and sent a priceless vase
from the far south to shatter on the floor.
With a great shriek the princess once again pulled away, still
holding Mirella’s hands and trying to put the handmaid between
the barbarians and herself.
The barbarians of the northern steppes were never seen in the
courts of Ariste. Though they had traded continually with the city
state over the millennia, they were considered savages, and rarely
allowed even within the city walls.
The two that pushed through were typical of their kind. Tall and
broad, they were a mix of pale white and a wind-blasted ruddy hue.
The steppes were cold and cloudy in the north, and they saw little
sun despite their crude dress of furs and leather. They were renowned
for their hairiness. Their barrel chests, arms, legs and faces were
covered in it, and those two with their clubs were prime examples.
Mirella stood in front of the princess. At their entrance, she let
go of the woman’s hand and dropped to her knees. Her face
tilted down demurely, but her voice rang through loud and far prouder
than a handmaiden’s voice should be. “Sirs, we request to
see your leader. He will not wish for the princess to be harmed.”
Her voice managed to carry above the sounds of destruction from
out of the now open door, but it didn’t quell the two savages
as they advanced on the two women.
Anabelle shrieked again, curling up in the corner against the
window and white stone wall and covered herself. They grabbed both
women by their hair, and the stench of their sweaty musk was pungent
as they were dragged across the marble flooring several feet.
“Quiet, Princess! Please!” Mirella begged the woman,
even as her face contorted in pain as her feet scrambled to keep her
aloft and relieve the tension on her scalp. “It will be all
right!”
The only thing to bring the sight to a halt was the sound of a
booming voice that seemed to emanate from beyond their world. “He
does not wish it indeed,” came the commanding tone, and as
quickly as the two brutes had resorted to savagery they released the
women's hair and collapsed to their knees in obeisance and fear.
Mirella grunted as she fell, but instantly she moved to her ward,
her slender arm slipping around the Princess’ shoulders. Her
dressing gown was far drabber and less elaborate, but it was still of
fine quality and kept her wholly covered, for which she was at least
modestly grateful for as she stared towards the strange voice. She
kneeled, and guided the princess to do the same, following suite of
their two, cruel captors.
The princess was stubborn however. A life of ruling made her
resist bowing before anyone even then, and so she was sat up as the
source of that husky voice came through the door.
As if from out of the shadow, the tall, dark figure strode
silently down the marble lined hall. The light from the inflamed city
below was the only thing giving sight to the man, for unlike the
other savages, he was dark in every manner.
Easily bigger and taller than either of the two brutes that had
busted down the door, the monumental charcoal-coloured man looked
nothing like the other savages aside from his size.
Where they were pale, he was a pure and unearthly dark. Where they
were hairy, he was smooth. Where they wore ragged armour, he wore
little more than a fine uneven cloak that draped from one shoulder
down across to another hip, leaving half of his torso exposed and
nude. His garb, especially those high boots of his, were strange and
exotic. They were not the crude assemblage of animal hide like the
other savages, but they were neither of Ariste nor the southern
Empire that Mirella could tell.
The two women could feel the odd man’s intense gaze upon
them even as his eyes were hidden by the shadows. The brutes that
were hauling them away but moments before dared not move or utter a
thing. The brazen princess—too privileged to know when to shut
her mouth—spoke up in a haughty, quavering voice, “I am
the rightful heir to the Kingdom of Ariste, and you are tres—”
Reaching out in a flash of speed that belied his large size, he
wrapped his black gloved fingers about the Princess’s slender
stalk of a neck, choking all words and air from her. So close, the
two women could see the smooth, outline of his muscular flesh, the
bulge of pecs, abs and below that of his startlingly large groin
beneath black leather.
Mirella gasped at the strange sight before her. Her hair was
mussed up from her rough handling, but she didn’t care much at
the sight of what was surely a god. Her lips dropped open and it
quickly made sense to her why they would attack, and she couldn’t
help that a gasp of awe and reverence passed her lips, or the fact
that her eyes wouldn’t stop working over his body again and
again.
The charcoal coloured giant had obsidian hair like the savages,
but instead of being frazzled and wiry like theirs, it was sleek and
glossy like Mirella’s. It flowed long down over his shoulders
like a lion's mane, framing his broad, ethereally handsome face,
though some of it was put together in the back in a silver ring.
Releasing the Princess’s throat at last, leaving the
reddened woman to cough and sputter for breath on her hands and
knees, he methodically brought his gaze from the blonde royalty to
the handmaiden. When he spoke once more it was with an eerily gravely
tone, so full of masculinity and virility, but seeming totally
inhuman. “The princess is to be my newest concubine,” he
stated firmly, though his eyes were locked on Mirella’s, as if
boring through her to her soul.
Her breathing caught, which was something quite unexpected for the
in-control handmaiden. Her lips quirked just a tiny bit as her head
bowed, but she couldn’t draw her eyes away from his, no matter
how much she wanted to. “Your will is not to be debated,”
she finally managed out, and the breathy manner that she said it was
filled with awe.
Loose tendrils of hair lay against her face, the heavy strands
returning to their normal position with a brief primping, and Mirella
couldn’t help but do so. The last thing she wanted was this god
to see her looking less than her best. “I am certain my envy
knows no bounds.”
