The Warlord's Concubine (11 page)

Slipping from the bed he stood gloriously nude, his massive shaft
still rigid as he prepared for the day. “Run and see that
breakfast is brought up,” he commanded in his gravely, early
morning husk. “The usual for me,” he instructed, “but
for you: two eggs, a sausage, and a tundra-berry pancake with as much
syrup as you like. Oh, and some tea for me, juice for you.”

He was already assembling his usual attire, his long black hair
pushed behind his shoulders, for once, as he read from some parchment
arrayed on his dresser.

She never deviated from his orders, not in the slightest, and
though she pulled on some pretty little underthings to please his
eyes, she felt no shame of it. Of course a God would be more
commanding than her prissy, stubborn princess, and she was grateful
for it.

His orders, she understood. They weren’t for his vanity, or
to suit his whims. He had a purpose and she was joyous that he
included her in them. When she returned, it was with one of his
servants trailing her with his order, impeccably arranged, likely by
her.

She nodded to the table, having him set everything up before
retreating, a soft smile playing at her lips.

Dressed in his half kilt and boots, he moved to sit at his table,
beginning to eat immediately. After he had already dug in he gestured
to the other chair. “Sit. Eat,” he said in his gruff
voice. Those dark eyes of his studied her as she sat her increasingly
pregnant form next to him. “Have the seamstress make you some
new things today,” he stated firmly.

She nodded with gratitude, beginning in on her food more slowly
and with great appreciation for both it, and his company. This was
the life she was meant for, and she knew she would worship this man
until her dying breath.

“Do you have anything in mind that you’d like to see?”
she asked as she pulled her glossy black hair over her shoulder,
exposing that long, olive neck.

She was in her thirties, far older than any of his other
concubines, yet that never stopped his dark gaze from passing over
her with such interest and desire. “Tell her to make you one of
my usuals,” he insisted, and she was reminded of the outfit all
the others had to wear, “but add some of the raven’s
feathers to a circlet and gold chain. Then have her make you a loose
gauzy robe. See-through,” he explained, eating as he talked.
“Adorned with more of my royal feathers.”

She realized the significance in that. Only him and his elite
guards, the ones who watched over his mother or protected him
specifically, wore such raven’s feathers on their garb. Her
heart pounded in her chest and she swallowed a lump. It was too much
of an honour, yet she knew not to question him. Instead her head
dipped in reverence and gratitude.

“Your Greatness, you honour me,” she breathed.

He had nothing more to say to her on that, and it wasn’t
until his breakfast was finished and he rose in his glorious majesty
to grasp his cloak that he spoke again. “The princess has asked
for you again,” he said simply, pulling the garment around his
shoulder, letting it drape over his arm as he looked down at her.

“I’ve told her it’ll take some time to find you,
as you were cast out into the masses when she dismissed you.” A
slow smile formed on his face, “I trust you can use that to
your advantage.” He touched his heavy hand to her head. “Go
see her once you’ve finished your tasks. Tread carefully.”

Fear gripped her but she nodded, “I live to serve you.”
She needed to do this, to succeed where she had failed before, and
her head leaned into his caress. “Thank you, Your Greatness.”
She knew his name. She knew his story.

It did nothing but make her respect for him grow, her
determination to please him solidified.

With a nod to her he left, the business of a God-King never
ending, she knew.

Her day went much as she was used to. A lifetime of serving a
needy, whining princess or another noble had prepared her for keeping
track of numerous tasks and managing it all in her limited time.

When the time came to visit the princess, she was able to find
some old rags akin to what the troubled masses of the city below were
forced to wear these days, and was ushered up to the princess’
room.

Let in, she was struck by how perversely decadent it was. Even
compared to before, this was over the top. The princess had been
showered with gifts, all the riches of the land and beyond to win her
affection.

Though seeing the slender, waif-like noble beauty come around from
her balcony, the look of distaste on her face said it hadn’t
done its trick. “Mirella!” she said, eyes wide as she
approached the woman. “Oh I am so sorry, I have missed you so
dearly!” She said, the female guard shutting the door behind
her and leaving them be.

Mirella hoped she looked stricken, the way she collapsed into the
Princess’ arms and let out a sob, “Princess!” She
angled herself to press that pregnant orb into the thin woman,
letting her feel the reality of what she’d let her servant
become. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

Even if she was trying to garner the Princess’s sympathy,
she realized the woman had little sympathy for those not herself and
that feeding into the Princess’ ego couldn’t hurt. “It’s
been such a misery out there without you to lead us,” she
whimpered.

Anabelle looked stricken and touched at once, putting her thin,
young arms about the older woman. “My poor Mirella,” she
cooed, “I am so so sorry...” And strangely enough she
almost sounded it. Almost. “Come in and have a seat,” she
invited, leading her to sit at the little breakfast nook chair.

She stroked her former servant’s dark hair away from her
olive toned face, looking at her with sympathy. “I know this
must have been so very hard on you,” she said soothingly.

“I was just so worried. I had no way of knowing if you were
safe. I’d heard such horrid rumours that you’ve stepped
away from leading, that you have no interest in it but worse still
was that I’d heard you’d been injured, ill. I almost died
myself the day I heard you were pregnant. I was cast into such
torture when I rebelled to try to see for myself,” Mirella lied
to the much younger woman with such ease.

The young, blue-eyed noble somehow managed to go even whiter with
shock at the woman’s words. “Pregnant?” she said
with such scorn. She rose up and looked around with displeasure,
“He’s done everything to buy me off but resurrect the
dead!” She said with exasperation then scoffed again, muttering
distastefully, “Pregnant.”

She spun back on Mirella and her eyes were alight. Somehow she’d
kept her spirits up all this time here alone. “I’m saving
myself for the prince, my betrothed,” she said dreamily,
looking as if she had something she wanted to say.

Slipping into the seat beside her, the princess lowered her voice,
“I know you’ve been through awful misery, but you were
the only one I could trust. And I needed someone in the city when the
time came.”

Mirella’s head tilted to the side, her brows furrowing,
“What is it you need, my Princess? I am forever at your
service,” she bowed her head in reverence to the other woman
even as her stomach churned.

The princess took a deep breath and looked troubled. Speaking in
such a careful whisper she seemed to fear someone overhearing them
even then. “I had to stage our little... fuss to get you out
there, Mirella. I knew I could trust you, only you, to be faithful
without needing to be in on the plan. They... they have strange
powers and insight I think, and would too likely see through our
charade.”

The dainty princess gave a hopeful smile, reaching out and taking
her servants hand, “You can forgive me... right?”

“My Princess, I’m honoured you trust me so,” she
said as her eyes watered, returning the princess’ smile. “I
am utterly devoted to you.”

Relief seemed to wash over the noble lady then and her eyes
watered too, “Oh Mirella, thank you.” She flung her thin
arms around her older maid, hugging her in such an unprecedented
display of affection. “There’s so much I need to tell you
now.”

“I’m all yours, Princess. Just tell me how I can help
you! What of your Prince?” Mirella prodded, seeming so sincere
as she moved towards the other woman, her voice so low.

With a sweetly devious smile the fair princess welcomed the close,
conspiratorial turn. “I’ve been in touch with him all
along,” she whispered. “And now the time has come where
we can do more than just wait, Mirella.” Her eyes dipped to her
servant’s pregnant stomach, and darted away immediately. She
obviously didn’t care to linger on that thought or more
precisely the guilt from it.

“How?” Mirella gasped, honestly taken away that the
girl had any bit of cleverness to her at all. She had not been
expecting the woman to have a plan, let alone having found a means to
contact him.

Looking so smugly confident she pursed her lips and looked for a
while as if she’d not say a word. “Remember the locket
the prince gave me at our betrothal ceremony?” she asked,
fishing into her lacy, frilled dress and pulling out the exquisitely
crafted silver filigree locket. “I can speak to him at night
with this,” she whispered. Her blue eyes were so wide with
excitement, “But what’s most important is that...”
she took a moment to calm herself. “He’s told me he’s
marching here right now. And will arrive within a week to free us
all.”

“That’s fantastic news,” she gasped, Mirella’s
exotically shaped eyes widening. “Princess, you are too clever!
How many does he have? What should I do?”

Her servant’s excitement only seemed to stoke her own, but
she held up her pale, delicate hands in a gesture to quiet them both.
“We have to be calm. We can’t show our true feelings,
Mirella,” she cautioned. “If that blackheart finds out it
could spoil things and cause the prince more time and lives than need
be,” she said with a bit of that haughty air of a ruler.

Mirella nodded, bowing her head, “Of course, my princess. I
will keep myself contained, in service of you always.”

Princess Anabelle smiled confidently and touched Mirella’s
hand. “I need you to get a message to the people, Mirella. But
you must be circumspect,” she cautioned. “There is a
resistance in the city, I know it,” she stated with absolutely
certainty. “So you must get word to them to be prepared. If
they get word beforehand they can ignite the city into open rebellion
so that those heathen dogs will be caught between both forces and
utterly annihilated.” There was a certain malicious gleam in
her eyes then, one Mirella knew well.

“I will do all I can, Princess. I know there are those that
would eagerly rebel,” she nodded eagerly. “Tell me, how
many can we count on to join our fight?”

With a shrug of her slender shoulders she said, “I don’t
know, to be honest. Though I’m hoping it’s all of them.”
She gave a hopeful smile. “I know they are out there though.
The prince had contact with them up until recently, but he can’t
get word in anymore.” She squeezed Mirella’s hand, “It’s
up to you to find them and help save my people.”

“It is my privilege and duty, Princess. You expect him in a
week, that gives us plenty of time to plan a coordinated attack,”
she mused to herself, but all the while the wheels in her head were
turning. “Why can he no longer rally them?”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked down, “Something about
that blackheart barbarian closing off the city from their old lines
of communication,” she said. The princess was never one for
details. She was accustomed to giving broad orders and expecting them
to be obeyed, leaving the details to those who’d carry them
out.

Mirella shook her head, but then smiled, “Then I will pick
up where he left off.” She looked so honest, so trustworthy,
but for that moment she hated the princess like she never had before.
“Is there anything else you need?”

The smiling princess reached into a pocket and pulled out one of
the royal seals. “Show this to the rebels in case they need
convincing of who you are. This is the most important moment of your
life, Mirella,” she said with such certainty, the noble willing
to mark the value of another’s life at the drop of a hat. “When
this is done, you shall be handmaiden to the princess who helped save
beautiful Ariste from the barbarian hordes,” she said with a
proud smile.

She accepted the token with such a display of reverence, secreting
it away against her swollen bosom, “I am so grateful that you
trusted me, Princess. You will not be disappointed.”

With a bright smile she gestured towards the large platter of
food, “You can secret out as much food as you like, Mirella.
I’m told the people are starving on the streets and,” her
eyes flickered down again, “even if it is the spawn of a rapist
barbarian... you are with child now, and need to take care of
yourself.” There was almost even sympathy in those words.

Mirella hadn’t thought about the plight of the people in so
long, she was surprised to hear her say that, though she quickly
covered it up with a look of appreciation. “Thank you,
Princess,” she said as she went to gather some food, ever
obedient and willing to please.

Anabelle led her to the door after she secreted some of the rich
delights into her ratty old robes. “You’re dismissed,”
she said in her normal, haughty tone. “Perhaps we shall speak
again soon.” The guard outside opened the door and paid not a
glance to the two women as she let Mirella out.

Free of the incessant blather of Anabelle, her footsteps became
sure and angry, her face flushed with rage. That little bitch.

“I need to speak with the
God-King,” she said sternly, “Where can I find him?”

At the top of the roadway that led to the palace stood her ruler
and master. Towering above all others, a northerner in elaborate
dress—though all hides and horns—knelt before him. “We
were wrong ta doubt the true God-King,” he declared in
subservience before her lover Kulav. “My men are now yours. And
we thank ya for yer generosity in allowin’ us this opportunity
to join with your ranks after refusing our share of the glory in
conquest.”