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Disclaimer:
All characters in this story are 18+.
This story is a bit of an experiment for me, it's a medieval fantasy story, containing romance, drama and of course sex ;-)
I hope you enjoy. If you do, then I might write more. Either way, let me know what you think.
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Edward raised his hand into the air, the rhythmic clang of his hammer resonating in the forge. The intense heat from the roaring furnace caused beads of sweat to cascade down his face as he skilfully shaped the heated metal on the anvil.
He had been his father's apprentice for two whole years now and spent his days learning the craft and honing his skill.
He had just turned 18, now a man by all accounts. As he shaped the metal, the metal shaped him.
He possessed a robust physique, with broad shoulders, his arms thickened and his chest was a solid expanse of sinew and muscle.
His features handsome and chiseled, were complemented by a head of tousled brown hair that fell slightly into his focused eyes, capturing the attention of many a girl in the village.
There was however, only one girl's attention he courted and that was Annabelle, the bakers' daughter.
During his breaks, he would sit on the old stone wall outside the forge. Patiently waiting for her to do her rounds, delivering bread to her fathers' customers. Edward never said anything to her, he was too shy, he just watched as she walked by and smiled.
Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders in lustrous waves and her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. To Edward she was a beauty to behold.
Desperately wanting to say something to her, but only managing that smile. On the days she glanced in his direction, she would return his smile with her own and his heart would beat just that little bit faster.
In an effort to see her more, he took to spending what little money he earned, and spent it on bread, just so that she would come by.
Today was that day. Edward loitered by the old forge doors hoping to see her. She had just come into view, her hair softly blowing in the wind, with a smile brighter than a million candles.
Edward stepped outside to meet her.
"Oh hello, I've got your order," she said, her voice pleasant and soft.
Edward smiled, and took the bread from her hands.
"You must like my father's bread, this is the third time in a week I've been here," she said laughing.
Edward smiled again.
"You don't say much do you," She said jokingly and gave Edward a sweet smile.
"Well, anyway my name is Annabelle. You take care now."
With that Annabelle turned to leave and continue her rounds.
"Edward!" he shouted.
Annabelle turned around to face him.
"My, my name is Edward."
"Well it's very nice to meet you Edward," Annabelle replied, twirling a length of hair around her finger.
"I'll see you around."
She gave Edward a little wave and proceeded on her way down the old cobbled street.
Truth be told, Edward didn't care much for the bread. He would tear it open and feed the birds behind the forge. He was just happy with the fact he had seen her again.
Two days had passed since her last visit, and once again Edward sat on the old stone wall outside the forge, when Annabelle walked past, there was no scheduled bread delivery today, but she waved hello to Edward, which made his day.
In that moment though, she didn't see what was in front of her and walked straight in to two young men walking in the opposite direction. The woven basket of bread she carried on her back, slipped off and the contents emptied onto the floor.
"Watch it you stupid little..." One of the men shouted.
"I'm so sorry, please forgive me," Annabelle could be heard saying.
The man who she bumped into wore a finely tailored outfit, from his richly embroidered velvet doublet, adorned with a family crest, to his tailored trousers and polished leather boots. He glanced up and saw how pretty his clumsy assailant was.
"Oh, I'll forgive you, for a kiss. Come here!"
The man groped at her and tried to kiss her.
Annabelle pushed him away.
"Get off me!" She cried out.
The man's face bore an air of entitlement, his sharp features and piercing cold eyes exuded arrogance.
"Look at this Sam?" he said to the second man.
"She's a fighter, I love it when they play hard to get. Come here!"
Edward, who was watching this unfold, couldn't stand by any longer, he strode across the road and grabbed the man by his fancy lapels and pushed him off her.
"Get your hands off her!" Edward shouted.
The man fell backwards to the ground, landing bottom first in a dirty puddle. His finery soiled by the dirt.
He looked up and yelled at Edward.
"Who do you think you are. Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is?"
Edward didn't care at that point. He leered at the man. The entitled man's friend tried to help him up, but his hand was smacked away.
"Get off me, I can get up myself," he yelled at his companion.
The man pulled himself up and tried to compose himself, wiping the dirt from his trousers.
Edward stepped forward, his imposing figure, making them think twice and the two men skulked off.
"This isn't the end of this, you cretin," The man shouted over his shoulder.
Edward turned to face Annabelle.
"Are you ok? Are you hurt?"
"I'm ok, thank you though, for coming to my aid."
Edward bent down to collect the fallen bread and handed them to her one by one as she put them in the woven basket.
"Thank you Edward," she said and gave him a little peck on his cheek.
Edward's cheeks glowed red, visibly pleased with his reward.
"Well, I better be off then, this bread won't deliver itself."
Annabelle put the woven basket on her back and continued on her way.
Edward stood there for a moment and watched as Annabelle left, before returning to the forge to continue the days work.
The next day, Edward was hard at work with his father, when three men appeared outside. It was the local magistrate, and he was flanked by two guards.
Edward's father downed his tools and approached the magistrate. Edward could hear the two men talking and then looked over to him. He stopped what he was doing and approached.
"Is this true son?" his father asked, his voice laced with concern.
"Is what true father?"
"Did you assault his lordships son?"
Edward paused for a moment, and then the words came flooding back to him.
"Do you know who my father is?"
He thought nothing of it at the time, but now it started to make sense.
"He was harassing Annabelle, but I only shoved him."
"So, you admit it," The magistrate interjected.
"Yes, but he..."
"Take him," The magistrate said to the two guards.
"But...I didn't do anything wrong," Edward protested.
"What's going to happen to him?" Edward's father pleaded.
"He will be taken to the village square, where he will be publicly lashed for his crime."
Edward looked at his father, his eyes filled with anguish.
"Come!" The magistrate shouted and turned to leave. The two guards grabbed Edward by his thick arms and escorted him out.
As they made their way down the road to the village square, Edward's father followed them. Onlookers stared and whispered as they went past.
The square bustled with activity during this time of day, marked by the vibrant energy of market day. Stalls adorned the area, showcasing a variety of wares for eager traders to sell.
"Clear the way, clear the way!" The magistrate bellowed as they made their way to the centre.
In front of them stood a substantial wooden platform, topped with a towering post reaching about seven feet in height. Adjacent to it, a set of small steps provided access to the platform.
The magistrate ascended the steps, leading the way, while Edward and the two guards followed suit. Once on the platform, they directed him towards the post, where his hands were bound to a sturdy metal loop. Edward stood with his face pressed against the post, secured in place.
The magistrate, who was now behind him began to speak.
"Hear ye!, hear ye! In light of the crime committed against the honourable Quentin Villier, his lordship's son, we declare Edward, son of Thomas the Blacksmith, guilty. As a consequence, he shall endure the punishment of ten lashes."
The crowd shifted its focus away from the traders' stalls, directing all their attention toward the wooden platform at the centre of the square.
The magistrate nodded to one of the guards, who then pulled out a dagger and proceeded to cut the shirt off Edwards back.
The second guard then walked to the opposite end of the platform, and removed a large, coiled whip, from a bag attached to his belt.
Edward, whose shirt was in two on the floor, braced himself for what was coming.
An eerie silence enveloped the square as the crowd hushed. The sound of footsteps echoed as they approached the steps, accompanied by soft whispering. Edward strained to see who it was until they stepped into his field of view. It was his lordship's son, Quentin.
Edward immediately tensed up with anger.
Quentin leaned forward to whisper in Edwards ear.
"This will teach you not to mess with me."
Edwards fists clenched tighter.
"Oh, and by the way, when I see that little friend of yours again. I want you to know, that I'm going to fuck her. I'm going to fuck her over and over again. I will fuck her until she bleeds and when I'm done with her, well I'll let you use your imagination."
Quentin gave Edward a sick little smile.
"Don't you touch her, don't you dare touch her," Edward growled at him, his hands shaking with rage.
Quentin turned and walked away.
"Proceed," he said to the magistrate as he passed him and left the platform, disappearing into the crowd.
The magistrate nodded at the guard, who unfurled the whip and let the end drop to the floor.
The whip sliced through the air with a resounding crack, meeting Edward's back. He clenched his jaw, stifling the instinct to cry out in pain.
Edward's gaze shifted to the crowd before him; his father, the closest, wore a sympathetic expression mirroring the anguish he was feeling. As the second lash descended, Edward's eyes sought the onlookers. Among them, at the back, Annabelle stood, her face twisted in horror.
His eye's fixated on her as the third lash came. Tears streaming down her face, she mouthed the words "I'm sorry."
Edward didn't enjoy seeing her upset.
The fourth lash came down, then the fifth, with Annabelle flinching after each hit.
