Daughter of the Sun

IN THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS...

After a long travel from the Tower of the Sun, Princess Eluan finally managed to reach the court of Duchess Sung of Hadun, and to deliver her the letter written by her sister, Queen Hailey, in which she requests to gather the armies to face the threat of the Night Lord, as she has been divinely warned through her dreams.

In the North, in the meanwhile, the armies of the enslaved Queen Artemis are starting to move. After having consulted with the High Priestess and his lover Meghane, expressing to her his concerns about the mental status of the Queen, General Bardas is leading his land army eastward, with the goal of putting to siege the rival city of Heath Hill. And on the island of Coral Cove, Admiral Nyphoros is working to recruit a pirate fleet which can bring destruction to the Kingdom of the South and the Duchy of Hadun specifically...

https://www.literotica.com/s/daughter-of-the-sun-ch-08

https://www.literotica.com/s/daugther-of-the-sun-ch-10

https://www.literotica.com/s/daughter-of-the-sun-ch-11

***

The corridors of the Royal Palace of Troygrove were deserted and dark at that late hour of the night, completely silent apart from the almost eerie crackling of the lit torches hanging on the walls, inserted into their thick iron rings.

Octavia stalked barefoot down the corridor, the pupils of her beautiful amaranth eyes fully dilated as she peered intently into the semi-darkness, moving slowly and without making any sound, seeking shelter in the points where the shadows were deepest, close to the walls and behind the thick marble columns which supported the high ceiling.

It was the third consecutive night that she ventured to explore the corridors and the halls of the Palace looking for evidences, residual traces of something dark and evil, as she had been instructed by the High Priestess Meghane, the same day she had returned to Troygrove from her previous mission.

"General Bardas came to secretly confer with me a few days ago," the High Priestess of Neryss, whose eyes were so strangely similar to hers, had told her, receiving Octavia in her private apartments, inside the Great Temple of the Goddess of the Seas and of the Oceans.

With enormous shock, Octavia had learned from the lips of her leader about the tragic events that had occurred during the days of her absence from the city; the sudden imprisonment of Princess Alanor inside the Kraken Tower, the consequent resumption of the war against the city of Heath Hill, the order issued by Queen Artemis to forcibly recruit the Sirens, the sacred singers of the Temple with ethereal and mesmerizing voices, into the army.

"The General suspects that our Queen may have been subjugated by dark forces," the High Priestess had continued, looking at her gravely, "and that she may have undertaken these actions in obedience to the command of some external will. Who or what may have done this remains unknown to us, but it is my intention to find out. I need to request for your intervention."

Octavia had listened in silence, while a knot had tightened in her throat.

"I will send you to the Palace," Meghane had then concluded. "Officially your role will be that of Attendant of the Royal Chapel, replacing sister Iacinthya, who unfortunately has been forced to join the group of Sirens who had left with General Bardas. But your actual task will be to find out if anything obscure had really happened within those walls. And, if possible, also to find out what became of Princess Alanor."

Octavia had nodded, accepting the mission. At only twenty years old of age, the raven-haired girl was already one of the most experienced and capable exorcists and healers among all the priestesses of Neryss. Orphan of both parents, raised since birth within the walls of the temple where she had been abandoned by umknown hands, her enormous talents had taken very little time to reveal themselves. It was certainly no coincidence that Meghane had chosen her for that delicate task.

"There's one more thing," Meghane had added, a moment before Octavia had crossed the treshold of her apartments. "Also Dalila has departed with the General's army."

"Dalila?" Octavia had repeated, shocked by such news. "But she is not a Siren. She is just a simple attendant of the Temple."

"I know," the High Priestess had replied, and Octavia had thought to spot a fleeting look of guilty remorse in her eyes. "But there were other reasons that made necessary to send her. I just wanted to tell you."

To Octavia, Dalila had always been more than a best friend. The same age as her, an orphan and raised since childhood at one of the temples of Neryss like her, to both of them had been assigned the surname given by custom to foundlings, Seaborn, born from the sea. All of such similiarities in their lifes had contributed to making them feel almost like sisters. The shock of Dalila's departure and the concern for the fate of her beloved friend had never left Octavia's heart for the next few days.

The crystal pendant she wore, hanging around her neck on a silver chain, occasionally emitted some purple glow, an unmistakable sign of residual traces of black magic present in the surrounding environment. It was her inseparable instrument as exorcist, a mystical object capable of revealing the presence of evil and invisible entities and energies around.

They were stronger traces than those she had detected in the previous two nights. During the first night she had explored the westernmost wing of the Palace, the one closest to the Royal Chapel and to the Library, and where the room assigned to her was also located. During the second one, she had ventured into the eastern wing, usually reserved to the servants and guards' quarters. But it was here, in the southern wing, the one closest to the Queen's private chambers, that the crystal's signals were most vivid and intense.

"Something has definitely happened here," she thought, her growing sense of uneasiness sending a cold shiver through her body. "Something dark and evil."

"This sneaking of yours around the corridors of the Palace at this late hour of the night," a male voice suddenly spoke from behind her, making her jump in fright. "It's extremely suspicious."

Octavia whirled around, holding her breath. A soldier, wearing the orange cloak of the Palace Guard over a bronze armor, emerged from the shadows. He was a young man with a vigorous and robust appearance, tall and broad-shouldered, with a clean-shaven face and thick blond hair. In his right hand he was holding an unsheathed short sword.

"Stop where you are, and raise your hands," the man ordered her.

Octavia did as she was told, cursing within herself her bad luck and her lack of attention. She knew that she would have needed to act with the utmost caution now, carefully weighing every single word to avoid definitively compromising her mission, now hanging by a thin thread.

"I'm unarmed," she said softly.

"This is what you claim," replied the soldier, with a half smile. "As far as I know you could be hiding a dagger under that robe, and be ready to slit my throat the very moment I should lower my guard. You could be an assassin, one of the Sisters of the Scorpion, sent here to the Palace on a mission of death."

He took a few more steps closer, his blue eyes fixed on hers, while his grin seemed to deepen on his face.

"Is that true?" the soldier asked. "Are you an assassin of the Sisters of the Scorpion?"

"I am a priestess of Neryss," she replied, trying to remain calm despite the growing fear that knotted her stomach. "My name is Octavia. And yours?"

"Don't try to distract me with your small talk, little girl," the young man retorted. "And now take off your robe. I have to search you."

"What?!" she exclaimed, scandalized and horrified by that request.

"I told you to take off your robe," the man repeated inflexibly, enunciating the words clearly, and emphasizing them by pointing the short sword towards her. "Are you going to do it by yourself, or do I have to cut it off?"

Octavia realized how she had no other choice. Reluctantly, she grabbed the edges of her long gray, sleeveless robe, lifting it over her head and then letting it fall to the cold floor, completely exposing her young naked body to the guard's eyes.

It was a body many men would have killed for. Long, slender legs, narrow and soft hips that almost seemed to beg out loud to be grabbed by male hands, small but welll defined breasts, smooth, perfect skin, tanned by the summer sun.

"Very good," the soldier's voice had suddenly become much lower, thicker, as he stared at her. "Now put both hands behind your head and slowly, very slowly, spin around. Obey."

Again, she did as she was told. Her fingers intertwined behind her neck, a gesture that had no other effect than to push the small, firm breast further forward, exposing them more to his gaze. Then, with all the slowness she was capable of, she began to turn around, gradually, completely submitting herself to his attentive examination.

She knew how she should have felt humiliated and outraged, both as a woman and as a priestess, by what the soldier was forcing her to do. But, almost reluctantly, she found herself admitting that the things he was doing to her were, as a matter of fact, causing her to feel turned on. Never before had a man managed to put her totally in his power in such a short time, making her to feel so completely exposed and vulnerable, exactly the way in which she wanted a man to make her feel.

As she turned, she could perceive his burning eyes on her bare skin, hungrily devouring every curve, every minimum detail, his strenghtening male desire becoming almost palpable in the air. When she turned back facing him, she was feeling wet between her legs, and her sensitive nipples had fully sprang to life.

"You were right, after all," the man said at that point, sheathing his short sword, with a smug and mischievous smile on his clean-shaven face. "You are indeed unarmed. However, one can never be careful enough."

"Can I get dressed now?" Octavia asked, modestly covering her breasts and pubis with her hands. She didn't want that man to be able to look at her more than necessary and, above all, she didn't want him to notice her involuntary excitement.

"Not yet," said the soldier, evidently pleased by her nakedness and by his position of dominance, and equally evidently intending to drag things out as long as possible. "First you have to explain to me what you were doing out here, at such late hour."

A sudden thought crossed Octavia's mind. If that soldier had really wanted to arrest her, he would have already done so by then. But it was clear that he wanted something else, that she would somehow offer to bribe him. Perhaps, Octavia thought, with a little of complacency she could have turned him into an ally.

"Should I reveal everything to you, would you help me then?" she asked him.

"If your mouth can be convincing enough, my beautiful," was the answer, "yes, I will help you."

The message couldn't be clearer than that. Slowly, Octavia bent her knees on the cold marble floor without breaking the eye contact with him, nodding her head in silent agreement as a flush of excitement caused her cheecks to blush.

With a grin, the soldier began to fiddle with the laces of his trousers and, a few moments later, her amaranth eyes widened completely at the sight of his massive manhood, already furiously erect in front of her, so powerful and raging that Octavia felt almost honored for having been able to awaken such a monster with just the mere display of her natural graces.

With both hands, Octavia gripped that vigorous rod, remaining in silent admiration of it for several moments, completely fascinated, contemplating the curvature, the power of the muscles at the base, the play of the veins darting and pulsing under the skin. It was definitely an impressive male member, one of the most beautiful ones she had ever laid eyes on.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen and had sucked one. As a priestess of Neryss, she was forbidden to marry and to have children, but beyond that the regulations of her order didn't prevented her in any way from freely having sex with anyone she liked. And, through her young life, she had not lacked opportunities.

As an exorcist and healer, it was her duty to regularly travel across the territory of the Kingdom several times a year, visiting the remote fishing villages set along the coast and the isolated country farms of the inland, treating the sick, helping pregnant women to give birth and, sometimes, chasing away the evil spirits that took possession of animals or people. It was not uncommon that, during her travels across the Kingdom, she came across some young and handsome peasant with bursting vitality and clearly attracted by his fresh beauty. And Octavia was not the type to back down when she saw a male she liked.

Octavia had many memories of moments of bucolic pleasure occurred while having the most beautiful sex hidden in a farm barn with a guy she had just met, or in the open air, in the fields between the sheaves of wheat, free and naked under the hot sun, sometimes in the company of even two or three of these young villagers with their vigorous cocks and with their sparkling seed.

Almost devotedly, her lips placed a kiss on the turgid glans like if it was an object of cult, before opening and gently welcoming it into her warm, wet mouth, while her hand wrapped around its base, rhythmically stroking up and down.

The soldier standing in front of her let out a groan of deep satisfaction.

"I had a feeling you were a good girl," he murmured, running his hand through her straight black hair, almost gently. "And now I see that I wasn't wrong."

Octavia continued to please him with all the devotion and the skills she was capable of, her eyes closed, well aware that she was doing this not only to ensure the success of her mission, but out of a sincere desire to give as much pleasure she could to that man. His arrogant confidence, the abuse of power with which he had forced her to strip naked for him and then to do everything he wanted had brought her to the highest levels of excitement. And she wanted to reward him for this.

Soon, his member suddenly began to throb harder and harder in her mouth, and Octavia knew she had managed to take him over the edge. The man's hands tightened against her temples, pulling her even closer to the base of his crotch, pushing more and more of his throbbing meat deep into her mouth and throat.

"Yes, damn it," the soldier grunted, as the first jet splashed violently straight into her throat. "Drink it all. All of it!"

This time she would have done that willingly, it even if he hadn't ordered so. A more inexperienced girl would have risked to drown, overwhelmed by those powerful waves that flowed repeatedly from that rod, but Octavia knew well what she was doing. She loved when men let themselves go freely into her mouth without pulling back, she loved the sensation, the consistency and the taste of warm male essence on her tongue.

Octavia didn't let it go until she had squeezed, drunk and savored every last drop of that delicious nectar. Then, with a popping sound, she allowed his member, wet and semi-relaxed, to emerge from her mouth.

In front of her, the soldier took a step backwards, wobbling unsteadily on his legs and starting to cackle idiotically, as if he were drunk.

"You had convinced me, little girl," he said after a few moments of recovery, before holding out a hand to help her up. "And now, tell me what I can do for you. I'm listening."

Cautiously, Octavia began to tell him about the reason for her presence in the Palace and the purpose of her nocturnal investigations and, as proof, she showed him the crystal she wore hanging between her still bare breasts, explaining its properties and how it worked. As she spoke she noticed how the man's face became more and more serious and attentive, a sign that, perhaps, he had noticed or knew something too.

"I know someone who may help you," the young soldier said, at the end of her explanation. "Come with me."

Octavia grabbed her tunic from the floor and quickly got dressed, following the man as he began to lead her along the corridor, towards an unknown destination.

"By the way," he finally said, turning to her with a more friendly expression. "My name is Patrus."

***

Her heart skipped a beat when the small, sturdy wooden door which Patrus had knocked on opened, and Queen Artemis herself appeared on the threshold in all her extraordinary beauty. She wore no crown on her blonde head, and her slender body was barely covered by a light nightgown of thin silk that left her bare from the thighs down, leaving very little space to the imagination.

For a moment she feared that the young rascal could have deceived her and lured her into a trap, leading her straight into the lioness's mouth. But as she looked more closely at the youthful features of that face, she took only a moment to realize that the woman could not in fact have been the Queen, but was rather one of her personal slaves, chosen precisely for their resemblance to the sovereign. Queen Artemis's penchant for the cult of her own image was actually well known.

"Patrus, my love," she murmured, welcoming him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him passionately for long moments. Then, noticing Octavia standing a few steps behind him, her expression and voice suddenly hardened. "And who is she?"

"A new friend," Patrus answered vaguely, freeing himself from her embrace. "Let her come in."

"I have no any intention of having a threesome tonight," the girl who looked so much like the Queen said determinedly, letting them both in anyway and closing the door behind her.

The interior turned out to be a small bedroom, sparsely furnished and lit by the light of many candles, clearly prepared to create the right atmosphere for a love encounter.

Patrus laughed heartily, sprawling on a small armchair not far from the bed, undoing his orange cloak and untying his sword belt, letting it heavily fall to the floor.

"And since when have slaves earned the right to decide what they want or don't want to do?"

"I am Her Majesty's slave," the girl replied piquedly, crossing her arms over her ample chest and leaning her back against the closed door. "Not yours."

"I have the pleasure to introduce you Yamile," Patrus said, turning to Octavia. "One of Her Majesty's pretentious bed slaves. She acts like this sometimes, but I assure you, with the right manners it is not difficult to bring her back to her senses."

"My name is Octavia," she said, addressing the girl in the friendliest, most conciliatory tone possible. "I promise I won't stay long. Patrus told me you could have helped me."

"To do what?" Yamile said sharply, clearly irritated by her unexpected presence.

"Our friend Octavia is an exorcist of the temple of Neryss, who is investigating about our Queen's recent mood swings," Patrus sarcastically downplayed.

"Have you noticed anything strange about her lately?" Octavia asked.

Yamile looked at Patrus for a moment, as if unsure whether or not she could trust her enough to answer. Before doing so, she took a few steps, going to sit on the mattress and inviting Octavia to do the same.

"She has become colder, meaner," she began to say, speaking in a low voice. "Not that she has ever been a sweet or loving person before, this should be made clear. The Queen has always been a very hard and severe woman. But not a cruel one. Whereas, since several days..." she concluded with a shiver, her blue eyes fixed on the floor.

"Did she hurt you?" Octavia asked in the gentlest, softest voice she could.

"No...at least not yet," Yamile replied. "But she hurted Salty."