Gods but it was a joy to war.
Prince Alver smiled happily as his horse trotted over the remains of the battlefield, where smoke seeped into the air and bodies lay strewn like so many discarded toys. The elvish forces had put up some heavy resistance, but none could resist the sheer momentum of his army. That last cavalry charge had been just beautiful.
He chuckled to himself, wondering what his father must be thinking. After all these successes, he was bound to be named the heir apparent. The rest of the royal council wouldn't hear of otherwise at this point. A mere nineteen years of age, and already expanding the borders of the kingdom almost tenfold! Alver laughed. As if the old man could do anything else.
It was almost a shame to have slaughtered the enemy so thoroughly. Ah, but needs must. And it had been a glorious one. He chuckled again. The elves had put up a fine fight, true, but they'd been fools to meet him on the open field. But elves were always arrogant. Militant.
And now badly depleted.
Which meant the last obstruction between his army and the inner queendom of the fey lay before him.
Alver looked again around the battlefield. That forced march had been an excellent choice. It pushed his troops to the limit, but had surprised the fey armies completely. And now their entire realm lay open to the plundering. The last hint of resistance crushed beneath his boot.
"It's a beautiful day," he observed.
"Indeed, my prince," his aide, Loren, agreed, riding up beside him. Older than Alver by near twenty years, he nonetheless looked to his warrior prince with awe, as if the war god Ronne had come to earth and took form in the blonde-haired royal. "Though," he added, a hint of chastisement in his tone, "we've stretched far beyond our supply wagons like this, sire."
"They'll catch up within a week," Alver said dismissively. "And there's no risk of attack. We've seen to that!"
"Indeed, sire. Quite emphatically. In fact, I believe the enemy is coming to parlay."
"Where?"
"On that ridge, sire."
Alver peered in the direction, and again he grinned. Ah, so they were. The bedraggled group were making their way towards the prince and his aide, under escort of close to a dozen royal troopers. They were typical of the fey. The enemy general appeared to be an older elf, worn by the trials of battle, his armour dented and once fine cloak smeared with mud and blood. Those with him were a smattering of functionairies, aides and...
Oh my.
Alver's eyes lit up at the sight of the holstaur walking placidly among the rest. He'd heard of the bovine fey that lived in temples deep within the mountains, but the sight of her put the rumours to shame. She was unspeakably gorgeous, with full blonde hair and a statuesque build that put her almost a head above the elves she walked with. A collar was clasped about her neck, bearing a large bell that faintly clanked as it bounced off her positively enormous chest.
Alver fairly drooled at the sight of her. Not in all the whorehouses of the capital had ever seen a pair of breasts so hefty and full. Flawless, buxom, the nipples pink peaks pierced by a pair of gold rings that stirred his desire like nothing else. She wore nothing but translucent silks crossing her chest, while a girdle of the same fabric swished between her thighs.
The group halted before him, and Alver was intrigued to note the holstaur seemed calm and at ease, despite the trappings of servitude she wore and steel which surrounded her on all sides. What an interesting turn this was taking...
"Well well!" Alver declared. "And what have we here? If you've come to surrender, I fear you may be a bit late."
"Do I have the pleasure of greeting Prince Alver, the Warhound?" the holstaur asked.
"You do," he replied.
"I am Beata," the holstaur said, dipping in a bow that made her bell ring and silks stretch against her figure in a most appealing way. "And I have been sent by her majesty, the Queen, to speak to you."
"Is that so? And what do you wish to speak about?"
She straightened. "I was a member of the representatives that formed the war council when your armies invaded, my lord. I spoke for the queen, and General Ferrun for the elves. I advocated negotiations, he war. War won. And now we see the result."
"We do indeed. However, I do believe the times for negotiations are long past," Alver noted, leaning on the pommel of his steed and looking down at the holstaur. "What passed for your armies are crushed. The few survivors have fled, your generals are slaughtered, and I remain standing, my forces intact."
"It is true, my lord," she said with surprising indifference. "Which is why I have come to make an offer to you, on behalf of my queen."
"To me? Of what? Nothing stands between my army and the fey capital in the north. The crystal palaces will be mine in short order."
"I come to offer myself."
"Oh?"
"Yes," Beata said with a placid smile. "I and my delegation have come to offer ourselves as your slaves."
Alver sat up, peering down at the holstaur. "Is that right? In order to spare your people?"
"No, master," Beata said pleasantly. "Slaves have no say over their master's commands. My queen wishes for peace, but I have nothing more to offer, save myself. I am a gift, master. One of good faith, to seek to prove that slaughter is not needed. That the fey shall serve you, our masters, willingly. And happily. Are you pleased?"
Alver very much was. His eyes roamed over her figure hungrily. Lush. Soft. A perfect form of feminine beauty and carnal appeal. "A most thoughtful gift," he observed, smirking. "I accept."
Beata smiled prettily. "Thank you, master. I will strive to please."
He'd see about that. Alver chuckled. A last, desperate move from a people who already knew they lost. Ah well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about entertainment while waited for the supply train to catch up so he might finish his conquest.
Alver licked his lips. Yes. This was going to be a lovely diversion indeed...
#
Alver settled back on the divan comfortably, splaying himself out on it as he eyed his new prize. His tent sat in the middle of his army's camp, well defended yet apart from the rank and file. Spacious, opulent, more like a room of his palace brought to the field with walls of canvas rather than stone, a few lamps fluttered from the corners, glowing against the dividers and trunks, treasures, and the rest of his war materials assembled. Along with these were a number of trophies from various campaigns he'd waged and won, but he was particularly proud of his latest one.
He eyed the gorgeous holstaur kneeling on the lush rug before him, her head tilted docilely as she watched him, waiting for a command. It was a good pose for her, he had to admit. She was soft and lovely in her transparent silks. A true prize, as only the fey knew how to present. His eyes lingered on her huge breasts and the twin rings that hung from her nipples.
Yes. He liked her very much indeed.
"So," he hummed, lifting his goblet and taking a sip of his wine. "A holstaur, hm? I'd always heard your kind hung mostly in the mountains."
"We do, master," she said, her voice smooth and pleasant as honey. "But I was sent as a representative by my queen when the war broke out. It was my duty to express my side's aim for an attempt at peaceful coexistence with the humans, but general Ferrun and the militaristic elves won in the end, and thus, war."
Ah yes, Ferrun. Alver remembered him well. The old elf had stood stalwart with his command staff, facing down his troops in a courageous last stand. A noble and impressive sight, right until the old fool had been crushed under a storm of hooves.
"A pity," Alver mused. "And now you come to me. But no negotiator. Instead, a slave, sent to try and buy mercy for your people. And already," he smirked, "I hear that fey women from about the area have begun coming to offer themselves to my troops. Does this surprise you?"
"No, master," Beata said pleasantly. "You are the victors. And because of the war, we have few men remaining. Many of our women will be eager to find themselves new mates."
Alver raised a brow as he took another long drink of his wine. Fey were certainly strange creatures, he'd say that much. "Do you resent being given over to me by your queen?" he asked.
