Dark Assassin Ch 04

As I mentioned in my last chapter, this chapter and the next two will explore some of our darker characters (King Slynt, the Drow King, and Talia).

This is your warning

There is a scene of dubious consent in this chapter. It is not vital to the plot, but displays an important character trait of King Wyatt's. It involves the use of a position of power for sexual purposes and I do not condone the practice in any way shape or form.

In order to aid you in your enjoyment of this chapter, I will place a warning before the scene and a marker after for those who would like to skip.

It'll also serve as a nice bookmark for anyone looking for a decently steamy sex scene ; ) (There is also a real quick consensual scene at the end)

Thank you for continuing this story. I really appreciate the continued support.

Happy reading, Zinfer

~*~*~Chapter 4: King Wyatt Slynt~*~*~

The taste and smell of iron saturated the air of the small stone chamber while a steady

pat-pat-patter

of some thick liquid splashed against the floor. The walls were slightly damp and lined with oily, smoking torches that had started to sputter and threaten to go out. The light the torches cast revealed strange symbols that had been meticulously painted in white in a perfect circle on the floor of the chamber.

In the center of the circle of runes was a shadow cast by a man who had been suspended seven feet from the ground, upside down from a hook in the high ceiling. He was naked and dirty - and covered from foot to head in blood. Blood that dripped from his matted hair and formed a small puddle beneath his lifeless body. Blank eyes stared hauntingly as the rope he had been strung with twirled, rotating the corpse around the chamber.

Another man stood outside the circle, reciting a long, unceasing chant. This man was also naked and covered with blood. But this blood was not his own - it had flowed from the suspended corpse while the other man had stood under it, shortly after slitting the sacrifice's throat. It had been the last step in a ritual that took days to prepare and complete, but for Wyatt Slynt the benefits of the dark magic it evoked far outweighed the gruesome manner in which it was obtained.

Already the King could feel the rejuvenating powers of the younger man's life force penetrating his skin. A man who looked and felt close to forty-five had entered the chamber a few hours before and one ten years younger would exit once the spell he was reciting was complete.

In actuality, Wyatt was nearing a century in age. When he had seized the throne from the Mansons fifty years ago, he had successfully completed the Ritual of Youth two times already.

As an accolade of magic in the King's palace, Wyatt had always had a penchant for dark arts. When he was a boy, Wyatt had been enthralled and disturbed by stories of dark mages who kidnapped princesses only to be thwarted by some gallant knight or prince. What young Wyatt could not understand was how the mages, with all that power at their disposal, had not been able to defeat the princesses' would be suitors. Surely great magic beat sword and armor.

When he became old enough, Wyatt had signed on as a mage's apprentice in the small port city where he had grown up. It had not been long before the mage Wyatt trained under had taught Wyatt all he could, and wrote to the Capital on his behalf to implore that the palace mages take Wyatt on as an accolade. They had accepted, and after a short practical test of his abilities, Wyatt had been allowed to leave his family behind and start training to become a 'real' magician.

However it was not long before Wyatt was disappointed to discover that 'real' magic was nothing more than cheap tricks that smarter men used to fool and mesmerize those who did not understand the inner workings of these 'spells'. Mixing chemicals and drugs together to produce mystical effects was not the king of magic Wyatt had read about in the stories as a boy. Where were the demons, the curses, the weapons that could strike without the wielding being anywhere near the target?

Soon Wyatt began to turn from his teachers, spending most of his time in the palace's library where he discovered ancient tomes that described dark magic that had been lost to the ages. These books were written in a dead language that Wyatt had had to teach himself. This process was time consuming, but once he had the text mastered, the possibilities turned endless.

As the only true user of magic among the palace mages, Wyatt rose quickly through the ranks, eventually becoming the Master of Arcana by the time he was in his early thirties. This position satisfied him for a while, but it was not long until he began to lust for even higher aspirations. He saw nothing but lesser men around him and knew that he could lead them all more effectively than any rule before.

A whisper in the right ear, and a spell that had nearly cost Wyatt his sanity and King Manson was dead, with King Slynt as his immediate successor. Nobody's fool, Wyatt knew that his claim to the throne was contingent upon how much power he could wield over the people he now ruled. So he had single handedly slaughtered Manson's lineage. That is - single handedly, with the help of some very black magic.

In the chamber, Wyatt ended his chant at last and stepped around the circle of runes at the other end.

Blood dripped from his body as he stood at the door and knocked three times. An instant later, the door opened and three guards carried in a large basin of water, setting it on the floor and then retreating further into the room to start dealing with the corpse hanging from the ceiling.

Wyatt stepped into the basin and began to wash the blood from his skin, staining the water crimson. By the time he was finished, the dead man's body was gone and a guard was waiting with a fresh pair of black robes, which Wyatt slipped into.

Leaving the guards to finish with the cleanup, the King exited the chamber and walked down a short hall to a winding set of stairs that led up. The climb was long, but Wyatt was not at all short of breath when he finally reached the top. He felt stronger than he had in years, as was usual after the ritual, and it filled him with a heady exhilaration.

At the top of the stairs was another short hallway. This one ended in a heavy iron door that was guarded by an enormous man who said nothing as Wyatt passed him, pushed open the door, and emerged into a small stone courtyard choked with weeds. A full moon hung above the yard, and Wyatt estimated it was three hours past midnight.

The King kept his secret dungeon and chamber well hidden within the bowels of the palace. The courtyard from which the entrance opened from was only accessible through an old and broken part of the palace that Wyatt intentionally left in disrepair. Only a small, handpicked garrison of guards knew where the chamber was, and Wyatt had their tongues removed to keep them from speaking of it to anyone. They lived in the abandoned part of the palace and had no families and were allowed no lovers. Wyatt suspected they found comfort in each other, but that was none of his concern as long as they remained loyal.

Across the courtyard and through another door hidden partially behind a dead tree, Wyatt found himself inside the palace proper. Through a series of hallways filled with abandoned furniture and dust, and he emerged inside the bedchamber of one of his mistresses - another precaution to keep the curious members of court away from his dark secret.

The mistress to whom the bedchamber belonged was a mute, like the guards, but she still possessed her tongue. She had been born without her voice. Wyatt had found her in one of the Capital's seedier whorehouses where she had been prized for her inability to protest against any unsavory clients. In exchange for her service and silence, Wyatt had offered her a home in the palace. The girl, whose name was Claire, had eagerly accepted the offer.

Wyatt found her dozing in a chair when he emerged from a secret door to the right of the hearth. She was dressed in an elegant blue silk dress and her dark hair, which had been pinned neatly to her head, was falling about her face in disarray.

"My sweet girl," Wyatt said loudly, shaking her shoulder gently, "You should be in bed."

Claire's eyes fluttered open and she stood up with a start, bowing deeply at her King's arrival.

"Do not wait up for me," he told her, going to the enormous wooden wardrobe near the bed and pulling out a nightgown for Claire and a simple tunic and breeches for himself. He always kept a pair of clothes in the room in case anyone ever questioned what his and Claire's relationship entailed.

It wasn't sex - Wyatt had never laid a hand on Claire in anger or in lust. Theirs was a purely beneficial relationship. When Wyatt needed use of his chamber for his darker magic, he made sure that the right people knew he would be spending the night with Claire. After that he would instruct her to keep the door locked at all times, and retreat to do whatever ritual he had planned for that night. Usually she waited up for him, but he had forgotten to mention the unusual length of the rejuvenating spell and she had evidently waited until exhaustion had overcome her.

Wyatt pulled off his robe and stepped into the new breeches while Claire eyed him from across the bed. He was a handsome man - even more so now that he had shed ten years. Neatly trimmed short brown hair and an equally well-groomed beard framed a thin, intelligent face. His body was trim and toned in the right places. Not an overly powerful man, Wyatt was more cunning thief than brutish warrior and it was this attribute that the King attributed most to his rise to power.

Claire also disrobed and reached for her nightgown. There was no modesty spared between the King and the mistress. They had known each other nearly a decade now. Claire was reaching her early thirties, but her body showed hardly any evidence of this fact.

Pulling on his shirt, Wyatt gave Claire a grateful smile, "I hope you sleep well tonight. I will see you in a few days." And with that he departed, first through the door of the bedchamber and then the expansive solar beyond.

The palace was silent as Wyatt walked through the halls toward his private tower. Every second or third torch was lit along the walls, but most of the light came from the moon streaming through the equally spaced glass windows. Although the eastern kingdom of man was smaller in size than it had ever been, it was prosperous under King Slynt's rule and the opulence of the palace attested to that fact. Plush carpets imported from across the Gold Ocean lined almost every hall and covered every room. The servants were well paid and well dressed and only the best warriors from the kingdom were allowed to serve as palace guards. Great feasts were hosted at every small occasion for the people of the Capital and beyond and taxes were collected based on how much each citizen could provide.

In whole, the reign of Wyatt Slynt was multitudes better than Manson's had been. Yet many people viewed the 'new' King as a thief to the throne. Wyatt was constantly required to quash would-be uprisings. The leaders of these rebellions were almost always used as sacrifices for Wyatt's dark magic and he still had a healthy supply of three able-bodied men in a special part of the dungeon that he would use soon to gather information on any more usurpers. Sometimes good old-fashioned torture was enough to learn of any new plots, but Wyatt's favorite method was magic.

There was knowledge hidden in the darker realms, and Wyatt knew how to get it.

At last the King arrived at the large set of double doors that marked the entrance to his tower. It had once belonged to the palace mages, but once Wyatt had taken the crown, he had disbanded the group of tricksters and taken their home as his.

Two hooded guards stood at the entrance, one on either side, and made not a sound nor movement as Wyatt pushed open the left door and entered the tower. The guards were not entirely human anymore, but had at one time been King Manson's most loyal advisors. Mages that had been the little whispers in the King's ear and who had been the true rulers. Too dangerous to keep alive, Wyatt had turned them into creatures whose only purpose was to protect the new King. The guards could sense intent in others and would kill any who entered the tower with harm toward the King in their hearts.

Inside, the ground floor of the tower contained the main living area - chairs, couches, and tables of all sizes were spaced around the room for meetings and dinners of any kind. This room was dimly lit, and Wyatt ignored it as he made his way up a winding staircase that followed the wall of the tower to the second floor. This contained the library and was only accessible with a spell known only to Wyatt. He kept going, past the third floor, which contained Wyatt's workshop, where he crafted arcane objects and perfected certain spells. On the fourth floor, one floor shy of the uppermost portion of the tower, Wyatt pushed open the unlocked wooden door that led off from the landing and entered his bedchamber.

A small basin of warm water had been left in a table in the corner and a small fire lit in the hearth opposite the enormous bed that took up almost the entire north wall. The bed had been built specially to follow the curved contour of the tower to maximize its potential. The bed could - and regularly did - comfortably sleep numerous people. Right now it was empty, and after washing up in the basin, Wyatt slipped out of his clothes and collapsed into the middle of the mattress.

It had been a harrowing day. First he had had to deal with the Drow King and his endless political maneuverings via scrying glass, a favorite means of communication for him. This time, the Dark Elf had wanted to end a decades-long feud between Wyatt and some Manson bitch, who had escaped his purging after seizing the throne. For what purpose the Drow King wished this, Wyatt did not know. He had barely thought of the bastard princess in years and other than a hefty bounty on her head, he had given up the pursuit long ago. Now the Drow King was claiming that there were those in the continent who still believed that the Mansons could muster enough support among the Men and the Elves to overthrow Wyatt. The king had laughed at this, but wanted to keep the Drow King placated and had heard him out. If the last remaining Manson, a daughter of the bastard princess, swore public fealty to Wyatt at the Drow King's palace, then the bounty would be removed from her head and all her claims to the throne denounced.

It seemed like a frivolous gesture, but Wyatt had been meaning to take a trip north for a while and it was as good an excuse as any. He had only one ally among the Elves and he wanted to make sure to keep it strong. If this were important to the Drow King, then Wyatt would be sure to honor his wishes. Of course, that did not mean that Wyatt would be without his own personal agenda.

Following his conversation with the Drow the King made every excuse he could muster to get out of his daily duties in order to free up time to finish preparing for his ritual.

After that had been the gathering of materials - including one of the rebel leaders in the dungeons - followed by the ritual itself, which had taken from nearly sundown until hours after midnight.

Even the powerful invigorating effects Wyatt had experienced shortly after the ritual had faded completely and now all the King wanted was to forget about the realm and the world for a few hours. All of its problems and complexities would be waiting for him when he woke up...

Closing his eyes, King Wyatt Slynt drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

===============================================================

Warning: scene of dubious consent

Wyatt did not get out of bed until it was nearly noon the next day. When he did rouse at last, he was full of renewed energy and vigor once again. Using a cantrip, he rung for a fresh basin of water and a change of clothes. He never dressed himself when he had official duties. If it were up to Wyatt, he would wear nothing but cotton breeches and tunics all the time - they were comfortable and easy to work in. But he had learned early in his reign that in order to be taken seriously as a King, he needed to dress the part.

A female maid brought the water and clothes a few moments later and tried not to notice Wyatt's nakedness as she placed the items in their appropriate places - the water on the corner table and the clothes across the mattress. She was a small, young thing with short, straight blond hair and dazzling blue eyes.

Wyatt had never seen her before. He liked new things.

"What is your name?" the King asked, grasping the girl's upper arm as she made to leave the bedchamber.

Nervously, the girl looked up at Wyatt and said, "Nicole, your grace." She was almost a foot and a half shorter than him.

"Nicole," the King repeated the name and released the maid's arm, "I've never seen you before."

"I-I'm new to your service, your grace. Mia was sick today, she asked me to f-fill in for her. I h-hope that is not a problem." The maid was clearly terrified to be in the King's presence. And the fact that he had yet to cover his nudity was apparently not helping.

This made him smile, "Mia is an old, fat bitch," Wyatt said. It was true - she treated her girls like trash and he knew Nicole would agree with his comment. "You are a much lovelier sight than her."

The girl blushed, but said nothing, looking anywhere but at Wyatt.

"Tell Mia that you will be my new morning maid," Wyatt told her.

"T-thank you, your grace," Nicole sputtered, blushing even deeper. It was an easy life to be the King's personal maid, but there was an unofficial catch. Never before had a maid in Wyatt's service failed to find her way into his bed. Even Mia had been a lovely, if domineering, catch back when he had first employed her thirty years ago. Nicole must have known this fact through reputation, because she suddenly became very uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and adjusting her skirts obsessively while making furtive glances toward the door.

"What's the matter, Nicole?" Wyatt asked gently. He was suddenly filled with lust - a side-effect of losing ten years of age - and wanted nothing more at the moment than for the blond maid to be squirming beneath his body.

"Nothing, your grace," Nicole whispered, "I-is there anything else I c-can do for y-you?" She was physically trembling.

"Look at me," Wyatt whispered.

Slowly, Nicole looked up his body until her eyes met his. She was small - barely over five feet tall - and thin as nail.

Pupils dilated. Wyatt smirked.

"How old are you, Nicole," he asked, placing a single finger against her cheek to keep her head turned up toward his face.

"Nineteen," she answered, barely above a whisper.

"Are you a maiden?"

"I...I...," Nicole floundered, her eyes growing wide, "N-no, your grace."

The King stroked his beard thoughtfully. It wasn't much of a surprise. Maids and servants were always fucking during their free time. But Wyatt could tell that Nicole was still new to the world of pleasures and doubted that her brief tryst or two with a kitchen boy had been anything terribly enlightening.

"Tell me, Nicole," Wyatt said with a half-smile, "Do you find your King attractive?"

"Y-you are v-very attractive, your grace," Nicole nodded, "Any woman would be l-lucky to have you."

"Is that so?" Wyatt smirked, he had her now, "What about you? Would you like to have me?" It was the impossible question - say no and offend the King or say yes...