Tears For The Dragon Ch 02

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for the words of support!

Please note

that in this chapter there are are some disturbing, possibly triggering moments. This story contains: (Implied) Non-consensual, Gentle Femdom, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Nonhuman, Sixty-Nine, Dragon, Fantasy, Lesbian (kinda?),and Anal

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Metternich paused outside the king's bedchamber. One of his agents had reported that the king had stopped a young servant girl in the hall and had requested her to prepare his bedchamber's fire. The chief spy knew that the king had a more direct servicing in mind. Metternich listened carefully to make sure he would not be interrupting any 'romantic' moments, then he gently knocked.

"Come," said the curt voice from within. It was too curt; the girl must not have pleased the king all that much. Metternich sighed quietly and swung open the ornately carved wooden door. The bedchamber beyond was large but warm. The glow of a large fire pervaded the chamber, which made it more cheerful. The room was also filled with the faint sound of fearful sniffling, which undercut its cozy atmosphere.

King Bognar sat at a small portable writing-desk in one corner. His hair was still cut short as it had been during his soldiering years, although now it was lightly sprinkled with gray. The ruler's shoulders were still broad with powerful muscle, but years of sedate living and feasting had given him quite the paunch. His gut spilled free of his red-and-gold brocaded robe.

Metternich glanced over at the curvy, naked form curled up on the bed. That was, of course, the source of the sniffling. She had probably been a virgin; Bognar seemed to have a knack for finding them among the castle's serving staff. He hoped the king had not injured her too badly during her deflowering. He knew the High Matron of the Temple would become incensed if rumors of Bognar's behavior got out.

The king looked up from his notes at Metternich. "Well?"

"Petra Varadi has disappeared," replied the king's head spy.

"And who is she?"

Metternich controlled his brief moment of rage. For the love of the Goddess, he stood before the King with his useless right arm tucked into his jacket pocket. Surely Bognar remembered how

that

had happened?

As if reading his chief spy's mind, the King glanced at Metternich's arm. "Oh, yes. My apologies. So you think that this proves the alchemist was involved in Tibor Sarkany's escape?"

"It certainly looks suspicious," said Metternich. "I have, of course, put out her face and name along with a substantial reward."

"Good," replied the king. "I think you will need to have that be enough for the moment. I need your attention focused on the Estressau campaign." He indicated the pile of papers on his desk. "We are almost at the strength I need for the initial invasion. I still need better information on their troop strength and placement."

Metternich bit back a curse. "With respect, sir, you authorized my expanded pursuit of Sarkany and any allies. An attack on a designated official of the king is..."

"Is the same as an attack on the king himself." Bognar's face softened as he stood and patted the man on his good shoulder. "Erik, I understand your personal wish to see that little bastard's guts strung out in front of you. And you will, I promise you. You'll handle the knife yourself. I'm not saying we let the whole affair drop. You just need to wait a few months, that's all. We'll have overwhelming force and surprise on our side. Once Estressau is suitably pacified, I can bring some of those soldiers back and then you can tear the country apart looking for Sarkany and that gnome. They're not going anywhere."

Metternich nodded and felt better. King Bognar could be cruel at times, but he could also be reasonable...at least, he could be reasonable with those that he valued.

The king looked over the spy's shoulder in irritation. "And get that sniveling bitch out of here. All of that noise is getting on my nerves."

Metternich gave the king a deep bow and turned. He saw a skirt and a torn blouse scattered at the foot of the bed and tucked them under his next-to-useless right arm before turning to regard the naked woman. She was curled away from the king and had her knees hugged to her chest. Her fair hair spread out carelessly behind her on the bed. He carefully touched the naked girl on her shoulder with his left hand.

She snapped her head around and stared at him with utter fear in her pale blue eyes. There was a large pressure cut on one side of her face, and Metternich knew that in a little while she would have a sizable bruise to go along with it. Tears streaked down her face as her full lips quivered.

"Come, child," he said in a soft tone. "I will take you back."

She sniffled and glanced behind him at the bulk of the king, who had already seated himself and was back at poring through his papers.

"Please," Metternich said with even more softness. "I will take care of you, but we must leave now."

The girl nodded and carefully slid herself off of the bed. The bedclothes were rumpled and askew. There was a patch of blood and seminal fluid where her groin had lain against the sheets. Metternich gave a mental grumble at the king's predilection for forcing himself on virgins. Personally he couldn't understand such behavior. Metternich preferred bedding someone who had much more experience and far less fear. But perhaps the king liked fear.

He wordlessly handed the girl her clothes. Her skirt was also torn up the side, perhaps when she had moved too slowly for the king's pleasure. She quickly donned the torn garment anyway, along with her ripped blouse. Metternich put his good arm across her shoulders and gently steered her through the door as she clutched her arms around herself.

She didn't speak until the door closed firmly behind them, and even then her words were interrupted by hiccuping sobs. "He...he threw me on the bed and...he made me...he put his...he put it inside, I told him to not go so hard because it was hurting me but he...he got angry with me and..." She touched the injury on her face with a shaking hand.

Her sobbing quieted as his left hand stroked the back of her head. "Shhh, child. It will be all right. I will take you to get cleaned up. A nice warm bath will make you feel so much better. You also need to get some food in you, and some new clothes."

They walked slowly down the hallway. It was late at night, and there were only a few lit tapers spaced far apart to give light. But Metternich knew this palace like nobody else, and he could have navigated it blindfolded. They came to a T-shaped junction and he steered her to the left...away from the servant's quarters.

The girl didn't seem to notice. She leaned into him a little bit, and Metternich could not deny feeling a little thrill at the feel of her lush curves barely covered by her ruined clothing. One of her rose-colored nipples was visible to his view and he fought down the urge to press the girl against the wall and take that lovely little nub of flesh into his mouth.

Perhaps he could understand some of the king's behavior after all.

"What is your name?" he said aloud, in the same even and gentle tone.

"Timea," she said. He had to strain to hear her.

He gave her a slight hug with the arm around her shoulders. "And, Timea, my name is Erik. There, now we're not strangers anymore." He was gratified to see a little smile on her mouth.

"That's right, a smile is what I want to see," he continued. "Don't worry. You will be fine. Everything will be fine. The world will keep going on."

He stopped her at a wooden door at the end of a nondescript hallway. This one was much plainer. Timea looked around in confusion. He felt the tension in her shoulders. "Where are we?"

"My rooms," he said simply. She stared at him in growing fear, clearly expecting a repeat of her experience with the king.

"Ah, ah, ah," said Metternich mildly. He touched a gentle finger to her lips to forestall any fresh bout of crying. "I promise you, none of

that

will happen here. I offer you a warm bath, a hot meal, and new clothes. Those are the only things that lie beyond this door."

She nodded in a daze as he smiled and took his hand away from her mouth. He then pushed open the door and waved her in.

Metternich's rooms were smaller than the king's but just as warm and cheerful. He was gratified to see that the servants had already built up a good-sized fire, which took some of the castle's usual dank atmosphere out of the room. Timea walked over to the fire and held her hands out. He could still see a quiver in those hands.

He began to struggle out of his jacket. It was difficult when only one arm was really usable. Timea noticed his efforts and stepped forward to help him. Metternich gave her a grateful smile as she took off his jacket and neatly folded it.

"Many thanks, my dear," he said. "I will ring for someone to draw you a bath. I'll also order up some food. In the meantime, please look through the clothes in my dressing room. It's through that door there. I believe I should have a robe or two that fit you." He gave her his best apologetic look. "Ah, and it would be better for you if you stayed in there while they set up. That way you won't have to endure any more prying eyes."

Timea gave him a little smile and a curtsy. The innocence in that little maneuver of hers was enough to send him into more fantasies of plundering that succulent body. But instead he just smiled in return and waved her through the door. He closed it behind her and rang for the servants.

The girl came back out after the help had all departed. She now wore a green silk robe that contrasted nicely with her eyes.

There was now a large wooden tub in one corner of the bedchamber. Wisps of vapor came off of the bath's surface. In front of his bed was a square table and two chairs. The table was laden with cold meat, fruit, and a large bottle of wine.

"I apologize, Timea," said Metternich. "There was no hot food available at this late hour, but I hope this will do. At least we have wine, eh?"

She gave a deeper curtsy and bowed her head. The movement presented her cleavage to Metternich's sight. "Sir, this is more than I could hope for. Your kindness is overwhelming."

Metternich gestured at the tub. "Please go ahead. I'll wait in the next room, just let me know when you're done."

The girl hesitated. "It's...all right, sir. After all, you have already gazed upon all of me." Without another word, she walked over to the tub and slipped out of her robe. Metternich took the opportunity to admire her shapely rear as she slipped under the water. By the time she was in the water and facing him again, he was looking away with a studious disinterest.

"There are some towels beside the tub for drying when you are finished," he said. "I hope the bath's temperature is to your liking?"

There was a slow splashing of water as Timea scrubbed herself. "It's heavenly, sir. This is my first warm bath in...well, ever."

He smiled at the wonder in her voice. "It does feel a trifle decadent, doesn't it? But nowadays I only take cold baths when I have no choice."

Metternich heard more splashing, and he glanced over to see her scrubbing her face. The bruise next to her eye was just beginning to come out; it would probably extend over a good part of her face. Somehow the injury to her perfect little features made her more appealing in his eyes; she was like a broken porcelain doll.

In a little while she stepped out and dried herself while Metternich took great pains to look the other way. After re-donning her robe, she walked over to the table and hesitated again. He stood and pulled out one of the chairs for her, which surprised her.

"Sir? I don't think I should sit before you do..."

"Nonsense. I insist, Timea." As she sat, he made up a plate for her from the bounty of food on the table then set it in front of her. She looked up in trepidation as he seated himself across from her. He smiled and waved at her plate. "Go ahead, please. You must be starving."

Timea picked up a piece of cold roast chicken and took a bite. Metternich watched in satisfaction as her hunger won out over her fear and she began greedily devouring the meal. After a little while, he placed a glass in front of her. "You must have some wine as well," he purred as he poured some for her.

He poured himself a glass as well and took a long draught while she looked down at her wineglass.

Something about the situation must have disturbed her, because she began to babble. "Sir, please tell me. Why are you being so kind? I'm not...I mean, I won't tell anyone about what happened. I'm sorry the king didn't like me, but if he wants to do...that again to me I will try to be more pleasing to him." Her blue eyes looked up at him from below her brows. Her posture, when combined with her bruised face, reminded him of a cornered animal. "Or...or if you want to, you know, do that to me, I don't mind. I'll do my best to pleasure you. All I ask is not to hurt me..."

"No one will hurt you," said Metternich with gentle finality. "And as to your first question...I am being kind because you have had a very painful and trying evening, yes?"

Timea nodded. Her eyes never left his face.

"I detest pain," continued Metternich. His face hardened slightly. "And that is because I know it so well." He tapped his right arm. "I'm sure you've noticed my affliction. That's the result of one moment of distraction on my part. And now I will never sleep well again. The pain ebbs and flows, but it will always be there."

Her eyes kept fixed on his as he leaned forward and smiled. "There is enough pain in this world, my dear. I have no intention of adding to it. I am just trying to help ease your suffering. And, if I'm honest, I also detest dining alone."

Something in his manner must have convinced Timea, because she kept eating. Then she took a sizeable gulp of her wine, and her eyes widened. "This is...very nice, sir!"

He laughed in genuine pleasure at her delight. "It's certainly better than that watered-down plonk they serve in the servant's quarters, right? Let me give you some more." He poured another healthy amount into both of their glasses and was gratified to see her relax as she continued to eat and drink. He munched on a bit of meat as well, and was grateful that he actually felt hungry for once. His appetite had become a fickle thing now that he lived in constant pain.

And then the glass slipped from Timea's hand.

Red wine spilled out over the tabletop in a careless sprawl as her glass fell on its side and rolled off of the table. She stared down at the resulting mess with wide eyes, then back up at Metternich.

"Sir? I don't feel right."

Metternich gave an encouraging smile. "It's all right. The wine has gone to your head, my dear. After all, it is stronger than what you're used to." He rose and crossed to stand next to her. As Timea tried to rise he placed a gentle but strong left hand on her shoulder.

"No, you should sleep," he said. "Do not fear, I shall watch over you while you rest. There is nothing but sleep for you now."

"Sleep," she murmured as her puzzled eyes began became unfocused.

"Yes, my dear. You will have a wonderful sleep, with beautiful dreams. And no more tears, I promise you."

Timea's head slumped against his side, and he placed a few fingers on her throat. With a little searching he was able to find her pulse. It was already faint and much slower than the norm.

He waited, silently counting the time, until he felt her pulse no longer. Metternich gently closed her now-unseeing eyes and tilted her head to one side. Then he brushed her hair over her face, making it look like she had just gone to sleep in her chair.

Then he crossed back over to his own chair, seated himself, and resumed his meal. The test of the new poison had been an unqualified success. He'd been looking for an unsuspecting subject, and this girl had almost literally fallen into his lap. He had applied a thin film of it to the inside of her glass, and the poison had in turn dissolved into the wine. She had died only ten minutes after her first drink. And she had died without pain, which Metternich took considerable pride in. He had spoken truly to Timea; he did not approve of unnecessary pain.

Yes, this poison would be a very handy tool.

He raised his glass in a toast to the slumped form opposite him. "You have my sincere apologies, dear Timea. But I did keep my promise. You never felt a thing. And the Goddess knows, you have earned a nice long sleep."

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Gard Hansen was used to being stared at. As an ogre dwelling in human lands, he was usually the biggest one in the room. His size, along with his tusks, his scarred and slate-gray skin, and his lack of body hair...all of it set him apart from the humanity around him.

But there was a cheerful and pot-bellied man that Gard kept bumping into during his trip north. This man was a rarity. He didn't stare at Gard at all. He didn't seem to look at anybody, come to think of it. The man always seemed to have his substantial nose buried in a book whenever Gard saw him. He was perfectly pleasant, and always spoke up in a bright and happy tone whenever asked a direct question. But any conversation soon petered out as the man's attention turned back to his reading material. Gard had at least gotten his first name...Miklos. Apart from the nose, Miklos' other main features were his balding head and sharp little gray eyes.

The man dressed in an elegant-yet-shabby way, with multiple layers of rich materials that were also clearly old and worn from many years of use. As Gard made his way north, he saw that Miklos just kept adding on layers of coats and vests as a protection against the cold. Nothing stopped his reading, however. Even at night, when the humans on the mail coach shivered and wrapped themselves in woolen cloaks, the man kept thumbing through tomes while wearing fingerless gloves. Gard didn't shiver, of course. The ogre felt the cold, but his discipline was such that he did not allow it to affect him.

Finally they arrived at the small hamlet that was Gard's destination. He stepped carefully off of the back of the mail coach. He was too big to ride comfortably inside, so he had arranged to sit up in back with the baggage. As his feet made contact with the ground, the coach's rear visibly rose. Gard grabbed his pack and walked to the front of the vehicle.

"Thanks again for the waiver," he said to the driver. She was a cheerful round woman with a face like a weathered apple. Although she sat up on the driver's bench of the coach, his head was almost level with hers. Technically she wasn't supposed to let anyone ride on top, but she'd made an exception for him with a wink and a nod.

"It was no problem!" she replied. Her voice was as cheery as her face. "It was good to have ya up there. This was the most peaceful run we've made in a while. I'm sure seein' a big guy like you made all of them bandits think twice about hitting us."

The man next to the driver just nodded curtly at Gard. He'd been a lot less happy about having an ogre passenger, but at least he hadn't made any fuss about it.

Gard slung his pack over one shoulder and began to walk off, only to hear the coach door open behind him. The pot-bellied form of Miklos stepped out and puttered to the back of the coach to retrieve his own belongings. Gard sighed quietly. Given the remoteness of this location, he was sure that this man was here for the same reason as he was.

He waited patiently while Miklos retrieved his bags and tottered up towards him. The human blinked owlishly up at the ogre. "Ah! So heading here as well, yes-yes?" The man's voice had nothing but happiness, as if it was just wonderful that they should both be here together.