The Bound Night

Eve floated in and out of consciousness. Her skin felt like a coat of fire, and her muscles writhed like foreign bodies separate from her own. She lay on the ground, the cool stone a small comfort as shapeless fever dreams haunted her. She remembered someone leaving -- her father perhaps, though she couldn't tell. The world was blurry, like her eyes had forgotten how to focus.

She didn't know when her senses started to repair themselves. The first thing she noticed was touch. She was intimately aware of the pores and veins of the stone below her. She could feel every bead of sweat on her skin, and every strand of hair that splayed across her face. She smelled herself and another person, the clear scent of oil and polish, and the acrid odors of the dungeon out the door and down the hall. She opened her eyes, and slowly the world began to focus, and the pain began to recede.

"Welcome back to the land of the living,

Sir Eve

," she heard Vassimir say, his voice booming, yet strangely not painful. She could feel his footsteps approaching -- hear the leather of his boots scraping across stone. She heard his heart beating in his chest. Eve looked up at him as he approached, and her eyes focused so suddenly it almost made her reel. He was doing something, but it was his face her gaze was locked on. Had his skin always been so porous? Had he always had that tiny scar above his eyebrow, or that spot in his iris that was slightly darker. It was as if she was staring at him from less than a finger's length away.

The lanterns at the edges of the room flickered, and their light caught the edge of the axe over his head. It was odd. It almost looked like he was trying to hit her with it. But if that was the case, why was he swinging it so slowly?

Eve watched the axe, trying to focus, but distracted by the grains of wood on the shaft. Her eyes traced them, picking out the individual fibers. It really did look like it was going to hit her forehead. Just to be safe, she shifted slightly to the side.

Except, instead of a small shift, her body threw her to the side. She landed on her back, and the world started moving again. It was like it had been holding its breath, and had finally taken a gasp of air. Vassimir's axe plinked off the stone ground with enough force to put a chip in it. He used the momentum of the rebound to put the axe back up over his head, and turned on her with a roar. He charged her, axe raised high.

Except, once again, it was like he was moving in slow motion. The pain in her body was gone now, replaced by a sort of numbness caused, not by lack of feeling, but by too much. Conscious of what happened the last time she tried to move, Eve matched his speed -- using slow, small movements to position herself into a crouch. It was easier than she expected, and though her movements probably looked odd to a watcher, she managed to stand without throwing herself across the room. Vassimir was almost on her by then, so, careful not to fling herself into the ceiling, she carefully stood up. With two fingers, she touched the head of the downward swinging axe. The metal was cool to the touch. She pushed it to the side.

Once again, the world seemed to take a gasp of air as it started moving normally. Vassimir finished his swing and stared at Eve with a look of surprise that slowly morphed into a wide grin.

"Master," she said, her tongue and jaw feeling odd, "Were you just trying to kill me?"

He hugged her. The dungeon air was still cool and damp, and his warm body felt nice. It didn't help that the potion had once again made her hot, and she could feel her nipples going rigid. There was a dampness between her thighs, but she wasn't sure if that was a result of the potion, or if she had pissed herself while she was rolling on the floor. As embarrassing as it was, she hoped it was the former. Her senses were on overdrive, and she didn't want to have to lick her own pee up while her sense of taste was so strong.

"Of course," Vassimir said, ending the hug and putting his hands on her shoulders. He stared down at her with a wide grin that didn't match his admission to attempted murder. "I had to make sure it worked."

"And if it hadn't?"

He shrugged. "I was fairly sure it had."

That didn't quite fill Eve with relief, but it quickly left her mind -- replaced by a new, more compelling thought:

it worked

. Eve looked down. She had seen it, out of the corner of her eye, but the strangeness of her body and Vassimir trying to kill her had kept her from really noticing it. Hovering over her chest, in the space above her breasts, was the crest.

She took a few steps back as her breathing grew quicker. Vassimir took his hands off her shoulders, watching her. Carefully, like it was an animal that would run away, she touched her hand to the lines of light. She felt warmth, and a strange tingle as her hand passed through it. She closed her eyes, and she could feel it. Like there was another part of herself. She stared into it, but it seemed infinite -- a well that never ended.

When she opened them Vassimir was tossing her a sword. She caught it, and marveled at the weight of it. She had held a sword before, but only when she was fetching one for someone else. Even training with Vassimir had never let her get around that prohibition. Now, she swung it, amazed at how light it felt. There was a strength in her body that was exciting and terrifying in equal measures, and concentrating on the well inside her, she knew she could still draw even more.

"We only have a few hours to get you ready," Vassimir said, holding the axe in a defensive posture. "Truth be told, I think you could take most knights, but Moldred's a different matter. He's going to be tough."

Eve paused her swings as she realized she had yet to tell him what she overheard Moldred and the other knights talking about. "Master, there's something you need to know," she said, beginning to explain how Moldred intended to change the format of the duel, and that Gastogne would fight today. She left out that he was changing it so he could buy her.

When she was done, he nodded thoughtfully. "I see. That's changes things. Maybe. This Gastogne fellow rose up the ranks quickly, so he undoubtedly has some skill. Interesting. Did they mention why he wanted to change the format?"

"They were worried father may have hired a hedge knight. They figured a best of three format would favor them against one competitor," she said, remembering the reason Aloric had given. She couldn't look him in the face as she said it.

"They're right," Vassimir grumbled. "But only if you get injured. So," he grinned, "end it quick." He raised his axe, and rushed her again.

-

Metal footsteps echoed down the dungeon walls. Torturers and slaves both turned their heads to stare at the knight clad in armor black as pitch. Eve kept her helmeted head high and her eyes forward, and tried not to show the panic that gripped her.

It wasn't just the armor, though that was a large part of it. She had dreamt of what it would be like to wear clothes. Real clothes. Clothes that fully covered her chest and body. Now, she was wearing more than she had ever imagined. A thick cotton shirt and pants -- pants! -- under the armor, chainmail, and then the plate on top of that. Her crest -- hovering just over the solid black breastplate -- helped with the weight, but it did nothing to cover the feeling of wrongness. The clothes pressed against her skin, and rubbed her nipples and thighs. She could count on one hand the number of times she had covered her pussy, and even when she had it was either with a chastity belt, or a short skirt or frilly dress. The pants were suffocating. The whole outfit was sweltering.

But, over all of that was the excitement of being hidden. They passed a torturer holding a spiked dildo in one hand and a cane in the other. He was staring at her, and she could almost imagine his mouth gaping behind his mask. He didn't know the size of her breasts, or how her labia folded. He couldn't see her ass bounce when she walked, or how tight her waist was. He didn't even know that she was a cunt. She was the center of attention, but no one saw anything.

It was the opposite of being a slave. She was used to being completely open, unable to hide anything, while at the same time being barely more than furniture. When she was carried in, no one so much as glanced at her. She was just another cunt for the rack. Now, there were murmurs in men's voices as she passed, and every slave eyed her with fear and curiosity from behind their bars.

Once again they passed the cage that held 513. The door was open, and a torturer was pulling her out by her hair. The brazier had been pushed to the side, but Eve could see long needles had been placed on it to heat up. She shivered a bit at the sight of them. It seemed much too cruel for how small her crime had been.

Without realizing it, Eve walked closer to where the torturer was pulling the girl out. She was crying, but trying to comply. Eve knew from experience that she wasn't trying to stay in, her arms and legs just couldn't move from so long in the small space. The torturer didn't care though, and slapped and yelled at her, telling her all the ways he was going to increase her punishment.

She wasn't sure if she meant to do it or not, she kept forgetting how much larger she was in the armor, but Eve brushed against the torturer.

"Watch it you bastard," he snarled, spinning around. He froze as he saw the knight, and slowly raised his head up as he saw how much taller she was. Eve nearly fell to her knees, and started begging forgiveness, but she held her ground.

"A-apologies m'lord," he stammered, lowering his eyes. "I was trying to get this cunt out," he gave 513 an angry, sidelong glance like it was her fault, "and I didn't see you. I beg your pardon m'lord."

Eve stared down at him, her heart beating in her chest. Earlier, when Vassimir had been securing her helmet, he had paused and ordered her to "Say something like you're a man."

She said the first thing that came to mind. "Dumb cunt," she tried in a gravelly voice. "Get on the ground, slut,"

Vassimir looked like he was trying not to laugh. "The most intimidating knights speak with their actions, not their words. I think you should follow that advice," he said, closing her visor.

So, Eve didn't say anything. She just stared down at the torturer. 513 was still in her cage, and was staring at Eve with fear in her eyes. Eve's armor moved slightly as Vassimir touched her arm. She knew what he was trying to say.

Don't do anything a knight wouldn't do

. It was the same thing he had told her right before he opened the door and they walked out.

But, the most knightly knight she had ever seen was Moldred, and she knew exactly what he would do. If he took an interest in a slave girl, he would grab her and fuck her right there. And then, if he was still interested in her when his balls were drained, he would take her with him, and he would leave the rest of the world to deal with the consequences.

Eve didn't have balls to drain, but she did think 513 was cute. Besides, she had never seen a knight without at least one slave crawling behind him. So, she pushed the torturer to the side. She didn't think she pushed too hard, but he still fell to the floor like a sack of grain. Eve moved forward before her brain could catch up to what her body was doing.

She reached into the cage and lifted the slave girl out. Eve probably could have picked her up without her crest. With it, the girl was basically weightless. She trembled in Eve's armored arms. Eve worried, briefly, that the slave would look up and recognize her. Vassimir had tested the visor before, and confirmed that all you could see were her eyes, and even then only if you were very close. But, even that could give her away.

513 didn't look up though. She kept her eyes down like she was supposed to. Eve turned around with the slave still in her arms. Vassimir was staring at her with one eyebrow raised, but didn't say anything. She thought he would look angry, but to her relief he just seemed amused.

Eve placed the girl on the ground. She didn't do it gently, people were watching, but she also didn't just drop her. 513 looked up for her orders, and Eve motioned for her to follow. The girl positioned herself on her hands and knees and began to crawl. If she could talk, Eve would have told her to walk. It was obvious her arms and legs were cramped, and the girl was in pain. But all Eve could do was walk a little slower.

Like that, they left the dungeon. Eve dressed like a knight, Vassimir beside her, and a slave crawling behind.

-

Walking through the halls of the manor was an almost out of body experience. Slaves moved to the sides and bowed, which wasn't unusual, but so did men. Eve was used to moving aside whenever she so much as heard the sound of boots, or lowering her head if she was walking -- or crawling -- behind a man. Having men move aside for her was strange. She kept expecting one to challenge her, but no one did.

The halls were busy. Guests from across the county had arrived for the duel. She recognized some -- leaders of noble families directly under her father, or some of his men-at-arms. She had hoped they would slip through unnoticed. It didn't take long to realize that was impossible. She was wearing solid black armor and the only one taller than her was walking beside her. The only one of their procession that didn't attract attention was the naked woman crawling behind them.

A few people called out to them, others gave Vassimir curious looks. Vassimir gave them polite nods of his head. For the more insistent ones, he leaned close to them, looked them in the eye, and in a serious tone said, "I'm sorry. I can't speak right now. I'm on important business of the count." Then he would glance at the knight beside him. They nodded their heads, and said, 'Of course, of course,' as if he had just divulged some secret information.

In this way, they made it to the side door that led to the training yard without issue. Walking through, Eve felt a chill run up her spine. Memories from the day prior rushing back. The tone in the yard was completely different though. The men-at-arms were in dress uniform, and there were no racks of training weapons or straw filled dummies. There was her father's carriage. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had been strapped to the back of its polished black wood, carrying a heavy load of firewood through the forest. At the time she had thought she was being punished. Now, she wondered if it had been some sort of test.

A team of pony girls were strapped to the front of the carriage. The door was open, but her father was nowhere in sight. Vassimir started walking towards it. Eve followed.

As they walked, she stared at the pony girls -- their muscular thighs and large breasts oiled and shining in the sunlight. Eve had always felt that, if she wasn't a pureborn, she would have made a good pony girl. She had the build for it, and while spending all day pulling a heavy carriage while being whipped didn't sound pleasant, it did sound better than cleaning or pulling up weeds.

She had once had a, short lived, relationship with a pony girl. Pony girls were the only women she knew that had any muscle to speak of, and she wanted to learn how they trained. So, she snuck into the stable late at night. The ponies were kept in place by a long, horizontal bar that was just high enough off the ground you could fit your head under it. A short chain attached to their collars ran to the bar. Eve had snuggled up next to a tall, muscular pony with tanned, caramel colored skin. Eve stammered out her question, and the pony answered it easily. She was easy to talk to, and Eve laid next to her for over an hour -- chatting. Their bodies pressed together in the tight space.

It turned out that their training was nothing special. Mostly it was lots of running, sometimes running while carrying heavy stones. If they were really lucky, the trainers might take them to the river to swim laps. There was plenty of other stuff to talk about though. They carried her father and other notables to the far corners of the county, and to Eve, who barely left the manor, the infernum mines and slave farms were practically another country.

They talked for hours that night, and Eve went back again and again. They mostly talked, occasionally kissed, and sometimes a thigh would brush against a more sensitive part. She still wore her chastity belt then, so nothing much could happen, but she was working up the courage to ask her father to give the girl to her. Then, one night she snuck in to see her pony girl being raped by one of the stable hands. Eve fled, and never went back. She sometimes saw the girl running in the yard, or at the front of a carriage, but they never spoke. Never really even made eye contact.

She didn't recognize the ponies at the front of the carriage. She had almost certainly seen them before, there were only about a dozen pony girls in her father's stables, but she couldn't keep track of every cunt her father owned.

They had almost made it to the carriage when a voice she recognized called out, "Marshall!" He was wearing his uniform, a sword at his side and a shield across his back. Christophe, his wavy, black hair blowing in the wind as he grinned. His cock was out, and the naked slave kneeling beside him still had some of his semen on her face. Eve recognized the look on her face -- the look of someone who had been yanked by their hair mid-blowjob, and wasn't sure if they had screwed up and were about to be punished, or if their master was simply done with them.

He pulled his pants up, and made his way over to them. Eve felt sick to her stomach just looking at him. All she could remember was the look on his face as he raped her. The way he had lorded his unearned victory over her. Worse, he was looking directly at her. He couldn't know it was her, of course, but he had to be familiar with her height after their spar.

"Marshall," he greeted Vassimir with a slight bow. "And who is this?" he asked, staring at the armor the same way he had stared at Eve's naked body.

She expected Vassimir to turn him away like he had the others, but instead Vassimir clapped him on the shoulder. "

This

, is the Count's champion."

Christophe's eyes went wide. He said, "We all knew he had to be hiding someone but..." He held his hand out to her. "It's an honor sir. I'm Christophe of House Fletcher."

Eve stared. Surely Vassimir didn't expect her to shake hands with the man who had led her gang rape just a day ago. Slowly, realizing the knight wasn't moving, Christophe lowered his hand. She almost laughed when she saw his smile vanish. When he looked up at her, there was anger in his eyes, and she wondered if he was about to challenge her.

But Vassimir had to ruin it. "He does not mean to offend you, Christophe. I'm afraid our friend here has been sworn to secrecy. Only the count and myself know what face is behind that mask. And of course, I am not at liberty to say."

"Right, I understand," Christophe said, looking slightly less offended. But only slightly. A vow of secrecy didn't explain why the knight wouldn't even shake his hand. Eve could only hope he dwelled on it.

Christophe said, "Well, if there's anything I can do to assist, do not hesitate to -- "

"Actually," Vassimir interrupted, "there is. Thank you for volunteering. Our friend here could stand to have a warm-up bout before the match. Fetch him a training rod and take up your stance."

It was a struggle for Eve to not visibly show her glee at the look in Christophe's eyes. "S-surely," he began, forcing a smile, "a mere man-at-arms would not be enough to make a knight even break a sweat."