"Berth… why would you sign away Father's farm to these strangers?"
Micah's voice trembled with a fury she could scarcely contain. Anger burned in her eyes, yet beneath it lay a deeper wound—bitter disappointment at her sister's careless trust.
Berth's features twisted as the weight of her deed finally dawned upon her.
A dreadful stillness seized her heart. How had she been so witless as to mark a parchment she had never read?
"M–Micah… it is not my doing."
Her protest came out weak and defensive.
Shame pricked at her pride, for she felt her sister's rebuke before the royal men to be a humiliation she could not bear.
With a hasty motion, Berth shoved Micah aside.
"You know well that I cannot read or write," she cried, striving to justify herself.
"How was I supposed to know what was written in it?"
"You ought to have remembered that before you set your hand to it," Micah replied sharply, dragging her fingers through the thick waves of her dark hair.
"They are princes," Berth insisted bitterly.
"You disgrace me by raising your voice before them."
Micah shook her head in disbelief.
"They are no princes, Berth. They are merely royal guards; you would know as much if you ever troubled yourself to visit the farm."
Her words rang out like a tolling bell. In one swift motion, she tore the document to shreds.
Then she turned, her gaze steady and unyielding as she faced the men.
"I do not consent to this bargain," she declared. "My father's land shall not be sold for your petty coins."
The men had already begun their ruinous work. Trees lay splintered upon the earth, fences were shattered, and the soil churned beneath heavy boots.
A storm of anger rose within her. She wheeled about once more.
"And who shall answer for this destruction?" she demanded, striving for composure though her voice quivered with rising despair.
"Girl," the captain of the guards said, advancing forward, "do you know whom you speak to?"
He thought she was simply impudent.
"This agreement stands," he pronounced coldly. "The farm will be brought down."
At his command, the men redoubled their efforts. Axes rose and fell with merciless rhythm, biting deep into the trunks of the apple trees.
"No… stop! Stop them!"
Micah's cry tore through the air as she watched the orchard, her father's labor, her childhood's solace, fall beneath their blades.
Tears stung her eyes.
Her dignity wavered like a torn banner in the wind. In desperation, she sank to her knees and clasped her trembling hands.
Berth turned away, her eyes shutting closed; the feeling of guilt was too heavy to bear alone.
"Please… tell them to stop.*
Micah begged; her plea reached their ears.
Pride mattered little now. Only the farm mattered, their sole means of survival, the last remnant of their father's toil.
"I will seek an audience with the king himself," she vowed through streaming tears. "I beg of you to stop; this is all we have, do not take it from us."
The captain lifted a hand, and the axes fell silent.
"Indeed?" he scoffed. "You will speak with the king?"
A jeering laugh escaped his lips as he placed both hands on his waist.
"How shall a common maid such as you gain entry to the royal palace, let alone stand before His Majesty?"
Micah didn't answer that question; to think of it, that was a foolish thing to have said, but now she couldn't take it back.
"Very well," he said at last. "You are granted three days. Present yourself before the king and persuade him to halt the building of the new road… or else you and your sister shall find yourselves cast into the dungeon."
With that threat, he shoved past her. Still kneeling, Micah lost her balance and fell forward, her face striking the dust. Pain flared across her lips as the taste of blood filled her mouth.
Then, as swiftly as they had come, the guards departed, and all the while Berth watched, remorse evident on her face.
Slowly, Micah lifted her gaze. Before her lay the farm, broken, scarred, and half-destroyed.
A crushing ache gripped her chest, and her sobs rose unchecked into the open air.
The new king, she thought bitterly, was said to be far more ruthless than his father.
Yet whoever he might be, she must find a way to reach him.
The fate of her home hung upon it, and she had just three days.
.......
The royal castle:
His feet tapped patiently on the ground as he felt his loins flare up with an unquenchable desire.
His jeweled fingers plucked the silver cup of wine resting on the mahogany table, and he thrashed it against the wall in a fit of rage.
"I am waiting for you!
He spat in agony. Someone did this to him, disrespecting his virtues and making him long for a release.
Someone has the audacity to drug his wine. Well-crafted, but not smart. Because whoever did this had an ulterior motive, and wow to that person, be it a woman.
Ragaleon waited for what felt like hours; the night was far gone, and it was now the hour of the owls. The last candlelight in his chamber barely lit up the place.
Taking his hand through his thick dark hair, glistening under the touch of the candlelight, Ragaleon settled himself at the edge of his bed.
He was wearing a long white garment, and his head was bowed down as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eye slowly closing as he tried to suppress the ache in his groin.
The atmosphere was now thick with the suffocating smell from the wine that had been wasted on the floor, and that didn't help matters.
He raked his hands through his hair, beads of sweat rolling down his face. The upper part of the white night garment he was wearing was completely soaked with sweat.
For what seemed like hours, he was forced to remain in that position until a certain sound reached his ears.
The sound of the door creaking open.
His ears were fast to pick up the sound, and that was because he had been awaiting the arrival of someone.
Too quickly the scent of rose oil wafted through his nose, almost clouding his senses; he didn't look up to see who it was.
"My Lord?"
A voice called out in a muffled tone.
A pair of grey eyes roamed around the room until they landed on a man seated on the edge of his bed with his head down.
Tamina was quite surprised that he was so composed and put together; he should be all over the place by now, raving for a body to pounce on.
Her red hair dropped to her face as she lowered her head while making her way to him.
"My Lord, you are still awake. I want to break words with you, if the moment is right."
Tamina's grey eyes were solely fixed on him; his head was dipped down, his dark hair covering his face.
"What words do you have to break with me, Tamina, in the middle of the night?"
He finally said something, and Tamina remained mute until she reached where he was.
The scent of the rose oil was now stronger than ever; her skin glistened like polished clay, her rosy lips glimmering under the soft hue of the candlelight.
In the spur of the moment, Ragaleon shot up to his feet, his hands shooting out as he seized Tamina by the jaws.
"Clever cat."
His eyes burned with anger, but they also burned with something even more.
Tamina feigned, her lips parting to speak, but no words could be made out, not when Ragaleon had his huge hand wrapped around her neck like a tight rope.
"Where did you get such a potent herb from, hmm?"
He questioned shoving her backwards as he talked; her steps were frantic, her hands clawing at his grip.
"My…my Lord…"
She coughed out, losing breath, her face red, her eyes almost rolling to the back of her head; she might lose consciousness and maybe her life too if his hand remained on her for even a moment longer.
But he was merciful; he loosened his grip on her to prompt her to be able to speak. He needed answers and was losing his mind.
"You come here feigning innocence when you had it all planned."
He pushed her backwards until her back finally hit the wall; tears had begun to form in her eyes.
"I do not know what you speak of."
She denied.
"Keep quiet!
He roared, and her eyes closed; the tears she had been holding rolled down her cheeks.
She was afraid; she was scared out of her wits.
He wasn't called the scorpion without reason. Tamina was now regretting her actions; she wished she could turn back the hands of time to that very moment her mother placed in her hand the herb she had used to spike his drink.
Like a drenched cat, she was quivering uncontrollably. Unable to say another word, because she knew denial was pointless.
She was stupid to have thought Ragaleon wouldn't have known it was her and more stupid for making it obvious by showing up.
Ragaleon gazed upon her and felt no pity; in a single spin, he made her face the wall, then lifted her dress.
She was wearing a silk gown that accentuated her curves and had a splitting glare of her cleavage; she had certainly come to seduce him.
Tamina became agitated, overwhelmed with fear. He was going to deal with her treacherously, and the thought of it alone had already begun to eat her up.
"My Lord, I beg your…"
Tamina was weeping seriously, her body pressed against the cold wall, her chest heaving rapidly.
"You will remain silent."
Ragaleon sneered, his deep voice sending chills crawling down her spine. He pressed his mouth to her ears, his heavy breath fanning across her sensitive neck.
"Is this not what you wanted?"
He asked, lifting his white garment, exposing a pair of unshaved legs and muscular thighs.
"You wanted my attention, and now you have gotten it."
He had barely finished talking when his erect dick plunged into her tight hole, and a satisfying grunt escaped his lips.
More tears trickled down her cheeks as she positioned both her hands on the walls, laying them flat; this way she was able to take in the weight of his body pressing her from behind.
The sound of his body slapping against hers echoed in the room, accompanied by the satisfying groans escaping his lips.
He enjoyed the feeling of his dick inside of her, savored her tears and painful moans, and appreciated her fine milky skin and delicate figure.
"Next time…"
He began, increasing his pace, slamming into her with undignified pleasure, his breath quickening, his muscular thighs straining.
"You will be like a patient dog, waiting for its owner to be fed. This will teach you a lesson."
He groped her ass, and a cry tore from Tamina's throat as he yanked her head backwards before letting go.
"Get on your knees."
He whispered, pressing his mouth against her ears; he could almost taste the salty sweat in her skin.
She did as he said; without looking back, she got on her knees, using her hand to support herself. She did this with his dick still deep inside of her.
Then the real terror began; he groped her breasts, squeezing them tightly as he slammed in and out of her.
Tamina felt no pleasure in all that he did to her; all night he fucked her, changing positions and marking her delicate skin. He was like a raving beast.
He went rounds after rounds until he was satisfied, until he had broken her, until her legs could no longer move, and when he was done, he looked away from her, like it was nothing.
She staggered out of his room, feeling humiliated, her legs sore, her heart bleeding with bitterness.
By the time she arrived at her chamber, her handmaid, Celin, was already awaiting her return.
When she saw the state in which her mistress was, her face fell; she felt deeply sorry and could do nothing but help in the little way within her reach.
She prepared a bath for her mistress and had her soaked in it for over an hour.
During this time, Tamina was like a walking corpse, face blank, eyes cold, and her heart hardened with resolve.
"No one must come to know of this."
She said as she sat before the dressing mirror, undressed, staring at her body. Marks, red long marks, and scratches alike designed her skin.
Tears clouded her eyes as she looked away; she broke down, her voice high-pitched, body quivering.
"No one must ever know of this, do you hear me?!
She screamed in frustration, and Celin nodded her head vigorously, almost brought to tears by the condition of her mistress.
Tamina wouldn't look away from the mirror, from the marks on her skin, and her swollen lips, her eyes clouded with more tears, and she ran her fingers on her delicate skin but hissed by the mere contact.
Celin was devastated, seeing how emotional her mistress was, she wrapped her up in a thick towel and led her way from the mirror.
No one wants to see themselves in such a condition; no woman should be treated that way, the king is no man, he is a raving beast.