The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

CHAPTER 12: BARGAINING CHIP

Namora jerks awake, eyes flying open. She is confused for a moment, expecting to see the inside of her carriage where she remembered falling asleep. When the heaviness of her body reminds her mind of the events of last night, she exhales sadly. Her throat aches from screaming. She doesn’t recall much of the ride or even how she got into the room she is in. Her eyes focus; she is sitting on a bench in what appears to be an office in the castle. Looking to her left she sees Franklin is chained to a metal loop protruding from the floor. His one good eye is trained on her.

“Princess?” he questions. He must have said it several times because he seems shocked when she finally responds.

“I am sorry for the trouble I’ve gotten you into, Franklin. I couldn’t leave you behind. It seems silly now, the attachment I made to you… but while this is not how I expected my morning to end up, I dare say it might be better than spending time in Alumenia.” She didn’t mean to say her true feelings out loud but her haziness clouds her better judgment. She can see Franklin smile.

Looking around the room she tries to take it all in; it is cold and sparsely decorated. There are no windows. The stone walls are stained with soot from the torches that provide the room with light. To her right, there is a small, elaborate wooden desk at one end with a lovely plush carpet in front of it. Namora sits on a soft bench between the desk and Franklin. Behind him is a tall fireplace that takes up most of the back wall, the fire raging as if someone just tended to it.

She looks back to her right; the desk is a mess, strewn with various papers and books. None of them look important enough to warrant her attention but something shiny does catches her eye. She sits up a little straighter, her back is stiff and her leg aches. She can see a small decorative knife half tucked under some papers.

Painfully she gets up. She bites down hard enough on her lip so that she doesn’t yelp but she draws blood. Pushing through her aching leg, she slowly hobbles her way to the desk. On their way to the castle, Eric must have rechained her wrists in front so that she could ride with him. She leans against the desk, the edge pressing against her right thigh so she can reach over towards the middle. She manages to grab the knife without disturbing many of the papers and carefully slides the knife up her left sleeve.

“Mora,” Franklin whispers urgently. Her head snaps over to him; it is the first time she has heard him call her that in a while. The word sounds odd to her ears but she likes the way it sounds with his voice. He has a look of desperation, like he tried to get her attention before and she didn’t hear him, “I hear footsteps.”

Namora quickly makes her way back to the bench, still biting her lip. She manages to fall into a sitting position just as the door opens. Exhaling slowly, she sits up straight and replaces the pain in her face with the calm, collected composure that she has learned to hide behind. Eric enters, followed by John and Dell. Behind them, an older, elegantly dressed woman floats into the room. Her pale blonde hair, coupled with white skin and a light green dress make her seem washed out, like a ghost. Her dark blue eyes contrast greatly with the rest of her. Eric stands tall and his eyes fall on Namora though he announces to everyone, “This is Queen Sheynne of Sceadu.”

Namora leans forward as much as she can, trying to mimic a bow. When there is no acknowledgement made to her, she keeps her head down while she quietly speaks, “I do not mean to be rude, Queen Sheynne, but I fear if I rise I will end up on the floor.”

“Very well,” the Queen speaks firmly, “What is your name child?”

She leans back, raising her eyes to the Queen, “I am Princess Namora of Derven.”

Her chin is high; she doesn’t have to pretend to be regal like Namora does, it comes naturally to her. She wagers the Queen is a very manipulative person. “Soon to be Queen Namora of Alumenia, I understand?” The Queen’s voice is cold.Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

“You are correct, Queen Sheynne.”

The Queen looks her over with dark beady eyes. Namora can feel her palms start to sweat under the Queen’s gaze but she doesn’t move or even blink. She imagines that this is what a brush tiger must feel like when it runs across a hunter.

“Your alliance with Alumenia poses a threat to Sceadu, you must realize.”

She lets the silence hang in the air before she responds, “An unfortunate result that I am aware of. However, I must do what is best for my people. A decline of King Irron’s offer would be…” she pauses, trying to find the right word, “catastrophic. I am afraid I had no choice.” Her voice slightly cracks when she sees Franklin slouch a little, the weight of the words hitting everyone in the room. Even though it is unspoken and something that should have been secret, Namora knows the Queen realizes she was forced into the marriage.

“Unfortunate, indeed,” she pauses, “I am sorry, Princess Namora, but our law dictates that any man caught trespassing shall be sentenced to death. Any woman caught trespassing will become an indentured servant until their debt is repaid.” The Queen nods to John; he walks over to Franklin, pulling a knife from his belt.

“Surely you can make an exception, given the circumstances, your Highness,” Namora lets the panic creep into her otherwise calm voice. She knows just as well as the Queen, how to manipulate this situation.

Queen Sheynne looks at her, trying to discern if Namora’s concern is for herself or her escort, “I am sorry, Princess but I must also do what is best for my people. The law is the law.” John places the tip of the dagger at the back of Franklin’s neck, glancing briefly to Namora, almost apologetically before he braces his body to shove the knife in. Franklin stares at the floor without objection. Her heart aches for her friend; she now knows that she wouldn’t subject him to marrying her. She couldn’t do what King Irron did and force someone into something as permanent as that. Even though, she wants him to live a long and happy life with a woman he loves.

She pulls the knife from her sleeve. When Dell and Eric see her they instinctively block her path to the Queen. Namora is a good shot at throwing knives but she only has one. With three opponents and an injured leg she wouldn’t stand a chance. Her mind quickly weighs her options; left with no choice, she raises the knife to her own throat.

John sees her and removes his knife from the back of Franklin’s neck, looking to the Queen for direction. Franklin raises his gaze to Namora, pleading with one good eye for her to put the knife down. She looks at him, silently wishing him a long life and hoping that he will be able to find what she cannot. A soft smile touches her lips; though she won’t ever get to find love, she won’t get to know King Irron intimately. It is a trade she is willing to make.

Namora holds the knife steady despite her aching body. She waits until the Queen steps out from behind the two men. Her voice is calm and level now that she has chosen her path and means to see it through to the end. “I was hoping that it wouldn’t come down to this your Majesty but by now I would wager that my third escort has reached my father’s castle in Derven,” she can see surprise on Eric and Dell’s face. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who didn’t think of the possibility of a third man; she can also see the Queen’s skin flush ever so lightly. That is the problem with being so pale, there isn’t much to hide behind.

“I sent a message with him, warning the King that if he did not hear from me by nightfall, I am in danger and in need of assistance.”

The Queen’s cheeks grow darker as she blushes with anger at the gall of a prisoner threatening her. She pauses, before speaking carefully, “Very well then. I shall send word to King Nathanial on your behalf. I will request a meeting in one week to discuss the terms of your release,” she clasps her hands together, behind her back. The look on her faces tells Namora she takes pleasure in the words that will come from her mouth, “Until then, however, you shall remain in the custody of a Master, disguised as an indentured servant to ensure your safety.”

“And my escort, Captain Franklin?”

Her head tilts to the side, “The law is the law, Princess. I think you will find that I have been more than accommodating, given the circumstances.”

“On the contrary, I do not think that you have been accommodating enough. I will agree to remain in your land for a week as a servant,” Namora says, somewhat distastefully, “but only if Captain Franklin is released alive, along with my carriage and the body of my other escort, to return to Derven with word for my father,” she lets herself reflect the perverse pleasure that the Queen spoke with, “Those are my conditions and should you deny them I will deny you the only bargaining chip you have-my life.”

The Queen narrows her eyes at Namora; the redness in her face makes it clear that she does not appreciate the threat. The tension between the two women makes the air so thick it is palatable. Eric shifts nervously. His green eyes look Namora up and down; she doesn’t need to see the pleading look in them when he speaks quietly to her because his voice betrays his affections, “Come now, you aren’t going to take your life, so why don’t you put the knife down.”