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  1. Welcome to the magical world of Usuxgyno. As magical as this world may be, it isn't all the color of roses. Geopolitical tensions are rising, nations and kingdoms are increasingly threatening with a war of unprecedented scale, and deep beneath the earth, in a dimension only described in myths and tales faded by time, an evil as ancient as the universe stirs in its deep slumber. With the entire world geared for conflict, and a single spark all that is needed for the planet-sized powder keg to ignite, who will you fight for? If evil and chaos wakes, will you attempt to seal it back under order? Or will you fan it's all-consuming flame? The choice is only yours... How this works There are 5 classes, each with 3 different subclasses. You must first select a subclass, and then create your character by specifying both physical and personality traits. Your class will not only determine your statistics, but also what weapons you may wield and what spells you may cast. Without further ado, it's time to select a class CLASSES Fighter: Fighters are your regular foot soldiers. They possess a moderately strong resistance and damage, however, they lack in mobility WARRIOR: Big, burly, and bloodthirsty, warriors have a very high resistance and damage, compensated by them being slow as an iceberg MILITIA: Militias are quicker and more nimble than most fighters, granting them a higher mobility. This is compensated by their subpar resistance BATTLEMAGE: Battlemages, as their name suggests, have a deeper knowledge of the arcane than their more brute counterparts. Their overall statistics are a bit lower, but they compensate for this by having stronger and more versatile spells Assassin: Assasins are quick, agile, and can deal insane amounts of single-target damage. However, their resistance leaves a lot to be desired DUELIST: Duelists boast high resistances but suffer from lower mobility, This makes them excellent for one-on-one combat,while hindering their ability for full-army battles NINJA: Ninjas are faster than any other class, and their damage is also very decent. However, their bottom-tier resistances make them more suited to stealth missions than live combat PREDATOR: Predators lack in mobility and resistance, but they make up for it with insane amounts of damage and a high amount of stealth, which lets them hide until the perfect moment. Ranger: Rangers are... ranged. They have a decently high damage stat, and also a medium amount of resistance, however their mobility is low. MARKSMEN: Marksmen are regular rangers, with high amounts of damage, and a low mobility stat HUNTER: Hunters have a higher mobility and stealth than their ranger counterparts, allowing them to perform surprise attacks from afar GUNSLINGER: Gunslingers harness the power of gunpowder, granting them higher damage and range. However this also lowers their mobility and makes it difficult for them to melee. Mage: Mages are blessed with higher knowledge of the arcane and the Golden Elemental Wheel PHYSICAL MAGE: Physical mages control the elements of the physical realm (Fire, water, earth, and air) These elements are easier to learn and control but less versatile SPIRITUAL MAGE: This subclass controls elements which belong to the spiritual realms (Darkness, light, life, and death) These elements are more powerful, although harder to control VANTAMAGE: Vantamages control the element of pure void and chaos. This grants them an extreme amount of power, however it's also very volatile and unpredictable, and may cause serious damage to the user, both physically and psychologically TANK: Tanks are big beasts, with low damage and mobility, but sky-high resistances PARAGON: Paragons deal near-zero damage, however this is compensated by their higher mobility and more powerful spells, which provide more protection to allies CONQUEROR: Conquerors sacrifice some resistance for higher mobility and damage, making them excellent in the front lines JUGGERNAUT: Juggernauts are even slower than normal tanks, however their higher damage and more versatile spells mean they can take on entire battalions at once CHARACTER CREATION (Female, sorry but male desperation just isn't my thing) Name: Class: Subclass: Height: Body Type: (Slim, chubby, muscular, etc...) Eye color Skin color Hair color Bladder capacity: (1-10, 1 being "has to go every 1-2 hours, and 10 being "can hold for over 24 hours) Bladder strength: (1-10, with 1 being "from slight urge to leaking extremely quick", and 10 being "can hold a completely full, bursting bladder for hours") Personality: Add messing to the story? (Yes/No, if yes, specify bowel capacity and strength) Any extra information you wish to add? I look forward to your character ideas, and to get this show on the road
  2. There is a list of people I’d like to thank before we get to the story. I’d like to thank @Bulge_Lover for being my editor and inspiring me to write medieval themed stories. Had it not been for him, I would have never taken to writing about medieval stuff. He has always been there for me and motivated me whenever I needed it. Thank you so much my friend! Your advice has always proved to be helpful. Thank you so much for everything. It wouldn’t have been possible without you! I’d like thank @KozmoFox for reviewing my work when it was still at a nascent stage. Thank you so much! You are an inspiration and your guidance was really helpful! I got to learn so much from you. Thank you! It wouldn’t have been possible without you! Thank you @OmoCommando for editing the first part of this story for me. You were truly kind and helpful and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me with my work. I’d like to thank @holditin for always inspiring me with his works and giving me the strength to believe that I can write whatever I love to write. Thank you so much buddy! You truly are an inspiration! And in the end, I’d like to thank @full-bladder12 for always motivating me and pushing me to keep writing omorashi! Thank you so much for supporting my work! I owe you big time! Thank you! Coming to the story, it is the sequel to my previous work, A Song of Swords, which I’m sure some of you might have read. It has a medieval setup which means it highly underlines the medieval practice of violence, though I promise you it was all necessary for the story. The story is built upon the base of the great fantasy works famous throughout the world, which will be evident once you begin the journey. These great works of literature have always inspired me and I’ve always wanted my work to be a reflection of them. I hope I’ve done justice to the great writers who have written these stories and to my readers as well. ---------------------------------- The Rains Of War CHAPTER- I THE CITY OF THE GODS The loud cry of warhorns, the screech and thud of catapults tossing stones, the crashes and splinters, the crackle of burning pitch, the fling of scorpions releasing their iron headed shafts, the ceaseless clangour of bells... and with it all, the cries of dying men. The sounds of battle pervaded the halls of the King’s Fort, where in a bunker the trestle tables were filled with the highborn ladies of the city, along with a handful of old men and young boys. The Queen had promised they all would be safe here. She sat on the high dais with her son, Prince Iwan. Her gown had a shade of green, like the colour of the sea after a storm. Her hair was tied in a bun and around her slender neck hung a rope of diamonds and emeralds. She signalled for her mug of beer to be refilled while the others quietly went at their broth. They had been here since morning, since the first report of the advancing enemy had reached the castle, praying to the mother as their husbands, sons, fathers, brothers and nephews prepared for battle. Though silence prevailed in the room, the air was heavy with fear, Queen Charlotte could sense it. If they were to lose this war, the Daltons would not spare even a single one of them. They had been raiding her father’s lands ever since she had managed to slip out of their clutches almost a year ago. Towns were brutally sacked, the buildings burned, the bodies of men, women and children butchered in the streets and left as fodder for rats and carrion crows. The long struggle had left the Torrington forces tired, beaten and broken trying to defend their lands from the enemy’s incessant onslaught. For long now, the Queen had worried about what would happen if Lord Reynard decided to march for Godswick. There was nothing to stop him from taking the city and the throne, and now all her fears were coming true. The attack she had dreaded for so long was at last at hand. The news of the approaching Dalton army had incited terror in the city streets. Thousands of smallfolk had streamed out the city gates in these past few days, carrying their children and their worldly possessions on their backs to seek safety in the country side, while others dug pits and tunnels under their hovels, dark clammy holes where they hoped to hide whilst the city burned. Riots had broken out all over the city as mobs surged through the streets, looting as they went. Hundreds died in stampedes, women were raped, and young ones had been plucked from their mothers’ breasts. The city guard lost over a hundred of their men trying to control the crowd. The Queen had ordered the city gates to be closed and barred days ago, sending watchmen to the walls and dispatching pigeons to Longford, carrying a message for her brother Walter, pleading him to come to her aid at once. As well, she had commanded pigeons to be sent to all the lords loyal to the crown, summoning them to the defence of their Queen, but most of them were afraid to stand against the Daltons and those who weren’t had already been put to sword. The city stood defenceless, like a lamb before a pack of wolves and the fate of the crown now rested in the hands of the almighty. The broth was followed by a salad of diced red-skinned apples, celery, grapes, chopped walnuts and yogurt. However scared, the guests ate whatever was served to them, though not the Queen, her plate was left untouched. After the salad came roast fowl, served along with frumenty and cabbage pottage, trailed by mutton roasted with leeks and carrots, served in trenchers of hollowed bread along with chicken covered with yolks and sprinkled with spices. The war raged outside the city walls till late at night. Thousands lost their lives, some only their arms or legs. The city was an image of blood, mud, fire and smoke. Arrows, rocks, screams and curses flew freely in the air. The guardians of the city fought bravely till the wee hours of morning but when the tide of the battle started turning in favour of the Daltons, their courage deserted them. Many threw down their weapons and ran, many yielded, but the most devastating blow to the city came when the captains commanding the twelve gates were murdered by their own men. A bit of coin had weakened the loyalty of those who were thought to be the city’s protectors. The city gates were opened to the Dalton army. For all the vaunted strength of its walls, Godswick fell in less than a day. A bloody fight waged at one of the gates where a few knights and men-at-arms still loyal to the crown tried to fight the enemies and hold against attacks both from inside the city and out, but their courage was for vain as Lord Reynard’s army poured in through the other gates unmolested. The realization that they were vastly outnumbered took the heart out of the Queen’s men. When they saw that resistance was futile, the members of the royal council surrendered the keys to the castle, bowing their heads in defeat, and ordered the knights and men-at-arms to lay down their swords. Though he had conquered the city, Lord Reynard’s triumph was far from complete. The Dalton soldiers stormed the castle and killed everyone they could find. But when they broke down the doors of the bunker they only found a flock of frightened women. The Queen had fled with her son, along with the knights Barnabus Ricaud, Mark Ambrose, and Robyn Hawksworth of the Queensguard. Not even the members of the council seemed to know where they had gone, and none had seen them pass through the city gates. CHAPTER- II WELCOME Rain lashed at Charlotte's face as she spurred her horse across the swollen stream. Beside her, Sir Mark gave the reins a tug and his mount neighed in response. A cold wind made the trees dance and sent the wet leaves flapping around them. She looked back at Iwan and hoped he could keep up. Though the Prince was now all of eleven, he still was not a good rider even in fair weather, and a whole day of rain had left the ground muddy with hidden rocks. The wind brought the water right into Charlotte’s eyes. Her wet clothes clung to her sodden and itching, her butt sore after the long ride. The sound of steady wash of rain against leaves filled her ears. It was mid-afternoon, yet the forest seemed as dark as dusk. All the beer and water she had drunk since yesterday sloshed inside her cavernous bladder, yet she rode on without a thought of it. Even now she felt no more than a slight urge for relief. The cold air made her shivery and her fingers felt stiff, she longed for a fire and a little tea to warm her. They wove a path between rocks and puddles, past great oaks, grey-green sentinels, and black-barked ironwoods. In places the branches wove a canopy overhead and she found a moment's respite from the drumming of the rain against her head. From a distance, she could see the massive walls and stout towers of Tilsworth. Green banners flew from its battlements, displaying the graceful golden deer of its lord. Lord Gilbert Furnival had been a loyal support to her father and had followed him into many wars without doubts or questions. She knew he would protect her and her son. When they got close enough a knight rode out to meet them. His armour was grey, but his cloak was the rippling green and black of Tilsworth. “Who goes there? State your purpose.” “Sir Mark Ambrose, with Her Highness Queen Charlotte and Prince Iwan,” the Queensguard answered. The knight lifted his visor. “I thought the lady looked familiar. It is a pleasure to have you both here, my Queen and my Prince,” he bowed. “May we enter the castle?” Sir Barnabus asked. The knight nodded in agreement. “In the name of Robert Furnival, Lord of Tilsworth, I bid you enter freely, and charge you to keep his peace.” “Robert?” Charlotte’s voice sounded her confusion, “I’m here to meet Lord Gilbert, his father.” “Forgive my man’s folly, my Queen,” she heard Robert call as he approached, guarded by half a dozen men-at-arms of his own. “My Lord father awaits you inside the castle.” He smiled and bowed. “My apologies he couldn’t be here to greet you, his health keeps him confined to his chambers.” Her mind found itself restless, her body a victim of fatigue. All she wanted to do now was take a long piss and go to sleep. Dulled by exhaustion, she nodded at Sir Mark. Stable boys took their horses from there and they walked inside afoot. “This way, if it please you, my Queen,” the Lord showed them the way, “You honour us greatly by being our guest, Your Highness.” But before she could respond to Lord Robert’s greetings, they came across something in the courtyard they would have never imagined … though Lord Gilbert’s charred corpse was burned beyond all recognition, hanging from the gallows; only by the jade ring he used to wear on his left thumb did Charlotte know him. The blood drained from the Queen’s cheeks, but young Prince Iwan was the first to realize what it meant. “Mother, run!” he shouted, but it was too late. Lord Robert’s men, over forty strong, fell upon the three Queensguard. An axe took Sir Robyn Hawksworth’s head before his sword could come out of its scabbard, and Sir Barnabus was stabbed through the back with a spear. Men closed from both sides. Sir Mark Ambrose reached back over his shoulder, ripped his sword from its sheath, and buried the blade in the head of the first man to come at him. Bronze was no match for steel. The blow sheared right through the guard’s helm and deep into his skull, Sir Mark kicked on his shoulder to free his sword, which came out blanketed with blood. Steel rang on steel as he danced with his sword and corpses fell to his feet, one after the other before a spear pierced through the back of his neck. Blood sprouted from his mouth as he choked with the fall and with him died the last of the Queen’s defenders. “Sir Mark Ambrose.... the greatest swordsman to ever walk....,” Robert smiled as he looked at the dead bodies lying all around him. Charlotte pulled her son to her chest,“Why?!” she yelled, tears welling from her eyes, the terror of her life stopping the words in her throat. For a moment she had thought she was safe. “Sometimes the old must go, to make place for the new. King Reynard is the new lord of the twelve kingdoms and anyone who denies his claim will die, just like my old Lord father did,” Robert stated. He signalled his guards with his head and they pulled Iwan away from her. “Mother!” he shouted. “No!” she screamed, trying to fight the men but to no gain. Her son was gone, she could not see him anymore. Where had they taken him? She did not know. CHAPTER- III DARK Her eyes had never starved for light like this ever before. There were no windows, no bed, no goblets made of gold that she was used to. Only darkness. She remembered walls of black stone, incompletely covered in a blanket of moss, a brownish door of splintered wood, four inches thick and studded with iron. She had seen them, briefly, a quick glimpse as they shoved her inside. Once the door had slammed shut, she had seen no more. The dark was absolute. She now knew how it might feel to be blind. The dungeon was under the castle, deeper than she dared imagine. Robert’s face seemed to float before her in the darkness. His shrewd, cunning eyes, his smile reflecting mockery. She wept when she thought of Iwan, though as silently as she could. The thought of him was as painful as a sword through the heart. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. She wondered whether she would ever see him again. For how long she had been here she did not know. There was no sun and no moon. Charlotte closed her eyes and opened them; it made no difference. She slept and woke and slept again. She did not know which was more horrifying, waking or sleeping. When she slept, she dreamed of death and blood, and when she woke, all she could think of was about the same. Her bladder was jutting out of her abdomen now, filled with three days worth of piss. She knew she was in a dungeon, she knew she was alone and no one would see her if she decided to relieve herself here on the floor, but her pride stopped her. She was a lady, and a proper lady always and only relieved herself in a privy or a chamber pot and nowhere else. She was half-asleep when the footsteps came down the hall. Water, she thought. When the heavy wooden door creaked open, the sudden light was painful to her eyes, though she had grown used to it in this short while. The gaoler thrust a jug at her. The clay was cool and beaded with moisture. She grasped it with both hands and drank eagerly till it was empty. They brought her water every three to four hours but every time she drank it like she’d been thirsty for days. Something made her throat dry, maybe it was the fear. “How long..?” she asked weakly. The gaoler was an ugly man with a pot belly and bald, clad in a mail shirt and a leather half cape. “No talking,” he said as he pulled the jug from her hands. “Please,” Charlotte said, “my son...,” The door crashed shut. She blinked as the light vanished, lowered her head to her chest, and curled up on the straw. She could no longer tell the difference between waking and sleeping. For as long as her spirit and strength gave her consent, she begged the man for some word of her son and the world beyond her cell. Grunts and kicks were her only replies. Later, when the stomach cramps began, she begged for food instead. Though they did not feed her, the gaoler brought her mugs of milk from time to time. One thing was clear to her by now, if Robert wanted her dead, he would have cut her down the moment he saw her. He wanted her alive. Weak, desperate, yet alive. But why? She lay there on the straw in silence as her bladder swelled further with all the water and milk and all the beer she had before leaving her castle. She ran a hand over her belly and wondered when she’d get to use a privy? Will they ever let her out of here? If not, would she just have to keep holding it? For long she listened to the sounds of beating and torture from other cells, she listened until she could listen no more to the cries and pleas, begging for the gift of death. Horror crept under her skin, so much that she lost her sleep. It had been two days since she had eaten, or maybe three. Down here in the dark it was hard to tell. But at least they brought her milk, the other prisoners did not get even that. But she could feel all the liquid bothering her bladder now. She wondered what fate had in store for her. Would she get out alive? Whenever she closed her eyes, she found herself remembering her husband. All this would have never happened had he been alive. Suddenly, she heard the sounds outside the dungeon door. It was strange. They had brought her water and milk just a while ago, so she knew this wasn’t that. They were coming to beat her, they would torture her. At once she froze, fearing even to breathe. She listened in terror, hard as stone, to the scuff of boots and the clanking of iron keys. No, she thought, no, please gods, not me, not me. She did not want to die, not this way. The sounds were growing louder. Please gods, he isn’t coming for me, she prayed, crouched down in a corner of her cell. Go away, she prayed, go away, pass me by, please, please. But the footsteps stopped just when they were loudest, and the keys clattered right outside the door. Her hands trembled in horror. “No,” she mumbled, “Noooo.” Her clothes fought with the straw as she tried to push herself into the corner, into the cold damp stone walls. The sound of the lock turning was the most terrible of all. Torchlight fell across her face as the door creaked open. She shielded her eyes with a hand. And when the man came to stand before her, she let out a shriek. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He was simply too big to be unintimidating and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of clay pots, and his feet in their leather boots were like tree trunks. She looked at him wide eyed, afraid that he was going to smash her skull open or do something even worse. Charlotte was certain she was going to die tonight but then the giant opened his mouth, “My Queen, don’t be scared,” he bowed down a bit, “I’m Gunther, the kennel master, come with me, I’ll get you out of here” he said. For a moment she did not believe him. Maybe this was a trap. But how much worse could it get? “My son” her lips trembled, tears flooding her cheeks. He held out his vast muscular arms to help her up. “Don’t worry, he has escaped,” the giant whispered. “Now come with me before someone sees us.” The gaoler was dead drunk in a puddle of wine, with his breeches down around his ankles. They quickly climbed the steep dungeon steps, the flame of the torch in Gunther’s hand flickering like a dancer’s hips. “The Hunter’s Gate has no guards,” he spoke but Queen Charlotte didn’t reply; only looked at him. She walked rigidly, with her thighs slightly pressed together and a hand on her stomach, a sign that she would like to let out her three days worth of urine, but she didn’t let it show and kept her composure strong. It was a chill dank autumn night. Clouds hid the roof of stars above and wind made the trees dance. It smelled like rain. Charlotte did not know whether that was good or bad for their escape. No one saw them, and they saw no one, only a black cat creeping along atop the wall. The fires were out, and the castle fast asleep. The postern gate was unguarded, just as he had said. Outside the walls of Tilsworth, a wolf howled long and loud. Gunther lifted the bar, set it aside, and pulled open the heavy oak door, they slipped from the castle and splashed across the stream, stumbling over stones. Wisps of pale mist threaded between the trees. Sentinels and soldier pines grew thick about here, and there was nothing as dark and gloomy as an evergreen forest. CHAPTER- IV A FRIEND INDEED The rays of the morning sun pierced through the roof of leaves over their heads, showing them the way ahead. Her mount walked forward in the dense forest, beside Gunther’s large garron. They crossed a shallow stream and went deeper into the woods. Many a times during the cold night that went by, Queen Charlotte had found the moments to close her eyes and sleep, even if it was for short whiles. But the man had been awake since their escape. Only once had he stopped to rest and eat apples that he had carried in a sack. Charlotte had been fending off her increasing bladder pangs for hours now, trying not to think much of it. Taking a deep breath, she again reminded herself that she had to wait until she got to a privy or a chamber pot, no matter how badly she wanted to go. She knew her bladder was much too large but everyone had their limits. More and more she found herself thinking of emptying her swollen vessel but every time she erased the thought from her mind. She looked around to take her mind off her need and felt as if she knew the place. “The Enchanted Forest,” she sighed. Of all the tales her Lord father had told her of the place, one she had cherished more than the rest. It told of a monstrous beast that lived in this forest over ten thousand years ago, a lion with the head of a goat arising from its back, and a tail that ended with a snake’s head. Every night the fiend would appear from the forest to hunt people from the nearby village. It killed anyone it could find men, women or children and dragged them back to its den to devour. To appease the creature, the people of the village fed it two sheep every day. But when they ran out of sheep they started feeding it their children who they would choose through draw. There came a time when the lot fell on the lord’s daughter.The lord, in his grief, told the people they could have all his gold and silver and half of his lands if his daughter were spared but the people refused. The poor girl was sent out to the forest to be fed to the monster. But just when it appeared from the woods, snarling at the trembling girl, Sir Richard Cantillon, who happened to be riding through, thrust his sword into the beast’s back. A gory battle took place between the knight and the monster which ended when Sir Richard buried his sword into the animal’s stomach. It died, but not before bathing the warrior in a burst of flames that cooked him in his armour. When she was a child, all Charlotte wanted was to become like Sir Richard Cantillon, strong, valiant and kind. But the older she grew, the more she realized that what she wanted did not matter. What mattered was her father’s name and the honour of their house, what mattered was her husband’s crown and the name it held and what mattered was her son’s life and the throne he was going to sit on. She now knew that her life had never been her own. It had been for others, the ones she loved. They went on for another hour before in the middle of the dense forest they came upon a small hut with a chimney that had smoke coming out of it. Gunther lifted her from the saddle and gently landed her on the ground before knocking on the thick wooden door, “Martha?” The door opened and stepped out a beautiful middle aged woman, who looked gentle by her appearance. “Your Highness, this is Martha, my wife,” Gunther said. “Oh, my Queen!” Martha bowed when she realized who stood before her, “It is such a great pleasure to have you here!” she couldn’t control her joy and kissed Charlotte’s hands, “Please do come in” she welcomed Her Highness, and the Queen smiled meekly, trying to conceal her bladder fatigue. “The potatoes are on boiling and the kettle's singing, Gunther, you'll get us some fish," Martha echoed. “Of course, my dear,” the giant picked up the net that hung outside and left for the brook nearby. Meanwhile Martha filled the kettle, lay the table, cut the bread and put the plates in the oven to heat and drew a huge jug of beer for Gunther from a barrel which stood in one corner of the house. Just as the frying-pan was nicely hissing, Gunther came in with the fish which he had already opened with his knife and cleaned out in the open air. The new-caught fish smelled rich while they were fried it, making him feel hungrier. Martha drained the potatoes and then put them all back in the empty pot to dry on the side of the range before dishing up the trout as everyone prepared to eat. There was a jug of creamy milk for the Queen and a great big lump of deep yellow butter in the middle of the table to go with their potatoes. Though the Queen only had some bread along with the milk, she felt hungry no more. “I would like to thank you both, I owe you my life,” Charlotte spoke, “I promise you’ll be rewarded handsomely for this,” she finished as she looked at them. “Oh, that won’t be needed, my Queen,” Martha smiled, “It is our duty to serve Her Highness.” She forced a smile but her concern soon boiled over. “I’m worried for Iwan, I don’t know where he might be now,” she held her face. “Norman, one of the stable boys, I asked him to take the Prince to your brother who is not too far away from the capital now, moving forward with this mighty host,” Gunther assured her, “We could have escaped together but this way it will be difficult for them to catch us.” “Does my brother know?” Charlotte asked, her fist clenching tightly over the table. “No, he doesn’t,” Gunther replied, “Robert planned to sell you to a flesh merchant from across the Troubled Sea. Men would kill to have the Queen warm their bed. It won’t be long before the word gets out though,” he stood up, “Robert will have his men looking for you, that is why I brought you here.” Martha filled one of Gunther’s huge beer jugs and placed it before the Queen. “Thank you,” Charlotte said with a wry smile, avoiding mentioning her swelling bladder. Despite a wait this long, the Queen was not desperate. The beer was going to make its presence felt soon enough but she knew she could hold it. “Lord Walter plans to march on Godswick when the time is right. Reynard Dalton sits warily on the throne. His forces have dwindled but many have joined his cause, mainly out of fear,” the giant said. “I must be with my brother... I must go to Walter...,” Charlotte found herself drowning in her pool of thoughts. “It won’t be safe for you to move out right now,” Gunther added, “I say, you stay here, my Queen.” “I know, but I need to know where Iwan is,” she said, “I’m worried for him.” “I know, my Queen,” Gunther spoke softly, “....but I assure you he is safe, might have as well reached your brother’s camp.” That calmed her down a bit but she still couldn’t stop thinking about him. “I’m afraid I must leave your here with my wife, Your Highness,” Gunther said, “I must go back to Tilsworth or they’ll come looking for me.” With a nod she gave him her leave and Gunther looked at his wife before stepping out of the door. Just as he left, Martha came to her, with her legs crossed and her body bent a little, “My Queen, if I may have your permission, can I go out to relieve myself? I haven’t been all day.......,” “Well, of course you may,” Charlotte answered. In that moment, she wished she was a commoner as well. Then she could have peed anywhere she wanted and no one would have cared. But she was the Queen; it would botch the name of her family if she was to do something like that. She shook her head and let that thought go. Hold it, she told herself as she clenched her fists over the table. As Martha rushed out, Charlotte walked to the window and looked intently at the woman. She saw Martha lift up her dress, which revealed her bulging bladder, it was gigantic! It was nothing close to her own swollen bladder but it was huge none the less. Charlotte turned around when she saw Martha begin to squat and went near the fire place but in her mind she imagined the relief that might be flowing through the woman’s body. She wanted that relief too but she knew she’d have to wait for it. As the night fell, Charlotte began to feel cold. Thus Martha heated up the mare’s milk she had full in a huge cauldron and filled a mug for Charlotte. The Queen felt much better as she began to sip the hot drink. It was something she had never tasted before, sweet and foamy and creamy, and it warmed her right down to her toes. She stayed up all night, sitting by the fireplace with a blanket around her, drinking the mare’s milk. By the morning the cauldron was empty but the Queen felt tired and her headache had worsened. Her shoulders pained and her fingers felt stiff. After she came back from picking cherries off the bushes, Martha brewed the Queen a kettle of hot nettle tea, which gave the Charlotte a slight respite from the headache. The warmth spread through her body and made her feel better. She cradled the tea in her hands and blew on it to cool it. Fate seems to be upset with me, Charlotte thought as she sipped the astringent tea, before I go to my son, I only wish to see my father once. But she knew she could not. She had written to him before the day Godswick fell. I love you father, I pray for you to the Lord each night, may he grant us strength in these difficult times. Over the day she drank over a dozen kettles of nettle tea and though it made her feel warm and nice, it didn’t help abate her headache. It made her want to pee more but she corked it up like an iron horse. When the night had shrouded the forest in its dark and Martha and Charlotte had fallen asleep, a sudden banging at the door woke them up. Martha opened the door to find Gunther, with a look of fear on his face, “Hurry, we must leave right now, Lord Robert’s men are on their way here! There’s not a moment to lose...,” Martha turned swiftly and handed over a blanket to Queen Charlotte, before picking up sacks and laying them on the table, "Gunther, just reach down that ham and get two or three loaves out of the crock over there in the corner." "What are you doing?" exclaimed Gunther. "Packing a load for each of us, dearie," said Martha chaotically. "You didn't think we'd set out on a journey with nothing to eat, did you?" "But we do not have any time to waste!" said Charlotte, wrapping the blanket around herself. "They may be here any minute." "That's what I say," added Gunther. Martha packed whatever little she could and they all rushed out. Queen Charlotte walked, her bladder straining with the movement and Gunther helped her on her horse, before they set out into the cold night. CHAPTER- V THE ONE OF HER OWN Martha had gone ahead to scout, and it was she who brought back word of the army at a distance. "By their fires I think they might be twenty thousand strong," she said. "Their banners are green, with a dancing horse." "It is my brother," Charlotte said, her mammoth bladder aching after the long night’s ride. She put her heels to her horse and trotted off, giving Gunther and his wife no choice but to follow or be left behind. Distant watchers peered down from watchposts made of wood as the three rode towards them. A dozen crossbowmen manned the uneven hilltops. Charlotte halted Martha and Gunther out of range and rode up. "Who commands here?" she shouted. The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he recognized the Queen. She could see the camp spread out to a vast distance. Mailed men sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiar banners fluttered from staffs thrust into the muddy ground. The air was filled with the smoky haze of a thousand cook fires. Thousands of pavilions rose from the grass like silken mushrooms. A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to greet them as they ventured further in. The knight who led them wore silver armour inlaid with ametrine and striped purple and golden cloak and his shield bore a lamp for the sigil. Charlotte reined up to greet him. “Sir Adam.” Sir Adam Popplewell lifted his visor. "Your Highness," he said in astonishment. "We all feared for your safety, it is a blessing to see you unharmed!" He looked at the giant and the beautiful woman besides him uncertainly. "These . . . friends of yours . . .” "My travel companions," Charlotte said. "Where will I find my brother?" "He is in his pavilion." "I will see him at once." "As you say, my Queen." Lord Walter’s camp spread over leagues. Martha’s estimate of twenty thousand men could not be far wrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Near all the chivalry of the east had come to Walter’s call, it seemed. Charlotte could see the silver eagle of the Calverts, Lord Longwood's pine tree, the bells of Swinton, the beaver of Stillman. Everyone bowed as she rode past, containing all the water beer and milk she had consumed as it streamed into her bladder. And even though she was holding this much, her demeanour was calm as ever and only her bulbous abdomen could tell otherwise. Martha was gaping back; beyond a certainty, she had never seen so many men, horses, and weapons in all her days. A pair of house guards in greenish cloaks and helms stood outside the great pavilion, on either side of the door. Charlotte recognized their captain. "My brother?" "Inside, my Queen." "Those two who came with me will want clothes to wear, beds to rest and meat and mead to fill their stomachs," Charlotte told him. "See that they are well taken care of." She entered the pavilion, and there was Walter. She found her brother surrounded by their father’s lords bannermen. Walter Torrington, The acting Lord of Longford, was in his early thirties. He was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders and a flat stomach. With rich black hair, a handsome face and brown eyes. He stood leaning onto the table, a pile of maps and papers in front of him, talking intently with Earl Calvert and Victor Atwell. At first he did not notice her... but the other lords did. The lords fell silent one by one, and Walter looked up at the sudden quiet and saw her. “Charlotte?” he said, his voice thick with sentiment. Charlotte wanted to run to him, to hug him so she could feel safe again, but here in front of his lords, she dared not. So she held herself at the far end of the table. Lord Hadrian was the first to travel across the tent to pay his respects, kneeling before her and pressing his brow to her hand. “My Queen,” he said, “you are fair as ever, a welcome sight in troubled times.” Lord Earl followed, his son Baron, and the rest, one by one. Sir Duncan was the last. “I had not looked to see you here, my Queen,” he said as he knelt. “I had not thought to be here,” Charlotte said, “....until I escaped from Tilsworth, and someone told me that Walter had his host moving towards the capital.” “My Queen, we had men looking for you everywhere but none of them could find you...,” Lord Victor said. The lords were anxious to talk to her, but Charlotte raised a hand. “No doubt we will have time for all this later, but my journey has fatigued me. I would speak with my brother alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.” She gave them no choice; led by the ever-obliging Lord Calvert, the bannermen bowed and took their leave. “Have you had any word of Iwan?” she asked the moment she was sure they were alone. “There was a letter,” Walter said. He went to the table, rummaged among some maps and papers, and returned with a crumpled parchment. Something in Walter’s tone troubled her. She smoothed out the paper and read. Concern gave way to disbelief, then to anger, and lastly to fear. Her son was Lord Reynard’s prisoner now. She held the table for support as something broke inside her and tears came to her eyes. “He wants me to surrender you to him as well and ask my men to ride back home,” he added. “And if we march... even if we win... he’ll kill Iwan.” Her hopes were crushed, the light within her suddenly dimming. She did not know what to say. She did not know what to think. All she knew was she couldn’t lose. Not after coming this far. “If you turn your tail and retreat to Longford, your lords will lose all respect for you. Some may even go over to the Daltons. Then Reynard, with that much less to fear, can do as he likes with Iwan,” Charlotte looked at him with pleading eyes. “Our best hope, our only true hope, is that you can defeat the foe in the field. If you should chance to take Lord Reynard or any of his sons captive, then a trade might very well be possible, but that is not the heart of it. So long as you have power enough that he must fear you, Iwan should be safe. Reynard is wise enough to know that he may need him to make peace, should the fighting go against him.” “What if the fighting doesn’t go against him?” Walter asked. “What if it goes against us? He has twice the numbers I have.” “They say the Daltons have hearts of stone.” Charlotte looked down for a moment and then towards him, “If you lose, there is no hope for any of us.” Walter saw the fear and desperation in her eyes. “Then I will not lose,” he vowed. CHAPTER- VI THE STONE TABLE The morning that followed was a strange one. Charlotte woke up in her pavilion that was larger than the common rooms of an inn and furnished with every comfort: feather mattress and sleeping furs, a wood-and-copper tub large enough for two, braziers to keep off the night's chill, slung leather camp chairs, a writing table with quills and inkpot, bowls of peaches, plums, and pears, a flagon of wine with a set of matched silver cups, cedar chests packed full of clothing, books, maps, game boards, a high harp, a tall bow and a quiver of arrows, a pair of red-tailed hunting hawks and more. She tried to sit up on her bed but felt an immense increase in pressure as she did so. Her bladder was now rock hard. The barrel of beer she had emptied last night while discussing the battle plan with her brother and his bannermen was now brewing inside her bladder, stretching it out immensely. She still was not at her limits, but she was very, very full and her bladder felt very heavy in her abdomen. She quickly dressed herself up but before she left for her brother’s pavilion, Charlotte reminded herself that she had to act normally no matter how much her bladder ached. She was determined to keep her legs uncrossed all the times. She knew she was in full command of her bladder and she could wait to empty it. So, nursing her bursting bladder, she walked as normally as she could to her brother’s camp. She found him sitting on his chair, looking carefully at the map that lay before him. “Your Highness,” he rose up to greet her. “Is there any word of Iwan?” Charlotte asked as she walked towards her seat, containing in her iron bladder litres and litres of urine. “Well, no. But the scouts report King Reynard has moved his army further up,” Walter studied the pieces on the map, “He wants to end this as far away from the capital as he can.” Just then a knight entered the pavilion, "Sorry to interrupt you My Lord, but there is a messenger from Reynard Dalton." Charlotte looked at her brother and he looked back at her. "Let him approach," said Walter. The knight went away and soon returned leading the King’s messenger. “What is your message?” asked Walter. "The King of Solambria desires a safe conduct to come and speak with you," he said, "on a matter which is of as much concern to you as to him." "King of Solambria, indeed!" said Charlotte. "That bastard -" “Charlotte, no,” said Walter, “.... we might have a chance to get Iwan back” he added, “Tell your King, that I grant him safe conduct.” The messenger bowed and left. The hours that went by left Charlotte’s mind laden with the thoughts of her son and for once she did not think of her bladder that was now swollen outrageously to contain the copious amount of liquid she had consumed. Even when she felt the need she acted as if her bladder was empty. Only the significant bulge of her abdomen told otherwise. The wait was getting on her nerves, but she did not worry. She knew her bladder would swell further if needs be but would never crack or give way to any amount of pressure. A herald’s voice suddenly boomed across the empty skies, “Here comes King Reynard of the House Dalton, the fifth of his name, Emperor of the twelve kingdoms and the father of the realm.” The Queen felt a shudder running down her back at the sight of his face. Murmurs rose from the men around. The only two people present who seemed to be quite at their ease were Walter and the King himself. They entered the tent and took their seats. "The bitch is here," said Reynard looking at Charlotte, his voice cold and straight “and I have her pup.” His words enraged Walter but he reined the storm within him. "Well," said Walter. "What do you want from us?" “What do I want? Huh!” Reynard grinned, “You speak as if you do not know. I want both their heads on spikes, yours too if you don’t mind.” “You have Iwan, why haven’t you killed him yet if that is what you want?” “Well oft times I’ve heard that a live captive is of more value than a dead one,” Reynard breathed. He looked at Charlotte and then at her brother. "Have you forgotten the Laws of the God?" asked the King, coming straight to the point, his voice stiller than before. "Let us say I have forgotten them," answered Walter gravely. "Tell us of these Laws." "Tell you?" said Reynard, his voice growing suddenly shriller. "Tell you what is written on that very Table of Stone that the Servants of the God carved with their own hands? You very well know the Laws of the God. You know that as the King of Solambria, every traitor belongs to me as my lawful prey and that for every treachery I have the right to kill." He looked at her again. "And so," continued Reynard, "....the Prince and his mother are mine. Their lives are forfeit to me. Their blood is my property." Charlotte stood on Walter’s side, looking all the time at his face. She felt a choking feeling and wondered if she ought to say something; but she didn’t know what to say. "Charlotte," said Walter, "I will talk to the King alone." She turned and left the pavilion. It was a terrible time this - waiting and wondering while Walter and King Reynard talked. They talked for long and until the night fell dark and the shimmering stars glowed in the sky. As she waited outside the tent, Charlotte gave an “aah!” and hiked one leg up as the bladder pangs grew stronger but then stood confidently without giving a trace of her desperation to the men around her, as her organ swelled past the six day mark. The gallons of water she had today were stretching her bladder walls even further. There was going to be no release of pressure until she wished it and there would be no giving into the desperate need to let out the massive lake that she had inside her, she’d just have to wait. Then suddenly King Reynard appeared out of the tent and left without saying so much as a word. Charlotte went to her brother who took a last sip from his goblet of wine. "I have settled the matter. He has renounced the claim on your lives." Charlotte felt so relieved, as if she had began to breathe again. She held her bladder as a smile ran across her face. “...and he promised to send Iwan back early on the morrow,” he continued. She couldn’t believe her ears, her joy knew no bounds. Then, she stopped, “But what did he ask for in return?” she could read the sorrow on her brother’s face. But of that she did not get an answer as Lord Walter stood up and left. Charlotte couldn’t sleep that night. She had a horrible feeling - as if something was hanging over them. She felt as if something dreadful was going to happen to her brother. Early morning the next day, as he had promised, King Reynard returned the Prince to them. Sir Adam Popplewell brought him to the Queen and she pulled him to her loving embrace, “Oh, my son....,” she cried as her fingers ruffled through his hair. “Mother!” he sobbed, the wound on his lower lip paining him. She ran her hands through his beautiful face and wept, thanking the God. “They killed Norman and they tried to kill my friend too but he got away!” the young Prince cried when he found the strength to speak. “Friend? Who?” “My friend, Tirius!” Iwan told her, trembling. “Tirius?” Charlotte believed she had never heard that name before. “Yes, mother. He is my friend,” the Prince nodded, “You would not believe but he had legs like a goat’s and two small horns over his head, he brought me apples and cherries while I hid in the forest! But then they found me!” Charlotte couldn’t believe the words of her son. Maybe the shock and fear had caught to him. She could not say. She only knew that the boy was frightened and only time would heal his wounds. She asked a squire to take the Prince to his pavilion and help him bathe, while she proceeded for the war meeting. All through the meeting she strode about around the tent as she spoke to the lord’s bannermen, still keeping her legs apart and paying no mind to her aching bladder. She needed this victory more than she needed anything else and she was going to make every effort she could for it. But during that day, many a times she heard her brother telling Lord Atwell how to place his men against the Dalton army while in battle. He told him of every move or strategy he could think of and also gave him the command of his army. "But you will be there yourself, my Lord," Lord Atwell asked. "I can give you no promise of that," Walter answered. He did not talk very much and seemed to them to be sad. Walter's mood affected everyone that evening. Lord Atwell was feeling distressed also at the idea of fighting the battle on his own; the news that Lord Walter might not be there had come as a great shock to him. Supper that evening was a quiet meal. This feeling affected Charlotte so much that she couldn't get to sleep when she went to bed. And after she had laid counting sheep and turning over and over she heard Martha give a long sigh and turn over just beside her in the darkness. "Can't you get to sleep either?" asked the Queen. “No,” said Martha. "I thought you were asleep, my Queen." "No, I couldn’t. I've a most horrible feeling - as if something were hanging over us." "Have you? Because, as a matter of fact, so have I." "Something about Walter," said Charlotte. "Either some dreadful thing is going to happen to him, or something dreadful that he's going to do." "There's been something wrong with him all afternoon," said Martha. “What was that he said about not being at the battle? You don't think he could be stealing away and leaving us tonight, do you?" "I don’t know. Where is he now?" said the Queen. "Is he here in the pavilion? I’m worried for him,” she added, "I want to see him." “My Queen, he must be asleep by now, can’t it wait till the morrow? “No, I’ve to see him right now,” Charlotte threw away her blanket, “I have a feeling that he needs me.” "All right, let's," said Martha, "....we might just as well be doing that as lying awake here." So the two women slid out of the tent and quietly made their way towards Walter’s pavilion. The moonlight was bright and everything was quite still except for the noise of the river chattering over the stones. Charlotte peeped into his tent and found he wasn’t there. "Is he here in the pavilion?" asked Martha "I don't think so." "Let’s have a look round,” Martha spoke “We might see him." And then, on the far side of the camping ground, just where the trees began, they saw her brother slowly walking away into the wood. Without a word they followed him. He led them up the steep slope out of the river valley and then slightly to the right. On and on he led them, into dark shadows and out into pale moonlight, getting their feet wet with the heavy dew. They saw that they were going up the slope of the hill on which the Stone Table stood, an ancient relic known to all the men of the realm. They heard the sounds of men talking and the two women crouched behind a thick wall of bushes. Almost a score of men stood round the Stone Table. It was a great grim slab of grey stone supported on four upright stones. It looked very old; and it was cut all over with strange lines and figures that might be the letters of an unknown language. Though the moon was shining, many of them carried torches which burned with red flames and black smoke. And right in the middle, standing by the Table, was King Reynard himself. They laughed at her brother and made japes of him. “The fool!" King Reynard said. "The fool has come. Bind him fast." Charlotte and Martha held their breaths waiting for Walter to draw his great sword and cut his enemies down. But it never happened. Four soldiers came forward to tie his hands and legs to which he made no resistance at all. Then they began to drag him towards the Stone Table. Everyone was at him now. Those who had been afraid to come near him even after he was bound began to find their courage, and for a few minutes the two women could not even see him - so thickly was he surrounded by the whole crowd of men kicking him, hitting him, spitting on him, jeering at him. At last the rabble had had enough of this. They began to drag Walter to the Stone Table. “Those bastards...,” sobbed Charlotte. When once Walter had been tied on the flat stone, a silence fell on the crowd. Four men, holding four torches, stood at the corners of the Table. Reynard Dalton pulled out his sword. The thing shone in the moonlight, white as milk. At last he drew near. He stood by Walter's head, who looked up at the sky, still quiet, neither angry nor afraid, but a little sad. Then, just before Reynard gave the blow, he stooped down and said in a quivering voice, “Fool, did you think that by all this you would save your sister and her pup? Now I will kill you instead of the Prince as our pact. But when you are dead what will prevent me from killing him and his bitch mother? And who will take them out of my hand then? I have two times the men you have but this has made things really easy for me. Without a leader your army will scatter in no time. Understand that you have handed over the fate of your sister and her son into my hands, you have lost your own life and you have not saved theirs. I hope you find peace in the afterlife.” He brought down his sword to pierce right through Walter’s chest. The blood of his life ran on the stone table and he closed his eyes. Charlotte covered her face, trying to stop the images of her brother’s murder but it didn’t help. She cried without making a sound and Martha tried to hold her. CHAPTER- VII THE LAWS OF GODS AND MEN While the two women still crouched in the bushes with their hands over their faces, they heard the voice of the King calling out, "Our work is done here. Now! Follow me all and we will set about what remains of this war! It will not take us long to crush the whore now that her foolish brother lies dead." Charlotte and Martha held their breaths as the men walked past the bushes. They would be raped before being butchered if King Reynard got to know they hid here. Their laughs and japes echoed in Charlotte’s ears as they mounted their horses and swept off the hill-top. At any other time she would have trembled with fear; but now the sadness and shame and horror of Walter’s death so filled her mind that she hardly thought of it. As soon as the wood was silent again Charlotte and Martha crept out onto the open hill-top. The blanket of clouds hid the strokes of the moonlight, painting the night deeper and darker, but still they could see the shape of her brother’s body lying dead in his bonds. They both knelt down in the grass, before the Queen kissed his cold face and stroked his beautiful black hair; “He did this to save us...,” tears flooded her cheeks, her voice shaken. She cried and cried till she could cry no more. She looked at Martha and sobbed for she felt lonely and weak. "Help me" she said as she stood up and tried to pull out the sword that pierced her brother’s chest. They put all their strength to pull out the sword that had cut into the stone and at last it came free, her brother’s blood dripping off its edge. Charlotte tossed it aside and fondled Walter’s face. They tried to untie him but the cords were drawn so tight that they could do nothing of the knots. A certain quiet surrounded them. Charlotte felt as if nothing was going to happen ever again. Hours and hours went by in the dead calm, and they hardly noticed that they were getting colder and colder. Though Martha noticed the sky on the east side of the hill was a little less dark than it had been an hour ago. Then Charlotte in a fit of broken despair tried to untie her brother for one last time, and this time she succeeded. The sky in the east was whitish by now and the stars were getting fainter - all except one very big one low down on the eastern horizon. They felt colder than they had been all night. Every moment Walter’s dead face looked nobler, as the light grew and they could see it better. In the wood behind them a bird gave a chuckling sound. It had been so still for hours and hours that it startled them. Then another bird answered it. Soon there were birds singing all over the place. It was quite definitely early morning now, not late night. Martha rubbed arms to fight the cold as she looked on in despair at the broken Queen. The rising of the sun had made everything look so different - all colours and shadows were changed that. Charlotte held her brother in a tight embrace. Lost. All was lost. Her brother was gone. Her tears knew no end and her breathes were broken still. Defeat was absolute. “The Laws of the God...,” there came a voice from among the trees that startled both the women to the toes. “Who’s there?” Charlotte went wide eyed, horror creeping under her skin. Martha took a step back, sweat beading down her forehead. And then a very strange person stepped out of the trees, into the light. He might have been as tall as Iwan. From the waist upwards he was like a man, but his legs were shaped like a goat's, the hair on them was glossy brown and instead of feet he had goat's hoofs and his skin was rather reddish too. He had a strange, but pleasant little face, with a short pointed beard and curly hair, and out of the hair there stuck two horns, one on each side of his forehead. Charlotte and Martha couldn’t believe their eyes. A faun stood before them, a being of whom they had heard of only in fables. For a moment Charlotte thought she was dreaming but then the sight of her brother’s corpse stabbed her. “My Queen, I’m Tirius, a friend to Prince Iwan,” he bowed before her. The two of them didn’t know what to say. Fear stopped the words in their throats and left them shaking. Iwan was right, the person he had been describing was true after all. “The Laws of God, my lady, are strange but just. They say, only he can govern what is true and what is false. Only he holds the right to give life and to take it back,” he walked towards them, “....but he is not the only one who can give life. A mother can give life as well.” Charlotte looked at him with tear filled eyes. She couldn’t understand what he was saying and she didn’t know what to say. “The Stone Table was built thousands of years ago, on the command of the almighty, to serve as a symbol of justice and only the King could serve this justice,” he looked at Walter’s face, which seemed to be at peace, “The King is next to the God and his word is absolute. But if the Lord almighty gave the King the power to take life, he gave the Queen Mother the power to give life as well.” His words struck a string of hope within her. Suddenly her heart started to beat faster. “The Stone Table does not agree to the blood of an innocent,” Tirius told them, “If someone, for no fault of his is executed on the Table, then he can be brought back to life, but only by the Queen Mother.” “How?” she asked, her voice shaken, “It is not possible...,” “But it is...,” Tirius said, “It could be...it all depends upon the faith.” She looked at him, then at her brother and then at Martha. Wrecked by grief she stood up and placed her hands on the chest of her brother’s corpse, and though she didn’t believe the faun, the words came to her mouth, “My Lord, the creator of heaven and earth, I pray to you, shed your mercy upon us.....,” Her words sounded hollow to her ears, her hands touching her mistrust. She tried and tried but her brother’s breathes did not return. She sighed, broken in spirit. Her eyes closed in defeat. Tears flowing down her face. She looked at him, hoping he would move, hoping he would speak but his soul was gone. Gone far away. Her hands shook. She had lost. She looked at Martha, who stood still, not uttering a word. Charlotte turned and walked, to where she did not know. “My Lady there is one more way....,” Tirius spoke suddenly. She stopped on her track, then started walking again. “My Queen, without Lord Walter this war is lost,” Martha’s voice sounded in her ears, “Only he could have guided your men to victory.” Charlotte knew that was the truth but could she believe the faun’s words? “My Lady, inside the Castle of Light and Dark lays a hidden chamber. And inside that chamber is a tabernacle which holds a chalice of gold. The chalice that contains the God’s wine.” He stopped to catch his breath. “It is said that one can ask of anything from the Lord almighty if he succeeds to drink from the chalice and his wish shall be granted. But to get to the chalice is not easy....,” Tirius said, “It is said that magic guards the walls of the Castle of Light and Dark and to get past it is no feat for the faint of heart....,” The Castle of Light and Dark? She had never heard of it before. Was the faun lying? But what if it was the truth? Maybe it was her only chance to get her brother back. “How far is the castle from here?” “A day’s ride north,” Tirius replied, “...but my lady I must warn you, this may cost you your life...,” “If this is the way to bring my brother back, then I must do it....,” Charlotte spoke, “No matter what the cost....,” CHAPTER- VIII THE CASTLE OF LIGHT AND DARK Amongst the dense forest of larch and pine, Charlotte found the castle of Light and Dark. What she had presumed to be a magnificent stronghold was just a grey and ancient ruin, protected by the woods. She stood there with a hand on her aching bladder, her thighs pressed together. Studying the fortress and guessing what it held inside. The pressure inside her bladder had grown to the highest degree. The waterskin she had carried with her on the journey had been emptied and refilled over a dozen times since she had left Martha and her brother back at the camp yesterday and yet her bladder was unrelieved, still holding ten days worth of urine. But Queen Charlotte was confident. She knew her bladder would never crack or give way to any amount of pressure. But what if it became her undoing inside the Castle of Light and Dark? “My Queen,” Tirius said, “I want you to think this through one last time...” “There is nothing to think about,” Charlotte spoke, her eyes stuck on the castle, “I have no other way,” she sighed. “It is said that many go into The Castle of Light and Dark, but few come out,” he told, “If you have decided to follow your heart, then take me inside with you. I’ve heard many tales of the place, maybe they will come of help.” “No,” she breathed, “Some places even the Queen must walk alone.” This frightened the faun, “My Queen, you must remember, the front way leads in, but never out again. Heed my words, The Castle of Light and Dark was not made for mortal men. If you value your soul, take care and do just as I tell you.” “I will do as you say,” Charlotte promised. “When you enter, you will find yourself in a room with four doors: the one you have come through and three others. Take the door to your left. Each time, the door to your left. If you should come upon a stairwell, climb. Never go down, and never take any door but the first door to your left.” “The door to my left,” Charlotte repeated. “I understand. And when I leave, the opposite?” “No,” Tirius said. “Leaving and coming, it is the same. Always up. Always the door to your left.” “I understand.” She sighed and as the Queen walked towards the huge wooden door, it opened itself to let her in. She turned to look at the faun for one last time and then entered the castle. The door slowly closed behind her back. She found herself in a stone anteroom with four doors, one on each wall. With some hesitation, she went to the door on her left and stepped through. The second room was a twin to the first. Again she turned to the left-hand door. When she pushed it open she faced yet another small antechamber with four doors. I am in the presence of sorcery. She felt shaken but never did she let her fear overcome her. She took the door to the left once more and found herself in a long hall. The long hall went on and on and on, with torches burning on the walls. She walked past more doors than she could count, closed doors and open ones, doors of wood and doors of iron, carved doors and plain ones, doors with pulls and doors with locks and doors with knockers. Finally a great pair of bronze doors appeared to her left, grander than the rest. They swung open as she neared, and as she entered it, Queen Charlotte saw the thing for which she was not prepared. A gigantic dragon, bound by chains lay before her, guarding the doors behind it. Even the darkness had not dimmed the beauty of its scales that shone a shade of dark green in the light that danced upon the torches. For a moment, it took her breath away. Dragon? She couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d never seen one in her entire life and now, one was right before her! That’s an Asgarothian Ironbelly! She realized. She had read about dragons in the books kept in the capital’s great library and knew they had all died out centuries ago. It was a miracle to find one alive. Her amazement was short lived though as then the being sensed her. It turned its ugly head towards the Queen and roared with a noise that made the rocks tremble and then, it opened its mouth to spew a jet of fire that sent Charlotte running back. She held her bladder as she leaned back on the wall, her organ unprepared for this kind of rapid movement. The Queen went back in again, peeping at first. She could make that the creature was partially blind but only more savage for that. It looked at her fierce but then suddenly the dragon began to shift backward, as if it was scared of her. Charlotte couldn’t understand what was going on but she knew this was her only chance. The Queen slowly walked towards the wooden door behind the dragon and placed her hand on it. The door opened and she found herself in a room that was crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures— some with long spines, others with drooping wings — potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown. There at the end of the room, she saw the tabernacle. She hurried towards it and opened it to find a chalice full of red wine like the faun had told her. Charlotte raised it to her lips. The first sip tasted sour, but when she swallowed it seemed to come to life within her. She could feel tendrils spreading through her chest, like fingers of fire coiling around her heart, and on her tongue was a taste like honey and blood. It was all the tastes she had ever known, and none of them . . . and then the chalice was empty. She closed her eyes and prayed, “O’Lord almighty, creator of heaven and earth, I pray to you to show your mercy upon me and send my brother back to me....,” she couldn’t control her tears any longer. Then all of a sudden the ground beneath her started to shake and the pillars that held the roof started to crumble. Horror gripped Charlotte tighter than ever. “Oh no!” she wailed. Huge boulders fell down as the roof began to collapse. The castle was coming down. Maybe it was the effect of her drinking from the chalice, she did not know. All she knew was that she needed to escape or she’d be crushed to death. She rushed towards the door as fast her swollen bladder would allow. The bound dragon let out a roar but its posture still seemed submissive, as if it was afraid. Then something happened, something clicked inside her and inspiration or madness came to Charlotte. She rushed towards the dragon and climbed atop the creature, which strangely showed no resistance. “Go! Go! Go!” she commanded and go it went! Charlotte had to put all her strength into her pee hole to keep it shut but she had other things to worry about now. The cuffs broke open with loud bangs. The dragon’s scales were hard as steel; it did not even seem to feel her. Then the creature became aware that it was unbound. With a roar it reared: Charlotte dug in her knees, clutching as tightly as she could to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the pillars aside like skittles. Charlotte, flat on its back, scraped against the ceiling as it dived toward the passage opening, while the castle continued to fall around her. By sheer force the dragon clawed and fought its way through, a massive rock hitting its head, though it wasn’t enough to stop it. Charlotte’s eyes were shut tight against the heat and dust: Deafened by the crashing of rocks and the dragon’s roars, she could only cling to its back, expecting to be shaken off at any moment. And then at last, as the result of the dragon’s brute strength, the remaining roof over its head fell apart. Finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings: Turning its horned head toward the cool outside air it could smell around itself, the dragon climbed atop the rubble of the falling castle with Charlotte still clinging to its back. And then after a bit of struggle, it launched itself into the sky. The Queen was crazed with fear. What if she fell off?! She looked down and saw the Castle of Light and Dark, only the way she had found it before. Unharmed, unbroken. CHAPTER – IX THE BATTLE FOR GODSWICK Swords grazed the flesh off men and horses alike. Screams and shrieks filled the cold air and rivulets of blood ran through the field of battle. Murder was never a sight so common. Lord Victor Atwell could feel a fluttering in his bowels, a queasy liquid feeling; he hoped he was not going to die sick. He saw Sir John impaled on a spear and watched Lord Borbon’s horse shatter a man’s ribs with a kick. A flight of arrows descended on them; where they came from he could not say, but they fell on Torrington and Dalton alike, rattling off armour or finding flesh. Lord Victor lifted his shield and hid beneath it. One by one, his men were falling. The chance of victory slipping from their hands. With Lord Walter dead, there was no chance of defeating Reynard Dalton on the field. He should have known that. Lord Victor saw his son take an arrow to his eye before he fell to the ground, dead. Men stepped on his corpse. He screamed with grief and pain, louder than he had ever screamed but the sounds of the battle muffled his voice. He ran and took the motionless body of his son in his hands and rested his head on his lap before he pulled the arrow out of his skull. Tears found their way to Victor’s blood soaked cheeks, his hands shivering and his lips trembling. His wails were loud, heavy with sorrow but unknown to the ones around him. Then he stood up, swaying his sword, in anger, in pain, in defeat. But all was lost. Someone struck him from behind and his body surrendered itself to the mud. He didn’t want to get back up. All was lost. But then he heard something that left him numb, “Lord Walter is here!” A huge roar of approval went up as men pointed their swords and spears towards the sky in joy! And then he saw him. Atop his white stallion, the Lord of Longford pierced through the enemy. He saw Lord Walter catch an arrow mid air just when it was about to core his eye. What a magnificent warrior! Walter Torrington tossed it aside and jumped off his horse, piercing his sword into an enemy as he landed. Victor could not believe his eyes. A night ago he had wept over his Lord’s corpse that lied cold in his coffin and now he stood before him. Just then the knight who had hit him came thundering down on Victor, swaying his axe. He hit Victor’s helm with the side of his weapon. His head exploded with pain, his skull suddenly heavier than a boulder. Victor’s sword fell. He clawed on the ground for anything he could get his hands on, but the knight hit the side of his axe on Victor’s face once more and he fell down again. He did not recall hitting the ground, but when he looked up there was only sky above him. He rolled onto his side and tried to find his feet, but pain shuddered through him and the world throbbed. The knight drew up above him. "Lord Victor," he boomed down. "You are mine. Do you yield?" Yes, he thought, but the word caught in his throat. He made a croaking sound and fought his way to his knees, fumbling for a weapon. His sword, his dirk, anything . . . "Do you yield?" The knight loomed overhead. He seemed immense. The axe in his hand a raw piece of steel. Victor's hands were numb, his vision blurred, his scabbard empty. "Yield or die," the knight declared. “Fuck you, pig,” Lord Atwell mouthed and in an instant his head was gone. Lord Walter stood on the other side of the field. The battle seemed to have moved beyond him. No one remained on his part of the field save a large number of corpses. Ravens were already circling and landing to feed. The sound of hooves coming up behind him made him whirl, and he saw King Reynard’s reserve come sweeping along. Walter watched as the remnants of his lines got shattered like glass beneath the hammer of the Dalton charge. He had lost the battle. Then the enemies turned towards him. His eyes met theirs’. Suddenly Lord Walter felt as if the world had stopped moving and then he heard the word, “Charge!” Thousands of mounted men were coming towards him. To kill him. To rip him apart. He readied himself, tightening the grip on his great sword. He could feel the earth shuddering beneath his feet, sweat running through his brow, eyes pierced at the sea of warriors that was charging towards him. This was it. He had failed his sister. He had failed his men. This was his end. He closed his eyes and remembered his father, his late mother and his sisters. But then, a sound of thunderous roar filled the skies. Every eye on the battle field looked up and there it was. A dragon. King Reynard watched open mouthed as the great being flapped its gigantic wings. And then he saw her. Sitting atop the dragon’s back. The Queen. In the blink of an eye the dragon came sweeping down to rain fire on his men. Shrieks of horror went up in the skies as an inferno engulfed them. Many ran to save their lives, many got cooked. The dry grasses and stands of wheat went up at once. The wind fanned the flames and blew the smoke into the face of the King. The scent of fire sent the horses into panic, and as the smoke thickened, horse and rider alike were blinded. Their ranks began to break as walls of fire rose on every side of them. The remaining of the Torrington men waited with their bows and spears and made short work of the burned and burning Dalton men who came staggering from the hellhole. More than twenty thousand men died in the flames and what remained of King Reynard’s men perished from swords and spears and arrows. The beaten King looked on as the battle slipped from his hands. All was lost. He began to flee but found someone standing before him. A ghost of his past. A man he had killed. “I hope you find peace in the afterlife,” Lord Walter said before putting his sword through Reynard’s belly. Blood sprouted from his mouth before he fell to the ground. Dead. The echoes of, “Long live the Queen!” and “Long may she reign!” filled the air. A smile ran across Walter’s face. The war was over. They had won. CHAPTER– X THE END The night that followed was that of celebration. Lord Walter held a small feast to mark their victory and everyone drank to the health of the Queen. Charlotte herself drank a large amount of beer on the insistence of the Lords and knights present, though she had not wanted to. She had not made water in days, and the last thing she wanted was more liquid getting pumped inside her tired bladder, but she very well could not refuse the men who had fought for her. As the night darkened and the Queen went to her bed, sleep evaded her. She was beginning to grow less and less confident in her ability to hold her piss and was clenching her muscles as tight as she could, her calmness slowly slipping away. The pressure was getting to her, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Her bladder filled considerably during the night and by the time it was morning, Queen Charlotte was feeling a fairly intense urge to piss. She knew there was no room left for her bladder to expand and she had little will power to continue her hold. But regardless, she got up and dressed herself. Her bladder felt like it was about to explode but the Queen withheld her pressure and waited calmly until it was time for her to leave for the capital. She was dying to get to the castle, rush to the privy and take the piss of her life. She just wanted to let it all out. Hold on, you can hold on, she told herself. Waves of urgency came upon her again and again as her bladder attempted to release its contents to save itself from bursting apart but the Queen held on, endlessly. Her composure unshaken. But inside her chest, her heart beat faster than ever, her head heavier than a boulder. She realized she wasn’t able to think straight, did she really needed to pee that much? It did not matter. She would hold it till she reached inside the walls of the King’s Fort. Inside her chamber. Inside her privy. Only then would she relieve herself. She thanked all the Lords for their support in the war and kissed her brother’s brow before climbing atop her horse, barely controlling her immense need to piss. They all waved at her, Walter, Gunther, Martha and the rest, and she waved back, and so did her son who rode right beside her. Surrounded by a dozen guards, they went on their way as the others looked on. As they rode on into the dusk, Charlotte found herself grabbing her crotch whenever she was sure no one was looking. She could not believe the pressure, it was more than she’d felt ever before. She had never wanted to wee this badly in all her life, yet she was determined not to let it show to the men who rode with her and especially not to her son. She reminded herself that she did not need to worry; her bladder was cast-iron, strong and unbreakable. But then why did she feel so worried? She realized she did not want to think about it. They’d get to the capital tomorrow anyway, until then she’d just not think about it. She just pressed her crotch on the saddle of her horse and rode on. After another hour of riding, they spotted a watchtower. It meant they were on the border of her father’s lands and the royal grounds started from here on out. As they got closer to the tower, Charlotte spotted three armoured men on horsebacks. One carrying a banner with the rampant Griffin of House Seymour on it, the sigil of her late husband’s house and now hers. The three men rode towards them, grasping swords and shields. “It’s an honour to have you here, my Queen and my Prince,” one of them said, “I would like to congratulate you on your victory.” “Many thanks to you, my friend,” Queen Charlotte said forcing a smile. Her bladder was absolutely bursting by this point, her desperation growing by the minute. She realized her hands were shaking. She didn’t know what was happening to her, she was growing restless and panic was starting to crawl up her chest. Was this because she had to urinate? No, that couldn’t be. That couldn’t be. She was the Queen. She could hold on as long as she wanted to. Then why was she sweating? Why was she afraid of losing control? Why? Why? Then, it suddenly hit her, I cannot hold it. M-my bladder is going to explode! I have to piss....i-it’s going to come out! I need to find somewhere to go! I have to piss! Oh my god, I have to piss! Her body was trembling, but she couldn’t let it show to everyone. Hide it, hide it! She screamed within. Holding the reins tighter in her trembling hands. “My Queen, we’d be honoured to have you as our guest at the tower, to share our meat and mead and our roof for the night,” Oliver, one of the men said. Albert, the captain of the Queen’s escort replied, “I thank you for the offer, but we must continue on our way to the capital.” “Wait,” Charlotte said suddenly. “I think we will accept your offer of hospitality. I am sure my guards are hungry, and my back is sore from riding. If you could give me a private room with a bed in which I could rest till the morrow, I would be very grateful to you.” “My Queen,” Albert whispered quickly. “... the capital is just a few hours away, we’ll reach home if we cont--” “I have given my command,” Charlotte said sternly, although on the inside she was frantic. She’d already waited past the breaking point. She knew she didn’t have much time left. “We’ll rest here for the night,” she finished much more politely, turning back to Oliver. “Of course, my Queen,” Oliver said with a bow. “I thank you. With haste, then,” Charlotte said loudly over the whispered protests of her guards. She ignored them completely as she reined her horse to follow Oliver towards the tower. It was a short ride, and soon they were dismounting and making their way into the tower. Oh, she couldn’t wait to piss! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! She screamed internally at Oliver, who was leading them inside. Charlotte walked into the lobby, her bladder ready to crack, “My room?” she asked straight away. “My Queen, would you like some wine before your rest?” he asked. “N-no, not at all,” Charlotte held her brow, squeezing her thighs as tightly together as she could, “Just show me to my room, please....” “Of course,” Oliver replied. “If you would follow me.” Charlotte turned to step after him, and he led her to the base of the tower's staircase. She trembled at the thought of climbing up stairs when she was just moments away from losing complete control of her bladder. Nor did she have the energy neither the time to fight off her need anymore. Still, there was no escaping it. She lifted her right leg and took the first step of the tall tower, then another with her left. Every time she raised a leg, her thigh pressed into the bottom of her bladder, causing it to send out a pulse of pain and pressure that rippled through her body. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, and she pressed her thighs together, her hands gripped in tight fists, nails digging into her pale skin. Charlotte gasped in pain, audibly but quietly, and her bladder throbbed strongly. Then, suddenly, without her consent, her pole opened for a full second and a long, hot leak escaped into her smallclothes. She froze in panic and quickly stood straight, clenching her muscles, stopping herself from wetting her dress any further. Looking down in horror and shame, she saw the wet spot on her dress, now dark green from the sudden spurt of her warm urine. Fuck, this is so embarrassing! Despite her humiliation, she continued to climb the stairs, grabbing her crotch as tightly as she could. Finally she came to a thick wooden door at the fifth floor, and she grasped the handle, stumbled inside and yelled, “Thank you so much!” to Oliver before banging the door shut at his face! She dashed straight towards the window, lifting up her dress and tearing down her small clothes as she did so. Stricken with panic, she threw her bottom over the edge of the window and at that very moment, the flood inside her erupted completely. “Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!! Ooooooooohhhhhhhh mmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy ggggoooooddddd!!!” Queen Charlotte threw her head up as her eyes closed themselves tight with the immense relief that flowed through her exhausted body. Her toes curled in response of the enormous release. So much pressure... for so long... “Oooooohhhh tthhhaaannnnkkk ggggoooddd!!!” she groaned, the relief rendering her unable to open her eyes. Her whole body shivered with respite as the endless flow of piss streamed out of her. Her brain felt numb. It felt so good to finally release it! Her bladder was stretched to the bursting point. How she had managed to hold it this long she’d never know. She could feel the stream carry her stress out with it. Oh, how long had she waited for this! This glorious feeling of relief. Another heartfelt groan of relief escaped her throat as she let out her long held waters. Oh, how much her bladder had ached! The feeling of bliss as she finally felt her organ shrink was beyond what words could describe, it was pure ecstasy. The tower had come as a blessing in her time of desperate need. There was no way she could have held it all the way to the capital with her bladder that full. But now it was over. She did not have to worry anymore. She was saved. “Phew!” she breathed as she felt the heavy stream run out of her, I really needed that. The relief was so overpowering that she felt light headed. It felt so good! But this private moment of her release was interrupted when a fat man suddenly burst into her room! “My Queen!” the man said with a big smile on his face, “Am I disturbing you?” Charlotte’s eyes widened in shock and humiliation and with the fear of being found out! She didn’t know what to do or what to say! She froze where she was, not moving an inch as her piss continued to flow out of her. “Oh, Your Highness! You mustn’t sit on the window like that!” he yelped, “You might fall off!” The man she recalled as Lord Peter Walden. Many years ago she had granted him the custody of this watchtower for his dedicated service to the throne. Now he was standing before her, about to find out that she was weeing out of the window of his tower. Get lost! Get out, you idiot! She screamed within. “M-my Lord, I-I assure you that I’m safe,” she said, trying her best to cut off her flow but her sphincters were too worn out, “T-to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” “I am most grateful to you my Queen for the generosity you’ve shown us by being our guest for the night,” he said, “I hope you find your stay comfortable.” Yes! Please get out of the room! Get out! Now! “T-thank you, M’lord, that is so kind of you,” she forced a smile that told she wanted to kill him, “Is that all? You may leave now.” She was trying her best to stop the flood that was pouring out of her, all while keeping a straight face but it was out of her control now. There was no stopping it. “Oh, my Queen, I must say we’ve never had a ruler more generous and kind than Your Highness,” he went to sit on her bed, much to Charlotte’s horror, “My Queen is the fairest of all!” he laughed. Queen Charlotte felt like she’d rip him apart, but she was stuck on the window, her river of wee going on and on and on. Then finally he stood up, “Well, my Queen, I beg for your leave now. I’d look forward to seeing you at the feast,” he bowed and left with a smile, closing the door behind him. Charlotte let out a breath of relief. Lord Peter was an old man. She hoped he wouldn’t have noticed what she was doing. Her piss continued unabated for a few more minutes before she found the strength to cut off the flow and quickly climb off the window. She had botched her family name and her title of the Queen, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She still had to pee a lot but her bladder was now empty more than half, which meant she had let the pressure off enough to be able to ride home. She looked out of the window as she adjusted her smallclothes and found that the wall was drenched and at the ground a massive puddle sat as if made by an elephant. A small pond of warm piss. I shouldn’t have relieved myself like that. She felt a sense of guilt overcome her but she tried to suppress it. She quickly adjusted back her dress and went down for the feast. That whole night, the Queen didn’t even look at Lord Peter out of embarrassment, but the old man seemed normal to her, as if nothing had happened. Maybe he had not found out what she was doing back in the room. She thanked the God and participated in the feast with utmost graciousness. During the entire feast, Charlotte didn’t take any wine or beer but only stuck to timely sips of water. Her bladder was completely exhausted and the last thing she wanted was more liquid making its way into it. They left for the capital early on the morrow and after a few hours ride, they saw the massive walls of Godswick at a distance. People praised her name as she rode through the city streets and children ran behind her contingent. But Charlotte cared for none of it. Her desperation had grown since they had left the tower and the Queen once again found herself on the edge of losing control. She had to get to the castle, and fast. She found a small welcoming party along with the members of the royal council waiting for her at the foot of the King’s Fort, but she dismounted and walked past them, steeling herself from grabbing her crotch in full view of her people and leaving her son behind in her frantic run to reach the privy. My room. The privy. Have to go so badly, it all took over her mind as she stepped into the great hall of her castle, ignoring the guards. She slowly climbed the stairs that led to her chamber, stopping her piss at the gates. Her breathing was heavy and her bladder completely exhausted. Hurry, hurry, hurry! She told herself. It’s going to come out! She grabbed her crotch as tightly as she could. She would never know how she had managed to put off her need to wee for so long. Somehow she reached the top of the stairs, and she turned towards her chamber. Squeezing her crotch with her trembling hand as she held her breath tight. She screamed out loud as her bladder pulsated madly within her. She needed to piss so badly! And the pressure was increasing rapidly. Her pee was just a hair breadth away from completely pouring out of her and her chamber still seemed so far. Then suddenly a long jet of her hot wee escaped out of her and she stopped in her track, her eyes widened in fear. There was nothing more she could do. I got so close...just a few more- There was no stopping it anymore. Her piss exploded in a thick stream as relief washed over her body. The Queen was wetting herself. She tried her hardest to stop the flow but failed. She looked on in disbelief at the puddle of hot piss as it grew beneath her, her eyes still wide with fear and humiliation. “Stop! Please stop!” she sighed her hands holding her face on the sides. Her body was beaten. It could have not taken the pressure any more. My God, why did you let this happen to me?! Shame crawled up her skin. What if someone saw her like this? Wetting herself in the hallway. She could not let that happen. No. She’d be humiliated for the rest of her life. She needed to move from here, but her body was frozen. She could not move. Her legs trembling as the amazing relief flowed through her. “My Queen?” Charlotte’s heart practically stopped. She looked up, eyes wide. Her handmaidens Lucille and Mary stood before her, looking on with disbelief. The Queen was wetting herself. This was a sight they shouldn’t have witnessed. The Queen’s embarrassment flowed from under her dress like a river, soaking into the carpet and spreading out in every direction. Her body was fatigued and she was completely defeated, humiliated in front of her servants, everything she thought of herself as a Queen flowing out of her, dampening the bottom of her skirt. It just went on and on, a seemingly endless stream of hot piss that nearly reached Lucille and Mary who were standing several meters away. Despite the absorption of the carpet, the puddle reached the ledge of the second floor of the entrance hall and fell to the marble below. Charlotte could hear it splattering against stone even at this distance, and she knew there was absolutely no hiding such an accident. Even if she banished Lucille and Mary from the Capital, people would come into the hall at some point and see the mess coming from her wing of the castle. I'm going to have to run. Just shift to some other country and make a living as a cook. What if Iwan finds out about this? Oh, no! Not him! It was several minutes before her waterfall fell silent. Her puddle was almost ten feet in span and the only sound that could be heard was of her pee falling to the floor below. Her two servants still stood by, watching her in disbelief. She wished they would look away, but it made no difference now. Her body and mind fatigued, she looked at the two young girls. “So, what is going to happen now?” Charlotte asked them, a semblance of hurt and humiliation in her voice. “Are you going to run and tell everyone what I have done here? This is a good chance for you to have your vengeance for how poorly I’ve treated you all, isn’t it?” The two of them looked between Charlotte and her colossal puddle. They knew if the word of this got out, the Queen would have to face an embarrassment like no other. Mustering her voice, Mary spoke first. “It was me who did this. I lost control of my waters. Please, forgive me.” Charlotte sighed and smiled sincerely for the first time in what felt like days. “Oh, my sweet girl, that is so kind of you....,” she breathed. “However, nobody will believe that a tiny one like you could hold this much piss. I fear there is no possible way for me out of this.” “I couldn't hold it either,” Lucille said suddenly, “We were so occupied in preparing for your welcome since morning, that we didn’t get a chance to use the chamberpot. We beg for your pardon, Your Highness...,” At this very moment, Charlotte loved these girls like they were her own daughters. “You would take the blame for this, after how I have abused you over the years?” “We owe you everything we have, my Queen,” Lucille said, “We were born to serve you.” “I will never forget this,” Charlotte said, “You two will be rewarded with whatever you want for this.” “Please, my Queen,” Lucille said. “Just see yourself to your chamber to wash.” Charlotte nodded, her heart full of gratitude, before she rushed towards her chamber. The End
  3. Xophliello was a small area that was covered with hundreds of tiny independent countries, each with their own culture. Most of these countries always dealt with their problems together and fought over influence by compentitions like art, which includes sculpting and architecture, and games, which included gladiator fights and chariot races. However, some countries, typically around the edges, settled more land and grew. These countries needed more resources than they typically could find out in the unknown world. In order to survive, some of these countries had to invade their fellow Xophliellians and conquer, despite that it might have been their only option these countries were resented. The bigger they grew and the more independent they grew away from Xophliello caused them to be considered by Xophliellians as non-Xophliellian and the Xophliellian countries would embargo them, seeing them as a threat to the littler Xophliellian countries and a power that has to be taken down. Lopan was a larger country that focused on its traditional culture. They were not a violent country, but if they had to fight they fought and they fought hard! They were only warriors when the time was needed, agent hey weren't warriors they were artists who spread their tradition and culture across all over Xophliello. Despite powerful counter-attacks and devestating defense system, Lopan was conquered by the Psurrians, Riassuns, and the Autons. Despite that Lopan faced defeat on the war they did not stand down, they still rebelled against their captors. There were many Lopanians who joined the rebellion, they would not stop until they had liberty. This is the story of a... 1. Woman from Psurria, Psurria was the most powerful Xophliellian country despite its small size. Psurria was puny compared to Auto and Riassu, but Psurria proved that size doesn't equal power. As far as culture went, they didn't care unless it was the culture of their enemy, they saw accepting enemy culture, like for instance, Lopanian culture, as a weakness and that person would be exiled. They had the best army in all of Xophliello and probably the best archer in the entire world. They focused on honor and their military. This has caused them to be hated by many but they nobody would attack them due to fear of their counter-attack. The ruler of Psurria was Garett the Glorious, who wanted to keep Psurria as the most dominant power of Xophliello 2. Woman from Auto, Auto was a large country that spread via arranged marriage, they rarely ever fought. This caused their country to be extremely diverse, the only real Auton culture found in Auto was near the center, the further west you went the more Lopanian you get and the further east you went the more Riassun you get. This scale of diversity has caused some issues inside Auto but there was nothing major. They're not used to the way the Lopanians revolt and fear the it would encourage further rebellion, causing a power decrease in Auto. They were the most intellegent and sophisticated country. The Autons were led by The Great Gloria, who was forcused on expansion more than anything, but she wanted to keep Auto as intelligent and sophisticated as they could be. 3. Lopanian revolutionnaire 4. Woman from Riassu, Riassu was the largest country in all of Xophliello, the second largest was a little over half the size of Riassu. Riassu was the most Eastern country and it closed Xophliello to the unknown eastern world. To go east you had to go through Riassu, which left all the unknown eastern land in Xophliello to be Riassu's. Riassuns were dumb! They didn't care about education, all they cared about was doing their job which was 90% of the time either agricultural work or fighting in wars. They are the least technologically advance country in Xophliello, they get their technology from other countries they spy on. The spies would bring back a new invention and the Riassuns would take it apart, analyze it, then put it back together and make more. How they fought against their enemies was by sheer numbers. It didn't matter if they had automatic guns and tanks somehow, they would send a large horse of swordmen to kill them and overwhelm them. Their views on culture was in the middle of a somewhat civil war between western and their eastern culture. The ruler of Riassu was Katerine, she focused on advancing Riassu technologically, she thought that Riassu would collapse if they didn't become educated because she could regain control of such a large country. 5. Woman from some other country you're making up
  4. Hello, readers. Many of you are probably familiar with my medieval omorashi series, Lunambra. This is a complete reboot of that series, now taking place in a high-fantasy world with all the magic associated with such a genre. It features many of the same characters, and some new ones as well. The main series has come to a close, and I cannot find the inspiration to write spinoffs when every character is right where I want them. This is by far the longest story I've ever written, by a few thousand words. Be warned that this is not simply Omorashi fiction - It is an intense and dramatic tale of magic and war, not meant for a quick wank & walk. Since this story is so long, if you wish to read it in multiple sittings, simply remember the chapter number you're on and CTRL+F the number. And so I present: Dreams of Lunambra - Book One. ******************* Part One – Rain *******************1 Marina sighed as she waved her hand at the last lit torch in the hall and watched the lesser air spell float over it and envelop the flame, extinguishing it quickly. She dropped her arm and turned for the servant's quarters, pausing to squeeze her legs together for a moment. Finally done. I really need a wee...I hope someone remembered to empty our chamberpot, I don't know if I could even make it to the window... She began slowly making her way through the dark halls by muscle memory, turning right at the end and proceeding towards the wooden door that led into the large chamber where the castle's servants slept each night. A few meters from the door, she felt her bladder throb and she stopped, bending over slightly and gritting her teeth. Come on, Marina. Just a little more. She brushed her long red hair from her eyes, taking a second to squeeze her left hand tightly against her womanhood. She took a few more steps and knew the door was right in front of her. She reached out for the knob, blind in the darkness. Instead of the iron bar she anticipated, she felt soft and warm flesh. Marina squeaked and jumped back, gasping as a burst of wee forced its way out of her and dripped onto the floor under her simple cotton dress. She double-crossed her legs, nearly falling over in the process, and opened her eyes wide towards the door. “Who are you?” she called out, trying and failing to insert a threatening tone into her voice. “Oh no, I'm caught!” a humored male voice shot back. “To the stockades with me!” Marina exhaled deeply and relaxed; or at least as much as she could without emptying her bladder on the spot. “Baeden! Bloody hell, I've missed you so much. I did not expect you back until the morning. I can't believe you've done this, I'm nearly wetting my dress.” “All the better for me,” the Prince said with an obvious smirk in his voice. “I've missed you too, you beautiful girl. We've never been apart for this long since we first lay together. I was going to camp for the night, but I decided to force journey's end when I saw stormclouds forming earlier in the evening. Also, I did not want to spend one more night away from you. I'm guessing the rain should be starting any moment now.” “If I hear it raining, I'll wee immediately. Are you going to let me through?” “You should know better than that by now, Marina,” Baeden responded. Marina sighed but smiled. “Figured it was worth a try. So, what are we going to do tonight?” “We're going up on the turret of my tower, before the rains start. There's something I want to show you,” he said. The humor fell from his voice, replaced by a soft, loving tone that told her that she was in for something nice. She felt him take her hand and lead her away from the relief that her room would bring, but she did not mind. When she was with Baeden, the throbbing pressure in her belly was a welcome feeling, a sensation that she had learned to love. She did her best to walk properly, but it was difficult with her bladder so full. “Baeden, wait,” Marina panted. “I honestly won't make it to the tower. I got held up earlier, the Queen had me pick up some new dress from the tailor and it took me over an hour to get it done. I really need to let a little out if you want anything from me tonight.” Baeden stopped and sighed. “Let me check, then,” he whispered, grasping Marina around the back of her waist with his left hand and placing his right over her belly. Marina looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes and a playful frown. “If you do that, I really might not be able to hold it in. Are you willing to clean up after me?” “You know I am,” Baeden confirmed. He placed his hand on her bladder and gave it a soft push. Marina inhaled sharply and leaned back into his arm, squeezing her eyes shut and holding her legs together. He gently massaged her stretched skin, periodically pressing into her with his thumb. “Seems like you really are full. Let us see what we can do about that...” He increased the strength of his hand against her, and despite how hard she fought, she felt her hold slip and a thin, restrained stream of wee started flowing from her. It sprayed against the front of her beige dress, staining it all the way down to her knees and splattering onto the floor. She felt maybe three seconds of relief before Baeden released his grip on her bladder. She immediately doubled over, shoving both of her hands against herself and breathing heavily. “Oh, fuck, that nearly made it worse. Give me a moment...” She stood still like a statue, trying to regain control of her muscles that were internally screaming at her for giving them such a quick tease of relief. About thirty seconds later, she stood straighter and gave Baeden a nod. “I think I'm alright for now.” “Good,” Baeden said simply. He stepped towards Marina and held his hand out over her dress. “Are you ready?” “Always,” she answered. Baeden closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, and Marina felt the weight of her wet dress fading away as the liquid was pulled from the cotton. Streams of the very light yellow fluid formed into a small orb, joining the little bit that had fallen to the floor. Baeden the Water Prince turned his hand over, and the tiny orb of Marina's wee lifted above it, floating in the air between them. Baeden exhaled again and opened his fingers wide, and the liquid evaporated before their eyes, floating away as nothing but a small puff of vapor, soon to dissipate above them. Baeden dropped his hand, smiling widely at Marina. “Water magic is so much more difficult with wee than it is with clear water. I'm not sure why it is, but if I keep practicing, maybe I can be the world's first powerful Piss Mage.” Marina giggled and gave him a light punch in the shoulder. “Piss Mage, that's the worst thing I've ever heard,” she choked out, bending over again to hold herself through her laughter. “Well, that's what it is, innit?” Baeden shot back, trying to stifle his own chuckling. “What the hell else can I call it?” “Aye, you've got a point there,” Marina breathed. Anyway, let's get up to the tower, quickly. I'm still bursting.” “As you say,” Baeden agreed, and he jogged ahead with Marina doing her best to keep up with him. She ignored the pulses sent by her heavy bladder bouncing against her privates with each step. They soon reached the bottom of the Prince's tower that held his chambers and his own private armory. He started up the stairs and Marina followed, pausing every few steps to breathe and hold herself. He politely waited for her at each break, and it took five minutes at her slow, desperate pace to reach the top. As if on cue, Marina heard the first of the raindrops as Baeden pushed the trapdoor to the roof open. She stumbled out onto the turret behind him, falling onto her rear and twisting her legs together as far as they would go. “Oh, bloody hell, the rain makes holding it impossible!” she moaned, leaning back and folding her hands tightly against herself, squirming around on the stone floor like a playful cat. “The sound of the rain, you say?” Baeden spoke softly. “That's why I brought you up here, to show you how much my power has grown since I last properly demonstrated it for you. See if this makes you feel any better.” With that, Baeden stood straight and thrust his arms out in either direction, and Marina's breath caught in her chest as the rain ceased immediately. It did not simply stop raining, rather the rain stopped, each drop floating freely in the air around them. “Baeden,” Marina whispered with astonishment clear in her voice and her leaking bladder all but forgotten. “This magic is more powerful than I've ever seen. When did you learn how to do this?” “Promise me. Swear to me that you will believe the truth as I tell it,” Baeden said to her, staring seriously into her eyes. Marina let out a quick breath, shaking slightly as the dampness between her thighs threatened to grow if she did not attend to her desperate need soon. “How could you even ask that of me? You know that I trust you with my life and my soul both. Anything you say, I believe as the word of a god.” Baeden lowered his arms. The floating raindrops vibrated slightly, but stayed in place as he leaned against the turret wall. “Were you informed of any details when I left for Great Oak a month ago?” “I was,” Marina confirmed. She was leaning against the opposite wall, her right leg folded over her left and both hands nursing her bulging belly. She wanted so badly to empty herself on the roof right this second, but she did not want to distract Baeden from his tale. Every few seconds, a tiny drop of wee slipped past her grasp, unnoticeable on the wet floor of the castle turret. “From what I overheard in the council meeting, the ocean suddenly receded nearly ten kilometers from the village, and they were unable to get the fish and weeds they needed to survive. You left to bring them food aid. What happened over there?” “Well, as you say, the town was dry and covered in rancid salt by the time I arrived. We delivered the food, and I spoke with the town's mayor. Apparently, nobody had gone to the water's edge in weeks, fearing the sudden resurgence of the tide. I decided to take the chance, foolishly believing that my pathetic water magic might be of some help. I walked the distance alone, it took most of the day, trudging through the sand and salt. The sun was getting low in the sky when I finally set foot in the sea. I did all I could think of, casting the few spells I knew into the endless ocean, trying to pull the water, obviously to no effect. The sun had nearly fallen below the horizon when I saw...” Baeden's face went blank. He stared into the sky, seemingly lost in his own memories. His focus was so lost that the rain began to slowly descend, and it only stopped once Marina leaned forwards and placed her damp left hand on Baeden's shoulder, causing him to jump and regain sense. “Tell me, my Prince,” Marina whispered. “What did you see?” “The Oceanic Primordial,” Baeden said simply. His gaze was still unfocused, but he held his eyes directly on hers. Marina blinked. “You can't possibly-” “It was,” Baeden stated firmly. “I was still splashing about at the water's edge when what was left of the sun's light faded. I knew it was too early, so I stopped what I was doing and looked towards the star. What I saw was a woman made from the ocean itself, at least a hundred kilometers from her feet to the crown of her head. She stood tall, towering above the setting sun, reflecting its light in every direction. She looked at me, Marina. Right at me, with glowing eyes mirroring the soul of the ocean itself. Her head many lengths beyond the clouds, and somehow she looked to me alone.” Marina slid to the ground, her mouth hanging open. “One of the four creators of this Earth...gave you this power?” She tried so hard to keep her attention on the Prince, but the strong spurts of wee that were now nearly constantly shooting from her throbbing womanhood kept most of her thoughts on her own failing body. “I do not know,” Baeden conceded. “She did not speak to me, or motion at me in any way. She just looked at me. And then she lost form, sinking back into the vastness. The tides returned, and I had no hope of standing against them. I was swept away and lost consciousness instantly, waking up in the forests outside Great Oak. The shores were completely annihilated, but both myself and the town somehow survived. Ever since that day, my magic has has been powerful enough to terrify even myself.” Marina got to her knees and shifted to the other side of the turret, settling in snugly beside Baeden. “I cannot even begin to comprehend what you've seen,” she whispered. “But listen, I'm wetting myself right this second. We will explore your new strength on the new day, but for now I just want you to handle me as you always do. Release the rain and let us become one again.” Baden closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them onto the woman he loved. He reached out with both hands and grasped the sides of her dress, lifting it above her privates which were now leaking freely. He undid his own drawstring and within seconds he was inside of her. The rain began to fall again right as she completely lost control of her waters, letting them flow all across Baeden's manhood and body. She gyrated and thrusted to match his own movements, feeling endless pleasure shooting up into her body as she let the relief take her over. She placed her hands across her belly and pushed in hard, and Baeden groaned his appreciation as her stream increased greatly against him. Between the rain and her own liquid, Baeden was soaked from head to toe, and the water twisted and churned around him as if responding to his emotions alone, absent thought of magic. Ten minutes later, they both lay side by side, completely spent. Marina's bladder finally had the relief it had needed for so many hours, and Baeden was just laying there naked from the waist down, staring into space. As Marina felt herself drifting to sleep, she felt warmness against her right leg. She turned her head to Baeden to see him emptying his own bladder freely, his manhood laying to one side of his thigh, facing her. She reached out and took it, feeling the liquid pulse through him as it joined her own massive puddle that likely outweighed the rain itself. They both stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily and enjoying the feel of the cool rain against their exhausted bodies. Eventually, Baeden sat up and got to his feet. “We should turn to our bed,” he said softly. “We must awaken early and prepare for Jarkan's party tomorrow. We have a long day ahead of us.” Marina sighed and stood as well, exhaling as she let out the little bit of extra wee that had found its way to her bladder while they laid there. “Indeed. I'm the one who has to do all the work, anyway,” she quipped. “Not to worry, I will keep you from the worst of it. Besides, with the old laws soon to be abolished, we shall be properly wed and you will have your rightful place as my Princess.” **************************** Part Two – Underground ****************************2 “My Queen, it is time to wake up. Jarkan's caravan has been spotted approaching the river." Queen Jenara slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the morning light. “Naida? I thought I told you not to enter without knocking. What if I was indecent?” The young brown-haired servant girl sighed. “My Queen, you do realize that I dress you every morning? I've seen all there is to see of you.” “Just follow my command,” Jenara snapped. The truth was that she did not mind her servants seeing her naked, but she did not want to be caught over the chamberpot. No matter how intimately someone knew her, it would still be mortifying. She needed her morning relief, and now that Naida was here, there was no chance for it at the moment. Jenara yawned and blinked hard, and with one thought she was standing on the other side of her room, near her wardrobe. She stumbled slightly but caught herself quickly, grabbing onto the handle of the large piece of furniture. The first shift of the day was always disorienting, no matter how many times she experienced it. “Do you really have to teleport around your own room? It is very startling,” Naida complained. “It is not teleportation, and I keep telling you not to call it that,” Jenara said, ignoring Naida's displeasure. “I simply move faster than a lesser mind can comprehend. I call it 'Shifting,' and you should too.” “Very well, my Queen,” Naida conceded. “Anyway, what will you wear for today's ceremonies?” Jenara pulled open the wardrobe, looking at her massive collection of dresses, skirts, and corsets. “I cannot decide. I feel like red or purple would display power and give example that I will not back down easily, but I also do not want to appear overly aggressive. Light blue or emerald would seem more peaceful, but I do not want their ambassador to see me as weak when he first lays eyes on me.” “May I suggest a deep blue dress with black lace?” Naida offered. Jenara thought for a moment, then nodded. “I like it. A serious appearance but with no meaning in blood or position.” In the blink of an eye, Jenara had her dress, corset, and underskirt laid out on her bed. Continuing to ignore Naida's exasperated glare at her needless shifting about the room, she stood still and held her arms out to her sides. While it was never expected for a Queen to dress herself, she couldn't help but feel annoyed at the time it took as Naida pulled and tugged at her, trying to get the outfit in place. Unfortunately, no matter how fast she was, Jenara could not tie or untie the back of her own dress or corset. As said corset was positioned around her and pulled tight, she felt her slightly full bladder tingling inside of her. How annoying...if only I had woken up myself two minutes earlier. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. She waited as Naida pulled the dress over her head and laced up the back. The dress was on, but the worst part – her hair – was yet to come. Jenara shifted into the chair in front of her mirror, causing Naida to gasp and jog over to her with a suppressed growl. As Naida began her work on the Queen's hair, her other chambermaid, Hazel, poked her head in through the door. Through the door, which was not open in the slightest. “My Queen, I've heard-” “HAZEL!” Jenara shouted at her, suddenly and loudly. The servant shrieked and tripped, tumbling through the still-closed door and landing in a heap on the carpet. “I swear to the Primordials, if you phase in here absent warning once more, I will have you in the dungeons. Wait, can dungeons even hold you? Well, I'll have Gaston throw you into the fucking sun or something equally as deadly. It is absolutely unacceptable.” Hazel got to her knees, trembling. The Queen was nearly always composed; when she cursed, it meant that she was seriously mad. “I apologize, my Queen. I swear to you, it will not happen again.” “THAT IS WHAT YOU SAID THE LAST TWO TIMES!” Jenara screamed. “It's just how I naturally move,” Hazel cried. “I do not think of it. I will never do so again. Please, my Queen, be merciful.” Jenara glared at her, then sighed and turned back to the mirror. “Very well. This is your last warning. If it happens once more, I will have your life. Now get up and speak the words you came here to tell.” Hazel stood up slowly, keeping her legs held together. Unbeknownst to the Queen and the other serving girl, Jenara's threat had nearly caused Hazel to wet herself on the spot. She had a busy schedule this morning, and since her magic allowed her privacy at any time by simply sinking through the ground into the tunnels below Lunambra, she had been holding a full bladder since she woke up. She usually waited until she started leaking before she took care of it, as anything less was a waste of time. “Of course, my Queen,” Hazel mumbled tearfully. She inhaled slowly, trying to regain control before she spoke. She felt her muscles tighten, and she finally managed to stand straight. “I've heard some strange talk from the night guards, returning to their chambers during the morning shift change. They said that a storm came over the castle last night, and soon after it started the rain ceased in midair, the drops floating as though caught in time. They had never witnessed such a thing, and told me to inform you.” Jenara squinted at Hazel through the mirror. “I've never heard of such a thing either,” she said softly. “I would assume it's the Nymphs playing in the night. They are unpredictable, but harmless. Tell me if anything else is reported, but I would not be concerned of this alone.” “As you say, my Queen,” Hazel agreed. “Is there anything else you would have of me, or may I be excused?” She did not mean to rush the Queen, but she felt wetness between her legs and desperately wanted to escape before she started leaking on the Queen's floor from under her dress. “No, be gone from my sight,” Jenara snapped. “In fact, I do not wish to see you for a few days, while my anger at your thoughtless actions subsides. Serve my son until Jarkan's party leaves us.” “Prince Baeden already has Marina, would you not rather have me-” “Do as I command,” Jenara interrupted. “With how he fawns over that girl, he will not ask anything difficult of her. You are to do what she will not. Go to him, now.” Hazel nodded and turned away, slowly walking through the door and into the hallway. As soon as she was clear of the wood, she gasped and shoved both hands between her legs, bending forwards and shutting her eyes. Her hands immediately felt wetness, and her bladder throbbed with every breath. She had been fine before she entered the Queen's chamber, but after that scare, it was all she could do to keep herself from bursting all over the floor. Baeden is too kind, he will ask nothing important of me. I must have relief. Hazel knew the underground like she knew her own body. She knew where in the castle she could simply sink straight down and land in a tunnel. She turned left and hobbled down the hall, gasping as she felt a few drops of wee fill the dry part of her dress that she held against herself. Just a few more feet. She jogged the last small distance to the end of the hall, and she stopped and knelt down. Here we go. It took her a moment to focus. Usually she could phase instantly, but she was too desperate to take her mind off it. Ten seconds later, she felt her knees sink into the stone, and then she was going down. She fell through the tower floor, catching a glance of two startled guards, then she was through the second floor of the castle proper, then the first, then through the foundation and dirt, and finally she was kneeling in the thin, humid tunnel. She stood and spread her legs quickly, pulling her dress up above her womanhood. As soon as the fabric cleared the line of fire, she was releasing a strong stream against the stone floor. She breathed in ecstasy as she leaned back against the wall, watching her stream flow from her like a waterfall. The first time she came down here, she had expected the tunnels to be pitch-black and scary. However, they were well lit with magical torches that never went out, which had apparently been there for hundreds of years. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of her much-needed relief. Not ten seconds later, she heard it. A voice, a male voice shouting from a very short distance to her right. Hazel screamed and let go of her dress. Unable to stop her stream, it sprayed against the fabric, soaking it through. She stumbled away from the wall, coming face-to-face with a tall man in black leather armor and a full face mask. “How the fuck did you get down here?” he was shouting in a heavy Eastern accent. Hazel turned and ran, her water still spraying from her and sliding down her legs as she moved. The man sprinted after her, and she screamed as she heard the sudden roar of some unknown beast. She turned a corner just as her bladder finally emptied completely, and she shrieked as she spotted five more men dressed the same, standing over a massive, glowing red crystal. In one second, she knew what she was seeing. A runestone, a magical artifact capable of storing powerful spells. The men turned to her and she stopped short and spun, screaming again as she saw a great grey dog growling in front of her, where the first man had been seconds before. The dog leapt at her and she shut her eyes, putting all her mind and soul into her magic, and with a centimeter to spare the dog phased through her body. She dove sideways, phasing through the tunnel wall, and she was safe. ******************** Part Three – War ********************3 “Baeden, stop it,” Marina moaned. She folded her legs together and tried fruitlessly to remove Baeden's hand from her belly. “We don't have time for this now, Jarkan's party will be arriving any moment, you must dress and prepare for their welcome.” “I am not going anywhere until you wee,” Baeden responded with a smirk. He continued pressing on her hard bladder, growing stiff as she gasped and squirmed against him. “Oh, fine, but I'm not doing it on the bed. If their ambassador wants a tour of the castle, it would not do him well to find a great puddle in the Prince's bed. I doubt even you could magic out all this wee. Release me so I may relieve myself properly for once.” Baeden sighed and removed his hand, watching Marina gingerly stand up. He smiled at her naked body as she leaned slightly forwards and clenched her fists. Since she had last emptied late last night, she would not normally be so desperate in the morning, but Baeden had insisted she drink much before bed so they could have some fun when they woke up. She slowly started towards the cabinet where the chamberpot was kept, but Baeden grasped her shoulder and held her back. “You really think I'd let you use the pot? Who do you think I am?” Marina groaned. “Where then? Somewhere it cannot be seen.” “How about-” Baeden's idea was interrupted by a crash from right below him. He gasped and jumped back, staring in awe as a human hand flew from the floor beneath his feet. Baeden stumbled backwards and tore his dresser open, throwing on a robe and pulling his personal shortsword from its place against the wall beside it. He aimed the tip at the squirming hand in the floor before it was followed by a small brown-haired woman in a white servant's dress. Baeden sighed and resheathed his blade. “I heard about you from my mother. Your name is Hazel, is it...” Baeden's voice trailed off as his eyes caught the state of her. Crying, shaking head to toe, the front of her dress soaked with what was likely piss. “Tunnels,” she choked out. “Men in the tunnels, with a runestone.” Baeden knelt next to her and grasped her shoulders firmly, holding her in a comforting manner. Marina stood to the side, attempting to cover her breasts and womanhood with her hands while also hiding the fact that she was desperate for relief. “Tell me what happened,” Baeden whispered to her. “You are safe now, find your breath and speak plainly.” Hazel was gasping for air, but after a moment she closed her eyes and exhaled, seeming to regain a small amount of composure. She looked up to Baeden and began to speak softly into his ear. “I went to speak with the Queen earlier, and she told me to come serve you. On the way, I...Oh, I cannot say...” “What? Please, Hazel, you do not need to fear me like you do my mother. You were in the tunnels? Why?” Hazel began crying softly again. “After I left the Queen's chambers, I needed to relieve myself. I phased down into the tunnels for privacy, and I was attacked. There were six men that I saw, dressed all in black, and there was a huge dog. Five of them were in the process of enchanting a giant runestone right under the castle.” Baeden's face went to stone, his jaw locking and his eyes growing hard. He stood and pulled Hazel to her feet. “It is Jarkan. They plan to betray us, as they have often done in the past. The runestone could be anything, but it is most likely a vortex enchantment, they plan to pull the whole castle into the tunnels below. The Queen must be informed. Hazel, go back to her and tell-” Hazel shrieked quickly and shook her head violently. “I cannot go back to the Queen. She is furious with me, she would see me executed.” “Fucking hell, she is so-” Baeden exhaled deeply and pursed his lips. “Oh, forget it. I will go to my mother. Marina, get dressed and come with me. Hazel, go find General Gaston. Tell him what we have learned, but word it as though it was I who was in the tunnels, inspecting the water supply.” “I, uh,” Hazel started. “I must return to the servant's quarters to change first. My dress...” She glanced down at the garment, soaked all down the front with her wee. “Not to worry, I can manage that,” Baeden said quickly. With one wave of his hand, Baeden pulled the liquid from the front of Hazel's dress, compressed it into a small orb, and shot it out the window beside his bed. Hazel opened her eyes wide, patting around her privates from the outside of the dress and looking up to Baeden. “How did you- What in the-” “You know I'm a Water Mage,” Baeden told her with a slight smirk that could not hide the concern in his eyes. “Works with piss too.” And with that, he turned and strode out his door. Marina followed behind him, groaning as she struggled to pull one of Baeden's maroon belted tunics over her breasts. “The belt, Marina,” Baeden sighed. “Why are you putting on my tunic anyway?” Marina blinked and grasped for the leather strap, pulling the buckle open. Finally she slid it over her chest and let it settle right above her knees. “Sent my dress for washing last night after we came down from the tower, remember?” She suddenly stopped and gasped, folding her left leg across her right and squeezing her eyes shut. “Baeden, I understand the importance of all this, but I have not had relief yet. I am not sure how long I can wait.” “Wee off the Queen's balcony after I leave to escort her to the war room,” Baeden said. “You must stay by my side until we reach her. If the castle is taken out from under us, your air magic will slow our falls and prevent both of our deaths. Once I join my mother, her speed magic would get all of us out of the castle before it fell.” Marina nodded and stood as straight as she could manage. She felt such pressure against her privates, but she was not on the verge of losing control quite yet. She had held much more than this in the past. “Quickly, then,” she said, following close behind Baeden. It was five minutes until they reached the Queen's tower. The castle was not so massive, but they were continuously stopped by servants and residents wishing them well or asking questions about the day's events. Baeden shrugged them all off, simply nodding or giving generic responses about wine or meat. Upon reaching the Queen's steps, Baeden held Marina back. “Listen to me, Marina. There will very likely be a battle today. I do not know what the Queen will command, but there is a chance that she will host the feast as intended so as to not arouse suspicion while she sends me and some other Knights to attack their camp from a flank. When we are separated, you must go to the roof of my tower. I have it warded against anyone besides the two of us.” “As you say,” Marina agreed in a strained voice. “Oh please, Baeden, we must hurry. I feel really full.” Baeden tried to smile reassuringly at her, failing to appear very convincing. He held her hand as they ascended the steps, only releasing her once they were right outside the Queen's door. “Try not to wet yourself in front of the Queen, alright?” Baeden said jokingly. “I should be alright. There's just a lot of pressure...I'm not leaking yet...” Baeden leaned in and gave her a long kiss, then knocked on the door. “Mother, I have some alarming news,” Baeden called. “Enter,” Queen Jenara responded. Baeden pushed the door open and stepped in, Marina hanging close behind him. Jenara was standing next to her desk, her handmaiden Naida doing some finishing touches on her hair. “If this is about the thing with the rain last night, I've already been informed,” Jenara said. Baeden coughed quietly. Marina wondered if he would tell his mother about the power he gained, but he seemed to decide against it as he stepped towards her. “I've got no idea about that. This concerns our...visitors today. Early this morning, I decided to take a walk through the tunnels, just to make sure everything was in order with the reservoir and that we had enough water for the guests. While I was down there, I spotted something very disturbing. They have men beneath our castle, enchanting a massive runestone.” Jenara stood still for a long moment. “They come here under guise of truce and instead make attempt on our Kingdom?” Marina stepped back as she felt the heat radiating from the Queen. Her eyes began to change, glowing bright orange and swirling with the flames of her very soul. “What happened? Did they see you?” Marina had not been afraid of the Queen in a long time, but seeing her second magic come to the surface was always unsettling. Queen Jenara was beyond a rarity. She was the only person that anyone had ever heard of who had been born with the magic of both her parents. The Queen's mother wielded fire, her father, speed. The two combined made her a powerhouse of magical strength. Strength that was wasted on someone who would never see combat. Baeden looked to his mother. “You must calm down. This is a coward's tactic, and they will be met with proper response. They saw me, but I do not think they knew who I was, as I was still in my nightclothes. I had no weapons, so I retreated. They did not follow, deciding instead to continue their enchantment. I have no idea what spell the stone holds, I could not see the runes clearly enough, but whatever it is...it could likely spell the end of this castle, as I'm sure you already know.” Marina stood to the side, feeling so proud of the Prince. Lying to his own mother to protect a servant... No servant was allowed in the tunnels without express permission from somebody above their station. If Jenara knew Hazel was down there, especially for something like having a wee, she really would take the girl's life. Marina glanced longingly at the balcony to her right. Her bladder throbbed at the thought of emptying itself over the edge. She fought hard not to squirm in front of the Queen, and she winced as she felt the smallest drop of liquid dampen her vulva. Baeden better get the Queen out of here quickly... “I've already sent Hazel to inform General Gaston,” Baeden explained. “With how fast she can move about the castle, he is likely already preparing the Knights. I suggest we gather all the vital residents of the castle in the great hall, so our magic may protect each other in the event of an attack.” “You are right,” Jenara agreed. “Naida, my hair is fine. Come with us to the great hall, I would not see my handmaiden injured this day. You too, Marina.” “I will join you in a moment, my Queen,” Marina piped up. “Baeden instructed me to gather some of your clothes and bring them to the treasury, in case we are forced to retreat underground.” She felt her privates vibrating under the pressure of her bladder now, knowing she was but a few moments from relief. “Nonsense,” Jenara brushed her off. “You wield air magic, yes? You could be of use. You will not leave my side. Naida, you gather the clothes and join us in the great hall with haste.” Marina stared wide-eyed at Baeden. He just grimaced and shrugged. She immediately felt the pressure in her bladder increase, furious that its imminent relief was taken from it. Bloody hell, what am I going to do? I can't hold it in much longer. She leaned ever so slightly forwards as her womanhood was dampened again by a tiny drop forcing its way out of her. She took a small step back and glanced down, making sure she did not drip on the floor at all. Jenara strode towards the door, placing a hand on Baeden's shoulder. “We will not be made victims again, my son. Your father died defending our Kingdom from them when they last came here. We will repel this vermin's tactic, we will assemble our army and we will march to their doorstep, with siege engines and five thousand men. We will bring the destruction of Jarkan.” She walked through the door, not noticing that she left a burning hole in the shoulder of Baeden's robe. He patted quickly at it, then followed after her with Marina trailing slowly behind him, as desperate as she had ever been. ************************* Part Four – Treachery *************************4 Queen Jenara pushed the pressure in her belly out of her mind as she sat in her throne at the head of the great table. Marina stood on the Queen's right, with Baeden in the chair next to her. Normally he would take the seat across the table from the Queen, but she wanted him close. He was wearing his armor now, longsword strapped to his side. Jenara was cross at him, as he had vehemently insisted that he and Marina be left alone to change. Jenara would have none of it, and waited in the barracks with her back turned as Baeden put on his armor. He thinks I don't know that he just wants a quick fuck with her before things turn bad. They can wait until Jarkan burns beneath my feet. Marina had no opportunity to change at all, and was still wearing Baeden's tunic. Along the walls of the great hall stood the Knights of Lunambra, with General Gaston positioned next to the door. The man stood at least seven feet tall, clad in shining plate armor from head to toe. No weapon graced his side. Jenara grinned at the sight, knowing that no weapon could stand up to the use Gaston would put it to. Glancing to the door and out the hall's windows, Jenara sighed. She let her legs shift closer together, cursing the slowness of her awakening that morning. She had fallen asleep with no relief the night past, after drinking too much wine at dinner the night before. Her privates tingled with a desire for relief, something she had no chance of feeling for a very long time. With an unknown runestone beneath the castle, anything at all could happen at any moment. While she could shift to her own chamberpot faster than anyone could even notice, most of her organs worked at the pace of any other human, and it still took her a long time to empty her bladder. Especially when it was so full. She actually liked the feeling, on her own time and when she was at peace, but right now it was nothing but a nuisance. I could send Gaston to remove or destroy the runestone, Jenara thought. However, if it's enchanted to be reactive, that could set it off. Jarkan's King is no idiot, he would plan for our potential discovery of it. She had no choice. She had to hold herself until the threat was over. Wait. There is something I can do. Jenara glanced around at the Knights, spotting one spinning a dagger around his fingers to pass the time. It's a risk, but it is one I must take. Jenara focused her mind, feeling her magic welling up inside of her. Once she felt confident, she stood up. Nobody in the room reacted to her, as to Jenara, time was stopped almost completely. They were so slow. She could go anywhere, do anything, and settle back in her throne without anyone being any the wiser. She shifted to the Knight with the dagger, moaning softly as her desperate body protested the sudden movement. She patted herself between her legs, as if to reassure her bursting bladder that it would feel better soon. She grasped the dagger by its handle and slipped it gently from the Knight's hand. She reached down and grasped the front of her dress, lifting it up and over her left shoulder. She slid the blade under the strings on the belly of her corset and cut them through, gasping as her bladder instantly bulged two inches past the garment. The relief was instantaneous and intense, and she moaned out loud as the pressure subsided to a simple dull ache. She couldn't remember the exact way the Knight was holding the dagger, so she just placed it in his hand and let the dress fall. She then made her way back to the head of the table and sat in her throne. She exhaled and released her magic, trying not to grin as the Knight shouted and dropped his dagger, to chuckles from the other nearby Knights. Now that she felt better, it was time to do her job. “The tower guards say that Jarkan's camp is being set up north of the river,” she called out loud, so everyone in the large room could hear. “Under other circumstances, it would seem obvious to set up near fresh water, but this has the dual purpose of blocking our own forces from reaching them. Other than being forced through the choke point at Quailsight Bridge, we have no way to attack besides archers and artillery. If they possess mages skilled in defensive magic, even that will have limited use.” “Mother,” Baeden started, “my magic has increased in power recently. I have been...training, nearly without end. I believe myself capable of parting the river so our troops may travel through.” Jenara squinted at him. “Impossible. Not even your father could hold such magic for longer than a few seconds, the river would crash upon our men and wash them away. Know your own strength, Baeden.” ***** The Prince looked at Marina, sadness in his eyes. Only the two of them knew the true power he now wielded. As much as everyone spoke of the Primordials, they were still little more than legends to most people, far beyond the reach of mankind. The claim that Baeden had seen one, that he had been granted power by one, would have him a laughing stock among his men. He knew that it would be revealed, but it would be at the moment he proved his new strength by literally raining death upon his enemies. Marina caught his eye. Her face was coated in sweat, her eyes red and watering. He looked down her body and winced as he saw wetness along the whole length of her right leg. There was a tiny puddle on the marble floor underneath her, and as he watched it was added to by a spurt that lasted at least a second. The lower half of her body was concealed from everyone besides Baeden by the table, but it would not save her if she wet herself completely. Marina shivered and opened her mouth, letting out a shaky breath. Baeden had seen her this desperate before, but it was always for fun, always in private. Another spurt of wee fell into the puddle, now threatening to spread out of the cover of the table. I have to help her. Baeden's thoughts were interrupted by the Queen continuing to speak. “No, attacking them at their camp is a losing tactic. While it may be a risk, I believe their motive is to activate the runestone if negotiations do not go their way. Their ambassador and his guards will pretend to accept whatever happens here, leave the castle, then bring it down on top of us. We will fight their traitorous ways with treachery of our own. The King was skilled at enchantments, and just by knowing him I learned much about runestones.” Jenara paused to eat, breaking the yolk of her egg open with her chunk of bread and dipping it in the liquid. Baeden looked back to Marina. She was absolutely vibrating now. Her eyes locked to his again, and he saw her shake her head in defeat. It's going to happen any second. As if on cue, Marina let out a small gasp and a river began flowing out from under the tunic. With all the reflexes of a great warrior, Baeden flung his hand open and focused his entire being on the liquid spraying out from between her legs. The waterfall ceased, and Marina's breath caught in her throat. While he had controlled her urine with his magic before, he had never used it to stop a wetting in progress by force. He had no idea how it might feel for her, but it was the only way he could save her from grievous punishment. She was staring at him with her eyes wide in shock, but thankfully she did not appear to be in pain. She slowly nodded at him, opening her hand in a gesture that told him to release the magic. He shook his head. She furrowed her eyebrows and nodded again. He sighed and lowered his hand, surprised to see that nothing more left her body. Seems what she let out was enough for her to regain control for now... Baeden shifted his focus to the growing puddle underneath her, using one finger to snake the liquid across the marble behind her and through a crack where the floor met the wall. Please, let this be over soon, Baeden prayed. She suffers this at my hand, if only I had let her have relief upon waking up. Jenara set down her bread and leaned back in her throne, a small grin appearing on her face. “A runestone of the size mentioned by Baeden requires a constant stream of magic to hold its power for longer than a few minutes. I would bet all my fortune that the five men who were enchanting it must stay nearby so it may feed on their mana. The sixth, however, is likely a scout or messenger. He will be traveling back to their camp to inform their General that the runestone has been discovered. Judging by the time they saw Baeden, and by the average sprinting pace of a man, we likely have less than ten minutes until he reaches them.” “I will bring him down,” General Gaston called from across the room in his booming voice. “If I take my horse, I may yet reach-” “There is no chance,” Jenara said, her grin growing wider. “Even at full speed, the river is a half hour's ride. You will accompany Baeden into the tunnels, where you will incapacitate the five men, bind them, and block their magic with warding crystals. Do not kill them, if the runestone loses its supply of mana it may activate early. If you see their attack dog, do what you will with it. Leave them there, and return to the castle. We will meet with their ambassador as intended, but with them absent knowledge that we are aware of their plot. We will take the ambassador and his guards hostage, so they may not activate the runestone. With the castle safe and the enchanters tied down, our forces will have time to cross the river at the bridge five kilometers south and circle to the rear of their camp, burning it to the ground.” “What of the messenger, though?” Baeden asked. Jenara's grin faded, replaced with a furious glare that perfectly represented the vengeance burning in her chest. “I shall handle him myself.” ********************** Part Five – Zodiac *********************5 Queen Jenara had not been alone outside of her chamber since... Pretty much ever, I suppose, she thought to herself. Always surrounded by servants, guards, nobles, and family. General Gaston argued hard against her coming out here, but there was nothing he could do to stop her when she used her speed. Squirrels, wisps, and birds filled her vision, but it felt so strange, standing in the forest with no human in sight. She had also never felt so exposed. She quickly discovered that she could not navigate the forest in her dress, and she had no sharp tool to cut the garment short. Absent choice, she released her fire magic and burned the dress off of herself. She stood in nothing but her underskirt and corset, alone in the trees, relying on her speed alone to keep her hidden. While she was free from the restraint of the dress, something else held her back. She looked down her body, sighing at her bulging abdomen that protruded even past her breasts. The pressure between her legs was great, and she had to fight to hold still. I can't relieve myself now. I don't have time. He could reach his camp at any moment. Pushing the cries of her bladder aside, she began to move. The river was four kilometers away, a distance she could cover in a matter of seconds at her fastest. However, the man she hunted could be anywhere between the castle and their camp. It was a large territory to sweep. She made the trip dozens of times in less than a minute, scanning the trees for any sign of Jarkan's scout to no avail. To make matters worse, the faster she went, the more her bladder contracted and throbbed. She tried hard to simply empty it as she ran, but she couldn't get it started while she was in motion. She cursed at the pressure that constantly taunted her, and again at the man that continued to elude her. As she kept running, she felt a particularly sharp pulse that forced her to a stop. Damn this, she thought desperately. I should just do it right here, just let it burst out, but it would be so much lost time. I must find him right now, for the sake of Lunambra. Why won't it just come out while I run... She stood straight again and continued her pursuit. Another dozen times through the trees, and still no sign of human life. She slid to a halt, groaning at the pain in her bladder and the pain in her feet. She had never stepped outside barefoot in all her life, and traveling around the forest as such was exceedingly unpleasant. Still, she thought nothing of the discomfort as she glanced around, scanning for something, anything, that could point to her prey. That was when she saw it. Something between two trees, a great orange shape, fifty meters away. She shifted closer, gasping in shock as she saw what it was. A tiger, a real, living tiger stuck mid-run in her seemingly time-stopping magic. The surprise of it nearly caused her to leak on the spot, and she had to shove a hand against herself to stop it, knowing that losing control would break her shift. The momentary loss of focus did cause her speed to wane, and she shuffled backwards as the tiger managed a quick step before getting stuck in her magic again. Wait just a minute, she thought suddenly, once the disbelief subsided. There are no fucking tigers in Lunambra. Her anger welling up once more, she voluntarily broke her shift and formed a fireball in her right hand. The tiger took off at full speed, still completely unaware of the Queen behind it, only stopping to turn when it heard the fwoosh of Jenara's fireball rapidly approaching it from behind. As limiting as it was, she could only manifest one type of magic at a time. In order to wield fire, she had to exit the shift, and she could not reenter it for nearly ten seconds after. This unfortunate disadvantage allowed the tiger to react with impressive reflexes, turning its large head towards the fireball hurtling towards it. Upon spotting Jenara, the tiger's eyes widened in either surprise or fear, and in the blink of an eye the tiger was a small rat, the fireball soaring uselessly over it with less than a meter to spare. Jenara cursed and launched another, but the rat was too small a target. It swerved this way and that, and with a roar Jenara threw out both of her hands, releasing a stream of flame that ignited a wall of fire across the forest in front of her. With a high-pitched scream, the rat was a horse, leaping through the flames and bolting into the trees. Jenara pulled her hands back, dissipating the wall of flame. Since she was in control of the fire, it would not spread or destroy anything she did not intend it to, but it could still alert Jarkan's camp. She stared at the retreating horse, waiting until she could use her speed magic again. He wields Eastern Zodiac magic. He may have been the dog that Baeden saw in the tunnels as well. I have heard that Jarkan had a Knight who wielded such a power. To find him on our doorstep...if he can use the apex form of his magic, he could be a bigger threat alone than all of Jarkan. I must bring him down, even if it costs me my life. Seconds later, she felt her magic welling back up in her body. She stepped forwards into a shift, but gasped and stumbled as her bladder contracted hard and she felt the first small spurt force its way out of her and into the grass below. DAMN THIS! I must have relief right here and now, but if he turns back into a rat and finds a hiding spot, I would not find him without burning the whole forest to the ground. Jenara screamed and slammed her fist against her belly, forcing out a fast, strong spray that soaked through the front of her underskirt. At least it's something. She willed herself into a shift, breathing hard as her movement forced her bladder shut. She caught up to the horse instantly, leaping onto its back and wrapping her left hand in its mane. Letting fire encase her right hand, the shift broke and she struggled to keep mounted on the galloping horse. He neighed in protest at the sudden weight added to his back, and louder again as she slammed her flaming fist into the side of its neck. The horse stumbled and slowed, running for a few more seconds before he began to collapse. Jenara barely managed to shift onto her feet in time before he hit the ground, and she quickly followed up with two fireballs to his flank. She prepared a much larger one to finish him off, but then the horse became a snake the length of a tree, all injuries seemingly gone. It seems that transforming heals him. I must kill him straight away, giving him no time to focus his magic. The snake struck before she could shift, so she was forced to use two blasts of fire from her hands to launch herself sideways. She rolled and groaned as she leaked again under her skirt, but she ignored it and swept a wide row of fire out in front of her to prevent the snake's advance. Rather than circling around to attack her, it spun backwards and took off in the other direction. Sighing, Jenara waited the few seconds until she could shift, then moved directly in the snake's path. She lifted her right foot and encased it in flame, slamming it down towards the snake's head. With unbelievable reflexes, the snake swerved to avoid her blow the instant the shift broke. Her foot struck the ground hard and she cursed in pain, throwing a circle of flame out from her hands to keep the snake from coiling itself around her. The snake slid backwards away from her fires, and then the snake was a man, clad in black leather armor and wearing a cloth mask. He knelt just outside of the flaming circle, breathing heavily and staring up at the Queen. He was unarmed aside from a small dagger at his hip, and Jenara let the fire dissipate. He stayed still for a few seconds, then slowly got to his feet. He reached up and pulled his mask off, revealing long black hair and a short beard covering a tired, Eastern face. “Who are you?” he panted. Jenara frowned at him, unsure of what to say. She was in her underclothes, the front of her skirt was obviously wet with wee, and she was incapable of standing still without leaking. However, her pride and honor surpassed any feelings of shame, and she did her best to stand straight. Besides, the man will be dead soon anyway. “I am Queen Jenara, monarch of Lunambra and daughter of King Baeden the First. Who are you?” The man exhaled, looking her over. “The Queen? You come to kill me alone? And...looking like that?” Jenara scowled. “I am the only person who could catch you before you reached your camp. As for my appearance, I could not run in my dress, and I have had a rather unfortunate morning. If we can move past that now, tell me. Who are you?” “I am General Percival Godfrey of Jarkan. It is an honor to meet you,” he said with a low bow. “Drop the act,” Jenara spat. “I haven't the time for the games of nobles.” Because I'm about to piss myself in about ten seconds. “How did an Eastern man become General of an English kingdom? And what kind of General sneaks around in the shadows, playing like an assassin?” Percival sighed. “I appear as I am because I am a bastard. My mother was a servant, taken from a band of traveling merchants by my father, and her magic was locked to prevent her escape. My magic is taken from her. And I behave as I do because I have no choice in the matter. I am just following orders, as much as I may despise it.” “Orders given by your King?” Jenara did not know why she was speaking with this man. One shift, and she could take his dagger and cut his throat before he could form half a thought. However, there was something in his eyes, some kind of regret and darkness that caused her to hesitate. Aside from that, she was unsure of her ability to shift with how hard her bladder was pulsing right now. She could try to force it, but if something went wrong she would undoubtedly wet herself completely in front of another Kingdom's nobleman. Even if he died soon after, it was something that she did not want to live with. Percival looked to his feet and nodded slowly. “Aye, our 'King.' The man's gone mad, but he is still our monarch and we have no power to refuse him. He commanded us to destroy your city and take your people hostage. He wields earth magic, and about a month ago he suddenly became powerful beyond belief. He's tearing our city apart, reforming it into something twisted and dark. Nobody knows what happened to him to make him this way, and with his new power there is nothing anyone can do to stop him.” “You do not wish to follow his orders, then? Listen to me, Percival, take the men you have here and join us. Your runestone has been locked down, the men in the tunnels restrained and rendered defenseless. You have no chance of winning here. Lend us your strength, and we will aid you in reclaiming your city from your King.” Percival shook his head. “No. You do not know the strength that he wields. If he discovers our treachery, he will turn our city to rubble. My family, all of our families, will be killed. I have no choice but to do as commanded. There is no other path. Fight me, or step aside, let me reach my camp, and let our forces decide the outcome of this battle.” “I cannot,” Jenara whispered. “As you wish,” Percival said, sadness taking over his gaze. “I obviously can not run from you, so I will use all my power to defeat you here so I may save my city.” Jenara knew what was coming, and she could not give him the chance. She locked her eyes on his dagger and threw herself into a shift despite the pain in her belly. She reached for the blade, drawing it from its sheath, but it was not to be. The strongest contraction yet forced her out of the shift, and a massive three second spurt of wee cascaded from her body. She just barely regained control, moved to thrust the dagger into him, but she was knocked back by a great wave of magical pressure. She stumbled and cried out as she leaked another long spurt, stepping backwards as the final form of the Zodiac rose endlessly into the sky above her. The size of it was nearly incomprehensible. Smoke pouring from its mouth, at least three kilometers long from its head to the end of its tail, the Dragon was born. ******************** Part Six – Friend ********************6 “Do not leave this spot. If anything happens, use your magic to the best of your ability to protect the hall and the Knights. You will be the only mage here once Baeden and Gaston leave to raid the tunnels.” These were the last words Queen Jenara said to Marina before she vanished from the hall, leaving her standing there with six goblets and eleven hours worth of wee besieging her womanhood. After Jenara left, Gaston cursed loudly and stormed out, followed quickly by Baeden, who could do nothing to help Marina in the presence of the Knights. And so she stood here shaking and crying, watched by the forty men that lined the walls of the great hall. “Girl, are you alright?” one of the Knights called out. Marina breathed in shallowly, fearing that even the motion of her lungs would be enough to make her explode under her tunic. “I'm just terrified,” she lied. “We've never been under attack like this during my life.” “There is nothing to fear,” he spoke up. “Our General alone could destroy their army with his bare hands.” Marina nodded tearfully, holding her breath again as she felt her hold slip, a new drop of wee dampening her labia. She shivered again, her whole body tensing up. The Knight wouldn't stop staring at her, his head tilted inquisitively. Marina wished he would look away. It wouldn't matter anyway. When she lost control, and that would be happening very soon, everyone in the hall would hear her powerful stream splattering across the marble floor. Just as Marina felt another spurt shoot out and soak into the bit of the long tunic she had held between her legs, the talkative guard stepped forwards out of the line. “I need a piss,” he said. “Gods know how long anyone will take to get back here, and I don't particularly feel like rusting out my armor.” He began walking towards the door, then pointed to Marina. “You, accompany me to the privy. I would have you aid the removal of my armor.” Marina recoiled, concerned what this man might have in store for her. It was unheard of for a female servant to help a Knight in such a way. But if I can slip away, just for a moment, I might be able to have a little relief. And if he tries anything, my magic gives me advantage. “As you wish,” Marina answered softly. “Justin, are you fucking kidding me?” another Knight called out. “You know we are not to leave our posts.” “Listen,” Justin said angrily, “I'm going to piss. I can either do it in the privy, or you can try to stop me and I'll piss on you. Make the choice.” The other Knight glared, but then stepped back into his slot in the row, absent continued argument. Justin motioned for Marina to follow him, then strode quickly from the great hall. Marina took one step before another spurt filled the front of her tunic. She felt her wee sliding down her thighs. With all the strength she had left in her small, trembling, desperate body, she fell into a limping jog and followed Justin out of sight of the other Knights. They were in the hall that led to the kitchens, and the privy was halfway down, a distance of maybe thirty meters. As close as it was, Marina knew she would never make it. Her thighs were soaked, and it was reaching her ankles as she walked. I can't wait anymore. I'm going to wet myself right here, and Justin will hear me, and he'll have his way with me while I'm too exhausted to do anything. It's going to happen any second. “You can make it, Marina,” Justin said suddenly. “I know you're strong enough. Us servants are desperate most of the day, you can hold on through one hallway.” What in the... Marina looked over the Knight in front of her. As she watched, the armor began shimmering as though it were made of smoke, then dissipated into nothingness. The shape of a man faded, replaced by Queen Jenara wearing a flowing blue dress. Marina froze in place, too shocked to even notice the small leaks hitting the floor beneath her. “My, my Queen, I, how did-” “I am not the Queen,” the woman said. “I am a friend. My name is Sabina. Or you may know me as...” The shimmering started again, her hair turned brown, her body grew smaller, and her formal dress was replaced by a servant's dress. “Naida. I act as both the Queen's body double and spy, as well as her handmaiden. It is a long story, one that I fear your bladder will not wait through. I will explain later, come now. Servants need to stick together, and I would not see you wet yourself in front of all those men.” Sabina started walking again, with Marina close behind. Marina was on the very edge of a complete physical meltdown. The door to the privy was in sight, but with the pressure burning like a star inside of her, it appeared as miles. Step by step she slowly approached the door, each movement sending a pulse out from her belly down her legs, through her privates, up through her chest and shoulders. Her control was teetering on the edge of an abyss, and even with the privy so close, so close, she felt as hopeless as she ever had. She contemplated just letting go here in the hallway. Naida had seen her wee before, she had seen Naida do it, all servants had no privacy from each other. But if another Knight comes down the hall, there will be no possible way to hide it. My magic might be able to dry a little, but I've got a lake inside me. I'd need the power of the Skyborn Primordial to dry this much wee. Three meters from the door. It was right here, relief was just seconds away. Five steps later, another massive pulse assaulted Marina as she turned half into the door. She suddenly felt her body give way as a huge and final wave of pressure overtook her and her weakened muscles could barely control her flow. Wee started to sneak out past her clenched lips, and she felt small spurt after small spurt spray onto the floor. Upon witnessing Marina's loss of control, Sabina grabbed Marina's shoulder and pulled her hard into the privy just as she exploded completely. Marina screamed in relief as her wee flowed freely from her defeated body, splashing over the stone floor and spraying against walls as Sabina dragged her through the small room, pulled up her tunic, and shoved her over the smooth wooden seat. The sound of her stream hitting water echoed loudly around them, almost louder than her orgasmic moans and gasps. As soon as Marina was in place, Sabina shoved her right hand between her own legs and groaned in discomfort. “I wasn't completely lying back there you know, I'm desperate as well. I'm not wetting myself yet but we don't have much time here or someone may come looking for us. Open your legs.” Marina might have argued if there was anything left in her brain besides relief. She spread her legs and felt the warmth of skin as Sabina straddled her. Sabina's stream quickly joined Marina's own, and she couldn't help but giggle at the situation. “You probably thought I was going to do something horrible to you,” Sabina laughed. “Sorry for the scare, but I can't let them know who I am. The Queen likes having someone within the Knights who can fill her in on their activities whenever she desires.” “Who are you though, really?” Marina breathed. She quivered as she felt Sabina's stream brush against her very most sensitive spot. “Watch your aim, you're getting it on me,” she complained. Sabina shifted back slightly, leaning forwards so her stream went straight down. “Sorry again. Anyway, I used to be a thief when I was a kid. My shapeshifting magic was so useful for such an occupation, I'm sure you can imagine. However, I was eventually caught by Lunambra guards. While the Queen was reading my crimes to the people before having your enchanter lock my magic, I saw fit to mess with her by taking her form. They still locked my magic, but they didn't anticipate that I would be stuck looking like her.” Sabina finished her wee and stood, patting at her dripping lips with the bottom of her dress. “Bloody hell, how much have you got in there?” Marina's stream was still blasting out of her like a waterfall with no end in sight. “No clue. I've never had to go this badly in my entire life. I've wet myself before but I've never had such incentive to hold for so long.” “It's incredible,” Sabina said softly, staring shamelessly at the stream between Marina's legs. Marina blushed a bright red. “Quit looking at me like that, you're not behaving much better than I feared the Knight would.” Sabina put on a face of regret and turned away. “I apologize. I've just never seen anything like it. Anyway, I was stuck looking like the Queen, and a lot of people wanted me executed for it. However, Jenara saw a potential use for me. She hired me as her body double and trained me in case she fell ill or was otherwise unable to perform her duties. Over time, as I gained her trust, she unlocked my magic so I may serve as either a simple servant or a spy. And here I am.” “Well, I thank you for getting me out of there before I lost it in front of everyone,” Marina mumbled. “I think I'm almost done...” Despite this claim, she kept going for another half a minute before the stream even slowed. She felt like there was a great void in her belly, and she pressed down on it, feeling it soft for the first time since she woke up. “That was the greatest thing I've ever felt,” she moaned. “Glad you liked it,” Sabina said with a smile. “I'm sorry for speaking so plainly, but that was very impressive, and you are very beautiful.” Marina blushed again. I wonder if she takes pleasure from this the same way me and Baeden do. Marina's mind formed the intrusive image of the two of them, both completely desperate, being handled by Baeden at the same time. She shivered and violently pushed the thought out of her head, then she stood up, sighing as she felt the front of her tunic. “Give me a moment...” Marina held out her hand and focused her magic, grinning as a small vortex of warm air formed over it. She held it over the tunic and moved over the wet spots, watching them slowly fade. Once she was dry, she increased the power of the spell to dry up the leaks that marked the floors and walls of the privy. Once she was satisfied in her cover-up, Sabina returned to the form of Justin the Knight and they both jogged back towards the great hall. As they approached, they could hear loud shouts echoing through the hall. Picking up speed, they burst through the door into the large chamber and stumbled as Knights ran back and forth in front of them, pointing through the large windows and screaming incoherent orders at each other. Glancing around, she saw that both Baeden and Gaston were back, staring into the sky with their jaws slack. Marina looked up through the windows and immediately knew why everyone was behaving as they were. Darkening the sky over the forests of Lunambra, a dragon the length of a river twisted through the air, breathing massive streams of fire towards the ground below it. Somehow, the dragon was not the strangest part of the sight in front of her. The strangest part was that the ground seemed to be throwing fire back. ******************** Part Seven - Sky ********************7 “IS MY MOTHER FIGHTING THAT THING?” Baeden shouted over the surrounding din. Gaston stood by the door, still looking stunned at the sight of it. “It's impossible,” he mumbled. Even though he spoke gently, his voice still carried above all others. “Dragons have been extinct for five hundred years.” “It can't be real,” Baeden responded. “It has to be some form of magic, summoning or transformation...” “Either way, we must bring it down,” Gaston growled. “To the horses.” He stormed out of the hall, Baeden sprinting behind him. Without a second thought, Marina took off after them despite loud protests from Sabina. She surrounded her feet in highly pressurized air, gliding along to keep up with the men. Baeden caught sight of her over his shoulder and stumbled to a stop. “Marina, no. You have no place in battle, your magic is not strong enough,” he whispered, trying to push her back towards the great hall. She ducked his hands, sliding around him and continuing towards the castle door. “She is my Queen too. This is my Kingdom. If I will ever have a place as its Princess once we are wed, I must fight for it as well. Don't underestimate me.” Baeden shouted in frustration and launched back into a sprint. Seconds later, Gaston crashed through the heavy iron gates, knocking them from their hinges and sending them spiraling dozens of meters in either direction. It was another minute's run to the stables, and the two men quickly mounted large white steeds. Marina threw herself onto the back of Baeden's horse with a burst of air from her feet, and they were hurtling through the city gates and into the forest surrounding them. The roars of the dragon grew deafening as they galloped ever closer, and smoke and flame could be seen burning away the forest ahead of them. Massive streams of fire kept flowing into the sky, but the dragon swerved around them and continued assaulting the ground with its own breath. “We must get to the river,” Baeden called. “My magic is useless otherwise.” “I've got no idea what we will be able to do against it,” Gaston roared. “How can I reach something so high in the air?” “Trust me,” Baeden answered. “You will reach it. Just get to the river.” And so they rode, faster than ever before. The battle between the Queen and the dragon raged on for fifteen minutes before the sound of water could be heard in the distance. Marina kept her eyes on the Queen's flame, staring through the trees. And then she spotter her, standing in a charred clearing as fire burned all around her. Marina tumbled off the horse, landing softly on a bed of air. Baeden pulled his horse to a stop, turning to stare at her. “I'm going to the Queen,” Marina yelled. “Get to the river, help Gaston!” She took off into the forest, ignoring Baeden's pleas for her to stop. He cursed louder than the dragon roared, and she looked over her shoulder to see him turn and follow after the General. She moved as fast as she could, using her magic to leap over burning trees. She stumbled into the clearing where the Queen stood, both hands held over her head and a blinding torrent of fire roaring into the sky. Marina looked away from the fire and ran to the Queen, grabbing her arms and pulling them to her side. Jenara shouted in surprise and violently spun to face her. Jenara's face was coated in sweat and soot, her eyes unfocused and her arms shaking. “Marina,” she breathed. “Why-” “Baeden and Gaston are here. You can rest now, trust in your son. You must know that you cannot defeat a dragon with fire. Get somewhere safe and watch Baeden's power in action.” Jenara nodded shakily, breathing heavily as she grasped Marina's shoulders. Marina felt her entire body jerk violently, and then she was standing near the river, far away from any fire. Marina had never felt one of Jenara's shifts. It wasn't fun as a passenger, but she was glad to be away from the heat. “My Queen, how is there a dragon here? Was it summ-” “Transformation,” Jenara breathed. “Jarkan's General, it's exceptionally rare Eastern magic...” The Queen stumbled to the river's edge and fell to her knees, then collapsed into a seated position. “Leave me, Marina,” Jenara whispered. “I do not care where you go, but I must be alone right now.” “I do not think-” “LEAVE!” Marina winced and turned away from Jenara. “Fine then, I'll do what I can to help Baeden.” She doesn't want to be seen like this. It's alright, she should be safe here. Marina wrapped her feet in air again and skated off down the riverbank, and quickly left Jenara's sight. Looking up into the sky, the dragon was focused on a patch of trees about a kilometer away, breathing down a torrent of fire that seemed to be moving towards the river. That has to be them. Blasting jets of air from her hands to increase her speed, she made it about half way before her magic suddenly gave out. She hit the ground hard, rolling a distance before coming to a stop, breathing heavily and staring into the sky. What the hell? I know the limits of my magic, and I'm not there yet. She stumbled to her feet and tried to summon a ball of air in her fist, but nothing happened whatsoever. Fucking- Come on, what- “Marina.” She froze, raising her arms in a defensive stance. “Who's there? Show yourself.” “You know what I am.” The voice came from every possible direction, deep, powerful, burying itself in her very soul. “You have a great destiny, Marina. You will soon become part of the family that will save our kind, and your kind as well.” Marina shivered. In her logical mind, she had no idea what was happening. However, somewhere deep inside of her, a spark of magic began burning hot enough to force her to her knees. The power flowed from her chest and took over her mind, rushing through her limbs and melding with her very blood. Thoughts and images spiraled through her head, the Earth seen from above, the sky spanning beyond every horizon. It was all inside of her in this moment, and then the sensation faded and she was back on the ground, kneeling at the riverside. She looked up, past the dragon snaking through the air. “You are the Skyborn Primordial,” she whispered. Even as she said it, all confusion and disbelief left her mind. All she felt was power. “My brother has turned on our creation. Each of us used our own bodies to build your Earth. I am the Sky, my sister is the Oceans, one brother is the fire that warms your species, and the other is the Earth itself. He is the one who has betrayed us. He wishes to return to his true body and begin a war against us. Skyborn, Solborn, Oceanic – We three are able to roam freely among our domains, while the Terran is perpetually trapped under his own gravity. He seemed willing to make the sacrifice in the beginning, willing to give his freedom to bring new life into the universe. It took four billion of your years, but he now grows resentful. Hatred for our creation burns brightly in his soul. He will soon break free from the prison of his own body, and your world will end.” Marina tried to catch her breath. A war between the Primordials themselves, and she was now caught in the middle of it. “WHY US!?” she screamed into the sky. “What do I have to do with your war? What does Baeden? And how are we supposed to fight the Earth itself? Tell me! What would you have us do!?” “Your home, this...England, it is home to more magical energy than anywhere else on Terra. You, the water user, and the woman who you call your Queen, are all simply victims of circumstance. The only mages in your land who wield our elements. As for how you will stop my brother, it is not him that you must fight. He is powerless in his current form. He has given his magic to the one you call the King of Jarkan, manipulating him and twisting his mind. In order to gain the power needed to free himself, he intends to use that man to capture every magical human in the land, draining them of their mana and using all that power to split the Earth itself. His shell broken, he will be able to take form once again, bringing his wrath to us.” Another pulse of burning energy surged through Marina's body, and at the slightest thought, she was surrounded in air that spun far faster and roared far louder than any she had conjured before. “You must defeat this King. When a Primordial gives their magic to a mortal, time equal to nearly five hundred of your years must pass before it can be done again. With the King's death, Terra will be sealed throughout your life and the lives of countless generations after. At that time, we will find new heroes to do our work. Now, you must destroy the army that assaults your Kingdom, then bring the fight to their King.” “But if I fight Jarkan's men, will their leader not use their runestone to destroy our city? We must make ourselves safe before we-” “The runestone is a ploy, a trick to force your people to surrender without a fight. Whatever magic it contains cannot destroy anything. Their King needs the lives of your people to free Terra, he would not risk killing them all.” “What of the Queen, then?” Marina asked, still staring into the sky, desperate to get whatever information she could from such a being while she had the chance. “Why does she not gain the power of a Primordial yet?” “She has always possessed the power. Solborn is pure energy, he exists out of time, a completely different plain than the rest of us. He foresaw Terra's betrayal in his future. It was Jenara's mother that received his power, and it was passed down to her. This is why she wields two forms of magic. Due to her position, she has not trained her fire to its full potential. Solborn will reach out to her soon, before you converge on the tainted King. Now...it is time. You have fully absorbed my magic. Go, and see your family to a peaceful future.” As soon as he finished speaking, the swirling energy inside of her came to its peak. Looking a great distance down the river, she saw the two warriors on horseback come bolting out of the treeline, tumbling from their steeds just as another jet of fire roared over them. Marina let her hands fall to her sides, and she closed her eyes. Now or never. If I have truly gained the power I believe I have, I can finally be of use to Baeden, to our entire Kingdom. She focused her mind, and with incredible speed she felt magic encase her body, air flowing around her in every direction with pressure she thought forever beyond her reach. She opened her eyes, set her sights on the great dragon above, and left the ground far behind as she became the first mortal to become one with the sky. *************************************** Part Eight – Sword of the Skyborn ***************************************8 Gaston and Baeden rolled off their horses upon reaching the river, barely dodging another stream of flame. Their horses bolted into the forest as they ran further down the river's edge, before skidding to a halt once they were clear of the heat. “How are we supposed to reach it?!” Gaston shouted over the dragon's roars. “I could bring it to ground with one punch, but not if I cannot fucking reach it!” Baeden looked up at it, its head alone the size of Lunambra's castle, its body far longer than the entire city was wide. “General, I know your strength firsthand, but I doubt that even you could bring down such a beast with ease.” Gaston growled. “Be that true or otherwise, I would be happy to find out. You've always been smarter than me, so figure out how we're going to fight it.” “There is only one way,” Baeden said. “Step into the river. I shall raise you into the sky on a pillar of ice. Once at equal height, I will navigate you close so that you may make contact.” Gaston looked sideways at him. “Ice? You have developed such a skill? Even if that is so, you could never create a pillar of that size, it's-” “Would you stop doubting my strength and do as I command, General?!” Baeden roared. “My power is far greater than you can imagine, and I will tell you why once you witness it for yourself. Now get in the river and brace your fucking legs.” Gaston nodded begrudgingly and stomped into the river, never taking his eyes off the Prince. “Do what you will, then,” he challenged. Baeden held out his hands and exhaled, channeling all his magic into the fast-flowing water. Gaston looked down in bewilderment as the entire river came to a complete stop, and he felt the water around his legs growing cold. Within seconds, a circle of ice surrounded him, and he felt himself rising into the air. “Baeden, this is- GET DOWN, NOW!” Baeden dropped his hands and dove sideways, avoiding three crossbow bolts by centimeters. Rolling to his feet, he looked to the other side of the river. Jarkan's entire invasion force was converging on them, horses and infantry trudging into the river. The ice surrounding Gaston shattered and he jumped back onto land, standing next to the Prince. “We must deal with these Jarkan cunts before we can do anything against the dragon,” Baeden whispered. “Stand behind me.” Gaston did as asked, and Baeden threw his hands into the air, a vast wall of ice forming quickly in front of him. He could hear bolts slamming into the other side of it, and he pushed forwards, sending the wall crashing into their forces, clearing out dozens of men. Gaston crouched down and leaped clear across the river, landing in a roll and rising directly into an uppercut that sent a soldier into a tree with such force that it cracked in two, then grabbed another man by his wrists, wielding him as a club against his allies. Baeden was rapidly hurling spikes of ice, targeting the archers and letting Gaston handle the sword and spearmen. “Fire!” Gaston shouted, and Baeden looked up to the dragon. Gaston had noticed it too late, the massive ball of flame was already upon them. Jarkan's soldiers screamed in fear and scrambled, trying fruitlessly to escape the range of the dragon's attack. With the impending impact just seconds away, Baeden's adrenaline exploded within him. He raised his hand and fell into a kneel, slamming his fist into the water at the river's edge. Gaston's mouth fell open in absolute, unmatched disbelief as all that was visible of the river vaporized in a single instant, forming a cloud of water that surrounded the two of them, as well as Jarkan's men. The fireball sunk into the mist, hissing and sizzling as the two opposite forms of magic clashed. The heat pounded down on Baeden's body as the elements dissipated, forming a burning rain that singed his skin. Gaston was breathing heavily, staring into the nearly empty river that was only just starting to refill. He looked to Baeden and scoffed, the only reaction his mind could manage when met with such a feat. Baeden ignored him, getting up from his kneel and staring out at Jarkan's panicked men. “IS THIS WHO YOU WANT TO SERVE?” he roared, tearing off his helmet and throwing it at his feet. “I know that is your General up there, no other man could possess such power. Yet he attacks blindly, absent thought of his own men! The soldiers that should stand as brothers to him!” Baeden drew his sword, more ceremonial than functional for a mage, and thrust it into the ground. “Why do you fight us, while your leader cares not for your own lives? Why do you give your loyalty to such a man? You see my power, you will not win this day. Lay down your arms and live to see your families once again!” One of the men who was laying in the riverbed struggled to his feet. “We...cannot,” he groaned. “Our King...he has gone mad with power. He practically holds our families hostage, he will kill them if we do not take your city.” He bent over and retook his sword, barely managing to stand straight again. “There is no surrender for us.” “If you speak the truth,” Baeden started, “then you should join us, take up sword against him. There is no hope for your victory today, you must understand this. Sheath your blade right now, and you will not be executed, you will not be taken prisoner. Your forces have taken none of our lives, nobody will seek revenge on simple soldiers.” The man gripped his sword tighter. “Our General could take your city by himself,” he breathed. “We do not want to fight you, we still wish to honor the treaties set by your father years ago. Yet our King leaves us absent choice. To protect our own citizens, we must take Lunambra or we must die. Now fight us or-” The man was interrupted by an earth-shattering boom from above that shook the ground beneath them. He stumbled and looked around in confusion, his sword raised. “What in the fuck is that?” another Jarkan soldier shouted suddenly. All eyes turned to him, pointing up towards the dragon. Baeden looked up, staring around the twisting monstrosity, trying to focus on the spot the man was pointing at. Seconds later, he saw it. A human form, soaring through the skies towards the dragon, a blur of red hair and pale skin, clad in Baeden's own maroon tunic. Baeden's mouth opened and closed silently as he stared up at her. Finally, he found his breath. “Marina.” ********* She had wished to fly throughout her entire young life. As she grew, she always dreamed of flying free of the Kingdom she was forced to serve. Upon growing to love Baeden, the dreams of leaving faded, yet her desire to join the skies had burned strong to this very day. As she looked down at the tiny trees rushing past her, happiness unlike any she had ever imagined flooded her body. Up here, this minute, this second, she knew that her power was absolutely limitless. She focused her magic to the centers of her feet, hurling herself through the sky at speeds rivaling Queen Jenara herself. As she reached her fastest, she heard a massive boom that she knew would have deafened her if not for the protective layer of compressed air that surrounded her body. The sound of a hundred cannons firing as one, caused by her own body as she flew. The dragon turned at the sound, facing her and releasing an immense roar. Despite facing the beast that could crush a city beneath its feet, she felt no fear. It opened its mouth wide again, and rather than a roar, a blast of fire burned into her irises as she charged. The flame caused nothing but a comfortable warmth as she burst through it, coming out the other side less than three hundred meters from the dragon's maw. Despite having never wielded magic coming anywhere near this, she felt total control, an absolute connection to her own domain that surrounded her. She turned sidways, holding her hands out to each side as though they were wings. Despite the invisible nature of her magic, she could feel exactly what she was manipulating, and her mind put image to the air that she pulled from the infinite sky. The air surrounded each hand, shooting out in either direction and compressing tighter and tighter. The air pressure was so great that it began to sing as it sliced the sky, a roaring cacophony of pure elemental force. She straightened up, bringing both hands together and combining the two colossal blades of air into one. The dragon's mouth filled her entire field of vision at this point. One hundred meters away. Fifty. Twenty. ********* Baeden dropped to his knees as the dragon was instantly and completely split asunder, blood flowing into the air from either side of its corpse. The two halves spiraled towards the forest below, twisting lifelessly as they fell. She has the power of a Primordial, he knew it right there and then. When...why... He shook himself from his astonishment, growing concerned that the dragon would destroy the Kingdom with quakes caused by its impact to the Earth. His worry was soon soothed, however, as the dragon's body began to disintegrate into a glowing mist. Its pieces grew smaller and smaller, and he almost lost sight of them completely before they took the form of two halves of a man. They harmlessly fell into the trees kilometers apart, never to be found again. Everyone around him was absolutely silent. Jarkan's men stood in crippling awe, their sword hands limp at their sides. It was Gaston who finally spoke. “I never thought I would end up the weakest of us,” he whispered. “I never held any care for that girl, I never knew she wielded any power at all. And you, Baeden, how long has it been since you surpassed me so?” The Prince got to his feet and forced himself to stand tall. He spoke loudly, directed at Gaston yet with desire for all of Jarkan's men to hear as well. “You may not wish to believe me, but each of us has been gifted limitless power by the Primordials themselves. The Oceanic Primordial visited me when I went to Great Oak, and while I am not sure when the Skyborn granted Marina her power, it is clear that he has. They obviously have plans for our Kingdom to gift us so, though for reasons I do not yet understand.” He turned from Gaston to directly address Jarkan's shaken soldiers once more. “Do you see now? You have witnessed such a thing with your own eyes. Do you still doubt our ability to save your Kingdom? To defeat your King?” The man who had spoken earlier was the first to drop his sword. He fell to one knee and bowed in fealty to Baeden. “You speak the truth,” he said. “There is no other explanation for such a display of power. If the Primordials ally themselves with you, we shall as well. Please, my Prince, free our families.” The other soldiers dropped their weapons and followed his lead. Baeden answered with a simple nod. He stepped next to Gaston, placing a hand on the taller man's shoulder. “There is no doubt that our Knights are on their way here. Lead Jarkan's men to meet them, and go back to the castle. Give them food and shelter, and treat them as you would our own soldiers. I will find my mother.” “Aye,” Gaston grunted. He motioned for the surrendered soldiers to follow and stomped off into the trees as Baeden took off down the river. ************************************* Part Nine – The Solborn Queen *************************************9 Jenara sat at the river's edge, staring blindly into the water. In the back of her mind she heard his voice, but it barely seemed real to her until Baeden placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with unfocused eyes as he spoke words she couldn't bother hearing. He was soon joined by Marina, who seemed to appear from nowhere. Baeden grasped Jenara's arm and helped the Queen to her feet. “Are you alright?” she managed to hear. She just stared in response. “She's just completely exhausted after her battle,” Marina said. “And understandably so. We must get her back to the castle so she may rest properly.” But she was not exhausted from battle. Her fight with the dragon was nothing. What caused her condition was the fact that it felt as though her entire body was filled with piss, an entire two day's worth of wine and water that had all moved through her and now sat in her bladder, absolutely demanding release. The reason why she did not simply let herself flow into the river was beyond her. She had plenty of opportunity after Marina left her. And yet for some incomprehensible, foolish reason, she held it all inside of her until her son arrived, and it was too late. Was it dignity? She had already been seen half-naked by Jarkan's general. Yet her body would not allow her to find the relief that she begged for beyond anything else, not now that she had come so far. The heat of the dragonfire had dried the wet spots on her skirt, and she had not leaked any more once she was out of combat. Her belly had not bulged so far when she was pregnant with Baeden, and she prayed that neither him nor Marina would notice. They'll notice either way when I inevitably empty myself at their feet, her mind taunted. She was thankful that Baeden ceased speaking. If she let her focus wander to even something as simple as forming words, she would lose all control. Baeden started leading her into the forest, and she walked behind him, absent all awareness of her surroundings. She let her son drag her as her privates quivered and her belly throbbed, every step sending quakes of pain and pressure all throughout her body. At our pace, it will take hours to reach the castle. I'll never make it. I cannot do this in front of my son. Anywhere else, anyone else... With every last bit of strength Jenara had left, she suddenly lunged forwards and broke from Baeden's grip. She took two steps before she vanished in a shift, leaving her son and Marina behind. It was the most painful shift she had ever performed, ever since her first time as a little girl. She felt her magic breaking and fizzling as she moved, warping in and out of her speed as she approached the city. Once she was through the gates, it became slightly easier as muscle memory carried her into the castle. My room. My chamberpot. Privacy, relief, it all took over her mind as she stepped into the now-empty great hall. She paid a price for the distracting thoughts, as the shift broke completely and she stumbled into a normal pace. Out of the great hall, into the entrance hall. She gripped the railing of the stairs that would carry her to her chamber, and heaved herself up one at a time. She had no clue how she was still moving, the her body trying to lock up every muscle in a last desperate attempt to keep her dry. She was so full that she felt it almost in her chest, and the radiating pulses reached all the way to her fingertips and toes. She looked around to make sure she was truly alone, then tore off what was left of her damaged corset, burning it away into dust. To her lament, the removal of the garment did absolutely nothing to ease the pressure. Now dressed in only her skirt, she looked down and moaned as she saw the great bulge that contained all of her wee. She placed her left hand gently upon it, and even this slight touch sent a shock through her body that made her nearly fall. She just needed relief, so very, very badly. The agony was overwhelming. She couldn't believe how much pain something as simple as a full bladder could cause. She looked around, desperate, unable to continue, her bladder thrashing, screaming, protesting as it reached its very limit. She forced herself to take just one more step, then another, and just one more. Jenara would never understand how she had been able to hold it in so long, but she knew there were only seconds left before she'd be exploding into her skirt if she did not reach her chamber now. Somehow she reached the top of the stairs, and she turned left towards her tower. She tried to breathe, tried to focus as the next agonizing wave of torture started to build. She screamed out loud as her bladder pulsated madly within her. She needed wee so badly, so urgently. Trembling, she felt the pressure surge. Five steps later, she came to a halt as the strongest pulse she had ever felt crashed against her reddened lips. There was nothing more she could do. I got so close...just a few more- “My Queen? We heard a scream...” Jenara's heart practically stopped. She turned, eyes wide. Hazel and Sabina (who was in the form of Naida) stood together behind her, looking on with concern. Jenara stood there, her breasts out in the open, her skirt torn and dirty, her face sweat-soaked and her hair matted. The surprise and humiliation was too much for her. Without a chance to say one word in her defense, she began leaking uncontrollably, her wee falling out from under her skirt and soaking into the deep red carpet below. The two serving girls opened their mouths in surprise, stepping back as Jenara lost every semblance of control. The Queen leaned against the wall and slid into a sitting position as she gave up completely. An ocean flowed out from under her, soaking into the carpet and spreading out in every direction. She exhaled properly for the first time in what felt like a week, letting the breath transition into a moan of pure pleasure and relief. She was completely defeated, humiliated in front of her servants, everything she thought of herself as a Queen flowing out of her sopping wet womanhood, but she had not a care in the world for any of it at this moment. Her skirt fell into her wee and soaked through instantly, damping the stream so it flowed around her rear, causing a great puddle beneath her. It just went on and on, a seemingly endless stream of hot wee that nearly reached Hazel and Sabina standing two meters away. Despite the absorption of the carpet, the puddle reached the ledge of the second floor of the entrance hall and fell to the marble below. She could hear it splattering against stone even at this distance, and she knew there was absolutely no hiding such an accident. Even if she banished Sabina and Hazel from Lunambra, people would come into the hall at some point and see the mess coming from Jenara's wing of the castle. I'm going to have to run. Just shift to some other country and make a living as a lamplighter. Baeden will make an amazing King. He has not needed me for some time. It was a full two minutes until her waterfall fell silent. The drip, drip, drip could still be heard falling to the floor below, and her two servants still stood by, watching her closely. She wished they would look away, but it was no matter at this point. Her body and mind exhausted, she forced herself to her feet and turned towards the two young girls. “So, what is going to happen now?” Jenara asked them quietly. “You going to run and tell everyone what I have done here? Humiliate me fully as vengeance for how poorly I have treated each of you in the past?” The two of them looked between Jenara and her colossal puddle. It was Sabina who moved first. She slowly stepped into Jenara's lake, pushing past her to lean against the wall. She sunk into a sit in the middle of the wee, then looked up at the Queen. “I was so scared,” Sabina said with a small grin. “The dragon was so fearsome, I was so terrified, I lost control of my waters. Please, forgive me.” Jenara sighed and smiled genuinely for the first time that day. “You sweet girl,” Jenara breathed. “However, nobody will believe that a tiny one like yourself produced this much piss. I fear there is no possible way out for me with this.” “I couldn't hold it either,” Hazel said suddenly. She jogged up next to Sabina and sat down as well. “We were running for shelter, and when Naida started wetting herself, I lost control as well. We drank so much water last night, and with all the panic, we never got a chance to use our chamberpot this morning.” At this very moment, Jenara loved these girls like they were her own daughters. “You would take the blame for this, after how I have abused you over the years?” “We are not slaves,” Hazel said. “We both wield magic that could easily support lives outside this castle. We choose to stay here because we care for our city, and our Queen.” “I will never forget this,” Jenara whispered. “You two will see vast rewards.” “Please, my Queen,” Sabina said. “Just see yourself to your chamber to wash. After we are found, we will come to see you to proper dress for supper this night. Servants wee themselves all the time, it is rare for us to stay dry throughout a full day of duty. Not much will be thought of it.” Jenara nodded, her eyes full of gratitude. She limped away, turning the corner into her tower. The water from yesterday's bath still sat in her chamber, and she placed her hands in it, focusing her fire magic until it was nearly at a boil. She tore off her skirt and sunk into it, leaning back as far as she could without drowning herself. Now that she had relief, now that her mind was clear, she felt something burning within her. She had not used her fire magic in years. She knew she possessed it, but short of fooling around as a child, it had always remained hidden. After today, after she relaxed, she could feel its influence growing rapidly inside of her. The water surrounding her began to truly boil, yet she felt no pain. The magic overtook her, and as she closed her eyes, she could see a vision of the sun above, filling her senses with warmth and light. “Jenara...you finally awaken. I have been waiting to meet you for a very long time.” *********** Epilogue *********** Baeden and Marina stepped into the castle, the gates still missing from their hinges. A couple dozen Knights and other nobles stood around the entrance hall, staring at something in the corner. “I must find the General and address Jarkan's men,” Baeden whispered. “See to my mother.” Marina nodded as he walked off, and she approached the crowd. “My Lord, what is going on here?” she asked one of the nobles in the back. He turned to her, his face disdainful. “Two serving girls pissed themselves in fear of the dragon, right here in the hall. How unsightly...half the floor is soaked in it.” Marina furrowed her brows and moved up the stairs, finding Naida and Hazel sitting in an absolutely massive puddle of wee, their faces unreadable. Naida – Er, Sabina, just relieved herself a little while ago, and Hazel not much earlier...they couldn't possibly have... The truth hit Marina like a ton of bricks. It was Jenara...that's why she was acting so strangely...there's so much, she must have been so desperate... Marina stepped into the puddle and helped the girls to their feet. “I know what happened,” she whispered. “Your loyalty is admirable. The Queen is still just a person, she must have been absent relief for over a day...” “Longer, I think,” Sabina breathed. “I have not had to empty her chamberpot since the evening before yesterday. And I thought you were impressive earlier...” Hazel looked between them, a humorous grin growing on her face. “What have I missed between you two?” she giggled. “Another time,” Marina sighed. “Come now, we must all clean up and see to our Queen. War is coming, and we have many long days ahead of us.” *************** Hello, Readers. Thank you so much for continuing to support the Lunambra universe, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed this whole new world. As with the originals, this is going to be a trilogy as well. Stay tuned for Books Two and Three, as they will continue to bring storytelling and intensity that is unseen in any other example of Omorashi fiction. -B.L.
  5. The morning sun gleamed bright as the Queen’s entourage reached the Wedgemore meadow, where a hundred pavilions had risen on the grassy field. Some were small, some large; some square, some round; some of sailcloth, some of linen, some of silk; but all were brightly colored, with long banners streaming from their center poles, painting the meadow brighter than a field of flowers. Lord Abbot was staging a great tourney to celebrate his daughter’s sixteenth nameday and every lordly house in the realm had sent a knight or three to Wedgemore, to see the fair maid and brave the lists in her honor. Queen Charlotte too was eager to see the noblest lords and finest knights from the realm compete against each other. With half her court, she had set from the capital at dawn to reach Wedgemore on time. They had traveled past woods and orchards, stout holdfasts and neatly tended fields as the sun rose from its slumber and climbed up the sky. All the way, Queen Charlotte’s lips barely parted with the water skin, although she had plenty of water before leaving the King’s Fort. Owing to her belief that drinking a lot of water would grant her eternal youth, the Queen made it a point to drink no less than ten liters each day, however engaged in her duties she may be. By when they met the honor guard Lord Abbot had sent to meet them on the road and escort them back to his keep, Queen Charlotte already had four liters of water streaming through her body, most of it already begging to be let out, but she paid it no heed. A blare of trumpets went off from the walls as the Queen’s knights and mounted archers poured through Lord Abbot’s castle gates, riding some of the most splendid horses in the country. The Queensguard knights rode in with the royal banners and a gust of wind lifted the golden silk pennons atop the tall staffs, and the rampant griffin of House Seymour drawn upon it seemed to take wing. Lord Abbot and his sons came hurrying out the doors of the keep and kneeled as Queen Charlotte stepped out of her carriage. She was wearing a white gown slashed with cloth-of-gold, lacy but demure. It had been several years since the last time she had donned it, and she found it a bit tight about the middle. “Your Highness” Lord Abbot kissed her hand and she responded with a curt smile. She rode to the tourney in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. The meadow was filled with people, all trying to wriggle their way closer for a better view. The viewing stand was filled up with highborn lords and ladies, a few rich townfolk, and a score of knights who had decided not to compete that day. All clutching their cloaks tight about them against the morning chill. Everyone who was seated, stood up when Charlotte came to take her seat in the viewing box, and sat only when the she signaled with a nod. As she waited for the joust to begin, a minor twinge from her bladder reminded the Queen of her filling organ, but she chose to ignore it and asked a servant to fill her water skin now that she had emptied it for the fifth time. The horns blew to summon the challengers, and a murmur of excitement went through the crowd as five knights appeared one by one at the south end of the lists. Heralds shouted out the name of each knight in turn. They paused before the viewing stand to dip their lances in salute to the Queen, Lord Abbot and his daughter, then circled to the north end of the field to select their opponents. When done, the challengers trotted back to the south end of the lists to await their foes and stood with their twelve-foot lances pointed upward. Brightly barded horses were held by squires on the north end of the field for the champions to mount. They donned their helms and took up lance and shield, in grandeur the equal to their rivals. And then, the Wedgemore meadow grew almost still as the champions trotted into position. A horn sounded, and stillness turned into commotion in the blink of an eye. A thousand voices began to scream and shout as the knights charged from both sides, forty iron-shod hooves beat and tore the ground, ten lances ready to pierce through their rivals’ hearts. The field seemed almost to shake, and champions and challengers came together in a shredding collision of wood and steel, pummeling two riders into the dust. Their rivals dismounted to meet them afoot with swords and axes, while the ones still ahorse turned around for another pass. Charlotte saw the point of Sir Tybalt’s black lance hit Sir Fendrel’s shield and slide off to slam into his chest, even as the latter’s own lance burst into splinters against Tybalt’s breastplate. Sir Fendrel’s horse reared with the force of the impact, and he was lifted from his stirrups and flung brutally to the ground, inciting a great roar of approval from the crowd. Sir Fendrel’s squire ran out, loosened his helm, and called for help, and two serving men lifted the fainted knight by the arms to help him back to his pavilion. Lord Brinon was down as well, unhorsed by Sir Rowan Braund, but he jumped up at once and drew his longsword, and Sir Rowan Braund cast aside his lance and dismounted to continue their fight afoot. Elsewhere on the field, the two knights who had remained ahorse were riding their fifth course. More lances shattered, and this time Lord Norman Grey aimed his point so expertly he ripped Lord Joseph Rowntree’s helm cleanly off his head. Barefaced, Lord Joseph raised his hand in salute and got down his horse, yielding the match. By then Sir Rowan had beaten Lord Brinon into submission, showing himself as skilled with a sword as he was with a lance. For the rest of the morning and well into afternoon, it was more of the same, as knights took the field in twos and threes, and sometimes five together. Trumpets blew, the heralds called out names, warhorses charged, the crowd cheered, lances broke like twigs, and swords rang against helms and mail. It was, smallfolk and high lord alike agreed, a splendid day of jousting. By this time, sharp twinges from her bladder were making Queen Charlotte a bit uncomfortable. She had drunk no less than six liters of water since morning and now a distinct bulge was beginning to show over her gown. She could feel all the water streaming through her body, getting collected in her bladder but she wasn’t even close to desperate. Sir Thomas Darell fought in a black fury and defeated all his challengers. He shattered Sir Donald’s collarbone and elbow, but the worst injuries he meted out were to the Queen’s favorite, the handsome knight Sir Cedric Garin , who was borne from the field senseless and bloody. Lord Crewe and Sir Edmund Cartwright rode against each other thrice more before Sir Edmund finally fell off his horse so hard, he lost all consciousness. Sir Francis Bennett, broke no less than nine lances against Lord Abbot’s son, Jeffery. They both lost their saddles on their tenth course, only to rise together to fight on, sword against mace. Finally an injured Sir Bennett admitted defeat. A splendid sight, Charlotte thought as she watched victor and vanquished embrace and walk together from the field. The Queen’s bladder was positively swollen by this point, her gown straining to contain the bulge. Though her need wasn’t pressing, she was sitting much stiffer than before. Her bladder expanding to outrageous proportions to contain all the liquid she had consumed. With the ungodly amount of water getting collected in her cavernous bladder, a serious pressure was building up inside her, but Charlotte let it slide to the back of her mind. Having the biggest bladder in the realm was surely a blessing. She could hold as much as she wanted, as long as she wanted. She knew there was absolutely nothing to worry. With her capacity, needing to wee was never a problem. A fanfare of trumpets announced that three new challengers had entered the lists. The heralds shouted their names. "Lord Baron of House Calvert, from the Cheviot Hills. Lord Ulric of House Bretel, from Gillygate. Sir Gawen of House Corbet, Lord of Knavesmire." The three challengers took their places as the three champions mounted up. Men were making bets all around them and calling out encouragement to their choices. On the first pass, Lord Crewe struck Sir Gawen's shield a partial blow, the blunted point of his lance sliding aside into empty air. Sir Gawen's own lance broke clean against the Lord Crewe’s chest, and the latter seemed about to fall for an instant before he recovered his seat. The second time through the lists, Lord Crewe swung his lance left, aiming for his foe's breast, but struck his shoulder instead. Even so, the blow was enough to make the older knight lose his lance. One arm flailed for balance and Sir Gawen fell. The Lord swung from the saddle and drew his sword, but the fallen knight waved him off and raised his visor. "I yield, my Lord" he called. "Well fought." The lords in the viewing stand echoed him, shouting, "Well fought! Well fought!" as Lord Crewe knelt to help the knight to his feet. Farther away, Sir Rowan was being carried off the field unconscious, while Lord Ulric and Lord Norman were going at each other lustily with axes, to the delight of the roaring crowd. "Get him!" someone shouted merrily, "Get him! Hit him! “Yes! He's right there, he's right there!" The crowd seemed almost equally divided between them, hence cheers and curses mingled freely in the air. Lord Abbot’s son, Jeffery, also fought several notable matches, knocking his foes from their stirrups one after the other, which made him a great favorite of the commons. Though, Queen Charlotte thought the day's honors should go to Lord Ulric Bretel who humbled fourteen knights, each one of them formidable. A dozen times, the crowds gasped as riders crashed together, lances exploding into splinters while the commons screamed for their favorites. Women covered their eyes whenever a man fell, but the Queen never reacted. A great lady knew how to behave at tournaments. The jousting went all day and into the dusk, the hooves of the great warhorses pounding down the lists until the field was a ragged wasteland of torn earth. By this point, Queen Charlotte was beginning to feel a bit desperate and for the first time in the entire day, she sat with her thighs pressed together, a water melon sized bladder jutting out of her gut. All the water was really catching up and she knew a flood was building up inside her bladder, but she wasn’t going to let that flood break free before the jousting was done. The most splendid warriors from the realm were competing before her and she didn’t want to miss any of it while she went off to use the castle privy. Lord Crewe rode brilliantly. He overthrew Sir Warren Bauldry and Lord William Conteville as easily as if he were riding against dummies made of straw. Sir Peter Toustain, seemed unstoppable as well, violently riding down one foe after the other. The most frightening moment of the day came during his tenth joust, when his lance rode up and struck a Sir Warren from Wirksworth under the gorget with such force that it exploded out of the back of his neck in a gout of bright blood, killing him right then and there. Screaming, Sir Warren’s horse had crashed sideways, knocking the wooden barrier to pieces as it fell. The youth fell not ten feet from where Charlotte was seated. The point of Sir Peter’s lance had snapped off in his neck, and blood flowed out of him to cover the sand in red. All of Wedgemore meadow was shouting. Sir Peter, having raced casually around the carnage to the end of the lists, wheeled his horse and came galloping back. He was shouting too, though Charlotte could not make out the words over the screams of people. After they carried off the body, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shoveled dirt over the spot where he had fallen, to cover up the blood. Then the jousts recommenced. As the time crawled ahead, the thoughts of her filling mammoth bladder suddenly came rushing back to the Queen. She had totally forgotten about it, but now, with the pressure having reached a fevered level , she was finding it difficult to keep her composure. She crossed her legs and placed a hand on her bulging stomach. The strain of her full bladder was making her restless now. She tried hard to sit normally, but she could not keep her legs still. Sir William of Orange also fell to Peter Toustain and Lord Oliver Cromwell to Ulric Bretel. Lord Oliver was unhorsed so violently that he broke his arm upon the fall. Though the crowd cheered madly when he found his feet, for his beautiful face made him a great favorite. The Queen had consumed a whooping ten liters of water by this point, all of it getting pumped into her cast-iron bladder. She needed to wee a lot by now but she just didn’t want to leave to use the privy and miss any of the fights. So she kept sitting with her thighs pressed together to endure her bladder pain. Her composure was slowly whittling away. She just crossed her legs when a sudden bladder spasm took her and slightly rubbed her thighs as she continued to enjoy the games. Lord Jarin of Wintwater jerked his mount around hard and rode back to the lists for a second pass as his opponenet, Lord Thomas Darell tossed down his broken lance and snatched up a fresh one, cursing his squire. Lord Jarin spurred forward at a hard gallop and Lord Darell rode to confront him. Both their lances exploded, and Lord Jarin fell off his horse so violently that his head hit the ground with an audible crack. In an instant, Lord Thomas jumped off his mount and walked to Lord Jarin, who was still struggling to find his feet. Thomas pulled a long dirk free and flicked open his rival’s visor. The roar of the crowd was too loud for Queen Charlotte to hear what Jarin said, but she saw the word form on his split, bloody lips, ‘Yield’ as he raised his arms in surrender. Squires dashed onto the field and carried the vanquished night back to his pavilion. The Queen had to piss so badly by now that she was finding it difficult to sit still. She normally would have immediately stopped whatever she was doing to go relieve herself, even if that meant leaving a council meeting midway or excusing herself from bible study. But here it was jousting, and she was enjoying every bit of it, so she decided to postpone her need. Shrieks of horror rose from the crowd when Sir Lionel’s lance speared through Lord Robert Dalton’s open visor, piercing through his eye and brain. With an alarming scream he flew off his horse and crashed to the ground, his blood soaking into the sand around him, a splinter still protruding from his left eye. All the thoughts of her expanding bladder were forgotten as Charlotte watched Lord Robert withering in agony as he slowly drifted towards his death. He breathed his last before his squires carried him back to the pavilion. By then, the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so Lord Abbot decreed that the remaining matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee. While tired commons began their walk home, talking of the day's jousts and the matches to come on the morrow, the highborns moved to the castle’s great hall to begin the feast, along with the winners and losers from the tournament. The Queen walked back to the castle with a very protruding bladder bulge, carrying all the water she had drunk. Her first priority now was to take a piss, but the feast was about to begin and her absence would be taken as a slight. She was the guest of honor and keeping others waiting would have been disrespectful. So, unwillingly she decided to wait until the feast was done. A sound of curiosity went through the hall when Lord Abbot came in, escorting the queen. He helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Half an hour had passed by when the second course was laid out, leaving Charlotte worried. She had never dreamed that the service would be so slow, and she was crossing and uncrossing her legs as she tried to stop fidgeting. I don’t want to piss, she told herself that it was only imagination, seeing other people drinking a lot and knowing what effect that usually had. She tried very hard to ignore that she had drunk an ungodly amount of water, and was probably the only one brave enough not to have been to the privy before the feast. Tables were piled high with sweetgrass and strawberries and fresh-baked bread, yet none of it caught Charlotte’s attention. She sat with her thighs pressed, wiggling her butt in discomfort, her bladder aching for relief. She was beginning to think of leaving the hall to look for a privy but her thoughts were intruded by Lord Abbot, "At the nameday feast, I hope you will not refuse to dance with my sons," he said. "It would please an old man's heart." A dance was the last thing she needed, the way her bladder was throbbing but she couldn’t very well refuse her host. “Might I have this dance, my lady?" Lord Abbot’s son Jeffery stood waiting for her answer. A slight nod with a curt smile was her response as she stood up half-heartedly from her seat, before the young lord escorted her to the dance floor. Nursing her aching bladder, she danced with him, keeping her thighs pressed all the while. “You dance very well, my Queen” Jeffery told her as they whirled to the music, and she gave him a smile in return that was probably weaker than she intended, but with her bladder in such a painful and bulging state, it was the best she could do. By the time Lord Abbot’s second son, Roderick came up to her to ask for a dance, her desperate state had turned her legs into wood and she barely moved if danced at all. “Is there something wrong my lady?” Roderick asked, noting her discomfort. “N- nothing, I’m fine..” Charlotte replied with a broken smile that betrayed how much her bladder was busrting. The young lord must have thought her a very clumsy dancer but she was far from caring about what he thought. She even danced with Lord Atwell for a while and then she was back with Jeffery once more, dancing while somehow holding her river of wee. And soon, blessedly, the dance was over. Her relief was short-lived. No sooner had the music died than Lord Durandal came up to her and started talking. He inquired politely after the health of her father, brother, and son. Though she acted as if she was listening, the Queen’s mind was absorbed by the thought of her painful need. I cannot act differently due to the state of my bladder, be graceful, she told herself and responded to Lord Durandal’s every question with utmost humility. She was determined not to give them any indication that she was dying for a piss. A proper lady never makes the need to relief herself known, she reminded herself. She walked normally, talked normally, and laughed normally, her lower belly protruding ominously in front of her as she tightly held her day’s long worth of water. No one in the hall knew how full her bladder was, how much it was aching. While singers sang and jugglers juggled, they began with pears poached in wine, and went on to tiny savory fish rolled in salt and cooked crisp, and roosters stuffed with onions, and mushrooms. There were great loaves of brown bread, mounds of turnips, apples, figs, grapes, oranges, lemons, sweet corn, pease and beans. Mutton stewed with onions, garlic and herbs, roasted swans, geese and quail, and trenchers dripping full of venison stewed with beer and barley. Pastries, filled with a mixture of meat, dates, ginger, vinegar, eggs, and herbs. And for the sweet, Lord Abbot's servants brought down trays of pies from his castle kitchens, sugar paste, marzipan and jelly painted and molded into shapes of castles and ships, spiced honey biscuits and blackberry tarts, apple crisps and wheels of buttery cheese. The rich foods made mouths water but the Queen sat indifferent. Her mind wrapped up in her dire need to piss. As she sat with her legs crossed, the wave of pressure in her bladder seemed to intensify into a more severe state of need with every minute, and she felt even more swollen and close to the point of honestly bursting than she had even moments before. This sensation of urgency terrified her. The feeling of needing to pass her water and not being immediately able to do so, it was a feeling that scared her so much. To be caught in such a dire and private need was not something she considered becoming to a proper lady. The Queen played with the food but barely bought any of it to her mouth. She was having trouble controlling her need. It was clear that she was nearing her limit. Even a simple thing as talking to Lord Abbot was almost too much for Charlotte, who needed to concentrate every second to keep her bladder under control, and for a dreadful moment she thought she was going to lose control, instinctively jamming her hand between her legs, blocking off her piss, about a hair’s breadth away from her smallclothes, or so it felt. Once she had started to hold herself, it felt so good she did not want to let go, so she resorted to the trick of resting her other arm across her lap to hide what she was doing. She wanted to run, find a privy and piss to her heart's content, but she couldn't just leave the feast, It would be rude, she reminded herself again and again, hoping it would give her the strength to hang on. Standing up to cut the cake was an extra strain on her overfilled bladder, but even more difficult was moving her legs while desperately trying not to wet herself. Her bladder was so full she couldn’t even stand straight, let alone walk. When she was back on her seat, she immediately crossed her legs and held her crutch to ease the strain on her bladder. The servants kept the cups filled all night, yet the Queen didn’t even taste it. Her bladder was already bursting with water and the last thing she wanted was more liquid flowing into it. It was almost an hour past midnight, and the Queen had been holding her waters for over twenty hours, since she left the capital. Only her exceptional bladder capacity had enabled her to do so, but now she was near to breaking down and wetting herself. Her need to piss had become so great that she was finding it difficult to think about anything else. It was beginning to overtake all good sense. She was pushed to the point where she was beginning to think of leaving the feast, however rude she may come across, she didn't care. I really need to use the privy, but I don’t know where they are, she thought. No, I cannot ask them, a proper lady never makes the need to relieve herself known, she told herself firmly. She sat with her legs crossed, hands pressing on her thighs in desperation. It was now taking her a lot of force to hold her waters. Suddenly, without any warning, a thick stream burst into her smallclothes, spreading dampness around her crotch. Shocked, Charlotte crossed her legs tighter to clamp the stream off before she completely lost control, her muscles tightening as she tried to prevent any further leakage. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment as she looked around to see others laughing and drinking. Nobody knew that she'd just leaked into her clothes, but soon they would. She was just moments away from having a humiliating accident, her sphincters quivering with pressure. No, I absolutely cannot leave the feast, I’ll have to wait, she told herself but her bladder was about to explode. Then, another spurt of hot pee rushed out of her for just a fraction of a second before she summed every ounce of her will to hold back the massive flood that she contained. The leaks however had dampened her smallclothes and she felt another small trickle escape to add to its wetness. She was losing control of her bladder, and she knew she had to find a privy NOW or else she would disgrace herself in front of all these people. She stood up from her seat, a hand placed on her thigh, inches away from her crotch, "P- pardon me my lord, I feel the need of some air.” “As you please, my Queen” Lord Abbot was quick to respond. "Your Highness, give me but a moment to don my mail. You should not be without protection" Sir Preston of the Queensguard rose from his seat. Determined not break her composure, Queen Charlotte said, "If I am not safe in the heart of Lord Abbot’s castle, with so many to protect me, one sword will make no matter . . . please sit and eat, my good sir. If I have need of you, I'll send for you." "As you will, Your Highness." Sir Preston replied. Stopping her piss at the gates, she turned around and left the hall with her thighs pressed together, past a slouching guardsman who straightened so hurriedly that he near dropped his spear. As she walked through a low door into a stair tower, Queen Charlotte squeezed her crotch as tightly as she could, steeling herself to climb the stairs. Lifting her legs wreaked havoc on her exhausted sphincters but she somehow managed to contain herself. Charlotte could hear faint music drifting from the great hall, seeping out into the night. Had she known finding relief would be so difficult, she never would have drank so much water. Once upstairs, she examined every last room in the massively grandiose hallway but none of them was a privy. She turned; her face visibly distressed as she tried to decide on her next course of action. She thought going back to the hall to ask if anyone knew where the privy was, but immediately erased the thought off her mind. Considering the signals her bladder was sending, she feared she might not be able to hold out that long. She had to piss so bad that she was almost afraid to walk. She did, however, as quickly as she dared. Though her mind was focused with every second on the throbbing, consistently surging muscle that felt, with every step, that they were seconds away from throbbing too strongly for her to bear. She realized her breath was shallow and quick as she made her way down the dim hallway, her steps small but quick. The doors of all the rooms she'd checked stood on either side, some still partway open. She glanced at one or two of them anxiously, seeing only furniture and tapestries, and could not help but halt in her steps. The pressure was incredible. She could feel the muscles around her pisshole practically vibrating with the effort it took to impede the inevitable flood of urine that wanted so desperately to escape. She made a small, whimpering sound in spite of her valiant effort to hold onto her modesty, and crossed her legs together. She forced herself to keep walking. It wasn't easy. Her thighs were clenched, her ankles stiff, and she found herself slowing her hesitant walk to a full stop several times. Her hand, buried deep inside her crotch, she stuck her knees tight together. Oh God, the pressure. Her bladder was so swollen, jutting out of her gut like a boulder, hard as a rock, filled with so much water. It was driving her insane. At length she straightened her posture, allowing the particularly strong spasm to subside as best she could, and was ultimately able to take a few more steps. She had to hold it. She had to. She had literally no choice, at least until she was able to get further upstairs, maybe there was a privy there. It was all she could do to keep from bursting right where she was, merely trying to hurry through the hall. "Ohh..." she groaned quietly in her misery. The walls of her bladder stretched still further and pinched at her mercilessly in protest. She shushed it. She told herself that she could hold it. After all, she was the Queen of twelve countries. She could surely hold it however long she had to, no matter how... pressing the need. She tried to take a deep breath, and prepared herself to move further upstairs to search more rooms, that might possibly have a privy. She bent at the waist, her hand trembling on the wall, in a cold sweat. "Ohhhh, God please..." she moaned, and closed her eyes for a moment, her body seconds away from giving out. Her bladder sent her a particularly hot, sharp twinge; so strong and so urgent she was unable to stop a small leak from bursting into her clothes. Oh, dear God, where are all the privies in this bloody castle? "Ohhhh..." she moaned softly. Oh, my god, help me, she thought. Oh, just please make it stop... She didn't dare move for several seconds. She stood, her bladder ready to explode, her knees almost numb from being held so tense. Finally, regaining some semblance of control she was again able to stand more or less upright. Just hold it a little longer, she told herself. Just try and make it... She decided then to try and venture up the stairs, although there was no promise of finding a privy. She crossed the short hallway, her great need weighing her down with every careful step. I don't know how much longer I can take this; I really don't, she thought, her agony reaching a panicking stage. I have to piss… oh god how I have to piss… her thoughts trailed off as she reached the first step on the landing. Her bladder trembled, threatening her. It was the worst state of desperation she could remember in all her years as the Queen. "I'm not going to make it!" she said out loud suddenly. She turned back to the hall behind her. Her bladder bursting. It was more than what the Queen could stand. She took only a few more mincing, contorted steps, as far as the first door, one of the few she'd thought to close, when suddenly her bladder quivered with sick violence, and to her horror and humiliation, she felt a long, hot stream of urine escape and soak, warm, into the fabric of her smallclothes. She let out a cry and quickly lifted her gown, her hands darting towards the string of her drawers. It was too late. She couldn't help it. She was wetting her clothes. She struggled, still fighting madly to untie the strings, she fought to stop herself, and with a good deal of painful clenching and contorting, was just able to stem the ferocious oncoming flood, issuing only threatening threads and dribbles into her clothes. Immediately she ducked into the first room opposite, its door still open from before. She scuffled into the dark, both hands still wrestling with the strings. Her bladder throbbed, and before she was even fully into the shadows, she began to void even more strongly. "Oh, god, please no, not here, not here...!" She cried out, her voice pleading, feeling herself on the very verge of breaking utterly and completely. She just had to get the strings of her drawers open; already she could feel an alarming amount of wetness and warmth between her legs, trickling down the insides of her thighs. She was wetting, most certainly, but only in long spurts. She fought to control the complete spill, dying from shame, and by the time she was finally able to undo the string of her drawers, she was in tears. It took a great deal of pressure off her bladder and she tried to catch her breath. She was trembling all over, crying from how badly she needed to urinate. She bent forward in an agonized curtsey, her legs crossed in a desperate attempt to hold on. She looked with frantic, tear-stained eyes around the strange room for anything she could possibly use as a chamber pot. "Ahhh...!" she cried softly, alone in the room, her thighs tightly pressed together. She crossed her legs tighter, biting her lip, her beautiful face desperate and squeezed her crotch tighter, her gown lifted and drawers open by the string. There were only a few drops on the floor beneath her, not at all the massive puddle she wanted so desperately to avoid. "Oh, dear GOD!" she whined. She fought another strong , overwhelming surge and kept her grip between her legs tight as ever. She saw nothing in the room but tables, chairs, and books. Obviously it was a library. She took a few hunched tiptoed steps over toward the other side of the room, peering into the corners, hoping against hope for the sight of a wastebasket or anything she could piss into. Nothing. She bobbed up and down, made cringing, little sobbing noises. She had never in all her life as a lady been so embarrassed. I don't know what I'm going to do, she thought. "I'm going to wet myself!" another strong spasm swept through her bladder and her muscles quite forgot their task, and despite all her efforts, all her contortions and squeezing, a thick jet of piss managed to escape, spreading more wetness around her crotch. Oh, god, I can't hold it! Another leak began to travel down her thighs. The Queen wrenched herself tightly, but it was simply no use. She was bursting, completely. She dashed into the closest corner and in one lightening movement, tore down her drawers and smallclothes to her knees. She could not even wait until she was squatting, but the instant her small clothe was down and her legs just starting to bend her piss came blasting out. The Queen had never pissed like that before, a jet of pee that seemed at least an inch across erupted with such force that she expected to see it make a hole in the path. She was finally wetting so thunderously and furiously she was almost unable to keep her balance on the squat. She could not stop. The urine came in hard, pouring waves, fast, pounding, making an embarrassingly loud, un-ignorable hiss. She gasped aloud, her eyes fluttering, faint with relief. Oh the pressure! She felt it come, so heavy and so complete, all that fullness and all that water, so heavy... Moaning as she watched the river pour out of her, she realized with terrible shame that she had truly and finally lost her most private battle but it felt better than the loudest orgasm she had ever had. It was all she could do to keep herself sane, her thighs twitching with the amazing relief in her crotch, and watch helplessly as hours of waiting and suffering and torture came at last to a gorgeous end. The puddle grew quickly, pooling hot around on the hard wooden edges of the floor before finally seeping into the large carpet. The red nap of the fabric turned dark and glistened. She loathed spoiling it, but there was nothing to be done. Soaking the floor had turned out to be an inevitability. "Ohhh, dear God forgive me, I just couldn't wait," she whispered in all valiant modest sincerity as she felt her bladder finally beginning to deflate. All the panic and worry she had been carrying around for hours fading away at last. Oh, the relief! She just watched as her stream went on and on and on. “I had so much water” she breathed. That feeling of the thick long torrent of water running out of her body was pure ecstasy, “Oh, god forgive me . . .” she breathed. After several minutes, she felt the cascade begin to subside. The floor was covered with it, the carpet was drenched. It was still coming. Wary, suddenly, of possible discovery, she cast a quick, anguished glance over her shoulder to the direction of the door, and realized then that she had neglected in her haste to close it behind her. She hurried to finish up. After another long minute, the flow suddenly died away, then after a couple more short blasts, Charlotte was finished. She finally felt empty, and so much better though quite exhausted from having to hold so much for so long. This was undoubtedly, the most important piss of her life. She quickly stood back up, pulled up her undergarments, and adjusted her gown before wiping the tears from her beautiful face as she made towards the door. She inspected the front of her gown in the light of the hallway. It showed no damage but the wetness around her crotch would be a problem for the rest of the night. They would leave for the capital come day break and until then she’d have to play like nothing happened. Charlotte then stepped into the hallway, closed the door behind her, inspected her gown for the one last time, and headed for the stairs. Maybe some wine would help. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thank you for reading! My other Queen Charlotte stories- 1. A Song of Swords.pdf 2. To Godswick.pdf (Warning : Contains Scat)
  6. So I noticed a serious lack of content for any of the wonderful ladies from the world of The Witcher, so I thought I would give it a shot! Constructive criticism welcome, but it's my first real fiction attempt so...be gentle! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As she jumped down from her horse, her red hair flowing around her like a copper halo, Triss Merigold had only one thought on her mind… Where is the damn privy in this place?!? The ride from the last stop up to Kaer Morhen had been a long one, and the several flasks of water that the red haired sorceress had consumed had been banging at her floodgates for a while now, desperate to escape. Cursing her own stubbornness for not just slipping behind a bush for relief before she arrived, Triss squeezed her thighs together tightly as she attempted to get her bearings. It hadn’t been that long since she had been here last, but the place was huge, and crumbling in some parts. It felt like a labyrinth in her mind, distracted as she was by her incredibly full bladder. Behind her, the horse neighed loudly, causing her to jump in shock, wincing as the movement jarred the ever filling water balloon in her midsection. A door slammed open from above the courtyard she stood in, “Who’s out there?” Came a gruff, deep voice from within. “It’s just me!” Triss smirked, recognising that voice anywhere. A man stepped out of the doorway, his hand dropping from the steel sword on his back, “Oh Triss! Good to see you!” Said Eskel smiling, his scarred face lighting up as he saw her. “We weren’t expecting you till tomorrow.” “I know, I know, but I figured I could make it here early so I pressed on.” She replied walking forwards. “Well I’m glad you did, always nice to have friends round the old place again.” He nodded approvingly. “Couldn’t agree more, so who’s here?” Triss asked as she made her way up the stairs. Eskel leaned against the wall, basking in the sun, “Well me and you, Ciri, Yen and Lambert so far. Still waiting on Keira, Geralt and the others. That reminds me…” Just then, a powerful wave of desperation shot through Triss, making her cross her legs tightly where she stood. Straightening up, she darted forwards past Eskel, “Sorry, talk in a minute, long ride too much water.” She blurted as she went past. Dashing into the common area, Triss turned on the spot, trying to remember the location of the only working privy in this building. A flash of memory prompted her to head to the stairs on the left. Running up the stairs, her cleavage bouncing appealingly, Triss really hoped to find the room empty, the only other working one she could remember was too far to make it without leaking, something she would not allow to happen, especially not in her favourite tight leather pants… Reaching the end of the stairs, Triss stopped, she looked left, and then right as she tried to recall the path, squirming on the spot as she did so, her round butt swinging side to side like an alluring pendulum. Settling on left, Triss turned on her heel and shuffled down the corridor, her desperate need to pee really starting to get to her now. Just one more corner, then I can go…this is gonna be a huge wee, I can feel it! Turning the corner, Triss groaned when all she was greeted by was a wall of rubble and the remains of a potted plant, now more a pot of dust. The red head danced in desperation where she stood, her ass bouncing up and down as she fantasised about ripping her leather trousers down and hanging her butt over the pot and letting the torrent inside her just flow out. She gripped her crotch tightly for a moment before spinning around and hurrying back the way she came, deciding the shame of potentially being caught outweighed the fullness of her bladder. For now…remember that spot for emergencies Hurrying back the way she came, Triss followed the right hand path, hoping to anyone listening that this was the correct way and she hadn’t taken the wrong stairs earlier. Sighing in relief, Triss realised she had found the right corridor, and hurried towards the closed door that hid the privy from view, she could already practically feel the imminent release… When Triss tried to push the door open, she instead collided with it, gasping in dismay she realised it was locked. Groaning slightly, Triss crossed one leg over the other and bent forward, her ass and tits both sticking out, the latter threatening to burst from their prison on her chest. Triss knocked rapidly on the door, “Hello? Whoever is in there, will you please hurry up? I really need to get in there!” No reply came. She was about to knock again when she heard what sounded like laughter from behind the door, cocking her head to one side, she listened, but heard nothing. “Little sis?” She called using the nickname for her friend, “Ciri? Is that you in there? Please hurry okay? I really need a wee!” Again no reply. Triss began to dance desperately in front of the door, her rear waggling from side to side as she fought to contain the flood inside her. “Having trouble?” Came a voice from behind her. Triss jumped, turning on the spot to see Lambert stood leaning against the wall, eating an apple. Didn’t even hear him coming up….Witchers!!! “Just a little.” She replied through gritted teeth. “I think Ciri is in there, and if she is, she really needs to know now is not the time for one of her pranks!” She raised her voice as she did so, hoping to appeal to whoever was in there. Lambert took a bite of his apple before replying, “Could be, could be, not seen her much today.” Triss noticed in mild amusement that his eyes never strayed from her large breasts. “Are you waiting to be in here too?” She asked, eyebrows rising. Lambert shrugged, “Nah, utilised the old Witcher technique of bushes earlier…jealous?” “As a matter of fact, yes! What are you doing here then?” Triss crossed her legs one way then the other as she spoke. “Just watching the show.” He smirked. Despite herself, Triss laughed slightly at that, “Get outta here!” She said in mock indignation. “Alright, alright, I’m going! Unlike you.” He said with a wink as he turned and left. Triss groaned at his words, taking a moment to give her crotch a good squeeze when his back was turned. Shifting from one foot to the other, Triss took a deep shaky breath to steady herself, “Ciri? If that is you in there and this is one of your jokes, now is really not the time, I’m bursting out here.” Silence was her only reply. Bending over and moaning in frustration, her tight leather trousers stretching alluringly across her wiggling rear, she again failed to hear the sound of footsteps from behind her. A slight laugh broke her out of her trance, spinning on the spot Triss came face to face with Yenneffer, her dark haired friend and fellow sorceress. “Having trouble there, dear friend, or did you simply feel like enticing me with your admittedly lovely bottom?” She asked, smirking. Triss straightened up, slightly red in the face, but more amused than anything else, the two were close friends after all, “I knew you’d like it.” “Oh don’t flatter yourself!” Replied Yenneffer with a laugh. “No, I just really need to be in there, had a lot of water on my way here.” Triss explained. “I see,” Said Yenneffer, “Well I would hug you, but I’m not sure you could withstand the squeezing, and I quite like this dress.” “Much appreciated.” Replied Triss, starting to shuffle again. Yenneffer leaned against the wall opposite Triss, “So, is there someone in there, or did you simply feel like challenging yourself?” “There is, Ciri I think, you know how she loves her pranks.” Triss said “That I do,” Said Yenneffer, looking slightly uncomfortable, “Well I hope she knows I’m out here too, and as I could do with a little wee myself, I hope she decides to prank you some other time!” The last was directed at the door, which again replied with the slight sounds of laughter. “You need to go as well?” Triss asked. “Indeed, I did not just come all the way down here to see your dancing.” She replied, “Although, not as badly as you need to, apparently.” “Well, I’m definitely going first…” Triss said with a laugh. Yen smirked slightly, “Only if you can keep your mind clear of delightful waterfalls, or pouring wine…” Triss’s legs crossed even tighter… “Yen!” Yen’s smirk grew even wider, “Or if you recall how good you felt after you could let go of all the ale you were holding at the last feast?” Triss couldn’t stop her hand gripping her crotch, “I’m about to explode!” “Oh my!” Yen exclaimed, “I guess I better let you in then….” Triss froze, “You what?” “The door on this floor jams,” Laughed Yen, “Here look.” And with that, the raven haired sorceress stepped forward and with a well placed kick, the door swung open. Triss leapt forward as soon as she saw the privy, aching to release at the sight of it. “Enjoy your wee!” Shouted Yen as the door closed. And enjoy it she did, the second her ass hit the seat, she exploded, releasing all her pent up desperation as a waterfall of relief. Amid gasping her enjoyment of it, Triss had one thought….Revenge!
  7. Thank you OmoCommando for being my editor! It wouldn't have been possible without you! And thank you Bulge_Lover for motivating me to write this! Your sage advice helped through the tough bits, and I will never cease to be grateful for your support. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “You ought to cover your head, my Queen" Sir Edward told as their horses plodded ahead, “You will take a chill." "It is only water, Sir Edward,” Charlotte replied. Her long brunette hair hung wet and heavy, a loose strand stuck to her forehead, and she could imagine how ragged and wild she must look, but for once she did not care. The rain was soft and warm. Charlotte liked the feel of it on her face, gentle as a mother's kisses. It took her back to her childhood, to long grey days at Longford. She remembered the small wooded area within the walls of their castle, drooping branches heavy with moisture, and the sound of her brother's laughter as he chased her through piles of damp leaves. She remembered making mud pies with her sister, the weight of them, the mud slick and brown between her fingers. How young they all had been. She scarcely had felt the rain in the past few years. Things had changed after she married King Owain and moved south. Where once she used to run and play and spend her time with her siblings, all she did now was sit at council meetings and listen to the whims and notions of her advisors. The King had left this duty to her when he passed away. A kingdom to rule and a boy to raise. Charlotte had almost forgotten. In her homeland, the rain sometimes fell cold and hard, and sometimes at night it turned to ice. It was as likely to kill a crop as nurture it, and it sent grown men running for the nearest shelter. That was no rain for little girls to play in. She exhaled slowly, pressing her left hand against her bulging stomach. She could feel waves of urine crashing against the walls of her bladder as her mount trotted forward. The quantity of water she had drunk throughout the way was plenty and she hadn’t had a chance to relieve herself after she left the Capital this morning. "I am soaked through," Sir Edward complained. "Even my bones are wet." The woods pressed close around them, and the steady pattering of rain on leaves was accompanied by the small sucking sounds their horses made as their hooves pulled free of the mud. "We will want a fire tonight, my Queen, and a hot meal would serve us both." "There is an inn at the crossroads up ahead,” Charlotte told him. She had slept many a night there in her youth, traveling with her father. Lord Merek Torrington had been a restless man in his prime, always riding somewhere. She still remembered the innkeep, a fat man named Domnall who chewed sourleaf night and day and seemed to have an endless supply of smiles and sweet cakes for the children. The sweet cakes had been soaked with honey, rich and heavy on the tongue, but how Charlotte had dreaded those smiles. The sourleaf had stained Domnall 's teeth a dark red, and made his smile a bloody horror. "An inn," Sir Edward repeated wistfully. "If only . . . but we dare not risk it. If we wish to remain unknown, I think it best we seek out some small holdfast . . . " He broke off as they heard sounds up the road; splashing water, the clink of mail, a horse's whinny. "Riders," he warned, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. Even on the highway, it never hurt to be wary. They followed the sounds around a lazy bend of the road and saw them; a column of armed men noisily fording a swollen stream. Charlotte reined up to let them pass. The banner in the hand of the foremost rider hung sodden and limp, but the guardsmen wore grey cloaks and on their shoulders flew the silver eagle of Restormel. "Calverts,” Sir Edward whispered to her, as if she had not known. "My Queen, best pull up your hood." Charlotte made no move. Lord Earl Calvert himself rode with them, surrounded by his Knights, his son Baron by his side and their squires close behind. The travelers had always been thick as flies upon the highway; Knights and freeriders, singers with their harps and drums, heavy wagons laden with hops or corn or casks of honey, traders and craftsmen and whores, all kept the highway busy round the year. She studied Lord Earl boldly. The last time she had seen him he had been jesting with her uncle at her wedding feast; the Calverts stood bannermen to the Torringtons, and his gifts had been lavish. His brown hair was salted with white now, his face chiseled gaunt by time, yet the years had not touched his pride. He rode like a man who feared nothing. Charlotte envied him that; she had come to fear so much. As the riders passed, Lord Earl nodded a curt greeting, but it was only a high lord's courtesy to strangers chance met on the road. There was no recognition in those fierce eyes, and his son did not even waste a look. "He did not know you," Sir Edward said after, wondering. "He saw a pair of mud-spattered travelers by the side of the road, wet and tired. It would never occur to him to suspect that one of them was the Queen and the daughter of his liege lord. I think we shall be safe enough at the inn, Sir Edward." It was near dark when they reached it, at the crossroads north of the great confluence of the rivers. Domnall was fatter and greyer than Charlotte remembered, still chewing his sourleaf, but he gave them only the most cursory of looks, with nary a hint of his ghastly red smile. "Two rooms at the top of the stair, that's all there is," he said, chewing all the while. "They're under the bell tower, you won't be missing meals, though there's some thinks it too noisy. Can't be helped. We're full up, or near as makes no matter. It's those rooms or the road." It was those rooms, low, dusty garrets at the top of a cramped narrow staircase. "Leave your boots down here," Domnall told them after he'd taken their coin. "The boy will clean them. I won't have you tracking mud up my stairs. Mind the bell. Those who come late to meals don't eat." There were no smiles, and no mention of sweet cakes. Charlotte climbed the stairs with aching thighs and made way into her room. It was small but she couldn’t complain. She just had to spend the night. They’d be gone from here come day break. She closed the door and bent down to look under the bed for the chamber pot, but it wasn’t there. Maybe the inn servant forgot to keep one in the room. She stood back up and caressed her lower belly. All the water she had drunk wanted to come out but there was nowhere to go. The thought that she won’t be able to relieve herself immediately irritated her but she kept her calm. Her need wasn’t pressing at the moment and she decided she could wait and see if the servant boy brought her a chamber pot. When the supper bell rang, the sound was deafening. Charlotte had changed into dry clothes. She sat by the window, watching rain run down the pane. The glass was milky and full of bubbles, and a wet dusk was falling outside. Charlotte could just make out the muddy crossing where the two great roads met. The crossroads gave her pause. If they turned west from here, it was an easy ride down to her homeland. Her father had always given her wise counsel when she needed it most, and she yearned to talk to him, to warn him of the gathering storm. The Daltons were conspiring against the throne and she knew a war was soon to come. This was the reason she had left her ten year old in the safety of their keep and travelled so far to meet her father. To inform him of the impending danger. She could have trusted no one with the word; she had to convey it herself. “A large party attracts unwelcome attention. I would not have the Daltons know of our movements” she had said to Sir Edward on his suggestion to send a squad of guardsmen with her. Hence she had decided to take the perilous highway all alone with no one but her most trusted advisor on her side. The Queen knew two riders can move as fast as one, and a good deal faster than a long column burdened by wagons and wheelhouses. If the throne needed to brace for war, how much more so her father, so much closer to the Daltons, with their power looming to the east like a shadow. If only her father had been stronger, she wouldn’t have worried so much, but Lord Merek Torrington had been bedridden these past three years, and Charlotte was unwilling to tax him now. But she had no choice. The eastern road was wilder and more dangerous, climbing through rocky foothills and thick forests into the mountains, past high passes and deep chasms. Above the valley, the Dunstanburgh Castle stood high and unconquerable, its towers reaching for the sky. There lived the Daltons, her enemies who shrouded themselves as friends. Charlotte was sure the Daltons had no idea that she knew about their treachery but how long could she count on this? Sooner or later, they would make their move and slay anyone who stood between them and the throne. Sir Edward came for her just as the bell ceased its clangor. "We had best make haste if we hope to eat tonight, my Queen." "It might be safer if we were not Knight and Queen until we reach our destination," she told him. "Common travelers attract less notice. A father and daughter taken to the road on some family business, say." "As you say, my Queen," Sir Edward agreed. It was only when she laughed that he realized what he'd done. "The old courtesies die hard, my—my daughter." He sighed with exasperation. Charlotte took his arm. "Come, Father," she said. "You'll find that Domnall sets a good table, I think, but try not to praise him. You truly don't want to see his smile." The common room was long and drafty, with a row of huge wooden kegs at one end and a fireplace at the other. A serving boy ran back and forth with skewers of meat while Domnall drew beer from the kegs, chewing his sourleaf all the while. The benches were crowded, townsfolk and farmers mingling freely with all manner of travelers. The crossroads made for odd companions; dyers with black and purple hands shared a bench with rivermen reeking of fish, an ironsmith thick with muscle squeezed in beside a wrinkled old septon, hard-bitten sellswords and soft plump merchants swapped news like boon companions. Sir Edward found them an empty place on the bench near the kitchen. He called for bread and meat and beer in a tone that meant now. The serving boy came scurrying up. He laid trenchers of bread before them and filled them with chunks of browned meat off a skewer, dripping with hot juice. Another skewer held tiny onions, fire peppers, and fat mushrooms. Sir Edward set to lustily as the lad ran back to fetch them beer. “You could start eating…” he said, almost spilling the words ‘my Queen’ from his mouth. “Please go ahead father… I’ve no hunger but a drink of beer would suffice…” Charlotte smiled. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes,” she nodded slightly. Sir Edward dug in, eating voraciously at first but then slowly as he started to feel fuller. Charlotte drank a few mugs of beer. The Queen rarely ever partook but when she did, she made sure to quench her thirst for a good while. Even though she was the Queen, not many knew her face. A few commoners scarcely had ever had the chance to see the Queen, even less likely for those who weren’t from the Capital. It meant she could be there as long as she wanted, amongst those people and enjoy her beer with a song. They sat there for long, listening to the melodious hymns from a singer who boasted aloud to be the best in his craft. Charlotte enjoyed his voice, and how his fingers played with the wood harp, although the same could not be said about Sir Edward. His opinion of singers was well known; music was a lovely thing for girls, but he could not comprehend why any healthy boy would fill his hand with a harp when he might have had a sword. At last, when the night fell deep and dark, they decided it was time to take leave. It was when Charlotte entered back in her room, ready to relieve herself after a long day, that she remembered the lack of a chamber pot. She just stood there for a moment, with her hands on her hips, contemplating what to do. She was uncomfortably aware that she already had a lot of urine in her bladder but she wasn’t willing to go all the way down again to just ask for a chamber pot. Tired and weary, she climbed onto her bed, covered herself with the blanket and let the patter of rain drops on the window lull her to sleep. *** Loud bangs on the wooden door woke the Queen up. The sharp sun rays filtering in through the window pierced her eyes and she quickly shaded her face with her hand. Charlotte realized it was morning. She had slept like a log. “Daughter, are you awake? We must get going….” Lord Edward shouted from outside, slamming the door with his fist. “Yes” as the Queen sat up on her bed, a sudden spasm told how full her bladder had gotten over the course of the night. She held her abdomen and climbed off the bed, quickly stepping towards the door to open it. “My Queen, we must leave immediately,” Sir Edward started as he stepped in and locked the door, “I’ve heard a party of Dalton riders is heading this way, maybe they know we’re here…” he added, trying to catch his breath. Queen Charlotte’s eyes widened in horror. If this was true, both their lives were in danger. The Daltons would never get a better chance to remove the Queen from their way to the throne. “How did you come to know?” she asked. “I heard a few men talking of their arrival. The Daltons have friends everywhere” he paused to take a breath “I’ve readied the horses we had best make haste, my lady.” Queen Charlotte stood there for a moment, weighing her options. She had to relieve herself but the Daltons might get here any moment. She saw the Knight looking at her intently, waiting for her command. She could never tell him about her dilemma, that would gravely botch her dignity. A proper lady always knew to suppress her needs, no matter how bad they got. At the end of the rigorous battle in her mind, warily, she decided to leave. She wasted no time and quickly made her exit. She knew she had made the right choice but it was when she finally mounted her horse that she began to doubt herself. She had a lot to drink and all of it now sat in her bladder, waiting to be released. The pressure had seriously built up, but she decided she could wait until they were at a safe distance away from here. Of course she’d have to find somewhere to go, maybe a house or a holdfast. It was thought to be a matter of great disgrace if a lady of nobility was to relieve herself elsewhere than a privy or a chamberpot, so much that she’d be forced to flee the kingdom out of pure shame. Charlotte realized she’d just have to cork it up until she found some place suitable. It was part of the training of a Lady to be able to absorb any amount of drinks and release none of it until she was ready. Of course there were limits, but she was yet to reach them. The weather was cloudy with a few drops of rain falling intermittently. Things went slickly as Queen Charlotte and Sir Edward rode on for a few hours. The thought that they had managed to evade the enemy brought Charlotte some relief but her need to wee was making her concerned now. The one liter of water skin Sir Edward gave her before they started riding was now empty and Charlotte could now feel all of it making its way into her bladder. She knew they’d have to find somewhere she could relieve herself and soon. With her need elevating so quickly, the Queen didn’t know how much longer she could wait. They padded slowly through the soft ground to the river's edge, the sight and sound of the water making her need to piss much worse. But the Queen hid her discomfort well. She was resolute and still showed no signs of needing to relieve herself besides her inflated bladder region. She could never let Sir Edward know how badly she needed to go. That would be so disgraceful. They rode on ceaselessly until their butts felt sore and only stopped by the riverside when their thirst grew irresistible. Queen Charlotte watched in disdain as Sir Edward filled the water skin for her. If only he knew how full her bladder was. When she was sure Sir Edward wasn’t looking, Queen Charlotte squeezed herself under her dress a couple of times. Gods I’ve got to piss, she thought, feeling the pulses from her aching bladder. The temporary relief felt good but she knew it wouldn’t last long. Before long they were back on their way. It was nice under the trees. The Queen kept her mount to a walk, holding the reins lightly and looking all around her as they went ahead. She knew this wood, but she had been so long confined to the Capital, that she felt as though she were seeing it for the first time. The smells filled her nostrils; the sharp fresh tang of pine needles, the earthy odor of wet rotting leaves and the hints of animal musk. She caught a glimpse of a black squirrel moving through the branches of an oak, and watched intently at the silvery web of an empress spider. However, none of these things was sufficiently exciting to divert her mind from her pressing need to wee. She wanted to go much more badly now. It was frightening because she was getting worse almost by the minute. This was the time when all the water she had drunk was going through her the fastest. The thought of how much she had drunk, and that it was all going to end up in her bladder, was not something she wanted to contemplate and because she could not stop worrying about how badly she wanted to go, time was passing so slowly. The sun had begun to climb up the sky and the heat was beginning to rise. They were still leagues away from their destination. As they trotted forward, Sir Edward’s ears suddenly caught the sound of a horse’s whinny. "My Queen," he called out his voice hoarse with alarm. And in an instant, the road was full of soldiers pouring out of the woods. Fear crept under her skin as Charlotte glimpsed ringmail over leather, gauntlets and greaves, steel helms with a raging bull on the crests. Their cloaks clung to their backs. She had no time to count, but there were ten at least, a line of them, all mounted, blocking the trail, with longswords and iron-tipped spears. "Behind!" she heard Sir Edward cry, and when she turned her horse, there were more in back of them, cutting off their retreat. Sir Edward’s sword came singing from its scabbard. "Let us go!" “It was a long haul…” their leader said, “…but I suppose it ends here.” “Long time no see, Your Highness” The mud muffled the hooves of the blood bay stallion. The line parted before him. On a gray breastplate, the bull of Dalton resounded its rebelliousness. “I suppose you have been keeping well?” The Queen recognized the handsome Knight as Sir Jorge Writingham, a servant to the Daltons. She remembered him well from the times he had accompanied Lord Reynard Dalton to the Capital for royal feasts. “What is the meaning of this?” The Queen asked “I command you to clear the way at once!” “I don’t think you are in a position to command me” Sir Jorge smirked. Charlotte knew he was right. They were surrounded by dozens and her own strength was just one elderly Knight, armored in loyalty. “Let us pass and I will forgive your mistake” she stated. “Heh, I don’t need your forgiveness. I could cut you both into pieces and feed you to the dogs, and no one will ever know what happened here in these woods” Sir Jorge stared at Charlotte. “Mind your tongue, you bastard! This is the Queen you’re speaking to!” Sir Edward hollered. Sir Jorge ripped his longsword from its sheath and urged his stallion forward. "Show me your steel, Sir Edward. I'll butcher you like a lamb if I must, but I'd sooner you died with a blade in your hand.” He gave Queen Charlotte a cool, contemptuous glance that sent a chill down her spine. Sir Jorge poked at Sir Edward’s chest with the gilded sword. "Lord Reynard wants the Queen to come see him at Dunstanburgh " he sighed. "…and I have been honored with the duty to escort her there." He slid the golden sword into its sheath. "…but I suppose I can’t let you run to Lord Merek to tell him how I took your Queen captive." Sir Jorge pushed his wet hair back with his fingers and wheeled his horse around and glanced back at his captain. "Kill him." “NO!” Queen Charlotte screamed. She saw them cut the legs from Sir Edward's mount and drag him to the earth, swords rising and failing as they closed in around him. The sight nearly scared the piss out of her and she began to cry. Sir Edward was dead and now she was all alone, surrounded by the enemy. They pulled her off her horse and took away her dagger and her purse full of gold. As they were bundling her, and tying her hands with a length of coarse rope, the Queen felt truly afraid. She didn’t know what they would do with her once they got her to Dunstanburgh. Maybe they would take her prisoner? Maybe even rape her or kill her. She truly did not know. Her heart pounded in horror. Her bladder felt like a massive boulder jutting out of her gut as she stood there, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Then suddenly, someone pulled a hood down over her eyes and lifted her up onto a saddle. They set out at a hard gallop, and before long the Queen’s thighs were cramped and aching and her ass throbbed with pain. After a long ride, they slowed down to a trot, it was a miserable pounding journey over rough ground, made worse by her blindness. Every twist and turn put her in danger of falling off her horse. The hood muffled sound, so she could not make out what was being said around her. The rope around her wrists seemed to grow tighter as the sun started to go down. The twilight seeped through the cloth over her eyes when Sir Jorge gave the command to dismount. Rough hands pulled her down from her horse, untied her wrists, and yanked the hood off her head. It was beginning to grow dark but she could still see the narrow stony road, the foothills rising high and wild all around them, and the jagged snowcapped peaks on the distant horizon. “We make camp here for tonight, my Queen” Sir Jorge said in a tone that spilled mockery more than respect “…. keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t need anything” he commanded two of his men. I need to piss, Queen Charlotte thought but couldn’t dare say. Her need to empty her bladder had grown much worse since they took her captive. She was absolutely dying to wee yet there was nothing she could do. These men would not let her out of sight. Two of them would be awake at all times, taking shifts to watch her. She was completely wedged. They lit a fire and spread out a large, soft blanket for her. She slowly took a seat on it, laying back and wincing as her unbearably overfilled bladder threatened to explode then and there. Every breath she took tormented her, sending waves of desperation that made her feel like she could lose control at any second. Charlotte couldn’t have expected them to give her privacy. It was not like she could accept even if they allowed her to go behind the bushes. A proper lady never makes her need to relieve herself known, she told herself firmly. She was determined not to cower but her body said otherwise. For a few short, mad moments, she considered simply getting up and going behind the bushes, admitting she had to wee right then, her bladder almost out of control and about to burst. But it would have been against everything she stood for. Under no condition could she compromise with her dignity. In that thought, she found the resolve to hold on. Having accepted the situation, and found the determination to cope with it, she now had to find the strength to back up her resolve, to get herself under some semblance of control, reduce the terrible urgency of her need to something more bearable. She crossed her legs and lied still, with her eyes closed, trying to think of something else other than her need. But her mind always wandered back. She wondered what would happen if she kept holding it. Would her bladder really explode? Or was that just a story told to children to threaten them into emptying their bladders before they left the house? Only time would tell. Hours passed. Time went on and on as she lay there awake, containing her urine with every bit of strength. The pressure increased endlessly as more water continued to force its way into her bladder. The two guards who stood awake would absolutely know if she was to lose control and wet herself. The first men in the Kingdom to witness the Queen piss herself, soaking her blanket. She couldn't let it happen. She just closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said a silent prayer, asking the Lord Father to grant her strength in this difficult time. The fatigue soon pulled her to sleep. *** The next morning, she got up and saw just how large her bladder had become. It looked as if another liter had been added to its capacity over the night, such was its distention. The feeling of heaviness beneath her dress was beyond distracting, it had reached a level of painful urgency. Though, she was relieved that she didn’t wet herself in sleep, that would have been mortifying. Queen Charlotte just stood in the predawn chill, fighting off her immense need to urinate as the men around her prepared for the ride ahead. Crossing her legs now would not make the urge go away. Only by making a real effort and clenching her bladder shut could she make it go away, and as soon as she relaxed, it was back again. The cold had settled deep in her bones, and her legs were so sore she could scarcely walk. She realized her breath was shallow and quick as she tried to think clearly. The memory was still bitter. One moment she'd been well on her way to Longford to meet her father, and an eye blink later she was surrounded by armed men who were now dragging her in the opposite way. She had two days more riding ahead of her, followed by a few mouthfuls of food and a short, cold sleep on hard ground, and the gods only knew how it would end. "Damn them," she muttered as she struggled up the road to rejoin her captors, remembering that it was because of them that she was forced to hold onto an aching bladder, "Damn them all.” She had to relieve herself of the torrents of water inside her. She absolutely HAD to. She'd been containing herself for so long now that the need was just terrible. She was almost afraid to walk. She could feel her sphincters practically vibrating with the effort it took to impede the inevitable flood of urine that wanted so desperately to escape. She made a small, whimpering sound in spite of her valiant effort to hold onto her modesty, and squeezed her legs together. The wave of pressure in her bladder seemed to intensify into a more severe state of need, and she felt even more swollen and close to the point of honestly bursting than she had even moments before. She despised the sensation of needing to piss so urgently and not being immediately able to do so, it terrified her. It was mortifying to be caught in such a dire and private need while being surrounded by so many people, worse, strange men in this case. Her abductors were clustered around a stream a short ways down the road. The horses had drunk their fill of the icy cold water, and were grazing on clumps of brown grass that grew from clefts in the rock. Some men huddled close, sullen and miserable. A guard stood over them, leaning on his spear and wearing a rounded iron cap that made him look as if he had a bowl on his head. "Bandits!" The shriek came from the wind-carved ridge above them. Sir Jorge had sent guards one at a time scrambling up the rock face to watch the road while they camped. For a long second, no one moved. Sir Jorge was the first to react. "Everyone, to horse," he shouted. "Take the Queen." The bandits cared nothing for the enmities of the great houses; they would slaughter Dalton and Torrington with equal fervor, as they slaughtered each other. They might spare Charlotte herself; she was still young enough to bear sons. "I hear them!" one of the men called out. Charlotte turned her head to listen, and there it was: hoof beats, a dozen horses or more, coming nearer. Suddenly everyone was moving, reaching for weapons, running to their mounts. Arrows rained down around them as the guard came springing and sliding down the ridge. He landed breathless in front of Sir Jorge, an ungainly-looking man with wild tufts of rust-colored hair sticking out from under a conical steel cap. "There’s a horde of them," he said, breathless. "More men than we have. They must have eyes out, m'lord . . . hidden watchers . . . they know we're here." Sir Jorge was already ahorse, a longsword in hand. Another man crouched behind a boulder, both hands on his iron-tipped spear, a dagger between his teeth. Suddenly, Sir Willem pulled Charlotte behind a boulder, “Don’t make any noises, or they’ll know we’re here.” A heartbeat later, the bandits were on them. There were no heralds, no banners, no horns nor drums, only roars of men as they braced themselves for the fight. And suddenly the bandits came thundering out of the dawn, lean dark men in boiled leather and mismatched armor, faces hidden behind barred halfhelms. In gloved hands were clutched all manner of weapons: longswords and lances and sharpened scythes, spiked clubs and heavy iron mauls. At their head rode a big man in a striped skin cloak, armed with a greatsword. “Ahead We Charge!” Sir Jorge roared the Dalton words as he rode on to meet the enemy, his men right behind. From behind the rock, Charlotte heard the screams of frightened horses and the crash of metal on metal. The two men, Arryk and Orson, who had stood watch over her last night, were fighting valiantly. The first one’s sword raked across the naked face of a mailed rider, and the second one plunged through the bandits like a whirlwind, cutting down foes right and left. Sir Jorge hammered at the big man in the skin cloak, their horses dancing round each other as they traded blow for blow. Sir Willem lifted his head up and saw an arrow sprout from the throat of the man in the skin cloak. When he opened his mouth to scream, only blood came out. By the time he fell, Sir Jorge was fighting someone else. Suddenly Charlotte yelled, covering her head with her hands as a horse leapt over their rock. Sir Willem scrambled to his feet as the bandit turned to come back at them, hefting a spiked maul. Sir Willem swung his sword with both hands. The blade caught the charging horse in the throat, angling upward, and he almost lost his grip as the animal screamed and collapsed with its rider. Sir Willem danced back in while the bandit's leg was still pinned beneath his fallen mount, and buried the sword in the man's neck, just above the shoulder blades. After that, things ran together. The dawn was full of shouts and screams and heavy with the scent of blood, and the world had turned to chaos. Arrows hissed past Charlotte’s ear and clattered off the rocks. She peeked over the rock and saw Sir Jorge unhorsed, fighting with a sword in each hand, before she quickly tugged down as another arrow made its way towards her. When finally the war cries and horse whinnies abated, Charlotte stood up and looked around. The bandits were all vanquished or vanished. Somehow the fighting had ended when she wasn't looking. Dying horses and wounded men lay all around, screaming or moaning. She could have sworn they had been fighting for half a day, but the sun seemed scarcely to have moved at all. The dead bandits were thin, ragged men, their horses scrawny and undersized, with every rib showing. “Ready the horses…” Sir Jorge said wearily. The Knight had been wounded in the fight, a deep gash in his left arm and a spear thrust that grazed his neck. Almost all his men were dead and those left were grievously injured. "If we linger here, more bandits will be on us for a certainty, and we may not live through a second attack." He knelt by the stream and washed the blood off his face in water cold as ice. A sudden spasm from her bladder forced Charlotte’s hand near her crotch but she barely resisted. Now that the fighting was done, she was rudely reminded of her urgent need to urinate. The Queen forced herself to walk as Sir Willem led her towards her mount. It wasn't easy. Her thighs were clenched, her ankles stiff, her hand, not daring to fully meet her crotch. She could not believe she had to go so badly! It was awful. Her bladder must have been enormous, barely the size that it was meant to be at all. It was hard as a rock, angry from having to hold so much for so long. She was suffering. Sir Willem lifted her up onto her horse and she kept facing away from him as she adjusted herself on the saddle. How she was keeping herself dry with her legs so wide apart she truly did not know. Her dress rode up in front of her, and she pulled it close to cover up the oversized bulge of her bladder. Arryk led them out. Sir Willem and Orson took the rear, with Queen Charlotte safely in the middle and Sir Jorge right beside her. This time she was spared the hood. They did not bother to bound her hands, and when the woods around them started to grow dense, they scarcely bothered to guard her at all. It seemed they did not fear her escape. And why should they? The land here was harsh and wild, and the road little more than a stony track. If she did run, how far could she hope to go, alone and without provisions? The mountain lions would make a prey of her, and the bandits that dwelt in these mountains were rapers and murderers who bowed to no law but the sword. They rode on for the entire day and the Queen ’s bladder continued to bloat up under her dress. She was definite she could beat her horse in a wetting match if it were to be, such pressing was her need, but she didn’t let it show. For a moment, she closed her eyes and held her forehead in a projection of pain and concentration as she tried her best to battle the pressure. It had grown too much by now and there was no way she could overlook the ache in her bladder, swollen awfully with liters and liters of urine. She pressed her crotch on the saddle to gain some relief. She had to hold it. She had literally no choice, at least until she found herself in the privacy of a room with a chamberpot. But Dunstanburgh was far away and she didn't know if she could hold it that long. But no matter what, she could never let these men know how badly she had to go. The sun was well to the west by the time the slope began to flatten beneath the hooves of their horses. The road widened and grew straight, and for the first time Charlotte noticed wildflowers and grasses growing. Once they reached the valley floor, the going was faster and they galloped through verdant greenwoods and sleepy little hamlets, past orchards and golden wheat fields, splashing across a dozen sunlit streams. As they entered the Dalton lands, a wave of trepidation ran through Charlotte’s body. The Daltons were known for boiling their enemies alive in cauldrons full of smoldering oil. Cleansing, they called it. The thought that they might fry her once they reached Dunstanburgh made Charlotte shudder in horror and a jet of piss suddenly escaped her, dampening her drawers. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized she was losing control. She was frightened, she didn’t want to die and neither did she want to wet herself on a horse for these men to watch. But there was nothing she could do to help herself, she was absolutely stuck. It was a hot day, and Charlotte had been forced to drink to keep her health. Her bladder had swollen to a painful extent and it pinched at her mercilessly in protest as they rode ahead. She quieted it. She told herself that the bladder was a muscular organ and would therefore expand to contain whatever volume there was inside it. All she had to do was will it to stay closed. That was all. After all, she was the Queen. She could surely hold it however long she had to, no matter how... thundering the need. But by now she had reached the limits of her capacity. Her body would not listen to her no matter how much she tried to convince herself. I don't know how much longer I can take this; I really don't, she thought, her agony reaching a fevered level. It's beyond uncomfortable; it badly hurts for goodness sake... I'm so damned full, it's simply impossible, I can't, I really... her thoughts trailed off as they came across an inn. Her bladder trembled, threatening her. It was the worst state of desperation she could remember in all her life. Outside the inn on a weathered gibbet, a woman's bones were twisting and rattling at every gust of wind. "We don't want to go in," Sir Willem decided suddenly, "there might be ghosts, milord." "You know how long it has been since I had some ale?" Sir Jorge swung down from the saddle. "Stay here if you want, I’m going in." "What if someone knows her?" Sir Willem asked. "They might try to rescue her." Sir Jorge no longer cared to hide Queen Charlotte’s face from the strangers on the road. He no longer seemed to care who knew her. His wounds had turned him sloppy and dull and most of his strength was gone. "Let them try. I’ll flay them living." Sir Jorge answered as he loosened his longsword in its scabbard, and pushed through the door and his men followed suit. Charlotte would never have a better chance to relieve herself. Oh, God, the thought of urinating in the woods, or indeed any place at all was maddening. She chewed her lip as she squeezed her crotch tight. She barely managed to dismount without spurting in her dress, she led the horse to the stables, and went in after them. She was too scared. What if someone saw her while she relieved herself? Even the thought of it was beyond humiliating. But most of all, a proper lady would never disgrace herself by doing such a thing even if nobody was there to see her. “Ale for us all. The lady’s thirsty too!” Sir Jorge ordered as he took his seat in the empty inn. Charlotte frowned at this, she couldn’t be farther from being thirsty. Her bladder was swollen as hard as a rock, filled to its maximum capacity and the pressure was awful. She wondered what a flagon of ale would do to her. But she didn’t complain, she just drank it down and sat quietly with her thighs tightly pressed together. Her eyes welled up as she crossed her legs in a last desperate attempt to clamp down the pressure. She knew her bladder didn’t have any more room to contain the ale she had just drunk. She knew it was going to explode. She didn’t know which was worse, a blasted bladder or being fried alive in a cauldron of boiling oil, but either way, death was certain.Tears rolled down her eyes as she realized that she would never get to see her son again. This was the end for her. At this moment, when Queen Charlotte had lost all hope, two men dressed in boiled leather and ringmail, suddenly walked in. At first she took them for some soldiers on the road but then, the Queen’s face brightened up as she realized who they were. Amory and Hamil, household guards at Longford. How long it had been since she had last seen them. They had been no older than her son when she went south after marriage. What they were doing so far from home she didn’t know, all she knew was that she was in great danger and they were her last ray of hope. She looked at her captors, Sir Jorge and Sir Willem hadn’t even bothered to look at the new guests and neither did the other two, Arryk and Orson. She looked intently at Amory and Hamil, hoping they would notice her. When the two soldiers began walking towards a table, they became aware of the lady sitting with a bunch of armored men. “Your Highness” Amory exclaimed. He would have never thought of finding the Queen in a small inn like this one, so far away from the Capital. But most of all, he wondered why the Queen would travel with Dalton men rather than the Queensguard “I had not looked to see you here, my Queen," he said as he knelt, “..is everything well by the God's grace?”. I had not thought to be here either, please help me, she thought but didn’t utter a word, fear stopped her voice in her throat but her face told it all. The innkeep suddenly remembered something in the kitchen. The only sound in the common room was the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth. Hamil noticed the Dalton men starring at Amory and that’s when he realized what was going on. “Fuck!” he echoed, pulling his sword out of its scabbard. Everything seemed to happen at once then; Sir Jorge lurched to his feet, Amory straightened up and drew his longsword, and the Sir Willem's hand whipped around in a blur to send something silver flashing across the common room towards Hamil. If he had not been moving, the knife might have cored the apple of his throat; instead it only grazed his ribs, and wound up quivering in the wall near the door. Sir Jorge’s sword slid from its scabbard just in time to knock aside Amory ’s first cut. Queen Charlotte ducked in a corner as the long steel song began. Crouching with a bladder this full was excruciating, but she somehow managed to keep her waters in. Amory and Hamil were outnumbered two to four but Charlotte knew it wouldn’t matter much. The Dalton men were tired, wounded and drunk and they wouldn’t be up for much of a fight. Amory was a grim, methodical fighter, and he pressed Sir Jorge and Sir Willem steadily backward, his heavy longsword moving with brutal precision. His opponents’ own cuts were sloppier, their parries rushed, their feet slow and clumsy. Signs that they were going down. Meanwhile the other two men, Arryk and Orson had come off the bench with short-swords in their hands but Hamil had engaged them well. Sir Willem gave a grunt of pain as Amory buried his sword deep into his face and out from the back of his head, before pulling it out in an instant. He fell down on the ground, dead. That seemed to make Sir Jorge angry. He drove back Amory with a furious attack, hammering at him with the old longsword. Amory gave way, but none of the cuts so much as touched him. But then, Arryk turned around and leapt over a bench quick as a snake, and slashed at the back of Amory 's neck with the edge of his short sword. The man groaned in pain as he came to his knees and Sir Jorge beheaded him at that very instant. Hamil was now left alone fighting Orson, as Sir Jorge and Arryk turned towards them. At first, both of Sir Jorge’s men came after him hard, one of them hacking at his head and shoulders while the other darted in to stab at back and belly. They had driven Hamil into a corner behind a bench, and Orson had given him an ugly red gash on his upper thigh to go with his other wounds. Hamil was leaning against the wall, bleeding and breathing noisily. He looked as though he couldn’t keep up the fight for long. He pushed away from the wall and stood in a half-crouch behind the bench, his sword held across his body. His foot lashed out and caught the bench, driving it hard into Sir Jorge’s shins. Somehow, the Knight of Dalton kept his feet, but Hamil ducked under his wild slash and brought his own sword up in a vicious backhand cut. Blood spattered on the ceiling and walls. The blade caught in the middle of Sir Jorge’s face, and when Hamil wrenched it loose, half his head came with it. Arryk and Orson backed away. The shortswords in their hands suddenly seemed almost like toys against the long blade Hamil was holding. It didn’t take long for Hamil to decimate them but by the end he was bleeding like a butchered pig himself, and dragging one leg when he walked. “Your Highness, are you alright?” he gave his hand to the Queen, “We must get going, I’m certain Reynard Dalton will send more men behind us when he learns of this friendly encounter..” he forced a wry smile. Queen Charlotte although terrified, took his hand but as she stood up, her weehole opened unexpectedly for a full second and a hot squirt of piss burst into the folds of her dress. She froze in panic and quickly stood straight, clenching her muscles, stopping herself from wetting her dress any further. “Is there something wrong, my Queen?” Hamil asked. “N-no, let’s get going” she breathed. “We’ll leave for Longford at day break but we’d have to spend the night” Hamil said, “I know an old man who lives a few miles from here, I suppose he’d be generous enough to share his roof with us.” A glimmer of hope shone in Charlotte’s eyes. Maybe the old man had a chamberpot she could use. Nothing mattered to her now except getting there and relieving herself before she either wet herself or died of an exploded bladder. Hamil came up behind her and offered his hands as a step so she could climb her horse. Charlotte was truly grateful for his gesture. She was sure she would have lost control of her bladder had she tried to climb it on her own. Though as they rode on, Charlotte grew truly terrified, she knew that the second she got off her horse she would instantly lose control and soak herself in front of Hamil. As much as it was against everything she stood for, she was profoundly considering dismounting right where she was and running into the woods to relieve herself. But she knew she couldn’t do it. She could never tarnish her own dignity. She’d just have to hold it. It had grown dark by the time they came upon a tiny isolated cottage attached to a barn, surrounded by tall pines. Charlotte’s hands were shaking as she held the reins. Oh, she couldn’t wait to piss. Hamil got down from his garron and held out his hand to help the Queen off her mount. She took his hand and carefully climbed down. The moment her feet touched the ground, she crossed her legs and grabbed her crotch tight. She didn’t care if Hamil saw her like this, at least it was better than wetting herself. They walked to the entrance and Hamil knocked. The old man, named Bryce, opened the door and looked at them probingly before he recognized Hamil, “Oy! What in God’s name happened to you?” he asked, looking at the soldier’s wounds. “I’ll tell you everything, first let us in” Hamil spoke. Charlotte’s heart sank as they walked in, it was a single dark room, illuminated by only the flames rising from the herth, with no prospect of privacy and there was no sign of a chamber pot either, though it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Her hopes were shattered and she felt a drop of piss leak out. She was defeated. But then it came to her. There was still a ray of hope. If she could make her way into the barn behind the cottage, she would have all the privacy in the world once the old man and Hamil went to sleep. And she could spend the night wetting as much as she wanted. “Well, both of you gentlemen can sleep here if you want, I’ll make myself comfortable in the barn. It has been a while since I slept on a mound of hay anyway” she forced a smile, crossing her legs. “Oh no, my lady” old man Bryce said, assuming her to be Hamil’s paramour. “The night grows much colder these days, and I fear you might take a chill if you attempt to sleep outside. You should sleep in here; the hearth will keep you warm. I’ll take the barn though, there isn’t much room in here but I’ve grown accustomed to the cold” he smiled. Charlotte cried inwardly as the chance of relief slipped out of her fingers. She held her forehead they sat on the dinner table, her bladder swollen big and hard like a watermelon. “Is everything alright, m’lady?” Sir Hamil asked, “You look rather distressed.” “Oh, nothing i-it’s nothing” Charlotte spoke dejectedly as she stared blankly at her venison stew, stirring it with her spoon. Old man Bryce made his way to the barn after the dinner and Hamil laid a blanket on the ground for him to sleep upon. Charlotte looked at him miserably; she wished he would go sleep in the barn too. The house had a bed stuffed with straw and not too many lice, and the air smelled of pines but Queen Charlotte cared for none of it. As she sat on the cushioned chair near the hearth, with her hands around her chest, the sheer pressure in her bladder made her body shudder. With her thighs pressed tightly together, she just sat watching the dancing flames and hoping the warmth would lessen her need to piss. But to her misery, nothing of the sort happened. She was past the point of hiding it any longer. Her bladder felt like it would burst any second, it was stretched so much. “Are you alright, my Queen?” Hamil asked when he saw her shivering “…are you cold?” “N-no, I’m fine…” Charlotte replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Hamil brought a blanket and wrapped it around her, “I hope it’ll make you feel better.” No it won’t, Charlotte thought but said, “Thank you, Hamil, that’s so kind of you…” She sat on the chair, shaking back and forth as the pressure grew to an unbearable degree. She dare not lie down on the bed or sleep, for she knew the moment she relaxed her muscles, the flood would erupt out of her. Her bladder was agony, on the point of exploding, swollen so much it was making her look pregnant, and now her urge to wee was so intense, the pressure so great, that she was having to clench herself shut with all her strength all the time, as well as holding her crutch so hard she was shaking. She had never had to make so much effort to hold her piss back, and she could not keep it up for long. I will not sleep tonight, she thought, though her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. She leaned back on the chair. Eyes closed, she concentrated every ounce of her strength on holding her pee, and just hung on, and hung on, and hung on. *** When she woke, the morning light was seeping in through the window. She looked down and whimpered inwardly as she saw her stomach had grown even bigger than it was last night. She wondered how much her bladder could stretch, how much it could possibly contain before it burst. Her legs were stiff and cramped and the hearth had long since burned out. How she had held back her waters through the night she would never know. She looked around but Hamil wasn’t there, he might have woken up early. Charlotte knew then that this was her only chance. If she could make it to the woods, she could relieve herself once and for all. She stood up from the chair in haste and took quick but tiny steps towards the door. She dare not move her legs much now, or she knew she would lose it. She pulled the door handle in a hurry but it didn’t budge. Her eyes widened in horror as a long, hot leak suddenly squirted out of her and dampened her drawers, “Oh, no” she sighed as she frantically tugged at the door in desperation a few more times, just to realize, it was bolted from outside. She stood there, bent double, with her hands buried deep inside her crotch, pushing hard against the front of the dress. She had to get out, right now! The pressure and the urgency, had grown to an awful degree and she did not have any reserves of strength left to contain it. She was on the brink of wetting herself, she simply could not hold on to her pee any longer. She turned around to look for something to pee in, maybe a pot or a bowl. She just didn’t care anymore. She spotted a horn mug kept at the table, and she walked towards it, ready to relieve herself but just as she began to lift up her dress, the door opened. “My Queen” Hamil said as he walked in. “Y-Yes..” Charlotte faltered as she released her dress, letting it fall back down over her legs. She felt like killing him right then. Why the hell did he have to stop her now when she was going out of her mind to take a massive piss! “Bryce said we should stay back for lunch before setting out” Hamil went on, “I think he is right. There is only one inn between here and Longford but it was looted by raiders a fortnight ago. It stands deserted now, we won’t be getting food elsewhere. Best we prepare ourselves for the journey. We’ll be needing provisions…” Charlotte was not taking much interest on what Hamil was telling her. All she could think about was how terribly she needed to urinate. She'd been holding it for so long! She was pressing her legs together as hard as she could, and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, clenching all her holding muscles as hard as she could. Her honor was at stake, and she was determined to protect it. But then suddenly, another long leak escaped and soaked into her drawers. The Queen didn’t react and forced herself to remain calm, as if nothing had happened. She could never let Hamil know what was going on under her dress. This trial of strength continued with Charlotte becoming more and more restless and distracted as her desperation reached critical level. She placed a hand on her aching, throbbing bladder as she stood there, listening to what the soldier had to say. She was beyond desperate now; her entire body shivering with pressure, most of all her legs. She had reached her limit. It was just a very short matter of time before the dam burst. And then, Charlotte gasped as she began to feel drops of warm pee soak into her drawers all of a sudden. She immediately grabbed her crotch in a desperate attempt to hold on, not even caring if Hamil saw her like that, but it was no use. The piss forcefully penetrated the fabric of her smallclothes and began pouring down onto the wood floor under her feet. The Queen was wetting herself. “My Queen?” Hamil said in astonishment as the loud sound of splattering water hit his ears and a puddle started to grow from under the Queen’s dress. “Don’t look!” Charlotte shouted, a hand covering half her face. She stood thunderstruck, panting as she the urine sprayed out of her, spreading warmth as it traveled down her thighs to form a vast puddle on the floor. Her clothes were soaked through within seconds. She moaned out and held the table for support as relief washed over her body, her legs shaking as the pressure reduced dramatically. The stream kept coming and coming and it felt like it was never going to stop. She couldn’t even breathe properly it felt so good. The relief was so wonderful. She could feel her bladder slowly deflating, sinking back to its normal shape as the piss flowed out of her. Somewhere buried under the feelings of shame and humiliation, she was thankful that her agony had finally come to an end. At last, when she was finally done, Queen Charlotte , held her forehead in disbelief and inspected the damage on the floor. She could feel her skin burning with embarrassment as she tried to ignore Hamil’s flabbergasted gaze. “My Queen, you should have said something if you needed to go, how long had you been holding it?” “That’s none of your concern” Charlotte shot back, “… and if you so much as mention this to the old man, I’ll have your head on a spike. Is that understood?” “It is, my Queen” Hamil said as he gulped the lump in his throat. The Queen decreed Hamil to leave before Bryce returned from the woods. She didn’t want him to see her in wet clothes. Now that her bladder was deflated, she felt lighter by a thousand pounds. Oh, that feeling was pure bliss. She swiftly climbed atop her horse and rode away beside her guard, never to come back again. When the old man came back, he was surprised to know that his guests were gone. But what drew his attention more than that was the massive pool that sat on the floor of his cottage. He wondered where all that water had come from? And whose were those wet footsteps that drew towards the door?
  8. NOTE: Two years ago I did my History A levels on the French Revolution and we studied all about Versailles including the fact that bathrooms were scarce. I must say, the reality was not as pretty as it might seem when it is told by an omorashi fan to an omorashi community but to make this as appealing as possible I ignored some stuff. The main reason I wrote this is to encourage others to create stories that take place in different timelines throughout history. I am having a lot of fun writing this and probably will continue this. Depending on your reactions I will continue posting this. All critics are wellcome and I know there is a big margin of improvement. Hope you enjoy!! (I will shut up now) Prologue Our story begins in the 1700s, Palace of Versailles, a few miles away from Paris. As some of you may be aware of, Versailles had been built for the royal family and aristocracy and counted with the most luxurious corridors, rooms and social activities. However only a few might be aware of a very interesting fact; bathrooms were scarce, almost non-existent. The palace was ridiculously big and, often, relief could only be achieved by walking all the way back to your room and using a chamber pot. Through the years, this proved to be a tremendous architectonic error. Girls around Versailles often didn’t get to their rooms in time; besides, most of them just couldn’t be bothered. Amusingly enough, “accidents” occurred almost in a daily basis and those affected by it were usually young women who had to carry around giant dresses and were unable to do anything else than letting go in a dark corner or in the middle of dinner or, in the case of veterans some would pee whilst walking around the never ending rooms and hallways of the palace leaving a trail of wetness wherever they went. (ref. Princess of Harcout) A big problem for these naughty highborn childs was that their underwear was essentially another dress, only plain white and very thin. So nothing could be done to avoid a full wetting. Of course not all girls would wet themselves every day, some times they made it just in time. After the socialising and the drinking and partying all day long, most of them would leak consistently, never fully wetting and giving a show, (since manners were important in Versailles), but constantly feeling the wetness and shame in their lady parts. This meant that absolutely every single small clothe in Versailles had trails of pee and yellow spots of past accidents and it wasn’t a secret since it happened to the whole lot: small, teen and adult. The walls of Versailles have witnessed countless stories of humiliation, leaking, accidental wetting and my personal favourite; non accidental wettings. However, for the purpose of this story I will talk about young Carole and her time at Versailles. Carole Carole was 14 when she arrived at Versailles two and a half years ago. Her parents had sent her from the south so she could learn the life of a lady at court while serving to his king and honouring her family. She felt like she had a huge responsibility and that she should never do anything to disgrace herself or her father. Of course at Versailles she had to learn a new definition of self-respect from her friends and other grown up women too. One thing was for sure, Versailles had changed her. She was no longer that kid afraid of making a mess in her new dress or worried about how others would react to her lack of control over her bladder. In the present time she was already 17, a fully developed woman, her beauty was incomparable. Everyone wanted to be her or fuck her. Most importantly, every day she woke up knowing she would end up wetting herself somewhere and she loved this. She never used the bathrooms in the mornings, furthermore, sometimes she would wake up and be so desperate and horny at the same time that she would wet the bed and have fun with herself to start off fresh. Today she had to deal with 3 hours of French with her tutor before enjoying the privacy of her favourite hidden spots. Being so young, she wasn’t required to wear a full dress with iron base, especially not for French lessons. She put on her small clothes and chose a simple white and green dress with the customary corset that would squeeze her breasts and belly to the point she couldn’t breathe. She had breakfast with the rest of her classmates and just as they were entering the room where their lesson took place she realised how much she had screwed up. Fridays were not a good day to avoid the boring relief that her chamber pot could offer. She would never make it in time with 3 hours to come of the slowest class in history. She was terrorised and excited at the same time. Carole new her tutor would never allow them a break, not even during a desperate situation. She knew this for past experiences; during her first days at Versailles she fully wetted almost every single day, especially during her French lessons. Everyone at Versailles new that women often made their businesses in their dresses, that was no mystery, knowing it was something, but letting everybody else see you pee like a 5 year old was another. She could not afford such an embarrassment. Just as her tutor’s eyes and hers met she made a run for it. As she was running through the rooms she heard her tutor following and screaming at her to come back or risk punishment. She had some time to try something; she stopped at the third room, completely empty, and squatted on a corner. She immediately started feeling a trickle run down her thighs and butt cheeks as she heard her tutor’s footsteps approaching. Just as she got up from her squatting position her pursuer entered the room and made contact with Carole. Both stayed quiet for a few seconds, Carole still feeling her piss running through both her legs and doing what she could to keep the fabric of the dress away from her humid smallclothes. The flow was quite weak at the moment but she couldn’t stop. She had to let some of it come out anyway if she was going to make it through 3 hours of French. _Why are you running away from me young lady? Carole you are always an exemplar student, what is this behaviour due to? _Mme Pinet, I had no choice, I lost one of my family’s earrings. _Very well Carole, did you find it? At that moment Carole looked down and realised she was letting too much out, she could see the tiniest of a puddle starting to come out from her dress. Her shoes were drenched for sure and her underclothes completely soaked by now. Her dress was intact at the moment. _Yes mme Carole immediately stepped forward in an attempt to hide her puddle of pee _Excellent, we may continue with our classes, follow me Mme Pinet turned around and calmly walked back to her class. Carole carefully tailed her leaving a path of footprints when her wet shoes made contact with the shiny floors. Luckily for her, mme Pinet didn’t turn around. At this point, it was obvious she had wet herself. She managed to safely get to her lesson and sit down. She couldn’t have had avoided this but when her soaked bum and underwear made contact with the chair, her dress became instantly wet. The material of the dress was able to absorb most of the wetness so it wasn’t leaking. The problem was that now she was even more desperate to pee than before and her lesson was only just starting, she couldn’t hold it for that long and she knew.
  9. Some time ago, nearly two years in fact, I wrote a tale of desperation, starring Triss from The Witcher series. I had wanted to do a sequel, but between lack of ideas, and life, I never got round to it. Until now! I hope you very much enjoy this follow up! CC Welcome. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As she materialised back in her own room, her eyes flashing and hair flowing with the telltale sign of her power, Ciri laughed aloud. She knew it was cruel, but she just loved to torment a bursting bladder, it was so funny! And maybe a little exciting… She giggled again thinking of Triss and Yen’s conversation that she had listened to while holding the privvy door closed, before making a swift exit via telportation. She had wanted to keep the game going, but it seemed Triss was at her limit, and besides, with Yen telling her about the jammed door it would have aroused to much suspicion if the door failed to open. A shame there was nowhere to teleport to that was still in earshot of the privvy, Ciri mused as she straightened her white shirt and ran a hand through her ashen hair, it looked like Triss had built up a real gusher. Ciri flopped down onto her bed, breasts threatening to spill out of her forever slightly unbuttoned shirt. She sighed contentedly, although she wished to get back out and cause more bladder distress, she knew she would have to play it safe so as not to draw too much attention. As she got herself all comfortable, Ciri felt the familiar feeling of her bladder twinging, that first signal of needing relief, although she could have easily pulled herself up and found relief, she thought it not worth it for the trickle she contained. She instead rolled onto her stomach, briefly enjoying the extra pressure this placed on her filling bladder, before rolling further onto her side, and curling up to sleep. Her last thoughts before drifting off were of Triss dancing in desperation, desperately trying to hold it in, and of the huge wee she would have unleashed. Ciri dreamed. But this was not a dream of something new, this was a memory, relived again like new. It was years ago, and she had just failed a translation test set by Yennefer for what felt like the millionth time that day. “What is the point!” Ciri shouted in frustration, slamming her quill down. She had finally been getting close, but had been distracted at a crucial moment and failed the translation again. “The point, dearest, is that these are useful skills.” Replied Yennefer, keeping her cool, placing the quill back in the inkpot. Ciri sighed, her temper calming, “Are they really though?” “You know they are, ancient manuscripts hold powerful secrets, being able to translate them is therefore useful” Yen replied, touching Ciri’s face reassuringly, “What happened?” Ciri smiled sadly, “I got distracted.” “By what?” Yen asked calmly. Ciri bit her lip, she knew, but found it too embarrassing to tell one of the most powerful sorceresses in the north, The Yennefer of Vengerberg, that she was distracted from her test because she realised her bladder was full. “Nothing really.” She sighed. “Come on what is it? Yen pressured. Ciri shifted uncomfortably in her seat, partly from her nerves, partly from the increasing pressure in her bladder. “Honestly, nothing.” She replied, trying to change topics. Yen frowned, “You can tell me, Ciri, are you hungry? Thirsty? I can go get you some water if you like?” “No!” Ciri replied a little too quickly, “No really, I’m fine, just frustrated, and sad, I want to be able to do it, but I just can’t.” “We have plenty of time, it’s understandable to be frustrated, but don’t be sad about it.” Smiled Yen, “Or else….” She added with a wink. Ciri frowned, confused, “Or else what?” Yen smiled wickedly, wiggling her fingers. “Or else an old friend will come out to play….” Ciri wriggled in her seat again, feeling phantom tickles across her body, “I’m grown now! That won’t work any more!” She declared nervously, years ago, back when she first came to Kaer Morhen Castle, and was grumpy Yen had used to tickle her to cheer her up, but she had nearly wet her breeches several times, not that she would ever admit it. She liked to think she was past all that now, but with an already full bladder….. Yen held her fingers to her ears, “What’s that? Ah the tickle monster says that’s what they all say….” “No Yen really,” Ciri began, crossing her legs tightly as her bladder twitched nervously. “Too late!” Cried Yen as she lunged forwards, fingers tickling into Ciri’s sides. She tried not to laugh but it was hopeless, in seconds she was shrieking hysterically, and her bladder was spasming like a rapid heartbeat, trying desperately to push its liquid burden out. “See you’re cheering up already! You’re laughing!” Said Yen, laughing herself. “S-s-stop!” Stammered Ciri between laughs. Yen eased her fingers for a second, “Why?” “Because I...I have to go?” Ciri said, dancing around the subject, as she longed to dance in desperation. “Go where?” Yen replied in genuine confusion. “No, I have to….go.” Ciri said, as her legs crossed even tighter, doubling up entirely now to contain her waters. Yen still looked confused and slowly began to increase her tickles once more. “Yen! I need a wee!” Ciri said giggling. “Yeah right! That’s what all the girls say to get away from the tickle monster!” Yen laughed, doubling her efforts. Ciri’s legs were like a pretzel and she yearned to grab her crotch, anything to put more pressure on to stop the leaks she knew were coming. “I really do! I’m bursting! I need to go! I need to pee!!” Ciri exclaimed panicked. Yen rolled her eyes, “You always used to say that! Then you were sad the game ended!” Ciri’s eyes widened, “I’m gonna leak! I can’t hold it!” “Oh fine.” Said Yen stopping at last. Ciri laughed once more as Yen’s fingers moved away, brushing her one last time, and that was it, her bladder could take no more and all of her desperation poured out into her pants. Despite her horror at the situation, Ciri couldn’t help but sigh in relief, throwing her head back. “Oh no!” Yen exclaimed, “Ciri I’m so sorry! I didn’t….” Ciri looked down at herself, not sure what to say. “I really didn’t mean to...” Said Yen sadly. “It can be our secret, no one needs to know. I can vanish the….evidence, and fetch you clean clothes.” Ciri looked up, “It’s fine. I should have said sooner.” “I really am sorry.” Yen said, rising, “I’ll get you something to change into.” Ciri’s expression changed, “I just realised something. Well two somethings.” She smiled. Yen tilted her head, “What’s that?” “I just worked out the translation, it just clicked!” Ciri beamed. “Oh that’s great, dearest! Well done! I guess you really were distracted!” Yen said, happily clapping her hands. “What else did you realise?” Ciri smiled wickedly, “That I need to get you back now...” Yen laughed confidently, “Oh I doubt very much you could! Now stay there, I’ll get your clothes.” Ciri smiled, we’ll see, she thought, as she watched Yen leave. And with the memory concluded, so to did Ciri’s nap. She woke quickly, blinking to clear her eyes, thinking over her dreams, before it hit her. She had to pee. Desperately. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- And that's it for this chapter! I hope you liked it! I do have plans for another installment, but no solid time frame or ideas yet, any suggestions or ideas are welcome, but I can't promise I'll do them.
  10. Zogrelia and Soprana hate each other. These are two nations have been at each other's throats for ages. It's been going on for so long that not many people even remember or care about what caused it but everyone knew it was Zogrelia's fault. Zogrelia was a war-mongering country of barbarians, they were the exact opposite of the Soprana who were sophisticated, cultured people. Most people believe that either it was the Soprana who attacked before the Zogrelians got too aggressive or the Zogrelians wanted to get rid of a long time rival. Anne Peterson was given the task to kidnap Sopranians princess, Brandi Day, late at night on the day before her arranged marriage with Osceria. She... 1. Snuck into the bedroom and hid 2. Snuck into the bathroom and hid 3. Roamed across the castle until she stumbled upon her 4. Send a battalion of men into the castle and take her by force
  11. WARNING : CONTAINS SCAT The shadows of the afternoon were growing long as the entourage made its way south along the highway, wending past fields and streams and wooded hillsides, led by a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and free riders over three hundred strong. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the western wind, emblazoned with the rampant griffin of Seymour. In the middle of the column groaned a carriage, a huge wagon of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by six heavy draft horses and defended by mounted spearmen and archers, front and rear. Curtains of dark blue velvet concealed the carriage's occupant from the world. Inside, Queen Charlotte sighed and shifted uneasily in her seat. Sitting was getting very uncomfortable. Four weeks of bad roads had taken them half the realm away to Knavesmire, where Lord Corbet had staged a great tourney to celebrate his son’s wedding to Lord Harner’s daughter, Sisley. Lord Corbet himself had travelled to Godswick to invite Queen Charlotte for the celebration and request her to be his guest of honor, to which she had agreed. The tourney had run for a fortnight and Queen Charlotte had stayed there till the end, gracing the event with her august presence and watching the finest knights and noblest lords of the kingdom contend with lance and sword in the fields beneath the towering walls of Knavesmire. On the final day of the tourney, Charlotte herself had handed fifty thousand golden coins to the champion, thirty thousand to the man who came second, twenty to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the victor of the archery competition, and praised all the participants for their valiant efforts on the field. Though Lord Corbet had prayed her to stay a little longer, the Queen had set back for the capital the very next morning, along with her retinue. Now, just a day’s ride away from home, Charlotte was thoroughly exhausted, though not of travelling. She had woken up in her pavilion that morning desperate to empty her bowels, but not wanting to relieve herself anywhere than a privy, she had decided to wait until they reached the King’s Fort. Now, after hours of holding and waiting, the Queen’s discomfort was beginning to show. Her need had grown much worse than what it was in the morning and restlessness now crawled under her skin. All that shit had been ramming at her hole for weeks now, telling her to open the gates so it could come out, but the Queen had clenched her ass tight shut every time the urge came to her. She had been holding it from the day they left the capital ten weeks ago, unwilling to go anywhere than her own privy, though she used the chamber pot to make waters whenever she felt the need. She had been like this for as long as she could remember. Being a proper lady, she had trained her body to resist voiding her bowels while travelling, but she had never held this long ever before. During her stay at Knavesmire, she did not find it all that difficult to keep her shit from coming out. The urge only came upon her once every half-hour or so, and most of the time she could make it go. After a week into the tourney, her stomach was packed with so much shit that the string of her linen underpants was making her feel uncomfortable and her waist had become too big to allow her to fasten her drawers. The pressure had grown considerably by the time they had set back for the capital, and each day it had been harder and harder to resist letting it out. As the carriage crawled ahead on the stony track, the Queen stared critically at her abdomen. It was huge, bloated as it was with ten weeks’ worth of meals. She felt so heavy. And not at all well. Sweat broke out on her brow, as she fought desperately to keep her anus closed. Just a few more hours and then she'd be home, she couldn't wait. Though by now, the anal contractions had become so frequent and so intense, it felt like it would soon be coming out, whether she was prepared for it or not. She gasped looking out of the slightly pulled curtains, struggling to hold her shit in, wincing as the pressure in her bowels became almost unbearably painful. She tried her best to distract herself but her efforts turned futile. A wave of urgency took her and Charlotte clenched her eyes as tightly shut as her anus. She held her breath as she battled to contain the massive load in her ass. For a moment she thought she was going to have to give up, it became so painful, but then the pressure eased slightly, and she released her breath abruptly. Sitting up straight, she continued to look out of the window, shivering with the effort it was taking to keep her ass closed. She was determined to fight it till the last. I cannot give up, I cannot, she told herself firmly, even though her body was on the edge of collapsing. She had reached the point where she wanted to ask the carriage driver to stop so she could go relieve herself in the woods, once and for all. But she knew that was not a choice. A proper lady would never disgrace herself by doing such a thing, I would just have to hold it. These thoughts swirled around in her mind as another wave of desperation hit her. She almost lost control, and her knuckles whitened as her hands gripped the edge of her seat, pulling her bottom down against it, in an attempt to prevent the mammoth load inside her from getting out. Beads of sweat appeared on her brow, and her body began to tremble with the effort of clenching her anus as it threatened to open without her permission. She gritted her teeth, despair threatening to overcome her as she felt her asshole opening up despite her efforts. The tip of her turd started to emerge but she somehow managed to push it back in. The Queen was on the verge of losing control and they were not even near the city yet. She was fighting against wave after wave of urgency as hard as she could but she didn’t know how long she could keep it up. A proper lady always knows to suppress her needs, no matter how bad they get, she reminded herself but her body was failing. There was a thousand pounds of pressure inside her ass and no amount of will power was going to help her contain it much longer. Ten minutes later, another strong wave of urgency took over her. This time it was harder to resist, and she had to grit her teeth and hold her breath while she forced her bowels into submission. She managed it, but it was quite a battle, and afterwards she let out a deep exhalation, “I don’t think I can hold much longer.” In the next hour, Queen Charlotte had to fight a couple more times to avoid an accident as the pressure increased to an unbelievable degree. Her entire body was trembling with the effort it took her to contain herself. She held on as long as she could, but just about an hour’s ride away from the city, her anus began opening up again. It took all her concentration, and her eyes crossed slightly as she gripped the edge of her seat and clenched with all of her strength, wiggling her bottom against the seat in an attempt to keep her shit inside. She gasped in pain – she could bear it no longer. “I can’t hold it!” she wailed. It hurt too much to keep clenching, so she eased off a bit, and straight away the rounded tip of a thick, hard turd began to poke its way out of her anus. Worried, she quickly squeezed her buttocks together and forced her anus, little by little, to close up again. The turd slowly retreated, and she began to breathe again. She wiped some perspiration from her brow. The urge grew worse and she writhed in her seat, clenching her anus tightly shut against the enormous pressure threatening to force it open from within. Desperately looking out of the window, Charlotte grimaced in discomfort as a new pain began to build inside her bottom. She clamped her buttocks together, and her sphincter tightly shut, as her shit pushed hard against the inside of her anus, but by now her body had weakened by the battle it had been fighting for so long. She was exhausted but she reminded herself that she didn’t have a choice. If she soiled her clothes, everyone would know the moment she stepped out her carriage. She was the Queen, she couldn’t let that happen. Her dignity was at stake, she’d just have to hold it. No matter what. But they were still far away from Godswick and she wasn’t sure she could hold it till they got there. They were moving at a snail's pace and the heat inside the carriage was only making things worse. Queen Charlotte sat mortified as a sudden tinge of pressure from her anus spread to her stomach, there was something about the way it felt that told her 'this is it, it's coming out!' She tried to clench harder but she felt her asshole pulsating with pressure, just seconds away from giving out completely. She knew she had to act before it was too late. “Stop! Stop the damn thing!,” Charlotte shouted to the coachman, squeezing her buttocks together and jumping to her feet as she made towards the door. From the knights and retainers in the front, to the baggage train in the end, the entire entourage came to a halt on the Queen’s command. Her hands trembled as she opened the door – she could feel her anus opening up, and knew she would not be able to close it again until she had emptied herself once and for all. Somehow containing herself, the Queen stepped out of the carriage, the beating of her heart telling her to hurry. “Wait!” she commanded the handmaiden who was beginning to follow her into the woods. Nobody could know what she was going to do. The Queen hurried into the forest with her hands squeezing her butt close, trying to get as far away from the entourage as possible. With every step feeling like her ass was going to burst, every swing of each leg feeling like that would be the end of it. The forest was somewhat dark and primal, untouched for ten thousand years as the highway pierced through its chest. It smelled of moist earth and decay. This was a place of peaceful silence and only the sound of Charlotte’s labored gasps tore through it. As she walked further into the woods, she could not contain the pressure any more. Her walk became a run, and she gasped as her shit started to push through, forcing her anus wider and wider. She no longer had any strength to resist. With each step she felt the turd emerge more, it was thick and hard, and then, she could take it no longer. In the dense cover of bushes, she lifted her gown and tore down her drawers and smallclothes. She could not even wait until she was squatting, but the instant her clothes were down and her legs just starting to bend, the thick log inched its way out until the tip was level with her knees before breaking off. As the foot long turd fell to the ground with a thud, Charlotte let out a heartfelt moan of relief with her face thrown up and her eyes shut. The feeling of release after all the holding and resisting was bliss. Still partly squatted, she released a stream of piss while thick but soft logs of shit continued to drop out of her. She didn’t even have to push, it just kept sliding out, one after the other, the chirping of birds only muffled by the loud sound of her piss hitting the dry leaves. She was tired. Just twenty minutes ago, she was sitting in her carriage, praying to the Mother to give her strength to endure the journey home, now she had turned into a lethal canon, her ass shooting turds almost thick as cucumbers. Her face covered in sweat, she just stared ahead into the sea of leaves and branches, just letting it happen on its own. It was shameful, but she needed to do it. How long could she have battled, how long could she have endured. A slight grunt escaped her throat as turds continued to slide out of her beautiful asshole, one of them growing over three feet long. It felt so good to finally release it. Let it all come out. How she had managed to hold it this long she would never know. She was just thankful that it was finally over. Slowly but steadily the weight in her bowels decreased and her breathing evened out. She had held it for so long, the relief made her light headed. All that pressure she had been fighting for weeks was finally out, she was free. When she was done, the Queen wiped her butthole with leaves, before pulling up her underclothes and adjusting her gown of sea-green silk, almost stepping into her dung while doing so. The forest was quiet and serene again and she could hear the birds sing. Flies hovered around her enormous pile of wet shit as it sat on the forest floor, plants and grass squashed away by the weight of her heavy dropping. She wondered what some unaware hunter would think if he saw this heap of dung. She was sure he would not imagine a lady to have done it. A lady could never hold this much. She’d been defecating big her whole life, but this was undoubtedly the biggest dump she had ever taken. Walking around carrying all that weight in her ass had been really difficult and only gods knew how relieved she was now that it had all come out. In her entire life, this was the first time she had taken a shit elsewhere than a privy. It was beyond humiliating, but other than that, if anybody ever found out what she was doing in these woods, she’d be forced to flee the kingdom out of pure shame. The thought of fleeing terrified her. She wanted to rule. She was born to rule. It was a life of wealth, finery and power that suited her, not that of work. Only she deserved to be on the throne and no one else. Then suddenly, the realization if how long she’d been dawned upon the Queen. She had taken too long and she had to get back before they came looking for her. She quickly plucked a bunch of wildflowers and turned towards the road, walking with a hand on her now empty stomach. She felt so light now, as if she could jump and fly, but the worry of being found out anchored her relief down. Queen Charlotte stepped out of the woods a free woman, feeling light as a feather. Now she didn’t care how long it took to reach the capital. “I went to pick these flowers, they’re beautiful aren’t they?” she said to the guard who stood waiting for her near her carriage, “Now let us go, my son must be waiting for me.”
  12. I have a fantasy that I think I will never be able to acomplish... since ever I really want a video of a desperate girl wearing medieval robes (peasant or noble), wetting herself on thouse clothes by accident or even on porpous. Do you guys know something like that to share with me?
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